by Lou Kuenzler
“Fluttering feathers! Hello,” I gasped, stretching out to stroke the bird’s pink plumage. She was beautiful. My broomstick spell might not have worked, but something much more extraordinary had happened instead. “I suppose if my old wooden wand was an angry rat, there is no reason my pen-wand shouldn’t be a real flamingo.”
“Ark!” squawked the bird.
“Shh!” I put my finger to my lips as a light flickered on in Hawk Hall.
“What’s the big birdy-thing saying?” asked Rascal.
“I’m not sure.” The bird stretched out her long neck and I stroked the smooth feathers on top of her head. “I don’t speak Flamingo.” There aren’t any beautiful pink birds in the Magic Realm … just crows and owls.
“Ark!” The flamingo flapped her wings.
“I think she wants to fly,” I said. But she bent her knees and tugged at my sleeve with her black-tipped beak. She scooped up Rascal, like a pea on a spoon, and swung him on her back. “She wants us to come with her,” I grinned.
“Is she our broomstick?” purred Rascal.
“Yes!” I cried, scrambling on to the flamingo’s feathery back as bright lights blazed on all across the concrete gardens of Hawk Hall. “Fly! Fly! Fly!”
Chapter Eighteen
Rascal perched on the flamingo’s neck as we flew over the shadowy fields.
“Don’t dig your claws in or you’ll hurt her,” I said, gripping the bird gently with my knees. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the flamingo’s thin pink legs pointing straight out behind us. She was as long and fast as any broom.
“Crazy comets, this is brilliant,” I cried as the flamingo shot through the air like a spear. “Every witch should get one!” It was much easier – and far more fun – to ride a fluttering feathery bird than a slippery wooden broomstick.
“There it is,” I cried, pointing to the tall white windmill as the flamingo swooped over a line of trees. A swaying lantern hung in the porch, guiding us across the fields like a lighthouse at sea.
Even before we landed, I could see the dark shadow of a jet-black cat, staring up at the sky. “Mum!” called Rascal, leaping off the flamingo’s back.
“Careful!” I cried, but his mother didn’t even wait for him to land.
“Where’ve you been, Number Three?” she hissed, cuffing him round the ears with her paw. “I’ve been worried out of my nine lives.”
The flamingo skidded to a stop. I climbed down and patted her neck. “Thank you for bringing us here!” I whispered, wishing she could understand me in the way Rascal could.
His mother had already stopped hissing. Her anger and worry were gone and she was licking him, purring with love and relief as he explained everything that had happened since he first climbed into the box of old books. “You and your curiosity!” she sighed.
I smiled, happy we had returned him to her so easily. But I was sad too at having to say goodbye. I would miss the brave, inquisitive little kitten.
Just as I was clearing my throat to wish him good luck, his mother turned towards me. Her fiery orange eyes glistened in the darkness. “So my boy’s to be a witch’s cat now is he?” she purred. “I couldn’t be more proud. My own great-grandmother was a witch’s companion. Greatest honour any cat can have.”
“Oh no, you don’t understand,” I said quickly, purring politely in my smoothest Cat Chat. “Rascal – I mean Number Three – can’t stay with me, Mrs Cat. I was just bringing him home to you and his Person family.”
“The family can’t keep him. They don’t know what is going to happen now their shop has been closed down,” said the cat. “They wanted to find him and check he was safe, but he’ll need a new home for sure. They’ve already given Number Two to an old man in the village. They’re only keeping Number One because he’s big and strong and can catch mice and rats.”
“I can catch rats,” said Rascal proudly. “There’s a huge one behind the dustbins at Hawk Hall. I pounced on it once, but it turned into a puff of black smoke and bit my tail.”
“Oh dear,” I laughed. “I don’t think that’s an ordinary rat – it sounds like my grumpy old wand. I told you it ran away.”
“Brave boy. You are ready to leave home,” said Rascal’s mother. “You will make a fine magic cat – I knew your eyes are as green as emeralds for a reason. All witches’ cats have green eyes, you know.” Her own fiery eyes sparkled. “Go with Miss Bella. Help her with her spells and ride the skies on a broomstick or…” She looked at the flamingo and shook her head in confusion. “Or a big pink bird, at any rate.”
