Witch Catcher

  "Not especially." I tried to look away, but her pale eyes held mine for a moment, probing as if she hoped to read my mind. It was a relief to turn my head, to break away from her gaze.

  "Do you wish me to continue?"

  I shrugged. "If you want." Instead of looking at her, I watched a dy walk across the ceiling.

  Moura went on with her lies. "My grandmother never had the opportunity to return to the tower. When your uncle realized she was interested in the witch trap, he locked her out."

  He sealed you out, I thought, with those runes on the door. He knew what you were. He knew what you were after.

  "You saw your uncle's paintings," Moura continued, "the strange creature trapped behind glass, her hands pressed against her prison walls, her mouth open in a plea for freedom. Thaddeus Mostyn painted her over and over again, never satisfied with his renderings. Always beginning again."

  She paused to swat at the fly, now crawling around the sugar bowl. Off it flew.

  "And then one evening," Moura said softly, "Thaddeus Mostyn suffered apoplexy—a stroke, you'd call it. He never recovered his ability to speak or to walk. He could no longer go to the tower."

  Yes, I thought, yes—I know all about that stroke. And who caused it. Witch. Liar. I hate you.

  Keeping my face as expressionless as Moura's, I said, "And the globe was left there with the girl trapped inside."

  "Not a girl," she said. "A demon from another world, untrustworthy, dangerous, wicked, a teller of lies, a deceiver."

  The fly buzzed over her head. Annoyed, Moura picked up the newspaper and tried to kill it. Again she missed. "Filthy creature," she muttered. "Full of germs."

  To keep from looking at Moura, I picked up my cup and stared into my coffee. "If something wicked was inside that globe, why did you and Mr. Ashbourne want it so badly?" I ventured.

  "To make certain it didn't fall into the wrong hands. Mr. Ashbourne collects witch catchers to prevent the accidental release of the evil beings trapped within."

  Suddenly, Moura laid her hand on mine. "Now do you understand why you must tell me everything you know about the globe, Jen? You mustn't put yourself in peril because of your innocence." She paused, her eyes locked on mine again. "Or should we say your ignorance? Your stubbornness? Call it what we will, but you are endangering yourself."

  I pulled my hand away. "Tink broke the globe. There was nothing but broken glass in my closet." This was true, so I looked her in the eye while I spoke. "You saw it yourself. Shards of glass ad over the door."

  "Ah, but perhaps you encountered the creature later," Moura persisted. "In the woods, maybe. Foolish child! You could be enchanted without even knowing it. You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into."

  Although I knew better than to believe Moura. her words scared me, awoke possibilities that hadn't occurred to me. Doubts. I'd believed Kieryn almost from the beginning. Had I been too trusting? All of this was new to me—magic, witchcraft, fairyland, spells, traps.

  Moura got up and came around the table. She hugged me. Her perfume surrounded me as dense as a cloud of smoke. I felt dizzy, woozy, breathless. Moura loved me.... She wanted to protect me from danger ... from Kieryn. I relaxed in her arms, I breathed in her perfume, filling my lungs with it as if I'd been drowning in ordinary air.

  "My dear, dear child," Moura whispered, her breath cool in my ear. "Allow me to be a mother to you, let me keep you from danger and harm."

  "A mother." I murmured. "I had a mother, a lovely mother, but she died, she..."

  "Yes, yes." Moura soothed me. "I cannot replace her, but I can love you as you need to be loved. You can confide in me. Your secrets will be safe with me. Your joys, your sorrows. Let me into your heart, darling Jen."

  Helpless, I opened my heart, and Moura sank into it. I loved her. She loved me. Safe. I felt so safe. I opened my eyes and gazed into her beautiful face. In my lap, Tink growled. He dug his claws into my legs and lashed his tail, but I ignored him.

  "Oh, Moura, oh. Mother." I took a deep breath, eager to win her love, to be her daughter.

  12

  JUST AS I WAS about to tell Moura everything she wanted to know, Dad opened the kitchen door. A gust of fresh air came in with him and dissipated Moura's heavy musk of perfume.

  "Well, well," Dad said, "what a nice surprise to find you two so friendly."

  As the bittersweet scent faded, I shook my head and took a deep breath. My dizziness vanished, and I pulled away from Moura.

