Witch Catcher (22 page)

Without waiting to hear more, Dad ran across the lawn and into the woods. I plunged down the hill behind him and caught up with him on the road. To my amazement, Moura's car was gone. A small pile of sticks and leaves marked the place where Binna had left it. Was Moura's shop an empty lot now? And Ashbourne's mansion a pile of stones? The air around me tingled with magic, and I shivered.

Dad turned to me. The moon had risen above the trees and our shadows were black. "Are you telling me Moura left you here and just drove away?"

"That's what it looks like, doesn't it?" It sounded impudent, but I was trying not to lie.

Dad shook his head. The moonlight on his face showed his anger. He seized my shoulders and shook me. "Why? What did you do to her? What did you say?"

I clutched the bags and stared at my father in disbelief. Moura was gone, but her spell on Dad hadn't been broken. Not yet, at least. "Let go," I cried. "You're hurting me!"

Slowly he relaxed his grip on me and sighed. "Surely she'd come back," he said. "She wouldn't leave, not like that, without even saying good-bye. She—" At a loss for words, he stared at the empty road as if he expected to see Moura's sporty car come purring over the hilltop.

"We were going to be married, we were so happy, we—" Dad's voice trailed off again and he stood there, head down, hands in his pockets like a disappointed child. "I don't understand," he muttered. "I don't understand."

The little pile of sticks and leaves lay between us. To Dad, they were nothing but roadside rubbish. Even if I told him what they were, even if I told him what had ready happened, he wouldn't have believed me.

I touched his arm. "I'm sorry you're sad." I wanted to say more, much more—including /
told you not to trust her—
but I kept my thoughts to myself. Dad had been foolish to love Moura, but she was gone now, and the danger was past. He'd never know what she was or where she'd gone.

"Thanks, Jen." Dad gave me a little hug and trudged up the hill toward the house.

I followed, lugging the bags. Later, I'd bury them deep in the earth where no one would find them. But not now. I was much too tired. What I wanted more than anything was to crawl into bed and sleep for a week, maybe more.

At the kitchen door, Dad paused and looked back at the yard, at the glittering stars and the moon, at the dark woods we'd just walked through.

"I wonder where she is," he said softly more to himself than me, "or if I'll ever see her again."

Inside one of the bags, I heard a tiny buzz—more of a murmur, actually. Alerted, Tink rubbed against my legs and mewed. When I looked down at him, he nipped my ankle gently, as if he wanted to remind me that glass breaks easily.

"What's in those bags?" Dad asked, noticing them for the first time.

"Just something I got from Moura," I said uneasily.

Dad reached for the bags. "Can I see?"

"Be careful," I said. "They're fragile."

Dad untied the drawstrings, took the traps from their bags, and laid them on the kitchen counter. Their colors swirled and sparkled, crimson and gold and deep midnight blue. One made a small humming sound that only Tink and I heard.

"Witch catchers," Dad said. "I'm surprised Moura would give these to you after all that fuss about the one you broke. She must have meant them as a peace offering. Maybe she's coming back, maybe she'd call, maybe...."

He regarded the traps solemnly. "I have the oddest feeling Moura is somewhere nearby."

To my dismay, he picked up the one that held Moura. For a moment, the globe teetered in his hands and then rolled off his palms, arcing toward the door and certain destruction.

With an agility I didn't know I had, I caught the trap just before it hit the tiles. "Dad," I cried, "how could you be so careless?"

"I'm sorry, Jen. It's almost as if the globe moved by itself. I couldn't keep a grip on it."

"It's okay." Keeping my hands steady, I put the traps carefully into their bags and knotted the drawstrings tightly.

Dad laughed. "Maybe that one has a real live witch in it."

I forced myself to smile at his joke, but what he thought was funny was nothing to laugh at. "I'm tired. Do you mind dI go to bed?"

"Go ahead. Tomorrow we can talk about what you and Moura did today, what you said to each other. There must be some reason...."

Leaving Dad at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee going cold in front of him, I went upstairs. Before I got into bed, I had to find a safe place for the globes. The bottom drawer in my bureau was almost empty, so I made a little nest there with a couple of old T-shirts. I picked up the bags, but instead of putting them in the drawer, I opened them and peeked at the globes. Their colors glowed like jewels in the lamplight.

So beautiful, I thought, too beautiful to hide away in the dark. Surely I could hang them in my window for a few days and enjoy their colors in the sunlight and the moonlight.

I carried the traps to the window. Dad had been careless, but I'd hold them tight. I'd make sure they didn't fall and break.

The ribbon I'd used to hang Kieryn's globestill dangled from the curtain rod. As I reached for it. Moura's globe began to hum that lovely, eerie tune of hers. What if I'd been wrong about her? What if I should have trusted her instead of the fairies? Hadn't Gugi and Skilda tried to fool me?

Suddenly dizzy, I leaned out the open window and peered down at the moonlit lawn. The tower's shadow stretched toward me. Beyond it, the woods were dark. No aunties stood on the grass below. No Kieryn, no Brynn. They'd gone back to their world and left me here, alone and unhappy.

