A Pinch of Magic

by Michelle Harrison

  Granny vanished into the hallway. Betty reached for Charlie’s hand. It was ice-cold. ‘There’s nothing to be scared of,’ she told her, although already she wondered if Charlie was ready for this. Guilt gnawed at her, but it was too late for regret now. Whatever was about to happen had been brought on by Betty alone. Still, she couldn’t imagine a way Granny could convince her not to leave – or make her accept giving up her dreams.

  Granny returned, carrying a wooden box. It was dark, with a curved lid and curling iron embellishments. There was a large padlock on it, and carved into each side of it was a large, ornamental ‘W’. It looked like exactly the sort of thing that held secrets, and excitement, or treasure. Yet as Granny unhooked the ring of keys from her belt, Betty felt a tremor of dread. Did one lock opening mean another was about to snap shut around her? Was the price of these objects their freedom?

  Despite this, she found she was leaning forward as Granny removed the lock and lifted the lid. A musty smell drifted out. Betty peered inside. There was a small package in the box, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string.

  ‘Like I said,’ Granny said. ‘As the youngest, Charlie will be the last to inherit, so it stands that she’ll get the travelling bag from me. This, Betty, is yours. But before you open it, let me tell you that each item will be bound to you, and you alone. There’s no swapping with each other.’

  Hesitantly, Betty reached for the package. I don’t have to accept it, she told herself. Not if it means staying in Crowstone for ever. Not even magic was worth that. Even so, she felt a thrill of wonder and anticipation. The item was lighter than expected. She pulled at the string, releasing it from its knot.

  ‘Wait,’ said Granny. ‘Before you open it you must all promise to keep these things secret. Do you understand? You’re not to tell anyone outside this family about these objects and their powers.’

  ‘You mean . . . Father knows?’ asked Betty.

  Granny’s expression darkened. ‘Yes. As far as I’m aware, it’s the one secret he’s managed to keep.’

  ‘I’m surprised,’ said Fliss, in a tight voice. ‘I would have thought something as big as this would be the first thing he’d blab about.’ She struggled to talk about their father much. When he had first gone to prison, it had taken Fliss the longest to accept it.

  Betty would never forget his arrest: Fliss tearfully insisting it was all a mistake, Granny holding her head in her hands, calling their father terrible names while wondering how she was going to bring up three young girls alone. Even Charlie, too young to understand, had picked up on the mood and eaten twice as much as usual. Betty herself had felt betrayed. She couldn’t have felt it more if he had rowed them out to sea and abandoned them. How dare he leave them like this, after Mother?

  Granny sighed. ‘Yes, I thought so, too. Still, he proved me wrong, and I’m glad about that. Your father is a fool and a braggart, and that’ll never change. But for all his faults this was a secret he kept, and he did it out of love. You girls remember that.’

  ‘Wasn’t it difficult to hide?’ Betty asked. ‘The magic?’

  Granny shrugged. ‘I hid the bag’s magic from you three all this time, didn’t I?’ She fell silent, nodding to the unopened package.

  Finally, Betty tore off the paper.

  Inside was a set of wooden nesting dolls, the kind that hid away, one inside another, getting smaller and smaller until the last tiny one, which did not open. Using her thumbnail, Betty eased the first doll open and took out the next, then the next, setting them in a line. They were beautifully painted, each one similar and yet different to the next. There were four in total, each with wavy auburn hair and chestnut brown eyes, so detailed that tiny freckles even dotted their cheeks.

  Each doll had a circular area at its centre, painted with the same little cottage, meadow and river. With each doll the season changed; the largest showed blossom on the trees and a clutch of eggs in a nest. The next showed ducklings on the water, and on the third, the fully grown birds flying south as russet leaves fell from the trees. The final doll depicted a wintry snow scene painted in pale blues. Each doll held an ornate key, painted and engraved into the wood’s surface in such a way that when the dolls were taken apart, each half had part of its key.

  ‘They’re beautiful.’ Betty touched the key on the outermost doll with her thumb.

  ‘I want the dolls,’ Charlie complained. ‘The bag is ugly!’

  ‘Too bad,’ said Granny, with a shrug. ‘Anyway, it’s not what they look like, it’s what they do that counts.’

