Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (16 page)

Just at that
moment Pippa reappeared along with two beautiful women. They had to
be Claudine’s sisters, Margot and Dolcie, who were about the same
height as one another. Dolcie, the youngest, had curly auburn hair
piled up in an untidy bun, and a creamy complexion. She wore a
yellow apron, dusty with flour, reminiscent of the milking girls of
old, with their frilly white blouses, ample bosoms and comely
smiles.

The sisters
glanced Nettle’s way with mild curiosity and while Margot smiled
pleasantly, Nettle could tell she was distracted with the busy
dining room behind her. Margot was angular in features, her face
longer and more sharply honed than the other two. Her shiny bronze
hair cascaded over her back, in silky waves.

Dolcie looked
stressed and vexed. She was thwacking a big wooden spoon against
her thigh. “What is it Claudie? I’m crunched for time.”

Claudine
ignored her sister’s tone and gave both sisters a winning smile.
“Margot, Dolcie, I want to introduce you to Nettle Blackthorn. We
met this afternoon.”

Nettle
bristled at the flash of irritation in Dolcie’s gaze as her
doe-brown eyes settled upon her, scrutinizing her face. She heaved
a sardonic groan. “We are exceedingly busy. If you haven’t
remembered Claudie, we are running out of time. All Hallows’ Eve is
nearly upon us, and you still haven’t found-”

“Yes -
yes,” interrupted Claudine, refusing to be baited by her sister’s
condemning tone. “I do remember, I’m the one putting it all
together.” She sighed. “Please forgive us,” she said softly to
Nettle, while sending her sister a reproachful look. “We’re just
under a lot of pressure organizing the festivities. This year, it’s
not quite going to plan.”

Dolcie
looked away, a surly pout on her lips, and grumbled, “Like the
last, and the year before that, and the year before
that...”

“Well it won’t be
my fault
if we don’t,” Margot replied giving her little
sister a severe glance. The woman’s posture was regal and reminded
Nettle of the Hollywood starlets of old like Rita Hayworth or
Maureen O’Hara.

“Really?” Dolcie
drawled, obviously disagreeing with her sisters
opinion of her own endeavour.

Margot ignored her.
“We can’t afford to wait another year.”

“
No, we can’t,” Claudine agreed with a fierce look. Nettle
could see she was more than annoyed with her younger sibling. She
paused, collected herself and smiled once more, her voice soft and
charming. “Yes, well, this piece of news might bolster you for the
moment. It’s rather pleasant to receive positive news, for
once.”

The sisters
looked upon Claudine with an inquisitive expectation. Claudine
arched an eyebrow and gave a impish half-smile. “This young girl is
from the Wilds.”

Both sisters
were instantly astounded.

“
Pardon?” asked Dolcie, “I don’t think I heard you
right.”

Nettle had
Margot’s full attention. Her caramel eyes narrowed and Nettle felt
small and insignificant under her inquiring gaze. Her voice was
iron. “How on earth did you find us here? Or even enter?”

Nettle
shrivelled beneath her stare, her heart sinking. Claudine’s younger
sisters weren’t exactly warming to her. Still, if they were under
the kind of pressure as they claimed, she could forgive them for
their cool hostility.

Claudine held
up her hand, “I’ve already spoken to her about this. She was
completely unaware this was private property.”

“But still…
how?
” Margot wasn’t addressing Nettle, she’d turned the
question over to her older sister.

Claudine
gave a disinterested shrug. “It matters not. What does matter, is
what she has to say.”

The
sisters turned their gaze upon Nettle. Under their concerted study
Nettle felt her mouth grow sand-like and when she opened her mouth
to speak her voice was raspy and nonsensically ambiguous as she
tried to answer. “Jazz... pretty... long, long, long hair... really
long hair... and so pretty...” A warmth surged through her cheeks
at her ridiculous babble.

Claudine took
over to Nettle’s relief. “Nettle was telling me an interesting fact
about her cousin… Jasmine?” Claudine looked to Nettle for
confirmation and received a nod. She carried on and a smug smile
tugged at her lips. “Jasmine, apparently, resembles our
Lysette.”

