13 Curses

by Michelle Harrison

  Tanya reached into her pocket and pulled out the compass. “This way,” she said, reading the needle and pointing calmly.

  Fabian stared at the compass in confusion. “But this morning… we were going to return it to Mad Morag….”

  Tanya shook her head. “I know. That’s what I was coming to tell you when you found the first trap. It’s a good thing we didn’t manage to return it—it’s still working.” She glanced into the trees at the space where Warwick and Nell had last been visible. “Which is just as well, because we’re going to need it.”

  Eldritch’s words echoed in Red’s head.

  “Her new… disguise?”

  “Sounded that way to me,” came the sly reply. “She’s been the old beggar woman for some time now—”

  They both flinched as the trapdoor above was flung open and, with a triumphant shriek, the Hedgewitch threw another body down into the cellar with them. It landed beside Red with a grunt. In the seconds before the trapdoor was snapped shut again, Red was able to glimpse the new captive.

  It was a man. He looked to be no older than her father had been, which would make him around forty, and there was nothing about him that suggested he was fey. He was dressed scruffily in outdoor clothes: a long, dark overcoat and thick corduroy trousers. They were mud-spattered, like his black boots. His hair was dark, although gray in places, and was long, just past his shoulders, and unkempt. His face was contorted with pain—with good reason.

  He had been bound; his arms were pinned to his sides and his ankles were positioned in a way that looked both uncomfortable and unnatural. In places she could make out a hint of something glistening, almost invisible to the eye, something that looked like a spider’s web. As she stared, she caught sight of the same glistening material around the man’s mouth.

  She recognized it now. Tiny precise stitches, sewn with spidertwine. Red’s own mouth formed an “o” of revulsion: the man’s lips had been stitched together.

  The man began to moan, as if attempting to speak from behind his sewn up lips. All that was audible was a low humming sound, coming through his nose.

  “You’ll have to speak up,” Eldritch said. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

  “You’re despicable!” Red hissed, unable to tear her eyes away from the man’s lips. The sight was truly gruesome. Something inside her ignited then—some primal instinct for survival. She began struggling again, fighting to maneuver her bound hands from behind her to in front. Using the last ounce of her strength, she fought to push her hands past her skinny hips, praying that her boyish figure would be her savior. On the fourth attempt her wrists slid past her hips, and, with a low cry of joy, she slipped her numb hands from behind her heels to in front. It was a small triumph, but a triumph nevertheless. She lay back, shivering on the freezing stone floor, trying to regain some of her strength. Her respite did not last long; the prickling sensation at her ankle was back, and even worse than before.

  Wriggling her fingers to encourage some semblance of life back into them, she probed along her lower leg, over the top of her trousers. It was not long before her fingers came into contact with something small and hard, the added pressure of her hand sending a twinge of discomfort into the skin below the fabric. Wincing, she used her crooked fingers to hook the hem of her trouser leg up. There had to be some bramble or thorn caught in her clothing from the woods, pricking her. But it was not a bramble or thorn caught beneath her clothes.

  A tiny pair of ornate silver scissors was tangled up in a loose thread in her trousers. They were open, and one of the points was digging into her skin, a dark smear of blood visible where it had punctured the surface. Her heart soared with hope at the sight of them. These, she knew, were no ordinary scissors. They belonged to Tanya and would cut anything except metal, wood, or stone. Edging her thumb and forefinger into them, she twisted them and snipped at the thread they were caught in.

  “What’s that you have there?” Eldritch said, suddenly alert. “Show me what’s in your hand!”

  “Quiet,” said Red, concentrating. To her immense frustration she was unable to position the scissors in a way that would let her free her hands. She attempted for several minutes, eventually giving up as her fingers cramped and the scissors clattered to the floor for the third time. With a growl, she crawled over to the man with the stitched lips. He eyed her, and the scissors in her hand, warily. His eyes were pale, she saw, gray or blue—it was hard to tell which in the dim light.

