13 Curses (8 page)

“Stop!” Red cried. “That’s not true, it
can’t
be true!”

“But it is,” Eldritch said, warming to his theme. “Want a cure for baldness? The Hedgewitch can provide you with whatever locks you wish for! It’s only a matter of waiting for a suitable source to come along.

“Or if you wish an enemy ill, buy a high-quality curse—a heart full of hatred to bury in some discreet corner of your foe’s land! Or a plague of warts, supplied by my own good self….” Eldritch finally paused for breath and emitted a manic cackle. “She was welcome to them… just not the thumb they were attached to.” He gave a sudden four-fingered wave and then fell silent, his sudden burst of energy spent.

Red shook with fear and rage.

“She’s not having me,” she vowed. “Using me in her spells and curses—I won’t let it happen.”

“You don’t have a choice,” said Eldritch. “I told
you, you can’t escape. No one has—not unscathed. And in any case, it looks as if she has other plans for you.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Red began, and then stopped. “What do you mean ‘other plans’? What other plans, and how do you know?”

“Because I heard what she said before she threw you in. You’re going to be her new disguise.”

Warwick’s hunch about Nell soon proved to be correct. The next day, something she did culminated in a great deal of trouble.

The day began ordinarily enough but with one notable difference. When Tanya awoke in her bed, it was to silence. For the first time, there were none of the usual shouts or tantrums from Amos, above on the second floor. The house was peaceful. Casting her mind back to summer, Tanya recalled learning that the herb rosemary had the power to extract memories from a human’s mind if used correctly. Knowing that many of Amos’s troubles stemmed from his past, Tanya had suggested extracting the memories that disturbed his mind. The quietness of the manor confirmed that the old man’s past tormented him no longer.

When Tanya entered the kitchen, Oberon jumped
up at her in an enthusiastic morning greeting. She groaned as his enormous paws landed heavily on her shoulders. His hot dog breath tickled her nose and she pushed him away, laughing.

“He did that to me too,” said Fabian, grouchily, from over near the fireplace. “Only, when he jumped up at me he’d just come in from the garden.” He stood up next to the mantelpiece. Two dirty paw prints were smudged on his thin jumper.

“What are you doing skulking around over there?” Tanya asked.

“Nothing,” said Fabian. “I’m not skulking.”

“You are. You’re looking for the hearthfay, aren’t you?” she guessed.

Fabian shrugged. “Might be.”

“I told you before, she’s shy,” said Tanya. “If you want to see a fairy, your best bet is the brownie in the tea caddy. It’s always there—but just watch out for its teeth.”

“I’ve already looked,” said Fabian, his voice taking on a mournful note. “I can’t see it—I think it’s because I’ve just used the last of the eyedrops Mad Morag gave me, and there wasn’t quite enough left for both eyes.”

“You’ve used it all?” Tanya asked.

“I get curious,” said Fabian. “There are so many of them in this house.”

“What a waste,” said Tanya.

In the summer, the old gypsy woman who lived in the nearby Hangman’s Wood had foreseen the dangers that awaited Tanya and Fabian, and had given
them a number of gifts to help. One was a tiny glass bottle of murky gray-green liquid, a drop of which into each eye had given Fabian a temporary second sight. The other items were a pair of silver scissors that would cut through almost anything and a compass that would always lead the person who possessed it home. On the night Tanya had almost vanished into the fairy realm, both had aided her and Fabian in their escape—but Tanya had not seen the scissors since. They had vanished with Red. Now that Fabian’s eyedrops were gone, only the compass remained.

“I’ve been thinking about the compass,” she said, chewing her lip.

“What about it?” said Fabian. He pushed his thick glasses up his nose, leaving a smear of coal dust on the bridge.

“We should check to see if it’s still working. Morag said she’d like it returned once it stops because that means it’s no longer of any use to us, and she’ll pass it on to someone else who might need it.”

“Does this mean you’re going to see her in her caravan in the woods if it’s not working?” Fabian asked. “If you are, I’ll come.”

Tanya nodded. “I’ll check it after breakfast.”

She gave Oberon a dog biscuit and then took the lid off the tea caddy. Using a teaspoon, she carefully lifted a heap of teabags, and jumped as a gnarled little hand shot out and rapped her over the knuckles with a tiny walking stick. Wincing, she replaced the lid and rubbed her sore hand.

“He’s still there all right,” she muttered, turning at the sound of footsteps.

Florence came into the kitchen, beaming at them, and then set about preparing breakfast. Shortly after, Warwick joined them and swept out the remnants of yesterday’s fire from the grate and laid a new one. Nell was the last to come downstairs, a duster tucked in her waistband and her flip-flops slapping the quarry stone floor.

“There’s a funny smell up on the first floor,” she announced, wrinkling her nose in Fabian’s direction. “It’s coming from your room.”

“It’s probably yesterday’s socks,” Fabian replied.

“Well, I’m doing a spring clean, so if there’s anything important lying around put it away.”

“Funny time for a spring clean,” Fabian muttered. “It’s autumn.”

Nell pursed her lips and tossed the duster into the washing machine.

“You know what I mean.”

