13 Curses

by Michelle Harrison

  Florence was the last to sit. The fairies eyed her expectantly.

  Gredin spoke first.

  “Why have you called upon us?” His lip curled slightly, as though baring his teeth.

  Florence pushed her cup onto the mantelpiece.

  “Something serious has happened. Warwick has gone missing in the woods, along with our housekeeper, Nell. They were taken by fairies.”

  Gredin’s yellow eyes narrowed.

  “How do you know this?” Raven asked frostily.

  “We saw,” said Tanya, hesitantly. “I mean… I saw. Nell wandered into a fairy ring and was caught up in some kind of enchanted dance. Warwick tried to pull her out but was pulled in himself… and they ended up getting taken away with the revelers, from ring to ring through the woods.”

  “How did this Nell end up in the fairy ring?” Gredin asked. “Does she have the second sight?”

  “No,” said Tanya. “At least, I don’t think so.” She looked at her grandmother questioningly.

  Florence shook her head. “I think she just stumbled into one of the rings accidentally.”

  “How many revelers were there?” said Raven, her tone softening slightly. “Can you describe them?”

  Tanya closed her eyes and recalled them: the goblin, the faun, and the little old winged man. When she had finished, Raven and Gredin talked in low voices among themselves for several minutes. Finally, they turned back.

  “These three are known to us. They are mischief-makers. It sounds as though they are on their way to Avalon for the Samhain festivities, collecting unsuspecting human-folk on their way to be used in the entertainment.”

  Tanya frowned. “What’s Avalon?”

  “And Samhain?” Fabian added, finally finding the courage to address the fey visitors.

  “Avalon is a name for one of the entrances to the fairy realm,” said Raven. “The most famous of all the entrances, and also the most dangerous, for it is the location of the fairy court. It is on an ancient hill that was once an isle.”

  “And ‘Samhain,’ ” Gredin continued, “is an old word that means ‘summer’s end.’ It is the night humans call Halloween, the night of the changing of the fairy court from the Seelie rule to the Unseelie. It is a dangerous night.”

  Tanya’s heart sank.

  “You think that’s where Warwick and Nell have been taken? To the fairy court, for their twisted games and celebrations?”

  Raven nodded, the movement causing the tips of her pointed ears to appear through her black hair. “It seems likely.”

  Fabian leapt up from his seat.

  “We have to do something! We have to find them and bring them back!”

  “Sit down,” Gredin said coldly. “You will do nothing except stay here and wait, in case they return of their own accord. Raven, the Mizhog, and I will search for them.”

  “Let me come with you,” Fabian begged. “Please!”

  But Raven and Gredin were already rising from their seats.

  “It’s too dangerous for any of us,” said Florence.

  Raven turned to Gredin, who was draining the last of his bitter drink.

  “We must leave at once. If we can intercept them before they reach the court, they might stand a chance.”

  They stood and threw their dark cloaks around their shoulders once more, drawing their hoods up to conceal their faces. Florence walked with them to the door, wrapping her arms around herself as the damp breeze flew in from outside.

  “We will return when we have news,” said Raven.

  These were the only words of good-bye. Without further ado or even a second glance back, Raven and Gredin transformed suddenly, shrinking to the smaller size Tanya was familiar with, and, accompanied by the Mizhog, took flight. Tanya and Fabian joined Florence at the door, watching as they flew up and over the garden walls toward the forest before vanishing from sight.

  Florence closed the door and locked it.

  “It’s not fair!” Fabian burst out.

  Tanya turned to face him and was shocked to see that his anger and frustration had manifested through tears. He was crying openly.

  “They should have taken me,” he sobbed, throwing himself into a chair. “I could have helped. I want to help!”

  Tanya watched, stricken. She had no idea what to say to comfort him. She felt useless, but then Florence drew a chair up beside him and pulled him into her arms. Tanya couldn’t help but notice the ease of the gesture. Such ease had never existed between her and her grandmother. Yet she was not resentful. Florence was the closest thing to a mother that Fabian had ever known.

  “I know, Fabian,” said Florence. “I know. But all we can do is wait.”

  “What use is waiting?” Fabian said bitterly, his voice muffled by Florence’s shoulder. “We should be doing something!”

  A loud knock at the back door interrupted them.

  Fabian was up in an instant, skidding to the door.

  “Maybe they’ve changed their minds!” he gasped. “Maybe they’ve come back to take me with them!” He unlocked the door and threw it open.

  Instead of the two dark fairy figures Fabian had been hoping for, there on the doorstep stood a very old woman in raggedy clothes, her patchwork shawl and long, braided gray hair both dripping with rain. Shivering next to her, a plump woman clutched a blanket around herself. Her flip-flopped feet were blue with cold.

  “Mad Morag!” Fabian exclaimed. “And Nell!”

  “Just Morag, if you please,” the old gypsy woman snapped. “May I come in?”

  After witnessing Megan’s switch, Rowan avoided Lara whenever possible. Every time Lara entered a room, Rowan left, and if Lara lingered in the corridors, Rowan chose a different route, even if it meant she had to go out of her way entirely. When conversation was unavoidable, Rowan told Lara nothing, insisting that any differences in her little sister’s behavior were imagined. Eventually, Lara stopped asking altogether.

