8
THE RAIN STOPPED about the time Moura and Mr. Ashbourne got up to leave. We walked outside to say goodbye—me gladly, Dad sadly, despite Moura's quick kiss.
After the sleek little car disappeared around a curve. Dad turned to me. "It's not like you to lie or be secretive, Jen. We—"
"'We'?" I scowled at him. "'We' is you and Moura now, not you and me."
"Jen—"
But I was already gone, heading toward the woods with Tink at my heels.
"Come back here!" Dad called. "You heard what Moura said."
Ignoring my father, I plunged into the wet, gloomy forest. After the rain, the air smelled damper than ever. The leaves dripped, and when I got to the stream, it ran high and fast, foaming around the rocks. I sat on one of the boulders and watched Tink try to explore the underbrush without getting wet.
If Moura thought she could scare me into staying home like a good little girl, she didn't know me. Besides. I wanted to get away from Dad. He wasn't himself anymore. Moura and her witchy ways had changed him and everything else—including me. I'd never lied to my father before, never kept things from him. But that witch catcher—I'd disobeyed him to get it. And then I couldn't give it up. Not with Moura around. She would've persuaded Dad to give it to her.
Suddenly, Tink ran out of the bushes. A small, thin girl dressed in rags and tatters of filthy clothing followed him. The dense shade gave her pale skin a greenish tint. Or maybe she was just dirty. Her mouth was wide, her lips thin, her eyes oddly slanted, and her hair was a tangled mass of black curls. She was the weirdest kid I'd ever seen. Yet she was oddly familiar, like something I'd seen in a dream.
To my surprise, Tink went up to her and rubbed against her legs and purred so loudly I felt a stab of jealousy. I'd never seen him be that friendly to anyone but me.
"Hello there, boyo." The girl leaned down and rubbed her face against the cat's face. "Good kitty," she crooned.
"Tink," I called, sliding down off the boulder. "Come here."
Tink glanced at me, but he stayed where he was, contrary as ever.
The girl straightened up and turned to me. "Where's the old man gone?" Her voice was low and hoarse, raspy but not harsh.
"The old man?" I echoed, a little scared of her odd appearance but too curious to run back to the house and Dad.
"Him who lives up yonder in the castle. Him who built the tower."
"Great-Uncle Thaddeus? Mr. Mostyn? Is that who you mean?"
"Mostyn, yes. Him. Where is he?"
"He died a couple of years ago," I told her. "He left his house to my father, so we're living there now."
"Mostyn died?" Her face turned pale under the dirt. "Are ye sure?"
"He was very old, you know. Ancient. Almost a hundred."
"A hundred years ... Fancy thinking that's old." She sighed and shook her head. "Well, he were a right dafty fellow, but at least he kept me safe. Now I reckon it's up to ye."
"You want me to keep you safe?" I stared at her. "Safe from what?"
"From the lady, of course." The girl looked around uneasily as if she expected to see someone lurking in the woods. "Her who's been here three times now, swishing around, seeking and prying and sniffing for me."
A little shiver raced up and down my spine. "Are you talking about Moura Winters?"
"Hush," the girl said. "That be her, but be careful how ye speak. Names have power, ye know."
She peered into the woods again, her body tense, poised to run. "They be a bad pair, her and the collector. Him with the magic spectacles. They be witches, brimful of evil and wickedness."
I drew in my breath. Hadn't I known from the moment I saw Moura that she was dangerous? And Mr. Ashbourne—those scary glasses, the way he'd made me lead him upstairs just as if he'd cast a spell on me.
But how could they be witches? Confused, I looked around at the familiar world. A gray sky like thousands I'd seen before hid the sun. Trees swayed in the breeze as they always did. Rainwater dripped from the leaves with a familiar pit-a-pat. Two squirrels chased each other around a tree trunk. Deeper in the woods, a bird called. Everything was just as it should be, just as it had always been. Ordinary. Safe.
Yet just a few feet away stood an odd, raggedy girl. Nothing about her was ordinary. Not the tattered clothes she wore, not the things she said, not the odd words she used. With a shock, I realized she looked like the girl in Uncle Thaddeus's painting—half wild, not quite human.
