Nettle Blackthorn and the Three Wicked Sisters (23 page)

Jazz stopped
chewing, as did Nettle. Both of them shared a horrified look. Bram
didn’t miss a beat, he kept on eating.

“
Frog?” Jazz queried with a hitch in her voice.

“
Whistling Horned Frog, to be precise.” Claudine answered
off-handily. “Dolcie swears its much more conducive to stewing than
your ordinary green frog.”

Nettle was
caught feeling as if she should be grossed out, except it was too
good not to like. In fact it was delicious. She gave Jazz a little
shrug and took another bite of pie.

Over an hour
later, the family was stuffed from trying everything before them.
Fred leaned back in his seat loosening his belt, “So good.”

“
I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Claudine smiled. “But I must admit,
in truth it’s a bribe. The real reason I’m here, is to see if
Jasmine might consider being the Queen of All Hallows’
Eve.”

Across the
table, Jazz’s blue eyes sparked with curiosity flicked Claudine’s
way. As well Nettle knew, she’d focused on one word only. She
simpered, “Queen?”

Claudine gave
a little nod.

“
Queen of… what? All Hallows’ Eve?” inquired Jazz, “What’s
that?”

“
Halloween,” answered Fred. A pensive expression had settled
over him. “In the old days, it was believed All Hallows’ Eve was
the one night faerie and mortals danced together in
revelry.”

With the mention of faerie, Jazz startled. Her mouth fell
open to speak. Nettle swiftly kicked Jazz under the table. Jazz
jumped, reaching down to rub her leg and scowl darkly at Nettle.
Nettle, in turn, gave her a scathing look:
keep-your-big-mouth-shut
.

Thankfully,
Claudine hadn’t noticed, she was touching Fred lightly on the arm.
“Of course, that’s just old fairy-tales. Things are a little more
contemporary these days. It’s a night to dress up and collect candy
and frolic about in the evening, just a bit of innocent fun.”

“
What do you want with me?” Jazz asked, her thoughts flicking
between images of her dressed in an exquisite gown of floating
white fabric with a diamond tiara, and being fawned over by her
subjects. Nettle would ideally be grovelling before her like a
pauper, kissing her glass-slippered toes.

“
Well, in Olde Town, the whole village comes together to
celebrate the evening with a little bit of theatre for our guests.
My sisters and I are in charge of organizing it, and as soon as I
heard from Nettle that you resembled Lysette, everything fell into
place. We’ve always wanted to put something on that would be
spectacular and, in particular, we’ve wanted to recreate a little
scene from Olde Town’s history - the burning of the nefarious
witch, Lysette the Black.”

Jazz blinked
long lashes. “Burning?! You’re going to light me on fire?”

Claudine
batted a hand at her. “We won’t light a bonfire under you, silly.
No, we’re thinking more abstract. Fireworks and pyrotechnics,
sparklers and pinwheels reeling across the night sky. More like a
celebration – a party!”

Yet Jazz
wasn’t convinced. Her mouth drooped into a pout. “I guess so,” she
said without enthusiasm. She wasn’t really liking the idea of
dressing up as a witch. “But aren’t witches ugly old hags with long
noses and warts?”

Nettle inwardly groaned,
she’s so vain.

“
Oh no,” replied Claudine, quick to reassure her. “Lysette was
quite the attractive witch. No warts or boils or missing teeth for
her.”

Jazz’s smile
returned. “Oh, well, good then. I suppose I could play her. What
would I have to do?”

“
Just be beautiful. We’ll have a stunning dress for you to
wear, and all you’ll need to do is be regal, and relax while you’re
carried about at the head of the procession. You’ll need to wave a
lot, and shake the hands of the little children gathered, maybe a
few autographs.” Jazz was beginning to get a far-away quality in
her gaze, imagining it all. Claudine’s smile widened, “Then a few
theatrics – don’t worry, my sisters and I will have that all in
hand - as you lead everyone up to the top of Olde Town. You are of
course supposed to be the witch that ruled Olde Town,” she winked.
“That’s where the party’s arranged. You sit on the throne
overseeing it all. There’ll be dancing and singing and fireworks
exploding above. It’ll be so much fun. A grand affair.” She smiled
at the rest of the Blackthorn, “You’ll all enjoy it
immensely.”

