Dime Store Magic (28 page)
"I cannot protect you at all if Paige hits the brake and you go flying through the windshield. Put on your seat belt, Savannah."
"It is on."
"Then tighten it."
She slipped back into her seat. "God, you're as bad as Paige."
"As I was saying," Cortez said. "Our primary objective is to—Oh."
With that one word, my breath caught. A simple word, not even a word really, a mere sound, an exclamation of surprise. But for Cortez to
be
surprised, worse yet, for him to stop in the middle of explaining one of his grand plans to make such an exclamation—well, it boded no good.
I'd just rounded the corner onto my street. A quarter mile ahead was my house. Or so I assumed. I couldn't be sure because both sides of the street were lined with cars, trucks, and vans, crammed into every available space, some even double-parked. As for my house, I couldn't see
it, not because of the cars, but because of the crowd of people spilling over the lawn, onto the sidewalk and across the road.
"Pull in the next driveway," Cortez said.
"I can't park here," I said, taking my foot off the accelerator. "I'm sure my neighbors are pissed off enough already."
"You're not parking. You're turning around."
"You want me to run?"
"For now, yes."
I gripped the steering wheel. "I can't do that."
I kept my face forward, but I could sense his gaze on me.
"Getting into your house won't be easy, Paige," he said, his voice softer. "This type of situation… it doesn't bring out the best in people. No one would blame you for turning around."
I looked through the rearview mirror at Savannah.
"Paige is right," she said. "If we back down now, Leah will know we're spooked."
"All right, then," Cortez said. "Pull in wherever you see an opening."
As I scouted for a parking space, nobody spoke. My eyes traveled from group to group. To the national news crews sipping coffee from the Belham Starbucks. To the scattered clusters of people with camcorders and curious eyes. To the state police arguing with five bald people in white robes. To the men, women, and children pacing the sidewalk, carrying signs condemning my soul to damnation.
Strangers. All strangers. I scanned the crowd and saw not a local newsperson, not a village cop, not a single familiar face. Up and down the street every door was closed, every curtain drawn. Everyone willing to shut out the June sun and cool breezes if it meant they could also shut out whatever was happening at 32 Walnut Lane. Shut it out and wait for it to go away. Wait for us to go away.
"When Paige stops the car, get out immediately," Cortez said. "Undo your seat belt now and be ready. Once you're out, keep moving, don't even pause to look around. Paige, take Savannah's hand and head to the front of the car. I'll meet you there and clear a path."
When we'd turned the corner, a few people had looked over, not as many as you might expect, considering they were waiting for a stranger to
arrive, but maybe they'd been there so long, seen so many strangers drive by, that they'd stopped jumping every time a new car appeared.
When the car slowed, more glanced our way. I saw their faces then.
Bored, impatient, almost angry, as if ready to snap at the next rubbernecker who falsely aroused their expectations. Then they saw me.
A shout. Another. A ripple of movement, escalating to a stream, then a wave.
I turned the wheel to wedge in sideways behind a news van. For a second, I saw nothing but the call letters of a TV station in Providence.
Then a rush of people swallowed the van. Strangers jostled against the car, rocking it.
A man, knocked flying by the mob, sprawled across the hood. The car bounced. The man scrambled up. I met his eyes, saw the hunger there, the excitement, and for one second, I froze.
As the flood of people engulfed the car, I saw the very real possibility that I'd be trapped. I grabbed the handle and flung the door open, putting all my strength behind it and not caring who I hit. I leaped from the car, wheeled, and grabbed Savannah as she got out.
"Ms. Winterbourne, do you—"
"—have you—"
"—allegations—"
"Paige, what do you—"
The cacophony of questions hit me like a fifty-mile-an-hour wind, almost knocking me back into the car. I heard voices, words, shouts, all blending into one screaming voice.
I remembered Cortez saying to meet him at the front of the car. Where was the front of the car? The moment I stepped away from the vehicle, people surrounded me, the noise engulfed me. Fingers grabbed my arm. I jerked away, then saw Cortez at my side, his hand around my elbow.
"No comment," he said and pulled me from the fray.
The crowd released me for a moment, then swallowed me again.
"—do you—"
"—living dead—"
"—Grantham Cary—"
"—dragons and—"
I opened my mouth to say "no comment," but couldn't get the words out. Instead, I shook my head and let Cortez say them for me.
When he managed to free us again, I pulled Savannah closer, my arm going tightly around her waist. She didn't resist. I tried to look over at her, but everything around us moved so fast, I caught only a glimpse of her cheek.
