Emily Feather and the Enchanted Door (4 page)

When the mother had a second child, she dressed him in ragged clothes, and smudged ash on to his bright hair, so that this time the fairies wouldn't steal her darling away.

And as for the little girl – Emily's heart beat suddenly faster – she was still in the land under the hill, never growing older, never going home.

Emily slammed the book shut, gasping. She had been so sure that the little girl would be saved in the end – it was a fairy story, after all! Even though the story said she never grew up, the face of the child in the illustration at the bottom of the page
was
old. Old, and terribly sad, although she was only two or three, in an old-fashioned long dress and a little cap. There were long-eared fairy faces drawn around her, and fairy fingers stroked her arms. She had stared out of the page at Emily, as though she could see her watching.

Emily shook her head. That was stupid. It was a printed book, that was all. How could the little girl have been looking at her? She brushed her fingers over the pages, trying to decide whether or not to open the book again. She had the strangest feeling that the little changeling girl wanted her to … that she felt Emily understood her story.

The bell shrilled for the end of break, and Emily jumped so suddenly that she almost dropped the book.

“Come on, Emily.” Rachel had already slipped her library book back on to the shelf, and she was holding out her hand to pull Emily up.

Emily hesitated. They weren't supposed to take books out of the library when there wasn't a teacher there to scan them. But this book felt special, almost as though it had been put in the library just for Emily. She wanted to take it home, so much. She couldn't just put it back on the shelf. What if someone else took it out? She pulled the book close to her, cradling it fiercely. She needed it!

“Emily, come on!” Rachel was giving her a weird look, and Emily swallowed and forced a smile, and took Rachel's hand to let her friend pull her off the beanbag.

She would come back at lunch, and get the book out of the library then to take home. She wanted to read all of it. There might even be another story about the changeling child. One where she got back home.

For now Emily waited until Rachel turned round, and quickly shoved the book underneath the beanbag. No one would find it there.

 

Emily sped back to the library at lunchtime, eager to find the book again. The room was dark after the corridor, where the sun was pouring through the big windows, and it was completely empty. Emily hurried over to the beanbag. She ferreted under it for the book, her breathing tight until she found it, the leather cool and silky under her fingers. She pulled it out and it fell open at the same page, the changeling girl staring out at her again.

Emily drew in a sharp breath, sure that the little girl was about to ask her something, to tell her secret. It was the oddest feeling. Emily loved books, and she sometimes liked to imagine herself into them, but this was different. Now she felt as though the book knew she was there. The changeling girl wanted to talk to her, Emily was almost sure.

“What are you looking at? What book's that?”

Emily tried to close it, but Robin grabbed it first, snatching the book out of her hands and staring at her furiously.

“It's just a library book…” she stammered. “An old fairy-tale book. Give it back, Robin!” How had he even got here? She hadn't seen him come in, or heard him, even in the silent library. He was just there.

“You can't have this.” Robin didn't sound like her little brother, Emily thought. It was as though someone much older was talking from inside him. He was angry. Not cross, in a you-ate-the-last-biscuit kind of way. Deeply, really angry. And scared.

“I don't understand…” Emily started to say, and then Robin wasn't there any more. Or rather, Emily wasn't. Now she was outside on the grass with all the others, and there was a half-made daisy chain in her hands.

But I wasn't here! I was in the library!
Emily thought, staring down at her fingers, which were threading daisies all by themselves.
I was!

But at the same time, she felt as if she had been outside since the beginning of the lunch. Making the daisy chains was really annoying; all the daisies had those skinny stems that it was hard to make the holes in. It had taken ages to make a big enough chain for a necklace.

Then a shadow fell over her daisy chain, and she looked up to see Rachel leaning over her. Emily smiled up at her gratefully. Rachel would know she hadn't been outside. Emily opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but Rachel spoke first.

“I thought you were asleep there for a minute!” Rachel yawned, and lay down on the grass next to her. “Actually, I feel quite sleepy too. Nice daisy chain. Can you make one for me?”

Emily felt like she was sleepwalking through the rest of the day. She watched herself working on a history project with Rachel and the others, and was amazed at how normal she sounded. It must have been another dream. Rachel had said that Emily looked sleepy. She'd had lunch, then fallen asleep making daisy chains, and dreamed the way the girl in the book had been waiting for her. But it wasn't just any dream, was it? It had meant something.

There had been so much weird stuff happening, Emily thought to herself, as she tried to draw a Roman chariot to go on to their wall display. She was the only one who could draw horses, Rachel said, so she had to do it. It was a good thing – the other three were arguing about where to put stuff, and Emily could draw and think at the same time.

First the odd girl in the mirror. Then she'd turned up again in Emily's dream, by the river. And there were other dreams, she was sure; she just couldn't quite remember them. And now the girl in the book.

If she'd brought someone in a book to life, maybe she had some sort of power? Emily wondered, as she rubbed out one of the horse's legs, which wouldn't go properly the way it was supposed to. She smiled to herself. The power to talk to – well, what was that greenish girl? Emily sort of wanted to say she was a fairy, but fairies sounded like pretty, glittery things with wings. There hadn't been any glitter. At all.

