by James Nicol
Arianwyn turned around. Everything was as it had been a moment before. Nothing had happened. ‘I think it must be dormant or dead.’ She sighed. ‘It has no power!’ She reached for the page that still lay on the counter. As her hand stretched out, her fingers fanned, the shadows spread across the floorboards of the store moved in a sudden jerking motion towards her, like daggers of darkness.
Arianwyn pulled her hand back and stood still. She stared at the floor. The shadows were just shadows. They hadn’t really moved at all . . . had they? ‘Did you see that?’ she asked Estar.
He shook his head. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I think I just need a good night’s sleep!’Arianwyn scolded herself and reached for the page again.
There was no mistaking this time. None!
The shadows shifted. Leapt. Convulsed. Just for a second.
‘Oh my goodness!’ Estar jumped to his feet and scuttled behind the counter. ‘I saw that!’
Arianwyn turned her hand, curling her fingers into her palm. Testing. The shadows inched closer towards her, darker and darker as they approached. And they were changing. They moved like a mist now, black phantoms shifting across the floor. The room was suddenly cold. Arianwyn could see her breath in the air. Her hands ached with ice.
There was a frantic scratching from the storeroom door as the moon hare tried to free itself.
Arianwyn heard a small voice, twisting and cruel. ‘Useless!’ it said snidely. ‘You are useless!’ She spun around, half thinking it was Estar, but she knew deep down it wasn’t.
It was the shadows that spoke to her.
Whatever had she done?
She reached forward – pushing away with her hand, hoping it would make the dark twisting shapes move back. Return to just being shadows once more.
The gloom simply swirled more vigorously at her feet. Panic rose in her chest. Darkness was thickening now, growing deeper and deeper. It churned like black water. ‘Stop!’ Arianwyn called, as though she were shouting over a raging ocean, but there was only the dreadful silence and the scratching sounds from the moon hare in the storeroom.
‘Make it stop,Arianwyn. Please make it stop!’
She looked at Estar, who had backed up against the wall, as far from the darkness as he could, but it drew closer.
‘Idiot!’ came the voice again. And it was louder, right next to her ear.
She was an idiot: how stupid to have summoned this glyph without knowing what it was! But she had felt so certain that there were answers waiting for her.
A sly cackling laugh filled her ears and she shivered from head to toe. She could feel the darkness creeping over her; her feet and legs were buried beneath the rolling shadows.
The darkness was consuming her.
She felt a terrible sadness and loneliness. Thoughts of her mother washed over her. She remembered her grandmother’s cries as she raced across the road and her mother’s too-still body. The look on her father’s face and all their tears – so many tears.
The power of the glyph pulled her like a strong tide, but Arianwyn knew she had to fight against it. She had been so foolish. This was very dark magic indeed.
But the sadness was heavy, like a great weight pressing against her, making it hard to breathe or move.
What was she doing? This was madness, so dangerous. She was stupid to have thought she might be able to control the power of this glyph.
Estar had probably tricked her into summoning something terrible and dark. Why had she thought she could trust him? She remembered the horrid shape in the wood, and the shadows grew darker still. How was this happening to her? Had she really allowed herself to be such a fool again? The darkness, ice and loneliness swirled around her, obscuring all the familiar sights of the Spellorium.
She could hear the frantic scrabbling of the moon hare and its anxious call. She knew she should release it . . .
The shadows surged and she staggered back from them, wanting to run and hide. Where had the light gone?
Suddenly determined, Arianwyn pushed herself forwards, batting away at the air. Instantly the shadows retreated, twisting and tumbling away.
The room returned to normal, the Spellorium once more. The last rays of light flooded Kettle Lane.
Arianwyn felt a surge of hope and then heard the door rattle. She turned just in time to see Miss Delafield staring in through the window, her face twisted in shock. And beside her was Gimma.
‘Hide!’Arianwyn hissed at Estar.
Chapter 29
SISTERS
t’s not what you think!’ Arianwyn protested as Miss Delafield marched through the door, her driving coat flapping angrily in her wake. Gimma trailed in behind, silent and careful.
