Emily Feather and the Enchanted Door (3 page)

She and Rachel curled up on the window seat and nibbled flapjacks, with Gruff sitting on the floor between them, his huge head resting on the cushions so he could stare up at them with melty, loving eyes. It was impossible not to feed him when he looked like that, and he made it very clear that he wanted flapjack; he was not being fobbed off with banana. Banana was not for dogs.

“I wonder why he doesn't get fat,” Rachel said thoughtfully. “
Everyone
feeds him. Even people in the street. Remember that little girl giving him her ice cream?”

Emily shuddered. “Of course I do. Her mum yelled at me for ages. She wouldn't believe me when I said he hadn't snatched it, and Gruff just stood there licking it off his whiskers and looking blissed out. It was awful.”

Gruff sniffed thoughtfully at the cushions in case he'd missed any crumbs, sighed heavily, and stalked away, clicking and thudding down the wooden stairs.

Emily leaned back against the windows, her cheek against the cool glass, and watched the thin, hazy clouds floating past, twisting themselves into fantastical shapes. She wondered if Rachel could see them, or if it was just her. Maybe there was something strange about her. No one else in her family seemed to see odd things out of the corners of their eyes. When she'd told Robin about the doors changing colour he'd looked at her as if she was mad, and then snorted with laughter.

Still, Emily didn't mind. She didn't even mind that much that they were all cleverer than she was, though it did make school reports at the end of the year a bit depressing. She wouldn't give up being dreamy and seeing things for being good at spelling.

“Rachel! Your dad called! He's on his way round to pick you up.” Eva was shouting from the kitchen, and the girls sighed, and stretched, and clattered back down the stairs.

Emily only glanced into the mirror on the landing to see if her nose was still red – it felt as though she might have burned a bit in the sun, and she was hoping it wasn't going to peel. She looked at herself anxiously – but she wasn't there. The mirror was full of mist.

Emily blinked at it, wondering what had happened. Had her mum tried to clean the glass? It had always been mottled, spotted with dark patches, where the old glass was losing its silver, but it had never been greyish before. It hadn't looked like this on her way
up
the stairs, either.

She took a step closer, looking into the misty surface, and lifted a hand to run her fingertips over the glass. Maybe it was just damp? The mirror wasn't that far from the bathroom, and Lark and Lory both took ages in the shower, and left the bathroom all steamed up. But then Emily stopped, her fingers still reaching out to touch the glass, and she stared. She blinked in confusion, and looked back again.

In the mirror, gazing out at her, was a face.

Not hers.

Not even the oddly lit version of her own face that Emily had imagined she might see. This was someone completely different. The skin was pale – even paler than Lory and Lark – and the hair was a greenish-gold, swirling around the girl's head with a thick flatness, like water weed floating in a river. Her eyes were a shallow, silvery green, glittering even in the dim light of the mirror-place. They were wild, exciting eyes, and the creature in the mirror was laughing, Emily was sure. Her lips were drawn back over pretty, pointed little teeth, and Emily could see a glimpse of the bright pink of her sharp tongue.

Emily lifted her hand again, wondering if her fingers would go through the mirror if she tried to touch the glass. Maybe it wasn't glass at all any more. It looked almost like water. She brought her fingers closer, not quite daring to touch. What if the girl in the mirror caught Emily's hand, and pulled her in? Or what if she
didn't
? Wouldn't that be almost worse?

“Who are you?” Emily whispered, running her fingertips over the flowers on the mirror frame and gasping as her fingers tingled, and a twining of white wild roses and dark ivy appeared around the girl in the mirror. Her greenish hair seemed to flush golden, like wheat stalks, and she smiled more widely, and the white rosebuds opened around her. Emily could smell them, a very faint, sweet, spicy scent that wafted out around the landing.

Where was she, this strange girl? Was there somewhere else behind the mirror? It was only Lory's wardrobe behind that wall, Emily was quite sure. Unless – unless it was a
different
sort of place. The mirror felt so inviting, almost like a door. A door that was just a little open. Emily felt a small spark of excitement deep in the middle of her. Had she opened it? Had
she
made the mirror change?

She moved her fingers closer to the glass, wondering what it would feel like, and the girl in the mirror watched her eagerly, raising her own fingers, as though she wanted to touch them to Emily's through the glass.

She looks like Lory, Emily thought dreamily, as her skin brushed the chill surface of the mirror. She blinked a little, and stared more closely, sharply at the girl.
Was
it Lory? Was this all some kind of a trick? Mum would kill Lory if she'd made a hole out of the back of her wardrobe.

But the eyes were different, Emily decided. Lory had golden-yellow eyes, with brown flecks in them, and this girl's eyes were silvery-green. Besides, how would Lory fill her wardrobe with mist, and pale roses? It wasn't Lory's wardrobe she was staring into, it was somewhere else. Another place. And Emily wanted to go there too.

