Free Curse of the Dream Witch by Allan Stratton Page B

source.’
    Milo’s voice came alive with terror and excitement. ‘I woke up there with the other stolen children. She took me down some stairs to her study. There were piles of spell books and a writing desk with a stack of parchments made of bat wings.’
    ‘Those spell books are the keys to the visions she makes,’ Ephemia declared.
    ‘How do you know?’ Olivia asked.
    Ephemia puffed up her chest. ‘Once upon a time, those spell books were mine. She stole them from me while I was lost in daydreams.’
    ‘Dreams.’ Olivia’s brow furrowed. ‘Tell me this: If the witch’s visions aren’t real, how can they hurt us?’
    ‘Imagination is a powerful thing,’ Ephemia said darkly. ‘What we believe – what we think we know – can destroy us. The creatures and landscapes of the Dream Witch are deadly real within her lair. If you die in her dreams, you die in the real world too.’
    Olivia gripped for the pysanka, wrapped in the pocket of her cloak. ‘But we have the talisman.’
    ‘Yes. And as long as you keep it safe beside you, she can’t come near. But never doubt her cunning. She’ll try to use her phantoms to destroy it. So stay alert.’
    ‘No worries there,’ Milo said.
    ‘Good,’ Ephemia said. ‘I’ll help as I can. I may not be able to keep my spells straight, but my mousley form has connected me to nature. I’ve learned how to listen to the world: to speak the languages of fur and feather; to hear the whispers in leaves and vines; and to know the way of lowly things. All this I put to your service.’
    Olivia kissed Ephemia on the forehead. ‘Thank you.’
    The three friends looked past the fields of corn to the forest silhouetted against the starry sky.
    Olivia cleared her throat. ‘Onward, then, to the witch’s cottage.’
    And off they went. 

19
A Matter of Honour
    Perspiration oozed from Leo’s scalp. It soaked his greasy hair, trickled into his ears, dripped off his chin, and inflamed the glistening pustules on his cheeks and forehead.
    ‘Please, Uncle, I don’t want to go.’
    The prince was with the duke in the castle stable; fifty cavalry were horsed and waiting outside in the courtyard. The soldier who’d been tossed down the well had been swept into the marsh, where he’d found Olivia and Milo’s footprints in the muddy banks. He’d followed them to a ditch along a road leading through the countryside towards the forest. Now all that remained was for the prince to lead his troops in pursuit.
    His uncle planted his feet between the manure piles. ‘You’re heir to the Pretonian throne, boy,’ he glowered, meaty hands on meatier hips. ‘And you’re afraid to take what’s yours? That princess is your prize – a prize snatched from under your nose by a peasant. You’d let that stand?’
    ‘N-not usually, no,’ Leo stammered. ‘But the Dream Witch is about.’
    ‘That didn’t frighten the princess. She hopped down a well. Are you telling me a little caged birdie has more courage than a Pretonian prince? What will your father say if he hears you’ve shamed him?’
    ‘What will he say if he hears I’m dead?’
    ‘He’ll boast he had a son who died battling a witch, and order a glorious state funeral, of course. You’ll have a parade, monuments, and ceremonial wreaths so grand they’ll empty every florist in the kingdom.’
    ‘But I’ll be dead!’ Leo’s armoured knees knocked together. There was a terrible clang.
    The duke pressed his index finger on his nephew’s nose. ‘Listen to me, boy: You have a responsibility to the honour of the Pretonian throne. Re-capture that girl or earn your father ’s contempt now and forever.’
    ‘Please, Uncle, no,’ Leo sniffled. ‘Aside from the witch, I’m afraid I could fall off my horse.’
    ‘Why? Are you an idiot?’
    ‘No. But I can’t gallop. The men will laugh at me.’
    ‘They’ll laugh even harder if you don’t hoist your tail onto your trusty steed and lead them to glory.’
    Leo withered under