“Hey there sleepy head,” Hamish said, giving her a cheeky wink.
Suddenly Ondine hoped she wasn’t having one of those dreams where she turned up to school naked. She checked herself and noted, with a relieved sigh, she was completely decent. If you could count her nattiest flannel pyjamas with holes in the armpits decent.
For his part, Hamish was dressed in a dinner suit straight out of a classic 1920s movie. High white collar, black bow tie, tight-fitting dark grey suit and black lapels. Not to mention the creased pants and shiny black shoes. Despite his fancy appearance, Hamish’s black hair refused to sit right, with a disarming lock blocking the vision from his cheeky green eyes. (‘Cheeky’ is so a colour.) He tugged at his neck and complained in his endearing Scottish accent, “I couldnae dream about being at a toga party, could I? That would be far too comfortable.”
Curiosity ate her up as Ondine took in the lush sight of him. “What were you dreaming about?”
“My worst nightmare. Ballroom dancing.”
For many, ballroom dancing would be the subject of an exciting dream, but considering Hamish’s back story, where he was first cursed by Ondine’s great-aunt Col to be a ferret when attending her debutante ball, that kind of setting was a source of constant upset.
“Was I in it?” Ondine asked.
Melody made an exaggerated harrumph. “Can you two stop gushing and pay attention? This is serious.”
“Yes ma’am,” Hamish said.
Ondine nodded.
“Good,” Melody said. “Now, prepare yourselves this won’t be pretty. Lord Vincent is visiting his mother at the asylum, and we need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.” [269]
“What sort of stupid?” Ondine wondered.
“Seriously stupid,” Melody said. “You know Mrs Howser is being kept at the same facility, don’t you?”
“No,” Ondine and Hamish said together at the mention of their nemesis and Ondine’s former Psychic Summercamp teacher.
“And you know that the vacuum bag with Mrs Howser’s soul in it has gone missing, don’t you?” [270]
Did they have to be talking about Birgit Howser? The woman had gone from being a batty old pest to becoming Ondine’s mortal enemy. Sickened by the revelation that the bag was missing, Ondine looked first to Hamish then to Melody. “I didn’t know that.”
Melody’s eyebrows shot up. “It’s been all over the news! What have you two been doing?”
Something on the floor became incredibly interesting as Ondine studied the carpet at her feet.
“Fine!” Melody tisked loudly and tightened her grip on Ondine’s hand. “I’ll catch you up to speed on the way there.”
“Eh lass? I can’t go out like this.”
Ondine looked up to see Hamish’s spiffy suit had vanished, replaced by the more comfortable toga he’d requested. He even had a laurel wreath on his head, his dark locks brushed forward to fan his temples.
“It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing, they won’t see us anyway, we’re astraling,” Melody said. “Now stop yammering and pay attention. The future of Brugel is at stake!”
“It sounds so dramatic when she says it like that,” Hamish said as he gave Ondine a wink.
The bedroom melted away and they floated out into the dark sky above. It rained all around them, yet they didn’t get wet. It wasn’t even cold, for which Ondine was incredibly grateful.
“Are we spying on Mrs Howser?” Ondine asked.
“Only a little,” Melody said, then quickly added, “I know last time didn’t end well, but this will be different.”
The ‘last time’ of which Melody referred, had ended very badly. Mrs Howser had seen straight through Melody’s magic and had screamed at them for invading her memories. It was the kind of unpleasant encounter that put Ondine right off wanting any repeats. Now Melody was dragging her straight back to the old witch.
“Is it too late to go back home instead?” Ondine asked.
Melody wore a determined look. “That would be a ‘yes’. We’re here already.”
Looking around, Ondine took in what Melody meant by ‘here’. They were in a hallway with fake wood panelling to mid-height; the rest of the walls were painted in custard-yellow, while the ceiling was half a tone lighter. Prints of cottages in impossibly pretty country settings were set along the walls. Beige linoleum covered the floors and curved the first few centimetres up the walls.
The acrid smell of cold chicken soup hung in the air.
Hamish wrinkled his face. “Are we in hell?”
