earflaps. They looked like they should be on a box of shortbread. Both also wore stark, scary expressions on their faces, and the skinny guy was holding a pitchfork.
"The people of Lower Quinton decided that Charles must have been to blame for their crops failing, and . . . wel, you can see the rest."
The man with the pitchfork darted forward and grabbed the old man by the elbow, whirling him around. The old man looked terrified, and even though I knew what was coming, I couldn't turn away. Instead I watched as three people, people who looked like they should be baking pies or sipping tea, forced the old man to the ground, and the skinny man drove the pitchfork through his neck.
I thought for sure someone would scream; that someone in the room would cry out or even faint. But it seemed like everyone was as frozen as I was. Even Archer had stopped slouching in his seat. Now he was leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, hands clenched.
The sweet grandmotherly woman knelt down next to the body and picked up the scythe, and just as I was thinking that I realy did regret that cake, the scene in front of us shimmered and vanished.
Mrs. Casnoff filed us in on what we hadn't seen. "After stabbing him, the vilagers went on to carve symbols on Mr.
Walton's body, which they hoped would ward off his 'evil' magic.
After five decades of trying to help his felow vilagers, this is how Charles Walton was repaid by humans."
And suddenly the room was ful of images and sounds. Just behind Mrs. Casnoff, a family of vampires were staked by a group of men in black suits. I could actualy hear the horrible wet sound, almost like a loud kiss, as the wooden stakes pierced their chests.
From the left I heard the sharp rattle of gunfire, and I instinctively ducked as a werewolf colapsed, riddled with silver bulets fired by an old woman in, of al things, a pink housecoat.
It was like being thrust into a horror movie, and it was everywhere . In the center of the room, I now saw two faeries, both with translucent gray wings, forced to their knees by three men in brown robes. As the faeries screamed, their wrists were shackled in iron that immediately seared their flesh, filing the room with a smel that was disturbingly like barbecue.
My mouth went so dry I could feel my lips sticking to my teeth. That's why I couldn't even gasp when a galows ful of hanged witches sprung up right next to me.
Instead of fading in as the other pictures had done, this one shot straight up from the ground like a jack-in-the-box. Their bodies actualy jolted and started spinning on their nooses, their faces purple, tongues protruding from swolen lips. I could hear faint screaming, but I wasn't sure if it was from my felow students or the images themselves. I wanted to cover my face, but my hands felt heavy and clammy, my heart stuck in my throat.
Something warm settled on the back of my hand. I tore my eyes away from those dangling bodies and saw that Archer had covered my hand with his. He was staring straight at the witches, and I realized they weren't just women. There were warlocks hanging too. Without realy thinking, I curled my fingers around his.
And then, just when I was sure I was going to be sick, the images vanished and the dining hal lights came on.
Mrs. Casnoff stood at the front of the room, smiling serenely, but when she spoke, her voice was cold and hard. "This is why al of you are here. This is what you al risked when you recklessly used your powers in the presence of humans. And for what?" She looked around the room. "To gain acceptance? To show off?" Her eyes fel on me for a second before she continued. "We've been persecuted unto death by humans who wil happily use our powers if it suits them. And what you just saw"--she swept her hand around, and I could almost see those hanged witches again, their eyes cloudy, their lips blue--"is just what normal humans have done.
This is nothing compared to what is done by those who've made it their
"The people of Lower Quinton decided that Charles must have been to blame for their crops failing, and . . . wel, you can see the rest."
The man with the pitchfork darted forward and grabbed the old man by the elbow, whirling him around. The old man looked terrified, and even though I knew what was coming, I couldn't turn away. Instead I watched as three people, people who looked like they should be baking pies or sipping tea, forced the old man to the ground, and the skinny man drove the pitchfork through his neck.
I thought for sure someone would scream; that someone in the room would cry out or even faint. But it seemed like everyone was as frozen as I was. Even Archer had stopped slouching in his seat. Now he was leaning forward, his elbows on his thighs, hands clenched.
The sweet grandmotherly woman knelt down next to the body and picked up the scythe, and just as I was thinking that I realy did regret that cake, the scene in front of us shimmered and vanished.
Mrs. Casnoff filed us in on what we hadn't seen. "After stabbing him, the vilagers went on to carve symbols on Mr.
Walton's body, which they hoped would ward off his 'evil' magic.
After five decades of trying to help his felow vilagers, this is how Charles Walton was repaid by humans."
And suddenly the room was ful of images and sounds. Just behind Mrs. Casnoff, a family of vampires were staked by a group of men in black suits. I could actualy hear the horrible wet sound, almost like a loud kiss, as the wooden stakes pierced their chests.
From the left I heard the sharp rattle of gunfire, and I instinctively ducked as a werewolf colapsed, riddled with silver bulets fired by an old woman in, of al things, a pink housecoat.
It was like being thrust into a horror movie, and it was everywhere . In the center of the room, I now saw two faeries, both with translucent gray wings, forced to their knees by three men in brown robes. As the faeries screamed, their wrists were shackled in iron that immediately seared their flesh, filing the room with a smel that was disturbingly like barbecue.
My mouth went so dry I could feel my lips sticking to my teeth. That's why I couldn't even gasp when a galows ful of hanged witches sprung up right next to me.
Instead of fading in as the other pictures had done, this one shot straight up from the ground like a jack-in-the-box. Their bodies actualy jolted and started spinning on their nooses, their faces purple, tongues protruding from swolen lips. I could hear faint screaming, but I wasn't sure if it was from my felow students or the images themselves. I wanted to cover my face, but my hands felt heavy and clammy, my heart stuck in my throat.
Something warm settled on the back of my hand. I tore my eyes away from those dangling bodies and saw that Archer had covered my hand with his. He was staring straight at the witches, and I realized they weren't just women. There were warlocks hanging too. Without realy thinking, I curled my fingers around his.
And then, just when I was sure I was going to be sick, the images vanished and the dining hal lights came on.
Mrs. Casnoff stood at the front of the room, smiling serenely, but when she spoke, her voice was cold and hard. "This is why al of you are here. This is what you al risked when you recklessly used your powers in the presence of humans. And for what?" She looked around the room. "To gain acceptance? To show off?" Her eyes fel on me for a second before she continued. "We've been persecuted unto death by humans who wil happily use our powers if it suits them. And what you just saw"--she swept her hand around, and I could almost see those hanged witches again, their eyes cloudy, their lips blue--"is just what normal humans have done.
This is nothing compared to what is done by those who've made it their
Similar Books
