It didn't occur to me until I was shaking the bag of nuts, dark chocolate chips, snack stars, and dried bit of cranberries that this trip wasn't about taking me on a hike at all. We were still going. Dad wouldn't have bothered with packing a bag and setting it by the door if this was all a trick.

He liked to bring extra water and medical supplies. I cut myself on a trail once and suddenly he thinks we need to be ready to stich me up at a moments notice. It was a minor cut that only bled for twenty minutes, I was fine. They both overreact.

Also there was marshmallows in the bag that he was pretending that I was pretending weren't there. And matches, and back up flint.

Dad had never mentioned being a scout, but he sure did act like it sometimes.

So we were going. And it had to be the Northern Camping Trails that he had picked. It was the only one with campfire areas.

It was also the furthest drive from home. Which may or may not be a factor in whatever this hike was actually about. Ah well. I would still get to have some peace.

I also grabbed four of the pumpkin seed and spice protein bars. More than we probably needed, but I liked to pack extras.

I had my own bag. A black metal water bottle covered in stickers of crystals was clipped on to the side. Less pouches than Dad's, simpler and made of black faux leather where his was a forest green.

I had the box with the basic bandages in mine, these ones were Halloween themed, bats and pumpkins on the box. Nothing flammable though. Dad was also the one in charge of the knife. Not that he didn't trust me, but he hadn't nearly needed stitches once on a hike. Which was better than my record.

That scar wasn't like the new ones. My right palm was almost identical to my left. Sometimes, when the lighting was right or my skin was dry enough I could see the thin line of the scar.

Really, compared to the more recent accidents I had it was nothing. I didn't know why Dad worried I wasn't going to go hiking with him again.

I placed the snacks in my bag and secured the top flap.

Having finished packing I stepped out of the kitchen and over to where my boots were waiting for me. On the floor next to the couch. My well-loved and worn boots. Because breaking in a new pair on a hike was a recipe for blisters.

I was already wearing socks, I liked ones that went past my ankle. The ones I had on were red and covered in black silhouettes of a werewolf howling at a full moon. The rest of my leg was covered in thick leggings that were black and grey patches with fake red stitching. I hadn't brought them or the white and red plaid skirt to school. Maybe I should. Celica might be appeased.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I mean it wasn't a lot of color, but it was something, right?

What had Jarec said? Dragons and boldness. Did he know more about our Tower than he'd let on? Being raised in the Hearth Coven and all. He might. But then Mom had been raised there too and she didn't seem to know anything. Then again using Mom as a measure was probably not reliable.

Thinking about it was going to give me a headache.

I laced up the right boot.

My hair was starting to grow back to its old length, some of it fell in front of my face as I leaned down. Dark brown. Darker than Dad's lighter than Mom's charcoal black. I took a deep breath.

I paused as I started lacing up the left one, My fingers lingering over the spot where the spider bite was. My fingers were shaking for some reason. I should have worn boots that first day, instead I'd opted for basic tennis shoes and look where that got me.

But… if I hadn't…when would I have noticed I could cast? Would the curse have still been sleeping without anyone having any idea?

How long would I have not known?

Breathe Serafina. In and out.

What mattered was that I did know. What I was going to do about it was more important than the what-ifs.

The trembling in my hands stopped, allowing me to lace up the boot.

I exhaled slowly with a stretch and stood up off the couch. Dad was finally done leaving a note for Mom who was still sleeping. Not that she wouldn't know where we were or what we were doing but he liked to leave a note anyway. Because waking up Mom was annoyingly difficult and not worth the hassle most days.

Dad and I just looked at each other for a moment. Then he asked, "You got everything?"

"Yeah. I'm good."

As far as prep for the hiking trip went.

I moved my hands to my jacket pockets. I took another deep breath to steady myself while Dad grabbed his bag and then his keys from the small shallow dish we kept on the counter. A nightmare of color vomit that could only come from the hands of a barely supervised three-year-old and a paintbrush. The dish itself was neat and near perfectly made, the work of a mother. If one looked closely they could just see the faint yellow glow from the very bottom. A minor spell to make it near indestructible.

I slung my bag over my right shoulder. It was fairly light.

I spent the car ride looking out the window, watching the snow and trees pass by. The glass was cold, despite the warm air blowing from fans inside the car. Dad was playing music from his phone through the speakers of the car. More Metallica and some downloaded Iron Roses songs.

There was something nice about arriving at the start of the trail and seeing few cars parked. Only three of the twenty spots were taken. Not that many people interested in trekking through snow and ice.

But we weren't really like other people, were we?

I unfastened my seatbelt once we were fully stopped. I took another deep breath before opening the car door. The crunching of the snow under my boots was a sound that was already beginning to unwind something deep within me.

I wondered if that was the real reason Dad wanted to bring me out here. In whatever case Dad wasn't like Mom, who could hold onto her cards infinitely without a confrontation, it was inevitable that he would just tell me whatever this was about.

It was one of my favorite things about him.

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