The Broken Spell (2 page)

Rachel wrinkled her nose and scowled softly.

‘Mr Collins is smiling so wide, it looks like his head might fall off,’ Adie giggled.

‘He’s probably racking his brains to try and guess what brand of moisturiser she uses,’ said Grace, turning to wink at Rachel, who stuck out her tongue in reply.

‘Anything you need,’ beamed Mr Collins, ‘I’m just down the corridor.’

‘You’re
very
kind, Mr Collins,’ Ms Gold’s voice was like honey. ‘I think I will manage just fine.’ She turned to face the class. ‘And I’m looking forward to getting to know my new class. Shall we start?’

Mr Collins seemed disappointed at the polite dismissal but took the hint, waving cheerfully as he left.

Grace had never been a big fan of Geography, and Adie and Rachel liked it even less, but there was something about the way Ms Gold explained things that made the world come to life around them. They could almost smell the spices in the air of Mumbai and hear the great crashing water of Niagara Falls. The entire class hung on her every word, raising their hands enthusiastically when asked a question, and arguing over who got to scrawl the answer on the whiteboard.

‘I can’t really explain it,’ Adie said in their lunchroom later, trying to avoid watching Jenny squish a Mars bar into her ham sandwich. ‘It’s like all that stuff that Mr Gains used to go on about is actually
interesting
. Like if you say it the right way, it all sounds really cool.’

‘We’re doing volcanoes next class,’ said Grace. ‘And I just can’t wait!’

‘You two have lost your marbles,’ Jenny said through a large mouthful of chocolate and ham.

‘I thought it was cool too,’ said Rachel.

‘You’ve all three lost your marbles,’ said Una, staring at her friends. ‘Geography’s the most rubbish subject ever.’

‘That’s because you’ve got Ms Lynch,’ Rachel replied. ‘I know for a fact she’s had at least four kids fall asleep in her class.’

‘Speaking of boring classes,’ said Grace, ‘we’re onto ferns tonight.’

Everyone groaned. Ms Lemon’s class was better than Mrs Quinlan’s, but it was still all weeds. Weeds, weeds and more weeds.

‘The woods are that way, Miss.’

‘I thought you girls might need a break from plant life this evening,’ Ms Lemon replied. ‘So today we’re going to visit Mr Pamuk.’

‘Who’s Mr Pamuk?’ said Grace.

‘Mr Pamuk,’ their teacher replied, ‘is an invaluable resource for any witch in this area. He provides the necessary supplies that the woods cannot.’

‘You mean like the Chi Orb we used to catch the lost souls in? Stuff like that?’

‘Precisely. He has all the paraphernalia any witch could possibly need for any enchantment. Or, at least, he can order it in within five to seven working days. His shop will soon become your new best friend.’

Mr Pamuk’s shop turned out to be called
The Penny Farthing
, a tattered old newsagent’s near the edge of town.
It was the kind of shop that stocked all sorts of colourful, sugary sweets and lollipops in massive glass jars. The faded red-brown sign, written in sloping, joined letters above the open door, was barely visible, as was the little painting of the old bicycle that was its namesake.

‘Not that way, girls,’ said Ms Lemon, leading them past the door and down the alleyway beside it. ‘It’s not the
newsagent’s
we’re interested in.’

Stooping to pluck a daisy from a clump of unexpected wildflowers halfway down the pot-holed alley, she tore it between her fingers and scattered the pieces against the shop wall. A heavy perfume suddenly filled the air, and the girls watched, open-mouthed, as the old red bricks pulled apart, dropping to the ground that sank under their weight, and folding downwards to reveal worn stone steps beneath a brickwork archway.

‘Now
that
,’ Una exclaimed, clasping her hands and
hopping
up and down, ‘is more like it!’

‘Is that there all the time?’ Grace was so delighted she was almost dancing on her tiptoes.

‘It’s kept well-hidden,’ Ms Lemon said, ‘but it’s always there.’

‘Brilliant!’ Jenny gasped. ‘Can we go in?’

‘You’re here to learn, so off you go.’

Grace made the first tentative steps down, gripping Una’s hand behind her. The smell of perfume got stronger, catching
in her throat as she stepped further into the darkness. There, at the base of the steps, she could see a faint light, which grew and grew until she reached a large cavern, illuminated by numerous torches along walls that dripped with damp. The room was filled with coffers and tables, draped in
dark-coloured
cloths, and each flat surface was in turn covered with trinkets and figurines. Larger objects lay strewn across the floor, or leaned against the weeping stone. The air was thick with the smell of incense, damp rock and old wood.

‘Welcome!’ said a man’s voice.

2

MS GOLD

Mr Pamuk stood in the centre of room with his arms raised above his smiling face. He looked, for all the world, like he had been waiting there his whole life to greet them.

‘What a delight to have new customers! Please come in, come in, look around! All brand new faces, what a delight! A new generation of witches. May I welcome you most warmly!’

