A Pinch of Magic

by Michelle Harrison

  Fliss’s mouth dropped open.

  ‘You really think this can work? Even if the bag takes us back, where could she escape to?’

  ‘We bring her back with us, here,’ said Betty. After the mounting feeling that all had been lost, Charlie’s revelation had renewed her strength and courage. They had had the answer the whole time. They could save not only themselves, but put right the terrible wrong that Sorsha had suffered, too. ‘Where no one would know her. We have to help her, don’t you see? These objects . . . the bag, the mirror and the dolls – they were all Sorsha’s. They were never meant for the Widdershins. When she put her powers into them, she did it hoping that they’d be used to rescue her. But no one ever did. Until now. Only the Widdershins can save her.’

  ‘And if it doesn’t work?’ Fliss asked.

  ‘It has to. We’re closer than anyone has ever been before, I just know it!’ said Betty. ‘But we need to think first. It’s no good going straight to the Tower. None of the objects will work there – the magic is rendered powerless.’

  ‘It’ll be dangerous,’ Fingerty put in, listening intently. ‘There’s only one way into that tower, and one way out. And it’ll be guarded.’

  Colton moved to the door, peering outside. ‘We still have a few hours before sundown. I say we follow Betty’s plan, but start off somewhere familiar.’

  ‘We?’ Fliss asked. ‘Are you coming with us?’

  ‘You three are the reason I’m standing here today. I owe it to all of you, and Sorsha, to help make things right.’ Colton’s black eyes glittered as he reached out and brushed Charlie’s hair off her face. ‘A little girl like you helped me once. Feels like time to pay back the favour.’

  Betty took a deep breath, taken aback by this show of loyalty. Hours ago she’d hated not only him, but being forced to stick with him out of necessity. She had never dreamed Colton might be someone she’d grow to call a friend. She gave him a small, grateful smile. ‘That’s settled then. Let’s do it now, quickly, before we can change our minds.’ She squeezed Charlie’s hand. ‘We need you to use the bag to take us to the Poacher’s Pocket, on the morning Sorsha Spellthorn dies. Can you remember to say that?’

  Charlie’s bottom lip quivered. ‘Yes, but . . .’

  ‘But what?’ Fliss prompted gently.

  ‘What if we went back to the Poacher’s Pocket now,’ Charlie asked. ‘Back to our home, and Granny?’ Her eyes filled with tears. ‘Just for a few minutes. I miss her!’

  ‘We can’t,’ said Betty. ‘Granny would be furious. She’d never let us out of her sight again, let alone use any of the magical objects.’

  ‘There is a way we can see her, though,’ said Fliss. ‘The mirror. Just to let her know we’re all right.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Charlie, sniffing. ‘Yes, let’s do that!’

  Betty nodded, and Fliss held the mirror before the three of them. Their faces were reflected back at them, dirty and tearstained.

  ‘Let us see Granny,’ Fliss commanded.

  Betty steeled herself as the looking glass began to cloud over. Anxious as she was to see her grandmother, she knew that no matter how relieved Bunny would be to hear from them, they wouldn’t escape an ear bashing. She was right.

  Granny came into view as the glass cleared, although the image was still thick with smoke. This time, however, it was pipe smoke. It was clouding round Granny’s head so densely that for a moment Betty couldn’t work out exactly where Bunny was. Then she caught a glimpse of the kitchen window, with all Granny’s charms hanging up.

  ‘Granny?’ Fliss said in a small voice.

  Bunny’s head snapped up. Her eyes were puffy and red. ‘Fliss!’

  ‘We’re all here, Granny,’ said Fliss. ‘Betty and Charlie, too. We’re safe.’

  ‘Where?’ Granny shrieked, peering at them as they crowded round the mirror. ‘Where are you? You girls come home right now, do you hear?’

  ‘We can’t, Granny,’ said Betty, heartsick to see her poor granny looking more beaten down and defeated than ever before. This couldn’t be the last time Betty would see her. She had to make it back home. ‘Not yet. But we will, soon, I promise.’

  ‘Was this your doing, Betty?’ Granny’s voice rumbled like low thunder. ‘Are you using those dolls to stay invisible? Because I’ve had half of Crowstone looking for you all!’

  Betty gulped, unable to bring herself to confess that they were no longer in Crowstone. It would only scare Granny further and make her lose all hope.

