A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,27

they might do almost anything.

It made Annabel feel scared. She looked to Kitty, but Kitty looked to the window and refused to be involved.

“You, dear child, must go into Under London to retrieve the Morever Wand,” said Mr. Bell. He said it calmly and quietly, as though he were saying she must go to the High Street and choose a new dress.

“The White Wand, the good wand,” said Mr. Bourne. “A most magical girl is required. The Valiant Defender of Good Magic. Everything is threatened, Annabel. Everything. From the smallest babies to the most ancient witches. Only the Morever will defeat the Black Wand with dark magic in it.”

That did not help her fear. Not one little bit.

“Now for your glass,” he said. “Please open the box.”

Annabel knelt beside the fire and opened the lid.

“Anyone who has the talent of sight can usually find a seeing glass that will suit them,” said Mr. Bell, as though Annabel were trying on hats at Harrods.

Annabel thought of the dark house and the dark wave, ready to wash over the city, and it was so violent in her mind that she flinched. Were they the shadowlings? It was such a terrible thought!

“You do see things,” said Mr. Bell, “don’t you? In puddles?”

The wizards looked at her so kindly and the fire was so warm and the taste of the biscuit still so sweet in her mouth that she nodded.

“Yes,” she admitted. “Yes, I do.”

“Well, then, you must find a glass and learn to see in it. Puddles are not always at hand,” said Mr. Bell. “Your sight will help you on your way….Both of you on your way.”

He looked at Kitty then, and Kitty looked back from the window. “I’ve only got to take her back to the witches’ shop,” she said. “That’s all I said I’d do. For three times my ration.”

Mr. Bell nodded kindly.

Inside the box were many small parcels of fabric. Annabel unwrapped the first and found a palm-sized piece of green glass, quite jagged. She held it on her hand and then to her eye. The wizards nodded approvingly. It changed the room to a turquoise color and the fire to a dirty yellow. But did it suit her?

She wrapped the green glass back in its cloth. Go on a journey to find a wand and defeat Mr. Angel with it, she thought. She didn’t know anything about wands. It was not the same as being asked to balance a book on her head and walk to the door and back. It was not the same as mapping the Danube. It was not at all the same as decorating a bonnet with yellow ribbon. But there was a faint tremor of excitement, deep down, within her. She looked up and saw Kitty watching her, and looked quickly down at the box again.

There was brown glass and clear glass and yellow glass. There were pieces of pottery with glaze, which were only a little shiny. There was the brown bottom of a jug, which she held up with disdain. It wasn’t at all how she expected magical seeing glass to look. Finally she unwrapped an old rag and found a piece of ruby-red glass.

It was thick, and it fitted snugly inside her palm. She turned it and watched its light play on the ceiling. It caught the reflection of the flame in the fireplace. Annabel felt something inside her, a faint shimmer of recognition.

“You sense something with this one?” asked Mr. Bell.

“I feel it is mine,” whispered Annabel. “Although I don’t understand how.”

“Is it the one you choose?” asked Mr. Bell.

“Why, yes,” said Annabel, not admitting that it really felt much more as if the ruby-red glass had chosen her.

“Now, some rules for looking in it,” said Mr. Bell. “Mr. Crumb, if you will?”

Mr. Crumb took the seat closest to Annabel. It took some time on account of his not being able to stand at first and Mr. Bourne and Mr. Keating having to heave him up. Then Mr. Bourne and Mr. Keating had to sit down, which took some doing. A pair of glasses was lost and found again. Annabel wondered if anything much ever happened in the magical world, between the Vines and the Finsbury Wizards.

“Well, now, the rules are simple, my dear,” said Mr. Crumb. “One, visions require a quiet mind. Two, in visions the future is never colored and there is often not any sound. Yes?”

Annabel nodded.

“Three, the past is often colored and often very loud,”