A Pinch of Magic

by Michelle Harrison

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Betty whispered. ‘I’m sorry, Granny, Fliss, Charlie . . . and Colton.’

  Her words were lost beneath the monotonous toll of the prison bell. The room was almost in darkness now, the sky outside a hazy orange as the blood moon hovered over the marshes. On the windowsill, a crow landed with an ominous caw, its gleaming eyes on Betty.

  ‘Go away!’ she cried, but the creature didn’t move. More swooped in through the other windows, settling on wall sconces, the mattress, and anything they could find. Croaking in eerie unison. Cries from below drifted in on the freezing air. Betty moved to the window, trance-like. Don’t look, she told herself. You shouldn’t look.

  She knew she would have to.

  Crowstone lay before her, the Misty Marshes stretching into the distance. The shouts below continued. She forced her eyes down.

  The ground below was swarming with warders. Milling around like an army of ants, yelling warnings, trading orders. She couldn’t see a body. Had they moved poor Sorsha already? Or were there so many of them crowding around it was sparing her the view? Distantly, she heard a thud, thud, thud.

  ‘What’s that noise?’ she asked dully.

  ‘They’re breaking the entrance door down,’ Colton replied. ‘Not all of them are superstitious, so it would seem.’

  Betty turned back to the window. Crows spilled through the air, circling the Tower. There was no stopping them now. It was over.

  And then matted red hair streamed out from below the window like a banner. Betty gasped and leaned over the sill. There, a short way down, Sorsha was clinging to the side of the Tower, somehow balanced on a thin ledge above one of the passageway windows. Her face was streaked with dirt, her clothes not much more than rags. Betty’s shout as Sorsha had begun to fall had been enough to make her hesitate and grab on.

  ‘Sorsha!’ Betty cried. A last flicker of hope sputtered back into life from embers. ‘Don’t let go! We’re here to get you out!’

  In an instant, Fliss and Colton were at her side.

  Betty leaned over, reaching out. ‘Take my hand!’

  ‘I can’t!’ Sorsha huddled into the wall, squeezing her eyes shut. ‘I’ll lose my grip!’ Even as she spoke one of her legs slipped from beneath her, and she scrabbled for purchase. A stone broke away from the wall and began its descent to the ground below. Another followed swiftly after.

  ‘No!’ Betty yelled, stretching out towards her. ‘Hold on! We’ll pull you back in, just don’t let go!’

  ‘I don’t think I can for much longer.’ Sorsha opened her eyes, casting a terrified look below. ‘I was ready . . . it took all my courage, and then you called my name . . . broke my thoughts!’

  ‘You can’t do this,’ Betty told her. ‘I won’t let you! Now reach up and take my hand!’

  Sorsha lunged, her fingers brushing the wall. Too far from Betty’s. Another stone crumbled beneath her fingers and plummeted below. She shrieked, grabbing blindly, before finding another.

  ‘Let me try,’ Colton urged. Betty moved aside, and watched, helpless, as he leaned over, straining and stretching, yet it was still not enough.

  An almighty crash and sounds of splintering wood echoed up the stairwell.

  ‘They’re in!’ Fliss yelled. ‘The warders are in the Tower!’

  ‘I’m not giving up!’ Betty grabbed the keys and ran to the tower room door, throwing it closed and locking it. ‘Fliss, Charlie, help me barricade the door!’ Together, the three of them began piling everything in the room in front of the door. There were woefully few items, and they all knew it would make little difference. Already there was the sound of footfall on the stairs.

  ‘They’re coming!’ Charlie shouted.

  Colton leaned back with a growl of frustration. ‘I can’t reach her. We’ll have to try something else!’ He straddled the huge windowsill, swinging his legs over the side.

  Fliss paled. ‘Colton, no! You’ll fall!’

  ‘I won’t.’ He turned to face the tower room, gripping the sill tightly and lowering himself out. ‘Sorsha, grab my legs!’

  This can’t work, thought Betty as the warders reached the door to the tower room. Defeat was looming stealthily, smothering her last spark of hope. The sound of wood being pounded on reverberated in her skull, in time with the chimes of the bell. Even if we pull Sorsha in, where do we go from here? The warders have us surrounded . . .

  They had only moments before the warders would be in the tower room. Before they all would be doomed.

