The Unwilling Witch (10 page)

“Need help?”

I looked up. Elestra reached out and gave me a hand into the room. “You seem to have some admirers,” she said. Then she glanced at my wrist. “A gift from one of them?”

I shook my head and hurried off to homeroom. When the bell rang for first period, I checked the halls carefully for lovestruck Mellons before going to English class.

Everyone groaned when Ms. Sudo told us we'd be writing poems. I really stink at poetry. I started to write:

I got a new bracelet,

It's paper, not silver

I like it a lot,

But

That's where I got stuck. I tried to cast a spell to find a rhyme. Nothing happened. I drew a circle around the word
silver,
hoping that might help. It didn't. I blew on the paper. Even that didn't get me a rhyme. I couldn't understand why my power wasn't working.

“Angelina,” Ms. Sudo said, looking down at my paper.

“Yes?”

“You might want to start over. Nothing rhymes with
silver
.”

“Really?”

She nodded, then told me another word that had no rhymes, so I wouldn't use it, either.

“Thanks.” I started again. By the end of the period, I'd produced a really bad poem. But at least it all rhymed.

As we handed in our papers, a motion outside the window caught my eye. Miss Chutney was standing in the yard, staring at me. Just then, I felt a burning on my wrist. I looked down at my bracelet. It was no longer paper. It looked like iron now. Sharp barbs grew out of the metal, stabbing into my skin.

 

Twenty-four

TRAPS AND TREACHERY

The bell rang. I grabbed my wrist and ran from the classroom. Beneath my fingers, the bracelet squirmed like a living creature. I yanked, but it stung me with a million painful pincers. All around me, kids were rushing to their next class.

I clamped my jaw down to keep from screaming and pulled harder at the bracelet. It wouldn't break. My wrist felt as if it were wrapped with burning coals.

I knew my only chance was to stay calm. But I could barely fight down the panic.
Paper!
my mind screamed.
What beats paper?
In the game, scissors beats paper. But this was no game.

Earth, air, fire, and water.
I was air, but air was no use.

Water beats paper!

Hoping this was true even when the paper seemed like iron, I raced down the hall to the water fountain and held my wrist under the cool flow. As the first spray hit, I could feel the bracelet shiver and go slack. I yanked and it came free. The broken ends jerked like a crushed caterpillar, then flopped loosely in my hand. An instant later, the whole thing melted into a muddy mess that sifted through my fingers like damp beach sand.

My skin still stung, but the pain was fading.

Miss Chutney. She'd done this to me. And she was somewhere nearby. I wasn't afraid anymore. I was angry.
Watch out, lady. I'm coming.
I stormed out the door and down the steps.

“Where are you?” I called.

I ran around the side of the building and spotted her behind the school. “You!” I shouted. As I pointed at her, I felt a wave of power wash through me, aimed straight at Miss Chutney. I jerked my hand aside at the last instant. The ground by her feet exploded in a shower of soil. I clenched my fists, afraid of what I might do.

“Look what you did to me,” I said, holding up my wrist, still covered with red marks and scratches from the bracelet.

“No, oh, dear no. I came to help you. I was sure that—”

“Stop. I'm not listening to you. Stay away from me. Just stay away. I'm warning you. You can't have my power.” I felt weak. The blast must have drained a lot out of me. I didn't think I could cast another spell.

She started to rub her hands together. I ran back inside. Maybe her spells wouldn't work if I got out of her sight.

I didn't really feel safe until I got to history. At least Elestra was watching out for me. When she handed out our study sheets, she paused at my desk and smiled at me.

I walked home by myself. Jan had to stay for a meeting of the school paper. Halfway home, I heard footsteps rushing up from behind me.

It was Miss Chutney again. She grabbed at my backpack.

“Stay away from me,” I warned her, pulling free from her grasp. “Just stay away.”

“But, dear—” She rubbed her hands together.

