13 Curses

by Michelle Harrison

  “Won’t he fly off?” she asked.

  “Oh, no,” said Nell. “Not unless something frightens him. He’ll just sit there like a good boy.”

  Tanya could not imagine that anything would frighten the General.

  “All the same, don’t leave him unattended,” said Warwick, piling plates in the sink. “There’s the cat to think of. He may be old but he’s still got that killer instinct.” As he made his way past the General, Warwick gave a sharp exclamation.

  “What is it?” asked Florence.

  “He pecked me!” said Warwick, holding his arm and looking outraged. The General cackled, as if to insult further.

  “Oh, dear,” said Nell. “You must’ve frightened him by walking too close.”

  “He looks petrified,” Warwick answered sarcastically. He glared at the bird and left the kitchen.

  “How rude,” said the General. “Off with his head!”

  It had been three months since Tanya had last pried up the loose floorboard in her room. From the space beneath, she pulled out a shoebox that was wrapped in a red scarf. This was not for decoration—she used the scarf because the color red acted as a camouflage to fairies. With the scarf covering the box, it was safe from tampering. Removing the lid, she cast her eyes over the contents. Among them was an old diary of Tanya’s, a handful of photographs, a heavy silver charm bracelet, and a tarnished brass compass. At first glance, the compass seemed quite ordinary, but on closer inspection there was something odd about it: there were no directions marked on it except for the letter “H” where the letter “N” for “north” would normally be. This “H,” Tanya had discovered, stood for “home.”

  “Well?” said Fabian. “Is it still working?”

  Tanya lifted the compass from the box.

  “No. The needle is just spinning, as if it’s broken. If it was working, the needle would be steady on the ‘H’.”

  “Oh, well,” said Fabian grudgingly. He reached past her for the bracelet. “Do you still wear this?”

  “No.” She regarded it solemnly. “Not since… the drain-dweller.” There had been thirteen charms on the bracelet to begin with, but one, a tiny silver cauldron, had been taken by a fairy that had then attempted to steal the rest of the bracelet. This had resulted in a chase that had ended in the fairy’s death when it crossed Spitfire’s path.

  “Where’s the Cauldron charm now?” Fabian asked.

  Tanya shrugged. “Probably still in the sink pipe with the rest of the things the drain-dweller stole.” She put the lid on the box and then pushed it back under the floorboards, keeping the bracelet to one side. “I don’t even want it anymore. I can’t bear to look at it. I’m going to give it back to my grandmother.” Glancing up at the window, she got to her feet.

  “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go and return the compass to Morag while the weather’s good.” She picked the bracelet up. “I’ll give this back to my grandmother on the way out.”

  But when they arrived downstairs there was nobody around, just a note from Florence to say she had gone to buy groceries in Tickey End and a rhythmic snoring from the brownie in the tea caddy. There was no sign of Warwick or Nell either, just a mop and bucket in the kitchen.

  Tanya collected Oberon’s leash from where it hung on the back of the kitchen door. “Let’s go out. If anyone asks, we can just say we’re walking Oberon.” As an afterthought, she left the bracelet on top of Florence’s note before they left the house. She would explain her feelings to her grandmother later.

  The vast back garden was as overgrown as ever, only now it looked as if an artist had taken to it with an autumnal palette. Tanya tilted her head back and sniffed the scent of leaf mulch.

  In the summer, three goblins had often been found on the rock garden. Now, though, there were none to be seen. Tanya had befriended one of them, a gentle-natured creature named Brunswick, who had been bullied by his two vicious companions. She wondered what had become of him.

  Soon Tanya, Fabian, and Oberon were through the gate and heading toward the forest. They paused before the little brook that dissected the land between the manor and the woods, then used the stepping stones to cross. Fabian made to dash into the fringes of the forest, but Tanya called him back.

  “Wait! Don’t forget that the woods are full of fairies—you need to protect yourself.”

