13 Curses (14 page)

“Pick me up!” the little girl shouted, and even Rowan winced at the tinny, scratchy quality to her voice. James wailed even more loudly.

Lara shook her head, biting her lip.

“For goodness’ sake, pick her up!” Rowan said fiercely, but froze as she drew level and saw Lara’s face. It was
a mask of fear. She stared up at Rowan with glassy, shocked eyes.

“Her hair,” she whispered. “It’s grown. In a day. I thought I was imagining it, but look! I’m not, am I? Tell me I’m not!”

Rowan stared at the little girl. With a jolt, she saw that it was true. The child’s hair had grown at least two inches. Her bangs were now in her eyes.

“No, you’re not.”

Suddenly the child stopped screaming and looked Rowan directly in the eye.
“I’m hungry,” she said, licking her lips.

“But I fed her!” said Lara, in despair. “I fed her only twenty minutes ago!”

Rowan did not answer. For, there, right before her eyes, something was happening. Something deeply unsettling. Megan’s eyes were starting to change color. As she watched, the pupils dilated, larger and larger, until they completely filled the brown irises. But even then, they did not stop. They continued to grow, to spread like black ink that had been spilled, until the whites of the eyes were black too.

Rowan blinked, trying to make sense of it all. Her eyes must be deceiving her, surely. But then she gasped audibly as Megan’s dark hair and skin began to pale drastically, then flooded with a pale, sickly green tinge.

“What?” Lara said. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” Rowan managed, clasping James to her and holding his head tightly into her neck. Somehow she knew that it didn’t matter, that if he looked at the little girl on the bed he wouldn’t see what she was seeing. For it was
evident that Lara could not see the horrifying spectacle either. Rowan took a step back as the child’s ears suddenly protruded from its hair. They were now pointed. She took another step back as its limbs seemed to ripple and elongate, the hands and feet large and out of proportion to the rest. She knew what she was seeing, then in the same moment she knew she could never tell anyone. For she wouldn’t be believed. She could barely believe it herself.

“When… when did you first realize something was wrong?” she whispered.

“Within a few minutes of finding her, after she got lost earlier. But I thought I was imagining it.”

That confirmed it then. Even as the child on the bed stared back at her, a scowl forming on its face, Rowan knew what had happened.

Someone or something had taken Megan and left a creature that wasn’t her in her place.

Whatever it was that sat on the bed was an impostor. It wasn’t Lara’s little sister. It was something else. It was fey.

“Rowan, what is it? Why are you looking at her like that?”

Rowan was unable to tear her eyes away. To her relief, the creature on the bed slipped back into its imitation—its imitation of Megan. The fairy features dissolved and morphed into something human once more.

“Nothing,” she stammered. “I don’t know anything.”

She pushed her way past Lara and ran to the door, her good arm clamped tightly around James. Somehow, she was short of breath, as though she’d run a great distance,
but she did not stop running until she had reached her room and shut the door behind her.

She would never tell anyone. She couldn’t and wouldn’t. There was nothing she could do, she told herself. The real Megan was gone. Now Rowan just needed to concentrate on getting herself and James out of this place.

She really believed she wouldn’t tell.

Red’s tale was interrupted by a chilling shriek from the cottage above. She stopped speaking and shrank back. Something shuffled over the trapdoor above, then silence.

“What happened next?” Eldritch prompted, unfazed.

“What’s going on up there?” Red asked, her past momentarily forgotten. The terrible scream had chilled her through and through.

Eldritch leaned forward, as though listening intently. Then he shrugged.

“Perhaps someone’s come to the cottage,” Red said, her voice lifting. “Perhaps we’re going to be rescued!”

Eldritch laughed darkly. “I doubt it. If anyone’s
come here, then it’s not to do any good. Don’t waste your time hoping.”

“There’s always room for hope,” the other man said. Red looked at him and saw him staring at Eldritch through narrowed eyes.

Eldritch ignored him and settled back against the wall, closing his dark eyes. A film of sweat clung to his skin.

Without warning, the bolt on the trapdoor shot back, startling all three of them. There was a long pause before the trapdoor began to lift—slowly, maddeningly. Then a foot appeared on the first step.

“Quickly!” Red hissed. “She’s coming down again!” She scrambled back to the foul-smelling straw and lay down, eyes squeezed tightly shut and breathing raggedly, positioning herself to look like she was still tied up. Opposite her, the man did the same.

A stomach-churning groan made them both turn toward the steps. What they saw instantly made them sit up, their pretenses forgotten.

The Hedgewitch was staggering down into the cellar, one hand clutching at her throat, the other clawing at the wall for support. She was staring at Red.

“What… have you… done… to me…?” she rasped. “
Poison… you’ve p-poisoned… me! Should have skinned you… should have gutted you like a rabbit straight… away!”

Red scrambled to her feet, tingling with adrenaline. What was happening to the Hedgewitch?

The woman took another step toward her, her
hand outstretched. The skin on it bubbled, as though something was simmering under its surface.

“You’ll pay… for this!” she hissed, her eyes burning with malice. Then she doubled over with a howl. “Make it… stop… I beg… you… make it stop!
Please
…”

She thinks I did this
, Red thought, confused and terrified.
She thinks I’ve poisoned her somehow!

