Magicalamity (2 page)

“Wow,” Tom said again. “I’m a demisprite!” He tried
out the sound of the word and decided it was weird but glamorous, and not necessarily girly. “Does that mean I have superpowers?” He was starting a new school in September, and was already worried that Charlie would avoid him for not being cool enough. A superpower or two would come in very handy.

“We shall have to find out about your powers.” Lorna put two plates of bacon and eggs on the table and sat down. “What skills would you like?”

“I don’t know—flying would be good.” He’d always had secret fantasies about being able to fly.

“Can’t you fly?” She tossed a fried egg into her mouth and gulped it down whole. “No, of course not. Well, you must have some lessons.”

“Flying lessons? Seriously?”

“I’ve never been more serious.”

“Can my dad fly?”

“Oh, of course—and he’s jolly good at it. He was on the flying hockey team when we were in college.”

“Is that where you met him? He never talks about his college.” It was incredible to think that his easygoing dad, who had gray hair and a rather round stomach, had been hiding the fact that he could fly—actually
fly
. And he’d thought he knew Dad so well.

Lorna said, “Eat your food before it gets cold.”

Tom realized he was hungry and began to eat his bacon and eggs, watching Lorna.

She hasn’t done anything magical yet, he thought, except that thing with the television—Cinderella’s fairy godmother was a lot more useful. Lorna had cooked the food herself; a proper fairy would just have conjured it out of nothing.

“Ms. Mustard …”

“Call me Lorna.”

“Lorna, can you help my dad?”

She sighed. “I hope so, but I dropped out of the Realm years ago—I own a scrap-metal business these days.”

“Oh.” Tom hadn’t expected this. It didn’t sound very fairylike.

“My magic’s a bit rusty. You probably know more than I do.”

His heart sank. If his fairy godmother couldn’t get him out of this mess, who could? “You couldn’t know less magic than me,” he said gloomily, “because I don’t know any.”

“What—none at all? Did Jonas really teach you nothing?”

“I told you, he never told me anything, and certainly not about magic.”

“That’s a nuisance.”

“Don’t you use magic anymore?”

Lorna sighed again. “There’s not much call for it in the scrap-metal trade. I only used the spells that would make my business successful.”

“Could you change yourself into a bat, like my dad did?”

“I could, but I’d have to look it up—and all my spell-books are in a box somewhere.”

“Oh.” Tom had decided he liked Lorna, but he couldn’t help being disappointed.

“To tell the truth, when I agreed to be your godmother, I didn’t think I’d actually have to do anything. I just signed the parchment and sent you a christening present.”

This was interesting. Tom tried to remember some of the old fairy tales Mum had read to him when he was little, where godmothers gave wonderful magical gifts. “What was it?”

His godmother grinned suddenly, making her stern face look younger and nicer. “You’re good at math, aren’t you?”

“Well … yes.” Tom was very good at math. The headmistress of his primary school had told his parents he was “exceptional.”

“That was my present—math talent.”

“Thanks,” Tom said politely, though he couldn’t help wishing it had been a football talent instead; being great at math didn’t exactly make you popular—Charlie said only nerds were good at math.

“I nearly got you a talent for keeping your bedroom tidy,” Lorna went on, “but math was only a few pounds
more and the postage was included, so I thought, What the heck? I always liked Jonas.”

“What about the other godmothers? Did they give me presents?”

“Oh yes, it’s the custom. Dahlia Pease-Blossom got you a handsome-token—she was too mean to fork out for full beauty.”

“Actually, handsome is fine,” Tom said. “I mean, it’s really nice.” His face turned hot. He was a tall, skinny boy with dark brown hair and blue eyes—and apparently he was handsome, which was nice to know, but a bit embarrassing.

“And Iris Moth sent you a whole hour of invisibility, which is very expensive. She’s a nasty old bag in some ways, but she’s not as tightfisted as Dahlia—and she’s a great one for keeping up the old customs. For instance, she still goes back to the Realm twice a year for the nude dancing at the solstices. I haven’t bothered for ages.”

“The Realm is where my dad’s hiding, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” Lorna was very serious.

“So we need to go there and look for him.”

“No, no—you can’t come into the Realm. It’s too dangerous. I have to hide you in this world. You see, the Falconers will be looking for you this very minute. We’d better get out as soon as possible.”

“The … Falconers?”

