13 Secrets (17 page)

“Yes. I think our best chance is to get a potion to dispel the glamour. Without Fix, there’s only one other person I can think of who might be able to help us.” She pointed toward Hangman’s Wood.

“Morag,” Tanya realized.

Rowan nodded. “She’s our last hope, but it’s a long shot. I’m guessing she would be able to provide what we need, but I don’t know whether she’d need more time if she doesn’t have one already prepared. Sometimes potions can take days or weeks to fuse properly. We’ve got only hours.”

“I’ll go,” said Tanya. “She knows me, and I know the way to her caravan.”

“But what about Gredin? If he finds out you’re helping us—”

“I’m helping
you
,” said Tanya. “I’m not directly involved, and going to see Morag doesn’t put me in danger.”

“All right,” said Rowan. “As soon as you’ve seen her, come back to the house. We’ll be outside with Rose. Once you’re back, we’ll leave to get to Tickey End before half past two. I’ll think of some excuse to get us out of there on time.”

“What if someone asks where Tanya is?” said Fabian.

“Just say I’m still walking Oberon,” Tanya answered. “If I’m late then I’ll say he ran off.”

“You’d better go,” said Rowan. “And whatever you do, don’t let Warwick catch you in the woods, or he’ll probably ground you, and that’s the last thing we need today.”

Tanya watched as Fabian and Rowan set off back to the house. While she had no intention of letting Warwick find out about her going into the woods, she alone knew that if he did, what she had seen last night provided her with more than enough to barter for his silence.

“Come on, Oberon,” she called, walking back to where the stepping stones led across the brook. In a couple of places the water ran across her toes, wetting them through her sandals. Oberon splashed
through to the other side, pausing halfway to lap at the water. Then, without a further glance back, she crossed the border of the forest into the dark shade of the ancient trees.

Mad Morag’s caravan was hidden well, deep in the woods. However, if the way was known, it did not take too long to find, and Tanya had the advantage of having been there twice before.

What she
had
forgotten was how oppressive and disorienting the woods were, especially when she was alone. Every sound, every rustle of wildlife—both everyday and fey—was magnified tenfold. Chirps and whispers of fairies in their nests carried down to her, reminding her that she was an intruder here. She kept her head down, avoiding eye contact and anything that could be seen as aggressive or confrontational, and she kept Oberon close.

She had just reached the first catacomb when she realized that she had completely forgotten to protect herself. With a gasp, she pulled off her thin top and hurriedly turned it inside out, her hands shaking and tangling in the soft fabric. Tugging it back on, she looked around fearfully, feeling stupid and ashamed as she remembered Gredin’s words.

It takes a lot of concentration to employ deterrents all the time…. Only takes a moment’s distraction…. And then, I’ll be waiting.

She leaned against the cool metal railings surrounding the catacomb, taking a moment to gather her wits and sense of direction. Through the railings,
a cavernous hole yawned like a chasm. It was one of seven deneholes—mysterious caves which wound underground for miles. In the years before the railings had been put up, the deneholes had claimed many lives, earning them the name “catacombs,” meaning “ancient burial chambers.”

She went on her way, trying not to let her mind wander to the bottom of the catacomb and what it might hold. She came upon the second, smaller cavern soon after, finding it ominous, yet reassuring. It signaled that she was on the right path to the old gypsy woman’s caravan.

Minutes later, just long enough for doubt to set in, she found it, tucked snugly away within a sheltered glade. Tanya made for the steps leading to the front door but stopped as a creaking sound caught her attention. She frowned and followed her ears to the far side of the caravan.

A pair of heavily veined feet, pale and twisted with age, popped into view, and then out again. They reappeared, then disappeared, reappeared and disappeared at regular intervals. Tanya peered around the side of the caravan.

