‘Charles,’ Ava said. ‘Break the mirror.’
His eyes grew round in the glass. ‘What? But you’ll be trapped.’
‘No we won’t. Trust me.’
‘Stop them,’ Mr Bones snapped. The skeletons sprang forward.
Charles’s face disappeared from the mirror. The glass misted over, then turned grey. Mr Bones staggered, but stayed on his feet. Charles might have broken his mirror, but the connection between the two wouldn’t break until both mirrors were shattered.
Ava turned, looking for something to throw, but a skeleton caught her round the waist.
‘Help!’ she shouted, struggling.
Lunette stirred and jumped up. Matthew tried to drag the skeleton away, but it swung round and clubbed him back with one arm. He crashed into the table, his face twisted in pain.
Mr Bones forced a pen into Ava’s hand. ‘Write, or your brother dies.’
Ava closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see what happened next. Matthew shouted. A chair broke. A cold hand clutched at her neck and squeezed. She struggled to breathe.
Something cracked.
Ava thought it was her neck breaking. But the hand round her throat loosened. She opened her eyes and found herself staring straight into the face of a skeleton, so close the skull was almost touching her. And then, as she struggled to breathe air into her lungs to scream, the bone face splintered. White dust poured from the eye sockets, its mouth gaped and then its jaw fell off altogether. The hands released her, bits of finger bone clinging to her a moment longer before they, too, crumbled.
Ava picked herself up, shaking.
Lord Skinner stood by the fireplace, the remains of a chair in his hands. The mirror behind him was a mass of cracks. A piece of glass teetered and fell, smashing into bits on the floor with a barely audible whisper.
Lord Skinner dropped the chair. His face was the colour of dead leaves. ‘There,’ he said.
Mr Bones swayed. ‘Why?’
Lord Skinner shook his head. Some of his hair fell out with the movement.
‘I’m tired,’ he mumbled. ‘So tired of being afraid all the time. Miss Harcourt, I’m sorry.’
He met Ava’s gaze and just for a second or two she saw a young boy, his face screwed up and wet with angry tears. Then, gently, Lord Skinner crumpled down on to the floor, shrinking into himself, his hair now pure white, and his skin turning blotched and mottled with age. Hair and skin fell away, leaving a heap of grey bones, and then the bones disappeared too until there was nothing left but his dressing gown lying in a limp, gold bundle on the carpet.
Mr Bones cried out. No longer terrifying, just the reflection of a frightened boy brought to life. And, like all reflections, he couldn’t exist on its own. He remained a moment longer, then, as another piece of glass slid from the mirror, he faded, first to a shadowy skeleton, and then to nothing at all.
Matthew moved first. ‘Ava.’ He ran to her and hugged her tight enough to squash the remaining air out of her.
Ava scrubbed tears from her face. ‘I’m fine. Can we please go home now?’
‘We haven’t finished,’ Howell said. He held up a pen. ‘We are still The Book’s guardians.’
He ran a hand over The Book. The yellow pages were turning brown at the corners. The Book was dying, Ava thought. They could fix that. They could bring the mirrors back to life and The Book, made from the same magic, would revive too.
What was written must come to pass, she thought. This was why they were really here: to rewrite the covenant.
Ava picked up a pen and set it down again. ‘No. What if we get it wrong? Look at everything else I’ve ruined. Mr Bones was right about that.’
‘You didn’t ruin anything,’ Howell said. He scratched the top of one ear, his eyes shining. ‘You didn’t steal my magic, we shared it – and now we can do something no one else can do. We can bring mirrors back to life. And we’re the guardians of The Book, which means we’re guardians of the covenant. I wouldn’t have any of that without you.’
Ava’s eyes swam with tears all over again. She dashed them away.
‘And if you think I’d be better off without you, you don’t know very much,’ Matthew said. ‘Without you, I’d be all on my own.’ He reached for Lunette’s hand.
They were all looking at her as if they really meant what they were saying. Ava found herself smiling back at them.
