Read Online Season of the Witch by Árni Thórarinsson - Free Book Online Page A

note of the girl’s name, address, and phone number?”
    “Of course. Karó and I are going to send her a little something today, to say thank you.”
    He takes a piece of paper from his pants pocket and hands it to me. I make a note of the information, then pass it back to him.
    I get hold of Jóa on her cell phone, and before long we are on our way to meet the intrepid canine rescuer, Björg Gudrúnardóttir, who was quick to agree to an interview. In the backseat Pal sits quietly, tethered to the door handle.
    “Where were you?” I ask as I struggle to find my way to Holtagata using a map of the town.
    “I looked in at the
Akureyri Post
. Their offices are just near ours, on Skipagata.”
    “The
Akureyri Post
? I’ve been intending to drop by, but I haven’t had time. Remarkable, the way they’ve managed to publish a local weekly paper year after year. We really need to establish a good relationship with them.”
    “I met the editor. I suggested the three of us get together some evening at one of these fine local restaurants that I’m always hearing about. The Easter break has started, and I think we deserve a little fun, Einar, after our hard toil and pizza diet. Do you agree?”
    “Absolutely. I love the idea. And it’s about time I made some use of my expense account,” I say.
    Holtagata is a picturesque little street overlooking the town center, not far from the church and the high school, where Björg lives in a charming old house. Pal apparently recognizes the place and greets it with a low bark.
    Björg lets us in. She’s a smiling, shy girl of about seventeen, with long, dark hair parted in the middle, green almond eyes, and full, unpainted lips. She wears a ring in one nostril. Of average height, she is slender, dressed in tight-fitting black pants and a black blouse. She bends down over Pal, who greets her with enthusiastic wagging of his stubby tail and licks her hand. She invites us into the living room, on the left of the entrance hall, and offers us something to drink. I accept a Coke and Jóa, a glass of water. Björg goes to the kitchen across the hall to fetch them. As we enter the living room, we are briefly struck dumb. The room is neat as a pin, with hardwood parquet flooring and white furniture. But it is also crammed with cacti: big cacti, little cacti, tall and short, and of all possible varieties I cannot identify.
    “You’ve got a whole lot of cacti here” is my scintillating remark when Björg enters the living room with our drinks.
    “Yes, Mom loves cacti,” she replies in her slow, reserved manner. “She likes the way they look.”
    “And they don’t need a lot of care or attention, do they?” I say. “Don’t they more or less live on air?”
    She makes no response. She seems to be waiting for us to sit down on the pristine white furniture. So we do: Jóa next to me on the sofa and Björg on the chair facing us, with Pal on her lap. He seems at ease there.
    “Are you a student at the high school?”
    “No,” replies Björg, fidgeting restlessly in her chair. She is clearly not used to media attention. “I dropped out last spring. I’m taking some time out to decide what I want to do. Maybe I’ll go back to school. I don’t know.”
    “In search of yourself, like the rest of us?” I ask with a smile.
    “I suppose. I’ve been doing some work at my mom’s architectural studio. Helping out.”
    “So your mom’s an architect?”
    She nods.
    “Do you want to be an architect too?”
    “I don’t know what I want yet.”
    “Do you happen to know a girl at the high school, Sólrún Bjarkadóttir?”
    She smiles wryly. “The one who made a fool of herself in your paper.”
    “Well, she was made a fool of. But it wasn’t entirely her fault.”
    “I don’t know her. But I heard she had a rough time in school last year. She had no friends and was alone a lot. I think maybe she’s gotten into bad company.”
    “And bad company’s better than no