“What’s happening to her?” Eldritch crowed, leaping to his feet. His face was animated with excitement. The chain attached to his manacled hand rattled wildly.

“Poison…
poisoned me
…”

Red had no idea what was going on, but she knew that this could be their only chance of escape. She
had
to seize it.

“Release us,” she said. Her voice was firm and cold. It was a voice she had rehearsed well.

The witch collapsed at her feet, writhing on the ground.

“Make it… stop!” she screamed.

“
Release us!
” Red repeated.

“Yes! Anything… just make… it… stop!”

“Give me your word,” Red said coldly. “That you will let us go safely from here. And I’ll make it stop.”

“I will…” the witch’s body twitched with spasms. “I’ll release you…. I promise!”

“The keys!” Eldritch yelped. “Don’t forget about me!
Get the keys from her!”

“Give me the key,” said Red, unwavering. “Where is it?”

“Up-upstairs…”

“Where upstairs?”

“Please…” the witch gasped. Her eyes were bulging now, with the effort of speaking. It was like seeing a fish out of water, the life draining away. “I’m dying….”

“The key!” Red snarled, forcing herself to remember everything the Hedgewitch had done. All the lives she had stolen. Her evil threats. And in her heart she found no pity for her.

“In the… chimney… loose brick… now make it… stop. Save… me…”

The man was on his feet too now, next to Red. He leaned over the witch, his mouth open as she wheezed out another fragmented sentence.

“Help… me…”

I can’t
, Red thought. She almost said it then, out loud, but something stopped her.

“No,” Red said flatly.

The Hedgewitch’s face contorted with fury and pain. Then, as Red, Eldritch, and the man watched, it crumpled. Literally. And then it was replaced with another face, that of a young man with twinkling eyes.

“May I carry your basket for you?” he said, before his words melted on his lips. His hair fell out and his skin bubbled. Another face formed, this time a little girl with blond ringlets. The ragged clothes of the witch rippled as the body beneath shrank and became smaller, transforming into a child.

“I’ve lost my mother!” she cried. “Will you help me to find her?”

The little girl became an old man.

“I’ll show you the way, come with me!” he said.

The old man became a peddler woman… then a scruffy youth… then a woman in Victorian clothes….

Red turned away, unable to watch anymore. These had been the victims of the Hedgewitch, that much she could guess. These poor people had never had a chance, falling into her hands, unaware that their fate was to end up as nothing better than a garment, a disguise of trickery.

She heard the witch gurgling incoherently, and battled the urge to clamp her hands over her ears. There were a few last thrashes from the witch’s limbs, and then finally she fell still and quiet. Eldritch chortled.

“She’s dead! I don’t believe it, she’s dead!”

Red felt a wave of disgust roll over her at his evident glee. Reluctantly, she turned to face what was left of the Hedgewitch… and almost screamed as she saw what was there, on the straw.

It was a distorted version of herself, visible in the light that streamed down from the open trapdoor: the pale, freckled skin, and green eyes that were glassy and staring. The face was twisted into a snarl. Oddly, the hair was not the mousy color she had dyed it but her natural auburn. As she looked at it, a thought occurred to her. The witch had taken a lock of her hair, not knowing that she had recently dyed it. Could the ingredients in the hair dye have been responsible for poisoning her?

The man stepped over the lifeless body and limped toward the steps.

“Come on,” he said to her. “We’d better go and find that key.”

Red shook herself and knelt to search the body, purposely avoiding the face. In the folds of the witch’s clothes she found what she was looking for: her knife. She pushed it into her belt and then kicked straw over the prone body, before moving up the stairs into the cottage. Her skin prickled with goose pimples as she came into the warmth of the upstairs, and bizarrely, the sudden heat set her teeth chattering. She hadn’t realized how cold and damp she had become down in the cellar.

The cottage was as the Hedgewitch had left it: candlelight flickered from wall sconces, a fire burned in the grate of the fireplace, and, over the hearth, two pots bubbled. Red approached, her stomach gnawing. It had been a long time since she’d eaten. She raised her hands to the heat from the flames and peered into the nearest pot. Something thick and brown with chunks of dark meat simmered there. Her mouth watered, but she did not dare to touch it.

The man appeared beside her, and as she watched him breathing in the scent of the food, she knew from his expression that he was thinking the same: they did not know what else might be in it. Whatever had killed the Hedgewitch could be in the contents of this pot. Wistfully, she leaned farther forward and looked into
the other one. She met with an unpleasant sight. A lock of brown hair that she recognized as her own was being tossed about in a dark, blood-red mixture. Fragments of an eggshell swam beside it, and as the foul mixture turned over, more of its contents were brought to the surface: a piece of snakeskin and something that looked like a claw.

“Destroy it,” the man said quietly, beside her. “Throw it into the flames.”

Using a piece of rag that lay on the hearth, Red lifted the pot and threw its contents onto the fire. Instead of dousing the flames as she expected, they shot up briefly before dying down to a merry dance once more.

The man took the rag from her and gripped the handle of the stew pot. “We can’t eat this,” he confirmed. “I’ll make something fresh. That way we’ll know it’s safe.”

“We shouldn’t wait around,” said Red. “We need to get out of this awful place.”