Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,26
and everyone else in the room followed suit. In fact, our audience had grown by about six more people, all wanting to see what the hubbub was about.
I held out my hand. “Is Sir here?” I asked the boy.
He nodded and pointed again. “Open.”
“Okay, I’ll try, but you’ll have to show me.” Before I could follow, he vanished through the wall again. “Excuse me,” I said, squeezing through the crush at the door.
Annette and Karl followed, everyone else trailing behind them.
I thought I’d lost him until I went down a few of the steps and spotted him in the entryway.
He stood by a glass display case and pointed at the top shelf. “Open.”
I hurried to him. “The case? You want the case open?”
We had a couple of new people join the group. The crowd behind me was taking pictures like crazy. Wonderful.
Samuel shook his head and pointed again.
I scanned the case. The only thing that high that I could open was the witch bottle. I stilled. Witch bottles were historically filled with urine or hair or fingernails, and they always had pins or nails in them, supposedly to trap a witch inside. Fine. Whatever. But this sweet boy was no more a witch than I was a warlock. Had the bottle somehow trapped him? Anchored him to the house?
I turned to Karl. He was good-looking and rather nerdy. A dark-haired, college-aged kid with a clear affinity for all things supernatural. “Could a witch bottle somehow trap a small boy?”
He blinked in thought. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe. It’s all so speculative. I never believed a witch bottle could trap a witch, but if it can, why not a boy?”
I got to my knees, and Samuel put his hand on my face again. He had perfect pale skin and a soft, ethereal glow, rather like Ruthie. I had to try.
People were whispering all around us, the newbies trying to ascertain what was going on. The more experienced in the group, those who’d been with us since the beginning five minutes ago, were explaining. They jostled and volleyed for a better view.
There was nothing I could do about that now. “Karl, can I open the bottle?”
“Sure.” He put on a pair of gloves, brought out a set of keys, and opened the case. “But I have to say, it’s been opened before.”
“Really? I don’t know what to tell you. He wants it open,” I said with a shrug.
He shrugged back at me.
Annette knelt beside me. “Deph, maybe we should think about this.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe he only looks like a kid. Maybe he’s, I don’t know, a demon seed who’s going to open the gates of hell and suck us all in.”
The corners of the boy’s little mouth turned down.
I almost laughed. “One thing I’ve learned—quite recently, in fact—is that I can feel the difference between a malevolent spirit and a friendly one.” I looked back at him. “There is not a mean bone in this baby’s body.”
“Because he has no bones!” she whispered through clenched teeth, making a valid argument.
Someone nearby chuckled softly, a deep, exhilarating sound. Roane.
I glanced around in surprise but didn’t see him. But I’d recognize that laugh anywhere.
“I mean, who’s to say what you’ll release?” Annette asked.
“Karl said the bottle has already been opened.”
“They even had to replace the cork a few years back,” he added.
“See? What harm will my opening it do?”
“Have you not been paying attention for the last six months?” Nette asked.
“Not really. No.”
Karl gave me a pair of gloves.
I put them on, and he handed me the bottle, a small ceramic cask in the shape of a gourd vase. I took it, gave my BFF one final challenging glare, and popped the cork. So to speak. And . . . nothing happened. Unless you counted the room filling with a foul stench that reminded me of old urine and vinegar.
The onlookers groaned. A few of them left.
“Wow.” I quickly pressed the cork back on and waved a hand in front of my face.
“That didn’t happen last time.” Karl held a sleeve over his nose as he took the bottle back and replaced it.
I looked around for Samuel. But he’d vanished. “He’s gone!” I stood and turned in a circle before whimpering.
“Serves you right,” Annette said. Then she gagged. “I threw up a little in my mouth.”
“Serves you right back, missy.”
Before we left for lunch, I searched for Samuel again. I even checked under tables and called his name. Nothing.