by Cari Thomas
‘Bloody pests, I thought they were meant to have been dealt with by now.’ He slapped another out of the air and dusted it onto the floor. ‘We should eat lunch at the café. I never see you there – you’re so elusive.’ His smile deepened and Anna felt herself blushing profusely.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ she said.
‘Uh-oh,’ Anna heard Effie say amid sudden laughter. Anna looked up to see that Darcey had entered. Her eyes landed on Anna – Peter – Effie’s smile. Several flies buzzed towards her and the laughter grew louder. She looked at them with a venom so potent that Anna could feel it, laced with hatred and rage. Darcey spun on her heels and left. Their table burst into laughter again.
‘I’d better go,’ said Peter, but his voice was flat and impatient. ‘See you soon, Everdell.’
Anna had been looking forward to the coven session that evening, where it would only be them, but when she opened the sewing-room door, she staggered backwards in dismay. The room had always smelt stale, like a stagnant pond, but now it smelt as if they had sunk to the bottom of it. The altar was festering with flies.
Effie clapped her hands together, catching one. ‘Attis, can you go and find some spray or something?’
‘Hell’s feathers!’ said Rowan, flicking the lid off one of the smoothie cups. Inside it had filled itself with sludgy grey water. ‘Where in Mother Holle did that come from?’
‘Is it our spell?’ said Manda.
Effie shrugged. ‘It’s working and if things get a bit wild, so be it. Nature’s justice is wild.’
‘Darcey’s gone into hiding,’ said Rowan gleefully, tipping out the smoothie. ‘Although did you see what she’s saying about us now? It’s so pathetic.’
‘What?’ said Anna.
Rowan handed Anna her phone. Darcey had posted a picture of them along with the caption: DO NOT TRUST THESE GIRLS. THEY ARE EVIL. THEY ARE TRYING TO RUIN MY LIFE.
Anna gripped the phone tighter. ‘Do you think she knows what we’ve done?’
‘What? Magic?’ Effie laughed. ‘Oh, she suspects us – of something. But what? Spreading rumours? That’s hardly a crime.’
‘Evil has quite strong implications.’
‘Everyone just thinks she’s losing her mind, Anna,’ Rowan reassured her. ‘And no one seems to care what she has to say any more. I still can’t believe people actually want to sit with us. Not just people. Boys. Karim was definitely giving you eyes today, Manda.’
‘He was not,’ she retorted. ‘Wait – was he?’
‘Manda, you need to start being seen going out if you want to seal the deal with him,’ said Effie. ‘Come out this weekend.’
‘I’m there!’ said Rowan.
‘Same,’ said Manda. ‘I’ll find a way.’
‘I thought popularity was for the feeble-minded, Manda?’ said Anna but Manda looked annoyed.
‘Look, for the first time I’m not being actively shunned by everyone and I’m going to enjoy it, OK? This is our chance.’
‘Don’t be jealous, Anna,’ said Effie. ‘We’ll get Peter to seal your deal too. We’re almost there.’
Anna found herself flustered. ‘I really don’t think Peter is interested in me. Anyway, you taunting him all the time doesn’t help.’
Effie laughed. ‘He’s in my Politics class – what else is there to do? He loves it really, beneath all that moody seriousness. Anyway, come on, admit it: you want it.’
‘Of course I want it – him,’ Anna snapped. ‘But he’s with Darcey, so—’
‘Can’t find any bug spray,’ said Attis sharply from behind her.
‘Gah, begone!’ Effie spun around and clapped her hands once – hard. Every fly in the room dropped dead.
Anna watched them twitch on the floor. ‘Effie. When do you think this spell will end? The rumours have worked already.’
‘When it decides justice has been served.’
‘What if it gets worse?’
‘All the better.’ Effie smiled. ‘Can we move on?’
‘Did the original spell come with any warnings? Can we see it?’
‘No, a revenge spell from the seventeen hundreds did not come with warnings and you can’t see it because the book has gone back to the Library.’
‘So you took it back?’ said Anna accusingly.
‘No. It left of its own accord.’
