Witch in Winter

by Kaye Umansky

  ‘Vain as they come,’ agreed Wendy.

  ‘Only eats frozen food,’ said Shirley. ‘Takes ice baths. Rides around in his own weather system. Right through the middle of someone’s summer.’

  ‘And him with twelve children,’ tutted Wendy. ‘Very bad influence on them, he is.’

  ‘His wife’s all right, though,’ observed Shirley.

  ‘What, Mrs Frost? Yes, very nice woman,’ agreed Wendy. ‘Sensible. Stays home with the kids and gets on with things while Jack rides around causing havoc and refusing to abide by the rules of the Magic Circle. They’ve given him enough warnings.’

  ‘There’s a Magic Circle? With rules?’ asked Elsie. This was all new and rather interesting.

  ‘Of course. Someone has to be in charge. Where magic’s concerned, you’ve got to be sensible or there’d be chaos.’

  ‘Who’s in the Magic Circle?’ Joey asked.

  ‘No one knows.’ Wendy lowered her voice. ‘It’s top secret. There are thirteen of them. A wizard, a gnome, a troll, you know, all the main magical factions are represented. I might be in it, as the witch representative, for example, but I couldn’t say.’

  ‘You’re not, though,’ said Shirley.

  ‘I might be.’

  ‘You’re not, though.’

  ‘Well, whoever’s in it, it’s time they did something about Jack,’ said Maureen. ‘They need to catch him and bring him in and bang him up until he promises to stop making endless winters and freezing everything and making poor little old ladies fall over.’

  ‘You don’t – you don’t think he has anything to do with Magenta disappearing, do you?’ asked Elsie.

  All three witches shook their heads.

  ‘Jack Frost doesn’t bother with us witches,’ said Maureen. ‘And us witches aren’t especially bothered by him. But he’s best avoided, especially as he’s on the run. That makes him dangerous. Take our advice, Elsie. Stop worrying about Magenta. Witches can take care of themselves. When you get back to the tower, concentrate on keeping warm. Keep the fire banked up. Lock the doors and shutters. Keep the cold out.’

  ‘That’s right,’ chorused Wendy and Shirley. ‘Keep the cold out.’

  ‘Once it’s in, it’s hard to make it leave,’ added Shirley. ‘So don’t let it in.’

  Chapter Eight

  LOST

  Sylphine wasn’t much of a tracker. She liked skipping about at random in nature, not following a trail, where you have to concentrate. Mind you, her floaty scarves got tangled in bushes and her hair collected leaves and twigs whatever she did in the forest – track, dance, skip, walk, or simply stand still and breathe.

  As well as losing her hat, it wasn’t long before Sylphine lost two of the scarves and was . . . well, lost. Following footprints in the snow was easy enough when they clearly led in one direction, but when she reached the glade where everyone had stopped for a snowball fight, the place was one huge, confused, churned up mess. She tried following various sets of tracks leading away through the trees, but they either faded out or doubled back on themselves. It was all down to finding the right set – the ones that would lead her to the witch’s cottage.

  On her fourth return to the glade, Sylphine found a promising set of paw marks. She had a good feeling about them. She was sure they were the right ones. She was wrong, which leads us on to what happened next.

  I must have been doing this for over an hour, thought Sylphine, and finally I’ve found the right tracks that will clearly lead to – oh no. They’re fading! I’ve gone and got it all wrong again . . . what is THAT? She stopped short, with a gasp.

  A short way ahead lay a clearing. Tall trees stood in a rough circle around a large, frozen lake. Parked next to the lake was . . . a sleigh with a house on!

  Sylphine, like Nuisance before her, had never seen anything like the vehicle in front of her. Her eyes widened as she took it in: the whiteness, the teeth-like icicles, the black windows, the way the runners reared up. The sleigh had an air of danger combined with a vast amount of showing off.

  It suddenly seemed to be getting very cold. Sylphine shivered and rubbed her hands together. Her nose started to hurt, so she rubbed that too. Then a movement caught her eye . . .

  A huge, dark, heavily-antlered head poked out of the trees, followed by an unpleasant, harsh jangling as the rest of the creature followed.

  Sylphine’s mouth dropped open. A reindeer!

