Witch Catcher [Hardcover]

Grade 3-6–As the story launches, 12-year-old Jen and her father are settling into the West Virginia castle they inherited from an eccentric great-uncle. Jen is excited about this new adventure until she meets her father's evil new love interest. Moura, a local antiques dealer, has bewitched Jen's father to gain control of a blown-glass witch catcher inhabited by a certain fairy. Moura and Jen engage in a supernatural tug-of-war as Jen gets drawn into the middle of an age-old battle between fairies and witches. After her cat accidentally releases and befriends the fairy, Kieryn, they face off against Moura and her ilk in a contest to trap the other side forever in the luminous bulbs. Although the story gets off to a slow start, the pace picks up and is sustained with page-turning suspense. Jen makes a brave heroine and a nice foil to Moura's over-the-top evil-stepmother routine. Although some characters are developed more than others, Hahn weaves an engaging story.–Nicki Clausen-Grace, Carillon Elementary School, Oviedo, FL
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Gr. 4-7. Jen and her father have just moved into the enormous old estate left to them by Uncle Thaddeus. The grounds make a fascinating playground for Jen and her cat, Tink, especially the tumbledown stone tower behind the house. Despite an order not to explore there, Jen finds her way inside the tower and up its rickety staircase to a strange room, where she finds odd objects that include a compelling painting of a strange girl. Hanging from the ceiling is a mesmerizingly beautiful glass globe with spout and stopper. When Jen takes and hides the globe, sinister events rapidly unfold. Jen's father becomes bewitched by Moura, an antiquities dealer who desperately desires the globe and who comes between father and daughter. When Tink breaks the globe and the girl depicted in the painting emerges, Jen learns that she must fight Moura's evil hold on both her father and on the world of fairies. A fast-paced, suspenseful fantasy in which an appealing heroine stands against forces seemingly beyond her control. Holly Koelling
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

“An original fantasy/horror adventure . . . Hahn’s fans and devotees of Emily Rodda’s many series will be heartily pleased.” (Kirkus Reviews )

"Page-turning suspense." (School Library Journal ) --This text refers to the Paperback edition.

When her widower father inherits a castlelike estate in the mountains of West Virginia, 12-year-old Jen is thrilled. It seems like a wish come true. But she quickly realizes that not all change is positive. Her dad has a mysterious new girlfriend, Moura, who slowly drives a wedge between Jen and her father. Furthermore, Moura has an unusually strongalmost obsessiveinterest in the antiques that fill the mansion, especially a beautiful glass globe that Jen finds hanging in a window. When Jen's cat accidentally breaks the globe, which Moura calls a "witch catcher," strange things begin to happen. . . . An odd-looking girl wearing a torn dress appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and Moura's behavior becomes more sinister, leading Jen to believe that her father is a pawn in an evil scheme. Soon Jen finds herself caught in the midst of a supernatural war, with the fate of an enchanted raceand her familyat stake. Inspired by the age-old legend of witch catchers, Mary Downing Hahn brings a magical cast of characters to life in this compelling fantasy adventure. Author's note.

Mary Downing Hahn, a former children's librarian, is the author of many popular ghost stories, over 20 acclaimed novels for children, most recently THE OLD WILLIS PLACE. She received the Scott O'Dell award for her World War II novel STEPPING ON THE CRACKS. She lives in Columbia, Maryland, with her husband & two cats, Oscar and Rufus.

