The House at the Edge of Magic

by Amy Sparkes

  “Only if you catch me!” Nine said as she sprinted along the dirty, uneven ground. There was a small passageway on the right. She dashed down it. That would show the—

  A sickening feeling hit the bottom of her stomach like a stone and she came to a halt. No. Oh no.

  This was a dead end.

  Nine whirled around. The puffing butcher appeared at the end of the passage, striding towards her. Nine felt panic rising in her chest. She looked around. Walls. She slammed her hands against the rough bricks. Just walls everywhere. The butcher advanced. Nine’s breathing grew faster.

  Think. Think.

  “Oh yes, I’ve caught you, thief,” the butcher said, stretching out his arm.

  THINK!

  Suddenly there was a blur of red, and Nine had the unpleasant feeling of being sucked through solid fog. It seemed to squeeze her chest and, for a moment, she stopped breathing. Everything grew dark and silent until, with a strange popping feeling, she felt herself stagger backwards – able to see, able to breathe.

  Nine regained her balance. She heard the muffled yell of surprise from the butcher and heard heavy footsteps running away. She was now inside the building, on the other side of the wall…

  And she wasn’t alone.

  Four large flickering candles stood on the floor, one in each corner of the empty room. Empty, except for the figure – a young woman – standing an arm’s length away. She had her back towards Nine, a long, silky tumble of red hair and wore an elaborate, shapely, black crinoline dress.

  Nine studied the figure. No sound. No movement. What should she do? There didn’t even seem to be a door out of this room. Maybe she was meant to approach her. Maybe the woman was here to help…

  The figure made a sharp twisting motion with her wrist. Nine’s satchel was snatched away by an invisible hand. She stared as it spiralled up into the air, sending the book flying out. There was an unexpectedly deafening thud as it landed on the floor beside Nine, followed by a softer thud as the satchel dropped on top of it.

  Maybe she wasn’t here to help…

  “A little bedtime reading?” said the figure.

  “Who are you?” Nine demanded. Her hands instinctively formed into fists, although she suspected that in any kind of fight with this person, a skinny thiefling would not be coming out on top. “Did you just pull me through a wall?”

  Nine took a step forward.

  “Well, well, look at you,” said the woman. “I knew they were desperate, but dear, dear.”

  “What? Who?” said Nine, her muscles tensing. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “No?” The woman barely stifled a giggle. Nine couldn’t see her face but she could hear the bubble of laughter in the woman’s voice. “If there truly is nothing wrong with you, nothing wrong with your life, then why knock on the tiny door?”

  Nine said nothing.

  “Oh, there will be consequences,” the young woman continued slowly, in a sing-song voice. A smooth voice. A dangerous voice. A voice that oozed like deadly lava. Nine froze.

  “If you get involved. And you are involved, aren’t you? Shame. There’s still time to change your mind – it’s not too late. Go back to your pitiful little life. Because there’s nothing wrong with you … is there? Your life is perfectly fine.”

  “Who are you?” Nine repeated, trying to steady her voice.

  “A friend,” said the woman with a tinkly laugh that sounded about as friendly as a poisoned knife in the ribs, “bringing you a friendly warning. Do not get involved.”

  Nine edged closer. “Turn around then, friend. Show me your face,” said Nine, pushing her feet deeper into the ground. She was ready for whatever was coming next. “Show me!”

  Silence.

  In a sudden rush of frustration, Nine marched in front of the woman – but with a strange, unnatural speed, the woman turned around so Nine saw just her back again. Nine hesitated for a moment, took a deep, quiet breath, then walked around to the other side. But again the figure turned. Just the back of her long, red hair.

  Again Nine ran around the black-clad figure, but the young woman just spun faster and faster, her hair a scarlet blur. Nine stopped suddenly. So did the woman: with her back towards Nine. She laughed a laugh that would freeze rivers.

  “Is that really the best you can do? Dear, dear. I suppose they will shrink beyond reality then. It’ll be terribly fun to watch. Terribly.”

  “Stop it!” cried Nine, her chest heaving.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Foolish girl.”

