Ms. Buchanan is the only church lady who doesn’t gasp, bless her. The other ladies throw breathy huffs in my direction.
Ms. Fudge points a knobby finger at me. “Back in my day, a Witch knew her place. Snubbing the warning of your elders will be your undoing, girl.” Her watery eyes narrow. “Where the Warlock goes, the Widow Witch goes. Get out of that Manor while you can, before the Warlock steals something you can’t get back. You might just save your soul. What’s left of it.” She drives her cane into the old wood boards of the porch, punctuating each word.
I must be delirious with adrenaline, because a hazy bubble shivers and swells around the church ladies and Pastor Webb, a glow that vanishes before I’m sure it’s real. Thewards. The Warlock’s protective barriers have been poked enough, it seems. He was surprised the Manor let me in for my interview. But then why even allow these folks onto the porch?
Then I realize—that haze was the housetryingto force out this intrusion, like it’s detected harmful pathogens. But the wards aren’t strong enough. They’re weakening as the Warlock’s magic wanes. The Widow Witch’s impromptu visit likely didn’t help, either.
Before I can ponder how long the wards might last, Pastor Webb stepsmuchtoo close to me. His voice drops, mouth turning down. “I don’t think a simple young Farewitch is the enemy here, Miss Frost. Magic is. Do not step in the Lord’s way. Or mine.”
My nervous system does a one-eighty at his change in tone.
Finally, he departs, still tossing that apple. With a last vicious glareat Ms. Zeen, Gertha Fudge and the church ladies follow, hobbling away with more speed than I thought possible.
Old Blanche has the balls to turn around. “You’re lucky we’re busy with Easter preparations. And we’ve never liked your Benedictine. It’s not even green!”
A rotting shutter on the side of the house chooses that moment to detach and hit the ground suspiciously close to the old woman. She screeches and teeters away. I hope she’s got a strong pacemaker.
“It’s notsupposedto be green!” I shout at her retreating back. That woman was plenty happy buying my food a couple weeks ago.
Shaking with rage that might be hunger and low blood sugar, I’m so furious I don’t even notice Ms. Buchanan is still on the front porch, Beauregard eating what I hope is only a bug at her feet.
After a moment, Ms. Zeen coughs. “Well. Thank you.”
I flash her a smile. Are we friends now?
The Governess grimaces. “I’m not that grateful.”
Right.
Beauregard barks, and like some kind of pooch radar has gone off, a small shape skids to a halt at the open front door. Lazlo.
I don’t have time to stop him before he flies across the porch to Beauregard.
“Well now, I thought I knew everyone in the Holler,” Ms. Buchanan says, not batting a single cataract.
She does, but she also doesn’t always recognize folks, what with her spotty memory. I’m just grateful Lazlo didn’t appear before now. What would the church ladies have to say about a child living in this so-called dungeon?
“I’ve never seen a poodle!” Lazlo says.
The dog thumps a happy tail at the sudden activity, definitely falling in love.
Ms. Buchanan bends to Lazlo’s eye level, which isn’t far sinceshe’s already hunched. “This is Beauregard. Beauregard, say hello to this handsome young fellow.”
The poodle licks Lazlo’s cheek. The boy’s smile breaks language barriers. Has the kid never seen a dog before? He grasps Beauregard’s curly fur, and the dog presses into the scratches.
“His fur is the same color as my hair,” Lazlo says.
“Would you like to play with him, sugar?” Ms. Buchanan says, sweeter than I’ve ever heard her.
Lazlo’s so excited, he can only nod. She hands him the leash and then boy and dog run off into the Manor, before I can worry over how the house feels about pets.
“That pup needs a young one. Too much energy for these old bones,” Ms. Buchanan says to me. “Would it trouble you if I came here to buy what I need? I don’t care where you are, no matter what those old biddies said. As long as I can get my jam cake.”
“If you’re not afraid of the Warlock,” I say.
She lets out a laugh that’s both warm and a little bit terrifying. “I’m not afraid of anything. Especially a man.”
Chapter Ten
