Sweet Revenge Of The Stolen Heiress

The morning sun broke through the gray clouds, casting long shadows across the muddy yard. Enoch walked out onto the back porch. He glared at Clare, who was standing by the chopping block. He wanted to punish her, but the memory of last night's storm — the purple lightning, his own hands shaking beyond his control — made him hesitate. He spat on the wooden floorboards and went back inside. Clare picked up the heavy iron axe. It was almost as tall as she was. She focused her mind, letting a tiny fraction of the golden energy flow into her arms. The heavy metal suddenly felt as light as a twig. She swung it down, splitting the thick log perfectly in half. Tabitha Pruitt walked out the back door. She carried a tin plate. She tossed it onto the dirt near Clare's feet. On the plate sat a single slice of stale, hardened bread. Clare looked at the bread. Her stomach growled loudly, but she didn't touch it. She kicked the plate away. "Ungrateful," Tabitha muttered, turning away. Gus Pruitt swaggered out from behind the barn. Two other teenage boys followed him. Gus held a wooden slingshot in his hand. He pulled a sharp stone from his pocket and loaded it. He pulled the rubber band back and aimed at Clare. The stone grazed Clare's temple. She flinched. A thin line of red marked her brow. The boys laughed loudly. Clare didn't cry out. She dropped the axe. She turned and locked her eyes directly onto Gus. Gus's laughter died in his throat. He took a step back, suddenly feeling very cold. But his friends were watching. He couldn't look weak. "What are you looking at, freak?" Gus yelled. He stomped forward, shoving his hands out to push her. Clare didn't move her body. She moved her mind. She visualized the space right in front of Gus's boots. She imagined a solid, invisible wall. Gus's boot struck the invisible barrier. His balance lurched. He pitched forward, his arms flailing in the air. He went down hard in the dirt, gasping. He pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, dazed and furious. His friends went very still. Gus turned on Clare, trembling with rage. He charged at her, screaming. Clare stood her ground. She focused her energy into a tight, heavy ball inside her head. When Gus was three feet away, she released it. She pressed the invisible weight against Gus's senses. Gus stopped dead in his tracks. He let out a strangled sound of pure terror. He dropped to his knees and clutched his head. His vision blurred. He saw only shadows pressing in from every direction, vast and suffocating. "Stop," Gus gasped. "Make it stop." He collapsed forward into the dirt, shaking. Tabitha heard the screaming and ran out of the house. She saw her grandson on the ground. "Gus!" she shrieked. Clare instantly pulled the pressure back. She lowered her head and made herself look small and frightened. Tabitha spun around. Her eyes were wild. "What did you do to him?!" She rushed at Clare — Clare simply stepped to the left. Tabitha's heavy body flew past her. Tabitha tripped over the chopping block and fell into the mud. The screen door banged open. Enoch stood there. He held a shotgun. He pumped the action, aiming it in Clare's direction. Clare looked at him. Her heartbeat remained perfectly steady. She stared into Enoch's eyes. Enoch's hands began to shake. He remembered the purple lightning. He remembered how powerless he had felt. His finger hovered near the trigger, but he couldn't make himself pull it. His breathing grew ragged. Tabitha sat up in the mud. "Do something, Enoch!" Enoch slowly lowered the gun. His nerve had broken completely. He backed into the house and slammed the door. Clare turned her back on them. She picked up the axe and went back to chopping wood. High above the clouds, the faint, rhythmic thumping of helicopter rotors began to vibrate through the damp air.