Free Bad Luck Girl by Sarah Zettel Page A

the glass. I jumped back.
    Callie!
Her voice rang in my head.
Granddaughter, run! Your father … Help us.…
The reflection shuddered and it twisted.
He’s here. He’s come back
.
    “Mama!” I shouted. The women at the sinks turned to stare, but I didn’t bother about them.
    Mama came out of the stall, questions plain on her face. I didn’t bother about those either. I grabbed her hand and dragged her out of there. “They found us.”

7
Hellhound on My Trail
    Mama caught my elbow up in hers, linking us tight together as we burst out of the powder room. Despite her high-heeled shoes, she broke into a run, and after a couple hobbling steps, I caught her stride. We barged through that train-station crowd, right up to the bench where Jack and Papa were sitting. Jack was white as a ghost, but Papa was on his feet, filled with a desperate energy. It was all but crackling out of the ends of his fingers.
    “Something’s happening,” said Papa to me. “Something’s gone wrong.”
    I nodded and Jack cussed hard. “I’ll go find out what platform the train’s leaving from.” He put on his hardened hobo-kid face as fast as Mama pulled on her manners and shouldered his way toward the ticket windows.
    “Where are you?” I moved close to my parents, trying tosee in every direction at once. “Come on, I know you’re here.”
    But it seemed like everybody was holding a paper in front of them. Either that or they had their hats pulled down. I couldn’t get a good look at anybody, and I couldn’t feel anything clearly because I was buried by my own fear.
    “Uh-oh,” breathed Papa. I whipped around and saw what he was looking at. Jack had made it up to a ticket window. He was waving his hands at a man in a blue coat and black cap. In response, the man shook his head.
    I slid my elbow out of Mama’s grip and pushed her toward Papa. I didn’t wait to hear what either of them had to say about it. I just ducked into the stream of people and threaded my way toward Jack.
    “Sorry, sonny, but there’s nothing I can do.” The uniformed man was handing our tickets to Jack when I got there. He was a white man with a blotchy red face and a brass badge that read PAULSON .
    “Is something wrong?” I asked, trying to sound all worried and little-girlish. It didn’t take much pretending.
    “Oh, there you are, sis.” Jack’s voice strained at the edges, and he rubbed the corner of one eye. My mouth went dry. “Seems there’s a misunderstanding about the tickets.”
    Mr. Paulson pushed his cap back and sighed. I eased my magic open another notch. Enchantment lay like a bandage over the ticket man’s eyes. Jack met my gaze and nodded. He saw it too.
    “Like I was telling this young man, these ain’t for theLimited.” Mr. Paulson handed Jack the tickets, long strips of paper that we’d already had punched four or five different times as we crossed the state lines. His wrinkly forehead was shiny with sweat and I could feel him wishing for a drink from the bottle back in his desk. “These are for the Union Pacific. I’m sorry, sonny, you’re a”—he consulted his pocket watch—“half hour late on this.”
    Anger can clear your brain faster than any other feeling. Someone didn’t want us to make that train. Someone wanted to trap us here. I yanked the tickets out of Mr. Paulson’s hands.
    “Oh, Jack! Silly! You’ve got the wrong ones!” I dug into my handbag. Inside myself, I pictured that bandage lifting off Mr. Paulson’s eyes. I thought hard toward him that the sooner he saw what I needed him to see, the sooner he’d get that drink he wanted. Then I handed him back those same tickets he’d gotten from Jack.
    Mr. Paulson looked at them again, but this time he was all smiles. “Ah, there now. These are the Limited tickets. Trust a little lady to have it all organized.” He beamed at me. “Platform twenty-six, but you’d better hurry now. Train’s leaving in”—he looked at his watch again—“twenty