The Hungry Ghosts Page 6

  Milly lifted her head slightly and frowned. “You can’t do anything.”

  “How dare!” The cat’s nose twitched. “I helped you when the little one was in trouble, didn’t I? And again when you lost the book. Humans are so ungrateful.”

  “You heard my prayer?”

  “Heard it? Felt it, more like. Said you didn’t want your sister to be a witch. Really botched that one, haven’t I?” He spread his paws, as if ready to pounce on something.

  “I don’t understand. You weren’t around when I said that.”

  The cat purred. “You read books, don’t you? I’m pretty sure you do. The last corner you dog-eared—terrible habit, by the way—was even on summoning magicks.”

  “But I didn’t . . .”

  Milly stared at the cat, trying to figure out what he could possibly be talking about. The last chapter she read hadn’t been about cats. It’d been about—

  She gasped. “You can’t be!”

  “Can’t what?”

  “You’re . . . you’re a wind?”

  “I am indeed. I am, in fact, the wind. The one your sister fell on, and the one you asked for help, and the one you just now asked for help a second time, even though I was very ready to be on my way and never have anything to do with this ever again. Very atypical for winds to get involved with little witchlings. Very atypical.”

  “But you’re not a . . . wind.” She couldn’t get over it. “You’re a cat!”

  “And you are a witch. We can’t all appear exactly as we are, can we? If I were to always be a wind, I’d be hunted down by the weather division of that magicks committee immediately. That means I am a wind that must sometimes be a cat, and you are a witch that must sometimes be a girl. We all do what we must to survive.”

  “But I am a girl.”

  “Exactly! The purrfect disguise.”

  Milly scrunched up her face.

  “Don’t like puns?”

  “Not really.”

  “If you say so, little witch.” The cat jumped to his feet and stretched his paws. “Well then!” he said abruptly. “No use moping around. I’ve got business to attend to, and you’ve got a sister to find.” He charged at Milly and headbutted her.

  She didn’t budge. “What are you trying to do?”

  Jasper continued to mash his head against Milly’s knee. “Why are you so heavy?” he grunted. “Go get your sister!”

  “How?” Milly asked. “I have no way of knowing where they’ve gone.”

  The cat took a break from headbutting and snorted. “You have a lot to learn. Didn’t you smell the witch when she arrived at your house?”

  Milly recalled the burnt scent that accompanied the old woman. “I guess so.”

  “Excellent. Did that remind you of anything?”

  She tried to think harder. When was the last time she smelled anything burnt? “The cliff. But what does that have to do with anything?”

  “Magicks leave a very pungent smell,” the cat said. “Especially deep magicks. Like that book. It’s how both the wizard and the witch found you here. Cilla has it with her. That means you can also—”

  “Track down Cilla!” Milly leaped up, hands balled into determined fists.

  “There you go.”

  “Can you still smell it?”*

  The cat’s eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air. “Faintly. You’d have to leave immediately if you don’t want to lose the scent.”

  “Immediately?”

  “Unless you want to lose your sister forever and ever. The trail is already very faint.” The cat’s tail twitched. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you won’t be gone too long. You’ll have her back by this time next week!”

  “Next week?”

  “Or maybe tomorrow. Or next month. I can’t predict the future. Point is, you’ll find them. Then you’ll have your sister and I can pretend this never happened and we can all get along with our lives.”

  Milly gulped and looked at the trail that led back to the house. Doris would have to do without her for a little while. She wouldn’t be gone that long, right? Maybe she’d even like being away. Seeing the world. Learning more about magicks. And . . . witches.

  She turned toward the cat. “One thing first.”

  “Okay. But make it quick.”

  “What did my sister ask for?”

  The cat laughed. “That’s definitely not within my parameters. But you can ask her when you see her again.”

  “Will you come with me?”

  The cat frowned. “I don’t think I’m allowed to.”

  “I can’t go by myself!”

  “Hm. Tough luck.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “I am too! You know what happened the last time a wind helped a human? It started a war!”

  Milly bit the bottom of her lip and looked down at the moon on her palm. It itched. What was that thing about taming winds?

  “Um.” Jasper started to back up toward the edge of the cliff. “I really don’t wanna know what you’re thinking.”

  “I need your help.” She stepped forward, avoiding eye contact.

  The cat’s ears flattened against his head. “I don’t really think I can—”

  “This is your fault to begin with. You brought that book back into my life! You’re the reason my sister was taken!” She paused. She knew none of that was true, but Milly couldn’t stop blaming the cat once she started. “You’ve got to help me get her back.”

  She felt a great power burn from her palm. Though she had never cast a spell on purpose, Milly’s next words came more naturally to her than meanness. “Wind, I demand your help to bring Cilla home. You are tamed.”

  “Blustering squalls, I’m outta here!” The cat turned and his body became ethereal. His limbs broke into soft currents and his whiskers twisted into smokey trails. A loud rush of wind almost knocked Milly off her feet as she watched.

  But she stood her ground with her fingers outstretched. Just as the cat’s front paws left the cliff, a red spark wrapped around his body and made his transparent cords flesh once again. The sparks continued to wrap around him and pulled him back onto the cliffside. Back into the form of a cat.

