by Cari Thomas
‘Of course it’s possible. I can see it clear as day. Your magic is rising to the surface. I just heard it.’
Anna didn’t know how to reply. She was deeply thankful for the sound of the bell. ‘Come on. Class.’
‘Yeah. I’m not sure I’ll go.’
‘Come on.’
‘I have tromboning to do.’ He poked at a trombone hanging from the wall.
‘Attis, you’re this close to being kicked out of school. You barely do any work. Why do you come here at all?’
‘Because my father wanted me to. He said school was an extremely necessary waste of time and that I was to see it through. So I shall. I can’t help it if some of the teachers in this school don’t like me, it’s only because I don’t talk like I have a stick jammed up my arse. And I’m smarter than them.’
‘Failing school is not smart.’
He shrugged.
‘Do you not intend to do anything with your life when we leave this place? What do you want to be?’
‘Exotic dancer,’ he replied with great seriousness.
Anna snorted and shook her head. ‘I think you have to be human to be an exotic dancer and, as was established that night on the roof – you’re not human or a witch. You might have tentacles hiding under your shirt for all I know.’
He frowned. ‘Ohhh, is that what they are?’
If he was going to ask his questions then she would ask hers. ‘Quit joking. What are you if you’re not a witch?’
‘A vampire.’
‘Really?’ She narrowed her eyes. She’d not been privy to the magical world; she wasn’t entirely sure what was possible.
‘No. But that would be sexy, right?’
She glowered at him. ‘Are you a warlock? Is that different from a witch? Or a wizard, is that a thing?’
Attis shook his head.
‘A fairy? A shapeshifter? A shapeshifting fairy?’
He laughed. ‘That’s definitely not a thing but by all means keep guessing.’
‘You’re not going to tell me, are you?’ she said, frustrated.
‘This is more fun. Now, what do you intend to make of your life, Anna Everdell?’
‘I’m going to be a doctor,’ Anna replied.
‘Huh,’ he responded, as if the answer had surprised him.
‘It’s a good job. I want to help people,’ she added defensively. ‘Hence I’m going to class, because some of us want to pass our exams.’
‘Hey, don’t go, Dr Everdell. Play a bit more. You should perform. Do you ever play to the school? You’re exceptional.’
‘I don’t play for others, I play for myself.’ She picked up her bag. Aunt had never encouraged her to perform, had told her in the past that she wasn’t good enough for that sort of thing.
‘It’s an injustice to keep your talents from the world. We have a responsibility to share them, just like I share my wit and charm with all my fellow people.’
‘I thank my lucky stars every day that you do.’
‘It must be so hard being you,’ he said mockingly. ‘So talented, so much angst, unable to share it.’
‘It must be hard being you, so charming and such an arsehole at the same time.’
‘Oh no, that comes easy.’
‘You know what else comes easy?’
‘What?’
‘Leaving.’ Anna turned around with a flick of her hair. She shut the door on him, alarmed to find she was grinning. She quickly replaced it with an angry pout, reminding herself that he’d barged in there, disrupted her playing, side-stepped her with magic and confronted her about performing. What’s it to him if I play my music publicly or not? She’d had to protect her music for so many years against Aunt; the last thing she wanted to do was share it with the pupils of this school, the people who’d ridiculed her and ignored her for years. It was one of the only things in the world that truly belonged to her and she wasn’t about to reveal it to all on the advice of a boy whom she didn’t trust and didn’t understand. Especially when he would reveal so little of himself to her.
‘We’re going to Lydia’s party,’ Effie announced at lunch.
‘I really can’t—’ Anna began to say but Effie thrust a poster in her face. It was for a science fair in Reading at the weekend.
‘Not even my idea,’ said Effie. ‘Manda found it. Turns out she has more scheming in her than I could have hoped. It’s perfect, Anna. You tell your aunt you’re going to this fair and Manda’s mum has offered to drive you both there. Your aunt can ring her mum to confirm. They can discuss how you’ve both been going to these study sessions after school, to back up your back-up story. Of course, the real plan is you and Manda get driven to Reading Saturday morning, hop back on the train into London where we’ll meet. You can stay at mine and head back Sunday for the pick-up. You’re welcome.’ Effie took a bow.
