Westerham Witches and a Venetian Vendetta by Dionne Lister (top rated books of all time TXT) 📕

My left foot inched through the air and dropped to the ground, my leg more bent than normal. Looked like gravity was going to help me get the job done. All I had to do was get my foot up and forward. It would make for some noisy treading, but I didn’t need to sneak anymore. The only risk was if I fell. Oh, God. How the hell would I get back up again? It would take an hour, which was pretty depressing for someone who was sober or someone who hadn’t just broken both legs and an arm. Note to self: don’t put your foot too far forward, and keep the leg bent.

I managed two more steps. I hadn’t turned my head all the way forward because I wanted to keep an eye on Isabella. It was a good thing I had—she was lifting a foot even more slowly than I was. I had the upper hand, although this was ridiculous. The slowest chase in history.

After a couple of minutes, I was halfway to the door and exhausted. Sheesh. This was akin to smashing out weights at the gym. The subtle scrape of Isabella’s magic scored the back of my neck. Crap. Now what? If she was able to reverse the spell on herself, I was in major trouble.

Her smile was more catlike than pigeonish. She shook her arms and legs, as if testing them. “Ah, bene.”

Ah, not bene. I knew that meant good. It was so not.

I let my foot drop to the floor. A snail could catch me at the rate I was moving. Instead, I’d just have to keep trying to draw power and hope I could suck in enough to keep her at bay. There must be some reason she hadn’t killed me yet, since that’s what she’d decided had to happen. Hmm, if she’d been turning people into glass sculptures and it needed a lot of power, maybe she’d worn herself out and was still recovering? I knew how that felt, straining yourself to the absolute limit. It’d landed me in bed for days at a time, and I was young. I narrowed my eyes. It was a slow and embarrassing manoeuvre. That’s why she must’ve been cooking the non-witch way! She didn’t have the energy to magic the food. It all made sense.

Maybe I had a chance after all.

She moved and stood between me and the door. “You need not try to run. I have locked this house with magic. You can never escape.” She cocked her head to the side, studying me. Nodding, she folded her arms. “I will make you into a masterpiece!” She grinned. “You will be my best work. Instead of putting you outside where they will take you away, I can move you to an art gallery, and people will marvel over your beauty.” She nodded. “Si, perfetta. I did not get the credit I deserved for Antonio or Violetta, even though I saw those people amazed at the beauty of my work. I will make a new name so they will not know who I really am. Then I can enjoy my success.”

Oh crap. Isabella was ten types of crazy. This was a new and even worse way to be objectified. Was she going to undress me first? When I tried to talk, my lips and tongue were heavy, reluctant. My words came out in a drunk-on-a-bender slur—which was much worse than the usual drunken slur. It would be a surprise if she could understand me. “A… togaaa… wooould… beee… nicccccce.” If I was going to be immortalised, she could at least let me pick what to wear, and since I was in Italy, a toga would make things feel more classical. Also, I did not want to be naked in public for eternity.

“Silly girl. I cannot understand you.” She cupped my cheek with her hand. “Ah, such youthful skin. Much easier to work with than Violetta and Antonio.” My mouth would’ve dropped open, but nothing was happening quickly, except for my thoughts because who wouldn’t want to be lucid when they were about to die? And, yes, that was totally sarcastic. I always hoped when I died that it would come as a total surprise for one hundredth of a second or even when I wasn’t looking. I did not want to know ahead of time.

We didn’t always get what we wished for, obviously.

She ran a hand over my head. “Your hair will turn out well. Yes. Much better than your friend’s.” She turned her head to glance at Angelica before looking back at me. My eyes widened, albeit slowly, and Isabella grinned. “Ah, you thought I was telling the truth before? I lied. She found my button.” Her magic tingled my scalp, and the pearlescent blue button in the photo I’d taken of Angelica sat in her palm. “Of course I’m going to turn her into a sculpture as well. Maybe we show you together at the gallery? I didn’t want you to have extra… how you say… incentive to stop me before.” She magicked the button away.

The spell I was under didn’t prevent my stomach from dropping like a rollercoaster car. What would losing both of us do to my mum, and everyone else? The pressure of frustration built inside me until I thought I’d explode. This couldn’t be happening. I needed to think about something else otherwise my brain would stay on a panicked loop.

I knew why she was going to kill us, but I wanted to ask why she’d killed that old lady—Violetta. Where did she fit into it? The only thing worse than dying? Dying without knowing the answer to a puzzle. It was all I had to cling to right now, so I was taking it.

I opened myself to the power and sucked in little by little, moving it to my internal reserves. It might take a while, but if I had enough