Fire Girl (3 page)

For an electrifying moment, Hecate locked eyes with her daughter. ‘Run, Hazel –
run
!’

But Hazel didn’t move. Rage such as she had never felt before exploded in her, boiling away her fear. ‘Leave my mother alone,’ she screamed as the world turned red.

The air around her crackled as her heart pumped so much magic through her veins she thought it would crack her skull in two. With a shriek, Hazel threw out her arms and unleashed a boiling wave
of fire across the garden towards the pool.

The creature twisted on the spot, shielding Hecate as the firestorm broke across its back and staying silent even as its flesh burned and peeled away.

Hazel’s ferocious magic spluttered and died. She crumpled to the ground like a dropped puppet, raising her head just in time to see the demon disappear through the trees, cradling her
mother as gently as a new-born baby.

‘The biggest threat to us are the Wielders.

Wielders are always women, and their command

of magic is far greater than ordinary witches.’

Matthew Hopkins, Witch Hunter General

H
azel awoke, half drowned and gasping. Frozen from skin to soul she lay on the ground, one arm outstretched as if grasping for a lifeline.
Thunderclouds growled, hurling rain, their bloated innards charged with lightning.

Ma,
she thought.
Where is she?

Her throat felt raw. Racked with thirst, she slurped from the puddle she lay in. The gritty water gave her just enough strength to wobble to her feet. Memories crashed down over her: the eyeless
demon and her mother’s terrified face – but most vivid of all was the fire-magic pouring from her fingers. She lifted her hands, certain that they would be covered in blisters and
blackened skin, but they were unscarred.

The grass and reeds around the pool were burned brown, and the air still carried the taint of brimstone and magic.
Her
magic. In the distance lay the forest, smeared across the horizon
like charcoal on wet parchment.

What was that. . . thing? Why did it take Ma?
Hazel wondered, scanning the land for any signs of them.
Is she even still alive?

Tugging strands of sodden hair from her face, she ran back into the cottage and started throwing open drawers and cupboards. She filled a shoulder bag with bread, cheese, dried meat, a pocket
knife, a small pouch of coins and a few spare clothes. Then she changed into a dry dress, her hobnailed ankle boots, shrugged on a red hooded cloak, hurried to the door – and froze.

The land outside the Glade was unknown to Hazel, and she had
longed
to see it. But now, when desperate need was forcing her to leave, she couldn’t even find the courage to step out
of her own cottage door. She searched her heart for some hope, but all she found was doubt and fear.

‘Come on, Hazel,’ she whispered, clenching her fists. ‘You
can
do this.’

‘You’re not going out in that weather, are you?’ said a high-pitched voice.

Hazel spun around. ‘Who’s there?’

‘I am.’ The voice sounded annoyed.

‘Er, who . . . ? Where are you?’

‘You’re not very observant, are you? Look down. No, over
here
.’

Hazel gaped. Sitting on the upturned fruit bowl, with a look of twitchy indignation on his face, was the dormouse.

‘Close your mouth,’ he snapped. ‘It makes you look like an imbecile.’

Hazel found her voice. ‘You can . . . talk?’

‘Evidently.’

She bent down, scooped him up and held him in the palm of her hand. His fur was warm and soft. ‘I don’t believe it.’

The dormouse stood on his hind legs and shook a claw at her. ‘How dare you pick me up without asking?’

‘You can actually
talk
.’ Hazel continued to goggle at him. ‘But
how
?’

‘With my mouth, of course. See how it moves in time with my words? Although, I grant you, before now I could only talk to other animals.’ He glanced around anxiously. ‘By the
way, where’s that horrible lump of a cat?’

The air crackled with magic and Hazel nearly dropped the dormouse as flames erupted from his fur. Heat shimmered and his tail glowed like a hot poker, although all Hazel felt was a warm tickle.
After a few seconds the flames died away.

‘What was
that
?’ she cried.

‘I don’t know,’ the dormouse wailed. ‘It’s been happening ever since I got caught in your little fireworks display down by the pool. I’m all
magical
,
and I don’t like it. You need to be more careful who you aim at.’

‘
I
did that to you?’

‘Yes.’ The dormouse shook his head in disgust. ‘There I was, minding my own business, when you hit me with your stinky magic. None of my friends are going to speak to me any
more, and I don’t blame them.’ He glared at Hazel, whiskers splayed. ‘I blame
you
.’

She plonked herself down in a chair and stared helplessly at him. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know I could cast any kind of magic till today. It just sort of bubbled up. At least it
didn’t hurt you.’