  Rowan’s own mind was in turmoil. As well as trying to cope with the loss of her parents, she now feared that James or another child would suffer a similar fate to Megan. The knowledge that the child sitting only feet away from her baby brother in the nursery was not human weighed on her mind like lead. The differences in the child had been noticed by the staff—the hair that grew too quickly and the insatiable appetite—but within days both diminished and the appearance and behavior of the little girl became more fitting with that of the children she was surrounded by. Soon it was forgotten.

  Rowan was not fooled. She knew that it was an illusion, and whenever possible removed James from the nursery and refused to let him out of her sight. Her broken arm hindered all that she did, and she longed for the approaching day when her plaster cast would be removed. Writing the letter to her aunt Rose was at the forefront of her mind, and she was still figuring out what to say that would convince Rose to give her and James a home.

  It was the first week of February; four weeks had passed since the car crash. During this time Rowan had spent many hours with a counselor, talking through her feelings, hopes, and fears. It was decided that once she was ready, a private tutor would be employed to school her. Until then, and between visits and days out with Ellie, Rowan lost herself in books. The home had a small library, but weekly trips to the town library also took place. One afternoon, as they walked in a group through the cobblestone streets of Tickey End, Rowan thought how pretty it was, with its crooked little buildings and lanes.

  The town’s library was small and not very well kept up. Even so, the group descended upon the children’s section gleefully. Rowan selected several books for James and settled down with him on some plump cushions in the corner, letting him look through them. No sooner had she gotten comfortable than the twins flopped down beside her, with a shriek and a giggle that earned them a scowl and a “quiet, please” from the sour-faced librarian at the counter.

  Penny pushed a chewed-looking book at her.

  “Will you read it to us?”

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p; Rowan sighed and took it from her. But when she looked at it properly, she shook her head and handed it back.

  “I don’t like this story,” she said stiffly. “Choose something else.”

  Penny pouted. “But I want this one.”

  “Well, I don’t,” said Rowan. “So if you want to hear it you’ll have to read it yourself.” She ignored Penny’s hurt expression and turned away. The truth was that the story was one she used to like. It was about the Pied Piper of Hamelin who led children away with his magical tunes. But now, following Megan’s disappearance, the thought of reading anything to do with missing children frightened her.

  “I can’t,” Penny whined. “That’s why I asked you. I’m not a good reader. You’re mean.”

  “ Just choose something else,” said Polly, flicking through another book that was in even worse condition than the one her sister had picked up.

  “What are you looking at?” Rowan asked, eyeing the tattered pages in disdain.

  “It’s about fairies,” said Polly, turning the pages carelessly. “I’m just looking at the pictures—the ones that are left. Lots of pages have been torn out.”

  Rowan’s ears pricked up at once. She looked over casually, expecting a twee, sentimental storybook. But to her surprise it looked to be neither. Its dark green cover was missing its dust jacket.

  “Are you sure that’s a children’s book?” she asked.

  Polly shrugged. “I found it in the children’s section so it must be. It had fallen down the back of the shelves. I only found it because I dropped a different book down there.” She flicked through the pages uninterestedly. “It’s stupid, anyway. Everyone knows fairies don’t look like that. They’re meant to be pretty, not ugly. And it’s been scribbled in.” She got up and wandered off, leaving the book in a stack on a trolley while she searched for something else. In the meantime, Penny returned with another book, which she sulkily offered to Rowan.

  Rowan began to read, but did not take in a word. Her mind was on the book that Polly had discarded, but she knew that she should not make a big deal of it. The last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. Every few minutes her eyes flitted to the book, anxious to check that it was still there. She held her breath and, at one point when the librarian paused by the trolley, forgot to read. A poke from Penny forced her to continue, and when she looked up again, the librarian had gone and the book was still there.

  Then a strange thing happened. The middle section of the book lifted and, as Rowan watched, a tiny woman stepped out of it, blinking as though she had been hibernating among the pages. The surprise on her pointed little face quickly turned to rage. She had been nesting in the old book, Rowan realized. That must have been the reason it had been found down behind the bookshelves. Its location was no accident—the fairy had hidden it there purposely, and Polly had innocently fished it out.

  The little woman’s hair was long and matted, twisting around her body like fur. Rowan could make out beneath it a raggedy dress made of a material that looked very old, gray, and crumpled—like the fairy herself. She was barefoot and her arms and legs were twig-thin. Looking around the library, she caught Rowan’s eye and shot a furious glance at her.

  Penny poked her again.

  “Why aren’t you reading?” she complained.

  “I’ve had enough,” Rowan snapped, closing the book. “I want to read to James.”

  Penny let out a huff of annoyance and got up to find someone else to pester. Rowan grabbed a book from James and pretended to read. James sat placidly in her lap, chewing on a strand of her long red hair.

  She waited to see what the fairy would do. She didn’t have to wait long.

  With a screech that reached Rowan, the fairy woman kicked the book off the trolley. On its descent it hit another book that was jutting out, and landed in an untidy crumple on the carpet.

