The Time Fetch by Amy Herrick Page B

doubt, was hanging from Baba’s belt.
    The next day and the days after passed in a terrible dream. How this place could exist inside the familiar and ordinary world, Feenix had no idea. But she was pretty sure it was Dweebo’s stupid stone that had gotten her into this trouble. The old ladies could smell it. They were always sniffing at her—especially Piggy Face. Feenix had dropped it through the hole in her coat pocket, so that it fell deep down inside the lining. It was freezing in the cottage, and she never took her coat off. The witches seemed to think the scent was part of her own personal fragrance. Every time old Pudding Face got near Feenix, she groaned with anticipation.
    Although the old ladies apparently had a sharp sense of smell, their eyesight was terrible and they only owned one pair of glasses, which they shared among themselves. They were always arguing about whose turn it was. Old Baba, who was clearly the boss, got them most of the time. The other two hobbled about the filthy place, bumping into the furniture and cursing and describing the horrible things they would do to each other if they were younger.
    Feenix thought of ways she would get back at Edward for getting her into this mess.
    During the day they let her out and made her work. Red Kerchief, who was called Skuld, delighted in coming up with random, bat-brained chores for Feenix to do. Her favorite was making her unsnarl tangled up webs of old gray yarn and then roll them into balls. There were hundreds of these balls lining the dusty shelves of the cottage. Or she would make Feenix scrub the huge sink full of greasy pots with a toothbrush and then sweep the floor with a little bundle of sparrow feathers tied together with string. It was clear that she found this amusing and entertaining. If Feenix protested, Red Kerchief would grab her ear and twist it.
    She had discovered on the first night that all three of them were unbelievably strong. When Feenix had lunged for the keys on old Baba’s belt, Baba had lifted her up and thrown her clear across the room. Trying to fight with Skuld about stupid chores was equally useless.
    “You dare to complain? Do you have any idea how few mortals are given this chance to enter the world in back of the world, especially in these days when the great forces are so little remembered? Here is the adventure you asked for. The very least you can do is perform these small tasks we give to you. Now, return to work or you will find yourself with something to complain about.”
    While she was working, Piggy Face, who was called Gorgo, often waddled over and pinched a piece of Feenix’s face or arm between her fingers, rolling it and feeling it, snuffling like a congested pig as she did.
    “Oh what a lovely, sweet-fleshed child you are. It is so nice of you to come and celebrate the Stoppage with us.”
    Only Baba One Nostril did not touch Feenix, but what she did was almost worse. She would come right up close to Feenix and then study her as if she was trying to figure something out. “What is it? What are you hiding?” she would whisper.
    Feenix tried constantly to come up with an escape plan.The windows in the cottage were high up and very small and Feenix didn’t think she could fit through any of them, but now and then one of the old ladies would open the front door and leave the house. She watched very carefully when this happened.
    The one who went out would get to wear the glasses and the other two would stay behind, bickering and ordering Feenix around. When the third one returned, she would usually be carrying a small, limp animal—a squirrel or a bird or a rabbit. Once there was a poor cat. The old ladies would boil it, or make Feenix turn it on a spit over the fire and then they would sit down at the table and eat the meat with their hands, crunching and sucking away greedily. They would wash these meals down with what Feenix guessed was wine. After a couple of glasses they would begin to argue