Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set (16 page)

For some reason, the memory from my third field trip with Mr. Jackson pops into my head. When the Hallucinators killed the boy and his mom.

I blink and Laney’s staring at me, but not at my eyes. Lower. I follow her gaze to my stomach, where I’ve lifted my shirt to reveal a long jagged scar, a white line against my dark skin. My fingers are running along its raised edges.

“Where’d you get that?” she asks.

I ignore her question, say, “I have to try to save them. Whoever they are.”

“Fine,” Laney says. “But if you’re not back in an hour, we’re leaving without you.”

“Do what you have to do,” I say, already turning away. “Hex, stay here with them,” I command.

I’m already a half mile down the road when I realize Hex is just behind me, his head lowered to the ground as if I won’t be able to see him if he can’t see me. I smile because, of course, he wouldn’t listen to me. And the truth is, I’m glad.

T
he screams are coming from the white-siding house, taking shape as I get closer.

“No! Leave them alone! Do whatever you want with me, but let them go!” a woman’s voice pleads frantically.

“Where’s the fun in that?” a sharper woman’s voice says, amusement in her tone.

The wail of a child pierces the silence in between the mother’s shouts.

Hex looks up at me. Is he frowning? If he is, he’s only mirroring my expression.

I have a pretty good guess as to what is traumatizing the people inside the house. Witches. Likely having a bit of fun before finishing the job. A chance for me to stop them?

I leap over a chain link fence and dart to the side of the house, keeping low.

“Please! Please…” The mother’s voice is losing strength, her children’s sobs reduced to muted whimpers. I have to hurry or there’ll be no one left to save.

There’s an open window on my left. Hex paws at my leg, his expression intense, as if to say,
Let’s do this.

A new voice carries through the window, a deep grumble. A warl. “Slow down! We need the blood while they’re still alive!”

“Maybe I’ll just take yours instead,” the witch fires back.

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Children, behave or I’ll kill you both.” A third voice, like thunder. Another warl, his tone commanding attention and obedience. By the sound of it, the leader of the gang that’s terrorizing the people inside.

“Buzzkill,” the witch mutters, but she doesn’t argue further.

I pop up and sneak a glance through a thin white curtain that’s blowing in the breeze. When I duck back, the image remains in my head. A woman on the floor, cheeks streaked and glistening with tears, held down by a gargantuan warl, skin like night. Two children, strung up, held over some sort of a basin. A witch and another warl standing near them, fiddling with some sort of contraption attached to their skin. Red tubes running from them to the basin. And I know:

The tubes are only red because they’re filled with the children’s blood.

A flood of anger and fear gushes through my veins. I can’t bear to see another child die. But Mr. Jackson’s words after the incident with the Hallucinators freezes me in place:

Do you see why you can’t save them all? Do you see? If you die, then they all die. If you live, then maybe some will live. You have to choose your battles wisely, when victory is guaranteed.

Would Mr. Jackson advise me to attack two warls and a witch to save a mother and her two children? I know the answer is no, that he’d liken this to the Asian woman and her son. Do I care what Mr. Jackson would think? It’s not his battle anymore.

My decision. And I say these people need my help.

I raise a finger in the air, then a second, glancing back to make sure Hex is paying attention, that he’s ready to spring into action when I raise my third finger.

A shadow looms, its dark fingers clamping over my mouth…

A pungent, chemically smell fills my nostrils and the world begins to blur, to spin like an amusement park ride. And all I see before everything goes dark are pink lips outlined in black, shoved out between coils of ebony fabric.

