Read Online Witch Catcher by Mary Downing Hahn - Free Book Online
Authors: Mary Downing Hahn
Tags: United States, Fiction, General, People & Places, Family, Juvenile Fiction, Fantasy & Magic, Fathers and daughters, Witches, Fairies, Pets, Animals, cats, Parents, West Virginia, Single-parent families
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convince me he was truly sorry. But he didn't fool me. No cat was ever sorry for anything it did.
I stooped down and looked Tink in the eye. "Why did you jump up on that shelf? You broke the witch catcher, the most beautiful thing I've ever owned. Worse yet, now everyone knows I lied about having it. And do you know what's even more terrible?"
Tink mewed and bumped his face against mine, waiting to be told.
"Moura says something scary might happen because it's broken." I rubbed Tink under his chin, and he purred louder. "Of course, she's lying, but still—If I were you, I'd watch out. Tink. You're the one who broke it, you know. Not me."
Tink went on purring as if to say he couldn't care less about broken witch catchers.
Straightening up, I stared out the window. The glass was streaked with water, and the rain fed hard enough to blur the tower and the trees and the sky. A few crows stalked across the lawn, heads down, sodden black feathers dripping. Thunder clapped, and raggedy lines of lightning zigzagged across the sky. In the living room, Dad laughed at something Moura said, and Mr. Ashbourne joined in.
I looked down at Tink. "They don't need me, do they? I bet Dad doesn't even miss me."
Tink purred again, and I picked him up, grateful for his warm weight and soft fur. He relaxed in my arms, and I rocked him as if he were still a little kitten. "You're such a bad cat," I whispered. "Such a bad, bad cat—but I love you anyway."
He snuggled in my arms, pressing his warm body against my chest, and purred even louder.
"Jen," Dad called again. "Isn't that tea ready yet?"
I put Tink down and picked up the teapot. Feeling like Cinderella, I carried the tray carefully toward the living room and Dad's guests.
8
T HE RAIN STOPPED about the time Moura and Mr. Ashbourne got up to leave. We walked outside to say goodbye—me gladly, Dad sadly, despite Moura's quick kiss.
After the sleek little car disappeared around a curve. Dad turned to me. "It's not like you to lie or be secretive, Jen. We—"
"'We'?" I scowled at him. "
'We'
is you and Moura now, not you and me."
"Jen—"
But I was already gone, heading toward the woods with Tink at my heels.
"Come back here!" Dad called. "You heard what Moura said."
Ignoring my father, I plunged into the wet, gloomy forest. After the rain, the air smelled damper than ever. The leaves dripped, and when I got to the stream, it ran high and fast, foaming around the rocks. I sat on one of the boulders and watched Tink try to explore the underbrush without getting wet.
If Moura thought she could scare me into staying home like a good little girl, she didn't know me. Besides. I wanted to get away from Dad. He wasn't himself anymore. Moura and her witchy ways had changed him and everything else—including me. I'd never lied to my father before, never kept things from him. But that witch catcher—I'd disobeyed him to get it. And then I couldn't give it up. Not with Moura around. She would've persuaded Dad to give it to her.
Suddenly, Tink ran out of the bushes. A small, thin girl dressed in rags and tatters of filthy clothing followed him. The dense shade gave her pale skin a greenish tint. Or maybe she was just dirty. Her mouth was wide, her lips thin, her eyes oddly slanted, and her hair was a tangled mass of black curls. She was the weirdest kid I'd ever seen. Yet she was oddly familiar, like something I'd seen in a dream.
To my surprise, Tink went up to her and rubbed against her legs and purred so loudly I felt a stab of jealousy. I'd never seen him be that friendly to anyone but me.
"Hello there, boyo." The girl leaned down and rubbed her face against the cat's face. "Good kitty," she crooned.
"Tink," I called, sliding down off the boulder. "Come here."
Tink glanced at me, but he stayed where he was, contrary as ever.
The girl straightened up and turned to me. "Where's the old man gone?" Her voice was low and hoarse, raspy but not harsh.
"The old man?" I echoed, a little
I stooped down and looked Tink in the eye. "Why did you jump up on that shelf? You broke the witch catcher, the most beautiful thing I've ever owned. Worse yet, now everyone knows I lied about having it. And do you know what's even more terrible?"
Tink mewed and bumped his face against mine, waiting to be told.
"Moura says something scary might happen because it's broken." I rubbed Tink under his chin, and he purred louder. "Of course, she's lying, but still—If I were you, I'd watch out. Tink. You're the one who broke it, you know. Not me."
Tink went on purring as if to say he couldn't care less about broken witch catchers.
Straightening up, I stared out the window. The glass was streaked with water, and the rain fed hard enough to blur the tower and the trees and the sky. A few crows stalked across the lawn, heads down, sodden black feathers dripping. Thunder clapped, and raggedy lines of lightning zigzagged across the sky. In the living room, Dad laughed at something Moura said, and Mr. Ashbourne joined in.
I looked down at Tink. "They don't need me, do they? I bet Dad doesn't even miss me."
Tink purred again, and I picked him up, grateful for his warm weight and soft fur. He relaxed in my arms, and I rocked him as if he were still a little kitten. "You're such a bad cat," I whispered. "Such a bad, bad cat—but I love you anyway."
He snuggled in my arms, pressing his warm body against my chest, and purred even louder.
"Jen," Dad called again. "Isn't that tea ready yet?"
I put Tink down and picked up the teapot. Feeling like Cinderella, I carried the tray carefully toward the living room and Dad's guests.
8
T HE RAIN STOPPED about the time Moura and Mr. Ashbourne got up to leave. We walked outside to say goodbye—me gladly, Dad sadly, despite Moura's quick kiss.
After the sleek little car disappeared around a curve. Dad turned to me. "It's not like you to lie or be secretive, Jen. We—"
"'We'?" I scowled at him. "
'We'
is you and Moura now, not you and me."
"Jen—"
But I was already gone, heading toward the woods with Tink at my heels.
"Come back here!" Dad called. "You heard what Moura said."
Ignoring my father, I plunged into the wet, gloomy forest. After the rain, the air smelled damper than ever. The leaves dripped, and when I got to the stream, it ran high and fast, foaming around the rocks. I sat on one of the boulders and watched Tink try to explore the underbrush without getting wet.
If Moura thought she could scare me into staying home like a good little girl, she didn't know me. Besides. I wanted to get away from Dad. He wasn't himself anymore. Moura and her witchy ways had changed him and everything else—including me. I'd never lied to my father before, never kept things from him. But that witch catcher—I'd disobeyed him to get it. And then I couldn't give it up. Not with Moura around. She would've persuaded Dad to give it to her.
Suddenly, Tink ran out of the bushes. A small, thin girl dressed in rags and tatters of filthy clothing followed him. The dense shade gave her pale skin a greenish tint. Or maybe she was just dirty. Her mouth was wide, her lips thin, her eyes oddly slanted, and her hair was a tangled mass of black curls. She was the weirdest kid I'd ever seen. Yet she was oddly familiar, like something I'd seen in a dream.
To my surprise, Tink went up to her and rubbed against her legs and purred so loudly I felt a stab of jealousy. I'd never seen him be that friendly to anyone but me.
"Hello there, boyo." The girl leaned down and rubbed her face against the cat's face. "Good kitty," she crooned.
"Tink," I called, sliding down off the boulder. "Come here."
Tink glanced at me, but he stayed where he was, contrary as ever.
The girl straightened up and turned to me. "Where's the old man gone?" Her voice was low and hoarse, raspy but not harsh.
"The old man?" I echoed, a little
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