Diary of Anna the Girl Witch 1: Foundling Witch

by Max Candee

  Well, we couldn’t stand around forever. “Did you hear that?” I asked sharply.

  “What?” His head whipped around.

  “I thought I heard footsteps. You’d better go around the corner and stand guard. I’ll try to get inside. Call out if you see anybody.”

  Jean-Sébastien nodded and hurried around the corner. Of course, there was no place for us to run if someone really was nearby, but I wasn’t worried. I’d made those footsteps up, of course. I just needed him out of the way so that I could get into the gazebo.

  First, I tried the door handle, but it was locked. I couldn’t see any other windows or openings. There was no alternative; I’d have to go through the solid iron door.

  Clutching my dream stone, I closed my eyes and tried to imagine that I was made of fog, like the wispy trails that would creep through the forest at times. Slowly, I walked forward with my hands outstretched. Any minute, I’d feel the iron door. Instead, I kept walking. A coldness brushed through me, and then I had that same feeling of bones turning into pudding. Holding back the panic that threatened to overwhelm me, I kept going until the sluggishness released me and I fell to a solid (thankfully) stone floor.

  I gulped in air as if I’d been starved for it. The room was completely dark, so dark that my eyes might as well have been closed. A slight breeze brought that sick smell wafting up from behind me. I jumped to my feet and felt along the wall for the door. The lock was a stiff handle that I could barely turn with two hands, but I managed to twist it and open the door.

  Softly, I called out to Jean-Sébastien, and he darted around the corner.

  “The door was unlocked,” I lied. “Come on, I think there’s a tunnel back here. It might lead to the house.”

  Before closing the door and sealing us in that darkness, I lit the candle from my backpack. It didn’t give off much light and threw dancing shadows around us, but at least we could see the narrow tunnel leading down.

  “What’s that smell?” asked Jean-Sébastien. He held the sleeve of his shirt over his nose.

  “I don’t know,” I said, “but I smelled it coming from the basement of the house on Friday, too. That’s why I think this tunnel leads there.”

  We walked in silence after that. The floor was paved with damp flagstones. The brick walls were worn smooth with age. Metal sconces appeared at regular intervals, but they had no torches in them and probably hadn’t for decades. The tunnel never turned. It was one straight path, gently sloping down into the ground and, I reckoned, under the garden. From reading local history, I’d learned that many of those old castles had secret passageways and escape tunnels for use in time of war. How many people – families, children, and servants – had fled attacks through this narrow tunnel? My dream stone continued to hum, and I wondered if it had picked up on the anxiety that seemed to seep from the brick walls.

  Finally, we came to the second iron door, but this one was about six inches ajar. The hinges had rusted solid; even using our combined strength, we couldn’t push it open any further.

  “We’ll have to squeeze through,” I whispered. “You first.”

  Jean-Sébastien was tall and lanky; with some effort, he pushed himself through the small space. I willed my bones to pudding again and slipped through. It was getting easier each time.

  A faint sob stopped us in our tracks.

  “Did you hear that?” I asked.

  Jean-Sébastien nodded.

  We continued on, and the sobbing grew louder. It was the voice of a girl. I could hear her clearly now, but the tunnel curved ahead, and I could see nothing beyond it. We rounded the corner and entered a dungeon. At least it looked like every dungeon I’d ever seen in movies.

  Only one oil lantern lit up the large, rectangular room. Barred cells lined each wall. At the far end, stairs led up into shadows. Those were probably the stairs I’d peered down on Friday night. In the middle of the room was a huge apparatus, with pulleys, ropes, and bars, surrounding a worn wooden chair. It looked like some kind of antique torture device. I shuddered, just looking at it.

  The crying came from the cell closest to us. A small barred window in the metal door was the only way to see inside. I stood on tiptoe and grasped the rusty bars.

  “Is someone in there?” I asked. The crying stopped. The cell was completely dark. I heard a shuffling sound, like someone getting up, and I raised the candle higher. A dirt-smeared face blinked in the light.

