CHAPTER ONE

“Take care of my wee beasties,” the old witch whispered to Madelaine Ainsworth. At least she appeared to be a witch, considering her black pointed hat—no, it was purple, dark and shimmering. With a point that tilted far to the right like the crumpled horn of a mountain goat who had tumbled against the rocks of a mountain one too many times. With a snap of her fingers, the chubby elven woman disappeared in a flutter of flower petals.

“But—” Maddie stared at the explosion of purple blossoms now scattered around the courtyard where the old woman had been. Was this an April Fool’s Day joke?

“Is that the pieces for my 3-D printing apparatus?” An older man with the wild white hair of an Einstein ambled out of the modern day castle he shared with his wife and a variety charmingly eccentric family members and friends.

“I don’t think so.” Maddie circled what appeared to be—well, she wasn’t sure.

Some sort of over-sized, bullet-shaped vehicle with the distinct sounds of farm animals whispering cautiously from inside. But for one braying donkey, who plainly said, “Let me out.”

Maddie stood on tiptoe, adding several inches to her already impressive six-foot height. As she peered through a narrow slatted window at the back, the donkey lifted his hindquarters and delivered a solid kick with both back hooves. The back of the vehicle rattled angrily but did not give way.

“Just a minute.” Maddie looked for a latch, but where the doors should have been was only solid, sleek metal.

“Sorry,” a disembodied voice said in Maddie’s ear. “You need the magic combination. ‘Where is the door? That must come before my wee beasties can explore and come to expect more’.”

As the back panel opened, a ramp slid from under the trailer. The donkey rushed out and trotted around the side before relieving himself next to the wheel. “Ahh. Been in there for what seems like days.”

As the donkey reappeared, Maddie noticed he was wearing a hat—an old-fashioned bowler like gamblers wore in western shows on television. And a bow tie!

Behind him, other animals cautiously peered out of the trailer, then made their way slowly down the ramp.

A horse wearing a top hat sniffed at the grass in the courtyard, nodded in satisfaction, and began to graze.

Two pigs competed for space against the fender well to scratch their backs, the pearls around their necks bouncing in delight as they grunted in satisfaction.

Meanwhile, a dozen chickie girls wearing bandana scarves of different colors scattered around the courtyard, clucking and scratching at the ground in search of worms and grubs.

In one clump, a trio of ducks quacked and waddled to the water in the moat that flowed under the drawbridge of Maddie’s castle and dove in.

Last, a sheep dog herded four sheep down the ramp and onto the grass at a far corner of the courtyard near the time machine—all wearing cowboy hats and a variety of western wear accessories.

What manner of wee beasties are these? Maddie wondered. They must indeed be special.

Ignoring the garbed and accessorized animals making themselves at home in the yard of his home, Uncle Horace simply mumbled to himself and went back to his workshop through the dungeon door.

However, someone else was very interested in the wee beasties. A beautiful woman and a young girl appeared beside the trailer and looked at the animals scattered around the castle courtyard. “Oh, Aprilita has already been here. So you came to an agreement?”

Though she didn’t wear a pointed hat, Maddie knew for sure their neighbor, Asteria, was a witch. She and her daughter, Shabina Louise, had been to Maddie’s castle many times. “A woman was here, said take care of my ‘wee beasties’, then disappeared.”

A slight frown marred Asteria’s brow. “I suggested she ask you to look after the farm animals while she was on assignment.”

“So this isn’t an April Fool’s Day joke?”

“Aprilita doesn’t joke about caring for her wee beasties.” Asteria looked around, scanning the castle, which did indeed look like a medieval fortress complete with draw bridge and turrets set on a rolling green landscape. “You don’t have a barn. Or a coop for the Feathered Friends. Shabina Louise and I can help with that. Where would you like the barn?”

Maddie blinked. Did she really want to do this? Did she have a choice? She couldn’t turn away anyone homeless—especially animals. She looked around the castle courtyard where the animals were making themselves quite at home. Well, why not? She was in between misadventures right now, and dear Horace wanted her to stay closer to home. How much bother could it be to watch a group of farm animals for a few days? “How long is your witch friend going to be gone?”

“I’m not sure. Sometimes assignments only take a few hours. Other times…” Asteria shrugged.

“Um…how about putting the barn behind the castle?”

“Dear Aunt Maddie has a farm but it has no critter barn. From gambrel roof to bright red walls, give her room for critters all.” As a classic gambrel-roofed red barn appeared behind the castle, Asteria smiled in satisfaction. “Done. Shabina Louise, you get to build the coop for our Feathered Friends.”

The little witch’s brow furrowed in concentration and she recited. “What are chickens without a coop. They need a house where they can roost.”

Shabina Louise waved her hands dramatically and a little house appeared a short distance from the barn. A bright pink little house with ornate white gingerbread trim. Her mother raised an eyebrow.

“Um…I’ve always wanted a small Victorian playhouse.”

“If Aunt Maddie doesn’t mind, why don’t you stay here and refine the chicken coop?” Asteria looked to Maddie for agreement.

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” Asteria waved one hand and disappeared.

Maddie slowly walked around the little house, with Shabina Louise trailing behind her. “I rather like it.”

“Truly?” Shabina Louise’s expression brightened.

“I think we can work with this. Let’s take a look inside.”

“What do chicken coops need?” Shabina Louise looked around the inside of the little house.

“I’m not sure.” Maddie frowned thoughtfully. “Let’s ask our chickie girls.”

As the chickie girls filed inside, they had definite opinions. “No nesting boxes. I’m not into the egg laying gig.”

“Me either.”

“Not for me.”

The other chickie girls shook their heads.

“Roosts? Are you kidding? I want a bed. And make it extra soft, please.”

“Make mine firm. Otherwise my back aches in the morning.”

Shabina Louise tried to conjure a bed to meet the specifications of each chickie girl.

“Not bad. A little too firm, but OK for tonight.”

“Just pluck out some of your feathers and pad the darn thing. My bed is perfect. And a pink, frilly coverlet too. Pink is my favorite color.”

“Yesterday your favorite color was navy blue with white polka dots.”

“Because the rooster she saw on that movie was wearing a bowtie with those colors.”

The other chickie girls clucked with laughter.

“Well, it’s dark and I’m tired,” one of the brown hens said. She climbed onto her bed, fluffed her feathers and wiggled herself into the coverlet, then tucked her head under one wing. With a chickie purr of contentment, she closed her eyes and went to sleep.