  Rage, fear, confusion – everything bubbled up inside Nine and she lunged out at the strange woman, grabbing her arm. But as she did so, the figure disintegrated into a small heap of red dust. Nine gasped and quickly snatched back her hand, her heart thumping. “Consequences,” came a bodiless whisper as the red dust trickled away through a gap in the floorboards.

  Still staring at the spot where the woman had stood, Nine backed away slowly towards her satchel and hurriedly stuffed the book back inside.

  “Whoever you are,” she said to the last red specks, as they disappeared between the floorboards, “I think ‘friend’ might be a bit hopeful.”

  A slightly sick feeling settled in her chest. What was she doing? She was tangled up in this strange magic, out of her depth … but wasn’t anything – anything – better than spending the rest of her life in the Nest?

  “I’m not afraid,” Nine lied to the room, marching over to the wall she had entered through.

  The four candles in the corners suddenly extinguished themselves, plunging Nine into pitch blackness. A little chill ran down Nine’s spine. She quickly thrust her hand into the not-really bricks. There was the irresistible force of being sucked through solid fog once more…

  Darkness … silence … chest squeeze and then…

  POP. The walls spat her out and she tumbled to the ground. She picked herself up and dusted herself down.

  “I hate magic,” Nine said, and headed for the House.

  When Eric opened the door, his look of delight was quickly replaced by one of concern.

  “Lady pale,” he said.

  “Lady fine,” snapped Nine, and pushed her way in. She noticed the smallest sword hand on the hexagonal clock was pointing at the 8. “Lady always fine.”

  As she passed him the troll quickly rummaged in his apron pocket, presumably trying to find a sweet, but Nine marched on. Flabberghast staggered down the stairs, wearing most of a suit of armour. One of the arms had been half pulled off, his helmet was askew and there were several large dents in the breastplate. More curiously, he was also splattered with bubbles and looked on the soggy side of wet. He removed his helmet and soapy water poured out.

  Nine rolled her eyes. “Why?” she asked in a bored tone.

  “Bath. Wotnerth,” panted Flabberghast, placing the helmet on the plum carpet. “Thank the stars that’s over for another week.” His face turned grim. “If we survive another week.”

  Nine held up The Secret Book of Secrets and How to Uncover Them and Flabberghast’s expression turned from half-drowned misery to delight. He clapped his hands together, sending a billow of bubbles floating up into the air.

  “An excellent find!” he said, taking the book. He tried to open it but the cover refused to budge. He let out a sigh. “Ah. Small print.”

  “What?” said Nine.

  Flabberghast pointed at tiny, silvery words written at the bottom of the front cover then read aloud, “To open, whisper a secret to me.” He frowned, then brought the book up to his mouth and whispered something. His face turned slightly red. Nine strained her ears but couldn’t hear.

  The cover sprang open, bopping Flabberghast on the nose. “Madam, this does indeed look most useful.”

  “It had better be,” said Nine. “Because I am not getting another one. Which reminds me.” She walked briskly into the kitchen followed by the book-bearing wizard and the troll, marched over to the tea cupboard and grabbed the handle.

>   ZAP. She ignored the fact she now had flippers for feet and turned around to glare at the others. Flabberghast had a pumpkin head with three eyes blinking in the middle. The book exploded into worms, which wriggled away. A gush of green liquid appeared from nowhere just above Flabberghast’s head and drenched him. Nine turned to look at Eric, who had grown another four pairs of arms and sprouted a long, curved beak.

  She narrowed her eyes. “That,” said Nine, “was for not warning me about your friend.” She put feathery hands on her hips, hoping they were taking her seriously even though she had a chicken perched on her head. And perhaps they were, until the chicken laid an egg. The magic began to fade.

  “I beg your pardon, Madam?” said Flabberghast. “What friend?”

  “The kind that isn’t very friendly! You could have told me she’s dangerous!” Nine gestured wildly with her hands. “I thought she was off in some magical land but she’s out there – on the streets! I got squeezed through a wall! Twice!”

  Flabberghast swallowed. “The witch. She’s onto us. What did she say?”