Jazz thumped
the table, “I’ll do it!”

Fred jumped
in, his expression dark. “No.”

Everyone
turned toward him, surprised by his refusal. Even Bram stopped
picking at the leftovers to stare in bewilderment at his
father.

“
I’m sorry Claudine, it’s a wonderful offer, but Jazz won’t be
able to participate.” Fred rubbed his wrist with the palm of his
hand.

“
Uncle Fred,” whined Jazz, “I want to be the
Queen.”

“
You can’t, because we won’t be here for
Halloween.”

Claudine’s
open expression revealed she was slightly stunned and a little
hurt. “You won’t?”

“
Yes, Dad, what do you mean we won’t be here?” Nettle’s voice
quavered with barely contained fury. She knew as soon as he said
it, he meant it. He wanted them to pack up and move on. Well she
wasn’t having it. They’d been travelling for too long, and now,
right here at the cottage, was the perfect opportunity to stay and
settle down.

Fred shook his
head, pressing his lips together, and met his daughter’s gaze. She
was livid. “By then, we’ll be back on the road, Nettle.” All
Hallows’ Eve, in the midst of the Forgotten Wilds was a very
dangerous night.

Jazz had
crossed her arms, quietly fuming. It was typical of Uncle Fred. She
swore he was out to ruin her fun, any opportunity he had, just like
his miserable children. Jazz, clouded by her own self-absorption,
wasn’t aware she had an ally in Nettle.

Bram had grown
pale and anxious. He glanced at Nettle,. Like her, he had high
hopes to be like any other normal family and stay put at the
cottage for a while.

“
Come on, Dad,” coaxed Nettle trying a different
tactic.

“
We’ll discuss it later.” But by his tone, she knew he meant
his word was final and there would be no discussion. Her mouth
puckered like she was sucking on a lemon, and that let Fred know
she was going to fight him all the way.

Claudine’s
pretty mouth drooped, “Oh, that’s a shame. I hope you’re not
leaving for good.”

“
Yeah Dad, I want to see the tea house,” Bram piped up
earnestly, desperate to latch onto to anything that would keep them
in the cottage a little longer. “And Olde Town, I missed out on
that yesterday.”

“
Bram,” warned his father.

“
But Dad,” he whined.

“
I would love to show you around Olde Town. All of you,”
interjected Claudine, and she bestowed a bewitching smile on Fred
and lightly touched his arm. “Before you go, promise me, you’ll
come see us.”

Fred felt a rush of heat flood his face. “Yes I... I
mean,
we
would love to see
you…
I
mean,
the
tea house. But-”

“
No buts,” said Claudine and pressed a finger to his lips to
stop him from saying anything further. She leaned over and
unstrapped his watch from his wrist. “Besides,” she said playfully,
“I promised to fix this for you.” She slipped the watch into her
wicker basket. “Now you can’t leave until you come to Olde Town to
collect it.”

Fred was about
to protest but then thought better of it. After giving his wrist a
quick scratch, he began to clear the dishes. While his back was
turned, Claudine winked at the kids.

Nettle shared
a grin with Bram. There was hope for them yet. Surely, after
spending more time with Claudine, there would be no way her Dad
would want to leave the Forgotten Wilds and Olde Town.

Later that
night, Nettle found she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned,
flung the blankets off and fluffed her pillow countless times. But
sleep eluded her. Her mind was too scattered. Her thoughts were all
over the place, picking apart the day and feverishly seeking a plan
to keep them here at the cottage. Though there was one major hurdle
in the day, her father wanting to leave before Halloween, she was
extremely pleased with her father’s first encounter with Claudine.
He seemed smitten, as did Claudine. She’d whispered to her on her
way out, how lovely it was to meet her father.

Bram liked
Claudine, but he liked anyone who could bake the kind of food she’d
brought with her. Jazz was keen, mainly because it benefited her.
But there was something else that crept unwanted into her
consciousness and kept her from sleep. An unwelcome sensation that
made her feel slightly off-kilter. Her mother. Strangely, Nettle
experienced a horrid unease she’d betrayed her mother by
desperately wanting Claudine to replace her.

