The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  It would work. It had to. Ondine worried her bottom lip in thought. “Aunt Col? I don’t want to be a downer but, are we sure Anathea is going to make the right kind of wish?”

  ​“What is wrong with you? I’m telling you to get sucky face with Hamish, and you’re asking questions?”

  Trust her great aunt to get to the meat of the matter. “I dunno.” She made tracks in the snow with the toe of her boot. Something was missing, but she couldn’t name it. As if they hadn’t quite resolved all the outstanding issues that had arisen. “I guess . . . I’m worried about what everyone else is going to be wishing for when we do it.” Because last time they’d been loved-up in public, people grew tails. Chaos broke out. Worse still, she and Hamish had to break up.

  “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.” Melody said. “I’ll be sending out astrals that put everyone in a good mood and make them think positively.”

  “Aye, that’s Barry,” Hamish said, giving Melody a grin. [262]

  Jealousy pricked Ondine each time Hamish complimented Melody-With-All-The-Answers. Meanwhile, she slipped further into the sulks and became Stressed-Out-Ondi-With-No-Answers. And that niggling, nagging feeling of having forgotten something pretty huge kept . . . niggling and nagging at her.

  Old Col grabbed her by the elbow. “Come along. There’s the Duchess. Let’s get in close so we can make an impact. Ready child?”

  “Not really.”

  “Love conquers all, my dear, just you remember that,” Col said.

  Dread filled Ondine as she looked upon the golden carpet near the entrance to the snow maze. The maze was a huge thing; taller than an average person so you couldn’t see were you were, and made entirely out of snow.

  Light snow drifted and fell on the carpet, but not for long as a worker with a vacuum backpack worked away quietly to keep it clean.

  It wasn’t the maze filling Ondine with thoughts of failure, but the people standing on that carpet near the front. The First Minister Cebotari stood proudly beside Duchess Anathea, both of them resplendent in heavy brown coats, solid outdoorsy boots and hats with earflaps. Even little Biscuit the dog had a brown coat on and booties on his feet. Standing beside Anathea was the last person in the world they expected to see, Lord Vincent.

  Hamish asked, “What’s that balloon doing here?” [263]

  “He is next in line,” Melody piped up.

  Col shot back, “Not if they change the laws of succession.”

  Hamish suggested, “Mebbe she had no alternative? She has to be fair and let him tag aloang?”

  “Of course he’d turn up,” Ondine said, her eyes almost rolling in frustration, “He’s trying to out-popular Anathea.”

  Judging by the number of screaming, squealing teenage girls in the crowd, he had that competition easily won. Yes, he was handsome, but only at face-value. Ondine knew the real Vincent, she knew he was ugly on the inside.

  But he was young and looked like a pop idol. How could Anathea compete?

  “Melody, you have to do something,” Ondine said. “We can’t make Vincent’s wishes come true, because we know what he’ll be wishing for and it won’t do any of us a lick of good.”

  “Already on it,” Melody said with a look of concentration on her face. “I’m sending blockers. But um, there are a lot of people here and I can’t do all of them.”

  So many squees erupted from the crowd; it hurt Ondine’s ears. How could an old crone like Anathea compete against a rock star like Vincent?

  Old Col coughed into her closed hand. “Do your best Melody. As long as you block him and keep Anathea positive, we should set everything to rights.”

  A voice boomed over the crowd. “My Lord Duchess, Lord Vincent, Her Honour the First Minister, distinguished guests, ladies and gentlemen . . .”

  Ondine followed the sound upwards and noticed loudspeakers cabled through the high branches in the trees.

  “Better get smooching,” Old Col said.

  “Not here,” Ondine said. They were drowning in a sea of overhyped fangirls who were mentally writing themselves into Lord Vincent fan fiction. “If this lot get their wish, they’ll rip Vincent to shreds.”

  Old Col turned and raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Hamish gave her hand a squeeze. “Yer a good lass for lookin’ out for him, even if he doesnae deserve it.”

  The compliment boosted her spirits and she squeezed his hand in return.

  “Over tae the side, weil be closer tae Anathea and away from the squealies.”