Manda gave her an apologetic look. ‘Effie said it’s time that we start being seen out. This is our chance.’
‘I’m not so sure—’ Anna began. There were too many things that could go wrong.
‘Selene got back last night,’ said Effie.
Anna’s heart lifted. ‘Really?’
‘She’s desperate to see you. She’s worried.’
‘Worried?’ said Anna. ‘Did you tell her about the bindweed?’
A guilty look flashed across Effie’s face. ‘Do you mind? It just sort of slipped out – we’d had wine. Selene went ballistic of course and was going to go round to your aunt’s there and then but Attis and I managed to convince her not to. She’s come round to the idea of the antidote now. She said only subterfuge will work with your aunt.’
‘It’s fine.’ Anna tried not to sound annoyed. In some ways she was relieved Selene knew already. It was easier than telling her herself. Selene confronting Aunt certainly wouldn’t have helped – there was nothing Selene could really do. Is there? Anna fleetingly entertained a dream of running away with Selene, Effie and Attis, going to New York or some other distant destination, becoming a permanent part of their world. She reached for her Knotted Cord and let the dream go. Ridiculous. She couldn’t abandon her life and, despite everything, she couldn’t leave Aunt. She needed to see Selene, that was all – perhaps Selene could help; perhaps she would have some answers. Anna just wasn’t sure what the questions were.
‘Did I mention Peter’s going too?’ Effie raised an eyebrow.
Rowan nodded officiously. ‘I’ve had it confirmed by several sources.’
Anna rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help smiling. ‘We better hope Manda’s mum can convince my aunt then.’ She brushed away the feeling of foreboding with thoughts of the weekend ahead. Peter. Selene. Time with her friends. Normal teenage stuff.
‘YES.’ Effie fist-pumped.
‘Effie,’ said Rowan. ‘You know we’re not actually invited to this party, right?’
‘I know, but I make a point of going to every party I’m not invited to.’
When Anna woke on Saturday morning a kind of memory tugged at her. It was hazy and distant, but recalling its exact shape and meaning felt somehow critical. Images came back to her: an apple – she’d been handed an apple. By whom? Effie. She’d bitten into it and tasted blood. It had poured out of it, down her mouth and chin, onto the floor forming a pattern – seven circles. The seeds inside had been crow’s eyes, blinking, knowing. She could still taste the blood in her mouth, but it was an impossible memory. It hadn’t happened.
Anna realized with a start that it had been a dream. It had been so long she’d almost forgotten how it felt to have one.
She looked up at the dreambinder – it was densely knotted. Did a dream slip through? A dream had never made it through, not in all the years it had hung there. It had been disturbing and the seven circles spun round her mind, but she relished the sensation of the dream anyway: its delightful absurdity, its ominous potency. Can it be the tisane? Is it finally working?
Eager for the day, she got herself ready and went down to the kitchen. Aunt w
as in the shower. The urge came over her suddenly. She lifted herself onto the counter and searched through the cupboards, carefully and quickly. Eventually she found it – in the small cupboard at the top of the oven among various oils: a bottle with no label or name containing a faintly green liquid. She unscrewed the lid and smelt a strong alcoholic aroma: bindweed.
She felt like smashing the bottle, upending the cupboard, but she placed it back and twisted her Knotted Cord. She couldn’t show her anger. She needed everything to go to plan today. Somehow Aunt had agreed to Manda’s mother driving them to the science fair. Anna had listened to them speaking on the phone and when Aunt had started discussing the school’s inadequate parking provisions she knew it was a good sign. Manda’s mother was Aunt’s sort of woman – on the school’s parental committee, upstanding in the community, believing in a strictness akin to her own mould of parenting. But now the day had arrived, Anna knew Aunt could easily find some reason for her not to go. She waited nervously at the kitchen table, counting down the minutes.
‘Anna, don’t wear your hair down like that, it looks slovenly. Are you packed?’ Aunt’s voice marched ahead of her entrance.
