Shapeshifter's Guide to Running Away (Spellchasers) Page 2

  “So you think Mr Crottel has made the curse worse? Why? I haven’t annoyed him since last week.”

  “Whatever has happened to your curse,” said Beth, “we must visit Mr Crottel and demand that he lifts it now.”

  “But last time I asked, Mr Crottel refused to lift it, then set his dogs on me. Asking politely won’t work any better the second time around.”

  “Yes, it will. We’ll all go with you. Mr Crottel won’t want to make enemies of us all: a dryad from the woods, a kelpie from the water and a sphinx from the fabled beast community. We won’t threaten him out loud, we’ll just stand there looking stern, then he’ll realise you have powerful friends, so he’ll lift the curse and any weird changes he’s made to it.”

  “But what if that doesn’t work?”

  “You could consider the ancient archaic way of breaking a curse,” said Atacama, softly. “If you challenge your curse-caster to magical combat and defeat him, you break the curse.”

  “I didn’t know you could do that,” said Innes. “Why did no one tell me last week when I was trying to lift the curse on my family?”

  “Because the witch’s workshop was designed to make magical combat unnecessary,” said Atacama, “and because Molly found ways to lift our curses in a less violent fashion. However if Mr Crottel is provoking us by making Molly’s curse worse, it may become necessary.”

  Molly shook her head. “How could I defeat a witch in magical combat?”

  “You’d have to become a witch yourself, obviously, but that’s not a big step. We already know one of your ancestors was a witch.”

  “But I don’t want to become a witch.”

  “You don’t have to,” said Beth. “We’ll persuade him to lift the curse this morning.” She started to walk away from the farm shop.

  Molly sat down on the edge of the barrel. “I think we should wait until we can speak to Mrs Sharpe.”

  Beth turned round. “I think you’re either a complete wimp who can’t ask an old man one simple question or you actually want to stay cursed! Which is it?”

  Molly didn’t answer.

  Beth grabbed Molly’s arm and pulled her to her feet. “There’s no such thing as a good curse. I know you sometimes like being a hare. But you live in a city! Once the October holidays are over and you’re back home in Edinburgh, how could you possibly stay safe as a hare?”

  Molly shrugged.

  “Curses are dangerous dark magic, designed to hurt, to punish, to kill. A curse is never something to embrace or enjoy. And this one has just got worse! So you need to free yourself from it. And you need to do that now!”

  Beth was always so calm when she was talking to her silver birch trees, so respectful of the birds and animals in her wood. But now she was standing in front of Molly with her wild purple hair tangled about her face, her silver jewellery glinting like blades on her black clothes, and her long fingers prodding painfully at Molly’s shoulder.

  “Stop bullying her,” said Innes. “I know you have a problem with witches and dark magic, and I know you think it’s harmful for Molly. But she likes being a hare, she loves beating me in races and I don’t think shapeshifting does her any damage. If she can work round this new wrinkle in the terms of her curse, she’ll be fine. So it’s up to Molly. It’s her choice.”

  They all looked at Molly.

  “It is my choice, thank you. And of course I want to lift the curse. I’m human. I’m just human. It’s not natural for me to change into a hare. Anyway, if I stop shifting now, I’ll keep my perfect record of beating Innes in kelpie-versus-cursed-hare races. Racing as a hare is fun, but living as a hare is dangerous, and being stuck as a hare is terrifying. So let’s see if you can glower menacingly enough at a smelly old man to force him to lift my curse.”

  ***

  Molly, Beth and Innes walked past Aunt Doreen’s cottage, towards Mr Crottel’s front gate. Atacama, who’d taken a less public route round Craigvenie, was waiting in the shadow of the distillery warehouses. He sprinted over and Beth opened the gate to let him into Mr Crottel’s high-hedged garden before he could be seen by anyone driving past.

  Molly took a deep breath and tried to forget how scared she’d been last time she was here. She walked up Mr Crottel’s cracked path, heard the gate clang and looked round.

  Her three friends were standing in a line behind her. Beth with hands on hips and face set in a scowl; Atacama with teeth bared and tail moving like a snake; Innes with crossed arms and fierce frown.