‘What should we write?’ she asked.
Howell bent his head close and whispered to her.
After a moment, Ava nodded and picked up the pen. She wished everyone in Wyse could see this happening, but they’d find out soon enough.
‘Ready?’ Howell asked.
‘Ready.’
They wrote.
These are the terms of the covenant between the Human World and the Unworld.
The first covenant is fulfilled. There is no more obligation. Humans and Fair Folk alike may cross through the mirrors when invited.
What is written must come to pass.
The writing darkened and writhed on the pages of The Book. For a moment, the words of the old covenant appeared again, but they faded away.
The Book shrugged its pages.
Hello, guardians. Everything feels different. Did we win?
CHAPTER 38
The town of Wyse, set precisely on the border of England and Wales, is remarkable. It is the only human town twinned with the Unworld, where Fair Folk visit for holidays, and fairy enchantments are traded for hat pins. Or it will be in the second half of the nineteenth century. As for other time periods, don’t ask me: I’m only a book.
The Book
Charles Brunel spent the next day in Waning Crescent. Half the townspeople did. Children ran through the halls, laughing; older people argued over who would get the best furniture, while the town conjurors examined the mirrors and tried to make them work. They succeeded with two. Mr Footer’s mirror showed the face of the blue-haired fairy girl who informed them, rather snappishly, that things were changing and they’d need to wait. Another mirror hanging in the hall appeared to open into an empty room, with sheets lying all over the floor, where a frightened green-haired boy told them he didn’t know what was going on, but none of it was his fault.
Mrs Footer, who seemed remarkably less snappish than before, bustled from room to room, stopping people stealing things and occasionally scolding the children if they made too much noise. The whole thing was quite festive, rather like a holiday, Charles thought. The mist was clearing too, and Reverend Stowe reported that holidaymakers were drifting back into town and complaining that no conjurors were available to perform for them.
Charles wished Ava and Howell were here to see all this.
‘I’m sure they’re fine,’ his mother said.
‘I know they are.’ Ava could take care of herself, Charles thought. Besides, the mist was finally clearing from the streets and there’d been no further trouble from magical intruders, so he guessed Mr Bones must have been defeated.
He had to wait until the next evening before he found out. He was back home writing up his case notes when he heard a knock at the door and, a moment later, his sisters’ twin shrieks of surprise.
Ava and Howell stood on the doorstep, both of them jigging with excitement. Matthew and Lunette waited behind them, hand in hand, and with them was a green-haired man Charles had never seen before.
‘Hello, Charles,’ Ava said. ‘I’m sorry we’re late, but you wouldn’t believe the trouble we had getting home. First we had to find our way out from beneath Waxing Gibbous, and then it took ages to persuade people in the factory that Mr Bones was dead and they could go. And then we had to break mirror seventy-seven because that’s the one that was letting the mist through into Wyse. Howell did tell Will to break it, but he wouldn’t. He thought it’d be bad luck or something. Anyway, it’s all sorted now.’ She paused for breath.
‘This is Master Tudur,’ Howell said, pushing the green-haired man forward. ‘He’s taken over the
Mirror Station in Unwyse and we need to talk about what’s going to happen next.’
They all looked at Charles expectantly. Ava and Howell had gabbled so much that Charles didn’t have the first idea what they’d just said.
‘You’d better come in,’ he said. ‘What is going to happen next?’
Ava glanced at Howell. ‘I’ve got some ideas, but I think we should all decide together.’
It was the first time Ava had ever attended a town meeting, and she wasn’t expecting to enjoy it, but she did. Everyone seemed much friendlier. Even Mrs Footer told her she was a useful girl and said Ava might wish to call her Aunt Lily in private. Ava smiled to herself. Reverend Stowe had told them to give it a week or two and they’d be feeling at home here, though Ava doubted he’d meant it quite like this.