  “I’m going to cut the stitches in your mouth,” she whispered fiercely. “And then you’re going to talk. You’re going to tell me how you got here. If I believe what I hear, then I’ll free you, on the condition that you return the favor by cutting the ropes on my wrists. Understand?”

  The man nodded vigorously, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

  “All right,” said Red. “Now keep still.”

  “What about me?” Eldritch whined. “I’ve been here the longest! See if you can help me!”

  “Shut up,” Red snapped. “I’ll come to you in a minute.” If you’re lucky, she added silently. She reached forward, straining in the dim light. The gossamer-like appearance of the spidertwine was helpful in one respect: the stitches glistened, enabling her to see them. Leaning over the man, she edged the tip of the scissors beneath a stitch that looked to be the loosest. A dot of dark red appeared on his skin as the scissors nicked him, but the man did not make a sound. She snipped, and the spidertwine separated. Removing the scissors, she repositioned them again, beneath a second stitch. This one was tighter. The man’s eyes clamped shut as he tried not to jerk away instinctively. Beads of sweat were forming on his lined forehead. She cut again, and then again and again, until every stitch had been broken.

  “It’s done,” she said finally. “You can open your mouth now.”

  Tentatively, the man separated his lips.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you, thank you…”

  Red allowed him a moment to compose himself before moving on. There was no time to waste. The Hedgewitch could reenter the dungeon at any moment.

  “Who are you, lad?” the man asked.

  The word “lad” momentarily confused her, before she remembered her appearance. She looked like a boy now, with her short, spiky hair and men’s clothing. With everything that had occurred since arriving in the fairy realm, she had completely forgotten about her disguise. She lowered her voice before answering.

  “You can call me Red.”

  She thought she saw a spark of something behind the man’s eyes then, a fleeting glimpse into whatever was going on in his mind. But before she could attempt to read it, it had vanished.

  “I see,” he said, coughing suddenly. “I forgot about the thing with names in this place. I’ll have to think of one for myself, some kind of alias for you to call me.”

  Red was instantly alert. “What do you know of the fairy realm?”

  “Enough to know not to give my real name away,” said the man. “But clearly not enough to have escaped the clutches of whatever that thing is upstairs.” He eyed Eldritch, then turned his gaze back to Red. “How long have you been here?”

  “Less than a day,” she answered, keeping her voice low and boyish. “Only hours, in fact.”

  The man regarded her silently, but again she had the feeling that something was going on behind those pale eyes—that he knew something about her. It made her uncomfortable.

  “Enough about me,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “How did you end up here?”

  From his corner of the dungeon, she sensed rather than saw Eldritch lean in closer to hear the man’s answer.

  “By accident,” the man said. “Trying to help someone. Our housekeeper. She ran into the woods after her pet bird flew off. I ran after her, and found her dancing in a fairy ring. I tried to pull her out, and instead ended up getting pulled in with her. There were three other revelers, dancing, singing, and playing instruments. We were carried away with the dance, the music was ench
anted… impossible to resist.”

  “Where is she? This housekeeper?”

  “I don’t know. We became separated when I got my foot caught in a trap.” He looked down. Red followed his gaze. In his left boot, puncture marks were visible in the leather, like a crocodile had snapped at the foot. Blood welled in the indents. “They carried on dancing and moved off through the woods,” he continued. “I don’t think they realized I was no longer following. I don’t know where she is now, but I need to find her and get us both out of here.”

  “But you knew about the fairy realm?” Red asked. “You knew the housekeeper was caught in the fairy ring? How do you know about fairies? Do you have the second sight?”

  The man’s gaze shifted to Eldritch. He seemed reluctant to answer.

  “No,” he said quietly. “But other people I know do. And I’ve used something before—a solution to enable me to see them—but I wasn’t using it today. It was all so fast and unexpected. I ran into the woods without fully preparing.”

  Red nodded, relaxing slightly. “I believe you,” she told him.

