A Pinch of Magic

by Michelle Harrison

‘What?’ Betty turned as the door rattled and someone pushed it open from the outside. Hope welled within her. It couldn’t be, surely . . . ?

  Barney Widdershins stood on the doormat, stamping dead leaves off his boots. His cheeks were red with cold.

  ‘You three!’ he scolded, closing the door against the wind. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere!’ He paused, a twinkle in his eyes as he took in their shocked, frozen faces. ‘I just hope Granny’s done the telling-off part so I don’t have to.’

  ‘Father?’ Betty managed, disbelieving. The dolls rattled in her shaking hand. Beyond breaking the curse, she hadn’t considered what other consequences could arise from their actions – but here he was. Slivers of ice fell away from her heart. They would never get back the years they had lost with him, but at least now they had time to make it up. ‘What . . . what are you doing here?’

  He chuckled. ‘I live here, last time I checked!’

  ‘Did they let you out early?’ Fliss asked, her voice strained. None of the girls had moved an inch.

  ‘Out of where?’ Their father stepped towards Charlie, sweeping her up into his arms so that she was perched almost on his shoulder. Charlie stared back at him stiffly, then slowly reached out and poked him on the nose.

  ‘Prison,’ she said.

  ‘Prison?’ their father laughed, poking her back. ‘You cheeky little beast! I’m a respectable man.’

  ‘Just about,’ said Granny, rolling her eyes. ‘You won’t get any sense out of them, Barnaby. They’re playing one of their daft games. I’ve already told them they’re grounded for two weeks . . .’

  Before Granny could say any more Betty found herself walking over to her father. Tentatively, she put her arms round him, half-afraid he would vanish like marsh mist. A moment later, she felt Fliss beside her, and her father’s breath in her hair.

  ‘You’re real,’ she murmured into his coat. It smelled of crunchy leaves and cold – and beneath it he was warm and solid and there.

  ‘Sweet as pumpkin pie when they want to be,’ said Granny, suspiciously. ‘But don’t think that’ll change anything! Grounded – two weeks!’

  ‘S’not fair,’ Charlie said, glowering. ‘Not after what we’ve just done!’

  ‘I’ll talk her down to a week,’ Father whispered.

  Betty turned to Fliss and they shared a secret smile.

  ‘A week’s not that long,’ Fliss said, her eyes shining.

  ‘No,’ Betty agreed. ‘Not now we’ve got for ever.’

  Epilogue

  ‘YOU KNOW,’ FLISS SAID THOUGHTFULLY, as she was drying some glasses when the week was almost up, ‘Ever since we came back and saw Father, I’ve been thinking . . .’

  ‘About?’ Betty looked up from the board on to which she was chalking the specials.

  ‘Whether we could have done more . . . to change things, for Mother.’ Fliss’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘We had the bag, Betty! What if we’d gone back to the night she died, changed her mind somehow . . . told her not to go out into the fog?’

  ‘Even if we’d thought of it, she’d probably have left even faster, seeing the three of us from the future,’ Betty said wryly. Privately, she’d harboured the same regrets, but realistically she knew that nothing else could have been done once the curse was triggered. It was time to let the past lie and plan for the future – now that they had one. ‘We’d made a decision, Fliss. We had to break the curse and get back to Granny, and we did it. We saved ourselves and nine other Widdershins girls. How many people can say they’ve done something like that?’

  ‘I know,’ Fliss conceded. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Not to mention breaking not one, but two people out of Crowstone Prison,’ Betty added. ‘I’d say plenty’s changed. You’ve managed to go a whole week without kissing anyone—’

  She ducked, grinning as Fliss flicked the towel she was holding at her with a playful, ‘Hey!’

  Fliss tossed the towel down, looking thoughtful. ‘I think I’ll hold off on the kissing for now,’ she said, staring through the window into the distance. ‘Until someone . . . worth kissing comes along.’

  ‘Probably a good thing,’ said Betty. ‘You were running out of options in Crowstone, anyway— ow!’ She laughed as Fliss grabbed the towel and threw it at her, then her grin faded. ‘What we have now . . . it’s enough. More than we could have hoped for. Expecting everything to be perfect would be like expecting Charlie to put on a lace frock and play tea parties.’

  ‘Eh?’ Charlie demanded, crawling out from the fireplace at the mention of her name. ‘I ain’t wearing no frock!’

  ‘Good thing, too,’ said Betty. ‘Look at you, covered in soot! What’re you doing under there?’

  Charlie stuck her tongue out. ‘Looking for Hoppit.’