I took a step backward, suddenly uneasy. Maybe a little afraid. Except for Tink, I was alone, deep in the woods, far from the house. No one knew where I was, not even Dad.
I was tempted to grab Tink and run, but something about the girl held me there. She didn't seem dangerous, just strange. Mysterious. Puzzling.
"Who are you?" I whispered. "Where did you come from? How do you know Great-Uncle Thaddeus and Moura? Why—"
"Them that asks too many questions must wait for answers." With the grace of a cat, the girl reached for a low branch and swung herself up into an oak tree. Perched above my head, thin legs dangling, she peered down at me.
"Yer first question be the easiest one," she said. "I'm called Kieryn. And ye be Jen."
"How do you know my name?"
A sly little grin tweaked the corners of her wide mouth. "I been in yer bedroom, ye great ninny, listening to ye babble away to yer cat. He knowed I were there, crying and begging to be let out, but ye mistook me for a bug. A dimbob cicada. An uglier creature I never seen—red eyes it's got."
When Kieryn paused to take a breath, I asked, "What are you talking about?"
"Ye great booby, ain't ye figured it out yet?" Kieryn laughed down at me, revealing a mouthful of small white teeth. "I were in that skitzy witch trap ye took from the tower and hung in yer window, the one Tink busted. Smarter than ye he is."
Tink climbed up the tree and stretched out on the limb beside Kieryn. I reached for him. "Come here."
He glanced at me and twitched his tail, but he stayed where he was.
Kieryn looked down at me. "Ye don't believe me, do ye?"
I shook my head. "You're almost as big as I am. How could you possibly have been inside that little globe?"
Kieryn's small, dirty feet swung back and forth. Every now and then she glanced around, as if she expected to see someone sneaking toward us through the trees. "Mostyn showed me them pretty colors all spinning and shining, and in I went through the spout—poof, from the size I be now to something no bigger than a nandy caterpillar."
"I don't believe you." That's what I said, but it wasn't entirely true. More and more I wanted to believe her. After all, we had an enemy in common. "For one thing," I went on, "if you'd really been trapped in that globe, you'd be a witch—or an evil spirit."
Kieryn threw back her head and laughed. "Is that what her told ye?"
"Yes, but—"
She leaned out of the tree and regarded me with a fierce scowl. "Truly true, I were in the globe, but her lied to ye about the traps and what they catch. I ain't a witch, nor be I evil. Those snarky traps suck in everything that's magic-good as wed as bad." She flipped around and hung by her knees, her face level with mine. "Remember this, Jen. Witches always lie. It's against their very blood and bone to tell the truth."
Confused, I backed away from that odd little upside-down face.
"Surely yer not afeared of me, Jen?" She grinned her sly little grin and swung back and forth by her knees. "I mean ye no harm, ye great ninny. I swear it."
"Of course I'm not scared of you," I said, hoping she couldn't hear my heart going boom-diddyboom like a big bass drum. "Why should I be?"
"What if / be a witch?" Kieryn dropped from the tree like a ripe apple and landed on the ground beside me. This close she smelled like cinnamon and dust.
"But you just told me you're not a witch."
Kieryn laughed and clapped her hands. "Yes, but I also told ye witches lie."
Suddenly serious, she studied my face so long I had to look away
in embarrassment. Finally, she turned to Tink, still stretched out on the low branch. "Can I trust her?"
The cat tipped his head ever so slightly in my direction, and purred.
Kieryn nodded, satisfied. "First, ye must swear on yer very heart and soul never, ever, ever to tell anyone about me—or who I be. Not her. Not him. Not even yer own dear daddy."
Almost hypnotized by the intensity of Kieryn's gaze, I took a deep breath and whispered, "I swear on my very heart and soul never to tell anyone about you. Never, ever, ever."
Kieryn hesitated, as if she still didn't quite trust me. Tink purred and dropped down from the tree into my arms. "Well," Kieryn said to the cat, "if ye trust her, I reckon I will, too, for cats be good at judging who's good and who's bad."
Glancing over her shoulder, she studied the woods behind her as if to make sure no one hid behind the trees. "First ye must know my kinkind go by many names in yer world. 'Travelers,' some call us, because we come from far away. Others call us 'the people' or 'the strangers' because they're scared to say our real name. A few call us 'friends.' But, Jen, listen close and I'll tell ye the truth."
