Witch and Wizard_ The Fire - James Patterson [26]
The other girl is maybe two or three years younger, and her small face is unmoving — hopeless and dead, like she can’t really fathom that this could be happening.
My stomach twists and heaves. I can’t believe it either.
The two are sisters, by the look of it, their dark almond eyes and thin noses mirror images of each other. With their whimsical, eclectic clothing — now torn — they stand out from the crisp red suits of their tormentors, which must’ve made them targets.
“Not again,” my brother whispers at my side, tearing me back from the scene.
“You’ve … you’ve seen something like this before?” I say, anger and disbelief creeping into my voice. My accusation is clear: How could he not tell me about something so serious?
“I know,” Whit says. His face is pained, apologetic. “That’s why I was so freaked back at the Needermans’. Why we had to leave like that … even with Pearl …” He trails off, and I remember her flailing in the soldiers’ arms. “I was scared, Wist. Really scared. I just wanted to save you from all that.”
“Save me?” My voice is rising. “How is keeping me in the dark —?”
“I couldn’t do anything last time anyway!” Whit snaps. “I was too late.” He sighs heavily, his eyes on the ground. “Never mind that, okay? These girls don’t have much time. What are we going to do about it?”
He’s right. We can’t sit back and watch this. I look at the crowd. It really isn’t that big, just totally nuts. We could take them easily.
“How about we show them a real witch burning?” I suggest with a raised eyebrow.
Whit nods grimly. “I like your style, sister.”
And with that, I’m off and running, crazy like I haven’t been in weeks or months … heading full-speed at the unsuspecting crowd, windmilling my arms, shrieking bloody murder. Of course, flames are leaping from my head in a macabre halo of fury, too.
At first the mob comes together, undulating toward me and buzzing with possibility. But as I get closer, the people begin to scatter, the whites of their eyes bulging in terror, convinced that their day of reckoning has arrived and that this apparition will make them pay for their crimes. That’s pretty much exactly what I was going for.
Cowards at heart, every one of them. They want to burn every imaginative kid in sight, anyone who is a little bit different and therefore vulnerable. A real witch is, of course, too much for them.
As I lurch at the frenzied masses, my fire roaring, Whit rushes to the girls and works at untying their binds. In minutes we have them freed and the square cleared of the murderous bigots.
After it’s over, the sisters cling to each other, mute and dazed from shock. They’re shaking violently.
Whit fingers their open gashes where the ropes cut into their flesh, healing them, but they flinch even at his touch.
“It’s okay. You’re okay,” I whisper, rubbing their shoulders. “It’s over. We’re here to help. Can you tell us your names?”
“I’m Dana, and she’s Lisa,” the older girl says. “I don’t know what happened. We were just walking. I had this hairpin … a woman yanked it out of my hair and then they were all around us, pushing and shoving, scratching us with the pin, saying our blood was poison …” I can see she’s usually the chatty one, but right now her voice shakes and it’s clear she’s trying not to totally lose it. “The thing is, we’re not really even witches.” She hiccups. “Not like you.” She winces, fidgeting awkwardly. “I mean —”
“It’s okay.” I smile. “I like being a witch.”
“I just like to cook weird things, and Lisa plays the ukulele. I know it’s illegal, but” — tears spill onto her cheeks —“we never thought those things would get us killed.”
Lisa, the younger one, has doe eyes, huge and frightened beneath her fringe of heavy bangs, and they keep darting back to the ominous woodpile behind us. She squeezes Dana’s hand, comforting her sister, but her body remains tensed as if ready to sprint. If only she knew where to run to, where it might be safe.
“You guys can come with us,” I offer. “We’re trying to find our friends and