  ‘We’re so close now, Granny,’ she said. ‘Closer than anyone’s ever been to breaking the curse.’

  ‘And it was me who figured it out,’ said Charlie proudly.

  ‘Was it, now?’ Granny raged. ‘Well, you’ll all be taking an equal share of the blame when you get back!’

  ‘Uh oh.’ Charlie was looking distinctly less homesick now. ‘She’s awful cross, ain’t she?’

  ‘So, anyway, we, er . . . just wanted you not to worry,’ Fliss waffled. ‘And we’ll be back soon.’

  ‘You’ll get back here now!’ Granny growled. ‘You’ll—’

  ‘We love you, Granny,’ said Charlie. She leaned forward and kissed the mirror.

  It was enough to make Granny’s eyes, which had been narrowed in anger, widen and fill with tears. The sharpness left her voice. ‘And I love you all, so much. That’s why you must come home and stop this madness. I can’t lose the three of you, too.’

  ‘We are coming home,’ Betty said. ‘Soon.’ After we set things right, she added silently. And home won’t be a prison any more.

  ‘Betty—’ their grandmother began.

  Fliss bit her lip. ‘Sorry, Granny.’ She turned the mirror over, breaking contact, and took her sisters’ hands. ‘This is our chance to change things. Not just for us, but for all those Widdershins girls before us, as well as Sorsha.’

  Charlie bit her lip. ‘All right. Let’s do this.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘A Friend’

  A HUNDRED YEARS HAD MADE a great deal of difference to the Poacher’s Pocket, and Crowstone generally. They landed in a tangle of arms and legs in a small alley next to the inn – an alley that no longer existed in the girls’ future.

  After they’d brushed themselves down and moved to the front of the street, the first thing Betty noticed was how new and smart everything looked. She was so used to the place looking shabby and rundown that it was quite a surprise to see the windows with all their panes intact, and the glossily painted doors displaying no signs of flaking.

  We’re here, she thought, trembling with anticipation. We’re actually here . . . and our whole future depends on this working.

  ‘What is that smell?’ Charlie said. She screwed up her face and pinched her nose. ‘It’s like . . . like the latrines!’

  ‘I think the streets are the latrines,’ said Fliss, as she took in their surroundings. ‘Ugh, we’re right next to the gutters!’ Before she had even finished speaking a window of a house across the green was flung open and the contents of a chamber pot thrown out.

  ‘It worked, though,’ said Betty, staring round in amazement as the reality of what they had done began to sink in. ‘It really, actually worked! We’re here, back at the start of it all.’

  ‘Wait, do you hear that?’ said Charlie. ‘The birds in my head – they’ve stopped. They’ve gone!’

  ‘Mine too,’ Fliss exclaimed.

  ‘And mine!’ said Betty, realising her pocket felt lighter, too. The stone in it had vanished. ‘It’s because the curse hasn’t been made yet. We’ve got to make sure it never is.’

  ‘Jumping jackjaws,’ Charlie exclaimed. ‘Look at the moon!’

  Betty looked up. Though it was broad daylight, the moon was clearly visible, something Granny always said was bad luck. In addition, it was an eerie red which turned the sky pink, almost like sunset.

  ‘A blood moon,’ Colton said, spooked. ‘It must be an eclipse . . . but people from this time won’t know that. They�
�ll just take it as a sign of Sorsha’s guilt.’

  Betty gazed at the sky. ‘If anything, it’d make me think the opposite,’ she said. ‘An innocent person about to be executed.’

  The doors of the Poacher’s Pocket opened as someone went in. Warm air and the smell of ale gusted over them, making Betty miss home more than ever. Straight away her eyes went to the bar, half-expecting to see Granny there. Instead she met cold, fish-like eyes. She looked away, heart hammering. Fingerty had described her so well that she knew exactly who this girl was.

  ‘That’s her,’ Betty whispered. ‘Prudence Widdershins – Sorsha’s half-sister, who betrayed her. And like it or not, we’re relations of hers.’ She paused as a man emerged from the cellar. Something about him reminded her of her father, and from the way Prue was gazing at him, the rest was clear.

