Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (15 page)

The next
room was much smaller than the tea house, and its stone walls were
lined with highly polished wooden shelves holding all manner of
beauty products. From creams to keep wrinkles at bay, crystal bath
salts and refreshing skin sprays, they all had fascinating names,
like Nixie Spring Water and Hobgoblin’s Puckered Kiss. But what
caught Nettle’s eye, was the large counter with an assortment of
glass canisters containing a variety of curious
confectionary.

“Here,”
said Claudine. “Why don’t you choose a few sweets, while I find
something to clean up those wounds of yours.” She addressed the
girl who made up the sextuplets. “Pippa, could you please assist
our new friend.”

Claudine
walked behind the counter and through the swing door to disappear
into what Nettle presumed was the kitchen. Before the door swung
shut she heard a snippet of clattering pots, banging and crackling,
and someone in the midst of shouting out an order.

Pippa smiled crookedly at Nettle. She had a sizeable gap
between her two front teeth. “The phookie tusks are one of my
favourites.” Her voice was wispy with a hint of an accent that
Nettle couldn’t place. Though she was smiling, Nettle could sense a
wariness in the other girl.
She’s sizing me up.

Inside the
canisters were strange looking sweets. One canister looked like
tiny little fingers; in another, shrunken candied heads with black
eyes and liquorice hair; one with gelatinous eyeballs; and beside
it, another canister with what Nettle thought resembled miniscule
tusks.

Nettle
scrunched her nose up at the wriggly maggots, and was intrigued
with another, which appeared to be severed paws. Nettle’s eyebrows
rose in wonder, “Is that…?”

“Kitten
paws… maggots, faerie wings, brownie fingers,” Pippa explained,
pointing a stubby finger along the row of glass canisters. “Imp
heads, spriggan eyeballs, phookie tusks and eyes of
newt.”

“Wow,” said Nettle marvelling. “That’s so cool.”
Bram’s going to
love this place.

“
Why don’t I get you one of each?” Pippa quickly filled a
small white paper bag with one piece from every canister and handed
it to Nettle, whose fingers greedily dug in.

Nettle first
chose a faerie wing. The spun sugar was so fine and delicate it
sparkled in the sunlight. She savoured the taste of lemon and honey
as the wing shattered between her teeth and melted into tacky
toffee with each bite.

While she
waited for Claudine, Nettle meandered around the small store along
with a few other women curious about the natural anti-aging creams
the Three Wicked Sisters’ boasted of. A pretty pair of backpackers,
their blond hair tied into matching ponytails, with obligatory
hiking boots and quick-drying shorts were inspecting a bottle of
wrinkle cream. A Norwegian flag was stitched onto one of their
day-bags.

A row of creams and oils began to shimmy, jostling about on
the shelf. Nettle’s brow furrowed,
what is going on?
Then she felt it, the ground began to
quake beneath her feet.

Earthquake!

Alarmed, the
two backpacking girls whipped around to ask Pippa something,
forgetting they were speaking in Norwegian. Pippa shook her head
not understanding.

Nettle stood her ground, wondered how bad the quake was
going to be. Her heart hammered in her chest, she anxiously glanced
about the room. Olde Town was ancient and mostly brick. A really
bad quake could bring the whole village down.
I’ve got to get out of
here.
The
backpackers had the same idea and were already heading for the
door.

Pippa called
out, “It’s OK. It’s just a little tremor.”

And, like
that, it stopped.

Nettle
let out a long breath, her heartbeat easing. She shared a sheepish
grin with the backpackers. Pippa shrugged, unperturbed. “It happens
from time to time, but it’s never bad.”

Pippa went back to serving a sprightly white haired lady
with soft porcelain skin and absolutely no hint of wrinkles or age
spots. Nettle hoped to look half as good as her when she reached
her age,
and
picked up a product with renewed interest.
Pippa weighed a scoop of brownie
fingers and wrapped it up in brown paper, tying it with string and
handed it over to the older woman. The woman paid with a gold coin
with a hole punched through the middle. Nettle was impressed,
thinking,
they must have their own theme-park currency
here.

