It wasn’t technically her fault that she’d broken her promise so quickly … As far as she was concerned, the letter from Nolin Sometimes and her fears for him had surpassed her concerns about her magic. In the stakes of wonky magic versus missing friend, missing friend had won out. Or it should have if her dodgy magic hadn’t made the attic – and her sister – disappear in the process …
Luckily, they both reappeared a few moments later. The lecture, however, went on for considerably longer.
Willow now sat at the kitchen table while her mother paced up and down, shaking her head and muttering things like, ‘I just don’t know what’s to be done with you. I sent your father word that he should come home so that we can all deal with this together as a family. What if your sister had gone missing permanently? You don’t know how to control this – and, despite the risks to all of us, you’re still using your magic …’
‘But Mum,’ Willow interrupted, feeling a pang of guilt that her mother had asked her father to leave work early to ‘deal’ with her, ‘I had to use my magic! I’ve got to find Nolin Sometimes.’ She tried once again to explain. ‘He’s my friend, and he needs me. He sent me a letter—’
‘Which has conveniently vanished,’ said her mother. She made a ‘pfft’ noise, eyes narrowed.
This was true unfortunately. A few things from the attic hadn’t reappeared, like Granny Flossy’s old purple hat, several tonics that her mother had been forcing her to drink, and the leaf-letter, so no one would believe a word Willow said.
Her mother shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose in frustration. ‘I’d like to believe you, Willow, truly … but trees do not move or speak! I don’t know what on Great Starfell made you think they could. Besides that – which is worrying enough – I’m not sure where you got this idea that you’ve met a forgotten teller …’
‘Mum, I have!’ she protested.
‘No, you haven’t, Willow! It’s not something one does. Oubliers are extremely rare, and most end up … well, dead because of their abilities, which land them in trouble.’
Willow blinked. ‘I KNOW that! That’s why he needs me – it’s urgent!’
Willow’s mother shook her head, her eyes wide with concern. ‘Oh, Willow, I think you’re really quite ill. It might be a fever or something that’s been causing all this trouble with your magic – and now these delusions …’
But Willow wasn’t ill. She felt fine. She’d had all kinds of colds before and it had never caused her magic to act strangely. Her rogue magic came from something else … she knew it. In the back of her mind, Granny Flossy’s voice on a cold winter’s night whispered, ‘Folk that venture into the forest of Wisperia don’ always come back the same. I’ve heard stories of people who changed. Their hair turned to flame, their feet to hooves, their fingers to leaves … Forest-touched, they call it … They end up having to make a life there, away from everyone they know, as they’ve turned wild.’
Willow swallowed. She’d been to Wisperia when she’d tried to get back the stolen day. The forest must have done something to her. She tried to push the thought that her hair might turn to flame or her feet to hooves out of her mind, with difficulty.
The problem was getting anyone in her family to consider these risks because, when the lost Tuesday had been restored, so had the usual timeline. No one remembered when the day went missing at all, and they didn’t know what Willow had done or where she’d been … The only people who remembered were those, like her, who had been in the presence of the spell that had brought back the day.
‘Please, Mum, just listen to me – I think I know what’s happened. I’m going to tell you all about it, and afterwards you’ll see what needs to be done.’
She asked them not to interrupt so that she could get through the whole story. To her surprise, they agreed. Mostly, she would find out later, because they’d been trying to gather just how far her fevered delusions went and how urgently they should send for help.
‘So you see,’ she said, when she finally finished explaining all that had happened a few weeks before, ‘I believe that something affected my magic in Wisperia. It scrambled it around or something. I think, under the circumstances, that the best thing to do is to send for Moreg. She’ll know what to do, and how to help me find Nolin Sometimes.’
There was a long pause while her family stared at her in what Willow thought might be amazement at the fact she’d helped to save the world and kept quiet about it for so long, or perhaps even a little quiet pride at her courage in the face of such adversity … But it soon turned out to be something else entirely.
Her oldest sister, Juniper, came forward, an odd look on her face as if a beloved pet had died. She felt Willow’s forehead and frowned. ‘It’s the stress, isn’t it?’ she said, looking at her mother, her mouth in a sad line. ‘Ever since Granny passed. She can’t face reality any more.’ Then for a second her serious demeanour slipped and she clamped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sorry … I shouldn’t laugh as it’s really quite awful, but … “send for Moreg”!’
This made Camille giggle, then whisper loudly, ‘She only used her first name too, like they were friends! Can you even imagine?’
Willow closed her eyes in frustration. When she opened them, she saw that her mother’s face was serious and rather sad, and she began to explain things as if Willow were still quite little, or possibly a bit dim.
‘My dear,’ she said, patting Willow’s hand gently, ‘I don’t think Moreg Vaine, the, um … most powerful witch in Starfell, would concern herself with the problems of a twelve-year-old girl.’
This elicited a few more sniggers from Camille and Juniper, but Raine turned and gave her other daughters A WARNING LOOK, and they stopped giggling immediately.
‘Sorry, Mum,’ said Juniper.
Raine’s face was twisted with worry. ‘What really concerns me is this delusion of yours, Willow. The idea that somehow you and Moreg went off on some wild and impressive adventure together when Granny passed away. I’m so sorry to have to tell you this, but that just didn’t happen.’
‘WOT?’ blurted Oswin from beneath the table, where he was hiding by Willow’s feet, his fur turning a violent shade of orange. ‘I WOS THERE! She took me WIFF ’er in a BAG made o’ HAIR! ’Tis NOT made up and ’tis NOT about the ol’ Flossy Mistress, yew … yew … CARBUNCLED CUMBERWORLDS!’
There was a long silence at this.
Then Willow said, ‘Thanks, Oswin.’ She and the kobold shared a conciliatory look. Mostly about how little his outburst would actually help. Still, it was nice to have someone on her side for once.
Willow’s mother pursed her lips in distaste, but gave no other sign that she’d heard Oswin. This was her standard approach to him.
It wasn’t, however, for Camille. ‘Look, just because you’ve convinced your monster doesn’t mean it actually happened,’ she snorted dismissively. ‘He’s usually hiding away in a bag or under your bed. You could tell him almost anything had happened and he’d probably believe you.’