“No, we’re in the Duchess Yelena Memorial Asylum,” [271] Melody said, “If I’ve done this right . . .” she leaned sharply towards a door, nearly clonking her head on the knocker. Instead of being hurt, the top half of the young witch’s body vanished right though the wood, like a ghost. Just as Ondine was about to yelp with the shock of it all and loosen her grip, Melody pulled herself back into the hallway. She gave a smile of triumph and finished the sentence she’d started so much earlier, “... Vincent and his mother are behind that door.”
“And they didnae see you, lass?”
A wary look came over Melody. “Course not.”
Ondine murmured, “You said that last time.”
Ignoring their scepticism, Melody said, “We’re going to be very quiet and float in like dust motes. Then we’re going to listen in. No talking, OK?”
The instructions had Ondine wrinkling her forehead. “I thought you said they couldn’t hear us?”
“They can’t, but if you’re nattering on I won’t be able to hear them, got it?” Melody said.
“How about I wait out here?” Ondine asked.
Hamish gave her a lopsided smile and said, “You’re not worried it’s going to all end badly are ye?”
Zhoop, before Ondine could answer, they dissolved through the door and into the room. Here was Vincent sitting beside his mother, the Dowager Duchess Kerala.
At first Ondine didn’t recognise the frail woman in the room, her hair thin and balding under a cotton cap. She was missing her shiny dark helmet of hair and ubiquitous glass of wine (which had turned out to be apple juice, just to throw people off the scent of her nefarious activities). The room was a far cry from the splendour of the Autumn Palace at Bellreeve. The linoleum from the hallway continued in here, as did the enforced cheer of the yellow colour scheme.
“If ye weren’t crazy already, you soon would be, eh?” Hamish whispered.
Ondine nodded and murmured back, “It’s giving me a headache.”
Melody glared at Ondine. “Be quiet.”
“How come you told me off and not him?”
“Because he’s charming and you’re not, now hush.”
Moving closer, yet also keeping their distance (Ondine still wasn’t convinced they’d be unnoticed), the trio floated towards Kerala’s bed, where they found the former duchess sitting up, dressed in a mauve, velour tracksuit.
As they were floating above their targets, Hamish tilted his head to indicate a small patch on the top of Vincent’s golden head with less hair than the rest. What with Vincent’s glossy dark shoes, neat suit, perfect gold tie and golden cufflinks, he looked like a young man with the world at his feet. If only people didn’t look too close to the scalp. Ondine snorted at the sight of the lord’s future bald patch, which earned her another glare from Melody. With a waft of her hand, Melody sent a trail of glimmering dust through the air towards Vincent, repairing his tresses to their youthful lustre. Ondine threw up in her mouth a little at the sight of Melody’s blatant adoration of Vincent. Honestly, the girl really needed to get out more.
When Ondine turned back to Hamish, her breath hitched. Amongst his lustrous dark locks were three glaringly silver strands of hair. Silver! Alas, they weren’t here to worry about Hamish’s hair – or Vincent’s – they were here to eavesdrop on a conversation. Ondine stopped her noisy internal thoughts and listened in.
“You’re doing so well, I knew you would,” Kerala sa
id, softly touching Vincent’s cheek in a loving gesture.
The former duchess and husband-knocker-offer had certainly changed in strength and tone from the last time Ondine had seen her. Much calmer now. Not ranting and weeping like she had over Duke Pavla’s frail body, pretending to care even though she’d been the one slowly poisoning him all that time.
Vincent’s voice was calm and low as he spoke. “You’re being good here, aren’t you? Taking your medicine?”
“I’m a good girl.” Kerala became infantile and needy as she spoke. “I’ve always been good.”
Is this it? Is this what they’d come to hear? In that case Melody could have come on her own. “Is this relevant?” Ondine asked.
With a tilt of her head, Melody indicated Vincent’s satchel, which he’d left slumped on the floor. Something moved inside it, like a rolling lump of . . . something lumpy.
“I brought you a present,” Vincent said, reaching into that very satchel. He withdrew a bulky present, wrapped badly with too much paper and sticky tape. He must have done it himself, in a hurry.
