T*Witches: The Witch Hunters by Randi Reisfeld, H.B. Gilmour Read Free Book Online Page A

helped herself to gloves from a box of carefully matched pairs and snooped under, around, and over discarded water heaters, old circuit breaker boxes, and what looked like an enormous cold and rusty furnace.
    All the while, the twins agreed, there was no real juice in the place, no heat, no telltale vibe that sent shivers down their spines or raised hackles on the backs of their necks.
    They had only a few minutes left. While Cam went through the contents of a metal file cabinet, Alex examined an old wooden cupboard filled with folded rags, cans of turpentine, brushes of every size, and gallons of the puke-green paint that covered the basement walls.And there was a pint of brilliant red paint, too, sitting in a small, spilled puddle — which Alex discovered was wet when she stupidly tested it with her fingertips.
    Through the pale fumes of paint and turpentine, the rotten-egg smell came to her. And then her hyper hearing picked up a door creaking at the top of the stairwell and Mr. Golem’s shuffling tread.
    The next thing she knew, Cam had seized her hand and pulled her out of the workshop. In the basement corridor, they faced a warren of doors, almost all padlocked. Twirling helplessly, trying to find a place to hide, Cam spotted one that was open a crack.
    They charged through the door a second before Golem reached the landing.
    The room was pitch-black. The windows had been painted over. And the toxic-dump stench was stronger here than in the maintenance man’s headquarters. The smell was more about the Witch Hunter than the unwashed dampness of a cellar.
    “What can you see?” Alex asked, trusting Cam’s super-sight to scope out the tiny room they’d escaped into.
    “I think we’re in … like, a broom closet,” Cam ventured. “I mean, I don’t see any actual brooms, but there are … shovels and … crowbars, I think. And, like, random tools lying around.”
    “But what smells?” Alex pressed. “Are there ragsaround or, like, a stinky mop? Something — anything — odor could cling to?”
    Cam looked around, sniffed the fetid air of the closet, but couldn’t smell what Alex did.
    “Over there. In that corner.” Taking her twin by the shoulders, Alex turned her toward the place the stench was strongest. “Can you see anything in that corner?”
    “Yes!” Cam yipped. “There’s a bag on the floor. A big canvas bag, almost like a duffel, but with brown leather trim and handles —”
    A blinding light lit the dark room. Cam put her hands over her eyes. Alex winced at the electric brilliance. Suddenly, their hiding place was bright as day.
    “What are you doing in here?!” Mr. Golem demanded, a giant searchlight in his hand. He seemed as startled to see them as they were to see him. “You kids are not allowed down here. No kids allowed. You could get hurt. Or worse.” He spotted the red paint on Alex’s hand and became wildly agitated. “You were messing with my things, weren’t you?! You should never have come down here —”
    They didn’t apologize; they didn’t even bother to make up an excuse. The adrenaline pumping in their chests suddenly hit their feet and they bolted, half expecting to feel Golem’s thick hands trying to hold them back.

CHAPTER NINE
    SERSEE ON THE ROCKS
    They knew who had taken Karsh’s journal — the treacherous and talented young witch who had tried to destroy the twins. Now she had stolen their birthright, the only proof beyond doubt of what was rightfully theirs.
    As they made their way toward the shore where Ileana had seen the girl in her vision, Ileana and Miranda were torn by warring feelings. Their minds knew their mission: to track the thief and get back the book. But their emotions flashed between anger and excitement.
    The anger was reserved for the dangerous urchin, Sersee.
    The waves of excitement that shot through themwere for the miracle of their returned powers. Precious skills they’d thought were lost forever had returned — maybe only a few,