Brewster hobbled over to the unmoving form of the fetch. She nudged it with her toe. No doubt about it, the dog was dead. Just a few feet away from its body was the stone—Lisa’s lucky stone—that had killed it. I wondered how the old woman would react to the death of her beloved pet. “You children have caused me a great deal of trouble,” she said. With one quick tug, she could rip Alex’s ear right off. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to raise and train a fetch?” She didn’t really care about the dog as a pet, I realized. She wasn’t sad about its death at all. She was only angry that we’d killed it. Maybe the only thing left in her heart was rage. Her witching eyes flashed. “Lucky for you,” she continued, “the fetch’s work was already done.” “But you don’t have all the pieces,” I blurted. “Aren’t you a smart child?” Mrs. Brewster cackled dryly. “Seems you know more about my work than you ought to.” I clamped my teeth down on my tongue to keep it from wagging.
