The Witch Hunter Chronicles: Hunted

The twenty-something woman striding through the door of our school library was at least six feet tall, with impossible measurements that rivaled my old Barbie doll. Her platinum-blond hair was long and straight and looked like spun silk cascading gracefully over her delicate shoulders. She wore a contoured blue blouse and a black micro-skirt, and her black heels gave her another three inches in height. Merlin stumbled to a stop and began to back away slowly. He jumped when Mr. Campbell’s book fell from his fingers and hit the floor.

“He’s spry for an octogenarian,” Jordan quipped.

“Strange,” I answered. “But still less surprising than having an Instagram influencer in our library.”

Jordan shrugged. “Maybe it’s his daughter – though if she sprung from those frumpy loins, she’s a genetic miracle.” He furrowed his brow and locked eyes with me. “Is this the first instance that I wasn’t the hottest person on this campus?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes while Jordan applied an unnecessary layer of gloss to his lips. Mr. Campbell appeared to be in shock. His mouth was open so wide that it seemed entirely possible that his jaw would come unhinged and hit the floor like his book.

“You thought you could hide him from me, old man?” the woman said. Her eyes fell on me, and she smiled and added, “Or is it her this time?”

Why does her smile give me goosebumps? This chick’s a little sus.

The old man spun and yelled, “Run, you fools!”

We didn’t run. He glared and grumbled something inaudible before turning back to face the woman.

“Ignis,” the old man said, and a ball of fire appeared in his hand. He cocked his arm back like a pitcher would with a baseball.

“Oh,” the woman said, “that’s a cute little party trick.” She pursed her lips and blew, and the fire in the old man’s hand went out. “Now, let me show you a better one.”

The woman smiled, and then her eyes bulged, and she screamed and began to hunch over as yellow fur sprouted from perfect skin.

“I think we should have run,” I said to Jordan.

If he heard me, he didn’t show any outward sign. The saying ‘deer in headlights’ comes to mind. The old man began to back away. He jumped again when Mr. Campbell and his chair tipped over backwards and hit the floor. I looked behind me when Sally Nichols screamed, and when I looked back to where the woman had been, there was now a massive lioness standing in a pile of tattered designer clothes.

“Kenz,” Jordan said, “I think we should run.”

I agreed in principle, but my legs weren’t working. The large cat showed its teeth and roared, and the sound was so loud, I felt the rumble vibrate through the pit of my stomach. The blood drained from my face, and for a split second I thought I was going to pass out. Then the old man yelled “Illuminare!” and the entire world went white.

Someone grabbed my arm, and I was spun in a half circle, and yanked so hard that I had to start running to keep from falling flat on my face. Even after blinking hard a few times, all I could see were white dots on a solid black backdrop. My vision came back in splotchy white blobs, and it took me a moment to realize that it was the old man dragging Jordan and me towards the rear exit.

There was a loud crash and an even louder roar. I looked back to see the lion standing in the ruins of the book shelves where we’d been previously standing. The cat shook its head, sniffed the air, and then glowing eyes locked on mine. The yellow beast smashed the book cart out of its way with the backswing of a massive paw and then roared in our general direction. I tore my gaze away from the angry animal and continued to run.

“Wake up, wake up, wake up,” I yelled.

“We must both be dreaming,” Jordan answered as we crashed through the rear door to the library into the hot afternoon sun. The gardner looked up from his hedge clippers and stared at us.

The old man pulled us to a stop and closed the door. He placed his palm flat against the door and said, “Sigillum.”

I pinched the back of Jordan’s arm and he yelped. “I guess you’re not dreaming,” I said.

“You could have-” Jordan started, but was interrupted by a loud crash and an even louder howl.

“That won’t hold her for long,” the old man said as he broke into a jog towards the front parking lot. After a few strides he looked back to see that Jordan and I hadn’t moved a muscle and added in an irritated tone, “That means follow me quickly, you fools.”

Elderly stranger-danger or angry cat-lady wasn’t a decision I was planning on making today… or ever, really.

He may smell like mothballs, but at least he hasn’t tried to eat us,” I said to Jordan. “I think we should probably follow him.”

The old man sniffed his shirt and crinkled his nose, and I made a mental note that honesty isn’t always the best policy. A ripple went through the steel door and Jordan quickly nodded his agreed with my assessment.

“This way,” he said impatiently, pointing in the direction of the parking lot at the rear of the campus. We ran.

The few students wandering around after 2nd bell stared at us as we sprinted past… at least until the loud boom brought all eyes back towards the library. I looked back in time to see the green metal door ark high into the air. The door, now on fire and trailing black smoke, crested the large oak tree in the quad before crashing down on the roof of the science building. The students’ gasps turned to shrieks as the pony-sized homicidal jungle cat rounded the rear of the library and began to tear down the sidewalk towards us.

“Come on,” the old man said, yanking us in the opposite direction of the cat, before yelling, “Velocius!”

Suddenly, the trees and benches lining the walkway flashed by at blinding speed as the three of us tore down the walkway.

“What the-” Jordan gasped.

I just yelled as I tried not to let my feet outrun the rest of my body. The old man grabbed my wrist and kept me upright as we passed between the science and history buildings. When the parking lot came into view, I looked back to see that the cat was keeping pace with us.

“We just have to make it to my car,” the old man said. “Her wings are no match for my old girl’s 289 horses.”

Wings!?! Horses!?!

I was too winded to answer, so I just grunted. Jordan was actually smiling. He whooped as he jumped over the small fence that separated the lawn from the parking lot. The old man and I stuck to the sidewalk and ran through the entryway to where the sidewalk met the blacktop.

“Here she is,” the man said, pointing to the red car parked in the handicapped spot up front. It was one of those old, chrome-covered muscle cars from the 60’s that dad always drooled over when we’d see one at the mall.

“Have you heard of global warming?” I asked between pants.

The old man scowled at me.

“I’ll drive,” Jordan said, eyes gleaming. “Boomers drive too slow.”

The glare switched to Jordan. “You’ll do no such thing, Bedivere. Get in the back seat or I’ll stuff you in the trunk.”

There was a lion or whatever chasing us, so there were no further arguments. Jordan piled in the back, and I sat up front. I reached back for a seatbelt that wasn’t there. After some searching, I found one of those useless adjustable lap belts like the ones on airplanes.

I wiggled it at Santa and said, “Is this thing a joke?”

“Just pipe down and put it on,” he replied. He slipped on a pair of mirrored, traffic-cop sunglasses, and pulled a red baseball-style cap with the British Jack on the front down low over his forehead. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine made a noise like it kind of wanted to start, but then clicked a few times and went silent.