Free Now You See It... by Vivian Vande Velde Page B

curled my fingers into a fist, and only the barest edge of the elf's boot grazed the outside edge of my hand.
    The elf leader pointed to another tree that had a little hollow in its trunk. "This'll be slower. Give it time to regret mocking its betters." He bent to pick up a rock from the path.
    "No," the little guy begged. "I already regret my foolishness, kind sirs. Kind
better
sirs. What a stupid thing to do. I'm a stupid, worthless creature. I'm sorry to have inflicted myself on you."
    They didn't heed him. The one shoved him into the hole, and the other jammed the rock in after him.
    "Don't leave me here!" screamed the blue guy, his voice muffled and faint. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"
    The elf leader picked up another rock and used that to hammer the first rock deeper into the tree trunk.
    There was a bloodcurdling scream. Then silence.
    The elf said, "Oops."
    "There was no call for that," Julian hissed at them from between clenched teeth.
    One of the others kicked him in the small of his back.
    Annoying as those blue guys could be, I agreed with Julian. If this elf lived in my world, he'd be the kind of person who swerves his car to hit the raccoon trying to cross the street. I felt my eyes grow hot from the unfairness of bullies.
    They'll do the same, more or less, to Julian,
that damn conscience of mine warned.
    Or to me,
I warned my conscience back.
    I stayed safely where I was while the elves forced Julian down the path. I stayed, even when—for the briefest instant—his gaze rested on where I lay, and he said nothing.
    When I was sure they were gone, I finally allowed myself to stretch out, to lay my head against the coolness of the grass. But I didn't give myself long. No telling if an even worse group of elves would come by.
    I glanced apprehensively at the tree where the unfortunate blue guy had met his end. He had to be dead. Didn't he? My mind played with the idea that he might just be injured. Horribly, shockingly injured. There really wasn't anything I could do.
    Sure,
my conscience jeered at me.
Just like you couldn't do anything for Julian.
    "Oh, shut up," I muttered to myself, thinking the emphasis of actually speaking out loud might help convince me. This might be how those demented street people started: overactive consciences.
    My stomach churning queasily, I set my hand on the rock that was jutting out of the tree trunk. I prepared myself to avert my eyes at the first hint of blood splatter or gore. I yanked the rock out of the tree trunk and squeamishly glanced into the opening. Then a second glance. Then a longer third glance. Then I just went ahead and looked.
    There was nothing in the hole.
    I leaned in closer. There was no opening deeper in the tree that he could have been forced down into. I glanced at the rock, still in my hand.
    The little blue guy was clinging to it. Not injured at all. More like a leprechaun hugging the Blarney stone. He puckered his lips in my direction and gave a noisy kiss. "Thanks, sweetie. That saved me a lot of digging." He held up a teeny-tiny spoon that could absolutely never have made even a dent in wood.
    But that wasn't my first thought. My first thought was:
Eek!
    I dropped the rock.
    Fortunately for him, the blue guy let go, so when the rock landed, it didn't land on him. "Hey!" he complained, standing on the ground, hands on hips accusingly.
    "Sorry," I said. "I thought you were dead."
    "Oh." He threw himself onto his back. "Were you ready to give me mouth-to-mouth?"
    "Yuck," I said. "Absolutely not. Don't be disgusting."
    He flung his arm across his forehead, like a silent screen actress about to swoon. "I'm failing fast!" he proclaimed. "Get those big, luscious lips over here."
    "I do not have big lips," I protested. I couldn't even bring myself to say
luscious.
    "Hey, they're big from where I stand," the blue guy said, even though, technically, he was lying down. He squeezed his eyes shut and pursed his own itty-bitty lips.
    "Nice meeting you," I