  ‘And that’s who she married. The curse and everything that’s happened, the reason we’re even here, is all because of her.’ She stared at Prudence, longing to slap the simpering face and sickened to think she shared the same blood as this hateful creature. It was a dirty, uncomfortable sensation which left Betty hankering after a good wash.

  ‘Betty?’ Charlie said suddenly. ‘The bag . . . I can’t find it!’ She turned to look about her, panic-stricken. ‘I must have dropped it in the alley when we landed!’

  The sickening feeling inside Betty intensified as they ran back, retracing their path. The alley was empty. There was no bag, and no one in sight. Then Fliss turned to Betty, ashen-faced and rummaging through her own pockets. Before she said a word, Betty knew.

  ‘The mirror’s gone, too,’ Fliss whispered. ‘I don’t understand! I had it, I never lose things!’

  ‘You didn’t lose it,’ said Betty. A realisation hit her like a boat striking a rock. She checked her skirt, already knowing the dolls were gone. ‘The curse hasn’t been made yet, but we didn’t think about what else would happen by us travelling back in time.’

  Colton took a sharp breath. ‘You don’t have the objects because they haven’t been passed down the generations to you, yet.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Betty, furious with herself for not foreseeing this.

  ‘But without the bag we’re stuck here!’ Fliss wailed, horrified. ‘And Sorsha will make the curse anyway!’

  Slowly, Betty walked back to the door of the Poacher’s Pocket. The others followed, watching as she turned to stare through the window.

  ‘We might not have the bag, but we know where it is.’

  ‘In there,’ said Colton. ‘With the dolls and the mirror. Prue has them all.’

  Betty nodded, clenching her teeth. ‘And we know what we have to do.’

  ‘Get them back,’ Fliss said fiercely. ‘Then after we use them to save Sorsha and get home, we return them to her. They were never Prue’s to begin with!’

  ‘It’s already busy in there,’ Colton said, frowning. ‘Surely this place wouldn’t normally be open at this hour?’

  Betty glanced at the moon, then her attention was drawn to the people bustling around them, some lingering outside to gaze at the reddening sky. Huddling and pointing in excited whispers, their eyes gleamed with malice.

  ‘They’re here for the execution,’ she said hoarsely. ‘They’ve come to see the witch be hanged at noon.’ Like crows picking at bones.

  ‘Serves them right that they’ve had a wasted journey then, doesn’t it?’ Colton took her hand, squeezing it hard. ‘Think we can do it without being caught?’

  Betty squeezed back, remembering Fingerty’s advice. ‘We can if we use a distraction.’ Releasing Colton’s hand, she led the way to the door.

  Inside, the Poacher’s Pocket crackled with morbid excitement. Whispers of spells, sorceress and magic caught Betty’s ears. As they made their way to one of the few empty corners she kept her eyes on Prue, watching her prim, pointed little face taking it all in. A few times, when she thought no one was looking, she gave a secret smile. Betty couldn’t wait to wipe it off her face.

  ‘Right,’ she said in a low voice as they huddled by one of the fireplaces. ‘Colton and Charlie, you two create a distraction so I can sneak upstairs without being seen. Fliss, you keep watch. If Fishy-Eyes or the idiot who married her look like they’re about to come up then you need to warn me.’ She flashed Fliss a grin. ‘Your terrible singing should do the trick.’

  ‘I’ll do my worst,’ Fliss promised.

  ‘Ready?’ Betty asked.

  Colton nodded. ‘This way,’ he said to Charlie, leaning in close. ‘I’ve got an idea.’ Charlie listened, nodding.

  They approached the bar, where Prue was collecting dirty glasses and her husband was serving. Colton and Charlie stopped by a cluster of glasses ready for washing. Colton leaned on the counter, his elbow sliding nearer to the glasses. Fliss and Betty lurked opposite the door leading upstairs. Betty’s mouth went dry suddenly. They were not even at Crowstone Tower yet, and already so much could go wrong.

  More people filtered in, crowding round. Betty glanced at Prue, and for a brief moment their eyes met. Betty stared into the pale depths, so devoid of colour and conscience, and couldn’t help a sharp intake of breath.

  A loud smash broke their gaze as a glass shattered nearby.

  ‘I’m so sorry!’ Colton exclaimed as Prue rushed to sweep up the glass.

  Fliss nudged Betty towards the door. ‘Go!’ she whispered.