“I will.” Rascal puffed himself up with pride as Mrs Cat straightened his whiskers. “I’ll be the best witch’s cat ever.”
“But … you can’t live with me,” I said. I felt as if I was pelting the tiny kitten with stones. “You know I’d love to take you home, more than anything. But the Ables won’t let me have a cat.”
“Oh!” Rascal made a tiny mewing sound halfway between a sniff and a cough. “Doesn’t matter. I’m very busy here anyway,” he said. “I have rats and mice to catch…” Then he turned away without another word and hung his head low. I’d never heard him so silent before. I would rather he hissed and scratched at me than this.
“You named him,” said his mother. “That means he’s bonded to you now.”
“I’m sorry.” I shook my head. “He’ll find a lovely new home again in no time … he’s … well, he’s very cute.” I knew that would go to Rascal’s head. But it was true; there must be hundreds of Persons who’d want an adorable little kitten like him.
“I have brought you here safely,” I said, blowing Rascal a kiss. “But now I have to find the hope moth and get back to Honeysuckle Cottage.”
I took a step towards the windmill. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Rascal creep forward as if to follow me.
“Shoo!” I hissed, clapping my hands at him, although I felt as if my heart was going to break.
“Come along, Number Three!” His mother stalked off into the darkness.
“My name is Rascal!” he said, arching his back like a lion cub as he followed her into the gloom.
“Yes, it is! You’ll always be Rascal to me,” I called after him.
But, before I could hear his answer, the door to the windmill swung open and a small child stood yawning in the moonlight. My heart leapt.
I knew her. It was the little girl from the bus – the one whose big sister smiled at me. They had clapped their hands and sung “Wheels on the Bus” together.
“Gretel,” I whispered, crouching down so that I was the same height as she was. “Hello.”
She was wearing my brown frock and the (very) frilly white apron.
I had found my dress at last.
Chapter Nineteen
I stared as Gretel stood stretching in the doorway. She was rubbing her eyes and yawning. Although it was the middle of the night, she was wearing the full Gretel costume – which was miles too big.
“Did you go to sleep in that?” I smiled. Somehow, the ugly brown dress and the hideous (very) frilly apron didn’t look silly on her at all. They looked adorable.
Gretel nodded shyly. “My sister said I could pretend to be in a real fairy tale.”
“Your sister is right,” I agreed. Gretel looked exactly as if she had walked out of the pages of a storybook.
“I think she’d like to meet your pretty bird,” said Gretel, pointing at the flamingo who was resting her beak on my shoulder. “Shall I go and wake her up?”
“No! Not now,” I lurched forward before she could go back inside the windmill. It was going to be hard enough to explain to one tiny sleepy girl what I was doing here at midnight with a giant pink flamingo, let alone her big sister too.
Gretel shrugged. “I saw you flying,” she yawned, putting her thumb back in her mouth.
“Did you?” I crouched down, hoping she was so sleepy she might think the whole thing had been a dream by morning. “I came here specially to ask you a question,” I explaine
d.
“Is it about the dusty thing?” Gretel asked.
“Dusty thing?” Perhaps I hadn’t heard her properly. It was hard to understand what she was saying with her thumb in her mouth.
She stuffed her free hand inside the apron pocket. “Look.”
My tummy somersaulted as she pulled out the magic jar. “You’ve got it!” I grinned. “It isn’t broken!” But my heart sank as I peered at the cloudy glass. The moth was as grey as ash and barely moving.
“Darkest dungeons,” I gasped. It was as if all the hope was fading inside the jar. Gretel was right. The moth was a dusty thing – dusty, grey and dying. I remembered the bright, shiny creature Aunt Hemlock had captured when it first flew out of the Ables’ chimney.
One thing was sure: I must have disappointed the Ables very much if this was all that was left of their shiny hope. The child they had really wished for must have been very different from me.
