“Stop!” Tulip cried out.
The blond slaver raised his hand. The shots died.
“See? I’ll stop for you. I can be reasonable. You don’t listen to her,” the slaver said. “She’s old and selfish. You have to do what is good for you and your sister. Move the stone, we’ll get our guy, and we go our separate ways. Otherwise, I’ll have to cut off something else. Maybe your sister’s lips or her nose. She’d be disfigured for life.”
Tulip stood, frozen.
“Hold her down,” the slaver said.
They flipped Daisy over on her back. He leaned over her the knife in his hand.
“Don’t!” Éléonore cried out.
Tulip grabbed the ward stone and jerked it aside. The circle of protective magic broke.
Oh, you foolish child. You foolish, foolish child . . .
The large thug next to the scarred man stepped over the useless stone and backhanded Tulip out of the way. She fell on the grass.
A gun barked twice. Éléonore jerked and saw the scarred slaver raise a smoking gun. The back of Daisy’s head was a bloody mess. She wasn’t moving.
Tulip screamed, a high-pitched desperate shriek.
She had to save her. Éléonore gritted her teeth. She was old, but she was still a hedge witch.
The larger slaver moved on to Tulip.
Éléonore hurried, pulling magic to her in a desperate rush.
“Leave it,” the leader said.
I’m so sorry, Rose. I’m so sorry. I just wish we could’ve visited one last time.
“It’s free merchandise.”
“Have you seen her face? You’ve got to think before you act, Kosom. Who’s gonna buy her with that face? You can f**k her once, if you put a sheet over her head, but nobody’s going to purchase that. The buyers don’t want ugly women. You have got to develop some business sense. Go kill the old lady on the porch and drag the Hunter out of this damned house.”
Tulip sat up, her eyes wide.
The last strand of magic wound itself about Éléonore. It was all she could hold.
The big thug pointed his gun at Tulip’s face.
Éléonore let go. The magic shot across the lawn, sticking to the thug with the gun and splashing to the other three men near him, surrounding them like a swarm of dark bats.
“Run!” Éléonore screamed. “Run, Tulip!”
Tulip scrambled backward, rolled to her feet, and dashed across the road into the woods.
The four thugs fell, contorted by spasms, but the leader and more than two-thirds of the slavers remained standing. Her magic had fallen too short.
The leader with the pale hair ran up onto the porch. “You old whore.”
She got away. At least the child got away.
The slaver pulled a gun from a holster. “You f**king bitch.”
Éléonore glared at him. She would die here, on this porch, but she would take him with her. Éléonore spat blood from her mouth and spoke the words, binding the last of her power into them, drawing on the very magic that anchored her to life. There was no cure from a death curse. “I curse you. You won’t see the sunset . . .”
“Fuck you.” He raised his gun. The black barrel stared at her.
In her mind she was hugging the boys, George on her right and Jack on her left. Flowers bloomed all around them, and Rose was waving at her from across a sunlit garden. “. . . And you’ll suffer before you die.”
The last words left her mouth, taking her life with it. The world vanished.
* * *
CHARLOTTE checked the dashboard clock. Fifteen minutes past noon. She had been gone for close to an hour. The makeshift militia left the Rooneys’ ten minutes after she made her stand. Three trucks filled with armed people traveled in front of her, and on the sides, half a dozen Edgers rode on horses.
It was taking too long. Please, Dawn Mother. Please don’t let it be too late.
The leading truck sped up. So did the next two. She frowned.
In the truck bed in front of her people were looking up and to the right. Charlotte bent forward, trying to get a better view through the windshield.
A column of black greasy smoke rose above the treetops.
Oh no.
She laid on her horn.
The trucks hurried up the road. Charlotte clenched the wheel. Come on. Come on!
The trees parted.
A torrent of fire devoured the house. Orange-and-red flames billowed out of the roof, blackened support beams thrusting out like bones of a skeleton. Fire filled the doorway, boiling within the house, winding about the porch posts, and belching smoke. The orange flames surged through the windows, licking the siding.
Charlotte jerked the truck into park, shoved the door open, and ran across the lawn. The heat slammed into her, pushing her back, and she jerked her hand up, trying to shield her eyes from the worst of it. Ash swirled around her.
Corpses sprawled on the grass, four armed men, their bodies contorted, their faces grotesque masks. Her skin crawled. Suddenly, she was both hot and cold.
A high-pitched mewling sound made her turn. At the edge of the lawn, Daisy’s body lay on her stomach. A wet red hole gaped in her head. Tulip slumped by the body.
Charlotte’s magic burst out of her, sliding over the girls, checking . . . Tulip was unhurt. Minor bruising on the face but no major injuries. Daisy was dead. Irreparably, irreversibly dead. Not a hint of life remained.
Cold shot through her. She wasn’t fast enough. They called her for help, and she wasn’t fast enough.