The Scent of Magic

by Cliff McNish

  Heebra smiled. ‘Good. Who should lead the scout group?’

  Calen hesitated.

  ‘One more surprise for Larpskendya,’ said Heebra. ‘I will lead it. He will never expect that. I’ll lead the way to Earth myself. Go. Instruct the Sisterhood of our plans.’

  Heebra knew the journey would be a long one. She selected only the most durable and fiercely loyal High Witches to accompany her. Within days the preparations to leave were complete, and the chosen Witches, fed and ready, gathered together in the howling winds and lightning of a huge storm-whirl that touched the edge of space. Impatiently they awaited the signal to depart.

  First Heebra launched the Gridda Witches. She sent them out in all directions simultaneously. Led by their pack-leader, Gultrathaca, the Griddas moved out in hunting teams, shrieking joyfully, their heavily muscled bodies coiled with power.

  When they had gone Heebra gestured for the scouting party to move out into the darkness of space. Seeing her best Witches together like this reminded Heebra of the glorious wars of the past. Feeling young, she led from the front and, as the group moved in a graceful line away from Ool, Heebra considered what she had learned about the child, Rachel.

  From Dragwena she knew the pattern of Rachel’s magic. When they arrived on Earth the girl would be easy to find. And on the journey there would be endless time to decide the most fitting way to kill her.

  3

  Magic

  Without Rules

  Morpeth lay fully clothed on his bed, alert and waiting. Even so he almost missed the faint sound. It was the rustle of hair moving against a ceiling.

  He opened his door a crack and peered out.

  Rachel floated in the corridor. The top of her scalp seemed to be anchored to the ceiling. Beneath it her body, wrapped in a pale yellow nightdress, swayed in a leisurely way. It was if her bones had become so weightless that the slightest motion of air could tilt and bend them. Her arms and legs drifted with the same relaxed rocking rhythm, like the motion of seaweed under waves.

  Morpeth stepped into the corridor, careful to make no sudden noises. Rachel’s eyes were shut, but the skin of the lids jerked violently from side to side: a dream. Peering more closely, he saw her hair lift and move. Strands of it had bunched together and were rising from her head, feeling their way towards the corridor light bulb in the same slow purposeful way as sea anemones.

  Then, apparently losing interest in the bulb, her hair dragged Rachel haltingly along the corridor. Occasionally she lingered long enough for a tuft to explore the complex whorls on the ceiling.

  When she passed Eric’s room, Morpeth tapped with the edges of his nails, not expecting an answer – but the door sprang wide at once. Eric stood there in his pyjamas, his hands covering the mouths of the prapsies. They fidgeted in his grasp, necks craned wildly, trying to get a good look at Rachel.

  ‘Were you awake?’ Morpeth whispered.

  ‘Nope, until these two started bouncing off the walls.’ Eric blinked, adjusting to the pre-dawn light. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Keep quiet and follow me,’ said Morpeth. ‘And leave the boys here.’

  ‘Oh, Morpeth—’

  ‘No. Come alone.’

  Reluctantly Eric tucked the prapsies back under the quilt of his bed, resting their heads together on a pillow. Their eyes followed him mournfully.

  ‘Please, Eric,’ one pleaded. ‘Let us come. We are so quiet. Watch.’ It opened and closed its mouth silently.

  The other prapsy giggled. ‘You look like a guppy fish!’

  ‘Shut up. Eric was believing me!’

  ‘Sorry, boys,’ Eric said, petting their neck feathers. ‘Next time, maybe.’

  He drew the bedroom door rapidly shut. Moments later the prapsies pressed their lips to the crack at the bottom. They began a low whine, like abandoned puppies.

  Eric caught up with Morpeth at the bottom of the staircase.

  ‘Blimey,’ he said, spotting Rachel. ‘What a sight! Is her hair alive or something? And where’s she going?’ He half-laughed as she passed the bathroom. ‘The loo?’

  ‘Shush. You’ll see,’ said Morpeth. ‘Keep a close eye on her. I might need your help if things go wrong.’

  Rachel entered the kitchen, making her way to the patio doors leading to the garden.

  ‘It’s locked,’ said Eric. ‘She’ll never get out there.’

  ‘She’s more resourceful than you realize,’ said Morpeth.

  Eric heard a subtle click as the patio locks were disengaged without the use of a key.

