The Pictish Child by Jane Yolen Read Free Book Online

No—”
    Ninia grabbed her arm and pulled her away. “Me Molly!” she cried. “Me Molly!”
    Meanwhile Gran had gone into the cupboard by the kitchen and, moments later, emerged carrying a large grey toolbox.
    â€œHere,” she said, handing out ratchets and hammers, screwdrivers and wrenches to the children. “Stick one in front of each window and door. The brass and iron fixtures on the doors and windows should keep the mist out anyway, but better safe than …”
    â€œâ€¦ sorry.” Peter and Jennifer finished her sentence together.
    â€œVery sorry,” Peter added. Though he knew it was stupid, he couldn’t get rid of the feeling that it was somehow all his fault that the mist had gotten into the garden at all.
    Dutifully all of the children—except for Ninia, of course—ran around the house placing the tools and nails by windows and doors. When those were all set out, they used Gran’s sterling silverware, teakettle, pots and pans, and old washtub, too. Ninia didn’t help, fearing she’d be burned again, though she stuck close to Molly the whole time.
    They had just finished on the second floor when Jennifer had a sudden, panicky thought.
    â€œThe chimneys!” she shouted as the mist began to scrabble up on the roof. She could hear mourning doves, in panicked flight, leaving their chimney-pot nests.
    Desperately the children raced to the fireplaces in each room and scattered the last remaining bits of metal onto the hearthstones. For good measure, Peter placed several portable metal heaters like fire guards in front of each fireplace.
    When they were finished they ran back to the living room, where Gran waited with the dog, the cat, and the horse.
    â€œWill it be enough?” Jennifer asked, panting with the effort of securing the house. “Do you think it will be enough, Gran?”
    â€œFor now,” Gran said. It was not much comfort.
    Day was now entirely night, as the dark mist covered window after window, downstairs and upstairs and—
    â€œThe actic!” Molly cried. “What if it comes in the actic?” There were lots of windows up there.
    â€œAttic,” Jennifer said automatically.
    â€œWe’ve blocked the attic door with carpet tacks and paper clips and some screwdrivers,” said Peter. “They should hold.”
    Jennifer started to shake again, just as she had in the Eventide Home. “But the iron gate didn’t hold the mist in the cemetery,” she said. “And that was much thicker iron. And older.”
    â€œYe needn’t ha’ reminded us o’ that!” the dog said miserably. He lay on the rug and put his paws up over his ears.
    â€œI dinna think the mist came through the cemetery gates at all,” Gran said. “I think it flowed over the oak tree and down a limb to the other side. Or else someone released it through one of the gates. And then …”
    â€œAnd then it followed us home?” Jennifer could not stop shaking.
    â€œLike a dog on a trail,” said Peter.
    â€œI resent that comparison,” said the dog.
    â€œBut why did it follow us?” It was Molly’s turn to whine.
    â€œThat,” Gran said, “is always the real question in any magic. Why.”
    They sat down together in the living room, the lights on everywhere. It said a great deal about their state of fear that Ninia didn’t question—even with so much as a look—what must have been a miracle to her glowing in each light fixture. She just clutched the cat and sat huddled between Molly and Jennifer, unable to speak of her terror to anyone but the horse.
    â€œWhy,” Gran repeated. “That is what we need to figure out first.”
    â€œThe mist is after the girl?” suggested Peter.
    â€œOr the talisman,” said Jennifer.
    â€œOr us,” said Molly.
    â€œOr me.” The horse spoke from the corner by the garden door with a kind of