  Molly laughed. “Very impressive!”

  Before she stopped laughing, while she still felt protected by her friends and their put-on angry faces, she whirled round and knocked – Rat-tat – on the door of the man who’d cast a curse designed to kill her.

  She waited. No one answered.

  Molly stretched her hand forward and knocked again: Rat-tat.

  And again, no one answered.

  Molly said quietly, “He’s not here.”

  “The dogs aren’t here either,” said Atacama, “or we’d have heard them inside.”

  “We’ll come back later.” Molly walked down the garden path, not sure whether the relief she felt was because she didn’t have to face that nasty old man, or because she might become a hare at least one more time.

  She stepped onto the pavement, watching out for the dog dirt Mr Crottel always threw there. But the pavement was clean.

  “When did it last rain?” she asked Beth, who usually knew these things.

  “Two nights ago.”

  “Then either Mr Crottel has started cleaning up his dogs’ mess properly, or he and his dogs have been away since yesterday. If he’s on holiday, he might not be home until after school starts again, and that’ll be too late.”

  Molly heard a harsh noise behind her. She turned and looked at the house.

  A dozen crows were perched along the roof, sharp black shapes outlined against the cloudy grey sky. One of them cawed.

  “Walk away,” whispered Atacama. “Don’t look back.”

  As Molly and her friends walked away, all the crows cawed at once, Kraa-kraa-kraa-ha-ha!

  Molly wondered if they were laughing at her, warning her, or threatening her.

  Chapter Three

  As they walked away from the empty house and the noisy crows, Molly asked, “Are they curse-hatched crows? Are they flocking to Mr Crottel’s house because my curse just got worse? Does worsening a curse hatch out another curse-hatched crow?”

  “I doubt it,” said Atacama. “It’s not a new curse.”

  “And those aren’t hatchlings,” said Innes. “They’re adult crows. Perhaps they’re just ordinary crows, nothing to do with the curse-hatched at all. Their boss, Corbie, is probably still re-growing his feathers after we defeated him last week.”

  “Ordinary crows are feeding at this time of day, not flocking,” said Beth. “We really must lift Molly’s curse and get her away from dark influences like the curse-hatched.”

  “I can’t help until later,” said Atacama. “It’s nearly the start of my shift.”

  “We’ll come with you,” said Innes, “and pick your brains while you sit outside your boring closed door.”

  They walked quickly past the busy distillery into the quieter yard behind the cooperage, where barrels were stored.

  Molly asked Atacama, “Is this where you work?”

  “The door I guard is round here.” He led them between two tall pyramids of piled-up casks, to a space between the pyramids and a high stone wall.

  Behind the right-hand pyramid, Molly saw a black door set in the stone wall. And she saw a slim, golden, rosette-spotted sphinx sitting in front of the door.

  “You’re late,” said the sphinx.

  Atacama sighed. “I’m not late, Caracorum, I’m exactly on time.”

  “You should get here early, for a handover. So ‘on time’ is, in fact, late.”

  “What is there to hand over?” he asked.

  “I have nothing to report.” />
  “There. That didn’t take long. So I’m not late.”

  The golden sphinx stood up and stared at Molly, Beth and Innes. “Are your friends staying?”

  “Not for long. They won’t distract me.”

  “They’d better not.” She stalked off, her tail in the air.

  “Sisters,” growled Atacama, then he sat in the perfect pose: head up, ears pricked, tail round his paws, like a statue carved from shining black rock.

  Innes leant against the wall and the girls leant against the curved wood of the casks.

  Atacama said in his most serious voice, “We all promised to lift each other’s curses. Molly lifted ours, but we haven’t lifted hers yet. So, how are we going to keep our promise?”

  Beth said, “Plan A was asking Mrs Sharpe about the sudden change in Molly’s curse. That didn’t work because Mrs Sharpe wasn’t at the farm. Plan B was asking Mr Crottel to lift the whole curse. That didn’t work because Mr Crottel wasn’t at home. Do we have a Plan C?”

  The sphinx shrugged. “An archaic challenge probably isn’t wise.”

