

#   

#  Contents

Contents

1. Something Wicked This Way Comes

2. Eric

3. Hollow

4. Enchanted Garden

5. Witches on the Meadow

6. Library

7. Trouble

8. The Dinner

9. The Chase

10. Music Lesson

11. The Old Curiosity Shop

12. A Cure for the Neighbor

13. Halloween

14. The Wrong Spell

15. Bags of Herbs

16. The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight

17. Magic Ink

18. The Bard's Song

19. Blue Castle

20. Under the Ice

21. Banshee

22. Old Friends

23. At the Cemetery

24. The Fight

25. Otherland

26. Banishment

27. Sad Revelation

28. And the Story Ends

Epilogue

About the Author

Helpful Links

Also by I.D. Blind

Excerpt from Book 2

References

That spell was wrong!

When three young witches, Electra, Cassandra, and Medea, decided to practice witchcraft, they had no idea what consequences the wrong spell could have. Ghosts that scare the townspeople, and an old witch with an eerie wail are their minor problems.

Meanwhile, sixteen-year-old Eric O'Brian is sent to live in a small town called Hollow, which seems to be stuck in the 1800s. Soon he finds out that the beautiful town full of colorful ravines, green highlands, and dense forests, is not an ordinary one: flowers that whisper, a shop that steals the time, and a hanged man coming to life on the Halloween night lead him to believe that Hollow is a mystical place inhabited by witches.

After meeting the mysterious girls and befriending them, Eric becomes a part of the world with time traveling, medieval bards, flying brooms, and paintings with parallel reality.

Then a murder happens in Hollow...

### 1. Something Wicked This Way Comes

The town of Hollow was waking up from sleep. At dawn, Medea was passing through the dense bushes and leafy trees of the forest. Her gaze slid upon the ground, looking for the necessary plants. Medea had such keen eyesight and extensive knowledge of magical plants that no petal could escape from her.

The Sight was a gift, one of those she received with birth. The knowledge, however, was the result of long hours spent at the library and at Aunt Andromeda's pantry full of recipes of potions, lists of plants and their drawings, and diaries of witches, bound in old, tattered covers. Dried plants, berries, and herbs were hanging in the dark corners of the pantry; candles, crystals, and mirrors were neatly placed on the shelves, along with jars, bottles, and flasks with liquids of secret origins. The secrets of the pantry were alluring, but entering the place was strictly forbidden. Needless to say that the ban was the force that pushed Medea and her elder sisters to commit an unacceptable act, namely, sneak into the pantry, and with trembling hearts thumb through the recipes, touch the cauldrons and ladles, look inside the flasks, and prepare potions.

Medea was the one who visited the pantry the most. With such keen eyesight, the dim candlelight was enough for her. She read recipe after recipe, and later shared them with her sisters.

And Cassandra was the rarest visitor of the pantry. She always warned about bad signs, had a constant foreboding, and preferred sitting on a swing in the garden, listening to the singing of the birds while Medea slaked her appetite for knowledge.

"They communicate so beautifully," Cassandra would say about the mockingbirds and robins. "You can learn so much from them by only listening to those feathery beauties, and it's totally unnecessary to climb into Aunt's pantry. I can sense trouble."

A week ago Cassandra warned about danger, but no one listened to her. Medea was too brave and reckless to be scared by another of Cassandra's omens. The last few months the sisters had been sneaking into the pantry and learning to make potions. They were doing it late at night, when the family was asleep. Until now, everything they had prepared never worked: the withered flowers didn't bloom; Medea's face didn't alter, although they made a Disguise Potion; and Cassandra didn't become invisible after drinking an Invisibility Mixture. But the girls didn't give up, and continued their studies. This time Medea suggested preparing a Levitation Potion, for as she said, every respectable witch was able to fly, and the witches of Hollow shouldn't stay behind.

Hollow was an old town divided in two sides by the mighty river Sirtalion, and the two sides were at odds with each other. Once upon a time, a feud broke out between the town's residents. Although those days were now behind, people on the East Bank hadn't forgotten about the feud. The townspeople dared not go near the small blue castle at the edge of the forest, believing that witches lived there.

Women shunned the residents of the castle, even though no one would publicly declare that the mistress of the house was a dangerous witch. Andromeda behaved politely and smiled civilly while passing through the narrow lanes and alleys of the town, and never shouted curses. Sometimes desperate women would come to her for help—even those who called her a witch behind her back—and she would give them potions or would read their fortunes with a crystal ball, candles, and cards.

Andromeda's three nieces, Electra, Cassandra, and Medea, were not welcome on the East Bank. Instructed by their uncle and aunt, the girls never responded to the insults and offenses. They were also forbidden to show any magical skills around the Easterners.

One morning, Medea shared her plans with Cassandra about making a Levitation Potion.

"I don't know." Cassandra shook her head. "I think the recipe is complicated. And I don't want to prepare anything. I've been having a bad feeling lately."

"I'll do the hard work, and you will only need to watch the moon and let me know a few days before the phase."

"Fine," Cassandra sighed. "But my heart feels—"

"Please, don't start again. You've been listening to the crows so long you have started cawing yourself."

"Do you even know how much you can learn from them? Two days ago I was listening to a crow, and it turns out—"

"Please stop! I don't want to hear about the crows. But I want to fly like them. Let's find El and see what she says."

Cassandra and Medea found Electra near the lake, with an album and pencils, sketching the landscape. Medea hurried to tell her sister about her plans.

"A Levitation Potion? Why?"

"Because I want to fly."

"But we have brooms and umbrellas for that!"

"I want to fly without a broom, like the ancient witches did."

Electra laughed. "You're raving, Medea. That's impossible."

"It is possible. I read about it in a book. We only need to prepare the correct potion. And I have already found the recipe in the Encyclopedia of Potions."

"Even if you have found the recipe, I don't think we can prepare it. It has to be something complicated if no one has done it for so many years."

"It's not complicated at all. Just a few plants stirred together. So, shall we make it? Or are you a coward?"

"It's not about cowardice." Electra reclined on the thick grass, closed the album and stared at the lake. The weather was calm, and the smooth surface of the lake resembled a round mirror, reflecting Cassandra's favorite birds. "The water is quiet," Electra said. "There will be a quarrel."

Medea snatched a pebble, and with all her strength cast it into the water. A gurgling sound came out and circles appeared on the surface of the lake.

"Not anymore." She smiled.

At other times, Electra would have laughed at her sister's quick wit, but now she was thoughtful.

"Flying without brooms," she muttered. "But we don't fly that much. Or have you forgotten about the Easterners? If they see us in the air—"

"They won't! We'll use the potion near the forest, just like the brooms."

Electra looked at Medea. "No black magic."

"Of course not."

"No curses or hexes."

"Absolutely!"

"You know the recipe?"

"By heart."

"Oh, I don't really know, we've been working on the Invisibility Mixture recently."

"Please, please, please, let us do it," Medea pleaded. "According to the book, it's not even a dangerous potion. I'm tired of cooking the Invisibility Mixture. It's been already a month, and we still haven't become invisible. I want to try something new."

On their way home, the girls decided when they would practice the witchcraft and assigned the roles: Cassandra would watch the moon, Medea would collect the plants, and Electra would try not to change her mind at the last moment so that their efforts were not wasted. The latter was added by Medea with her usual irony, but the sisters never took offense at the ironic remarks of the youngest of them.

When the girls returned home, loud voices came from their castle. The pebble thrown into the water hadn't helped. They stopped at the door, not wishing to interfere with the quarrel. As always, they would wait until the brawl was over, and then would head to the kitchen, where Aunt Andromeda had prepared a delicious dinner, and would help her set the table.

The girls were hungry, but Jack, angry as always, had closed the way to the long-awaited dinner. It was better to stand a little while with an empty stomach than to face him when he was so angry, yelling at the top of his voice. The quarrel would end the same way—Jack would run out of the house, leave for the whole night, and be back in the morning.

And so it happened: a young man of seventeen opened the door and walked out, his white Irish setter scampering after him. The girls looked after their cousin and his dog.

"Don't worry about him." A tall man with a kind face appeared in the doorway. "It's his awkward age. Come in, my dears, it's time for dinner."

"Uncle Colin, we have heard about this awkward age for a long time. Will it ever come to an end?"

Uncle Colin put his arm around Medea's shoulder and led the girls into the kitchen. A divine smell had spread all over the place. Aunt Andromeda was getting a pie out of the oven, and without looking up, said to the girls, "Hurry up, sweethearts, lay the table."

The cupboards opened as the girls rushed to them, and plates, cups, knives and forks darted out. Each of the girls knew which cupboard she had to run to, and if one of them was late even for a second, the kitchen utensils would fall on the floor. The whole process was divided into seconds—catch the plate, run into the dining room, put it on the table, and be back in time to clasp the salt shaker or the glass. Sometimes the girls would get in the way of each other, and not managing to get back to the cupboard in time, would ask their aunt for help. Having no wish to lose her favorite porcelain plates, she would slow down the pace or would catch a pot in the air and pass it to one of her nieces.

When the table was heavy with a pot of apple soup, roast duck with vegetables, and a raspberry pie with a crunchy crust, the family sat down to dinner. The girls were silent; their uncle and aunt were the only ones talking. First about their son Jack, then about the crop, the weather, and finally about Aunt's sudden departure. Upon hearing the news that their aunt would be visiting their grandparents, the girls exchanged covert glances. Her departure coincided with their plan, and was just what they needed. Otherwise, it was much too hard to hide something from her all-seeing eyes.

The next three nights, Cassandra sat by the window for an hour or two, watching the moon and the constellations, and making records in her notebook. And Medea, with the first rays of the sun, went to the woods, looking for cinquefoil, clover, and belladonna.

The day after Aunt Andromeda had left, Cassandra told Medea about the state of the moon. "The best day for conjuring is tomorrow; the phase of the moon and the movements of the planets are favorable."

The next morning, Medea went to the forest for the last time. Just in case, she picked some fern and nettles. On her way home, she stopped near the garden, looked around, and cut off three buds of roses.

"You cut off the buds from the garden?" Cassandra stared at her sister.

"I had to," Medea whispered, emptying the contents of the basket on the table in the pantry. "Buds of a beautiful flower are necessary for the potion."

"Aunt will kill you if she finds out."

"She may see the missing buds, but she doesn't have to know that I cut them."

They heard steps behind the pantry.

"Uncle went to bed," Electra whispered, coming in. "It's time." She closed the door, and the pantry plunged into darkness.

"I will light a candle." Cassandra turned to the shelf on the wall and snapped her fingers. The candles, arranged in a row across the shelf, lit up one after another. The dim light gradually increased in strength, and the pantry brightened up.

"Let's do the work, girls," Medea giggled. "Cassie, take a board and a knife and cut the leaves. El, bring a cauldron, kindle a fire, and boil some water. I will get the book."

From the top shelf, Medea took a book in a black leather cover, laid it on the stand, and carefully thumbed through it. The book was old, the pages dry and yellow. She moved her fingers slowly, so as not to spoil the Encyclopedia of Potions.

Reaching the necessary page, Medea examined the drawing, took a piece of chalk, drew a large circle on the wooden table, then copied the symbols from the book inside the circle.

Electra took the chopped leaves from Cassandra and threw them into the boiling water.

"Now stir hard," Medea said, and returned to the symbols on the table.

The girls shuddered when a peal of thunder boomed outside. They stared at each other, their faces reflecting the glow of the candles.

They listened. The rumbling repeated.

"Thunderstorm," Cassandra said. "We shouldn't cast a spell during a thunderstorm."

"Why?" Medea asked.

"I once overheard Aunt saying it's dangerous to cast a spell during a thunderstorm."

"I haven't heard anything like that."

"Let us stop. I have a bad feeling."

"That's enough. We have already begun, we won't stop!"

"Cassie, don't be afraid," Electra took her hand. "Nothing bad is going to happen. I hope so, anyway," she added under her breath.

With a sigh Cassandra went back to the leaves on the board. Thumbing through the book, Medea found the next page, ran her eyes through a few paragraphs, and whispered words she didn't yet understand.

A storm began. The drops hit the walls and the only window of the half-dark pantry. The wind whistled its way through the cracks; the candle flames flickered.

Electra and Cassandra kept throwing the chopped leaves into the cauldron and mixing them. They stirred long and hard, until the leaves formed a greenish paste, then removed the cauldron from the fire and placed it on the table. Medea put white candles around the circle with symbols.

"Light the candles," she told her sisters. Electra snapped her fingers. The candles lit up one after the other. Medea took a bottle from the shelf, dripped a bit of colorless liquid into the cauldron, and began stirring the potion with a wooden ladle. She took another flask with blue liquid and dripped some drops into the cauldron. Something inside hissed and began to foam. The girls gathered around the table, watching the potion thicken and rise up.

Medea looked at a page in the book and read aloud:

"The moon, the sun, and the world, hear me now as I'm your lord. The spirits of light take my hand, hear me now as I command."

Electra and Cassandra stared at her.

"What's that?" asked Electra.

"A spell. Don't interrupt."

"Are you sure about it?" Electra asked dubiously.

"Hush! You should not interrupt."

Thunder pealed out as silver lightning tore the sky. Cassandra's blood ran cold, hands began shaking. The harder the rain poured, the more she paled. She squeezed Electra's hand; her eyes begged her to stop the conjuration. They both repented of casting the spell, but Medea was totally absorbed in the action and didn't respond to their requests.

"Potestatem ventus, da mihi fortis alis. Repeat after me," she said.

"Medea, you shouldn't say that, it's black magic," Electra told her.

"No, it's not. Everything is checked. It's an ordinary spell."

"I don't like it. I don't want to say that. I have a feeling it's from the Dark Diary."

"It's safe. Let's do it already."

"I won't say that," Electra almost cried.

"Hush, El," Cassandra whispered. "Please, let's finish this."

Medea frowned. "Alright, give me the roses."

"I think you don't even know what you're doing."

"I know everything, but you don't want to help me. Give me the buds! I'll do it alone."

Time was short, and Medea was acting in haste. She tore the petals off the buds and tossed them into the cauldron. Some of the buds had short stalks with thorns; several times they scratched her fingers till they bled, but Medea didn't pay attention to the scratches. She grabbed another bottle, dripped some liquid into the cauldron and again stirred it. Electra and Cassandra exchanged glances. It seemed that Medea didn't understand what she was doing.

"Medea, that's enough. Let's finish this," Electra told her.

"Not until I'm done."

She took some pollen from a wooden box and sprinkled it into the cauldron. Then she tried to scoop the cauldron to the fire, but it was heavier than she'd thought, and she poured the potion on the table. Medea hurried to wipe it with her bare hands. Electra and Cassandra rushed to her aid. The green mixture stuck to their hands and left stains on their clothes. The symbols on the table were almost erased, but there was no time to draw new ones. Having cleaned the table, the girls were in the sticky green mess up to their elbows. Medea once again read the spell in the book, then told her sisters to hold hands and close their eyes. The potion in the cauldron seethed, turned purple and began to smoke. Dense vapor formed inside, rising to the ceiling. The scent strengthened, and the steam thickened. The table shook, but none of the girls opened their eyes. The vapor congealed, and inside it, at first dimly, then more distinctly, a silhouette appeared. When Cassandra finally opened her eyes, she saw a fully defined shape. She blinked, but the silhouette didn't disappear. Electra and Medea stood with their eyes closed, until Cassandra pulled their hands.

"Giiiirls," she whispered in awe. "Girls, what is this?"

They fell silent and opened their eyes. Electra uttered a quiet squeal.

Shrouded in steam, shining with the light of the fire from the stove, something was staring at the petrified girls.

Ragged lightning cut through the sky, a peal of thunder followed it, and for some long seconds the pantry plunged into silence. The silhouette turned around and slipped out of the crack in the door.

If Electra hadn't managed to put her palm over Cassandra's mouth, her sister's scream would have awakened Uncle Colin. Medea rushed to the door and peered into the corridor. Darkness reigned there. No traces of the creature. Electra grabbed her arm and pulled her back inside.

"What was that?"

"I don't know."

"This is terrible," Cassandra muttered, her breath heavy. "Terrible. An old witch, we evoked the old witch."

"I don't know what that was," Medea whispered.

"We evoked an old witch during a thunderstorm." Cassandra's voice faltered.

"Stop it," said Electra. "You both keep silent and listen."

They quieted down.

Nothing.

The rain was over. Rare drops were falling on the window, making a dull sound.

"Did you hear that?" Electra asked.

"No."

"I didn't hear anything either."

Electra turned to her sisters. "What time is it?"

"Almost three."

"Quickly, put everything in order. Hurry!"

The girls took out rags and brooms and began cleaning the pantry. They put the flasks in their places, took the cauldron to the basin and poured the potion there, washed the cauldron, gathered all the unused plants and buds, cleaned their hands, put out the candles and the fire in the stove, and hastily tiptoed to their bedroom upstairs. Without turning on the light, they got into their beds. Rustling sounds came from the yard and the girls exchanged worried glances.

"I shall check." Electra's legs shook as she went to the window.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. Can't see anyone."

"Let me have a look." Medea lowered her feet to the floor, then bent down and began to look for something under the bed.

"What are you doing?" Electra asked in a whisper.

"The brownies stole my slippers again."

"It's not the time! Hurry up and come here."

"I knew it," Cassandra whispered. "I knew this would happen."

"Hush!" Electra and Medea turned to her. "You will wake up Uncle."

"Don't hiss at me."

"Then don't moan. You're only making things worse."

The yard was quiet; the things seemed to be in their places, just the way they had been left: an axe and firewood on the left of the barn, an empty bucket near the well, the rake near the beds. Hiding behind the curtain, Medea looked around the yard, but didn't notice anything strange. They returned to the beds.

"Do you think it's in the house?" asked Electra.

"But what was it?"

"Not what, but who. It was an old witch with a broom in her hand and a hat on her head. Do you understand? An old WITCH!"

"Cassie, what are you talking about?" Medea rolled her eyes.

"I saw her clearly, and the broom, and the warts on her face."

"It was not a witch," Electra said.

"Then what was it?"

"Something wearing a bird's mask. A man in dark clothing, with a mask shaped like a bird's face."

Cassandra and Medea stared at Electra.

"A bird? El, please."

"But I saw it! Tall, in a long robe, the mask of a bird instead of a face, the beak almost reaching the waist, holes for the eyes."

"A witch and now a bird? You should hear yourselves. You both are out of your minds."

"What was it, then?"

"I don't know." Medea shook her head.

"I thought your recipe was correct."

"Do you mean to say that my recipe evoked a human-bird?"

"A witch, it was a witch."

"Hush, Cassie! Yes, that's what I want to say. You messed up something."

"Are you blaming me? But I didn't mess up the recipe!"

"I'm not blaming you, it's my fault. I am the eldest and should've stopped this when there was time."

"Four months of difference don't make you the eldest. I am also to blame," said Cassandra.

"I tell you what, girls, everything can be fixed. Tomorrow, I shall search the library. If we did something wrong, we shall fix it," Medea said.

"We must hurry before anything bad happens," said Electra.

"We must hurry," Cassandra agreed. "I feel that something wicked this way comes."

### 2. Eric

A month ago, Eric O'Brian arrived in Hollow. He didn't want to leave his hometown, but he also didn't want to stay there. Eric hated school and skipped classes. This happened last semester, when he skipped April and half of May. When his father found out about it, a big argument broke out. Eric promised to finish with the truancy, but soon began to skip his classes again. Another call from school, and Eric realized that this time he was in big trouble.

"If he doesn't want to settle down, I will send him to live with my relatives in a town far away," Eric's father said. "Let him see that life is not just playing the guitar or going surfing. Let him toil and moil, maybe it will lead him to his senses."

Eric's parents sent a letter to Hollow, and a month later received a reply from Albert O'Brian, the second cousin of Eric's father, who was ready to give shelter to his good-for-nothing nephew.

"What's the matter with you?" Eric's mother asked for the umpteenth time, helping him pack his belongings. "What do you lack? We gave you anything you wished. This is how you show your gratitude. And now you're leaving for a town which is not even on the map."

"Maybe it's for the better," was muttered with indifference.

"Do you think it's going to be easy there?" Jane O'Brian snorted. "You never lacked anything, and now you'll be living in a place where almost everything is done with physical work." She slammed the suitcase. "David says you'll benefit from it, but as for me, I don't know what to say."

"Nor do I," Eric said quietly.

Jane seemed confused.

"Mom, I don't know what to say to you, but I don't like my life. I'm sick and tired of it."

"Well, if your parents have managed to tire you during these sixteen years—"

"Mom! Why do you never listen to me? That's not what I said." He grabbed his guitar and put it in the case.

"Will you call me when you arrive?"

"Sure, I will."

Jane hugged her son. "Behave well, dress warmly, don't get into fights, and listen to your uncle and aunt."

"Mom, that's enough." He broke out of her embrace. "I have to go, or I'll be late, and dad will boil like a kettle."

"Don't talk like that about your father."

Eric hung the guitar on his shoulder, grabbed the suitcase and walked to the door. While he was getting into a taxi, his mother managed to warn him about flu, sore throat, pneumonia, and all kinds of viruses that could be picked up in distant countries.

After flying for twenty-two hours on two planes, then traveling four hours by train, Eric was sitting at the bus stop and waiting for bus 85. Judging by the map, he was still several hours' journey from Hollow. He was tired, eyes were sleepy, but if he fell asleep he'd miss his bus.

The bus finally appeared: a small blue vehicle, almost empty inside. Eric sat on one of the front seats. To drive away the sleepiness he looked out the window. His eyes were weary. He had been unable to sleep on the plane, the train was noisy and had lacked fresh air, and now falling asleep was forbidden, as the note clearly stated: "The third stop, near the large oak tree."

The bus was moving slowly, as if it had caterpillar legs instead of wheels. And the longer it drove, the more beautiful the place looked. Little by little, flourishing meadows replaced the streets. The road became green with verdure; tall trees, steep hills, and vein-like rivers appeared on the horizon. If only Eric didn't feel so sleepy.

The bus came upon the second stop. Now he could barely distinguish the colors. There was a lot of green—the big dense forest, and a lot of blue—the clear cloudless sky.

Finally, the third stop. Almost dozing, Eric shuffled to the exit. There was the big oak tree, with a bench under it that looked like a wooden arbor.

Now what? he thought, sitting on the beautifully trimmed bench. He knew he ought to get the note with the address and read the number of the house. He'd get it eventually, but for now he'd take a short nap. He was overcome with an irresistible drowsiness, and it was so good there, so nice and pleasant, and he wanted so much to sleep.

One of the witches of Hollow was passing across the road when she spotted the stranger, and coming closer, looked him over from head to feet. The young man was sleeping peacefully, his head resting on his hand. Electra looked at his black vest, blue jeans, and white sneakers. With the same interest, she looked at his suitcase and the case with a guitar, then returned her eyes to his face. The stranger was young, with dark hair and smooth, fine features. He must have started dreaming of something bad, as his Adam's apple rose and fell, giving away his anxiety. His eyelids moved, and it seemed he was about to open his eyes, but the stranger kept sleeping.

Electra looked around. There was no one nearby. She glanced back at the sleeping fellow and almost touched his shoulder, but changing her mind, pulled her hand back. Moving away from the bench, she went towards the lane, looking back a few times. The young man continued sleeping, and soon she lost the sight of him.

Eric had a strange dream. He was riding in the bus, though not through the greenery and fields, but across the vault of heaven. Glittering constellations shone in the sky: Cassiopeia, Ophiucus, and Altar passed before his eyes, and finally Orion, the stellar idol with a sparkling belt, came into his sight. Eric stared at it for some time, until a strange sound came from somewhere nearby. It resembled a croaking, which soon became louder, and could now be heard from somewhere close. The volume increased so much that made him wince. Eric threw his eyes open. For a second he still heard the loud croaking, which then turned into a cell phone's ringtone.

A quiet evening had fallen over Hollow while he had been sleeping on the bench. Rubbing his eyes, he answered the call.

"Sweetheart, have you got there already?"

"Mom?"

"Eric, your voice sounds strange. Has anything happened?"

"No, Mom, everything is fine." He rubbed his eyes again and looked around. "I'm tired, but yes, I'm in Hollow, and I'll be at the O'Brians' in ten minutes."

Eric didn't know where his relatives' house was or how much farther he had to go to reach it. He'd make use of the note eventually, but right now he wasn't worried: it would be hard to get lost in such a small town.

"Do you like the town? Is it warm? Did you eat on the road?"

"Mom, everything is fine. I have to go."

"Sweetheart, do you remember what I told you? Be careful."

"Mom, I remember everything. Don't worry. I have to go."

"Shall I pass anything to Father?"

"My best wishes. We'll talk later, I must go."

"Take care, sweetheart."

Eric turned off the phone and took the note with the address from his pocket. "... from the large oak tree to the right, until the end of the alley, then to the left, next to the bramble bushes, to the beginning of the stone path, the sixth house on the right, with a red roof."

These people have never heard of numbers on the houses, Eric thought as he headed right, towards the alley.

The path stretched away like a strip; brick houses stood in the distance. The sun was setting, and having no wish to spend the night under the open sky, Eric hurried to find the house with the red roof. As written on the note, it was the sixth house on the right, a two-story building with a courtyard and an apple orchard. Eric put the suitcase on the ground and looked around. After living in a bustling city full of exhaust gas and the disgruntled cries of its residents, he was surprised to see a place where not a single car had passed, nor was a single cry heard. Instead of the usual dust, the air smelled of pine needles, and the infrequent rapping of a woodpecker and the barks of squirrels were the only sounds that broke the reigning calmness.

"Looking for someone?"

Eric turned around. By the house next door, leaning on the wooden fence, a girl was looking at him. Finally, a living soul. Eric was beginning to doubt that Hollow was habitable.

"Looking for someone?" she repeated.

Eric took the guitar from his shoulder, put it on the ground next to the suitcase and walked to the fence. "Yes, I'm looking for the O'Brians."

"You have succeeded in your quest," the girl laughed. "You're standing in front of their house."

Eric smiled. "I'm Eric."

"Dinah."

How beautiful, he thought, looking into her dark blue eyes. All the beauty of the place, the clean air, and the serene sky faded when Eric saw Dinah McCormack. A beautiful creation for the sake of whom it was worth coming to Hollow, suffering nausea, dust, and the train's evil-smelling passengers. Under the shade of her long black lashes, the blueness of her eyes was bewitching. This place is going to be interesting, Eric thought.

Somewhere near Dinah's house a knock was heard. It stopped for a second and started again.

"That's my brother chopping wood."

"I see."

"Dickens!" Dinah called. "Dick, come here."

From around the corner a young man with an axe in his hand appeared.

"This is Eric, he came to the O'Brians."

The fellow's face remained impassive. He looked at Eric, then at his sister, and went back to the woodpile. A moment later the sound of the axe cutting wood started again.

"He's not very polite," Dinah said. "Why did I even call him?"

"It's alright. So, do you live here?"

She nodded. "And judging by your luggage, you're going to live in Hollow, too."

"I guess so."

Dinah opened the gate of the fence and came out. "Come with me." She went to the O'Brians' house and Eric hurried after her.

"Mrs. O'Brian!" Dinah knocked at the door several times.

Inside, the lock clicked, the door opened, and a golden-haired woman appeared on the threshold.

"Mrs. O'Brian, this is Eric, he is looking for you."

Mrs. O'Brian looked at Eric, and a moment later exclaimed, "Eric, my dear boy! But how... hurry up, come in. Albert, Eric has arrived!"

"Where is he? Riona, bring him here," a male voice sounded from somewhere inside the house.

Eric and Dinah entered the house, and Mrs. O'Brian led them to her husband. Albert O'Brian, a portly man in his forties, with a short black beard, rose from his armchair and hurried to his nephew.

"What in thunder! My son, I'm sorry, I forgot everything, as always." He gave Eric a hug, then looked at the calendar. "I'd even circled the date, and still forgot to meet you."

"Ah, Albert, you always forget everything, but how could I forget?" Riona hugged Eric. "My dear, I hope it wasn't too hard for you to find our house."

"Don't worry. I had a good walk."

Eric went back outside and picked up his luggage. "So, we're neighbors," he told Dinah.

"Seems like that. Hope to see you tomorrow, in the afternoon."

Parting with her, Eric looked at his watch. It was 9:50 P.M. He was already missing the blue-eyed beauty, and there were still many long hours to go until tomorrow afternoon.

During supper, the O'Brians—Albert, Riona, and their two children, fifteen-year-old Eleanora and six-year-old Henry—hailed Eric with questions about his parents and the life in the big city.

"You will like this place," Riona said, putting an apple pie on the table. "Maybe there aren't many fun things to do here, not like in the big cities, but it's very beautiful in Hollow." She turned to her husband. "Albert, the boy looks tired. Show him his room upstairs."

Eric was led upstairs into a small room with a bed by the window, a bedside table with a lamp on it, and a wooden built-in closet. A few toys were left lying in the corners, and pictures, painted by a child's hand, were hanging on the walls. Eric put his suitcase and the guitar on the floor and lay down to at last have a long-awaited rest.

### 3. Hollow

Early in the morning, someone knocked at Eric's door.

"Yes?" he called without opening his eyes.

"It's Albert."

"Yes, Uncle Albert, has anything happened?"

"I thought maybe you would help me?"

With a sigh, Eric opened his eyes. The room was dark. He held out his hand to the bedside table where he had left his watch, grabbed it, and brought it to his face. Sleepy eyes barely caught the hour, 6:30 A.M.

"This is insane," he muttered.

"So, can I count on your help?" Albert asked from behind the door.

Eric sighed. "Yes, sure, Uncle Albert, I'll come down in a minute."

He forced himself to fall out of bed. 6:30 A.M. What kind of people are they? Do they not sleep? To make himself wake up fully, Eric opened the curtains, allowing the sunrays to creep into the room. He rubbed his eyes and looked out of the window. The sun's shining face was rising above the horizon, spreading its long rays all over the serene sky and spacious land. The verdant hills and calm fields were abundant with the greenest trees and blooming flowers of the fall, and the ribbon of the bluish river was making its way through the meadows with myriads of flowers. Not far from the house where Eric was staying, there was a dense forest so green that it seemed to be painted. Such greenery in autumn? Eric thought, looking at the endless trees that were stretching to the precipices and mountains wrapped in cotton-white clouds.

Eric looked at the colorful houses on the other bank of the river. From afar, they looked like toys, and he felt an instant desire to find out who lived there. Their inhabitants couldn't be humans. No, these houses were not designed for ordinary people. Fabulous creatures had to live there; they were the ones who had colored houses, decorated with foliage and flowers, whose roofs were covered with straw, and a bundle of thin, almost transparent smoke came out of their chimneys. A city boy who lived in an apartment building, couldn't imagine what it was like waking up every day with the first rays of the sun, breathing fresh air and watching how the birds flitted over the gorges, and the cattle grazed on the green hills.

Eric opened the window and let the wind touch his face, greedily inhaling the fresh air. "I've come to Rivendell," he admitted with a smile, and hurried to the bathroom. Ten minutes later Eric went downstairs, where Riona and Eleanora were laying the table.

