The House at the Edge of Magic

by Amy Sparkes

  “Oh, and I suppose you want this back too,” said the witch.

  She twisted her hands and the red floating ball appeared. She twisted her fingers again and the ball floated towards the wizard, stopping and hovering right in front of his face. Nine stared, her heart in her mouth. This was it… The witch clicked her fingers and the red glow faded to nothing, and something blue and silver plummeted to the ground and landed with a tinkling sound at the wizard’s feet.

  “The jewel!” said Nine eagerly, diving to collect it from the floor.

  “Ugly-looking thing,” said the witch as she pulled a face. She glanced at Flabberghast. “I don’t know why mother bothered to leave it to you and not me.”

  Flabberghast scowled at the witch but Nine ran her fingers over the jewel and smiled. A large sapphire set inside a silver oval. Undoubtedly worth a fortune. Words were engraved in strange runes in the silver. She looked up at Flabberghast.

  “What does it say?”

  Flabberghast cleared his throat and cast a glance at the witch. “‘From dung we reach for stars’,” he whispered as the witch raised an eyebrow. “Family motto.”

  Nine twisted her mouth doubtfully. “No one need know about that,” she said.

  “Moving on,” said Flabberghast, straightening himself up. “Now, I presume the toad’s tongue is back? The House can move? The pictures are straight? The curse is truly broken?”

  “Yes, the curse is broken,” said the witch in a bored tone. “Weeeeeeell…” She gave a tiny shrug. “More or less.”

  “More or less?” said Flabberghast, freezing. “More or – what do you mean ‘MORE OR LESS’?”

  “It’s just possible,” said the witch lazily, stretching her arms by her sides and giving her fingers a playful wiggle, “that you may find the odd thing here or there not quite to your absurdly high level of satisfaction. I’m sure you’ll adapt. Eventually.”

  She began to strut away then paused and called over her shoulder. “Lovely to see you again, brother dear. Enjoy your tea.” She looked at Nine out of the corner of her eye and gave a half-smile.

  For the briefest of moments, her black crinoline dress changed into the scarlet dress of the young lady at the market. Nine gasped. Then the witch gave Flabberghast a smug look and held her hand in the air. She twisted her wrist sharply and the oversized woollen dragon from the cupboard under the stairs fell from nowhere. The witch reached out her arm to catch it and as she did…

  A flash of green scales – a flap of wing – a blur of scarlet – and the witch vanished leaving behind only red sparks in the outline of a dragon with its wings outstretched. They fell and faded to nothing.

  “Was that – did she – did that just turn into a REAL DRAGON?” asked Nine, staring as the last sparks disappeared. She turned to look at Flabberghast but he had a vague, dreamy expression on his pale face.

  “Tea,” he whispered, and ran towards the steps.

  Nine couldn’t resist a smile. “Freedom,” she whispered, and tucked the jewel into her satchel.

  Giving a skeleton back his finger was not something Nine ever expected to do. Yet here she was, pushing it into his hand where a strange force clicked it back into place.

  “There you go,” she said. She gave the skeleton one last look, wondering who he had been – or possibly still was – why he was in a closet and why Flabberghast had become so flustered when she had mentioned him… But there wasn’t time for chit-chat with a bunch of bones so she shut the wardrobe door and said, “I need to go now. Goodbye, Bonehead.”

  “That’s a shame,” boomed the skeleton’s voice as she made her way down the stairs. “We were rather getting on. Apart from you stealing my finger, of course.”

  As she turned into the hallway, Nine saw Flabberghast wading through, and wobbling over, a humongous pile of clutter which had spilled out from the cupboard under the stairs. He was holding a kilt (now decorated with pink ribbons), a feather duster (which had been given a haircut) and his hopscotch trophy.

  “Evil, evil witch!” Flabberghast screeched, holding up his trophy. “Look at it!”

  Nine looked at the trophy. “WORLD HOPSCOTCH CHAMPION, eighteen—”

  “The name!”

  Nine snorted. “Flabby!”

  “I despise her,” he said, kicking the Vampire Starter Kit back into the cupboard.

  “Oh, I don’t know,” said Nine with an inkling of what might have been described as respect. “I think I’m warming to her.”