  ‘So what do they do?’ Betty asked.

  Granny’s expression lightened. ‘Something rather splendid,’ she whispered, rubbing her hands together and chuckling mischievously. ‘Take something of yours, something small enough to fit inside the second doll.’

  A thrill of anticipation shivered up Betty’s back. She glanced at Fliss, but she seemed as puzzled as Betty felt. Clearly Granny hadn’t told her of the dolls’ powers. ‘Something small, like . . . like a coin?’

  ‘No, no.’ Granny waved her hand around like an excited wasp buzzing over a jam jar. ‘Something personal . . . some small item of jewellery, perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t have any jewel—ouch!’

  Granny had leaned over and plucked a frizzy brown hair from Betty’s head. ‘This’ll do.’

  Betty rubbed her scalp and stuffed the hair into the bottom half of the second doll.

  ‘Now put the top on,’ said Granny. ‘And this is important, else it won’t work – you line up the two halves of the key exactly, then put that into the largest doll and repeat.’

  Betty did so, wondering what on earth was about to happen. As she twisted the two halves of the outer doll together, Fliss gasped and Charlie squealed.

  Betty frowned. ‘What?’

  Charlie leapt off her chair. ‘Betty? Where are you?’

  ‘Nowhere,’ said Betty, confused. ‘I’m still here!’ But neither her sisters nor Granny were looking at her any more. ‘Granny? What’s happening?’

  ‘You’ve disappeared,’ said Granny, with a cackle. ‘None of us can see you.’

  ‘Disappeared? Don’t talk marsh rot—’

  ‘Look in the mirror if you don’t believe me.’

  Betty turned to the small looking glass on the wall. As usual, it was covered in Fliss’s fingerprints. What wasn’t usual was that only the kitchen behind Betty was reflected there. Betty herself was nowhere to be seen. She had vanished.

  Chapter Four

  By Sunset

  STUNNED, BETTY LIFTED HER HANDS in front of her face. She could see them, but the mirror showed nothing . . . and it was plain no one else could see her, either. To be certain, she made a rude gesture at Granny . . . but her grandmother continued to stare straight through her.

  A gleeful thrill bubbled inside her. She grabbed a tea towel from the back of a chair, flapping it. In the mirror she saw it reflected, flying through the air as if it had a will of its own. ‘Woooooooooooo!’ she said in a deep voice.

  ‘Oooh!’ said Charlie, evidently thrilled.

  Fliss shuddered. ‘Betty, stop that! It’s creepy!’

  ‘Oh, don’t be a spoilsport,’ said Betty. ‘It’s about time there was some fun around here!’

  ‘It’s not a laughing matter,’ Granny said. ‘These aren’t toys to play with.’

  The tea towel slipped through Betty’s fingers and landed on the floor. ‘Then what’s the point of them?’

  ‘They’re for protection. To help us out in a sticky spot.’

  ‘Not likely to get used much, then,’ Betty said sulkily. ‘The only sticky spots round here are when Fliss hasn’t washed the dishes properly.’

  ‘Hey!’ said Fliss indignantly.

  ‘Or when Oi gets shut in all night,’ added Charlie.

  ‘How do I make myself visible again?’ Betty asked. ‘Just take the hair out of the doll?’

  ‘Not quite,’ said Granny. ‘You twist the top half full circle counte
r-clockwise, then pull them apart and remove the hair.’

  Betty did so, checking her reflection. Sure enough, it returned.

  ‘Now,’ said Granny. ‘You can also make other people vanish, too. You do exactly the same thing, only this time, you use the third doll. Remember that. The second doll is for you, and only you.’

  ‘Me!’ Charlie begged. ‘Make me disappear!’ She reached into her pocket and dug out something tiny and white, flinging it across the table. ‘Here, use Peg.’

  ‘Meddling magpies!’ Fliss exclaimed. ‘Are you still carrying that tooth around? And since when does it have a name?’

  Charlie flashed her gappy grin proudly. Since losing her first tooth and waking to find a bright copper Rook under her pillow the next morning, she had decided to carry her second offering in her pocket at all times in the hopes of catching the tooth fairy. It had been three weeks now, and neither Granny nor Fliss had managed to extract it from her pocket without raising suspicion. Charlie was becoming frustrated with the tooth fairy’s apparent lack of effort, and had even taken to leaving disgruntled notes to illustrate her feelings.