  Quickly, she took her jacket off, turned it inside out, and then put it back on again. Fabian watched, and then did the same. It was a method of protection against fairies that they had used in the summer, after reading about it in an old book.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Tanya nodded. “Let’s go.”

  And with that, they stepped into Hangman’s Wood.

  The old gypsy woman’s caravan was difficult to find. Tanya had found it once before with the help of the goblin Brunswick, but now she and Fabian were wondering how to go about finding it again. Fabian, ever logical, had a theory.

  “Mad Morag likes her privacy, obviously. Why else would she live out in the woods? She’ll be tucked away somewhere, but not too far out.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Tanya interrupted. “And for goodness’ sake, stop calling her Mad Morag. She’s not mad, she’s eccentric—”

  “Eccentric? She’s a witch,” Fabian said rudely. “As I was saying, she’s old, so she won’t want to walk farther than she has to. She goes to Tickey End for her groceries, so she’ll probably live over on this side of the forest”—he paused and pointed off to the left—“and she’d want to be near to the stream for her water supply as well. So we should follow the stream in this direction.”

  Tanya didn’t argue. Fabian’s idea seemed sensible.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  They set off, kicking through the woodland undergrowth. As they drew deeper into the woods, Tanya saw patches of fairy rings: red, pale brown, and flesh-colored toadstools growing in wide circles between the trees, and, in some cases, around them.

  “Careful,” she said. “Don’t step into any of these fairy rings. I’ve read that they can be dangerous.”

  “Dangerous how?” asked Fabian.

  “You can get pulled into a fairy dance that goes on all night, or sometimes even years. So avoid them.”

  “Easier said than done,” Fabian replied. “I can hardly take a step without being right on top of one.”

  It was true. The fairy rings were everywhere. They walked on carefully, and as they went farther still into the woods, Tanya could make out familiar chattering noises in the trees. She kept her eyes trained ahead but remained wary. Often, the fairies kept to themselves unless they were meddled with, and today Tanya felt more comfortable knowing that neither she nor Fabian had any intentions of disturbing them.

  Soon the fairy rings became fewer, before disappearing altogether, but then they happened upon something else. Silver-gray railings went around in a circular shape, guarding a massive, cavelike hole in the ground. Oberon trotted ahead, sniffing the foliage at the foot of the railings, then cocking his leg against them.

  “How big do you think this one is?” Tanya asked.

  “About three meters,” said Fabian. “It’s similar in size to the large one we saw in the summer.”

  This was the third denehole Tanya had seen, but it had no less impact on her than the first. They were truly sinister, and no real explanation had ever been found for their existence.

  “Come on,” said Fabian. “Look. There’s a path.”

  Oberon waited ahead for them, wagging his tail. As they approached, he lowered his nose to the ground and snuffled along as though picking up a scent. After a short distance, he paused again and waited, his tongue falling out of the side of his mouth.

  “Looks like he’s picked up on something,” said Fabian.

  “He has,” Tanya replied. She glimpsed a flash of yellow through the greenery. “He’s been here before. He’s found her.”

  The caravan was just as she remembered: vibrantly painted, old, and
ornate. They crept up to the sky-blue front door. Tanya was a split second from knocking when voices from the open window stopped her. Shocked, she whipped around to face Fabian.

  They had both immediately recognized one of the low voices as Warwick’s.

  “What’s he doing here?” Tanya mouthed.

  “I don’t know!” Fabian whispered. “But he’ll skin us alive if he sees us! You know we’re not supposed to come into the woods!” He darted closer to the caravan and pressed himself to its side, beneath the open window, beckoning for Tanya to join him.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “Let’s listen,” he said quietly. “I want to know what he’s doing here. We can hide under the caravan if we need to.”

  Tanya scurried to Fabian’s side, her pulse racing. Warwick’s voice was a murmur, drifting through the open window.

  “So you can’t tell me anything then?”

  Morag spoke, her aged voice a croak. “No, I cannot—she is not known to me, not at this time.”