The older woman pulled her goggles from on top of her head and threw them down on to the counter along with her long driving gloves. They landed next to the piles of papers and the photograph of the other witch. Miss Delafield’s eyes widened briefly and she glanced away. Arianwyn noticed the page with the glyph – now invisible – waft away and tumble to the floor behind the counter.
‘What on earth were you doing?’ Miss Delafield roared, her cheeks blazing red, her eyes wide.
Arianwyn, unsure what to say, looked down at the floor.
‘Look at me, young lady!’ Miss Delafield boomed, and the glass jars on the shelves jingled.
Arianwyn’s head snapped up and she looked into Miss Delafield’s eyes. She could try to lie but what could she say? How could she explain away what had just taken place – what Miss Delafield had obviously seen through the window?
‘Well?’ Miss Delafield asked. ‘I am waiting for an explanation, Miss Gribble.’
Arianwyn sighed again. She reached for a piece of loose paper and a pencil and quickly sketched the unknown glyph on to it.
‘Do you know this glyph?’ She held the paper out.
Miss Delafield snatched it from Arianwyn’s hand and studied it carefully. It seemed hours before she folded the paper and slowly but definitely tore it in half. She handed the scraps of paper to Gimma. ‘Put them in the fire please, dear,’ she said firmly.
Gimma crossed to the little pot-bellied stove.
‘Where did you see that glyph, dear?’ Miss Delafield asked. Her voice was softer now, quiet, but in place of the anger was concern.
‘I’ve seen it for years and years,’Arianwyn replied. ‘Ever since . . .’ But the memory of her mother made her stop. She heard the door of the stove swing shut. Gimma looked on silently.
Miss Delafield stood still. Her eyes flashed back and forth, her face twisted in concentration.
‘Are there more glyphs than the ones we know and use?’ Arianwyn asked. She could feel herself shaking with anticipation.
Miss Delafield pulled away and marched to the opposite side of the room. She gripped the edge of the shelves and bowed her head.
‘Miss Delafield . . .’ Arianwyn made to move forwards but Miss Delafield spun round and grabbed Arianwyn by the shoulders and shook her, once, twice, three times.
‘Promise me, you will never, never summon a glyph like that again. Promise!’ Her face was wet with tears. She was crying!
‘What is it?’ Arianwyn asked gently, placing one hand on her supervisor’s shoulder.
‘They’re dangerous, dear – full of dark, terrible magic, beyond our understanding and ability.’
‘They? So there are more of them . . .’ Arianwyn said quickly. She looked across at Gimma but the other girl was hanging back in the shadows by the stove, watching everything unfold.
Miss Delafield nodded, dabbing her eyes. ‘There are rumours that there were once more glyphs than we know today and that the witches of the Four Kingdoms stopped using them for some reason. But we don’t know anything about them, what they do, or if they are connected to dark spirits. So please promise me you won’t try to summon one ever again.’ Miss Delafield continued, ‘I couldn’t bear for you to go through—’ Her voice broke as more tears coursed down her face. She sud
denly reached out and snatched up the old photograph from the counter.
Arianwyn gently led her to the chair by the stove. She fetched some teacups, setting the old copper kettle on top of the stove. Gimma watched, frozen by Miss Delafield’s outburst. Suddenly remembering the moon hare still trapped in the storeroom, Arianwyn dashed to let it out. It sat tense under a tumble of boxes. It growled lightly as Arianwyn entered the room before bounding past her to nuzzle against Miss Delafield’s leg.
‘Hello, little one!’ Miss Delafield sniffed, petting the moon hare’s ears gently.
Arianwyn set about making the tea. She handed Gimma and Miss Delafield a cup each and suddenly Miss Delafield started to speak, quietly and distractedly, as though recalling something from another lifetime. She cradled the photograph in her hands.
‘I lied to you, Arianwyn. I’m sorry. You asked me if I knew the previous inhabitant and I lied. I did know her. I knew her very well indeed.’
Something twigged in Arianwyn’s mind. The photograph. The beautiful witch with the golden curls that tumbled over her shoulders and the gangly younger girl with the thick plaits who stood awkwardly at her side. Arianwyn went cold.
‘She was my . . . sister . . .’ Miss Delafield’s voice wobbled and cracked as she spoke.
