Read Online The Near Witch by Victoria Schwab - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Victoria Schwab
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assuming a lot, Tyler.”
He shrugs. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“You need a lot more than luck.”
He cocks his head to one side, sending blond hair into his eyes.
“How about a kiss, then,” he says, leaning over me with a smirk. “For good measure?”
I smile back, stretching onto my toes. And then I step back and shut the door on Tyler.
I swear I can hear him kiss the wood on the other side.
“Good night, cruel girl,” he calls through the door.
“Good night, silly boy,” I call back, standing at the door until his footsteps fade into nothing.
W REN IS SKIPPING UP AND down the hall in her nightgown, playing games with the wooden floorboards. Her bare feet land with light thuds like rain on stones. Wren knows a thousand games for times between. Between meals and bed. Between people paying attention to her. Games with words and rules, and games without. Thud, thud, thud on the wooden floor.
The floorboards in our house seem to have their own tunes, so Wren makes a kind of music by landing on the different planks. She’s even found a way to pound out the Witch’s Rhyme, a bit clumsily. She is hitting the final bits of the song when I hop into her path, and she just giggles and bounces around me without even missing a note.
I slip into our bedroom and put my father’s book back on its shelf beside the three candles. Beyond the window the darkness slides in heavy and tired and thick.
I cannot stop thinking about Tyler’s words. Everyone leaves marks.
I slide a soft blue apron from the drawer and tie it around my waist, making my way to the kitchen. Otto is sitting at the table, a thick yellow band on each of his arms, talking with my mother. His voice is at the level adults use when they think they’re being secretive, but that’s loud enough to catch any child’s ear. My mother is wiping crumbs and flour from the table, and nodding. I catch the word “sisters” before Otto sees me and changes his tone and his subject.
“You and Tyler have a good chat?” he asks, too interested.
“Good enough,” I say.
“And how was your day, Lexi?” I can feel his eyes on me, and there’s a challenge in his voice. I swallow and try to pick my lie when—
“She delivered bread with me,” offers my mother, almost absently. “A child might be missing, but folks still need to eat.” I bite the inside of my mouth to keep the shock from my face at my mother’s lie. The image of her and Wren returning home with the empty basket flits into my mind, her sudden stern look as she told me she was trying to help.
I nod, cutting up the last of a loaf and setting it on the table with some cheese. My uncle grunts but says no more. My mother wraps a few extra loaves of bread in cloth, and slides her apron from her dress. It is the last thing she discards each night, when she must put the baking aside.
“And you, Uncle?” I ask. “Any signs of Edgar?”
His eyebrows knit, and he takes a long sip from his mug.
“Not today, no,” he says into his cup. “We’ll go back out in the morning.”
“Perhaps tomorrow I could help.”
Otto hesitates, then says, “We’ll see.” Which almost certainly means no, but he’s too tired to argue. He pushes himself up, the chair grating against the floor as it slides back. “I’m on first patrol.”
“Patrol?” I ask.
“We’ve got men all over the village, just to be safe.” He taps the yellow bands. “To mark my men. Only a fool would be caught out tonight. I’ve given them all orders to shoot on sight.”
Wonderful.
My uncle excuses himself. I sag into the vacated chair and try to remember if I own any yellow. From the hall come creaks and thuds;Wren is still playing her game. My mother meets my eyes but doesn’t say anything, and I wonder if she knows what I plan to do. She yawns and kisses my forehead, her lips barely a breath against my skin, and then goes to tuck Wren in. The thud, thud, thud stops in the hall as my sister is led away to
He shrugs. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“You need a lot more than luck.”
He cocks his head to one side, sending blond hair into his eyes.
“How about a kiss, then,” he says, leaning over me with a smirk. “For good measure?”
I smile back, stretching onto my toes. And then I step back and shut the door on Tyler.
I swear I can hear him kiss the wood on the other side.
“Good night, cruel girl,” he calls through the door.
“Good night, silly boy,” I call back, standing at the door until his footsteps fade into nothing.
W REN IS SKIPPING UP AND down the hall in her nightgown, playing games with the wooden floorboards. Her bare feet land with light thuds like rain on stones. Wren knows a thousand games for times between. Between meals and bed. Between people paying attention to her. Games with words and rules, and games without. Thud, thud, thud on the wooden floor.
The floorboards in our house seem to have their own tunes, so Wren makes a kind of music by landing on the different planks. She’s even found a way to pound out the Witch’s Rhyme, a bit clumsily. She is hitting the final bits of the song when I hop into her path, and she just giggles and bounces around me without even missing a note.
I slip into our bedroom and put my father’s book back on its shelf beside the three candles. Beyond the window the darkness slides in heavy and tired and thick.
I cannot stop thinking about Tyler’s words. Everyone leaves marks.
I slide a soft blue apron from the drawer and tie it around my waist, making my way to the kitchen. Otto is sitting at the table, a thick yellow band on each of his arms, talking with my mother. His voice is at the level adults use when they think they’re being secretive, but that’s loud enough to catch any child’s ear. My mother is wiping crumbs and flour from the table, and nodding. I catch the word “sisters” before Otto sees me and changes his tone and his subject.
“You and Tyler have a good chat?” he asks, too interested.
“Good enough,” I say.
“And how was your day, Lexi?” I can feel his eyes on me, and there’s a challenge in his voice. I swallow and try to pick my lie when—
“She delivered bread with me,” offers my mother, almost absently. “A child might be missing, but folks still need to eat.” I bite the inside of my mouth to keep the shock from my face at my mother’s lie. The image of her and Wren returning home with the empty basket flits into my mind, her sudden stern look as she told me she was trying to help.
I nod, cutting up the last of a loaf and setting it on the table with some cheese. My uncle grunts but says no more. My mother wraps a few extra loaves of bread in cloth, and slides her apron from her dress. It is the last thing she discards each night, when she must put the baking aside.
“And you, Uncle?” I ask. “Any signs of Edgar?”
His eyebrows knit, and he takes a long sip from his mug.
“Not today, no,” he says into his cup. “We’ll go back out in the morning.”
“Perhaps tomorrow I could help.”
Otto hesitates, then says, “We’ll see.” Which almost certainly means no, but he’s too tired to argue. He pushes himself up, the chair grating against the floor as it slides back. “I’m on first patrol.”
“Patrol?” I ask.
“We’ve got men all over the village, just to be safe.” He taps the yellow bands. “To mark my men. Only a fool would be caught out tonight. I’ve given them all orders to shoot on sight.”
Wonderful.
My uncle excuses himself. I sag into the vacated chair and try to remember if I own any yellow. From the hall come creaks and thuds;Wren is still playing her game. My mother meets my eyes but doesn’t say anything, and I wonder if she knows what I plan to do. She yawns and kisses my forehead, her lips barely a breath against my skin, and then goes to tuck Wren in. The thud, thud, thud stops in the hall as my sister is led away to
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