Other Alice (13 page)

‘That notebook belongs to my sister and I need it,’ I said. ‘She’s missing and I think it might have a clue about where she is. So, wherever you dumped it, you can just
take me there RIGHT NOW!’

‘Quite sparky for a littlun, ain’t you?’ Piper stared at me through his long fringe and I thought I saw a grudging respect there. ‘What makes you think I dumped
it?’

‘Because . . . you probably thought it was a purse or wallet,’ I blustered. ‘And once you realised it was worthless—’

‘Who said it was worthless?’ Piper asked. ‘I never said that. I was paid good money to nick that notebook.’

‘
What?
’ I gasped. ‘Someone . . . someone
paid
you to steal it? Who?’

He shrugged. ‘The only question I was interested in was the price, and the price was right.’

‘You . . . you
idiot
!’ I spluttered. An icy dread took hold of me. ‘You don’t realise what you’ve done!’

A trace of guilt crept into his eyes and for a moment it seemed he was about to say something, offer an apology perhaps, but then Gypsy held up something for us to read.

I’m sure your sister will turn up. The notebook can’t be the only clue
.

‘You don’t understand . . .’ I trailed off, still too angry with Piper, and myself for being the one to let the notebook go, to think clearly. I couldn’t
risk blowing it; I needed Gypsy’s help, but one wrong word would ruin everything.

‘Alice is a writer,’ I said finally. ‘She often bases her stories on things that have happened to her, or are important to her. So I figured that if there’s somewhere
secret she could have gone, or perhaps someone she could be with, it might be mentioned in the notebook.’

Gypsy nodded.
Makes sense
.

‘There’s more.’ I felt short of breath, like I’d been running very, very fast.

Gypsy indicated that she was listening. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Piper was, too.

‘The notebook was her latest story,’ I said. ‘The one she was working on when she went missing. But it’s not just any story, it’s a novel. Her
first
novel.
Months and months of work.’

Gypsy nodded.
I understand. Of course you’d want to get it back
.

‘That’s just it, though,’ I said. ‘You don’t understand. There’s something else going on here, something crazy . . . or magical.’

Gypsy smiled.
Lucky for you I believe in magic
.

‘Alice’s novel is called
The Museum of Unfinished Stories
,’ I said quietly.

Her smile faded. I had her attention now.

How did you know that’s the title of the book I’m looking for?

‘I saw it written down earlier,’ I admitted. ‘In the bookshop. I didn’t say anything then, because it seemed too odd. I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.’ I
lowered my eyes, uncomfortable with this half-truth.

Why should I believe you now?
Gypsy wrote, her eyes untrusting.
It seems convenient that you want my help, and you suddenly say you know about the book I’ve been searching
for
.

‘That’s why I didn’t tell you straight away,’ I said. ‘Something weird is going on and that notebook is part of it. So, if you want it as much as I do, then
you’ll help me find it!’

I do want it. Very much. So I suppose I have no choice but to trust you.
She sighed.
It’s not like I’m getting anywhere by asking in bookshops: no one’s ever heard
of it. It makes sense that it hasn’t even been published yet
.

‘So you believe me?’ I asked.

Gypsy chewed her lip in the same way Alice did when she was trying to make up her mind about something, then nodded.

Piper muttered something under his breath. I glanced at him. He was rolling a pebble under his boot, staring at the ground.

‘What did you say?’ I asked.

‘I said it
is
the truth,’ he repeated. ‘I had a look through the notebook before I . . . before I passed it on.’

‘How much did you see?’ My voice was high-pitched, scratchy with fear. What if he’d read it? What if he
knew
?

Piper looked uncomfortable. ‘At the front it had the title. One of the words was “museum”.’ He kicked the pebble into the gutter.

‘
One
of the words?’ I asked, confused.

‘It was the only word I recognised.’

There was a moment of silence in which I understood a second before he lost his temper.

‘Because the title was in capitals!’ he snarled. ‘The rest of it was in joined-up writing, so I didn’t . . . couldn’t . . .’

‘Oh,’ I said softly. ‘You
couldn’t
read it.’

‘So?’ he snapped. ‘You think that makes me stupid?’

‘No.’ I didn’t think it, either. It just made
me
incredibly lucky.

If Piper couldn’t read, he wouldn’t have seen what – or who – the story was about. The secret was safe, for now.

Piper rubbed his nose and sniffed. ‘It was pages and pages. Little drawings and stuff. Must’ve been months of work, just like you said.’

I couldn’t help feel a bit sorry for him. He’d admitted stealing the notebook without putting up much of a fight, but confessing that he couldn’t read must have been harder for
him. Despite this, I still felt cross. If it weren’t for him, I’d still have the notebook. For a second time, I thought it seemed like he was about to say something, but the clock tower
chimed the hour just then, and an expectant silence fell over the town.