‘The Library takes its books back once it’s decided they have served their purpose,’ Rowan explained. ‘So useful, actually, as I always forget to return them. I’ve been banned from the school library – twice.’
Anna wondered about the Everdell book beneath her bed – why had the Library not taken that back?
‘Now, can we drop this?’ said Effie. ‘We’ve got magic to do.’
At the end of their session, Anna was sitting with Attis, who had been teaching them some of the different magical properties of metal, when Effie approached. Even though Anna was still annoyed at her, she had to know if she’d discovered any more about Nana. ‘So, have you guys found anything out about you know who?’
Effie understood what she meant. ‘Nope. Well, I’ve heard plenty of rumours but none of them helpful. A friend of mine from the Wild Hunt said their father knew of her, that she’s mad and you’ll never find her.’
‘That’s that then,’ said Attis.
Anna shot Attis a look. She had no intention of giving up that easily – the Binders were due to visit, her Knotting was looming. ‘Rowan!’ Anna called. Rowan skipped over, untangling a cord she’d managed to knot into her hair. ‘Have you ever heard of a witch called Nana Yaganov by any chance?’
‘Yaganov, Yaganov … Yaga. Nov. No. I know a Yosovich?’
‘Do you think you could ask your mum?’
‘Sure. Who is she?’
‘Just someone I need to find. Unfortunately I don’t have any more than a name.’
‘Hmmm,’ Rowan considered. ‘If you only have a name you could try sending a letter.’
Anna narrowed her eyes. ‘But I don’t have an address.’
‘You don’t need an address with a Futhark Stamp.’
‘What’s a Futhark Stamp?’
‘Rowan, you’re a genius!’ said Effie, grabbing her shoulders.
‘Well, obviously.’
‘What’s a Futhark Stamp?’ Anna repeated.
‘I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never actually used one,’ said Effie.
‘There’s certainly no harm in trying,’ Rowan continued. ‘Except, you know, if she’s dead and the letter invites her spirit back into the world, or you get a hex in return, or something like that.’
‘It’s madness,’ said Attis. ‘You can’t just go around sending letters with a Futhark Stamp if you don’t know who you’re sending to.’
‘We used to send all sorts of things when we were kids and nothing happened.’ Rowan shrugged. ‘Except that one incident when my brother received a letter back with some sweets that took his voice away for a month.’
Anna held up the cords threateningly. ‘I’m going to silence you all in a moment if someone doesn’t tell me what a flipping Futhark Stamp is!’
Rowan took a deep breath. ‘It’s a runic symbol that draws on the magic of the Runic Witches. With it your letter can contact anyone within the magical world – you don’t need an address, just the stamp, a name and a clear intention. It’s considered a little dangerous because it doesn’t just deliver letters to our world—’
‘I’ll do it,’ said Anna.
‘Who are you trying to contact?’ asked Manda, wandering over.
‘Just an old relative.’
Anna ignored the suspicion in Rowan’s eyes.
‘I have letter-writing paper and envelopes in my bag,’ Manda offered and then added in response to Effie’s eye-rolling, ‘What? You never know when you’ll be required to write a thank-you note. Do you need a pen?’
‘Futhark Stamps require nothing more than your blood,’ Effie taunted, making Manda yelp.
‘She’s k
idding,’ Rowan reassured Anna. ‘Although people do sometimes form them with their blood, for added force.’
‘I’ll just go with ink,’ said Anna, taking herself off to one of the desks to write it.
Dear Ms Yaganov,
I am Anna Everdell, daughter of Marie Everdell. I was given your name by a man known as Pesachya who lives in the Library. He informed me that my mother went to see you before she died, sixteen years ago. My father strangled her to death when I was just a baby and then killed himself, if that rings a bell. I wondered if you had any useful information that might help me to understand what happened that night.
Please.
Yours sincerely,
Anna Everdell
She folded the paper over and put it into the envelope. She wrote the name ‘Nana Yaganov’ in big letters on the front. ‘So, how do I do this?’
‘You need to make this symbol on the back, like a seal. Here.’ Rowan had sketched it out for her to copy. It was similar to the letter R but the lines were more severe, the top of the R triangular.