  Then Nine’s heart skipped a beat. There was something silver, something familiar, poking out underneath the InkFree quill and a piece of parchment. She swallowed hard.

  Her music box. Her beautiful, beautiful music box.

  Nine scooped it up and held it close to her chest. She took a deep, silent breath as she blinked back that horrible burning feeling in her eyes again. She looked up anxiously, hoping Flabberghast hadn’t noticed, but he was busy trying to shake his purple slipper free from the troll-sized pants. Nine couldn’t help but smile at Flabberghast’s exasperation as both the pants and the slipper went flying off back into the cupboard.

  She tucked the music box into her satchel and then, out of curiosity, reached down for the InkFree quill. It looked normal enough for something magical. She picked up the parchment and as Flabberghast clambered over the clutter and retrieved his slipper, she began to write a short note – whatever came straight into her head. The ink flowed freely. The words flowed freely. Nine stared at what she had written, the secret, special words that came from the heart. She stared at the note and sighed.

  No. She went to screw up the parchment into a ball then stopped. Instead she folded it and stuffed it hastily into her satchel.

  “Maybe magic’s not so bad after all,” she said, examining the quill. “Can I keep this?”

  “As you wish, Madam,” grumbled Flabberghast, trying to shove the Complete Family Set of Pop-Up Coffins back into the cupboard. They popped up in his face.

  Nine put the quill in her satchel and glanced at the front door. She could leave right now. Take the jewel and go. Start the rest of her life. Then she heard a clatter of crockery from the kitchen. Maybe just one moment more together… Nine stepped over a pop-up coffin and headed down the hallway.

  The kettle was boiling on the stove and Eric, wearing his frilly apron over his dressing gown, was preparing the tea set. Flabberghast walked into the kitchen.

  “Well I propose the tidying waits until after a cup of tea. The toad’s tongue is back and the pictures are straight!” He put the kilt on the table and handed Eric his feather duster.

  “Best duster!” said Eric, cuddling it.

  “I believe this is a moment for celebration,” said Flabberghast.

  Nine thought about the pictures for a moment. “So,” she said, “Horatio the Untidy, Millicent the Goat-Eater… Come on, what is your title? Flabberghast the what?”

  “Flabberghast the … Magnificent,” the wizard said, drawing himself as tall as he could.

  Nine snorted. “I don’t believe that for a second.”

  Flabberghast ignored her. “Dr Spoon is just locating the toilet. Now … tea.” He moved to the tea cupboard, wiggling his sparkling fingers in anticipation. Eric plonked the teacups onto the table and smiled a wonky smile at Nine.

  “Just before I go,” said Nine, “I have a question.” So, so many questions… But mainly she wanted the answer to one. “What were you wrong about?” she asked, looking closely at Flabberghast.

  “The disagreement we had, it just … er … got out of hand…” muttered the wizard.

  “Out of hand?!” said Nine. “She tried to kill us! Come on, what were you wrong about? What did you say to her through the letterbox?

  Flabberghast shifted awkwardly from foot to foot then gave a huge sigh of resignation. “I said … I said my mumblemumblemumble.”

  “Louder,” said Nine.

  “I said – I said my powers were superior to hers.”

  Eric let out
a guffaw at the same time as Nine nearly burst herself with a sudden explosion of laughter. Flabberghast tutted and huffed at them both and reached for the handle of the tea cupboard, a look of love and desire on his face. He touched the handle—

  ZAP. Still holding the cupboard’s handle, but opening the door towards him, Flabberghast had an accordion for a face with two huge eyes blinking in surprise in the middle. Eric was a frilly-apron-wearing frog with a pink top hat. Nine was a big bubble with a satchel. She felt herself getting bigger and bigger until…

  POP! Nine was herself again. “I think we’ve found one of the things which isn’t ‘quite up to your absurdly high level of satisfaction’.”

  Flabberghast reached inside the cupboard. “Well, it’s a small price to pay for tea.” He opened the lid of a tin caddy and let out a sigh of delight. He waltzed over to Eric, who spooned some tea into the clean teapot.