“Leave me alone.” I ran down the street, but it was too late—she'd launched another attack. I heard a tearing sound behind me. It took me a second to realize where it was coming from. My backpack! Something was alive in there. Every day, I slipped the backpack on and off without trouble. Now, I struggled to get it off. One strap caught at my elbow. My terror grew as a claw burst through the fabric right next to my back.

“No!” I gasped as I tugged at the strap. The claw slashed at me, slicing through my shirt as if it were made of cobwebs.

I yanked the backpack from my arm and flung it into the street just as a school bus came by. The front tire crushed the pack. Then the rear tire sent the pack tumbling along the road.

I waited. Nothing happened. I walked over and picked up the pack. White dust dribbled from a rip. My books and papers were scattered all over. I looked behind me. Miss Chutney was where I had left her, a block away. “It didn't work!” I shouted. “You didn't get me.” I jammed everything I could find back into the pack, then rushed off.

Darling was waiting for me in my room. “I am so glad to be home,” I said, rubbing my hand along her wonderfully soft back.

“Mewrlll,” she said.

I plunked down on my bed and looked at my backpack. Nothing much was damaged, except for the pack itself where it had been ripped. The shirt was probably ruined—it had long slashes in the back. My books were okay, but I couldn't find my history study sheet. At least the test wasn't until next week.

I sat and did my homework. As I was finishing up, I heard little footsteps scuffing along the hallway.

“Angelina, look what I got,” Rory said, holding up a comic book with a picture of wizards and dragons on the cover.

“Great,” I said. “Where'd you get it?”

“This nice old lady gave it to me.”

Nice old lady?
I had to get it away from him. “Rory, can I borrow it?”

“Sure. I like to share with you.”

“Thanks.” I put the comic book in my closet after Rory left my room. As I walked back from the closet, I glanced at my bookshelf. I realized I'd never found out what
dispatch
meant. My heart slammed against my chest when I read the definition in the dictionary.
Dispatch
could mean a letter, or it could mean
to send something
. But it also meant
to destroy
.

He who seeks to steal power must dispatch the holder.

 

Twenty-five

OUT ON THE TOWN

I ran to Jan's house. “I'm not keeping the power,” I told her when she answered the door. “I'll spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. Anyone can steal my power if they kill me.” I wondered how many people out there were searching for power. There could be hundreds of them heading to Lewington at this moment, like bloodhounds sniffing out a hidden steak.

Jan shuddered. She looked past me toward the street. “Come on inside.”

We went up to her room. “Can't you protect yourself with your power?” Jan asked.

I shook my head. “I'm not living my life behind walls—even if they're magical or invisible walls. Tomorrow—somehow—I'm passing my power along to its rightful owner.”

“Tomorrow?” Jan asked.

I told her what the book said. “Power is freely given on the fifth day of possession. This must be done in a place of power, at a time of power, before five minutes have flown.”

“So where's that?” Jan asked.

“I don't know where. But I know tomorrow is the right day. Look.” I went over to the calendar she had on the wall next to her bed. “Saturday, it happened in the park. That's the first day. Then Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. So Wednesday is the fifth day.” As my finger traced the days, I saw what Jan had written on the calendar. “Wait! Of course…”

“Angie, what is it?”

“My place of power. It's so obvious. Everything is connected with the number five. Five days, five minutes. My place of power is—”

“The mall!” Jan said.

“Right. And the time has to be midnight. The very start of the day. The witching hour.” I looked at Jan's clock. It was four thirty. I just had to stay alive for seven and a half hours and make sure I was at the mall before midnight.

“Why can't the world be nicer?” Jan asked. “Why can't everyone leave you alone and let you do some good with your power?”

“It's not the way things work,” I said. “But it can be! For just a little while. I might not have power tomorrow, but I have it now.” I grabbed Jan's hand. “Come on—let's do some good.”

“Where?” she asked as she let me drag her down the steps.