  ‘Impressive,’ he said.

  ‘Not really,’ Morpeth answered. ‘Locks are designed to be unlocked. For Rachel, this level of magic isn’t even a challenge.’

  The doors of the patio snapped forcefully open and Rachel glided into the garden. Her eyes remained closed as she came to a standing rest in the middle of the lawn. Then, twisting her head, she sniffed the late night air – and a sudden, distinctive aroma of many flowers struck Eric. The smell was rich and impossibly, overwhelmingly, strong.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Eric gasped.

  Morpeth laughed. ‘I don’t know. There are no rules here, or only ones her spells make up. What happens next depends on whose turn it is.’

  ‘You’re joking,’ said Eric. ‘The spells take turns?’

  ‘You’ll see.’

  Rachel, her eyes still shut tight, began to fly in rapid circles around the garden. With outstretched arms her hands touched everything: grass, leaves, the grain of the wooden fence, the silkiness of petals, the hardness of rose-thorns. She stopped, knelt, tasting the moisture on the grass and the damp acrid soil beneath. She sighed as she pressed her cheek against the toughest flints in the rock garden. She caught a moth and stroked it, deep and long across its fragile wings.

  ‘I’ve seen this from her before,’ said Morpeth, ‘Her spells apparently enjoy the contrasts. Sharp and smooth, sour and sweet. She gets a pleasure from them I can’t understand.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to be that moth,’ said Eric.

  ‘She won’t hurt it,’ Morpeth assured him. ‘If the moth struggles Rachel can somehow hold the delicate wings without damaging them.’

  Rachel opened her hand, and the uninjured moth flapped confusedly away. She half-chased it, flapping her ears in imitation, but the insect was clearly too dull to interest her spells for long. She forgot it. She lifted her chin and raised her arms, soaring gracefully moonwards. Within seconds she was just a dwindling point of yellow nightdress against its scarred white disc.

  ‘Flipping heck!’ said Eric. ‘Are you telling me she’s still asleep?’

  ‘Not just asleep,’ Morpeth told him. ‘It’s much deeper than that – a slumber, compelled by her spells. Rachel herself has no control over any of this.’

  ‘It sounds dangerous,’ Eric said, staring up with concern. ‘Should we wake her? I could destroy the spells keeping her asleep.’

  Morpeth looked surprised. ‘Can you actually trace the spells doing that?’

  Eric nodded. ‘Yeah. All spells have their own special smell. I learned that on Ithrea. The ones she’s using a lot tonight, like the flying spells, are easy to recognize after a while. Rarer spells are trickier, but I can usually work them out eventually.’ He licked his finger and grinned. ‘Of course, once I destroy a spell that person can’t use it again, so I have to be careful.’ He squinted at Rachel’s tiny speck body. ‘I can’t reach her from here, though. She’s too far away.’

  A dot of gleaming yellow casually sank from the sky. As Rachel alighted on the lawn her nightdress rose and settled smoothly over her knees.

  ‘What next?’ Eric wondered.

  ‘Who knows,’ said Morpeth, looking worried. ‘It’s always something unexpected, but her spells are especially lively tonight.’

  Rachel altered her shape. It occurred instantly, not gradually. At first Eric thought she had vanished; then he noticed whiskers in the grass, quivering on a petite black nose: a field mouse.


  ‘She’s shape-changed!’ marvelled Eric. ‘I saw that on Ithrea, but I’ve never seen her do it here. Isn’t it risky?’

  ‘Rachel’s spells wouldn’t do anything to harm her,’ said Morpeth. ‘However, the cat might need to be careful.’

  ‘The cat?’

  Sophie, the family tabby, had uncurled herself from a comfy doze somewhere in the house. Drawn by a sudden tasty scent of rodent, she crouched low in the grass and deftly stalked her victim. When she was close enough to pounce, she waited for the mouse to run. It merely twitched its whiskers – and Sophie almost leapt out of the garden.

  A hundred mice had appeared on the lawn, all squeaking Sophie’s name.

  As she sprang away the mice vanished with a giggle. Sophie, her fur on end, remained perfectly still for a while. Finally she returned languidly to the kitchen, settled herself on the floor and began primly cleaning her claws as if nothing had taken place.

  ‘This is brilliant,’ Eric said. ‘Didn’t realize Rach had a sense of humour. What next? A giant prapsy?’