  “But if you see anything, you’ll send for me?” Warwick continued. “It’s important.”

  “If she appears to me I will let you know,” the old woman promised.

  Moments passed wordlessly inside the caravan.

  “What’s going on?” Fabian hissed, clearly bewildered. “Who are they talking about?”

  “I don’t know who,” Tanya answered. “But she’s talking about her visions. Your father is asking her for information, things she might have… seen.”

  They both looked up at the open window.

  “I’m getting something else,” Morag could be heard saying at last. “It’s hazy, but it’s something to do with a new arrival… at the manor. Something in the past… a child. A child who was lost. It’s never been forgotten. And ahead there lies trouble, this I can see clearly.”

  “What kind of trouble?” Warwick asked sharply.

  “The kind you are already familiar with,” Morag replied.

  There was a shuffling from inside the caravan, and the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door. The secret meeting was over.

  Tanya and Fabian looked at each other in panic, then scrambled beneath the caravan, each rolling to the opposite edges in order to conceal themselves behind one of the four huge wheels. The caravan door opened above them, and Warwick’s mud-encrusted boots descended the tiny set of steps. Midway, he turned back to face the direction he had come from. To Tanya’s alarm, Oberon’s tail began to thump at the familiar scent of Warwick. She placed a warning hand on his collar, praying that he would not reveal their presence.

  “When will the tonic be ready?” Warwick was saying. “I’m almost out.”

  “By the next full moon,” said Morag. “In three days’ time.”

  “I’ll return for it then,” said Warwick. He turned again and came down the remainder of the steps and was heading away from the caravan when the door could be heard closing.

  Tanya and Fabian watched as he strode back through the forest. Tanya became aware of Oberon’s head cocking to the side, but the dog seemed to understand that he was to stay with Tanya and made no attempt to follow Warwick. They waited, leaving several minutes until Warwick was out of sight before edging out from their hiding places.

  Tanya looked at Fabian.

  “We can’t go to see Morag now,” she said in a low voice.

  “I know,” said Fabian. “If she’s in contact with my father, we shouldn’t take the risk. She might tell him we’ve been to see her, and as far as he’s concerned, we’re still forbidden from coming into these woods.”

  They set off, hurrying away from the caravan silently.

  “Who do you think Warwick was trying to find out about?” Tanya asked.

  Fabian narrowed his eyes behind his thick-lensed glasses.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “But the person Morag did see in her vision had to be Nell. She’s the only new person in the household.”

  “I wonder what happened in her past,” said Tanya. “Morag said she saw a lost child. Perhaps she had a child who… died.”

  “She’s never mentioned any family,” said Fabian. “Apart from her dead husband.”

  “What about the person Warwick was asking about, the first one? Who do you think that might be?”

  Fabian shook his head. “I can’t think who else he would want to find out about.”

  They pondered this for the remainder of their journey back to the manor, but by the time they arrived, they were no closer to finding any answers.

  As they moved through the house, there were signs that Florence and Warwick had both returned before them. Warwick’s muddy footprints marred Nell’s mopped floor and Florence’s keys were on the side. The charm bracelet, Tanya noticed, had gone from where she had left it, and she made a mental note to mention it to her grandmother when she saw her next.

  However, when she went upstairs to put the compass back beneath the floorboards, Tanya saw the needle as she took it out of her pocket.

  The compass was working again. With that, all thoughts of the old charm bracelet slipped her mind entirely.

  Tanya left her room and crossed the landing, eager to tell Fabian about the compass. She was almost at his door when it was flung open from the other side, making her jump. Fabian stomped out, his nostrils flaring.

  “Look at this!” He brandished something beneath her nose. “A mousetrap! It would have taken my toe off if I hadn’t seen it in time.”

  Tanya frowned. “It’s not like my grandmother or Warwick to use mousetraps.”

  “That’s because they don’t,” Fabian said hotly. “Florence doesn’t like them, and we’ve never needed them with Spitfire in the house. It has to be Nell’s doing!”