My chest felt as if a heavy giant was standing on it in iron boots. When I held out my hand it was shaking. “Please, Gretel,” I said. “Can I have the jar back?” Perhaps if I could return the moth to Honeysuckle Cottage where it came from, maybe the hope would start to shine again.
“Hmm.” Gretel stretched out her hand. The little jar was almost in my fingers when she suddenly stamped her foot. “No! Poor dusty thing…”
She popped her thumb out of her mouth, unscrewed the lid and shook the jar. “Fly away,” she cried.
“Stop!” I tried to catch the frail grey creature as it fluttered free, rising into the moonlit sky like a flake of silver ash above a bonfire.
The flamingo made a desperate grab for it with her beak, but the moth darted sideways. Free from the jar, it seemed to find new strength.
“Now look what you’ve done!” I cried.
“Oops! Was I naughty?” Gretel’s eyes filled with tears.
“No … of course not. I’m sorry.” I crouched down and took the jar from her fingers. How was she to know that by setting the moth free, the hope it carried would vanish like smoke in the sky? “Go back to bed. This is all just a dream with a pretty pink bird in it,” I said. Then I leapt on to the flamingo’s back. I had to catch the moth. “In the morning, just remember to tell the little grey kitten that Bella said goodbye.”
“The grey kitten…” yawned Gretel. “I wish he had somewhere nice to live.” She waved sleepily and stepped back inside.
“So do I,” I whispered.
The pale moth was already above the windmill, so there wasn’t another moment to lose. I patted the flamingo’s neck and held out the jar like a butterfly net.
Sweep like wings into the sky
Brush the clouds and fly, fly, fly!
I squeezed my legs against the bird as if I was riding a winged Pegasus. The flamingo shot upwards like an arrow.
“There!” I cried as a tiny spark of silver light glowed in the sky. “I can see the moth!”
The flamingo wobbled. Her left wing dipped low, almost hitting the big white sails of the windmill.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, wishing for the hundredth time that I could speak Flamingo. But the beautiful pink bird flapped harder, raising her left wing just high enough to rise above the building.
“Well done!” I cheered, but the poor flamingo was still tilting to one side. She turned her head and snapped at her wing, as if trying to peck away an irritating flea.
“Is this better?” I tried as hard as I could to balance my weight the opposite way. Leaning as far as I dared along her right wing, I clung to her feathers with one hand and held the empty jar with the other.
“Missed!” I groaned, scooping at the night sky as the silvery moth fluttered just out of reach. I’d have had more luck gathering star dust in a sieve.
I scooped again…
“Get it!” cried a tiny voice (speaking in fast and fluent Cat Chat). “Let me try. I’ll catch it with one paw.”
“Rascal!” I gasped as his fluffy grey head appeared amongst the feathers on the flamingo’s wing. “What are you doing there? No wonder the poor flamingo can’t balance.”
“Mum said I belong to you now,” purred Rascal, scrambling up in front of me so the flamingo was able to fly straight again at last. “I’ve come to help. Aren’t you going to catch the moth?”
“I’m trying,” I snapped as the moth dived past me again. “This would have been a whole lot easier without a hairy ball of fluff hiding under there.”
“No need to hiss,” said Rascal. “Kittens are good at catching moths. I’ll show you…”
“Stop!” I cried, trying desperately to grab him as he sprung towards the fluttering silver light. “You’re going to fall.”
It was too late. The tips of my fingers brushed the end of Rascal’s fluffy tail. But he was already tumbling through the dark sky.
Chapter Twenty
“Rascal!” I cried. The tiny kitten was falling fast.
The flamingo swooped like a heron diving for a fish. I clung on with my knees – one hand held the precious jar and the other grabbed wildly for Rascal as he plunged beneath us.
We were so low, my feet brushed the earth before I caught him.
“Yowl!” he yelped as I grabbed hold of the fluff on the scruff of his neck and swung him safely back on board.
“Well done, Flamingo!” I cheered as she rose in to the sky. A second slower and the little kitten would have hit the ground for sure. “I’m so sorry I hissed at you, Rascal,” I choked, burying my head in his soft fur and hugging him tightly. “I know you were only trying to help.”