  ‘You’d better hop it, before Granny sees you,’ said Betty, nodding to the door. ‘Here she comes now!’

  ‘Meddling magpies!’ Charlie muttered, frantically brushing ashes from her clothes.

  The doors of the Poacher’s Pocket opened and Granny came shuffling in with a basket of groceries. Hot on her heels was Fingerty, laden down with a further two baskets.

  ‘Might as well open now, girls,’ she called, setting her shopping down. ‘It’s five minutes early, strictly speaking. But I’ll make an exception for you, Seamus, seeing as you’re so helpful these days.’

  ‘Yerp,’ Fingerty nodded, winking at the girls. ‘An’ a hero, too, Bunny.’ He puffed out his scrawny chest. ‘Captured the crookedest crook in Crowstone, let’s not forget that!’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Granny. ‘Fliss, fetch Mr Fingerty his usual and then the three of you can get yourselves down to the harbour. Your father wants you.’

  ‘Father? At the harbour?’ Betty glanced at Fliss, bemused. What could he want them for? It wasn’t market day; no trading ships would be in. Why was Granny wearing such a knowing smirk? ‘Granny? What exactly is—’

  Granny waved a hand, scattering tobacco from her unlit pipe. ‘You’ll have to find out for yourselves, and . . .’ She stopped, glaring. ‘Charlie? CHARLIE! What is all this soot doing on my floor?’

  Charlie scuttled out from under a table. ‘Father needs me!’ she yelled, making a getaway through the door. ‘Bye!’

  ‘Come on,’ said Fliss to Betty, throwing down her apron. ‘Let’s go!’

  Giggling, they left Granny grumbling and shot after Charlie, through the twisting streets, past the crossroads and ferry point down to the harbour.

  ‘Where is he?’ Charlie demanded, as they surveyed the fishing boats. She squinted against the sun, her breath misting the crisp November air. ‘Wait, I see him . . . but whose boat is that?’

  Betty shielded her eyes, gazing ahead. Her father’s stout figure was visible on a little vessel bobbing on the waves next to the jetty. It gleamed under fresh layers of jewel green paint. ‘It’s ours,’ she whispered, her heart soaring. ‘He did it. He finally fixed it!’ Before she knew it she was running, skidding along the jetty with Charlie and Fliss at her heels until they reached it.

  Their father chuckled. ‘Well, it’s about time!’

  ‘I could say the same to you,’ Betty retorted, as they scrambled aboard.

  Father unwound the mooring, swaying easily with the motion of the boat. He scanned the sky as they pushed off easily, gliding through the water. ‘Weather’s fine, and it’s only just past midday. We may as well make an afternoon of it. So, where to?’

  ‘Marshfoot,’ Betty said at once.

  ‘Marshfoot?’ Father repeated. He shrugged. ‘Marshfoot it is.’

  Betty settled back in her seat, eyes on the smudge of land on the horizon. Marshfoot might not be as ambitious as some of the escapades she’d been planning, but it was a start. And any uncharted territory, however small, was still an adventure, she decided. Still a triumph. There was time for bigger, time for further.

  There was time.

  ‘All right there, Fliss?’ Father asked, shooting Fliss a concerne
d look.

  Fliss nodded, taking deep breaths as she turned a familiar shade of green. ‘I’ve been better,’ she muttered, catching Betty’s eye. ‘Been worse, too.’

  ‘What’s this boat called?’ Charlie enquired. ‘I didn’t see a name.’

  She was right, Betty realised with a jolt. ‘It should have one, Father,’ she insisted.

  ‘Of course.’ Father steered them to the left. ‘I thought I’d leave that to you girls to decide.’

  ‘We should call it The Travelling Bag,’ Charlie declared at once.

  Their father laughed. ‘You can’t name a boat after a bag!’

  ‘Why not?’ Charlie demanded. ‘Boats are named after lots of things, and most of them are stupid!’

  ‘Charlie’s right,’ Betty agreed. ‘It was . . . it was from a story we heard once. About a magical bag that could take a person anywhere. It’s perfect.’ She fell silent, realising for the first time that this was a tale only they knew. For in this life, there had been no travelling bag or mirror handed down – only the dolls, from Sorsha herself. It was a past only they remembered; a secret only they shared. One which had forged their future.

  Her hand found its way into her pocket, where a smooth wooden shape nestled snug and warm. She stroked her thumb over the doll’s sleek surface, recalling that other journey to Marshfoot, on a foggy, fateful night when she had been so unprepared, and unknowing.

  ‘She who tries, triumphs,’ Betty whispered to herself.

  She was Betty the Brave, Betty the Explorer.

  And with her sisters at her side, she was ready for anything.