Chapter 4 I found them in the kitchen having tea and talking softly. "How did you ever end up in a boring little town in the mountains of West Virginia?" Dad was asking Moura. She smiled. "It's a long story, Hugh." Dad reached for her hand. "I love long stories." When I cleared my throat loudly, Moura looked at me. She'd finally removed her glasses. They lay on the table beside her cup, casting colored shadows on the tablecloth. Her eyes were large and a light greenish gray, the pupils ringed with yellow. "Have a seat, Jen." Moura motioned toward a chair. Her lips curved briefly into a smile that didn't reach her strange eyes. Somehow she made me feel unwelcome without being anything but polite. Reluctantly, I slid into the seat and sat there tongue-tied with discomfort, the third person, totally unnecessary. Dad patted my hand, but I had a feeling he wished I hadn't interrupted the conversation. Cadoc lay at Moura's feet, his head resting on her sandals. When he saw me, he raised his head and stared with eyes as pale and cold as his mistress's. Although he didn't growl, I moved my chair away, ready to run if he so much as opened his mouth. I was glad Tink hadn't followed me downstairs. Moura patted the dog's head. "Cadoc won't hurt you, Jen," she said. "Come closer." Feeling childish, I forced myself to do as she said. Her perfume was strong, cloying. It made my head ache just to sit near her. And her eyes . . . When she looked at me, I wished she'd kept her glasses on. "Cadoc," Moura said, "this is Jen." The dog sat up and extended a paw for me to shake. I took it gingerly, feeling the hard claws housed in soft fur and velvety footpads. "Pleased to meet you," I lied. The introduction finished, I backed away from Moura and her dog, relishing the distance from both of them. "Isn't he amazing?" Dad asked me. "Moura has trained that dog perfectly." I nodded, but I was glad to see Cadoc lie down again. "Perhaps we could take a walk with Cadoc one fine day," Moura suggested to me. "I know a lovely path by the river." Dad went on for a while about how much fun it would be to ramble through the woods with the scariest dog I'd ever seen. Of course, he didn't think Cadoc was scary. No, he was Moura's dog and just as perfect as she was. During a lull in the conversation, I asked Moura what she thought of Great-Uncle Thaddeus's things. She smiled. "The house is full of treasurespaintings, sculpture, porcelain, silver, old books. If your father wants to sell his great-uncle's possessions, he'll be a rich man indeed. Why, the dining-room furniture alone is worth at least fifteen thousand dollars." I stared at her, absolutely amazed. "Who on earth would pay that much for old furniture?" "Collectors," Moura said, "dealers, maybe even a museum. The set is solid walnut, handcrafted, and in perfect condition." I turned to Dad. "Are you going to sell it?" He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. We just moved in, Jen. I want to live with Uncle Thaddeus's things for a while before I make any decisions." When Dad paused to sip his tea, Moura turned to me, her eyes keen. "I was expecting to find something I was told your uncle owned," she said slowly, "but I didn't see it anywhere." "What were you looking for?" I asked. "A glass globe, about this big." Moura cupped her hands to show me. "It's decorated with a swirling pattern of colors. There's a little spout on one side and a loop at the top so it can be hung in a window." While Moura described my globe, I drank my tea silently. I didn't dare look at my father for fear I'd give myself away. The globe was mine. I'd found it, and I wasn't going to give it to anyoneespecially Moura. "Some people call it a sun catcher," Moura went on, "but its original name was witch catcher. In the old days, superstitious people believed the pretty pattern in the glass had the power to draw witches and other evil creatures through the spout and into the globe. Trapped inside, the witch was powerless." "Is that right?" Dad leaned toward Moura, amused by her story. More worried than amused, I studied the tea leaves in my cup, wishing I could tell my own fortune. I was haunted by the girl I'd seen in the painting, her hands pressed against what I'd thought was a glass wall. Had Great-Uncle Thaddeus captured a witch in that globe? Was she at this very moment hidden in my closet? Moura smiled her strange smile. "Well, it's certainly true that the globes were called witch catchers, and people hung them in their windows to protect themselves." She stared for a moment into her own teacup, her long slender fingers curved around the fragile china. "Today witch catchers are valued for their beauty, but I find their history fascinating. Suppose the old superstitions are true and witches actually are held captive in those pretty globes? Suppose you broke one and the witch escaped?" As she spoke, Moura gazed directly at me. Her voice was light, even playful, but the expression in her eyes was anything but humorous. I shrugged and looked away. If