  “Mei!” I gasped.

  “Anna Sophia! You can’t be here. They’ll find you.”

  “It’s okay. No one is home. We came to look for you.” I glanced back at Jean-Sébastien. His face was pale in the flickering light. He was as shocked as I to find Mei locked up in this horrible place.

  “I’m going to see where those stairs lead,” he said. “And I’ll look for keys to the cells.”

  I nodded at his sound thinking and turned back to Mei. “Why are you in here?” I asked.

  Then a terrible thought struck me. The man with the ponytail had said there were to be nine prisoners. I looked around the room. It had exactly nine cells. I ran from cell to cell. Three were empty, but all the others had small figures huddled on the beds. At the window of the last cell, another girl, one I didn’t recognize, stared at me with wide, frightened eyes. She put a trembling finger to her lips and said, “Shh!”

  I ran back to Mei. “Tell me everything.”

  Through her shaky sobs, Mei explained how the Montmorencys were using adoption as a front for their child slavery ring.

  “I was supposed to be their poster child,” she said, sniffling, “the one they take to all their fancy balls to show what wonderful parents they are. But I couldn’t do it. They scare me too much! Marie said I always looked like she beat me, which she does. So I don’t know how I was supposed to look any other way. Now they keep me down here most of the time except when they need me to be on public display like last Friday. And Gaëlle’s the one they take to all the parties.”

  Gaëlle!

  “She’s with them tonight,” I said.

  “Yes. They bring her down here every day to show her the empty cell next to mine. André tells her that if she doesn’t do just what they say, it will be hers. For now, they let her stay upstairs and go to school. But that’s just so they can pretend to be a happy family. They’re probably recruiting new kids right now.”

  I thought of Gaëlle’s vacant eyes when she’d told me she was going away for the summer. Is that what she’d meant?

  Mei grabbed my shirt through the bars. “You have to help us! Something big is going to happen and soon… They keep talking about the Nine. When they have nine prisoners, they’re going to ship us off somewhere. I don’t know where, but it’ll be even worse than here!”

  “Do they have a deadline?” I asked.

  Mei shook her head. Tears had smeared the dirt all over her face. Her hair was matted, and she shivered, rubbing her bare arms.

  “I don’t know. As soon as they find nine prisoners, I guess. There seems to be some holdup getting the last ones. I heard André and that horrible man talking.”

  I knew exactly what the holdup was: me. The man with the ponytail had said that I had to be part of the Nine. Well, I decided, he was just going to have to live with disappointment. I wasn’t going to be part of his scheme, and I would find a way to free these kids too.

  Jean-Sébastien rumbled down the stairs, taking them two at a time. He was a little out of breath.

  “There’s a guard room halfway up these stairs,” he said. “The guard’s asleep, but the keys are on his belt. There’s no way to get them without waking him up.”

  I reached through the bars and gave Mei’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t worry. We’ll be back for you, I promise.”

  Mei nodded through her tears. “Be careful,” she said. “And Anna?”

  I had started to turn away, but something in Mei’s voice stopped me.

  “You know the man with the ponytail?” she asked.

/>   I nodded.

  “He speaks with a strange accent, almost like yours,” Mei said. “His name is Victor. André and Marie are mean, but Victor is really scary. They call him the Black Horseman. He’s the one to watch out for.”

  From the way that André had deferred to him, I’d already suspected as much. Either Victor was in charge of this slavery ring or he would buy the children from André. Either way, just the fact that he recognized me on some level was spooky.

  Jean-Sébastien and I ran up the stairs at the far end of the dungeon, snuck past the sleeping guard, and found ourselves in the hallway by the servants’ entrance. I glanced at my watch. No way we would make it through the forest and back to town before curfew. I didn’t even care; I had much bigger worries now.

  The house seemed dark and empty, but we still stayed as quiet as possible, not knowing if there were cooks or housekeepers around. We eased open the back door, the same one I had run out of on Friday night.

