Red Witch: Book Two of the Wizard Born Series (36 page)

“Well, at the rate we’re going, you’re going to run out of trees.”

“Naw, man, we’re gonna bring her back. We pray for her after we put up the ribbons.” Rollie pulled the half-empty water bottle from the cage. “Wanna come with us tomorrow morning and put some up?”

“Can’t.” Jamie dumped the dog food into the empty bowl of a brown terrier’s cage. “Bryce and Melanie are coming over again to do more internet searching.”

“Dude, I’d be careful if I were you. You don’t want to get too close to Melanie, if you know what I mean. She might try to kiss you again or something.”

“It’s not a problem. They hardly even know I’m there.”

* * *

Fred lay on her bed, her whole body quivering, her eyes brimming with hot tears. After spending the entire day making magic powders for the two witches —fertility spells, banishing spells, curse-removal spells, and more healing jelly — Rita had stood over Fred with the doll in hand, repeatedly jabbing the pin into it, demanding that Fred do the blood bond. Fred withstood the onslaught with stubborn resolve, determined not to surrender or cry out.

Rita finally gave up and stormed off, and now Fred whimpered in the private darkness of her room.
I almost gave in…I came so close.
She rolled onto her side and curled up into the fetal position as a tear trickled down her cheek and onto the bed.

I don’t how much more of this I can take
.

* * *

Jamie was certain that Fred was holding something back from him in their dream that night. He could see it in her eyes, in some back closet of her soul that she wouldn’t open for him, something painful, he knew.
She’s not telling me everything.
But when he pressed her, she wouldn’t answer directly.

He finally had to let it go, for the moment. He squeezed her hand. “I have some good news and bad news.”

“Bad news first, please.”

“Your dad cut his finger real bad and had to get stitches.” Fred frowned and Jamie said, “The good news: Bryce and Melanie may have found something today. Somebody who calls himself Percy95 was bragging on a blog about helping some witches sell magic potions and stuff. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Percy is the kid who’s helping Rita and Cassandra with their web store. I’ve never met him, though. I doubt he knows I’m here.”

“Still, that helps, though he’s covered his tracks pretty well. He spoofed his IP address and used proxies to post and stuff. But if we follow his posts, he might give something away.”

Fred shook her head and exhaled slowly. “The sooner the better.”

“And my dad said he’ll need a court order to find out who actually owns the bank account for the credit card orders for the witches’ web site, but he’d need to bring the FBI into it, and we’ve have to do some explaining about the magic and stuff.”

“Don’t do that just yet. That should be a last resort. I could end up getting rescued from here but then my life would be ruined if people found out I was a witch. These two witches would tell, I’m sure. They don’t care who knows.”

“I agree.” Jamie nodded, his face serious. “Oh, and Melanie said they found a
Rusty Screw
listed in every state in the South. Florida has at least four, so that’s no help. And my dad checked out the school’s video surveillance footage of the day you got kidnapped. There are a couple of suspicious-looking ladies on there, but they’re wearing hats that hide their faces, so that’s no help either.”

“Well, that means I have to keep trying to escape on my own.” She kissed him quickly. “Sorry that I have to leave you again so soon.”

“But I —”

“It’s fine. When I get home, we’ll spend so much time together our parents will have to pry us apart with a crowbar.” She patted his cheek. “Now, I’ll see you tomorrow night, maybe in person. Right now I gotta go give some wicked witches some wicked nightmares.”

* * *

The next morning, Fred lay in bed, listening to music on the boom box — the Brandenburg Concerto Number Four, her favorite of the CDs that had belonged to Isabelle — hoping the happy-sounding melody of the opening movement would lift her spirits. The recorders chirped like songbirds, but they might as well have been vultures.

Rita and Cassandra are going to hurt me again today. And I’ll probably spend all day working like a slave for them
. She glanced at the empty wrapper on the bedside table.
And I’m sick of Pop Tarts. What I wouldn’t give for a banana right now! Or a poppy seed muffin.

Her introspection was interrupted when Cassandra came crashing into the room, a cigarette dangling from her lip, wearing a bad attitude, skin-tight jeans and a sleeveless black top. She didn’t bother to say hello before dragging the table across the room toward the bed.