"Good morning," Riona said. "Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning." Eleanora put a bowl of fruits on the table.

"Hi everybody. Do you always get up so early?"

"It's a sin to sleep long in Hollow. Sit down, dear, have breakfast. I'm afraid Albert will give you a hard time today."

Eric sat next to Henry, who was eating pancakes with jam. He breakfasted in silence, thinking about home and Hollow, drawing parallels between the lives here and there. He was sent to Hollow as a punishment, but with every second spent there, he liked the town more and more.

After breakfast, Albert showed Eric the barn and the apple orchard.

"It's necessary to chop some wood, pull out the weeds, pick the apples, and paint the fence. Which of these can you do?"

Eric pondered them over. He didn't want to say nothing, but he'd never chopped wood, painted a fence, or collected apples. Pulling the weeds seemed the easiest, but he had no wish to do that.

"I'll chop wood."

Albert looked at him with suspicion, then shook his head. "No, you better not, you may chop off your fingers." He looked around, wondering what chore he could give to the urban boy. In the end, Albert decided that the safest for Eric was to pick the apples from the trees. Giving him a tremendous basket, he went into the barn to fix the wheel of the cart.

Eric would gladly do nothing. He wanted to just walk around the town. The only hope was to wait until afternoon when beautiful Dinah would appear. Maybe she'd take him on a short tour.

The orchard was full of ripe apples. For the fourth time, Eric unloaded the basket in the barn. He thought there was nothing complicated about picking apples, but after a couple of hours, his body was tired and sore, arms and legs ached. Eric sat on the ground under the shade of the branches, rubbed a red apple on his jeans and took a bite. The place was quiet. Only occasionally was the silence interrupted by the rustling of the leaves when the wind tickled them, or by the calls of the blackbirds hopping on the ground, looking for food.

A noise came from near the fence as the branches moved. Albert was still in the barn, Riona was in the house, and their children were at school: someone else was making the noise. Eric walked to the fence. Now that he was closer, he heard a clatter of metal in Dinah's garden. Hoping to catch a glimpse of her, Eric peered over the fence. It was not Dinah. A tall man with clippers was turning a large shrub into a gnome.

"Good afternoon," said Eric. After spending several hours in silence, he needed some human communication.

The gardener turned to the fence. "Good afternoon."

"Is that a gnome?" Eric pointed to the incomplete figure.

"Yes, it soon will be a gnome."

"Do you live here?" Eric asked, hoping to question the gardener about Dinah.

"You mean Hollow, or this house?"

"The house."

"I don't live in this house; my place is on the other side of the river. I work here, take care of the bushes and make figures." The gardener wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. "You can see my figures in many other gardens."

"I see." Eric reached out his hand. "I'm Eric. I'm staying with the O'Brians."

The gardener shook his hand. "Mr. Frederick O'Leary. How long are you staying in Hollow?"

"Till the end of the winter."

"Yeees," Mr. O'Leary said. "The winter is beautiful in Hollow. So is the autumn. And all other days are also beautiful here."

"If you're a gardener, tell me, how can there be such greenery in autumn?"

"It is always like this in Hollow. The leaves will turn yellow all at once. Just as suddenly it will start snowing, and just in one day the snow will melt away. Don't be surprised. Hollow can be unexplainable and illogical. Have you gone to the forest?"

Eric shook his head.

"Compared to the forest, the greenery in autumn will seem less strange to you."

"Do you know if Dinah is at home?"

"Dinah is at school, and Dickens is working at the Boat Builders."

"How long have you known them?"

"Since they were born. I came to Hollow when I was quite young. My grandfather had left me a house here, but because of bureaucracy and bad people, I didn't get it. I rented a small room on the West Bank and have been living in Hollow for over thirty years. Dinah and Dickens were born here, so they grew up before my eyes, as well as Eleanora and many young people whom, I believe, you already know or will meet anon."

Eric wanted to talk about Dinah, but didn't dare ask questions about her to someone whom he had met for the first time. Fortunately, the gardener himself spoke about the young residents of the house.

"So, when did you say you arrived in Hollow?" he asked.

"Just yesterday evening."

"I believe you have already talked to Dickens, haven't you?"

"I saw him, but spoke only with Dinah."

"Take my advice, young man, avoid him. Dickens is not the most affable guy, not everyone gets along with him. I am just giving you advice. You're a newcomer. You better stay away from him."

Eric shrugged. "I don't need new problems, the old ones are enough."

The gardener looked up. "It is almost afternoon. I must go. I promised the McKennits I'd cut the bushes in their garden."

Eric dared not detain Mr. O'Leary any longer and returned to the apples. Soon the long-awaited hour came, and Dinah appeared in front of the O'Brians' house, looking even more beautiful than yesterday. Not wasting a second, Eric hurried to her.

She greeted him with a radiant smile.

"So glad to see you," he said. "I'm begging you, let's go away from here. I can no longer look at apples."

During their long walk Dinah told Eric about Hollow and its beauties. Passing along the river, they reached an arched bridge with sculptures of castles, strongholds, and animals. The patterns were cut so masterfully that, despite the antiquity of the bridge, they were still discernible. In some places, the stone was smashed and shattered, and parts were missing, like the heads of deer, the roof of the castle, and the towers of the stronghold. Even a less skilled eye could see that this wasn't the result of the ravages of time, but had been caused by human interference.

Eric wanted to walk across the bridge, but Dinah stopped him. She advised him not to cross the bridge today, but to leave it until tomorrow or sometime during the week. She led him to the center of the town, which was the busiest part of Hollow with its long rows of stores and noisy thoroughfares. There were houses, shops, and workshops on both sides of the streets, with a tall and tattered belfry among them. In the center of the square stood a large bronze fountain, with man-sized figurines. On the right was a smithy, where the sounds of the sledgehammer's mighty blows were coming out. A short distance from the smithy was the glassblower's shop. Dinah told Eric that it belonged to her father, who was a skilled craftsman, and who had fifteen workers and dozens of students. For some time she talked only about her father, whose fame had gone beyond the town, and many people came to Hollow only for the sake of buying his glass figurines. The inscription 'McCormack's Glass' was nailed over the door of the shop; colored glass bells were hanging from the second-floor balconies, chiming with the wind's slightest touch.

The town's center was crowded. Until then, Eric hadn't thought that so many people lived in Hollow. The residents of the town were crossing the square, with everyone minding their business, carrying a cart full of wheat, or walking down the street, holding a horse by the bridle. An old woman crossed a railroad, maintaining calmness even when she was nearly hit by a small, colored tram. A little girl ran after a pack of puppies, passing right in front of Eric and almost getting under his feet; a man in a black suit and a top hat came out of a building, with books in his hands and, stumbling against the baker, nearly dropped them to the ground. Eric and Dinah passed near the market, where it was the noisiest and most crowded. People bartered, dropped the prices, and sometimes quarreled.

Walking down the cobbled lane, Eric and Dinah reached a small store. "Pickering & Son. The Old Curiosity Shop," was written on the sign above the door.

"What's behind this door?" Eric asked.

"This is a store that sells antiques."

"Let's go inside."

"Better not, there is just a bunch of boring junk."

Dinah took his hand and dragged him away from the shop. She had noticed two of the witches of Hollow coming towards them. Holding baskets covered with checkered handkerchiefs, they were walking to the Old Curiosity Shop, and had almost reached the door when Dickens McCormack blocked their way. Medea stopped so abruptly that Electra bumped into her sister.

"Why have you come here?" Dickens muttered.

"None of your business," Medea retorted. "Let us pass."

"Pass where, witch? Your den is on the other bank."

Medea was ready to tear him to pieces, but Electra stopped her. "Let's go away from here," she whispered in her sister's ear.

"Let us pass!" Medea demanded again.

"I told you to never come here," Dickens said.

"Leave the girls," said the man with the books.

Two women who were passing by, took Dickens's side.

"He's right," said one of them. "They are not welcome on the East Bank."

"You don't belong here," said the second. "Go away!"

"Witches!" they heard from behind.

Electra and Medea hastened away. Turning to the voices, Eric saw Dickens arguing with two girls, one of whom was dark-haired, the other red-haired. When people began calling them names, the girls turned around and disappeared behind the buildings. Eric noticed that one of them, the black-haired girl, was limping.

"Who were those girls?" he asked Dinah. She didn't answer. Eric looked at Dickens coming towards them. "Who were those girls?" he asked.

In silence, Dickens continued walking.

"I asked you a question. Why did you send them away?"

Dickens turned to him. "None of your business, moron. No need to stick your nose everywhere."

Dickens continued on his way, but Eric caught up with him, and grabbing his collar, pulled him back. Dickens pushed him in the chest, and Eric responded with a harder blow. Dickens almost lost his balance, then pounced on Eric. A fight would have started if the same man with the books didn't hurry to them. A few more people ran up and split the fighters.

"Enough!" the man shouted.

Dickens threw an angry glance around and walked away. Flabbergasted, Dinah stared at Eric.

"Why did you do that?"

"Your brother is crazy. Why did he attack those girls?"

"They deserve it."

Eric stared at her beautiful face. "What do you mean they deserve it?"

"You have recently come to Hollow, you don't know a lot about our town."

"I am all ears."

"They are witches."

Eric would have laughed if Dinah hadn't spoken so seriously. "Witches?"

"Let's talk about them another time; we were going to the stone alley."

"No, no, come on now. What do you mean by witches? I didn't see a broom in their hands, or whatever it is that witches carry with them."

"And yet they are witches." Dinah began to walk slowly, allowing Eric to catch up with her.

"And do you have a lot of witches in the town?" Eric asked with irony while they strolled along the alley.

"I know you think I am lying or making things up, but it's not so. Stay away from them. They live on the West Bank, near the forest. Don't ever go there."

"Otherwise?"

"Anything can happen."

"Like what?"

"Listen, Eric, just trust me, don't go there. No one knows what lives in that part of the forest. It's not like here; there are voices, whispers." She looked fixedly at him. "It is dangerous there."

Eric chuckled.

"You either think I am lying or talking nonsense. I have no reason to lie to you. As for the nonsense, you'll have to decide for yourself. I'm only asking you not to go there, at least now, while you have only seen so little and don't know Hollow."

Eric found nothing else to say. He liked Dinah very much, but he was beginning to doubt her common sense. Not wishing to talk about witches and other evils, he changed the subject of the conversation. Dinah began talking sensibly again and turned back into the beautiful creature that made his heart beat faster.

### 4. Enchanted Garden

Soon the weather changed, just as the gardener had foretold. One morning, looking out of the window, Eric doubted he was still in Hollow. Everything was different. All the greenery was repainted, the foliage had obtained a yellow-orange color, and the grass was covered with fallen leaves. The changes, however, were not only visible. Something else had changed—the mood of the town—as if Hollow had saddened and bowed her head. Even the trees were sorrowful, obeying the nature and losing their foliage. The flow of the river differed from the cheerful babble it used to be, as the fallen leaves glided freely across the water like boats without ferrymen.

One evening, Dinah showed Eric an unusual garden next to the river, assuring him he hadn't seen a place more beautiful. Walking down the cobbled path, they reached a low metal gate with an unlocked padlock hanging on it. Dinah pushed the gate and entered the garden with almond trees, Siberian pea shrubs, and lush lilac bushes. The ground was paved with blooming flowers. It seemed they were whispering to each other, but whenever Eric strained his ears, all the whispers instantly silenced. Walking by the bushes of lavender and buttercups, he tipped the flowers, and the petals answered his touch. As he reached out his hand to the blooms, they stretched in response. Without touching them, Eric raised his hand up, and the flowers followed him. At first he thought it was the wind playing tricks, but after doing the same thing several times, he was convinced that the petals were indeed reaching out to his fingers. Eric laughed with disbelief.

Still holding his hand, Dinah led him into the middle of the garden, to the white-stoned arbor with a bricked roof. Eric noticed how, before going in, Dinah looked around. She entered the arbor and sat on the bench. Eric sat down next to her.

"Isn't it beautiful here?"

"It is, but why is this place so different? I mean, the O'Brians' garden and your garden, and all the places we have visited, well, it's autumn everywhere. And here, I don't even know what season it is."

Dinah laughed. "Here, too, it's autumn."

Eric wanted to argue, when a sudden wind blew from the gate. It creaked open. A mix of pollen, dust, and petals rolled down the road and scattered in the middle, releasing a soft whisper.

Eric stood up. "Did you hear that?"

"Heard what?"

"A voice." He stared at the gate.

"No."

Eric was looking at the cobbled road, when whispers sounded somewhere behind his back. He turned quickly, but there was no one in the garden other than Dinah and him.

"What is it?"

"I don't know, but something..."

Eric approached the bushes. He could've sworn he heard laughter. It was quiet, and barely audible, but he wasn't mistaken, it was laughter. Then whispers, and then someone softly called his name. He squatted and looked through the bushes, but there were only branches and leaves, with ladybugs gliding across them.

"Eric!" he heard Dinah's voice. "Eric, it's time to go."

"Wait, I think I saw something."

"Not now, Eric. We must go!"

Eric looked up at her. "What has happened? You seem worried."

"Yes, I remembered that I had to do a very important thing. I must go home quickly."

"Alright, let's go."

"Hurry up!" She seized him by the hand and ran to the gate.

Closing the gate, Eric glanced back and saw them—the girls with dark and red hair. They had reached the arbor and were now watching him and Dinah run away. Out on the road, Eric pulled Dinah's hand, forcing her to stop. "You didn't forget anything, did you?"

Dinah didn't answer.

"Why did you run away? Were you scared of them?"

"Eric, let's go home, I have to—"

"You saw those girls and got scared, right? Why are you afraid of them?"

"They are witches, and they are dangerous."

"But I was with you! You shouldn't have been so scared and run away."

Dinah smirked. "You still don't understand, Eric. You can't deal with them; they are dangerous."

"I saw no danger, just three girls."

"I am telling you they are witches. I shouldn't have brought you here. This garden is beautiful, but it's too close to the West Bank, and the witches call it theirs. No one from the East Bank comes here. We shouldn't have come either."

"So, no one from the East Bank talks to these girls?"

"East Bank has no witches. They live on the other side of the river, and we don't like it when they cross the border. Sadly, they do it once in a while. Their uncle makes things for the Old Curiosity Shop, that's why we don't enter that place. It's full of bizarre things. Once they used to go to school with us, but a few years ago they were expelled."

"For what?"

"Because the children at school were afraid of them. They were sitting together, all three of them, and were whispering, drawing something, and then something happened to one of the pupils. They either got sick or broke their arms and legs. If someone dared tell them anything, they whispered, and the next day it happened."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. They were sent into different classes, but they continued to talk. I don't even know how they did it. One of them stayed in my class, the dark-haired one. She always made fun of me. You wouldn't believe the things she'd do."

"Like what?"

"She made things move without touching them. My book would fall off my desk, and as soon as I'd bend over to pick it up, a pencil would fall. I'd grab it from the floor, and the notebook would fall. All the time. I had to attach the things to my desk with a sticky tape."

Eric cracked up and Dinah looked at him with a scowl. "Do you find it funny?"

"Of course no, sorry." He tried to hold back his laughter. "It's just too unbelievable."

"Those are their smallest pranks. In the end, they got kicked out of school."

"What are their names?"

"I don't even want to say their names out loud."

"Come on, Dinah, what's so terrible about their names?"

"Because I hate them! Oh, how much I hate them! Almost everyone on the East Bank hates them. My family, our friends, neighbors, the O'Brians, too." She fixed her eyes on Eric. "Very few people on the East Bank stand up for them. Our music teacher, Mr. Gardiner, is one of those few. You met Mr. Gardiner the day when you had a quarrel with Dickens. He pulled you apart from each other."

"The man in the black top hat?"

"Yes, that's him. I know he's been to their house to teach them after they were expelled. As if it's not enough, he even publicly stands up for them."

"Maybe they aren't so bad?"

"Don't talk nonsense, they are scary! Only Dickens is not afraid of them. He wouldn't have run away like me, he would have told them what he thought right into their faces."

"Your brother is weird. Is he feeding his ego by attacking girls?"

"I know you still don't believe me. Stay a bit longer in Hollow, and you'll see that I'm not lying."

### 5. Witches on the Meadow

It was raining heavily on Wednesday. The rain started at noon and lasted for several hours. Uncle Albert lit the stove, sat in an armchair and took a nap. Riona was sitting in the corner of the room, writing a letter. Eric was dying of boredom. Cradled in the armchair, he was thinking about home, his parents, and the strange town where he was staying.

Eleanora was sitting with the same bored face as Eric, staring out into the street or playing with her golden strands. The silence would have lasted longer if Eric didn't break it.

"Aunt Riona, do you know the people who live on the other side of the river?"

"My dear, a lot of people live there, as well as on this side. I don't know everyone, but yes, I do know some of them."

"Do you know three girls, one of them is dark-haired, the two others red-haired?"

Eleanora and Riona simultaneously looked at Eric.

"It's hard to say," Riona said. "There are a lot of girls with such hair color."

"Yes, but they seem to be famous in Hollow." Eric ran his hand through his hair. "I once saw them in the square. Some of the folks insulted them."

"I think I know whom you're talking about," Eleanora said.

"Really?"

She bent forward to Eric and said, "You are talking about the witches of Hollow, aren't you?"

"Eleanora, what are you talking about?"

"Mom, don't you think we should warn Eric? If he's going to stay here for a while, he should know what kind of place Hollow is."

"Don't talk nonsense, child, there are no witches in Hollow."

"They are witches."

"Eleanora, gossiping is not nice," her mother tried to stop her.

"It's not gossip; they are witches, as well as their aunt. People say that at nights they fly on broomsticks, cook soup of frogs, go to the cemetery, collect the teeth of wolves—"

"And they also live in a house on chicken legs and drink the blood of infants," Eric jested.

"I'm not joking," Eleanora said.

"Are they sisters?"

"No, they are cousins. Orphans, who live with their uncle and aunt at the edge of the forest."

"Stop it, child. Your flight of fancy might scare your cousin."

Eleanora pretended she didn't hear her mother. "We went to school together. Then they were expelled, and their cousin Jack left with them." Upon telling this, Eleanora seemed sad.

"What are their names?"

"That's enough," Albert murmured in a sleepy voice. "Enough, Nora. Better bring us something from the kitchen—a pie or fruits."

"Dad, the pie and fruits are on the table, open your eyes and you'll see. Their names are Electra, Cassandra, and Medea. Medea is the dark-haired, the other two are redheads—the little witches. And their Aunt Andromeda is the head witch."

"Nora, that's enough," Albert almost shouted. "I don't want to hear those names in my house."

"Eric also lives in Hollow. He has the right to know whom to stay away from."

"I shall take care of Eric myself, and you should learn to be silent when necessary. Never talk about them in my house."

Eric noticed how Riona shook her head. She probably knew something that he didn't know, but said nothing. She rose up and tried to reconcile the family members.

"No need to quarrel, the rain is over and the sun has appeared. Why don't you go for a walk?"

"I lost the mood," Eleanora said dolefully.

"I'll go for a walk." Eric rose from the armchair, but Riona stopped him.

"My dear, could you take my letter to the post office?"

"Sure I can. Where's the post office?"

"I will show you." Eleanora bounded to her feet, changing her mind about staying at home. She snatched the letter from her mother, put it into Eric's hand, and dashed out of the house. Eric hurried after her.

As expected, all the way to the post office, Eric was asking his cousin about the witches of Hollow. Eleanora didn't tell a lot, since she last talked to them almost three years ago, and most of the stories didn't happen to her personally. She had heard from someone, who in turn had heard from someone else, that someone had seen Cassandra talk to the animals, and that a woman once went to Andromeda to ask her to cure her son, and that the sick boy soon felt better, though Dr. Pill had warned her not to expect a recovery.

"But is it bad to heal people?" Eric wondered. "Why would anyone fear them?"

"Because people say that she will cure one and kill another," Eleanora said, leaving Eric in confusion. He began to think that the people of Hollow couldn't separate the good from the bad.

"When I was a child, I had a music box from the Old Curiosity Shop. This box, like many other things from the shop, was made by Andromeda's husband, Colin Fitzroy. It was the strangest thing I had ever seen. I would show it to you, but my father, trying to understand how it was made, turned it inside out, and then was unable to patch it. It played music when I opened the lid, but the best thing about it were the sparkling lights inside; blue, yellow, purple—they were iridescent, and sometimes little stars shone above the light. My poor box, it was so beautiful, but now it's ruined."

"Why not give it to the one who made it? Maybe he could mend it?"

"My father forbade us to enter that shop."

"Why?"

"Because of the witches and our neighbors. The McCormack and the Baldric families some years ago organized a big meeting. Father came home and told us never to deal with anyone from the family of witches. Then they stopped coming to school. By the way, here is our school." Eleanora pointed to the brick building with a lawn and wooden pavilions. A narrow road at the edge of the lawn led to the low hill. Heading down the hill, Eric and Eleanora reached the post office. It was a small, gray, one-story house with a wooden roof and a low stone fence. Nearby, in the green arbor of the neighboring house, women were arguing. One of them was furiously trying to convince the others that she was right and now and then shook her head and stopped anyone who dared to doubt her words.

"I am telling you," the old woman repeated for the umpteenth time, "I saw myself; they were not even married then, but Allegra already had a visible belly, what a shame. Then she tried to convince me that the child was born earlier than expected. Ha, ha! Four months earlier?"

"No, Noemia, you are not right, I remember the wedding day, it was that very cold February, and their daughter was born in September—"

Noemia Prizzi stopped her companion with a gesture.

Noemia Prizzi, Hollow's head newsmonger. Noemia Prizzi, who always knew everything about everyone, and even if she didn't know, she could convince anyone that she knew best, even better than the people she was talking about. At seventy-five, she hadn't lost any energy or the love to talk. Noemia Prizzi loved to talk, rather, to talk nonstop for hours, if not for days. It was the only meaning of her life, her only vocation—talking without an end, without a break for lunch or dinner. Her companions too were not averse to have a good long conversation, but they could never compete with Noemia Prizzi. Without leaving the house, she knew what was going on over the hill, what had happened in the market, and how much the milk cost.

When Eric and Eleanora were passing nearby, Noemia called them over.

"That is Eric! What a handsome young man! Come over here and let me see you."

Eric didn't hurry to approach her. He tried to remember whether he had met that woman before and how she knew him. Miss Prizzi continued in the same tone—nauseatingly sweet and persuasive.

"Ladies, this is Eric O'Brian, Albert O'Brian's nephew. He has recently come to Hollow, and will stay here all winter."

Eric didn't like Miss Prizzi and her squeaky, wearisome voice. Standing near the arbor, he looked at her as if a dreadful stench was coming from her, but the woman didn't seem to notice his scowl, and continued to pester him with a hail of questions: where was he from, why, when, how long...

Eleanora tried to speak several times, but Noemia was only warming up. She recollected about all the people who stayed in Hollow the last several years, where they lived, what brought them to the town, and how they loved to visit her for a cup of tea. The latter didn't seem as plausible as Miss Prizzi described. Her never-ending buzzing tired an unprepared Eric. He whispered in Eleanora's ear that he was leaving, gave her the letter, and left Miss Prizzi's company.

Going down the hill and wandering in solitude, Eric didn't notice how the path led him to Enchanted Garden, where the open gate reminded him of the day when he was there with Dinah.

He thought about his neighbor. Eric was fond of her; he felt tenderness and affection towards her. She was stunningly beautiful, and yet there was something strange about her. Dinah wasn't vicious or glum, but was often temperamental and capricious, which at first added some fun to her character, but after a while had become irritating. Sometimes Eric noticed a cold fire in her eyes, but convinced himself that it was nothing but the gleam of her blue eyes.

Eric opened the garden gate. It was clear why the gate was never locked: it was so low that the padlock on the gate wouldn't have fulfilled its mission. He walked slowly between the blooming bushes. The fluttering butterflies and the lilacs' delicate fragrance reminded him of something distant. He didn't understand what it was—a flash of memory, something long forgotten, as if from another life. And again whispers, quiet, almost indiscernible, coming from somewhere far away.

"Eric."

Silence. Only the voices of the blackbirds above the trees.

"Eriiic." So quietly, gently, in a low voice, as if from a dream—a forgotten, distant dream.

Eric neared the bushes, drew the branches apart and forced his way through the greenery. There was no one, only twigs covered with thorns that were scratching him. Squeezing through the thicket, Eric emerged on a low hill from where he could see the orange forest and a meadow covered with thick yellow grass. A shallow stream of the river flowed before his feet. Eric carefully crossed the Sirtalion on the wet, slippery rocks.

He heard sounds of music; someone was playing the flute. Eric walked up the hill and couldn't believe what he saw.

They were flying! Flying on the brooms!

Two girls had saddled long black brooms and were hovering above the ground. They were not just flying, but dancing to the music, dancing in the air.

Those were the girls he had seen in the street and in Enchanted Garden. Those were the girls whom Dinah and Eleanora called witches. Wearing long dresses, with bare feet, they fluttered and circled above the meadow, and the folds of their dresses and their long hair wavered in the air.

Eric gaped at them.

"Cass, take your broom and practice," he heard one of the flying girls say. "One fall shouldn't scare you."

But the third girl kept lying on the ground and playing the flute, her long broom with a saddle by her side. The other girls continued spinning above, telling her to join them.

"That's why we shall make a Levitation Potion tonight," the dark-haired girl said, flying higher. She spread her hands and began spinning in the air.

"Come down! Someone might see you."

Witches, Eric remembered Dinah's words. They are witches, and they are dangerous.

Now he believed her. They were indeed witches. Witches who were riding brooms, and only heaven knew what other witchcraft they could perform.

When the skies darkened, the girls came down and sat in a circle on the ground, Eric wondered what other miracle he was going to see, but then the dark-haired girl looked up at the sky and turned to the others. They grabbed their brooms and ran away. Eric followed them with his eyes until they disappeared in the woods. After waiting a bit and making sure that no one was near, he went down the hill and stepped on the meadow. He didn't notice anything strange; only some trampled grass gave away the recent presence of people. Eric looked at the sky. It was late in the day. Uncle Albert had asked him not to stay out late. Pondering over what he had seen, Eric returned home.

### 6. Library

After the unsuccessful spell, Electra, Cassandra, and Medea were trying to understand what went wrong and what they had evoked the night before. In the morning, everything seemed a bad dream, but the girls knew it hadn't been a dream, not even a nightmare. They had done something, and to be more precise, had done something wrong.

While the girls were making breakfast, their cousin Jack, who had once again spent the night outside, returned home. When Uncle Colin came downstairs, Jack was silently eating gruel.

"We need to talk," he told his son.

Jack gave a nod. Medea put a piece of pie on a plate and passed it to her uncle.

"Thank you, my dear. Girls, did you sleep well last night?"

They exchanged glances. Electra quickly pulled herself together. "Yes, Uncle, we slept well."

Uncle Colin took a sip of tea. "Did you hear anything?"

"No, I didn't hear anything." Medea tried to speak as calmly as she could. "I slept like a log, like a corpse."

Fearing that her sister would overact, Cassandra stepped on her foot. "Uncle, Aunt will return tomorrow, right?"

"Ah, yes, I received a letter this morning. Andromeda will linger on her trip for several days."

All four glanced at Colin, waiting for an explanation.

"She's writing that she doesn't know when she will return. Maybe in a week."

"A week?" Cassandra was hoping their aunt would return and help them, as she could stop almost any spell.

"Yes, Cassie, a week," Electra said, "only a week."

Cassandra understood her; they had a week to find out themselves what they had done and stop the peril, if there was any.

None of them said another word. They hardly ate anything, as if a lump was stuck in their throats.

Having finished his breakfast, Colin told Jack to come to the study for a talk, and left the room. After he was gone, the girls started talking again.

"And where were you?" Medea asked Jack. "Did you sleep in the woods?"

"Maybe. Is there a difference?"

"Yes," Electra said, "it was raining yesterday; you couldn't have slept in the forest."

"And so what?"

"Wherever you spent the night, Jack, tell me, did you see anything?" asked Cassandra. "Anything strange?"

Jack shrugged. "No, I guess. And what was I supposed to see?"

"Nothing," Medea said. "Nothing interesting. Finish eating. Uncle is waiting for you."

Jack grinned. "You want to send me out? Something is happening here, right?"

With clear gray eyes he slowly looked over his cousins, waiting for an answer and not receiving one.

"I see you're not very happy to see me today," he said jokingly. "I'll go to the guillotine."

"Huh, as if it was me yelling at the top of my voice yesterday."

Walking behind Cassandra, Jack bowed down and kissed her brow. "But I wasn't yelling at you," he said tenderly, and added, "I'll go to talk to Dad. Don't plan anything; in an hour or two we're going to the woods for a hunt."

"Quickly, to the library," Electra commanded as soon as Jack left.

All three ran upstairs to the second floor.

The library was huge; one had to make an effort to find the necessary book. High shelves reached the ceiling and covered the two opposite walls of the hall. Rotating globes were perched on the parquet floor, representing different ages and places. Between them stood tables with sand clocks, inkwells, and notepads. Before the single high window stood a large telescope, aimed at the sky.

The girls ran to the shelves, looking for books that might shed light on what had happened. Medea began searching the lower shelves, Cassandra—the upper ones, and Electra went up to the glass bookcase filled with old manuscripts. They searched for about half an hour, but the searches gave no results. There were too many books, and finding something helpful was a hard task. So far, no book provided answers; none of them explained the presence of an intruder during the conjuration.

"Curse and Disease?" Medea asked.

"No, it's not that," Electra said.

"Curse and Misfortune?"

"No, Medea, keep searching."

"Curse and Death?"

"Bite your tongue! It wasn't a curse, you said yourself there was no curse. Find something else."

"False Spells!" Cassandra read aloud.

Electra and Medea looked up at her.

"Hurry up, open it and read the first paragraph."

Standing on the top of the ladder and trying to keep her balance, Cassandra pulled out the book with a red leather cover and opened it. "The title: False Spells. The year: 1793, the authors: Amelia Sfiks, Hertrude Sfiks."

"Cassie, go ahead, why do we need the authors?" Electra said impatiently.

Cassandra thumbed through the prologue. "I am reading. Listen up! 'The spells are false when the one who casts the spell does not apply it, but makes it seem that the spell was cast, and as a result the one the spell was allegedly used for, feels the whole impact of the spell.' Thus, you're saying that he will be ill, but don't do anything with him, and he still gets ill," she explained.

"Autosuggestion," said Medea. "It's not what we need."

"It's not," Electra agreed.

Cassandra put the book back. "Spirits of Earth, Spirits of Light, Spirits of Water, do we need anything of this?"

"No, keep searching."

Cassandra moved deeper into the library. "Tabula, Tides, Touch, Tracks... No, we can't find anything this way; we just don't know what we are looking for! We can't find the counter measure unless we understand what it was: a vision, a spirit, or something else."

Medea was thumbing through the twentieth book of spells, but couldn't find anything useful either. Electra was carefully taking the old manuscripts out of the bookcase, reading their titles and as carefully putting them back. They shouldn't leave marks on the manuscripts, as it was forbidden to touch them. Some of the manuscripts were so fragile that a careless touch could irreversibly damage them. Uncle Colin had recently started rewriting them, but there were many manuscripts, and rewriting was taking a long time.