‘A runic R,’ Rowan explained. ‘Can’t remember what it means.’
‘Raidho. It means journey,’ said Attis, his voice flecked with irritation.
Anna drew out the symbol carefully. ‘What do I do now?’
‘You post it, of course,’ said Rowan.
‘What? A normal postbox?’
‘Well, sort of. It needs to be an old one. Come on. I think there’s one near Dulwich Village.’
The letterbox was certainly not easy to spot. They made their way down a cobbled side street off the village centre and there it was, buried behind some brambles and embedded into the stone wall. It looked quite normal, although old and weathered, its red paint peeling, its delivery hole narrow, like an eye half-closed against the wind and rain.
‘How do you know it will work?’ asked Anna, looking it over.
‘You see that,’ said Rowan, pointing to the V and R engraved along the top, the English crown stamped between them.
‘That’s Queen Victoria’s royal cypher,’ said Manda.
‘Yeah, but look more closely at the R,’ said Rowan and Anna scrutinized it, finding it was not like the V on the other side, but more spindly and pointed, like the R Anna had drawn on the envelope. ‘See – a Futhark Letterbox. They’re all over London, hiding in plain sight.’
‘Cool,’ said Anna, tracing the symbol. ‘So I just post it?’
‘What do you think?’ Rowan smiled. ‘You do a ritual dance around it?’
‘It’s highly possible.’
‘Kind of wish I’d said that now.’ Rowan laughed as Anna stepped forwards.
She peered into the hole but was met with nothing but darkness. Where would the letter go? She made a firm intention in her mind: Please send this to Nana Yaganov, the woman who can help me learn about my mother and the curse. She pushed the letter into the box and turned around.
‘Right, that’s done.’ She didn’t want to think about it or get her hopes up. ‘Wait,’ she said alarmed. ‘How do I get a letter back?’ Aunt would be suspicious of any post delivered to her directly.
‘Don’t worry. These letters don’t use the front door.’ Rowan shook her head, as if Anna had suggested something absurd. ‘If she sends one back, it’ll come to you. Only to you.’
Manda was studying the letterbox slot, searching for signs of magic.
‘I wouldn’t get too close,’ Effie whispered in her ear, making Manda cry out again.
But Anna was distracted by Attis’s vexed expression. She turned away, refusing to indulge him. He took his role as coven protector far too seriously for someone who rarely took anything seriously at all. Anyway, she didn’t need his approval – she just needed a reply.
NECKLACE
In sacrifice, may our hearts be pure.
Tenet Seven, The Book of the Binders
Anna had spent the first few days of the Easter Holidays relieved to be out of school and away from the guilt of the worsening rumours. But now the dreaded day had arrived and she would rather be anywhere but at home. The Binders were due. She was a tangle of nerves.
What if her magic escaped again? What if they sensed its darkness? What if it revealed the curse mark? Would they waste no time? Will I be forced to join their ranks today? It was strange – she’d never had to worry about having too much magic before. Part of her relished the thought of turning it on the Binders, watching their puckered faces burst open in shock, but the rest of her knew it was imperative that she revealed nothing, risked nothing.
The doorbell rang at midday on the dot.
‘Helen, do come in.’ Aunt’s voice feathery, welcoming.
Anna listened as they arrived one by one, exchanging polite greetings. She picked up the cakes and forced a smile, entering their lair. They cast critical gazes at her – the usual nine pinched faces, looking as if they’d been sucking lemons all night. There was a new face among them. A girl her age, big-boned with bristly auburn hair. Anna recognized her vaguely. Rosie. Mrs Bradshaw’s daughter. They had met once before.
‘Hi, Anna. Good to see you again.’
‘Rosie,’ Anna replied warily.
‘Anna, Rosie has recently gone through her Knotting,’ Aunt explained. ‘We thought it could be good for you to talk. Let Rosie put your mind at ease.’
Rosie smiled obligingly at Anna, wedged next to her mother on the sofa, her hair cut in exactly the same unflattering bob. They’d been much younger when they’d met before. Rosie and Anna had been sent to Anna’s room while the Binders conducted one of their meetings. Rosie had immediately tried to coerce her into doing magic, suggesting they send paper aeroplanes from the balcony into the wind, that they could write rescue messages on them to save them from the tedium of their lives. Anna had been too afraid to comply and Rosie had grown exasperated. Anna couldn’t imagine her becoming a Binder.
