Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (22 page)

Jazz
shrugged Nettle’s hand from her shoulder. Her voice lacked any sort
of her usual malevolence, it was just flat and empty. “Go away.
Just all of you, go away.”

Fred motioned
for his children to leave Jazz alone. He picked up the bird-cage.
Quary looked on at Jazz’s sobbing frame with self-satisfaction. He
poked his little tongue at the girl, as he was swept out of the
room ahead of the siblings.

“
I wouldn’t have said anything if I thought it would’ve been
acted on,” Nettle said to her father in a hushed tone as she closed
the bedroom door behind her. “I’m not that mean.” The family padded
down the hallway to the staircase.

Fred laid a
hand on Nettle’s shoulder, their earlier altercation forgotten.
“What happened to Jazz’s hair had nothing to do with you.”

The spriggan let out an abrupt
tisk-tisk
, rolling his black eyes and pursing
his lips in disagreement.

A light
rapping came from down below, and a muffled voice called out from
behind the front door, “Hello...”

Nettle nearly jumped out of her skin. She’d completely
forgotten about Claudine. She quickly assessed her father and
groaned. He needed to shave, his hair either stood up on end or was
flattened, he was still in the same crumpled clothes from
yesterday, and she wasn’t sure if he’d even brushed his teeth
yet.
Ugh
,
what a first impression he was going to make,
what to do?!

Fred was
glancing down the staircase, his eyebrows drew together in
consternation. “Who is that? No one’s supposed to know we’re home.”
He gave his daughter a stern look. “Who did you tell, Nettle?”

Nettle ignored
her father and snatched the bird-cage from him. She shoved it at
Bram and hissed, “Quickly, hide him.” She gave Quary a suspicious
stare. “In fact, gag him, I don’t trust him.” At which the spriggan
hissed in horror. “And go find Dad’s best outfit and bring it to
the bathroom. No holes or stains and if it smells, Febreze it.”

Fred found himself being shoved down the stairs, his
daughter hissing in his ear,
“Shoosh,”
as they approached the ground floor. The sun cast
a cheerful yellow glow into the house as they tip-toed past the
window. Thankfully, Claudine had her back to them as she waited on
the porch. She cut a pleasant figure in a soft blue
dress.

“
Who is that?” asked Fred quietly. Nettle just gave him a
blistering stare, silently pointing toward the bathroom door. Fred
meekly complied. His daughter could be quite forceful when she had
a mind to be.

With the door
shut behind them, Nettle hung a fresh towel over the rack. “Right,
now, have a shower, shave that face of yours, and for goodness sake
brush your teeth and comb your hair.” Fred was about to demand she
answer who was at the door, when she bolted from the bathroom. Fred
stood there slack-jawed at her abrupt departure, when she
reappeared a moment later, poking her head around the door. She
bore a determined glare. “Dad, just have an open mind OK. And none
of your stupid jokes, they’re not funny.”

He blinked,
bewildered, “What do you mean, my jokes aren’t funny?”

Nettle rolled her eyes and departed with a,
“Sheesh.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

First
Impressions

Fred found
everyone in the kitchen. Nettle was playing hostess, pouring
several cups of tea. Fred adjusted the position of his glasses on
his nose and frowned. Nettle was definitely up to something. She
was keyed up. Her murky eyes were ablaze with excitement while she
set plates and cutlery on the table. The good china plates too, he
realized. She was in the midst of explaining something to Bram, who
was sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, resting his chin on a
hand.

“
Huh?” queried Bram with a stupid expression.

“
Three Wicked Sisters’ Tea House,” repeated Nettle, and added
dreamily, “It’s the most delicious place ever.”

A woman was
facing away from Fred, unloading plate after plate of food from a
wicker basket. She had a slim figure, was slight in height and her
strawberry hair was pulled into a loose bun.

The
intoxicating smells whirling about the room found Fred. He breathed
in strawberries and honey and lime and lemon and cinnamon and
nutmeg and allspice and ginger and hazelnut. He gently rolled his
shoulders, the tension and worry slipping away and he sighed
peacefully.

