Read Online Jinx by Sage Blackwood - Free Book Online

she goes, see?”
    Jinx peered through the gloaming, between two great branches, and could just make out the hopping motion of a legless barrel-shape—thrusting a long, straight stick at the ground—
    “A witch, traveling by butter churn,” said Simon.
    “Oh,” said Jinx. He was ashamed of being so frightened. “You’re not afraid of witches, are you?”
    “Only an idiot wouldn’t be afraid of witches,” said Simon.
    “I never knew there were tree houses,” said Jinx. He was surprised the trees would allow such a thing.
    “Part of the ancient treaty.”
    “I never heard of an ancient treaty,” said Jinx. The trees had never mentioned it.
    “The trees agreed to let humans take deadwood for fuel and building. And to let us have tree houses. And we agreed that if anyone kills a tree, the trees take a human life in revenge.” Simon shook his head. “I never saw the point of that.”
    “The trees don’t want to take just anybody’s life,” said Jinx. “But they’re afraid of letting there get to be too many humans.”
    For a long time Jinx couldn’t sleep, because of the cold. And he could tell that Simon was awake too by the quiet murmur of Simon’s thoughts. There was a sort of eager galloping feeling of being about to accomplish something new—something to do with magic, Jinx thought. He’d sensed this feeling of Simon’s before, when the wizard was working on a new spell or trying out some magic one of the witches had told him about. But this time there was an odd pucker of guilt around the edge of the excitement.
    Maybe the guilt was because Simon was thinking of Sophie and how much she disliked magic. But that didn’t explain why Simon had it about this spell. Come to think of it, Jinx had never noticed him feeling guilty before. Not about magic, not about what Sophie didn’t like, not about Calvin the skull, not about anything.
    It was hard to imagine what would make Simon feel guilty, but it would probably have to be something pretty bad.

7
The Bonemaster
    I t was early the next afternoon that they crossed a two-log bridge over a creek and started down a smaller, snow-covered path dinted with butter-churn tracks.
    Soon they came to a little thatch-covered cottage. The house was made of wood, not gingerbread, but the butter-churn tracks went right up to the door, so Jinx knew: They were visiting a witch. Simon had told him that only an idiot wouldn’t be afraid of witches, and one thing Simon certainly did not consider himself was an idiot. But then, Simon had witches visiting in his house all the time.
    But going to a witch’s house—that was different.
    They had not yet reached the door when it opened, and Dame Glammer stepped out.
    “Simon the Wizard,” she said. “Come to see me through long miles of snowy woods. I wonder why.”
    “Greetings, Dame Glammer,” said Simon with a smile.
    “And the dear little chipmunk is still alive.” She grinned at Jinx.
    “May we come in?” said Simon.
    “Of course—where are my manners.” Dame Glammer stepped back. “Come in, come in. Take your boots off. Have some brew.”
    The house seemed small inside when you were used to Simon’s, but it had a scrubbed wood floor and a fire crackling in the fireplace. They took off their boots and their coats and sat down at a proper wooden table, centuries old and unlikely to offend any living tree—much. Dame Glammer set hot mugs of something in front of them. Leaves floated in it.
    Jinx cupped his hands around the mug and breathed in leaf-smelling steam. He listened to Simon and Dame Glammer talk—about the journey, about the weather, not about what they’d come for. And Jinx had no idea what that might be … but the little pucker of guilt that he’d noticed in Simon last night had come back. In Dame Glammer, he couldn’t feel anything at all, no matter how hard he tried.
    “Well, I won’t rush you to tell me what you’ve come about, Simon,” said Dame Glammer. “But I don’t think it