  Now, despite Sylphine’s great love for them, animals didn’t really take to Sylphine. She was just a bit . . . pushy and over keen. Treating them like pets when they were wild: giving them extra-rich food that upset their bellies, dragging them off on ‘walkies’, hugging them, expecting them to pose in the background and add extra loveliness while she did her moonlight dancing. The smaller ones – squirrels and mice and tiny tortoises and so on – she actually danced with. She had been known to dress up hedgehogs in bonnets and put ribbons on rabbits. Nobody likes being used as a prop.

  Ohhhhh, thought Sylphine. I love it!

  Well. Of course she did. Who doesn’t love a reindeer, with its strength and speed and glamorous silhouette and amazing antlers? Everyone loves the amazing antlers, don’t they? Sylphine took one look and melted.

  I want you, she thought. You can come home with me and live in my garden for ever.

  Well. Who wouldn’t want a reindeer, with its strength and speed and—? Actually, most people, I should imagine. You might love a reindeer but you wouldn’t really want it. Who would clear up after it? Or feed it when you were away on holiday? Wouldn’t it take up too much space? Mightn’t it skewer you on its amazing antlers? But Sylphine wasn’t most people and didn’t think like that.

  She should have known better, of course. Not that long ago, there had been an incident with a unicorn in a magical emporium that hadn’t gone well. Large, muscular animals with sharp pointy things growing out of their heads were probably best avoided by Sylphine. But when she fell for an animal, she fell hard.

  Of course, the reindeer clearly wasn’t wandering free. Sylphine could see that it was employed to pull the weird-looking house on runners.

  I bet the cruel owners treat it mean, thought Sylphine. Hanging those horrible bells around its neck for a start.

  The reindeer stood in the middle of the glade. The evil bells jangled tunelessly as it eyed Sylphine, chewing slowly on a mouth full of moss.

  Sylphine approached at a half crouch, hand extended encouragingly.

  ‘Hello, Mister Reindeer,’ she said, using her special low, soothing, trust-me-I’m-a-friend-of-all-animals voice. ‘I’m Sylphine and I’m a friend of all animals. Do you like oats? I’ve got oats in my garden. Have you got a name? Do you know anyone called Rudolph, or is that just a made-up story? Come on, Mister Reindeer, don’t be shy—’

  ‘Whachoo doin’?’ said a voice from behind.

  Sylphine gave a startled yelp and whirled around. Staring at her from under the low, snow-filled branches of a tree was a girl.

  She was probably around the same age as Sylphine, but there the resemblance ended. This girl wasn’t trying to look like a wood sprite. Definitely not floaty or dancy. Instead she was slouchy and slumpy. She had a long nose and a down-turned mouth. Her hair was mouse-brown and stuck out at weird angles. She wore a shapeless tunic and baggy trousers with sagging pockets. Her hands were stuffed into the pockets and her feet were rammed into down-at-heel shoes.

  ‘I . . . I was just saying hello to this reindeer,’ said Sylphine.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because . . . well, I love him.’

  ‘He don’t love you, though, do he?’

  It was true. The reindeer was moving away, giving Sylphine dirty looks over its shoulder. At least the evil bells weren’t so close, which was a relief.

  ‘Is he yours?’ asked Sylphine. ‘Do you live in that weird house on skis?’

  ‘None o’ your business.’

  ‘What do you call the reindeer?’

  ‘Not tellin’.�
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  ‘Why not?’ said Sylphine. ‘I just want to make him like me. It’s easier to be friendly when you know someone’s name. Mine’s Sylphine Greenmantle. What’s yours?’

  ‘Oh,’ said the girl. She sounded surprised. ‘Um, I’m Tracy. He’s called Spike. He don’t like nobody, actually, except Ma. It’s not just you.’

  ‘If you took those bells off he’d be happier,’ said Sylphine.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because I know all about animals. I have a way with them.’ Sylphine peered around the silent clearing. The ice house’s sinister black windows stared back, like eyes. ‘Brrr. It’s a bit spooky round here. You don’t live in that nasty sleigh thing on your own, do you?’

  ‘It’s an ice house. Don’t let Dad hear you callin’ it names, he built it himself. He uses it for when he needs to get away.’

  ‘What, for a holiday?’

  ‘No. Get away. You know. Smartish.’

  Tracy looked uncomfortable, so Sylphine changed the subject.

  ‘Did you say you’ve got brothers? How many?’

