The Hawkweed Prophecy

by Irena Brignull

  Ember glanced at Leo, and he sensed it and looked back at her reassuringly. “Okay?” he asked, and she nodded, not knowing how to say all that she was thinking.

  He had come to the dell again to ask her—it wasn’t so much asking, more telling, like it was already decided, that he would meet her later by the gap in the thicket and take her into town.

  “Show you the bright lights,” he said as if he were joking, and Ember smiled, pretending to understand.

  She had always thought Poppy would be the one to show her the place where she and Leo came from. But Poppy’s time was taken up with magic now, and her once-daily visits to the dell were becoming fewer and further apart. So Ember didn’t hesitate in accepting Leo’s plan. She had to wait until her mother was soundly asleep, until her eyelids were sealed and sleep had eased the lines of age and lifted her face back into youth. And when Charlock’s breathing was soft and quiet as mist, Ember tiptoed out, carrying her boots and putting them on her feet only once she’d left the camp.

  As Ember darted through the forest, she kept expecting a hand to grab her and pull her back. She hardly dared believe she had managed to slip away undetected, and she couldn’t let herself think what might happen if her absence were discovered. She accelerated, brushing through the ferns and ducking under the low branches, the holly and the thorns scratching at her clothes and skin. Whatever happened, it would be worth it, Ember told herself. She couldn’t not go. To do nothing—that would be the worst fate of all.

  Leo was there in the thicket already, and Ember felt a thrill of happiness that he had arrived first and been waiting . . . for her. She wasn’t sure how to greet him, but he put his arm around her and roughly pulled her along.

  “Come on. I’ve got it all planned.”

  He walked fast, faster than she, and sometimes she had to skip between strides sometimes to keep up with him. The moon and stars shone vivid and bright, lighting their way, and under her breath Ember sent a message of thanks to them. As they reached the town, it became harder to see the constellations, and nearing the center, Ember forgot to look upward. There was too much happening around her.

  So many people. So many men. None like Leo, though. Ember felt foolish for expecting them all to be similar. They were all different shapes and sizes—some hairy, some hairless, voices high and low, some you could hardly tell were men at all. Ember clung tightly to Leo’s arm and he looked at her comfortingly, like she was a child. She wanted to let go and show that she was like the other teenage girls she saw, with their high heels and short skirts and brightly painted faces. But her fingers wouldn’t release their hold. She needed that contact with the one thing she already knew.

  The town was loud and dirty and it smelled. Trash cans overflowing, writing on the walls, buildings black with dirt—Ember couldn’t imagine having to clean this place the way she scrubbed the caravan steps with a brush in one hand and a bucket in the other. Ember had waited to come here for so long, wondering if the day would ever arrive, and now that she was here, she felt overwhelmed. How could she tell Leo she wanted to go home where it was small and quiet and where night was night? Then, as they passed a store, doors open, heat blasting, she heard it. The song she had learned from Poppy’s headphones. And suddenly Ember felt like she belonged.

  “I know this one!” she cried out.

  “What?” Leo said over the noise.

  Ember pulled him inside the store and looked around at the walls, seeking the source of the music.

  “I know this one,” she said again, and as if to prove it, she started singing the words, not caring who could see or hear, all inhibitions swept away by the melody.

  It took Leo a few moments before he could let go of the embarrassment he felt as Ember began to sing so loud and free. Then his body relaxed and the tension left him as he realized nothing bad was going to happen. He didn’t have to protect Ember from humiliation or teach her how to behave in public. People might stop and look, but no one was laughing or calling out names. And so what if they did? Ember looked happy, truly so. Nothing mattered to her right now but the music. The sense of joy and liberation was infectious, and soon Leo found himself smiling and wishing the song would last and last and the moment wouldn’t end. But of course it did, and Ember turned to him and hugged him and he allowed his arms to wrap around her and squeeze her back, lifting her off her feet.

