ElsBeth and the Call of the Castle Ghosties, Book III in the Cape Cod Witch Series. Chris Palmer

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      Four-thirty the next morning at Six Druid Lane, ElsBeth sprawled half-asleep in her cozy captain’s bed. The moon still hung fat in the sky.

      She listened to a ghostly sound. From somewhere far away, but not entirely in a dream, a deep, musical voice sang a curious song.

      Grave dark has fell on our fair land,

      And though the youngest of the clan,

      You’re called to lend your spirit bright

      And magic to our goodly fight.

      You’ll need to make your way alone,

      Through earthly storms, with heart your own.

      The gifts you gain and yourself give,

      Will make it true, “Clan spirits live!”

      ElsBeth opened heavy eyes and reached for the dream book she kept by her bed. Grandmother said dreams could be important and she always tried to write them down. Moonlight reflected off the silver bat that dangled from the ribbon she used to mark her page.

      Though she knew there was something she should write in her book this morning, she couldn’t remember what it was. Sleep had only left her with the feeling she must be extra wide-awake today.

      Outside her window a shadow flicked by. Professor Badinoff, her familiar, teacher and closest friend, still flitted about in the pre-dawn dark. She wanted to ask the insightful bat if he thought it was OK for her to go on the trip today. But there wasn’t time, and he’d probably just say, “Think for yourself.” He was always encouraging ElsBeth to think things through on her own.

      As much as she wanted to be good at that, she knew thinking about things wasn’t her strongest point. She preferred action. She liked to just start ... and then keep going.

      ElsBeth slipped out of bed and padded down the creaky, curvy staircase. While up the stairs rose smells of cinnamon, and honey, and enchanted baking.

      Odd. She hadn’t expected Grandmother to be up this early.

      She stepped through the dark front hall, past the old paintings of the sea in its every mood, past the herb drying cabinet against the wall in the corner. She heard contented humming, and saw light under the kitchen door. She cracked it open.

      “Good morning, ElsBeth dear.”

      It was unnerving. She had planned to just scoot out. But you could never successfully disappear past Hannah Goodspell.

      To the local folk her grandmother was a much-loved, somewhat eccentric gardener, who always had a healthful remedy, or a funny story, or a sweet smile for anyone who ailed, depending on what was needed.

      But in the simple truth she was the oldest, most capable witch on all of Cape Cod.

      “Grandmother, what are you doing up?”

      “I wanted to make sure you got a decent breakfast before you went off sailing for the day.” With her back to ElsBeth she continued putting together delightful things to eat on the old slate counter.

      How did Grandmother know? ElsBeth had been so careful to avoid the subject last night — without lying, of course. She’d focused and spoken mostly about little Winston Nickerson sliding down the library’s three flights of stairs on his plastic sled. There was plenty of distracting material to talk about with little Winston. But something had obviously slipped though.

      ElsBeth pulled out her favorite kitchen chair, the one with the frog face carved on the back, and sat down in front of a cup of steaming hot chocolate. Between sips she managed to get out, “Oh, um, yes, Grandmother. We’re going with the boys on Uncle Preston’s yacht. Just sailing around the islands.”

      “I know, dear. You don’t have much time. They’re going to try to leave early. But before you go, have some yogurt I made.” Her grandmother set down ElsBeth’s wide-rimmed bowl, the ocean-blue one with the sea creatures that floated and swam around the sides.

      “I added some dried cranberries and sunflower seeds, and a taste of Mister Bottomley’s Bog Honey.”

      ElsBeth realized she was hungry and dug in. But wait a minute ...

      “What do you mean they’re going to leave early?” she spat out, along with a cranberry. A couple of sunflower seeds also slid down her chin.

      “Well, СКАЧАТЬ