Runaway Magic

eight

Shit, shit, shit, I thought, my body clicking into panic mode. Now more than ever, I wished I had never abandoned Kenna and Amina. If the universe was trying to play a cruel karmic joke on me, I wasn't laughing.

"You're in big trouble," the voice continued, flashing a police badge in my face.

I craned my neck, trying to see my captor's face, but all I got was a soft jab in my back.

"Eyes forward," the man ordered. With no other options, I complied. "Walk," he said, prodding me again when I hesitated. Reluctantly, I obeyed, struggling to keep my gait calm and even as we made our way down the abandoned streets.

"Mr. Kasumova's lying," I said urgently. "I'm not a witch, I swear. I don't have a lick of magic in me, none!" By now, my momentary bravado was already breaking down, exacerbated by the man's harsh bark of laughter at my plea.

"I have no idea who this Mr. Kasumova is, and I honestly don't care. It couldn't matter less to me if you're a witch or even a goddess incarnate. Either way, you'll end up in jail."

I frowned. Part of my fear dissipated. The man didn't care if I was a witch, and he didn't even know who Mr. Kasumova was. But if he didn't think either of those things, then why I was being arrested? I received no hints as we continued to walk; the man offered no further comments, and I wasn't exactly keen to strike up a conversation. Even so, I had my answers soon enough.

"Stop," he ordered.

I halted. My eyes widened as I took in the familiar scene in front of me. I was staring straight at the shop Amina's thieving friend had broken into. As shards of glass from the shattered window winked in the moonlight, a hysterical laugh bubbled up inside my throat. The man thought I was the thief. Little old country-girl Sera, who was such a goody-two-shoes her own mother mocked her for it. The worst thing I had ever stolen was a fresh pastry from the bakery, and even then Kenna had been the one who encouraged me to nick it.

"Where did you hide the money?" the policeman asked, gesturing toward the crime scene.

"I don't know," I answered honestly, "because I didn't rob this store... But I know who did."

Sorry, Amina, I thought. But then I remembered that it was her fault I was in this mess now, and my guilt quickly curdled into anger.

"You didn't do it?" the man asked suspiciously. "The store owner says it was a young girl about your build, and you're the only young girl I've seen out tonight after the incident."

"If I actually robbed the store and stole the money, do you really think I'd be strolling about down the open streets?" I snapped.

The man sighed, and the pressure on my wrists released. I brought my arms to my chest, rubbing the tender skin. The policeman stepped forward into the scattered light, finally letting me see his face. He was younger than I had expected. My age, almost - more boy than man. His thick eyebrows creased in thought, framing dark brown eyes ringed violet with insomnia. That, I could relate to. Apparently neither of us had been sleeping well the past few days.

"I'm sorry about that," he offered at last. A genuine apology surfaced in his eyes. Reluctantly, I accepted it with a tiny nod of my head.

At least he had released me when he realized his mistake. Most policemen I knew were more than willing to sacrifice innocent people to save their inflated egos. In fact, most men I knew were more than happy to take advantage of the vulnerable. If Mama had taught me anything in my seventeen years of living in her matriarchal household, it was that the world was run by men but ruled by women.

"I know it's a lot to ask after wrongfully accusing you of theft," he began, "but would you mind coming back to the station with me? You said you saw who actually committed the crime, so it would really help me out if you'd let me take your witness statement."

My first instinct was to say yes. In fact, the word was already blooming at my lips, but I still hesitated. As much as I wanted to help the boy and the storeowner out, I couldn't prevent my suspicion from bristling. The last time I had confided a secret in a boy, I had been accused of witchcraft, burned at the pyre, and run out of my town. And as satisfying as getting back at Amina for stealing my younger sister sounded, I couldn't risk Kenna getting caught up in the chaos, especially when the mysterious dark-skinned girl was our key to getting out of this wretched country. If I wanted Kenna and me to be free in Ijinislj, I was going to have to break some rules.

"Sorry," I said, shaking my head, "but I can't help you." The boy's expression fell before sharpening into a wolf's. I took an instinctive step back.

"Look," he said roughly, "obstructing justice is a crime. If you really witnessed a theft, it's your duty to report it to the authorities. I'm the authorities. Got it?"

"Got it," I snapped, fuming under my breath. Before my mind had time to convince myself otherwise, I channeled my inner Kenna, drawing myself up to my full, unslouched height. "Look over there," I said in my most guileless voice, pointing at a piece of paper that had fallen to the ground of the store. "I think I saw the thief drop that when they fled!"

While the boy peered into the room draped with shadows and delicate jewelry, I backed away. Slowly, I turned my back to the scene, taking one quiet step after another.

"Hey!" he yelled.

I turned around just in time to deliver a swift punch to his face. My fist struck something unexpectedly hard. I dropped my arm in disbelief as he clutched his nose, cursing at the thin line of blood trickling out from his right nostril.

"Sorry!" I yelped before kicking him beneath the knee. He crumpled to the cobblestone like a paper doll.

"Hey!" he shouted again, but I was already gone.

The air had turned cold and bitter when I wasn't paying attention. Now, my lungs ached, both with a biting numbness and the realization that I had just seriously injured someone. Well, maybe not seriously, but injured all the same. Oddly enough, a sense of relief washed over me as my feet struck the harsh gray stone, streetlights flickering past as distantly as far-off stars. Instead of heavy, I felt light, as if I had released a weight I hadn't even known I was carrying. But a sharp sound cut off my ebullience.

"Sera!" a voice called out from the darkness.

Kenna, I thought, slowing down to a confused stop. But that was impossible. She was with Amina. She was supposed to be safe in a faraway location, not close to the crime scene and certainly not close to me.

"Sera!" Kenna hissed again. This time, there was no mistaking the sisterly frustration in her voice. A cold hand latched onto my wrist. I yelped as it yanked me into an alleyway.

"Shush," Kenna scolded, her gold-flecked eyes peering into mine. She eyed me up and down. Finally, when she concluded that I was unharmed, she wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight. I relaxed into her warmth. "Don't scare me like that," she whispered, her white hair pressing against my frozen cheek. "I thought I had lost you."

"You'll never lose me," I laughed. Then, remembering our fight, I drew away. "Where's Amina?" I asked suspiciously. At the mention of the girl's name, Kenna brightened.

"I have to show you something amazing," she said, ignoring my question, "but you have to trust me."

"Of course I trust you," I replied without hesitation. Kenna smiled, reaching into her pocket. She drew out her closed hand, unfurling her fingers to reveal a single match, its tip ruby-red against the dull walls of the buildings we stood sandwiched between. Suddenly, the match burst into flame. Despite the midnight chill, it burned steadily, casting an eerie glow on my younger sister's face. With the fire, she drew a wide circle in the air, forming a ring of writhing smoke.

"Come on," she said with a smile.

She flicked the still-lit match aside and grabbed my hand. Together, we stepped into the wreath of fire.