  They pushed and squeezed through the crowd until they reached the very edge of the audience section. At which point Anathea noticed them and gave a curt nod, as if she’d been expecting them.

  Ondine was expecting a lot from Anathea as well. They weren’t doing this out of the kindness of their own hearts or for the good of Brugel. They were doing it for purely selfish reasons. Ondine wanted Hamish forever, but if he didn’t have his work papers allowing him to stay in Brugel, he’d either have to live the rest of his public life as a ferret or be shunted home to Scotland.

  No matter how angry and used and tired she felt, she had to push every negative thought aside and kiss Hamish with all her heart. She didn’t want to think about the consequences of failing. Of him being deported. Of Anathea getting booed off stage. Vincent triumphant and becoming Brugel’s next Duke. Mrs. Howser’s shadow casting a pall over everything.

  Panic caught in her throat, making her feel even less loved-up and smoochy. Thinking about Mrs. Howser had a way of draining every nice thought from her head.

  Hamish’s steady hands cupped her face and he winked, but the lovely swirly whotsits that normally swirled in her tummy did not leap into life.

  “We havetae kiss, it’s fer Brugel,” he said, lowering his lips onto hers.

  Nothing.

  No fireworks. Not even a sparkler or a small candle.

  “Mercury’s Wings, Mrs. Howser must be here somewhere, sucking all the fun out of me.” That was the only way Ondine could explain her lack of gushiness. Hamish’s kisses always made her feel loopy and silly and fabulous. They’d never made her feel nothing before.

  “But we freed Melody from her.” Hamish scrunched up his forehead.

  “Maybe she’s put a spell on me or something and . . . I can’t love you any more?”

  “Nae possible. Sure’n she’s evil, but lass, ye heart’s so big, no mangey spell can stop our love.”

  A bony hand clamped hard on her shoulder and dug down hard. “No you don’t!”

  Everything happened in slow-time. Noises stretched and warped, vision blurred. Hamish fell away from her. Or did she fall from him? Whiplash emotions bombarded her system as Mrs. Howser’s face loomed.

  “You’re not doing anything,” she said, calm as you like.

  To add bizarre on top of the strange, Mrs. Howser’s voice and movements were perfectly normal, while everything else around them moved with the speed of cooling toffee. They were in some kind of time bubble. Ondine couldn't speak or move or even think clearly. Everything in her system started shutting down. Great Pluto’s ghost, this was the niggly naggy thing she’d forgotten.

  They hadn’t dealt with Mrs. Howser directly; they’d merely tried to get around her. Look what good it had done them. They’d chipped away at the edges of their problems but the big one, the bad magic maker, would make their life hell if they didn’t deal with her directly, once and for all.

  These thoughts surprised Ondine in their clarity. Up until this point, she’d only been able to think of herself and Hamish. Suddenly – and with a fair amount of deep personal guilt – she realised there were some things in this life that were bigger than her.

  Every instinct told her to shut down, to collapse under the weight of the negative magic Mrs. Howser bore down on her. But that would be giving up. That would be letting the baddies win.

  It wasn’t going to happen.

  It couldn’t.

  Outside this m
agic time-bubble, Hamish reached for her, his body moving in slow motion. Inside the bubble, she had to move fast. Mrs. Howser’s hand was still clamped on her shoulder, and she was pushing down, making her blend into the footpath.

  Ondine said, “No.” A single thought, but a powerful one.

  “You can’t win.” Mrs. Howser’s words felt heavy and cold, dissolving Ondine’s willpower like acid. Drip, drip, drip, they ate away at her resolve. Why did her eyelids weigh so much all of a sudden?

  “That’s right, you’re going to have a nice big sleep,” Mrs. Howser said. The worst of it was how sweet and reasonable the woman sounded.

  Sleep. Oh sleep, that would be so good right now . . . but there was something she had to do first. Something about . . . oh that’s right. Mrs. Howser was going down!

  It took a breath. Then it took a mental image of steel filling her marrow. Then it took every ounce of strength she had.

  “NO!” Ondine yelled.

  “You’re a feisty one.”

