by Sarina Dorie
“What do you mean by ‘a price?’”
She held out her hand. “Come with me.” The deep honey of her voice lured me closer.
I wanted to melt into the melody of her words. She waved me closer. Curved black talons grew from the ends of her fingers. I should have felt fear, but instead I felt calm.
“Come with me,” she cooed in a sing-song voice.
Something pinched at my wrist. My friendship bracelet caught the sunlight, sparkling pink and dazzling my eyes as though it were covered in glitter. I blinked.
I suddenly remembered my mom wouldn’t want me to go with this woman. I hadn’t understood what Mom had been talking about to the other bird woman, but I could tell Mom had been angry. She didn’t trust the blackbirds or the women dressed as crows, and neither would I. There was no way I was going with this stranger.
“Daaaad!” I yelled. “These women saw where Missy went.”
Immediately he was at my side. The women frowned. He held up the digital camera. “Have you seen my daughter? This is what she looks like.”
The women shrank back, their gazes riveted on the camera. One hissed.
“You don’t have to stay in character. I’m being serious. My daughter is missing.” Dad stepped toward one of them, holding up the back of the camera for her to see better.
She scrambled away. Her lips curled back into a sneer. “Get your human-crafted magic away from me.”
Human-crafted magic? Dad stared at her as she backed into the crowd. Her friend was already gone.
I was more worried about Missy than ever.
Dad hugged me, and bought me a bag of peanuts, but I wasn’t hungry. The sticky heat made me feel sick. I drank the water he gave me.
“This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have insisted we come,” Dad muttered.
An hour later, Missy still hadn’t arrived. Neither had Mom. Volunteers milled around, keeping us updated.
“Have you called the police?” Dad asked one of the volunteers. If his cell phone had reception, I was sure he would have called them himself.
“We don’t need to bother the police. This is a fair matter. We have security,” a man said with a strained smile.
“My daughter has been gone for hours now and you’re telling me we don’t need to call the police?” Dad yelled. “I want you to get on your phone. Call them now.”
My eyes went wide. I’d never seen my dad shout at anyone before. He was like the Bob Ross of orthodontists, but instead of painting happy little trees, he joked he worked with happy little brackets.
Twenty minutes later, a male and a female police officer pulled up to the bus loading area and walked to the entrance.
Officer McGathy, a man with beefy arms and the frame of a former football player, asked Dad questions. “Does your daughter have any friends at the fair? A boyfriend? Did you see her talking to anyone she might want to meet up with?”
“We live in Oregon City. That’s two hours away. We don’t know anyone here,” Dad said.
The entire time Officer McGathy spoke to Dad, the burly man remained calm, his tone reassuring. Dad looked as if he was going to cry. I’d never seen him so helpless. Mom was the worrywart, not Dad.
Officer Baker asked me the same questions. She was a middle-aged woman with silver in her hair. She smiled in a friendly way that made it easy to tell her about how I’d found Missy’s phone. She nodded and listened better than my parents had. I told her about the old woman who had offered Missy the cookie earlier and the bird women who had wanted to lure me away.
Her brow crinkled up in concern. “Can you give me a description of these women?”
I rubbed my forehead, trying to concentrate. “It’s hard to think. I can’t remember.” The best I could do was say that the first woman was old and had a long nose. The other women wore all black.
“Have you been getting enough to drink?” Officer Baker asked.
“I’m not thirsty,” I said. She brought me a bottled water anyway.
“We have some plainclothes police on site. They’re looking for suspicious activity and checking out the campgrounds,” Officer McGathy told us.
Another hour passed. Finally, the people on the walkie talkies gave us good news. An undercover cop had found Mom and Missy. One of the staff was giving them a ride back in a golf cart.
My sister had been missing for over five hours.
The moment I saw Missy I knew something wasn’t right. Her blue eyes were dazed and unfocused. Her usually tidy blonde hair was a mess. Mom helped her from the cart and Missy leaned against her.