The world fades to nothing.

~~~

Beth nestles into my side, clutching at me like I’m a warm blanket.

She tilts her head and her lips part, ever so slightly. I dip my chin and close my eyes.

Her mouth is soft and moist, and moves against mine. Our teeth clack off each other once, awkwardly, but we don’t stop, not until we’re out of breath and laughing, and when my eyes flutter open I see the truth…

I gasp, horror filling my chest, twisting my grin into a tortured grimace of revulsion, as bile rises in my throat…

Beth’s lips are covered in blood, smeared in a horrifying clown’s smile. I reach up to touch my own lips and the tips of my fingers come away crimson. As she leans forward for another bloody kiss, I scream—

A hand blankets my mouth, cutting off my scream. “Shut it,” a voice says. “You’ll wake the children.” Her laugh is gleeful and slightly deranged.

As my eyes snap open I want to claw at the hand, rip it away, but my arms won’t move, like they’re frozen. A face appears over me, attached to the muffling hand by a thin, bony arm and pointy shoulder. A witch, with the yellow eyes of a cat, shining in the relative darkness. A thin layer of black fur coats her skin, and the beginnings of white whiskers are poking from just under her smallish round nose.

It was a dream. Just a dream. In reality, my first kiss with Beth was perfect, so perfect, not some terror-filled nightmare.

Blink, blink. Blink, blink. The nightmare hovers just behind my eyes.

“Are we ready to behave?” she asks, her head rotating to the side in question.

I narrow my eyes, but manage a nod.

When she lifts her hand from my mouth, I say, “What are you?” Mr. Jackson’s lessons about the various witch gangs flash through my head like a series of study cards.

“Not a very good witch hunter if you can’t even identify your prey, are yow?” she says, running a pink tongue over her white teeth. “Which makes me wonder…”

“Where are the children?” I say evenly, once more tightening my arms against my bonds. Sharp cords bite into my skin and I realize I’m tied to a table.

Next to me, there’s a muffled whine. I crane my neck to find Hex in a chicken cage, his mouth muzzled. He looks at me with big, apologetic eyes.

And then I realize what she is. A Shifter. Witches who perform spells to change into various animals; in this case, a cat. The transformation is only partially complete. “I’m looking forward to eating yow.”

I suck in a shaky breath. Not what I expected her to say.

Another voice chimes in from somewhere behind me, where I can’t see. “My sweet Flora, you will
not
be eating our prisoner.” The warl I heard earlier, the one who seemed to be the leader. Prisoner? The magic-born I’m used to meeting kill first, take prisoners later. Like the Necros. Only all their prisoners are dead.

Flora hisses at the newcomer and I flinch.

“Prisoner?” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Haven’t you heard?” the warl says, stepping forward so I can see him. He’s tall, but an inch or two shorter than me, with dark eyes and a firm jaw. He’s wearing a tight tee and jeans. As far as I can tell, his body’s not undergoing any changes like Flora’s.

“Heard what?” I say.

“You’re a hot item these days, although I have no clue why. You’re just another witch hunter as far as I’m concerned…”

“What do you mean?” I ask. My heart is pounding, and I’m not sure why.

“You really haven’t heard, have you?” he says, tapping his teeth with his fingernails. “Interesting. Why would the Necros want you?”

“The Necros?” I say, my heart beating even faster.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” he says, but I barely hear him because I’m still thinking about what he said before:
The Necros want you.

When he grabs my chin and squeezes, my attention jerks back to him. “I swear I don’t know,” I say. Unless…but they couldn’t know I’m following them. I’ve been careful, stayed out of sight, kept my distance…

His hand tightens, crushing my cheeks and lips. He leans in closer, his face inches from mine. “We have ways of getting the truth,” he says, releasing his grip slowly.

“I don’t know anything,” I say, looking straight into his eyes.

“Now can we kill him, Ax?” Flora says.

“No,” Ax says, “but we
can
hurt him.”

~~~

I’m sick with my own weakness. I’ve failed again. Failed to save them. Does that prove Mr. Jackson was right to ignore the cries for help from so many innocents?

For once, I don’t feel so sure in saying no.

We’re in some kind of a cellar, lit only by a lone, dusty bulb dangling from a wire. Hex is still in his cage, his chin resting on his paws.

The dead children hang from hooks descending from the ceiling, their skin so white it’s like they’ve been bleached. Their blood has been drained from their innocent little bodies. When Mr. Jackson explained how Shifters perform their spells, I didn’t want to believe it. The key ingredient is fresh blood from living children. A noxious mix of self-loathing and rage swirls through my chest. How could they kill children with such indifferent ease?

Their mother is propped up, her lifeless eyes open, angled as if she’s looking at her children. I thank whatever higher power might be out there that she can’t really see them.

