Three Beastly Kendra Chronicles by Alex Flinn

Author:Alex Flinn
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins

EPILOGUE

Or a few days, in any case. For, you see, one of the escaped children ran straight to the next village with his tale of a gingerbread house and the witch who resided there. Of course, the constable would not believe such a wild story … until it was corroborated by a second, a third, a tenth child. Perhaps little Miranda tried to tell them what had truly happened, but her voice was too small, and too late.

They showed up in a pack, with nooses. I knew there would be no trial, least of all a fair one. I only thanked Providence they had not brought torches.

“Run!” I told Charlie. “Do not look back, and if anyone asks, tell them only that you escaped an evil witch who would have baked you into gingerbread. Do not mention your sister. They will not believe you. Or they will think you a wizard too.”

This time, he listened. At least, I think he did, for he left. They came moments later.

They hanged me. It hurt, but I did not die. The next morning, as the sun rose, I felt a crow, pecking, pecking at the rope around my neck.

And that was how I came to leave England. The bird turned out to be my friend, Lucinda. She advised me to travel. I did, first to Scotland (where I met the witches who had inspired Shakespeare’s Macbeth), later to Spain and Italy, Greece, and eventually France, where I lived many years. Lucinda showed me how I too might change to a bird to escape, a useful skill.

I never saw Charlie again.

That’s another thing about witches.

We are often lonely.

And so, to alleviate my loneliness and to honor the vow I made in the gingerbread house, I’ve made it my life’s work to help people. There are many who do so, using their own special talents for reading, baking, or envelope stuffing. I try to use my own talent for witchcraft. Unfortunately, as you might have noticed in this story of the gingerbread children, using my talent sometimes backfires. Actually, my failures kind of outnumber my successes. Over the years, I’ve been banished from more countries than most people ever see. For this reason, I have learned to choose my victims—er, people I help—carefully.

It’s hard for me to make friends. People don’t, I am surprised to say, usually like me, and those who do tend to grow old and die. I haven’t had a real friend in many years.

I can change my looks at will. I’ve used magic to stay young and pretty, the way other people use Botox, and I’ve found it easiest to stay in school as much as possible. I don’t need school, of course. I can make the necessities of life from thin air, and after all these years, the curriculum is a bit dull. (Can you imagine taking Algebra Two more than once?) This is particularly true of history, as I’ve lived it. It irks me how often the books get

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