“Is it my birthday?” Kerala asked, her face wobbling in fright. “Did I forget it was my birthday?”
“No, course not,” he said. Kerala’s smile returned as Vincent pressed the gift into her hands and said, “Can’t I give you a present just because?”
“Of course you can. I love presents.” Her fingers dug into the paper and battled with the tape to reveal an over-stuffed teddy bear. “Oh I love it!” She squeezed it to her chest, making dust blow out.
Looking to Hamish, Ondine mouthed, “Dust?”
“I have to go now, dear Mother,” Vincent said, giving her a dutiful kiss on the forehead. “Be good now and keep taking your medicine.”
Kerala hugged the teddy, sending more dust into the room. The teddy’s stomach bulged under the pressure.
Vincent turned, lifted his now-empty satchel from the floor and tucked it over his shoulder as he walked out. Melody began to waft after him, tugging Ondine’s hand towards the door. “Was that an heirloom or something?” Ondine asked.
“Aye, I was wondering that meself, although it looked new,” Hamish added.
“It is new. You haven’t worked out what’s inside it, have you?” Melody said as she drew them after Vincent.
“A bag of dust . . .” Ondine thought out loud. She would have slapped her forehead in realisation had she not been gripping Hamish and Melody’s hands so tightly. “It’s the dust bag from the vacuum cleaner. The one with Mrs Howser’s soul in it.”
“That’s why we’re such good friends, because you’re so smart,” Melody said, giving Ondine a wink of encouragement.
“But why would Vincent give Howser’s soul to his mother? Are they going to merge or something so Kerala can use Howser’s magic to escape the asylum?”
“I doubt it,” Melody brought them through another closed door, where they found Vincent crouching down to speak to a woman who was kneeling in the corner of the room. She was curled up, her arms tucked tightly over her knees, rocking slowly back and forth. Her hands were covered in mittens, which were securely fastened to a solid jacket she wore.
Vincent touched the woman’s shoulder, but she didn’t react to him. With a tug of her hand, Melody pulled Ondine and Hamish around to get a better view, which resulted in them emerging through a connecting wall.
The woman was Mrs Howser. Her face was gaunt and grey, the lines deeper after rapid weight loss and perhaps a nervous breakdown. The shocks kept coming when Mrs Howser opened her eyes to reveal opaque irises and pupils; like dirty windowpanes in need of a good clean.
Cold fear prickled Ondine’s spine. They thought they’d been safe from Mrs Howser, after her body and soul separation last month in Savo Plaza. But now only a child-woman and her teddy bear separated the most powerful witch’s body from her evil essence.
Thank goodness for the mittens, so she couldn’t touch anyone and transfer magic, Ondine thought.
“Now you see why I brought you here,” Melody said, pulling them upwards, away from Vincent.
“He won’t stop till he’s Duke, will he?” Ondine asked, although she already knew the answer, so it was more like a statement.
“Exactly.” Melody said. “Which is why I already have a plan. I’m going to work with Vincent and keep an eye on him. Meanwhile, you have to help Anathea any way you can. We’ll meet up and share what we know, to make sure Brugel stays on the straight and narrow.”
Of course Melody would volunteer to work with Vincent.
“Ma’s going to kill me,” Ondine said. “She doesn’t want any of us having anything more to do with the royal family ever again.”
“Then don’t tell her,” Melody said. “What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”
“Aye. It’ll be like old times eh lass?” Hamish gave her a wink.
Ondine’s lips twisted in thought. Could she really do this? “I thought we’d have a little more time for normal things before everything turned bonkers again.”
“Come on.” Melody gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. “As if you could ever stay away from the crazy.”
Chapter Two
A few evenings after their frightening astral projection excursion with Melody, Ondine was doing her level best to act as if nothing had happened.
She and her family were in their pub, The Duke and Ferret, tapping their feet to music. It was the end of a long night, and Ondine’s clever and talented, and, more importantly, in-tune sisters Marguerite and Cybelle were performing a classic four-chord pop song for the customers.