I ran to Missy and opened my arms to hug her. The addled expression left her face as she focused on me. She twitched back. The horror reflected in her eyes stung worse than a bee sting. She lurched over to Dad and buried her face in his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Are you okay? Missy?”
Dad placed a hand on Missy’s head. He looked at Mom.
“She’s been through a lot,” Mom said. “We can talk about it later.”
“Are you hurt?” Officer McGathy asked.
Missy turned her face away. She didn’t answer.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Officer Baker asked.
Missy remained silent.
“My daughter is dehydrated. She needs water,” Mom said.
I held out my bottled water. My sister ignored me. Volunteers brought us more water. Missy gulped down three bottles. She clutched a fourth to her chest but didn’t drink it.
Officer Baker crouched down, asking Missy questions. Missy didn’t answer. She just leaned her head against Dad’s shoulder and closed her eyes.
“Talk to them, honey,” Dad said. “Tell us what happened.”
“I’m tired,” Missy said.
“My daughter has suffered quite a shock,” Mom said. “She needs some rest.”
“She needs medical attention,” Dad said. “Can you direct us to the hospital?”
“We’ve called the paramedics. They’re on their way,” McGathy said.
Mom spoke quietly to Officer Baker, who nodded as she glanced at Missy. I wanted to know what Mom was saying, but Dad kept me at his side.
Within five minutes an ambulance arrived. The paramedics checked Missy for signs of dehydration and drugs. The police, my mom, and the EMTs crowded around my sister, asking her questions. I waited outside the circle, not wanting to be in the way. Missy still wouldn’t look at me.
Dad joined me. He hugged a sweaty arm around me. “How are you holding up?”
“What happened to Missy?” I asked.
“I don’t know, champ.”
The medics must have found something to be concerned about because they decided to take Missy to the hospital.
“We’ll provide your car with an escort,” Officer McGathy said to Dad.
At that, Dad lifted Missy into his arms like he used to do when we were little and carried her the short distance to the ambulance. She dropped the water bottle to the ground. It was empty. I hadn’t remembered her drinking it. I scooped it up. Mom climbed into the back of the ambulance with her.
The ambulance drove Missy and Mom to the hospital while Dad drove our van behind the police car. I sat in the passenger seat, watching traffic part for us. It took forty-five minutes to get to the nearest emergency room. Dad and I stood outside the exam room in a hallway. Officer Baker sat inside, talking to Missy and Mom.
“Your mom told us someone abducted you. Can you give us a description of that person?” Officer Baker asked.
“No one abducted me,” Missy said in a snotty voice I wasn’t used to hearing from her. “When I walked out of the Porta Potty, no one was there. The crowd was gone, and so was my dad.”
Missy didn’t make a lot of sense. How could no one have been outside the bathrooms? It had been crowded.
Missy went on. “Everything looked wrong. I followed the path, and it led to a gingerbread cottage. I saw the ol
d woman from earlier. She gave me cookies and milk and told me she would take me back to my family if I wanted.
“But I didn’t want to go back after what she showed me.”
“What did she show you?” Officer Baker asked.
“My future. She told me she wouldn’t let anyone hurt me if I agreed to stay in the Unseen Realm with her. She said I would be hers, and she would raise me as her own daughter. She would train me, she said. She was nice to me.”
“What do you mean by Unseen Realm?” Officer Baker asked.
Missy huffed. “I don’t know. I didn’t get to be trained and learn from her. Obviously.”
I couldn’t figure out what she’d meant by “Unseen Realm” either.
“Can you tell us more about the woman who gave you cookies? What did she look like?”
“I don’t want to get her in trouble,” Missy said more quietly. “She was trying to help me.”
“She won’t get in trouble. We just want to ask her some questions.”
Dad made me take a walk with him. I tried not to cry, but I was so sad and scared for my sister. She was suffering from more than dehydration. I couldn’t stop thinking about the werebirds and the little old lady with the cookies. It was all so creepy.