“I don't know.” I went into the street and looked around. The first thing I saw was Mrs. Grunwald's roof across the street. It was old and leaky, and I'd heard Mom say that Mrs. Grunwald couldn't afford to get it fixed right now. So I fixed it, making sure it would never leak again. And it felt good. I ran up the street, doing small favors for my neighbors. Mr. Carmichael's garage door would never get stuck again, and Ms. Lalbie's car would always start, no matter how cold it got in the morning.

As I told Jan what I was doing, she got right into the spirit of it, cheering me on and suggesting things for me to do. When we'd covered the neighborhood, we went toward town.

“Where could we do the most good?” I asked Jan.

“The food bank?” she suggested.

“Good idea.” There was a building at the edge of downtown where they gave meals to anyone who was hungry. When we got there, I stopped and looked in the front window. I could see a small kitchen inside.

“Here goes,” I said. I took a deep breath and cast my spell. A big box filled with cans of food and packages of pasta appeared in the corner. Nobody noticed it right away. That was good. When they found it, they'd figure somebody left it there for them.

Once we got started, it was hard to stop. The senior citizens' home got a new coat of paint, the hospital got a bunch of great books for the kids' section, and I got rid of all the rust on the playground equipment at the elementary school.

“Well, the world's a little bit of a better place,” Jan said, pausing to catch her breath. She'd been running to keep up with me.

“The world's better,” I said, “but I feel like a bowl of overcooked spaghetti.”

Jan made a face. “That doesn't sound very tasty. I feel like a hot-fudge sundae.”

I shook my head. “No. I mean that's how I
feel
. I'm wiped out. I'd better get some rest before tonight. Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Jan said.

I was going to apologize for not doing any fun things, but I realized it wasn't true. We'd had a great time.

Jan walked me home, then said, “I'll meet you at the mall.”

“See you there.” I went up to my room, set the alarm for eleven fifteen, and collapsed on the bed.

Soon after I woke, there was a light tap at my door. “Come in,” I said.

Rory walked in, holding the bird that Dad had sent him.

“Can't sleep?” I asked.

He shook his head. Then he looked around the room like he wanted to ask me something but didn't know how to begin. “What is it?” I asked him.

“Can you make me fly?”

“What?” I asked.

“You can do stuff. Can't you? Like with Sebastian?”

“So you saw what I did?” I'd figured he hadn't noticed.

Rory shrugged. “I'm just little. Not stupid.”

Wow—he was right. I was so used to thinking of him as this little kid who didn't really understand what was going on. “Sorry. I know what you mean. I'll give it a try.” I took the plastic bird and lifted it in my hand.
Fly,
I thought.
Please fly, Rory
. I imagined harder than I'd ever imagined anything. I gave it all my concentration.

“Yay,” Rory said as he rose. He flew. Actually, it was more like he was swimming in the air, but he loved it. I tried to keep the spell going, but after five minutes, he sank gently back to the floor. I guess I was still pretty tired out.

“That's it?” Rory asked.

“Yeah. Sorry it wasn't longer.”

“That's okay. It was great! Thanks!” He gave me a hug, then walked out the door and back to his room. He was really an awesome kid. I realized I was still holding the bird. I tossed it on my bed.

I looked at the clock. It was eleven thirty—time to go to my place of power. There was only one question: Was the rightful owner waiting there for me?

I was just about to leave the room when my closet door burst open and my bedroom door slammed shut.

 

Twenty-six

FLIGHT

Long green vines with sharp thorns snaked out from the closet. They flowed from the comic book, like lava from a volcano. In seconds, the vines had blocked the door to the hallway.

“Stop!” I shouted, trying to focus my concentration on holding the vines back.

They kept coming.

Darling hissed. I stooped and grabbed her. By the time I'd put her out of danger on my dresser, the vines had reached me. Two of them wrapped around my ankles. They were stronger than I expected. I was yanked off my feet.

The vines dragged me toward the closet where, at the center of this nightmare plant, leaves with knifelike jagged tips slashed and stabbed the air.