Witch Catcher Read Online Free PDF Page A

haven't explored the tower," Dad said. "Maybe Uncle Thaddeus kept it up there."
    "There's nothing in the tower," I said. "You told me so yourself."
    "Would you mind if I had a look?" Moura asked.
    "We'll all go," Dad said. 'Jen's dying to explore the place."
    "But you told me it's not safe," I reminded him. "You said it was about to fall down."
    Dad laughed. "Goodness, Jen, I didn't think you believed anything I told you."
    He meant it as a joke, but his words stung. Sarcasm wasn't Dad's style.
    "I'm sure the tower's perfectly safe," Moura said, apparently missing both the joke and the sarcasm. Getting to her feet, she reached for her glasses.
    Reluctantly, I followed Dad and Moura outside. Cadoc ran gracefully ahead, his long, lithe body stretching as if his bones were strung together with elastic.
    The first thing Dad noticed, of course, was the broken lock. He turned to me and frowned. "Do you know anything about this, Jen?"
    "A burglar could have done it last night," I said, choosing my words carefully. Not a lie, but not quite the truth, either.
    Dad stared at me, his eyes filled with suspicion. "What thief would come all the way out here just to break into this old ruin?"
    Moura surprised me by saying, "Jen may be right, Hugh. We've had several robberies lately. Probably teenagers with nothing else to do."
    Dad obviously didn't want to argue with Moura, but I could tell he wasn't convinced I was being truthful. Without saying more, he shoved the door open, letting out a whiff of dank, moldy air. Moura stepped back, her nose wrinkled in distaste.
    Dad smiled. "The tower's been closed for so long, it's no wonder it smells bad. Once we get to the top, you won't notice the odor."
    When Moura hesitated, Dad took her arm. "Come on, Moura. Where's your sense of adventure?"
    Cadoc ran up the winding stairs, ahead of us all. Moura allowed Dad to lead her across the threshold and up the creaky old stairs, but the expression of distaste stayed on her face.
    Unfortunately, I hadn't thought to straighten up before I'd left. The chair stood on the table where I'd put it. Worse yet, the dust was marked with footprints, clearly showing the ridges on the soles of my running shoes.
    Dad frowned at me. "Someone's been up here," he said. "With feet just about the size of yours. How do you explain that, Jen?"
    Moura surprised me again by laughing. "Children will be children," she told Dad. "They're as curious as cats. And just as devious."
    "Let's hope they have nine lives as well." Dad gave me a look that plainly said I'd hear more about this later.
    Pretending indifference, I watched the two of them search the room. Dad bumped his head on a low rafter. Moura coughed. A pigeon took wing from a rafter and flew out a broken window. Mice scurried from one hiding place to another. Cadoc made no move to chase them. He seemed more interested in prowling about, sniffing at things.
    When they'd looked in all the obvious places, Dad turned his attention to his great-uncle's paintings, but Moura came to me. "You're sure you didn't see the witch catcher, Jen? It might have been hanging in one of the windows."
    I gave Moura the sweet look that worked so well with my teachers. "I didn't stay up here very long. The dust bothered me." As proof, I covered my mouth and coughed.
    "But why is the chair on the table?" Moura asked. "Was there something up there that you were trying to reach?"
    I shrugged. "I wanted to see out the window better."
    Moura continued to study me, her eyes hidden behind those tinted glasses. No trace of her earlier smile lingered on her lips.
    I drew away, not wanting her to see how uncomfortable she'd made me. Somehow she knew I had the glass globe. Not guessed.
Knew.
And it scared me.
    With a sigh, Moura touched Dad's arm. "I think we've seen all there is to see up here," she said.
    "Before we go, take a look at these," Dad said. "They remind me of those strange old Victorian paintings of fairies."
    An odd look crossed Moura's