The dormouse sniffed. ‘Well, try not to let it happen again.’

After an awkward pause Hazel said, ‘Do you have a name?’

‘Of course I have a name. All animals have names. Mine’s Bramley, after my favourite food.’ He stared pointedly at the spilt apples.

Hazel put him down on the table, picked one up and cut off a slice with her knife.

‘Ta,’ Bramley said.

‘I’m Hazel. Hazel Hooper.’

‘Well, Hazel Hazel Hooper, seeing as you saved me from that cat earlier – I suppose I can forgive you.’

Hazel stared through the door towards the forest. ‘I must go,’ she said, almost to herself.

‘Nonsense. Look at that downpour. It’ll wash you away.’

‘I
have
to go.’

‘Well, don’t blame me if you catch a chill,’ Bramley said, rubbing his paws along his whiskers to clean off drops of apple juice.

‘I’ve got to find my mother. But what can I do against that . . .
thing
?’

Bramley plopped on to Hazel’s lap and looked up at her. ‘More than you think – you’re not just an ordinary girl.’

‘I’m not?’ Hazel frowned.

‘You cast magic, didn’t you? So that means you’re a . . . ?’

‘A Wielder.’ Saying the words sent a thrill down her spine. ‘I’m a Fire Witch.’

‘Correct! Now, I’m going to make a nest in your hair,’ he said, clambering up her dress and poking his head into her dark red curls. ‘I assume you have no
objections?’

‘Are you coming with me then?’

‘Well, obviously.’

Hazel shook her head. ‘But why?’

‘I can see that I’m going to be the brains in this partnership,’ Bramley said. ‘Go on,
think
.’

‘Oh, I see! You’re my familiar.’

‘Lightning strikes at last,’ Bramley said, burrowing further into her hair.

‘But how . . . ?’

‘Well, I heard stories when I was a pup about animals who were struck by magic and started talking to witches. I always hoped it would never happen to
me
.’ He reappeared above
Hazel’s other shoulder. ‘Oh, this one appears to be much the same as the other one,’ he said with a note of disappointment.

‘I see,’ Hazel said. She supposed that the company of an irritable rodent was better than no company at all. ‘I suppose we’d better make the best of things, hadn’t
we? And yes, you can make a nest in my hair as long as you promise not to poo in it.’

‘What do you think I am – a common rat?’ Bramley pressed his warm fur against her skin. ‘Now let’s get going, if we must.’

‘I think . . . I think the thing that took Ma was a
demon
,’ Hazel whispered.

‘A demon, eh?’ Bramley squeaked. ‘Are they all as ugly as that one?’

‘I don’t know, but ugly or not we’re going to track it down.’ Hazel picked up her bag and stepped into the rain.

‘I had a nasty feeling you were going to say that,’ Bramley said.

Some witches are able to command the

natural world for honest purposes, such as

healing animals, or creating bountiful harvests.

A Study of Benevolent Magic
by Titus White

W
ith Bramley clinging to her ear, Hazel followed the demon’s trampled trail through the trees, unsure if the tang of blood hanging in the air
was real or imaginary. All she knew was that if she allowed herself a single backwards glance at the cottage, her courage would shatter and she’d hide under her bed and never come out.

I’ve got to think about Ma,
she thought.
I must be strong for her.

She emerged from the shadows of the orchard into a meadow, feeling small as she stared up at the roiling black clouds. Drizzle hung indecisively in the air.

Scolding herself for wasting time, she waded into the rain-battered reedgrass and down the slope towards the Glade’s border. Ankle-deep mud sucked at her boots and soon she was red-faced
and panting.

‘Will we be gone long?’ Bramley asked from somewhere deep in her hair.

‘What?’

‘From the Glade, I mean. When will we be coming back?’

‘How should I know?’ Hazel snapped, realizing she had no plan, no idea what was going to happen to them both.

‘All right, don’t tie a knot in your tail.’ He wriggled out of his nest and settled down on her shoulder. ‘Now, where are we going?’

‘I don’t know that either,’ Hazel replied. ‘I’m just following the trail. Why don’t you
think
before you ask stupid questions?’

‘Have you always been so bad tempered?’

Hazel took a deep breath and started to count to ten.

‘
Well?
’ Bramley persisted.

‘Only since I met you.’ An angry bloom of fire rippled over her skin before vanishing with a hiss.

‘You need to learn to control your magic,’ Bramley said, his own fur sparking in return. ‘I can see travelling with you is going to be a very
trying
experience.’

Hazel’s clothes were soaked through by the time she emerged from the meadow on to a puddle-strewn path.