  “You refused to say it, so she got you to finally admit it in front of everyone,” said Nine, unable to resist smiling.

  “I only said that to break the curse,” said Flabberghast, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Of course, it’s not actually true. I was not wrong. Truly my powers are superior to hers.”

  Spoon marched into the room, jumped up on the table and examined his kilt. “You know, I found the toilet again, lad. It’s in your bedroom now, stuck to the ceiling.”

  “Stuck?” said Flabberghast.

  “Aye. Upside down.”

  “Upside down?!” said Flabberghast, his mouth dropping open.

  “Right above your bed.”

  “Above my—? That … witch!” Flabberghast roared to the room.

  Nine exploded with another snort of laughter. “Flabberghast, her powers are definitely superior to yours.”

  “Apparently so,” said the wizard tightly as he sank down in one of the kitchen chairs.

  Eric poured the tea – three normal cups and a tiny thimble for Spoon, before sitting down clumsily.

  “Before you go, Madam?” said Flabberghast, holding out a cup. “It’s the finest tea in all the realms.”

  Nine looked at the front door. “Just a mouthful. I need to take this jewel to a shop.” They all looked at their cups, picked them up simultaneously and raised them in a silent, exhausted toast. Then they took a mouthful.

  As the smooth, warm liquid went down her throat, Nine’s whole body felt refreshed. It seemed to spread to every part of her. She no longer felt like she had narrowly avoided being sizzled alive by putrid droppings, crushed by an enchanted cupboard, nearly suffocated by evil vines and almost turned into a Nearly Completely Sometimes Dead statue while trying to outwit a fiend of a witch who was clearly rather smart.

  For one moment, as she drank that tea in silence, in the strangest kitchen in the world, everything felt … perfectly fine.

  “What flavour is that?” said Nine, licking her lips.

  “Strawberry tea,” sighed Flabberghast blissfully. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “Strawberry tea,” Nine said, staring at the cup. “It’s all right, I suppose,” she shrugged, clanging her cup back on the saucer. She forced away a smirk at the look of utter bliss on the faces of her companions.

  “More tea,” said Eric and filled her cup.

  Before she knew it, the oddest tea party in history had lasted hours and many cups of tea had been drained. Nine didn’t know what the time was exactly but guessed the pawn shop would be opening soon. She could move on with the rest of her life.

  She put her cup down onto the saucer and paused as Pockets’ face sprang into her mind. She felt an uncomfortable mixture of hate and pity. She looked at her strange tea companions. Pockets had never known anything like this…

  “I owe someone a gift,” she said. “Can I take some of that tea? It might put him in a better mood.”

  Flabberghast nodded and looked at her. “Be my guest, Madam.”

  Nine hesitated for a moment as the words hung in the air. Flabberghast filled a little purple tin with some tea leaves and handed it to Nine.

  “He’ll like that,” she said stiffly, staring at the tin longer than she needed to. “Right, I’m going.”

  “As are we, Madam,” said Flabberghast, rubbing his eyes. “We will not trouble you again. Once you have left, we shall move on. We like to travel the worlds, and the worlds between the worlds. The House is unpredictable and full of adventure in itself – there are rooms even I know little about – but it’s rather pleasant for the House to take us on a trip. The freedom makes one feel rather alive.”

  “Aye,” said Spoon, stifling a yawn, “and we’ve a Dish to find.”

  Flabberghast looked down and prodded the sugar bowl, then glanced up at Nine through the green smoke. Nine stared back. No life, no freedom, nothing…

  “Good,” she said, still staring at the tin. “Bye, then.” She stuffed the tin into her satchel, feeling for the jewel for the twentieth time and then began to march down the hallway.

  “Oh and,” she said over her shoulder, “you might like to take that skeleton out of the closet. Give him a dusting down, especially the ribs. I think he’d like that.”

  “Madam…” said Flabberghast in an uncomfortable voice. Nine paused, looking down at the plum carpet. “Thank you.”

  Nine didn’t talk back, didn’t look back. Down the hallway she only briefly paused at the portrait of Marcus the Disagreeable (1769–1835). She tipped the picture at a slight angle. It stayed there for half a second, then straightened itself up. She allowed herself a little smile.