  Betty picked up the tooth and placed it in the third doll, twisting it closed before placing it into the outer dolls. Instantly, Charlie vanished from sight.

  ‘Am I invisible yet? Am I?’ Charlie demanded.

  ‘Well and truly.’ Betty reached out, expecting to find air, but her fingers came into contact with warm flesh.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Granny. ‘While you can’t be seen, you can be felt.’

  Betty removed the tooth, much to Charlie’s disappointment, and hid the dolls away inside each other.

  Charlie pouted jealously. ‘Why does Betty get the dolls? She’s the one who wants to go on adventures! The bag would be better for her!’

  ‘The bag’s just as good, Charlie,’ Betty pointed out. ‘Better than the dolls, actually.’ It would have been perfect for her, she realised wistfully. How easily it could whisk her away, to anywhere she chose . . . and back again before Granny could stop her. However, the dolls could be just as useful for sneaking off unseen. The thought was as guilty as it was delicious. She still had the feeling that Granny was hoping the magical gifts would buy their obedience, and here Betty was dreaming up ways to be anything but.

  ‘Don’t care,’ Charlie went on sulkily. ‘I want them ’cause they’re like us.’ She pointed to the largest doll. ‘See? That one is Granny, looking after the three smaller ones.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Fliss, smiling faintly. ‘I suppose they are like us.’

  ‘The dolls go to Betty,’ said Granny. ‘Fliss had already chosen the mirror and, until you’re old enough, Charlie, the bag will stay with me. Each item goes to a Widdershins girl on their sixteenth birthday, or, like myself and your mother, on their wedding day.’ She ran a finger around the rim of her glass. ‘Once an item is yours or meant for you, it’s the only one you’ll be able to use.’

  Charlie looked up, suddenly less huffy. ‘Does that mean the bag would work for me . . . now?’

  All three girls looked at Granny expectantly, and Betty got the impression from the way her mouth was puckering that she didn’t want to answer the question.

  ‘Yes,’ Granny said at last. ‘It would. But that doesn’t mean you can try, not until you’re sixteen!’

  ‘Sixteen?’ Charlie spluttered. ‘That’s not fair! Betty’s only thirteen and she’s getting the dolls now!’

  Granny closed her eyes, looking pained. ‘All right, thirteen. You can have it then.’

  ‘Yes!’ said Charlie. She counted on her fingers, her expression growing glum. ‘That’s still an awful long time.’

  ‘Not as long as it could have been, so don’t push your luck.’

  ‘So, all this time,’ said Betty, who had been thinking during Charlie’s little bout of bartering. ‘Only the bag has had an owner? What about the mirror and the dolls? How long have they been waiting for another Widdershins girl?’

  ‘A while.’ Granny struck a match and re-lit her pipe. ‘I never had any daughters, only your father, as you know. But he had a cousin, Clarissa. The mirror went to her. She died shortly after your parents were married, before any of you were born.’ Granny gestured to the old wooden box, her eyes dark and distant. ‘And so the mirror went back in there to wait for its next owner.’

  ‘What about Mother?’ Betty asked. ‘You said she would have got one of these on her wedding day?’

  Granny nodded. ‘The dolls. Though as far as I know, she never used them.’

  ‘Why not?’ asked Fliss.

  ‘She never had reason to,’ Granny replied. ‘She was warned, same as all the women before her, not to use them flippantly. And she didn’t like them – not knowing where they came from or how we got them.’

  ‘No one knows?’ Betty asked faintly.

  A haunted look passed across Granny’s face. Once again, Betty got the feeling the old woman wasn’t being entirely truthful. ‘If they do, they’ve chosen not to say.’

  The kitchen went quiet, so quiet that the ticking of the old jackdaw clock on the wall could be heard. Betty eyed the dolls uneasily. There was something spooky about enchanted family objects being passed down, which no one had answers for. But the lure of them was almost too much to resist.

  ‘All this magic,’ she said wistfully, ‘and you’re saying we shouldn’t use it?’

