Read Witch Hollow and the Fountain Riddle (Book 2) Page 11

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  The clock struck twelve.

  Dinah couldn’t sleep. She was staring at the clock on the wall, thinking about the tournament and what it had turned into. When Dickens and Eric began the fight, she couldn’t tell what she wanted to happen. She wished her brother would beat up Eric, but something inside her objected. When Eric took Electra’s token, a hellish fire flamed in her chest. She wanted both of them to suffer the worst tortures, but every time Dickens raised his sword, her heart jumped from fear.

  A hundred times Dinah tried to distract herself with reading, but in the middle of the page, she would again start thinking of the tournament. She began cleaning her shelves, her wardrobe, sorted all her dresses, hats, gloves, and jewelry. But the thoughts kept creeping back into her head. She couldn’t stop thinking about Eric. Why did he come back? It was better without him. But he was back and so close, right next door; she could take twenty steps and meet him.

  Dinah began walking up and down the room. Stop it, she thought, stop it. But he was stuck in her head. He, who had chosen the witches, wouldn’t leave her mind. He, who had insulted her, occupied all her thoughts. The only way to stop that torture was to drive Eric away from Hollow. She had to think of something, a way to send him off forever. She was happy when he was away, she didn’t think of him much. But now, when he was back, when he lived so close and spent all his time with the witches, she couldn’t tolerate his presence.

  Dinah had to talk to Dickens. Her brother would come up with a plan on how to send Eric away from Hollow. He has to go, she was thinking on her way to Dickens’s bedroom. Then I will not feel so miserable anymore.

  She knocked on the door, but Dickens didn’t answer. He had been tired after the tournament and was probably asleep. But Dinah was in turmoil and couldn’t go to bed without thinking over a plan. She was sure Dickens would come up with a good idea.

  Dinah peered into Dickens’s bedroom, raising the candle above her head. The room was dark, but the window was open, and the bed was bathed in moonlight. She saw his hand peeping from under the blanket, his golden hair on the pillow, and someone leaning over his chest, her face shielded with long hair. Dinah tried to find an explanation for the scene, and the only thing that came to mind was that Dickens was unwell, and Caitlin was helping him.

  “Mother?”

  Whoever it was, she raised her head and leered. Dinah gasped and dropped the candle. The light went out. The creature hissed, her blood-stained fangs gleaming in the moonlight. She leaped on the windowsill and crept out of the bedroom. The slithering sound of her scaly tail caused Dinah’s skin to break out in goose bumps. She rushed to the window and shut it, then turned to sleeping Dickens. Dinah grabbed his shoulders and began shaking him.

  “Dickens! Dickens, wake up! What have I done? Oh, what have I done?”