A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,23

smelled anything so rotten. It caught in her throat and made her retch. It stung her eyes. It swallowed up all the street signs as soon as they were needed. Kitty walked ahead purposefully.

“Hurry up,” she said to Annabel, “or I’ll leave you behind.”

“Miss Henrietta drew a map,” said Annabel. “If you need it.”

“Don’t need no map,” said Kitty, not even bothering to look at Annabel. “Been to the wizards many times. Bring them their brownie tea.”

“Brownie tea?” said Annabel. “I don’t think brownies are real.”

“Real enough if they give you a good scratching,” said Kitty.

The broomstick quivered against Annabel.

She held it tight. “Hush,” she whispered to it. “Don’t be scared. We’ll find our way to your new home.”

Kitty stopped and turned to face her. Annabel in her pretty town dress, Kitty in her filthy, ragged one. There were never two more different girls.

“Can you fly that thing?” she asked.

“Don’t be silly,” said Annabel.

“A Vine Witch wouldn’t give you a broomstick if you weren’t meant to ride it,” said Kitty, and she stared at Annabel for a good minute as though she were quite stupid.

The shops turned to taverns and inns with laughter and voices spilling out onto the street. People came out to marvel at the great fog and wonder where it had come from to turn the day to night. Kitty quickened her step, and Annabel had to run to keep up.

“It’s very dark,” said Annabel, “isn’t it?”

Kitty didn’t answer.

“How do you know the way?”

“All London’s in my head,” said Kitty, and she tapped her wild black hair.

“Where are your mother and father?” Annabel asked.

“Don’t have none,” said Kitty.

“What happened to them?” asked Annabel.

Kitty remembered hard, cold places. Tangled memories of rough hands and loud voices and children’s faces and then the freedom of being gone from there.

“Don’t know, don’t care,” said Kitty.

Annabel had never met anyone like Kitty in her life. “Well, I don’t believe that,” she said.

Kitty stopped and faced Annabel again. “Do you never shut up?” she said. “You are like a bell clanging.”

It was one of the meanest things Annabel had ever had said to her. She tried very hard to think of something horrible to say back. Kitty stared at her, waiting.

“Fiddlesticks,” said Annabel at last, and Kitty laughed, a wicked little cackle. She stopped just as suddenly as she’d started, and peered about her as though she sensed something.

“Quickly now,” she said. There was a group of young men on a street corner, watching them. “Keep up or we’ll be in trouble for sure.” She pulled Annabel by the hand roughly.

Everything about Kitty was rough. Annabel wasn’t sure she liked her at all.

“My mother’s gone abroad,” said Annabel. “And left my great-aunts to look after me.”

Kitty ignored her.

“I went to Miss Finch’s Academy for Young Ladies,” said Annabel.

Kitty ignored her still.

“Why do they call you a betwixter?” asked Annabel.

“Just a name,” said Kitty.

“But what does it mean?”

“It means I go between. This world and that world. Do dealing what others can’t do.”

Annabel didn’t know what that meant. She stopped still to think on it.

“Good afternoon, young ladies. You’ve picked a fine time to take a stroll,” came a voice from behind, and when Annabel turned, she saw it was one of the young men from the street corner, quite close.

“Quickly,” said Kitty again.

“Don’t pull me so,” said Annabel.

“Well, don’t stand there,” hissed Kitty.

Annabel looked behind as they ran. The fog had gobbled up the young man from view. People loomed in and out of the shadows and thick smoke. Two washerwomen snarled at them to get out of the way, a butcher with a side of meat on his shoulder appeared suddenly and disappeared into the cloud just as quickly. Through the fog the shop lights shone hazy and golden, and Annabel wished, more than anything, that she could be inside.

The broomstick thrummed in her hand, gently, then strongly, in a rhythm, almost as though it had a heartbeat. She looked behind her again and saw, through the fog, the gang of young men. They were drifting slowly, hands in pockets, laughing and elbowing each other. Kitty had turned into a tiny lane so narrow the buildings almost touched. The weather played tricks with the men’s voices, bringing them sometimes close, sometimes far. The fog vanished them and then reappeared them, as though by magic.

It was dark suddenly. Terribly dark. Annabel felt such fear that she stopped still.

She could not see before her or behind, but she heard the footsteps and laughter.