Fire Girl (25 page)

Hecate kissed the top of her head. ‘No, we won’t.’

‘First we need to get out of this castle,’ Hazel said, crossing the room to peer out of the window. ‘But the drawbridge is closed and Murrell, and Lilith and that horrible
demon of hers are still in the castle somewhere.’

‘I know a secret way out,’ Hecate said. ‘It was built during the war, and was known only to the Queen and her closest confidants.’

‘So how do you know about it?’

Hecate gave a secretive smile.

‘You knew the Queen?’ Hazel asked in disbelief.

‘Indeed I did. But listen, I’ll tell you all about it when we’re safe,’ Hecate said. ‘For now, can you get Tom out of his cage?’

‘No! Leave him in there,’ Bramley squeaked.

‘I think so,’ Hazel said, kneeling by the bed and pressing her finger and thumb around the lock. Tom backed away, hissing as it glowed red under her touch.

‘Careful, don’t burn yourself,’ she said to the cat as the lock melted into a puddle of liquid metal.

The door swung open and Tom leaped out, rubbed himself against Hazel, and then jumped into Hecate’s arms, purring contentedly.

‘Good boy, Tom, good boy,’ Hecate murmured.

A wave of dizziness overcame Hazel as she stood up and she grabbed the bedspread to steady herself.

‘You’ve overdone it,’ Hecate said, helping her towards the door. ‘You need to be careful not to use your magic up all at once.’

‘But it
will
come back?’

‘Yes. And it will come back stronger. Your ability to cast magic is like a muscle – as you exercise it, it will get stronger. You’re going to be a very powerful Wielder, my
girl.’

‘You sound sad.’

‘I am. You’ll always be in danger now.’

‘Great,’ Bramley muttered dolefully from behind Hazel’s ear.

‘Are you ready to show me your way out?’ Hazel asked.

Hecate put Tom down and pulled on a hooded cloak. ‘Yes, it’s this way.’ She took Hazel’s hand and led her across the rooftop and into one of the other towers. Tom bounded
ahead, his magnificent orange tail standing straight up in the air.

‘I can’t believe you followed me here,’ Hecate said. ‘And on your own, too.’

‘I wasn’t alone,’ Hazel said. ‘I’m here with Bramley.’

Hecate paused at the top of the stairs. ‘Hazel,’ she beamed. ‘Are you trying to tell me that you have your own familiar? That’s wonderful! Can I meet him?’

‘He’s a bit shy . . .’ said Hazel, as Bramley scrabbled forward and peered out of her mass of red curls. ‘Ma, this is Bramley.’

Bramley squeaked and gave a little bow.

Hecate bent down to look at him. ‘Why, we’ve met before. Hello again, Master Mouse. How’s the paw?’

Bramley held it up and waved.

‘Good, good,’ Hecate said. ‘So, you’ve been looking after my Hazel, have you?’

He gave a shy nod.

‘I think you’ll find I’ve been looking after
him
,’ Hazel said.

Bramley cast Hazel an indignant glare, before darting back into her hair as Tom miaowed hungrily.

‘No, you may not eat this mouse,’ Hecate snapped at him. ‘I don’t care,’ she carried on over a chorus of increasingly disgruntled miaows. ‘He’s
Hazel’s familiar. Yes, you will do as I say!’

‘That horrible cat,’ Bramley quivered. ‘I’ll take Rawhead any day.’

They descended the stairs, deeper into the dark, until they reached the ground floor and an arched stone corridor dripping with moisture.

‘Nearly there,’ Hecate said, lifting up her cloak and hopping daintily over the puddles.

‘Is there another drawbridge then?’ Hazel asked, splashing after her.

‘No.’

‘Then how are we going to cross the moat?’ Hazel asked.

‘We’re going to swim.’

‘Ah, now I know where you get your sense of humour from, Hazel,’ Bramley said.

Hecate sighed. ‘I remember this place when it was the King’s stronghold, full of courtiers, soldiers, and witches with their familiars.’

Hazel stopped mid-puddle, knowing this was not the time for awkward questions, but unable to stop herself. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about all this? About Murrell, and you fighting in
the Witch War, and running away with me?’

Hecate glanced at her, her face unreadable in the gloom. ‘I wanted to protect you. I’m your mother – that’s my job.’

‘You should have told me the truth about your past.’

Hecate folded her arms. ‘The past doesn’t concern you. What happened in that dreadful time is between me and . . .’

‘ . . . Murrell,’ Hazel finished. A question that had previously never occurred to her rose to the surface of her mind, making her cold and sick to her stomach. She looked at her
mother’s dark outline and asked, ‘Is Murrell my father?’

They look like us, but scratch their skin

and you’ll find corruption and rot.

The Loathsome Witches and All Their Vile Ways

by Dr Mitchel Scanlon

H
ecate didn’t speak. Instead she lowered her head and began to shake.