With that delicious drop of information, a flurry of
excited chatter erupted from Dolcie. She waved a finger at Claudine
and pranced about on the spot, her bosoms wobbling. “I told you so!
I told you it will all work out.” She turned to Margot, with
a
pleased-as-punch
expression, completely forgetting she was the one
full of cynicism less than a minute ago. “Didn’t I? Wasn’t
I
the one to make it
happen?”

“Yes, Dolcie,” Claudine interjected with a tight-lipped
smile and a pointed look Nettle’s way. “I think perhaps
this...
gloating
, should be kept for another time.”

“You
didn’t think I could do it,” goaded Dolcie.

“It’s
not that I didn’t believe you,” sighed Claudine. “I merely thought
it wouldn’t eventuate in time.”

“What
wouldn’t eventuate?” asked Nettle, curious, and utterly pleased her
speech had returned.

All three
sister turned to her, startled. While Claudine looked surprised
she’d interrupted, Dolcie and Margot were eyeing her suspiciously.
Nettle inwardly groaned, she was making a mess of it again. She
needed the sisters - all of the sisters - to like her if there was
any chance for her father with Claudine.

“This
year,” explained Claudine with a heavy stage whisper, “we have
quite the performance for our visitors.” She glanced over her
shoulder as if she didn’t want her diners to overhear and spoil
their surprise. “We are re-enacting Lysette the Black’s
execution.”

Nettle
drew back, blinking. “You mean, her burning at the stake?” A
shudder ran through her, it sounded horribly morbid. Bram, no
doubt, will love it.

Claudine
waved her hand, brushing aside the macabre impression of the idea.
“Oh it all will be tastefully done and a lot of fun. We’ve been
wanting to put this on for years, but it’s quite an elaborate
performance. And we thought,” answered Claudine with an askew
glance at her two younger sisters. “We might not ever find someone
who looks like Lysette.”

“
We do have a girl lined up to play Lysette’s part,” Dolcie
interjected. “But even with a wig and a heavy attempt with make-up
to disguise her, she’ll never, ever, even slightly resemble our
Lysette.” She gave Claudine a look as if she blamed her eldest
sister for that. “But if your cousin Jazz does…”

“Yes, if
she does. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves,” reminded Claudine.
“We don’t even know if this cousin -”

Nettle
jumped at the chance. Her nerves were afire with excitement. “You
could,” she began, interrupting Claudine, and trying her best to
sound casual. “Come to our place tomorrow to meet Jazz,” addressing
this bit pointedly to only Claudine. “Maybe she’d consider being
Lysette for your festivities.” Nettle knew she would. Jazz,
self-centred to the core, adored the limelight.

“
I was thinking exactly the same thing.”

Margot and Dolcie looked at their sister in surprise. It
was Margot who protested. “But Claudie, we have too much work to
do, to squander time in this fashion. Can’t we just
mak-”

Before Margot could finish,
Claudine quickly lost patience with her
sisters and snapped, “We haven’t met anyone else living in the
forest before. I at least, am curious.”

“So yet
again, we are the ones doing all the work,” griped
Dolcie.

Nettle
squirmed, a little uncomfortable to be in the midst of the sisters’
disagreement. “I’m sorry, I wouldn’t have suggested it if I’d known
you were so busy.”

“Oh, no,” objected Claudine.
“It’s nothing my sister’s cannot handle on
their own,” sweeping a pointed glance at her siblings. “And as I
recall, we’re
all
behind schedule.”

Dolcie looked contrite, and embarrassment flushed her milky
cheeks pink.
“Yes, you’re right Claudie.”

“Of course I’m right.” But she softened her tone as she
gave her youngest sister a proud smile. “And thanks to you,
tomorrow we will at least have one important piece in place for All
Hallows’ Eve.”
Dolcie smirked at Margot in a
told-you-so
fashion. Margot crossed her arms and
rolled her eyes heavenward. “Besides,” Claudine continued. “I have
a feeling meeting Nettle is no fortuitous incident. Who knows what
else, or
who
else
, she
may charm for us.” Claudine turned her smile upon Nettle and held
her gaze. “And I’d be delighted to make the acquaintance of your
father and family. And of course, meet your cousin.”

