“Yes,” said Max, stepping between Rasmussen and his father. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Wait here,” replied the man, casting a long glance at Nick. “Someone will come for you. Now I must go. Give me the lymrill.”
Max retreated a step as the man approached; Nick squirmed in Max’s arms, and his quills stiffened.
“Don’t touch him,” warned Max.
“You’re in no position to argue,” muttered Rasmussen distractedly, extending a gloved hand.
Nick writhed; moonlight flashed on his claws, and Rasmussen cursed as blood spattered onto the grass. Rasmussen clutched an arm that had been slashed from wrist to elbow.
“Stupid animal!” hissed Rasmussen. He fumbled in his coat pocket for a slim device that hummed as he waved it over the wound. The flow of blood promptly stopped.
“It’s not his fault,” whispered Max. “Don’t hurt him.”
Dr. Rasmussen’s features contorted briefly into a taut scowl. Slowly, he regained his composure while the wound on his forearm knitted itself whole like a closing zipper. He drew himself up and gave Nick a loathing glance.
“Don’t wander off,” he said icily, backing slowly out of the cemetery and slipping around the church. Max heard the car door close, followed by the low purr of its engine receding into the night. They were alone.
“Dad,” said Max, turning at once. “Stand right next to that thing!”
Mr. McDaniels did as he was told, cradling a hand against his belly as he slumped against the gravestone. Max handed Nick to David and hurried over to his father.
“It’s going to be okay,” said Max soothingly, mopping away the beads of sweat that dotted his father’s forehead. “We’ll figure out how to get that thing out of you.”
Mr. McDaniels groaned and squeezed Max’s hand.
“Poor Nigel,” muttered David, stroking Nick and setting him down onto the ground, where he curled into a ball and nibbled his tail.
Max tried to ignore David; it was all too overwhelming, and he could not focus on anything but the issue at hand. David sniffled and leaned close to inspect the slim, circular device resting on the gravestone.
“Don’t touch it,” hissed Max, shooing David away.
“I won’t,” said David. “But—”
A snapping twig cut David short.
Max whirled to stare at the stand of birch trees just beyond the cemetery’s low fence. Something peeped from behind a tree and shuffled back deeper into the wood.
“David, stay with my dad,” breathed Max, easing his father behind the shelter of the gravestone. He straightened and began walking slowly toward the trees.
“Who’s there?” he called, scanning the trees for movement.
Nothing answered.
Max reached the fence and peered into the darkness; he locked onto a pair of startled blinking eyes. Quick as a flash, Max hopped the fence and darted into the forest to tackle the bulky figure, which shrieked and collapsed beneath him.
“Don’t hurt me!” squealed a familiar voice.
Max rolled the figure over and squinted at the creature squirming helplessly beneath him.
It was Mum.
“What are you doing here?” breathed Max, helping the roly-poly hag to her feet. Mum brushed several leaves out of her hair and plucked a crushed wicker basket from the ground.
“I wanted to know what you were doing,” she sniffed, flinging the ruined basket into a bush. “I smelled you, your yummy father, and that awful thing sneaking off with that mean man. Mum wanted to see what was so secret.”
Max stooped to Mum’s height.
“Does anyone else know that you’re here?” he asked, taking hold of her shoulders.
“The gate guards,” she muttered hesitantly, “but they think I’m out collecting mushrooms.”
“Do you usually leave Rowan to collect mushrooms?” asked Max in a panic.
“Not just for mushrooms,” she explained, examining her fingernails. “I also like to hide and sniff the tourists. Every year they’re a little fatter, you know. . . .”
Max groaned and released her.
“Mum, go back home and keep this to yourself,” he sighed, walking back toward the cemetery. “Promise me.”
“I will not!” cried the hag, hurrying after. “I saw that you’ve got packs. You’re going on a camping trip, and Mum’s coming, too!”
Max ignored her, casually hopping the fence. Mum grunted and threw herself over, rolling like a barrel over the top and spilling with a crash into a clump of weeds.
“Who is that?” asked David, peering from around the gravestone.
“It’s me, you hideous awful thing,” hissed Mum, falling in step behind Max, who ignored her. “I need a vacation and I’m coming on your camping trip.”
