Mortal (10 page)

Kara avoided his eyes. "I don’t think
all of what she said was lies. Part of me believes her. I see how
the other GAs look at me. I’m not blind. I know most of them want
me gone."

"We want you with us."

David reached out to take Kara’s hand,
and she flinched at the sting of current from his touch. "You,
Jenny, Peter and me—we’re a team. You’re one of us."

"No, I’m not—I’m different. I’ll never
be like you." Kara turned away from David, but not before she saw
the pain in his face.

Kara didn’t utter a single word during
the twenty-minute cab drive to Boscastle village. She sat in the
back seat of the dark blue minivan, glaring at her reflection in
the window, angry with herself for looking like such a fool in
front of Ashley and her entourage. The nosebleed didn’t help—but
worse was how David was watching her now—like she was about to have
a major breakdown at any minute. No one tried to speak to her, and
she was very glad, for fear that she might actually have a
meltdown.

The drive passed like a blur, and the
next thing Kara knew, the minivan had stopped. David paid the
driver and everyone climbed out of the car.

They stood in a large parking area
overlooking a quaint village with houses painted in every color of
the rainbow. The village of Boscastle lay at the foot of three
great valleys. To the south, in a deep cleft on the coast, where
two deep and steep valleys met the sea, was the harbor. It wended
through the valley in the shape of a Z on its way to join the sea.
Picturesque boats bobbed on the sheltered water, and a few
villagers strolled the streets. A young couple held a map and
pointed to one of the houses. Other than that, the village was
nearly empty.

Kara’s long ponytail flapped in the
cool wind, and she was glad of her goose-down coat. Her breath came
out in spirals of white steam. The distant smell of fish and
seaweed drifted off the ocean.

Jenny pulled her bow from the trunk
and swung it over her shoulder. She caught Kara staring. "I know
Ariel said our weapons would be useless. I could have been more
incognito with just a blade—but I feel naked without my bow, like
something’s missing. I feel safe and complete with it. And by that
look in your eye—you think I’m as crazy as my hair, don’t
you?"

Kara smiled and shook her head. "Of
course not, I know exactly what you mean. And I love your
hair."

Kara felt so unprotected without her
M-suit. It was like she had jumped into the deepest part of a pool
without knowing how to swim. And she was sinking to the
bottom.

David smacked his hands together.
"Okay, ladies and gents—now that we’re here, how about we ask
around for the whereabouts of the old bag. I’m sure someone knows
where she’s hiding."

The early morning sun warmed Kara’s
face although snow topped the roofs and sprinkled the streets of
the little village. Merchants were opening their shops for the day,
putting out signs and shoveling the snow from the front doors. A
man in his sixties with white hair and trimmed beard was doing some
repairs on the nearest cottage. His long green coat flapped in the
wind.

"Come on, let’s ask him." Kara hurried
forward towards the man, the others following at her
heels.

The old man looked up as they
approached. His weather beaten face broke into a wide grin.
"Visitors, eh? What can I do for you on this cold morning? Can I
offer you some breakfast?"

Kara smiled. "No thank you. Uh...we
were wondering if you..." she faltered. She knew how crazy it was
going to sound asking about a witch, but she had to try. She said,
"Could tell us where the witch Olga lives?"

The old man’s smile disappeared, and
he blanched. He eyed Jenny’s bow suspiciously and frowned. "I don’t
know no witch. I don’t know where you tourists get your crazy
ideas. Leave me alone."

He turned, headed quickly
back inside his cottage, and slammed the door shut with a
bang
.

"Nice," said David as he laughed. "I
was looking forward to some breakfast. Nothing like fat juicy
sausages, bacon, and pancakes to start the day. Man, those were the
days..."

"Did you see how scared he was when
you mentioned the witch’s name?" said Jenny. She glanced back at
the old man’s cottage. "It’s like he froze up or
something."

"Yeah, he totally spazed," agreed
Peter, and he examined the street. "At least we know we’re in the
right place—we should definitely try someone else."

Kara sighed and looked
across the street. A young woman in her twenties was adjusting
Christmas lights and red Christmas bows around a small shop’s bay
window. She wore a tomato-red coat, and her silky raven hair
fluttered in the wind. The words,
Margaret’s Marvels
, were etched in
red on the glass.

"Well, maybe this lady knows." Kara
jogged across the street towards the shop.

"Excuse me," said Kara with the best
smile she could muster. "We’re looking for a woman named Olga." She
figured she would leave the witch part out this time. "Do you know
where she lives? We really need to speak to her—it’s
important."

But it was no use. The
woman’s eyes widened and she ran back inside her shop and flipped
the sign to
CLOSED.

"What did you do to her?" David ran to
Kara’s side, a wide grin spread on his face. "The last time a girl
ran away from me like that was because I—"

Kara shoved David. "Spare us the
details, lover boy. We need to find the old witch. Someone’s got to
help us. Someone has to know where she lives!" She threw up her
hands.

"Well, I don’t think the villagers are
going to help. Look." Peter cocked his head towards the street.
Kara saw frightened faces behind the windows. They shut the blinds
and pulled the curtains shut all along the street. The villagers
were shutting them out.

"I’m guessing they don’t like the
witch," said Jenny.

"Maybe she tried to eat their
children," offered David innocently. "Have you thought about that?
Maybe that’s what the witches do here—kid-stew."

"Peter, you wouldn’t happen to have a
witch-GPS on you?" Kara was desperate.

Peter shrugged. "No, sorry. I wish I
did though—it’ll take all day to try and look for her on our own.
She could be anywhere, and we don’t have much time."