Moura thought she could scare me into confessing I had the trap, she was mistaken. "Nonsense," Dad said with a laugh. "These days, you won't find witches roaming the countryside just waiting to be trapped in glass globes." "You'd be surprised," Moura said in a voice so low Dad didn't seem to hear. But I did. Maybe because she was looking at me, not my father. Despite myself, I shivered. Was she warning me? Or just trying to scare me? "I have a client who collects witch catchers," Moura went on in a normal voice. "He's most anxious to acquire another. I know for a fact he's willing to pay several hundred dollars for the one your uncle owned." Her head swung toward me, and her long hair swirled around her pale face. "Have you seen the globe, Jen?" Taken by surprise, I shook my head. Near my feet Cadoc stirred and sighed, his breath warm on my leg. "We haven't explored the tower," Dad said. "Maybe Uncle Thaddeus kept it up there." "There's nothing in the tower," I said. "You told me so yourself." "Would you mind if I had a look?" Moura asked. "We'll all go," Dad said. "Jen's dying to explore the place." "But you told me it's not safe," I reminded him. "You said it was about to fall down." Dad laughed. "Goodness, Jen, I didn't think you believed anything I told you." He meant it as a joke, but his words stung. Sarcasm wasn't Dad's style. "I'm sure the tower's perfectly safe," Moura said, apparently missing both the joke and the sarcasm. Getting to her feet, she reached for her glasses. Reluctantly, I followed Dad and Moura outside. Cadoc ran gracefully ahead, his long, lithe body stretching as if his bones were strung together with elastic. The first thing Dad noticed, of course, was the broken lock. He turned to me and frowned. "Do you know anything about this, Jen?" "A burglar could have done it last night," I said, choosing my words carefully. Not a lie, but not quite the truth, either. Dad stared at me, his eyes filled with suspicion. "What thief would come all the way out here just to break into this old ruin?" Moura surprised me by saying, "Jen may be right, Hugh. We've had several robberies lately. Probably teenagers with nothing else to do." Dad obviously didn't want to argue with Moura, but I could tell he wasn't convinced I was being truthful. Without saying more, he shoved the door open, letting out a whiff of dank, moldy air. Moura stepped back, her nose wrinkled in distaste. Dad smiled. "The tower's been closed for so long, it's no wonder it smells bad. Once we get to the top, you won't notice the odor." When Moura hesitated, Dad took her arm. "Come on, Moura. Where's your sense of adventure?" Cadoc ran up the winding stairs, ahead of us all. Moura allowed Dad to lead her across the threshold and up the creaky old stairs, but the expression of distaste stayed on her face. Unfortunately, I hadn't thought to straighten up before I'd left. The chair stood on the table where I'd put it. Worse yet, the dust was marked with footprints, clearly showing the ridges on the soles of my running shoes. Dad frowned at me. "Someone's been up here," he said. "With feet just about the size of yours. How do you explain that, Jen?" Moura surprised me again by laughing. "Children will be children," she told Dad. "They're as curious as cats. And just as devious." "Let's hope they have nine lives as well." Dad gave me a look that plainly said I'd hear more about this later. Pretending indifference, I watched the two of them search the room. Dad bumped his head on a low rafter. Moura coughed. A pigeon took wing from a rafter and flew out a broken window. Mice scurried from one hiding place to another. Cadoc made no move to chase them. He seemed more interested in prowling about, sniffing at things. When they'd looked in all the obvious places, Dad turned his attention to his great-uncle's paintings, but Moura came to me. "You're sure you didn't see the witch catcher, Jen? It might have been hanging in one of the windows." I gave Moura the sweet look that worked so well on my teachers. "I didn't stay up here very long. The dust bothered me." As proof, I covered my mouth and coughed. "But why is the chair on the table?" Moura asked. "Was there something up there that you were trying to reach?" I shrugged. "I wanted to see out the window better." Moura continued studying me, her eyes hidden behind those tinted glasses. No trace of her earlier smile lingered on her lips. Touching Dad's shoulder, she said, "I think we've seen all there is to see, Hugh." "Before we go, take a look at these paintings. They're quite remarkable." Dad gave Moura a warm smile. "They remind me of Yeats's poetry somehow. Do you remember "The Stolen Child"?" Moura nodded. ""Come away, O human child! . . . For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand,"" she quoted softly, eyeing me while she spoke. In her voice, the words had a menacing quality I'd never noticed when Dad read the poem to me. Dad nodded, unaware of anything but Moura's knowledge of the poem he loved. "Yes, that's the one I...