  Leo felt glad, then, that he’d brought her. It had been a decision made in anger, and all the while since, he’d been regretting it. Rejected by Poppy, he’d felt furious at himself for feeling guilty when he had done nothing wrong. As if to prove his innocence, he had decided to do something good for Ember, something open and unselfish. So he had gone to the dell and told Ember of his plan. She had shown him the countryside, and in return, he would show her the town. It had sounded so simple and he had felt so sure. But then the evening came and she had seemed so nervous and out of place that his certainty had begun to crumble. Suddenly it all felt complicated, and Leo knew that he’d been kidding himself before about his good, unselfish deed. Then, just as he was trying to figure out how best to turn back, Ember had heard the song and started to sing and it all became worth it.

  Now, as they walked around the town center, Leo felt like he was seeing it anew through Ember’s eyes. The raucous voices and garish lights, the grumbling traffic and all the people in their many costumes—it felt like a performance staged and choreographed for their benefit and Leo wanted to applaud. Ember too seemed struck by the theater of it.

  “Nothing’s ever going to be the same again,” she proclaimed, and instantly Leo felt the weight of what he’d put in motion. “You’ve changed my life,” she added, and the burden of responsibility pressed down harder on him.

  “You think that now,” Leo replied, trying to make it lighter. “It’s not such a big deal. Just a trip, a holiday.”

  Ember shook her head. “The dell—it’s all different now. I understand it. I know where it all came from.”

  “It doesn’t mean the dell’s not a special place. I mean, I see that and I come from here.”

  “But I have to go back,” she whispered. “How do I do that?”

  Leo took her to the movies. He’d been saving it until last. They came in through the fire escape, and Ember gasped when she saw the screen with its giant super-race of people looming over her.

  They sat on the steps in the aisle and watched until the hero and heroine kissed and the closing credits began to roll. Ember took Leo’s hand, lifted it to her mouth, and rested her lips there. No sparks of electricity, just warmth.

  The whole place emptied and the lights came up and Ember let go. A second later and she had grabbed a half-finished bag of popcorn and tried some. It startled Leo, how she flitted from one moment to the next.

  “You like it?” he inquired.

  “I know what it is, silly. We have popped corn where I come from. Not quite so salty, though.” She offered him the bag. “Supper?”

  He smiled and took a handful. “Not much of a meal,” he apologized.

  “What do you mean?” she said, getting to her feet. “There’s tons of it here.” And she collected more bags and poured them together to make two full ones.

  Leo walked her home all the way to the edge of the woods, both of them munching on the popcorn. Then she gave him back the bag.

  “No clues,” she said. “We’re not allowed into the town without permission.”

  “Will you get into trouble?” he asked.

  “Not if I don’t get caught,” she smiled.

  Leo looked at the trees thickening the dark woods. “How will you see your way home?”

  Ember shrugged. “I could do it with my eyes shut,” she replied confidently, but then she looked for herself and Leo thought he caught a hint of apprehension flicker across her face. Before he had time to question her again, Ember was putting her hands on his shoulders. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Anytime,” he replied flippantly.

 
; Then she stretched herself up onto her toes and kissed him. “You’re supposed to kiss me back,” she smiled gently. “Like the man in the movies.”

  Leo felt his face flush and his heart pound with panic, but Ember grinned, dimples appearing in her cheeks.

  “Please,” she said, fluttering her lashes like she’d seen the actress do.

  Leo’s mind scrambled for what to say, but then Ember was reaching up again and he found himself sweeping her into his arms, her back arching and her head tipping as his mouth covered hers. For a moment Leo even felt like a film star with his leading lady, like it wasn’t real but a perfect act. And then, when he lifted her back to standing, Ember started to laugh with delight and he did too and it all seemed so effortless.

  When Poppy’s next session with Mrs. Silva was canceled, she knew immediately. The school secretary explained that Mrs. Silva was off sick and wouldn’t be coming back for a while, but Poppy understood all that and far more. The baby was no more and Mrs. Silva would never be coming back. This would be the last loss Mrs. Silva could endure without losing herself. She would stop trying for a baby and instead try to live without that hope.

