Bewitching by Alex Flinn Read Free Book Online

there. Or, better yet, since I was already wishing the impossible, I wished I could turn back the strangling hands of time, not a day, not a week, but two years, to before our capture, before all the death, before the wretched plague. Had we only known! I wished to be a girl of twelve, concerned only with my weaving and whether I was being given more than my fair share of chores.
    But I was a witch, not a genie. My life, once lived, could not unlive itself.
    I stood. “That does sound fun. Come, Charlie.” I tugged at his arm, and slowly, he rose.
    The path we walked was covered in pine needles, but clear of grass and weeds. The witch had walked this way often; once, at least, for each child-picket in her fence. I squeezed Charlie’s hand. Several times he tried to break away, but I tightened my grip. Not yet. I only hoped I was correct in anticipating a better opportunity. Pine trees marched on all sides of us, like threatening guards. Finally, we reached a clearing. I knew it by the smell of gingerbread. Gingerbread and something else. Seared flesh. I thought of little Miranda and the others. Would that there were a spell to quell my emotions, silence my thoughts. There was none, only my own talent for artifice. “So this it is?” I asked the witch, smiling.
    “Indeed, it is, love.”
    I turned to Charlie. “This is where she makes the gingerbread.”
    The oven, made of black iron, was the size of our lean-to at home. The door had a lock upon it. Charlie’s eyes widened, but he said nothing.
    “Perhaps you should stand over there, Charlie.” I pointed to a spot far away.
    “No!” The witch grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “I need him beside me.”
    “Of course.” I laughed. “How silly of me.”
    “A bit too silly.”
    “I apologize.” I made my face pretty. “Will you teach me how to do it, Mother?”
    “Of course.” The witch gestured toward the oven. “Perhaps you and your dear brother could crawl inside and light it.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “Me and Charlie? Light the oven?” In a tree high above, a crow sang its homely song. I looked up. When I finally found it, I noticed its feathers were not solid black, as I had been used to thinking, but rather reflected purple and green. As I watched, its song changed from its usual caw to a different tune, one Mother had sung:
    Dear love, call in the light;
    Or else, you’ll burn me quite!
    Burn! Was I delirious? Or was this bird warning me away? I needed no such warning, but perhaps the bird was suggesting a strategy by reminding me of Mother.
    Or perhaps it was Mother?
    “Indeed,” I said to the witch. “I wish to help, but I cannot light the oven.”
    “Cannot? Of course you can.” The witch grabbed my elbow. “You are a big girl and must be able to accomplish such work.”
    I shook my head. “I cannot. My sister Sadie always did it. I never learned.”
    “You will learn now.” The witch pulled me toward the oven. Charlie followed along. I could not let go of him, else the witch would surely throw him inside alone.
    Above, the bird sang:
    My bonny lass, she smileth;
    When she my heart beguileth .
    Beguile.
    “Please.” The tears in my eyes were real. “Please, Mother, I am afraid of the fire. I was burned once as a girl. You are so much wiser. I know you can show me how to do it.”
    “Silly girl!” The witch reached for the oven door. “Any fool could do it.”
    “Then I am less than a fool, for I cannot. Please, show me. We shall be together many years, forever. If you show me now, I will do it many times henceforth.”
    The witch sighed but said, “You need only take a stick, make fire as I have shown you, then light the wood inside.” She plucked a branch from the tree. “Crawl in, and do it.”
    Now, the crow flew down from its perch. It circled around, singing the refrain:
    Fa la la la la la la la la
    It dove at the witch’s head.
    “Oh! Horrible creature!” With the hand that didn’t clutch my wrist, the witch