The Death Catchers by Jennifer Anne Kogler Page A

wasn’t frozen.
    â€œMistake!” Vivienne said, angry. I imagined the glow of her flaming eyes. “I have not made one single mistake in thousands of years.”
    â€œI do not have the answers you seek,” Agatha said calmly.
    â€œThis is Morgan’s doing, I am sure of it!” Vivienne said. “ How is she doing it? Has she been here in search of the Last Descendant or his Keeper?”
    â€œOur sister has not set foot here, which is more than I can say for you. In fact, if you do not leave right this instant—”
    â€œFine. You may think me foolish, Agatha. But I will be watching very carefully . If I so much as sense Morgan meddling with my work, mark my words, I shall cut every single thread in this pitiful town first, and ask questions later,” Vivienne hissed.
    â€œDo that and you may alter the very fate you have been so desperately waiting for,” Agatha said calmly.
    â€œI doubt you will be so smug when Doomsday finally does arrive,” Vivienne responded.
    When she finished speaking, a small black whirlwind rushed out the window directly above me and up toward the cloudy sky. I blinked my eyes once and the murkiness was gone. Other than the faint rustle of the white firs, my own shallow breathing was the only sound in the cemetery. When I heard Agatha’s voice again, I held my breath.
    My body still shudders when I recall her saying my name out loud.
    â€œYou may come in now if it suits you, Elizabeth Mortimer,” she said. “Vivienne has gone.”
    She must’ve known I was outside her window the entire time. At that moment, I intended to find out how. I made my way back around the cottage. Turning the knob, I pushed open the door.
    The living room was empty. I tiptoed in as if I hadn’t been invited.
    Agatha’s living room didn’t have much character. There was the empty rocking chair, a fireplace, and a worn loveseat by the window with a stack of books piled next to it. Most of the books were paperbacks, but at the top of the stack there was a book that was quite different from all the others. It was a thin leather-bound volume that looked very old. Its title and author, The Last Descendant by Merlin Ambrosius, were engraved in silver letters across the front. I couldn’t stop looking at it. Finally, I willed my gaze away from its cover.
    A large gold-framed painting hung on the wall opposite the fireplace. I walked toward it to get a closer look. In the middle of a white-capped ocean, there was an island, covered with huge apple trees.
    â€œIt’s the Isle of Avalon. Stunning, isn’t it?”
    I whipped around. Agatha, still barefoot in her white linen, sat in her rocking chair. I had no idea whether she’d come in quietly or just appeared.
    She must have recognized the concern on my face.
    â€œThere’s no need to be alarmed. I mean you no harm,” she said. Her gray eyes matched her two neat braids. She motioned to the couch facing the rocking chair with her hand. I sat down on its edge. I didn’t plan on staying long enough to get comfortable.
    â€œI don’t believe we’ve officially met,” Agatha continued, clearing her throat. “I am Agatha the Enchantress, of the Isle of Avalon.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” I said, with more reflex than feeling. Mom would’ve been pleased to know that, though terrified, I hadn’t abandoned my good manners.
    â€œYou had your first death-specter, didn’t you?” Agatha said. “That’s how you saved the girl.”
    â€œYou mean Jodi?” I asked.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAre you a Hand of Fate, too?”
    â€œAbsolutely not. I am one of the Seven Sisters of Avalon and a Lady of the Lake.” Agatha’s eyes had a youthful sheen to them. Though she had gray hair, her skin was as smooth and flawless as a freshly painted wall. She seemed as if she’d just awakened from a long, restful nap.
    â€œHow do