  “Good,” said the man weakly. “Now cut me free, and let’s get out of here.”

  “You think it’ll be that easy?” Eldritch sneered. “Even if you’re untied, getting out of the cottage will be a different matter. The trapdoor will be locked, and I guarantee the Hedgewitch will have used magic to prevent anyone from leaving against her will.”

  “We’ll deal with that when we come to it,” Red answered, glaring at him.

  “Where did you get those?” the man asked her, eyeing the scissors in wonder.

  Red faltered. “They belonged to someone else. I ended up with them accidentally.”

  “You thieved them!” Eldritch crowed.

  “No, I didn’t!” Red retorted. “I didn’t even realize I’d brought them with me. They were caught up in my clothing. That’s why the Hedgewitch never found them—”

  She broke off abruptly as a scraping sound came from above. The latch to the trapdoor was being pulled back.

  “She’s coming!” Eldritch hissed.

  Red scrambled away from the man, hiding the scissors in the first place she could think of: beneath the damp straw. She retched as the stench was disturbed, forcing herself to push the scissors deep into the putrid pile. She had only seconds to throw herself back into place before the Hedgewitch pulled back the trapdoor and set foot on the first step leading down into the cellar. Red’s heart was thudding as the witch drew closer. She was alone, and Red knew that this meant she had come for one of her prisoners.

  It had never been in Red’s nature to freeze with fright; instead her instinct was to run. But now she was forced to stay still, to fight the urge, for there was no point in running if there was nowhere to escape to. Even so she eyed the steps leading up to the cottage. Could she make it, if she ran hard and fast enough? Without her hands free to steady her it seemed futile. One stumble would see the end of the attempt if she had no hands to brace a fall. And she had no doubt that the Hedgewitch’s wrath would be terrible and instantaneous. So she remained still, waiting.

  The Hedgewitch approached, skirting around the filthy straw. Red’s fears were confirmed as the woman knelt beside her, her smell of decay filling the air. She seized Red’s hair in her fist, turning her head to face her. Light from the cottage above glinted against something… a shard of broken mirror that came slicing down toward her.

  Red caught sight of her own eyes, wide in terror, in its reflection. There was a small cutting sound as it severed a strand of her hair, and then the witch released the rest of her hair, breathing heavily. Red’s scalp tingled. She saw the witch shaking the hair carefully into something oval, pale, and smooth: a hollowed-out eggshell. Then, raising the mirror shard once more, the witch grabbed Red’s hand and pulled it toward her. For a moment Red was convinced the witch would notice that Red’s hands were now bound in front of her, and not behind—but she seemed too absorbed in what she was doing. Red felt a sharp sting in her thumb and knew the skin there had been pierced. Wordlessly, the witch lifted Red’s thumb and squeezed it painfully, collecting three drops of blood in the eggshell along with the lock of hair. The shard of mirror joined them seconds later. Red gasped, instinctively pulling away. With a throaty laugh, the witch released her and crossed the cellar, climbing the steps to above once more. The slam of the trapdoor sounded like a tomb being sealed.

  “What is she doing?” Red croaked, sucking her bleeding thumb. “Why did she take hair and blood from me?”

  “Haven’t you figured it out yet?” Eldritch replied. “Why do you think she’s taken your hair and blood? Why do you think she took them using a fragment of broken mirror? And why do you think she’s brewing them in an eggshell?”

  Red stared at him, rolling his words around in her mind. “Hair… blood,” she whispered. “A broken mirror… reflections. An egg… new life…”

  “That’s right,” Eldritch said ghoulishly. “You’re going to be her glamour. Her new disguise.” He tilted his head and looked toward the ceiling. “Any minute now, you’ll hear her. I’ve heard it twice before.”

  Red lifted her head. Above, the Hedgewitch began to chant.

  “Through my veins your blood shall flow,

  Three drops this shell does brew.

  Through my scalp your hair shall grow,

  And old will become new.

