“Oh no. No, no, no!” I run down the aisle to the screen, but that makes it even worse, because I get a close-up of the tiger’s snarled lip, of the drool sliding down its razor-sharp teeth, of the slanted green eyes assessing its meal.
The tiger stalks up to Bishop and sniffs his ear. Bishop flinches, but I can’t tell if it’s because he’s scared or because the tiger’s whiskers are poking into his face. The tiger slinks up to Mom next. Mom draws back against her chair and closes her eyes tight, tears streaming down her face. The same throaty rumble vibrates the white fur on the tiger’s chest, and Mom whimpers into the rag.
“Let them go!” I yell.
“As soon as you break the spell,” Frederick answers.
I look at the screen again and let out an anguished cry.
“See, I had a feeling you were lying back there in the alley. That’s why I brought you here. Thought I might be able to convince you … by other means.”
I take a deep breath and turn to face him. “Look, I told you I don’t know how to break the spell, but I’ll learn, I swear. I’ll stay here until I figure it out. Just let them go.”
He shakes his head. “Not good enough.”
Mom’s muffled screams fill the auditorium. I spin around just in time to see the tiger’s paw clawing the air. Trails of crimson slip down Mom’s cheek in three perfect lines.
“Oh God. Mom!” A sob breaks free of my throat, and I cry—the ugly kind of cry you do only when no one’s watching, or when you just don’t care anymore.
Frederick’s behind me again, patting my back. “Don’t worry. I figure I’ll just have him gnaw off an arm, maybe a leg. Wouldn’t be a very fun movie if they died quickly, don’t you think?”
The lights of the theater dim, then flicker, before growing bright again.
Hope ignites like wildfire in my chest. The Family.
There’s a second’s pause when Frederick’s eyes become wide and he doesn’t seem to understand what’s happening, and in that second the doors of the theater burst open and a woman enters.
“So kind of you to freeze everyone for me,” she says.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe that a member of the centuries-old organization ruling over thousands of witches and warlocks would be older than twenty. Maybe that she’d be wearing a cloak instead of an oversized button-up shirt over a tight little cami, painted-on jeans, and a pair of motorcycle boots. And oh, I don’t know, maybe that she wouldn’t be a freaking supermodel!
The woman strides down the center aisle with a hip-swaying gait that only the stunningly beautiful can truly pull off without looking stupid. And she totally pulls it off.
Amazingly, when I look at the screen again, the tiger is gone.
“Wouldn’t be smart of you to get too close,” Frederick says. “We’ve got the Bible.”
She must know he can’t open it, though, because she struts past him toward the stage without a pause, her glossy auburn hair—pushed back from her face with a rolled-up bandanna—trailing nearly to her waist. She gives Frederick her back while she inspects Mom and Bishop on-screen with all the calmness of a doctor examining a patient suffering from a common ailment.
“You’ve angered a lot of people, Frederick.” The woman doesn’t turn to speak to him, just continues examining Bishop. “We were willing to live in peace, end the war, let bygones be bygones, but you couldn’t do that, could you?” She turns now, tipping her head so her hair falls across her high cheekbones, and walks to Frederick with her hands clasped behind her back. “But I have a theory. I think you just can’t bear knowing that you’re”—she pokes him in the chest—“weaker than us.”
Frederick looks down at where she touched him. “Weaker?” He wheezes as if this thought is just so funny he can hardly breathe. “You won’t be saying that when your neck is in a noose.”
“And just why isn’t it in a noose right now?” she asks calmly. Frederick’s laughter falters, and a smile spreads across the woman’s face. “That’s right. Because of a witch’s spell. A spell too strong for you to break.”
“It’s just a matter of time.” Frederick’s lips form a hard line. “We’ll get it open, and you’ll be the first one I hunt down when we do.”
“I look forward to it.” She glances around the theater.
“It’s not here,” Frederick says. “We’re not that stupid, Jezebel.”
Jezebel pauses a moment, as if to decide whether Frederick is lying about the Bible, then shrugs. “Even so, I think I’ll take Bishop with me.”
Frederick laughs. “That little brat—”
“Yes, that one. Release him now.”
I speak for the first time in the whole exchange. “What about my mom?”
Jezebel looks at me with eyes a shade of green usually reserved for cats. “What about your mom?”
I exhale a small breath. It’s hard to decide who I’d rather throw to the tiger for a late-night snack: Frederick or her. “So she’s good enough to protect your Bible for years, and now you just toss her aside like, like—”
“Save the comparisons for someone who cares.” Jezebel turns back to Frederick. “Release Bishop or die. It’s your choice.”