Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,49
have those? Then again, if I tried to pry the bars off, it would be too loud.
We heard footsteps overhead and Clara stilled, her gaze snapping up, her lungs seizing.
“Hey,” I whispered to take her mind off the imminent danger. “How did you know to call me? Did you really lose your dog?”
She blinked back to me, but it took her a moment to process what I’d asked. “No,” she whispered. “My dog ran away when I was little. My dad said it was my fault, and so he never let me have another one.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. My mom told me if I ever needed anything ever to call you.”
“Me? Do you mean my grandmother?”
“I don’t know. She made me memorize your phone number and said if I was ever in trouble, the person at that number would help. She said you’re magic.”
As I lay shivering in the wet leaves, I was once again struck by how many people Ruthie had helped over the years. How many people knew they could count on her. They could trust her.
Another round of footsteps echoed above, and Clara gasped.
“What are you standing on?” I asked. My jaw ached from biting down to keep from chattering. I really was soaked, blue, and shivering.
“My bed.” She looked down and bounced for me. “Can you come get me?”
“Help is coming, sweetheart.” I examined the bar again and realized something. I really was magic. “Step to the side, hon.”
She did but didn’t dare let go of my hand.
What to use? I only knew a couple of symbols. They just seemed to pop into my head as I needed them, but nothing was coming to me. Then I remembered one that might work.
I lifted two fingers and drew it on the air. It was like a the charmling version of open sesame. Normally, when I drew a symbol, the lines glowed much like the messages had. As though the sun was bleeding through them.
But nothing happened.
I racked my brain. I’d gotten it right. I knew I had. That was it. That was the right symbol. It was like a charmling version of open sesame.
“Did I really lose my powers?” I whispered aloud. Then I remembered the attic. I’d drawn a symbol then. Maybe I was shivering too much. Maybe I didn’t draw the symbol right. Wait. I’d felt a resistance. I looked up but could only see the eaves and the storm drain. Was the house enchanted?
Then it hit me. I looked at the vine around my wrist. “Percival Goode,” I said, talking to my wrist like a secret agent. “Are you blocking me?”
Clara simply watched, possibly afraid to interfere with the crazy lady.
I couldn’t try to unclasp Percy get him off without releasing her hand, and I was worried she’d panic too. Best if only one of us was as useless as a flounder in a gunfight.
Headlights slid along the trees behind the house as a car turned into the drive.
“That might be them,” I said to her, relief flooding every cell in my body. I looked at the vine, and said through clenched teeth, “You and I are going to talk later.”
He squeezed my wrist gently.
“No. It’s too late. If this goes south, it’s on—”
Before I could finish my tirade, the back door swung open, flooding the area with light. A thin man in a dirty tank stepped onto the back porch and turned in my direction.
I shrank back and held my breath. Mostly because it was creating huge clouds of vapor, just waiting to give me away.
I’d been too loud. I’d put Clara’s life in danger, so I could threaten a plant. Not to mention her mother’s.
But instead of coming after me, the man walked down the three steps to the ground and carried a garbage bag to a bin on the other side of the house without a care in the world.
This was my chance. If I could keep him out of the house, it would give the cops time to go in and get Clara and her mother out.
I heard a knock sound from the front of the house. He was going to be back up the porch steps and in the door in no time. I had to stall him. I had to keep him from going into that house and creating a hostage situation.
When he cornered the side of the house, I had no choice. I ripped my hand away from Clara’s, stood, and hurried over to him, trying to wedge