  Crows circled the tower, calling to them, and for a moment it seemed they were coaxing them into the air. Not to their deaths, but perhaps something else . . .

  ‘Charlie, the bag!’ Betty cried.

  Charlie glared at her through a tangle of hair and tears. ‘Huh?’

  ‘Come here, both of you. Fliss!’

  Fliss’s eyes were huge like saucers. ‘Betty, no . . .’ she whispered. ‘You can’t be suggesting . . . we can’t possibly . . .’

  ‘It’s our only chance!’ Betty roared. She grabbed her sisters’ hands and pulled them to the window. ‘We know the magic won’t work within the tower walls. But the instant we escape them—’ She broke off, nodding to the sky.

  ‘No!’ Charlie whimpered. ‘No, I won’t!’

  ‘Yes!’ Betty hugged her, hard. ‘You’ve trusted me till now. And we know this will work, because of you!’

  There was no time to wait for an answer. The door behind them was splitting, sending splinters of wood flying into the tower room. Warders’ voices filtered through.

  ‘They’re escaping! The sorceress is escaping with her imps!’

  Betty swung her legs over the windowsill, urging Fliss to do the same.

  Together they squeezed a trembling Charlie between them and wedged her on to Fliss’s lap. She clung to the travelling bag, its ugly fabric clenched between her fingers like a stuffed toy.

  Betty braced herself and looked down for the final time. Sorsha was clinging to Colton’s legs, his arms still clamped over the window ledge next to Betty.

  ‘Take my hand,’ she yelled. He reached for her with difficulty, palm clammy as his weight and much of Sorsha’s now hung from his other arm. Sweat beaded on his forehead.

  ‘Hurry,’ he begged. ‘I can’t hold us both much longer!’

  Betty linked her other arm tightly with Fliss’s. The wind roared in her ears, sucking at them, willing them to join it. ‘On the count of three, we jump!’ She turned to Charlie. ‘You know what to do.’

  ‘I c-can’t . . .’ Charlie stuttered. ‘H-Hoppit’s scared!’

  ‘You have to, it’s the only way!’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You can do it, Charlie! We know you can. Do it for us, and Granny. For the Widdershins!’

  ‘Did you say . . . Widdershins?’ Sorsha yelled from below.

  ‘Yes,’ Betty cried. ‘We’re the Widdershins! One, two . . .’

  The splintered door finally caved and crashed open. Warders flooded into the tower room.

  ‘Three!’ Betty shouted, and with a battle cry, they launched themselves into the sky. A handful of stones, perhaps four or five, came away with them, soaring through the air. The crows swooped above, dark silhouettes against the blazing orange moon. Faster than Betty could ever have imagined, they were falling.

  ‘Home!’ Charlie yelled.

  And then, just for a moment, it seemed they really were flying.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Free

  THE AIR CHANGED FROM BRINE to beer-scented; from frost to feathers.

  Betty hit solid ground, but it was a curiously soft landing. She opened her eyes and found she was lying on her back, staring at familiar oak beams on the ceiling above. The Poacher’s Pocket should have been open and trading, but instead it was deathly quiet and dark, and the windows and doors were locked and barred. Outside was not so quiet; the prison bell was clanging in the distance. Somewhere nearer was the squeaking of a rat.

  Betty sat up, rubbing
her eyes. Had it worked? Were they really back in their Poacher’s Pocket? If it hadn’t, then Betty had nothing else to give. All would be lost. She would be lost. There was no sign of Granny anywhere, and the only movement was downy black feathers which were cascading down like ebony snowflakes. She was suddenly aware that someone was still holding her hand.

  ‘Colton?’

  ‘Am I alive?’ He groaned, releasing her. ‘I must be. Being dead wouldn’t hurt this much.’

  ‘Fliss? Charlie?’ Betty’s voice rose anxiously. She leapt to her feet.

  ‘Over here.’ Fliss’s voice sounded from near to the fireplace. Betty rushed over, and found her kneeling, her arm round Charlie, who was still clutching the travelling bag.

  Charlie batted a feather away from her face and sneezed. ‘Is it over? Did we break the curse?’

