The Giant Key, page 4
‘A fine book,’ she said. ‘Although this one is far more enlightening.’ She held up the yellow book, smiling. ‘Would you like to keep it?’
‘What?’
The word escaped Anna’s mouth before she even knew what she was saying. She stared wildly at Cassandra, trying to work out if she’d misheard. She knew she was among enemies; knew that any good-hearted person would have raised their voice when they saw two tied-up children being wheeled into a room. She knew who these people were. She knew the kind of things they did.
So why were the witches offering her a gift?
‘I have made mistakes, Anna,’ said Cassandra softly. ‘It was a mistake not to recognise what you were, the last time we met.’ She rubbed her fingers over the books, stroking them like animals. ‘Tell me, Anna. When did you first realise you were one of us?’
Anna’s whole body trembled. ‘I’m nothing like you,’ she said. ‘I’m not a witch.’
Cassandra laughed coldly. She placed the two books neatly on her lap, her eyes glinting like shards of glass.
‘A man sells meat, and you call him a butcher,’ she said. ‘A woman cures disease, and you call her a doctor. And here before me is a girl who casts spells – who commands genies – who consorts with mermaids and dragons. What, exactly, would you call that?’ The woman’s lips curled. ‘Cut them loose.’
Anna heard Mauve moving behind her; felt a cold knife press against her palm, slicing between her wrists. She stepped shakily off the trolley as the bindings on her legs were cut away. Her mind was spinning, a queasy feeling writhing in her guts. Max tumbled off his trolley onto the floor, groggily licking his lips.
‘Where are we?’ he murmured, his eyes still closed. ‘What’s going on?’
Cassandra snapped her fingers. She pointed at the two burly men at the back of the room, her nails as sharp as icicles.
‘Bring the chest,’ she commanded.
Anna looked over her shoulder as the burly men walked out of the sitting room. She didn’t know why Cassandra had released them, and she also didn’t care. All she knew was that she needed to grab Max’s hand and get him out of that awful house – get him past Mauve and Elspeth, past the girl with the bone doll, past the woman with the eyepatch and the staff. She clenched her teeth as the two men came back through the door, each holding one end of a large wooden chest.
A very strange smell filled the chamber. It was the smell of a forest: of leaves decaying, of wood burning, of a lion’s coat on a rainy night. Anna shuddered as the chest from the hidden room was placed with reverence beside Cassandra’s seat.
‘There are few witches left in the world,’ said Cassandra quietly. ‘It is a rare thing, for the creatures of the old wood to leave us alive. We owe it to each other to stand side by side.’ Her scars glistened in the flames. ‘This is where the two of you belong.’
‘Open it!’ screeched a voice at the back of the room. ‘We have waited long enough!’
‘Let us see!’ called another.
‘No more talk,’ said a third. ‘Open the box!’
For the first time, Cassandra tore her eyes away from Anna, surveying the room sharply. Anna saw the other witches shrink away from her glare; felt sure Cassandra was about to lash them with her tongue. But then Cassandra’s face softened. She nodded at the two men, waving her pale hand.
‘They have travelled far to be here,’ she said. ‘Open it up. Let them see what we have found.’
The men nodded. They undid the latches on the trunk, lifting the lid. The smell of rotting leaves grew stronger.
The woman with the eyepatch shrieked, hobbling towards the chest. A man with a forked beard pushed past her, his eyes wild. Everyone in the room rushed to look inside the box; Anna was knocked to the side, falling against Cassandra’s chair. Cassandra’s arm lashed out, catching Anna around the wrist.
‘Help us,’ whispered the witch. ‘Lend us your strength.’
Cassandra caught Anna around the wrist.
Inside the wooden chest was a toe the size of a child. A crust of browning blood ran thick around the yellow toenail, bigger than a dinner plate; the flesh was smoky and charred, like a sausage left too long over a fire. Smoke poured out from the severed joint, polluting the room with the rotting-lion scent, staining the ceiling with darkness.
‘Join us,’ said Cassandra, squeezing Anna’s hand. ‘Stand with us tonight, as we wield our wands together. Fight by our side, as we steal from those who have scarred our skins.
‘Become a witch, and help us raise the giant.’
