A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,2

SUPPLIER OF FINE TARTAN. But before her was a shop with the words MISSES E. & H. VINE’S MAGIC SHOP neatly printed on the glass. And opening the door was a tall, straight woman with a scowl on her face.

“Annabel Grey?” said the woman.

“Yes,” said Annabel Grey.

The tall, straight woman wore a dark dress buttoned up to her chin. Her hair was black and in no way matched her face, which was very old—long and thin and crosshatched with grooves.

The tall, straight woman did not smile. “I am Miss Henrietta Vine.”

“My great-aunt!” cried Annabel, and she thought perhaps she should throw herself at the woman’s feet, but Miss Henrietta Vine did not look as if she would tolerate such a thing.

There was nothing welcoming about Henrietta Vine.

“ ‘Miss Henrietta’ will do,” she said sharply. “And you are nearly thirteen?”

“On Friday I will be thirteen,” said Annabel.

“You are small for your age, then,” the woman said. “And too young in my opinion to have had your skirts let down.”

Miss Henrietta had grave blue eyes, and her expression was solemn, as though she were about to tell Annabel something terrible, something much more terrible than what had already happened. The terrible-news gaze was unwavering, and it made Annabel look away. She looked at her feet, at the footpath, at the shop glass behind Miss Henrietta.

“So, here you are,” said Miss Henrietta. “Your mother has finally done what is proper.”

Just the mention of her mother made Annabel sway.

It was her mother who had sent her here. Her mother, who had suddenly needed to go abroad. Annabel felt the smile slipping from her mouth, and she fought very hard to keep it in its place. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

Miss Henrietta Vine did nothing to comfort her. “You have a secret,” she said, looking at Annabel carefully. “You have a secret you try to keep from the world.”

“No, I don’t,” said Annabel. She was so shocked by these words that the tears completely dried up.

The wind blew against their skirts and it began to rain. Miss Henrietta told the driver where to take Annabel’s trunk, then raised her dark eyebrows and motioned for Annabel to follow her inside.

“This is not an ordinary magic shop,” said Miss Henrietta Vine when they were inside. She looked at Annabel sternly, daring her to disagree. Annabel dared not. It was most definitely a magic shop, and it was crowded with the most unusual things Annabel had ever seen. There was a long counter cluttered with greasy jars and bottles. Some contained greenish liquids; in others, things floated that she did not wish to see. There was a long gray stick, with words carved faintly all over it, beside a dog-eared ledger.

The shop smelled peculiar. It was pepperminty and medicinal and sweet and sour in equal parts. It smelled wrong, and Annabel took a handkerchief from her sleeve and held it to her nose, but Miss Henrietta frowned so fiercely that she quickly put it away. She breathed through her mouth and smiled as pleasantly as she could. Miss Henrietta glowered in return.

Behind the counter were two large specimen cabinets with many small drawers, some of them open and some of them shut. What looked like black feathers spilled from one and blue ribbons from another, and gray brittle twigs spewed in a tangle from a third. There were shelves behind the cabinets that reached high up the walls to where a dark clock ticked angrily, as though every second were an insult to itself. The shelves were crammed with books and hats and boxes and feathers and leaves and large sticks and more jars and more wooden boxes and, on the very top shelf, several large stones.

“No, this is not an ordinary magic shop,” repeated Miss Henrietta, looking at Annabel’s open mouth with disapproval. Her long black skirt made a dreadful swishing noise on the marble floor. A dark brooch glittered on her chest. Her hand reached out to the gray stick on the counter. “This is the Ondona, our wand, the Vine Witches’ Wand. We do not keep any of the newer types of wands. You will meet customers inquiring after such things. They rush past to catch a late train and see the word magic and think they will buy tricks for their children. We trade only in high-end items that come upon the market rarely. Why, we have traveled twice to New York to purchase important wands from important witches who were about to