Oswin’s head peeped out of the bag, and his fur went from orange to green as he saw her face fall. He lifted his paws out as if to stop her as she began to breathe heavily. ‘Oh no,’ he whispered.
Sprig found a box of matches and some candles in the kitchen and brought them over, not noticing her distress as he muttered, ‘These should give us some light. I was thinking we could rustle up something for dinner, then first thing tomorrow we’ll have a look at the trail. I have his scent now.’ He lifted up one of Nolin Sometimes’s discarded jumpers. ‘This should help.’
Then, catching sight of Oswin’s wide, panicked eyes and the way his ears were flattened to his skull, Sprig blinked. ‘What – what is it?’
He turned to look at Willow, whose lip trembled. She clutched at her chest, but it was like no air could fill her lungs. Suddenly the desk vanished with a loud pop, and Sprig jumped back just in time as everything that had been on it plummeted to the flagstone floor with an almighty CRASH.
The kobold dived out of the carpetbag and ran towards Willow’s legs. He clung to them with his paws, shaking, his huge, lamp-like eyes beseeching hers. ‘Jes stop it – it ’appens when yer upset! Calm yerself!’
Willow’s heart was beating fast, there were spots in front of her eyes, and there were more and more popping sounds as things continued to disappear.
‘I don’t KNOW HOW!’
Sprig came to stand in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders, his face inches from hers. ‘Look at me,’ he commanded, and in her panic she did, focusing on his dark eyes. ‘Close your eyes! Do it.’
Willow did.
‘Now, deep breath in,’ he said.
‘W-what, I – I—’ tried Willow, who wasn’t really hearing him beyond the roaring in her ears.
‘Listen to ’im,’ beseeched Oswin, tapping her leg.
Willow swallowed, then took a deep breath in.
‘Good,’ said Sprig. ‘And let it out. Now, as you breathe in again, count to ten.’
She did as he said.
He counted out loud. ‘Now breathe out.’
Her breath came rushing out. ‘I-I – er,’ she stammered, opening her eyes. ‘I don’t know what that—’
‘Close your eyes and do it again. Breathe in, counting to ten.’
She did.
‘Again. Just trust me, keep going. You’ll feel it soon.’
Willow did it four more times, then, at last, felt her heartbeat begin to slow.
‘Keep taking deep breaths. Don’t open your eyes.’
Willow nodded. After a few minutes, she was almost back to normal. Sprig’s hands on her shoulders were cold yet somehow reassuring. When she opened her eyes at last, it was like all the colour and warmth of the treehouse was there to greet her, somehow more full of life than it had been.
‘Yew all right?’ whispered the kobold.
Willow felt embarrassed, but nodded.
‘I used to get attacks like that – the only thing that helped was the breathing,’ said Sprig.
‘Thanks,’ she said softly, ‘for helping me.’
He shrugged. ‘Sure. If you don’t mind me asking … what was that about?’ he said, pointing to where the desk had been.
Willow told him a bit about what had happened to her magic lately. His eyes widened. ‘I’ve never heard of magic being scrambled like that.’
‘Yeah,’ said Willow.
She thought of Holloway’s words. ‘There’s only one thing I’ve ever known that can do that to a person. Grief.’
She looked away and made a show of trying to pick up all the things that had fallen on to the floor. The furlarms, in particular, were glaring at her with reproachful eyes. As she considered them, she tried not to think about Granny Flossy. She couldn’t afford to fall apart – not now, not when her friend needed her. She felt a twist of shame, and anger at herself. Why couldn’t her magic just simply work?
‘I’ve got this, it’s okay,’ said Willow as Sprig bent down to help her.
Perhaps he sensed that she wanted to be alone because he suggested that the kobold help him with dinner. ‘C’mon, Oswin, there are some apple-pie blossoms we can pick from the branches outside, and we can see what’s left in the cupboards.’
Oswin, who had been making his way quietly back to his carpetbag, stopped and turned round in shock. ‘Wot?’ He’d never really been asked to do any chores before.
Willow felt the ghost of a smile flit across her face at his horrified expression.
The cluttered contents of Sometimes’s desk had made an incredible mess and Willow had barely scratched the surface of her clean-up when Sprig returned with their simple dinner of apple-pie blossoms and dried penji berries. Sprig offered to help Willow clean up again, but she declined, and shortly afterwards she could hear the sound of his and Oswin’s snores coming from the sofa that had reappeared during their meal.
It had been a rather long day, but Willow was too keyed up to sleep, too distracted by her worry for Sometimes. She picked up the scattered feathers, plants and botanical prints and drawings that had fallen from the desk when it vanished. Thankfully, the desk had reappeared shortly afterwards. She’d made such a mess. While it was technically an accident, as she couldn’t control what was happening to her powers, she couldn’t help feeling terrible about it. She was meant to be finding Sometimes, but all her abilities seemed to be doing now was making things worse. These were his observations, his studies on the strange plants that lived in Wisperia and their hidden magical abilities. She was determined to put everything right.
Thankfully, though a few empty jars had broken, the rest had been protected somehow. Each one had a little label, and the roots of the plants inside them grew in water, soil, or just in air. Willow noticed one plant with hairy green leaves and a sharp, knife-edged stamen the colour of blood. Its label, written in Nolin Sometimes’s messy scrawl, said,
The carvery, one of the most dangerous plants in the world, causes paralysis in the area it stabs for up to a year. Handle with caution, wear gloves.
She put it on the ground fast and righted another. Inside the jar were wispy yellow and pink tendrils that swirled to form what looked like a dress that was dancing. Willow found it hard to look away as it moved, and her mind went pleasingly blank as she watched it sway. Music, as if from nowhere, started to hum in her ears, until a loud snore from Harold jerked her out of her reverie. She read the plant’s specimen label:
The enchantress. Known to hypnotise whoever looks at it, useful for immobilising an intruder.
She blinked. Some of these were a bit dangerous, she realised. Not quite the types of plants she remembered Sometimes showing her in his moon garden. Still, she couldn’t help being fascinated by them. Part of her looked out for some plant remedy that might help restore her magic, but she couldn’t find anything in this collection, and, without knowing what the plants in his garden were, she didn’t have much hope of finding a solution, not without Sometimes. Though she was beginning to suspect that Holloway had been right – that her magic was being scrambled by her grief – and she didn’t know if there was cure for that at all … She swallowed, trying to push the hopeless feeling away.