  ‘I’m saying,’ said Granny, ‘that it’s meant for times of need – not to amuse yourselves with parlour tricks.’

  ‘Why would we need it?’ Betty asked.

  ‘You never know,’ Granny mumbled, suppressing a hiccup. ‘There might come a time when you girls need to hide, or escape quickly. Just like I did one night, before you three lived here. There was a break-in after hours, when I was alone. I used the bag to get out safely with the night’s takings and raise the alarm. Without it, I’d never have escaped.’ She reached for her glass, before realising it was empty, and discarding it crossly. ‘I’m not saying you will need them. But you must never use these objects without care, especially in a place like Crowstone. Most people here are connected to the prisoners in that prison. Dangerous people, who’d go to any lengths to get their hands on these things. Imagine if they knew of a bag that could transport them outside the prison walls . . . or a set of magical dolls that could sneak them past the warders unseen. So you listen to me, and you listen good: your magic must only be used when it’s truly required. Anything otherwise is a risk.’

  ‘But you did,’ Betty pointed out. ‘You used your travelling bag to find us tonight, to land right on the boat when you could have waited for the next one.’

  ‘That’s the point – it couldn’t wait. I’d never have found you in time.’

  ‘In time for what?’ Betty asked. ‘To stop our fun before it even began?’ She waited for a remark about being lippy, but it never came. Dread uncurled in her stomach. All the talk of the dolls and magic had distracted her from her biggest question. ‘None of this answers what you promised to tell us earlier . . . about why we can’t leave Crowstone.’

  Granny reached for her tobacco pouch. ‘I thought I’d get the nice part out of the way first.’ She lit her pipe and took a deep drag, as though she were filling herself with courage. ‘The truth is, we’re cursed . . . all of us. No Widdershins girl has ever been able to leave Crowstone. If we do, we’ll die by the next sunset.’

  Chapter Five

  The Widdershins Curse

  BETTY STARED AT GRANNY. FOR a moment the kitchen was completely still, like a scene painted into a canvas. Granny’s face was a mask of sorrow; Fliss’s dark eyes were staring into her lap. Even the smoke from Granny’s pipe appeared motionless, a choking cloud hanging over them.

  A horrible noise caught in Betty’s throat, something that was half-groan, half-sob. The room felt airless, like the truth had sucked the breath from it. Just like all Betty’s dreams and hopes had been crushed out of her. This was it, the big secret. The answer she had been scratch
ing for, like something buried in dirt. They were stuck here, in Crowstone, for ever.

  The practical side of her wanted to laugh, to blurt out how ridiculous the idea of a curse was. Only Betty didn’t feel practical now, not after everything that had just happened. Added to Granny’s excuses and sudden appearances out of nowhere over the years, it suddenly seemed scarily possible.

  She was never leaving. Never going to sail off and be Betty the Brave, Betty the Explorer. She was just another Widdershins girl, destined to be a drudge in a life of endless grey routine. They were all as stuck as Father’s ramshackle boat rotting in the harbour: bobbing, with no hope of ever going anywhere.

  She blinked as Granny’s pipe smoke hit her eyes, making them water. Next to her, Charlie began to cry softly. Betty was too numb to comfort her.

  ‘Cursed . . . ?’ Betty asked, her voice hollow. ‘How? Why?’

  ‘I asked myself the same questions, when I first found out.’ Granny puffed on the pipe, her eyes glassy. ‘I thought it was just a story, invented to keep curious girls from wandering too far. But even I had to admit that the deaths of eight Widdershins girls stretching back over the past hundred and fifty years couldn’t be by chance. Strange, unexplained deaths of otherwise healthy girls and women.’

  ‘When did you find out?’ Betty asked, chilled. ‘Was that on your wedding day, too?’

  ‘No.’ Granny smiled faintly. ‘Before then. Your grandpa warned me a long time before, when we were just sweethearts. He gave me plenty of chances to change my mind.’

  Betty gaped. ‘And you still went through with it?’

  Granny shrugged. ‘People make all kinds of sacrifices for . . .’

  ‘For love,’ Fliss finished. She placed her hand over Granny’s old, wrinkled one.