“Now get rid of this.” Frederick gives a minute nod toward the knife, because any larger a gesture would mean contact with the blade. “A deal’s a deal.”
“What deal?” Jezebel’s eyebrows knit. “I don’t recall making a deal.”
“Very funny.” Frederick’s Adam’s apple moves up and down as he swallows.
Jezebel laughs and looks at Bishop, who hikes up his pants as he nears.
“I was just about to save us,” he says, “but thanks anyway.” Bishop winks at Jezebel. Then, finally, he looks at me. “Hey, Ind. Glad to see you in one piece.”
Jezebel glares at Bishop. “Well, it’s just a regular old lovefest in here, isn’t it?”
“The knife?” Frederick’s voice shakes with barely controlled anger and more than a bit of fear.
“Will you not shut up?” Jezebel rolls her eyes, and for a minute she reminds me of another beautiful, bitchy girl I know. “Last I checked, the person with the knife gets to make the rules.” She looks at Bishop. “Ready, Bish?”
Bish? really?
She doesn’t wait for his answer before walking down the center aisle, doing that hippy sway that I’ve just decided does look stupid on her.
“You get back here!” Frederick calls to Jezebel, like a parent admonishing his child.
“My mom!” I frantically look between the knife still trembling at Frederick’s temple, Jezebel’s retreating back, and Mom on-screen writhing against the ropes holding her to the chair.
“I thought we covered this topic,” Jezebel answers without turning.
I take a two-second break from hating Bishop to plead with him with my eyes. He calls, “I’m not leaving without her.”
“Then stay,” Jezebel says, without breaking stride.
“Fine,” Bishop snaps back.
I decide I hate him a bit less. Which would be great, if I weren’t scared shitless, because now the knife at Frederick’s temple has disappeared, and Frederick gives me a wicked smile.
“Well, isn’t this interesting.” He adjusts the collar of his suit.
“It is.” Bishop nods emphatically. “I’ve never seen a sorcerer so close to tears before. Hey, are you okay, man? I can grab you a glass of water from the concession stand if you’d like. Maybe a moist towelette to clean off your face.”
Frederick’s jaw hardens, and he self-consciously touches his sweat-soaked brow.
The double doors of the theater close with an air of finality. Jezebel’s done it. She’s left us to die at Frederick’s hands.
I shoot my gaze to Bishop and give him a look I hope says “What the hell? Now what? Huh? Huh?” And he sends me one back that says “Relax, I’ve got this covered.”
Frederick wags his index finger at Bishop. “That’s very funny. A sense of humor is a great attribute. In fact, you might not know this about me, but comedies are my favorite kind of movie.” Frederick grins at me, pale blue eyes sparkling, and my stomach knots up all over again.
“And do you know what I find particularly funny?” He pauses a moment, as if to let us answer. “Irony.”
Frederick gestures toward the screen. I slap my hand over my mouth at the sight I find there. The same knife that moments ago was pointed at Frederick’s head now trembles at Mom’s temple. Mom’s wide gray eyes dart to the blade, which gleams in the spotlight. She closes her eyes tight, her body racked by the force of her sobs.
“Bishop, do something!”
The double doors burst open again. An irritated Jezebel stands in the doorway, one hand balled on her hip. Bishop smiles at me, and the look he sends me now distinctly says “I told you so.”
“Frederick, release the woman,” Jezebel commands.
“Nah.” Frederick drops into one of the red seats facing the screen. “I think I’ll watch this one through to the end.”
Jezebel starts down the aisle with heavy-footed steps, until a large dog—a huge, slobbering rottweiler—appears just feet in front of her, blocking her path. I instinctively hide behind Bishop, but Jezebel doesn’t even flinch. Not when the dog growls, a low rumble from deep in its chest. Not when it pushes back its pointed ears and leans back onto meaty haunches, as if about to attack. Not when it leaps into the air with a startlingly loud bark. Nope, Jezebel continues walking, as if putting one foot in front of the other is such an inconvenience, and holds up a hand. The dog hits an invisible barrier inches from her face, then goes flying to the side, landing against the mural-covered wall with a whimper before dropping to the ground.
I’m torn between awe at her power and disgust because it’s a dog! Sure, it was going to kill her, but couldn’t she have placed it in a magic cage or something else less brutal?
The dog licks its wounds, not even attempting to make a second attack, while Jezebel continues down the aisle. She doesn’t make it two more steps when hundreds of arrows shoot from out of nowhere, whistling as they dart through the air, poised to land in her chest. She flicks them away with a wave of her hand, and the arrows fly up toward the ceiling, stabbing into the starburst mural and shattering lightbulbs in the chandelier. A rainstorm of glass falls to the carpet. I look at Frederick, wondering just what he’ll throw at Jezebel next.
The red-and-gold carpet rumples up, and Jezebel nearly loses her footing, but then she lifts into the air as if suspended by wire. “Seriously?” she says. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
Frederick laughs. “Those were just the previews. I think you’ll particularly enjoy the main feature.”
I hear their caws before I see them. Birds. Hundreds of black, beady-eyed vultures, owning the air around Jezebel. I thought it wasn’t possible, but there’s fear—terror, actually—seared into the delicate lines of her face.
“Oh no,” Bishop mutters.
“What? What?” I tug at his arm, but he ignores me and watches Jezebel.
She recoils left, then right, whipping her head around as the birds circle her, their wings flapping so hard and fast, it’s the only sound in the auditorium. One bird tries to peck at her with its hooked beak, and she swats it away. The bird smacks against the wall just like our dog friend, but I can see that it was an effort, that Frederick has found her weakness.
“Something the matter?” Frederick looks over the seat back and smiles, then twists around to drape his legs over the row of seats, fingers laced over his stomach.
Bishop scoops me up around the middle and lifts into the air.
“What are you doing?” I cling to him, not because I worry he might drop me, but because I really, really don’t like my sudden proximity to the birds. One flies so close to my face that its feathers brush my cheek. I let out a squeal, burying my face in Bishop’s chest.
I make a promise to myself that if I somehow, miraculously, make it out of this mess alive, if I somehow am a witch, I’m going to get good at magic. Because aside from my mother’s life being in danger, I can’t think of anything I hate more than this helpless, useless feeling.
Bishop grunts and mumbles under his breath, swatting at the air with big sweeping gestures, until the birds are pushed back and there’s a space around Jezebel.
“Snap out of it!” Bishop yells.
Jezebel peeks out from around her arms, held up in front of her face, and her shoulders relax a fraction.
“Do it,” Bishop urges. “I can’t hold them off for much longer.” And he isn’t lying. The birds flap angrily at the circle holding them back, inching forward bit by bit.
Jezebel takes a deep, shaky breath, and with one flick of her hand, the vultures smack against the wall, landing in a black heap forming a perimeter around the theater. The sound, like hundreds of football players running into defensive dummies one after another, sends a shudder down my spine. But no guilt, I note, unlike when the dog got hurt, because somehow it’s different when I felt my own life in danger. In fact, what I feel is a thrill—we’re winning. We’re getting out of here alive!