A picture of a young woman hung on the wall. It was framed
with simple wood and encased behind glass. There was also an old
tattered and frayed black ribbon behind the glass. The artist had
captured, in black ink, a very pretty girl with a rather
mischievous look in her eye. There was something incredibly
familiar about the girl’s face. Nettle cocked her head and chewed
on her inner lip,
who does she remind me of?

“
That, is Lysette Balfrey,” said Claudine.

Nettle
started, surprised at how quietly Claudine had reappeared. “Who was
she?”

“
Lysette, is my ancestor and more interestingly, a
witch.”

Nettle’s eyes
grew wide in her narrow face. “Really?”

Claudine
nodded, a playful curl to her lips. She swept a petite finger
toward all the other paintings hanging on the walls in the dining
room. “As are all the others. All notable witches and warlocks from
times gone by. But it was Lysette who inspired our tea house. We
thought it would be fun to play on a witchy theme.” She leaned in,
intently staring at Nettle with an impish sparkle to her blue eyes,
“I mean, what hamlet didn’t have a witch or two hidden amongst the
villagers?” She gave a sly wink. “And the tourists love it.”

“Was she a good witch?”
What was that term?
“A white witch?” The sketch of
the girl looked far too young and pretty to be anything but
good.

Claudine
laughed. Her laughter tinkled like wind-chimes in a gentle breeze.
“Oh, no, not our Lysette, her soul was as black as midnight. That’s
how she got her name –the Accursed Lysette.”

Nettle gave
Claudine a sidelong glance. “What did she do?”

Claudine
regarded the sketch. “Lysette was a very powerful witch. In her
time, she had all of Olde Town living in terror. Many notable town
members had vanished without a trace and those few villagers that
dared speak up placed the blame squarely upon our Lysette. Well…
they too were silenced…” Nettle gulped, her imagination not needing
Claudine to elaborate. “At the time of her death, she had almost
all of Olde Town’s villagers enthralled to her villainous
cause.”

Nettle gazed
keenly at the girl in the sketch. She found it so hard to see the
young girl as an evil witch. She turned back to Claudine, “What did
she want with them?”

Claudine
gave a casual little shrug of her shoulders. “Who knows? We can
only speculate. Revenge? A sacrifice of some sort? Some evil hex,
perhaps?”

“
So they caught her?”

There was
something a little wistful in Claudine’s pout. “Yes, they did.”

Nettle had
vague recollections of the witch-hunts from her school studies.
“Was she burned at the stake?”

Claudine
nodded. “Her bones, the only thing left of her besides her black
ribbon, are buried here in Olde Town.”

Nettle’s lips
pursed in a silent ‘O’.

Claudine’s
mood changed swiftly, a smile playfully danced upon her lips. She
slipped her arm around Nettle. “We should talk of other, more
pleasant, things. Come, let’s tend to your wounds.”

Nettle sat at
a small table for two, tucked into the corner of the boutique,
while Claudine cleaned her wounds and applied a lotion that smelt
of lavender. They chatted and Nettle learned that even though
Claudine was in charge of overseeing the business, her daily
deliveries took her all over the village, so her younger sister
Margot ran the front of the tea house while Dolcie, the youngest,
was head chef.

“
And is Olde Town doing well?” Nettle hoped fervently it was.
She liked the sound of an independently financial woman.

“
Exceedingly,” said Claudine with an inquisitive glance.
Nettle knew she was wondering where this line of questioning was
going. Perhaps she should have backed off, but she had an opening
to the types of things she needed to know. Whoever her father was
going to marry needed to meet the stringent guidelines she’d made
earlier in the day.

Nettle
grinned. “Good, good. So are you seeing anyone… in particular?” She
crossed her fingers behind her back. Somehow it seemed a long shot
that this striking woman was going to be unattached.

Claudine, shot
the young girl a baffled look. “My, aren’t we curious.”

Nettle
shrugged apologetically, but refused to back down. “Just a
little.”

“
No, I’m not seeing anyone, nor even dating.” Nettle almost
blew out a huge sigh of relief. A moment later, her hopes were
dashed. “I’m far too busy to even entertain the idea of dating
someone.”

“
Oh,” said Nettle, her smile slipping.

“Oh,
well you know, I wouldn’t rule it out.” Claudine said with a
playful glint in her eye. “I’m supposing you have someone in
mind?”

