A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,40

up scowling.

There it was again, a murmuring, a low sighing. A rushing noise, like a wind coming from far away.

“Please, a light, Kitty,” whispered Annabel.

Kitty began to hum her heart-light song, but she was frightened and her humming seemed uncertain. The whistling, rushing noise grew louder. Annabel took the Ondona in her hand and turned toward the sound behind her. She saw nothing but blackness, but she was certain something was coming through the tunnel after them.

What if it was the shadowlings?

The Ondona felt like a stick—that was all, a thin, brittle stick—and Annabel wasn’t sure how to get light from it. Not in any of the ways Miss Henrietta had in the shop, nor the way Mr. Bell had in raising the fire. Both of them had said something, she was sure of it. They had uttered a word. If only she could remember the word!

The sound was growing louder now. It was an angry droning, a violent hissing coming after them through the tunnel. Kitty hummed louder. Still no heart light.

The word was…

Annabel tried to picture Miss Henrietta raising the Ondona to the shop window. She was uttering the word. Annabel saw her in the kitchen, raising the wand before the hearth, and the word was…

The noise was deafening now, one long sigh that brushed against their ears.

Then silence.

Nothing but the sound of their own breathing.

Then a word. One whispered word.

Annabel…

Kitty made a small noise, and from her mouth came her heart light, pale pink and weak. She grew it in the air before her and illuminated the tunnel, where several huge black shadows skittered backward along the rock ceiling, their claws scraping.

“Benignus!” shouted Annabel, pointing the wand, for she had remembered the word.

“Benignus.” Her voice was a squeak, the wand a stick—nothing more.

The shadowlings crept forward, slowly, tentatively, out of the blackness, over the walls toward them.

“Benignus!” cried Annabel again, holding the wand up. It was Latin, she was certain of it. If only she could remember what it meant.

“Benignus!”

Nothing. The shadowlings reached their long gossamer arms down from the ceiling and whispered her name.

Kitty’s heart light flickered, faltered…then grew suddenly huge.

It grew so huge that Annabel turned her eyes from the terrible creatures to see what had happened. It grew so great that she had to shield her eyes. But it was not Kitty’s heart light at all. The little boat had entered a great cavern. It had slipped suddenly out of the tunnel and into a cavern filled with the brilliance of a million chandeliers.

The shadowlings did not follow. Not at first. They hung back inside the tunnel, hissing and writhing in horror at the light. Annabel and Kitty stared at the place they had entered. A vast wall shimmered before them. It sang a strange song, a throng of tremulous, chiming, whispering, weeping sounds. The song made the boat shake; they felt it in their feet and hands, and their lips shivered. It was bright, so bright that they had to cover their eyes. Kitty scrambled backward in the boat, pushing the dark tangle of hair from her eyes. She swallowed her heart light.

“It’s the Singing Gate,” she whispered. She had never imagined how it might shine.

The shadowlings called out from the tunnel but did not brave the dazzling light. They moaned and writhed and called Annabel’s name. The little boat floated across the space, its bottom scraping against the shallows until the two girls stood and stepped out into the clear water.

“What is it made of?” asked Annabel, still shielding her eyes from the light. It was not a wall made of brick or stone or earth but of some other, shining substance. It sang louder as they went toward it.

Annabel looked behind her toward the shadowlings. One stretched out a giant arm toward the cavern but pulled it back just as quickly, as though it had been burned.

“They won’t come now,” said Kitty.

“I don’t trust them,” said Annabel. “They’ll think of something.”

They called her name across the cavern and the gleaming wall sang louder, as though it did not like their voices. Annabel held the broomstick and the Ondona and looked up at the wall, high as the cavern’s ceiling. It was tall as a church spire, and it glittered with light, singing to them as they approached.

Their feet crunched over the white stone of the shore. Annabel picked up some from the ground. It was bone, and she felt faint with the realization. She was standing on finger bones and toe