Nettle kicked at her blankets. It was stupid of her, so
stupid to feel this way. Her mother left her, she reminded herself.
She left a six year old kid and a baby.
Who leaves a baby? A heartless,
selfish woman who doesn’t deserve to call herself a mother, that’s
who.
Even
reassuring herself of her righteousness in this matter, she
couldn’t quite rid herself of the guilt.

Nettle fluffed
her pillow again, using her fists to pummel the shape back. She
stilled. Her father, his familiar heavy footsteps, raced up the
stairs toward her bedroom and suddenly her door was flung open. His
silhouette in the doorframe seemed warped, like he had a
hunchback.

“
Dad?” She leaned over to light her lamp. The amber flame
swamped the room in a dim wavering light. Her father wore a pinched
remorseful expression. She saw that his hunchback was actually a
canvas backpack. “Dad?” she asked again, now anxious. “What’s going
on?”

“
Something’s come up. I have to leave.”

Though it was
the last thing she’d ever thought he’d say, seeing the backpack had
instantly made her feel ill. “What do you mean, leave? Dad, it’s
the middle of the night.”

His voice was
thick and husky, “I’m sorry, I don’t have a choice. I have to
go.”

He said ‘I,’
not we.

“
I need your help with something. Come on, get dressed, we
have to be quick.”

Fred left the bedroom and Nettle quickly slipped into some
jeans and boots. She kept her pyjama top on and shrugged into a
fleece-lined jacket doing up the buttons with fingers that seemed
to suddenly lose dexterity. He was scaring her.
What is he thinking, leaving?
Who’s going to look after us? How long would he be gone?
These thoughts
crowded her mind as she made her way down the stairs to the living
room. But more importantly,
is he going to come back?
That fear, of him leaving like her
mother did, squeezed her heart with wintry fingers.

Her father was
waiting for her by the front door. One of his hands fidgeted with
the straps of the backpack which was on the ground at his feet,
while the other feverishly rubbed his wrist against his trouser
leg. He seemed frazzled and guilty and anxious to get going. By the
hearth, Willoughby hopped back and forth, ruffling his wings and
pecking at his chest.

“
Willoughby!” Nettle looked excitedly at her father. “When did
he come back?”

“Not long ago.” Fred whistled and the bird leapt to the air
and fluttered across the room to land on his shoulder. Willoughby
cocked his head at Nettle and let out a series of shrill
wik-wik-wik
, as if to say
“Come on, there’s no time to lose.”

Fred hoisted
his bag on his back and opened the front door.

“
Wait… Dad…” Perplexed, Nettle followed her father down the
porch steps. “Where are we going?”

“
Into the Forgotten Wilds.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The
Woodstock Twins

Her Dad held
her hand tightly as they made their way along the path. Willoughby
flew ahead. The moon was hidden behind a veil of cloud and the
torchlight bobbed in front, only illuminating the first few feet
ahead. They were surrounded by a night so black Nettle felt like
she was traversing an abyss, and with one wrong footstep she’d fall
and disappear forever.

After what
seemed an eternity they reached the Thicket. It was more formidable
than she had imagined. It seemed to be endless. But as the moon
reappeared she saw that it did end.

They’d stopped
a short distance away. Her father held her by her shoulders, and
looked her square in the eye. “I need you to do something for
me.”

“
What?” She had no idea what he could possibly want from her.
How she could help?

He turned her
slowly around until she faced the wall of thorns. “I need you to
walk toward the Thicket.”

She shot him a perplexed shirk of an eyebrow. She didn’t
know how on earth that could help him, but she did what she was
told. She walked toward the wall of thorns, her father close
behind. As she approached, she heard rather than saw, the rustling,
crackle and crunching, rasping and tearing. It wasn’t the wind, for
the night was still.
What is happening?
The closer she got to the Thicket, she
more she was able to see in the shifting shadows, the briars and
prickled stems and branches of spikes and needles were moving,
unravelling and unknotting. By the time she reached the wall of
thorns, a gaping hole had been created. An entrance to beyond the
Thicket.