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

maybe only for a moment, but something wonderful had happened. Ileana had had a vision; Miranda had known the culprit’s name.
    What remained to be revealed was why the criminal, cave-dwelling imp had chosen, among all of Ileana’s precious things, a book? That book! Of what value could Karsh’s revelations be to such a single-minded, self-serving child?
    “Look there, up ahead.” Miranda pointed to the girl. Ahead of them, standing at the crest of a sea-battered cliff, Sersee stood still as stone. Her black hair tangled and twirled like seaweed battered by tides. Her violet cape flared and flapped wildly in the wind. She looked much as she had in Ileana’s vision — but not exactly the same. For one thing, the book was gone. For another, the girl, who would certainly have heard them coming, hadn’t even turned her head to look at them. She stood too still.
    “Something’s wrong,” Ileana said, her voice falling to a whisper.
    “Has she been … transformed? Put under a spell?” Miranda asked cautiously.
    You call yourselves witches?
    Ileana and Miranda both picked up the sarcastic, unspokengrumble. It was coming, naturally, from the frozen girl.
    Duh. Of course I’ve been transformed. And if one of you passing geniuses doesn’t undo the spell, I’ll be a pillar of salt by morning
—
    Ileana approached the motionless young witch. Clasping her hands behind her back, she slowly began to circle Sersee. “My, oh my, what a sad predicament,” she mused, her lips barely holding back a grin.
    Miranda drew near. “She’s paralyzed,” she said, sounding disgustingly sincere to Ileana. “How awful. Ileana, we must do something.”
    Yes. You must.
Sersee sent the angry, urgent message.
It is your duty as witches to heal, to help
—
    “Oh, it is, it is,” Ileana agreed. “However, I, for one, see no reason to hurry. Particularly since you can tell us now — before we warm your blood and ignite your senses again — why you broke into my cottage, why you stole — ”
    Never,
Sersee swore.
    Ileana bristled and might even have struck the insolent little witch had Miranda not laid a hand on her arm. “Don’t. Please,” she urged. “The child has been through enough.”
    What?
Sersee was as surprised as Ileana by Miranda’sintervention.
How do you know?
she snapped defensively.
You, a DuBaer, who lives in luxury at Crailmore, an initiated “Lady,” accepted and respected by all?
    “We would like to help you,” Miranda assured her a bit brusquely. “Were we not on such an urgent mission ourselves, we would gladly free you from this wretched condition —”
    “Are you crazy?!” Ileana sputtered. “Free her? Why I’d sooner laminate her —”
    Suddenly, the cliff was alive with shadows. Ileana felt them, then saw a fire. In the midst of black smoke and leaping flames, a man stood with his fist raised, shouting curses. In a heap at his feet was a woman with flowing black hair. She clutched his legs, begging for the life of her child. Suddenly, Ileana was overwhelmed by waves of despair and pity. She saw an infant crawling through the woods, her tattered clothes singed and still smoking.
    The tiny child, she knew, was Sersee.
    Stunned, she turned to Miranda. The twins’ remarkable mother seemed to have had no vision, no unasked-for trip down the evil urchin’s memory lane. Did she know the girl’s history or was she merely being Miranda, blindly kind and trusting?
    As if the placid witch had heard her, Ileana noticed for the first time a glint in Miranda’s metallic eyes.
    “But before we come to your aid,” Miranda was telling Sersee, “we must find Lord Karsh’s journal. If only you knew where it was; if only you could help us — ”
    Ninnies! Of course I know where it is. Only release me from this heinous state and I’ll tell you everything! Right now! This stinking, wretched wind is killing my complexion. And don’t even ask what it’s doing to my hair!
    “No fear,” Miranda assured the