‘Yes, Aunt,’ she replied. ‘All packed.’ Anna feared telling her lies but not as much as she savoured them in that moment. Yours, dear Aunt, are locked away in that cupboard and mine are setting me free.
‘Here, you can have this.’ Aunt placed one of her old phones on the table. ‘It only allows calls and texts, no internet. I want you to text me when you get to Miranda’s, text me when you get to the fair, text this evening before you go to bed and another tomorrow on your way home.’ Anna took the phone and Aunt grabbed her hand. ‘I know I’m over-protective, but what do you expect? You’re my sole responsibility in life; keeping you safe is all I have ever tried to do.’
Aunt’s words were a pinprick through Anna’s mood. She felt the creeping guilt returning. No. You lied to me. You took away my magic. But if Aunt truly believed magic would only lead her into danger – is she simply protecting me? Anna couldn’t think about that now. She pushed the guilt down somewhere deep inside of her.
‘You’d better go. I don’t want you turning up late.’ Aunt ushered her towards the door. ‘Walk to the station and then a train to Richmond.’
‘I know, I know. I’ll see you on Sunday.’
‘And, Anna?’
‘Yes, Aunt.’
‘Make sure you beat this Miranda at the science fair. I’ll enjoy gloating to her mother.’
Several hours later Mrs Richards dropped them outside the science fair building. Miranda had inherited her mum’s heart-shaped face but beyond that they didn’t look much alike. Where Manda was small and thin and serious in expression, Mrs Richards was imposing, full of implacable smiles and relentless cheerfulness. She’d spent the entire car journey informing them about her various church committee duties, asking Anna direct questions about her grades and ambitions – while implying heavily she ought to attend an introductory meet-and-greet at her church – and singing along to loud choral music. Anna was glad to see her wave an enthusiastic goodbye. As soon as she was out of sight they turned to each other and laughed giddily.
‘This is the worst thing I’ve ever done,’ said Manda, looking at the science fair building ahead of them. They turned in the opposite direction.
Before they knew it they were waiting in the agreed location in central London for Rowan and Effie, who were late. When they finally appeared, Anna and Manda were frozen.
‘Come on, girls, what are you doing hanging around? We’re going in there,’ said Effie, looking up at Selfridges, one of London’s most expensive department stores.
‘Why?’ asked Manda.
‘We’re going shopping.’
‘I can’t afford anything in there.’
Effie shrugged and pushed her way through the rotating doors. A lady offering perfume samples looked her up and down snootily. They made their way through the cacophony of noise and conflicting scents into the centre of the store. It rose shiny and pillared above them, criss-crossed with escalators. They rode them up, past rows of sultry mannequins, hips thrusting, hands resting on impossibly small waists, draped in brightly coloured faux fur, structured lace, labels blaring, sequins flashing … up to the sixth floor where noise bubbled over from a restaurant. They peered over the edge of the balcony, the heads of shoppers below them wriggling like centipedes.
‘Did anyone see anything to wear to the party?’ asked Effie.
‘I know I said I do this sometimes but I would not advise shoplifting in a store like this,’ said Rowan.
‘I can’t steal clothes!’ Manda protested. ‘I look guilty even when I’m doing nothing wrong.’
Effie produced a feather from her pocket. It was white and perfectly shaped, like a smile.
‘Everybody touch the feather. You all have to be holding it if you want to be part of its spell.’ She leant over the balcony, holding the feather out; the others stretched to touch it too. Then Effie let go. The feather began to flutter down the six floors. Feathers do not move fast, but this one moved slower – impossibly slow – as if it were sinking through water. Anna had been so distracted by its gentle, rocking movement she didn’t notice that the racket in the store was suddenly diminished. The noise reduced to a subdued muffle, as though the whole place was underwater too.
‘Why’s no one moving?’ Manda cried.
‘They are, just slowly,’ Effie replied.
It was true. The crowds below them were still moving, but in slow motion, as unhurried as the feather’s fall – heads just beginning to turn, a foot lifting, a mouth opening slowly as the petals of a flower.
