Free Magic Time: Angelfire by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff, Marc Zicree Page A

it.
    Damned if you do, damned if you don’t.
    Suddenly, I was pissed again. Who was this guy and where was he taking these people? And why? What did he have to gain by hypnotizing Goldman, or that woman and her little boy, or that girl? The only answer I could think of made me even more pissed: he was a slaver. It was the only thing that made any sense.
    I spent a moment swamped in a hateful, sticky confusion. I had to do something, but I didn’t know what. There were half a dozen people here; I couldn’t exactly run up and knock them all senseless. I had to cut the strings at the source. I pulled my machete, gave a wild-eyed whoop and launched myself at the Pied Piper.
    It was like slamming into an electrically charged rubber wall. Something absorbed my attack, then kicked back like a mule. Fireworks went off behind my eyes. Lights flashed, chased, spun. I was spinning, too—through the air—head over heels over head.
    I slammed upside down and backward into the trunk of an evergreen. Pain—bright, sharp, shattering pain—shot up and down my right side. I roared aloud and waited for a fall that never came. I was stuck to the trunk of that tree like a damned fly in sap; only it wasn’t sap that held me. My legs and feet were tangled in a network of branches, and something held me tight against the trunk.
    Looking up along my right side, I bit back a whimper. A broken limb had pierced that side of my jacket from the back and gone through the sweater and camisole underneath, knitting fabric to flesh. The shattered point stuck out through the jacket just above my waist, stained with blood.
    Panic galloped from one end of my body to the other. It took me a long, crazy moment to rein it in. I was still breathing, I told myself. I hadn’t punctured a lung. I wasn’t dying; I was just stuck and hurt… and alone in a forest where feral shadows roamed.
    And I was alone. The music was gone. Goldie’s blues guy had blown me six ways from Sunday and strolled off, singing, into the sunset.
    I took a calming breath and tried to figure out which was holding more of my weight—the network of twigs or the broken branch. My money was on the branch.
    I pulled my chin almost to my chest, trying to see. Pain flared, making the sparks of light behind my eyes dance and twirl. I reached up and felt along the branch stub. Maybe I could somehow wriggle out of my jacket and get free. Tilting my head back, I peered at the ground. It was a lot farther than I’d hoped. Okay, maybe I could just fall a dozen feet onto my head and break my neck.
    I looked back up at the limbs and branches at my feet, hoping to see something sturdy. There was nothing within reach that would hold my weight.
    I jerked my left leg. It came free in a shower of pine needles. The world tilted dangerously and my side screamed.
    Whatever I did, I had to do it fast, before I passed out. I closed my eyes, took as deep a breath as I could, and grabbed the stub with both hands. I’d count to three, then I’d try to get my other leg free.
    “Don’t move.” Strong hands gripped my shoulders.
    I felt weak enough to weep. “Damn it, Goldman. I thought you’d gone south.”
    “West, actually, but no. I heard you screaming.”
    “I didn’t scream. Not out loud, at least.”
    “Really? Well, then you have very loud angst.”
    I opened my eyes and looked down toward the ground.
    He was looking up at me through those strange redwood eyes, his hands still on my shoulders.
    “I’m going to climb up onto the branch behind you there.” He pointed up toward my feet. “Then I’m going to grab your legs. I want you to try to ease yourself off that … snag. Don’t worry about falling. I won’t let you fall. I promise.”
    I hated that I felt reassured. “Shit, Goldman, don’t be maudlin. Can you even climb a tree?”
    “Never tried. But I figure if I can climb a steam pipe, I can climb a pine. Hold on,” he added, and disappeared from my line of sight.
    There was some