A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,26

the Black Wand and a machine that can produce dark magic. He has raised shadowlings already, and at full moon Friday he will raise an army and take the city. He requests that all members of the Great & Benevolent Magical Society lay down their wands and pledge allegiance to him. We have sent you Annabel, the daughter of Vivienne. She is the youngest and most able member of the society. According to the handbook, she must retrieve the Morever Wand for the society. She has sight but no discipline. We implore you to teach her what you can and then send forth your pigeons to spread the word. Yours, etc., E. & H. Vine.’ ”

“So it is true. The whispers are true,” said Mr. Crumb. “He wishes to raise an army and take the city!”

“Our glass told us as much,” said Mr. Keating.

“But before us is the girl,” said Mr. Bourne. “Do not forget it.”

And then they all paused and gazed upon Annabel very solemnly.

They gazed upon her for so long that Annabel felt embarrassed and her cheeks burned and she looked instead about the room, which was small and comfortable and cluttered. She noticed that some of the wallpaper had begun to peel and the pressed ceiling had flaked and dropped its paint like snowflakes on the floor. She noticed Kitty, but Kitty refused to notice her. Kitty ate her biscuits and stared out the window as if she would much rather still be flying on the broomstick through the sky.

Everywhere, there was a thick layer of dust. Dust on the sideboards and on the mahogany table and chairs and even, she noticed with horror, a thin layer over the biscuits. Just looking at those biscuits made her stomach grumble.

“Please,” said Mr. Bell, pointing to the biscuits, “while we think.”

So Annabel chose a biscuit and shook the dust from it. She chewed thoughtfully. Mr. Bell and Mr. Bourne and Mr. Keating and Mr. Crumb…they really were very unwizardly names. And four was a very unwizardly number. There should be three or seven, she thought, and she took another bite and waited for them to finish their gazing.

“You must choose a glass for us first,” said Mr. Bell finally, and he creaked up and to the bookshelf and retrieved an old wooden box. “Sit here, somewhat closer to the fire.”

He took a large brown stick from where it was propped beside his chair. It was smooth and covered half over with strange symbols. He pointed it at the fire and closed his eyes and said the word Benignus.

“Benignus,” he said again, and the flames grew up tall and the room grew warmer. There was that word again, thought Annabel. It sounded Latin.

“This is the Adela,” he said. “The Finsbury Wizards’ wand.”

“And my great-aunts have the Ondona,” she said.

“And the Bloomsbury Witches have the Delilah, and the Kentish Town Wizards have the Kyle, although they are very old now indeed. Mr. Huxley—you may have heard of him—has the Little Bear, a very strange wand, made of driftwood, but very good for making fine weather. The Old Silver belongs to Mr. Hamble in Stepney, and it is a tree-healing wand. He can bring new buds to dying trees…but he can barely lift it anymore. All members of the Great & Benevolent Magical Society are very old, Annabel, and now Mr. Angel has returned, not aged at all and wanting us to lay down our wands and do bad with him. To practice terrible dark magic on the good people of London.”

It did seem very wrong to Annabel, and she remembered Mr. Angel’s pale skin and the way he had looked at her when she told him her name. It made her shiver.

“We have the lesser wands, Annabel, and above the lesser wands there are the two powerful wands, the Black and the White, although the White is sometimes known as the Morever. The Black Wand has long been prized by those wishing to do wrong. He has searched the earth for it, no doubt, and now it is his and he has a machine that can produce dark magic. Not just a small amount, Annabel, the way a wizard might make a drop, but the quantity produced by a machine like the great steam engines and the great looms. Why, he might do almost anything now.”

“He has already succeeded in raising shadowlings,” whispered Mr. Keating.

Annabel thought of them then, tried to picture them in her mind. Shadows given wicked little souls, Annabel—why,