  “What!” He looked back and forth, fur frazzled. “What did you do?”

  Milly let out her long-held breath. She felt powerful and proud. Casting that felt so natural. She’d just tamed a wind! But seeing the disheveled cat at her feet, panting and confused, also made her feel a pang of guilt.

  “I’m . . .” She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time to be sorry. She could be sorry once she found her sister. “Okay, wind. You’re going to help me find Cilla.”

  The cat rapidly shook his head as the red electricity faded from his black fur. “What a rush,” he said, glaring at Milly. “Okay, witchling. I guess I’ll help you.”

  “You will?” Milly’s heart lifted.

  The cat laughed, but the glare never left his narrowed eyes. “You didn’t really give me a choice.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT, PART ONE

  a girl without a mother

  Milly and Jasper made their way along the small upraised paths that crisscrossed through the rice fields. The paths were narrow passages made of tightly packed dirt just barely big enough for a grown-up to walk on. On either side of these paths was the partially flooded landscape in which the farmers grew their main grain.

  The two had been walking for most of the night, and Milly knew it wouldn’t be that long till morning. Overhead, the sky’s deep blues were already shifting into a splotchy arrangement of purples and pinks.

  Ahead of her, the cat trotted along with an annoying sense of certainty.

  “What are we doing?” Milly would ask.

  “Just trust me,” he’d say.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?”

  �
�Of course I do.”

  “So why do we keep changing directions?”

  “Don’t question the process!”

  And so on and so on.

  Milly passed her time by watching the reflections in the water and making shapes out of them. There, an ear of corn. There, a rabbit. There, what she imagined an elephant to be.

  Every so often, the cat stopped at a crossroads, lifted his little nose, and sniffed the air. Then he’d make an abrupt turn and take off down an adjacent path. The first time it happened, she was following him a little too closely and stepped on his tail. Jasper let out an ear-piercing yelp and jumped into the water. When he dragged himself back out, all of his fur was plastered to his bones. She didn’t want to make the same mistake twice. Based on the occasional glare he threw back at her, neither did he.

  Milly glanced up during their walk and saw that they had been inching closer and closer to the Needsy Woods, an endless bamboo forest that bordered the inner edge of West Ernost.

  She gulped and stopped in her tracks to take it in.

  The cat kept walking until he noticed she wasn’t following behind him anymore, then backtracked to her.

  “You okay, little girl?”

  Milly looked down to see that the cat had sat down and, not for the first time, was attempting to groom the knots out of his fur.

  “You look a little pale,” he said. “We’ve come very far. No point stopping now.”

  “I know. It’s just . . .” Milly hesitated. “I’ve never been this far from home before.” For good reason.

  “Something wrong with a couple trees?”

  She shook her head. “Those aren’t just trees. Those are the Needsy Woods. I heard they were cursed by a witch after the war. They called her the Witch of the Wasted Woods. All the farmers told stories about how she lured children into the woods to eat them . . .” Her eyes widened. “You don’t think she’s the one who took Cilla, do you?”

  The cat choked in the middle of licking his back and made an awful wheezing noise.

  Milly looked down at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

  The cat threw his head back and continued to wheeze.

  Milly realized what the cat was doing and glared. “Why are you laughing?”*

  “Witches don’t eat children.” His eyes shone with mischief. “You don’t have nearly enough meat on you. They’d rather eat a half-giant!”

  “I’m serious!” Milly said. “For all we know, this could be the witch that took Cilla. She’s supposed to be dangerous. She could even be where all the shadows came from.”

  “Eh.” The cat licked his paw and ran it over his head. “Doubtful.”

  Milly picked up a clump of mud and threw it at the cat’s head.

  The cat ducked and stared. “What was that for?”

  “If you’re not gonna take this seriously, I don’t want your help.” She started walking again, stepping over the cat and toward the forest.

  “Hey! Watch it!”

  Milly kept stomping onward.

  “Little girl,” the cat called. “Little person! Hey, girl. Hey, little—I knew I should have remembered her name. What was it? M-something. Mildew? No, wait. Milly? Milly! Come back!”

  “No, thank you.”

  “You have to listen to me, you know. I’m older than you!”

  She whipped around, eyes ablaze. “Oh, yeah? How old are you?”

  “Forty!”

  “Forty years old?!”

  The cat chuckled. “Not quite.”

  “Forty what?”

  “. . . seasons.”

  Milly ran the numbers in her head. “Forty seasons in years is forty divided by four, which equals ten . . . so that means . . . HEY, I’M OLDER THAN YOU.” She kept walking.

  “Do you even know where you’re going?”

  “Nope!” She was now halfway to the woods. Seeing something flutter up ahead, she stepped off the last dirt path and onto a long stretch of clumped moss leading to the tree line.

  She heard the cat scramble to his feet and chase after her. “Hold up!”

  Milly kept walking.

  “Did you forget that you’re the one who needs my help?” he said, falling into pace beside her. “You can’t even smell the magicks. How will you find your sister? Besides, you tamed me. I can’t very well untame myself.”