  ‘I . . . I think so.’ Betty looked around her. Everything looked as she remembered, and for a scary moment she wondered if nothing had changed. Had they saved any of the Widdershins before them?’ I can’t hear the crows any more . . . and if Sorsha didn’t fall . . .’ she hesitated. ‘But where is she?’

  ‘I’m here.’

  Sorsha Spellthorn stepped out from the shadows. Her matted hair reached halfway down her back, glowing like rust in the half-light. Silvery streaks of dried tears criss-crossed her brown face, which, now it was no longer contorted with suspicion and dark thoughts, had a certain beauty about it. ‘Widdershins,’ she said slowly, as if for the first time. The first time of not saying it in hatred. ‘You came for me. You saved me.’

  Betty swallowed, meeting Sorsha’s eyes. For the first time since discovering the horrible truth about her link to Prue, she felt the burden lift. The Widdershins had nothing to be ashamed of any more. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Sorsha’s eyes lingered on the travelling bag. ‘But . . . why? Did my sister . . . ?’ She stopped and blinked, like there was something in her eye. ‘Did Prue send you?’

  Betty shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. She didn’t. But it’s because of her that we were able to use the . . . your magic.’ She gestured to the travelling bag. ‘The objects got passed down, over time, to us. We each received one, and could only use the magic of the one we were given.’

  ‘Over . . . time? How much time?’

  ‘Over a century,’ Fliss answered.

  Sorsha nodded, studying each of them. Her eyes lingered on Colton. ‘And you? Are you a Widdershins?’

  ‘Er, no. Just . . . someone who got caught up with all this.’

  Sorsha stared at the travelling bag. ‘I thought I’d never leave that tower alive.’

  ‘I know.’ Betty’s voice was hoarse. ‘All those days you spent in there. All the words you scratched into the walls: malice, cowardice . . .’

  ‘Escape,’ Sorsha interrupted. She smiled, sadly but warmly. ‘That’s the only word that matters now. As well as forgiveness, perhaps.’

  Fliss frowned. ‘You mean . . . you forgive Prue? For what she did?’

  Sorsha’s eyes clouded with pain. ‘If what you say is true, she’s gone now. Long gone. And somehow, I don’t think what she did would have made her happy.’

  ‘But she was jealous of you,’ Betty blurted out. ‘Of what you were and what you had. So jealous and bitter she wanted you out of the way, at any cost!’

  ‘Yes, she was,’ Sorsha agreed. ‘But jealous, bitter people don’t suddenly find that those feelings go away when what they envy becomes theirs. They simply find something else to be jealous and bitter about, because it was never about what the other person had. It’s about what they themselves lack.’

  Betty’s cheeks were suddenly warm and wet. To her embarrassment, she found she was crying. Sorsha’s words had touched something within her, a deep-rooted guilt that she had been holding in for a long time and trying to pretend she didn’t feel. There were times when she had envied her sisters, particularly Fliss for her beauty and charm. But now she smiled and met Fliss’s eyes, and they shared a look of love and understanding that only sisters could. They didn’t need to compete. Their differences didn’t have to set them apart. Together, their differences only made them stronger.

  ‘There are warders patrolling everywhere out there,’ Colton cut in. He had moved to the window and was now holding himself so tensely that Betty thought the slightest touch would make him jump like a coiled spring. ‘So come on, Betty Widdershins. How do I get out of this one? Because I sure as eggs can’t stay in Crowstone.’

  ‘With me,’ Sorsha said simply, glancing at the travelling bag.

  ‘You mean . . . it’s time to give my pinch of magic back?’ Charlie asked, her voice trembling.

  ‘Yes, Charlie.’ Betty took the nesting dolls out, running her thumb over the beautifully painted smooth wood. ‘It’s time to give it all back.’ She passed the dolls to Sorsha, then watched in silence as Fliss and Charlie handed back the mirror and the travelling bag. Sorsha held them all for a long moment. Unexpectedly, she handed the dolls back to Betty.

  ‘Keep them.’

  Betty stared at the dolls, longing to take them. She hadn’t expected that returning the gifts would be such a wrench. ‘I’m grateful, but I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to my sisters—’

  ‘Their power is for you all,’ said Sorsha. ‘You’ve earned it.’ She gave another sad little smile. ‘Besides, they’re the perfect gift for sisters who look after one another.’ She pushed them into Betty’s hand. ‘Real sisters.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Betty whispered, stunned. A delicious feeling of gratitude warmed through her body, as intoxicating as the magic itself.