The doctor did a blood test and couldn’t find any drugs in her system. All he said was that she was dehydrated. Missy drank Gatorade, and he prescribed something to calm her nerves. I think he would have been smarter giving the rest of us sedatives instead.
Missy was calm as the police asked questions. The only sign she wasn’t her usual self was her terse answers and crabbiness.
“Look, my daughter was dehydrated and confused,” Mom said. “A sixteen-year-old can’t spot a con artist. That’s all that lady was. No crimes were committed. Let us take her home.”
We didn’t leave the hospital until after dark. It was a two-and-a-half-hour drive home. No one spoke. Mom sat in the back with Missy, stroking her hair and trying to hold her hand when Missy wasn’t hugging herself. I snuck glances at my sister. She didn’t look at me. She stared out the window, her shoulders rounded over herself protectively. This small, broken girl was not the big sister I knew.
She wouldn’t get out of the car when we made it home. “I’m not going in there. It isn’t safe.”
Mom motioned for Dad to take me inside. She remained beside Missy.
“Why did you have to take me away? The witch would have protected me.” Missy’s voice rose in terror.
“No, honey,” Mom said. “That woman was a liar.”
Dad placed a hand on my back, guiding me toward the front of the house. Our lawn was a brilliant green compared to the brown and yellow of our neighbors’ grass. Mom stroked Missy’s hair.
Missy pulled away. “I know what I saw. She showed me my future. She showed me what would happen to me.”
Mom closed the car door. Her voice was muffled. “She put something in those cookies. You hallucinated. She was preying on your fears.”
“The doctors told you there weren’t any drugs.”
“It wasn’t drugs she put in those cookies,” Mom said.
I wondered what else she could have put in the cookies.
“Come on.” Dad unlocked the front door. “Let your mom talk to your sister alone.”
I lingered in the doorway, not wanting to go in. I wanted to run to my sister and hug her and make her feel better. Mom said something quietly I couldn’t hear.
“I can’t go in there!” Missy screamed. “She’ll kill me. I saw it.”
“No one is going to hurt you,” Mom said.
“The witch showed me. She said I have to learn to protect myself. If I don’t, Clarissa will kill me before my eighteenth birthday.”
To read more, go to Sarina Dorie’s website to learn about the Womby’s School for Wayward Witches Series, including where it is available:
https://sarinadorie.com/writing/novels
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to thank my fans for their enthusiasm reading my novels. My street team/ARC team has done a great job telling me when you find typos, pointing out formatting errors, leaving reviews, and purchasing books from Amazon so that you can help my ranking. Downloading books from Amazon also helps you become a verified reviewer, and Amazon is more likely to show your review—and not delete it later. I also have many people on my team who review on Goodreads and BookBub, post on social media, and tell their friends. I am thrilled to have so many fans!
For those who have filled out my Google form, it has helped me become more organized so that I don’t have to search my emails to find all the wonderful things you have done to support the creation of my novels; I have them all stored in the same place. I wanted to send a shout-out to the people listed below who have filled out my Google form. I know there are more people out there who are fans who have contacted me in the past, but the people listed below are the readers who used the form. I also know there were times some of my readers have told me other books they’ve reviewed, but it wasn’t necessarily on the form, so I wanted to say one giant THANK YOU for everything I didn’t list below. For those who filled out the form after I included it in the back of this book, I also wanted to say thank you, even if you are not named.
After hearing some people’s comments and thinking it over, I decided to only use first names and last initials to keep identities confidential in the list below.
A BIG SHOUT OUT TO:
Mom, thank you for being my number-one fan of all time. You encouraged me when I was six while I was writing and illustrating my own picture books, kept encouraging me in middle school, and read my stories and novels in high school. I have kept writing because of your nurturing, enthusiasm, and your brutal honesty, which has helped me improve my writing. I probably wanted to be a writer because of the respect you showed for literature. You read me bedtime stories, our house was always full of books, and you let me watch Romancing the Stone over and over as a kid.
Night Writers, I am so fortunate I have a writing critique group that tolerates my many submissions, gives me honest feedback, and listens to me complain about my publishing frustrations.