  Her body tensed with fury, but she let me go. Forcing herself to smile, she greeted Dad pleasantly. "I believe we're making some progress." She hugged Dad. He couldn't see the anger and frustration in her face, but I could.

  I thanked Dad silently with all my heart for choosing that moment to return. Moura had led me into her trap so quickly, so easily. I was indeed a foolish child.

  "What did you purchase for the garden?" Moura asked.

  "A spade, a rake, and a hoe to start with," Dad said.

  "How about the plants I suggested?"

  He pulled out a list and read, "Foxglove, deadly nightshade, lobelia, monkshood, bleeding heart." He looked at Moura. "I must say, the cashier seemed perplexed by my choices. She says they're all poisonous."

  Moura smiled and shrugged. "One man's flower is another man's poison."

  I shuddered, but Dad slid into a chair beside me, eager for the coffee Moura poured for him.

  Ignoring me, he said to Moura, "I've been thinking about Mr. Ashbourne. He was a good sport about the witch catcher. Maybe I should sell Uncle Thaddeus's paintings to him. They aren't to my taste. Why shouldn't they go to someone who appreciates them?"

  "I'm sure Ciril will be delighted," Moura said. "Shall I call him to make an appointment?"

  "Why not this afternoon?" Dad asked.

  "Fine." With a smile for both of us, Moura left the table to go call Mr. Ashbourne.

  Dad watched her leave the room. "Lovely woman," he said softly. "I was so pleased to see you two together. I knew you'd grow to love her as much as I do."

  Wordlessly, I pushed my chair back from the table and left Dad to drink his coffee alone. What was the sense of telling him nothing had changed between Moura and me? In fact, I detested her more than ever. Worse yet, I was also scared of her.

  With Tink at my heels, I rushed upstairs but paused at the top. How could I face Kieryn? I'd almost betrayed her.

  Tink rubbed against my legs and purred, then ran to my closed door and looked at me. "Mew, mew," he cried, almost as if he were telling me it was all right. Kieryn would forgive me.

  Still ashamed, I opened my door and saw Kieryn-the-cat sitting in the middle of my bed, washing her face with her paw. She watched me cross the room and sink down beside her.

  "Ye needn't tell me. I know what for almost done." Kieryn went on grooming herself. "I be a cat now, but I were the bird at the window and the dy on the wall. I be full of tricksy tricks."

  I glanced at the gray cat and smiled. No matter what shape she took—fairy, cat, bird, or fly—Kieryn was my friend. How could I have let Moura fill my head with doubts?

  "I thought I could outsmart that witch," I muttered, "and look what happened. How could I have been so stupid?"

  "Ye're wiser now, ain't ye?" Kieryn asked, "Her won't find it so easy to trick ye again."

  I rubbed the cat's furry head. "I hope you're right."

  We lay on the bed, side by side, watching the dance of leaf shadows on the wad. After a while, Kieryn stretched and took her own form. Her hair, clean and silky from her bath last night, curled around her face in dark tendrils. She was more beautiful than I'd realized. An exotic creature with pale green skin, slanted eyes, and a pointed chin, not like any race on earth.

  She sat up suddenly and peered down at me. "I'm all of a fret about my brother, Brynn, fen. Him and the aunties been in them traps a fierce long time. Years and years, I reckon."

  "Do you think Moura has the traps in her shop?"

  Kieryn shook
her head. "They be with him, the collector, I'm most certain of it."

  "Mr. Ashbourne's coming here this very afternoon," I said, "to buy Uncle Thaddeus's paintings."

  "The ones the old skitch done of me when I were trapped and helpless?"

  "Mr. Ashbourne told Dad he's interested in the fairy world."

  Kieryn looked fierce. "Him interested in the fairy world," she muttered. "All him wants is to bring it to ruin, him and for both, so their kinkind can rule it. Dark and evil them be." She spit on her thumb and drew a circle in the air. "Wicked to wicked, bad to bad, dark to dark."

  "Is that a curse?" My heart bumped for a second like a car on a rutted road.

  "Aye." Kieryn gave me a sly look. "But it's no more than a boshy mosquito bite to ones like than. If Mam were here, she'd do up a big whopping curse that would set them back a bit, I can tell ye that. She has the power, Mam does."

  "Do you know where Mr. Ashbourne lives?" I asked.

  Kieryn grinned. "Nay, but when he comes here for the paintings, we can hide ourselves in his car and let the old snark drive us right to his house—like as if he was our own private chauffeur."