6
THE MELTING WITCH
ANNA’S HEAD SPUN. SHE TRIED TO PULL AWAY AS lightning flashed through the window, her pulse racing, her arms sweating; but Cassandra kept hold of her wrist, pinching her like a vice. The witch smiled mirthlessly.
‘This creature is old,’ she said, nodding towards the trunk. ‘Older than the dragons – as ancient as the old wood itself. Eons ago it tore a hole between the worlds and stepped through, and eons later it died in our earth. And now, in the hills beside our very library, we have found it.’
The witches around the box were chattering excitedly. Mrs Stone swept forward as a man tried to reach inside, slapping his hand away.
‘Fool,’ she said. ‘Its skin smoulders still. Your fingers will roast.’
The man scowled, but he didn’t try to touch the toe again. The other witches bustled around him, trying to get the best view. The girl with the bone doll peered curiously from behind her parents’ legs, sucking on her thumb.
‘It was me that took his toe off,’ said Mauve proudly. ‘Came away under my shovel. His poor body’s been decaying, down there in the mud.’
‘Won’t be an easy job,’ said the man with the forked beard. ‘I hope we’ve enough wands to raise him.’
‘Let’s get out and see the rest of him,’ screeched the woman with the eyepatch. ‘It’s high time we tickled the toes he’s got left!’
The witches turned to Cassandra expectantly, their faces shining with wicked delight. Cassandra grimaced, holding up her hand.
‘A moment,’ she said. ‘I appreciate your enthusiasm. Be assured I did not call upon you lightly this night. Our Sabbath will soon begin.’ She frowned. ‘But you must indulge me a minute more. One piece of business remains.’
On the floor beside the fireplace, Max began to stir. Anna clenched her teeth, willing Max to stay silent, hoping he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. Cassandra was still holding her tight – but how strong could her grip be with only four fingers? Anna slowly turned her head, letting her hair fall over her eyes, hoping the witches wouldn’t notice where she was looking.
The path to the door was clear. All she needed to do was choose the right moment.
‘Anna,’ said Cassandra gently. ‘Anna and Max. So young to be wearing these scars.’ She paused, choosing her words carefully. ‘With all the monsters you’ve seen – with all the blood you’ve spilled – have you ever thought about taking your revenge?’
It wasn’t a question Anna had expected. In her mind’s eye, she saw flashes of the vampire carrying Max up the mountainside; remembered the bridge troll roaring above her, swinging its stalactite claws. The way those monsters had endangered her brother had made Anna angrier than she had ever been before. Of course she had wanted to take revenge.
‘Yes,’ said Cassandra. ‘You do feel it. You know what it’s like to have been hurt. You know what it’s like to strike back.’ She raised her voice, looking around the room. ‘We gather tonight to balance a scale tipped against us long ago. We are the humans who wandered into the darkest woods; who climbed the bleakest mountains; who swam through the deepest waters. We are the flies the fairies couldn’t catch – the flies who survived, their legs broken, their wings torn off, but still buzzing, still crawling, alive to fight another day!’
She stared triumphantly at the crowd. For the first time, Anna noticed just how many of the witches had scars on their faces. Mrs Stone had her teardrop scar, and the woman with the long staff was clearly missing an eye; but Mauve too had scars scratched around her throat, running across her chest like a silver necklace. The man with the forked beard had a deep gouge on his forehead, and even the girl with the bone doll was missing an earlobe. Elspeth’s nose was so crooked it looked as if something had once tried to bite it clean off.
All of the witches were grinning at Cassandra’s speech. Anna felt as if Cassandra was telling them exactly what they wanted to hear. She wondered how far the other witches had travelled to be here.
‘And so we persist,’ continued Cassandra, her voice rising. Her calm facade was beginning to slip. ‘We search the woods for the trophies the fairies leave behind. We scratch them with their own claws, and we bite them with their own teeth. We take cuttings of their trees to drive into their flesh, to torture them with a taste of home. And what do we do when our friends call us mad? What do we do when other humans come knocking at our shacks, to drown us, to burn us, to crush us to death?’ Cassandra gnashed her teeth. ‘Why, we scratch them, and we bite them, and we torture them as well!’