“They’re the ruling family in the Realm. I’ll give you
the background later. All you need to know now is that they’re highly dangerous—and, for some reason I don’t understand, they want Jonas dead.”

Tom put down his knife and fork, feeling slightly sick. “Is it because of Milly Falconer?”

“Well remembered, boy—we’ll make a fairy out of you yet. Yes, Milly was a Falconer, and they still blame Jonas for her death. But there’s more to it, I’ll be bound.” Lorna picked up the dirty plates and took them to the sink. “If only he’d kept to the old law and invited Dolores Falconer to your christening!”

“This is like the play I went to at Christmas,” Tom said. “She’s the Bad Fairy, right?”

“It’s even more complicated than that. She’s your aunt.”

Another bombshell—Tom was almost getting used to them. What else had Dad been keeping from him? “I didn’t know I had any aunts.”

“She’s your dad’s older sister—a complete cow, and always was.” Lorna quickly washed the plates under the tap. “All you need to know now is that she wants to use you and your mum as bait—she knows Jonas will come out of hiding to save you. Her people are after you, and we have to get out as fast as possible.”

Downstairs, there was loud knocking at the door.

L
orna froze. “Who’s that?”

“I don’t know—probably a delivery. We get them all the time.” Tom was trying to sound confident, but his heart was beating hard. Did this mean the Falconers had come to kidnap him? Would his godmother be able to save him if they had? “Shall I go down?”

“Yes, we should try to look as normal as possible. But I’ll come with you.” She led the way down the stairs to the deli.

Through the glass door Tom saw the untidy blond hair of his best friend.

“Charlie!” He almost laughed aloud with relief.

“Hey, Tom!” Charlie called from the other side of the door. “Why are you closed? Let me in!”

“Just a minute.…”

“Wait!” Lorna grabbed Tom’s arm before he could unlock the door. “Do you know him?”

“Oh yes. His name’s Charlie Evans. I’ve known him for years.”

“Are you expecting him?”

The question made Tom remember that he was not. “Well, no. I thought he was away in Turkey.”

“Hmm, that sounds dodgy. Are you sure it’s him?”

“Of course it’s him!”

“Look at him again.” Lorna’s grip on his arm tightened. “You mortals never use your eyes properly. Never mind what you EXPECT to see—what do you REALLY see? Is there anything different about him?”

Tom looked carefully at his best friend’s face. As soon as he did, he noticed that Charlie’s hair was a little darker than usual—and his upper lip was a slightly different shape—and the expression in his eyes was all wrong. Once again Tom had the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach—it had been horrible seeing Dad turn into a bat, but this poor imitation of Charlie was worse.

“That’s not him,” he whispered.

“I knew it!” Lorna shoved Tom behind her and banged angrily on the glass. “BOG OFF!”

The boy who was not Charlie suddenly sneezed violently and changed into a tall young man with untidy dark hair and a big turned-up nose. And then he vanished.

“Well, it’s started,” said Lorna. “Best foot forward, boy!” She marched back upstairs, dragging Tom behind her. “Here’s what we’ll do. You’re coming back to my place, which is still hidden from the Falconers. We can’t use any kind of mortal transport—far too risky—so we’ll be flying.”

“OK,” Tom said faintly. He was still shaking from the very creepy sight of someone suddenly vanishing into thin air.

“You go and pack a few clothes while I set up my wings.”

“Right.” He went into his bedroom and hastily stuffed all the clean clothes he could find, plus his iPod, into his school backpack.

In the kitchen, Lorna was pulling a lot of flimsy, dirty-looking white material out of a shopping bag. She gave it a couple of shakes, and Tom saw that it was a leather waistcoat with two long, droopy white shapes attached to the back.

“My wings,” Lorna said briskly.

“Oh.”

She chuckled. “I know they don’t look like much—
wait till you see them spread in full flight. Are you ready?”

“Yes, but—are you sure they still work?”

“Fairy wings never wear out.” She took the jar of sun-dried tomatoes from the shelf, wrapped it carefully in two tea towels and stuffed it into Tom’s backpack.

“Do we have to take that?” he asked. “What if it breaks? I don’t want oily tomatoes all over my stuff.”

“I’m very fond of sun-dried tomatoes—don’t you dare take it out, do you hear? Ooof! Give me a hand with this harness, boy—it seems to have shrunk!”