The oldest manuscripts were locked in flat glass frames. This was Uncle Colin's precaution, so that no one would accidentally spoil them. Electra was picking up the frames and reading the notes on the top of the glass. One of the titles especially interested her.

"Wrong Spells." She looked at her sisters. "I think this might help."

"Open it, what are you waiting for?"

"It is locked."

"The lock needs a key," said Medea.

"Only Aunt has the key," added Cassandra.

All three sighed and looked at each other.

"And what shall we do? Any ideas?"

"I don't know, Cassie." Medea went up to Electra, took the frame from her hands, turned it, and touched the lock. "Shall we break it?"

"Break Uncle's lock? He'll notice."

"We need to find a way to open the frame." Medea drew her fingers across the flat metal lock in the form of petals.

"Hey, loonies, where are you?"

"That's Jack," Medea cried. "Put everything back in its place."

They quickly put the books back on the shelves. Electra closed the bookcase while Cassandra descended the ladder. When Jack opened the door, all three were standing around a large globe, ostensibly looking at it.

"Going to travel?"

"Perhaps," said Electra.

"You better tell us, did Uncle have a good talk with you?" Medea asked.

"Couldn't be better. Don't you want to have a walk in the woods?"

The girls were not in the mood, but they didn't want to turn down their cousin's offer and have him suspect something. 'Walking through the woods' meant hunting nasty forest creatures and practicing archery. The girls went to their room to dress up. In the stable, each saddled their horse, and all four rode to the forest. Their two friends, Hector and Ariadne, were already waiting for them, armed, each on their horse. They all had crossbows and arrows on their backs. After talking briefly about the tactics and safety, six riders rode into the forest for a hunt.

### 7. Trouble

In the afternoon, the three witches were pulling weeds in the orchard when blacksmith Shay MacGavin, their friend Hector's father, came to the fence.

"Colin!" he called.

Cassandra raised her head. "Uncle Shay, Uncle Colin is inside."

"Please call him, Cassie."

Cassandra hurried into the house; her sisters stopped working and looked at the blacksmith. He seemed worried. A minute later, Uncle Colin and Cassandra came out.

"Shay, why don't you come in?"

"Colin, I need your help. Something has happened..."

Shay MacGavin switched to a whisper, and Electra and Medea didn't hear the rest, but Cassandra, standing close to the fence, tried not to miss a word. Uncle Colin turned to his nieces.

"Girls, I have to go with Shay. Jack, look after your sisters," he told his son, who came out of the stable. "I might not be back until evening."

"Has anything happened?" Jack asked.

"I hope not," Colin muttered under his breath, and hastened in the direction of the river.

Left alone, the girls exchanged glances. Electra knew that Cassandra had heard something, but she couldn't speak in Jack's presence. Without another word, they went back to work, waiting until Jack returned to the stable.

"Cass, did you hear what he said?"

"Something," Cassandra whispered, "has happened to Mr. Acks."

"The woodcutter?" Medea asked.

"Do you know another Mr. Acks?"

"So, what has happened to him?"

"Uncle Shay said he has disappeared. His team of woodcutters went to his house this morning and didn't find him at home. They questioned everyone nearby, but he's gone. He said something about an extinguished lamp they had found in the forest."

"Mysterious Forest? He wouldn't go there at night."

"I think so too, but then, where is he?"

"Do you think," Electra said after a brief pause, "it may be connected with..."

"I don't know," said Cassandra. "What if?"

"All because we are very slow in finding what we need."

"Medea, we have been searching through the shelves for hours and still have found nothing, but not because we are searching slowly, but because there are too many books, and the necessary one is hiding very well. The only thing that might be of help is locked up."

"Then we must find a way to open it."

"We should go to the town and find out what has happened," Electra said. "Poor Mr. Acks. I hope he's alright."

"What about Jack? Uncle told him to keep an eye on us. He won't go away, not even for a moment," Cassandra said.

"We'll have to take him with us. Maybe tell him we want to go to the market. It's noon, the place is crowded. Everyone is chattering, so we might learn something."

"The best place for the news is not the market, but the post office."

"Right!" Medea cried. "Old Prizzi has probably started her broadcast. If you want to find out anything, then she's the best way."

"I'll ask Jack to take us to the post office." Electra went to the stable. Jack didn't want to leave the house, but after some persuasion, he agreed to take his cousins to the post office once he finished feeding the horses. If his father told him to look after the girls, he meant that Jack should be near them all the time.

They rode in the carriage. Jack was sitting in the front with the reins in his hands and keeping silent, while the girls sat behind him and whispered the whole way. On the road, they saw Mr. Gardiner, who raised his hat in greeting. They met butcher Hobkins and his son, and good-natured Mrs. McKennit passed nearby. Women with children walked before them. Noticing the carriage and its passengers, they hurriedly crossed the road and looked back for a while. Then one of the sheriff's officers appeared and, passing by the carriage, spat under its wheels. Jack pressed his lips together to suppress his anger. If not for his parents' ban, he wouldn't let the officer get away with it.

When the carriage reached the post office, the weather changed. The recently shining sun disappeared behind gray clouds, and a sudden wind picked up the leaves and dust, whirling them around. Medea closed her eyes and lifted her hand towards the swirl of dust. The wind changed its direction and left their carriage.

"Medea, what are you doing?" Electra reproached her. "Have you forgotten where we are?"

"So what, shall I get blinded by the dust?"

"Don't do that again, alright?"

"Alright," she snorted. "You could've thanked me."

"Electra, will you take long?" Jack asked.

"No," Cassandra said instead of her sister, "we'll be back soon."

"Huh, all three of you are waiting for a letter?"

"Letters!" Medea said. "We write a lot."

They got out of the carriage and headed to the post office. In an arbor not far away, indefatigable Miss Prizzi was chattering with her companions.

When the girls reached the post office, Cassandra went inside so that Jack wouldn't suspect anything, while Electra and Medea sat on a bench near the arbor and strained their ears to catch anything important. The conversation was the same as three days ago, and again Miss Prizzi was raising her tone of voice when she wanted to prove something.

"We have already discussed this on Wednesday, Teresa. You were not here, and you should not try to convince me of the opposite. The Van Dykes' wedding day was in June. I remember the date, June 25th, because it is the same day as long-gone Samuel O'Leary's birthday, and I can never confuse that date, for I was his governess for so many years."

Miss Prizzi noticed the girls and called them out. Some of her companions frowned, the others muttered something unpleasant.

"Cassandra, my dear child, come over here," the old woman said.

"I'm Electra, actually."

"Electra, Cassandra, who cares? Anyway, you look so much alike." She held out her hand; Electra had to give hers in response.

"How pretty you have become since I saw you last. It has been a while."

"We met last week." Medea didn't miss the chance to mock old Prizzi.

"Is that true?" Miss Prizzi's eyes widened. "I had totally forgotten about that! How is your aunt, has she returned yet?"

"Not yet."

"And your uncle, how is he?"

"He's fine, thank you." Electra tried to be polite, even though she disliked the old woman.

"Well done by Colin, how quickly he found Acks." Miss Prizzi turned to her friends. "When I heard that Acks was gone, I said, 'Call Colin, he's the only person in the whole town who will find him before trouble occurs.'"

Electra and Medea exchanged glances.

"Miss Prizzi, what happened to the woodcutter?"

"Have you not heard?" Old Prizzi pursed her lips, looked at the girls, then at her companions, and again back at the girls. "He got lost in the woods, vanished without a trace. All that was left of him was the lamp. I said, 'Colin is the only one who will find him.' After all, the traces led into the forest, into its depths. Who else would go there if not Colin? Poor man, he was probably tired by the time he found him."

"Miss Prizzi, where is Mr. Acks now?"

"He was taken home to rest. They say he has lost his mind. Poor Colin. It must have been hard to drag a half-witted Acks through the forest."

"Why do you call him half-witted? That's Mr. Acks, everyone is friends with him!"

"Well, I was not the first to call him that!" The old woman looked at her friends for their support. Her loyal companion Teresa Price championed her instantly.

"Noemia is telling the truth. Everyone who saw him can confirm that he acted like a madman."

"Yes, yes," continued Miss Prizzi, "he was talking about his late wife, peace be upon her, whom he had allegedly met in the woods. What is he if not crazy?"

The girls looked at each other again. They had heard enough, and found Noemia Prizzi's presence too unpleasant to bear it for another minute. Wishing everyone in the arbor a good day, they moved away, ignoring the whispers behind their backs. Electra and Medea entered the post office, where Cassandra was waiting for them. Some minutes later, the three girls returned to the carriage.

"What happened?" Jack asked.

"Nothing," Medea said coldly. "There were no letters."

### 8. The Dinner

"The McCormacks have invited us to dinner," Uncle Albert said during breakfast.

"Are they celebrating anything?" Riona asked.

"I don't think so. Yesterday at noon I met Peter near the market, and we had a short talk. In the end he invited us to dinner. It had totally slipped from my mind."

Eric wasn't happy about the invitation. He didn't want to see Dickens McCormack, much less to sit with him at the same table. When they saw each other, they never greeted, never spoke. And if Eric and Dickens ran into each other on the arena, Dickens hampered him in every possible way or threw insulting remarks. Several times the elder fellows had to intervene so that Dickens wouldn't start a fight. And today Eric would have to sit with him at the same table and tolerate his presence.

Descending the stairs, Eric ran into Eleanora, who had spent the last two hours in her room, choosing clothes and preening herself.

"Nora, you look so beautiful today," Eric said with a smile.

Eleanora blushed.

"You're always beautiful, but today you're exceptional."

"Thank you. I think I spent too much time in my room. It would be a pity to come out without good results."

"I wonder if your long preparation has to do something with one of the hosts of the neighboring house."

Eleanora made a face. "Eww, of course not. But if I am invited to a dinner, I always prepare thoroughly."

Eric didn't believe her, but decided not to tease her anymore. They went downstairs, where Albert, Riona, and Henry were already waiting for them.

The maid led the O'Brians into the living room, where Mrs. Caitlin McCormack met them with a smile. Her warm welcome lasted several minutes, during which she inquired about Eric, and repeated over and over how pleased she was to see him in her house. Eric liked Mrs. McCormack; he considered her pleasant and good-natured. He thought the same of her husband, Peter McCormack.

Eric was delighted to see Dinah. She was so beautiful in her blue dress, her black hair styled in a long braid, that he lost his breath for a second.

"And who of us longed to meet the host of the house? Or rather, the hostess?" Eleanora whispered in Eric's ear. He grinned and walked over to Dinah.

"I am so happy that you are my guest today." Dinah gave him her hand. "I hope you will enjoy spending time in our house." Before she had finished speaking, her brother came in. Eric's face changed instantly. He didn't conceal his dislike for the young McCormack. Dinah squeezed his hand. "Don't pay attention to him. He's not in a good mood today."

As if yesterday he was any better, Eric thought. While Dinah was exchanging pleasantries with Eleanora, Eric ran his eyes around the living room. The McCormacks' big house was beautifully furnished; the room reminded Eric of one of the paintings of the Victorian era he once saw at an exhibition. Due to the beige wallpapers and white furniture, the room was bright and comfortable; the green curtains were open, and the windows, peering westward, let the orange sunrays fill the room. No less beautiful was the dining room, full of glassware made by the host of the house. Peter McCormack's fame was deserved. His small vases, fragile figurines, and tall glasses were admired by anyone who knew how to appreciate the glassblower's craft.

"How long do you plan to stay in Hollow?" Mr. McCormack asked Eric during dinner.

"Until the end of the winter."

"What do you do at home?"

Eric didn't want to leave a bad impression on Mr. McCormack, and didn't say he was expelled from school for persistent truancy and brawls.

"I haven't decided what to do. Every day I like something different."

"And what are you doing in Hollow?"

"He helps me a lot," Albert answered instead of Eric.

"That's good." Peter McCormack took a sip of wine. "But I see by his hands that he's not a farmer. This fellow should do arts or craft."

Mrs. McCormack smiled. "Peter likes to decide the fates of young people."

"That's true. If I see potential, I can't be silent." He turned to Eric. "Have you been at my workshop?"

"Not yet."

"It's my fault," said Dinah. "One of these days I will bring Eric to your shop, Father."

"Would you like to learn the skill of the glassblower, Eric?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"Think about it," Peter McCormack said. "I tried to teach the craft to Dickens, but he doesn't know how to handle fragile things. Give Dickens a glass statue, and he'll definitely break it."

"Peter, don't underestimate the boy's talents," Albert said.

"I'm not underestimating; he now works for Siegfried and builds boats and canoes. Siegfried seems to be pleased with him, but Dickens was too awkward for glass. You see, glass is not for everyone, but wood is quite different."

While Mr. McCormack was speaking, Eric was observing his neighbors and thinking how much Dinah looked like her father. She had the same dark-blue eyes, black satin-like hair, and the same cheekbones and jawline, except that Dinah's features were gentle, soft, and feminine. And Dickens looked just like his mother, with the same golden hair, pale-blue eyes, and a strained pose that was giving away his discomfort.

His thoughts were cut short by Caitlin McCormack's question.

"Do you like Hollow?" she asked.

"A lot. It's a great place, although a bit witchy," he jested, but no one smiled to his joke.

"Witchy?" Peter McCormack's voice was cold. "Why do you think so?"

Eric looked at Dinah. When she cast her eyes down, he turned back to Peter McCormack. "I've heard witches live in Hollow."

"And I've heard you defend them vehemently," Dickens muttered.

Peter McCormack stared at his son. "Dickens? What do you mean?"

Dickens's pale-blue eyes stared at Eric. "A protector of the witches is sitting with us. Isn't it true, O'Brian?"

Under the intent gaze of those around the table Eric felt awkward. "When girls are insulted in my presence, I feel it my duty to defend them," he said, returning the same look at Dickens. The latter smirked.

"Eric didn't know who they were," Dinah said. "If he knew, he wouldn't have argued with Dickens."

"I still don't understand," said Mrs. McCormack.

Dinah told them about the accident on the square. Mr. McCormack looked grimly at Eric. "Do not rush into the battle until you know what you fight for."

"Father, I told you, Eric didn't know who they were. He wouldn't defend them if he knew."

"I hope so!"

"Defending women is the correct thing," said Albert, "but these girls don't need your help. You'll probably be the one who needs help if you meet them. Don't ever talk to them again."

"Uncle Albert, I haven't talked to them..." Eric paused, then added after a second, "I am sorry to disappoint you, but I don't care what has happened between them and Dickens. If I see him insulting girls, I will stand up for them, whoever they are."

Deathly silence hung over the room. Neither the hosts nor Eric's uncle liked his words. Only Riona didn't seem disappointed; she was smiling, though she tried to conceal her smile. She attempted to change the topic of the discussion, but there was no more pleasant conversation that day. The hosts ignored Eric till the end of the evening. When everyone retired into the sitting room, where the maid was serving dessert, Dinah approached Eric with undisguised displeasure.

"Why did you say that?"

"You wanted me to lie so that your father would like me?"

"You are our guest; you could behave more discreetly."

Eric stared at her. "I am sorry that I didn't meet your expectations, but I can't say what I don't think."

"But you can keep quiet about what you think. Is it an obligation to always speak your mind?"

"Maybe not, but your brother provoked me."

Dinah left his company. She, as well as her family, pretended not to notice Eric till the end of the evening. Every minute seemed an hour to him. He felt uncomfortable in the McCormacks' house. Riona and Eleanora were the only ones who tried to soften the situation. Eleanora sat by her cousin to make him feel less slighted, but it didn't help when the hosts openly shunned him. Like Eric, Riona was counting the minutes when Albert would finally decide to go home, but Albert stayed late at the McCormacks'.

When they finally returned home, Uncle Albert was quick to announce his displeasure. Riona tried to stand up for Eric, reminding her husband that the boy hadn't lived long enough in Hollow, but Albert was adamant. He advised Eric to control himself and not to talk unnecessarily; otherwise he'd have to return home.

### 9. The Chase

It was nighttime and the girls were once again looking for a clue in the library, when they heard an argument outside. Jack and Uncle Colin were quarrelling. Cassandra looked into the courtyard. Colin left his son and entered the house, and Jack went to the stables and a moment later darted out astride his stallion.

"He didn't lock the stable," Cassandra said. "Uncle will get angry."

"I shall lock it." Electra left the library. When she was away, Cassandra had a bad premonition. She froze with a book in her hand and stared aimlessly at the wall.

"Cassie, are you alright?"

"I have a bad feeling."

Medea wanted to assure her that it was only her imagination, but Cassandra hurried after her sister.

It was dark outside, but the moonlight was enough to help her not to stumble while crossing the courtyard. Near the barn she saw Electra coming towards her with a rake in her hand.

"Cassie, what happened?"

"Nothing. I thought to come after you. I had a bad feeling."

"Oh, sweetie, I'll put the rake inside the barn, and we shall go inside," Electra said, and entered the barn while Cassandra waited for her outside. A roar of falling tools came from the barn. Cassandra rushed inside and found Electra lying on the floor, her leg caught on something in the dark. Falling, she had dragged the entire contents of the nearest shelf down with her.

"Oh, dear, why didn't you turn on the light?" Cassandra helped her to her feet.

"I tried, but the bulb has burned out."

"Come, let's put everything in its place and go back. I wasn't planning to clean the barn today."

They picked up the hammers and saws from the floor and placed them back on the shelf. The girls were in a hurry and didn't notice the black figure in the corner of the barn, standing still among the rakes and shovels, his yellow eyes staring at their backs. Electra took a clipper from the floor, turned around to put it into its place, and gasped. Following Electra's trembling finger, Cassandra let out the same low cry. He was there, his eyes glimmering like yellow spheres in the dark.

The girls took a step back and stumbled upon the shelves. The dark figure didn't move, but they were sure that the barn door closed by his command.

"That's him."

"What shall we do?"

"The broom is in the corner, find it."

But neither of them moved. Their feet seemed nailed to the floor. Knees felt weak; they would collapse if they dared make a move. When the creature stepped forward, the girls screamed and ran into the corners of the barn. He stopped, looked at one, then at the other, and stepped towards Electra. Searching for something helpful in the dark, Cassandra hit her shoulder against the shelf, once again dropping the tools down. Finally, she felt the broom against the wall and grabbed it.

"The broom has no saddle, what shall I do?"

"The bucket, hurry up, get into the bucket!" Electra huddled in the corner and watched the creature approach her. Cassandra clambered into a large bucket in the corner of the barn, then took a hammer from the shelf and hurled it at the creature. As he turned to her, Electra rushed to her sister and jumped into the bucket. The creature hissed and darted after them. Electra pulled out the broom and struck it on the side of the bucket. It hovered up and slipped out through the chimney of the barn. The bucket soared to the forest, and the black mantle with a long beak followed it closely. Electra hit the side of the bucket with the broom, making it fly faster, but the creature continued the chase.

"Give me that!" Cassandra snatched the broom from her sister's hands, and raising it in the air, hit the creature's head with it.

"Go away!" she yelled, pouring blows upon the black head.

The creature lost control, staggered and got tangled in the branches of an oak. The mantle transformed into a smoke and converted into an old woman on a broomstick.

"WITCH!" Cassandra screamed, almost dropping the broom.

"Up!" cried Electra. "Go up!"

Cassandra sent the bucket up. To avoid the sharp twigs, the girls dived into the bucket, hearing the witch hollering in the air. Breaking the branches, the bucket was racing at a high speed. When it squeezed through the last branch, the bucket came to a halt in the air. The girls poked out their heads and looked around. They were above the forest, surrounded by the night sky, and the tops of the fir trees had remained far below. All they saw were peaks of the highest trees; there was not a soul around. Only the crescent moon and seldom stars were shining in intervals when the dark clouds passed over them.

The girls took a deep breath and looked at each other.

"Is it gone?"

"I don't know."

The same blood-chilling screech rang out nearby, and the witch on the broom rose before them.

"Back! Back to the woods!"

Cassandra hit the side of the bucket with the broom, and it rushed back into the thick forest. Bawling, the witch dashed after them. The bucket was descending so quickly that even the thickest branches were breaking. Losing their grip on the handles inside the bucket, the girls shrieked all the way down, until the bucket hit on a thick bough and turned upside down. The girls crashed on the ground; the bucket and the broom fell nearby.

Electra took her hand to her aching temple, crawling to Cassandra, whose head was spinning so badly she couldn't stand on her feet. Electra helped her stand up, and staggering, they trudged to the bucket.

"Get in, hurry."

"Is it going to come back?"

"I don't know, so hurry up."

Cassandra climbed into the bucket. Electra found the broom in the bushes and climbed after her sister. They returned to the barn and put the bucket and the broom in their places, then hurried to the house. The girls found Medea in the kitchen, sitting at the table with their three cats and sharing a piece of cake with them. Upon seeing their bruised faces and tattered clothing, Medea almost choked on the cake.

"What happened to you? I've been sitting here and waiting for you for more than an hour, and it turns out that you got into a fray."

Electra sat down and buried her face in her hands. "The creature chased us."

"What? Where? What happened?"

"Let's go to the bedroom for a talk."

With her mouth agape, Medea could only nod. Electra and Cassandra crashed on their beds and told Medea about the barn, the flight inside the bucket, the forest, and most importantly, about the creature in a black mantle, which shape-shifted into a witch.

"This is serious," Medea whispered, and bit her lips.

### 10. Music Lesson

In the morning, someone knocked at the door.

"Wake up, loonies, Mr. Gardiner is waiting," Jack said.

"Oh no," Medea muttered with displeasure. "A music lesson! I have no mood for music."

"Neither do I," Electra said. "But Mr. Gardiner has already come. Let's finish it quickly and think of what we're going to do."

"I have a plan." Medea yawned. "A very good plan. I'll tell you both about it after we finish the class."

"Is it bad if I already doubt your plan?" Cassandra sat in front of an old cheval glass and began combing her hair.

"Don't be so pessimistic. My plan is flawless."

The girls went downstairs, where their teacher was waiting for them.

The music room was the brightest chamber in the house, due to the windows facing east and the big glass doors of the balconies. Near one of the open windows stood an old piano with a small vase of fresh flowers and family photographs. On the opposite side was the cabinet with sheet music. On the carpet in the center, three cats were dozing while their mistresses were involved in music.

"We are sorry for the delay, Mr. Gardiner," Electra said. "We didn't sleep well."

"Take the instruments, girls. One song today. I need to leave early."

Mr. Gardiner took a stack of sheets with notes, pulled three pieces, and handed them out to his pupils. Cassandra took the flute to her lips. Medea joined with her violin, and Electra played the piano, singing the first verse:

"O my Luve's like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June:

O my Luve's like the melodie,

That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry."

After Electra finished, Cassandra stopped playing the flute and sang the second verse:

"Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!

And fare-thee-weel, a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!"

Cassandra brought the flute to her lips and Medea went on:

"O my Luve's like a red, red rose,

That's newly sprung in June.

O my Luve's like the melodie,

That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,

So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,

Till a' the seas gang dry."

Soon the lesson was over and the girls left the castle, to discuss what they were going to do away from Jack and Uncle Colin.

"I have an idea of how to open the glass frame and finally understand what went wrong," Medea said when they walked down the road.

"How?"

"Alright, listen carefully. The frame has a lock. The key belongs to Aunt, and the lock was made by Uncle, but he didn't invent the form; he borrowed it from our great-great-grandfather Orin, who was a famous mechanic."

"And who died one hundred and thirty years ago," Cassandra said. "So what?"

"So, yesterday I was up all night thinking about it, and I am sure my plan will work if we are sufficiently cold-blooded. Orin was buried in the cemetery of Hollow. And most importantly, he was buried with that same medallion around his neck. We shall dig him up and open the frame with his key!"

Taking a few more steps, Medea noticed that her sisters were not beside her. She turned and saw their stunned faces and gaping mouths.

"What is it? You don't like my plan?"

"Medea, are you insane? Dig up the grave? How did you even think about something like that?"

"I don't understand you, El. We have to read the manuscript, right? Wrong Spells! What was it, if not a wrongly prepared potion, a wrong spell?"

"Medea, we shall not dig up the grave."

"But why?"

"Because I can't imagine how we shall take a shovel, go to the cemetery, dig out Orin's coffin, which was buried more than a century ago, open it, and remove the key from his bones."

"So your only concern is that he's been buried for too long?"

Electra sighed, turned to Cassandra. "I give up. You explain it to her."

"Cass, surely you will agree with me. Days pass, and we sit and wonder and complain, and do nothing. I went through everything in my head, but can't find any other way. We need a key, and the key is in the grave."

"Medea, that key has probably rusted."

"These keys are made of stainless steel."

"They are made of stainless steel these days, but I don't think they were back then."

"Yes, they were. Do you want me to lurk at the cemetery and dig up a corpse by myself?"

They argued for a while, until the arena of tournaments appeared before them. The girls leaned against the wooden fence and watched the races. Electra recognized the fellow sleeping at the bus stop. He was riding a white horse, galloping slowly around the arena. Thomas Baldric, one of the young Easterners, was giving him advice on how to hold onto the saddle and how to keep the horse in check.

For some reason, that stranger once again stole her attention. She watched his inexperienced riding, sometimes laughing at his mistakes. For a girl who had been riding since she was five, it was obvious he was a newcomer. Electra felt butterflies flutter inside her belly, making her blush and smile wider. Her smile disappeared once she saw Dinah McCormack on the stands, waving to him.

"Shall we go?" Cassandra asked, then blushed instantly when a young man of twenty dashed before them.

"Cass, stop staring at him." Medea rolled her eyes.

"But that's Raymond, the winner of the last two tournaments."

"And who lives on the East Bank."

"Let's go away," said Electra, noticing that Dinah and her company had spotted them. The girls left the arena before anyone from the Easterners managed to throw insulting remarks, and returned home.

### 11. The Old Curiosity Shop

Eric asked Uncle Albert for a permission to borrow his horse for a ride. It took some persuading, but in the end Albert agreed, and Eric rode into town to do some sightseeing.

Hollow was full of old, quaint houses. Many of them had been built during the middle ages. Eric had only seen such spectacular buildings in history books about kings and nobles. Some buildings were made of shaped stones and had latticed windows, but there were a lot of beautifully crafted houses, with carvings and sculptures on their walls, with high windows, stone balconies, and arched doors adorned with flower pots and glass lamps. The houses on the West Bank were especially remarkable. Some of them looked old and were marked by the ravages of time, but due to the endeavors of the owners and the dwellers, they had been turned into art pieces. They were colorful, with cone-shaped roofs and small fountains hanging down the walls. Some buildings had beautiful facades, decorated with figurative paintings depicting warriors on horseback, kings and queens, and engravings in a language unknown to Eric.

The fellow continued his way through Silver Lane, which was occupied by various art shops and art galleries with paintings and pieces of art exhibited right in the middle of the street. Eric rode with an easy gait, so as not to involuntarily crack the ceramic vases and porcelain tea warmers, which were so carelessly placed outside the beautifully furnished shops. He passed before a long line of colored houses with front yards full of flowers and orange pumpkins big enough to become Halloween decorations soon.

Eric returned to the east side of the town, and cantering across the narrow alleys, reached the Old Curiosity Shop. He still hadn't had a chance to go there. Dinah's absence was quite opportune; she wouldn't drag him away and repeat that there was nothing interesting in the shop. Eric dismounted his horse, tied the reins to a hook near the door, and entered that shop. Inside it was too dark for a store; lamps were hanging on the walls, emitting a light so poor that part of the chamber was lost in darkness. The place smelled of old things and pipe smoke. There were lots of items on the shelves, on the tables, and even on the floor.

"Hello? Is there anybody here?"

No one responded.

"Hello?"

Silence.

Eric considered leaving the shop, but curiosity took over. Too strange were the things before his eyes: ceramic masks, ornaments with runes, music boxes with glittering keyholes, skulls and bones in glass boxes, and bottles full of crawling spiders. Near one of the shelves a tall clock stood, with a thick layer of dust on the dial. Eric rubbed the dust with his hand and looked at the arrows. They showed the wrong time. Looking more closely, he realized that the arrows were moving counter clockwise. Eric jumped up when a skeleton shook in the dark corner. Realizing it was just a toy, he grinned and walked over to the shelf of books.

"Palmistry," he read on one of the covers. Eric picked up the book and opened the first page. The book was dated 1651. He carefully put it back, fearful of spoiling such an ancient item. Nearby was another book, titled Darklight. It didn't look too old, but its looks were deceiving, as on the first page Eric read:

Published by Sunwood. Hollow, 1799.

Photos fell from between the pages of the book, and Eric rushed to collect them from the floor. Eric brought the photos to the light. All were black and white, except for one with three smiling girls. They looked alike: all red-haired, with pale skin and the same smile. He turned the photo. There was an inscription on the opposite side: Andromeda, Sofia, Valeria: for the memories of good times.

Andromeda, Eric thought, maybe this is the woman Eleanora was talking about. That could be the photo of the head witch, as Eleanora called her. Still, he might be wrong. He put the photo back in its place and ran his eyes over the next shelf, which held old books, bronze inkpots, quill pens, bottles with powders, black and white candles, tarot cards, crystal balls, voodoo dolls, and a lot of cobwebs.

"Want to buy anything?"

Eric turned sharply to the voice, but didn't spot anyone until a match was lit in the corner of the room. The tobacco flared up in the pipe and cast light on a man's face.

"I didn't know there was anyone here."

"You do now. Are you looking for anything?"

Eric didn't find what to say. He was embarrassed that the owner of the shop had been watching him while he was looking at the photographs. Chiding himself for an excessive, sometimes quite unjustifiable curiosity, he tried to get out of the situation, saying he had come after interesting things. The owner of the voice stood up, walked over to him and looked at Eric under the dim light. He was a tall man of about forty, with a pleasant face, but a cold expression.

"Where?"

Eric didn't understand the question, and asked the man to repeat it.

"Where do you live?"

"On the East Bank."

The man raised an eyebrow. "I haven't seen you before."

"I have recently arrived here. I live with relatives."

"Who?"

"The O'Brians."

"For how long?"

Eric didn't understand the reason for such a detailed examination, but couldn't resist answering. "Until the end of the winter, perhaps."

The man barely nodded and smoked his pipe. "And what do you want to buy at Pickering's shop?"

Buy? Certainly nothing. His pocket money had run out long ago, and he knew his parents weren't going to send him any. It was a part of his punishment. And he'd never borrow from Uncle Albert. Then he had an idea, but before Eric could think it through, the words jumped out of his mouth: "Do you have a job?"

"What can you do?" The man's voice lacked enthusiasm. He approached the table and moved the books that Eric had been poking into.

It was a difficult question. Eric couldn't do anything, except for cleaning dust.

"So be it," said the man. "You will put the things in order and clean out the dust. Otherwise, the spiders will spin me in a web soon."

Eric stood, shocked. "How did you—?"

"So, do you need a job?"

Eric thought it over. Should he agree? If his friends in the city knew about it, they would laugh at him.

It's just putting things in their places and keeping the shop in order, he thought, it's not beneath my dignity, so why shouldn't I? He wouldn't be able to find any other job in Hollow. He had neither a profession nor any experience.

