Bewitched (Betwixt & Between #2) - Darynda Jones Page 0,62

is,” I said to Nette and Roane.

They looked up at the balcony overlooking the foyer as I sprinted upstairs, even though I only saw the barest hint of a shape. I stopped at the balcony and walked toward the wall.

“I would like to have a word with you.” That was when I realized I had no plan whatsoever. Then I saw it. Him. A stocky man with puffy bags under his eyes and a bulbous nose. I had a similar look once when I’d first discovered mudslides. The morning after had not been pretty.

He glared at me, but his glare was more disgust than the acidic, hate-filled glower of toxic waste that was Vogel’s infamous death stare. Sure enough, Sir was dressed in Puritan garb. A wide white collar and cuffs, a form-fitted black coat, breeches that gathered at the calves, stockings, and black loafers with a metal buckle. He was the real deal.

I was rather impressed. “Dude, you’ve been trapped in a bottle for, like, hundreds of years. Maybe take a breather. Get to know the people a little. Stop being a dick to a little boy one-tenth your size.”

“You can see him?” Annette called up to me.

“Yes.” I turned back to her. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be by my side? Isn’t that where a sidekick lives?”

“I’m okay.” She kept her feet firmly planted downstairs.

I turned back to the Puritan. “Did you know there’s a line of supplements named after your pride?”

“Thou art a witch.” His sneer could freeze Hawaii.

“You guys legit said thee and thou and art?”

His watery gaze turned into a livid glare. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

“Wow. Seriously?” I stepped closer.

He grew opaquer but just barely. We stood eye-to-eye, our heights evenly matched, which was perfect. I could glare right back. “I don’t mean to rain on your parade, buddy, but that’s pretty cliché. Is that all you assholes had to work with while you were persecuting innocent people back in the day?”

The smirk he wore spoke a hundred thousand words.

Oh, yeah. He was going down. But apparently not before me.

A wrecking ball hit me square in the chest. At least it felt like a wrecking ball.

I heard a crack, the breath whooshed out of my lungs, and I went flying back. Literally flying. I soared over the railing, my trajectory forming less of an arch than a seven, sharply changing from horizontal to vertical. The ceiling rocketed away from me as the floor rose up.

“Defiance!” Annette screamed.

Percy’s soft tentacles captured me in a sudden stop. Rather like a thrill ride at a fair. I was not, however, thrilled. Not in the least. I couldn’t breathe. Really couldn’t breathe. Something was very, very wrong.

As Percy lowered me to the ground and faded back, I doubled over and gasped, clutching my chest. My vision blurred. Tears amassed. There was a loud ringing in my ears. The pain shooting through my chest was not in my heart but in the bones. My collarbones. My sternum. My ribcage. They all felt shattered. Sir had broken me.

Suddenly Roane was by my side, and I was off the ground again. In his arms. Against his chest. He carried me to the kitchen and laid me on the table.

And then Ruthie was there, shoving tea down my throat again. Gawd, that woman loved her tea. But I couldn’t swallow. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t hear Ruthie when she got in my face and spoke. She ran out of the room and came back holding a drawing. “This,” she said, as though underwater. “Draw this.”

A pain so sharp, so overpowering that it suffocated me, wracked my body. Nausea and dizziness decided to join the party, and I was almost blinded by the agony. I felt the bones in my chest crack and scrape against one another, like a puzzle in a puzzle box before someone put it together. The pieces were all there, they were just in the wrong place.

She held my left hand as I tried to draw the symbol, but crushed bones sucked.

So.

Bad.

I realized she was arguing with both Roane and Annette. After a lengthy discussion, Roane turned away, angry, then she encouraged me to draw again, holding up the picture.

I tried to catch my breath but only managed short, excruciating gasps.

She yelled to get through to me.

I couldn’t make out the words, but I could imagine what she wanted. However, I’d learned early on that if I didn’t know what a spell meant, it was difficult to infuse