  Time to go. The brass door handle felt cool on her hand, which, for some odd reason, seemed to be sweating slightly.

  Footsteps lolloped down the hallway. Nine ignored them and yanked opened the door. The rush of morning air greeted her. There was the alley. All the nonsense with the House was behind her. Soon it would be gone for ever.

  Something pressed lightly into her left hand, then the footsteps thudded slowly away. Nine closed her eyes to try and shut out the wave of feelings. She didn’t need to look at her hand to see what was there but, even so, she opened her eyes and glared at the boiled sweet, a million thoughts, feelings and arguments whirring around in her brain. But she couldn’t – and wouldn’t – look back. She fixed her eyes on the alley, jutted out her jaw and let her hand droop slightly so the sweet tumbled out onto the plum carpet. She had acquired what she came for. Now she could leave.

  “Goodbye and good riddance,” she murmured.

  She raised her foot to take the step over the threshold. She was free. She was going to be finally … free.

  She shut the front door behind her.

  Nine didn’t look over her shoulder as she marched on but with every step she took a single word shouted and shouted in her brain. It shouted as she passed the dilapidated library. It shouted as she passed the waking marketplace. And it shouted loudest of all as she stood outside the door of the pawn shop until she could no longer ignore it. The pawnbroker inside the shop flipped the door sign to ‘OPEN’.

  Nine reached inside her satchel and pulled out the oval sapphire. The word bellowed and bellowed in her brain and now a rising sense of panic came with it—

  “Nine?” came a familiar voice behind her. “What are you doing?”

  She whirled around, wide-eyed and tense, to look at Mr Downes. The librarian straightened his horn-rimmed spectacles and raised a gingery eyebrow. Nine took one last look at the sapphire, then grabbed his hand and slammed the jewel into it. “For the library. Repair it, buy new books. Especially mystery ones.”

  Mr Downes’ eyes lit up and, for a moment, all his worry lines melted away. He stared at Nine. She hoped her eyes spoke back the words she couldn’t say. She turned to go but he grabbed her arm. “But – wait – what is going on?”

  Nine finally gave in to the thought – the word – that had been shouting in her brain. “Strawberries,” she said before she ran, smiling at Mr Downes’ loud, exasperated sigh behind her.

  The House was, w
ithout question, the most ridiculous, most unbelievable, most irritating place she had ever known in her life, filled with the most ridiculous, most unbelievable and most irritating beings she had ever known in her life.

  And she loved it.

  Past the marketplace, the library, down the maze of alleys to the House. Relief hit her like a tide as she saw it was still there. She pounded on the front door and refused to smile at the look of delight on the troll’s face. She had just one word for him.

  “MOVE.” She stepped inside, noticing the chaotic clutter had been sucked back into the cupboard under the stairs.

  The InkFree quill … the folded parchment in her satchel … the words she had written earlier as they had hurtled into her head… She took out the quill and parchment from her bag and scribbled down one final thought. She stepped out through the door one last time and propped the paper against the wall of the House, standing the purple tin of tea next to it.

  “Goodbye,” she murmured to the alley, “and good riddance.”

  She slammed the door shut and looked at the coat of arms where there was now a long, pink chain-like tongue poking out of the toad. She pulled it out, released it and—

  ZA-BAM! Nine felt a shockwave rock through her body. But it wasn’t enough to shake her smile.

  The fishwife walked across the uneven cobbles, a basket full of dead, surprised-looking fish wobbling in the crook of her arm. With her free hand, she tightened the shawl around her head and neck as she headed for the back gate in the wall. Then she noticed a little purple tin and something flat and pale on the cobbles near the alley’s end. She moved towards them, placed her basket on the ground and picked up the folded piece of parchment.

  To Whoever Reads This Note,

  My name is Nine and I need you to do me a favour.

  Go down Whinney’s Passage until you reach the tumbledown terrace. Knock on the third door and say, “No strawberries today”.

  Tell Pockets that Nine sent you. Tell the old weasel-faced devil he will never see me again. Why? Because he’s wrong – sometimes life does bring you strawberries. Sometimes you are a whisper away from magic without even realising it.