Witch Catcher (11 page)

Dad sighed. "I suggest you clean up the bathroom and go to bed."

"And put the cats outside," Moura added. "Like all nocturnal animals, they hunt by night."

I held Kieryn so tightly she mewed. "Tink sleeps on my bed, and Mist will, too."

Moura glanced at Dad, hoping he'd back her up. To her obvious disappointment, he sided with me. "Jen's lonely at night," he explained. "Having Tink close by comforts her. And Mist's too small to leave outside in the dark."

"Don't be silly." Moura frowned at Kieryn. "That cat was living in the woods when Jen found her."

"Moura," Dad said gently, "if it makes her feel better, why shouldn't Jen keep the cats in her room? I see no harm in it."

Moura shrugged. "Do as you wish. Jen is your daughter. You know her far better than I do." Her voice was sweet and light, and she smiled at Dad to show him he'd convinced her.

Dad put his arm around her shoulders, pleased to see she wasn't cross with him. He put his other arm around me and drew me close for a good-night kiss. Once again the musky smell of Moura's perfume filled my nostrils. Fine cobweb strands of her black hair brushed my face. In my arms, Kieryn shrank down as small as she could. I wouldn't have been surprised if she'd changed herself into a mouse. But, of course, she couldn't do that without giving herself away.

I gave Dad a tight one-armed hug, nearly squashing Kieryn in the process, and went to my room. Safe behind my locked door, I put Kieryn on the bed, changed into my pajamas, and climbed in beside her.

"That was scary," I whispered. "The way Moura was looking at me, almost as if she knew—"

"Ah,
her
's a witchy old thing,
her
is.
Her
knows something's going on, but she don't know what, and that drives her dafty." Kieryn shivered and snuggled closer. "Ye be careful, Jen.
Her
's a tricksy one."

The next morning, I left Kieryn dozing on my windowsill. The sunlight glistened on her sweet, clean fur. Her sides rose and fell, and she purred softly, content to stay where she was and wait for me to bring her breakfast. Tink chose to follow me down to the kitchen.

Moura sat at the table, drinking a cup of coffee. Today she'd braided her long hair into one thick black rope. She wore black jeans and a long-sleeved black T-shirt that made her look even slimmer. The red stone in her pendant caught the morning sunlight and sent reflections bouncing over the wall and ceiling whenever she moved.

"Where's Dad?" I picked up the bowl of cereal and glass of orange juice he'd left on the counter for me.

"He's gone to Mingo to pick up a few things at the hardware store. I've encouraged him to work on the garden behind the house. Your uncle had a way with flowers and herbs."

She paused and waited for me to join her at the table. When I hesitated, she smiled. "Come and sit beside me. I don't eat little girls, you know."

Held by her eyes, I sat down reluctantly and began to eat my cereal.

"I'm so happy to have this opportunity to talk to you, Jen." Moura eyed me over the rim of her coffee cup. The sun lit blue highlights in her hair, almost as iridescent as a starling's feathers. The house was silent except for the ticking of the clock and the hum of the refrigerator. By Moura's side, Cadoc sat still as a statue, and Tink huddled by my feet.

I met Moura's eyes briefly but said nothing. Outside, on the windowsill, a robin strutted up and down, cocking its head at us now and then.

"May I tell you a story?" she asked.

I shrugged. The only way to escape the story was to leave the kitchen, but for some reason I couldn't summon the energy to excuse myself.

"Once upon a time, people believed the woods behind this house were enchanted," she began in that soft, musical voice of hers. "Rumors abounded of entrances to other worlds. Magic worlds. Fairyland, perhaps. Believers traveled from great distances to explore the paths and rivers. Some disappeared, never to be seen again. Others searched without success. Frustrated and angry, they denounced the stories as lies."

Moura paused, but I said nothing. I continued to eat my cereal as if I took no interest in her story.

"Your great-uncle built his house here because of the stories. He had a deep interest in the occult, as his tower indicates. All his life he sought the entrance to that other world. He never found it. But he did find something else."

Once again, Moura paused to gauge my reaction. Without looking at her, I nodded. "Dad said Uncle Thaddeus was eccentric."

"That's not the word I would choose," Moura said softly. "Thaddeus Mostyn had a brilliant mind. A unique curiosity."

Unwillingly, I looked across the table at her. The sun struck her face, emphasizing its beauty but at the same time revealing tiny lines in her pale skin, like fine cracks beneath the surface of old china.

"Don't you want to know what your great-uncle found—and trapped?" Moura asked, her voice low.

I already knew, but I was curious to hear what Moura would say. Hoping to show my indifference, I shrugged and answered, "I guess so."

"You recall my desire to find the witch catcher?"

"Yes."

"And my dismay when I found your cat had broken it?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember what I told you?"

"You said I was in danger."

She nodded and poured herself another cup of coffee. "But I didn't tell you why."

"No." I poured myself a cup of coffee and added sugar and cream. Moura raised one fine black eyebrow but said nothing.

She leaned toward me, her body thin and angular. "When the glass is broken, the evil spirit finds someone foolish enough to help it." She paused and looked at me sharply. "It will do anything to find its own kind."

Moura's intensity made me uneasy. I drew back from her, glad to feel Tink leap into my lap and begin to purr as if he were telling me something. If only Kieryn had given me the gift to understand cats, I might have known what it was. At the open window, the robin chirped. Moura glanced at it, and it flew away.

"I told you my grandmother knew your uncle," Moura went on. "She was a curious woman. When she found the witch trap hanging in the tower, she took it down and studied it ... peered through the glass, pressed her ear against it. She saw something inside, heard it begging to be released, but she knew better than to listen. She put the ball back where she'd found it."

Liar, I thought. It wasn't your grandmother who knew Uncle Thaddeus—it was you.
You
gave him the traps.
You
wanted what he caught.

Moura leaned across the table and tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at her. "You seem bored, Jen. Doesn't my story interest you?"

"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.

J
UST 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."