Did it mean she would be able to do magical stuff herself? That might be exciting – once she'd got used to it. She was a good cook – brilliant, Mum said. Maybe there was something extra in her cooking! She'd been mixing up spells and cake… Emily smiled to herself and stretched out her fingers, letting her pencil roll on to the table. Nothing looked any different. Her hands weren't glowing; her fingers didn't look like they were going to shoot sparks out of the ends or anything. The pencil didn't hover in the air. She didn't
feel
magical. She just felt confused. And desperate to talk to Robin. He'd been in her dream, after all. Maybe he'd felt something too?

In fact, she was going to have a serious talk with him on the way home. Rachel was staying at school for netball, so Emily could ask him if he knew what was going on. And if he did know, how he'd… . done whatever it was he did. And why! She'd been in the library, she knew she had, and then somehow Robin had made her move.

As soon as the bell went for the end of school, Emily hurried to grab all her stuff and get out to the gate, which was usually where they met Robin to walk home.

He was there already, waiting for her, but there were too many people around to ask him what had happened. Emily didn't want anyone listening. So she had to settle for staring at Robin meaningfully, with a “we need to talk” look.

Robin opened his eyes very wide, so that the sun shone on them and they looked pale and silvery and flat.

Emily gritted her teeth. She knew that look. It was the one Robin always used when he was trying to avoid doing something. He had an amazing ability to slide out of things – small spaces, arguments, jobs he didn't fancy doing. He would be there one minute, and the next he would have disappeared, so quickly and cleanly that people usually forgot he'd been there at all.

She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the school gate, hurrying him down the road, far enough in front of the other parents and children to talk without being heard.

“Robin, what happened at lunchtime?” Emily asked urgently.

“What?” Robin frowned, gazing back at her indignantly. He looked so surprised that Emily believed him for a second. Only a second, though.

“Don't pretend!” she begged. “I thought it was a dream, but you were there, weren't you? I can tell! You do know what I'm talking about!” There were a few people up the other end of the road, and she pushed Robin into the edge of someone's garden path, hidden by bushes, and shook him by the arm. “Please, Robin, I want to know! Stop pretending! You made me move out of the library, and you almost made me forget I was even there…” Her voice trailed away. It sounded so stupid. So unlikely. Robin was her little brother. He was only eight. But she hadn't imagined it; she couldn't have dreamed up anything that weird.

Robin wriggled out of her grip and stood on the pavement glaring at her, red patches showing on his pale cheeks for once. “I'm telling Mum you did that! You're not allowed to grab me. Lark! Emily's being mean!”

Her sisters must have walked very fast from their school, Emily thought, looking round at them in surprise. Perhaps they'd got out early. All three of them were staring at her now.

“What did you do to him?” Lory sighed. “Can't you two just leave each other alone for once?”

“But I'm not being mean…” Emily frowned. She was sure something had happened at lunchtime, but it was so hard to remember when they were all staring at her. “There was a book, and a little girl. Robin was there, I know he was… I can't think… I have to go home.” Emily took off down the road, knowing that they were all staring after her, and not caring.

 

Emily could hear her mum and Lark and Lory at the bottom of the stairs, talking about her. She couldn't hear what they were actually saying, just buzzing voices, and her own name here and there. They were probably telling her mum there was something wrong with her. Her head ached, and her eyes were sticky and sore from crying.

Emily rolled over, trying to find a cool place on her pillow. What was wrong with her? She almost hoped she was ill. It would explain the strange dreams, and the faces in mirrors. Maybe the book was just a book and she had flu, and she'd just imagined the pictures moving.

She wasn't quite sure that flu explained what Robin had done, though… But people did black out sometimes when they were ill? Maybe that was what she'd done? Emily blinked up at the ceiling. Perhaps she was
really
ill? Life-threateningly ill?

“Mum…” she called anxiously, and there was a listening sort of silence from the bottom of the stairs.

“Are you OK, Emily?” her mum called, very quietly.

“No…”

Her mum hurried up the stairs and crouched down by the side of Emily's bed. “Lark and Lory said you were upset, but they thought you wanted to get over it on your own. What's happened, sweetheart?”

“I don't know…” Emily's voice shook. “I keep having really strange dreams. I was in the library at school, or I thought I was. There was this book – and then Robin made me move. I was in the library and then all of a sudden I was outside. Or I think I was. But that isn't possible. I think I've got flu and it's making me see things.” She looked hopefully at her mum. She wanted to be offered herbal tea, and hot water bottles, and duvets on the sofa. And most of all, to be told that it was all OK.

“You're getting to that age,” her mum said, very quietly.

“What age?” Emily stared at her. What was so special about being ten?

