TITLE: The Midnight Flight of the Salem Magi
GENRE: MG - Fantasy
Salem's witches must ally with the patriots because when dragons are coming, it's 1 if by land, 2 if by sea, and 3 if by air.
At dusk I'll burn at the stake. I don't like to brag, but I'm very good at it. This will be my third time. It's made me something of a celebrity around New England. While burning magi has always attracted large crowds, I like to think I've taken the spectacle to a new level.
Thanks to my reputation, the villagers have packed the town square despite the short notice. A local baker rambles through the crowd, hefting a food tray overhead. "Get your gingerbread cookies! It's not a bonfire without your favorite foods."
I'd wave the baker down, but I'm chained to a stake atop a log pyramid. Unwilling to let mere captivity get in my stomach's way, I hop in place to rattle the chains. "Do you have any oatmeal cookies?"
The baker raises his bushy eyebrows. "Kid, no one likes oatmeal cookies."
"Well, I do."
He shakes his head. "Magi are weird."
I let out a huff that turns to fog in the cold air. "I'm surrounded by barbarians."
They form a crowd that stretches toward the horizon until their faces blur in the fading light. Latecomers scramble up ladders to reach the nearby rooftops. A few have even taken the time to bring telescopes.
From the audience size, every person in the region must have come to find out if I can honestly survive being burned alive. Thank goodness. If everyone is watching me, no one is searching for my sister and cousins.