Free The Second Siege by Henry H. Neff Page A

with twelve mouths to feed! Forget all about her, honey.”
    “I’ll try,” sighed Max as Hannah began veering off the path toward her nest on the edge of the orchard. He was reluctant to leave her company. “Do you want to sit on the patio?” he asked hopefully.
    “Why?” asked Hannah, her voice becoming shrill. “To fawn over that revolting hag while she spins her lies and stories? Not on your life! That one’s always nosing around the nest and cooing after the goslings. Like I don’t know she’d toss ’em back like popcorn first chance she got!”
    The goose waddled off, calling after her children, who came scurrying back to join their mother. Max strolled through the orchard, peering up at row upon row of apple trees, whose golden fruit signified graduates of Rowan who had passed away. More laughter sounded ahead as he emerged from the orchard to find Bellagrog sitting on one of the flagstone patio’s benches, swirling a generous glass of brandy while she entertained some twenty students. Max’s stomach made a funny flip as he spied Julie Teller sitting on a stone bench, flanked by a pair of girlfriends. The smile evaporated from her face the moment she saw Max, and she took a sudden interest in her sandals. Max’s heart sank and he skirted the group, passing Mum, who was briskly sweeping fallen petals into little piles on the flagstones. The hag’s face was curdled with indignation.
    “Bel,” she hissed, “I need you to hold the dustpan.”
    “Not now, Bea,” rumbled Bellagrog, shooing away her sister. “You’re interrupting me stories—”
    Bellagrog cocked an eyebrow and caught Max reaching for the French doors.
    “Max!” the hag sang. “Max, Max, handsome Max—pull up a seat or I’ll crack yer back! Bwahahahaha! Was just breakin’ out me stories before supper. Have a seat while Bea fetches her sis another splash of brandy.”
    “That’s your fourth!” commented Mum acidly, propping up her broom and scurrying inside.
    “When’d she get so clever with numbers?” laughed Bellagrog, gulping down the last amber drop. “Now, Max, plenty of room right next to yer ol’ Auntie Mum.”
    Max did his best to smile as he squeezed onto the bench next to the swollen gray hag, who smelled like a nauseating mix of meat and mold. The other students giggled, but Julie looked mortified and merely stared at the ground. Bellagrog patted his knee and took a deep whiff of Max’s upper arm, looking oddly distant as drool pooled behind her lower lip. A moment later, the hag blinked and fumbled for a pouch of tobacco, pinching off an enormous wad and stuffing it in her mouth just as Mum arrived with a crystal decanter.
    “That’s it, Bea,” said Bellagrog, holding out her glass. “A little more . . . and a little more . . . and that’s a proper glass!” The hag almost began to purr as she tipped back her drink. “As I was saying,” she continued, “it wasn’t no Sunday shower what made yer Auntie Mum pack her bags and hop the pond. Big things are afoot! Reminds me o’ the summer of ’40, when Nan sniffed trouble and moved us up to Shropshire before the bombs started fallin’. Mum was still in diapers yet!”
    “Oh,” cooed a Third Year girl, “I’ll bet you were an adorable baby, Mum!”
    Mum blushed and smiled appreciatively.
    “Who said anything about a baby?” chortled Bellagrog. “She was a bloody teenager!”
    Mum’s lip trembled as the students burst into laughter.
    “I never wore diapers in my teens!” she thundered.
    “Have it your way, Bea,” said Bellagrog with a wink. “Let’s just call ’em ‘training bloomers’ if it’ll make you happy. . . .”
    More howls of laughter sent Mum gathering up her things with frantic gasps and mutters. Max felt a pang of sympathy for Mum as she gave her sister a murderous stare and stormed inside, slamming the French doors shut.
    “Always had a thin skin, Bea did,” said Bellagrog with an indulgent smile. “Anyway, it was right