I set my hand on top of his. It was a few moments before I could be sure I could speak without my voice shaking or squeaking. Big important moments are funny things. You don’t feel scared until it’s all over and you’ve stopped your school from getting blown to bits by an atomic phoenix cloud.
“Are you going to be okay to play?” I said. “Your stage fright.”
Devon tossed back his blond hair. “Cam, my friend,” he said, “with your help I fought a demon out of my soul. I can sing in front of people.”
Friend, I thought, but I didn’t move my hand. All that and just friend. Who’d liked me, then? Was it only desperate, collar-flipping Estahoth? Shudder and sigh. “I’m glad you’ve got your courage back,” I said.
“In more ways than one,” Devon said. He got off the T-Bird and took my hands. The words came slipping out in velvety song: “She’s a lion tamer, a lion tamer…” The song trailed off as his eyes held mine. And then shyly but firmly, he kissed me.
All I can say about that is, what seemed like ages later, I heard Jenah shout, “Woo hoo!” Reddening, we broke apart—but she was looking at the night sky, not at us.
Swooping in aerials, showing off their invisible tops and their sky-blue bellies, three dragons soared overhead.
17
Witch Girl
Blue Crush rocked.
At least, what I heard of them from outside did. The dance picked back up and Blue Crush took the stage. But I had to say a tearful farewell to an invisible-and-sky-blue dragon.
Jenah and I hugged her hard.
“She says she won’t forget you,” Jenah said. “She says she’ll come back.”
“I know,” I said. Through the warmth of her hide I saw her images one last time. A picture of the three female dragons, soaring together over a long stretch of snow and ice. “Watch out for polar bears,” I said.
“Tasty polar bears,” said Jenah.
Behind Moonfire I saw the witch stalking up, heels grinding the dirt.
“You’d better go,” I said to the dragon.
Jenah saw the approaching witch. “I’d better, too,” she said, and she laid her hand on the dragon’s hide one last time. “Take care.”
The dragons lifted from the ground, the down-rush of wings hefting us backward. Even Sarmine stopped as the dragons rose into the night sky, translucent and winking in and out against the stars.
I kept my eyes focused on the disappearing Moonfire and pretended not to notice the witch. Of course Sarmine would never take a hint.
“No phoenix, no phoenix-burst, and Hikari back in town,” said Sarmine. “All my plans destroyed. But by far, I’m the most upset about losing my dragon. That was my main source of elemental power. Was I hurting her to take her tears?”
Be firm. “It’s not about that,” I said, watching the stars blink. “She needed a chance to have her own life. She’s not a pet.”
“Well,” said Sarmine. “I think it needs punishment. A grand punishment. I say three days in the dragon’s garage with loss of sight and hearing. Smell, you can keep.” She grabbed things from her fanny pack, crushed them in her palm, and dipped her metal wand into it.
But as she flicked her wand at me, I dipped my wooden wand into a certain sticky pear mixture and flicked back, hard.
I didn’t expect her to explode like the eggplant and she didn’t. But she recoiled as if she’d been punched.
Sarmine looked up at me. A strange glimmer was in her eyes.
“That era is over,” I said, eye to eye. I don’t think I’d realized we were the same height until just that minute. “You can’t do those things to me anymore.” I raised my wand as I spoke. “No more mosquito bites. No more cooked-noodle hands. No more rabid pumpkin vines.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes,” I said. I itched to tackle her as I had Sparkle, but I stayed calm. “And while we’re on the subject, why? Why did you do all those horrible things?”
The witch steepled her fingers. “Horrible punishments are the established method for rearing young witches.”
“Parents used to spank kids with tree branches, but that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” I said.
Was that glimmer … pride? There was something twinkling behind her stern face. But Sarmine never smiled, and she wasn’t going to start now. “Witch parents want their children to use and create antidotes. The real world is dangerous. We don’t want you to be wounded—or worse—the first time another witch attacks you.” Sarmine tapped her chin. “I gave you spells to learn. I’ve left my study door open for years, hoping you’d sneak in and find your dad’s wand.” She pointed at the wood-and-abalone wand I held. “Again and again I wanted you to react by using magic. But you didn’t, no matter how angry I made you. You channeled all that anger into building up your story for yourself. That magical block you and Sparkle made together. I couldn’t get through that.”