Emily Feather and the Enchanted Door (5 page)

“Yes, well, you would be!” her mum pointed out. “When I asked you if you wanted lunch you told me you couldn't possibly stop because you were in the middle of the tricky bit with your caramel, and after that I didn't dare interrupt.”

Emily leaned against her for a second, sliding her arm round her mum's waist. “Sorry. I forgot about lunch. I did eat a few rose petals, but that explains why I feel totally empty.”

“Well, I just about managed to fit the roast chicken in round your cake. It should all be done, I think.”

“My favourite.” Emily sighed happily. Her mum might be useless at cakes, but her roast potatoes were legendary. Emily gave the scattering of petals on top of her cake a last dusting of icing sugar and grabbed a handful of cutlery to set the table. Her dad was fussing around finding matches to light candles, and Lark and Lory had picked flowers and twined ivy up the middle of the table. It felt like a really important occasion.

But as everyone sat down in the glimmering candlelight, Emily felt strangely shy. It was as though the beautiful table and the special food made it hard to talk. There were odd silences, broken only by admiring comments on how good the food was. Emily's mum kept saying how nice it was to sit down as a family, and how special it felt. But the more she said it, the more forced it sounded.

Even though roast chicken was her absolute favourite meal, Emily didn't feel hungry. She nibbled a roast potato and sneaked a few bits of chicken down to Gruff, who was leaning lovingly against her ankles. Chicken was Gruff's favourite too. Emily was pretty sure that Lark and Lory were feeding him on the other side of the table as well. He was big enough to beg from both sides at once.

Eventually, Robin laid down his fork with a sharp ring of metal on china, and glared at Eva and Ash.

“Can we just tell her, please?”

“Robin!” Lory hissed.

“It's stupid. We're going to tell her anyway; why do we have to do all this polite talking about nothing? Nobody's saying anything important. You and Lark were talking about your favourite colour for flowers! And no one's eating any dinner.”

“There's a time for these things,” Ash murmured. “We were waiting…”

“Well, I'm bored waiting.”

Emily sat staring at them all, her eyes flicking back and forth between Robin, who was sitting next to her, and the others. “What were you going to tell me?” she asked huskily. Her voice didn't seem to be working properly. Apart from Robin, who was sticking his bottom lip out in a sulk, everyone looked so serious. Something was wrong, Emily was sure. Maybe her mum and dad were splitting up? But why would they tell everyone else and not her? Why have a meal that was meant to be all about family and then break it up? It couldn't be that.

“What is it?” she asked again.

Lark, who was sitting next to her, leaned over and put an arm round Emily's shoulder, pressing her cool cheek against Emily's for a second. Then she stood up, and across the table Lory stood as well.

Emily stared at her sisters, her heart thudding. The strangeness in the room seemed to shiver on her skin – everyone was tense and keyed up, waiting for something.

Lark smiled at her, and then she twisted her shoulders in some strange way, and feathers poured out of her back, soft grey-brown feathers, with darker stripes and mottles. Wings. Lark looked like an angel, Emily thought, gazing at her.

Or a fairy. Her sister's skin was shining, with the same strange glimmer as that girl by the river. She
had
been a fairy. Of course she had. Emily should never have doubted it.

Emily's fingers twitched, longing to stroke the soft feathers. She thought they were the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. Usually brown was a boring sort of colour, but Lark's feathers glowed in the candlelight. They seemed to be dusted with a shimmering layer of magic, swirling into ever-changing patterns like oil on water. They were so hypnotic, Emily almost forgot to breathe.

“You can touch them,” Lark told her, smiling, and Emily nodded. But she didn't touch. She didn't dare.

Lark stretched her wings out a little further, fluttering them from her shoulders and smiling at Emily. The way she smiled was as if she was teasing Emily with a bit of her chocolate. “Go on. You know you want to.”

Emily sighed, a tiny breath out, and lifted her hand. It was trembling, and she could only bring herself to stroke one finger down Lark's wing.

