Free The Bag of Bones by Vivian French Page B

way, doll!” Bodalisk was back. “Quick! Follow me.” And he led her swiftly toward a small opening at the back of the bookcase. With a squeeze and a wriggle, he disappeared. Evangeline hesitated. The hole was extraordinarily small and dark.
    “Get on with it!” Truda said. “Here — let me go first!” She shoved Evangeline out of the way and followed the rat. There was the sound of a kiss and then a scuffle, but any comment from Truda was drowned by the noise the rat catcher made as he stomped into the State Room, accompanied by his yapping dog. Mrs. Cringe squeaked in terror and elbowed her way past Evangeline. She forced herself through the rat hole, and as the yapping grew closer, Ms. Scurrilous, Mrs. Vibble, and Mrs. Prag squeezed after her. It wasn’t until the little Jack Russell terrier pushed his nose under the bookcase that Evangeline finally plucked up the courage to follow them . . . and found herself sliding into a blackness so profound that she couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

    “That you, babe?” said Bodalisk’s voice. “Welcome to
Chez Rattus Rattus
! But we’d better get going.” There was a creaking sound as if a rusty door were being opened, and a dim light lit up the tunnel. “This way, gorgeous!” And Bodalisk frisked his way around the other witches to take Evangeline’s arm before walking her away along a twisty tunnel that led down and down.
    Truda Hangnail snorted but said nothing. In the distance she could hear the sounds of many rats squeaking and murmuring, and there was a cold and calculating look in her sharp black eyes as she hurried along behind the Grand High Witch and her scaly-tailed companion. Her hand was in her pocket, fingering her bag of bones.

Gracie’s head hurt.
    She tried to open her eyes, but the stars circling her head twinkled so brightly that she shut them again. Someone dripped cold water on her face, and it dribbled down her neck; she sneezed, and a voice said, “Told you! I knew she wasn’t dead. She’s just been snuffed.”
    This time Gracie managed to open first one eye, then the other. She was lying on a bed so hard she had thought she was on the floor, and she was surrounded by a group of children with enormous hollow eyes. They were so skinny that the light from the dirty barred window almost shone right through them, but they were looking at her with interest.
    “Where am I?” she whispered.
    “Orphanage,” said the tallest girl. “You should know that. You’ve lived here long enough.”
    “What?” Gracie turned her head to stare at the girl and winced. Her head was throbbing, and there were still a few stars dancing just beyond her vision. She was also extremely cold; her bathrobe had vanished, and her pajamas were muddy and damp. “What do you mean? What orphanage?”
    “He said you wouldn’t know where you were,” said a small boy with sticking-out ears. He peered at Gracie. “Or who you are. And you
do
look ever so different. He said it was the witches did that to you.”
    Gracie’s head began to spin, and not just with pain. “Witches? What witches?”
    The tallest girl folded her arms. “Come on, Loobly Higgins.” She spoke in a loud, clear voice as if she thought Gracie were deaf or simpleminded. “We know you aren’t very clever, but even you must remember you’ve been up with the witches. Work experience, remember?” She leaned closer, and for a millisecond Gracie thought she saw a tiny wink. “You were let out for a week, and you ran away last night —”
    “And Mr. Brandersby found you, but you didn’t want to come back here, and so he snuffed you!” the small boy interrupted. He sounded as if he were thrilled by the excitement of it all.
    “But you’ll never run away again, will you, Loobly?” The tall girl was now looking at Gracie very hard indeed, and again there was the suspicion of a wink.
    “Erm . . .” Gracie’s thoughts were whirling. Was she expected to agree? “No. No,