Read Online Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters by Winter Woodlark - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Winter Woodlark
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haphazardly about the bedroom.
Nettle finally came to her senses. She jumped off the bed
to collect her possessions and protectively pile them into a mound
on her bed. Jazz just walked around her, tearing a wooden framed
picture from the wall and flung it at the siblings. Bram ducked,
just managing to avoid the charcoal sketch as it slammed against
the wall behind him. “She’s bonkers!” Bram denounced before
slipping beneath the bed to hide.
Nettle approached her cousin as if she were a wild animal
she was trying to capture. She spoke softly . Jazz had her back to her, trying to
pull the heel off Nettle’s combat boots. “Jazz, you’ve got to calm
down and tell me what is going on. I have no idea what you think
we’ve gone and done.”
Jazz
spun around, her red curly hair whipped about like Medusa’s snakes,
and shrieked, “LIAR! You’ve ruined all of my make-up, smeared it
all over the walls, just because you’re nasty and spiteful. You
couldn’t stop there, neither of you. You just had to tear all my
clothes to shreds… SHREDS! And my bed reeks with perfume. Do you
have any idea how much Chanel and Dior costs? ANY IDEA AT
ALL?!”
Nettle
gave her cousin a disbelieving gape. “You’re insane! Why would we
do that?”
Jazz
stormed across the room and leaned an inch away from Nettle’s nose,
her enraged blotchy face creased with hostility. “Because you hate
me.”
Nettle stood her ground. The best thing to do, she thought, was to remain calm
in front of the maelstrom that was Jazz. “Hate’s a strong word Jazz. More
like… intensely dislike.”
Jazz let out a shriek of outrage. Spittle struck Nettle’s
cheek. “ Ugh ,” She stepped back to wipe it off with the back of her
hand. “Come on Jazz, calm down. I’m sure there’s a reasonable
explanation-”
Jazz
rounded on Nettle, interrupting her. “Oh, I suppose you’re going to
tell me talking rats did it.”
Bram
slid out from beneath the bed and excitedly tugged at his sister’s
arm. “They must have!”
Jazz snarled, “Stop it with the talking rats! As if anyone with
half a brain would believe something as stupid as that!”
“But, we didn’t do anything!” Nettle yelled.
“As if
I’m going to believe that either!”
A ball
of spitting and snarling youngsters blew through the front door and
onto the porch. Fred had been asleep on the old swing chair. He
awoke with a start, leaping to his feet wondering what on earth was
going on. The din of squabbling children was punctuated with a
flurry of accusations, pointed fingers and stomping feet. Fred
could barely work out what the kids were shrieking at one another.
For the moment, none of them realized he was there.
He be llowed as loudly as he could, “OI!!” His explosive command
startled a small flock of sparrows from a tall hazel shrub. They
spiralled upward in a flurry of beating wings and squawking
protests to fly across the yard and settle on the higher branches
of an old ash tree.
All
three of Fred’s charges fell suddenly silent. They turned as one,
surprised to see him. A moment later, speaking all at once, they
directed their grievances at him.
“Dad,
she’s mental, crazy, insane, loco,” Nettle glowered, rotating a
finger by her head. “We didn’t do anything.”
“Uncle
Fred, she’s lying,” scowled Jazz. “She’s ruined every single thing
I own!”
“She
blames us for everything,” Bram advised. “Whatever Jazz thinks
we’ve done, it’s not us. It’s those talking rats.”
Fred held up his hands demanding silence. The kids, reluctantly,
with dirty looks darting between the girls, settled down. He slowly
looked at each of the girls. His gaze rested upon Jazz. Fred
inwardly steeled himself, Jazz looked so much like his sister and
had the temperament to match. He had no idea what had transpired,
but as Jazz looked up at him in that expectant way, mouth pressed
firmly in that peevish manner that he and the kids only knew too
well, he knew he
Nettle finally came to her senses. She jumped off the bed
to collect her possessions and protectively pile them into a mound
on her bed. Jazz just walked around her, tearing a wooden framed
picture from the wall and flung it at the siblings. Bram ducked,
just managing to avoid the charcoal sketch as it slammed against
the wall behind him. “She’s bonkers!” Bram denounced before
slipping beneath the bed to hide.
Nettle approached her cousin as if she were a wild animal
she was trying to capture. She spoke softly . Jazz had her back to her, trying to
pull the heel off Nettle’s combat boots. “Jazz, you’ve got to calm
down and tell me what is going on. I have no idea what you think
we’ve gone and done.”
Jazz
spun around, her red curly hair whipped about like Medusa’s snakes,
and shrieked, “LIAR! You’ve ruined all of my make-up, smeared it
all over the walls, just because you’re nasty and spiteful. You
couldn’t stop there, neither of you. You just had to tear all my
clothes to shreds… SHREDS! And my bed reeks with perfume. Do you
have any idea how much Chanel and Dior costs? ANY IDEA AT
ALL?!”
Nettle
gave her cousin a disbelieving gape. “You’re insane! Why would we
do that?”
Jazz
stormed across the room and leaned an inch away from Nettle’s nose,
her enraged blotchy face creased with hostility. “Because you hate
me.”
Nettle stood her ground. The best thing to do, she thought, was to remain calm
in front of the maelstrom that was Jazz. “Hate’s a strong word Jazz. More
like… intensely dislike.”
Jazz let out a shriek of outrage. Spittle struck Nettle’s
cheek. “ Ugh ,” She stepped back to wipe it off with the back of her
hand. “Come on Jazz, calm down. I’m sure there’s a reasonable
explanation-”
Jazz
rounded on Nettle, interrupting her. “Oh, I suppose you’re going to
tell me talking rats did it.”
Bram
slid out from beneath the bed and excitedly tugged at his sister’s
arm. “They must have!”
Jazz snarled, “Stop it with the talking rats! As if anyone with
half a brain would believe something as stupid as that!”
“But, we didn’t do anything!” Nettle yelled.
“As if
I’m going to believe that either!”
A ball
of spitting and snarling youngsters blew through the front door and
onto the porch. Fred had been asleep on the old swing chair. He
awoke with a start, leaping to his feet wondering what on earth was
going on. The din of squabbling children was punctuated with a
flurry of accusations, pointed fingers and stomping feet. Fred
could barely work out what the kids were shrieking at one another.
For the moment, none of them realized he was there.
He be llowed as loudly as he could, “OI!!” His explosive command
startled a small flock of sparrows from a tall hazel shrub. They
spiralled upward in a flurry of beating wings and squawking
protests to fly across the yard and settle on the higher branches
of an old ash tree.
All
three of Fred’s charges fell suddenly silent. They turned as one,
surprised to see him. A moment later, speaking all at once, they
directed their grievances at him.
“Dad,
she’s mental, crazy, insane, loco,” Nettle glowered, rotating a
finger by her head. “We didn’t do anything.”
“Uncle
Fred, she’s lying,” scowled Jazz. “She’s ruined every single thing
I own!”
“She
blames us for everything,” Bram advised. “Whatever Jazz thinks
we’ve done, it’s not us. It’s those talking rats.”
Fred held up his hands demanding silence. The kids, reluctantly,
with dirty looks darting between the girls, settled down. He slowly
looked at each of the girls. His gaze rested upon Jazz. Fred
inwardly steeled himself, Jazz looked so much like his sister and
had the temperament to match. He had no idea what had transpired,
but as Jazz looked up at him in that expectant way, mouth pressed
firmly in that peevish manner that he and the kids only knew too
well, he knew he
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