‘She’s crying,’ Bramley gasped. ‘Does that mean—’

‘I feel sick,’ Hazel breathed. ‘Not him,
please’.

‘Now I come think of it, I can see a resemblance . . .’ Bramley mused.

Hecate’s skin glowed white with magic that smelt like spring blossom; laughter, not tears, rippled from her like sunlight over water. ‘Nicolas?’ she gasped. ‘Your father?
Is that what you thought?’

‘You mean he isn’t?’ Hazel said, overwhelmed with relief.

‘Of
course
not. Why would you think that?’

‘Well, you know each other from way back, and he seemed really upset that you didn’t tell him about me.’

Hecate’s laughter faded along with her magic, plunging them back into darkness. ‘Nicolas and I are friends . . .
were
friends. But we were never in love. I promise I will tell
you everything about my past, the war and your father, if you really want to know . . . but right now we’d better keep going, all right?’

‘All right.’

‘We should be at ground level now,’ Hecate said, taking Hazel’s hand and leading her down a passage. ‘Ah, here we are. I just hope the mechanism is still working . .
.’

A battered wooden bookcase stood against the wall. Hecate grabbed a nearby sconce and gave it a pull. Hazel gave a yelp of surprise as there was a clank and the bookcase swung open on rusty
hinges, revealing a low passage behind.

‘Secret door,’ Hecate said with a grin. ‘Follow me.’

They splashed their way down a short, waterlogged passage built into the keep’s outer wall. Reflected light rippled on the ceiling. Ten feet or so ahead Hazel saw the end of the passage
and the moon-kissed moat beyond. A miraculously dry Hecate and predictably mud-splattered Hazel made their way towards a dilapidated wooden jetty. Water lapped between the boards wherever Hazel
stepped.

‘Here we go,’ Hecate said, climbing aboard an ancient rowboat tethered to a mooring ring. ‘This is how I escaped last time, except then you were swelling my belly to the size
of a plum duff.’

The boat rocked as Hazel sat on the bow seat, gripping the gunwales to keep her balance. Tom sat in the middle, eyeing the water suspiciously. Hecate shoved the boat away from the jetty and they
drifted out into the open.

Using their hands to paddle, they guided the boat across the moat until it nudged the opposite bank. A street of empty houses skirted the moat. The two witches clambered out and scampered into
an alley.

‘We need to lose ourselves in the forest,’ Hazel said. ‘Do you know how to get to the main gate?’

‘I know every street and yard in Rivenpike,’ Hecate replied.

She led Hazel unerringly down alleys, back streets and dank, cobbled yards, muttering street names under her breath with Tom racing at their heels. They jagged left and right, scaling fences and
cutting through abandoned houses and workshops.

The route through the ruins seemed random, but Hazel could tell they were heading roughly in one particular direction.

‘Not far now,’ Hecate said, putting on a burst of speed and disappearing around a corner. Hazel followed, cloak flying – and ran into her mother who had stopped dead in the
entrance to a seedy courtyard.

‘Why have you—? Oh.’

‘Of all the rotten luck,’ Bramley wailed.

Titus’s wagon stood in the corner. Light glowed from the windows. Hazel put her finger to her lips and both she and Hecate backed towards the alley. ‘Ma, there’s something I
need to tell you,’ she whispered. ‘I may have . . .’

Paws padded on stone as Samson skittered into the alleyway, causing Tom to jump on to a window ledge and arch his back. Seeing Hazel, Samson bounded over and jumped up, pinning her against a
wall with his front paws.

‘Gerroff!’ she spluttered as the excited dog licked her face. Hecate grabbed his collar and vainly tried to pull him away.

‘You!’ David emerged from behind the wagon with a blunderbuss clutched in his hands. Hazel thought he had a grim look about him, much changed from the cheerful boy she had met in
Watley. He raised the gun and fumbled to pull back the hammer mechanism.

‘David,’ Hazel called, ‘if you fire that thing
they’ll
hear. The witch and her spider-demon are not far away.’

The colour leaked from David’s face and he banged on the side of the wagon. ‘Boss. You’d better come out here.’

A window opened and Titus poked his head out. ‘What is it?’ he said through a cloud of pipe smoke.

‘It’s the little witch, Boss. And she’s got someone with her.’

Hecate gasped and took a step towards the wagon. ‘Titus? Is that really you?’

The Witch Finder squinted at her. ‘I must be drunk,’ he muttered. ‘
Hecate?
’

Demons must be bound by powerful spells;

if they escape, the consequences can be terrible.

Notes on Witchcraft and Demonology
by Dr Neil Fallon

T
itus clattered down the wagon steps. ‘Put the gun down, boy.’

‘Thank my lucky stars,’ Hecate said, throwing her arms around him and glowing with pleasure. ‘My old friend Titus White.’

‘You look the same as you did fifteen years ago,’ Titus said.