I’m sitting up now, still bound, moved by the strong hands of a gargantuan warl. The one that was arguing with Flora earlier. They’ve been calling him Sledge. Shirtless, his dark skin bulges in all the right places. The beginnings of curving scythe-like horns extend from his forehead. There’s no doubt as to what he’s transforming into: a bull, the kind that tosses cowboys into the air at the rodeo.

A fourth member of their gang, a tall shadowy witch, stands silently in the corner, her face covered in bandages, only her black-lined lips protruding. The one who snuck up on Hex and me. If mysterious was a person, it would be her. So far, she doesn’t seem to be changing into an animal.

Flora prowls between me and the kids, almost fully transformed now. Not a housecat, but a panther, with razor sharp teeth, a lean sinewy body, and all the predatory instincts that come with the territory. She can still speak, but her words are higher pitched and tend to end with a “yow” sound.

“I’m hungry,” she says.

“Eat the kids,” Ax says indifferently, sending waves through my stomach.

“I want
him
,” she says, her tail flicking back and forth as she stares at me.

“He’s off limits,” Ax says.

“Just a lick then. His toes?” I feel a crash of revulsion tremble through me.

“You’re sick, you know that?” Ax says.

“C’mon—just a taste. I have needs,” Flora says, stalking past me, her tail curling around my neck, tickling my skin.

“No,” Ax says.

“Fine,” Flora says, “I’ll take the kids.” I look away as Flora leaps up and cuts the children down. In my peripheral vision I see her drag them into the adjoining room. The awful sound of eating—chewing and smacking and crunching—wafts into my ears until Ax mercifully shuts the door.

“Don’t let her back in,” Ax says to Sledge, who merely grunts in response.

As Sledge moves to block the door, Ax drags a folding chair over and sits across from me. “I don’t like being used,” he says, his face as hard as stone.

“Who does, Boss?” Sledge says. I swear his horns are an inch longer than just a moment ago.

Ax’s eyes roll toward the ceiling in frustration. “If you can’t keep your mouth shut, you can join Flora in the other room,” he says.

“But how will we torture the prisoner if he’s in the other room?” Sledge asks. Wow. This has to be one of the most pathetically stupid gangs of witches I’ve ever come across.

“I meant you, you idiot,” Ax says.

“But how can I guard the door if I’m in the other room?” Sledge asks, scratching his horn.

“Sheiloff,” Ax says, and the freaky tall witch, who’s been as still as a statue up to this point, thrusts her arm in Sledge’s direction. There’s a sound like the cracking of a whip, and Sledge’s mouth is gone. Not gagged or covered by a piece of cloth, just gone, as in not there anymore. From his nose to his iron chin, there’s just dark flesh.

That’s when I realize: The witch Ax called Sheiloff isn’t a witch at all. She’s a wizard. This gets better and better.

Sledge reaches his hands up to touch the spot where his mouth used to be, only his hands are now hooves. He accidentally kicks himself in the face, his eyes flashing with pain. Dropping to all fours, he stares miserably at Ax.

“That’s better,” Ax says. He turns his attention back to me. “If you want to avoid some serious pain, all you have to do is tell me why the Necros want you alive and in their possession.”

“That’s something I’d be interested to know, too,” I say.

His eyes narrow. “Very well. Have it your way. Sheiloff, you’re on!”

The bandaged she-wizard strides forward and places her hands on my forehead. They’re surprisingly warm. I wonder how she can even see me with bandages over her eyes. Maybe she sees from her mouth?

At first nothing happens, and I wonder if perhaps she used up all her magic on removing Sledge’s mouth. Wishful thinking, I know.

It starts slow, the pain. At first, just around my temples, where her fingers are touching. A slight ache, nothing to worry about. But then it spreads, upwards to the crown of my skull, downwards through my cheeks, my spine, my chest, my arms, my legs—everywhere—growing in intensity with each passing second. The aches sprout sharp pains, like needle pricks all over my body. Then daggers, thrust deep: penetrating flesh and bone and organs; ripping at my heart, at my brain, at every last nerve; shredding me inside and out.