Always a Witch Read Free Page B

anything, her face is even more flushed than Rowena's, but she meets my eyes steadily. "I haven't tried to change the dress because I don't want her to try to stop me."
    We all stare at Silda for a second until I am the first to recover. "Of course," I say bitterly. "You think I'm going to try and take your Talent." It's true that if someone tries to use his or her Talent against me three times, then I absorb it, but still, I would never do that to my own family member. Then I swallow sharply. I did do that to two of my own family members. One was Aunt Beatrice in 1939 and the second was an ancestor of mine who could throw fire in 1899. Still, it's not like I took their Talents away from them in the process.
    And now Silda drops her gaze to the floor, but her voice is fierce as she says, "It's not right, Tamsin. It's not right that you can do that."
    "I won't," I say. "I don't want your stupid Talent," I add coldly. "What good would it do me anyway?"
    " Tamsin Greene, " my mother says reprovingly as Silda lifts her head to stare at me. I match her glare for glare. My cousin and I used to be friends, or at least friendly.
    "That's uncalled for," Silda says, frost coating her voice.
    "Funny. I could say the same thing to you," I snap. "Sorry, Ro," I say, still staring at Silda. "Looks like I'm wearing pink after all."
    "What? This is my wedding, " Rowena shrieks, and we both jump. Then she takes a deep, slow breath and says to Silda in a voice that is soaked in honey syrup, "You will change her dress right now. You will change it to match the others and you will be delighted to do it."
    Silda blinks slowly and turns to me, her hand outstretched.
    "Rowena," my mother exclaims.
    "That's right," Rowena says to Silda, ignoring our mother. "You want to—"
    "Oh, stop it," I say irritably, and reaching out with my mind I pull hard in the way that I've learned. Suddenly the air in the room feels like winter as Silda blinks again and then steps back, her face pale. Her eyes dart to Rowena.
    "You tried to compel me," she accuses my sister. Turning to me, she whispers, "And you stopped her."
    "Don't bother thanking me," I mutter as I brush past her and out the door.

    Darkness pours through the hallway of Grand Central Station, a darkness alleviated only by the occasional flash of lightning and by the four-faced clock, which is glowing with a cold white fire. Before my eyes, the clock begins to ripple and swell to five times its normal size.
    Stop! I try to wake myself out of this moment, but I can't. I have to watch it play out.
    One of the clock faces has now become a door that's swinging open. And all the while the hands are still spinning, spinning backwards, unraveling the moments and years.
    Ten feet from the door, three figures seem locked in a strange kind of dance, arms and legs distorted by the clock's bright glare. Alistair is pulling my sister toward the door and the complete blackness that waits beyond it, while Gabriel has latched on to her other arm. Rowena twists between them like a rag doll.
    "Rowena!" I scream. Alistair's eyes meet mine, chips of ice. "She'll never be free. None of you will ever be free," he hisses, his words carrying over the wind and the rain.
    I jerk awake, my hands flailing outward as Rowena's twisted face shimmers and then fades into the pre-dawn shadows of my bedroom. Only then do I let myself blink and fall back against my pillows. I stare up at my ceiling for a while before turning my head to look out the window. The fields and forest beyond are hushed with the last breath of night, that perfect stillness just before daybreak.
    She'll never be free. None of you will ever be free.
    That last part's new, I conclude after a second. Usually the dream stops with Rowena stepping through the doorway. But this time Alistair's words have taken on a deeper twist. None of you will ever be free.
    I grind my knuckles into my eyes, trying to rub away the last image of Rowena burning into a skeleton. This makes