  Rachel had reverted to normal. She hovered for a few minutes above the ground. While her bare toes tickled the dewy grass, her head became unnaturally still, cocked slightly to one side – as if listening to the stars.

  Then she disappeared altogether.

  ‘She’s shifted!’ said Eric. ‘Wow! One place to another.’ Behind him, there was a rustle. He turned, expecting it to be Rachel. ‘Oh no,’ he muttered. ‘We’re for it now.’

  Mum walked purposefully across the garden in her slippers and dressing gown.

  ‘Well?’ she asked, staring at Morpeth.

  ‘Mostly the usual pattern,’ he answered. ‘But the mouse trick is new, and Rachel’s rarely gone so far from the house before. Her flying spells are really active.’

  Mum nodded grimly. ‘Two days ago just whizzing around the block seemed to keep them happy. Not any more, obviously. I’ve been viewing her from the window. Never seen such crazy stunts. I don’t know how fast she’s flying. I couldn’t follow her.’

  Eric gaped. ‘You’ve been watching her, Mum?’

  ‘Of course,’ she replied matter-of-factly. ‘Ever since this all started. Do you think either of you could leave the house without me noticing? I worked out the meaning of that pond smell long before Morpeth. Since then we’ve been taking it in turns to keep an eye on her.’ She buttoned up Eric’s pyjama top. ‘It’s chilly out here. Imagine how cold Rachel must be up – ’ she flung her arms – ‘wherever she is out there.’

  ‘She won’t feel it,’ said Morpeth. ‘Her spells will keep her warm.’

  ‘She’s back,’ said Eric, ‘with a weird thing in her hair.’

  An exotic, long-stemmed plant, nestled in Rachel’s fringe. In the lightening sky they could just make out its unusual green and red-brown flowers.

  Mum’s gaze narrowed. ‘That’s an orchid. I recognize it … a Frog Orchid, it’s called. They don’t grow in this country. Spain, I think. Surely Rachel can’t have gone that far?’

  ‘If she shifted she could have gone anywhere,’ Morpeth said.

  Rachel plucked the orchid from her hair and longingly tasted its dainty petals.

  Mum’s voice became suddenly exasperated. ‘I hate what that Wizard did to her,’ she said. ‘What kind of gift is it that allows Rachel to keep her magic, but not use it? Those spells of hers – playing games, fighting for control, using her. How can they be a gift? They’re nothing but a curse, a worry for us all.’

  ‘Docile little spells wouldn’t be much use against Witches,’ Morpeth told her. ‘Larpskendya knew Rachel would need all her magic if she ever faced them.’ He followed Rachel’s tongue as it became a skinny tube that delicately probed the heart of the orchid flower. Her face was blissful. ‘But I wonder if Larpskendya predicted Rachel’s spells would behave quite like this,’ Morpeth said earnestly. ‘They’re so suddenly, desperately alive, after being so quiet. Has there been a change? Something Larpskendya didn’t anticipate?’

  ‘Is there anything she can’t do?’ Mum asked Morpeth.

  ‘I don’t understand her limits,’ he admitted. ‘Neither does Rachel. On Ithrea she only had a few days to learn, and because of her promise to Larpskendya she hasn’t experimented with her magic at all since she came back.’ He watched wistfully as Rachel breathed on a clenched rosebud. It opened up its petals to her mouth as if she had offered a gift of sunlight. ‘She’s without doubt the most naturally gifted child I ever met,’ Morpeth continued. ‘On Ithrea Rachel learned to perform spells others took centuries to discover or never achieved. She did them without being taught, instinctively altering shape or shifting effortlessly between locations, or commanding the weather. No child had ever done such things; only the Witch, Dragwena.’

  ‘You were pretty impressive yourself on Ithrea,’ Eric pointed out,

  ‘Not really,’ Morpeth said. ‘I could heal basic injuries. With difficulty I could change the shape of some materials, send signals. Of course, even that simple level of magic is beyond a lot of children.’

  ‘Don’t you miss it?’ Eric asked hesitantly. ‘I mean, you must hate Larpskendya for taking away your magic.’

  ‘No, Eric, you’re wrong,’ Morpeth replied. ‘I asked Larpskendya to remove it.’

  ‘What?’ Eric gasped. ‘Why?’