The witches screamed in elation. They stomped their feet and clapped their hands, the firelight shining off their dirty teeth. Anna’s stomach turned in revulsion as Cassandra pulled her even closer, the woman’s fingernails cutting into her skin. A drop of blood slid slowly down her wrist.
‘That is who we are,’ she said quietly. ‘That is who you are. And tonight, when the sky is torn in two, you may stand with us as we claim the greatest treasures of all.’ Her voice shifted strangely. ‘Tell me, Anna. Do you still carry your knife?’
Blood pumped loudly in Anna’s ears. She tensed her legs, digging her toes into the carpet.
‘You told us she wore a sheath,’ said Mrs Stone. ‘I will search her.’
‘No!’ blurted Anna. She didn’t want Mrs Stone to come any closer. ‘I don’t have the knife anymore. I – I gave it away.’
Cassandra stared closely at Anna’s face. Her pupils were sharp and black, boring into Anna like drills. Anna whimpered as the witch’s nails sliced further into her skin.
‘You are telling the truth,’ said Cassandra. The smile dropped from her face. ‘A pity. A clever witch would never have allowed such a treasure to slip through their fingers. Perhaps it was a mistake to bring you here, after all.’ She leant forward. ‘Unless you have another trophy to show us?’
Anna blanched. Suddenly she remembered the backpacks they had carried up to the secret room – the bags that contained every treasure she and Max had ever found. Her blood ran cold as she imagined the witches pulling out all of her possessions. Where was her bag now?
‘Speak!’ commanded Cassandra. ‘I will not ask again. What have you found –’
‘Now, Anna!’ screamed Max.
Anna jumped in shock as Max’s eyes burst open. He whirled around on the floor, his legs curling back – and then he was kicking Cassandra’s chair as hard as he could. Cassandra fell back as her seat rocked to the side, tipping towards the fireplace, her pincer-hand bursting open. Anna sprang away at once, bolting for the door.
‘Max!’ she yelled. ‘This way!’
But Max wasn’t running towards the door. He was dashing along the side of the room – and as he ran, his fingers grasped hold of a large metal bucket. He spun around as the other witches gave chase, holding aloft the soapy water he and Anna had left there hours before.
‘Take that!’ he cried, hurling the bucket.
A spout of dirty, soapy water splashed onto the witches. The man with the forked beard shrieked as cleaning fluid burned down his face; the woman with the staff screamed as water dripped into her one good eye. Mauve howled in pain, soap suds sliding down her cheeks.
‘Cursed brats!’ she screeched. ‘Ungrateful swine!’
But not all of the witches had been blinded. The two burly men had picked up their clubs, and were already rushing towards the door.
Beside the fireplace, Cassandra took out her wand.
‘Run!’ yelled Anna.
The witches shouted in fury as the children bounded through the door, fleeing between the bookshelves. Where would they be safe? Anna realised they needed to find the Professor – needed to convince him to drive them away. But why hadn’t the Professor found them already? Why hadn’t he heard the commotion in the sitting room?
‘Left!’ yelled Max. He skidded across the carpet, colliding with a creaking bookcase.
‘No!’ screamed Anna. ‘The Professor’s room is through there!’
But Max had already run the other way. Anna let out a wretched sob as she chased him, chaos overwhelming her senses. The witches behind them were screaming curses, their footsteps thumping down the corridor. How much longer did they have?
A hand grabbed Anna’s ankle. She cried out, already expecting a wand at her throat; but it was Max who had grabbed her, his fearful eyes shining out beneath a book-covered desk. Anna quickly joined him, diving under the table, pulling another stack of books in front of their hiding place. The siblings clutched each other as the footsteps came closer.
‘Not here!’ cried Elspeth’s voice. ‘Check the other door.’
More footsteps echoed through the room. Anna tried to still her trembling hands, pressing her mouth close against Max’s ear.
‘We need to find the Professor,’ she whispered. ‘We need to get to the car …’
‘Hello!’ said a voice.
A bright green eye was peering through a gap in the books. Anna shuddered as the girl in the blue frock smiled at them, waving a tiny hand. The bone doll rattled between her fingers.
‘I found you!’ said the girl happily. ‘You can’t hide from me!’
