Free Spellbinder by Helen Stringer

point out this fact, Steve had scrambled over the wall and dropped down silently on the other side. He opened the gate and grinned.
    “You are
so
going to end up in jail,” said Belladonna.
    The two of them crept up the narrow garden, keeping close to the rhododendrons that lined one side. It was dark enough now for them to have a clear view into the brightly lit sitting room where Aunt Deirdre and Grandma Johnson were sitting near the fire, clutching cups of tea.
    They made their way right up to the window, ignoring the thorns on the stumpy-looking roses and the sticky mud that seemed to be everywhere. The window was broad and tall, made up of five or six long panes, each of which had small stained-glass pieces at the top that opened to let fresh air in without causing a draft. Fortunately, one of these was wide open and the voices of the two women drifted out into the twilight garden.
    “Well, it’s all very distressing,” said Grandma Johnson. “I didn’t even get to say good-bye. Most thoughtless!”
    “They didn’t do it on purpose,” snapped Deirdre impatiently. “Something’s happened.”
    “Yes . . . something,” agreed Grandma Johnson vaguely.
    “And somebody is going to have to go and find out what.”
    “Go where, dear?”
    “There. You know. Over. To the Other Side.”
    There was a long pause. Belladonna was tempted to raise her head and peek inside, but thought better of it.
    “I think it’s time for a glass of wine,” said Grandma Johnson finally. “Will you join me? The sun’s well over the yardarm.”
    Aunt Deirdre must have nodded, because there was another pause, the sound of glasses tinkling against each other, and a muffled pop as Grandma Johnson removed the cork.
    “Now,” said Grandma Johnson in a more cheery voice, clearly having had a sip, “where were we?”
    “Someone,” said Deirdre slowly (she was clearly having a very hard time keeping her patience), “has got to go over and find out what is going on.”
    “What is she blathering on about?” whispered Steve.
    Belladonna held her finger to her lips. She had a feeling that something really important was about to happen.
    “And what we need to know,” continued Deirdre, “is where is the door?”
    “Good heavens, child,” said Grandma Johnson, “what on earth makes you think I’d know something like that?”
    There was a pause. Steve looked at Belladonnaquestioningly. She decided to risk a peek and slowly raised her head above the windowsill. She could see her grandmother sitting in her favorite chair, the glass of wine on a small table next to her. Aunt Deirdre was perched on a tall wingbacked chair with her back to the window; all Belladonna could see of her was one thin, perfectly manicured hand toying with a glass, but that hand positively exuded fury.
    “Look,” said Aunt Deirdre, “the Hound is out, there are Night Ravens in the trees around the school, and all the ghosts have vanished, so I’d really appreciate it if you’d stop the silly old biddy routine and tell me where the door is.”
    Grandma Johnson stared at Aunt Deirdre for a moment. Belladonna felt sorry for her—she’d once been on the receiving end of her aunt’s wrath and remembered that it had made her feel like a very small animal that had been caught doing something dreadful to the best carpet.
    Grandma Johnson was made of sterner stuff, however; her voice lost its comfortable tone and took on the timbre of someone who is used to being in charge.
    “I’ll thank you to stop using that tone with me,” she said. “It might work on people in London, but this is not London, thank heaven, and I am not some office underling.”
    Steve pulled Belladonna back down. “Good for her!” he whispered.
    “Still,” continued Grandma Johnson, “the Hound. Well. A drop more, I think.”
    There was the sound of the cork again, followed by a brief gurgle as the wine flowed into the glass.
    “The thing is, I don’t know.”
    “Oh, don’t be