Despite finishing their meals, desserts, coffees and nightcaps, the customers showed no signs of wanting to leave. They did, however, show many signs of still being infected by magic every time Ondine and Hamish showed public displays of affection. Things like fresh flowers appearing at the tables, people’s hair-styles looking amazing all night and matronly customers seeming to grow younger as the hours wore on. It was probably the reason why the restaurant was so popular, along with the incredible food and just mentioned entertainment. Extra money manifested in people’s coat pockets as they said yes to a second dessert. Ma didn’t seem to be too worried about so much wayward magic, so Ondine decided not to let it worry her either. [272]
Ondine leaned into her beloved Hamish as they watched the singing from the kitchen doorway. They’d had so many adventures and near-heartaches and real heartaches to last a lifetime, which was why moments like these were so precious. Not that Ondine could focus on the negative when her sisters sang so beautifully and her darling Hamish held her close, as he did right now.
“This is pure magic, eh lass?” Hamish murmured into her ear. Then he kissed her earlobe and her knees turned to pâté. “And yer all magic to me.”
He said the sweetest things.
Margi and Cybelle finished their song to rapturous applause. In the middle of the room, Margi’s husband Thomas set a camera onto a tripod to record their next performance. Since the wedding, Margi’s face had taken on an almost angelic glow. Her Cupid’s bow lips didn’t fix the way they used to, as she was nearly always smiling and laughing. Cybelle was as cool and composed as ever, having radically trimmed her perfect bob of hair on one side, giving it a stylish and sharp angle.
“Thank you.” Margi beamed as the applause died down. “We’d like to sing something original that we hope you’ll like just as much. It’s called You Are My Star.”
Thomas blew her a kiss and pointed to the camera. “It’s going straight to BrugelTube.” [273]
The footage would also end up in Ondine’s media studies portfolio for high school. Media studies had become her favourite subject, although she very nearly hadn’t enrolled, thanks to her parents wanting to dole out suitable punishment after a particularly awful family altercation back in summer. But since then Ondine had proved she could be good, and the increase in the pub’s income meant they could afford the camcorder fees. Now that she had a camera, everyon
e else loved using it too.
Cybelle nodded to Margi and launched into a power ballad, filled with soaring chords that could make you fly. Ondine, battling to focus on her sisters because Hamish was nibbling at the place where her neck met her shoulders, thought the song was amazing. The chorus lifted the room as Margi sang, “You are my star, and I’m the one who’s shining in your light.”
The room, so raucous only moments earlier, was utterly still as Margi performed. She hit every note and finished the song with tears in her eyes. The restaurant erupted into applause. Margi beamed, her gaze fixed on Thomas, who stepped forward and wrapped his wife in a loving embrace.
Behind her, Ondine heard Hamish sniff. She turned to him, tears pooling in her own eyes. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
“Aye, the best. I wish I could write a song like that for you.”
Ondine wiped his cheek with the pad of her thumb. Uh-oh, more silver strands appeared at his temples. She cupped his face in her hands and turned his face side-to-side, panic rising in her chest.
“What’s wrong lass?”
“Hamish, you’re turning grey!”
“I’m nawt. Am I?”
Grabbing his hand, she whisked him off to the bathroom to show him the truth.
“Aww no! I’m getting old!”
“There aren’t that many. I can pull them out for you, here.” Ondine grabbed a set of tweezers and set to work.
“Awww! Stop it.” He batted her away. “I can do it meself.”
Out of nowhere, Old Col appeared at the bathroom doorway. “There you are. Ma’s looking for you, saying you need to clear plates. What are you doing in here?”
“Getting rid of Hamish’s grey hairs,” Ondine said.
“Goodness, if I did that, I’d be bald,” Old Col patted her head. “Wait a minute, Hamish, how old are you?”
“You tell me?” Hamish pushed the tweezers away. “You’re the one that put the staying spell on me.”
Old Col’s face lost a shade of colour at that, her skin taking on a grey tone.
“What’s wrong?” Ondine didn’t like where this could be going.
The Ondine Collection Page 58