Grace smiled politely as he continued his enthusiastic greetings, his speech light with the soft staccato of an Indian accent.

‘Here, an Ursian talisman. These are extremely hard to come by. And here, a first edition of
Nocturnal Habits of the Indonesian Ogre
. Very rare. Ah,’ he said, pointing to a small statuette Jenny had plucked from a coffer, ‘you are more
interested in the Dark Arts, I see.’

‘No Dark Arts, Mr Pamuk,’ Ms Lemon ducked her head beneath the stone roof as she entered the cavern. ‘My girls are fledglings. We’ll start with the basics.’

‘How lovely to see you, Ms Lemon. You’ve become a tutor in witchcraft as well as your beloved French?’ He raised his hand to his mouth and whispered loud enough for Grace to hear, ‘Keepers of the demon well?’

‘
Future
keepers of the well, I hope. But we shall see.’

‘In that case,’ the shopkeeper replied, sweeping his hand in a wide arc, ‘let the schooling begin!’

Mr Pamuk shuffled them from table to table, like an
enthusiastic
tour guide, pointing out the simplest tools of the trade.

‘Mortar and pestle, the Wiccan’s wooden spoon. So many enchantments require one. A fine sieve, for the draining of crushed leaves and flowers. An antique Medean Oculofero, for the removal of frog’s eyes.’

‘Ugh!’ Adie gasped.

‘Don’t worry,’ Pamuk chuckled. ‘There are many synthetic alternatives nowadays. More animal-friendly to use, and a lot less slippery.’

‘What’s this?’ Una picked a long piece of white driftwood from an umbrella basket, and held its curling three-pronged claw up to the light.

‘A demon hook,’ the man replied, taking the implement to demonstrate its use. ‘You swing it underneath, catching the
demon beneath the chin, then pull sharply to rip the head from the body.’

‘Woah! Gross!’

‘And a little impractical. Takes quite a bit of force to remove the head, and a physical fight with a demon is hardly ideal. Not to mention the fact that the poor human under possession is also beheaded. It was used by the ancients, but is more a collector’s item now.’

The tour continued with the more benign items on
display
, and Grace drifted away from the others, distracted by the shiny, jewelled objects littered across the tables. She gently tapped a silver charm that hung on one corner of a gilded mirror, smiling as a tiny bell inside responded with a long, delicate chime. Her reflection in the mirror smiled back but seemed, somehow, further away than it should be.

Grace’s brow creased as she puzzled over how the glass appeared to have
depth
, like she could reach inside it and tug her own hair. Her gaze was drawn to the centre of the mirror and she noticed a small spiral of mist twist its way from the middle of her reflection outwards, until it almost covered the mirror. She felt strangely woozy. The rambling chatter of her friends became muted in the background, and she felt herself being drawn closer and closer to the surface of the glass.

The mist swelled and shrank, revealing the rough shape of a face; she could just make out a pair of eyes, one a deep blue, the other, a strange, opaque white. Grace opened her
mouth to say something, and a mouth opened in the mist. She smiled – but the mouth didn’t smile back.

Grace raised one hand and reached her fingers towards the face. Suddenly the mouth stretched impossibly wide and launched itself at her. Screaming, she fell back onto the stone floor and scrambled away, kicking at the mirror’s gilded frame as she went.

‘Grace!’ She felt Ms Lemon grip her arms and help her to her feet. ‘Are you alright?’

‘That mirror tried to eat me!’ Grace pointed an
accusing
finger at the mirror, its surface already back to normal, reflective glass.

‘It’s alright, my dear,’ said Mr Pamuk. ‘An enchanted
looking
glass is still just a looking glass.’

‘But there was something,
someone
, in it. It jumped out at me!’

‘Merely a reflection. Of another person, another creature, maybe in another world. But just a reflection. You’re quite safe here.’

‘Perhaps we’ve learned enough for today, Mr Pamuk,’ said Ms Lemon, nodding to the girls to remind them of their manners. ‘Thanks so much for your time.’

The girls echoed her thanks, glancing worriedly at Grace as they climbed the stone steps towards the brickwork
archway
and out into the alley. Grace heard the scraping of brick against brick as the doorway folded shut behind them.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ Ms Lemon said gently. ‘Mr Pamuk’s quite right, you know, you’ve nothing to fear.
Whatever
it was wasn’t really in the shop. It couldn’t hurt you.’

‘I’m fine, Miss, thanks. Really, I’m okay.’

As the girls walked home, Una kicked sulkily at the grass beneath her feet.

‘I wish I’d seen it, whatever it was, in the mirror. Very cool.’ She scrunched her face in mock horror and clawed her hands dramatically in the air. ‘The
Mirrorman
!’

‘Knock it off, Una!’ Grace replied, slapping at the clawed hands. ‘And it wasn’t cool. It was really scary.’

‘’Course it was. Sorry, Grace.’

‘It
does
sound really scary,’ Adie said, linking Grace’s arm. ‘I’m quite relieved it wasn’t me who saw it. You’re not going to have nightmares, or anything, are you?’