‘It’s impossible to control time, but there are ways of … bending it a little. That feather is one of Selene’s most prized possessions and she would not be pleased if she knew I had it, so let’s keep this to ourselves, yeah? We don’t have long to take what we want; when the feather lands it’ll all go back to normal time.’
‘Is the whole of London moving like this?’ said Anna, lost in wonder. ‘Aren’t we stealing time from them?’
‘No, time has only slowed down for us; for everyone else it’s still moving at the same speed. It’s hardly going to affect the laws of the universe – much. We’re just borrowing ten minutes. Come on.’
‘Won’t we get caught? There are cameras …’ said Manda.
‘What are they going to see? We’ll be a momentary blur. And don’t give me any moral crap about stealing either; this place makes more money in one day than half of London. If anything we’re taking from the rich and giving to the poor.’
‘Are you poor?’ said Rowan sceptically.
‘I don’t own a Louis Vuitton bag and therefore I am poor. Like time, it’s all relative. Come on.’
Time and all the people trapped in it moved inchmeal but for them it was a whirr of noise and action – running wild and free, drunk on the hedonism of their mission: Effie whirring through rails of perfectly lined clothes; Rowan wrapping herself in scarfs; Manda pawing rows of clutch purses, shiny as sweet wrappers; Effie stuffing dresses and tops into her never-ending bag, jumping on the beds, scrabbling at the costume jewellery, putting bright pink lipstick on a group of boys with a cackle. The Binders would have combusted at the sight.
Anna stared at the green dress on the mannequin with desirous eyes.
‘You like that one?’ said Effie.
It was velvet and as emerald as a dragonfly’s tail. Anna nodded.
‘Take it.’
‘It’s on the mannequin – it would be very obviously stolen.’
‘So?’ said Effie, getting up onto the display and unzipping the dress. Anna laughed and joined her. They pulled it off ungracefully, leaving the mannequin naked.
‘It’s yours now,’ said Effie, stuffing it in her bag. ‘Go choose some shoes.’
Anna ran over to join Rowan among the legions of shoes. She selected a pair of strappy black ones with the kind of heel that
would make Aunt tut until her tongue turned blue.
‘Two minutes!’ Effie shouted. ‘Hide your wares!’
They rushed downstairs and met her on the ground floor, stuffing the final few items into her bag as the feather touched the ground. The shop erupted with noise and suddenly everyone was buzzing around them once more. They looked at each other and fell about laughing and then promptly exited the store – the perfume lady looking down her nose at Effie for the second time.
‘I take it back. That was the worst thing I’ve ever done,’ Manda whispered to Anna.
POTION
The moon’s power is too changeable, too unpredictable, too given over to passion.
Banned Languages, The Book of the Binders
They took a train to Hackney and followed Effie down a higgledy-piggledy residential road to a line of Georgian buildings of faded grandeur. She stopped at a house with a bright yellow front door and a garden full of weeds. The door wasn’t locked.
Effie took them through and into a large, high-ceilinged kitchen with white walls, dark floors, vast cupboards, busy shelves and heavy lamps hanging overhead. Selene stood behind the kitchen island looking entirely out of place in a kitchen – chopping limes in a sheer pink floor-length dress with ruffled sleeves. She dropped the knife as they entered and sashayed over, lips painted a showstopping red, the colour of theatre curtains. The curtains parted and revealed a smile which Anna was sure people would pay to watch.
‘Effie, darling.’ She planted a kiss on Effie’s cheek and then swirled to look at the rest of them. ‘Effie’s new friends, such a pleasure! I’m Selene, her long-suffering mother. Tell me your names.’ Effie rolled her eyes and wandered deeper into the kitchen.
‘I’m Rowan and she’s Manda.’ Rowan stepped forwards, looking at Selene as if she wasn’t quite able to believe anyone’s mother could resemble such a woman. Selene adorned them with kisses.
‘Miranda, actually,’ said Manda.
‘Oh, you look so young. How old are you? You’re making me feel positively mummified.’