  ‘We daren’t attract the attention of the Witches. I’ve used magic for so long that a spell is bound to slip out accidentally at some point. So I asked Larpskendya to take it from me shortly after returning to Earth – and he did.’

  ‘I never knew that,’ Mum said softly. ‘You never told us.’

  ‘It wasn’t as big a sacrifice as you think,’ Morpeth said, smiling crookedly. ‘I’m an old man. Unlike Rachel’s, my magic these last years was mostly content to snooze.’

  That’s not true, Mum realized, studying his face. You just didn’t want Rachel worrying about you; that’s why you didn’t tell us.

  Rachel sat cross-legged near the pond, her eyes still closed. As they watched, her cheeks swelled with cold morning air. When she exhaled the air in the garden immediately became tropical, and they breathed in the diverse, humid scents of a rainforest.

  Then, without warning, Rachel dived into the pond.

  ‘Shield your eyes!’ Morpeth cried.

  Eric half-heartedly lifted an arm. ‘What’s wrong? I don’t—’

  ‘Do it!’

  Mum just had time to cover his face with a hand before extremely bright light flooded the garden. It was not the light of dawn. It came from Rachel. At last she had opened her night eyes. In sunshine the spell-colours varied, but in darkness they glittered one dazzling colour only – clear silver. For a moment opals of light swept across Mum, Eric and Morpeth, illuminating their clothes. Then Rachel settled back in the pond and set her gaze on the sky. Clouds, thousands of feet in the air, were lit up, pierced by the miniature searchbeams. The pond enlarged slightly to welcome her. She lay in the deepest part, and red gills appeared on her neck.

  ‘That’s new,’ said Morpeth, peering cautiously between his fingers.

  A third gill had materialized, this time on her throat.

  Rachel lay in the pond, her mouth open under the water. As the others anxiously watched, her magic-skilful eyes scanned the skies for sights they could never have detected. Within minutes, their blazing silver light had attracted legions of moths and flies from the surrounding gardens and beyond.

  Eventually Rachel emerged serenely from the pond. She floated back to her room, never once showing any recognition of her family. Eric was sent back to bed. For a while there were shrieks of excitement from his room as he told the prapsies what had happened. Downstairs there were only soft murmurings, as Morpeth sat with Mum and together they discussed what should be done.

  Later that morning Morpeth had to shake Rachel repeatedly to wake her. Her eyes, when they finally opened, were bleary grey, like a summary of winter.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ she said, gazing in the mirror.
Rubbing her face, she sensed the contentment of her spells. Most of them hung back from her eyes, seemingly satisfied, not pestering her to play.

  ‘Last night’s games took a heavy toll,’ Morpeth said, explaining what had occurred.

  Listening to the events, Rachel muttered angrily, ‘You’d think my own spells hate me, the things they do …’

  Morpeth gripped her shoulders. ‘It’s not that. They’re just so fierce. There’s a wildness about your magic I only ever saw in Dragwena. It yearns to be used.’

  Rachel glanced uneasily at the saturated sheets. ‘Mum can’t have missed this. She knows, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, your mum knows everything.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just great.’

  ‘No, it’s good news,’ Morpeth said firmly. ‘We need everyone’s strength now.’

  Rachel showered, dressed and made her way downstairs to a strangely silent kitchen. Even the prapsies were quiet. ‘What’s the matter with them?’ she asked Eric suspiciously, pouring out a bowl of cereal. ‘Are they sick or something?’

  Eric raised his eyebrows. ‘No. The boys have new respect for you, Rach. They saw you flying through the bedroom curtains. No more insults for a couple of days. They insist!’

  The prapsies beamed at Rachel, flapping their wings and winking knowingly.

  When they had finished breakfast and were all in the living room, Rachel said, ‘I noticed something strange last night. It scared me, and I’m not sure what it means.’ She sat on the edge of the couch, close to Mum. ‘My information spells picked it up. You know the way they automatically record everything going on around me, whether I’m interested or not. It’s usually just pointless junk, who’s in the house, what’s their heart-rate, the time the sun came up, pointless stuff like that. Last night, though, they went out a long way and picked up signs of magic. It wasn’t mine. The magic belonged to other children. Thousands of them.’

  The prapsies stopped prancing on the radiator.

  ‘I thought Larpskendya wouldn’t allow that,’ said Eric. ‘Didn’t he say it was too dangerous to let the magic of children loose?’