Morag sat in a rocking chair, her eyes closed against the morning sun. A book of crossword puzzles rested facedown in her lap over a long raggedy dress. At her side, her smoke-gray cat snoozed in a sunny patch of grass, one eye an open slit on the lookout for predators. It leaped up after a curious sniff from Oberon, hissing and spitting.

Morag’s eyes opened and she shielded them from the sun with a wrinkled hand.

“Sorry,” said Tanya. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Morag chuckled. “Come, now, Grimalkin,” she said to the fizzing cat. “That’s no way to treat our guests, is it?” She stopped rocking and eased herself out of the wooden chair. Grimalkin stared balefully at Oberon and then stalked off into the bushes, tail in the air.

“Come in, then,” said Morag, her knees clicking as she climbed the steps to the caravan.

Tanya followed her inside, breathing in the smoky scent of incense that filled the caravan.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out again. “I know that every time I come here it’s to ask for your help, without ever giving anything back to you. I’ve been meaning to bring you a puzzle book to say thank you, but I’ve left it at my grandmother’s house because I didn’t even know I needed to come and see you until a few minutes ago and I—”

She cut off as Morag held up her hand for silence, beaming at the mention of the puzzle book.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said creakily, gesturing to the table near the kitchen window. “There’s plenty of time for that. Sit down. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

Tanya sat down, scratching behind Oberon’s ears as he rested his heavy head on her lap. Morag sat opposite.

“Someone’s in trouble,” Tanya began. “Not me this time, but someone who has my ability. He thinks his mother has been switched for a changeling, and we need something… some kind of potion, I suppose you’d call it, to destroy the glamour the fairy is using, so it will leave.”

Morag nodded slowly, massaging her temple with her fingers.

“I see. And when would you need such a potion?”

Tanya swallowed, her voice sheepish when she spoke. “Today.
Now
.”

The old gypsy woman’s birdlike eyes widened in surprise, and Tanya was reminded of how mesmerizing, and how very blue, they were.

“I know it’s short notice,” she hurried on. “And I understand if it’s not possible. But I had to try. You’re the only one who can help us.”

Morag got up, shuffling to her wooden dresser. Locked inside the glass cabinet were numerous jars and glass bottles of strange and sinister-looking ingredients, and all with tiny labels tied to their stoppers. The old woman surveyed the contents thoughtfully, then peered at a small calendar hanging on the wall next to the dresser.

“What you ask for cannot be prepared in such a short time. A potion to dispel a glamour is complex and needs days to develop properly.”

Tanya nodded, her disappointment too great for her to speak. Even though she had guessed it would be too late, she had hoped that Morag might
have some solution up her patched and raggedy sleeves.

“But,” the old woman continued, “there may be something I can do. It’s not as powerful a spell, but it’s simple to prepare and may be enough to reveal the real nature of whatever the changeling is.”

“Anything,” Tanya said, nodding vigorously. “I’ll take anything, if you think it might work.”

Morag tapped the little calendar on the wall. “It’s largely down to luck, you see. The timing is just right for this spell, for the moon is on the wane.”

“On the what?”

“Wane,” Morag repeated. “The moon waxes and wanes; grows bigger and smaller. Any time you cast a spell, it will be more powerful if the cycle of the moon is on your side. Some spells cannot work without it. When you are trying to bring something into your life, then it helps if the moon is waxing. If you are trying to banish something, the moon must be on the wane.

“What I’m going to give you is a truth spell, to cast out any lies and secrecy. Did you know that the moon is also linked to secrets and deception?”

Tanya shook her head. “So… if the moon is waning, it will be easier to see through any deceptions?”

“Correct. It may not alter the changeling’s appearance, but its true nature will rise to the surface if it comes into contact with this potion,” Morag continued. “Here is what you need.” From her dresser she took two empty bottles, one of clear glass and the
other of dark green. She set them on the table in front of Tanya and went back to the cabinet, returning a moment later with a velvet bag, a scrap of red cloth, and a jar crammed with small, reddish-brown objects. Tanya leaned closer to the jar, trying to discern what its puckered contents were.