  She threw back her head and laughed, but I didn't join her—Mr. Ashbourne scared me even more than Moura.

  "But what if he catches us?" I asked.

  "Ah, don't fash yerself, Jen. Haven't ye noticed I be a tricksy girl?"

  "Yes, but they're tricksy, too. Don't forget, they caught you once. How do you know they won't—"

  "Choky sumac and hemlock juice, ye're such a timmytim." Kieryn threw herself back on the bed so hard the mattress bounced. "Go with me or stay here like a baby tittot bird—see if I cares."

  Dad saved me from answering Kieryn by hollering that lunch was ready. I left her curled up in a cross gray ball on my bed and trudged slowly downstairs to sit through another stiff, unpleasant meal with Moura and Dad. As usual, the two of them chattered away about books and poetry and music while I sat silently nibbling a tuna fish sandwich that tasted like sawdust.

  Just as I got up to clear the table, the doorbell rang. "Will you get that, Jen?" Dad asked.

  Cadoc beat me to the door, nose on alert, tail wagging. Mr. Ashbourne stood on the threshold, dressed in a tweed jacket and corduroy slacks, a paisley ascot tucked into his shirt collar. The perfect gentleman—unless you knew what I knew.

  I stepped aside to let him in. Giving me a brief glance of dislike, he strode into the hall and shook hands with Dad. While he and Dad talked, I noticed Kieryn-the-cat on the stairs. She'd fixed her attention on Cadoc, who seemed to be equally interested in her. When the dog rose to his feet and began moving stealthily toward the kitten, I darted across the room and scooped her up. Cadoc stared at me, his pale eyes scary. With a low growl, he retreated to Moura's side.

  "He doesn't care for cats." Moura rested her elegant hand on Cadoc's head. "And neither do I. Sneaky creatures that can't be trusted—rather like children."

  Dad was too involved with Mr. Ashbourne and the paintings to hear what Moura had said. I looked at her but kept silent. I was sure she disliked children as much as she disliked cats.

  In a louder voice, she said, "Hugh, we forgot to take that cat to the vet. Perhaps this afternoon? I'd hate to see it contaminate Tink with some dreadful feline disease."

  Mr. Ashbourne glanced at Kieryn and me and frowned. "Cats," he muttered. "Don't see why anyone tolerates having me beasts in their homes."

  "Get me out of here," Kieryn whispered in my ear. "Her and him's thinking evil thoughts about both me and ye. And so's her hound."

  Anxious to escape Mr. Ashbourne, Moura, and Cadoc, I told Dad I was going outside to play.

  "Stay close to the house, Jen," he said, his attention focused on Mr. Ashbourne.

  Mr. Ashbourne's shiny black van sat in the shade of a maple tree. The side door was open, waiting to be loaded with paintings.

  Kieryn leapt from my arms and darted into the van. "Quick, Jen—get in afore him sees us."

  I ran to the door and poked my head inside. "Are you sure this is a good idea?"

  "'Tis the one way I know to go to his house," she said.

  "But—"

  "Get in," Kieryn insisted. "Ye promised ye'd help me rescue Brynn."

  "I know but—"

  "Fie fie fiddlesticks on you," Kieryn said with a hiss. "I reckon I'll go it alone, then. Mam always said ye can't trust a human to keep a promise."

  I reached into the van to pull her out, but she scurried to the very back and regarded me with angry eyes, her tail puffed to double its size.

  "Please, Kieryn," I begged. "He's a bad man."

  "Don't ye think I know that already, ye dimbob, timtim promise breaker?"

  I didn't want to get in that van, but it was clear nothing would change Kieryn's mind. With me or without me, she meant to go to Mr. Ashbourne's house and rescue her kin. How could I let her go all by herself?

  While I stood there hesitating, I heard Dad say, "You take one end, Ciril, and I'll take the other."

  They were coming with the paintings. In a few seconds, it would be too late to go with Kieryn. Trying not to think of what might happen, I climbed quickly into the back of the van. A pile of packing quilts lay on the floor. I chose one for a cover and curled into the smallest bad possible. Kieryn crouched beside me, her green cat eyes aglow with watchfulness as Dad and Mr. Ashbourne approached the van.

  13

  "LOAD THEM IN BACK," Mr. Ashbourne said in his suave English voice.

