Free The Fire Chronicle by John Stephens Page B

looked at her, making no attempt to hide her surprise.
    “That’s not a request I get every day. And why would you want that?”
    “It’s … where I’m from. I came here by accident.”
    The woman sat in the other armchair. The booth was small enough that she and Kate were knee to knee. Her eyes were deep blue and gentle.
    “My dear, I think you’d better tell me what happened.”
    Kate dropped her gaze to the untouched tea. “It’s complicated. I can’t … tell you everything. But the magic that brought me here, some of it’s still in me. You can use it to send me home. Someone did it before. She …”
    “What’s wrong, child?”
    The stall was becoming uncomfortably hot. Kate felt herself sweating.
    “Nothing. I’m fine. Can you help me?”
    “Well, I won’t pretend I’m the greatest witch in the world.But there’s certainly magic in you. I sensed it the moment you walked in.”
    “So you’ll send me back?”
    Kate hated how desperate she sounded. And the fact was, something was wrong. Her vision had begun to blur. The woman’s face swam before her.
    “Are you sure you’re feeling well? Let me have that before you drop it.”
    The mug was taken from her hand. Kate started to rise. She needed to get out. She needed cold air to clear her head.
    “Where are you going, child?”
    “I just … I need …”
    And then she pitched forward into darkness.
    When she woke, she heard voices and, for a moment, thought she was back in the rooftop shed and that the voices belonged to Jake and Beetles. But these weren’t boys’ voices. They were harsh and guttural, and spoke as if the very act of making words was foreign and unnatural. Then she heard the witch’s voice.
    “You’re not cheating me out of this one. She’s special.”
    Kate opened her eyes. She was lying on the ground, her cheek resting on one of the rugs. There was a cloud inside her head. The witch had drugged her. Something in the tea fumes. How long had she been unconscious? Past the iron legs of the stove, she made out two pairs of muddy boots.
    “We never paid no hundred dollars. You know that.”
    The voice sounded like a wild animal that had been taught to speak. Every word was a growl. Kate had to get away. Praying that no one was watching, she began to inch toward the door.
    “I’m telling you,” the witch said, “this one has magic in her. Deep magic. More powerful than any I’ve ever seen. He’ll want her. Believe me; he’ll want her.”
    “Seventy dollars.”
    “A hundred. And if he thinks she’s not worth it, I’ll return the money.”
    “People are saying crazy things now,” snapped the harsh voice. “Everyone’s trying to get what they can before the Separation.”
    “This is nothing like that. A hundred dollars is fair.”
    “Fine. But if he ain’t happy, we’ll be back.”
    Kate knew she was out of time; she would have to make a dash. She tried to push herself up, but her arms gave way. She was too weak. Too weak to run, too weak to fight. Then leathery, sharp-nailed hands were grasping her under the shoulders and heaving her to her feet. Kate saw the witch counting a wad of money.
    “Please …”
    The witch smiled, her eyes as gentle as ever. “You should’ve just asked for a love potion, child.”
    Kate was dragged out the back of the tent and onto a crowded sidewalk. To her dismay, the cold air did nothing to clear the fog in her head, and she struggled to catch the attention of the people walking by.
    “Please … help me.…”
    “Quiet,” growled one of her captors. “No one cares.”
    And so it seemed. For as they yanked her stumbling along the sidewalk, passing eyes would glance up, see what was happening,and quickly turn away. Kate could hardly blame them. She’d now had a chance to see her kidnappers. In some respects, they looked like short, thick-bodied men, dressed in dark suits and overcoats, their round hats pulled low. But these were not men. Their skin was like the