Free A Match of Wits by Jen Turano Page A

a backward glance, followed by Drusilla and Mr. Blackheart. As she ran, terror struck Agatha and brought her stumbling to a stop.
    Zayne’s leg would never be up for the task of carrying him to safety fast enough.
    Mr. Blackheart must have been of the same mind, because he rushed back into the tunnel, ran to Zayne, bent down, flung Zayne over his shoulder, and raced back the way he’d just come.
    Her feet swept into motion, and she pounded after them, breathing a sigh of relief when fresh air hit her and she ran through the entrance of the mine. Her relief was cut short when an explosion split the air, hurting her ears, and then the mountain began to tremble as more and more explosions erupted.
    She lost her balance and pitched forward, unable to stop herself as she tumbled over and over down the steep mountain, barely feeling the rough rocks tearing her clothing and skin. She finally came to a stop and could only lie there as dirt and debris settled over her and the air turned dark with dust.
    The air gradually began clearing around her, and she pushed aside a mound of dirt that was covering her, but before she could sit up, the mountain gave another shudder and more explosions erupted, sending an avalanche of dirt her way. She covered her head and began choking as dirt clogged her airway.
    The trembling seemed to go on forever, and every time she thought it was finished, it began again. Minutes dragged by, and then, the mountain stilled, the dust in the air thinned, and she began to unbury herself.
    How long it took, she couldn’t really say, but as she pushed dirt away, panic settled deep in her bones.
    She needed to find the others—see if they were hurt, or more importantly, alive. Finally managing to free herself, she sat up, frowning when she couldn’t hear a thing. She patted her ears and patted them again before she finally heard what sounded like horses in the distance. Squinting in that direction, she saw three horses racing away, ridden by none other than Mary and her girls.
    “Good riddance,” she said before she stumbled to her feet, looking around for any sign of movement.
    The first thing she saw was Matilda trembling a few feet away from her, bleeding from the snout, not a hint of her pink skin in sight. “It’s all right, darling,” she said softly, moving to squat down beside the pig. “Where are the others?”
    Matilda let out a mournful whine and began walking over to a large pile of dirt, Agatha following a step behind. What met her gaze on the other side of the pile took her completely by surprise.
    Three pairs of outraged eyes peered back at her from blackened faces, the sight causing relief, mixed with a surprising touch of amusement, to rush through her. Only people who weren’t suffering dire injuries would be remotely capable of summoning up that particular amount of outrage.
    Mr. Blackheart coughed and then coughed again. “Where’s Mary?”
    “She’s gone. I saw her riding away with the other two women.”
    “Must’ve thought we were dead,” Drusilla muttered before she began wheezing.
    “We should be dead,” Zayne rasped as he pulled a clump of dirt out of his beard before he scowled at her. “Why, pray tell, did you think it was a good idea to bring that fuse line out to the main entrance?”
    Agatha stiffened. “I didn’t actually think about it, Zayne, and it certainly wasn’t my intention to blow your mine up. It was an accident, but one that brought positive consequences.”
    “Positive consequences?” he thundered. “You destroyed my mine and almost killed all of us in the process. What exactly do you consider positive about that?”
    “We’re still alive, and . . .” She cleared her throat. “Since it seems I did do a rather good job of demolishing your mine— unintentionally, of course—and you mentioned it’s about to snow soon . . .” She brushed dirt from her sleeve and summoned up a smile. “You won’t have enough time to build new tunnels,