13 Curses (50 page)

There was thick snow on the ground when the Land Rover pulled up outside Elvesden Manor.

Two people got out of it: a man with long, gray-streaked dark hair and a tall, thin teenager. From the back of the vehicle, the man pulled out a battered brown suitcase, and then, together, they walked up the gravel path to the front of the house, hunched up against the biting cold.

The hallway smelled a little musty as they went in, the way most old places do, and it was quiet and still except for a matted ginger tail slinking beneath the telephone table, keen to keep out of sight.

Farther back through the house, voices and the smell of roasting food wafted out from the kitchen like an invisible invitation. As the kitchen door was pushed open and the new arrivals went in, the voices inside quieted, then erupted into a chorus of shouts and cheers. Chairs scraped as their inhabitants jumped out of them, and the teenage girl who had entered with the man was enveloped into hug after hug, a large brown dog jumping up at her and a parrot cackling in excitement all the while.

Only one person remained seated at the old oak table: a woman with a pointed and pale face, and long red hair worn loose. She looked up at the girl, her eyes searching.

“Your hair has grown,” the woman said. “It suits you.”

Rowan lifted a hand to her head, where her hair, an identical auburn to that of the woman who had spoken, now skimmed her jawline in a neat bob. She gave a shy smile. “Thanks.”

Rose stood up, and for a moment they regarded each other awkwardly before embracing.

When they released each other, Tanya stepped forward and tugged at Rowan’s sleeve. “I’ll show you your room,” she said, her eyes shining. “It’s next to mine, so we share a bathroom—”

“And a drain-dweller!” Fabian crowed. “It’s already had a necklace of Nell’s—”

“And a thimble from my sewing kit,” Florence put in, with a smile. “It’s a particularly troublesome breed.”

“I don’t mind,” said Rowan, laughing as Tanya and Fabian dragged her from the kitchen. She followed them as they ran up the stairs, past the grandfather clock, and stopped outside a door on the first-floor landing.

Hanging from an iron nail in its center was a wreath of green leaves and masses of dried red berries.

Rowan took a deep breath, closed her eyes… and went in.

Thanks to my family and friends for their support—special thanks to Darren for making me thousands of cups of tea while I was away with the fairies, and to Carolyn and Janice for helping me to research children’s homes.

Thanks to Maddie and all at the Darley Anderson Agency, and to Nancy and the team at Little, Brown and Company.

CAN ROWAN UNCOVER THE
MYSTERY OF THE 13 SECRETS
BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE?

TURN THE PAGE FOR A SNEAK PEEK AT

13 SECRETS,

THE STUNNING FINALE TO
THE 13 TREASURES TRILOGY.

COMING JUNE 2012.

Rowan Fox hovered by the school gate, scanning the yard as pupils spilled out, jostling in their eagerness to begin the summer holiday. There was no sign of Fabian’s fair head in the crowd, and so, impatiently, she headed over to the shop opposite the gate. Jingling some loose change left over from her lunch money, she went in and bought two bars of chocolate. When she came out most of the crowd had gone, and the melody of someone playing a guitar had begun nearby.

Fabian was still nowhere to be seen. She wondered if he had walked to the bus stop without her for some reason. Tucking one of the chocolate bars into her bag, she held on to the other and began to walk. Then she saw the girl—the player of the guitar.

She sat cross-legged in the doorway of an empty
shop two down from the sweet shop, leaning back against the door as her fingers swept over the guitar strings. Her straggly white-blond hair was in need of a wash. Next to her, a tattered knapsack rested on a grubby sleeping bag.

As Rowan drew near she paused by the girl’s open guitar case, lying on the pavement. It contained pitifully few coins. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her last few pennies and added them to the meager pile. Then, looking down at the chocolate bar in her hand, she threw that in too, and continued on her way.

“Thanks,” the girl called.

Rowan turned back. The girl had stopped playing and was staring at her. “I was starting to think I was invisible. You’re the first person to give me anything all afternoon.”

Rowan’s eyes moved to the coins already in the case.

“Mine,” the girl said. “I just put them there to… well, never mind.”

Rowan came over and put her schoolbag on the ground. “You put the coins in to make it look like you weren’t being ignored,” she finished.

“Right.” The girl gave a little laugh and stood her guitar against the shop door. Reaching for the chocolate bar, she tore the wrapper off and took a huge bite, closing her eyes in pleasure.

“Not the friendliest of places, this,” she said, between munches. “Don’t think I’ll stay.”

“Probably best not to,” Rowan answered, eyeing the girl sympathetically. It was difficult to put an age to her, but she looked older than Rowan—eighteen, perhaps. “You’d be better off somewhere bigger. Busier, with more people.”

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” the girl said. She licked chocolate from her thumb and trained her eyes on Rowan.