She pressed her fingers to the glass, feeling that eerie tingling again, and the girl in the mirror smiled at her. Her own white fingers stretched out to Emily's, and Emily gasped as the icy glass seemed to soften and give under her fingertips. It rippled, and bubbled, and Emily felt something shiver through her, right the way to the ends of her hair.

Then it all stopped. The glass hardened and cleared, and there was only her own face staring back at her – white and frightened, but somehow excited too. And behind her in the mirror was Rachel, frowning with worry, her brownish hair and freckled nose looking strangely normal after that eerie girl.

Rachel was holding her arm, Emily realized. Her friend must have come back upstairs to see why she'd stopped, and grabbed her. Just as – just as something was about to happen. Emily wasn't sure whether to be grateful or not.

“Are you all right? You look really funny.” Rachel took hold of Emily's other arm, as though she was worried Emily might fall down. “Is that why you were looking in the mirror? You've gone ever so pale.” She moved a smidge backwards, but kept hold of Emily. “Are you going to be sick?”

“No … I don't think so.” Emily closed her eyes for a second. There were odd sparkles and flashes at the back of them, like white flowers. What had happened? There had been a girl… She could hardly remember. It was as if the mist in the mirror had swirled through her head too – everything was vague, and all the shapes seemed wrong.

Emily shook her head firmly, and shivered as all the glittering lights swayed and whirled behind her eyes. “No. I'm OK.” She took a shaky step away from the mirror, and it seemed suddenly easier to breathe. She looked back at it – pretty as ever, the carvings delicate, the paint faded. There was nothing to show what had just happened.

Perhaps it hadn't happened at all. Maybe Rachel was right.

Something cold nudged her hand, and Emily jumped.

“It's only Gruff,” Rachel told her gently.

“Oh…” Emily patted the enormous dog on his grey head. “Hey, Gruff.”

“He just turned up, I didn't even hear him coming,” Rachel murmured. “Oh, there's my dad!” she added, as someone banged the mermaid door knocker. “Are you OK, Ems? I've got to go, you know what Dad's like if you make him hang around.”

Emily nodded. “I'm fine, honestly.” She managed a grin. “Got up too fast, that's all. I just need another flapjack!” She hurried down the stairs with Rachel and said goodbye looking almost normal. But when the door shut, her legs wobbled again, and she shivered.

Gruff let out a low, grumpy sort of growl, and pushed at her. He was so big, he fitted snugly just under her elbow. He squidged himself close and nudged Emily till she sat down on the bottom step of the stairs. Then he gazed at her suspiciously, as though he thought she might be about to keel over. He was squashing her feet, his heavy greyish head resting solemnly in her lap. She couldn't move, pressed into the stairs by the weight of dog, as though he was guarding her.

Emily looked down at Gruff, his shining eyes as black as liquorice. Did he know what had happened? Had she imagined it all? “I wish you could tell me,” she murmured, under her breath, but Gruff just let out a steamy huff of breath and rubbed his muzzle against her leg. If he knew what had happened, he wasn't saying.

That night, Emily lay in bed with Gruff stretched out just below her feet. He didn't always sleep in her room, only sometimes, but he'd been following her around all day. He'd even sat on her feet during dinner. Luckily, with Lark and Lory complaining about a new teacher, the meal was noisy enough that no one really noticed how pale and quiet Emily was. Her mum did ask if she was all right, but Emily only said she was sleepy from the heat. It might even be true – maybe it was just the hot sun that was making her see weird things. But her bedroom windows were full of pictures even in the winter.

Perhaps there was something weird about
her
? Emily shifted carefully, trying not to dislodge Gruff from her feet and burying her face into her pillow. Maybe she could see things that other people couldn't? She scrunched her eyes more tightly closed. She wasn't sure if she wanted to see anything strange. Especially not now, in the dark.

Maybe you're a witch
, she thought to herself as she sank into sleep.

 

Emily shifted, and sighed, and turned over, and Gruff huffed and wriggled and curled up further down the bed.

She began to dream, strange glimpses of a lush, leafy riverbank, overhung with willow trees. She was sitting in the shadows, not the full sun, watching the water as it flowed by. The river looked deep and dark along the central channel, but the banks sloped gently down, and the water glittered silvery as it rippled over the stones close to her feet. It looked like the mirror, she remembered vaguely, though which mirror, and why it was important, she didn't know.

She crawled a little way forward, to see the water better, and lay down with her chin propped in her hands, to gaze into the shallows. Weeds were streaming in the gentle current, rippling like green silken ribbons, and she dipped her fingers in the water to stroke them.

Then she smiled delightedly as a tiny little see-through silvery fish darted past her fingers, followed by another, and another.