The magic buzzed inside her as she touched the feathers. The whole earth was suddenly swinging sickeningly around her, even though she was standing still. It was like a rollercoaster ride. She'd always loved scary rides. It was blissful.

“Emily, look at me…” a sweet voice purred, and Emily dragged herself away from the feathers and turned to stare at Lory. Then she watched the weird transformation all over again. Lory closed her eyes and shivered her shoulders, and the feathers rushed out in a fall of orange and crimson and gold. The wings stretched out like Lark's, shimmering in the candlelight. The same but different – scarlet feathers that clashed with Lory's golden-yellow hair but still looked beautiful. The same way Lory could put on an old skirt and a top that clashed and look amazing. Emily had always said enviously to herself that it was like magic. Now she gave a squeaky little gulp of laughter. She'd never thought it really was.

“Now look at
me
,” Robin demanded, reaching out a hand across the table – a hand with impossibly long fingers. Why hadn't Emily ever realized that before? Robin twisted his fingers, pulling her eyes up to his face, making her stare. He had wings too, she could see them behind his back, but it was his pointed ears that he wanted her to see, and the strange angle of his silvery eyes.

“Emily…” Her mother was kneeling next to her chair, and Emily gasped as she turned to look into her face. It was still her mother – Emily recognized her – but she was so different. Her hair was even fierier than it had been before, and it crackled out around her face like a halo, glittering with power and magic. Her silver-grey eyes filled half her face now, and they seemed to swirl like great pools of water. Emily gazed at her, entranced, swaying a little as she was wrapped in her mother's charming spell.

A cool hand stroked her cheek, and Emily turned, blinking, and looked into her father's eyes. She recognized them, even though they were darker, blacker, than they'd ever seemed to be before.

Ash… Emily could see why that was his name. His skin was grey and soft, with just the faintest hint of feathering that traced across his cheeks and into his white and silver hair. He was the strangest of all of them – the least human.

For it was obvious now. They weren't human. None of her family were.

“Are you – are you fairies?” Emily whispered.

Robin rolled his eyes. He still seemed very much her little brother, even though he had soft brown wings sprouting from his shoulders.

“Well, what do you think, Emily? What else would we be?”

Emily suddenly forgot to be entranced by his shining eyes and the glow of magic all around him. He'd been using his magic, messing around and translocating her to places. He'd been lying to her. He might be some sort of fairy, but he was still himself. And still annoying. “I don't know,” she said, smirking a little. “You could be a gnome. They're the little ones, aren't they? Shorty.”

“I'm not!” Robin yelled, and the faint glitter of magic coming off his skin got brighter, as though he was about to explode. Their dad put a warning hand on his shoulder.

Emily folded her arms and sniggered. She couldn't resist teasing him just a bit more. “Maybe a pixie?” Then she shook her head. “Sorry… I suppose all those things are real too. There really are pixies. And, um, sprites, and elves…” She looked at her mum, the long red hair rippling down her back like flames. She could see every strand of it, all glittering, and it
moved
. Eva looked like an elf – like Emily imagined an elf would look from the stories she'd read, anyway. Tall, and grand, and as if she'd be scary if she wasn't actually Emily's mum as well.

“You're all fairies…” she said slowly. “Our whole family is. So I must be – something.” Emily let out an excited gasp of laughter, and looked down at herself. She was hoping to see feathers, or at least her black hair grown longer and shinier, like magic. But it hadn't happened yet. Maybe she was still growing into it, and that was why they'd wanted to tell her. So she was ready. She nodded to herself. She definitely was.

“Is this why all the strange things have been happening? The dreams? Because I'm changing too? Why didn't you tell me till now, though?”

Then she smiled – she didn't really care why it had taken so long. She wasn't just seeing things. She was a fairy! It explained everything: all the odd things she'd been seeing, and the weird way the house behaved. She twisted her fingers together, trying to stop herself laughing. It was all so right. Everything made sense at last. She giggled suddenly. What was she going to tell Rachel?

“It doesn't matter that you didn't tell me,” she added quickly. “I just wondered. Will I have wings? You and Dad don't, so why do Lark and Lory and Robin all have them?” Then she swallowed, a sudden tide of happiness rising up inside her. “Can you
fly
?” she asked, whirling round to catch Lark's hand.