‘Would you like some cake?’ She offered the plate to Rosie.
Rosie looked at her mother. ‘No, thank you.’ She rested her hands back on her lap.
Anna continued to take the orders, trying to sift their babble from her consciousness and avoid any sudden movements or eye contact. If she could just escape to the kitchen, talking to Rosie wouldn’t be so bad; it could even prove useful.
‘Your hair looks lovely, Anna.’ Mrs Withering’s smile snapped around her like a trap. Anna froze. She’d hoped they wouldn’t notice her hair. Mrs Withering took a biscuit from the tray. ‘Homemade this time, I see? What an improvement. I’ve heard troubling news from your aunt that you are not yet sure about becoming a Binder. We’re all very concerned.’
Anna tried to keep steady. ‘Aunt has presented me with the decision and I am still weighing up my options.’
A few of the Binders began to laugh – high-pitched spurts. Mrs Withering’s smile screwed itself tighter. ‘Weighing up your options! How idealistic. The youth of today are presented with too many choices, if you ask me. Are you not aware of tenet nine, Anna?’
‘The fire never dies; beware smoke on the wind.’
‘You think we say it for fun? Wear our necklaces as accessories? Bind witches for our entertainment? No. We are here for a purpose. They say the Seven protect all witches but this – as we are seeing – is a fallacy. We, the Binders, are the ones who know what true protection means, who may be the only hope the magical world has left. Whispers divide; in secrets we thrive.’
Anna nodded. She had been treated to such speeches before over the years.
‘Have you ever heard the story of our founder?’
Anna shook her head. That she had not heard.
‘How about a demonstration?’ Mrs Withering clapped her hands together with delight. ‘Rosie, stand up. You can play the part.’
Mrs Bradshaw nudged her forwards and Rosie walked, without question, to the centre of the room.
‘Introducing: Agnes Mandilip.’ Mrs Withering pointed at Rosie, who pretended to tip an imaginary cap in response.
&n
bsp; What the hell is going on?
‘It is 1640. The town of Bury St Edmunds. Agnes is the town healer, famed across the county for her skills, revered and respected. Witch, they whispered, but no one probed too deeply; it was better not to know. Agnes took others on in secret – apprentices to learn her arts – gathering herbs, preparing ointments and tinctures, casting spells of healing. But times were changing. The Hunters’ influence was growing stronger, spreading across the country like black storm clouds from village to village, winds rising, smoke stirring – releasing their poison. The whispering grew louder. Witch, they said, witch! Witch! Fingers began to point, accusations bubbled up …’
In response to Withering’s words the Binders around the room raised their fingers towards Rosie, whispering, muttering. Rosie cowered and Anna could no longer tell if she was acting.
‘When they arrived they arrested Agnes and tortured her for nine days straight.’ Mrs Withering smiled. ‘Confess, they said, confess! Confess!’
The Binders began to chant: confess, confess, confess.
‘They wanted names! They wanted more witches to torture! Agnes tried to resist, but their methods were terrible and she screamed and howled …’
Rosie’s mouth sprang open and she began to shriek as if she were suffering the very tortures now. The performance was convincing – too convincing …
‘Stop it,’ Anna cried ‘Stop!’
But Mrs Withering ignored her and raised her shrill voice above Rosie’s. ‘In the end Agnes gave them the names of her apprentices. They hunted them down and brought them to her. She had to listen to them being tortured day and night. It was then, lost in the din of their screams, that she realized the error of her ways. It was her magic, her prideful magic, that had drawn the Hunters to their town, that had unleashed chaos and brought suffering on all those she loved. All she had was the cord her wrists were tied with. She managed to free them and with one last anguished wail she tied a knot in the cord and drew her emotions inside of her. Forever. She locked her magic away so tightly and so deeply that the Hunters would never get to her again.’
Rosie’s mouth snapped shut, slicing her scream in half.