microwave again. It pinged into life.
‘What the hell?’ Merry leapt up, hoping to stop the program before the book ignited. But there were no flames. In fact, when she opened the door, the microwave was empty. ‘Where did it go?’
‘It’s a concealment charm. I use this microwave to store things. Come on, let’s get you home.’ Gran paused with her hand on the light switch. ‘Honestly, sweetheart, prohibited magic is certainly the most likely cause of those deaths. I’m almost certain.’
Merry stared into her grandmother’s blue eyes. And she knew she was being lied to.
Merry was back home now, sitting in the kitchen, drinking iced water and stroking one of the cats. In front of her were the two books Gran had lent her. One of them, it turned out, Gran had actually written. She ran her fingers over the words embossed on its front cover:
Wizards: Their History and Customs
A Witch’s Perspective
by
Elinor Foley
Merry flicked through the first chapter, about how differently magic was practised by witches and by wizards. It was pretty dry and densely written, another big wodge of stuff to learn, by the looks of it. She pushed Gran’s book to one side and turned to the other book. The title had worn off the old leather cover, but there were still traces of some sort of design that looked like lots of strangely drawn animals swirling around and intersecting one another. She glanced through the opening pages, then turned to a bookmarked section and started reading.
Once upon a time –
Just for a change, Merry thought.
– a young witch, living in a remote village in the north, boasted of her skill at spinning and weaving. She claimed to be so magically gifted that she could spin ordinary flax into the finest cloth of gold, fine enough to be worn by the king himself. The earl in whose lands she lived heard of her boast and, pretending that he hated witchcraft, had her locked inside a cell. The floor and the ceiling and the walls of the cell were lined with mirrors, so the witch could not use her magic to escape. Then the earl revealed his true purpose: using only the flax that grew on his estate, he wanted her to weave a cloth-of-gold cloak that he could present to the king. If she succeeded in her task, he would give her a dowry and set her free. But if she failed, he would coat her in tar and burn her alive in front of the castle walls, as a warning to other witches and liars. The earl told the witch she had three days, then left her.
Of course, the witch knew no spell that would allow her to create cloth of gold from nothing more than flax. The best she could do was spin the flax into linen, which she could enchant to appear golden. But such an enchantment would only last a few days, and who knew how long the earl would keep her imprisoned?
The witch wept bitterly at her boastfulness. Then, on the third night, a man appeared in her cell. The witch was scared, because although the stranger was clearly magical, he seemed unaffected by the cage of mirrors. The visitor offered to help her by turning the flax she had been given into gold thread, which she would then be able to weave into a cloak. In return, he asked that she should give him the life of her firstborn child. The witch hesitated and begged the visitor to choose another reward, offering him all she possessed. But he still demanded her child, although he relented a little, telling the witch that if she found out his name before he returned, he would consider her debt cancelled.
‘It’s Rumpelstiltskin,’ Merry said out loud, and the cat blinked in agreement. In the version Merry had read as a child, the girl wasn’t a witch. And she ended up married to the greedy king. But presumably the ending would be the same: someone would figure out Rumpelstiltskin’s name just in time, and the bad fairy – or whatever he was – would disappear in a puff of frustrated rage. She turned the page to read on.
So, in fear of her life, and thinking that she may never be a mother, the witch finally agreed. The visitor burnt an invisible rune into the witch’s skin, just above her breastbone, and settled himself at the spinning wheel to begin his task …
The next morning, the earl was delighted with the shimmering cloak. And, much to the witch’s surprise, he kept his word, releasing her from the castle and presenting her with a large bag of gold.
Now wealthy, the witch was soon married to a young man she had long loved from a distance, the son of a local merchant. She forgot all about her promise to the mysterious stranger, until she fell pregnant with her first child. The witch began asking all the travellers she encountered for news of a man who could spin flax into gold, hoping to learn her visitor’s name. But no one had heard of such a man. So instead she sought to protect her family from the stranger, seeking help from many other witches and wizards. And it seemed to work: no one appeared to claim the baby, and the little girl grew in wisdom and in power. Until, nearly twenty years later, the witch, now a widow, heard a commotion outside her house. Thinking it was her daughter returned from gathering herbs, the witch hurried to open the door.
It was the stranger, looking exactly the way he had all those years ago. And in his arms, he held her unconscious daughter.
‘I have come to collect my debt,’ the man said. ‘Have you discovered my name?’
The witch, overcome with terror, could only shake her head.
The stranger smiled. ‘Then I shall take what I am owed.’ He laid her daughter on the floor and sank his fingernails into her face and began to draw out her power, while the witch, pinned in place by the rune on her chest, looked on helplessly …
Merry shuddered and pushed the book away from her, not wanting to read the last few lines.
That’s not a fairy tale. It’s a horror story.
There was a bad taste in her mouth. She drained her glass of water and stood up. At the same time a crash came from somewhere outside; fear bolted down her spine like an electric shock. She turned the light out and hurried to the window, peering into the darkness.
The lawn, the flower beds, the outline of next-door’s house: as far as she could see, everything was as it should be.
Merry started breathing again, picked up her books and ran upstairs. Apart from the thumping of the blood pounding through her chest, the house was silent; there were no sounds from Leo’s room.
And now she thought about it, there had been no sign in the kitchen that Leo – not usually the best at clearing up after himself – had cooked any dinner. She’d never known her brother to be too ill to eat. He was either seriously unwell, or lying his backside off. Walking to the other end of the corridor, where her bedroom faced his, she knocked on Leo’s door.
‘Leo?’
No answer. She turned the handle carefully, peeped inside.
The bed was empty.
Anxiety chilled her skin, making her shiver. She went into her own room and texted him.
Where are you? Thought you were home sick???
She waited, then sent the same text again. And again.
After the fourth text, Leo replied.
I’m out. Don’t wait up. If you’re worried just use your magic to spy on me again.
Merry sighed. Leo was right: it was spying. She couldn’t forget the angry, disappointed look on his face. So instead she got ready for bed, slipping into her pyjamas and under the covers quickly. She texted for the next hour with Ruby, then picked up a new book she’d just got from the library and tried to read. But she couldn’t concentrate. Something kept niggling at her. Her gaze wandered over to the wardrobe in the corner of the room.
Merry, get a grip.
Don’t even think about it.
She