  Betty slipped past the hatch in the counter towards the stairs. She climbed them in silence, the murmur of voices below masking the creaks. At the top she paused. Were Prue and her husband the only people here, or could there be other relatives? Hearing nothing, she began to work her way from room to room.

  How different everything looked! Plainer, but less shabby, and peculiar to see these familiar rooms with no traces of themselves or Granny. Betty began with Granny’s room, the largest. Here she found neat rows of pressed clothes belonging to Prue and her husband in the wardrobes and drawers, some half-completed embroidery and a few books. The dressing table was bare except for a comb and a small pot of hand salve. No mirror, no dolls. No bag.

  Betty’s heart began to pound, worry rising like the tide. Where were they? Surely Prue would have them here, safe with her? She hurried into the other rooms: Fliss’s and the one she and Charlie shared. Both were furnished and pristine, but unlived in. Guest rooms. She left them, searching the kitchen. Nothing.

  She paused in the hallway. The only other place she could check was the office downstairs, but it was sure to be locked. Unless . . .

  She moved to the cupboard on the landing and opened it, half-expecting it to be as sparse as the rest of the place. To her surprise, it was just as cluttered with junk now as it was in the present day. Would Prue hide her stolen treasures in this jumbled magpie’s nest of buckets and brooms? She was cunning enough. Betty edged in, swallowing her childhood fears to sift through crates, a broken mangle, a cloth bag of pegs. How she hated this damp cupboard – they all did.

  She stiffened as shrieks and cries of ‘Rat! Rat!’ from downstairs reached her ears. This had to be part of Colton’s plan, too, she guessed. Keeping them busy, distracted. She rummaged further, lifting piles of old newspapers off a trunk. She lifted its lid – and her stomach somersaulted.

  Inside the trunk was a familiar wooden box with ‘W’ inscribed into the lid. She lifted it out, heart crashing, hope soaring. The weight of its contents shifted. This was where Granny had taken the dolls from, where they had been kept all those years.

  There was no time to search for the key or pick the lock. She considered smashing it open, before remembering the mirror. No. Dare she risk carrying it downstairs and walking out with it? Also no. She clambered out of the cupboard, studying the box. Perhaps with a knife she could prise it open. She ran into the kitchen, hunting until she found a small vegetable knife. It was then that inspiration struck: if she couldn’t get in through the lock, there was another practical way . . .

  She set about unscrewing the hinges, he
r hands shaking so much she kept losing her grip. Finally one was off. Betty tugged at the lid, but the other hinge held firm. Through a gap she could now see curved, painted wood and a glimmer of gilt. They were inside! Quickly, she worked on the second hinge. Seconds later it hit the kitchen tiles with a ping, a loose screw rolling beneath the table.

  Betty slipped her fingers under the lid, tugging. There was a destructive, but satisfying splintering of wood as she reached in and carefully removed the objects, along with a small pouch of jewellery. A wedding gift to Prue, perhaps. She discarded this, then froze as a familiar voice warbled from below.

  ‘The merrypennies in the meadow, silver by the night . . .’

  A faint creak sounded on the stairs. Someone was coming! Betty darted behind the kitchen door, clutching the objects to her chest. Light footsteps padded past the kitchen, then stopped. Heart hammering, Betty placed the bag and the mirror on the floor and pulled a hair from her head. Quickly, she opened the nesting dolls and placed the hair inside, rendering herself invisible. Taking a breath to steady her nerves, she crept out of the kitchen.

  Prue was standing completely still in front of the cupboard. The door had swung open where Betty had forgotten to latch it, and its contents were in disarray. The heavy trunk lay open and empty.

  ‘No,’ Prue whispered, shaking her head suddenly. She snapped out of her frozen trance and staggered to the door. ‘No, no, no . . .’ She stood at the door, emitting quick little breaths that were like gasps.

  A wicked idea popped into Betty’s head. She almost dismissed it, but something stopped her. If Prue suspected Sorsha was behind the objects’ disappearance she might try to contact her and botch the rescue. No, Betty decided. It was safer for Prue to be kept out of mischief. With that, she strode swiftly and purposefully towards the other girl.

  Prue whipped round at the sound of Betty’s footsteps. Her eel-like eyes widened, and in them Betty caught a glimmer of fear and understanding.