A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,21

broomstick,” said Miss Henrietta at last. “That is where we begin. We must find you a broomstick.”

A broomstick, thought Annabel. She hoped she didn’t have to do more sweeping. She followed Miss Henrietta into the magical storeroom. This time Annabel was ready for the inside, for the odd, jumbled-up assortment of smells: peppermint and oranges and wax and old clothes. There was a place in the storeroom that smelled exactly like the sea. She did not keep her eyes to the ground—instead, she looked about herself in wonder. Near them, there was a jar filled with a silvery liquid. It made a soft bubbling sound.

“Broomsticks,” said Miss Henrietta, holding up the candle to illuminate several tall hats. “Where did I put the broomsticks? Oh yes. Right beside the peat jars. Now, take the stepladder—that’s right—and climb up and take one of the brooms, please.”

Annabel did as she was told. She climbed the stepladder, and up close like that, with Miss Henrietta holding the candle aloft, she saw other things. She saw a pile of sticks. She saw a row of jars filled with a dark liquid. She saw a tray filled with something that looked like bones, glinting moon white.

“Are they b-b-bones?” Annabel stammered.

“Broomsticks are what we’re looking for,” said Miss Henrietta sternly.

Annabel reached up to where the broomsticks lay on the very top shelf. She pulled at one, but it seemed attached to the others.

“I can’t,” she said. “It doesn’t want to come.”

“Exactly right, Annabel,” said Miss Henrietta. “Broomsticks are by nature stubborn and troublesome and never want to be apart from their companions. You must coax it gently and tell it that all will be well.”

It seemed very silly.

“Go on,” said Miss Henrietta.

“Here, then,” said Annabel to the broomstick. “Don’t be scared.”

The broomstick wouldn’t budge. The broom head, which seemed to be made of twigs, was tangled up with all the others.

She heard her great-aunt’s exasperated sigh beneath her. “Say it as though you mean it, child!”

Annabel took a deep breath. She tried not to look down at the bones, rattling ever so slightly; the glass jars, chiming softly, menacingly.

“Dear broomstick, I just need you for a little while, and then I will put you back,” she said, stroking it very gently. “You are very lovely. Here, now, just a little moment, that’s all we ask.”

She pulled gently at the handle and felt it move slightly apart from the others.

“You are made of such lovely wood, and I’m sure you can sweep the floor ever so well.”

“Yes,” whispered Miss Henrietta. “Try to separate it again.”

Annabel tried, and this time the broomstick separated from the rest. She felt it quivering in her hands. It trembled against her heart as she began to climb back down. She suddenly felt very protective of it. So she was shocked when Miss Henrietta pounced forward at the bottom of the ladder, wrenched the broomstick from her hands, and threw a bag over the twig head.

Miss Henrietta knelt down on the ground, the thing bucking and struggling in her hands, and lashed the burlap bag with twine. “Rascal,” she muttered. “Stop fighting, you rascal.”

Annabel’s face burned. “Why are you doing that?” she shouted.

“Keep your voice down in the cupboard,” said Miss Henrietta.

“It’s wrong,” said Annabel, a little quieter.

Miss Henrietta stood, holding the trussed-up broomstick. “Quickly,” she said.

Annabel became aware that the storeroom was starting to shake. Things were knocking. The broomsticks were banging and the bones rattling loudly in their tray. The glass jars were wobbling and the liquid was sloshing.

“Quickly,” Miss Henrietta said again, and she took Annabel by the hand, flung open the storeroom door, and slammed it behind them.

Annabel looked back at the door, which was trembling. “What’s happening?” she whispered.

“Ignore it,” said Miss Henrietta. “Everything will calm down in a minute. For now, we must tie up this broomstick until it loses some of its feistiness.”

She took the broomstick and tied it to three hooks behind the counter. The broomstick continued to struggle. It rattled and banged against the counter and caused a commotion.

“They soon calm down,” Miss Henrietta continued. “You will take it to the Finsbury Wizards along with a letter I will write for them posthaste.”

Annabel had no idea why the Finsbury Wizards should need a broomstick. Perhaps she was meant to sweep there as well. It was the kind of dreadful thing that would be expected of her. She was probably also meant to empty their stinky wizard chamber pots and polish their silverware.

Miss Henrietta sat down