  As we crossed the garden, rage began to boil inside me. My dream stone grew hot under my shirt.

  How dare those people steal innocent children and stick them in a dungeon? Sweet, gentle Mei had only wanted a family to love her. Instead, she found monsters and nightmares, and who knew what else when Victor came to collect his Nine?

  I couldn’t understand how people could treat other human beings so horribly. My fists were clenching and unclenching at my sides. I could feel magic building in me, like steam in a kettle. Strangely, it had a color – although I couldn’t see it with my eyes, I knew it was cool blue. Like the ice on the rivers and lakes of Siberia.

  Suddenly, barking echoed through the garden, and two dogs burst from the bushes, running at full speed. They were enormous black and brown beasts with pointed ears and vicious teeth.

  “Come on!” Jean-Sébastien grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the tree line. The dogs swerved and headed straight for us. They were already just fifty meters away and closing fast. We would never make it off the property, and I wasn’t sure if the dogs would stop chasing us even then.

  I stopped. Enough! Enough of André and Marie and their evil parties, their dungeons, and their creepy friends. Enough of their snarling dogs. Enough of my friends being mistreated!

  Magic swelled in me, making me grow cold.

  I turned and planted my feet. Holding tight to my dream stone, I took a deep breath and roared like a bear. The pent-up magic burst out of me and slammed into the dogs, hitting them like a chilly wave. One dog fell to the ground. The other somersaulted head over tail and landed in a heap beside his mate.

  The night was deathly quiet again. Both dogs rose on wobbly feet, shaking their heads and whimpering.

  “Leave us alone!” I growled. My voice sounded strange to my ears, deeper and darker than normal. A small ache throbbed in my chest as if the huge explosion of magic had left a hole there. The dogs tucked their tails between their legs and ran away, yipping.

  Jean-Sébastien watched me thoughtfully. Great. Now I’d blown my secret. By tomorrow, everyone in Luyons would know I was a witch.

  To my surprise, he just shook his head and smiled. “You are one strange girl, Anna Sophia.”

  Yes, strange was becoming my middle name.

  Chapter 9

  Dear Diary,

  People, just like books, can’t be judged by their covers. Look at André and Marie. They appear to be good parents and kind-hearted benefactors. If you ask anyone in Luyons, they will say without hesitation that the Montmorencys are tremendous humanitarians.

  But behind the booming laugh and the fancy ball gowns, they are slavers.

  That theory works both ways too. Sister Constance has a reputation for sternness. She rarely has a kind word for anyone. A stranger, looking at the little family in our dorm house, would think that Sister Constance despises the children in her care. And yet, I’m starting to believe that might not be true…

  * * *

  Jean-Sébastien zoomed into the garage beside the orphanage. I jumped off the scooter and tossed him the helmet before he’d even cut the engine.

  “Go check on Beatrice,” I said. “She was supposed to be with Gaëlle and Marie tonight.”

  “Fine,” he said. “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to find someone who will believe me when I tell them that two of Luyons’ most prominent citizens are crooks of the worst sort.” And I had a good idea who would believe me. Sister Constance had always seemed suspicious of André and Marie. Of course, Sister Constance was suspicious of most people, but maybe that would work in my favor tonight.

  We were fifteen minutes past curfew, but the door to my dorm was unlocked. Sister Constance liked to lull stragglers into a false sense of security. She would let them wander in ten or fifteen minutes late. But she always waited in the lobby with a stern word and a list of chores to be done as punishment for tardiness.

  I hoped she would be there tonight.

  I didn’t try to sneak in; I opened the door wide and ran inside. My dorm house wasn’t always the homiest home, but tonight, I was glad it was mine.

  Sister Constance and Sister Daphne were drinking tea in the small parlor to the right of the lobby. Sister Constance looked up from her knitting and skewered me with her sharp eye.

  “Anna Sophia!” her voice boomed. “You are sixteen minutes late for curfew. What do you have to say for yourself?”

