A Most Magical Girl - Karen Foxlee Page 0,7

have untied Annabel’s fair hair and brushed it out until it gleamed in the lantern light.

Here, the candlelight flickered on the walls and a cold draft rushed down the stairs. At the top landing Miss Henrietta opened a little door and crouched down to pass through. It was a mean little attic room, and the candle Miss Henrietta lit was short and Annabel knew it wouldn’t last the night. The bed was plain, with one coarse blanket and not even a pillow. The tiny window showed the black sky, and the wind and rain banged against it.

“This is an old place, Annabel,” said Miss Henrietta. “It speaks to itself at night. Bumps and moans. You shouldn’t be alarmed. No harm will come to you here.”

But Annabel felt harmed. She felt bruised by the few short hours she had been there. By everything she had been asked to do. By all of Miss Henrietta’s words. She felt ruined by the day.

“The wizards have long sent messages of you,” said Miss Henrietta, a little more kindly. “They think you show promise. Your mother wrote to us and told us of your visions. That is why you are here, child. They have increased, have they not?”

“I don’t have visions,” said Annabel.

Miss Henrietta stared at her sadly. She began to close the door.

“And who is that girl?” Annabel cried. “Where does she sleep?”

“Kitty?” Miss Henrietta said. “Do not worry for Kitty. She has a hundred sleeping places all through the town. She is a betwixter, Annabel. She knows all the woods that remain in London Town, the last woods, the pockets of trees where the wild things are. Much has been chopped down, Annabel. To make ships and sideboards and fancy chairs. But she knows where to find the little folk and she does our dealings with them. I have heard it said she can sing up her spirit light. There are not many girls like Kitty anymore.”

It made no sense to Annabel. “It’s cold and rainy out,” she said.

“You could not keep Kitty indoors if you tried, Annabel,” said Miss Henrietta. She shut the door at that, and Annabel listened for a long time to her footsteps growing fainter down the stairs.

Annabel removed her boots and stockings and dress. She opened her traveling trunk and found her nightdress and her brush. There lay all her pretty things, all the things from her other life. Her sweet straw bonnets and her good dresses. She looked at them sadly. Outside, she could hear London: horses’ hooves and carriage wheels, the lowing of cattle and the rumble of trains, ringing bells and shrieks of laughter, and, somewhere, someone wailing.

She found her little jewelry box. It was black, highly lacquered, and once, a long time ago, Annabel had had a vision in it.

You have a secret you try to keep from the world.

In the black lacquered box she had seen a funeral procession on gray streets, with a small coffin carried by old men, and she had watched it with interest for some time. She remembered it because she had told her mother, who had clutched Annabel’s tiny hands.

“Annabel, close your eyes if you see such things,” she had demanded. “Close your eyes—promise me—and turn away.”

She opened the box now in the little attic room. Inside winked her mother’s diamond brooch. It was star-shaped and glittered on the blue velvet. It made her feel so sad that she could not breathe. Her mother had given it to her just before she left.

“But why?” Annabel had cried. “You don’t need to send me away. I promise I won’t look in puddles again. I promise.”

But her mother had shaken her head.

“I will send word when I am to return,” she replied, and took Annabel’s pretty face in her hands. “Be brave.”

“Mother,” Annabel said now.

The candle dipped its little head.

Annabel took the star brooch from its box and blew out the flame. She lay down on the bed, and the wind and rain crashed against the little window. She thought of her long-dead father and how he had not been at all who he was meant to be. It hurt her head, so she wondered about the strange girl Kitty instead. She hoped she was somewhere safe and dry. Then she held the star brooch to her cheek and closed her eyes.

The wild girl did not sleep at first. The weather lifted her spirits. The wind banged and clamored and called up and down the lanes. The world was restless