  Poppy sat on the floor, in between the rows of books in the library, flicking frantically through her book of spells to find the one she’d used to keep the baby alive. She scoured the ingredients, the method. She had done everything it said. No mistakes. And she’d known it had worked. She’d felt it, seen it. The baby had been strong. It had been destined to live. Everything had been right. So what could have gone wrong? The book stated the spell could be reversed, but only by an even stronger, darker magic. Who would do such a thing? Why?

  Poppy’s mind was reeling and so she didn’t notice the group of kids approaching. They were middle-schoolers, a mixed bunch. Some looked way off puberty, small and childish. Others were big and spotty, the potent cocktail of hormones bursting through their skin. And there were lots of them, filling the narrow passageway between the shelves of books.

  “It’s her,” Poppy heard one of them say.

  “Told you,” said another.

  She looked up and glared at them. She could hear the gasps. Her face still purple and stitched had been the cause of many stares and whispers since she’d returned back to school. Suddenly a small hand darted out and snatched the book.

  “Give that back,” Poppy demanded as calmly as she could.

  “Or what?” challenged a bratty-looking boy.

  “Or you’ll be very sorry,” Poppy said quietly.

  “What you going to do?” another boy whined. “Set the rats on us?”

  They all laughed.

  Poppy leapt up and swung for the book, but they were too quick for her, passing it from hand to hand so it was always just out of her reach in a game designed to taunt her. Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Give . . . it . . . back.” Her heart was beating in her chest, the rhythm getting faster and faster. She could feel the pulse in her neck quickening too.

  She took a long, deep breath and then, just when she began to feel more in control, one of the girls piped up, “Your boyfriend’s a hobo.”

  “Yeah, he’s gross,” added another.

  “He’s probably a junkie.”

  “Ought to be put away.”

  “Ought to be put down.”

  The kids laughed again, their faces contorting in depraved delight.

  Poppy lunged for the book and was again defeated. They laughed louder and louder, some bent double from the hilarity. A spell to bring water flashed into Poppy’s mind and suddenly all the kids began to pee themselves.

  “Urghh!” cried one, staring at her friend. “She’s gone and wet herself.”

  Then they all looked down at their crotches to see the warm, wet patches expanding. Now their eyes turned scared.

  “Do I have your attention?” Poppy asked in a tone she recognized from her teachers. They stared at her mutely. “Now give me the book back and we can all go our separate ways.”

  The kids glanced at one another, seeking out consensus.

  “No,” said the most belligerent and bullish of the boys. He grabbed the book and held it tight in both hands.

  “Give it back!” Poppy screeched, and with her words the book began to smoke, then burn, and the boy dropped it with a scream, staring at his blistering hands in horror.

  The kids started to back away just as the books from the shelves came flying. Like a flock of birds, the books took to the air, their covers flapping like wings, beating so hard that some of the pages fell like feathers. At the sight of this, the kids began barging past one another to get down the corridor, their arms trying to protect their heads from the glancing blows of the books. One had a bloody nose, another a black eye. Only a couple escaped without a wound. Then, as the last of them turned the corner at the end of the row, the shelves came crashing to the ground in a final, thunderous boom.

  Slowly Poppy bent down and picked up her book from the debris, putting it safely into her bag. Across the room the librarian stood stock-still.

  “Those middle-schoolers,” said Poppy, shaking her head. “No respect for literature.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  That wasn’t the end of it. Parents phoned and wrote in, complaining of bullying and describing an attack in the school library. Poppy was quickly pinpointed, her battered face and white slick of hair immediately identifying her.

  “But books can’t fly,” she told Mr. Jeffries as she sat before him. “That’s ridiculous!”

  “Indeed,” he muttered. “I was hoping you might offer an explanation.”

  Poppy looked stumped. “I can’t.”

  “Many of the children have displayed injuries. One even has minor burns on his hands.” Mr. Jeffries consulted a report. “One Simon Turner.”

  “I don’t like to say . . .” said Poppy.

  “Go on,” encouraged Mr. Jeffries.