  Acknowledgements

  The journey into Crowstone was an easy one, but getting out again without a travelling bag was another matter. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that as the Widdershins sisters were grieving the loss of both parents, so too was I. Though writing was an escape, I soon became lost in marsh mists of confusion and the problematic time travel that is editing.

  Steering me through the rocky waters was my agent, Julia Churchill. Thank you for everything, especially over the past couple of years.

  My editors: Lucy Rogers and Mattie Whitehead chomped away the debris like the Devil’s Teeth and devised clever (and greedy) suggestions and solutions. I’m grateful to you both. Jenny Glencross showed me the missing ingredient that I just wasn’t seeing, and Rachel Mann and Leena Lane lent their fine eyes for detail. You five are the Russian dolls of editing, from the outermost layer holding it all together to the fiddliest to find at the centre. Without any of you the set would be incomplete.

  The rest of Team S&S: Alex, Laura, Olivia and everyone else – thank you for your support and enthusiasm for the Widdershins.

  Melissa Castrillon and Jenny Richards: thank you both for the most beautiful, magical cover I could have wished for.

  It’s wonderful when anyone enjoys your story, but praise from writing goddesses Sophie Anderson, Alex Bell, Abi Elphinstone, Tamsyn Murray, Emma Carroll and Cerrie Burnell sent me giddy with happiness. Thank you all for your time, generosity, and kindness.

  And to my family: there are now two empty spaces in our nest but love keeps us strong. Thanks to creative cuckoo Carlene for the Poacher’s Pocket and merrypennies, and to my kind and practically perfect sisters for not minding being jumbled up and put in a book.

  Team Widdershins!

  Quiz:

  Which Widdershins Sister Are You?

  1. How would you describe yourself?

  a) Daring

  b) Caring

  c) Mischievous

  2. At a party, you’re most likely to be found:

  a) Talking to a mysterious stranger

  b) Topping up drinks – you need to make sure everyone’s having a good time!

  c) Raiding the buffet

  3. Your ideal gift would be:

  a) A trip in a hot air balloon

  b) A handwritten poem

  c) A pet

  4. You’re probably a bit too fond of:

  a) Trouble

  b) Your reflection

  c) Cake

  5. Your dream vacation would be:

  a) Three nights in a tropical rainforest, following maps and obstacle courses

  b) A family caravan holiday, picking wild fruit by day and singing round a campfire at night

  c) A week at an animal sanctuary feeding newborn lambs and knitting jumpers for bald chickens

  6. Your favourite game is:

  a) A treasure hunt

  b) Kiss chase

  c) Bobbing for apples

  7. When you’re upset, the way to feel better is to:

  a) Stare up at the stars and plot a solution

  b) Spend time with people you love

  c) Cuddle up with a cat and eat ice cream

  8. You’d be willing to break the rules if you were:

  a) Bored

  b) In love

  c) Hungry

  Mostly A: Betty

  You crave excitement and are always willing to leap into the unknown – even if it means breaking the rules. Brave, independent and resourceful, you’re the one others come to for solutions to their problems – but being outspoken can sometimes land you in trouble. New places and people excite you, but don’t leave behind the ones who’ve always been there . . .

  Mostly B : Fliss

  Your caring nature is one of your best qualities, and spending time with loved ones and making people happy is what you find most rewarding. While you tend to let others lead, don’t be afraid to stop daydreaming and take control sometimes. With your charm and persuasion, you might just surprise yourself with how capable you are.

  Mostly C: Charlie

  Mischievous and daring, you’ll go wherever the fun leads you. Your loyalty is as unshakeable as your nerve – there’s not much that scares you. Despite preferring friends with four legs rather than two, you’re great company, incredibly smart and perceptive . . . when you’re not being distracted by all things fluffy or your rumbling tummy!

  Also by Michelle Harrison

  The Thirteen Treasures

  The Thirteen Curses

  The Thirteen Secrets

  One Wish

  The Other Alice

  For older readers

  Unrest

  First published in Great Britain in 2019 by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  A CBS COMPANY

  Text, map and chapter illustrations © 2019 Michelle Harrison

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Michelle Harrison to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London WC1X 8HB

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  www.simonandschuster.com.au

  www.simonandschuster.co.in

  Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

  Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  PB ISBN 978-1-4711-2429-7

  eBook ISBN 978-1-4711-2430-3

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset in Goudy by M Rules

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd are committed to sourcing paper that is made from wood grown in sustainable forests and support the Forest Stewardship Council, the leading international forest certification organisation. Our books displaying the FSC logo are printed on FSC certified paper.