Hexed

I back up, but my heels run into the baseboards and I can’t go any farther. The window—I could go out the window. And what? Fall two stories and break a few bones?

 

He leans in so close I can see every little hair he missed shaving, the plaque etched over his gumline, the cracks around his mouth. I push farther back and touch the window.

 

He cocks his head.

 

“I’m not a witch.” Tears well in my eyes. “I don’t know how to help you.”

 

Frederick takes a deep breath through his nose, his jaw tense as granite, and straightens to his full height. And then he rips the photo of Mom and me in half, letting the pieces flutter to the floor. “I thought you might behave this way. Good thing I’ve come prepared. Leo?”

 

The bedroom door bursts open. Mom stumbles in, a scarred man with a shaved head and dangerous black eyes behind her, pushing her forward with a knife held to her throat.

 

“Mom!” I try to skirt around Frederick, but he holds a hand up, and I smack into an invisible wall. “Let me out!” I slam my palms against the barrier, but all it does is ripple the air in front of me. Mom’s round eyes flit around the room, mascara running down her cheeks. And there’s nothing I can do. A terrified cry escapes me.

 

“I tried to warn you,” Frederick says. “Perhaps you’d like to be a little more forthcoming now?” He takes measured steps around the force field to where Mom stands, each step making my heart race faster.

 

“Stay away from her!” I scream.

 

Frederick grins and reaches up to tuck flyaway hairs behind Mom’s ears. She flinches, and I renew my efforts trying to knock away the invisible wall.

 

“This can all stop, Indigo.” Frederick locks eyes with me. “Just break the spell on the Bible, and we’ll let your mom go.”

 

“I told you, I don’t know how to break any spells.”

 

Frederick tuts under his breath and, without breaking eye contact with me, waves a hand. Leo pushes Mom forward, a grin pulling up just the left side of his face, the other made immovable by scars. His left eye blinks unnaturally, the effect grating on the nerves in my stomach.

 

“No, no, no! Please, I’ll do anything, just leave her alone.” Tears spill down my cheeks.

 

Mom reaches out a hand to me. “It’s okay, Ind—” But her words are garbled when Leo presses the knife harder against her throat.

 

“I’m afraid you leave me no choice.” Frederick walks to the window and pulls it wide open. Cool air pours inside.

 

“What are you doing? Come back. Take me instead! Leave my mom alone.” My breaths come in hiccupping gulps.

 

Leo pushes Mom forward, and she stumbles into Frederick. Mom tries to run, but he snags her by the collar of her shirt and yanks her backward. She yelps, clawing helplessly at the air. No magic involved, just brutal violence.

 

“Well, what will it be, Indigo?” Frederick has one boot-clad foot up on the window ledge, a long arm snaked around Mom’s middle.

 

“I can learn the spell. Just give me some time, please. As soon as I figure it out I’ll break it. I just need a little time.”

 

Frederick nods, and I think I’ve finally said the right thing.

 

“And you’ll get your mother back just as soon as you do.” He climbs onto the ledge. I don’t even have time to say goodbye before he hops out the window, Mom flapping like a rag doll in his grip. Leo climbs up next and, with a final wave to me, jumps out after them.

 

 

 

 

 

17

 

 

 

 

 

Panic surges through me. They’ve got Mom. Evil sorcerers have got Mom, and I’m trapped in some invisible mime-box.

 

Even though it’s been nothing but a waste of energy so far, I start to pound my fists against the wall. But this time I don’t meet resistance, and I stumble forward.

 

What the … ?

 

But I don’t spare more than two seconds to consider my turn of luck before I’m at the window ledge, wildly searching left and right, up and down, for a sign of which way they’ve gone. Nothing. Not the scuffing of footsteps retreating down Fuller Avenue. Not the shriek of car tires against pavement. Not even a distant speck in the moonlit sky.

 

She’s gone.

 

My heart knots up as if someone’s squeezing it, wringing it out like a wet dishrag. What do I do?

 

I thrash through the pile of untouched homework and old dishes on the computer desk until I find the house phone. My hands tremble as I dial 9, but I stop there, because what will I tell the police? Two sorcerers just stole into my room and kidnapped my mom, and they won’t give her back until I unlock the secret spell that binds The Witch Hunter’s Bible? Yeah, I’m sure that’d go over real well.

 

I smash the phone against the wall, sending springs and batteries flying over my bed, and start pacing my room. Mom needs me—I’ve got to think of something, anything. But what? I’m not a witch. If I am, I must be the crappiest witch on the planet. I couldn’t do a thing to help Mom. I let out an anguished groan.

 

I need help. That much is clear.