Gradually, Willow organised all of Sometimes’s papers and righted all the plants, finding some that had rolled under the bed beside the sleeping dog.
The last thing she picked up was a small jam jar, inside which was a purple, iris-like flower with long, thin, dark blue roots suspended in the air. As she touched the glass, the plant appeared to wilt slightly, petals hunched over, reminding her a little of a grumbling Gertrude, which sulked when it wasn’t watered. Without really thinking, Willow fetched a glass of water from the kitchen and trickled some into the jar. To her surprise, when she put the lid back on, the plant seemed to wiggle, perhaps in satisfaction. It began to shimmer, turning into an almost smoke-like substance that was iridescent like glitter, dark purple threaded with blue.
As Willow touched the glass, the smoke-like substance followed her finger and started to shift as it formed itself into a young girl with long, stick-straight hair and a misshapen dress with a haphazardly sewn hem. The girl was pointing a finger at the glass. It was like looking into a small mirror made of purple shadows.
Willow swallowed. Something about it gave her the creeps.
Her eye drifted to the small label, but, instead of finding an explanation of what this plant was, Willow’s creeped-out feeling intensified. As it wasn’t a label at all.
It said:
MP for Willow Moss.
It was a clue.
13
Feathering’s Return
Willow stared at her shadow miniature in the jam jar for some time. Every now and again, it seemed to shudder slightly. When she took her finger away, the smoke-like shadows shifted and turned once more into a purple iris with long, thin roots suspended in the air.
Why would Nolin Sometimes have left her this? What was it supposed to tell her?
Willow went to sit in the armchair by the window to think. But at some point she must have nodded off, despite herself, because suddenly there was a small flash of light, and Willow blinked awake. On the floor was the leaf-scroll. It was the message that had gone missing from her attic before she ran away from home! Surprised, she bent down to pick it up when suddenly the sound of the furlarms began to whine loudly throughout the treehouse.
‘Oh no!’ cried Oswin as she dashed towards them. Harold started to howl as well.
‘What is it?’ asked Sprig, starting awake too, his dark eyes wary yet sharp as he looked around in alarm.
‘I don’t know,’ whispered Willow, fear clutching at her throat. ‘The furlarms detect intruders, though.’
She looked up towards the window with a worried frown and saw something large, like a cloud, heading straight towards them in a sky that was turning pink with the dawn.
‘Maybe it’s whoever came for Sometimes … Maybe they’re coming back,’ breathed Willow, looking worried.
‘Oh, Osbertrude, a curse upon yeh, me greedy aunt!’ whispered Oswin, who’d climbed on to the armchair to see out of the window better.
Whatever was moving towards them at breakneck speed sparkled in the early-morning sunshine with a pearly blue glow, and Willow’s fear suddenly changed to delight.
‘It’s Feathering!’ she cried.
‘Feathering?’ asked Sprig, his eyes widening in sudden fear as the blueish cloud neared. He took a step back from the window, his outline seeming to shift from boy to raven then back to boy so fast it hurt her eyes. ‘Is that A DRAGON?’
‘Yes! C’mon,’ she said, pulling him along by his arm. ‘This is the best news – maybe he knows who’s taken Sometimes!’
Willow raced outside towards a large branch the width of a road, with Sprig following more slowly behind her. As the dragon came in to land, the force blew Willow’s hair back and she clutched on to a nearby branch.
‘Why, hello there, young Willow. We wondered if we would find you here,’ said Feathering in his deep, wind-rattling-a-window voice.
Willow dashed forward to greet the dragon, and saw to her surprise that Essential Jones, another of her friends who had helped to save the missing day, was on his back. A grin split her face as Essential jumped down.
‘Hi, Willow!’ the girl said with a big smile, pushing back her glasses. Her long dark hair was like a knotty helmet around her head, and her nut-coloured skin seemed to glow with health and excitement from the ride.
‘Feathering! Essential! It’s wonderful to see you,’ cried Willow, racing forward to hug Essential and pat the dragon’s snout. Feathering’s golden eye closed slightly in pleasure at seeing her, and then widened as it took in the boy, who was lagging in the shadows behind her.
‘And who’s this?’ he asked, showing a row of perfect white teeth.
‘This is Sprig.’
The dragon sniffed the air, then he blinked. His head snapped up fast, making Willow and Essential leap back. The gentle giant she knew suddenly looked fierce, the iris in his golden eye whirling in a strange way that made her heart start to pound. In a rather cold voice, he said, ‘If you take her, I will come for you.’
There were goose pimples all along Willow’s body.
Sprig had turned pale. ‘H-how did you know—’ he started.
‘I can always smell death, boy …’
Willow frowned, then shot a look at Sprig. ‘What?’
‘I mean no harm,’ said Sprig, raising his arms.
‘See that you keep it that way,’ warned the dragon.
Willow blinked. ‘Death? What are you talking about?’
Sprig kept a wary eye on Feathering. ‘There’s something you should know about how I was born …’
‘More a question of where,’ emphasised the cloud dragon. Feathering sniffed the air, his golden eye falling on the boy’s arm, the one that was blue and black and scored with concentric circles. Sprig pulled his jumper sleeve down.
‘Where were you born?’ asked Willow.
Sprig looked down for a moment. ‘I … I was born on the edge of the Mists …’
Essential frowned. ‘Mists?’ she asked.
‘The Mists of Mitlaire.’
Willow and Essential gasped.
Sprig nodded. ‘Yes. Umbellifer tried to claim me, but I was pulled back in time, so only my arm was touched by death. But it’s like having a foot in both worlds. I can travel through the Mists and into Netherfell without, you know …’
‘Losing your soul?’ said Willow with a blink.
Essential’s eyes widened.
‘Yes.’ He ran a hand through his hair, shooting the dragon a wary glance. Then he looked at Willow, beseeching her with his solemn black eyes. ‘People think it’s creepy, so I don’t always tell them the truth about where I’m from …’
Willow blew out the air in her lungs. She thought of how much Sprig had helped her – how he’d risked his life against the Brothers of Wol and their arrows to save her, and how he had calmed her when she was overwhelmed.
‘Sprig wouldn’t harm me, Feathering,’ she said. ‘You can trust him.’ She looked at the boy, wishing he’d told her about this earlier, but she didn’t want to say anything while they were around the others. She supposed she could understand him not saying anything if this was how some people reacted.
The dragon didn’t respond, and Willow took a deep breath. The truth was they had other things to worry about – they had a dear friend who needed them. ‘Feathering, have you heard – is that why you’re here? About Sometimes?’