  As an only child, Sylphine liked the sound of brothers. She thought she’d like three, ideally. Three brothers. Free brothers. Three brothers who were free, like the wind. Brothers who would go dancing over hills, scattering petals romantically and probably singing.

  ‘Two here. Trev and Terry. They’re twins.’ Tracy told her. ‘But I got nine more back home.’

  ‘Nine?’

  ‘Yeah. They all gets on my nerves but not as much as Trev and Terry. I wish I’d stayed back in the palace with Ma. She said I wouldn’t like it on the run and I don’t. It’s squashed an’ everythin’s made of ice and the shower’s cold and Dad won’t even allow a hot water bottle.’ Tracy stuck out her lip and kicked at the snow. ‘He is soooo annoying. Never lets me do nuffin’.’

  ‘Did you say – back in the palace?’ asked Sylphine.

  ‘Yeah, we’ve got loads of palaces but we can’t use ’em because there’ll be people there waiting for Dad to show up and he don’t want to talk to ’em. Me and the boys live in just the one. The comfy one Ma pays for.’

  ‘Fancy having lots of palaces! Even if you only live in one,’ said Sylphine. ‘You’re lucky. Wait . . . what did you mean by “on the run”?’

  ‘Don’t tell anyone, right? Fact is, Dad’s in a bit of trouble. He’s got his eye on some magical movin’ tower that’s supposed to be somewhere round here. We haven’t found it yet. Well, Trev did, then he lost it again. When we do find it, we’ll be moving in right away.’

  Sylphine tried not to gasp, squeal or blink. She went red, took a deep breath and spoke carefully.

  ‘I see. Does the owner know this?’

  ‘Dad says she’s not there.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Um . . . why does your dad want a tower? In particular?’

  ‘So ’e can take off to annuver dimension. Now fings are gettin’ a bit, you know, hot.’

  ‘Mm. And what will happen to the ice house when you’ve all gone to live in another dimension, in this, er, tower?’

  ‘Spike’ll take it home to Ma’s and she’ll stick it back in the garage for when Dad needs it again. Which he won’t if the tower works out.’

  ‘I see. You don’t suppose Spike would like to come and live with me?’

  ‘Nah. He likes it back at Ma’s, she throws his bells in the bin and gives him chocolate biscuits.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Sylphine, with a regretful little sigh.

  ‘Do you like blue?’ asked Tracy suddenly.

  ‘I do. But my best is green,’ said Sylphine. She loved talking about favourite colours. ‘Wood sprites wear green. Blue would suit you, though.’

  ‘I fink green’s nice too,’ said Tracy. ‘Almost as good as blue. Dad’s always wantin’ me to wear white, cos we’re the Frosts. I won’t, though. He always wears white in public. Likes to make a splash.’

  ‘Oh, you don’t want to splash white,’ said Sylphine. ‘One spill’s all it takes.’

  ‘I know,’ said Tracy. ‘I told him that.’

  The two of them stood and stared at each other.

  ‘You got lots o’ nice curly hair,’ Tracy said.

  ‘Have I?’ said Sylphine, delighted. She reached up and patted her unwashed locks. ‘It’s not at its best right now. I’ve run out of shampoo.’

  ‘I use Spike’s saddle soap,’ the girl informed her. ‘When I can be bovvered.’

  ‘Oh, but you mustn’t!’ cried Sylphine. ‘You’ll strip away all the natural oils. Saddle soap is too harsh for hair. I use a special shampoo that—’

  ‘What did you say your name was?’

  ‘Sylphine Greenmantle.’

  ‘Did you make that up?’

  Sylphine considered. Should she admit to really being Aggie Wiggins? Or should she lie?

  She would lie.

  ‘No. Of course not.’

  ‘You did, though, dincha?’ said Tracy. For the first time, she smiled. Her blue eyes crinkled up. She looked much friendlier. ‘That’s all right, it’s nice. If I made up my own name it’d be Crystal-Louise. Crystal-Louise Frost.’

  ‘That’s lovely,’ said Sylphine, meaning it. She imagined being friends with Tracy, sitting down together doing each other’s hair and making lists of lovely girls’ names.

  ‘Or Snowdrop Isobelle Marina,’ said Tracy. ‘Or Cindy Sparkle. Or Tiara Porchetta-Diamonti.’

