Free The Darke Toad by Angie Sage

mouth.”
    â€œAnd mine,” said Veronica. She laughed. “Witch Mother, you look like a cracked old teacup with that stupid white stuff on your face.”
    â€œOr the fungus under the sink.” Daphne giggled.
    The witches stared at one another in horror—they were all saying exactly what they were thinking.
    The sound of hooves clip-clopping toward them heralded Simon’s return. He was leading a big, beautiful black horse, which he had found in a tiny, filthy and unlocked stable. Simon, who still had some scruples, had left a crown (the standard price for a horse) plus a silver sixpence for the saddle and bridle.
    DomDaniel looked at the horse approvingly. “Very nice,” he said. “Time to go. I’ll take the horse, Heap. You’ll be walking.”
    â€œNot for long, you slimy old basket.” The Witch Mother laughed.
    â€œWhat did you say?” demanded DomDaniel.
    â€œYou heard,” snapped the Witch Mother. “Hand over the Darke Toad, you weasel-eyed stoat face.”
    DomDaniel was used to the Witch Mother being rude to him. It had once been something he had liked about her, but now he thought she was going a bit far. “I have not forgotten that the Darke Toad was part of our bargain, Pamela,” he said stiffly. He bent down very slowly—he hated the way he could feel skin and fat slipping over his bones—and picked up the toad.
    The Witch Mother looked longingly at the Darke Toad as it sat gulping and blinking on DomDaniel’s very squishy palm.
    â€œGive it to me,” she said. “ Hurry up! ”
    DomDaniel frowned—he would have liked to refuse but a Darke bargain must be kept. Grumpily, he dropped the toad into the Witch Mother’s outstretched hand.
    â€œSay the words,” snapped the Witch Mother.
    â€œSay the words, please ,” DomDaniel said peevishly.
    â€œOh, get on with it, fatso,” snapped the Witch Mother.
    DomDaniel looked very annoyed. If he hadn’t suddenly felt unpleasantly itchy he would have said something equally rude in return. But all he wanted to do was get away from the witches and have a good scratch. “Madam, I assign to you all rights to this Darke Toad. May its Darkenesse follow you for all your days. So be it. Ooof .” DomDaniel could stand it no longer. He found a particularly itchy spot on his stomach and gave it a surreptitious scratch.
    The Witch Mother cradled the Darke Toad in her hands. “Toady-woady,” she cooed.
    â€œI’ll be off now,” said DomDaniel. He felt as though his skin were crawling with ants.
    â€œGood riddance, you smelly old slime bucket,” returned the Witch Mother. “Come on, girls. Home. Oh, and Daphne, give Heap the wheelbarrow.”
    â€œWhy?” asked Daphne.
    â€œBecause those Clothed Bones won’t last much longer. Ha ha!”
    DomDaniel could bear the itching no more. “What”— scratch —“do you”— scratch - scritch - scratch— “mean?”
    The Witch Mother laughed. “You vain old lump of gristle, don’t you realize? We’re rubbish at stuff like that. There’s no way we could make a spell that powerful permanent , not even with Cowan blood. In fact, I am amazed it has lasted as long as it has. Ha!” She poked DomDaniel in the chest and her finger sank deep into his robe. “Eurgh, that is not nice.”
    DomDaniel stared down at the hole in his chest. He looked up at the Witch Mother in shock as, like a crumpling balloon, his cloak caved in and the remains of the witches’ Clothing Bones spell evaporated. DomDaniel emitted a long, low groan, his legs folded out from under him and he collapsed into a heap on the road.
    â€œYou tricked me!” his—still Clothed —head screamed.
    â€œYes, we did. Serves you right, you smarmy little snake,” said the Witch Mother.
    Linda was astonished. “You tell him, Witch Mother. I