  Nine paused, feeling strangely reluctant to pass on the warning. That Nine wasn’t up to the job. That she should walk away while she could. That if she was involved, there would be consequences…

  “Nothing, really … just crowing over the fact you’re going to be shrunk beyond reality.”

  Flabberghast swallowed again. “I propose, Madam, that we examine this book without delay.” Flabberghast put it down on the kitchen table and sat awkwardly into a chair, his armour clanking. Nine and Eric took their seats. The sugar bowl belched at Nine, who irritably clamped her hand over its lid. There was the strange, spluttering sound of something uncomfortably swallowing its own smoke, then the sugar bowl was still.

  Flabberghast turned to the contents page of the book and ran his unarmoured finger down the list. “Secret-Keeping for Beginners … How to Conceal a Dragon in Your Bedroom…” he muttered as Nine peered over his shoulder.

  A muffled, stony grinding noise came from the arched door in the corner of the kitchen.

  “Another part of the House I should know about?” said Nine, looking suspiciously towards the door.

  “Just the cellar,” muttered Flabberghast, still running his fingers down the contents list.

  “Well, what’s that strange noise coming from it?”

  The wizard flapped a hand at her. “Madam! Enough! I’m trying to concentrate. It’s just the Sometimes Dead – perfectly normal.”

  Nine sighed, really not feeling the words “Sometimes Dead” and “perfectly normal” deserved to be so close together. If something was only dead sometimes, what on earth was it the rest of the time?

  “Enter Secret Places: How to Make a Skeleton Key… Aha!” The wizard slammed his finger onto the book halfway down the page. “Revelato Potion: How to Reveal Invisible Words! That’ll show us the magic words on the letter! Here we go. ‘The Revelato Potion burns through the protective magic which conceals letters and writings.’ Marvellous!” Flabberghast trailed his finger along the page.

  “‘Collecting deadly nightshade by moonlight’… yes, yes, yes … ‘mix with water’… Aha! ‘Revealing words which are intended to be secret is a serious matter and should only be undertaken in the gravest and direst of circumstances.’ Well, this is grave and dire. We are to be shrunk into oblivion – and there’s no tea!

  “‘To ensure it is not undertaken lightly, the revealed words can only be read, spoken, discussed or understood by those individuals willing to…’ Oh. Oh, very interesting … ‘each person needing to participate must willingly’… Hmm. Yes, of course. Makes perfect sense.” He cleared his throat and tapped the book decisively with his finger.

  “What?” Nine said sharply.

  “Hm” asked Flabberghast, looking up with unconvincing wide eyes and an even more unconvincing wide smile.

  “Each person needing to participate must willingly WHAT?”

  “Oh. That. Yes.” The wizard shuffled and examined his chewed fingernails. “Must simply add an item of great personal and emotional significance to be sacrificed.”

  “Eric give?”

  “All of you, actually,” said Flabberghast, shuffling his feet. He walked over to the TO DO board, his remaining armour clunking as he went. The little motionless jaws were still clamped around the letter. “‘You will need all the help you can get from your ridiculous companions’,” he read, narrowing his eyes in annoyance.

  Eric’s face fell. “Eric things?”

  “Needs must,” Flabberghast said briskly and took a deep breath. He clunked back over to Eric, stood as tall as he could, looked the troll in the eye … and snatched the feather duster.

  Eric let out a roar and snatched it back. But Flabberghast was prepared and grabbed the other end until the feather duster went back-and-forth in the most bizarre game of tug-of-war that Nine had ever seen. She watched the hopeless situation for a moment until Flabberghast crashed into the table, making the sugar bowl puff out a huge, green cloud of smoke.

  “OI! STOP!” she yelled, waving her hand to clear the green smoke. She yanked on Eric’s side of the feather duster, sending both herself and Eric tumbling backwards and Flabberghast crashing forwards onto the floor.

  Eric let out a high-pitched whimper and, with the unnatural speed of a troll about to be deprived of his precious feather duster, he darted up the staircase. Nine and Flabberghast looked at each other, scrambled to their feet and ran up the stairs, two at a time, after him – Flabberghast clunking as he went.