She pressed her mouth against my ear and whispered, "What I be is fairy."
I drew away from the warm breath tingling in my ear. Almost as if she stood beside me, I heard Moura's voice saying, Fairies aren't the dear little creatures you imagine them to be.... they are malicious, spiteful, and completely untrustworthy.
"You can't be a fairy," I whispered, frightened now of her strangeness, her pointed face, her odd eyes. Perhaps Moura had been trying to protect me, not harm me.
Misunderstanding what I'd said, Kieryn shook her head in disgust. "If ye think my kinkind be no bigger than dimbob butterflies flitting about rose gardens, ye been reading the wrong books. We be full-size folk—clever as foxes, good at tricks and magic, flummoxers and rascals from way back."
I stared at her, still fearful, unsure. Moura's words ran round and round in my head—wicked, beyond imagining.... She's a fairy I wouldn't want to meet in a dark wood.
"'Tis her, ain't it?" Kieryn's small face screwed itself into a fierce grimace. "Ye been listening to the lies her tells about my kinkind. her, our enemy, our foe. Her, a witch of the twelfth degree. Listen to yer ownself, Jen—what do ye think of me?"
She's scared, I heard my own voice in my head, not wicked. That's what I'd told Dad about the girl in the painting. It's what I thought, not what Moura wanted me to think.
Still a little uneasy, I managed a small smile. "I believe you're a fairy," I said, "but you're not evil, and I'm not afraid of you."
"There now, that be better," Kieryn said cheerfully. "Never let a witch into yer head, Jen—especially one as twelve times wicked as her be."
Somewhere behind me in the still woods, I heard Dad call my name. "It's my father," I told Kieryn. "He's looking for me."
Without a word, Kieryn picked up Tink and peered at me. her pointed face framed by his ears. Silently she ran her hands over him, his back, his tummy, his head, legs, and tail. While she stroked him, she began humming to herself. The woods grew still and the air felt thick, the way it does before a thunderstorm. My scalp tingled, and the hair on my arms rose.
Suddenly, Kieryn's body wavered as if I were looking at her through a campfire on a hot summer day. With a jolt strong enough for me to feel, she disappeared. In her place was a scrawny gray kitten with green eyes.
Face to face with the kitten, Tink purred and touched his nose to hers. Not me. I got to my feet and backed away in disbelief.
"Don't be afeared," the kitten cried in a raspy voice. "I'm still me."
"How?" I stammered. "How did you do that?"
The kitten shrugged. "I reckon if I understood the whys and wherefores of magic, I couldn't do it no more." Dad called again, closer.
"Take me home with ye," Kieryn whispered. "Keep me safe from her and him:
I picked her up. Her body was as warm and fuzzy and soft as a real kitten's. "What shall I tell Dad?"
"Tell him ye found me in the woods," Kieryn said. "Ask him to let ye keep me. But don't call me Kieryn. Her knows me by that name."
"How about Misty? It suits your gray fur."
Kieryn wrinkled her pink nose. "Truth's bells, is that the best ye can do?"
I thought a second. "Mist, then. Is that better?"
"I suppose it'll do for a wee while."
"Jen!" Dad called. "Jen, where are you?" He sounded both worried and cross.
"Coming. Dad," I called. "Coming!"
I ran to meet my father. Kieryn clung to my shirt, her kitten claws digging into my skin like tiny pricking pins. Tink bounded along ahead, tail waving proudly.
I met Dad at a curve in the path. "Where have you been, Jen? I told you not to go running off."
"I'm sorry," I apologized. "I won't do it again. I promise."
"What's that you've got?" Dad peered at the kitten cuddled in my arms.
I held her up so he could see how pretty she was. "This is Mist. I found her in the woods down by the stream. She's half starved, poor little thing."
Dad shook his head. "And you want to keep her, I suppose?"
"Please, Dad, please? She's so sweet."
"What about Tink?"
"He loves her." I knelt down and Tink rubbed his nose against Kieryn's tiny pink nose. "See?"
Dad reached out and stroked Kieryn's little head. Immediately, she began to purr as loudly as she could.
"Listen to that. She loves you, Dad."