"You don’t have to remind me." Kara’s
nerves were shot, and what was worse, her head started to throb
again. The ground shifted, and she fought a sudden dizzy spell.
They were getting worse. She focused on finding the
witch.

When Ariel had said the villagers
would know where to look for the witch, she hadn’t anticipated this
kind of hostility. Kara looked beyond the village. A vast cliff
stood at the edge of the village. She could just make out a small
path leading into it.

David danced on the spot and looked
pleased with himself. "Our luck has changed, mates."

He pointed to a dingy old
pub nestled between two cottages. "There’s nothing that can quench
a thirst, like a chilled lager on a cold day. My prayers have been
answered—and it’s a
pub
." He started to walk, but Kara pulled him back.

"You’re underage, dummy. You can’t
just walk in there."

"Guys! Look!" said Peter,
pointing.

Next to David’s pub was a
small shop made of grey stone with black shutters. A small black
sign with white painted letters read,
Feats or Tricks, Witchcraft Depot.

David whistled loudly.
"Well, if
they
can’t help us find the witch Olga, then I’m a friggin’
monkey."

Kara couldn’t believe their luck.
There was only one way to find out if they were right.

"Come on." Forgetting the pounding
pain in her head, she sprinted to the large black door with peeling
paint. A witch’s mask was carved out of the door. The handle
sprouted out of the witch’s mouth like a warped tongue. Kara
grabbed the cool handle and pushed in.

A wind chime rang as the door swung
open. The air was hot with the smell of incense. Kara’s throat
burned right away and she began to cough again.

"Whoa...would you look at this place."
David’s jaw dropped. "It’s awesome. I feel like we’ve just stepped
in a haunted fun house."

Kara wiped the water from her eyes and
looked around.

The tiny shop was cluttered with
witchcraft merchandise. Hundreds of cauldrons were stacked on top
of each other and grazed the ceiling in topsy-turvy columns. Dolls
with red eyes made of straw, pitchforks, brooms of every size and
color of straw, medallions, necklaces, crystal balls, and even
sharp daggers carved like claws filled the counters and shelves.
The soft yellow light that lit the store came from scores of
candles that hung from the walls on iron sconces in the shape of
eyes. Incense burned in a burner in the shape of a horned god. A
large medallion with a spiral symbol etched into the metal hung
from a nail on the sidewall.

Kara suddenly felt eyes on the back of
her head. She turned sideways. Three black cats lay lazily across a
counter on the far left of the shop. Their smooth ebony fur
glistened in the soft light like liquid tar. They watched Kara with
yellow eyes. Something brushed her ankles—another black cat swerved
between her legs. With its tail in the air, it walked calmly away
and disappeared behind stacks of boxes at the back of the
store.

"Oh. My. God. Aren’t they beautiful? I
love cats." Jenny leaned on the counter and reached out her hand
towards one of the cats. The cat bared its teeth and spat at her
aggressively. In a flash, it slashed her with its paw and ripped
the sleeve on her jacket. Jenny cursed loudly and pulled her hand
away.

"Not so pretty anymore, are they?"
David and Peter exchanged a look and started laughing.

Jenny lowered her eyes. She turned to
make sure the boys weren’t looking, and in one swift movement she
pushed the cat off the counter. "Scram. That was my favorite
jacket, fur ball."

Kara laughed. Just then she noticed a
wooden sign hanging next to the counter. The sign read:

Warning to all
thieves:

Take without paying and be
cursed!

It occurred to Kara that
perhaps the owner was a witch. What if this was Olga’s shop? If it
were, she would have a bit more time to convince her. She thought
about how her speech would go.
Hi, I’m a
guardian—please don’t kill us.

"Hey guys, come check this out,"
called David from the back of the store. "You won’t believe
it."

Jenny smiled, and they both walked
over to David and Peter. Their foreheads were pressed against a
large glass wall—their eyes glued to something on the other side.
Kara moved closer for a better look. Behind the glass wall was an
assortment of metal shackles. An engraved metal plate was fastened
to the glass wall. The inscription read:

WD
Number
:
1677
Object
Name
:
Shackle
Classification
:
Persecution/Torture
Information
: Early waist
band used in the torture of witches during the 16th and 17th
centuries

The hairs on the back of
Kara’s neck stood up. "You think those things are real?" She
remembered reading about the torture of witches in the
16
^th
centuries. It made her sick how quickly people back then had
accused women of witchcraft, blaming them for their crops going bad
or the lack of rain. Women were even blamed for the death of
newborns. In the 16th century, Kara would have burned as a
witch.

"They’ve gotta be real,"
said David. "I don’t think they’d be protected behind this glass if
they weren’t. My guess is that they’re
very
real."

Kara swallowed. Maroon stains spotted
the shackles, and her stomach gave a lurch. "Is that—is that
blood?"

Peter lowered his head. "Looks like
it, but it could be just dirt," he added quickly when he noticed
Kara’s face. "Yeah—I’m sure it’s just dirt."

He gave David a worried
look.

Despite the dry, hot shop, Kara
shivered. She stared at the shackles, feeling cold and disgusted.
What kind of witch would put them up for display? Unconsciously,
she fiddled with her leather bracelet and wondered how those cold
shackles would feel against her skin.

"This is seriously sick, if they’re
real," said Jenny, preoccupied with the shackles. "It’s gotta be a
joke, or just a hoax to attract more tourists to this lame
town—"

"I can assure you that this is no
joke," said a raspy voice behind them.

Kara whirled around. Her breath caught
in her throat.

The weirdest thing she had ever seen
stepped from the shadows. Connected at the waist were the ugliest
Siamese twins she had ever seen.