"I am glad that you think so. There must be a bucket and broom somewhere around here. Look for them in the corners, but do it cautiously. Don't break anything."

"Are you Pickering?"

"Rather the son. Come here once a week, no, better twice, or better three times. The door is never locked. Do your job and you can leave. If there are any questions, ask. Don't break, don't spoil, and Eric, I wouldn't tell your family about your job."

An hour later Eric left the shop. With a salary. Mr. Pickering paid him for the first day. He showed him the box where the money was kept, and told him that next time Eric had to take his daily wage himself. Eric was surprised that Mr. Pickering wasn't afraid of being cheated or robbed. He didn't lock the door, gave a job to the first person who came in and asked for one, showed him the place where the money was kept, and also read his mind from time to time. He was a strange man, but Eric didn't care. Even though it wasn't much, it was the first time he had earned money.

Eric was even more surprised when he left the shop. It was almost night. That couldn't be possible. He had entered the shop in the afternoon and spent an hour and a half in there, so now it should be evening. Several hours were missing. Eric took the horse by the reins and walked down the cobbled street. Along the way he continued to count the hours, trying to figure out how the day could get lost, and whether this was due to the Old Curiosity Shop and its strange owner. The sun had set, almost all the shops were closed, and lights were burning in the lamp poles.

When Eric reached the corner, he heard sounds of music. They were coming from a tavern. A sign that read 'Happy Friend' and depicted a pair of mugs hung above the door. Along with music, sounds of male voices came from the tavern, sometimes mixed with cries, sometimes with laughter. Eric peeked in the window. The hall was large, filled with people—mostly men sitting around the tables, drinking and talking loudly. Eric tied the horse to a tree and entered the tavern. No one paid attention to him; all the patrons were busy drinking. The place was full of tables, with three or four visitors sitting around each one. It smelled of fried meat: a hog with crispy skin was spinning on a spit in the corner. A little farther, musicians were filling the already noisy chamber with loud music.

Eric went to the bar, behind which the tavern owner was tirelessly advising the young waiter on how to pour ale into the mugs so that not a drop was lost, not forgetting to scold the waitresses for their sluggishness. A stoutly built woman with the agility of an antelope was making trips from the bar to the cellar and back, muttering something angrily under her breath.

Eric watched the people in the tavern. He knew some of them, they were the O'Brians' neighbors or Uncle Albert's friends, but there were a lot of unfamiliar faces. He was particularly interested in a man at an unobtrusive corner of the tavern, sitting by the window and smoking a pipe. He'd be indistinguishable from the others if not for the silver mask that hid the part of his face, namely, the temple, the left cheek, and a part of the jaw. He wore a black cloak with the hood pulled back. A golden ring was sparkling on his forefinger. Eric caught the man's eyes fixed on him. The dismal stranger stared at him for almost a minute, until a drunk farmer distracted his attention with annoying questions. The man in the mask was rude to him, and something worse would've happened if two men hadn't managed to drag their friend away. The dark stranger threw coins on the table and stood up. Eric watched him leave the tavern. After he was gone, Eric felt an unexplainable sense of relief which didn't last long, as at one of the tables he spotted Dickens McCormack. Eric didn't want to catch his glance. A strange aversion to Dickens grew in him with each meeting.

"What are you looking for, boy?" Eric heard behind and met with the landlord's red face. Without answering, he paced to the door. He was glad to get out of the smoky tavern. Fresh cold air brought him to life. He took a deep breath and looked at the sky. The night was clear, the constellations close and brilliant. The stars of Orion were shining especially brightly. Eric straddled the horse and headed home. The narrow alleys seemed to be conspiring to prevent him from finding the right way, and several times he had to stop and ask for instructions.

Eric received a reprimand from his uncle for disappearing the whole day without telling anyone. Following Mr. Pickering's advice, he didn't say anything about his job. To avoid questions about where he'd been all day, he went to the stable to feed the horse, which had remained hungry all day due to the strange circumstances.

In the morning, going downstairs for breakfast, Eric heard Albert and Riona talk about Mrs. McCormack. Riona was calling her 'a poor woman.' She told her husband she'd visit her and try to help.

"Has anything happened to Mrs. McCormack?"

"Yes, my dear," Riona said, pouring coffee for her husband. "We don't know the whole story. They say that someone or something attacked her at night, when she was alone in the garden. I'll finish my chores and visit Caitlin."

"Can I come with you?"

"Sure, dear," she said, and seeing Eleanora and Henry enter the kitchen, whispered in Eric's ear, "Don't talk about it in Henry's presence. I don't want to scare him."

Eric fulfilled her request and didn't hint about the McCormacks until Riona sent Eleanora and Henry to school. Riona and Eric went to their neighbors' house. Eric noticed Dinah on the swing. After the disastrous dinner in the McCormacks' house, he hadn't talked to Dinah again, while she had been trying to make amends with him. She looked so sad that he was ready to put the offences behind. Eric walked up to her, and taking her by the hand, knelt in front of her.

"What has happened? How is your mother?"

"The witches did it; they sent a curse on us. They hate us, our family, and everyone on this side, but they abhor our family the most."

Eric sat down beside her. "I don't know what has happened, but I'm sure your mom will be all right."

"Dickens agrees with me. He says these are the tricks of the witches, and he promised to think about how to take revenge on them."

Dinah was so absorbed in thoughts about the witches that it seemed she couldn't hear anything else. All offers of help and support from Eric stayed unheard; she was talking only about taking revenge.

"Even De Roy voiced his suspicions last night."

"De Roy?"

"The sheriff. An ugly, scary man, but I'm glad he sees the same things as me."

"And what is he going to undertake?"

"I heard De Roy telling my father that maybe the witches did it, but unless he has tangible evidence, he can't do anything. I will avenge the witches together with Dickens, and perhaps with you, if you decide to help me."

"I don't think you're right."

"Why? Do you not believe me? Are you on the witches' side? You've got to help me get revenge."

"I'm not on anyone's side, but I agree with the sheriff. Without evidence, no one can be blamed."

Dinah looked at Eric, tears glistening in her eyes. "You say that because you were soundly sleeping when my mother was scared to death. She was crying about a black smoke that had shrouded her..." Dinah hid her face behind her palms and whimpered.

"Don't cry. Everything will be fine."

As Eric threw his arm around her, Dinah looked up him, beaming. "I knew we'd make up," she said with a smile.

Eric glanced into her eyes. The teardrops had clung to her lashes like jewels. Were her tears just an act? he thought. Probably not. No one could pretend like that. "Tell me what the sheriff said. Maybe they saw something or someone?"

"He said nothing more. And what can De Roy do but walk around smugly, hiding under that mask and thinking he's the king of the town."

"Under a mask?"

"Half of his face is hidden under a mask. Probably not the most beautiful half."

"What does he look like?"

"What's the difference? It can't help us anyhow, can it?"

"No, but I'm curious. Is he tall, dark-haired? He walks in a black cloak?"

"Well, yes, when walking down the streets, he always wears a black cloak, even in summer. He covers his head with a hood, and his face with a mask. He's a harsh man, famous for his cruelty. Everyone in this town fears Sheriff De Roy. I hope he will arrest the witches, and they will never see the light again."

Eric realized whom he had seen last night. It was the Sheriff of Hollow, there could be no doubt. Dinah's story about him only deepened his bizarre feelings about that man. Not knowing why, Eric had begun to fear the sheriff ever since he saw him. But in addition of fearing for himself, he felt an inexplicable concern for the witches of Hollow.

### 12. A Cure for the Neighbor

After they returned from the McCormacks, Riona called Eric into the kitchen.

"My dear, I want to ask you something," she said. "But I don't want you to tell Albert about it." Riona looked at the door to see if anyone had returned, and laying her hands on Eric's shoulders, pushed him deeper into the kitchen. "I need to go somewhere, after a medication. And I need you to come with me. Can you promise me you won't tell Albert if he asks about this?"

"Sure, Aunt Riona. Shall I harness the carriage?"

"No, we shall take a tram, then a boat, and I'm afraid we shall have to go on foot some distance. We must hurry so we can be back before Albert and the children return."

Eric didn't know where they were going. Riona led him to a road he hadn't taken yet. She was wearing a scarf around her head, and avoided looking around, as if hiding from someone.

After another quarter of an hour, crenellations appeared in sight. Taking a few more steps, Eric saw one of the towers. The rest was still hidden behind the trees. Only upon coming closer was Eric finally able to see the blue quadrangular castle surrounded by a high fence. Small in its size, it was still an impressively sublime building, though the blue color gave it a fragile and delicate look. The castle, topped with crenellations, had circular towers at each of the four corners, with arched windows and balconies, one of which was open, and a white embroidered curtain was waving outside. Rose bushes were blooming near the castle, with clusters big and distinguishable even from a distance.

Eric asked Riona who lived in the blue castle, but she only said that she needed medication that could be found there. Riona stopped under a willow, and handing Eric a note, asked him to give it to the hosts. From the other side of the fence, sounds of female voices and tittering were coming, but the fence was too high to let him see anything. Walking around, Eric reached the open gate and peeped inside. He saw the three witches in the courtyard, chasing and dousing each other with water from a hose. They looked so funny that Eric couldn't help chuckling. The dark-haired girl grabbed the hose from the hands of one of her sisters and began spraying them, while the redheads tried to hide from the jet of water. One of the girls slipped on the wet ground and tumbled into the mud, and snatching a handful of dirt, flung it at her sister. The other girl also clutched dirt from the ground and tossed it at the black-haired girl. She screamed and sprayed a new stream of water at her sister. Using the moment, the other girl grabbed the bucket full of water near the well, ran to her sister, and poured the entire contents over her head. Eric chuckled louder. The girls were now being so loud that a dog scurried into the yard and stared at them with his tongue hanging out. While two of them were trying to grab the hose from one another, the third one took another full bucket and ran to her sisters.

Eric wanted to shout something, to warn the other girls, but he was too late. The water splashed over their heads, and the girl began laughing hysterically.

"Ahh!" the wet witch screamed, swaying her hand. A bit of dirty water rose into the air and plopped upon the culprit's head. She sobered and gaped at her sister.

"Resorting to witchcraft?" She made a similar gesture. The first time Eric didn't believe what he saw, but he couldn't be wrong twice. The water rose in the air and slapped the girls. The coiling hose on the ground was forgotten; the witches levitated the water and tossed it at each other. When the red-haired girl smacked the black-haired witch's bottom with water, Eric cracked up. Spotting the stranger, the dog darted to him. The girls saw him too, and their game ended in an instant.

"Orion, stop!" one of the witches commanded. The dog stopped before Eric's feet. He leaned over and patted him on the snout.

"To me, boy," a fellow called him, coming out of the stables. The Irish setter ran back to his master. "Do you need anything?" he asked Eric.

Eric handed him the note. He opened it and nodded. "Wait behind the fence. I'll get it for you," he said, and paced to the front door.

The girls grouped together and whispered something, but Eric couldn't hear them.

"Hi," he cried out, when they looked back at him.

The girls smiled stiffly and waved their hands. The fellow stopped by the door and turned back. His grim face was expressive enough, and Eric walked out the gates. After a minute, he peeped over the fence, but the yard was empty. After another ten minutes, the fellow came out and gave him a flask with a cork. He left so quickly Eric didn't have time to say anything. He glanced into the yard one last time. The witches hadn't returned.

When Eric asked Riona what was in that flask, she said it was a medication for Caitlin McCormack, and once again reminded Eric of his promise not to say anything to Albert.

### 13. Halloween

In the evening, the girls were getting ready for Halloween. Electra went to the bed where Cassandra had laid out their costumes and began dressing up. "Do you think the creature we have evoked is a shapeshifter?" she asked.

"But shouldn't you make a sacrifice to evoke something like a shapeshifter? We didn't make a sacrifice; there were only plants and flowers," Cassandra said.

"Pollen?"

"Nonsense. Pollen is not a sacrifice. A sacrifice is either a living soul, or at least blood. There was neither the first nor the second."

Before putting on her mask, Electra looked into the mirror, chanting a verse from their favorite poem:

"The lasses feat, and cleanly neat,

Mair braw than when they're fine;

Their faces blithe, fu' sweetly kythe,

Hearts leal, and warm, and kin';

The lads sae trig, wi' wooer-babs,

Weel knotted on their garten,

Some unco blate, and some wi' gabs,

Gar lasses' hearts gang startin'

Whiles fast at night."

Electra was wearing black from head to toe. Her long robe was embroidered with golden half-moons, and clasped with a glittering brooch adorned with moonstones. She had a black conical hat on her head, her fiery hair flowing down her waist, seeming even brighter against the dark background.

Cassandra stood by Electra and stared into the mirror:

"The auld guidwife's well-hoordit nits,

Are round and round divided,

And monie lads' and lasses' fates

Are there that night decided:

Some kindle coothie, side by side,

And burn thegither trimly;

Some start awa, wi' saucy pride,

And jump out-owre the chimlie

Fu' high that night."

Cassandra's costume was lighter. She was wearing a blue cloak with a hood, and a long yellow dress under it. A mask of the same yellow color covered her face, and short curved horns peeped out from the top of her head.

Medea peered into the mirror. She looked like a ghost in her long white dress with red stains over the bodice and the long hem. She fixed her white mask, straightened her red gloves, threw back her black hair, and said:

"Wi' merry sangs, and friendly cracks,

I wat they didna weary;

And unco tales, and funny jokes,

Their sports were cheap and cheery;

Till butter'd so'ns, wi' fragrant lunt,

Set a' their gabs a-steerin';

Syne, wi' a social glass o' strunt,

They parted aff careerin'

Fu' blythe that night."

The girls joined hands.

"We will be vigilant and careful. If one feels trouble, immediately tells the others. Maybe tonight we shall understand what kind of creature is wandering in Hollow."

The witches left the castle with Jack. The road that led to the town was teemed with fairies, elves, vampires, and werewolves. Children in bright-colored clothes, with lanterns in their hands, ran out on the road, demanding sweets and candies. Then their friend Hector appeared, looking like a mix of a vampire and a wizard. A bit later, Ariadne, another of their friends, joined them, wearing a silver dress embellished with pearls, and carrying a diadem on her head.

It was getting dark, and the dim road flanked by leafy maples and long-branched willows was illumined by the silver moonlight and countless jack-o'-lanterns. After one more turn, crooked lanes and colored houses appeared. The young people walked through the streets full of gnomes, wizards, witches, and elves. A cheerful company had gathered at the small pond and was dancing to the music of local musicians. Ariadne grabbed Jack and Hector's hands and dragged them to the dance. This trio was in a good mood, which was hard to say about Electra, Cassandra, and Medea, who were constantly looking out for possible danger. They didn't notice anything strange, or at least nothing stranger than dwarves, Vikings, trolls, and a group of pirates with patches over their eyes. Several times Ariadne called them, but the girls were busy looking around the alleys. They were gazing attentively at the people around them, afraid that something that wasn't a human was hiding behind one of the masks.

Later that night, they reached a three-story house with bats, spiders, and one-eyed goblins painted on its walls. Horns rose above the door, and fluffy spiders hung down the windows. Burning scarecrows were blazing outside on the spacious yard where contests took place on Halloween night. The place was crowded. It seemed that the entire fairy world had gathered for a meeting.

"So tell us, what is it?" someone shouted through laughter. "Come on, come on!"

People with blindfolded eyes were sitting in a circle, shoving their hands into pots and trying to guess the contents. The girls were pulling their hands back with a shriek, while the boys were reaching to the bottoms of the pots, naming different things.

"Are those dead insects?" asked one of them.

One of the girls pulled her hand back with a squeal, making everyone laugh.

"I don't understand what it is. Each year you do the trick with the insects. But this time it feels like an animal intestine."

The girl who had shoved her hand into the same pot, squealed again and took off the blindfold from her face. "Phew, it's just a wet mandrake," she cried out with relief, causing everyone to laugh again.

Electra looked around while the hosts of the house kept passing other pots full of things repugnant to the touch to the participants of the competition.

"I looked at everyone. They all seem human, let's search somewhere else," Medea cried in her ear. It was so noisy they could hardly hear each other.

Electra nodded and looked around for the last time. Eric was standing just a few steps away. She recognized him at once, as he was the only one without a mask or a patch. He wasn't wearing any sort of costume, just his regular clothes. He didn't immediately notice her. His attention was drawn to his friend Tim, who was trying to guess what was in the pot, the contents of which were soft and moving. Seeing Electra, he stared at her. She was standing right in front of him, as close as she had ever been. Her face was hidden under a mask, but Eric saw her gray eyes and fiery red hair. He knew it was one of the witches. They looked at each other until Dinah called Eric. He turned to answer her, and when he looked back at Electra, she was already gone. Eric saw her moving away from the street and wanted to call after her, but couldn't remember her name. What had Eleanora said? Electra? Cassandra? While he thought it over the girl disappeared from the yard.

"You look concerned," Dinah said.

"I'm fine." Eric had to shout to be heard. "Let's go away and take Tim with us, he's suffering needlessly with this pot. Is it so hard to feel the spiders? One has been crawling across his hand for a while now."

They were with a group of friends, totaling eight people. Dickens wasn't among them, much to Eric's happiness. Heading to the hill, Tim and Dinah told Eric about the old legend of two prisoners who were hanged there many years ago. Each year on Halloween night, their bodies appeared on the gallows, and the brave had the chance to prove their courage.

"They were supposed to spend the night next to the gallows where the prisoners were hanged, and tie a stick around the ankle of one of the dead men. But no one was able to complete the task. Everyone fled, pursued by demons and evil spirits."

"None have gone through the dare to date." Dinah looked slyly at Eric. He laughed.

"Surely you don't have gallows here, much less with dead men hanging on them."

"Maybe we do," Tim said. "And I bet you'd be too scared to approach them."

"Why would I approach them?"

"I knew it!" Tim shouted. "Eric is being a coward!"

"I'm not. I'd do that, but there are no gallows in Hollow."

"There are. The gallows still stand, though no one has been hanged for years, and if you're not a coward, then you'll go up to them and stick this knife into one of the gallows."

Tim handed a jackknife to Eric. He took it.

"People were hanged here?"

"It's a long story," Dinah said. "Someday I'll tell you the history of Hollow, but not tonight. Tonight is a night for adventures." She grinned, her eyes sparkling like blue stars in the night sky.

In a hurry, they explained to Eric where he had to go, put a lantern in his hands, and walked behind him, watching as he climbed over a knoll and approached the trees behind which three gallows were standing. The lantern's dim light hardly cut through the darkness. Eric walked between the trees, and a chilling scene appeared before his eyes. The gallows were indeed there, but they were not abandoned as Tim had told him. People were hanging on them, their feet dangling in the air, hands tied behind their backs. Bags covered the hanged men's heads, knotted with tethers around their necks.

Eric stared ahead, making sure it wasn't a vision, and that people were in fact hanging on the ropes.

Ravens cawed; one of them perched on the gallows, just above the corpse's head.

This is a prank. Those are scarecrows, this can't be real, Eric thought, going closer. This can't be real. They want to play a trick on me on Halloween...

He reached the gallows and stared at the bodies. His heart was pounding, but he was sure it was a joke. He knew he was being watched, and if the bodies had been real, his friends would've screamed in fear instead of waiting for him to come back. Eric approached the middle gallows. Clutching the knife, he touched the edge of the dead man's shoe with the blade.

"BOOM!" the dead man shouted, floundering in the air. Caught unawares, Eric tumbled down to the ground. Laughing, the two of the hanged men removed the bags from their faces, revealing Dickens McCormack and Thomas Baldric. Their hands weren't tied behind them, and the ropes weren't wrapped around their necks.

"Fools." Eric got up. "And an asinine joke."

"Crapped in your pants, O'Brian?" Dickens sniggered.

"Scared like a child," Thomas added.

"Very funny," Eric said sarcastically. "And who's this?" He pushed the third corpse.

Dickens and Thomas stared at the dead man hanging on the nearby gallows. "It was just two of us," Thomas said.

Eric recoiled when the dead man began to sway from side to side, uttering a throaty sound.

Dickens hollered, in vain trying to detach himself from the rope from which he was hanging.

"Dick, who is it?" Thomas cried. "What is it? Who is it? Eric, help!"

Eric rushed to the gallows and began to cut the rope that was holding Thomas, the end of which was tied to the bottom of the log.

"Hurry!" Thomas shouted.

Uttering a blood-curdling wheezing, the dead man stretched out his hand to Dickens.

"Come on!" Dickens cried at Eric.

"I can't!" Eric yelled back. "The knife is blunt."

Thomas and Dickens began to swing on the gallows, trying to undo the straps while Eric fought unsuccessfully with the ropes.

Their friends were watching them open-mouthed. Only when the dead man grabbed Dickens by his scruff did they cry out and flee. Some went after help, the others ran aimlessly. Dinah and Tim rushed to the gallows while Eric was trying to cut the rope.

"Who is it?" Dinah hurried to her brother.

"Stay away!" Eric shouted. "Go away!"

Dinah stopped a few feet away from the gallows, watching the dead man pull her brother closer. Dickens was trying to escape from him, pushing back as much as he could. Thomas was in the same helpless state; he tried to tear the rope, but neither the rope nor the strap gave in.

Realizing that the knife was useless, Eric began to hit the log with his foot, hoping to break it. Tim grabbed Dickens by his feet and began pulling him down. The dead man put his palm on Dickens's face. A chill ran down his spine.

"Break them, break the gallows!" Eric shouted to Tim. They began beating on the log. It cracked, and the fellows hit the wood harder.

"Dickens!" Dinah cried when the dead man grabbed her brother by the throat. Dickens was trying to get free from the grip, but the dead man wouldn't let him, so he only grunted and shook his legs.

"Dick!"

"Dinah, go away, run for help!" Eric shouted, but she didn't listen.

"Leave him!" she yelled. Looking around and snatching a pebble from the ground, Dinah hurled it at the dead man, but he didn't even notice the blow.

Thomas tore his ropes and fell to the ground. Leaping to his feet, he joined Eric and Tim, striking the log. It cracked again. The wood broke, the gallows tilted and fell, dragging Dickens down.

Everyone ran to him, faltering under each other's feet. They untied the ropes and dragged Dickens with them, running away in all haste. The last time he looked back, Eric saw the dead man dangling on the gallows, the chilling wheeze ringing in his ears.

### 14. The Wrong Spell

The girls heard about the incident on Halloween night from Jack. He told them about the gallows and the hanged man, when his cousins had just woken up. When Jack left their bedroom, Electra got out of bed and rushed downstairs.

"El! Where are you going?" Cassandra and Medea darted after her.

Electra ran into the library. She clutched a bronze clock from the table and hurried to the closet with the manuscripts in the glass frames. Taking the manuscript out of the closet, she put it on the floor and squeezed the clock tighter.

"Electra, no!" Medea cried. "We shall dig up the grave."

The clock fell down, and the glass cracked. Electra hit it a few more times, breaking the frame. She removed the broken pieces and took the manuscript out.

"Wrong spells," she read the first page.

The manuscript was old, completely hand-written with small, illegible writing. Electra thumbed through the yellow pages. She asked for a magnifying glass and read aloud the distinguishable lines:

"Spells can go wrong if the spell is incorrectly pronounced, wrong ingredients or wrong portions are used... I can't make out here... the result may be affected by the one who casts the spell, the purpose, the means... again not legible... the time, bad weather... I can't discern the rest."

"Give it to me," Medea said. "You're not reading what we need. We already knew there was a mistake; we need to understand the consequences and how to deal with them."

She thumbed through the manuscript. Indistinct images of the sun, plants, and measuring cups appeared on the following pages, with descriptions of calculations and lunar days.

"Here, I found it! Listen. The consequences. Wrong spells can cause bad weather, poor harvests, locusts, poisonous snakes, diseases, Ghosts, Reapers, and Demons."

The girls looked up at each other and again back at the manuscript.

"I hope that's all!" Cassandra said.

"It's bad," said Electra. "Worse than I was hoping."

"It's not so bad."

"Not so bad? Medea, read it again, then once again, and convince me that it's not so bad. We should've read this before casting a spell."

"Aunt always said we should never enter the pantry; there was a reason for the ban. Who would have thought that one potion could cause such troubles?" Cassandra said.

"Let's immediately cross out the first four. Nothing of that kind is happening in Hollow now," Medea said. "Disease? Who is sick?"

"Mr. Acks was sick."

"Mr. Acks was not sick; he had been scared."

"How do you know? You're not a doctor."

"I'm telling you, he wasn't sick. Uncle Colin said he gave him sedatives, and the woodcutter felt better. Ghosts, Reapers, and Demons. We all know what the Reaper does. But everyone is alive. Therefore, it's not the Reaper. It must be a Ghost or a Demon."

"Pray that it's not a Demon," Electra said. "Medea, look for G, Cass, for D."

While her sisters were looking for the books, Electra put the manuscript with the broken frame back into the closet. She knew that sooner or later the elders would stumble upon the broken glass, and could only hope that it wouldn't happen too soon, not until she had decided what to tell them.

Standing on the ladder, Medea pulled a thick book in a green cover and opened it.

"Ghost! I'm reading. A dark creature. Does not have his own appearance; his looks are a combination of human thoughts or fears. Ghosts are evoked by a sacrifice. Not dangerous to life, but can cause fear or dread to a person or an animal."

"Cassie, have you found anything?"

"Yes, I have. The Demon is a creature born in the depths of fire. Has the ability to disguise himself. If evoked by a sacrifice, the Demon can be banished on the night of the new moon, after it is caught in a fire circle."

All became silent.

"Demon kills people," Electra said after a long pause.

"Even a fool sees that we're dealing with a Ghost," Medea said. "I shall find the Book of Spells."

"But something doesn't make sense. Where is the sacrifice?"

"Cass is right, we didn't sacrifice anyone or anything..."

"Umm." Medea opened her mouth, then bit her lips.

"What else?" Electra asked. "Is there anything that we don't know?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, but I noticed that the thorns had scratched my fingers."

Electra covered her face with her palm.

"Just a drop, one small drop, and I didn't even think it would change anything."

"Blood sacrifice, bad weather, seems that we did everything to call the dark forces," Cassandra said. "I understand now why I saw the witch. You were right, the Ghost, it reads our minds, right? It clings to an idea in our heads, any idea, and takes that shape."

"Yes," Electra said. "I know now what I saw." She ran to the table, opened the closet, and pulled out a book. "The Great Plague of London. Once I was going to read it but instead just flipped through the first pages. I know now whom I saw. It was the Plague Doctor." She showed them a page with the images of the plague doctor, wearing a black robe and a mask with a beak.

"How ghastly. Medea, and what did you see?" Cassandra asked.

Medea looked down as if pondering something. "Light. Silver light. Beautiful. Bright," she said, pausing after each word. "It filled the room, then slipped out of the door." She returned to the shelves and began to search for the Book of Spells. After she found the book, she opened the page titled Dark Creatures, and read it aloud. "The title: How to banish an evoked Ghost. Blah, blah, blah... catch the Ghost, draw a pentagram on neomenia, and pronounce the spell against the dark forces. Here is the spell: Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and cauldron bubble."

Electra and Cassandra looked at her in bewilderment. "Is that a joke?"

Medea chuckled. "Of course it is. You're so stressed; I thought to amuse you a bit."

Electra gave Medea a sober and tired look, which made her stop fooling and read the spell.

"Tenebris potestates pertinent ad tenebris. Dark forces belong to the darkness. Logical," she said with a grin.

"Neomenia," Electra muttered. "Till we wait for the new moon, someone might get hurt again. Medea, come down and take that book with you. We should read it completely."

### 15. Bags of Herbs

A breeze flew over the lake, tickled the leaves above the water, and disappeared between the branches of a willow. Jack was sitting under the tree, playing the flute and gazing at the peaks of the trees that glistened in the rays of the autumn sun.

The day was calm. If not for the rare gust of wind, the nature around the lake could be taken for a painted landscape. The only sound came from his flute. The gentle tune caressed the leaves and petals; the tips of the grass and the flower buds swayed in sync with the music.

Ariadne appeared near the lake, with a basket full of autumn leaves.

"Hello, princess." Jack gave her a quick glance and looked back at the calm lake. "Did my music bring you here?"

"Not really. I was collecting leaves, heard the flute, and thought you might be sad again."

"Not sad. Just meditating."

Ariadne followed Jack's glance. The clear water was playing with the rays of the sun. Reflections of the trees were so sharp it seemed there was a world under the water, looking exactly like the forest. She looked at the chain of mountains that surrounded the lake from the north, at the woods, which guarded it from the west, then stared at the bluish sky.

"Have you ever thought about where we live?"

"In Hollow."

Ariadne laughed. "Sometimes you're not tolerable, just like your sarcasm."

Jack smirked.

"It's so beautiful here."

"Compared to what? You have never been outside of Hollow."

"But I'm not comparing Hollow to other places. Is it necessary to see something else to value the beauty that lies before you?"

For a while they sat in silence. Jack played the flute while Ariadne sorted out the leaves she had gathered. Jack's dog barked and ran to her.

"Orion, my good boy," she said tenderly, caressing him and kissing his warm snout. Orion licked her hands, then lay down at Jack's feet.

Jack stopped the music and looked at Ariadne. A gentle breeze was rustling her golden hair, which didn't differ from the sunrays that were falling upon it through the foliage. She was right, one doesn't need to see much to value beauty. She was the only one near him, and he could see how beautiful she was without comparing her to anyone else.

"I have to collect more leaves," she said to herself.

"Nerd."

"I think I will never finish this book about the nature in Hollow. It's not even a book, but a huge, thick album with dried flowers and plants. How are your sisters doing?"

"Fine."

"The last few days we have hardly seen each other. I think they are busy with something. They seem to be a bit worried recently."

"They are loonies."

Ariadne smirked. "Don't call them names. I know how much you worship them."

"It doesn't change the fact that all three of them are nuts."

Ariadne stifled her laugher. "Have you asked them if anything has happened?"

"Surely something has happened. Something always happens to them."

"Maybe they need help? Do you know what has happened?"

"Not yet."

Ariadne wanted to say something when a drop landed on her hand. She looked up at a black cloud that was sailing across the recently serene sky. Another drop hit her, bigger this time. Rain drops began pounding on the branches, and the mirror lake played the rain music. Orion jumped on his feet and barked.

"Get up, Jack, let's run home."

"Calm down, we'll not get wet."

Jack continued to sit on the grass. The rain was gushing around them, but the drops ceased to fall upon him, Ariadne, and Orion.

Looking up, Ariadne saw how the long willow branches formed a canopy over their heads, protecting them from the torrent. She couldn't help laughing. "Play some more, wizard."

With a smile, Jack took the flute to his lips.

~ * ~

Midnight struck. Everyone in the blue castle was asleep except for Electra, who writhed in bed, dozed for half an hour, then woke up and continued to think about the wrong spell. She sat up in bed for a whole hour, then got out and went to the library. Now that she knew what they had evoked, she took every book about dark creatures and hastily thumbed through them, looking for anything helpful.