I climbed to the windowsill, my head reeling, and stood there gazing into the night. With a globe in each hand, I raised my arms to the moon. The wind blew my hair back from my face. Moura's song filled my mind with images of Kieryn's world. Maybe I couldstill dy, maybe I could change into a bat again, or a bird....

Just as I gathered the courage to jump, Tink leapt to the sill beside me. With a loud meow, he drowned out Moura's song. To keep myself from falling, I dropped the globes on the rug and caught hold of the curtains. As I tumbled backward into my room, the traps began to roll away. Tink stopped one with his paw, but the other went spinning out my door, dashing green light and humming.

Still dizzy, I ran after the globe and caught it at the very top of the stairs. For a moment, I thought I was going to tumble straight down to the bottom. Without dropping the globe, I caught the bannister with my free hand and saved myself. Weak-legged with fright, I sat down on the top step. The globe's surface was hot and slippery and hard to hold. Still trapped inside, Moura hummed her wordless song.

"You almost tricked me," I told her. "Almost, but not quite."

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I stood up. My heart was beating at least twice as fast as normal. "You'd never get away," I whispered to her. "Never!"

The humming rose, and I could hear her words, urging me to leave this world of woe and go away with her.

"No," I muttered. "You can't take me to your world. The door is sealed against you."

To keep from hearing Moura, I thrust the shining globe into its bag and knotted the string so tightly I'd never be able to untie it. I grabbed the other trap, bagged it, and tied its string into equally tight knots.

I didn't dare wait till morning to bury the traps. It had to be done now—before Moura tried to trick me again.

With Tink at my heels, I sneaked through the silent house and out the back door. A light shone in Dad's window. I imagined him sitting in the easy chad beside his bed, thinking of Moura, missing her, hoping she'd return. Poor Dad—he'd never know what I'd saved him from.

I slipped through the shadows and darted across the lawn to the garden. Luckily, Dad's shovel still lay in the grass where he'd left it. I grabbed it and headed for the woods.

Burdened with the shovel and the bags, I hurried as fast as I could through the dark trees. The moon splashed the path with light and shadows. Things rustled in the leaves, twigs snapped. Overhead, branches swayed and sighed in the breeze, making a mournful sound. Tense with fear, I tripped on stones and roots but managed to keep my fooling.

"You won't make me fall," I whispered to the bag in my right hand, Moura's bag.

Tink ran ahead, his cat eyes seeing in the night. Every now and then he looked back, as if to make sure I was still following.

When I came to the river, the moon shone on the water and lit the path. I walked slowly, searching for a good burial place. Not too close to the river, not too close to a tree. I chose a spot near a group of boulders and began to dig. When the hole was about three feet deep, I laid the traps carefully inside and buried them. lust to be safe, I pushed a heavy rock on top of the grave.

"There," I said to Moura and Ciril. "I'd tell you to 'rest in peace,' but I doubt you will."

Except for the loud chirping of crickets, ad was silent. If Moura was humming, I couldn't hear her.

I got to my feet and brushed the dirt from my hands. Tink purred and rubbed against my legs. With a deep sigh, I picked him up and cuddled him close, warm and soft against my face.

"Thank you for all you did to help me get rid of Moura." I gave him a kiss on the top of his head. "You're absolutely the smartest, most beautiful cat on earth."

Tink looked up at me and purred even louder. For a second, I thought he said, "I know it," but it must have been my imagination.

With a little twist, he jumped out of my arms. I picked up the shovel, and we trudged back to the house. Dad's light was out. I hoped he was sleeping wed and not dreaming of Moura.

In the morning, I'd ask him to take me to the craft shop to get a drawing tablet and a set of colored pencils. Maybe that nice woman would be there. This time, I wouldn't drag Dad away for an ice cream. I'd let him talk to her as long as he liked.

About fifteen years ago, I was wandering around a crafts fair in Frederick, Maryland, looking at this, admiring that, enjoying the summer day and the tempting aromas of funnel cake, Polish sausage, and pizza wafting my way from the food concessions.

A booth run by a glassblower caught my eye. Among the goblets, bowls, and vases were glass globes that swayed in the breeze. About the size of softballs, they sparkled in the sun. Fascinated, I drew closer to examine their swirling patterns of iridescent color.

I noticed each globe had a spout on the side. Turning to the glassblower, I asked why it was there.

He grinned. "Why, that's to catch the witch."

"The witch?" I stared at him, puzzled.

"These are witch traps," he explained. "In the old days, folks hung them in their windows. If a witch came to the house, she'd see that swirl of color in the glass. She couldn't resist coining closer to see the pattern better. Then—
poof I—
before she knew it, she'd be sucked inside through the spout. As soon as she was in the trap, somebody would stick a cork in the spout and there she'd be, shrunk down to the size of a bug and trapped forever."

He smiled again. "Unless somebody broke the trap, that is."

Naturally, I bought one, and hung it in the window of my writing room. It's been there ever since. It must be working, because I haven't been bothered by a single witch yet.

I've been trying to write a story about the trap ever since I brought it home. Now at last I have.