  “Why not?” asked Innes.

  “Because fighting with magic is unpredictable and dangerous.”

  “Especially when I’m not a witch,” said Molly, “and I don’t want to become one. I think I’d rather be a hare.”

  Beth frowned. “It must be possible to free you from this curse without getting you deeper into dark magic.”

  Atacama said, “Every potential method relies on persuading or forcing the curse-caster to lift the curse. Until Mr Crottel comes back, there’s nothing we can do.”

  Innes added, “Until Mrs Sharpe comes back, there’s no one we can ask for advice.”

  Molly frowned. “Is it a coincidence that both our options have vanished on the day my curse got worse? Is it a coincidence that we saw crows at Mr Crottel’s house, and that I found a—”

  “Your options haven’t vanished completely,” said a calm voice. “Let me through that door and I will show you where your options have gone.”

  A boy stepped out from behind the other pyramid. A tall dark-skinned boy, dressed in a white linen tunic and trousers, leather sandals and a desert-coloured cloak. But his exotic unseasonal clothes weren’t the most noticeable thing about him.

  Molly couldn’t help staring at the grazes and scars on his head, which hadn’t healed since the first and only time she’d seen him: at the end of the curse-lifting workshop when the toad had transformed into this boy.

  “Let me through that door,” the boy repeated, as he walked between the pyramids towards them.

  Atacama said, “I can’t let anyone through unless they answer my riddle.”

  “You know I can’t answer your riddle. But if you let me through, I can find answers to the questions I half-heard as I stood in the shadows, questions about vanished curse-casters and ways to lift curses. So let me past.”

  Atacama stood and blocked the door. “No entry without an answer.”

  “Just this once. Please. To prevent any further unpleasantness.”

  “Unpleasantness for whom?” asked Innes. “After the last time you tried to get through this door, the most unpleasant thing that happened was you becoming a toad. And you needed a human girl to free you. So what on earth could you do that would frighten a sphinx?”

  The boy smiled. “I don’t want to frighten him. I don’t want to frighten any of you. I just want to make a polite request and receive a positive answer. Atacama, will you please let me through that door?”

  “No,” said the sphinx.

  “There you go, toad-boy,” said Innes. “You’ve asked. He’s answered. So leave him alone.”

  “I can’t,” said the boy. “I must get through that door.” He stepped towards Atacama and raised his left hand.

  The sphinx flinched, but stood firm.

  Innes roared, “Leave him alone!” and turned into a horse so fast that his human voice was still echoing around the pyramids while his horse legs kicked at the boy in the cloak.

  The boy whirled round, ducked under the white horse’s slicing hooves and clapped his hands together.

  Molly was picked up by a hot dry gust of wind. She gasped a mouthful of gritty air as she was thrown sideways, arms flailing, legs trailing.

  The wind dropped her, and she slammed hard into the ground between the left-hand pyramid and the wall. Beth fell on top of her and Innes crashed down further into the dark alley.

  Grains of sand pattered down around them. Then there was silence.

  They pulled themselves upright and looked at the boy.

  His hands were held out facing them, threatening them with another punch of air. “It’s not wise to take me by surprise. Is anyone hurt?”

  Beth said quietly, “We’re not hurt, but that’s no way to treat us. We were your friends last week.”

  “You weren’t really my friends. You didn’t know who I was.” He glanced back at Atacama, standing in front of the door with teeth bared and fur spiked. “But you are the sphinx’s friends. I wonder…”

  He pushed his hands together, then pulled them apart, twisting and flicking them at the two girls and the horse.

  Suddenly they were trapped in a cage, a rounded cage of see-through curves and rings. They all shivered as the air around them grew colder. Molly reached her hand out, but snatched it back as the pulsing cold near the curved bars burnt her fingers. They were inside a barrel of clear ice. A huge barrel, filling the width of the alley, with narrow gaps between the curved staves and round hoops.

  The boy pointed at Molly, Beth and a newly human Innes. “Stay still and don’t panic. I’ll set you free as soon as the sphinx cooperates.” He turned to Atacama. “Let me through the door and I’ll let them out of that cage.”

