“Of course. The building blocks of life. A complete set of DNA is called a genome, which is like an instruction booklet for the human body.”
Mister Fergus blinked. “You really are quite remarkable.”
Willa was used to people being amazed when she let her intellect show, but the genuine wonderment on the face of her teacher made her cheeks redden. It was one thing to dazzle Cricket, quite another to dazzle someone like him. “Who programmed the DNA?” she asked.
“Excellent question, and one I’m not inclined to answer, assuming I could. But I will tell you that some people — not all — have the ability to transmit and receive thoughts.”
“You’re one of those people. So is the witch.”
Mister Fergus nodded. “I don’t know if you have that ability or not, but you certainly possess an remarkable intellect. Did your mother ever have you tested?”
“She’d planned to. Me and Harlan both. But things got crazy before we could do the tests.”
“I assume you were in advanced classes at your school?”
“Yes, but back in third grade three years ago, our options were limited. We got ‘extension activities’ because we were gifted, but they didn’t amount to much. It would have gotten really interesting if we’d made it to sixth grade. We would have been in a separate class with all the other smart kids.”
“That’s why your mother allowed me into the village knowing that I probably wasn’t the college professor I proclaimed myself to be.”
“Yep.”
“She sensed that I posed no threat and that I would be beneficial to her children’s education.”
“You think she has telepathy too? That would explain a few things.”
“If so, she may not even be aware of it. Your grandfather, on the other hand...”
“Oh, yes. Pops definitely has it and knows it.”
“Indeed. So do you understand that it’s not some supernatural hocus pocus, but actually a genetic directive?”
“The magic stuff is more fun. I know science can explain just about everything, but sometimes I don’t want it to.”
The bird-nest beard split apart in a grin. “Hold onto magic as long as you can, Willadean. Most grownups let fragments of it slip through their fingers with every passing day.”
Willa nodded. “The witch was blocking her own thoughts so you couldn’t read them?”
“In a rudimentary way, perhaps. As with any skill or talent, the more you practice, the better you get. She couldn’t block the fact that she was exhausted, nor her blossoming migraine. Because of that exhaustion and discomfort, I was able to access more of her thoughts just now. My primary concern was whether this room is being monitored, either visually or audibly, but I couldn’t extract that information.”
“Do you think she can read my thoughts?”
“You would sense it if she could. You’re self-aware and smart enough to identify a foreign entity’s attempts at probing your mind. You may not understand what’s happening, but you’d know something was amiss. You haven’t felt anything like that?”
Willa shook her head.
“That’s good. Now, can we focus on escape, please? Between us, I think we’ve bought a bit of time with Lizzy. You seem to captivate her. Possibly she relates to you as the gifted child she herself was at the same age. But we can’t count on that continuing. She could flip at any moment and decide to crucify us in a tree.”
“Got it,” Willa replied, scrambling off the bed again.
Perhaps the witch had shackled her differently this time, because her fingertip connected with the metal object under the cabinet. She slid it out, then held it up in the nightlight’s faint glow.
“Looks like a surgeon’s scalpel,” she said. “Good thing I grabbed it from the handle end.”
“Well done, child.”
“Can you pick the lock with it?”
“Does a bear defecate in the woods?”
“It sure does. Stand back.” She grinned, then tossed the wicked-looking implement into the canary cage.
Chapter 17
Harlan
Harlan was determined not to let the Witchy Lady see him this time. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that Willa went missing from her bed soon after the Witchy Lady had spotted him flying above the Pyramid Logs in the astral plane. He and Willa slept only inches apart. Had he drawn her to their home, inadvertently leaving some kind of mystical breadcrumb trail? When he settled on that explanation for Willa’s abduction, he felt the Shift again, that feeling of being absolutely sure of something. He didn’t know where the Shift came from, but he trusted it. It had never let him down.
If he didn’t block thoughts of Willa at that moment, he would start crying in his dream, and probably in the real world too. Mama was out hunting for her, but Pops was sitting on her bed with his old shotgun. Nobody was going to snatch Harlan. Seeing his grandfather in the gloom, awake and watchful, was the only reason Harlan had been able to fall asleep.
None of the village dogs flew with him that night. Disappointing, but maybe a good thing. He needed to concentrate on controlling his movements. The lofty goals he’d set for himself that night included finding Willa, keeping an eye on Mama in the woods, and possibly spotting the Witchy Lady. Any information he could gather may prove useful.
Since his physical body was home in bed covered by one of Pops’ handmade quilts, the chilly autumn air didn’t penetrate his flapping flannel pajamas. But the astral version of himself registered the temperature, the wind speed, and the scents whooshing past him as he soared: pungent juniper, skunk-from-a-distance, decaying vegetation...all familiar smells he associated with living in the country. It made the skunk aroma oddly pleasant.
His life in the holler these past three years had been a happy one. In Knoxville, a boy who didn’t speak was a boy shunned.