  Reflection of the garment past

  Mixed with the garment fresh

  A new glamour is being cast

  This spell will change the flesh.

  Warp and twist, fool and convince

  The onlooker’s perception.

  Mortal, fey, pauper, or prince

  Succumb to this deception.

  Like a snake, this skin is shed

  A new one grown in place,

  Chameleon tail, foot, and head

  Allow swift shift of face.”

  The chant paused briefly, then took up again from the beginning.

  “Through my veins your blood shall flow, three drops this shell does brew….”

  Red turned to Eldritch. He was eyeing her craftily from the shadows.

  “What’s going to happen to me?” she asked urgently. “How long do I have before she… before she turns into me? And what will happen once she does? Will I turn into her, or whoever she’s pretending to be now?”

  Eldritch stared back at her, a rakish smile on his lips.

  “Answer me! What will happen?”

  “You won’t turn into her, no,” he said eventually. “But when she’s… you, you’ll start to feel strange… displaced. You’ll begin to have visions of things you haven’t seen or done and memories that aren’t yours but hers. The more she uses you, the less like you you’ll feel.”

  “But how can that be?” Red whispered, horrified.

  “Because she’ll be out there, seeing things, doing things, and experiencing them as you. Whereas you’ll be down here, with only these four walls, and misery and despair. It’ll take time, months even, before you stop feeling like you altogether. And she will be more you than you are.”

  “How long before her spell transforms her into me?” Red asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. “How long have I got?”

  Eldritch shrugged. “Difficult to say. It’s been different for each of the others she’s used before. One took only a matter of minutes. By the time she’d taken the hair and blood they were half out of their mind with terror, which seemed to accelerate the spell. The other took longer—it was dawn before it took effect. She was chanting all night, I thought I’d never get the words out of my head….” His voice trailed off.

  “We need to get out of here,” the other man said hoarsely.

  “We can’t,” said Eldritch. “I’ve told you, she bolts the trapdoor. And it’s the only way out.”

  “Then we’ll wait until she comes down next,” said Red. “And we’ll have to make a run for it.”

  “What about me?” Eldrit
ch demanded. “I can’t run anywhere—not with this holding me in place!” He jerked his wrist, trapped in the manacle, and then cursed under his breath. “The only way I’m getting out is with the key. Someone needs to overpower her, take her by surprise.”

  Red glanced at the human man, trying to read his expression. He remained silent, looking thoughtful. His face was half hidden in the shadows.

  “Yes,” he murmured at last. “Overpowering her is the only way all three of us can escape. So that’s what we have to do.”

  “Very well,” said Red. Steeling herself, she plunged her hands into the fetid pile of straw and groped for the scissors. Eventually she found them and pulled them out, wiping them dry on one of the few unsoiled patches of straw. Moving over toward the man, she began to hack at the spidertwine pinning his limbs into place. Within a couple of minutes he was free, shaking life back into his limbs. Red waited, trying to curb her impatience as he pulled himself into a sitting position. He held his hand out for the scissors, looking her in the eye.

  “Give them to me and I’ll cut your bonds.”

  She hesitated.

  “If you try anything, anything at all, I’ll make you sorry,” she threatened.

  The man looked at her, taken aback. “Like what?”

  “Like not giving the scissors back,” she said. To make her point, she stared pointedly at his injured foot. “If you try to run, you won’t get far. I’ll make that injury ten times worse.” She held his surprised gaze and hoped she sounded convincing, despite her heart fluttering like a caged bird.

  Eldritch gave an amused chuckle.

  “I won’t try anything,” the man said calmly, meeting her glare.

  Finally she handed him the scissors. In silence he cut the ropes binding her wrists, waiting patiently as she hurried to rub warmth and life back into her freezing hands. She had pins and needles, but even so she snatched the scissors from the man’s palm and tucked them away into an inside pocket of her trousers.

  “So now what?” she said to Eldritch. “How long before she comes down here again?”