  “Well, could they have hurt one another? Even accidentally. Pushing down those shelves like that. Running in the library. Throwing books.”

  Mr. Jeffries pushed his glasses firmly up his nose. “You’re saying they vandalized the library?”

  “Well, of course. It could hardly have been me. I’m not that strong. I mean, look at me.”

  Mr. Jeffries did look at her. He stared long and hard, letting Poppy bear the weight of his gaze. Then he exhaled noisily through his nostrils. “I’m not partial to mysteries, Miss Hooper. Not partial at all.” The principal shuffled some papers on his desk, tapping them into a neat pile, and Poppy hoped this small restoration of order might signal the end of the meeting but discovered it was merely a pause. “So, Miss Hooper, what do you have to say for yourself?” Poppy looked down at her hands. “Well then, if you can’t shed some light on the situation, perhaps your father can?”

  Poppy’s eyes shot up to see Mr. Jeffries’s hand reaching for the telephone. She didn’t care what her dad thought anymore, but she had been hoping to avoid involving him. He had been so irate about her refusal to speak to the police that the thought of yet another standoff felt exhausting. She stared hard into Mr. Jeffries’s eyes—they were angry, frustrated, brown, no, not just brown, black pupils encircled with chestnut, ringed with a darker shade, the whites bloodshot and tired.

  “I wouldn’t bother, if I were you.” She hadn’t meant to speak, but the thoughts had come out of her mouth of their own accord. “He’s too busy with his mistress and his child, the secret sibling I just found out about.” Now Poppy had started, it seemed she couldn’t stop. “So if you want to expel me, go ahead. I’m used to it.”

  Mr. Jeffries blinked, and it was then Poppy realized something strange was happening. His hand was still hovering over the telephone.

  “Don’t call him,” she said tentatively, and she watched as Mr. Jeffries’s hand returned to his lap. “You don’t need to speak to anyone else about what happened in the library.”

  Mr. Jeffries stared back at her.

  “Yes?” Poppy checked. Mr. Jeffries nodded.
“It was just some middle-schoolers messing around. No one needs to be punished.”

  Mr. Jeffries’s eyes looked blank.

  “Okay?” Poppy prompted.

  Mr. Jeffries nodded again. Poppy wasn’t sure what to do next. She got to her feet, then racked her brains to remember a hypnotist that she’d once seen on television.

  “I’m going to go now,” she said authoritatively. “When I leave the room, you will wake up and go happily about your day.”

  Poppy wasn’t sure why she said “happily,” but it was too late to change it. She walked to the door, started to open it, then stopped and turned back to Mr. Jeffries.

  “Bye, I guess. Oh, and you won’t remember anything about this conversation.”

  She shut the door behind her and waited for a moment, wishing she could peek back inside. She couldn’t hear anything until suddenly the telephone rang and the shrill of it made her jump. It rang and rang and Poppy started to worry until finally she heard Mr. Jeffries’s voice say “Good morning” in a far cheerier tone than he was commonly known for.

  Halloween in this town was limp and drab. By the time Poppy made her way home through town, the younger kids had done their trick-or-treating, most dressed in the same pumpkin or vampire outfits from the local supermarket. They were trailing home through the drizzle, picking candy out of their teeth, looking through the wrappers in their buckets for any missed treat. Here and there a few taller older skeletons and Draculas prowled, ringing on the odd doorbell just for the heck of it.

  It irritated Poppy, this lack of imagination and flair. In the last place she had lived, the houses had been decked out like film sets, with gravestones in their front gardens and cobwebs coating the doors, scary mechanical voices shrieking and cackling, and pumpkins carved with great artistry and finesse. Here, even the shop windows could hardly be bothered to try to cash in on the occasion. Poppy knew she was being contrary. She’d always scorned all the effort before, but now that it was gone, she missed it. A few hours earlier she had looked the part at least. The white stripe in her hair and her bruises looked like a costume. But throughout the day they had faded. Poppy presumed the magic she used on Mr. Jeffries had somehow accelerated the healing. Now she just looked plain and ordinary, with not a hint of Halloween about her.