Dad laughed. "Cats are such phonies. Once I say yes, she'll probably never come near me again."
Kieryn kept purring, louder and louder till her whole skinny body vibrated.
"Okay, okay," Dad said. "But we'll have to take her to the vet first thing tomorrow to make sure she's healthy. She'll need shots, too. And then, when she's older, we'll have her spayed."
Kieryn immediately turned off her purr machine and pulled away from Dad's hand. I was sure she was struggling not to toss at Wm.
He laughed again. "You'd almost think she understands English."
I smiled down at Kieryn. "Cats understand more than people realize."
"Let's go back to the house," Dad said, "and feed that poor starved creature."
The path through the woods was too narrow to walk side by side, so I followed Dad home, plodding slowly uphill. On either side, oaks, maples, and birches towered over us, blocking the sky with their leaf}' branches. Thick moss covered the earth and grew soft on the trees. Boulders reared from the ground, dappled green and blue and yellow with moss and lichen. Ferns grew tall and lush. It was an enchanted forest, just as I'd thought when I'd first seen it. Anything could happen here.
Intact, it already had.
9
WHILE TINK WATCHED, Dad filled a bowl with dry cat food for Kieryn. When he set it in front of her, she sniffed it suspiciously and recoiled.
"What's the matter, my lady?" Dad asked. "Isn't Tink's food good enough for you?"
Kieryn mewed pitifully and gave me an angry look. "Maybe she's not used to dry food," I suggested. "What about milk?"
Dad selected a small bowl from the cupboard. He hesitated in front of the refrigerator. "It seems to me I read somewhere milk isn't good for cats."
"But she's so little. Surely it can't hurt her."
Dad sighed and poured some milk into the bowl. When he set it in front of Kieryn, she drank it greedily.
"I hope it doesn't make her sick," he said.
"Oh, Dad, you're such a worrywart." I hugged him.
He shrugged and smiled. "Just because I'm a worrywart doesn't mean there's nothing to worry about."
I watched him make a pot of tea for the two of us. The rain had begun again. A strong wind drove sheets of water against the windows and lashed the trees and bushes. Lightning whipped across the sky, and thunder boomed.
Dad looked out the back door. "I love a good storm," he said.
"What would happen if lightning struck the tower?" I ask
ed him.
"See those metal poles on the roof?" He pointed. "Those are lightning rods. They're designed to redirect the lightning away from a building and into the ground." He smiled. "Great-Uncle Thaddeus thought of everything."
I nodded and sipped my tea, sweet with honey and milk. It was cozy to be at the kitchen table with Dad. Kieryn sat in my lap, purring, and Tink crouched on the windowsill, peering out at the wet world. If only Moura hadn't come into our lives, everything would be perfect.
As if he'd heard me think Moura's name, Dad said, "I hope the weather doesn't keep Moura from joining us for dinner tonight."
I felt Kieryn's body tense. "She was here just last night," I said. "And this morning. Why is she coming again tonight?"
Dad hesitated and stirred more honey into his tea. "Well, we agreed it would make sense for her to live here while she inventories the contents of the house." He went on stirring his tea, his eyes on the cup, not on me. "After Moura appraises their value, I can make an educated decision about what I want to sell and what I want to keep."
"But she has a house! And a shop, too. Why should she stay with us?"
Kieryn put her paws on the table and looked at Dad as if she were as upset as I was.
Still avoiding my eyes, Dad stirred more honey into his tea. "We're so far from town, it makes perfect sense for Moura to live here, instead of driving back and forth between our place and hers."
"Where is she sleeping?"
"She'll have her own room," Dad said quickly. "It will be perfectly proper, Jen."
"What if I say I don't want her here?" My voice rose.
"Moura's my fiancee, Fen." Dad set his cup down and looked me straight in the eye. His voice was patient but firm. "You'll have to get used to sharing me with her."
"But—"
He raised his hand to silence me. "Believe me, Moura understands. She'll do everything she can to make things easy for you."
Holding Kieryn tight, I jumped to my feet. "Well, I won't make things easy for her!"
Without waiting for him to reply, I ran to my room, with Tink at my heels. Slamming the door shut, I sank down on my bed and wept. Kieryn touched my shoulder.