She was so absorbed watching the fish that she didn't look up at first, when the girl came. Emily realized gradually that someone was sitting next to her, dipping their toes in the clear water and humming a little.

Emily looked round at her, trying to sit up, and gasped as the silken ribbon-weed bound itself tightly around her fingers, pulling her closer to the water.

The girl next to her clicked her tongue in irritation – whether at her or the weed, Emily wasn't sure – and flung a handful of sandy mud into the clear water. The weed let go of Emily with a reluctant sucking sensation, and she pulled her hand away.

“Thank you,” she whispered to the girl. “I must have got twisted up in them somehow…” Her voice trailed away. She hadn't got tangled up. The weeds had tried to hold on to her. And she knew the girl who was staring at her now. She had seen her before somewhere – that hair that was greenish-gold, like the water weed. The pointed ears and silvery eyes. But with the wispy, infuriating logic of dreams, Emily couldn't remember where. She stared down at the water again, frowning and trying to think. The girl was still dabbling her toes in the shallows, and Emily gazed at them, suddenly realizing that they were webbed. Greenish fans of skin spread out between each of her long toes. Emily looked at the girl's fingers, which were the same, and swallowed. Whoever she was, and wherever Emily had seen her before, she wasn't human.

The girl smiled at Emily, but when she spoke, her voice was very serious. “Don't touch things you don't understand,” she whispered in Emily's ear, her voice hissing and soft. Then she slipped down the little bank and stood ankle-deep in the river, staring back at Emily. She flicked her waterweed hair and dived smoothly into the deeper part of the river, her silvery dress sliding into the water as though it was made of water itself.

Emily saw her swimming away – nothing like the splashy, energetic sort of swimming she had been taught when they had lessons at school, but a slow, strong weaving of her body, like a seal. The girl glanced round one more time, and then she was gone, into the depths of the river.

Emily stared after her, and then something was scratching at her foot. When she looked down at it, she was wrapped up in her thin quilt, and Gruff was stretched over her feet again, staring at her with huge black eyes.

 

Emily woke up still tired, her eyes gritty and sore. It was an effort to drag herself out of bed and go downstairs for breakfast. She could only half remember her dream, but it must have been a very vivid one, to have left her feeling so worn out. Gruff followed her out of the room. Emily ran her fingers over the great dog's rough fur, wondering why Gruff was still sticking so close to her. Was it something to do with the mirror, and the dream? Could he tell how strange she was feeling? He was very good at looking after people – he had hauled her out of the garden pond once, when she was tiny. She couldn't remember him ever being as watchful as this though – usually he spent most of his time with Robin, although he liked to curl up on Ash's feet while he was working.

“Emily, are you planning to brush your hair this morning, or are you going to school with a bird's nest on your head?” Lark asked, twirling a strand of Emily's knotted dark hair around her finger.

“Don't…” Emily muttered crossly. “I'll brush it after breakfast, I'm too tired now. I had weird dreams all night, and I feel like I didn't sleep at all.”

Eva looked up from the piece of toast she was eating with one hand, while she scribbled in a sketchbook with the other, and asked lightly, “What sort of dreams, Emily love?”

Emily flumped down into a chair, and Gruff nosed closer to Eva's knee, where he could sit and beg for toast.

“I can't remember them all.” Emily sighed. “They were really odd. I kept going to places, strange places, and I met a girl. A girl with webbed feet. And the funny thing was,” she added slowly, realizing it herself for the first time, “it's really strange, but I think I'd seen her before. When I wasn't asleep. I saw her –” she glanced around the table, to make sure that no one was going to laugh, but her family were all staring at her, their faces blank “– I saw her in the mirror on the landing,” she finished, in a hurried mutter.

“In the mirror?” her father asked sharply, nearly upsetting the huge mug of tea that was in front of him. Gruff leaned over the edge of the table and licked up the wave of tea that had slopped over the side.

“What, that big old flowery one?” Lory asked curiously.

“Mmm.” Emily nodded, ducking her head so she didn't have to see them laughing. But no one did. “It must have been a mistake…” she faltered. She had expected them all to tell her she was being silly, or that she was making it up. When no one seemed to think it was funny in the slightest, it all seemed a lot more real.

Eva reached out and stroked Emily's rough hair, gently teasing out the tangles. “Was that yesterday, Emily? Was that why you were so quiet at dinner? Rachel said something about you feeling sick. It's this heat, isn't it? I'm sure that's what it was. And that landing is very dark, with the stairs, and that small window…”

It wasn't, but no one said so. Even Robin nodded solemnly, and Emily gazed around at them all, suddenly wondering if they thought she was a bit stupid. The ditzy one…

“Anyway, it's time for school. You need to get your stuff or you're going to be late,” Eva said, standing up and sweeping all the cereal bowls off to the sink, even though Robin had his spoon halfway to his mouth. For once, he didn't argue, just took the spoon over to add it to the pile, and went out into the hallway to get his shoes.