“Trying?” purred Rascal. “I think I did better than that!”
I looked down and saw he had the fluttering hope moth caught gently between his paws. “Whizzing warlocks, you’re brilliant!” I scooped the moth into the jar and twisted the lid on tightly. “Thank you, Rascal! You’re the best kitten any young witch could hope for. All we have to do now is get the moth home to Honeysuckle Cottage.”
Suddenly, the flamingo lurched sideways as something cold and slimy hit us in the face.
“Ouch!” I cried.
“What was that?” yelped Rascal. But I knew the feeling at once … like being slapped in the mouth by a big wet fish.
“The Curtain of Invisibility,” I said. “It is drawn around the Magic Realm. Quick! Turn around.”
The flamingo was amazing. She spun like a spider on a pinhead and shot back over the hills of Person World.
“How can something invisible hurt so much?” said Rascal, straightening his crumpled whiskers with his paw.
“I don’t know,” I laughed, remembering I had asked the very same question when the Curtain of Invisibility hit me the first time. “Thank goodness we didn’t fly right through it.” I patted the flamingo’s back and shuddered, wondering what would have happened if we had ended up in the Magic Realm. Perhaps we would have been stuck there for ever…
“Everything’s going to be all right now isn’t it?” yawned Rascal, staggering on to my lap. He curled himself up in a sleepy grey ball. Suddenly, he wasn’t a brave panther leaping through the sky to save a hope moth, he was just a very tired kitten ready to go home.
“Once we get the jar back to Honeysuckle Cottage, where the Ables are, the magic will start to work again, I am sure of it.” I peered through the glass. The moth seemed to be glowing more brightly already. “I might even manage to convince them they want to adopt an inquisitive kitten too,” I said, stroking Rascal’s ears.
“Of course they’ll want me,” he yawned. “I’m adorable.” Rascal closed his eyes and began to purr. “The very first thing I’m going to do is catch that big brown rat!”
“My old grumpy wand?” I smiled. “Poor thing. It deserves a bit of peace now it’s free.”
I had no idea if Aunty Rose and Uncle Martin would ever agree to having a cat, but I had to try. Rascal had been so loyal and brave. Without him, the hope moth would have been lost for sure.
I spotted the warm orange lights o
f Merrymeet village just ahead. “Hooray for our feathery broomstick, the Fabulous Flying Flamingo!” I cheered. “I promise, I’m going to learn your language so I can thank you properly in your own Beak-Speak as soon as I possibly can.”
Perhaps she understood me already, as she turned her head and nibbled my knee.
“We saved the hope moth! All three of us together. We make a pretty magical team!” I whooped, raising the shimmering jar high in the air as we swooped home over the moonlit rooftops of Merrymeet.
“What’s that?” Rascal was suddenly wide awake. He sprung to his feet, wobbling on the flamingo’s narrow neck as he arched his back.
“Ark!” squawked the flamingo as his claws dug in.
I peered over her feathery head and saw that not all the lights below us were warm and yellow. Sharp blue flashes pierced the darkness too. A familiar scream like a banshee filled the air
“Police Persons,” I shuddered, as their car roared through the dark streets below with the sirens blaring. “Quick! Let’s get home as fast as we can.” The flamingo soared over Hawk Hall and skidded to a stop behind the bird table at the bottom of the Ables’ garden.
“Steady,” I whispered. Landing on a flamingo is a lot harder than flying. Her skinny legs wobbled like slippery stilts. I slid off her back and rolled over with a bump, hugging the precious jar to my chest.
“Thundering phantoms! That was a close one,” I gasped. There was a puff of pink smoke and the flamingo shot towards the ground like a genie disappearing back inside a bottle.
“Yikes!” Rascal darted underneath a bush. “What’s happening?”
“It’s all right,” I laughed. “She’s just turning back into a pen. See?” I picked up the plastic feathery biro from the ground. I was fumbling with the slippery jar in my other hand when I heard somebody calling my name.
“Bella Broomstick! Is that you back there?”
I leapt in the air like a startled frog. The jar slid from my shaking fingers…
Time seemed to stand still.