Page 74 of How to Flirt with a Witch

My feet move on pure survival instinct, walking with her away from the building and in the opposite direction of where Natalie would have gone to get to Woodward.

My heart beats in my throat. How far did she get? Will she hear me if I scream?

As we descend a set of stairs and turn onto a paved walkway, students walk between classes all around us, absorbed in their headphones and conversations. The thought of screaming and drawing everyone’s attention is humiliating.

Even as the thought comes, I internally kick myself. How can I be concerned about being humiliated right now?

“If you try anything, you’re going to get a fun lesson in earth magic,” Oaklyn murmurs in my ear, her breath warm on my neck.

A chill runs through me. I’m trapped.

Or am I?

Didn’t Natalie tell me the Madsens aren’t witches? Oaklyn might be lying to get me to cooperate.

Then again, she looks strong enough to pick me up and slam me down like a wrestling move, so earth magic or not, I’m not sure about my chances.

I close my fingers over my phone in my jacket pocket. I have to get a hold of Natalie.

“Before you do this,” I say, a quaver in my voice, “you should know that we tested my ability, and it’s useless. You’re going to be disappointed.”

She hesitates for the briefest moment. “Maybe your ability just needs to be coaxed out of you.”

I don’t like the sound of that. What does she mean by coax?

Brown plants line the walkway beside us, bald and dormant with lingering patches of snow between them. She guides me to a row of parked cars—and nausea rises inside me. I’m running out of time.

Ahead, a street sign saysWrong Way.

My inner voice shouts,I know!

I need a weapon, a plan, anything. Empty concrete planters with the ghosts of flowers sit too heavy to move. Classes have started, and nobody else is in sight. Why don’t I carry pepper spray?

“Silver Toyota,” Oaklyn says. “Back seat.”

She points me toward an FJ Cruiser, the kind of SUV where you have to open the front door in order to get into the back. I think they call that a suicide door.Fitting.

Worse, there’s a grate between the front and back, the type used to keep a dog contained. Once I’m in, there’ll be no hope of jumping out.

I am absolutely not getting in that car.

Adrenaline floods my veins. Time seems to slow as I make my move. I wrench away, twisting out of Oaklyn’s grasp. The straps of my backpack dig into my shoulders, a sharp tug as she tries to hold on, but I drop my arms and shrug out of it.

Free, I take off. One step, two, and no grabbing fingers haul me back. I race around a white sedan, yanking my phone out of my pocket and holding down the side button.

I raise it to my lips, shouting. “Call Natalie! Call Na—oof!”

Oaklyn’s arms encircle my waist. The pavement slams into me, sending shockwaves of pain up my wrists and knees. Air whooshes from my lungs. My phone clatters away. She’s freakishly strong, and with the fluid way she’s moving, she might be trained in martial arts.

Crap.

I kick wildly, my heels thumping against her. Her grip doesn’t loosen.

I suck in a breath to scream for help—but a sharp, cold point digs into my neck.

“Get up and stop struggling,” Oaklyn hisses.

My brain disconnects from my body. Abladeis pressed to my skin. More than that, something is coiling around my neck like a noose.