‘Her name was Euphemia, but we all called her Effie.’ Miss Delafield slurped from her teacup and eyed Arianwyn cautiously. ‘She was like you, Arianwyn. She had visions of glyphs that only seem to exist in the oldest of legends, myths and half-stories long forgotten. And when she tried to summon them as a young witch . . . well . . . it drove her quite mad. And eventually the power consumed her . . . and she died.’
Arianwyn glanced across at Gimma. There were tears in her eyes, which she wiped away quickly.
Miss Delafield sniffed once more and extracted from her pocket a huge handkerchief that was embroidered with flowers and birds. She blew her nose noisily into it.
Arianwyn rested against the bookcase nearby and considered what Miss Delafield had just said.
‘So if your sister and I have both seen different glyphs, there might be others out there—’
‘This is not the sort of thing you would want to go about telling people, dear. Trust me. They’d lock you up as quick as a flash. In truth it’s why I never told anyone poor Effie was my sister. I was ashamed and worried they might think I was similarly affected . . .’
For a moment, Arianwyn wondered if she should mention Estar. But she decided now was not the time for that particular revelation.
Miss Delafield gulped the rest of her tea and wiped the tears from her cheeks. ‘Say nothing about this to anyone, either of you!’ She scowled at Gimma. ‘And under no circumstance attempt to summon that thing ever again. Do I make myself quite clear, dear?’
Arianwyn, slightly frustrated at not being able to ask more questions, nodded mutely. Gimma nodded as well.
Miss Delafield rose silently from her chair and handed Arianwyn the teacup, the discussion over.
‘We had come to practise ready for the parade, but I suggest we put that on hold for another evening.’
‘Of course, Miss Delafield,’ Arianwyn replied. It seemed the evening’s dark events had swiftly been forgotten.
Or perhaps not. For, just as Gimma had gone back out into Kettle Lane, Miss Delafield gripped Arianwyn’s arm tightly and pulled her into a sort of haphazard hug on the doorstep of the store. ‘You really mustn’t. For your own good, dear. Promise me?’ Her voice was soft and pleading.
Arianwyn nodded.
There was a long moment of silence at the door. Miss Delafield’s eyes searched Arianwyn’s face. It was a similar look to the one Estar had given her earlier, the cat and the mouse, as if she was suddenly scared of Arianwyn.
Arianwyn looked away at last.
‘Well, see you in a few days then, dear. Good-night!’
Arianwyn waited on the doorstep until the sound of the engine had died away into the night, until the first stars blinked high in the clear sky and the distant sounds of wood owls sang out from the Great Wood.
Chapter 30
THERE ARE SHADOWS SINGING
on’t you think you ought to give that moon hare a name?’ Gimma asked. She sat between Arianwyn and Salle. The two young witches were taking a break from Miss Delafield’s parade training session in the Spellorium. ‘What about Lancelot or Umberto?’
Salle snorted loudly and looked at Gimma. ‘You can’t call it that. It’s a girl!’
‘Is it?’Arianwyn asked.
‘Surely it’s a boy,’ Gimma said, studying the moon hare carefully.
‘Neither!’ Miss Delafield said brightly.
‘What?’ Salle asked, unable to hide the shock in her voice. All three girls turned quickly to look at the moon hare, who was busy washing its feet rhythmically.
‘You know, like a snail or a worm!’ Miss Delafield said.
‘Oh!’
‘Hmmm,’ Salle said. ‘Well I agree with Gimma, we really ought to give it a name if it’s staying here with you.’
‘But what?’ Arianwyn said. ‘I don’t know any popular snail or worm names!’
‘Why don’t you just call it . . . Bob, then?’ Salle suggested and as she did, the moon hare sat up on its hind legs and twitched its nose at her. ‘Oh I think Bob likes it!’ She smiled. ‘Don’t you, Bob?’
‘We can’t call it Bob!’ Arianwyn said, a chuckle rising in her voice.
‘Well, it’ll be Bob until you come up with a better alternative,’ Salle said.
‘Right, if you ladies have had enough of a rest, shall we continue?’ Miss Delafield said, getting to her feet. Arianwyn and Gimma followed, while Salle sat stroking ‘Bob’s’ ears and watching. But after only a few moments chaos had descended as Gimma spun too sharply and at the wrong point and crashed headlong into Arianwyn for the twentieth time that evening. Salle collapsed in helpless giggles.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Miss Alverston, you have all the coordination of an octopus on roller-skates!’ Miss Delafield growled. ‘I thought you’d be perfect at this!’