  Milly let out an exasperated sigh and pointed up ahead. “That’s how I’ll find Cilla.” There, in a clump of bushes, was a white page fluttering against the wind. “I release you from your oath or whatever. Go on and be free to do . . . wind things.”

  “That’s not how this works,” Jasper said, stopping in his tracks. “I’m stuck with you until we get your sister home! This is very deep magicks you’re working with; it can’t just be undone.”

  She felt her stomach tighten with guilt. “Oh. I . . . didn’t know that.”

  “Oh, no. I’m sorry. Is this your first time taming a wind?” the cat teased.

  “This was all your fault, anyway!” Milly blurted out. “I can’t talk to you right now.”

  “So what? You’re just gonna leave me like this? I have reason to want to find her, too, you know. I can’t stay a cat for the rest of my life!” The cat-wind mrrowed. “Come on, I didn’t mean it! Milly!”

  Milly ignored him as she bent down to grab the torn page. It was a drawing of a carrot. She smiled. Don’t worry, Cilla. I’ll be there soon.

  She looked up ahead to see another page and continued into the forest, picking up each piece of the trail. She’d been walking for a long time before she realized it had gotten very quiet behind her. When she turned, the cat was nowhere to be found.

  Oh well. Who needed him?

  * * *

  A long while later, Milly found another piece of paper barely hanging on to a branch. This was the second page she’d found that was too high for her to reach. She’d realized early on that the papers must have been dropped from somewhere above the trees. Which meant that Cilla and the witch had to have been . . . flying?

  Milly maneuvered her way through clusters of bamboo. The tighter the trees became, the harder it was to see or move forward. Overhead, a soft wind rustled the leaves. She shuddered.

  Slowly but surely, the sun spilled through and dappled the floor as the trees rippled back and forth. It made everything, even the trees, glow white. Milly squinted her eyes. She thought she saw another page a little way ahead, but they were getting harder and harder to see, so she couldn’t be sure.

  Milly balled her fists and pushed through the trees until she could reach it. It was another page. Good—that meant she was still headed the right way.

  She snatched it up and stuffed it into one of her pockets along with a dozen other crumpled sheets of paper.

  “Oh, boggins.” Looking up, Milly realized that she’d gotten herself stuck in a little ditch.*

  With a loud grunt, she tried to pull herself up with one of the nearby trees. She shuffled up onto it and felt it bend beneath her weight.

  “No no no no.”

  The tree continued to bend. She held on until it got stuck on another cluster of trees.

  “Okay, listen. You can do this. It’s just gonna take a lot of . . . focus.”

  Milly scooted up an inch at a time, gritting her teeth every time the tree below her shivered. “Almost . . . there . . .”

  She heard a loud snap.

  The tree she was balancing on fell, and her stomach briefly felt like it had left her body. She landed on a bed of bamboo and tumbled to the ground.

  “Oof. That one was so bad I can’t even laugh at it.” Jasper.

  She lay on the ground for a few seconds and put her arm over her face. “Why,” she grunted, “are you here?”

  “I needed to make sure you were all right,” he said. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”


  “Forgive me?” Milly slid her arm down and scowled at the cat with one eye. He was sitting nearby with a big old smirk. “I didn’t say sorry.”

  “Didn’t have to! I’m just that charitable.” His tail swished across the forest floor and he took a short sniff. “You’re losing them, you know. I can barely smell that book anymore.”

  Milly groaned and pushed herself back up to her feet. “I was doing perfectly fine before you showed up.”

  Jasper grinned, as much as a cat could grin. “Oh, I know, I’ve been following you for a while now. You’ve been doing just fine.”

  Milly took stock of her surroundings and started heading in the direction she thought she’d been going originally. “I still don’t want your help.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’m sure you’ll realize in your own time that you’re headed in the wrong direction.”

  Milly stopped as she stepped on one of the fallen branches from the tree she’d just cracked. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and snorted, then spun around and walked past the cat in the opposite direction.

  “You’re welcome, little person.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled.

  “What was that?”

  “I said THANKS.” Milly stomped through the bamboo toward another piece of paper. “And my name is MILLY. Not ‘little girl’ or ‘little person.’ M-I-L-L-Y. Milly.”

  “Names are so boring. Fine. Whatever. If I call you Milly, will you let me help you finish your quest?”

  “Do whatever you want. I don’t care anymore. I just want to get my sister back.”

  “All right! Jasper and Milly, at it again!” The cat fell into step beside her.

  She snorted again and kept walking.

  After a while, the cat ran ahead to a slight incline and paused at the top. “You know,” Jasper said, “there might be an easier way to do this.”

  “What do you mean?” She wrestled to squeeze between two trees and snatched another paper.

  “What I mean is, you have witch blood. Why don’t you, you know, use it?”

  Milly shook her head violently. “I’m not a witch.”

  “That’s not what you said earlier.” Jasper sneered. “Anyway, it’s too bad you feel that way. Would have made this much easier. And it’s not like you had any problems using it on me.”