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

      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, you know the boys,” her grandmother explained as she pulled a pan of scones from the old wood-fired oven. “They don’t exactly want you and the rest of the girls with them when they’re out adventuring. They plan to leave early so they won’t have to take you.”

      ElsBeth steamed and came to a boil. Her hair was a bit of a mess to start, but it now stuck out like a wheat-colored dandelion puff.

      Grandmother’s green eyes twinkled. “Getting angry rarely helps, you know, my dear. Why not just finish up so you can get there in time and beat them at their own game? Much more fun, don’t you think?”

      That did sound like fun. ElsBeth took two more big bites, kissed her grandmother on a flour-dusted cheek, stuck a cinnamon scone in her mouth, mumbled good-bye, and grabbed the bag packed for her lunch.

      She narrowly avoided stepping on a sleeping Sylvanas, who opened one big cat eye and promptly fell back into slumberland. He smiled a toothy smile and resumed a satisfied snore.

      ElsBeth figured he was probably dreaming about platefuls of homemade, cream-and-raspberry-filled doughnuts, favorites of his.

      She winked at Grandfather Clock by the door on her way out. He winked back, and with suitable ceremony clanged the quarter-hour.

      She dashed into the cool morning and picked up her old red bike. She called for West Wind, her reliable friend, to give her a little push, which he happily provided, whispering back he had nothing particular to do at the moment — early morning was his slow period.

      And she was off.

      ***

      ElsBeth arrived at the dock a few minutes later, just as the boys made ready to cast off.

      Even before she came to a full stop she shouted up to Robert, “Not so fast. You promised to take us.”

      “Too bad. You weren’t here on time. We can’t wait for a bunch of slowpoke girls.”

      “That’s not true, Robert Hillman-Jones. You said five and it isn’t five yet.” Too late she remembered Grandmother’s advice about not getting mad, but that wasn’t much use now. She glared up at him.

      Veronica sped in right beside her on her perfectly clean new bike, perfectly dressed in crisp navy and white, perfectly prepared for a day at sea. In other words, perfectly Veronica.

      “I thought they might try something like this so I came early.” She dismounted gracefully and put her kickstand in place. “Relax, ElsBeth.”

      Veronica called up to Robert in a quiet but somehow menacing voice. “You boys can’t leave without us. We’ll yell our heads off, and the people at the marina will stop you. And if they don’t, I’m calling the Coast Guard.” Veronica could threaten with the cold calculation of a Las Vegas poker player.

      Thank goodness for cable TV. There was so much you could learn. ElsBeth sometimes watched championship poker at Veronica’s