Read Online Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters by Winter Woodlark - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Winter Woodlark
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was going to be in for it. “OK, what’s happened
now?”
Jazz
glared pointedly at Nettle, then said, “You may as well come and
see for yourself, Uncle Fred,” and stalked off inside.
At Jazz’s
insistence, Nettle opened the bedroom door. She was met with an
overwhelming stench of sickening flowery perfume. It practically
thumped her in the face. She staggered back, pressing an arm across
her nose.
“That’s
$2000 worth of perfume,” Jazz sullenly informed her. Nettle
couldn’t help her horrified expression at the cost. “I don’t think
your measly allowance is going to cover what I’ve lost.”
Inside the bedroom, the whirlwind of destruction looked
like a gang of unruly toddlers had taken to everything inside. All
of Jazz’s possessions were strewn about the room. Necklaces and
bracelets, smashed or snapped in two, dangled from the lantern
hanging from the ceiling, and pearls and diamonds free from their
settings were scattered about the wooden floor. Handbags had their
handles snipped off, clutches had their clasps busted and Jazz’s
precious Jimmy Choo shoes all had their heels broken off. Expensive
clothes, Nettle didn’t even want to think about, just how
expensive, had either their arms torn off, ripped knees, or make-up
smeared across the fabric and everything within the room, including
the bedding and curtains, was coated in a fine layer of pressed
powder that had exploded from Jazz’s toiletry bag when that had
been rummaged through.
To make matters worse, crude drawings using Jazz’s
beloved red
lipstick were drawn all over the bedroom walls. Simple stick
figures, clearly supposed to be Jazz, were drawn in a variety of
poses, all with angry faces surrounded by puffy red hair and
childish writing: Jazz is stupid, except it was spelt
‘stoopid.’
Nettle
chortled, spluttering to suppress it under Jazz’s blistering glare,
who snapped, “It’s not funny.”
“It is…
kind of funny...” said Bram, who was doing only just a little bit
better at hiding his amusement.
“Besides, I can spell,” said Nettle with a grin, scooping
up a snapped lipstick from the floor. She went over to the wall and
wrote ‘Jazz is stupid.’ Her handwriting wasn’t anywhere close in
resemblance to the infantile print. “And this isn’t really my
style,” she added. “I would have gone for something a little more
subtle… like, shearing off your hair.”
“Uncle
Fred,” squawked Jazz, her big almond-shaped eyes flaring wide in
horror. “Do something!”
Fred was still gazing about the destruction, shaking his head
ever so slightly. His thoughts were far away from the wrangling
cousins.
“Uncle Fred?” Jazz impatiently
sing-songed ,
stamping her bare feet. “Uncle Fred!” she barked.
Nettle
saw her father come back to them with a start. He blinked dazedly
at Jazz, then turned to Bram. “Right, well, did either of you two
do this?”
“No, of
course not,” replied Nettle wondering why her father was sounding
vaguely disorientated. He wasn’t surprised at the mess for some
reason.
Bram shook his golden-locked head in denial.
Fred turned to Jazz with a grim smile. “There’s nothing much
that can be done then, Jazz, apart from the kids helping you tidy
up.”
“Are you
serious?!” Jazz’s voice rose a shrilly octave. “You’re going to
just accept that… absolutely outrageous lie!”
“My children are not liars , Jazz,” Fred snapped. “I did not raise
either of them that way. If they say they didn’t do it, then they
didn’t.”
“I may
not be a qualified CSI Agent,” sulked Jazz, “but who else would
have done this? If it wasn’t me, or you, then that only leaves
them.”
She has a point, thought Nettle, wondering what her father was
going to do. There was no one else that could be blamed for the
destruction.
Fred stared hard at his niece , until Jazz clamped her mouth tightly
shut and dropped her glare to the ground. “Nettle, Bramble, help
your cousin clean up.”
now?”
Jazz
glared pointedly at Nettle, then said, “You may as well come and
see for yourself, Uncle Fred,” and stalked off inside.
At Jazz’s
insistence, Nettle opened the bedroom door. She was met with an
overwhelming stench of sickening flowery perfume. It practically
thumped her in the face. She staggered back, pressing an arm across
her nose.
“That’s
$2000 worth of perfume,” Jazz sullenly informed her. Nettle
couldn’t help her horrified expression at the cost. “I don’t think
your measly allowance is going to cover what I’ve lost.”
Inside the bedroom, the whirlwind of destruction looked
like a gang of unruly toddlers had taken to everything inside. All
of Jazz’s possessions were strewn about the room. Necklaces and
bracelets, smashed or snapped in two, dangled from the lantern
hanging from the ceiling, and pearls and diamonds free from their
settings were scattered about the wooden floor. Handbags had their
handles snipped off, clutches had their clasps busted and Jazz’s
precious Jimmy Choo shoes all had their heels broken off. Expensive
clothes, Nettle didn’t even want to think about, just how
expensive, had either their arms torn off, ripped knees, or make-up
smeared across the fabric and everything within the room, including
the bedding and curtains, was coated in a fine layer of pressed
powder that had exploded from Jazz’s toiletry bag when that had
been rummaged through.
To make matters worse, crude drawings using Jazz’s
beloved red
lipstick were drawn all over the bedroom walls. Simple stick
figures, clearly supposed to be Jazz, were drawn in a variety of
poses, all with angry faces surrounded by puffy red hair and
childish writing: Jazz is stupid, except it was spelt
‘stoopid.’
Nettle
chortled, spluttering to suppress it under Jazz’s blistering glare,
who snapped, “It’s not funny.”
“It is…
kind of funny...” said Bram, who was doing only just a little bit
better at hiding his amusement.
“Besides, I can spell,” said Nettle with a grin, scooping
up a snapped lipstick from the floor. She went over to the wall and
wrote ‘Jazz is stupid.’ Her handwriting wasn’t anywhere close in
resemblance to the infantile print. “And this isn’t really my
style,” she added. “I would have gone for something a little more
subtle… like, shearing off your hair.”
“Uncle
Fred,” squawked Jazz, her big almond-shaped eyes flaring wide in
horror. “Do something!”
Fred was still gazing about the destruction, shaking his head
ever so slightly. His thoughts were far away from the wrangling
cousins.
“Uncle Fred?” Jazz impatiently
sing-songed ,
stamping her bare feet. “Uncle Fred!” she barked.
Nettle
saw her father come back to them with a start. He blinked dazedly
at Jazz, then turned to Bram. “Right, well, did either of you two
do this?”
“No, of
course not,” replied Nettle wondering why her father was sounding
vaguely disorientated. He wasn’t surprised at the mess for some
reason.
Bram shook his golden-locked head in denial.
Fred turned to Jazz with a grim smile. “There’s nothing much
that can be done then, Jazz, apart from the kids helping you tidy
up.”
“Are you
serious?!” Jazz’s voice rose a shrilly octave. “You’re going to
just accept that… absolutely outrageous lie!”
“My children are not liars , Jazz,” Fred snapped. “I did not raise
either of them that way. If they say they didn’t do it, then they
didn’t.”
“I may
not be a qualified CSI Agent,” sulked Jazz, “but who else would
have done this? If it wasn’t me, or you, then that only leaves
them.”
She has a point, thought Nettle, wondering what her father was
going to do. There was no one else that could be blamed for the
destruction.
Fred stared hard at his niece , until Jazz clamped her mouth tightly
shut and dropped her glare to the ground. “Nettle, Bramble, help
your cousin clean up.”
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