  I heard Dad put the paintings in the back seat carefully, one at a time, breathing hard as he wrestled with them.

  "Where did jen run off to?" Moura asked.

  "She can't have gone far," Dad said. "I told her to stay close to the house."

  "Thanks, Hugh," Mr. Ashbourne said, obviously unconcerned with my whereabouts. "Your uncle's paintings will have a good home. And don't forget the books you mentioned. I'd like to go up to the tower and take a look at them one day soon."

  The van door slid shut. We felt the tilt of Mr. Ashbourne's weight as he settled himself behind the wheel.

  "Good afternoon," he called to Dad and Moura. "I'll be in touch."

  When the van moved forward, my stomach lurched. If only I were dreaming this. I couldn't remember ever being more scared or feeling so helpless.

  Mr. Ashbourne turned on the radio and hummed along with a piece by Mozart that I'd once played when I was taking flute lessons. Beside me Kieryn lay still, as tense as Tink when he was about to pounce on something.

  We rode up hill and down, along a winding road, stopping perhaps forty-five minutes later. Mr. Ashbourne got out of the van and opened the sliding door. One by one, he began removing the paintings.

  "May I help, sir?" a man asked.

  "Yes, take these to the drawing room, Simkins."

  "Yes, sir."

  The men's footsteps crunched on gravel as they walked away. Cautiously, Kieryn crept out from under the packing quilt and peered through the van's rear window.

  "It be a big tall mansion of a house," she whispered, "with towers and all and more chimneys than I ever did see, made of pinky orange brick all covered with ivy. Grand. Him's rich as a king in this world, him is. on the fairy gold he stole."

  "Have they both gone inside the house?" My legs ached from being curled up so long, and I yearned to have a good stretch.

  "Aye, and taken Mostyn's paintings with them, the boshy pair. What do him want with my portrait?"

  "Who's the other man?"

  Kieryn hissed in contempt. "I reckon they found him in yer world and won him over with pisky lies and promises."

  Cautiously, I poked my head out from under the blanket, but I didn't dare join Kieryn at the window. "What should we do now?"

  "Wait till dark and sneak inside. We'll search the place till we finds them snarky traps."

  "What if Mr. Ashbourne has a dog like Cadoc?"

  Kieryn twitched her tail. "I gave the van a right good sniff. Not a stinky whiff of hound a
nywhere."

  She crawled under the packing quilt and curled up. "We might as wed sleep a while to pass the time till night."

  Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy for me to nap as it was for Kieryn. In cat form she was a natural sleeper. Not me. I imagined dogs or even wolves creeping around the van, sniffing me out. I worried about Dad, standing at the door, calling my name over and over again. I pictured Moura close beside him, telling him not to worry, engulfing him in her perfume, fogging his thoughts until he forgot all about me.

  The sun sank lower, the shadows stretched longer. Birds stopped singing. Crickets and cicadas took their place, shrill and insistent. A breeze sprang up. The blue sky faded to pale violet and then gray. At last, darkness blurred the treetops and lights appeared in the mansion's windows.

  Cautiously, I slid the van's door open and got out. Kieryn slunk across the lawn and I followed. The moon had begun to rise, so we stuck to the shadows.

  "How will we get inside?" I whispered.

  Kieryn paused in the bushes by the back door and looked at me. "Supposing I magic ye into a cat?"

  If I hadn't been so scared, I would have laughed. "Me, a cat? That's impossible. You can't do it."

  Kieryn narrowed her eyes and twitched her tail. "Even with Mostyn's blood in yer veins, I doubt ye can shape-change on yer own, but if ye do what I say, I reckon ye'll be a cat afore ye know it."

  She rubbed against my legs. "Put yer hand on my head. Stroke me all over the way I done Tink. Think hard about cats. How they look and act and sound. What they eat. The shape of them and the feel of them. The sound of them, the smell of them. Their paws and claws and whiskers. Their long tails and rough tongues. Think of cats, cats, cats with all yer heart and head, and feel ye're one with them. With me."

  "I'm scared," I whispered. "What if something goes wrong? What if you can't change me back?"

  "There's much worser things than being a cat for the rest of yer life." Kieryn twitched her tail impatiently. "Brynn's in yon house, trapped in a skitzy ball, and so are my aunties. Do what I ted ye, and ye'll be a lovelier than lovely yellow cat, just like Tink."