“Maybe,” the smile was back and hopeful. “What kind of
husband are you looking for? Would you mind someone who already has
a family, I mean kids, two in particular?” she expelled in a
rush.
Easy,
she warned herself,
don’t put her off.

Claudine
laughed, and once again she reminded Nettle of wind-chimes. “I
haven’t much experience with children.”

“Well, these kind of children are already raised,” appeased
Nettle, “We - I mean
they
,” she corrected, grimacing slightly at her gaff,
“wouldn’t need someone to raise them, they’ve already done that
themselves. They’re more interested, in finding someone for their
Dad.”

“Oh are they indeed?” Claudine looked sideways at her in
such a way that made Nettle blush.
Ugh, am I that obvious?

Claudine
pressed a large plaster over Nettle’s wounded knee. Her leggings
had been shredded, and she had two large exposed holes in either
knee. “So where are you and your family staying? Calliope’s Bed and
Breakfast, Spotted Pig Tavern, Deadheaded Rose’s Inn?”

Nettle flexed
her gouged palms, impressed by how quickly the stinging pain was
receding due to the administration of Claudine’s lotion. This place
really was magical. “Oh, we’re not staying in Olde Town.”

Claudine
looked up surprised. “Whatever do you mean?”

Nettle
didn’t even think before replying. “We’ve moved back to our old
family home for a bit, its not far from here.”

“Are you telling me you’re not part of one of our tours?”
Claudine spoke so sharply, a bolt of nervous energy ran through
Nettle.
How
could I be so stupid?
She almost slapped her forehead at her own idiocy.
She hadn’t even contemplated Olde Town might actually be an
exclusive resort, off limits to anyone not booked into one of its
tours. Claudine’s steely stare had a thunderous quality to it.
She’d ruined it now.

“
I didn’t know… Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think… I just
thought I’d come up for a look… I’m so, so sorry…”

For a long
moment, Claudine intently stared at Nettle, her delicate features
taut. Then, she physically shook herself. With the tiny shudder,
her mood changed and once more her gaze became warm and friendly.
She smiled apologetically, “No, it is I who should apologise. You
just took me by surprise. I had no idea there was anyone else
living near Olde Town.”

“
Well, it’s just a little cottage, tucked into the Wilds,”
Nettle answered, incredibly relieved, her father still had a chance
with Miss Balfrey. “We haven’t lived there for years. We’d only
just arrived back a few days ago.”

Claudine
bestowed a glorious smile. “So we’re neighbours then!”

Nettle
grinned, relaxing. “Guess we are.”

Claudine bent
down to tend to Nettle’s other bloodied knee. While she dabbed away
the congealed blood, Nettle couldn’t help but gaze up at the
picture of Lysette, until it finally dawned on her. She mentally
berated herself. She really was a dolt. “She looks like my cousin,”
she said, pleased to be able to find a new topic of
conversation.

“
What, dear?” Claudine murmured while applying
ointment.

“Jasmine, or Jazz, as she likes to call herself,” Nettle
explained, rolling her eyes at her cousin’s stupid nickname. “She’s
staying with us until Uncle Geoffrey and Aunt Mae find where their
money went, or jobs, which couldn’t be sooner as far as I’m
concerned. Anyway, Jazz looks like Lysette, the girl in the
picture.”

Claudine
stopped what she was doing. Her sapphire eyes gazed up into
Nettle’s as her girlish voice enounced each word clearly and
carefully, “Your cousin, looks like Lysette?”

Nettle nodded
with a little shrug, “Somewhat. I mean not exactly, but there is
something about her that resembles Lysette.”

There
was a long stretch of silence before Claudine excitedly called out
to Pippa. “Go get Margot and Dolcie, and be quick about
it.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

A Call
to Festivities

Claudine
gently finished administering the last plaster to Nettle’s wounds,
her pretty face animated. “You see, its All Hallows’ Eve in a
week’s time. Every year we put on a wonderful festival celebrating
Halloween. You’ll just love it. There’s a parade through town,
fireworks, and a party with music and dancing and fabulous food.
All our guests dress up in old fashioned outfits and masks. It’s a
wondrous night.”