  Fliss moved towards Colton. ‘So this time it really is goodbye,’ she said softly.

  Colton nodded, his dark eyes sombre. ‘I suppose it is.’

  A floorboard creaked somewhere above.

  ‘Betty?’ Granny’s voice thundered. ‘Felicity? Charlotte?’

  The girls froze at the sound of footsteps on the stairs.

  Fliss was the first to snap out of it. ‘Go, now,’ she whispered.

  Colton hugged Charlie quickly, then gave Fliss a swift kiss on the cheek.

  She touched her fingers to her face. ‘What was that for?’

  ‘For luck.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘But I think you girls have already changed that for yourselves.’ He turned to Betty, reaching for her hand. ‘I’ll miss you, Betty Widdershins. Don’t ever change.’ He hesitated. ‘Friends?’

  Betty squeezed his hand. ‘Something like that. And, Colton?’ Her voice became muffled as he pulled her into a hug. ‘Thanks.’

  Colton grinned. ‘It was a pleasure. Well, some of it.’

  Sorsha tucked the mirror into her clothing and reached into the travelling bag, ready. ‘Farewell, Widdershins girls. You have your own magic now.’ Then, linking her arm with Colton’s she whispered something, so quietly that none of them heard.

  In an eye blink, they were gone, with only a scattering of crows’ feathers floating on the air to say they’d ever been there at all.

  ‘Jumping jackdaws!’ Granny shrieked, startling them all. The girls whipped round to face her. A black feather had stuck straight up in her hair, making her look like a cross old turkey. ‘Just where have you three been? Crowstone is on lockdown – there are prisoners on the loose and you three go gallivanting?’

  She peered at Fliss. ‘I see you took my advice and finally cut that mane of yours. We don’t need any more complaints about it getting into the customers’ beer. But that still doesn’t explain where you’ve all been!’ She wagged her finger at Betty. ‘This was your idea, wasn’t it, hmm? And what in whiskey’s name are all these feathers? It looks like every crow across the Misty Marshes has been massacred here!’ She eyed Charlie suspiciously. ‘Is this you, bringing dead things home to bury again? This has got to stop, young lady—’

  ‘No, Granny,’ said Charlie in a small voice. ‘I didn’t bring anything home this time . . . well, nothin’ dead, anyway—’

  ‘Charlie?’ Granny sa
id in a warning tone, but Charlie rushed on.

  ‘We were too busy saving Sorsha Spellthorn and breaking the curse—’

  ‘Curse? What curse?’ Granny threw up her hands. ‘You girls and your games, you wear me out. It’s not the time for games when that prison bell is tolling, do you hear?’

  ‘Yes, Granny,’ they chorused.

  Granny softened, exhausted by her tirade. She pulled out a chair and plonked herself down, using a wrinkled hand to fan her face. ‘Mind you, our Clarissa was the same with her games. She always loved the story of Sorsha Spellthorn, too.’

  ‘Which story was that, Granny?’ Betty asked carefully, with a warning glance at Charlie to hold her tongue.

  Granny frowned at her. ‘The tale of how she vanished from the Tower, of course! Everyone knows that. Why, Clarissa and your father used to drive me mad, making me tell them that story so they could act it all out. Clarissa loved pretending to be Sorsha. Poor Barney had to be an imp or a crow.’ She snorted. ‘She’s no less bossy now.’

  ‘You mean she’s alive?’ Betty asked.

  Granny stared at her in astonishment. ‘Are you feeling quite well, Betty? You’re acting peculiar, not your usual sensible self at all.’ She held up a hand to Betty’s forehead. ‘You don’t feel overly warm.’

  Betty forced a smile. An unfamiliar feeling trickled over her, like warm sand. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt content. Dazed, but happy. ‘We were just . . . just having a joke with you. I’m fine, Granny, really.’

  It’s true, she realised. I really am fine.

  ‘Hmm.’ Granny let her hand drop and heaved herself up. ‘A joke, eh?’ She collected a glass from behind the counter and poured herself a nip of whiskey. ‘Let’s see how funny you think being grounded for two weeks with extra chores is. Perhaps we should ask your father what he thinks. Look, here he comes now—’