Read Online Abby the Witch by Odette C. Bell - Free Book Online Page B

about two metres
up the garden path.
    That's why it
is very dangerous to steal from a witch. Not only would she know
exactly what you stole and probably where you hid it, but her sense
of inner justice would have her round your mother's place dobbing
you in before you could even pull the stocking from off your
face.
    There was a
disadvantage of having such a keen sense of place though. When
something moved, and most things make it their habit to, a
witch feels it. And when it's something big, when you've
lost your house in a fire or have woken up on your neighbour's
haystack half-drunk and covered in pie – a witch really
feels it. It's like a train running over her toes or a house
falling flat on your face – something memorable and quite
impossible to ignore.
    So when Abby
regained consciousness every bone in her body tingled like it had
been set on fire then doused in a bucket of ice-cold water. It was
worse, far worse than the time her house had been buried under
an unusually deep rift of snow, or the time Ms Crowthy had
accidently set fire to their woodshed.
    From the tips
of her toes to the very last frazzled hair on her head – Abby knew
something was very wrong indeed.
    Sure enough,
when she opened her eyes, Abby was greeted by the sight of an
unfamiliar ceiling. It was wooden with huge supporting struts the
size of tree trunks running along its width. There was something
decidedly rustic about it; she could even see a section of thatch
popping through from the outside.
    The smell of
honey and milk warming over a fire gently filled the air. Abby
prided herself on her unusually keen sense of smell, and with her
mind racing to find the answer to where she was, it was a pleasant
distraction.
    She fluttered
her eyes closed again, trying to concentrate with all her might on
her jittery witchly senses. Why did she feel so off? Why did she
feel so very wrong? Was there something she was meant to be doing?
Some other place she was meant to be?
    Her reverie
was interrupted by a shuffling sound, and she opened her eyes just
as a kindly voice said, 'hh hello there, dear, you've finally woken
up then!'
    Abby didn't
jump, though her heart felt like it had popped out of her rib cage
with fright. She swivelled her head until a warm ruddy face came
into view.
    A woman with
greying black hair and watery brown eyes was peering down at her, a
decidedly motherly twist to her broad smile. 'I'm glad to see
you're awake– you've been sleeping nearly all the morning. That boy
of yours got up hours ago, but you just kept on sleeping merrily.
You must have got quite a chill from that storm last night, I'd
say. So here,' the woman whipped a steaming mug of honey and milk
in front of Abby, 'you just have a drink of this.'
    It was an
information overload. Storm, boy, night – every word set off a huge
explosion of gut-wrenching recognition until Abby snapped up, her
brow slick with sweat. 'Where's Pembrake? Is he alright? The
storm! What happened? And where's my cat?' Abby realised
with a desperate sweep of her head that Charlie was nowhere to be
seen.
    'Now, now,
now,' the woman sat heavily on the side of Abby's bed, her smile
morphing into a strict frown, 'you just take it easy there, dear,
everything's alright. That cat of yours is curled up by the fire
purring like a putting engine.' The woman forced the mug into
Abby's hand and steered it up until she was forced to take a
sip.
    'But,' Abby
swallowed the liquid quickly, glad for the warmth against her
parched throat, 'where-'
    'Oh that boy
of yours is fine enough too. He's a strong one, I wouldn't wonder.
He'd hardly woken up and he was out of bed quizzing us about some
ship. But likes we said, we've never heard of no Royal
Blue.'
    'What? But…. But it often docks in the bay – everybody knows
that.'
    The old lady
peered down at Abby with crinkle-nosed confusion. 'Well I didn't
know, nor did me husband, Alfred, nor did any of the other
fisherman round these parts – and you'd