Among the dozens of books there was one, telling that sharp objects became blunt and mirrors cracked when a dark force appeared; another one warned about transformations, and a small pamphlet described the herbs that could keep the evoked dark creatures away for some time. Electra grabbed the small book and flounced to the pantry, looking for hemlock, roots of sour grass, and fruits of mistletoe. Grinded together, packed in small bags, and hung over an old oak, they might keep the Ghost away until the new moon. She prepared nearly a dozen bags with the plants, put them inside a wicker basket and at dawn, when everyone was still asleep, left the castle.

Electra walked out onto the road, which led her up the hill and thence to a clearing. It had been a while since she had left the house so early; she had managed to forget how beautiful Hollow was in an early autumn morning. Walking through the glade, Electra squinted at the horizon pierced with the rays of the sun. She saw houses already bathed in the first rays, and those to whom the light hadn't yet reached.

When she came upon the highest oak at the edge of the forest, Electra began tying the bags on its curved branches. Make him disappear for a while, she pleaded. Then they would banish that creature, and would never ever step back into the pantry. And would never again disobey their aunt. And would also never conjure. A life without witchcraft would be boring, but a boring life was better than so much trouble.

Electra stepped back and looked at the tall oak with the bags hanging down the branches. She lay down on the ground where, surrounded by yellow grass and fallen leaves, she felt protected and hidden from everyone. The place was silent; only the leaves, when shaken by the gentle breeze, swished and rustled. Electra smiled faintly when the morning air caressed her weary eyes. She would happily remain there, would bury herself in the long autumn grass and take a nap at last. She looked up at the sky through the branches of the trees. Endless white clouds were glistening in the sun. Feeling calmer and overtaken by fatigue, Electra lowered her eyelids and fell asleep.

### 16. The Maiden and the Minstrel Knight

Eric's day started the same way: helping Uncle Albert around the house, feeding the horse, painting the fence, and sharpening the sickle and knives. After completing his chores, he picked up his guitar and walked to a meadow on the West Bank. He had been going there for the last few days, sitting under a willow tree and practicing music. He was comfortable playing there; he could sit in the meadow for hours, strum the guitar and not worry about tiring his relatives.

Passing under the maple's branches, Eric spotted a green speck upon the grass. Without taking his eyes off the ground, he paced to the big oak, and to his surprise, the green stain turned out to be a dress. Eric stared at the girl lying on the grass. Her eyes were closed, her fiery hair scattered over the grass, mingled with the yellow leaves.

Eric bowed down over her, fearing that something had happened to the girl. He reached for her hand, but catching the movement of her eyelids, pulled his hand back. She was sleeping, and he decided not to wake her up. Eric recognized one of the witches, and wondered why someone would be afraid of her. With the softness of the clear morning on her face, she seemed benign, delicate, and harmless. Her face was calm, eyelids were adorned with the longest lashes, and the rosy lips were so expressive that he had to force himself to stop looking at the lovely creature lying before him.

He couldn't play the guitar because it might wake her up, but he also couldn't go away and leave her, fearing something might happen to her while she was asleep and completely helpless. Was she not afraid to sleep in the middle of the clearing? What if instead of him, someone less friendly passed there? Eric sat under the tree some steps away from the soundly sleeping girl.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but he continued to sit there and guard the red-haired witch's sleep. He was afraid to leave her. They were not far from the river bank; the wooden bridge was near, and anyone from the East Bank could pass by.

Finally, Electra stirred. She rubbed her eyes and neck, spread her arms to the sides, and took a deep breath. Eric was afraid to startle the girl who didn't seem to notice anything around. He stirred slightly, and the dead leaves rustled under his feet. Electra raised her head and gaped at him.

"Forgive me, please," Eric hastened to say. "I didn't want to scare you."

She stared at him, seeming startled, even scared.

"I really didn't mean to scare you." Eric stood up and walked over to her. "If you mind me being here, I shall leave."

"I don't mind," she whispered.

Eric picked up the guitar from the ground, sat on the grass, and ran his fingers over the strings.

"Do you like music?"

She nodded.

Eric couldn't take his eyes off his unexpected companion. He looked at the fiery waves of her hair, at the silver sparkle in her gray eyes, at her delicate hands, considering her to be a forest nymph.

"Are you Electra or Cassandra?"

"Electra," she said with a smile.

"I'm Eric."

He had never talked to a witch before. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, but didn't know how to start. Would she answer him if he asked about the flying brooms? Or about witchcraft? How many witches lived in Hollow? And did they really move things without touching them?

But all he dared to ask was about the whispering garden.

"That's Enchanted Garden," Electra said. "The place where the reveries talk to you and call into the long-forgotten dreams."

"It's magical, isn't it? That garden, and this whole town."

Electra smiled. "After coming here, you probably have understood that this is another place."

"What do you mean with another? Another town? Another country? Another—?"

"Place." Electra looked up at the afternoon sun. "I have to go."

"Can we meet again?"

She cast her eyes down. "I'm not sure."

"Don't say we can't meet because we're from different banks. Does it matter so much?"

Electra nodded.

"What if I tell you I'll keep our meeting a secret?"

She bit her lips and looked away.

"I promise, no one on the East Bank will learn about our meeting. But please, tell me this is not the last time that we talk. Tell me we shall meet again." He took her hand in his and she blushed till the roots of her hair.

"Alright," she said at last.

"When? Where shall we meet?"

"Tomorrow, at two o'clock, at the bridge nearby."

"I'll wait for you."

Eric watched her tread across the meadow. She had long disappeared, but he was still looking after her. He had just talked to a witch, who rides a broom and talks to animals. He chuckled. It couldn't be real; witches didn't exist. But she was real, and beautiful like a fairy.

When Eric returned home, he found Albert and Riona quarreling. He had no wish to interfere in a family spat and turned back to the door when Uncle Albert called after him.

"Eric, come here!"

Eric sat down at the table.

"I had warned you, right?" Uncle Albert said. "Can you explain the reason for this disobedience?"

"Leave him," Riona intervened, but Albert didn't pay her attention.

"You must have always behaved like this, if my poor cousin couldn't cope with you."

"Albert, leave the boy alone. I made him go with me."

"Aunt Riona, don't lie for me. She didn't make me go with her. I went there because I was curious."

"Both of you are ungrateful and don't respect me. This morning, one of my friends asked me why my wife was heading down the road that leads to the witch's lair, and who was the lad with her. And I didn't know what to answer!"

"Uncle Albert, no need to shout. What's so terrible about taking a walk on the other side of the town?"

"Why?" Albert yelled, ignoring Eric. "Why did you go there? You went to see the witch, didn't you? And you took with you the boy, who's under my guidance. You have completely lost your mind, woman!"

"Albert, stop shouting. If not for Andromeda's potion, Caitlin wouldn't have recovered so quickly. I went there to help her—"

Albert banged his fist on the table. "Silly woman! What have you done? Do the McCormacks know you've met the witch?"

"They don't. I only gave Caitlin a few drops of a soothing potion. She quickly recovered. I couldn't help it, Albert, she needed Andromeda's sedatives."

"Silly woman!"

"Uncle Albert, stop insulting her. She did it to help your neighbor."

"Boy, what do you know about the witches to talk to me in that tone? You're in my house, you live at my expense, you eat my bread, you must obey me."

"Albert, could you stoop any lower?"

"I'll go pack my things," Eric said, and went to his room upstairs.

"How could you?" Riona reproached her husband. "You should be ashamed. First you yelled at me, then you insulted the child. I don't recognize you."

"I got heated, yes, I went too far." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Riona, you know I don't want to deal with those witches. Is it really so hard to stay away from them? They are nothing but trouble. You know well that the McCormacks own the farm that feeds us. What a strange child; why is he constantly defending those damned creatures?"

"You call them damned creatures, and yet that witch saved your life. When you were sick two years ago, when you were dying, and the doctor told me to prepare for your funeral, and the notary inquired why you hadn't written a will, who do you think saved you? Who, if not Andromeda? Whose potion did I give you in secret? Don't judge people only by rumors, Albert. And now go to Eric and apologize to him."

Eric was packing his suitcase when Albert knocked at the door. He had come to apologize and didn't allow Eric to leave the town. He needed him to be around, to help him with the household chores. After all, little Henry was still too young to paint the fence, repair the furniture, or feed the horse.

"But you have to promise me you'll stay away from the witches," he said in the end.

Eric couldn't give him that promise. He wanted to learn more about Electra and her family.

"I'll try to stay out of trouble," he said. It didn't mean he wouldn't meet Electra; it only meant he'd try to keep his meetings a secret.

### 17. Magic Ink

Eric was waiting for Electra at the wooden bridge, glancing at his watch every other minute. What if she doesn't come? he kept thinking. But at two o'clock, she appeared atop a stallion, its mane gray and braided.

"Tell me more about Hollow," he asked when they were sitting by the bank of the river. "Why is it divided into two sides?"

Her smile faded away and she looked at the babbling water. "Would you like to see a trick?"

Eric nodded.

"I'm not supposed to show this, but I'm sure you won't tell anyone." Electra stretched her hand to the flowers, and a butterfly landed into her open palm. She gently clasped her fingers, waited, then unclasped her fist. Five large butterflies fluttered their wings in the air and scattered over the meadow. Eric laughed, trying to figure out how she did it. It had either been a very good trick, or magic.

"Are you a sorceress?"

Electra chuckled. "We're called differently."

"Fairies?"

She giggled. "Think better."

Laughing, Eric rubbed the edges of her long hair, then pushed a red lock behind her ear.

Dinah.

Her name exploded in his head. Why was he thinking about Dinah now? He went on a walk with her yesterday...

"What's wrong?"

Eric shook his head. "Nothing. Show me more."

Electra stretched her hand to the river and moved it slowly up and down. Water rose into the air and thickened beneath her palm. "Look up," she said, lying down on the grass. Eric lay beside her and looked up at the water dancing above their heads. Electra drew an invisible line in the air, and the water repeated the move, leaving a trail of airborne droplets. Gaping, Eric lifted up his hand, but the water didn't obey him. Electra put her palm over his, and together they began to draw patterns in the air. She squeezed his hand and scribbled something, and the water formed letters above their heads:

E R I C

"Unbelievable. How do you do this? Can this be learned?"

"Some things you can, but it's not easy; magic requires concentration and hard work."

"Could you teach me? Teach me magic, and I'll teach you to play the guitar."

"That could be a nice addition to my musical skills."

"Really? How many instruments do you play?"

"Let me think. Piano, violin, flute, bodhrán—"

"No way! How old are you?"

"Seventeen in May."

"And when have you managed to learn it all? I never have enough time."

"Indeed? You know, many musicians had the same amount of time that you have—24 hours a day."

"Ah, condemnation!"

"Just offering advice about spending the time more wisely. You know, we can't take it back."

"So, will you teach me magic? Or is this some sort of family secret?"

Electra was about to answer when someone called her by her name. They turned to the voice, and the water in the air splashed over their faces. Electra shrieked.

"Side effects?" Eric said through laughter.

"I was distracted." She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her wet face.

Cassandra approached the duo astride a horse. "El, we've been looking for you everywhere," she said, staring at Eric.

"Hi." Eric waved to her.

Cassandra hesitantly waved back. Electra got up. "This is my sister, Cassandra. Cassie, this is Eric." She turned to Eric. "I have to go."

"When shall we meet again?"

Electra opened a leather bag hanging from her saddle, and pulled out a package wrapped in paper.

"I brought this for you. There are paper, a quill pen, and ink inside the package. Tonight, at eleven sharply, take the paper out and read it," she whispered in his ear.

Eric watched her until she and her sister were out of sight. He went home, and again had to lie to Albert about where he had been. Eric wondered what was going to happen when his uncle found out where he had been going. He was sure the punishment would follow quickly, and since Eric was already out of the age when one was put in a corner, he'd probably be sent home. He didn't want to leave Hollow. Someday he'd have to return home, but there was still time until the end of the winter.

He met Dinah in the evening. She was beautiful as always, but he thought about how cold and distant she seemed at times. There was envy in her eyes when they were near the river. After staring at the other side of the Sirtalion, she began to throw pebbles at the flowers and trees on the West Bank. When the boats on the river started taking passengers, she asked Eric to take a ride with her, but he refused, using the cold as an excuse. The time was approaching and he had a thing to do at eleven. He went to his room, sat by the window and stared at the forest.

At night, the forest looked ominous. It was no longer brightly colored. There were no orange leaves, no yellow-green grass. There was only one color—black. Black trees, shrubs, and their black shadows. Sometimes it seemed that deep in the forest a silvery light glimmered, but as soon as Eric squinted at it, the light instantly disappeared.

The clock struck eleven. Eric opened the package and looked at the paper. It was clean except where his name was written on the upper edge. Why did Electra tell him to look at the paper at exactly eleven? Maybe she wanted to make fun of him? But what was the point of the joke?

Blots appeared on the sheet, or so it seemed at first. Looking closely, Eric distinguished small, handwritten letters. He was sure that a second ago the paper was clean, without a trace of ink. He brought the sheet closer to his eyes.

"Eric?" was written in beautiful letters.

He read his name almost a hundred times, convinced himself that his vision wasn't deceiving him, then took his pen and wrote under the line:

"Yes."

He counted the seconds: one, two, three, four... a new line appeared on the paper:

"Thought you fell asleep. What are you doing?"

"Electra, is that you?"

"Were you waiting for someone else?"

"I can't believe this. I'm writing to you, and you're answering. How do you do this?"

"I'm not doing anything; it's the ink. Use it sparingly."

"Write in short words?"

"Yes."

Eric sniggered. Reclining on the bed, he was sending her messages from the other side of the town and getting delighted after each received line.

"Shall I see you tomorrow?"

"At four, at the bus stop," she wrote, and bade goodbye.

He was an hour early, as always. She came out of a house nearby, with a wicker basket in her hand. When he hurried to meet her, she asked him to pass on the West Bank.

"Do you have to stay away from the East Bank all the time?"

"We avoid it as much as possible. But my Uncle is from the East Bank and has relatives there. I was visiting Mrs. Robinson. She's sick and likes it when I read for her."

"What have you got there?" Eric asked, peeking at the books in her basket.

"Today poetry. Mrs. Robinson and I love poetry."

"Will you read for me?"

She shrugged with a smile.

"I like poetry, too." He smiled back, letting small dimples appear on his cheeks.

After a bit of begging, Electra took one of the books, opened it to the page with a bookmark, and began to read:

"From thee, Eliza, I must go,

And from my native shore;

The cruel fates between us throw

A boundless ocean's roar:

But boundless oceans, roaring wide,

Between my love and me,

They never, never can divide

My heart and soul from thee.

"Farewell, farewell, Eliza dear,

The maid that I adore!

A boding voice is in mine ear,

We part to meet no more!

"But the latest throb that leaves my heart,

While Death stands victor by,

That throb, Eliza, is thy part,

And thine that latest sigh!"

Eric listened in silence. Her voice was calm and soothing. And the poem was sad. It made him think about parting. He didn't want to part with Hollow, and with the girl sitting next to him.

"Read something else," he said, when Electra finished. She flipped through a few pages and read another poem:

"My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer.

A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;

My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go.

"Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North

The birth place of Valour, the country of Worth;

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

"Farewell to the mountains high cover'd with snow;

Farewell to the straths and green valleys below;

Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods;

Farwell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods.

"My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here,

My heart's in the Highlands a-chasing the deer

Chasing the wild deer, and following the roe;

My heart's in the Highlands, wherever I go."

They sat on the bench, reading poetry until the sun began to set behind the mountains. The last rays burned the thick branches of the far lone oak tree with orange light. For some time the clouds were still aglow with the weakening sunlight streaming above the horizon lost in purple and violet. Then the shadows gradually covered the bright moorland and the bench, banishing the remaining light from the spacious meadows. Hollow slowly sank into evening.

### 18. The Bard's Song

The next two days Eric didn't have a chance to meet with Electra, and as always resorted to the magic ink, hoping to arrange a meeting with the girl who didn't leave his mind for a second. Electra promised to meet with him the following night if Eric would come to the wooden bridge. There was no way he would cancel the meeting. He'd be there even if he had to leave through the window in his bedroom to avoid giving an explanation to Uncle Albert.

"Bring the guitar. Good night," Electra wrote in the end.

The night would have been good if not for the cries outside. The voices sounded from far away, and were so piercing and dreadful that the soul froze. Several times during the night Eric got out of bed and stood by the window. A peal of thunder boomed over the town, tearing the sky. Eric shut the window and stared into the dark emptiness, while the angry storm lashed out, pouring rain in loud torrents. He listened to the cries that were coming from the grisly forest and black hills. Silver lights were again teasing his curiosity and luring the imagination into the woods.

The next night, Eric at last entered that dark forest and looked at it from the inside.

"Today is the longest lunar eclipse." Electra pointed at the sky. The moon's round shell was covered by a black sphere. "We're going into Mysterious Forest, to sit by the fire."

Eric often wondered why the forest was named so, and what was so mysterious about it. The deeper they went, the foggier the road became. Electra asked Eric to stay close and warned him not to go after the lights that faded into the far mist. Eric walked in-between the bent trees enshrouded in a faint vapor. If Electra hadn't been carrying a lamp, he would have taken the old oak for a stone troll, and the bushes for a wood goblin. The owls on the trees gazed at him. Sometimes the branches clung to his clothes, and Eric thought that it was intentional. Then he caught movement in the mist. Deep in the woods, surrounded by a gray cloud, dark silhouettes were making their way through the fog. Those were men in long cloaks with hoods; some of them wore capirots on their heads.

"Electra, look there. Who are they?"

"Come here." She took his hand.

"But who are they? Monks? Wizards?"

Electra gazed at the ghostly shadows moving among the trees. She shook her head. "Let's go."

Eric followed her, sometimes turning and looking at the silhouettes, wondering who they were and where they were going. Hollow had more secrets than he had imagined.

Electra's sisters and friends were sitting around a small fire on a clearing. Electra introduced them his new friend, and they sat between Medea and Cassandra, who were toasting marshmallows. The girls offered sticks with the sweets to Eric. They were smiling, unlike their cousin, who looked at Eric with a frown and suspicion. He was grim most of the time. The golden haired girl next to him nudged him once in a while, but all Jack did was staring at Eric, forgetting about the stick over the fire. All of his marshmallows turned into a charred mass.

"Eric, how great it is that you've brought the guitar with you," Medea said. "Before you came, Hector was playing the flute. Perhaps you'll play something together?"

"Sure," Eric said. "But only after I eat my marshmallow."

"We still have a lot of them." Cassandra waved her bag. "Four to five pounds."

"I'm so happy I'm in the forest at night," Medea said dreamily. "By the way, how much time do we have?"

"There's still enough time. You'll manage to gorge all that you've brought," Jack muttered.

"What's the matter with you?" Cassandra said. "Why are you spoiling everyone's mood?"

"I spoil?"

"Yes, you. You sit there as if bitten by a hedgehog."

"Hedgehogs don't bite."

"Oh, they do!" Medea said.

"Alright, that's enough," Hector said. "Why quarrel? This is a wonderful night, and we all are having good time."

Everyone became silent. For some time, Eric strummed his guitar, looking at Electra and her sisters, then glancing at Jack who was still grim and sullen. "Tell me about Hollow," he said.

"Is there anything specific you want to know?" Hector asked.

"I don't even know what to start with. When my parents sent me here, they called it a village. Now I see that they had no idea what they were talking about."

"I'm sure you have already realized that Hollow is not an ordinary place. Things happen here that would never happen in other places."

Eric looked at Hector. His words produced a sea of new questions.

"This place lives by other rules. Many have tried to change them," Hector said, "but the attempts were not successful, and so they put up with Hollow."

"When you speak of 'many,' do you mean the people on the other side?"

"Yes," Medea said, "he means the people on the other side."

"I've noticed the townspeople don't always get along."

"Did you know that Dryas is also called Ptarmigan Grass?" Jack said.

"And what does it have to do with the townspeople?" Cassandra asked.

"Nothing. It was a desperate attempt to propose another topic for a conversation."

Medea chuckled, and turned to Eric. "Once upon a time, the town wasn't divided like this. The Sirtalion was flowing just like today, but there was no enmity between the two banks. Then things began to change. Strangers appeared and started a witch hunt."

"When did this happen?"

"More than a decade ago."

"You said people came. Who were they? Where did they come from?"

"They came from fire. They killed and pillaged. They murdered witches, and those who had nothing to do with witchcraft. They killed the keepers of knowledge, doctors, midwives, herbalists. The remains of our family fled to Walachia, the rest were killed. We lost our parents and relatives due to the war which started between those who defended the witches and their families, and those who switched sides and joined the hunt. Some time later, our aunt and uncle returned to Hollow and brought us back, but lots of... people chose to never come back."

While Medea was speaking, Eric was listening in silence. In the fire, he could see everything she told: the burning town, the bodies hanging down the gallows, the crows cawing above them. He saw creatures slaughtering women, chasing them, breaking the doors of their houses and dragging them to the square where the bonfires were burning, their flames reaching up to the sky. He saw black figures tying people to the logs in the middle of the brushwood, and a man and a woman being swallowed by the flames. He could hear them scream, and smell the smoke filled with the nauseous odor of burning flesh. He saw men smashing the great stone bridge with cudgels, destroying houses, burning stables; the same dark figures locking men and women in the dungeon, the torture mechanisms under the walls, the black coffins where the maidens were locked and buried alive. The visions were passing before his eyes, followed by tears and cries for mercy. The flames remembered everything. They were sparkling with yellow and red, telling the story of violence and hate. Then the fire strengthened; Eric stretched his hand to open the door of the house that was caught in flames. He could hear screams coming out of the chinks of the windows. Then the red flame bit his palm and made him wince.

"...as a result, the town was divided into two camps, and so far the majority on the other side don't want to have anything to do with us," Medea finished her story.

Eric touched the palm of his right hand. It was covered with a fresh burn. In searches for explanation, he glanced at Electra, then at Cassandra, who were silently looking into the fire.

"Only a few trails of wizardry are left on the East Bank. For example, Mr. Pickering's Old Curiosity Shop. It was always there, on the East Bank. Travelers and collectors of everything strange still visit him."

"Speaking of Pickering, tell me, could it be that you enter the shop in the afternoon and go out at night?"

The girls looked at him with wonder. "Sure, if you stayed there until night," Electra said.

Eric chuckled. "I meant that I entered the shop in the afternoon, spent a couple of hours there, and when I came out, it was already night."

"Ah," Cassandra laughed, "had you angered Mr. Pickering?"

"I don't know." Eric shrugged. "He might not have been happy to find me snooping through his things."

"No one likes that," Jack said grimly.

"Mr. Pickering could do that, but I don't think he was very angry with you. He probably was having fun at your expense," Electra said.

"Yes, having fun and stealing a few hours of his life," Medea laughed.

"What were you looking for at the Old Curiosity Shop? You know, lots of things in the shop have been made by our uncle," Electra, said "and Jack."

"Entered out of interest, found a job."

"Really? You work at Mr. Pickering's?"

"I'm a janitor there."

The girls cracked up.

"Indeed?" Electra giggled.

"Well yes, if someday you visit the shop, you'll see me in a janitor's uniform, with a broom in my hand," he jested.

A horse neighed somewhere close. A man wrapped in a black mantle dismounted the horse and treaded towards the fire. Eric stared at him, wondering if that was one of those silhouettes he had spotted in the mist. Coming closer, the man pulled back his hood and a smiling face looked around the fire.

"Did I imagine it, or was someone playing a guitar?"

The group around the fire squealed with joy.

"Who is he?" Eric asked in Electra's ear.

"The bard!"

"Who?"

"The bard," Cassandra said, leaning toward him.

Eric stared at the girls.

"A skald," Medea said.

"A wandering musician," Electra explained.

The bard sat by the fire next to Eric. "Young man, was it you playing?" He took a musical instrument from his back: a beautiful harp-guitar, with fourteen strings, curves and patterns.

"How good it is to see so many happy faces," the bard said, looking at the youngsters.

"Will you sing for us?" Cassandra asked. "We've been dreaming about it for so long."

"Long?" the bard thought aloud. "Yes, so much time has passed. Sometimes I lose count, for you know, it is not difficult, if you don't count. But right when I go back to the places I have been once, it seems those centuries have never passed."

"Centuries?" Eric whispered. "Is he delusional?"

Electra put her finger to her lips. "Wait. He might sing for us."

Eric looked at Cassandra and Medea for explanation, but they were gazing at the bard with undisguised admiration and seemed to not notice anyone else around them.

The bard strummed the strings, and stopped. His audience applauded happily.

"Shall we sing The Bard's Song?"

"Yeees!" young people shouted.

Then the bard's song began. Sitting around the campfire, the young people sung with him the song that sounded in the forest for centuries, the music that few people had the luck to hear, the mellifluous tune that caressed the forest's trees and restored its life. The song about the time that was almighty, the life that was endless, and the bards—the timekeepers, who guided the gates of time, collected the stories, turned them into legends, and shared them with the new world.

After the last tunes, everyone burst into applause.

"The bard's song is the finest thing in the world!" Medea exclaimed. "Will you sing again?"

The bard smiled.

"Oh, please," asked the others.

"Please, sing again."

"Don't leave us so early."

"We have always dreamed about meeting you."

"Very well." He pulled out a bag from the pocket of his cloak. "Let us turn this night into magic." The bard strewed silver pollen into his palm and blew it into the fire. Sparkling silver rain blinded Eric's eyes. When his sight returned to him, he couldn't believe what he was seeing. He was standing in the middle of a chamber lighted by torches and candles, and full of people in seemingly strange clothes.

"Masquerade?" Eric mused out.

It was noisy and crowded. People in medieval garbs were dancing in the center of the chamber, tables in the corners were heavy with viands and drinks. Among the musicians near the wall Eric recognized the bard, who was in the forest with him only a second ago. His lively music was filling the great hall, setting up the guests for a dance.

Before Eric decided he had totally lost his mind, Electra, wearing a long emerald dress, with ribbons in her hair, ran up to him and took his hand.

"Eric! Let's go dance."

"Wait a minute! Where are we? Who are these people? What's happening?"

She laughed. "The world we live in is another skald's dream."

While Eric was thinking about the next question, Electra dragged him into the middle of the chamber. As strange as it was, Eric knew how to dance the medieval dance. Mingling with twenty other dancing couples, he and Electra circled across the chamber, holding hands, jumping and clapping. Eric couldn't take his eyes off her when she was spinning around him. He was somewhere in the Middle Ages, in the king's hall, with the most beautiful maiden, and if it was a dream, he didn't want to ever wake up.

Music kept on playing, and the dancing didn't stop. Eric and Electra were joined by Cassandra and Medea, who were holding hands of two young men dressed in a colorful camisole and a huque decorated with an emblem. Eric had long noticed that he too was in a similar attire, but he wasn't surprised anymore. He took Electra by her waist, lifted her into the air and spun her around. They spun until he got dizzy and closed his eyes. He could still hear her laughter and feel her hair tickling his face. The music began drifting away, and soon everything was over.

### 19. Blue Castle

Eric opened his eyes. For the first few seconds he couldn't figure out where he was. He was still wearing his clothes, he even had his sneakers on. Rubbing his eyes and looking around, Eric recognized his room in the O'Brians' house. He tried to remember the night before and how he had reached home. He remembered the forest, the bard; he remembered the king's hall and his friends, but how the feast ended, and how he returned home, remained a mystery.

He wondered where Electra and her company were. He reached his hand out to the bedside table, turned over the sheet of paper and saw a new inscription:

"Today at five come for dinner. If you forgot the road, ask."

Eric laughed. No matter how much he used the ink and paper, the magic amazed him every time.

"Haven't forgotten," he wrote under her line.

A quiet knock came from the window. Eric saw a sparrow jumping on the snow-covered ledge. He drew the curtains and gaped from surprise. Winter had fallen over Hollow. A thick layer of snow had covered the town; the fog and frost were hanging over the forest and the river. The branches of the trees had bent under the weight of the first snow, and the shrubs had turned into white hills. The heavy sky had fallen on the distant mountains. Fluffy snowflakes were swirling in the air and glittering icicles were hanging above Eric's window. Snowmen were already standing near the houses, and children were running outside, carrying sleighs.

The winter brought a lot of trouble. With a shovel in his hands, Eric spent almost an hour scraping the snow off the porch and the yard. The work could have been done faster, if Henry hadn't gotten underfoot all the time, trying to help him. He was more a hindrance than a help, but Eric loved the waggish boy and didn't want to drive him away. Henry continually threw snowballs at him and asked for help to make a snowman. Eleanora came outside, and they began to battle with snowballs. Several times Riona called them inside to drink tea and warm up, but the snow fight didn't end until Henry and Eleanora pushed Eric into the snow and declared themselves the winners.

Someone clapped by the fence. In a fur hat and a white coat, with a rosy blush on the cheeks, Dinah McCormack looked like a snow doll.

"Isn't it lovely weather?"

"It is," Eric panted from the ground.

"We're going to make a big snowman in the square. Are you coming?"

When Eric refused the invitation, Dinah and Eleanora stared at him with surprise.

"I'm tired, and wet from head to feet, but Nora and Henry will go with you, right?" Eric looked at Eleanora. She took her brother's hand and left with Dinah. Eric could tell Dinah was displeased, but he had other plans for the day. He was supposed to be at Pickering's and would visit Electra after work, if Pickering didn't play the trick with time on him.

As always hiding his face under a cap, and trying to evade Uncle Albert's friends and neighbors, Eric went to the Old Curiosity Shop on the East Bank. Pickering wasn't there, and Eric had to attend to the customers alone. It was almost five when he left the shop. He tried to cross the square quickly and quietly, but it wasn't necessary, as Dinah and her company were no longer there. Instead, there was a huge, ten-foot tall snowman by the bronze fountain. Eric paced quickly across the stone bridge. On the way he met Mr. O'Leary, the gardener, who was making ice sculptures that adorned the streets and yards of both of the banks. When Eric shook hands with him, the gardener was working on a unicorn.

The blue castle stood out more on the white background. From the distance it looked like a blue stain on the white meadows, bordered by a row of snow-covered evergreens and misty mountains. Jack was shoveling snow in the yard when Eric came in through the open gate. Then Electra appeared and took him on a tour in the castle, while Cassandra and Medea were laying the table.

The castle's library was impressing. According to Eric, even his town library didn't have so many books. Some of the volumes were in crumpled covers, while others were intact, and many were decorated with symbols and patterns. There were books that looked like pieces of art, with bindings made of leather or silver, and letters written in gems or pearls. Some of the titles were in Latin, Gaelic, Armenian, and Romanian—with shiny embossed letters.

Electra took Eric to the fireplace hall. It was large, with a floor tiled in patterns of centaurs, and antique furniture made of red wood. Meticulous carvings of mermaids adorned the tall chandeliers and lamps with crystal lampshades. An enormous fireplace, which occupied almost the whole western wall, was flanked with figures of horned fauns and bats with pointy wings, and its fire was so big that the spacious hall was warm despite the freezing weather. The hall was full of paintings—most of them portraits. Eric stared at a gray-haired man with a short crooked beard and a pair of pince-nez over the bridge of his nose, smiling from the canvas. He was strange looking, not because of the funny beard and hairdo, but because he was wearing a nightcap with a star on its edge and fluffy slippers, although he was in a rich suit, sitting in a velvet armchair, and holding a quill pen in his hand.