The waistcoat part of Lorna’s wings had been made for a slimmer fairy, and it took a lot of heaving and huffing before she was safely strapped in.

“Thanks, Tom—by the way, before I forget, Elvis says goodbye and good luck.”

“Elvis! I’d forgotten all about him. I can’t leave him here by himself!”

“He’ll be fine,” Lorna said. “He’s gone to stay with his other family.”

“What are you talking about? He’s our cat!”

“I hate to give you yet another shock—but your cat has been two-timing you with the Atkinsons on the next street. They think they own him.”

“Well, of all the—that little furry—wait a sec, how do you know? Can you talk to animals?”

Lorna fanned out her long wings behind her. “Yes, fairies can understand all mammals.”

The ability to talk to animals, like Dr. Dolittle, was another superpower Tom had always secretly wanted, and thinking about it distracted him from Elvis’s dreadful disloyalty. “Could a demisprite learn to do that?”

“Questions later! Grab the holding loop on my back—it’s designed for passengers—and we’ll jump out of the window.” She jerked open the window behind the sink.

“Hang on.…” Tom took a step back. They were up on the second floor, and though he was convinced Lorna was genuinely on his side, he was not quite sure about her magic. “Aren’t you going to practice first?”

“Practice? My dear Tom, this is the most ordinary magic! I don’t need to practice!”

“But if you haven’t done it for a while …”

She sighed loudly. “All right! Just to convince you, I’ll give you a quick demo of basic flying. First, I climb out of the window and perch, ready for takeoff.” She scrambled over the sink and crouched on the sill. “Now I say these simple words:
bish, bash, bosh, borum
—two magic finger-snaps—jump … OW!”

Lorna toppled off the windowsill and dropped straight down into the rosebush below.

“Lorna?” Tom gasped, stretching over the sink to look out of the window. “Are you OK?”

“Drat and double drat!” She was thrashing about
furiously in a tangle of spiky branches and useless white wings. “I could’ve SWORN … How could I forget that stupid spell?”

Tom dashed downstairs and out into the garden, very worried that his fairy godmother had hurt herself—should he call an ordinary ambulance? She was a sturdy woman, however, and falling out of an upstairs window had only given her a few bruises.

“OW! These thorns are sticking right in my—I’m sorry, Tom, you were quite right—I certainly do need to practice! I’ll start indoors next time.”

They went back upstairs to the flat. Lorna decided to try for a short test flight in the sitting room, which was bigger than the kitchen. She stood in the middle of the carpet and muttered spell after spell—and still nothing happened.

It took such a long time that Tom forgot they were in a hurry. He got himself a Coke from the deli fridge and sat down on the sofa to watch comfortably. Some magic was coming back to his fairy godmother, but it was always the wrong magic. One spell closed the curtains, another set off every single car alarm in the street—it was very entertaining. The nearest she came to flying was when her left wing suddenly started flapping all by itself, and she started to whiz round in midair like a Catherine wheel.

“This is very embarrassing,” Lorna said breathlessly
when she had managed to stop spinning. “I thought flying would be just like riding a bicycle. OK—
flitch, flatch, flotch, flarum
—two stamps of the foot—AARGH!”

There was a flash of bright light. Tom nearly dropped his drink. Lorna’s empty clothes collapsed, and a little brown mouse ran out of the heap. He knelt down on the rug beside it. “Lorna? Is that you?”

The mouse looked at him with beady little eyes and squeaked, “Knickers!”

Tom burst out laughing, and so did the mouse—which looked and sounded so funny that he laughed even harder.

He was still giggling when Lorna reversed the spell and leapt back into her clothes, but she was downcast. “I’m sorry about this, boy—a fine fairy godmother I turned out to be!”

“You’re OK.” She looked so miserable that Tom wanted to cheer her up. “The other two didn’t even come.”

“That’s very decent of you, but it doesn’t solve the problem. How on earth am I going to get you to my place if we can’t fly?”

“Where is your place?”

“Just outside Glasgow.”

“Oh.” This was a very long way away. “Well, we could take the train, or a plane—”

“No, no, that’s too risky.”

“If you can’t fly and you can’t use ordinary transport, how did you get here?”

“I used a dissolving and relocating spell,” Lorna said gloomily. “But that wouldn’t do for you. Your molecules would never stand it—you’re too human.”