  “Well, I daresay my grandmother will put a stop to it,” Tanya said impatiently. “Listen, about the compass—”

  A terrible, high-pitched squeal of agony prevented her from finishing the sentence.

  “What was that?”

  Fabian looked blank. “What?”

  “A scream, down on the landing.”

  The compass forgotten, Tanya edged away from Fabian and toward the staircase. “You didn’t hear it?”

  Fabian shook his head but followed her anyway. The sound of whimpering drifted up to them. She descended the staircase. She knew in her gut where the sound was coming from, and the fact that Fabian could not hear it did not bode well. Each step brought her closer to the grandfather clock on the landing. The sound was coming from the other side of it. She approached, ignoring Fabian, who was prodding her and demanding an explanation. Already she had a horrible premonition about what she was going to find.

  Fairies resided in the clock, and the space beside it was also one of Spitfire’s favorite snoozing places. The combination made for a deadly possibility. Tanya’s stomach lurched as she took another step. She had witnessed the death of one fairy at Spitfire’s claws. She had no wish to see another.

  This time, when she peered around the side of the clock, Spitfire was nowhere to be seen, though the sight that met her was no less gruesome.

  “Oh, no…” Tanya murmured.

  Three pairs of tiny fey eyes—a mixture of anger and terror—met hers. The fairies huddled together in such a way that, even as one of them bared its teeth, Tanya could see that they were afraid. Behind them a fourth fairy was the source of the whimpering. It looked up at her, its eyes huge with fear and pain. Just in front of it lay a pale cube of cheese.

  “What is it?” Fabian asked.

  Tanya swallowed. “One of the fairies from the clock. Its wings are caught in another trap.”

  She dropped to her knees, deaf to the cries of the trapped fairy’s companions. She had never before seen the inhabitants of the grandfather clock, and had always imagined them to be ugly creatures with good reason to hide themselves away. But the lodgers, as she’d always thought of them, were actually rather beautiful: small, silvery beings with bluish skin and white hair and dressed in t
iny mouse skins.

  “Let me help,” she told them, but as she reached out they fled and hid behind the clock. The trapped fairy shrieked in distress.

  “Stay away, tricketty girl!”

  “I’m trying to help,” she muttered, wondering if she should just take the whole thing—trap and fairy—to her grandmother. But she simply could not bear for the fairy to suffer any longer. Gently, she released the trap, disabling the spring that held the snapping arm in place, and eased the fairy into her hand. It was moaning incoherently now, while its companions looked on from the foot of the clock.

  “I’m taking you to my grandmother,” said Tanya. “She’ll know what to do.” She stood up. Fabian hovered helplessly at her side.

  “Search the house for any more traps and dismantle them,” she told him, starting down the stairs. “If more fairies become injured, we could be punished.”

  “How badly is it injured?” Fabian asked.

  “Its wings are completely crushed,” she said in a low voice. “I don’t think it’ll ever fly again.”

  Fabian took off, back up the stairs. Doors opened and slammed as he searched the rooms. In the kitchen, Oberon bounded over and tried to jump up at her, but Tanya shooed him away, afraid he would further injure the fairy in her hand.

  Through the back door she could see Florence pegging laundry out to dry. Tanya called to her and waited in the doorway, next to the General’s cage. The bird tilted his head to one side, staring at the fairy quivering in her palm with interest. He gave a loud click suddenly, making both Tanya and the fairy jump. A moment later Florence came in and closed the door. She took one look at Tanya’s hand and pressed her thin lips into an even thinner line.

  “How did this happen?” she asked. “Was it Spitfire?”

  “No,” Tanya answered. “A mousetrap.”

  “A what? Who on earth would—”

  “Nell,” Tanya finished.

  Florence’s eyes narrowed and she held out her hand urgently. Tanya placed the fairy into her grandmother’s palm as gently as she could. The creature moaned.