Fred sat up. “Where’s Rita?”

“Bitch went off again,” she said, speaking around her cigarette, the thin white stick bouncing in front of her face as she spoke. She pushed the table in place and went to the corner for a chair.

“Can I have a chair, too?”

“No.”

She’s in good mood today
.

“So where’d Rita go?”

Cassandra grabbed the cardboard box. “Somewhere you don’t need to know, and don’t think you can fool me into sayin’, so stop tryin’.” She dropped the box with a loud thump beside the table and put her hands on her hips. “That redheaded slut said she needed to pick up some more supplies, but really, she just wants to
party
. She don’t want to work today. That’s what I think.”

“Why not just take the day off, then?”

“Can’t.” She flopped heavily on the folding chair. “Gotta fill an order.” She flicked her ashes into the small trash can by the bedside table. “Sometimes I wish we hadn’t a’ started the web store. It’s too much work.”

“What are we making?”

“Not
we
. You’re making
come hither
potion, though it’s really a powder.”

“Never heard of it. Is it in one of these spell books?” Fred nodded at the stack on the bedside table beside her.

“No.” Cassandra scowled. “Dammit!” She stood and stomped to the door. “I’ll be back.” She returned a moment later with a thick black tome and handed it to Fred. “It’s in there somewhere. Look in the back.”

Fred opened the book and flipped through the pages. “What’s this spell do?”

“Don’t do nothin’, most likely. I think it’s bogus, but we sold twenty-seven of ’em so we gotta make it.” She stubbed out her cigarette on the metal edge of the table and flicked it into the trash can. “It’s kinda like amore powder, only instead of giving it to the person you want to like you, you take it yourself and it makes you more attractive to
members of the opposite sex
.” She said the last few words clinically, as if she were reading them from a book. “But I still say it’s bogus.”

Fred found the spell on the next-to-last-page and scanned the ingredients. Then her eyes grew wide when she spotted two particular ones:
Black cohosh and elecampane root. The other two ingredients for the counter charm.
She immediately thought of the folded card with the powder, hiding under the mattress
. Today might not be so bad after all.

“Cassandra, can I use the food processor?”

“Hell no.” She handed Fred the mortar and pestle. “My head hurts bad enough without listenin’ to that racket.”

Fred began measuring and grinding the ingredients and Cassandra fished her magazine from the box beside her, leaned back in her chair and stretched her long legs out. She produced another cigarette from somewhere and lit it, her cheeks hollowing as she took her first puff.

“Aren’t you worried about the smoke and ashes affecting the spell?” Fred asked, wrinkling her nose.

Cassandra sat up, stretched her arm across the table, and tapped her ashes into the bowl Fred was filling with magic powder. “That’s what I think of this spell. Told you, it’s bogus.”

Fred stopped grinding. “Then why am I doing it?”

“’Cause we’re getting paid for it! Now shut up and stop askin’ so many stupid questions.”

Grumpy, aren’t we?
Fred resumed her chore, stealing glances at the reclined blonde witch, who was engrossed in her magazine.
She’s not paying attention.
Fred ground a double measure of black cohosh and deliberately spilled some on the table, then did the same with the elecampane root. Cassandra yawned when Fred handed her a full bowl of powder to divide into bags.

Wish she’d put the bags on the table so I could steal one
, Fred thought, eyeing the small brown box on the floor near Cassandra.
I couldn’t reach it even if she left the room. My chain is too short.

Fred continued to work, and Cassandra’s chin gradually drooped to her chest and her still-lit cigarette slipped from her fingers to the floor.

Now’s my chance to put the other two ingredients into my counter charm
. Fred stealthily eased her hand under the mattress and withdrew the folded card, her fingers brushing against the little bag of knockout powder as she did. She opened the white card, careful not to spill its precious contents, and held it under the edge of the table. Then she brushed the spilled powder onto it with her finger. She took the end of the measuring spoon and stirred the little pile of gray-and-white magic, folded the card up again, and started to return it to its hiding place, but paused when she glanced at Cassandra.

