13 Treasures (26 page)

“You know of certain ways to protect yourself. They will not be enough.” She lifted the scissors and presented them to her. Tanya took them, and noticed a small red jewel cast in the cover sheathing the point.

“These are for you,” said Morag. “They may look unexceptional, but they will cut through almost any material, apart from metal, wood, or stone.” Then she picked up the bottle of green liquid. “This is for the boy—it will help him to see things… in the same way you do.”

Tanya handed the items back regretfully.

“I can’t take these. I’ve no way of paying you for them.”

Morag’s eyes narrowed. “I did not ask for payment.”

Tanya felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

“But next time you visit, perhaps you might bring me a puzzle book.”

Tanya nodded, biting her lips to stop herself from smiling.

“To bring a person out of the fairy realm, you must act when it is most accessible,” Morag continued briskly. “An in-between time is what you need.”

“In-between?”

“A magical time that is neither here nor there; neither one nor the other.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The shift between seasons, for example. May Day, Midsummer, Halloween, and Midwinter are all very powerful times. Or the plane between sleep and waking. These are in-between places.”

“But Midsummer has gone,” said Tanya. “And it’s months until Halloween!”

“You’re quite right,” said the old woman. “We are not near to any of those times. But there is one that occurs far more frequently, and is just as powerful.” She paused and looked at Tanya expectantly. “Some know it as the witching hour.”

“Midnight,” Tanya whispered. “In between night and day.”

“Once you have access to the person you wish to lead out from the fairy realm you must call their name, for many will have trouble remembering who they are after a time there. After that you must offer them an item of clothing to put on—if you have something that belonged to them before they were taken, then so much the better.

“Sew salt pouches into the lining of whatever garment you give them, and into your own. Do not accept anything they might try to give you. This is especially important of food or drink, no matter how tempting it may appear. To eat fairy food can render you powerless to them.

“Finally, there is a very important precaution you must take. The fairy realm does not run on the same time frame as our world. Time can be sped up or slowed down, and the consequences of this can be disastrous. To keep yourself protected you must cut a lock of your own hair off and keep it somewhere secure, where it cannot be meddled with. This will ensure that if the worst should befall you, then at least you will not lose any years of your life. You will remain the age you are now.”

“But what if I were to get pulled into the fairy realm, then escape and find years had passed in this world? I would still be young, while everyone I had known would be old, or even dead!”

“That is a possibility,” Morag agreed. “But the other possibility is far worse. Would you rather that you aged and lost years of your life, whilst those you loved had remained the same? If the world had remained the same and the fairy realm had sped up? No one would recognize you. No one would believe you. And your life would be close to its end.”

Tanya shook her head in confusion.

“No… I mean, I don’t know…”

“Think carefully while you still can,” Morag said. “There is still time to change your mind.”

Tanya stared solemnly at the compass, and at the tiny bottle Morag had given her. “Why are you helping me?” she asked hesitantly. The question had been burning on her lips since she had entered the caravan.

“Because I can,” the gypsy woman replied. “And because I want to. Our pasts are connected through our ancestry. Together, maybe we can make right some of the wrongs of the past.” Her eyes came to rest on the charm bracelet on Tanya’s wrist. They narrowed, then her gaze shifted, moving over each charm in turn before finally settling on the empty space where the cauldron had been.

“Thirteen,” she murmured. “Unlucky… for some.” She met Tanya’s gaze with her own, old and wise. Tanya searched the craggy face for any clue that she might know something of the bracelet’s tragic first owner, but there was nothing to suggest that the comment had any hidden meaning.

Instinctively, Tanya knew that it was time for her to leave. Morag shuffled past her and opened the caravan door. Tanya stepped outside into the fresh air, gripping Oberon’s leash tightly. A gentle breeze lifted her hair and wrapped itself around her. A hedgehog shuffled across the gypsy’s path, oblivious to its audience. The woodland seemed so at peace and so beautiful that it was almost impossible to believe that it was home to such danger.

Despite the warmth of the day, Tanya shivered.

“Go, and be safe,” said Morag, looking around suspiciously. “Stay close to the brook.”

“Thank you—” Tanya began, but the old woman shook her head.

“There will be another time for thanks. We will meet again, I hope.”

Tanya pulled the compass out of her pocket. The time had come to put it to good use.

Later that evening, feeling sick with nerves, Tanya left the house and made for the garden in search of Fabian. She stood beneath the oak tree and squinted up through the branches, but there was no sign of Fabian’s gangling frame, nor was there any answer when she called his name. Knowing that he could not have gone far, she ambled through the garden, kicking at a few fallen leaves on the ground. The gate was open, propped in place by a heavy stone from the rock garden, and through it, Tanya could see a small figure in the distance sitting by the edge of the brook. It was Fabian.

She walked toward him slowly, trying to delay the inevitable. Fabian was sitting cross-legged at the side of the stream, flinging pebbles into the water. He did not look up as she approached, or even move at all when she sat down next to him. She realized he must have seen her coming. She tugged at a tuft of grass awkwardly. Fabian remained stiff and silent, refusing to be the first to speak.

“I… I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “I still want to go ahead with the plan. If you want me to, that is.”

Fabian threw another stone into the stream.

“I’m sorry too.”

“So, when are we going back into the woods?” Tanya asked.

“I don’t know.” He threw a big rock, which made an even bigger splash. “What’s the point? Perhaps some things should just be left well enough alone.”

“The point is to prove that Amos is innocent,” said Tanya.

Fabian fiddled with his shoelaces. “And if he’s not?” he answered in a choked voice.