  A tiny victory, but enough to begin the re-group for the next attack. “No,” Ondine said again, her voice sounding firm and satisfying to her ears. One little word, a world of strength behind it. “No.”

  The hazy skin of the magic bubble stretched and strained around them, but did not break.

  “You think one simple word can stop me? Can stop this?” Mrs. Howser flicked her hand and the bubble wall grew thicker, stronger, the people on the other side blurred into vague shapes. New fears tugged at Ondine. She was no match for this kind of magic.

  “No,” the word came out as a whisper, more an expression of shock and surprise than intent.

  “You’ve got to expand your vocabulary child. And your magic. I can teach you how to do this. You have so much potential. Let me help you shine.”

  Honeyed milk, that’s how the words played over Ondine. All smooth and lovely and sweet and special. Like an extra treat after a long day of working so hard she could sleep forever. Sleepity sleep sleep. Now there’s a thought. Sleep would be so good. If only there were some place nearby where she could lie down and sleep and . . . Outside the bubble, Hamish had stopped moving. His blurred face came into focus through the skin of magic between them.

  Hamish. She felt all kinds of magic when he was around. They’d been doing something here, something she couldn’t quite remember but . . . it had seemed important at the time.

  A giggle formed. Ondine felt so light and carefree she could have sworn she was floating. Looking down to her feet, she saw a gap between her boots and the snowy ground. Yes, definitely floating.

  Oh what a marvellous feeling. She could get used to this.

  “I wonder if Hamish can see me floating?”

  “Let’s float away from here,” a soothing voice said. Such a calming voice. Such a persuasive voice.

  Belonging to Mrs. Howser.

  Why did Ondine not like her? She seemed so nice. And yet the rest of her family had it in for her. Silly, really. Maybe it was her great aunt being jealous? That must be why they hated each other with such venom. How strange, now that she thought about it. It took so much energy to hate someone, when liking them was so easy.

  So very easy.

  Like Hamish. She’d fallen in like with him from the start and it hadn’t taken long for it to turn into full-blown love.

  A cold seed of doubt sprouted in her belly as she floated inside her bubble. Had she and Hamish fallen in love because they wanted to, or had they fallen under some kind of spell?

  Turning her head, she saw Mrs. Howser smiling so sweetly.

  “You made the spell,” Ondine said.

  “What spell, my dear?”

  “The spell that made Hamish fall in love with me.”

  “You’re welcome,” Mrs. Howser tilted her head to accept the praise.

  Only Ondine wasn’t praising her. She was accusing her. Accusing her of exploiting her feelings and yearnings. Hamish was in love with her, but was it real or only magic?

  “What if it’s only the spell that’s making him love me?” Ondine asked.

  “You have nothing to worry about, child. He truly loves you. No spell is so great it can circumvent free will.”

  “Is that so?” Ondine asked in her dreamy state. The confirmation gave her a boost. She landed on the ground on steady feet. Then she looked Mrs. Howser straight in the eye and said, “Then I can stop you, and I can stop this.”

  Panic flickered across the witch’s face before she composed herself. “What I meant to say was –”

  “– No. You’re going to shut up now.” Ondine waved her hand towards the bubble’s edge and poked it. The skin pressed outwards under the pressure, then shredded like a popped balloon. “You are going down,” Ondine said.

  Instantly Mrs. Howser waved her hands and a new bubble sealed around them. Ondine poked it again – same shredding effect.

  “How are you doing that?” Mrs. Howser rapidly erected a third bubble.

  This was getting tiresome. Ondine said, “Stop meddling in everyone’s lives and leave us alone!”

  “So you can be with your beautiful Hamish, I suppose?”

  Oh, she had her there.

  Time to be honest. That was pretty much the hardest thing to do, but it always achieved the best results. “That too. You’d love it if all I could think about was Hamish, but I’ve worked it out. Sure it took me a while, but even I can see truth. I’m not selfish all the time.”

  Mrs Howser creased her forehead. “There’s nothing wrong with being selfish. It’s how we get things done.”