Rita’s gone, probably all day.
She felt her heart beat faster
. This is my best opportunity to escape. I’ve still got the knockout powder I hid…I can use it on Cassandra and get the key to my ankle cuff from her!
She knelt beside the bed, shoved the folded card under the mattress and pulled out the bag containing the knockout powder. She kissed it.
Sure hope this works
.

She sat on the bed, slipped the bag with the powerful spell under her thigh and looked at the sleeping witch across from her.
Her face is too far away for me to get to. I’m going to have to wake her up and trick her into coming closer.
Fred rushed through the rest of her chore, and as she ground the last ingredient, she called, “Cassandra! Wake up. I’m done.”

The tall woman stirred, grunting as she rubbed her eyes. “What time is it?”

“It’s time for you to finish bagging the powders and take a nap, looks like.”

“Good idea.” She pulled out the little baggies and poured the remaining powder into them, and while she did, Fred eased the knockout powder from beneath her leg, carefully opening the bag in her lap, which was hidden from Cassandra’s view by the table. As Cassandra zipped the last bag closed, she said, “Done. I’ll clean up later. I gotta hit the hay.”

She started to drag the table away, but Fred dumped the knockout powder into her hand and said, “I hurt my palm grinding powder or something. I think it’s infected. What do you think?” She extended her closed fist toward Cassandra, who leaned forward to see. Fred opened her hand and blew, the powder making a white cloud around the woman’s face.

“What the hell!” Cassandra coughed and flapped her hand before her mouth, blinking hard. “What did you do?” She wavered and tried to grab the edge of the table, but her clumsy hand missed it as her eyes rolled up in her head. She dropped to the floor with a tremendous thump, knocking the folding chair askew as she fell.

The room was quiet. “Cassandra?” Fred looked at her closely. “You okay?” She got no answer. “Yes!” Fred squealed. “It worked.” She pushed the table out of the way and knelt beside the slumbering witch, feeling for the metal ticket to freedom.
That key’s got to be in here someplace
. She dug her fingers into each of the front pockets of Cassandra’s pants, and finding nothing, checked her blouse.
No key there
. Her heart began to sink.
Maybe it’s in the back
. With a grunt she rolled the woman onto her side and patted the two back pockets. “It’s not there!”

Fred sat on the floor and wrapped her arms around her knees.
She doesn’t have the key. I thought she always carried it
. She felt tears fill her eyes and she bit her lower lip.
I’m never going home. Never.

She stood and dropped heavily on the bed, defeated.

* * *

She lay there for over an hour before it occurred to her that the two witches would probably search her room, looking for more stashed spells. Fred knelt beside the bed again and pulled the folded card containing the counter charm from underneath the mattress.
Where am I gonna hide it?
The empty plastic bag, still on the table where she’d dropped it, caught her eye.

She cleaned out the residue of the knockout powder from the bag and poured the contents of the folded card into it, sealed it closed and surveyed her sparse room.
I need a hiding place they won’t think of
. Her gaze settled on the boom box.
The battery compartment!

She grabbed it and pried the plastic cover off with her thumbnail, relieved that it wasn’t held in place by a screw. The cavity underneath, the size of four D size batteries, was empty. She stuffed the plastic bag inside, replaced the cover, and set the boom box back in its place on the bedside table.

* * *

The light around the window curtains was turning gray when Fred heard a groan from the floor. She rolled over and sat up as Cassandra lifted her head and rubbed her eyes. “What happened?” The older witch said, then her face grew hard. “You used knockout powder on me. You little bitch!” She staggered to her feet and stumbled from the room, only to return a moment later with the voodoo doll in one hand, the pin in the other. She stood in the doorway, held the doll before her and jabbed the pin into its back.

“Ugh!” A lightning bolt of pain shot into Fred’s spine, the worst pain she’d ever experienced. She arched her back. “Oh, God!” She looked at Cassandra and gasped, “Please pull out the pin.” The agony was astounding.
Please!
Fred thought.
Please! I feel like there’s a spear in my back. Pull out the pin.

Cassandra only smirked. “And you can forget about supper, too.” She stomped away, leaving Fred grunting in distress.