At first, the shopkeepers and hotel owners weren’t happy that their source of income was gone. Who would visit Wyse now that the town no longer had a steady supply of fairy enchantments? But then Matthew stood up and presented their idea.
‘Ava and Howell can bring magic mirrors back to life,’ he said. ‘What if they did it – but only in Wyse and Unwyse. We will be the official – the only – crossing point between this world and the Unworld. We can use Waning Crescent as our own Mirror Station and we’ll employ people to look after the mirrors. We can have proper passports and travel documents, and we can trade goods through the mirrors. We can still get enchantments – better enchantments, even – and the Unworld can have . . . chocolate, and tea, and things like that.’
‘Hat pins,’ Lunette said. ‘Hat pins are always useful.’
And then everyone was talking. Ava didn’t mind that they all seemed to have forgotten her: she’d have plenty to do soon, by the sound of it. She slid her hand under the pew and took out The Book, opening it between her and Howell.
‘What do you think, Book?’ she asked.
The pages moved in a little wave.
What do I think? I think you two can bring the mirrors back to life. The future is up to you now: there are far too many possibilities for me to untangle them all. Whatever happens, though, I predict it will be fun.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
After writing two swashbuckling adventures, a Victorian mystery was quite a challenge and the past year has been a bit like learning to write all over again. This story would never have been completed without the guidance of my wonderful editors, Julia and Lucy. Thank you, both of you! A big thank you, also, to everyone at Henry Holt and Macmillan Children’s Books who have supported me from the beginning. I couldn’t ask for a better team.
Thank you, Becka Moor for the brilliant UK artwork.
The idea for this book came out of a conversation I had with my agent, Gemma Cooper. Gemma, you know how much I appreciate you, but thank you once again for sparking my imagination.
Thank you, everyone who read my rough drafts and helped me to point the story in the right direction. Special thanks are due to Stephanie Burgis and Robin Stevens who read this book early on and said such lovely things about it. And thank you to Team Cooper and the many writing friends and colleagues who have given me such good advice.
Thank you, as always, to my husband, Phillip, and my friends who keep me going with coffee and cake and put up with me rambling about made-up worlds. I’m not going to list you all again, but you know who you are.
A large part of this book was written in the Coffi House in Cardiff and the staff there deserve a special mention for their friendly service and excellent, giant mugs of coffee.
Thank you to all the readers who have been in touch with me – I love hearing from you. And to the booksellers, librarians, schools, book bloggers, all the wonderful people who support children’s books. You are changing the lives of so many children. Thank you!
Turn the page for an extract of . . .
STORM HOUND
The next book from
CLAIRE FAYERS
falling from the skies in 2019
He was Storm of Odin, last-born hound of the Wild Hunt that runs across the plains of the sky on stormy nights. He was barely four months old, but almost as tall as the crimson-tailed horses that raced before him. His coat was black as the deepest midnight, his eyes shone golden-bright, alive with excitement.
He was Storm of Odin and this was his first hunt. He opened his mouth and howled, his voice joining the cries of the pack around him. The scream of hunting horns echoed between the wide horizons and moonlight glanced off the hunters’ helmets and the tips of their spears. Sky and earth trembled.
He was Storm of Odin, and . . .
. . . and he was having a little trouble keeping up.
He ran as fast as ever – faster in fact, because he was straining now, his muscles beginning to ache, and the wild joy of the Hunt was being overtaken by an uneasy feeling. He dropped his head and his howls became a series of pants and grunts as he struggled to keep his legs moving. The crimson horse-tails were no longer in his face but flickered in the darkness ahead like distant glimmers of flame.
The stormhound slowed, and his paws began to sink through the cloud beneath him. He howled again, his voice less like thunder now, more like a cry of ‘Hey, wait for me!’
No one heard. No one waited.
The Wild Hunt rushed on.
Behind them all, Storm of Odin uttered a final yelp and fell from the sky.
