I wondered what would happen if Smith crossed that line.
A crowd had gathered, Smith’s congregation leaving the tent and filling the space behind the gate. Dozens of them stared out with earnest, devout gazes.
At the head of the crowd stood Smith himself. Surrounded by his people, he seemed small, slight. I still had Stockton’s charm in my pocket. I put it on. He appeared otherworldly, his gaze blank and inhuman. He frowned, burning. Lines seemed to form around him, tendrils that joined him to all the people around him, like tethers, leashes. Two broken lines stretched in front of him, wavering, unanchored.
One of the men, the one who’d spoken first, stepped toward Smith. I ran forward, slipping in front of him, blocking his way.
“No, don’t go back. Please.”
Smith called out from behind the gate. “You are keeping them from peace. I can give you peace.”
“Kitty, don’t listen to him!” Jeffrey called.
But his words hadn’t affected me. I didn’t have to listen to him. The charm protected me.
Jeffrey stood a few yards up the hill from me, his hands clenched, looking worried for the first time all evening. Stockton was nearby, his camera up and filming. At least we’d have a record of this, however it turned out.
I had to draw him out—without seeming like I was drawing him out. He was probably already suspicious. Of course he was.
I approached the gate. “Kitty!” Jeffrey’s voice was tight with fear. I waved a hand, trying to tell him it was okay. I had a plan. I hoped.
At the line, I stopped walking and tried to look pathetic and indecisive.
One of his followers started unlocking the chain. Smith never touched the metal. Steel contained iron, which was poison to his kind.
Once the people around him had pulled the chains away, Smith moved forward. I couldn’t look away; his gaze trapped mine. I tried to make it a challenge. Wolves stared when they wanted to make a challenge.
“You’re curious, aren’t you?” he said.
I nodded. I had to keep him moving forward.
“But you hesitate. You’re afraid.”
He came closer. God, I wanted to run away. Wolf wanted to run away.
He was in front of me, holding out his hand, like he wanted me to take it, so he could draw me into his world. His goblin market.
Slowly, I took a step back—a hesitating step, to encourage him to follow. I was right on the edge, he could draw me to him if only he took another step toward me, over the line.
But he stopped. When he smiled, he showed teeth.
He said, “I see your spell. I’ll not cross the line.”
Screw it. Screw him. I grabbed his shirt and pulled, yanking him forward. Across the line.
I expected him to be heavier than he was. Hauling him felt like pulling on a pillow—he was light enough to fly out of my grip. Surprise at this made me lose my balance. I fell backward, but I kept hold of his shirt, determined to bring him down, literally if need be.
I hit the ground, expecting him to fall on top of me. But he didn’t, because as soon as his body crossed the invisible barrier that we’d created he caught fire. He burst like a flare, yellow and red spewing with a shrill hiss that might have been a shriek. Ash and embers fell against me, onto my face, scalding. I screamed and put my arms over my face. My hands burned, throbbing and painful. I rolled, trying to get away.
Somebody stopped me and pulled me up until I was sitting. “Are you okay?” It was Jeffrey.
My hands were red, baked and itching, like a bad sunburn. My face burned and itched, too. I hated to think what it looked like.
I lurched out of his grip and twisted all the way around to look for Smith. “Where is he? Where’d he go?”
“He’s gone,” Jeffrey said, laughing a little, nervously. “He just burned up.”
A few black cinders lay scattered on the grass. At the gate of the caravan, people were drifting out, stumbling, confused, shaking their heads.