“We’re not going on a camping trip,” Max stated firmly.
“Oh no?” asked Mum, toeing David’s pack with her blocky shoe. “Then what are you doing?”
“We don’t know,” replied Max angrily. “We’re supposed to wait here and we can’t leave or my dad will get hurt. And since when do you take vacations?”
Mum paused a moment. Her beady eyes began to fill with tears.
“I never needed a vacation,” she said in a trembling voice, “but she’s made a shambles of my life!”
Mum began to cry, great quivering sobs that soon escalated into outright bawling. She flung herself across Scott McDaniels’s mountainous form, burying her wet snout in his chest.
“Who’s made a shambles of your life?” croaked Mr. McDaniels, straining weakly to lift his head away from the greasy topknot that now tickled his nose.
“Bellagrog!” shrieked the hag, scratching at her tear-streaked cheeks. “She’s ruined everything!” The hag sobbed again and practically tunneled into Mr. McDaniels, burying her face in his armpit.
“Have you tried to talk to her?” asked David.
“Talk?” asked Mum, lifting her head and swiveling her eye around to look at David. “You can’t talk to Bellagrog—she don’t listen. And you can’t get rid of her, neither! Sniffs out all my little traps and poisons, she does!”
“Mum, you tried to poison your sister?” asked Max incredulously.
“They were very humane poisons,” replied Mum with an indignant sniff. “With her out of the way, things could return to normal. Just Bob and me and your pa, happy as clams, and no more ‘Let’s make Bea a laughingstock’!”
Mum dissolved into more quivering sobs, punctuated by a sudden explosion of flatulence.
“Dear Lord,” wheezed Mr. McDaniels, trying to loosen her grip upon him.
“Hmmm,” said Mum, sniffing the air with interest. “I might need to duck in the woods for a bitsy.”
“You do that,” said Max, peeling the hag off his father, careful not to upset the detonation device Dr. Rasmussen had left behind. Once Mum had waddled off out of earshot, Max leaned close to David and his father.
“We have to get rid of her,” he whispered. “She could put you in danger, Dad.”
Mr. McDaniels nodded.
“I feel bad for her,” said David decisively.
“Get over it,” said a man’s voice.
Max whirled at the sound; Cooper was standing next to the church, dressed all in black with a heavy pack on his back. Next to him stood Miss Boon, wrapped in a dark shawl. The two approached cautiously, glancing periodically in the direction of the road.
“What are you doing here?” asked Max, flushing with a strange mix of shock and relief.
“Rescuing you,” replied Miss Boon dryly. She knelt down to examine Rasmussen’s device.
“Don’t touch that,” said Max. “It’s—”
“I know what it is,” said Miss Boon, “and your father will be just fine.”
Before Max could say another word, Miss Boon depressed the device’s glowing display, which then faded to black. Mr. McDaniels heaved a sigh of relief.
“Is it over?” he asked. “Or can this thing in me
still go off?”
Cooper knelt over Mr. McDaniels.
“You only swallowed a casing,” explained the Agent quietly. “Its core was hollow. It’ll stay in you, but it’s harmless.”
“But what about Nigel?” asked Mr. McDaniels with visible relief on his face.
“Nigel’s fine,” replied Miss Boon with a small smile. “Unconscious and probably in for a headache, but nothing more.”
“What was Rasmussen doing, then?” asked Max, hoisting Nick into his arms.
“Kidnapping you,” replied Cooper.
“Ah,” said David, rubbing his arms. “Brilliant.”
“What’s so brilliant?” croaked Mr. McDaniels.
“Rasmussen isn’t associated with Rowan,” said David, an admiring glint in his eye. “If he took us off Rowan’s campus against our will, then Richter can’t be held responsible for violating the terms of Bram’s Oath. It’s a clever way of avoiding the curse.”
“So we hope,” confirmed Miss Boon, crossing her fingers.
Just then, a hideous scream sounded in the distance, sending a primal chill down Max’s spine. The cry trailed off into a note of despair. With a shriek, Mum came fleeing out of the woods, hoisting her bloomers up under her flowered dress.