"That's Grandfather Grindewald, the wisest grandpa in the whole world," Electra said. "He's a famous wizard, a magician. The magic ink and quill pens are his inventions. He lives in a palace in Walachia, where we pay him visits sometimes."

"A wizard? Well, yes, he reminds me of the wizards from children's books. Now I see where the illustrators get their inspiration. And who's this woman?" Eric looked at a beautiful woman with red hair, wearing a long blue dress and pearl earrings. She looked unhappy. Her gray eyes were glaring at something not visible in the painting. She was standing near an open window, and the scenery behind gave away her whereabouts—it was Hollow, with the mighty river and the great stone bridge.

"That is Grandmother Cordelia. She was a famous witch. She's Grandfather Grindewald's wife. This is an old painting. It was painted when she still lived in Hollow."

"You and Cassandra look a lot like your grandmother."

"Frankly, she's our great-grandmother. Our grandparents were killed during the witch hunt. Grindewald and Cordelia are our great-grandparents. But that word is too long, and we've chosen 'Grandpa' and 'Grandma' instead."

"They must be old."

"Indeed, they are. Older than you think."

"And who's this man?"

"That's the crazy mechanic, the inventor of everything strange and needful. If not for him, we would never have our flying umbrellas and saddles for brooms. Can you see those thick spectacles? He had to wear them because he had read thousands of books, and invented things you have never heard of. Marcus de Stinta was considered crazy. He would lock himself in his study and wouldn't come out for days. He wouldn't even eat anything until he had finished his invention. That's why he is so thin and pale-looking, and his clothing looks a size or two bigger than needed. He was Grandfather Grindewald's cousin on his mother's side. Sadly, he died at a very young age, without managing to bring to life all the sketches he had drawn."

The next painting was of a dark-haired woman with skin white as marble, and a cunning smile. She was wearing a long green dress, had a green veil over her head, and a large fuzzy spider perched on her shoulder.

"That's Morgaine. The fear of travelers who dared cross the forest. She'd weave spider webs and either trap the reckless wanderers or make their paths complicated with the labyrinths of web. She did a lot of mischief, caused much trouble."

"Is she alive?"

"I don't know. If she is, then she must be a hundred years old. She disappeared a long time ago, and no one knows what happened to her. She might have been killed during the witch hunt, or might be hiding somewhere in the depths of the forest. It is said that if you try, you can cheat the time there."

Eric looked at Morgaine's cunning face. Her archness was masterfully passed onto the canvas, and her sly smile hid more secrets than he would ever know. Morgaine looked into his eyes and winked. Eric stood dumbfounded.

"And this is Archibald, Grandpa Grindewald's long-gone brother." Electra stopped in front of another painting.

"Seems like a pleasant old man," Eric said about the red-haired man with a cane, in tartan clothing, sitting on a rock under the sunshine, with a white lamb at his heels. The painting was abundant in light and green, which was in great contrast to the previous one.

"He was, indeed. Archibald could talk to animals and never left the house at night, as he was allergic to the moon."

"Allergic to the moon? Does that happen?"

"Sadly it does. And sadly, Medea has inherited that disease. She too never goes out at night."

"Medea? How sad. Isn't there a cure?"

"No. There is only one night when she can go out without harm, and that's Halloween. The rest of the time she stays at home."

"But she was in the forest yesterday."

"Because there was an eclipse yesterday."

They continued to stroll across the hall. Eric passed before the paintings, getting to know the strange members of the no-less-strange family, which included a witch, an alchemist, a wizard, another witch, a scientist, an astrologer, twin warlocks, triplet witches, a conjurer. Some looked funny, some sad. Some gazed proudly, some were sinister. Those painted people seemed extraordinary, fairytale characters. Eric couldn't believe they lived in his world, for in his world there was no place for sorcerers who invented flying umbrellas, wizards who created magical inks, and witches who brewed potions and rode brooms.

"Can I ask you something? You don't have to answer if you find it insulting."

"What is it?" Electra asked.

"I always thought that witches were evil, and that they caused harm and cooperated with the dark forces. But you and your sisters are the sweetest girls I've ever met. How is that?"

"Witches are not always evil," she answered with a smile. "That's not true—a misinformation, started by people who do not or cannot accept anything extraordinary, anything that is out of their understanding. They call us foul and damned, for they don't believe that someone who has more powers than them, doesn't necessarily use those powers for evil."

"What about Morgaine? She was evil."

"Sadly she was. And not only her. But aren't there bad people among those who aren't witches? Bad people are everywhere; we can't change it. We need darkness to appreciate the light. Still, none of my family members are malicious—neither my aunt nor my sisters."

"My cousin Eleanora said you're not sisters. Is that true?"

"It is," Electra said, leading him to the stairs. "We're cousins. But we grew up together, shared and still share everything, and our love for each other makes us even dearer than sisters."

They ascended to the landing of the third floor with closed doors and mazing corridors. Draped curtains hung over the doors, hiding them up to the middle.

"How many rooms are in your house?"

"A lot."

"What's behind these doors?"

"Rooms."

"Are they inhabited?"

"They are."

"But there are only six people in your family, and I've seen more than ten rooms already. Do you have a lot of guests?"

"You see, this castle was inhabited before us, thus we are the guests."

Eric looked at the doors with distrust. "Can we enter any of these rooms?"

"Not all of them. There are rooms where you can't go."

"And which ones can I enter?"

Electra led him to an oak door hidden under a thick blue drape with golden fringe. "I think no one is here now, you can open the door," she said.

Eric entered the dark room. Fingers snapped and candles burned in candlesticks, lighting up the corner. An unfinished tapestry with a castle, a drawbridge, and horse riders, hung from a loom against the wall.

"Whose room is this?"

"The Lady of Shallot's."

"Whose?"

"The Lady of Shallot. She's not here now, but she'll come back. We can't be here long. We shouldn't disturb the inhabitants of the rooms."

"Who is she?"

"Have you not heard of her?" Electra asked:

"But who hath seen her wave her hand?

Or at the casement seen her stand?

Or is she known in all the land,

The Lady of Shallot?"

Those lines were unfamiliar to Eric. He looked around, wondering how someone could live there. There were no windows and no bed inside the room. He stopped in front of an oval mirror with nothing reflected inside. Eric ran his hands before the mirror, but still didn't see his reflection.

"Isn't this a mirror?"

"It is."

"But how can it be?"

"Let's go downstairs," Electra said. "The table is laid already."

Just as he was about to go out of the room, for a split second, something glimpsed in the mirror. Eric could swear he saw a town, or rather a stone bridge and a castle in the background, and people passing across the bridge. He barely had time to draw Electra's attention to the mirror, when the images disappeared.

"And why is it not allowed to enter the other rooms?"

"There are dwellers who can't be bothered, dwellers who, to their great regret, can't leave the rooms. And there are also rooms where it can be dangerous for a person who doesn't know what to expect."

"Will you tell me what's behind the other doors?"

"I will, but not now." She opened the door to the dining room. "Now I really want to eat."

There was a variety of appetizing dishes on the table: roast turkey, vegetable soup, and carrot casserole; mashed potatoes with rosemary, cranberry sauce, and biscuits with cinnamon. Medea kept telling Eric how long and hard they had been cooking for him because they didn't know his preferences.

"I'm sorry you had to do so much because of me," he said. "I'm not really picky about food."

"Medea is exaggerating. We didn't work in the kitchen all day, and we were pleased to cook for you because you're our guest," said Cassandra.

"Thank you, everything is delicious."

The only one not talking around the table was Jack. He was eating in silence, sometimes frowning at Eric. Only the infrequent sound of the cutlery in his hands betrayed his presence.

Taking advantage of the moment when Cassandra was talking to Eric, Medea put a piece of chicken on her plate. When she turned back to her food, Cassandra scowled and looked around the table.

"Who put this into my plate?"

Everyone looked at Medea.

"Take it back." Cassandra picked the drumstick with the tips of her fingers, and threw it at Medea.

"Thank you."

"Silly."

"Cassandra doesn't eat meat," Electra explained to Eric.

"A vegetarian?"

"I'm afraid she has other principles." Medea pursed her lips. "You see, she doesn't eat those whom she talks to."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't listen to her," Electra said. "We all are picky. I don't eat red meat, Cassandra doesn't eat meat at all—"

"And I eat everything," Medea declared.

Eric laughed. "Cassandra, do you really talk to animals?"

She blushed. "Not with all of them... it depends."

"Oh, don't be so modest, my dear. One day she will be a master of auspice," Medea said, then added thoughtfully, "We ought to pay more attention to her words."

After dinner the girls took Eric to the fireplace hall for a dessert. The coffee table was breaking under the amount of chocolate cupcakes, pineapple doughnuts, a strawberry cake with whipped cream, a cherry pavlova, lemon ice-cream, and hazelnut cookies. Eric couldn't believe they had prepared that all just for him.

"What beautiful cats you have," he said about the cats in their laps.

"This is Trouble." Electra took the snow-white cat's snout to her lips. "My little joy," she muttered, kissing the cat's nose.

"Is it an optical illusion or do her eyes have different colors?"

"Her one eye is blue and the other is green."

"And here is Sorrow." Medea fondled the Russian Blue cat with emerald eyes.

"Death," said Cassandra. She had a fluffy Persian cat lying on her knees.

"Strange names for these lovely cats."

"Cats are designed to ward off bad things, and in this case, they should drive away trouble, sorrow, and death."

Eric excused himself to use the bathroom and was led to the second floor. As soon as Electra left, he looked at the spiral stairs and thought about the doors that shouldn't be opened. He knew it was wrong to look into the rooms behind the closed doors, but he was spellbound, and the secrets behind the doors beckoned him to the third floor. He pulled the handle of the first door and peeped inside.

A forest alley stretched before the eyes.

Eric blinked and rubbed his eyes, but the alley didn't disappear. The smell of pine needles tickled his nose, and the sun's warm rays spread through the foliage. Flocks of scarlet leaves were flying leisurely across the alley, swaying from side to side and landing on the yellow grass. This door wasn't a way out of the house. First, it was on the third floor; second, it was winter outside; and third, it was already dark, while it was light behind the door, as if the sun had recently risen.

How much he wanted to take a step forward and see whether it was real or a trick, an optical illusion. He recalled Electra's words about dangers behind the doors. He had to be reasonable and stay out. But he still stepped over the threshold, holding the door with one hand so it wouldn't shut behind him.

Someone appeared at the end of the alley. It was a horseman, and he must have noticed Eric, as he set his horse to a trot and darted forward. With the knock of the hooves, the yellow leaves whirled over the road, and a shower of leaves gushed down the trees. It would have been very beautiful, if not for the horseman racing at Eric. He was already close. Realizing the rider would soon overtake him, Eric jumped out and slammed the door behind him.

He took a deep breath and let out a nervous titter. What a strange place, he thought, what a house. Then he looked at the other door. He was even more curious to know what was behind it. Without thinking it through, Eric pulled on the handle. It was dark inside. The only light came from a barred window. Eric saw a dress reaching to the floor, and long hair. There was a woman in the room, looking out the window. She turned around, and the door slammed shut in front of his nose.

"What are you doing? You shouldn't bother the people behind the doors."

Eric looked at Electra, then back at the door. "Sorry, I couldn't help it."

"This is not an ordinary house. These doors, they are portals; they lead to other places and other times. We have no right to intervene. And even if we wished, we shouldn't. No one should change the course of history."

"You're not mad at me for opening the doors, are you?"

"I'm not," she said with a smile.

"Sometimes I think I'm going crazy, or that I'm still sleeping at the bus stop, and all this is just a dream. If you only knew how much I dread it."

"I'm not a dream," she said, "and this is not a dream, either."

Eric touched her hair, pushed a red lock behind her ear. "You're better than any dream."

She gave him a lovable smile and took his hand. "Let's go upstairs. There are interesting things you might like."

Electra took him to a chamber on the fourth floor. This room was larger than the one they had entered before dinner, teemed with bottles, flasks, vials, books and albums, microscopes and telescopes. Eric sauntered across the room, looking at the phials with colored liquids, and at the enormous umbrellas leaning against the wall.

"Such big umbrellas," he said.

"To carry big weights."

"Don't tell me..."

She nodded with a giggle.

"Show me! Please, you have to."

Electra giggled louder. "One day I will, I promise."

### 20. Under the Ice

It snowed heavily during the night, and in the morning, the porch of O'Brians' house was once again covered with a thick layer of snow. Eric was shoveling the sleet, when Dinah appeared in the yard.

"Is it just me, or have you been avoiding my company recently?"

Without stopping his work, Eric assured her he wasn't avoiding her.

"Then will you go with me to the rink?"

"To the rink? Today?"

"Yes, right now. Please, let's go."

"I don't have skates—"

"Let's go to the store and choose skates for you. Oh, please, Eric, let's go."

"But I don't know how to—"

"I know, I'll teach you."

Eric tried to find another excuse, but after Dinah's persistent cajoling, he went to the store on the square after skates. The rink was full of people. Dinah hadn't lied, she skated well and helped Eric stay on the ice. After many falls and bruises, he at last learned to keep his balance. His friends from the East bank—Thomas, Marion, and Tim—were swirling around him. Sometimes Dickens appeared on the horizon, but fortunately the ice rink was big, and he quickly got lost in the crowd.

"O'Brian, which is more difficult—to ride or to skate?" Thomas asked, skating around Eric and Dinah.

"I don't even know. I could break my neck in both cases."

"You're a pessimist, O'Brian," Thomas shouted, sliding away from them.

"Hold my hand, we shall go faster." Dinah pulled Eric into the middle of the rink. Taking an awkward turn, he lost his balance and trundled on the ice, pulling Dinah down with him.

"You alright?" Eric asked her, holding her head above the ice.

"I'm fine," Dinah said with a giggle. Her long braids had wrapped around her neck, and her hat had flown from her head. Eric wanted to get up, but Dinah put her hands on his shoulders and pressed her lips to his. When Eric didn't answer her kiss, she flushed and stared him in the eyes.

Eric helped her to her feet, trying not to look at her. He had been dreaming about her since the first day he saw her, but now he couldn't even make himself answer that long-awaited kiss.

"I have to go," he said, and muttering a low, "sorry," left Dinah and the rink.

Eric had a long walk through the misty town. He strolled by the snow-covered arena, where no one was training anymore, then reached Enchanted Garden, and passed to the West Bank. He was thinking about the two girls from the opposite banks, when something sparkled in the distance. It was the icy lake, gleaming like a white saucer under the sun, with jagged mountains on one side and white poplars on the other. Eric looked at the chain of vast mountains with shining icy peaks, and at the deadly glaciers surrounded by the unstained white clouds and deep sunlight. He then looked at the frozen surface of the lake, wondering how solid it was and if it would break under his weight. He took a pebble and threw it on the ice. It didn't crack. Eric squatted, took off his glove, and rapped the ice with his fist. It echoed with a dull sound. He was about to put the glove back on his hand when he saw something stir beneath the ice. Something golden appeared under the ice, like algae. But algae isn't golden. He leaned closer to the lake, desperate in his curiosity, holding onto the branches of a withered bush, and keeping his other hand on the surface of the lake. He felt his skin grow cold and was just about to take his hand away when a palm touched the ice from the other side. Eric bounced back. It was a human hand, white and slender. Someone is drowning, he thought, bending over the ice and looking for the hand. Still holding onto the branches, Eric tried to capture the motion. The golden algae reappeared, but it wasn't algae at all. Hair drifted slowly in the water. Eric banged his fist on the ice, trying to break it. Someone was drowning and the quicker he broke the ice, the higher were the chances to save them. He ran out onto the ice and squatted a few feet in. The ice could break at any second, but Eric wasn't thinking about it. Once again the hand appeared before his eyes. It stroked the ice from the other side. Eric saw long fingers, a hand, a shoulder. He gaped at the person staring back at him. It was a girl with a pale face and golden hair, and she wasn't drowning, but smiling at him while sinking deeper into the darkness. She was going down, and he was looking after her, thinking that she was drowning and that he had imagined her smile. Eric raised his head and looked around him.

"HELP! ANYBODY!"

Something hit the ice and cracked it, tossing icy shards all around the lake. Eric rushed to the hole and was grabbed by the collar and dragged into the water.

He tried to resist, but she held him tightly. Her face was inches from his; she was smiling while he tried to pull out of her grasp. The girl dragged him down into the abyss. Eric was still holding in his breath, but he knew it wouldn't last long. Air, he thought. Give me air. His lungs were unable to hold back any longer, they needed to take a sip of air. Then she touched his face with her icy lips. It was a strange kiss, and it could bring him only death.

Eric opened his mouth, and when she tossed her head back, the cold water rushed into his gullet. Only a few agonizing seconds, and everything would be over. Eric tried to fight for life, but strength was leaving him. It was his end.

But it ended differently. The girl rushed up, carrying Eric with her. One mighty blow under the ice, then shards and drops flew aside. Eric's face appeared above the water and someone grabbed him firmly by the collar, pulling him out. It was Hector, holding Eric by the shoulders while he coughed out water.

"Are you alright? Eric, can you hear me?"

Eric was shaking; his teeth chattered so hard it seemed they were going to break. Hector dragged him to his carriage on the shore and took him to his house.

Wrapped in a blanket, Eric was sitting by the fire with a cup of hot tea. His hair was still wet, as well as his clothes hanging near the fireplace.

"You saved my life," he told Hector. "I'll never forget it."

"Nonsense. Anyone would've done the same. Luckily, you called for help, otherwise I wouldn't have suspected that someone was in trouble."

"How could she be under the water? How did she not drown?" He looked at Hector for an answer. "It was—"

"A mermaid."

"A mermaid?"

"A mermaid, a siren; call her as you like, but based on your story, it could be only her—long golden hair, pale face, and a tail with fins."

"Tail? There was no tail."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm not sure of anything, but she seemed so real."

"Mermaids are real, too."

"I don't remember seeing her tail."

"But did you see her legs?"

Thinking it over, Eric shook his head.

"How do you think she broke the ice before she pulled you under the water? I was standing on the shore when the ice shattered into pieces; they break it with their tails. And they also drown people. I don't know why she let you go, but believe me, you're very lucky."

"A mermaid tried to drown me. Am I dreaming?"

"I am assuring you that you're not sleeping. And then, why would you dream about me, when you have a charming witch to dream about?"

Eric laughed. "I don't remember if I have thanked you."

"You have. Many times. It's obvious you're glad to be alive." Hector chuckled. "But I never thought the mermaids would swim so close to the shore."

"I remember her dragging me down. I thought my ears would burst. It was dark there, but I continued to see her face, as if it was lit up by the glitter of her hair. Crazy town," he muttered under his breath. "Are there many such creatures in Hollow?"

"Not anymore. Once Hollow was a town inhabited by witches, wizards, and other magical creatures. But almost everyone was killed in the witch hunt. When the story with the split of the town began, I was a child and don't remember a lot. My father never speaks about it, because my mother died then. He doesn't tell me what really happened. My father always says the same thing—that my mother's death was an accident, but what happened in Hollow was far from an accident. Jack and I have recently begun searching for answers. We have learned a lot, but much is still hidden from us."

"What have you learned?"

"Somewhere in the forest there's an ancient castle. Once a road led to the castle, but then it overgrew with trees and was lost. Many years ago, people came from this castle—the Hunters. They split the town and began a massacre of witches and their families. Jack's aunts and their families were murdered. I think my mother was killed by them too, though she wasn't a witch."

"Then why would she be killed?"

"Because she was friends with the witches who were executed." Hector took a deep breath. "You can't even imagine what they did—those Hunters. They murdered, tortured, slaughtered. The mere thought that my mother might have been tortured by them make my blood freeze."

Eric remembered the night in the forest and the visions he had by the fire. He couldn't explain how, but he had seen what Hector was telling him. The murders, and the Hunters, and their victims. He looked at his hand. The burn, the only proof that his visions had come to life, was still there.

"Jack and I have found out that Sheriff De Roy and some of the residents of the East Bank had sided with the Hunters. That's why my father and Jack's parents keep silent. Jack has been arguing with them for months, but they won't tell the truth. They know if we learn the names of those who took part in the hunt, we'll take revenge on them. We're trying to find out ourselves, but we haven't learned as much as we need. People are still afraid to recall the events, even though so many years have passed. We've been looking for letters, diaries, journals."

Eric thought about the dinner in the McCormacks' house and how angry Peter McCormack became when they talked about the witches. He wondered what had been Peter McCormack's role in the witch hunt.

"How could something like that happen just a decade ago? The days of inquisition are long over."

"We know very little, but we're looking for the answers. I will find out how my mother died. If she was murdered, I'll find the one who did it."

"Do the girls know about all that?"

"They know about the witch hunt, but not the details. Jack and I found an old diary and learned things that would make your blood freeze, but Jack won't tell them about it. He protects them as much as he can."

"Do you think they may be back?"

"The Hunters?"

Eric nodded.

"Yes, they may come again. We've learned that they have been coming back to Hollow throughout centuries."

Eric ran his hand through his wet hair. "Hector, if I can do anything to help you in your search, just let me know. You can count on me. I know I'll be leaving soon, but still, if you feel I can be of help, just write to me, and I'll do my best to be back. I want to be sure that nothing like this happens again. Not to my friends."

Hector nodded in agreement.

### 21. Banshee

The girls were heading to the Old Curiosity Shop to hand Mr. Pickering the cuckoo clocks their Uncle had repaired. They passed the square as fast as they could, and after leaving the clocks in the shop, hurried to return to the West Bank. They walked through a cherry tree garden, passed near a half-finished ice statue, and took a seat on a bench.

"Your bags with herbs seem to help," Medea said. "The dark creature hasn't been appearing for the past days."

"Touch wood!" Cassandra stretched her hand to the bark of the nearest tree. "I can hardly wait till the new moon."

"Just a few more days," Electra said. "If you only knew how much I wish to end this nightmare. I have promised to never ever do anything like this again."

"I hope you haven't made a promise also on my behalf," Medea said. "For I am determined to become a great witch, and one mistake won't keep me away from witchcraft."

"To be a great witch first you need to develop a sense of responsibility," Electra chided her.

Medea snorted. "I didn't want to evoke a Ghost who would be scaring people. But it has happened, and the only thing I can do is wait for the new moon and banish him away."

"I'm scared to think of what might happen if anyone on the East Bank learns about our spell." Electra thought she heard a noise behind, but as she turned around, there was no one in the garden. "Did you hear that?"

Both shook their heads.

"There was someone," she whispered. "Someone heard us!"

"It's the wind moving the branches," Medea said.

"Are you sure?" Electra again looked around the garden. She was sure she had heard footsteps.

"Calm down, you're just too nervous. It's getting cold, let's return home."

"I am meeting Eric today."

"Isn't it ironic that of all the fellows in the world, you had to choose the one who lives on the East Bank?" Medea said. "Don't look at me like that. I know he's a good fellow, but don't forget about his neighbors. He's going to have big problems."

"I've told him. He says he doesn't care what his neighbors say, but he keeps our meetings a secret because his uncle has forbidden him to cross the river. He is so sweet. And so earnestly surprised when I show him tricks with witchcraft."

"You shouldn't be doing that," Cassandra warned her.

"I know, but he has promised me to keep it a secret, and for some reason I never doubt his words. He's so—"

"Good looking?" Medea finished instead.

"Honest."

"And good looking."

"Sweet."

"And good looking."

"Polite."

"And good looking!"

"Alright. He is good looking. Oh, he is so many things. I wish he wouldn't have to leave Hollow."

"Argh, when did you manage to fall in love like that?" Medea feigned disgust. "That's irritating."

Electra didn't say anything. She was counting the minutes when she would meet Eric, and smiling under her breath.

~ * ~

That night, Cassandra had a dream about the Ghost standing under the moon and howling. It wasn't the plague doctor, nor the witch. The Ghost had transformed into a silver-haired old woman and was letting out a loud, devastating wail.

Cassandra jumped up in bed. The voice still sounded in her ears, but she soon realized that it wasn't a dream; she could hear it even after she was awake: an eerie scream that seemed to come out of the depths of the darkness—frenetic, endless, and chilling. It was so dark that looking around, Cassandra barely distinguished the closed window from the gray walls of the bedroom. She turned to her sisters. Electra was sitting in the bed, listening to the voice outside.

"What is it?" Cassandra asked.

Frantic cries continued with temporary lulls. Medea opened her eyes and sat up. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Cassandra murmured. "A strange cry."

Electra went to the window. It would be dawning soon, but the sun wasn't in the sky yet, and the whole territory was enveloped in darkness.

"Electra, what is it?" Cassandra asked. "Do you see who's crying?"

She kept silent.

"El?" Medea spoke, but Electra lifted her finger to her lips.

Cassandra paced to the window. "Something is happening," she said, "I can feel it. Something bad will happen."

"Let's go back to bed," Electra said.

The girls hadn't managed to sleep for an hour, when an ivory crow rapped her beak against the window.

"Go away, bird," Medea whispered, burying her head under the pillow.

The crow continued to knock on the window.

"Morrigan, go away!" Cassandra told her.

Any other bird would have flown away, but Morrigan obeyed only to Andromeda. The crow once again knocked on the glass.

"I hate this bird!" Medea grabbed the pillow and hurled it at the window. The crow cawed, flew aside, and a second later started knocking with the beak again.

"She won't leave us," Electra moaned sleepily. "Get up."

During breakfast, Cassandra was pensive and absentminded. She was musing over something and hardly ate anything. After breakfast, Jack and Medea left for the Old Curiosity Shop, and Cassandra sat by the window, waiting for their return. The concerned look on her face didn't change for another hour. In the end, Electra called her to their bedroom and asked what was bothering her.

"I think I know what we heard last night. It was a banshee wailing."

"No!" Electra shook her head.

"I am telling you, it was a banshee. Someone will die. Or is already dead."

"No, don't—"

They heard rapid footsteps behind the door and froze in fear. Medea rushed into the bedroom:

"Miss Prizzi has been murdered!"

Her breathing was ragged from the fast running. Panting, she managed to shout just a few words, but those were enough to make Electra and Cassandra turn white.

"Murdered?" Electra whispered.

"I need water." With trembling hands Medea reached for a glass on the table.

"What are you talking about? What has happened to Miss Prizzi?"

Medea gathered air into her lungs and breathed out. "She was murdered."

"When? How?"

Medea told them all that she had heard in the town. Miss Prizzi had been found by one of her friends who, as always, had gone to visit her in the morning for a gossip session, and had stumbled upon her dead body.

"They say there are no traces of robbery... Everyone is puzzled... Jack was with me, so I couldn't ask more questions..."

"We have murdered her," Cassandra whispered. "We killed that old woman."

"It's not us."

"It's us. It has to be our Ghost. We evoked it. It's our fault!"

"Ours," Electra whispered. "But not a Ghost. It's a Demon. And it killed Miss Prizzi."

Cassandra opened the window and hung her head out, taking big gulps of air.

Electra grabbed her head and sank to her haunches, muttering under her breath, whilst pale Medea leaned against the wall and tried to control the situation. But the girls didn't listen to her. Cassandra was almost in a swoon, and Electra was blacking out.

They sat in their bedroom, staring aimlessly at the walls. The silence was interrupted by their cats' quiet meowing, sitting as still as their mistresses.

A knock came behind the door. Medea opened the door and Jack entered. He sat down on the bed and looked at his cousins' stunned faces.

"Are you in trouble?"

The girls nodded.

### 22. Old Friends

Eric was climbing the stairs of the Old Curiosity Shop when Dinah and Marion passed across the alley.

"I wouldn't advise you to enter this shop," Dinah said with a scowl.

"This shop doesn't bite. You can come inside and see for yourself."

She looked proudly away. "I won't go in there."

"What are you afraid of?" I go there, and as you see, nothing has happened to me."

Dinah pouted.

"There are a lot of interesting things. You can come inside and see for yourself."

She arched an eyebrow. "You mean you'll take me on a tour?"

"If you promise not to break anything," Eric said with a smile.

Dinah whispered something to Marion. The girl shrugged. Then they both giggled. "Alright, we will let you show us this shop." They were on the stairs already when Thomas Baldric appeared in the alley.

"O'Brian, you're not losing your time," he said with a sneer.

"Hello, Thomas."

"Hello, hello. O'Brian, tell me, what's your secret?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Come on, stop pretending. Share your secret of success."

"I don't understand what you mean, but if you're not going to express your thoughts clearer, better leave us."

"Already leaving," Thomas snorted.

"We'll go, too" Dinah said.

"Because of Thomas? If you want I'll talk to him, and he won't tell anyone."

"That's not necessary. It's not like I'm afraid of anyone. We just don't want to enter this shop," Dinah said, and dragged Marion away with her.

An active trade was going on in the shop. Foreigners were bargaining with Pickering.

"No diskont for tree bosses?" one of the buyers was repeating over and over again.

"I can't," Pickering was saying. "It's handmade; it's not some imitation, it's wrought by hand. I gave you a discount on the crystal balls and masks, but I can't give a discount on the boxes."

"Mister Pikerrrink not good trade, and we ofen buy at Pikerrrink!" said the second with a funnier accent.

The shop was full of customers, with two little boys among them, touching everything across the shelves. Eric asked them to stay away from the flasks and crystals, but they didn't even look at him. One of the boys grabbed a box of cards from the shelf and scattered them across the floor.

"I told you not to touch anything," Eric said angrily.

The boy didn't pay attention to him and turned to the jars and flasks.

"Wow, bones!" he exclaimed. "Are they real?"

"Sure, they are the real thing," Eric said, "mind you, they are a kid's."

The boy gaped at Eric, his hand on its way to the jar with the bones.

"The big ones won't get inside, so we have to cut the kids'," Eric said with feigned composure.

The horrified boys threw themselves out of the shop. Eric smirked. It was cruel, but the customers' children were real brats and constantly broke things.

Finally, Pickering bade goodbye to the last customers.

"Gone," he breathed out. "And yet forced me to give them a discount."

"I'm afraid I scared away your customers," Eric admitted to Pickering.

"You mean that disobedient child, who has already broken three lamps, and his inquisitive, but never-paying-for-anything parents? Good riddance. If you do that a few more times, I'll raise your salary," Pickering snorted a laugh, and lit up his pipe.

### 23. At the Cemetery

"We need to visit her grave," Electra told her sisters in the morning.

At noon, with small nosegays in their hands, they crossed the cemetery and came upon Miss Prizzi's grave. The funeral had been held recently, and the tomb resembled a small mound of flowers. Coming closer, Electra sat down in front of an inscription with the name of the deceased, where a tombstone was soon to appear.

"Please forgive us." She put the flowers on the ground. "I didn't want this to happen."

She covered her face with her hands and sobbed. Cassandra sat on a bench under a willow, still squeezing the magnolias in one hand, while sweeping away the tears with the other.

Medea wasn't crying though. She knew that most of the blame was on her, but something stopped her believing it. Something was wrong.

"Please forgive us," Electra whispered amidst sobs. A teardrop rolled down her face and landed on the thin layer of snow. Medea saw how a sprout crawled out from under the snow, but thought it was just her imagination, until another teardrop fell to the ground, and another stem climbed out.