“That’s because I am,” Rowan muttered. “It’s the reason I stopped—” She broke off and met the girl’s eyes. “I was on the streets for over a year. I know what it’s like.”

“Really? What happened to you?”

“My parents died in a car crash, and me and my little brother were put into care. But my brother… he went missing. So I ran away to look for him.”

“Did you find him?” the girl asked.

Rowan hesitated before answering carefully. “I never got him back, no.”

“So what did you do?”

Rowan shrugged. “I was lucky. Met some people who… cared. I live with them now.”

“Lucky,” the girl echoed. She eyed Rowan’s neat school uniform with envy. “It certainly looks like you’re doing all right now.”

“What are
you
doing here, anyway?” said Rowan. “Tickey End isn’t the place to be if you want to stay unnoticed. I mean, people will act like they don’t see you, but they don’t miss a thing around here.”

“I’ll be gone before the day’s out,” the girl
answered quietly. “I wasn’t planning on staying long.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Just long enough to deliver a message, after finding the right person.”

“Message? To who?”

“To you, Red.”

Rowan’s breath caught in her throat. “What did you just say?”

“Red. That’s what you used to call yourself, isn’t it?”

Rowan dragged her schoolbag closer to her feet. “Who are you? What do you mean you have a message? From
who
?”

“From the Coven.”

Rowan stood up. “Leave me alone.”

“Wait!”

She turned back. “Who sent you?”

“Sparrow,” the girl said in a low voice.

“Why didn’t he come to give me the message himself if he knew where to find me?”

“He said you wouldn’t listen if it was him. That I’d have a better chance of… getting your attention, making you listen—”

“He was wrong.”

“Just hear me out. All he wanted was for you to listen.”

“What’s in it for you?”

The girl flushed.

“Of course. You’re not homeless at all, are you? You’re one of them.”

She nodded. “He was certain you’d stop to talk to me, and he was right. But even then I had to be sure… it wasn’t until you mentioned your brother…”

“Just give me the message.”

“There’s a meeting coming up, on the thirteenth.”

“I know,” Rowan answered. “There’s always a meeting on the thirteenth.”

“They want you there this time. No excuses.”

Rowan nodded, eyes downcast.

“He said they need to let you know where it is, but to do that you have to let them in. That’s it. That’s the message.” The girl stared down at the chocolate wrapper in her hands.

“And if I don’t go?”

The girl opened her mouth to answer, but then looked past her. Rowan turned. Fabian approached, his face twisted into a scowl. He stopped next to her, loosening his tie and muttering under his breath.

“Where have you been?” Rowan asked him.

“Detention,” he said sourly.

“For what?”

Fabian nudged a pebble with his toe. “Fighting.”

“
Fighting?
With who?”

Before Fabian could reply, Rowan noticed that the girl was packing up her things. She stood up, slung her guitar case over one shoulder and her sleeping bag and knapsack over the other, and nodded good-bye.

“See you, Red,” she said quietly, then moved off.

“Fighting with some of the boys in my class,” Fabian said distractedly, staring after the girl. His scowl softened to a frown. “Who was that?”

“No one,” said Rowan. “Just a beggar. I gave her some spare change.”

Fabian’s frown deepened. “You don’t know her?”

“No.”

“Well, she knew you,” Fabian said suspiciously. “She called you Red. No one calls you that anymore, not since you’ve been living with us.”

Rowan watched the girl’s figure getting smaller until she vanished around a corner into one of the many crooked side streets of Tickey End.

“I spoke to her once or twice when I was on the streets,” she lied, mentally reminding herself never to underestimate Fabian’s powers of observation. “It was ages ago. I don’t even remember her name—I’m surprised she remembered mine.”

“Oh,” said Fabian, rubbing at his cheek. “Funny how she ended up here, of all places.”

“Coincidence,” said Rowan, keen to change the subject. They began to walk. “So what was the fight about?” She checked him for cuts and bruises. “You must have got the upper hand—there’s not a mark on you.”

“It got split up as soon as it started,” Fabian said. “And it started the same reason it always does—they were saying things, rotten things, about Amos. They said… they said they’re going up to the churchyard to mess up his grave. One of them said he’d write
things on the headstone. I lost my temper and walloped him.”

“I don’t blame you for losing your temper,” said Rowan. “But they won’t really do anything, Fabian. If they were thinking of it, then you’d be the last person they’d admit it to. They’re just saying it to hurt you.”

“Well, it worked. Why can’t they just leave him alone? Even now that he’s gone they won’t let him rest!”

Rowan sighed. “You’ve got to ignore them. The more you keep rising to the bait, the more they’ll keep on at you.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Fabian said hotly. “
You
don’t have to put up with the whispers and the pointing. How would you like it if people thought
your
grandfather murdered someone?”