“What’s that terrible noise?” she cried, her eyes white and round with terror.
“The witches,” replied Cooper quietly, tightening the straps of his pack. “They know Max and David are gone. Wait here till daylight, Mum. Then find your way back to campus.”
“I’m not staying out here with witches about!” protested Mum. “I’m coming with you or I’ll tell everyone what you’ve done!”
The hag crossed her meaty arms while Cooper paused to consider her.
“We don’t have time for this,” concluded the Agent in a flat voice. The shift in Cooper’s tone alarmed Max. Clearly, the Agent had concluded that Mum was an obstacle to the success of his mission; obstacles were to be removed with brutal efficiency. The hag gave a stubborn snort, apparently oblivious to her danger.
“She’s coming with us,” said Max quickly, putting himself between Cooper and the hag.
“That’s right,” said Mum with a snort. “I’m camping, too!”
“This is no camping trip,” spat Cooper, glancing at Max. “This is a DarkMatter operation.”
“Ooh!” said Mum excitedly, clapping her hands. “Even better!”
Just then, a bird cawed loudly above them. Max’s head swiveled up and he gasped.
Perched on the church’s pitched roof were hundreds of black crows, crowded together in row upon row of glittering eyes and sharp, steely beaks. Their heads bobbed and their talons clacked as more birds arrived to join them.
“Max and David, get your packs,” whispered Miss Boon. “Quickly now.”
Max did as he was told, keeping his attention riveted on the birds while Cooper helped his father to his feet. One of the birds hopped to the edge of the roof and cocked its head inquisitively at them. Max winced as it began to caw. Moments later, others began to join in, by twos and threes, until their shrill voices split the night in a frantic chorus.
A cold wind bent the trees low. Max froze as another bloodcurdling scream sounded from the direction of Rowan.
The witches were coming.
6
THE ERASMUS
“Isatu!” hissed Cooper, and flames erupted from the church roof. The crows were swallowed up in shimmering waves of light and heat that rose high into the night. Several of the birds managed to escape, flapping frantically away while the others burned in a squawking pyre of crisped flesh and singed feathers. The roof groaned and sagged as embers shot high into the air like fireflies.
“Why did you do that?” gasped Mr. McDaniels. “That’ll bring ’em straight here!”
“Those crows are familiars,” muttered the Agent. “A witch can see through its familiar’s eyes, and we can’t afford to be followed.”
Just as Cooper finished speaking, horrible screams erupted through the night, bloodcurdling howls of rage and pain and despair. Mum clamped her hands over her ears and fell quaking to her knees. David looked terrified and tugged at Cooper’s sleeve.
“Cooper, if each crow is a familiar, then there must be—”
“Hundreds of witches nearby,” said the Agent with a grim nod. “We need to move. Now.”
Max ran along with his father as the group dashed through the woods, following Cooper on a course that steered them toward the coast, but well away from Rowan. Nick bounded along with Cooper, stopping periodically to give a quizzical look at Max, who ran alongside his sputtering father. Miss Boon brought up the rear, hurrying David and Mum along as they wound a frantic path through the wood. Brittle branches scratched at their faces, leaves crunched underfoot, and the wind shook the treetops.
When they had run nearly a mile, Mr. McDaniels stopped and sagged against a peeling birch. More screams sounded throughout the woods behind them, and Max began to panic. He tugged at his father’s hand.
“Dad,” he pleaded, “c’mon.”
“I can’t,” wheezed Mr. McDaniels, shutting his eyes in a fit of coughing. “I can’t run another step. Keep going.”
“No!” said Max, waving David and Mum along. Miss Boon stopped and knelt next to Mr. McDaniels.
“We can’t stop here,” she panted.
“I have to,” protested Mr. McDaniels with a defeated shake of his head. He slowly opened his eyes, but he seemed to look through Miss Boon and gaze at the woods behind them. His eyes abruptly widened: there was a witch some thirty feet away.
The witch stumbled blindly among the trees with her hands outstretched, swatting branches aside and searching the empty spaces before her while she muttered to herself. Her tattooed skin was deathly pale and her eyes were caked with dark blood.