The crowd tried closing in on us again, but Cortez barreled through, pulling us in his wake. We'd gone about ten feet when the mob swelled.
Others joined the news-people, and the tone of that single, shouting voice went from predatory excitement to vicious rage.
"—killer—"
"—Satanist—"
"—witch—"
A man shoved a newswoman out of our path and stepped in front of Cortez. His eyes were wild and bloodshot. Spittle flew from his lips.
"—Devil's whore! Murdering bitch—"
Cortez lifted his hand chest-high. For a moment, I thought he was going to deck the guy. Instead, he simply flicked his fingers. The man stumbled back, tripping over an elderly woman behind him, then wheeling to scream deprecations at her for pushing him.
Cortez steered us through the gap. If anyone didn't move fast enough, he shouldered them aside. If they tried to block us, he flicked his fingers at waist level, propelling them back with just enough force to make them think someone had pushed them. After five long minutes, we finally reached the porch.
"Get inside," Cortez said.
He turned fast, shoving Savannah and me toward the door as he blocked the porch steps. I fumbled to unlock the door, my mind racing in search of a spell, something that might distract or repel the mob until Cortez could get inside.
Mentally thumbing through my repertoire, I realized I had nothing.
Yes, I knew some aggressive spells, but my selection was so limited that I had nothing to suit the situation. What was I going to do? Make one person faint? Rain down fireballs? They probably wouldn't even notice the former, and the latter would attract too
much
notice. The rebel Coven leader, so proud of her forbidden spells, was useless. Completely useless.
While we got inside the house, Cortez staved off the crowd, physically blocking the narrow steps, one hand planted on each side of the railing. It lasted just long enough for us to get through the door. Then someone pushed hard, and a heavyset man pitched against Cortez's shoulder.
Cortez backpedaled just in time to avoid being knocked over. His lips moved and, for a moment, the crowd held at the steps, stopped by a barrier spell. Cortez shot for the door and undid the spell before it became obvious. The front row of the crowd tumbled forward.
I threw open the screen door. Cortez caught it. As he dashed through, a shadow passed overhead. A young man leaped off the side railing. The spell flew from my lips before I had time to think. The man stopped short, head and limbs jerking back. The binding spell broke then, but he'd lost his momentum and fell onto the porch several feet from the door. Cortez slammed the screen shut, then the inner door.
"Good choice," he said.
"Thanks," I said, choosing not to mention that it was my only choice and that I was lucky it worked for even those few seconds. I bolted the door, cast lock and perimeter spells, then collapsed against the wall.
"Please tell me we don't have to go out again… ever."
"Does that mean we can order pizza for dinner?" Savannah called from the living room.
"You got the fifty bucks for a tip?" I yelled back. "Ain't no pizza boy coming through that mob for less than a Ulysses S. Grant."
Savannah let out a cry, half shriek, half shout. As I raced into the living room, she said something I couldn't make out. A man's body flew across the rear hall. He struck the wall headfirst. There was a sharp crack, then a thud as he collapsed in a heap on the carpet. Savannah stepped from her bedroom doorway as Cortez and I arrived. He dropped to the man's side.
"Out cold," Cortez said. "Do you know him?"
I looked at the man, middle-aged, receding hairline, pinched face, and shook my head. My gaze traveled up the wall to a four-inch hole with cracks radiating from every side, like a giant spider.
"Leah," I said. "She's here—"
"I don't believe Leah did this," Cortez said.
There was a moment of silence, then I turned to look at Savannah.
"He surprised me," she said.
"
You
knocked him out?" I said.
"She has excellent reflexes," Cortez said, fingers moving to the back of the man's head. "A possible concussion. A definite goose egg. Nothing serious. Shall we see who we have?"
Cortez reached around and pulled the man's wallet from his slacks.
When I looked toward Savannah, she retreated into her room. I was about to follow when Cortez lifted a card for my inspection.
As I took the card, the phone rang. I jumped, every frayed nerve springing to life. With an oath, I closed my eyes and waited for the ringing to stop. The machine picked up.
"Ms. Winterbourne? This is Peggy Dare from the Massachusetts Department of Social Services…"
My eyes flew open.
"We'd like to speak to you regarding Savannah Levine. We have some concerns…"
I ran for the phone. Cortez tried to grab me as I passed and I dimly heard him say something about preparing and phoning back, but I couldn't listen. I raced into the kitchen, grabbed the receiver, and whacked the stop button on the answering machine.