“He is,” said Tanya, gathering her courage. “Listen, Fabian—”

But Fabian was only half paying attention. “What made you change your mind? You seemed so set against it before.”

“I just… want to help,” she mumbled, losing her nerve at the last moment. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Fabian gave a wry smile, and raked a hand through his bushy hair. “Yeah, I suppose. You really think he’s innocent?”

“I know he is,” she said. “There’s something I have to show you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the poem, then placed it in his hand hesitantly.

Fabian unfolded the piece of paper. Tanya watched, noting how his brow was becoming more deeply furrowed with every sentence. The time he took to read it seemed an eternity. When he had finished, his eyes were wide and his skin was very pale. When he finally spoke, his voice was shaking.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Fabian looked up at her, his eyes blazing. “Did you come and apologize just so you could make fun of me? Where did you get this?”

“It was left on my pillow,” said Tanya. “It’s not a joke. You have to believe me.”

“Believe you?
” Fabian snarled. He leapt to his feet in fury, screwing the poem into a tiny ball. He threw it at the ground with all his might.

Tanya hurriedly got up after grabbing the balled-up piece of paper.

“Fabian,
please
! Just listen to me—”

But Fabian was in too terrible a temper to listen. He turned on her, his face pink with rage, and she saw that his fists were clenched tightly at his sides.

“I don’t know how you saw it. But I can assure you I don’t find this funny.”

He began to stalk back to the house.

“How I saw what?” She raced after him. “Fabian!
Wait!
What are you talking about?”

“My book!
” Fabian yelled, brandishing the battered brown journal. “You
saw
it! You
read
it! Now you can have a good laugh at my expense!”

Tanya stopped walking. “Fabian, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The angry boy continued to storm away.

“I’ve never read your book! I swear!”

Fabian halted, and Tanya rushed over to him.

“Who wrote that poem?” he demanded.

“I don’t know,” said Tanya. “I told you, I just found it.”

“This isn’t funny. Did you write it?”

“Of course not!”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t
know,
” Tanya repeated. She eyed the journal. “What’s in the book?”

“You already know.”

“I don’t know what’s in the stupid book! I haven’t got the faintest idea! All I know is that it obviously means a lot to you, and I would never snoop in it behind your back.” She gazed at him, her eyes full of hurt. “You know I wouldn’t. Or at least, I thought you knew.”

Fabian did not answer.

“What’s the use,” Tanya muttered, pushing past him. “I should’ve known you’d never believe in fairies.”

“No,” Fabian hissed. “I
don’t
believe in fairies, like every other intelligent person on the planet. Fairies are for children, for
babies
. What you saw—what you read—was a mere thought in a diary. And it was written when I was upset.”

Tanya pressed her hand over her heart.

“I swear to you—on my
life
—that I didn’t read your diary!”

“I don’t believe you!”

“No,” Tanya shouted, as her own temper flared up. “You don’t believe me. And you don’t believe in fairies, but you believe in ghosts, according to what you said after we saw Morwenna Bloom in the woods. And you believe in witches, don’t you? You believe that the old gypsy woman in the woods has the power to curse and bewitch.”

Fabian stared at her, his mouth open to retort, but no words came out.

“Strange that you should find it so easy to believe in some kinds of magic, yet not in others,” Tanya continued. “Stranger still that you refuse to believe my word. I’m not lying to you, Fabian. Why do you find it so difficult to believe me? Is this how little my friendship is worth to you?”

“It’s not a question of friendship,” Fabian said, but the anger in his voice had subsided. “It’s a question of what’s real.”

“The hair you had to cut off with Warwick’s knife was real enough, wasn’t it?”

“That was the gypsy woman, you even said so yourself—”

“No, I didn’t.
You
were the one who suggested she was responsible. I just let you believe that because it was easier. The gypsy woman has been trying to help us.” Tanya reached into her pocket and retrieved the tiny bottle Morag had given her. “This is for you. So you’ll be able to see them.”

Fabian let out an incredulous snort of laughter.

“
She
gave you that? And you expect me to drink it?”

“Why not? Then you’ll have proof.”

“Proof of what? The fact that the batty old crone has knowledge of herbs and plants?” Fabian sneered. “Ever heard of hallucinogens? If I drank that I’d be seeing all sorts! Mermaids, fairies, dragons and just about everything else!”

“Why are you so set on believing she’s out to harm us?” said Tanya.

“Why are you so set on believing she’s out to help us?” Fabian shot back.

“Because she already has. She gave me the compass, remember? Why would she go to the trouble of pretending to help us? If she really wanted to harm us then she would have by now.”

“If you’re so convinced of that, then drink some,” said Fabian—but something in his voice betrayed him. He was faltering.

“What?”

Fabian nodded at the bottle in Tanya’s hand, but the action was jerky and nervous rather than defiant.

“Try it. Let’s see if it works.” His voice was quavering.

“You don’t understand,” Tanya said slowly. “It’s not for me… it’s for you. She didn’t give it to me because I don’t need it. Fabian, don’t you see what I’ve been trying to tell you? What all the strange things about me add up to?

“The poem didn’t convince me of the fairies’ existence. Nor did Mad Morag. I was able to see them already. I’ve been able to see them for as long as I can remember. Now you can laugh at me, or call me a liar, but before you do at least listen to what I have to say, because if you don’t, Amos will die being known as the man who murdered Morwenna Bloom and got away with it. Look at this, the part where it says ‘he who sought her as his wife.’ Don’t you see? It’s referring to Amos. He was in love with her! He’s innocent!”