“
Why, thank you,” said the woman, turning Fred’s way to place
a plate of sandwiches rolled like sushi onto the table. When she
saw him, she smiled. “Oh, hello. Mr. Blackthorn, I
presume?”

Both Nettle
and Bram turned to see their father standing near the door to the
bathroom. Nettle inwardly sighed with relief. He’d followed her
instructions and even if he’d nicked himself a few times with the
shaver, he didn’t look too bad. Bram had found a decent pair of
cargo pants and navy polo shirt - unstained and without holes - his
hair was washed and slicked back, and he’d even applied
deodorant.

Fred just
stood there with a goofy expression.

“
Dad…? Dad!” hissed Nettle.

“Huh?” Fred shook his head, it felt foggy and sluggish. He
blinked several times, until he realized he was now looking at his
daughter. Behind the woman, Nettle gave him a sharp look, silently
telling him to
get-it-together.

Fred shot
Nettle a questioning look, beginning to understand her sly motives.
“Oh, hi Dad,” she said, her voice pitched a little higher than
normal. With all that had gone on with the spriggan and learning
about the Forgotten Wilds, it’d slipped her mind to tell him about
Olde Town and her visit with the Balfrey sisters. She crossed her
fingers behind her back, silently praying he wasn’t going to make
an ass of himself. Here it was, her father’s and Claudine’s first
meeting. She felt like she was going to implode from excitement.
“Ah, Dad, this is Claudine Balfrey.”

Claudine
smiled ruefully, “I hope I’m not intruding. It seems I have come
unannounced, which was never my intention.” Clothed in a simple
dress of smoky grey and blues she was enchanting, mesmerising even.
She walked toward him offering a delicate hand in greeting. Fred
simply stared at her hand like an idiot. “Your daughter invited me
today to meet Jasmine, Mr. Blackthorn.”

Fred finally
reached out and grasped Claudine’s hand in his own. His large hand
enveloped her much smaller one. Her hand was as delicate and
fine-boned as his was rough. “Please, just call me Fred.”

As soon as
they touched, Nettle saw it. She almost felt it herself. Claudine’s
blue eyes flitted wide and her father drew in a sharp breath.
Something tangible had sparked between them, and it hung in the air
like charged electricity. The same shy smile crept onto their lips,
mirroring one another.

Fred cleared
his throat, taken by surprise by his reaction. “A pleasure to meet
you.”

“
Likewise,” breathed Claudine.

Fred
reluctantly released her hand.

“
Here, try one of our teas,” she said offering him a
cup.

Fred took a
sip, trying to distract himself from the fact that she smelled
divine, a mixture of rose petals and something else indefinable.
“Lovely,” he murmured.

Nettle slipped Bram a wide grin. She resisted the urge to
drum her fingertips together like a mastermind-villain,
this is going much
better than I ever anticipated!

“
I actually brought something for lunch. That is if you
haven’t already organized it?” Claudine asked Fred. Neither of them
had glanced away from one another. “Yes, no… I don’t know if we
have,” he said, finally breaking away to look at Nettle, entreating
for help.

Nettle rescued
her father. “No, we haven’t. Bram, drag Jazz out of bed. Dad, you
give me a hand setting the table.”

Fred took a step forward keeping his eyes on Claudine with
the same goofy smile plastered on his lips. He accidentally
stumbled against the table. In his clumsiness he knocked over the
fruit bowl. Several overly ripe pears that Nettle had plucked from
the old tree rolled off the table. One splattered white flesh over
his shoe. Fred bent down to retrieve the fruit and knocked his head
on the table’s edge, emitting an embarrassed
“Ooof”.
Nettle rolled her eyes
heavenward hoping Claudine might find his boyish awkwardness at
least a little charming.

Claudine tried
to hide her amusement and helped him back up. Her expression turned
to dismay when she turned his wrist over. “Oh no, your watch.”
There were cracks showing on the face. He must have smashed the
glass against the table when he’d stumbled into it.

Fred pursed
his lips together in disappointment, “It was my fathers.”

“
I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault.”

He shrugged,
“No need to worry, it’s easily enough fixed.”

Claudine
reached for the strap of the wristwatch, “Here, let me. I have some
people in town who can fix it for you.”