After breakfast she collected the General from the sitting room, wheeling his cage into prime position in front of the fireplace. Oberon backed away, his tail between his legs. The General paid no attention. Instead, he preened and then settled back, regarding everyone superiorly from over his hooked beak. Tanya watched as Nell opened the top of the cage and repositioned the wooden pole to allow the parrot to sit in the open.

“Won’t he fly off?” she asked.

“Oh, no,” said Nell. “Not unless something frightens him. He’ll just sit there like a good boy.”

Tanya could not imagine that anything would frighten the General.

“All the same, don’t leave him unattended,” said Warwick, piling plates in the sink. “There’s the cat to think of. He may be old but he’s still got that killer instinct.” As he made his way past the General, Warwick gave a sharp exclamation.

“What is it?” asked Florence.

“He
pecked
me!” said Warwick, holding his arm and looking outraged. The General cackled, as if to insult further.

“Oh, dear,” said Nell. “You must’ve frightened him by walking too close.”

“He looks petrified,” Warwick answered sarcastically. He glared at the bird and left the kitchen.

“How rude,” said the General. “Off with his head!”

It had been three months since Tanya had last pried up the loose floorboard in her room. From the space beneath, she pulled out a shoebox that was wrapped in a red scarf. This was not for decoration—she used the scarf because the color red acted as a camouflage to fairies. With the scarf covering the box, it was safe from tampering. Removing the lid, she cast her eyes over the contents. Among them was an old diary of Tanya’s, a handful of photographs, a heavy silver
charm bracelet, and a tarnished brass compass. At first glance, the compass seemed quite ordinary, but on closer inspection there was something odd about it: there were no directions marked on it except for the letter “H” where the letter “N” for “north” would normally be. This “H,” Tanya had discovered, stood for “home.”

“Well?” said Fabian. “Is it still working?”

Tanya lifted the compass from the box.

“No. The needle is just spinning, as if it’s broken. If it was working, the needle would be steady on the ‘H’.”

“Oh, well,” said Fabian grudgingly. He reached past her for the bracelet. “Do you still wear this?”

“No.” She regarded it solemnly. “Not since… the drain-dweller.” There had been thirteen charms on the bracelet to begin with, but one, a tiny silver cauldron, had been taken by a fairy that had then attempted to steal the rest of the bracelet. This had resulted in a chase that had ended in the fairy’s death when it crossed Spitfire’s path.

“Where’s the Cauldron charm now?” Fabian asked.

Tanya shrugged. “Probably still in the sink pipe with the rest of the things the drain-dweller stole.” She put the lid on the box and then pushed it back under the floorboards, keeping the bracelet to one side. “I don’t even want it anymore. I can’t bear to look at it. I’m going to give it back to my grandmother.” Glancing up at the window, she got to her feet.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s go and return the compass to Morag while the weather’s good.” She picked the bracelet up. “I’ll give this back to my grandmother on the way out.”

But when they arrived downstairs there was nobody around, just a note from Florence to say she had gone to buy groceries in Tickey End and a rhythmic snoring from the brownie in the tea caddy. There was no sign of Warwick or Nell either, just a mop and bucket in the kitchen.

Tanya collected Oberon’s leash from where it hung on the back of the kitchen door. “Let’s go out. If anyone asks, we can just say we’re walking Oberon.” As an afterthought, she left the bracelet on top of Florence’s note before they left the house. She would explain her feelings to her grandmother later.

The vast back garden was as overgrown as ever, only now it looked as if an artist had taken to it with an autumnal palette. Tanya tilted her head back and sniffed the scent of leaf mulch.

In the summer, three goblins had often been found on the rock garden. Now, though, there were none to be seen. Tanya had befriended one of them, a gentle-natured creature named Brunswick, who had been bullied by his two vicious companions. She wondered what had become of him.

Soon Tanya, Fabian, and Oberon were through the gate and heading toward the forest. They paused before the little brook that dissected the land between the manor and the woods, then used the stepping
stones to cross. Fabian made to dash into the fringes of the forest, but Tanya called him back.

“Wait! Don’t forget that the woods are full of fairies—you need to protect yourself.”

Quickly, she took her jacket off, turned it inside out, and then put it back on again. Fabian watched, and then did the same. It was a method of protection against fairies that they had used in the summer, after reading about it in an old book.

“Ready?” he asked.

Tanya nodded. “Let’s go.”

And with that, they stepped into Hangman’s Wood.

The old gypsy woman’s caravan was difficult to find. Tanya had found it once before with the help of the goblin Brunswick, but now she and Fabian were wondering how to go about finding it again. Fabian, ever logical, had a theory.

“Mad Morag likes her privacy, obviously. Why else would she live out in the woods? She’ll be tucked away somewhere, but not too far out.”

“What makes you so sure?” Tanya interrupted. “And for goodness’ sake, stop calling her
Mad
Morag. She’s not mad, she’s eccentric—”

“Eccentric? She’s a witch,” Fabian said rudely. “As I was saying, she’s old, so she won’t want to walk farther than she has to. She goes to Tickey End for her groceries, so she’ll probably live over on this side of the forest”—he paused and pointed off to the left—“and she’d want to be near to the stream for her water
supply as well. So we should follow the stream in this direction.”