  I couldn’t keep it in any longer. I threw myself on the floor, wrapped my arms around her legs, and wept all over her latest knitted creation.

  “Oh, Sister Constance, it was the most horrible thing I ever saw! Those poor girls!” For many minutes, I couldn’t get out more than that. The stress of the last few days had finally caught up with me. Sister Constance sat stiffly in my embrace, neither touching me nor pulling away. Sister Daphne knelt on the floor and rubbed my back.

  “Dear girl, tell us what happened,” she said. “Has someone hurt you?”

  “Daphne, don’t coddle her,” Sister Constance snapped. “This is probably just some ploy to get out of punishment for being late.”

  “Constance, really! Can’t you see how upset the poor girl is? Now, Anna, you must calm yourself and tell us what happened. Here, take my handkerchief.”

  I wiped my eyes with Sister Daphne’s frilly handkerchief; then I took a deep breath. Crying wouldn’t help Mei.

  “We… I mean I went to Irvigne Manor to see Mei,” I didn’t want to tell them that Jean-Sébastien had been with me. I had no guarantee that they would believe my story, and I didn’t want to get him into trouble, too. “The house seemed empty, but Mei had promised me she’d be home, so I went inside.”

  Okay, I was fibbing here, but I couldn’t tell them that I had walked through walls to get in. Not if I wanted them to hear my story to the end.

  “Anyway, no one was there, but then I heard crying from the basement. I went down and found… I found Mei locked up like a prisoner!” I didn’t hold back any details. I told them about the other six children locked in dark cells, the stench of rot, and the frightening torture device sitting in the middle of the room. Most of all, I described the look of sheer despair on Mei’s face.

  Sister Daphne looked shocked at my story: Her eyes grew wide as she listened. Sister Constance’s mouth just got thinner and thinner.

  “I always knew those upstarts were up to no good,” she said eventually.

  “Oh my gosh!” Sister Daphne jumped up and pressed both hands to her cheeks. “Little Beatrice is with them tonight. They’re going to ask her if she wants to be adopted!” She ran out of the room.

  I hoped Beatrice would be all right, but I had other girls to worry about too.

  Sister Constance glared at me through squinty eyes.

  “If this is some trick to get out of curfew, young lady…”

  “I promise you, it’s not! Something terrible is happening at Irvigne Manor, and we have to stop it.”

  “Very well.” Sister Constance rose and wrapped a black k
nitted shawl around her shoulders. She picked up her cane and her purse, which looked more like a doctor’s bag, and said, “I guess we should be heading for the police station then.”

  * * *

  My relief that an adult believed my story lasted until I met Constable Ouellette.

  The police station was only three blocks from the Collège. Sister Constance and I walked there in silence, past the shops all closed for the evening. My nerves kept jumping. I’d never been part of a police investigation before. I knew I’d have to give a statement, but not much else. The police wouldn’t believe me without proof. That was their job. But the proof would be easy to find. All they had to do was visit the basement of Irvigne Manor.

  The station house was brightly lit, though only one officer was on duty. The name tag on his shirt read “Ouellette.” Pale green walls reflected off his swarthy skin, turning it a sickly color. He had bushy eyebrows that I thought would make him look stern even when he smiled. Not that he smiled at us. No, all we got was a fierce frown and a glare.

  Luyons is a tiny town; little that was exciting ever happened there. So Constable Ouellette had probably thought he was going to have an easy evening ahead of him and wasn’t pleased to be disturbed.

  “We would like to report a possible kidnapping,” said Sister Constance.

  “A definite kidnapping,” I said, but Sister Constance held up her hand to silence me.

  “This young lady is in my charge at the Collège du Parc Cézanne. She has been witness to several children being held against their will.” Sister Constance pinched her lips together as if we were discussing someone’s bad manners.

  “And where did this alleged kidnapping take place?” asked the constable.

  “At Irvigne Manor,” I said.

  His eyebrows snaked together. He looked at me; then at Sister Constance, and then back at me, his eyes boring into mine for what felt like several long minutes.