Creepers by Joanne Dahme Read Free Book Online Page B

by the grave all that day and night.
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    For a moment, I did not say a word. Incredibly, I felt as if I might cry.

    Margaret nodded at me. “I know. It’s heartbreaking, isn’t it?”
    â€œWas she really a witch?” I finally asked.
    â€œWhat is a witch?” Mr. Geyer asked from the kitchen doorway. “Someone with particular talents and perhaps an affinity for nature?” His voice sounded sad. “I don’t know. Margaret and I tried to find out who she was, but Christian never called her by name.”
    â€œBut Margaret thinks she was a witch, don’t you, Margaret?” I trusted Margaret’s instincts about the ivy. Margaret was the one who believed that it was searching for something. She seemed to believe that the ivy was something more than just another plant.
    Margaret looked at me with an appraising smile. “Yes, Courtney, I do. I sense something about the ivy. Something that’s not natural.”
    I felt the same cold thrill I had felt in the basement when Mr. Geyer revealed the ivy carvings behind the boxes. The ivy that looked like it had been fed plant food compared with the carvings I had spied the night before. I sensed something, too, and having Margaret affirm my feelings made my blood course cold.
    Mr. Geyer frowned. “Just because we don’t understand something, Margaret, does not make it strange,” he said. His voice was suddenly stern, as if Margaret had broken a rule.

    â€œYes, Dad,” Margaret replied, unrepentant. She flashed me a look as if to say as much.
    I felt a weird tension between them for the first time, which bothered me because they got along so well. They were always together, I realized.
    I looked at my watch. “I had better get home to finish the weeding,” I announced quietly. “Please let me know how I can help you both with the search.” I needed to be a part of this. I felt like I had no choice. I was bound to Prudence—by the house that she had once lived in, by the witch who used potions to try to bring her back to life, by the cemetery that seemed to have a living presence of its own, and by the ivy that I felt was somehow stalking me, too.
    â€œWe will.” Mr. Geyer’s voice had softened. “In the meantime, show the carvings in your basement to your parents and share with them the history of your house.”
    â€œI will,” I promised as I threw Margaret one last nervous smile before I opened the door.

I WAS HOLDING THE GARDEN HOSE OVER MY HEAD AS Mom screeched into the driveway. My face was pounding with the heat, and my back was sore from bending down over and over again to pull the remaining weeds that had been given a reprieve by my break. The ivy must be training them, I thought. Their roots seemed to extend toward the center of the earth.
    â€œCourtney! Look at you!” Mom yelled as she slammed the car door. Dad hates when she does that. I almost told her so since she was looking at me with such a huge smirk.
    My clothes were wet, and the water running refreshingly down my arms and legs left streaks of mud like vertical stripes. I was sure dirt was smudged all over my face, too. I have a hard time remaining dirt free when working in a garden.
    â€œAnd my gloves, Courtney! They’re soaked!” She crossed her arms as she leaned against the hood of the car.
I could tell she was feeling a little cocky today. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and she was wearing her bright red lipstick.
    â€œThey were soaked when I found them behind that azalea bush!” I protested, taking one glove off and tossing it at her. It landed with a wet thud on the roof of the Jeep.
    â€œHey!” She laughed, walking toward me and gingerly giving me a kiss on the forehead. “I know. I was just testing you.” Her startling blue eyes stared into my own. “You did a nice job here, Courtney. Did Dad see it yet?”
    â€œNope.You beat him home.” I