Nettle grinned, secretly congratulating herself.
Bram’s going to
fall in love with Claudine as much as I have
. And she was positive there
was no way her father could not help but become captivated with
someone so enchanting as Claudine.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The
Thicket

Jazz had run for some distance along the gloomy forest
path, her mind filled with vengeance. She was contemplating hacking
Nettle’s hair off and destroying all of Bram’s precious books;
driving the motor-home over their bikes; and sabotaging their
school-work so they failed the entire school year. She considered
all options, rather thoroughly, a malicious grin plastered over her
face as she savoured the carnage, imagining Nettle scalped and
crumpled in a heap on the ground, begging for forgiveness.
They are going to
pay dearly for what they’ve done to me!

At first the
path cut in a straight line through the forest, but after a time it
narrowed as it began to lazily meander up and down with slight
rises, taking Jazz on a tour of gentle curves and sharp bends
through the dark foreboding forest. Jazz puffed, her sweaty face
blotchy, pushing herself harder than any other training session,
when she abruptly came upon a hedge blocking the path.

Jazz tried to
skid to a halt and failed. She slammed right into the thick wall of
prickles. Hundreds of barbs and needles and thorns pierced her
skin.

She
shrieked.

A startled
flock of birds rose into the air, squawking at the disturbance.

Jazz was stuck
fast, like a fly on a sticky strip of yellowed paper. She
struggled, to no avail, yowling in frustration. It felt like her
entire body was covered in tiny paper-cuts. The kind that stung
worse than a knife cut. Her clothing was caught and for one brief
moment she was relieved to be scalped, as her hair would have also
been ensnared like it once had been when she was six, wrapped
around a hair-brush’s barrel so tightly the only way to free it,
was to cut it. Her nanny had been fired for that, and rightly
so.

Jazz’s anger flared -
this is all her cousins’ fault!
If
those brats hadn’t
cut all her hair off, she wouldn’t be here, stuck in a hedge of all
places.
Would they even find me?
Probably not. Probably wouldn’t even care
to go looking for her. What if she was stuck here for days?
Weeks?
How
utterly stupid would it be to die out here!
Jazz’s antagonism
burned.
Stuck in a stupid hedge!
Her rage turned against the prickles and
thorns and needles and barbs and spikes and spines digging into her
flesh. She wrestled not caring about the pain, her fury spurning
her on. She bellowed, shrieking and screaming, completely enraged
at the hedge. “I’M GOING TO BURN YOU TO THE GROUND! HACK YOU TO
PIECES! POISON YOU AT THE ROOTS!”

She prised
herself free from the vicious spikes and drew nasty cuts across her
forearms. Her entire body was dotted and scratched all over with
thin weeping wounds where the thorns had pricked her flesh. Jazz
leaned over, her hands pressed against her thighs while her
hammering heart rate settled. She stung all over. But she was
free.

What on earth did I run into?
She kept stepping backwards, craning
her neck to see the top of the hedge. It was massive, towering as
tall as the loftiest tree and it stretched across the path and
right through the forest, a sinister wall of thorns and
spikes.

Jazz didn’t know much about trees or plants, nor cared to,
her reasoning being, that’s what you pay gardeners to do for you.
However she was astute enough to realize the thickly packed
branches making up this overbearing hedge must have been made up of
every single unforgiving and nasty barbed tree and shrub in the
world.
What
is it doing here? Keeping something out… or something
in?

It was then, faced with the ominous wall of thorns, that
Jazz began to realize just how alone and vulnerable she was. The
canopy of the Forgotten Wilds was so dense little sunlight filtered
through to the forest floor. The gloomy wood was lit with muted
patches, the kind of smoky light projected in a cinema, with
floating fluffy seeds and leaves silently drifting to the ground.
Jazz shivered, the eeriness sent goose-bumps down her arms.
Totally
creepy,
she
thought,
I’m
outta here.