  “You’re right. I was so selfish I couldn’t see past my own little bubble with Hamish. But I can see past that now,” she said, glaring at Mrs. Howser.

  Mrs Howser shot back, “Don’t you look at me like that!”

  The way out of this shone clear in Ondine’s mind. “You don’t have magic.”

  “Excuse me, I have more magic in my little finger than you’ll ever have –”

  “Magic’s not in your hands. It’s in here,” Ondine said, pressing her hand slightly to the left of Mrs. Howser’s bony sternum, where her heart would be. “And up here.” With her free hand, she tapped the side of the old woman’s head. Then Ondine turned and for the last time looked at the bubble surrounding them. She blew a puff towards the skin of the bubble, turning it into smoke. Another puff and the smoke wafted away like a snuffed candle.

  “If you were really psychic, you should have seen this coming,” Ondine said, pouring lemon juice on the old woman’s wounds.

  “Ondi, get back!” a girl behind her yelled. Suddenly Melody was grabbing at her, pulling her away.

  “It’s OK, I’m fine,” Ondine said.

  “Your hands!” Melody yelled.

  “What about my –” Turning her palms over, she watched the tips of her fingers dissolve into smoke and drift off in the breeze. A scream filled her ears. Then more screams as the people around them saw what was happening.

  Jupiter’s moons. The smoke had dissolved down to the first knuckle already. Panic took over. All Ondine could do was stand there and scream and scream until she thought she’d black out.

  ​

  ​

  ​

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  ​

  Like four fat incense sticks plus a stubby one on the side, Ondine’s fingers and thumbs ended not in bitten-down nails but curlicues of smoke and ash.

  “They’re burning!” she cried out. Mrs. Howser would pay for this.

  In a flash, Hamish scooped snow off the ground and sandwiched her hands between his. Drip, slurry, slop. The melty-ice dribbled to the ground. When Ondine looked at her hands again –

  “They’re still burning!”

  “They look a bit red,” Hamish said as he slapped another pack of slurry onto her skin.

  Red? They were on fire!

  “She’s getting away!” Melody and Old Col called out at the same time.

  So many things happened at once it was hard to pu
t them in order. Ondine’s fingers were trailing smoke and freaking her right out. Mrs. Howser dashed off towards Lord Vincent on the stage. Melody took off after her.

  But the strangest thing – Hamish was not panicking anywhere near as much as he should.

  “Mebbe yer too cold; ye need yer gloves on.”

  “They’re burning!”

  “Aye, my hands are so cold they feel hot at the ends too.”

  “No!” It wasn’t nice to yell at her beloved, but he clearly wasn’t listening to her. Shoving her hands directly in front of his face, she said. “They’re smoking! Like Chimneys!” Any more exclamation marks and her head would explode.

  Clasping her hands in his again, Hamish kissed the tips. The smouldering, ash-lined tips. “Ondi lass, they feel colder than a glare from ye Da, but they’re nae on fire. I promise ye, they’re only so cold they’re hot, but they’re nae on fire. Howser’s messing with yer heid, so she is.”

  “But they’re . . .” Confused and frightened, she pulled her hands out from Hamish’s warm embrace to see they were perfectly normal. Incredibly cold and yes, the tips felt hot, possibly an early sign of frostbite because she wasn’t wearing gloves. But they were normal, all the way to her completely normal fingertips. “Oh thank goodness, they’re back to normal. Thank you Hamish.”

  “She touched ye, didn’t she?”

  Actually, Ondine had made the mistake of touching Birgit Howser.

  “She goat ye in the head,” Hamish said, his eyes filled with kindness as he turned her palm over and kissed the centre.

  Oh lush.

  Whoa, no time for that. “Jupiter’s moons, she’s going for Vincent!” But why would she do this, in such a public setting, would ruin everything for her. Had she completely lost her mind? They turned to see Mrs. Howser take a flying leap onto the stage. Lord Vincent flinched at her approach. Security guards leapt on her.

  It looked like it was all over.

  Melody and Old Col raced to the security pile-on. A puff of grey smoke swirled through the bodies and into the sky. The security crew untangled themselves and looked about, confused as all get-out.