“
Oh, no,” Fred drew his arm away. “It’s OK. I probably have
another old watch, somewhere around here, I can use to replace the
glass with.”

Claudine gave
an amiable enough shrug, but she was unable to hide her
disappointment. “As you wish.”

The table was
set when Jazz arrived from upstairs. Even shorn, her eyes bloodshot
and puffy from constant crying, and a reddened nose, she looked
beautiful. Jazz stomped into the kitchen, miserable. She barely
gave Claudine a cursory glance before plonking herself down at the
table.

“
Oh my,” breathed Claudine.

Jazz looked
blankly at Claudine. “Yeah?”

Claudine
approached in such tiny steps she appeared to glide across the
floor. She took Jazz’s chin in her hands and gently turned her face
to profile. Her sapphire eyes sparkled as she inspected Jazz’s
features as a slow expression of triumph crept over her own. She
spoke to Nettle, “It’s astonishing just how much she does resemble
her.”

“
Resemble who?” queried Jazz with a suspicious
glower.

“Lysette,” Nettle said. Then added for dramatic effect,
“The Accursed Lysette.”

“
Who’s that?” asked Bram as he eagerly sat down and stole a
mini pancake topped with a creamy mayonnaise and thin slivers of
eel, and was quietly eating while everyone else was preoccupied
with his narcissistic cousin.

“Lysette
was a witch from Olde Town, many, many years ago,” Claudine
answered. She drew out of her pocket a small picture and handed it
to Jazz. It was a simple drawing of Lysette, an original, rather
than a reproduction. “It’s uncanny how much you look like her.” She
drew back, her brows quirking in thought. “You could be
sisters.”

“I suppose we do a little bit,” Jazz said in that way that
Nettle knew she was really saying -
she wasn’t so sure herself.

Bram had
quickly rounded the table to look at the picture too. “Sure you do,
except for, well you know, the hair.”

Jazz touched
her hair self-consciously and gave a sad little sniff. “I look ugly
without my hair.”

Claudine
laughed, tilting her head to the side, inspecting the young girl.
“Oh no you don’t, far from it. You have the kind of beauty that
should be seen, not hidden away behind masses of hair.”

Nettle mentally barfed,
just what Jazz needs, someone else to
stroke her already inflated ego.

“
In fact, I think whatever has happened to you, has done you a
great favour.” Claudine looked about the family curiously. “What
exactly did happen?”

Jazz cocked an
insolent eyebrow at Nettle, and smugly challenged her, “Yes,
Nettle, just what did happen?”

Nettle burst into laughter. It was high pitched and a
little manic. “Oh, Jazz, Jazz… Jazz…” She glanced around the table,
“Anyone hungry? I sure am.” She sat down and selected a little pie,
stuffing it in her mouth. Jazz cast her a
scaredy-cat-look
.

Claudine ran
her fingers through what remained of Jazz’s hair. “All you need is
an even trim. We have an excellent hairdresser in town. I can
arrange an appointment if you like.”

Fred
chivalrously drew out a chair for Claudine and the family settled
down for lunch. Claudine had brought an array of fascinating food -
tiny little pies with crimped edges and miniature leaves crafted
from pastry, filled with a mouth-watering meat and thick gooey
gravy; sandwiches rolled like sushi filled with cream cheese and
herbs or a nutty paste humming with rosemary; miniature scones
overflowing with jellied berries and honey infused cream; and the
lightest cupcakes Nettle had ever tasted.

The lunchtime
affair was filled with gales of laughter as Claudine spun tales of
the tea house and its eccentric customers. She’d even loosened
Fred’s tongue, finding out much more about him and their family
than Nettle ever thought her father would impart with. He was
obviously enchanted by her.

Claudine was
just deftly inquiring about their mother, when Nettle felt it was
time to intervene. There was no way she was going to allow Briar to
ruin what was beginning to bloom between Claudine and her father.
However, Jazz saved her the trouble.

“Mmmmm…
this is so good,” Jazz sighed in utter bliss, half way
through a miniature pie. “What is it?”

“
Frog,” answered Claudine.