Morning came and brought a headache with it. The sunlight made everything bright and sharp-edged – much bigger than he’d expected it. The sky, no longer thunder-filled, was a clear, light grey, speckled with white wisps that didn’t deserve the name of clouds. Mountains rose in indistinct humps all around while, closer by, trees towered over him, their branches hung with brown leaves. More leaves crackled beneath his paws as he took his first step.
But where was he?
The only creatures in sight were a huddle of sheep staring at him from a field on the other side of a grey stripe on the ground. A ‘road’ – he’d heard the huntsmen speak of them. Humans had built them because they didn’t have horses to carry them. Instead, they crawled along these grey paths in armoured shells like snails.
The stormhound stepped onto the road to look about him. The surface was rough, surprisingly hard, and smelled of warm stones and tar. A large sign stood almost opposite him.
Y Fenni 5
Abergavenny 5
The shapes meant nothing to him. And why weren’t the sheep fleeing from him in terror? Or falling at his feet in awe? Were they so stupid that they didn’t know who he was?
Hey! Sheep! the stormhound shouted.
The sheep gazed blankly at him, chewing grass. Eventually, one of them wandered closer. You talking to us?
Who else I would I be talking to? A growl rose in Storm of Odin’s throat as he prowled forward a step. I am Storm of Odin of the Wild Hunt. Did you not hear us pass by last night?
The sheep looked at one another and back at him. If you’re a stormhound, said the one who’d spoken before, I’m Aries. The Ram – get it?
And I’m Ramesses of Egypt, another one baaed. The whole flock fell about laughing.
Storm of Odin growled again in annoyance. You’re not even rams. You’re just stupid sheep.
The sheep only laughed harder.
Caaaaaaar! one of them shouted.
The stormhound shook his head. Don’t you mean baaaaa?
The ground trembled. Storm of Odin leaped backwards just in time. A rush of air, a noise like thunder and something metal roared by on the road. It was vast – the size of several chariots put together, and almost as loud as the Wild Hunt.
A moment later it was gone.
The stormhound rolled over and came up coughing. The air tasted of smoke and oil.
Car, the sheep said smugly. The rest of the flock chewed grass frantically, looking as if they were trying not to laugh.
Another of the metal things rushed into sight and shot by, faster and noisier than anything the stormhound had seen in his short life.
What do you get if you cross a stormhound and a sheep? one of the sheep asked. A very baaaaaaad dog. Go back to the sky, storm puppy. It’s not safe here.
Storm puppy? Storm of Odin growled at the insult. He put a paw on the road, intending to cross over and teach the sheep a lesson, but he felt another rumble begin to build and he stepped back. Odin would smite the sheep for their insolence when the Hunt returned. He turned his back on the sheep with as much dignity as he could muster and began to walk.
Then, unexpectedly, one of the metal shells swerved to the side of the road and stopped.
Storm of Odin drew back, a low growl rumbling in his throat as a door opened in the side and a man stepped out.
The stormhound fell silent in surprise.
The man was huge. So tall, Storm of Odin could barely see his face. Rain fell on his bare head and soaked into his clothes – long trousers and a shirt of such thin cloth it wouldn’t stop the stab of a thorn, never mind spears and arrows.
The stormhound scuttled backwards on his bottom. This was far worse than he’d thought. He hadn’t fallen into the world of men, after all, but a land of giants!
The giant squatted and stretched out a hand, palm down. ‘It’s all right.’
No, it wasn’t all right. It was very not all right. The world was not supposed to be this big.
Unless . . .
Oh no.
The thought had been knocking quietly for his attention for some time, but Storm of Odin hadn’t wanted to let it in. Now, it overwhelmed him. He looked down at the earth, at his two front paws, glossy black and quite small among the grass. He felt one of his ears flop sideways and though he growled with effort, he couldn’t make it stand up again.
This man was not a giant: Storm of Odin was small. This world had shrunk him. The stormhound let out a whimper of despair.
The man lifted him out of the grass with hands that smelled of mint and soap. Storm of Odin bared his teeth.
Mirror Magic Page 19