  They found Eric up a couple of flights of criss-crossing staircases, on a landing with a closet. It was made of plain, dark wood and looked shoddily made and strangely out of place. The troll wrung his tail and Nine ignored the feeling of pity she couldn’t possibly have felt for the creature. Tough. It had to be done.

  “Eric,” she said as they slowly advanced towards him. “Where’s the duster?”

  “No duster.” Eric shook his head.

  “Come on! Where is it?” said Flabberghast. “We cannot get the magic words and break the curse without a personal sacrifice.”

  “Duster gone.” The troll pulled an odd expression, making his lopsided face even more lopsided. Nine could only guess he was attempting to look clever, which really didn’t suit him.

  Nine sighed and walked over to the closet. She yanked open the door. Her eyebrows raised only the tiniest fraction.

  “There’s a skeleton in the closet,” she said to Flabberghast.

  The wizard froze, then broke into an enormously fake, nervous-looking smile. He flapped an arm at her. “Shhh! We don’t mention that!”

  Nine stared for a second at the tall, presumably human, skeleton in the wardrobe, its bones all somehow held together in place – including the hand now holding a feather duster. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

  “Just as odd as the rest of them,” she muttered, plucking the duster from its grasp and shutting the door in its unsettling, bony face.

  “How rude,” came a deep voice from the wardrobe.

  Nine paused, but only for a second. There was only so much surprise a person could feel in one day, and Nine was beginning to feel she’d already had her fair share. “Did that skeleton just speak?”

  Flabberghast took the duster from her hand. “Not now, Madam. We have more pressing things to attend to.”

  “Eric duster!” Eric wailed, his eyes filling with tears. He pulled his tail up towards his face and wiped his eyes with the fluffy end.

  Nine refused to look at him but could see him slump to the floor out of the corner of her eye. “It’s just a duster,” she said harshly.

  “Just duster!” howled Eric, beating the floor with his fist.

  Spoon’s little door flung open on the staircase to the right. An odd smell like toasted dung wafted out as the kilted spoon marched towards them.

  “What in the devil’s name is going on?” he growled. “Calm that beast down, lad. I’m trying to concentrate!
If I can nae get this timing right, I warn you, there’ll be an almighty—”

  PHWOOSH! A fountain of purple liquid erupted somewhere behind the spoon. A splat landed on his head. The spoon closed his eyes in frustration, tightened his mouth and drew his little hands into fists.

  Flabberghast twisted around on his armoured heels and fixed the spoon with a huge smile. He threw wide his arms.

  “Ah, Dr Spoon!” he said, clasping his hands together. “Good news! As it transpires, all we need to do to acquire the magic curse-breaking words is merely collect a plant, add an item of great personal sacrifice, and then this small misunderstanding will be—”

  “Sacrifice?” said Spoon, looking like he was about to explode … if wooden spoons could explode. Nine would not be at all surprised. He slid down the banister and flew off the end at great speed. He curled himself into an awkward ball of wood and tartan, landing impressively on the floor and rolling to a stop at Flabberghast’s feet. Eric stopped wailing.

  The spoon put his spindly arms on his not-actually-there hips. “You know, lad, I’m beginning to regret stepping inside this House.”

  “Yet, as I recall, you were the one desperately hitching a lift!” retorted Flabberghast.

  “Aye, and so would you, laddie, if you had the devil on your tail!” grumbled the spoon. “You promised me you’d help me find Professor Dish—”

  Nine’s ears pricked up. “Wait … who?”

  “Professor Dish,” said the spoon, still glaring at Flabberghast. “We were separated after an experiment … went wrong. She is my partner.”

  “In crime?” asked Nine automatically.

  “In alchemy.”

  “Alchemy? Turning things to gold?” asked Nine, glancing up at Dr Spoon’s room, longing to see what was inside. A large blob of purple goo dropped from the doorframe onto the staircase. “That doesn’t look like gold.”

  “I must find that dish. I have one half of the answer. She has the other. This moron –” he gestured to the wizard – “picks me up, promises me we’ll find her, then gets us all cursed and trapped in the House! Three years it’s been!”