“You’re close,” she moaned, veering toward them. Her hands snatched at the air as she shuffled toward them in several lunging steps. Max glanced at Miss Boon, but his Mystics instructor stood rigid. She merely gaped at the corpse-like figure, seemingly transfixed as the witch shuffled closer.
“You are close,” croaked the witch, rubbing her blind eyes and giving a dull moan. “Stay where you are,” she whispered, creeping closer as more screams sounded in the distance.
“Miss Boon,” whispered Max.
Miss Boon gave no reply. Mr. McDaniels made a funny gurgle and squeezed Max’s hand. The witch was now only two paces away, stretching out for them with a hideous, eager smile.
Suddenly, there was a dull thump.
A blank look of shock appeared on the witch’s features. She stumbled once before crumpling to the ground, where she grasped mechanically at the cold soil. Max felt a pang of sympathy as the witch’s motions subsided to little more than feeble twitches. With a sudden shudder, the witch rolled onto her side, her mouth swinging open like a loose hinge as Max spied the dull black handle of a knife protruding from her neck.
Cooper stole out from some nearby trees, crossing to them quickly and retrieving his weapon from the witch’s body. He glanced at Miss Boon with unconcealed contempt before turning his attention to Mr. McDaniels.
“Can you run?” asked the Agent.
Max’s father merely blinked stupidly, never taking his eyes from the crumpled witch several feet away. Without a word, Cooper removed his pack and tossed it to Max. The tall, wiry Agent hoisted Mr. McDaniels to his feet, slinging the bigger man over his shoulder like a swollen sack of grain. Max hefted Cooper’s pack and tugged at Miss Boon’s hand. She mumbled something unintelligible before trotting alongside him. They hurried to keep up with the Agent, who ran steadily up ahead.
Within a quarter mile, they joined David, Mum, and Nick at a thicket where the wood dwindled to meet an open stretch of dunes and sparse grass. The ocean was close and Max could hear the low roar of the waves despite the periodic screams that sounded behind them. Cooper glanced up at the luminous clouds that raced across the black night. Max knew what Cooper was t
hinking: they would be exposed as they crossed the open field under the bright moon.
More screams filled the night. Cooper shook his head.
“We can’t wait,” he muttered, as though to himself. He turned to the group. “Everyone all right? You there, Mum—all right?”
Mum looked near tears but managed a nod.
“Good girl,” said Cooper. “Follow me, then—quick as you can.”
They dashed out into the open. Nick bounded alongside Max while the boy scanned the earth and sky behind them, expecting a host of black-robed witches to come hurtling after them. They clambered down a shallow bluff, arriving at a narrow beach where a rowboat rested on a small mound of sand and broken shells. Cooper set Max’s father down and dragged the rowboat toward the black, briny chop. The Agent waded into the water and beckoned impatiently at them to get in.
The lymrill was first, bounding through the foam and shallows to leap into the boat as if the whole experience were an exhilarating adventure. Max helped his father along while Miss Boon, regaining her composure, offered David a steadying hand as the small blond boy climbed aboard. Clambering in after his father, Max suddenly realized that Mum was still waiting on the beach.
“Mum,” hissed Cooper. “Get in the boat!”
“I’m afraid of the water!” she shrieked, tearing at her hair and sinking to her knees.
“Have it your way,” said Cooper, pushing the rowboat past a sandbar.
“I can levitate her,” offered Miss Boon, swiveling in her seat.
“No,” said the Agent quickly. “Mystics leave a trace. They’d know we came this way. She comes or goes on her own.”
Mum watched them go, her swollen, puffy eyes blinking helplessly as Cooper guided the boat through a shallow wave. More screams sounded in the distance. Muttering obscenities, Mum clamped her hands over her eyes and plodded after them. The Agent swung her up and into the boat, where she promptly clung to Mr. McDaniels as if he were a great, woolly life preserver. When Cooper had pushed the boat past the shallow surf, the Agent hopped in and began rowing the little craft out to sea. The passengers shivered and huddled close to one another while the wind raged, the sea rolled, and spray crashed over the bow.
The Second Siege Page 11