Emily stared after him, gaping, and Eva flapped her hands at her. “Go on, Emily! Rachel's going to be here any minute!”

Emily swallowed. “But, Mum…”

“Not now, Emily. Really. Not now.”

And her mum sounded so serious that Emily just went to get ready for school.

 

“I don't think I want to go out, it's so hot…” Emily murmured, hesitating at the door to the playground at break. “I'm going to go to the library.”

Rachel nodded. “I know what you mean. I don't mind. It'll be nice and cool in there.”

They wandered off along the corridor to the library, and Rachel curled up on one of the beanbags with a book, but Emily couldn't settle. She kept picking books up and putting them back again. Nothing sounded interesting. Not as interesting as her odd dreams, and the strange way her family were behaving, anyway.

She ran her fingers along the spines of the books, hoping she could find one to take her mind off things. The plastic book covers felt sticky in the heat, and the titles swam in front of her eyes.

But then Emily's fingers ran across a bumpy, frayed old book that felt pleasantly cool. The leather binding had gilt letters pressed into it, but they were so faded she had to take the book off the shelf to read them. It was heavy, even though it was quite a small book, and as she picked it up the cool leather seemed to warm and glow in her hands, as though the dusty maroon had turned blood red.

Grimm's Fairy Tales
, Emily read, peering at the letters. She wrinkled her nose thoughtfully. It didn't look like any book of fairy tales she'd read – shouldn't it be pink, and a bit sparkly? And
Grimm
? She giggled to herself. Not the best name for somebody who was going to write about fairies and unicorns and stuff. Still, she wanted to read the book – really, really wanted to, actually, which was weird when a couple of minutes before, all the books had looked boring.

Emily took the book over to the beanbag next to Rachel and huddled up in a patch of sunlight. The sun made the gilt letters on the front cover glitter, and Emily drew in a hungry breath, fumbling at the cover to open up the book. She blinked as the pages fell open, surprised at how small the type was, and how black against the yellowy cream of the fragile paper. Words and enchanting phrases sprang out at her here and there, and Emily frowned, forcing herself to start at the beginning of the story.

It was “Cinderella”, she realized with a little smile. It had always been one of her favourite stories, and she loved the Disney film, with all those silly singing mice. But this wasn't the version of the story she knew, she discovered as she kept reading. She'd never known that after Cinderella's mother died she'd haunted a tree… And there was no fairy godmother in this version; the mother's tree shook its leaves and ball dresses floated down. Emily read on to the end of the story, fascinated. There was a little illustration close to the end, a picture of the prince on his horse, with a girl behind him, but her foot was dripping blood. Uuurgh! Cinderella's sisters had cut bits of their feet off to try and fit into the slipper! That definitely wasn't in the film… It was the strangest version of the story she had ever read.

The one that came after was “Snow White”, and Emily eyed the illustrations cautiously. Even in the versions she'd read, it was a bit gory. The wicked queen made the huntsman bring back Snow White's heart. It couldn't get much more horrible, surely?

Apparently, it could. The queen actually ate it – it wasn't really Snow White's heart, of course, but still. Yuck. No illustration of that bit, though, luckily…

Curious, Emily turned over the page to find the next story. The title was drawn in a garland of flowers, very pretty ones that reminded Emily of the mirror on the landing at home. She ran her finger over the letters and shivered. “The Changeling Child”. She had never heard of this story – it wasn't in any book of fairy tales she'd ever seen before.

Once upon a time, a woman longed to have a child. Then after many years of waiting, her baby was born. The mother loved the little girl so much that she told everyone she met how perfect her baby was, how beautiful, how well-behaved, how clever. Even though her husband warned her not to make so much of their daughter, in case it should be unlucky, she couldn't stop herself.

Until one morning, when the mother woke, and looked into the baby's cradle, her perfect child had gone. Left behind in its place was a strange baby that seemed to have been carved out of wood, with ugly staring eyes, and a mouth full of sharp little wooden teeth.

Emily caught her breath, staring at the illustration. The wooden baby looked like some sort of horrible doll, but even in the picture, she could see that it was alive.

What had happened to the real baby? That was what Emily really wanted to know, but the story seemed to be all about the family that was left behind. Emily skimmed through the next few lines. The mother walked into the deep woods to find an old woman who might be a witch, to ask her how to get the baby back. But the witch's remedy cost the mother all the money she had saved up, and even then all it did was cause the wooden baby to fly up the chimney and disappear, back to the underground world of the fairies.

The real baby never came back. The witch told the mother that she had loved the little girl too much, and that the fairies who had taken her would never give her up.