Witch Catcher Read Free

tower's long black shadow toward the house. The stars seemed thicker and brighter, closer somehow without streetlights and neon signs and headlights.
    Tink mewed several times, reminding me again it was time for bed. The breeze coming through the window was cool, and I was glad to snuggle under the covers with my cat close by.
    The strange night noises of my new home kept me awake—a creak here, a creak there, an odd
tap, tap, tap,
the rush of water in the drains. I turned this way and that—stomach, right side, left side, back, legs curled up, legs out straight. But no matter what position I took, I couldn't relax.
    Large, dark furniture, carved with vines and animal heads, crowded around me on clawed feet. It was like trying to sleep in an enchanted forest full of strange beasts. For all I knew, I'd wake in the morning and find myself far from everything I knew and loved, alone and afraid.
    Finally, I got out of bed and went looking for Dad. I needed some comforting. Tink followed me, probably hoping it was time for breakfast.
    I was halfway down the steps when I heard Dad say, "I can't wait to introduce you to Jen. She's a lovely girl, Moura, sweet and quiet, a little shy. Very bright."
    I stopped and gripped the railing. A cold breeze blew up the stairs, but I didn't move. Dad was talking on the phone, telling a stranger about me. "She still misses her mother," he said. "It was hard for her to leave our old house, but I think the change will do her good. Maybe she'll be happier here."
    He paused to give "Moura" a turn to speak and then said, "I do my best, but Jen's almost thirteen. She needs mothering, a woman to talk to her about things."
    I wanted to run down the steps and yank the phone out of Dad's hand. He had no right to tell a stranger how I felt or what I needed. It was none of her business. But, angry as I was, I didn't want Dad to know I'd been eavesdropping.
    "Come tomorrow afternoon," Dad said. "I'd love to give you a complete tour of the house and its furnishings. You're bound to find something perfect for your shop."
    Another pause, and then Dad said, "Don't worry about a thing, Moura. Jen will absolutely adore you."
    Before Dad hung up, I crept back to bed. Who was this Moura? How had my father met her? And why had he said I'd adore her? I wouldn't—I was sure of it. And I certainly wasn't going to talk to her in some mother-daughter way. Dad was the only person I needed.
    Tink snuggled closer, butting his head against me, demanding to be petted. "Moura," I whispered. "I don't even like her name."
    Tink rubbed his face against mine and purred even louder. That meant he agreed. He didn't like Moura, either.
    I fell asleep hoping I could keep Dad away from this Moura person.

3
    A T BREAKFAST , D AD was so distracted he poured orange juice on his cereal. Under different circumstances, I would have laughed and teased him, but I was still angry about what I'd overheard him tell the mysterious Moura.
    "That was dumb," I muttered.
    Dad laughed. "To tell you the truth, I'm a little flustered," he said. "When I came to town last month to settle Uncle Thaddeus's estate, the lawyer suggested I hire an antique dealer to assess my uncle's belongings—the furniture, the art, the bric-a-brac he once feared I'd break. He recommended a woman named Moura Winters. She runs the Dark Side of the Moon, a pricey little shop in Mingo. She's coming at one to look at the place."
    I toyed with my cereal, pushing the flakes this way and that. "Were you talking to her last night?"
    "Why, yes," he began, "but how—"
    I shoved my cereal bowl aside, no longer hungry. "Why did you tell her about me? It's none of her business how I feel."
    Dad stared at me, surprised. "Were you eavesdropping, Jen?"
    "No. I was coming downstairs because I couldn't sleep, and I heard you telling some stranger that I missed my mother, that I was lonely, that I needed a woman to talk to. You made me sound absolutely pitiful, some sad girl with no one to