“Yes,” Lark whispered, but she didn't look very happy about it. Her wings had faded a little, and stopped shining, and they were folded flat against her back, tucked up against her purple vest top. Her fingers felt chilly in Emily's hand.

Emily looked at her worriedly. “Are you OK? I don't mind if I don't have wings, honestly.”

“Oh, Emily…” Her mum put her hand to her mouth.

Ash let go of Robin, and Robin wasn't looking furious any more. He looked – sad.

“What is it?” Emily asked, feeling suddenly scared. She let go of Lark and stepped back, staring at them all anxiously. “Is there something wrong with me?” she whispered. “Is that why it's taken so long for me to change?”

Her dad came round the table and caught both her hands, holding them tight in his own. They felt soft, and feathery, and very strong. “Emily, little one. You don't understand. You aren't like us.”

Emily shook her head. “A different sort of fairy?” she asked, but her voice was husky and breaking.

“No.”

“But why?” Emily's eyes burned with tears. How could she be a fairy's child, without any magic of her own? It didn't make sense. “It – it isn't fair,” she stammered. “How can you all be magical and I'm not? It can't happen that way.” She looked round at the rest of her family, all watching her with huge, shining eyes. Lark and Lory had tears glittering on their cheeks, and Lark rubbed one graceful hand across her face. Emily gulped. Fairies never did anything so ugly as sniffing.

“Maybe it's just taking a long time to show,” she added, trying to sound hopeful. “I have to be like you. I'm your daughter.” She gazed pleadingly up at Ash, gripping his strange hands too tightly.

Eva was standing next to him now, and Emily could feel Lark and Lory on either side of her, the feathery warmth of their wings wrapping around her.

“Emily, you're not,” Ash said gently.

There was silence as Emily looked at him, trying desperately to make those words not mean what they said. She couldn't.

“Not yours? I don't understand. I
am
your daughter… You know I am,” Emily whispered. It didn't make sense – except that in an awful sort of way, it did make sense of a lot of things. “I don't believe you,” she said, trying to sound strong, but it didn't work. She swallowed, her mouth dry and papery. “Who am I, then?”

Ash glanced at Eva, who sighed. “We don't know, Emily,” she whispered.

Emily shook her head. It was like touching Lark's wings all over again – the ground seemed to be swinging and shaking underneath her, except this time it didn't feel magical and exciting. It was awful. Her whole life had gone wobbly, and everything she knew about herself was wrong. “How can you not know?” she begged. “You have to know! Where did I come from if I'm not yours?” She pulled her hands away from Ash, wrapping them around her middle as though it might help her hold together.

Her dad – not her dad at all, Emily thought miserably – reached out for her, and she took another step back, tipping over her chair and pressing up against the wall. He dropped his hands and gazed at her sadly, his dark eyes glinting black in the candlelight. “Don't be scared, Emily. Maybe we should have told you sooner, but we wanted you to be old enough to understand.”

“I'm not scared!” Emily told him shakily. But she was. “I don't understand. I'm
not
old enough to understand, I couldn't be. Where did I come from?”

“I found you,” Ash told her quietly.

“Where? When?” Emily demanded, her voice rising in panic.

Eva reached out a hand, and Emily could see that her fingers were blurring and glittering, as though they were surrounded with magic. But Ash stopped her, gently pushing her hand away. “Don't… She needs to know all of this – and she's right to be upset.”

“Where did you find me? Who do I belong to?”

“You belong to us!” Eva almost howled it, but Ash was shaking his head.

“I found you…” He faltered, and then started again. “I found you by the river, and I brought you home.”

Emily gaped at him. That couldn't be true. It sounded like a fairy tale, she thought to herself – and then swallowed a laugh. “You just
took
me?” she asked him disbelievingly.

Ash nodded helplessly, and Emily felt her legs give way. She slid slowly down so that she was sitting against the wall and gazed up at them all, standing over her.

They'd stolen her.