Read Online To Kill a Kettle Witch (Novel of the Mist-Torn Witches) by Barb Hendee - Free Book Online Page A

deep breath, Céline walked to the open door. Marcus reached up for her hand, and instinctively, she took it and allowed him to help her down the steps. She walked slowly, as if his assistance was her due. Helga came out behind her. Jaromir and Amelie joined them only seconds before the first of the Móndyalítko came to greet them.
    “Marcus,” said a middle-aged man with dark hair.
    Letting go of Céline’s hand, Marcus offered the man a slight bow. “Rupert, am I welcome?”
    Céline remembered his family had been banished from the meadow, but Helga had implied that those rules might not apply to him.
    The man called Rupert frowned as if confused. “Of course you’re welcome, but you shouldn’t have come. You won’t be allowed to leave now.”
    Marcus motioned to Céline and Amelie. “I brought two Mist-Torn seers. They offer assistance.”
    A small crowd had gathered by now, too many to study at once, but Céline couldn’t help taking note of someone standing behind Rupert. She was a stunning girl of about eighteen, small with perfect pale skin and black hair that flowed like silk down her back.
    Then many voices began saying “Marcus” or “Helga” in tones of surprise or welcome.
    Amelie pulled up close beside Céline as people stared at them in a kind of wonder.
    Again, instinctively, Céline knew she had to play a part, a part she had played many times before . . . somewhere. Pitching her voice to a regal tone, she spoke directly to Rupert. “We learned of your plight here and have come to see if we might help.”
    “To help?” Rupert bowed low as if she were nobility. “You are from the line of Fawe? How . . . how have you . . . ?”
    He trailed off as the crowd parted and a woman walked through. She was at least forty, but still lovely with wheat gold hair and light brown eyes. There was something stately about the way she walked with her head high. A large man with a mustache walked close behind her. His hair was dark but peppered with silver.
    The woman stopped and stared at Céline in shock. Her breathing seemed to quicken.
    Helga stepped forward instantly. “Girls,” she said, “this is your aunt, Sinead, your mother’s sister.” She turned to the woman. “Sinead, these are Eleanor’s daughters, Céline and Amelie.”
    Céline stood frozen. Their mother’s sister.
    “Eleanor’s daughters?” Sinead stumbled back a step, and the large man behind her caught her arm to supporther. He looked down upon the top of her head in devotion and protection. Sinead’s eyes flew to Céline’s face. “Where is Eleanor? Is she with you?”
    Céline’s stomach tightened. She should have known to expect how difficult this would be.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “Our mother has . . . passed from us, some years ago.”
    Sinead closed her eyes, and the man used both hands to hold her up. Regret and sorrow filled Céline that this exchange had been forced between them in public. She stepped forward, hoping to offer some comfort, but a loud cry rang out.
    “Helga!”
    A stout woman in a thin faded blue dress came toward them. She looked to be in her mid-sixties, with her gray hair tied back. Her eyes were wild as she came to a stop, taking in the sight of Helga.
    Helga put one hand to her mouth. “Alondra.”
    The woman called Alondra rushed forward, grabbing Helga in her arms and sobbing loudly. The pain in her voice was raw, and her entire body racked with each sob.
    Helga clutched the woman back, holding her tightly. “Oh, Alondra, don’t. Not here.”
    Marcus was at their side instantly. “Over here.” Using his arms, he ushered them back near the wagon wheel so they could sit on the ground together and lean against it. Alondra continued to clutch Helga.
    This arrival in the camp was a good deal more emotional on all levels than Céline could have anticipated.
    When she looked back to the crowd, Sinead and herescort were gone, but another man approached the crowd, and something