Unless it was to do with that
growing up
talk that all the Year Five girls had been shepherded off to the library for at the beginning of the year. About your body changing. But no one had mentioned anything about dreams. Or mirrors suddenly having people in the back of them. Emily had gone straight home and asked Lark and Lory what it was all about. She felt sorry for people who didn't have older sisters to ask.

“Do you mean hormones?” she asked Mum, feeling quite pleased with herself for remembering what they were called.

But her mother stared at her blankly. “No … oh, well, that isn't what I meant. But that's probably it.” She smiled, but only her mouth moved. Her eyes still looked worried. And almost sad, Emily thought, feeling more mixed up than ever.

“What did you mean, then? Is there something wrong with me?” she asked shakily.

“No! No, of course there isn't.” Her mum hugged her fiercely, pulling Emily into her arms and squeezing her so tight she could hardly breathe. “You're feeling weird because you've got a bug, I should think. You're perfect. And I love you.”

Emily hugged her back. She was fairly sure her mum was telling her the truth. But there was still something strange going on. Mum hadn't answered her question either.

But Emily didn't want to ask it again. She wanted to be fussed over, and told that everything was all right. If she saw something in the mirror, or the pictures on the stairs spoke to her, or people stared at her out of books, she wasn't going to look. If she didn't look, she couldn't see. And right now, that was the way she wanted it.

 

Emily stayed away from the library at school, and she refused to look at the mirror on the landing. It was hard not to think about all the odd stuff that had been happening, but she could just about manage it. Robin was her annoying little brother, that was all. She'd had a bug. Gruff stayed sleeping on Emily's bed at night, and Emily hardly dreamed at all.

It was tempting, though. She longed to go and look at the book again. What if someone else borrowed it? What if it got lost? It had a scary fascination, like that strange picture book about goblins that she'd loved when she was little. She could only look at it in the cupboard under the stairs, which was small and dark and smelled musty, but it was safe. It was probably still there, stuffed behind Lark's old roller skates, Emily thought as she wandered down the stairs on Saturday morning, with Gruff thudding from step to step behind her.

She came into the kitchen yawning, and stopped, realizing that her mother and father had gone silent when they saw her.

“What?” Emily pulled her hoodie top tighter round her shoulders, wrapping it round her like a comfort blanket.

Her mother blinked, and smiled. “Don't look so suspicious, Ems. I was just saying it would be nice to have a family dinner tonight. All of us together. It seems ages since we managed to get us all in one place.”

“Oh…” Emily nodded. She looked hopefully at her mother. “Can I make some of the food? Can I make pudding? Please, Mum?” Emily couldn't imagine anything nicer than spending the day pottering about the kitchen, leafing through recipe books and mixing up delicious stuff. After all the oddness of this week, it would feel like being normal again.

Her mother smiled at her and gently pushed a pile of recipe books across the table. The kitchen table was huge, and as everyone had been rushing in and out all week, no one had needed to clear it properly so they could all sit down. Emily slid into a chair and started to leaf through the book on the top – full of beautiful photos of cakes. She did cook savoury things sometimes – she was good at pasta – but cakes were her favourite thing to cook. There was something magical about the way the ingredients went together and looked like a weird sort of gloop, but then the heat of the oven turned them into something new and different.

Magical – Emily shivered, and scowled at the chocolate brownie recipe she was reading. It wasn't magic. It was just cooking. Maybe a bit of science. Chemical reactions and that sort of thing. Everything worked the way it was supposed to; it was just a matter of following the recipe.

But recipes didn't work for some people. Mum's cakes never rose properly, and she loved to tell the story about Lark begging for shop cake when she and Lory were little, because Mummy's biscuits were horrible. When they'd had a cake sale at school and Emily had made chocolate raspberry brownies, Mrs Daunt had told her she had a magic touch.

Emily slammed the book shut, her breathing fast and panicky. She would not think about it!

“What did that recipe ever do to you?” her dad asked mildly, peering at her over a sheaf of papers. “Are you busy, Emily? Will you read this for me?” Then he shook his head. “Actually, no. You don't need to. It's terrible. If your mother comes back, tell her I'm working, all right?” He gathered up the papers and hurried out of the room, muttering irritably to himself.

Emily nodded, glad that he'd been distracted. She opened up a different recipe book, determined not to think about magic at all.

Soon she was too busy to think about anything but her plan – a new recipe that she'd come up with for a sort of lemon caramel cake, with crystallized rose petals decorating the top. It borrowed bits of about five different recipes, and it was very complicated. So complicated that she hadn't been able to worry about the last week while she was making it, she realized as she carefully scattered the flower petals on the top of her finished creation. It was nearly time for everyone to have dinner. She sighed, feeling as though she could breathe properly for the first time in days – there wasn't a hard little knot in her throat any more, blocking the air. She felt full of sugar dust instead, and her hair smelled of caramel.

“Emily, it's so pretty.” Lory touched a rose petal with one delicate finger. “It's OK! I'm not eating it! Just looking!”

Emily smiled at her. “It is pretty, isn't it? Almost too nice to eat, but I really want to know what it tastes like. And I'm starving.”