"Electra, did you see that?" She sat down next to her sister. "On the ground, look there."

Cassandra came up to them, and all three looked at the ground in anticipation. Once again a teardrop fell to the ground, and a green sprout made its way out. The girls gawked at the three slender stalks.

"She's talking to us," Medea said. "She wants to tell us something."

"And? What shall we do?" Cassandra asked.

"We need to talk to her."

"How?"

All three became silent.

"How can we know what she's telling us?" Electra asked.

"Let's bring her back to life, I mean, call her spirit. Invoke her."

"No! Medea, that's enough, stop!"

"Then how can we talk to her? We can't speak to the corpse, but she's obviously trying to tell us something. She won't mind being invoked."

"No. Ghosts, Demons, Spirits. Enough already! Everything that we do is wrong and has bad consequences."

Medea couldn't be convinced so easily. When her sisters were leaving the cemetery, she took a handful of earth from Noemia Prizzi's grave and hid it in her pocket. At night, she went to the library in search of the spells to call the spirits of the dead. She chose the method, which intended that the spirit of the deceased would appear to the person who had killed its host. So, if Miss Prizzi was killed by the Demon which had been evoked by Medea's spell, then her spirit would come to her, and she'd learn what old Prizzi wanted to tell them.

Medea spilled a handful of the sepulchral earth on the table, lit up candles, uttered the spell three times, and waited for Miss Prizzi's spirit. At five in the morning, she had to accept her failure. She put everything in its place and went back to bed.

Doesn't matter, Medea thought. If not today, then tomorrow, and if not tomorrow, then the day after, but she will still appear.

### 24. The Fight

After the girls told Jack what they had done, he promised to banish the Demon. He went through all the books the girls had already read, then called them to his room and shared the plan. They needed the help of Hector and Ariadne.

"I haven't thought of everything yet, but we will lure the Demon into Mysterious Forest, and drag him into a fire circle."

"What a terrible plan," Medea said. "Is there nothing simpler?"

"I'm afraid no."

"I am with you," Cassandra said. "I'll do anything you say, just to get rid of him."

"I'm with you too," Electra said.

"Then count me in as well."

"Sorry Medea, you can't come," Jack said. "It will be at night. You'll have to stay at home."

"But I started this all! It's me who should take the risk, not you."

Jack smacked her on the cheek. "Don't worry. Moral support is important, too. You'll give us your support from home."

He sent the girls to talk to Ariadne, and went to the smithy on the square, where Hector worked with his father. Jack spotted Eric on the stone bridge and tried to pass quickly, but Eric stopped him and began nagging him with questions about Electra, as if he could know why she wasn't answering his messages.

"Could you tell her I'll be waiting for her at the bridge today?" Eric asked.

"I'm not sure she can come."

"Has anything happened to her?"

"Listen, pal, why won't you find a girl from this bank?"

"I don't need any other girl," Eric said.

Just then Dinah appeared on the bridge. She hurried over to Eric, squeezed her hand around his arm, and began dragging him away.

"Let's go away from here," she said.

Eric tried to get out of her grip, but she squeezed his hand tighter.

"Don't talk to him," Dinah said, pulling Eric's hand.

"Dinah, would you mind—" Eric saw Thomas cross the bridge. He had a feeling this wasn't going to end well.

"Hey, O'Brian." Thomas leered. "I see that the West lost to the East?"

"Thomas, this is not the best time," Eric muttered, at last getting out of Dinah's grip.

"What West?" Dinah sounded puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"Why, I'm talking about the Romeo, and the beauties of Hollow that are sharing him."

Dinah turned to Eric. "What is he saying?"

"Nothing. Tom, please go away."

"If he has started, let him finish," Jack said.

"But didn't you know?" Thomas smirked. "And I, the fool, thought you were deciding on who gets Romeo—the McCormacks or the witches."

"Wash your mouth before talking about my family, Baldric." Jack looked blankly at Eric. "What's he raving about?"

"Jack, don't listen to him. Thomas is a fool, he doesn't know what he says."

"Me a fool? The only fool here is you. Dating two girls and thinking no one would find out. And if you're dating a witch, at least have enough brains to hide better."

"You're dating a witch? Behind my back?"

"Dinah, calm down."

"Is he speaking the truth?"

"Jack, it's not like that at all—"

"It's true, I've seen with my own eyes how he was walking arm in arm with the witch, and in-between running after Dinah."

"Thomas, shut up already!"

"O'Brian, you're just worthless," Jack said.

"Shut up at least for a second and let me say something!"

"Never thought I would agree with someone from the family of freaks, but you indeed are worthless!" Dinah shouted.

"Don't you dare insult my family, McCormack."

"Shut up already!"

"I will tell my brother about this. You'll be sorry!" Dinah pushed Eric into the chest and ran away from the bridge.

Eric turned to Thomas. "Do you ever think before you open your mouth?"

Thomas smirked.

"Stay away from my family, O'Brian," Jack said. "If I ever see you around my sister—"

"Jack, you have problems with your ears? He's lying."

"I'm not."

"Thomas, shut up! Jack, just let me speak."

"Alright, O'Brian, come to the wooden bridge in ten minutes, and we shall speak."

Jack paced away from the bridge. Eric turned to Thomas. "You're an idiot. Why did you do that?"

"Because I could," he said with a shrug.

"Just get lost."

"Or what?" Thomas looked him in the eyes. "What?"

Eric shoved him in the chest. Thomas stumbled a few steps back and smirked. "I won't punch you in the face just because good old Jack will do it in my stead." He pressed his knuckles into the palm of his left hand.

Eric had to fight the urge to punch him hard across the face. He had no time for that, he needed to meet Jack. Jack never liked him, he wouldn't even listen to him, but Eric had to try to talk to him before Jack managed to tell everything to Electra. But when Eric found Jack at the bridge, he again refused to listen to him.

"I don't want you to come close to my sister," he said. "I don't want to ever see you near her. You already have enough friends on the east side."

"Look, Jack, you don't want me to explain, fine, but don't tell me what to do. You don't want to talk to me, alright. But don't meddle in my friendship with Electra."

"Seriously? You seriously think I'll stand by and watch how you're fooling my sister?"

"We don't need watchers. It's better without you."

Jack pushed him in the shoulder. "I said stay away from her."

"I repeat, don't tell me what to do."

"Or what?" Jack shoved him with both of his hands.

Eric staggered back. He had made a promise to his parents about not getting into fights, but no one could shove him and get away with it. He took off his jacket and threw it into a snowdrift. Jack did the same.

"Hey, you!"

Simultaneously turning around, Jack and Eric saw Dickens cross the wooden bridge.

"McCormack, didn't I tell you to never come here?"

Dickens pretended he didn't notice Jack.

"You piece of dirt," he said, looking at Eric. "I don't want to see you in front of my house anymore."

"Go away, McCormack," Jack said. "Just get the hell out of here."

Dickens turned to him. "Wait for your time, witch pup."

He had just finished, when Jack's fist hit him between the eyes. Dickens staggered and almost trundled to the ground. Without losing momentum, Jack turned to Eric to give him the same blow, but Eric guessed his intentions and forestalled him. He hit Jack in the jaw, breaking his lip. Astounded, Jack took his hand to his mouth and felt the blood. His eyes sparkled; he straightened up to hit Eric back, when Dickens threw himself at Jack. They crashed into the snow; Dickens struck him a hard blow, then turned to Eric. They clung to each other, and when Jack rose to his feet, he pounced on Eric and Dickens, and all three fell into the snow and rolled to the frozen river. Eric managed to get up, but Jack kicked him in the stomach so hard that he crashed on the fragile ice, broke it, and tumbled into the cold water. While Jack and Dickens were rolling in the snow, Eric stood up, bent down towards Dickens, and seizing him by the collar, pulled him back. Dickens turned and hit him in the jaw with his elbow, then Jack threw himself at both of them and they all fell into the freezing water.

Before they managed to drown each other in the river, all four girls appeared on the bridge. Flabbergasted, they stared at the fighters, then rushed to separate them. Dinah ran to Dickens, Electra hurried to pull Eric out of the water, and Cassandra and Medea grabbed Jack's hands. While Electra was trying to drag Eric away, he punched Jack in the face, and Cassandra and Medea were holding Jack so tightly, that he had to throw them off to return the blow.

"Enough!" Electra shouted. "That's enough! Stop!"

Dinah clutched at Dickens's waist with both hands, trying to pull him back. "Dick!" she cried out. "Dick, stop it, stop it!"

"Enough!" Medea yelled. "You will kill each other."

"Eric! Please stop!"

"Dick, that's enough!"

"Stop it!"

At last Electra pushed Eric into the snow, while Cassandra and Medea continued to drag Jack away, and Dinah managed to pull her brother back.

"Are you out of your minds?" Electra exclaimed. "You could've killed each other."

"Consider yourself lucky," Dickens panted.

"If I ever see any of you here again, I don't even know what I'll do to you." Jack pointed to Dickens and Eric.

"I'm shivering, warlock," Dickens muttered. He looked at Eric, then at Jack, and beckoning his sister to follow him, left. Dinah stared at Eric and shook her head, her eyes full of offence. A second later she turned away with disgust and went after her brother.

"What happened here?" Electra asked.

"Let's go home," Jack said. "Everyone!"

"But why did you fight?"

"Everybody goes home. Now!"

Electra cupped Eric's his beaten face. "This is bad. Needs to be tended."

"Electra, we're leaving!"

"Stay with me," Eric pleaded, taking her by the hand. "I need to tell you something."

"You have to go home, to heal your bruises."

"I have to talk to you."

"Eric, you're all wet, you'll catch pneumonia."

Losing his patience, Jack took a step towards Eric. Medea blocked his way. "El," she yelled, "we need to go."

"Eric, I am begging you, go home."

"Please, just a minute. I need to talk to you."

"If I stay, it will only get worse." Electra stroked his swollen cheek. "I have to go with him, otherwise you'll fight again. Go home, we'll talk later."

Reluctantly, he let go of her hand, watching her leave with Jack and her sisters. At the thought that she'd never talk to him again tears pierced his eyes. Eric blinked them away, still looking after his red-haired witch.

### 25. Otherland

Uncle Albert threw a tantrum when he learned what had happened. "Pack your things," he said. "You're leaving by the end of this week."

Without a word, Eric went to his room and sat by the window, pressing the bag of ice to his swollen face. "You did it," he said to himself, "you're a total fool."

She'd never talk to him again. She'd never even look at him. He scanned the paper, but there were no messages from her, and he had run out of ink and couldn't write to her.

He thought of Dinah. Had he made her promises and broken them? Probably yes, if she reacted that way. He should have been more careful with the words he had spoken to her. He might have told her things without meaning them. He had never wished to hurt her. He didn't want to hurt any of them.

"Idiot," Eric muttered. "A complete idiot."

There would be no more magic in his life, no miracles. He'd leave soon and never be back to Hollow, never see Electra again. But he could still bid goodbye to a part of her. Eric grabbed his guitar and went to Enchanted Garden. It was quiet there, and he'd sit in solitude, and maybe the whispers would call his name again, one last time letting him experience a bit of magic.

But the frostbitten garden was silent. Eric waited and when no whisper sounded nearby, he sat down, leaned his back against the arbor, and started playing his guitar. Bits of snow fell over his head. Still strumming the guitar, he looked up and saw the branches stir. The trees shook the snow off, and clumps of snowflakes tumbled down around him. Stems climbed out of the ground. Small and thin, they made their way through the snow, and the longer he played, the thicker the stalks grew, wrapping themselves around the columns of the arbor. He forgot about the cold and wind, for the cold was gone, and the wind became warmer. Leaves rustled across the branches, and snowdrops peeped from the earth. The chirping of the crickets filled the place, and a red robin perched on a lilac shrub.

Eric ran his eyes around the garden, understanding now why it was called Enchanted. Only an enchanted garden could flourish with all the colors of the rainbow in the midst of winter. Eric couldn't help sniggering. Suddenly all the troubles seemed to be gone. He was happy again. That garden gave him hope that everything wasn't lost yet, that it was too soon to feel crestfallen. He had but a few days, but things could change even in seconds.

I'll find a way to talk to her, he thought.

If not for his job, Eric would have sat in the garden till the evening, but duty called him to Pickering's shop. He treaded back to the gate, and with his every step the garden returned into winter. When he closed the gate, Enchanted Garden was completely shrouded in white.

"What has happened to your face?" Pickering asked when Eric stepped into the shop.

"Nothing."

"I see the history is repeating itself."

"What do you mean?" Eric glanced at Pickering, but the man ignored his stare. He gave Eric two broken musical boxes and told him to take them to Colin Fitzroy for repairs.

"To the blue castle?"

"To the blue castle."

Eric looked at the boxes. "They don't seem to be broken."

"You want me to send someone else?"

Eric hastily shook his head. "I'll be quick," he said, and dashed out of the shop. If Electra was at home, he'd see her and talk to her. Eric stopped at the gates of the blue castle to think about what to tell her. He'd been thinking about it the whole way, but whatever he came up with seemed wrong. In the end, he just went into the yard and looked around. The place was empty, but someone was in the barn. Eric hoped it wasn't Jack, and was immensely pleased to see Cassandra coming out.

"Mr. Pickering has sent me." He showed her the package with the boxes.

Cassandra stretched her hands out, but when he looked pleadingly at her, a faint smile played upon her lips, and she went into the house.

His heart fluttered when Electra came out. She looked at his face, then cupped his broken cheekbone.

"Jack looks no better," she said. "I am very sorry. He shouldn't have done this."

"Did he tell you what had happened?"

She nodded.

"At least you listen to me. He didn't let me say a word, but it's not like Thomas said."

"Everything is alright. You don't have to explain me anything."

"I have to." He squeezed her hand in his. "I never wished to hurt you. Never. I am sorry, Electra."

"I know. Also, you don't think that the words of people like Thomas Baldric and Dickens McCormack may mean anything to me, do you? If only Jack wasn't so quick-tempered. You know he's not always like that, only when it's about us."

"It means you're still my..." Eric thought of the right word "...witch?"

She gave him a puzzled look, then burst into laughter. Eric rushed to take her into his arms and dropped the package on the ground. The boxes cracked.

"What was that?"

"Broken music boxes," Eric said, and this time it was him who burst into laughter.

"Uncle is not at home." Electra picked up the boxes. "Come with me, let's put them on the table in his workroom, he'll mend them."

Through the dim corridor, Electra led Eric to Uncle Colin's workroom. Beautiful music was coming out of one of the rooms upstairs. Medea was lost in her thoughts, Electra told him, and when she was thoughtful, she always played the flute or violin. Eric followed Electra across the mazing corridor, stumbling a few times in the darkness and almost falling down. He had long noticed that this was a strange house. From the inside it was several times bigger than it seemed from the outside; there were too many rooms even for a four-story castle, and he longed to explore them all.

Uncle Colin's workroom smelled of paint and varnish. Eric spotted many of the things that were sold at Pickering's: figured clocks, japanned boxes with secrets, quill pens, locks and keys, and music boxes like the ones he had brought with him. He put the broken boxes on the table next to the instruments and cans with paint. They were going back when Electra gasped and stopped halfway. Eric didn't manage to ask what was wrong, when she disappeared behind a tall bookcase, pulling him after her. Eric wanted to say something, but Electra covered his mouth with her hand and shook her head, then peered cautiously into the hallway.

"What's happening?" Eric whispered.

Without answering him, Electra looked around, then rested her eyes on a large painting over the wall. "We need to hide," she whispered, stretching her hand to the canvas.

Eric's jaw dropped down when he saw Electra's hand enter the oil painting up to the elbow.

"This is the only way." She grabbed Eric's hand and dragged him into the painting.

"I can't believe—" was all that Eric managed to say before Electra pulled him after her. Discarding all logical thoughts, Eric closed his eyes and plunged into the painting.

The room was small and dusty, swarmed with cobwebs. The only window was boarded up, and the sunlight penetrated through the narrow slits. The window sill was crowded with random objects like toys, clogs, books, paper rolls and pewter sculptures. Electra pushed Eric into the corner of the room.

"What is—?"

"Hush!" She once again covered his mouth with her hand. "Quiet."

Eric looked around, trying to understand where he was, assuring himself that it was one of the rooms of the castle rather than the reverse side of the painting. He heard a wheeze, then a rattle. Electra gasped and looked into the frame. It was dark.

"He dropped the painting on the floor!"

"And?"

"We can't go back through it."

"Electra, are we really in the painting?"

"Yes."

"In the painting?"

"Yes." Electra stared at the boarded window.

"In the painting? Really?"

"Really, really. We must figure out how to get out of here."

"And how do you usually go out of a... painting?"

"Usually the same way you enter. But he dropped the painting on the floor. We have to find another way, another painting, and get out of it."

"Please, explain how could we enter a painting? At least, approximately."

"Eric, believe me, that's the least of our problems. There is a dangerous creature on the other side. My herbs have lost their power; thankfully tonight is a new moon."

Eric didn't understand anything she was talking about. He watched her look for something in the pile of junk on the floor.

"Will you tell me what you're looking for? Maybe I can help?"

"We must get out of the room and find a different painting. There is no door, and the window is shut. We need something to open it."

Eric tried to pull off the boards with his bare hands, but they were strongly nailed.

"We need some sort of tool."

"That's what I'm looking for."

"Listen, what if we wait until someone sees the painting on the floor and lifts it up?"

"Not a good idea"

"Why?"

"First, I don't know when that might happen, maybe now, maybe in a few hours, maybe tomorrow. Secondly, I don't know what to expect here. This is not our world, and we better not stay here long. And thirdly, I have to warn the girls that he's in the house."

"Let's see." Eric pulled a pry bar out of the pile. "This can work." He stuck the end of the iron tool under the board and with all his strength, pressed on it. Nails yielded, the board fell off, and the light lit the room. Eric pulled out the rest of the boards, then smashed the glass with the pry bar and peered out. The window was on the first floor, they could easily get out.

Eric climbed through the window, held out his hands to Electra and helped her out. The grass was greening under their feet; it was morning, and the sun was shining as if in the midst of summer. But something strange and obscure was in the place. Because of the dull, gray mist, the terrain seemed unreal. A drowsy, lethargic mood was hanging over the place, which reminded Eric of a dream where everything absurd seems right, and unreal seems real. And yet the tree that he touched was real, and the earth he stood on was real, too.

"Straight from the winter into the summer," Eric thought aloud, looking into the distant hills, where in the arms of the fog wings of the windmills were spinning. "Now what?"

"We must find a way out." Electra looked around. "Let's go down the road."

"And do you often go through the paintings?" Eric asked as they walked across the green lawn.

"Only when it's necessary."

"So, you can go through any painting?"

"Of course not. Don't try this at home."

"And what does the exit look like?"

"The same as the entrance—a picture frame. It can be square, round, oval, rectangular, big or small. Whatever painting that will take us to our house."

"We can go anywhere else?"

Electra nodded.

The weather changed. A cold wind gusted, the greens under their feet thinned out. After another minute, the land entered the realm of winter and snow.

"What was that thing in your house?"

"Don't even ask."

"Why? What was that?"

"A Demon," she said with a sigh.

"A Demon? And where did it come from?"

"We evoked it."

"You joking?"

"I wish I was."

"But why did you do that?"

She heaved a sigh. "We did a very stupid thing, and everything turned upside down." Electra stopped. "Look over there. Do you see those frozen apple trees? There, see them? That's an apple orchard; it's the painting in my bedroom. There may be a way out. Let's go!"

Electra and Eric ran up the hill and stopped on the bank of a river. It was frozen, covered with a layer of ice which might support their weight. A thin mist was creeping up from the river, spreading all over the place.

Eric looked at Electra. "Shall we cross the river?"

She didn't move. "I can't pass this river," she said.

Eric looked back at the surface of the river shrouded with the mist. "Why?"

"Witches can't pass the rivers inside the portals."

"Then we need to find another way."

"The river is long; we can go all day and still not find a bridge. You must cross it now."

"And leave you here? No way."

"But I can't move. I can't pass the river inside this painting. Not on my own."

Electra tried to step forward, but her legs seemed to be nailed to the ground. She looked at Eric, dejectedly shaking her head. He looked around, then bent down and picked her up.

"If you can't on your own, then let's try to pass it together." He went to the river and took a precautionary step. The ice didn't crack. He wasn't sure how strong it was and if it could withstand them both at once, but he had no other choice. "The hard part is behind," he cheered himself, inwardly pleading that the ice wouldn't crack, wondering how deep the river was, and if they could get out after falling into it. "Almost done. Another couple of steps and we're there."

His eyes were focused on the bank which was approaching with every small step. It took him almost ten minutes to cross the path which in other circumstances would have taken half as long.

When they reached the other bank, both sighed out with relief. Eric put Electra on the ground.

"Thank you." She took his hand. "Now, let's go back to the familiar places."

A large square frame was hanging between two apple trees. Electra looked inside to make sure it was indeed her bedroom in the blue castle, and they climbed into the frame.

Eric jumped on the floor of the bedroom and stared at the painting of the apple trees in the winter. What place was that? Another dimension? A parallel world? His thoughts were cut short when the door flew open and Medea barged in.

"What are you doing here? El, I've been looking for you everywhere."

"He was in the house. Has anyone seen him?"

"Yes. Trouble chased him away."

"Good cat!" Electra turned to Eric. "Come, I'll see you to the door."

### 26. Banishment

"Go to the Fortune-telling Room," Jack told Electra. "And try to learn from the crystal ball where the Demon is hiding tonight."

"She won't tell me anything."

"Be persistent. You're a witch."

Electra went to the room, spent there nearly an hour, then dashed out of the castle so fast Jack didn't manage to stop her. She reached Pickering's shop, and calling Eric's name, ran inside. Eric was in the corner, with a stack of rolls in his hands.

"Electra?"

"Thank heavens you're here. No time to explain, but you're in danger. You must come with me."

"What has happened now?"

"Not now." She pulled his hand. The rolls of manuscripts scattered over the floor and Eric hurried to pick them up.

"Sit down for a minute, I shall finish soon."

"You don't understand; there is no time. Tonight, it will come after you."

"Who?"

"The Demon!"

"After me?"

"Please, come with me right now, you have to be safe, we will protect you. We must hurry. It's dark already."

"But why do you think it will come after me?"

"I saw it. In the crystal ball. She doesn't always talk to me, but she did this time. She showed you."

"A crystal ball?"

"Oh, Eric, are you doing this purposely? I will tell everything on the road, now we must hurry. We shall hide you."

"I can't hide. Albert and Riona are waiting for me at home. Uncle Albert is already angry. I want to spend these last two days without scandals."

"We shall think of something." Electra pushed him to the door. "Think of something, but not now, not now."

Eric got out of her grasp, went to the window, and looked outside. "We can stay here. Hide here. This is a safe place. I don't want to come to your house. Your cousin won't be overjoyed at my presence, and I have no wish to be an uninvited guest."

"I will tell Jack that you're in danger. He'll protect you."

"And will banish this Demon."

Electra and Eric turned to the door where Jack was leaning against the wall. "I have a plan to banish the Demon," he said. "But you'll have to come with me."

"Since when have you started worrying about me?"

"Since never. I'm absolutely not worried about you."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"I said I will banish the Demon. To my great regret, I can't do that without you."

Eric smirked. "You need my help?"

"Your help is not needed. I need you."

"Jack?" Electra's voice trembled. "No, Jack, we didn't plan that."

"Quiet, El. Not now."

Eric looked at them uncomprehendingly. A moment later it dawned on him. "Am I going to be bait?"

"You're quick on the draw."

"No, Jack. You can't do this. We didn't talk about bait; we were supposed to lure him to the forest."

"This is a great chance. We can't miss it." Jack looked at Eric. "What have you decided?"

Electra ran up to him. "It's too dangerous, you don't have to."

"Elie, you heard him."

"No, I'm against it."

"What's your plan?" Eric asked Jack.

"I will tell you in the woods."

"What should I take with me?"

"I'll provide all that's needed."

Eric went to the door; Electra followed him, and all three went outside.

"Electra, give him your horse, you will ride with me," Jack told her.

But she straddled her Graylock, and under Jack's displeased glance reached out to Eric.

"I hope you're not going to kidnap him and hide from me. You still won't hide him from a Demon. I'll go after Hector and Ariadne. See you at the forest's edge at ten sharp." Jack hit the spurs.

Eric looked at his watch; it was 8:30 P.M. They agreed that in an hour Electra would wait for him near the white bridge.

At nine o'clock, Eric went to his room, and after twenty minutes climbed through the window and came down with the help of an apple tree. Electra was waiting for him on horseback at the appointed place. Eric clasped his arms around her back and asked her to ride fast.

"You don't have to sacrifice yourself," she said.

"Take me to the woods."

Graylock didn't move.

"Electra, take me to the woods."

The horse trotted down the road.

"At a gallop. Otherwise, I'll go by foot."

Electra hit the spurs, and her horse galloped across the snowy clearing and swept under the branches of the maples. When they reached the forest's edge, Eric dismounted the horse and marched to the trees with thick shadows hiding behind them. Electra followed him, holding the reins.

"You don't have to do this."

"I won't turn my back on friends."

A scream came from the woods and vanished quickly.

"You can't imagine what there might be in there."

"So tell me."

"Goblins, fauns, imps, sylphs... is that enough?"

"Definitely." Eric smiled.

Electra pointed to a star in the constellation of Orion. "That's Betelgeuse; it shines brighter than the others. Whatever happens, if I tell you to run, you will listen to me. You will run away, the star will show you the way. Don't stop, no matter what happens, whatever you have not seen. If I tell you to, you run."

Eric took her in his arms. "I like it that you're so worried about me."

"This all is my fault. I can't forgive myself for this, but if something happens to you, it will break my heart."

"Nothing will happen, I promise you."

In his eyes there was neither fear nor regret. He was sure of what he was saying, and his confidence passed onto her and ousted the sorrow of her face. Electra wrapped her arms around his back and closed her eyes, feeling his lips almost touch hers when the crunch of twigs made them start. Jack, Hector, Cassandra, and Ariadne appeared behind the trees.

"It's time," Jack said.

"Ride home, Graylock." Electra patted her horse, and he trotted away in the dark.

The forest was cold and gloomy. Jack and Hector had lanterns in their hands, and crossbows and quivers with arrows on their backs. Jack also had something like a net on his back, but instead of a rope, it was made of thin metal.

"Will you give me at least a dagger?"

"Quiet," Hector whispered.

"Bait doesn't need a dagger," Jack said.

Through overgrown spruces and centenarian oaks they reached a circular clearing with one single tree in the middle. It was sky-high, and almost devoid of lower branches. Jack looked around and turned to Eric. "This is your place."

Eric walked up to the tree.

"You will stand by this tree without moving. And when I say without moving, I mean not moving at all. Whatever happens, no matter how scared you are, how close the Demon or anything else comes, don't move. We'll cover you in any way, but if you move, the arrows might hit you. Understood?"

Eric nodded. "So I won't even have a dagger?"

"The dagger won't help you. It will become blunt."

"Blunt? Then how are you going to kill him?"

"And you thought you could kill a Demon with a dagger?" Jack turned to the others. "Hector, you'll be the closest, on that oak." He took a flask from his pocket and poured the contents around the lonely tree, drawing an invisible circle, then hung one of the lanterns on the single branch.

"You three"—he looked at the girls—"each of you climb on one of these trees, and remember, the Demon is not your business. Follow the road to the north, and if anything appears, shoot without hesitation."

Electra helped the girls climb onto the trees, then went to Eric for the last time. "You can still refuse," she said. "We will think of another plan."

Eric put his finger on her lips. "Everything will be fine."

"It's me who should reassure you. At least I know what to expect."

"Electra, take your position!" Jack told her.

Electra gave a dirk to Eric. "Jack is right, it will become blunt. But if something else attacks, hit it with full force. Don't feel sorry for anything, everything that appears here tonight is a foe. And remember about the star."

"Be careful," Eric told her.

Jack hung the remaining three lanterns on the branches and took position on the tree at the edge of the clearing. All were silent. For about twenty minutes nothing happened. Eric looked at Electra's tree, but couldn't see her. Only four lanterns illuminated the clearing; the light was dim. Eric couldn't understand how they were going to shoot in such dim light, but hoped they knew what they were doing.

His legs were tired. He sat down on the snow and rubbed his numb neck. It was cold; he was beginning to freeze, but had to remain still. His attention was grabbed by a barely audible crunch. The sound came from the depths of the forest, from the north as Jack had warned. Eric looked at the trees, thinking of a way to let the shooters know about the noise: Jack gave clear instructions—no sound. The sounds were closer now. He spotted wisps of light in the darkness—first one, then the other. One more step, and he would see the face staring at him. But the eyes stopped near the snowy spruce. The creature was looking at Eric, Eric was looking at it, and none of them was moving. Something scratched the rind of the tree, and Eric gripped the haft of the dirk. Claws, paws, and eyes rushed at him through the shadows. Eric forgot about the dirk, forgot about running away. With his mouth agape he stared at the creature coming from the darkness—a small head, a furry body, four thin limbs, and dreadful claws. They had almost grabbed his face when something whistled in the air and threw the beast back. It whirled on the snow, letting out a squeaky moan. As Eric squinted at the furry imp an already familiar cry rang out nearby. Another whistling sound, and another imp was nailed to the ground. Eric felt helpless in the middle of the snow clearing while the whistles sounded around him, and the imps, one after another, tumbled on the ground. More eyes gazed at him. Now they were climbing up the trees and leaping down, whilst others tried to crawl behind his back. But none of them could reach him. They were screeching and falling on the ground; already a dozen of the furry creatures lay across the clearing. Eric hoped the shooters wouldn't run out of arrows, as there seemed no end to the imps. One of them hopped onto the tree where Eric was standing, and sinking its claws into the bark, crawled down. The imp would've cut off half of Eric's face, but an arrow pierced his head and nailed him to the bark. Eric still couldn't see the archers, but knew that each of them was watching him. But he wasn't sure they had seen the black smoke that came out of nowhere and began to thicken under his feet. The vapor evened with Eric's height, and the nebulous shadow took on a human form. He saw the bare feet, ragged pants, the bag on his head, and the rope around his neck. The hanged man let out the same blood-chilling wheezing.

"Hector, come!" Jack cried, jumping down the tree.

Hector rushed to the Demon from the other side. Jack threw him the metal net. Hector grabbed it by the edge and they were about to throw the net over the Demon when it transformed into a black mantle and slipped under their feet, its long beak sliding above the ground. The Demon soared to one of the trees and disappeared in the branches.

"Are you alright?" Hector looked at Eric.

He nodded, his heart rising and falling with irregular respiration.

"It's still here," Jack whispered. He caught a shaggy imp in flight and squeezed its throat. The beast writhed, tore Jack's sleeve with its claws and scratched his arm from shoulder to wrist. Jack pulled an arrow out of his quiver and stabbed the imp in the eye. "The edge is blunt, but still kills." He tossed the furry body into the snow.

"What shall we do?" Hector asked.

Arrows whistled around, but Jack wasn't paying attention to them. "We must find him before he leaves the forest."