  The creature leapt from the trolley and landed on the librarian’s counter. At that moment, the woman—the only person authorized to eat or drink in the library—was reaching carefully for a steaming mug. But as her fingers brushed the handle, the fairy gave the mug a vicious shove that knocked it over. Its contents slopped all over the desk, saturating a pile of books and a stash of paperwork.

  At the librarian’s gasp, several people looked over at the apparent accident and tut-tutted, and another member of the staff rushed to help. The fairy gave a triumphant cackle as she admired her handiwork, then, unfolding a crusty set of wings, she took flight, landing on one of the nearby desks. There, she kicked a stack of books and papers to the floor, much to the confusion of the young man seated at the desk. Then she stomped on, flicking the pages of a book a teenage girl was diligently making notes from, losing her place.

  The fairy’s rampage continued: books fell from shelves and were knocked out of hands; hair was pulled; shoelaces were knotted together; library cards were mixed up; pens leaked ink.

  Rowan watched it all. And as the fairy drew nearer and nearer, she noticed something odd. A group of local schoolchildren was completely bypassed by the fairy, who appeared not to see them at all. Next she ignored a middle-aged man who was peering over his newspaper in bemusement at all that was going on around him, and went on to torment a little old lady, unpinning her hair from its neat bun before moving on to the next person. Everyone in its path was attacked, seemingly without reason, so Rowan wondered why the schoolchildren and the man had escaped the fairy’s attention. She continued to watch as the fairy drew closer to where she sat. Then it happened again: the fairy bypassed the twins and went on to jab Sally in the arm with a stolen hairpin. Sally slapped her arm and looked about herself suspiciously, as if expecting to see a bug of some kind.

  Rowan was openly staring now, her mind racing, trying to figure out what was going on. The fairy seemed unwilling to spare anyone from its tirade, so why had it ignored certain people? What was it about these people that was different from everyone else in the library?

  They must have something in common, she thought, something she was missing. But what? An idea struck her then. What if the people the fairy had spared were able to see it? Perhaps it only preyed on those who were oblivious to the existence of fairies. But even as she thought it, her mind was already dismissing it. She would have noticed if someone else had the second sight—especially the twins.

  So what was it? She examined the people again, looking for some obvious similarity or shared characteristic. Finally, she saw it.

  They were all wearing red.

  The children’s matching school blazers were a rich crimson. The man, in turn, was wearing a pair of bright red corduroy trousers, and the twins were wearing matching red dresses.

  Rowan glanced around, looking for whoever was next in the fairy’s path. It seemed to be heading back in the direction of the bookshelves, and she wondered if it was going back to its nesting place. Only two people stood in her way now: a father reading to his young child, a boy a little older than James. As it passed the child, the fairy slammed the book closed on the little boy’s fingers, catching the father’s thumbs too. Luckily, the book was thin, and so the action did not cause an injury, but the shock of it was enough to make the little boy’s face crumple, and he burst into tears.

  Content now with the chaos it had caused, the fairy gathered its horribly matted hair around itself and leapt through the space in the bookshelves, vanishing from sight.

  As the occupants of the library began to pick up their dropped books, clean the spilt drink, and rub their sore fingers, Rowan heard more than one nervous laugh and a few embarrassed coughs.

  “There must be something in the air today,” she heard someone mutter.

  The group gathered their belongings and chosen books, readying themselves to leave. Rowan grabbed the books she had selected for James and asked Polly to hold her little brother’s hand as she took the books to the counter. On the way, she added to her pile the tattered book that the fairy had crawled out of. Her heartbeat quickened as she picke
d it up, for although it was badly damaged, she could already see that it was no whimsical read but something that contained folklore—something that could be of great use to her.

  As she waited for the librarian, she flipped through the book, looking at the strange old pictures. Some were paintings, others were grainy woodcuts. It was one of the woodcuts that caught her eye. It depicted an ugly, shrivel-faced creature in a baby’s crib, and a woman looking on anxiously. Beneath the picture were the words: “A changeling left in place of a human baby may be a fairy child, an old fairy, or even a piece of carved wood enchanted to look like a real child.”

  Changeling. The word was eerie. She turned the page but then her pile of books was slid along the counter by the librarian.

  “Wherever did you find this old thing?” the woman inquired. “It’s in a terrible state.”

  “It was down the back of the shelves,” Rowan explained. “It seems to have been there a long time too.”

  “I’ll say,” said the librarian. “Let me see if there’s another copy. Now, what’s it called?”

  The book was so badly worn that neither Rowan nor the librarian could decipher the title on its cover or spine. In the end the librarian looked inside the book for a reference number before going off to another desk and checking records.

  “I’m afraid it’s for reference only,” she said when she returned. “You can’t take it out of the library.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’ll have to be thrown away anyway—it’s not even fit for a rummage sale.” She picked the book up and put it behind the counter.

  “You’re going to get rid of it?” Rowan asked. “Why can’t you just let me take it?”

  The librarian sniffed, and suddenly Rowan had the feeling that she was being deliberately obstructive. “I can’t release substandard books. It reflects badly on the library.”

  “So you’d rather throw it away than give it to someone who wants to read it?”