‘I’ll be fine.’ Grace couldn’t help but smile at her friend’s caring nature.

‘How good was this trip, though?’ said Jenny. ‘We saw a magic door to a magic shop, and Grace saw a ghost in an enchanted mirror. Finally, something better than weeds!’

Grace had to admit that, even having had a nasty scare, this lesson had been way better than all their witchcraft classes so far. She hoped she’d told Adie the truth, and she wouldn’t have nightmares that night. She tried not to think of the misty face in the mirror, with its strange eyes, one staring blue and one clouded white.

In the silence of their Geography class, Ms Gold’s amber eyes glowed through the grey smoke spilling from the
volcano’s
open top.

‘Stamp your feet on the ground. Does it feel solid?’

A few students tapped their feet hesitantly, looking a little confused.

‘Harder.
Stamp
your feet. Try and make a crack in the floor!’

Some giggling followed as everyone stamped their feet, some gripping the seats of their chairs as they hammered both heels on the ground. Ms Gold stood up and raised her hands for silence.

‘Does it feel solid? Did you crack the floor?’

More giggles as the students replied with mixed ‘yeses’ and ‘nos’.

‘Feels solid, doesn’t it? But Earth’s surface isn’t solid at all. Below this thin layer of hard ground, the planet is boiling hot, more than five
thousand
degrees Celsius. It’s so hot that even rock melts and churns like a pot of oil. And the ground we walk on isn’t still either. Every person in the world is walking on a moving plate that floats on that churning molten rock. Hard to imagine, isn’t it?’

She waved her hand through the smoke of the model
volcano
in front of her desk. ‘It would be easy to forget what
lies in the centre of our planet, were it not for these
extraordinary
reminders. When the pressure beneath the ground builds up too much, it pushes through a weak spot in Earth’s crust in an explosion of liquid rock.’

She flicked her fingers above the volcano as red and yellow fluid burst from its mouth, spitting into the air in a mini-
firework
display. Grace gasped and leaned forward as the liquid spilled onto the sides of the miniature mountain, thickening as it rolled slowly downhill.

‘Magma from below the surface,’ Ms Gold continued, ‘becomes lava above ground. Still searing hot, it destroys anything it touches, cooling to solid rock around its victims. In the city of Pompeii, ravaged by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 CE, the rock that formed was littered with holes, perfect shapes of the poor souls swallowed alive by rolling lava.’

‘Awesome,’ said a voice from the back of the class.

Grace was as riveted as everyone else, but couldn’t keep her eyes off the volcano model. How did it work? It wasn’t some papier maché mound filled with corn syrup, like the sort of thing you’d usually see in school. It billowed smoke. It spat out lava that thickened and hardened to look like rock. It was so… so
real
.

‘So, imagine,’ Ms Gold’s voice lowered almost to a whisper, ‘the last moments of those doomed citizens of Pompeii as they were consumed by their own planet. And
never forget that your home is a fiery ball of molten rock.’

‘Do you think we could switch classes, if we asked?’ sighed Jenny in the D block corridor. ‘Ms Lynch talked for forty minutes straight about ox-bow lakes today. Her voice is so monotonous, it’s like listening to a food mixer on low.’

‘You should ask,’ Rachel replied. ‘I actually look forward to Geography now, it’s so cool.’

‘Those poor people in Pompeii,’ said Adie. ‘Do you know what happened there? There was this volcano–’

‘And they all died,’ Jenny interrupted. ‘Yeah, we read about it in History last year.’

‘They didn’t just die,’ Adie said, her face crumpled like it had happened only yesterday, ‘they were covered in lava. They choked to death on poisonous gases before they burned away to nothing. And all that was left of them where these empty spaces in the rock where their bodies used to be. It’s so horrible.’

‘Where did she get that volcano, do you think?’ asked Grace. ‘I mean, did you see it work? It was like the real thing.’

‘Yeah,’ said Rachel. ‘That was brilliant. It spewed out lava and everything.’

‘She didn’t make that herself, there’s no way. Where do you think she got it?’

‘Bought it online or something. You can get models of
anything nowadays.’

‘But it was so
real
.’

‘Well, if you’re going to ask her where she got it, would you mind asking her about her foundation as well? Still can’t figure out what it is. I tried all the brands in the chemist on Saturday, and none of them
glowed
like that.’

‘Watch it,’ Jenny said suddenly. ‘The Beast looks like she is on the warpath.’

Grace followed Jenny’s gaze to the beefy mass in the corner of the A block. Tracy Murphy, also known as ‘the Beast’, had an unfortunate first year, less than half her size, pinned against the wall. Her dark eyes, heavily lined with blue
eyeliner
, were made all the more menacing by the severe slicked back ponytail that held her dark red curls, pulling the skin of her cheeks and forehead back in an unnatural leer.

‘Well, I don’t see any lunch in your bag,’ Tracy growled.