Someone screamed from one of the trees, then a shade dashed through the branches and hid inside the thicket.

"Was that a witch?" Hector asked.

"Doesn't matter what shape he takes. Let him shapeshift a hundred times, I will still catch him. Eric, stay here, and don't move."

"As if I was moving before. If you have a plan, tell me."

"I have. Hector, we're going after him. We should force it to enter the circle."

"It's on the tree!" one of the girls cried out.

They looked up. A gargoyle had perched on the top of a poplar, her red eyes staring down at them.

"Go away from Eric, it may come down after him," Jack said, running in the opposite direction.

As soon as Eric was left alone in the middle of the clearing, the gargoyle opened its gray wings and rushed down at him.

"Hector!" Jack yelled. "Hurry!"

Eric raised the dirk and waited, his heart thundering against his ribs. Even if the Demon couldn't be killed with a dirk, he wouldn't run. This might be the last chance.

"Run!" Electra cried. "Eric, run!"

He didn't move. Electra jumped from the tree and ran toward him.

"Run, Eric!"

Jack reached Eric a second before the gargoyle, and pushed him into the snow. Hector grabbed the edge of the net and threw it at the gargoyle the moment it swept over Jack and Eric. Electra caught the other edge of the net. The gargoyle tangled in the net and began to fight for freedom. Jack and Eric took the net from Electra and dragged the gargoyle into the circle. Jack lit the match and threw it at the mark on the ground. The circle flared up and the Demon began blazing. They waited, holding him inside the burning net, but he wasn't dying. The gargoyle continued to screech and convulse.

"It's not a Demon," Jack said at last. "It's not a Demon. It's a Ghost."

"Who cares?" Eric shouted. "We won't keep it long, think of something!"

"Electra! Over here. Banish it, it's a Ghost."

Electra stared blankly at him.

"It's a Ghost! What was the spell?"

The metal net had turned crimson. They couldn't hold it any longer.

"Hurry up. Banish it away!"

Electra went on her knees before the fire and began drawing the pentagram in the mud. As soon as she chanted the spell under her breath, silver lightning crossed the sky. Then the thunder boomed, and the Ghost struggled harder. Tangled in the metal net, he stretched out his head, and his burning substance almost scalded Electra's face. For a split second their eyes met. The Ghost screeched at her and writhed inside the flames. The symbols on the ground turned crimson and inflamed, and the Ghost turned into a gray shadow.

"Let it go," Electra said.

The boys willingly let go of the hot net. The shadow crept out of it and melted in the air.

Electra sighed out. It was over.

As Cassandra and Ariadne approached them, all six looked at each other and began laughing—quiet at first, their laughter soon turned into a loud guffaw.

"It's over," Cassandra exulted. "We banished it." She took antiseptics from her first-aid kit and washed Jack's burned palms. Electra and Ariadne did the same for Eric and Hector.

"Does it hurt much?" Electra asked Eric, bandaging his palms.

"It's alright. How are you?"

"I don't remember being better lately."

"You have scratches on your face, my poor girl. I should've taken better care of you."

"You already did a lot," she said, holding his scalded hands in hers.

"So?" Hector said. "It's gone, right?"

"Right," Jack said. "But it wasn't a Demon, it was a Ghost. And if it wasn't a Demon, one important question is left."

Everyone looked at him.

"Who killed old Prizzi?"

All plunged into silence.

"So, it wasn't us?" Electra exclaimed. "We didn't kill her?"

"True," Cassandra cried out. "It wasn't us!"

"We're not murderers." Electra let out a relieved sigh. "But then, who did it?"

"A lot of people disliked her, but I don't know who would want her dead," Ariadne said.

"The happiness didn't last long," Eric said. "Just when we rejoiced that this creature was gone, there came the bad news—a murderer is lurking in the town."

"Leave it to Sheriff De Roy, it's his job to find the murderer," Hector said. "I think we all deserve a little rest. Besides, wolves will soon appear here. We've laid a good table for them."

Everyone agreed with him, and picking up their arms, left the forest.

Eric got into his room the same way he had climbed out. The house was quiet, which meant that his disappearance had stayed unnoticed. He turned on the light and looked in the mirror. His face carried traces of fresh beatings and burns. The O'Brians would notice them. He was too tired to think about it now. His body was longing for bed, and Eric didn't make it wait. He barely had time to get under the blanket, before he sank into a heavy sleep.

### 27. Sad Revelation

Eric slept until noon. Several times Albert and Riona knocked at his door, and he promised to come down soon, then fell asleep again. Finally getting out of bed, Eric put on gloves, unsuccessfully tried to hide his face under the cap, and tried to quickly get out of the house. At the doors he stumbled upon Riona.

"What happened to your face?" she exclaimed.

"Last night I fell off the bed."

It was the most ridiculous answer, but the only one that came to his mind. Before Riona could start questioning him, Eric ran out of the house, on his way telling her he had an important meeting and would be back late.

Eric hurried to see Electra. Choosing the shortest route to the river, he passed by Enchanted Garden and heard loud voices: someone was arguing. Near the gate the voices grew louder, and now he could distinguish some words. Girls were quarrelling, and their voices were familiar. Eric went down the cobbled alley and saw how Electra and Cassandra were barely holding back a furious Medea so that she wouldn't pounce on Dinah and Marion. Eric didn't immediately guess what had happened, and only looking around, he understood what was going on.

The garden was destroyed.

Bushes were torn and scattered; all the birches and young trees, as well as the branches of the older ones had been chopped and thrown on the ground. Eric was going to ask who had done such barbarity, when he noticed clippers and an axe in Dinah and Marion's hands. Eric felt something hurting in his chest as he bent down and picked up the uprooted bushes.

"Dinah, why?" A lump pressed against his throat.

"They know why!" Dinah turned to the witches. "Just try to do something. I'm no longer afraid of you."

"You're a monster!"

The girls had to hold Medea tighter.

"No, sweetheart, this brute is not worth it," Cassandra told her.

"Monster!"

"Calling me a monster? Look at you, witch!"

Medea continued to curse and shout as her sisters dragged her into the arbor.

Eric walked to Dinah and pulled her sharply by her hand.

"How could you? Just, how? You loved this garden!"

"My hatred for them is stronger than my love for this garden. It's just a bunch of trees."

"Cutting the trees is mean and cruel."

"I was hoping for your help, you promised to help me take revenge on the witches, and stabbed me in the back. Now I know you were always on their side; you were spying on us and reporting to them."

"You have an extremely high opinion of yourself." Eric turned away from her. He couldn't see her, she was loathsome. He went to the arbor, where Electra was trying to pacify Medea.

"Maybe Uncle will be able to restore the garden? I will tell him what has happened, he will ask Grandfather for seeds," Cassandra was thinking out loud, wiping the tears that were rolling down her cheeks.

Seeing Eric outside the arbor, Electra came out to him.

"I am so sorry," Eric said. "I don't understand how she could do this. What has happened between you and Dinah? Why does she hate you so much?"

"Medea is naughty and always got in trouble," Electra said. "As a child she pulled pranks on Dinah. When Dinah's parents complained, and Medea admitted she did the nasty pranks, Aunt punished her. But I don't know if Dinah's parents punished her for what she did to Medea." Electra looked back at her sister and continued, "Two years ago, Medea and Dinah met in an old derelict house at the edge of the town. They quarreled, and Dinah pushed Medea. She stepped on the old bricks, which cracked, and Medea fell into a hole, breaking her leg. Dinah went home and didn't tell anyone about the accident. We didn't know where Medea had disappeared, and were looking for her for two days. That's when she started limping."

"Dinah left her in the hole? I don't believe it. She couldn't have."

Electra turned to her sisters. Cassandra was talking to Medea, comforting her and explaining that she had to learn to control herself. Medea was hearkening to her in silence.

"How are you? Did you calm down?" Electra asked her.

Medea looked up at her, was about to say something, but seemed to change her mind and kept silent.

"Let's go home and talk to Uncle," Electra said. "I am sure he'll restore the garden."

When the girls left the garden, Eric returned home. Dinah was waiting for him near the fence.

"You always asked me why I didn't like them. Now, I hope you understand. Look what they have done to me!" She showed him her scratched arms. "That witch attacked me, left these bruises on my hands."

"Another time I wouldn't have believed you could do something like that, but after I saw the garden, I think you're capable of anything."

Dinah didn't seem to understand him.

"You left her to die."

"Do not rush to condemn me. You don't know the whole story."

"What story? You had an argument, I can understand that, even that you could push her. But you left her in the hole. You left her to die!"

"And who says this to me? The one who fooled me from the first day of his arrival? I could be seeing anyone I wished, but I chose you, and is this how you pay me?"

"I am sorry if I have offended you or unwillingly drawn away your admirers. I hope they will appear again, since you won't be seeing me near anytime soon."

Eric glanced at her for the last time. Her beauty was gone. All he saw now was boundless cruelty and hate. He left her by the fence and walked into the house.

### 28. And the Story Ends

It was late in the evening when Electra left Mrs. Robinson's house and strode home. She was thinking about everything that had happened in the last months—the wrong spell, Miss Prizzi's murder, and Eric. He was leaving Hollow tomorrow, and maybe she'd never see him again. Or maybe he'd visit her again, when he was older and didn't need a permission for such long journeys. She smiled under her breath, thinking of the stranger sleeping on the bus stop. Would she ever guess how everything would turn out? Electra shook her head. Life was full of surprises.

She was walking slowly, carrying a wicker basket with books. When the snowfall increased, she quickened her steps, and taking a shortcut, approached the post office. Miss Prizzi's house wasn't far. She thought about the old woman and her murderer, and how the crime had happened, whether she knew him, whether she talked to him that night, or if the murderer caught her by surprise, and most importantly, why Miss Prizzi was killed. Yes, she was a gossip, and yes, many disliked her. Electra wasn't fond of her either, but she never wished her dead. She felt sorry for her. She remembered the day in the cemetery and the sprouts coming out of the earth. If only she could understand what Miss Prizzi tried to tell them.

A hoarse croaking made Electra shudder. Those were the crows above Miss Prizzi's house. She looked around to be sure there was no one nearby and entered the small garden. The sky reflected the vanished sun on the snow, and the place was lost in twilight. The thick snow crunched under her feet; a blizzard began, and she had to hurry home so as not to get caught in the heavy snow, but her legs—moving on their own—took her to the house. A sign saying 'Do not enter' was hanging on the door. The desire to enter the house made her violate the prohibition. The door was unlocked, and Electra stepped into the dark hallway. It was dusty inside, but not dirty. Miss Prizzi had been quite tidy, and as it turned out, a lover of porcelain. China plates decorated the walls, and porcelain tea sets adorned the shelves. From the hallway Electra entered the guest room full of dishes, teapots, and cups made of porcelain. She headed to the dark bedroom. The sun had already set, and the dimly colored sky couldn't fight the approaching obscurity. Looking around, Electra saw candles on the cupboard by the window and lit them up by snapping her fingers.

She was haunted by the compulsive idea that something important was hidden there. She noticed a tissue peeking out of one of the lower shelves of the wardrobe as if it had been squeezed inside the shelf in a haste, which contradicted with the extreme tidiness of the house. She opened the shelf and was surprised to see total disarray. She then opened the upper shelf and saw a similar pile of clothes. Electra put the basket on the floor, took one of the candles, went back to the guest room, and opened the cupboard. Inside it was a mess. Someone had been rummaging through Miss Prizzi's shelves. Everything outside the shelves and the cupboards was untouched, but opening them, she saw the traces of a hasty search. Someone had been inside the house, looking for something. Could those be the sheriff's people? If yes, why would they so precisely try to hide the visible traces of their search and turn the insides of the shelves into a mess? Electra went into the dark kitchen and surveyed the walls and the furniture. Noting a kerosene lamp that could give better light, she lit it up and looked around. There was a half-open door between the two cabinets with kitchen utensils. She pushed it; the hinges creaked, and the door slowly opened, depicting the stairs that were leading down. Ten narrow steps, and she was in the basement of Miss Prizzi's house. Electra looked around. It seemed that someone had been there recently; the cases were overturned, tools were lying on the floor.

A squeaky sound came from a corner; a mouse scuttled under her feet. She took a step back and looked at a tattered cabinet which had been pushed aside, and the part of the wall that had been hidden by the cabinet had a lighter color than the rest of the basement. Something shone in the middle of the light-shaded wall. Electra squinted at the steel lock. The wall around it bore signs of blows. Apparently, a safe was hidden in the wall, and someone had tried to break the lock, which didn't have a keyhole. As Electra examined it, she recognized one of Orin's locks with a secret. It indeed didn't have a keyhole, for it needed a combination to be opened. Electra pressed the case with the tips of her fingers, pushed it, and heard the familiar click. A tiny enclosure opened, revealing a dial with four rotating discs with inscribed numerals from zero to nine.

Ten thousand possible combinations!

She'd need days to open it. Electra tried several combinations, but they didn't work. She began thinking about clues and possibilities. Maybe Miss Prizzi's birth's date, though she didn't know it. Realizing how absurd it was, Electra still tried the combination with the date when Miss Prizzi was murdered. Nothing, of course. Miss Prizzi couldn't make a combination of her own death's date. She'd probably use numbers that were easily remembered. Something passed through her mind. A date that she remembered well. Electra once overheard her talking about a date she always remembered. What was it? Someone's birthday? Electra rummaged in her memory. What were they talking about that day? Wedding in summer. In June. June 25th. Electra quickly tried 0625. Nothing. She sighed, looked away, but curiosity took over. She tried the same numbers in other orders: 6025, 0526, 6250, 0256—the lock clicked.

Electra took off the lock, put it into her pocket, and opened the safe. Hesitant at first, she stretched out her hand into the dark hole and touched the inside. She pulled out an old yellowed roll of paper, leaned it against the wall, and read what appeared to be a handwritten will:

I, Samuel O'Leary, being of sound mind and clear memory,

aware of the significance of my acts and guided by them,

acting without influence and fraud, make this testament

and leave all my property, which includes a house

at Shady Alley 33, and a mare, to my grandson

Frederick O'Leary.

May 12, 19–

Someone came downstairs and stood behind. Already guessing who it was, Electra turned around. Mr. O'Leary was looking at her, toying with his big clippers.

"Give that to me."

"You did that. You killed Miss Prizzi."

He took a step forward. Electra shrank back and stumbled against the wall.

"You murdered old Miss Prizzi for this house."

"It was always my house. It belonged to my grandfather and was supposed to be mine, but the old hag inherited the house where she was nothing but a governess, before I managed to come to Hollow. I knew there was a will. I asked her to let me search the house, but she never agreed. And why would she?" the gardener shouted. "She wouldn't let me find the will, as she'd lose something that never belonged to her in the first place. Bribed that scumbag notary George Waller, peace do not be upon him, with the mare, and became the owner of my house. Now give me the will."

"Mr. O'Leary, maybe you are right, maybe this house should have been yours, but you could have acted differently—"

"Don't teach me life, child! You're too young for that."

"It was you in the garden that day," Electra said, then added in a low voice, "The stalks at the cemetery. I should have guessed." She raised her eyes at the gardener. "How could you kill an old—?"

"Nasty hag? She'd been asking for that."

"You can't decide who should live and who should not."

"Teaching me again?"

"You knew we'd think it had been us, didn't you?"

"Not just think, silly girl. It has been you. I'll tell the sheriff you have summoned a creature that killed Noemia. Sheriff De Roy hates you too much to doubt my words. He'll make your sisters confess. As for you, thank you for opening that safe. I am not sure my clippers would cut that lock."

They became silent. Electra had only one thought in her head—to get out of the basement. She knew he wouldn't allow her to come out alive.

"Stand back and let me go."

Mr. O'Leary shook his head. "I don't know what to do with you. I don't wish you ill, but I can't let you ruin everything."

"Let me leave," she said in a faltering voice.

"Forgive me." The gardener stepped forward.

Electra blanched. "You wouldn't dare."

"Forgive me," he said again, rising the clippers.

"Stand back, you know who I am. Stand back."

"Are you threatening me, girl? I promise I'll do it quickly."

Electra's throat turned into dust. She had skills that might help her, but in those terrifying seconds nothing came to mind. Too scary-looking was Mr. O'Leary with the menacing clippers in his hand. When he lunged at her, Electra flounced aside, then snapped her fingers, making the light in the kerosene lamp go out, and slipped to the left, running upstairs.

"Witch!"

She dashed out of the basement and ran to the front door. It was locked. Electra looked around. The only salvation was the window in the guest room. Electra grabbed a chair and threw it at the glass, breaking it. She folded the will, put it into her pocket, and was getting out through the window when the gardener grabbed the hem of her skirt. Electra cried as she fell on the window sill, cutting her knees on the broken fragments. Mr. O'Leary pulled her stronger. She clutched a piece of the broken window glass, and turning to the gardener, hit him in the shoulder. Mr. O'Leary bounced back, letting go of her dress. Electra got out of the house and ran to the post office, but it was closed already. She knocked on the door in vain. Realizing that no help would come from there, Electra ran up the hill and went out on a deserted road. The snow was falling heavily and swirling intensely. A strong wind was blowing, and the snowfall was hitting her face, making her lose her concentration and sense of direction. It was dark, and she knew her family would soon be looking for her, but they might not manage to find her before the gardener. Her knees ached and bled; the pain from running became unbearable. Electra leaned against a tree to catch her breath. She looked back, trying to make out the form of the gardener through the darkness and snow. He didn't make her wait and would catch up with her in a few seconds. She ran without looking back, hearing his steps behind her, the sound of his feet coming closer. Electra didn't have such keen eyesight like her sister; she slipped in the dark and crashed on her back. The footsteps were there. Just as she got up, Mr. O'Leary grabbed her by the hair. Electra screamed and tried to get out of his painful grip. Mr. O'Leary didn't keep his balance, and clutching each other, they tumbled down the hill. Though the pain in her knees was agonizing, Electra rose to her feet and tried to run away, but Mr. O'Leary seized her ankle and pulled her down, then tried to hit her with the clippers. Electra dodged the blow, and the clippers got stuck in the damp earth. She felt a rock on the ground and hit him on the temple. Mr. O'Leary yelled and loosened his grip. Electra broke out of his hands, crawling forward on all fours.

"Electra!"

She looked around, searching for him. It was Eric, she knew his voice. She tried to call his name, but her throat issued a long hissing sound. He was on top of the hill, and she tried to clamber up, but her hands wouldn't obey. Mr. O'Leary grabbed her leg and pulled her down. With a shriek she rolled to the ravine.

"Help!" she shouted at last.

Mr. O'Leary began treading on Electra's hands and trampling on her fingers when Eric reached the ravine and shoved the man to the ground. Electra crept down the ravine and barely held on to a small jut. She tried to climb up, but the ravine was too steep, her feet were slipping down. She could hear the sounds of blows and Mr. O'Leary's curses. The voices quietened, and someone's feet appeared at the top. The gardener couldn't reach her, but he had a big rock in his hands that he lifted above his head, aiming at Electra.

But instead of throwing the rock at her, he turned around suddenly and dropped the rock to the ground.

"Noemia?" His voice sent shudders down Electra's spine. Plunging her fingers into the damp soil, she inched up the ravine and peeped up.

Miss Prizzi always collected her hair in a bun, but now the wavy strands cascaded down like a white waterfall, covering her shoulders and her back. The hem of her pink nightgown fluttered in the wind.

"I... killed you. Is this witchcraft? Some spell?"

The dead woman didn't disappear. Sneering, she took a step towards the gardener, making him recoil.

"Go away!" he cried. "I killed you. Begone!"

Eric pulled Electra aside a second before the specter darted forward, then took her murderer in her arms, and together they soared over the ravine. Mr. O'Leary's scream rang out throughout the gorge.

"He had killed her," Electra said through tears. "It was him."

Eric put his arms around her and folded her to his chest. "He's gone. They both are gone. I'll take you home."

~ * ~

In the morning, the news spread around the town. The body of the gardener was found in the gorge. Eric and Electra told about Mr. O'Leary's fall, and that he confessed to the murder of Noemia Prizzi. Electra passed Samuel O'Leary's will to the sheriff, and the gardener's body was taken to the funeral house.

In the afternoon, Uncle Colin decided that Electra needed rest, and told everyone to leave her ward. Electra asked Medea to stay with her. When the girls were left alone, Electra said:

"You did it, didn't you? You evoked Miss Prizzi's ghost."

"How do you know?"

"I saw her."

"Where? When? Was it her who told you to go to her house?"

Electra shook her head. "She saved us." Electra gave her word not to tell anyone about it if Medea promised to stop acting without thinking and weighing everything.

"But her ghost saved you," she said. "So, indirectly, I saved you."

Electra stared at her sister a few seconds, until they both broke into laughter.

"You're unchangeable, Medea! And still I love you."

Medea hugged her and promised to never act rashly and foolishly, and to think over each step and each word, claiming that this whole story with the Ghost and the wrong spell was a good lesson for all of them.

Cassandra entered the ward.

"Do you mind receiving visitors?" she asked, leading Eric inside.

Electra beamed and stretched her hand to him. He walked over to her bed. Medea gave up her place to Eric, and she and Cassandra sneaked out of the ward.

"How are you?" Eric looked at the bandages on her knees.

"Fine. Dr. Pill put stitches, and was quick to inform me that I will have scars on my knees."

Eric planted a tender kiss to her bandaged knee. "You're alive, the rest doesn't matter."

Electra couldn't blush any redder. "And you? What did the doctor say?"

"Let me think... A concussion, fractured ribs, stretched muscles, bruises, abrasions, nothing that doesn't heal."

"You saved me. But how did you know that I was in trouble and where I was?"

Eric hung down his head and for a while didn't say anything. "Believe it or not," he spoke at last, "but from the first day I saw you I knew I had to protect you from something. I don't know how to explain it. I was at home, sitting by the window, once in a while looking at the sheet of paper, hoping for news from you. Then I fell asleep, but it wasn't a dream that I had, but a vision. Someone was calling me to Enchanted Garden, and saying that you needed me. When I woke up, I ran to the garden, but you weren't there, and I began searching for you around and calling your name. The rest you know."

"I believe you," Electra said.

###  Epilogue

In the beginning of February, Hollow was celebrating Imbolc. Candles were burning all over the West Bank. The Westerners had put together the unburned Christmas logs, making great figures of giants, which were to be burned that night. A thin layer of snow still covered the distant fields and meadows where the townspeople were passing with flaming torches, holding them over the snow and trampling its last remains. People treated each other with pancakes, goat cheese, and freshly baked bread. Elders drank mulled wine; the young had milk and herbal teas. The houses were decorated with brooms, flowers, and colorful ribbons. Candles were burning on the windowsills; crosses, woven from straw, were hanging over the doors, and jugs of milk and baskets of nuts lay at the thresholds.

Eric was sitting on the green grass together with Electra, Cassandra, Medea, and Ariadne, watching them weave figures from wheat and straw. He had stayed in Hollow till the end of winter. It was a present from Uncle Albert after he had saved a girl from the death. Eric couldn't be happier and spent the whole winter with his friends from the West Bank.

"Did you know that Aunt Andromeda has reconsidered our punishment?" Electra said, weaving a headband from flowers. "Apart from visiting Mr. Acks every day, bringing him his favorite pastries, and cleaning up his house, we have to do something useful for the town to redeem ourselves."

"Like what?" he asked.

"After a week, I will start assisting Dr. Robinson, the veterinarian," Cassandra said. "I will be helping him with the animals, of course, on a free basis. And frankly, I don't mind at all. It's not even a punishment, but rather a pleasant pastime." She giggled.

Eric looked at Electra, wondering what her new duty was.

"Mr. Gardiner asked me to give painting lessons to the children at his sister's Art School. I didn't refuse, besides, Aunt had already agreed for me."

"Mr. Frick has called me into his orchestra," Medea said. "I said bodhrán, he said violin." She snorted.

The girls presented everyone with floral headbands; they even gave one to usually sullen Jack, who today was cheerful and smiling. Eric received a headband made of blue forget-me-nots. When Electra put it on his head, he took her hand and kissed it. He didn't want to leave, he knew he would miss her so much. He would miss all of them. The day when he would leave Hollow was going to be the saddest in his life. If only he could stay a bit longer. About staying there forever he didn't even dare to dream.

The figures in the middle of the field blazed up. Beneath the waves of the merry music people were dancing around the bonfires. The sparks reflected on their colorful robes and hair adorned with ribbons. The night replaced the evening, and the fire became brighter. The dances didn't cease until the giants burned down. Eric avoided the thought that this was his last week in Hollow and tried to have a good time with his friends while he could.

~ * ~

Eric was leaving at seven in the evening. At six, the three witches accompanied him to the wooden bridge.

"Thank you for everything," he said.

"Will we see you again?" Medea asked.

"By all means." Eric took Cassandra and Medea into his arms. "Thank you for the wonderful time, girls. I'm sure we shall meet again."

"Come back soon," they said, and left the bridge.

Eric was searching for the right words to tell Electra, but nothing comforting came to mind.

"Will you write to me?" she asked him.

"Every day. And if I run out of ink, we shall use letters like the ordinary people do."

Electra chuckled, but her eyes were full of tears.

"I will come back. I promise."

She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I will wait for you," she whispered, hugging him tightly.

"I know," he said, pressing her to his chest.

~ * ~

Eric was sitting at the bus stop, thinking about the past months of his life. Now, looking back at the events, he doubted his common sense. Did it all happen? Or was it just a dream? Maybe he was still sleeping at the bus stop and just needed to wake up and look at the note with the route. Eric looked at the burns inside his palms that had cicatrized into net-like scars, serving as a memory of the dreadful night in the forest.

The bus soon appeared on the horizon, and getting on it, Eric took a seat near the window.

The blue bus drove away. Eric looked at the broad meadows and fields that were slumbering peacefully under the blue sky. He looked at the sinuous gorges, grazing animals, and brick houses. He couldn't stop staring out the window; he wanted to remember each tree and field, each brook and gorge. He felt miserable, as if something important and irreplaceable was painfully cut out of his life.

Eric looked down at the book in his hand. It was a gift from Electra. He ran his fingers over the old binding, opened the book somewhere in the middle, and read the first thing his eyes caught:

And fare-thee-weel, my only Luve!

And fare-thee-weel, a while!

And I will come again, my Luve,

Tho' 'twere ten thousand mile!

###  About the Author

I.D. Blind (aka Irena Davidian and Reina Blind) was born and raised in Armenia and still lives in her beautiful country, writing in a third language for readers who, like her, love witches, magic, and Celtic music. Email her at idblindauthor@gmail.com. She is always happy to hear from her readers.

###  Helpful Links

Sign up to the mailing list and be the first to learn about new releases, giveaways, deals, and gift cards. Your email will not be shared and you can unsubscribe at any time:

http://eepurl.com/9xCv9

Click here for the Music Playlist

Find more information about the new books on author's

Facebook

Blog

Twitter

YouTube

Google+

Or email the author at idblindauthor@gmail.com

###  Also by I.D. Blind

YA Fantasy Series

(Under the pen name I.D. Blind)

Witch Hollow and the Wrong Spell

(Book 1 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

(Free e-book)

Witch Hollow and the Fountain Riddle

(Book 2 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

(Free e-book)

Witch Hollow and the Dryad Princess

(Book 3 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

Witch Hollow and the Spider Mistress

(Book 4 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

Witch Hollow and the Moon's Daughter

(Book 5 of 5 of "Witch Hollow" series)

(Contains a minor spoiler for "Abracadabra" series)

Witch Hollow: Stories from the Past

(A prequel to "Witch Hollow" series)

YA Fantasy Series

(Under the pen name Irena Davidian)

Abracadabra: The Witchcraft Academy

(Book 1 of "Abracadabra" series)

### Mystery/Horror

(Under the pen name Reina Blind)

Bedtime Stories

(A short story collection)

###  Excerpt from Book 2

The clock struck twelve.

Dinah couldn't sleep. She was staring at the clock on the wall, thinking about the tournament and what it had turned into. When Dickens and Eric began the fight, she couldn't tell what she wanted to happen. She wished her brother would beat up Eric, but something inside her objected. When Eric took Electra's token, a hellish fire flamed in her chest. She wanted both of them to suffer the worst tortures, but every time Dickens raised his sword, her heart jumped from fear.

A hundred times Dinah tried to distract herself with reading, but in the middle of the page, she would again start thinking of the tournament. She began cleaning her shelves, her wardrobe, sorted all her dresses, hats, gloves, and jewelry. But the thoughts kept creeping back into her head. She couldn't stop thinking about Eric. Why did he come back? It was better without him. But he was back and so close, right next door; she could take twenty steps and meet him.

Dinah began walking up and down the room. Stop it, she thought, stop it. But he was stuck in her head. He, who had chosen the witches, wouldn't leave her mind. He, who insulted her, occupied all her thoughts. The only way to stop that torture was to drive Eric away from Hollow. She had to think of something, a way to send him off forever. She was happy when he was away, she didn't think of him much. But now, when he was back, when he lived so close and spent all his time with the witches, she couldn't tolerate his presence.

Dinah had to talk to Dickens. Her brother would come up with a plan on how to send Eric away from Hollow. He has to go, she was thinking on her way to Dickens's bedroom. Then I will not feel so miserable anymore.

She knocked on the door, but Dickens didn't answer. He had been tired after the tournament and was probably asleep. But Dinah was in turmoil and couldn't go to bed without thinking over a plan. She was sure Dickens would come up with a good idea.

Dinah peered into Dickens's bedroom, raising the candle above her head. The room was dark, but the window was open, and the bed was bathed in moonlight. She saw his hand peeping from under the blanket, his golden hair on the pillow, and someone leaning over his chest, her face shielded with long hair. Dinah tried to find an explanation for the scene, and the only thing that came to mind was that Dickens was unwell, and Caitlin was helping him.

"Mother?"

Whoever it was, she raised her head and leered. Dinah gasped and dropped the candle. The light went out. The creature hissed, her blood-stained fangs gleaming in the moonlight. She leaped on the windowsill and crept out of the bedroom. The slithering sound of her scaly tail caused Dinah's skin to break out in goose bumps. She rushed to the window and shut it, then turned to sleeping Dickens. Dinah grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him.

"Dickens! Dickens, wake up! What have I done? Oh, what have I done?"

Copyright 2013 by I.D. Blind.

Cover art copyright 2013 by I.D. Blind.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author's imagination or used factiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

All right reserved. No parts of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, except for brief excerpts for the purpose of review or quotation, without permission in writing from the author. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at idblindauthor@gmail.com. Thank you for your support of the author's rights.

Thank you for buying this book. To receive special offers, bonus content, and news about latest books, sign up for the newsletters. Your email will not be shared, and you can unsubscribe at any time. Go to <http://eepurl.com/9xCv9>.

###  References

 "A Red, Red Rose." A poem by Scottish poet Robert Burns (1759 –1796).

 "Halloween." A poem by Scottish poet Robert Burns (1759 –1796).

 "Farewell to Eliza." A poem by Scottish poet Robert Burns (1759 –1796).

 "My Heart's in the Highlands." A poem by Scottish poet Robert Burns (1759 –1796).

 "The Lady of Shallot." A poem by British poet Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809 –1892).