  She’s given it a lot of thought, Sylphine noted to herself. Like I did. ‘I like Crystal-Louise best,’ she told Tracy. ‘You could dye your hair blue, to go with your eyes.’

  ‘You fink?’

  Just then, there came a sharp shout.

  ‘Oi! Trace! Dad says, who’re you talkin’ to?’

  Two identical figures came striding purposefully across the snow. Both of them wore long, flapping white coats, flat white caps and, of all things, white shoes with pointy toes. Beneath the coats were rather grubby-looking white waistcoats. Both had pale, pinched faces and big ears.

  ‘Here they come,’ said Tracy, with a sniff. ‘The twins. Always spoilin’ everyfing. D’you really mean it, about my hair?’

  But she was talking to thin air.

  ‘I’m starving,’ said Joey, as they made their way back through the forest. Nuisance and Bill were keeping close, clearly happy to be going back to the tower.

  ‘I’d magic you a chocolate egg if my fingers weren’t so cold,’ said Elsie. ‘We’ll get things from the larder when we get back. And decide what to do nex—’

  ‘Elsieeee! Joeeeeee!’ broke in a voice. ‘It’s meeeeee!’

  Nuisance gave a little bark of recognition as a dishevelled figure came stumbling through the trees.

  ‘Aggie!’ cried Joey. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Sylphine came puffing up, trailing her torn blanket through the snow.

  ‘There you are! I came looking for you but I got lost and there was a reindeer called Spike and this weird ice house and I met someone called Tracy but then her brothers shouted and I ran! I think they’re planning to steal the tower! And it’s Sylphine, Joey, as you well know!’ Sylphine threw herself into Elsie’s arms, nearly knocking her off balance. ‘Oh, Elsie! I’m so glad to see you! Will you make me some shampoo? And oh, I’m hungry!’

  ‘There, there,’ said Elsie, patting her friend on the back. Customer Service Rule Five was really coming in handy lately. ‘Calm down. Who’s Tracy?’

  ‘Tracy Frost. She washes her hair in saddle soap.’

  Elsie and Joey exchanged a look.

  ‘Let’s all walk back to the tower for lunch and you can tell us all about it on the way,’ said Elsie.

  Chapter Nine

  THE FROSTS

  Meanwhile, two lanky figures stood in the snowy clearing, staring up at the tower. Terry and Trevor Frost had come to snoop around on the orders of their dad.

  The tower had taken them a while to find, even with the advantage of daylight, but finally the twins had come across the trail of
footprints left by Trevor the night before and back-tracked to the glade. They were now in the middle of a shouted conversation with an unfriendly black bird glaring down at them from the roof.

  ‘Where’s the witch, blackbird?’ shouted Trevor.

  ‘None of your business, sonny,’ squawked Corbett. ‘And for your information, I am the resident raven. R.A.V.E.N. Not a blackbird. We’re different.’

  ‘We finks she’s gone,’ said Terry. ‘It’s just you in there, livin’ a sad little birdy life on yer own.’

  ‘Wrong,’ said Corbett. ‘I’m expecting her back any d— moment. In fact . . . Yes, I think I can hear her downstairs now.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Let’s see her, then. Oi! Witch! Come out!’

  They waited. Nothing happened.

  ‘Tell the truth, birdy’ shouted Terry. ‘It’s obvious you’re lying through yer beak. This tower’s empty!’

  ‘If you really must know, Witch Sharp has been delayed and Witch Pickles is temporarily taking over!’ snapped Corbett. ‘Not that I need to explain things to the likes of you. What are you up to anyway? Snooping around here with your nosy questions?’

  ‘Tell the birdy what we’re up to, Trev,’ said Terry.

  ‘We’re gonna take this tower over,’ said Trevor. ‘We’re movin’ in. And we can, because our dad said.’

  ‘Your dad being?’ asked Corbett.

  ‘Jack Frost. The Jack Frost.’

  ‘He’s a legend,’ added Terry.

  ‘Not a good one, though,’ said Corbett. ‘Most people think he’s a thieving bully who doesn’t deserve a magical power. But why am I wasting my time talking to you? Go away and don’t come back. You don’t want to be here when Witch Pickles arrives.’

  With that he vanished below the parapet.

  Terry and Trevor looked at each other.