“
Amanita muscaria
,” said Morag. “A type of mushroom. You know the ones—red with white spots—they’re always shown in children’s books, though I’ve no idea why.”

“They don’t look like mushrooms,” Tanya said doubtfully.

“That’s because they’re dried,” said Morag. “There aren’t any fresh about at this time of year.”

“They come out in the autumn,” said Tanya, recalling the ring of red mushrooms that Warwick and Nell had been forced to dance a fairy dance in last October.

Morag nodded. “They’re also poisonous, sometimes fatal, if eaten. So never touch them unless you can help it, and if it’s unavoidable always wash your hands afterward. Now, in this spell, the amanita mushroom symbolizes deceit. Mushrooms are among the worst of nature’s tricksters. If one kind is mistaken for another, it can have deadly consequences.”

She opened the jar, reached in with a small wooden stick, pointed at one end, and hooked one of the mushrooms out. With her other hand she lifted the green glass bottle and pushed the mushroom inside it, poking it down through the neck until it fell
to the bottom. She pushed a cork stopper into the top of the bottle and set it aside.

Next she reached into the velvet bag and drew out an object the size of her palm, passing it to Tanya. Tanya took it and found that it was a flat, gray pebble, rough and misshapen, and with a hole through it that was slightly off center.

“A wishing stone,” said Tanya. “I’ve got one of these at home in London. I found it at the seaside when I was little. My mum told me that you can make wishes on stones with holes in them.” She smiled faintly, remembering the wishes she had made: for the fairies to leave her alone, then later, for her parents not to go through with their divorce. Neither had come true.

“That’s poppycock, as I’m sure you’re aware,” said Morag briskly. “These stones have about as much power to make wishes come true as a moldy old sock. What they
do
do is purify, and flush out untruths.”

She paused, rubbing at her temple again with her fingers. Tanya watched her, noting a flicker of something cross her face. She seemed distracted.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Hm? Oh, yes. Just… I’ve forgotten something,” said Morag, tapping her head with a spindly finger. “Yes, that’s it.” From another cupboard she pulled out a bag of something and shook it into her mortar. Coarse white granules came tumbling out, and she began pounding at them with her pestle.

“Salt,” she explained when the grains were ground into fine powder. “Another means of purification.” She scoured the caravan until her eyes rested on a brown paper bag. She tore a small piece from it and shook the salt into it, twisting the edges together to keep the salt contained.

“That’s everything you need. I’ll tell you what to do, but the rest is up to you.”

“What if it goes wrong?” Tanya asked. “I’ve never cast a spell before. I don’t know what I’m doing—”

“There’s no reason it should fail,” said Morag. “You have everything you need. The most important ingredient in any spell is your belief in it. But remember this: you alone must cast it. Your friend cannot have any direct contact with this spell.”

“Which friend?” Tanya asked, puzzled. “Fabian?”

“Not the boy,” said Morag. “Although now you mention it, it’s probably best if he has no contact with it either. I know he believes, but he has a tendency toward a scientific mind, which muddles things. No, I mean the girl… the one you brought here. Red, is it?”

Tanya nodded. “Well, her real name is Rowan. Rowan Fox. She doesn’t go by Red anymore.”

“Ah,” said Morag, nodding. “That’s her. Rowan. I felt there was
something
about her. Now it makes sense.”

“Why?”

“She should not come in contact with this spell.
Though she may not realize it, or intend to, there’s a chance she could taint it, just by being who she is.”

“How?” Tanya asked. “I know her name is a barrier to evil magic, but—”

“It’s also a barrier to her
casting
magic,” said Morag. “Rowan as a plant is very powerful. Powerful enough to stop other spells from being cast. And as you obviously know, that power can transfer to the power of a name.”

“But she can cast a glamour,” Tanya said, confused. “She has a coat that turns her into a fox.”