sang one long note of panic. It relaced and renetted at terrifying speed toward Kitty’s hand. Annabel saw a large hole open up before her and then more, everywhere—great tears appearing in the bone lace as it closed toward Kitty’s hand.
“Go on, then!” shouted Kitty, pointing to the largest gap.
She was racing toward Annabel, the little white bone in her hand, the wall snapping and clicking after her in a shimmering white wave. Annabel threw herself through the hole, and Kitty came after her just as the wall closed behind them with a monumental crack.
The wall sang an enraged song. It screamed and pulsated white-hot. Annabel sat up, scurried backward on her bottom away from it. Kitty didn’t follow. Kitty lay very still with her eyes closed.
“Are you hurt?” Annabel asked.
There was something terrible in Kitty’s pale face.
“It’s gone and got my foot,” she said.
“It’s what!” cried Annabel.
She lifted Kitty’s skirts to find that the bone wall was knitted tight around the wild girl’s ankle. There was blood dripping onto the cavern floor.
“Let go of the bone,” said Annabel, but it made no difference. Kitty dropped the bone, and the wall held her tight. It would not let go of her ankle.
Annabel took the bone and threw it back at the wall, and it clicked into place, but still the wall did not release Kitty. It sang in earsplitting waves of sound. The look of agony on Kitty’s face grew. She covered her face with her hands and sobbed.
“It will be fine—I’ll get you free,” Annabel said, but she didn’t know how.
What could she possibly use against the force of that wall?
“Release her, please!” she cried at it, but it held Kitty’s ankle tight.
Annabel snatched a bone from the wall, thinking it might open up another hole or weaken its grip on Kitty. But the wall held even tighter, as though it had learned its lesson. They had escaped the shadowlings only to be captured by the wall. She felt tears again but instead made fists with her hands and stamped her foot.
“Fiddlesticks!” she cried.
She thought of the ruby-red seeing glass. No good. The broomstick? No use whatsoever. She looked at the Ondona in her hand. When she had held it up in the boat at the shadowlings, nothing had happened. When she had said the word Benignus, nothing had happened. Yet she knew this was the Ondona. It had to be the Ondona. Miss Estella had known they would need it. Miss Henrietta had pushed it into her hand for a reason. Annabel had seen Miss Henrietta raise the fire and make light with the wand. She had seen Mr. Bell do the same with the Adela. They had used the word Benignus. She was sure of it. Benignus. It was Latin, she was positive. Benignus. Benigno. Benigni. Benignum. Benignae. It meant…
She needed to know the meaning of that word.
Annabel stood up, but, oh, she felt awfully shaky.
She pointed the wand at the wall where Kitty lay sobbing.
“Benignus,” she said, but she sounded very unsure of herself.
Nothing.
Her voice was like a tiny insect’s drone against the wall’s concerted effort to keep hold of Kitty. Annabel closed her eyes, concentrating on the word, the shape of it. Oh, it was a strange word, like a mouthful of stones. She did not like the feel of it. She doubted herself, and the word meant nothing. Perhaps there was a certain way to say it?
“Benignus,” she said very sternly.
“Benignus,” pleadingly.
Kitty whimpered on the ground.
Maybe there was something else she had to do? Miss Estella had pointed her split-wood fingernails at Annabel’s head and heart. It wasn’t very helpful. Magic should have instructions. Wands should come with rules, like the ones for embroidering the edge of a handkerchief.
Annabel took a deep breath. What she needed were the bones to loosen around Kitty’s ankle. That thought was clear in her mind, and clearness, she decided, was what she needed. Instead of trying to simply get magic out of the wand with a word, perhaps she had to give the wand instructions.
Yes. That felt right. She straightened her shoulders the way she had been taught at Miss Finch’s Academy for Young Ladies. The wand did not know what to do if she did not tell it, she decided. The word alone meant nothing. You had to be particular with wands. You couldn’t just point them at things and say a word and hope for the best.
She wanted the Singing Gate to release Kitty’s foot. Kitty