Gone With the Witch Read Online Free PDF Page A

asked.
    â€œWhy what?”
    â€œWhy did you ask her over?” I pressed. Ve was behaving so bizarrely that I was truly curious.
    â€œOh, you know,” she said lightly. “I was in the market for a spell, and she’s the best Spellcrafter around, you know.”
    That was a fact. “What kind of spell?”
    Laughing hollowly, she said, “Well, aren’t you full of questions? You’ll see soon enough.” She pressed the door tighter against her. “Please let Vivienne know I’ll be right down.”
    â€œIs everything all right up here?” I asked as I tried to peer around her.
    â€œWhat? Yes! Peachy. Why do you ask?”
    â€œI thought I heard voices. . . .”
    She pulled the door even tighter, squishing her left breast atop her right, creating one giant vertical mono-boob. It bumped against her chin.
    With a nervous laugh, she exclaimed, “Nope! Just me up here talking to . . . myself. I’m quite the conversationalist, you know. Even with myself. Ha-ha-ha.”
    â€œHa-ha,” I echoed drolly, not buying it for a minute.
    â€œPlease tell Vivienne I’ll be right down,” she said again in a rush. “Right down. I just need a sec to . . .”
    â€œFinish your conversation?” I suggested.
    â€œThat’s right.” Nodding, she slammed the door in my face.
    I knew one of the voices had been the Elder’s. But who was the other woman?
    A familiar?
    Was it Missy? I still wasn’t sure where she’d gotten off to.
    Or Tilda, Ve’s crabby Himalayan?
    More than once I’d suspected that one or both of them might be a familiar. . . . I didn’t know for certain, but if either was, they weren’t willing to reveal themselves to me for whatever reason.
    As I headed back downstairs, I could only hope that soon I wouldn’t just learn the secret regarding the Elder’s identity . . . but
all
of the village’s secrets as well.

Chapter Three
    P izzazz hadn’t been easy to come by.
    Tipping my head to the side, I squinted with one eye closed as I studied my booth early the next morning at the Will-o’-the-Wisp.
    The previous afternoon, after my meeting with Ivy, I’d gone from shop to shop in hopes of finding something fitting for Missy’s and my booth at the Extravaganza, but it turned out that every last sequin, sparkle, and dog-themed ribbon in the village had already been snapped up.
    So I’d improvised.
    â€œIt’ll have to do,” I finally said to Harper. She’d finagled the booth next to mine, and her orange tabby cat, Pumpkin Pie, was lolling inside a big cage, apparently already bored with the festivities.
    It was too bad there wasn’t a Lazy Bones category atthe Extravaganza or Pie would win it, hands, uh, paws down.
    He was in for a long day.
    â€œHave to do?” Harper’s eyes flashed with exasperation as she fastened a garland made of silky autumn leaves to a burnt-umber tablecloth. She’d opted for a Thanksgiving theme (cleverly, to go with Pumpkin Pie) for her booth. “For the love, Darcy . . .”
    â€œWhat?”
    Walking over to stand by my side, she said, “Are you kidding? It’s the best display here.”
    If someone were to glance our way, I wasn’t sure they’d immediately peg us as sisters. I was nearly six inches taller than she was. I worked hard at staying trim, but she was naturally thin and waiflike. My long hair was a dark brown, almost black, while Harper’s short and spiky cut was a sandy brown. My eyes were golden blue, average in size, and hers were big and golden brown, intense and expressive. Also, she had the longest darkest natural lashes I’d ever seen.
    Except for the eyes, she favored our mother more than our father, while I was the opposite.
    Yet . . . if you looked closely, you’d spot the family resemblance. It was there in the