Daryll Lynn E., I am so thankful you are willing to not just critique my manuscript, but that you want to read the books in their entirety when I only submit sections to our critique group. You are a valuable critique partner and friend, not only because of your enthusiasm when I do something well, but your honesty in telling me what I did wrong, and your willingness to brainstorm with me to help me improve the manuscripts while they are in the rough-draft stage. I am flattered that you told me you needed a book to read during the weekend to relax, and you selected one of my published books—a book you had already critiqued months before. You choose me over Harry Potter, which I have to say is close to earth-shattering since I know you. I don’t know how I will ever be able to show you my thanks. Truly, I don’t think inviting you over for sugar-free, chocolate-avocado-and-coconut pudding is enough.
Charles, thank you for your encouragement and support. Other writers complain about significant others who don’t understand their need for writing time. I lucked out and found you. If it weren’t for you, our home would never have tissue, toilet paper, or any other paper products, just like Joan Wilder’s house in Romancing the Stone.
A special thanks to my Patreon supporters! You are helping me spend more time doing what I am passionate about (and what I like to think I am good at)—writing! Thank you to my first Patreon supporters: Stan H., Betty I., Michael M., Amanda W., Natasha L., Simo M., and Rosalie B.
To my ARC Team/Street Team:
Thank you for posting reviews on Amazon, Goodreads, LibraryThing, BookBub, and other places where you share your passion for reading. Janet S., Karen W., Shannon T., Ramona W., Susan F., Dawn H., Stephanie M., Heather B., Veronica M., Cathy S., Judy J., Anthea T., Sheree K., Brian B., Susan B., Sherri L., Vicki G., Christine H., Steve P., Darla C., Cheryl C., Dina E., Katherine M.,
Stan H., Maria L.S., Paul D., Terasa F., Linda M., Tony S., Linda C., Heather W., Pat, Shoshanah L., Becky B., Jackie T., Maggie B., Paul K., Georganne L., Cassie T., Sherri J., Robin D., Richelle R., Alison P., Deb L., Barbara H., Charlotte W., Brenda B., Jodi S., Valerie L., Wilma C.S., Deborah B., Lynn E., Billie W., Evelyn G., Tonya G., Elaine S., Sandy V., Linda B., Donna S., Karen B., Jennifer W., Jennifer L., Susan E., Diane K., Cheryl B., Mary N., Michelle R., Suki R., Annalisa A., Tonia W., Bev S., Amy M., Jeannie M., your honest reviews of the books are helpful in spreading the word. Having reviewed books helps me reach readers who might not otherwise know what the books are about, who might wonder if the books are a good fit for their interests, and in general, helps me make the books more visible.
I appreciate that you are willing to share my books, covers, blurbs, and sale days on social media. I am fortunate to have more people than just myself posting on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest, and other places that I often don’t think about. Judy J., Hec S., Maria L.S., Darla C., Linda B., Pat, Shoshanah L., Jackie T., Christine H., Robin D., Barbara H., Sherri L., Stephanie M., Jodi S., Lynn E., Evelyn G., Jennifer W., Jeri M., Cheryl B., Deb L., Bev S., Amy M., Devin C., you help me find readers I wouldn’t necessarily know might be interested in my books. Thank you for that!
Thank you for finding my typos and saving me from public shaming and future humiliation due to the sins of my bad grammar. Stan H., Amber L., Stephanie M., Sharee S., Julie M., Linda C., Brian B., Christine H., Karen B., Susan F., Maggie B., Richelle R., Barbara H., Jeannie M., Wayne N., Lynn E., Elaine S., Sandy V., Amy M., I appreciate you pointing out mistakes so that I can provide cleaner copies before I publish the books.
Sometimes I think I can sneak foreign languages into a book because I have lived in Japan for two years and learned the language, took Spanish in high school and college, and I can use Google translate, but that doesn’t mean I actually understand those languages, let alone all the other foreign words I put into my novels. Stella M., thank you for helping me with my Italian!