  “Ignore him,” yelled Innes. “We’re perfectly happy in here. It’s got lots of air holes. And it will either melt before teatime or I’ll kick it into icicles. Don’t let him near your door.”

  Atacama growled. “I won’t. No one gets through without the answer.”

  The scarred boy sighed. Then he crunched his hands into fists.

  The barrel started to shrink.

  Innes laughed, changed into a horse and kicked the nearest bar of ice. The ice cracked. Innes kicked again and the crack lengthened.

  The boy smiled. “It won’t be that easy, kelpie.” He drew a curved line in the air with his finger and the cracked stave of ice refroze, thicker and whiter and stronger.

  Innes kicked again and again, but each time he made a crack in the slowly shrinking ice, the tall boy repaired it.

  The boy said, “They can’t get out, sphinx. So you have to let me in.”

  Atacama shook his head.

  The boy’s voice grew more urgent. “Please, Atacama. Your friends will freeze when that ice touches them, then be crushed as it tightens round them. Let me through!”

  Molly moved closer to Beth and Innes, further from the painful cold of the approaching ice. Innes changed back into a boy, as the space inside the barrel reduced.

  Atacama said, “I don’t want you to hurt them. But I can’t let you through unless you answer my riddle. So please, make an effort to answer it.”

  “I don’t want to hurt them either. However, I can’t answer your riddle. I have many powers, but the twisted logic of riddles isn’t one of them.”

  Atacama stared at his friends in the cage of ice. “Then let’s compromise, toad. If you stop that barrel closing in, I’ll give you unlimited chances to answer the riddle. Hold the ice steady, don’t harm my friends, and I’ll let you try out answers until the end of my shift. Even a dunce like you is bound to get it right eventually.”

  The boy nodded and lowered his hands. The barrel stopped shrinking.

  Molly sighed with relief. It was uncomfortably cold so close to the ice, but the cage wasn’t actually touching any of them.

  As Atacama asked his riddle, Innes whispered, “We can’t let Atacama bend his rules for us. We must escape in th
e time Atacama’s bought us, so he doesn’t have to let that boy through.” He held his arms out, measuring the space around him. “There’s just enough room for me to shift to a horse, but I can’t break these staves and hoops if that toad-boy makes the ice stronger every time I crack it. Beth, could you bring down enough wooden barrels to distract him, while I kick our way out?”

  Beth shook her head. “The wood of the barrels has absorbed the liquids they’ve stored. They’re not pure wood anymore, so I can’t control them.”

  Molly looked up at the mountain of barrels. “I can distract him.”

  “How?” asked Beth. Then she looked at the small gaps between the icy curves and circles around them. “No! What if you can’t change back?”

  “But if he can’t answer the riddle…”

  They listened to the boy trying to find an answer:

  “A dandelion?”

  “Wrong.”

  “A spider?”

  “Wrong.”

  Molly shrugged. “If he never gets it right, Atacama can’t let him through, and we’ll be crushed in this icy cage. I’d rather live as a hare than die as an ice-cube. And even if I’m stuck as a hare, at least the two of you will be fine.”

  “No,” said Beth. “You can’t do that for us. Don’t—”

  Molly smiled, and growled, and felt the usual flash of heat down her spine as she shifted. Then she leapt through the biggest hole she could see in the frozen lattice. The tips of her ears brushed the agonising ice as she escaped from the cage.

  She touched the ground once, leapt onto the lowest layer of wooden barrels and ran up the pyramid, bouncing off each curved cask, pushing herself up and up and up.

  Molly wasn’t used to running up such steep inclines. She knew there were mountain hares in Scotland; perhaps she was even a mountain hare herself. She must be able to do this. But it was like running up a wall, leaping almost vertically rather than horizontally.

  Her front paws landed on a metal hoop on the fourth layer of barrels. The smooth metal gave her no purchase, her claws clicked and skidded, and she started to fall. But she dug her hind paws down and in, threw herself upwards and regained her balance. She kept leaping higher and higher, until she reached the sun-warmed wooden summit of the pyramid.