She put her head in her hands. She had to get out. She had to find her friend before it was too late.
Nolin Sometimes woke once more to silence. His eyes turned from unseeing white to blue, and he saw shapes in the darkness.
It was his forest, his home … only it wasn’t. The trees and plants seemed made of shadow and smoke. He sat up in what might have been his garden except that it was devoid of all colour, and he frowned. There was the sleeping Sharon, only he couldn’t hear her gentle snores, and her palm-like fronds remained oddly still. There was the memory flower he’d used recently, restored yet lifeless. It looked … wrong somehow.
It was all so quiet – so horribly quiet. He swallowed. How long had he been here? Days? Weeks? Months?
He felt so alone. He thought of his friends and bit his lip. He hadn’t had many friends, not for years. He’d convinced himself it was safer that way, but the truth was not many people wanted a friend like him – someone who could tell all their secrets. Yet somehow, not long ago, a young witch had come into his life and all that had changed. He’d met people who liked him as he was, and didn’t seem to mind that he was a bit different.
He felt his throat close with tears … He didn’t want to be here any more. He just wanted to go home, tend to his garden and plants, and give his dog, Harold, a hug.
‘Please,’ he tried to whisper, to whoever was keeping him here. ‘I won’t bother you, or tell your secrets, I promise. I only hear people’s memories when I’m near them – I don’t go out of my way to share what I learn with anyone later. I’m not like that. Please, just let me go …’
‘Oh, that’s not something you need to worry about. I’m happy for you to share all that you know,’ said a strange, echoing voice. And this was when the world began to spin, and a figure stood before him – a beautiful, otherworldly creature, her hair blowing in an imperceptible wind, thistles sprouting near her feet. She crouched down and touched his wild white hair. If she had an expression, it might almost have been kind.
Except, as she continued to hold her hand against his head, he realised that she wasn’t there to look after him, but to take something instead. Suddenly his memories grew loud, and the roots that wound round him seemed somehow to carry his secrets to her. He tried to resist, to thrash, but it was impossible.
‘Don’t try to fight it,’ she said, almost kindly, a birch-bark-like finger touching his temple.
He tried to protest and his eyes turned white again, though no sound escaped his lips.
6
The Tower Fights Back
Over the next two days, Willow was forced to swallow tonic after tonic, and sample all manner of vile, evil-tasting ‘cures’. None of which made any difference. Things still randomly seemed to disappear – like her coat and her nightdress, which was rather annoying as all her efforts to get them back failed too.
Food arrived through a little chute in the wall.
‘It minimises escape attempts, ya see – the tower helps her do it,’ Holloway had explained, peering at her through his hole in the wall.
It didn’t stop Willow trying, though. When the witch wasn’t bringing tonics and ignoring her pleas to release them, Willow was putting all her efforts into trying to break out. So far there had been thirty-two failed attempts. The last one had involved getting Oswin to blow up the door, with no success.
This had resulted in a somewhat frosty exchange between them for most of the day, as the only way to get Oswin to blow up was to insult him enough. Mostly this involved crossing the line.
Which is exactly what Oswin said, drawing a dusty line with a sharp rust-coloured claw on the floorboards. ‘This is the line,’ he hissed, his fur pumpkin-bright, smoke curling off his ears and his huge, lamp-like eyes full of fury. Then he drew a little cross above it and said, ‘AND THIS is when you calls me A CAT.’
‘Sorry, Oswin,’ she said. Again.
‘How’s it going with you, Holloway?’ Willow asked, changing the subject.
The wizard had decided if he couldn’t break out of the tower, he’d at least try and break into her room so they could all be together.
‘I’m making progress,’ he said, and she saw that there was now a much larger hole in the wall, twice as big as the wizard’s straggly grey head. He winked. ‘Won’t be long now!’
She grinned back.
Early the next morning, there was a small yellow flash and Willow’s coat appeared in a heap on the floor. She picked it up, surprised to find that it was muddy, and smelt of dirt and flowers. She frowned. Where had it been this whole time? And, more importantly, how had it appeared without her even thinking of it?
She was distracted from her thoughts by a clink-clank-clink sound, followed by a screech as the attic door was unbolted and the witch bent her silver dreadlocked head to enter the room.
As quick as she could, Willow shoved the broken chair and the bag with Oswin inside it in front of Holloway’s now rather large hole in the wall.
The witch looked at her suspiciously as she jumped back. ‘Come stand here, child, where I can see yeh.’
Willow did as instructed, and the witch unstoppered the cork of a new tonic. The rich scent of cabbage and something sour, like rotten fruit, filled the air.
‘Smells like boiled socks … and the privy after yer father’s been at it,’ whispered Oswin.
Willow wrinkled her nose.
‘I want yeh to drink this, and no complainin’ this time,’ said the witch, narrowing her eyes. When Willow hesitated, Pimpernell sighed. ‘Always makin’ it hard, aren’t yeh? I’m only tryin’ ter help.’
‘Help?’ cried Willow. ‘How is this help? The only one making this hard is you, keeping me prisoner here for no reason!’
The witch’s wood-fire eyes looked sad yet resigned. ‘Child, I had ter do it or yeh would have made the whole place go! Yeh need my help, and I’m gonna give it ter yeh whether yeh likes it or no. ’Tis for yer own good. ’Tis not like I’m enjoying this. Truth be told, I thought we’d have found somethin’ ter sort out yer magic by now, but ’tis a stubborn case … just like you are, child. But don’ yeh worry – Pimpernell always has a plan up her sleeve.’ Then she clicked her fingers and the iron bed marched forward and trapped Willow against the wall.
There was a faint ‘Oh no,’ from the hairy green bag.
Willow could barely breathe as the iron headboard pinned her arms to her sides. ‘Aaargh, let me go! None of this is working anyway! I’ve tried all of those disgusting tonics, and nothing’s happened!’
The witch shuffled towards her, her silver cane and copper foot going clink-clank-clink as she neared. ‘It will work if yeh give it a chance! We just gotta be patient. We’ll find the right one and yeh can be cured, if yeh just open wide.’ And she advanced with the tonic, ready to pour it down Willow’s gullet if she had to.
Willow shook her head frantically as the vile-tasting tonic began to froth. The witch clamped a strong hand on her jaw and began to dribble it on to Willow’s tongue. Willow closed her eyes, thrashing wildly as her senses filled with the stench of rotten fruit, her heart thundering in her chest – and then, suddenly, there was a loud popping sound.