Before Anna or Max could say anything, the girl held up her doll, shaking it very fast. The bones clattered together, the sound building and building – and then, with an awful clack, the doll began to wail. It screamed like an ambulance siren, keening and screeching, so loud and so close that Anna thought her eardrums might burst.
‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ yelled the girl. ‘My daddy made it out of banshee bones!’
Footsteps thundered towards the table. Anna pushed the books aside, racing to break through, but it was too late. Witches swept into the room from every side, holding staffs, holding wands, holding knives; Anna was seized roughly by her arms, kicking and screaming as the witches carried her away. Max punched out with his dead hand, giving a bearded man a bloody lip; he howled as the witches grabbed him too, dragging him out by his feet.
Cassandra was waiting by the fire, the red book of fairy tales in her hand. Anna twisted like a snake as her captors dropped her beside the stinking chest, the stench of the great toe still fouling the air. Cassandra’s scowl was sharp enough to cut bone.
‘I had hoped our first meeting was an anomaly,’ she said. ‘I did not know you then, and my actions were cruel. Tonight, I gave you the chance to see me differently. It would have been a fine thing to welcome two new witches into our fold.’ She held up Anna’s book. ‘There was so much for you to learn. So much for you to experience. But now, it seems, your story must end.’
And with that, Cassandra threw the red book of fairy tales into the fireplace. Anna gasped as flames curled around the cover, singeing the spine; and then the book caught fire in earnest, the pages ablaze, the flames leaping into the chimney. Anna’s whole body went numb as the red-covered book was burned to ashes, vanishing into smoke.
‘Finish them,’ spat Cassandra. ‘Verminwood should do.’
Mrs Stone nodded. With a wicked flourish, she withdrew a wand from her coat pocket: a curving, coiling twig, its end as sharp as a rat’s tail. She held the wand up to the ceiling, her eyes as black as spades.
And then she stabbed the twig into Anna’s neck.
A strange, magical feeling shuddered down Anna’s spine. Anna wheezed, dropping to her knees, unable to draw a full breath; her eyes bulged as she saw Mrs Stone stab Max as well, the coiling wand gouging into his chest. Vomit curdled in her stomach, leaping towards her mouth – but then her throat began to shrink, squeezing the vomit back down, her insides wriggling like worms. She howled as the bones in her arms snapped in two, her fingers disintegrating, the gold ring falling to the ground with a clunk. Every part of her was shrinking now – every part except for her nose, which was lengthening, and her ears, which were sprouting past her head. Anna tried to scream, but all she could manage was a terrified squeak.
Cassandra laughed maniacally as she towered overhead. She was a giant now: a witch twenty times taller than Anna herself. Anna looked down in horror, staring aghast at her tiny pink hands, at her hairy grey-brown belly, at the curving tail protruding from her rear. Her tiny heart pounded as she climbed out from beneath a pile of her own clothes.
Anna was a mouse.
‘Dinnertime, Algernon,’ said Mrs Stone.
Anna trembled as the ginger cat paced out from the shadows, his claws as long as daggers, his mouth hungry for blood.
7
CAT AND MOUSE
ANNA TOPPLED OVER AS SHE TRIED TO BACK away, no longer able to balance on two feet. She blinked madly at her hands – at her paws – trying to understand how her eyes could be so wrong. Her head boomed as gargantuan witches cackled above her, the shrillness stinging her ears.
Her nose twitched as something rustled close beside her. Another mouse was emerging from beneath an enormous pair of trousers. The second mouse was small and brown, with a tuft of hair sticking up on top of his head. Three of his paws looked healthy and pink, but his front right paw was withered and grey, the skin so frayed it had peeled back to the bone. The mouse ran around in alarm as it caught sight of its tail, its beady eyes bulging.
Max.
‘Take my hand!’ Anna tried to yell. ‘Don’t let them separate us!’
But no words came out of her mouth. Anna clutched her throat as she let out a strangled squeak, like a wheel badly in need of oil. The other mouse was squeaking, too – pointing, screaming – and then suddenly Anna was knocked to the ground, a monstrous ginger paw slapping her across the chest. She wiggled onto her back as the paw struck her again, pinning her to the carpet, a claw pressed tight against her neck.
