Witch Catcher Read Free Page A

talk to."
    Dad ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't mean to make you sound pitiful. It's just that Moura and I ... we ... she and I ... well, we—"
    "You and Moura what?" I gripped the edge of the table. "How long have you known her, anyway?"
    "The lawyer I mentioned before introduced us," he said. "Whenever I came down to work on the house, I took Moura to dinner, a movie.... She's very nice, Jen. A good businesswoman, too. She knows her antiques. You'll like her, I'm sure of it. Just give her—"
    I didn't wait for him to finish. With Tink bounding ahead, I ran upstairs to my room and slammed the door. Now I understood the many trips Dad had made to Great-Uncle Thaddeus's house before we moved. A plumber to see. An electrician, a carpenter, a lawyer. While I'd spent weekend after boring weekend with a babysitter, Dad had been spending time in Mingo with Moura.
    When Dad knocked on my door, I told him to go away. I'd stay in my room all day if I felt like it. He was a traitor, a cheat, a liar.
    "For heaven's sake," Dad protested. "Why shouldn't Moura and I—"
    "Leave me alone," I said. "I don't want to hear that name again!"
    After a while, Dad gave up and went downstairs. I waited a few minutes, maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then tiptoed to his room. I found the key to the tower, neatly labeled, in the top drawer of his bureau. If I hadn't been so angry with him, I probably would have felt guilty about disobeying him, but I dropped the key into the pocket of my shorts with only a twinge of conscience.
    I crept downstairs and peeked into the kitchen. Dad was lying on the floor, his head under the sink, trying to repair a leaking pipe he'd discovered.
    With Tink at my heels, I slipped out the front door, circled around the house to the rear, and ran down the hill to the tower. Hidden behind the screen of overgrown bushes, I shoved the key into the padlock and turned it. It took all my strength, but at last the lock moved, and I pushed the heavy door open.
    Tink and I hesitated on the threshold. The air was hot and still and thick with dust. It smelled of mold, mouse droppings, pigeon poop, and other nose-wrinkling, indefinable things. Tink scooted up the winding wooden staircase, and I followed slowly, avoiding the bones of a bird scattered on the stairs, testing each step to see if it was rotten. The wood seemed sound to me. Dad must have exaggerated to discourage me from what I was doing now.
    At the top, the stairs opened into a big round room. Dim light shone through the ivy covering the small windows, giving the room a greenish tint, almost as if it were under water. A pair of pigeons, heads tucked under their wings, slept on the rafters. Mice scurried through stacks of paper and crooked piles of old books. I saw a chair here, a table there, busts of ancient Greeks and Romans, trunks and boxes, all coated with dirt and cobwebs.
    I opened a few of the books, hoping to find a good story, but the mildewed pages were covered with odd symbols and marks. Runes, I thought, like the ones carved on the tower's door.
    Tossing the unreadable books aside, I spied an easel standing by one of the small leaf-choked windows. A palette of dried oils sat on a table, its colors so caked with dust that it was impossible to tell what they'd once been. On the easel was a painting of a girl's face partly hidden by shadows. Her strange slanted eyes stared into mine, half afraid, half curious. Moonlight shone through the foliage and tinted her pale skin green. She was so real, I almost expected her to move or speak.
    But what she'd say, I couldn't guess. She didn't look quite human.
    While Tink explored the room, I looked through a stack of paintings leaning against the easel. The same girl's face stared out from two of them. In one especially eerie painting, she seemed to be trapped behind a glass wall, pressing her hands against it, as if she were desperate to escape. I had a feeling Great-Uncle Thaddeus had been trying to paint something