Arianwyn cast a quick look at Gimma. She was just as surprised that Gimma hadn’t got this perfect straight off. Whatever was wrong with her? Gimma seemed to have no coordination at all and Miss Delafield had run out of patience quite quickly.
‘Sorry. Sorry,Arianwyn,’ Gimma mumbled.
‘It’s really not that taxing, I’m sure. Left right, left right. Turn! Left right, left right. Pause and salute!’ Miss Delafield chanted, wafting her cocktail glass to and fro as she called out her commands.
‘As the new recruits, you’ll be head of the procession next week and I can’t have you turning the wrong way and messing up the whole line, dear!’ She sighed and glared at Gimma. ‘Shall we try once more? And one, two, three . . .’
Arianwyn and Gimma set off in perfect unison. But after only three or four steps, just as they should have been turning, Gimma collided with Arianwyn again. This time they both collapsed into a pile of giggles on the floor of the Spellorium. Bob, intrigued by all the noise, hopped over and peered at them both. Then it gave Arianwyn a quick wash with its rough pink tongue and scampered off to rest in the corner again.
‘Oh for pity’s sake!’ Miss Delafield groaned and buried her head in her hands. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ Then she gave in and joined the chorus of giggles.
There was a frantic tapping on the door. ‘Hello . . . hello? Miss Gribble, are you there?’
It was late, nobody generally came to the Spellorium after dark. Arianwyn immediately felt a knot of panic in her stomach. Brushing herself off, she dashed to the door and pulled open the locks and bolts. On the doorstep stood Mr Turvy and the mayor. The mayor appeared to be dressed in his pyjamas and dressing gown with a large mac thrown over them. He had taken time, however, to tie his purple sash over the top of it all.
‘Ah, Miss Gribble, is my Gimma still here with you? It’s awfully late, you know. Ah, good evening Miss Delafield.’
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The mayor and Mr Turvy wandered into the store. Mr Turvy was pale and he fiddled anxiously with the repaired charm which hung about his neck, the golden locket catching the light.
‘Well then, Turvy,’ Mayor Belcher grumbled, ‘tell Miss Gribble what you wanted to say. Some of us were just about to go to bed.’
‘Hmmm, yes,’ Mr Turvy muttered quietly. He took a few careful steps closer to Arianwyn and whispered loudly, ‘There is something in the wood!’
Arianwyn, puzzled, looked at the mayor, then at Miss Delafield and back to Mr Turvy. Was it some sort of test or joke?
‘There are lots of spirit creatures in the wood, Mr Turvy. Have you seen one?’
Mr Turvy sighed and jangled the charm more furiously. ‘No, no, no . . . something else. Something different.’
‘Yes, of course,’ the mayor replied, patting Mr Turvy reassuringly on the shoulder. Then in hushed whispers he said, ‘I think he’s got himself confused. Probably just saw a badger or some such thing and gave himself a fright. But he insisted on coming along to see you.’ Mayor Belcher placed a comforting arm around Mr Turvy and tried to lead him away.
‘I think he may be a little . . .’ Mayor Belcher pointed at his own head and rolled his eyes slightly. ‘All alone and no one to keep you company. You should come into town more often and join one of the clubs or societies.’
But Mr Turvy, with unexpected strength and speed, shrugged off the mayor’s arm and dashed back to Arianwyn, gathering her hands in his own. ‘There is something terrible and dark in the woods!’ he whispered, his eyes darting to and fro. ‘Something angry and dangerous – there are shadows singing!’
‘What do you mean?’ Arianwyn asked. ‘There have always been spirits in the Great Wood.’ But something worried at the back of her mind and fear tickled at the back of her neck.
‘Not like this.’ His voice wobbled, he was truly terrified. ‘Something huge and dark. Twisted, it was and moved fast. Like water!’
Arianwyn felt a surge of cold; the knot of anxiety tightened. She resisted the urge to glance at Gimma and looked to Miss Delafield instead. ‘Should we go and look?’ she asked, hoping beyond all hope that Miss Delafield would say no.