‘I’ve got to go,’ I said. ‘My mum is looking for me; she’ll be worried.’

I stared into Gypsy’s clear green eyes. She was still watching Piper, deep in thought. There was no pity on her face, only coldness.

‘Are you still going to help me?’ I asked. ‘You said you would.’ I paused. ‘Why weren’t you at the bookshop?’

I only left to get a drink. I was just about to go back when I saw him
. She jerked her head towards Piper, then sighed.
I’ll help. But are you sure your mother is going to
believe this? Me pretending to be Alice?

‘Why wouldn’t she?’ I said.

Aren’t you forgetting something?
she wrote.
My voice. Unless Alice can’t speak, either
.

‘Let me do the talking,’ I said. ‘Unless you have to. If you do, pretend you’re doing research for a story, about someone who can’t speak.’ I looked her up
and down. ‘We need to make you look a bit more like Alice.’

How?

‘Tie your hair back and take those little plaits out,’ I said. ‘And take off your jewellery.’ She did, combing the tiny plaits out with her fingers and sweeping her hair
back. I gasped as her neck came into view. There, just below her ear, was a small tattoo of a scorpion with its tail curved over its back. I stared at it, stricken. I’d completely forgotten
about that.

‘Wait, no, put your hair down again, but mess it up a bit. Mum will go mad if she sees that on your neck.’

Gypsy rolled her eyes, but did as I’d said.

‘That’s better.’ I studied her. ‘We can’t do much about the clothes.’

Gypsy frowned.
What’s wrong with my clothes?

‘They’re just . . . not what Alice would wear,’ I said.
Though they were clearly what she’d
want
to wear if she were brave enough.
‘Let’s go. We can talk about the rest on the way. You, too,’ I called to Piper, who’d started to slink away.

He turned, cocky again. ‘I’m not sure Gypsy wants me around.’

The look on her face suggested she agreed, but in her notebook she wrote:

We’re not going anywhere without him. He’s coming, too
.

I repeated the message to him.

Piper grinned. Some of his teeth were a little crooked, but it was a charming grin nonetheless, although wasted on Gypsy.

For a long moment, they stared at each other and, though no words were exchanged, an unspoken message passed between them. I could sense it. Gypsy’s was a cold loathing and something
else . . . hurt? What had he done to her? Piper’s face was harder to read past his ever-present smirk. But there was more warmth in his eyes.

‘Aw, I never knew you felt that way about me,’ he said at last.

Gypsy stabbed at her notepad. Her writing had become jagged and ugly.

‘She says she doesn’t,’ I said. ‘That’s underlined. She says you know more than you’re telling us, and that she’s not letting you out of her
sight.’

‘Oh, does she?’ Piper’s grin was gone. ‘And what makes you think I take orders from you, Gypsy Spindle?’

I waited for Gypsy to finish. My eyes strained in the gloom of the evening to make out the words. Hatred seeped off the page.

‘Because of what you took,’ I began.

The blush that had coloured Piper’s cheeks only moments earlier drained away, leaving him grey.

‘You have a debt to repay and it starts here.’

He lowered his eyes and nodded. Then, like a dog that had been kicked, he skulked after us.

My eyes darted from Piper to Gypsy and back again, trying to figure out what was going on. What could Piper have taken? It must have been something huge if Gypsy had such a hold over him. Had
she witnessed whatever he’d stolen and was threatening to rat on him?

None of us spoke. We passed through Mad Alice Lane and went towards the square. I was aware of Piper’s presence at my back, the hiss of his breath over the top of my head. Having him so
close made me want to pat my pockets, but I stopped myself. There was nothing in them worth stealing.

‘It’s started,’ I said, pointing to the sky. Thick smoke drifted in the air above. We headed for the clock tower, skirting round the edge of the crowd as far as possible until
there was no choice but to break into the thick of it.

‘Stay together,’ I told them.

I slipped my hand into Gypsy’s. It was only slightly bigger than mine, and cold and dry to the touch. She didn’t seem to mind.

I spotted Mum before she saw us, waving to get her attention. We pushed the rest of the way through to her, and I was glad to see she looked more relieved than annoyed, which meant less of a
telling-off. There were a few cross words and questions, but I quickly put an end to them with the fib I’d thought up.

‘I was almost at the clock tower when I saw Alice,’ I said, realising I was speaking a little too quickly, the way I always did when I told a lie.

‘I was wondering when you were going to show up, young lady,’ Mum said to Gypsy. ‘Next time you decide to disappear all day, leave a note, will you?’

Gypsy nodded. I held my breath, waiting for something to go wrong, for Mum to notice her eyes or something else we’d overlooked, but it was too dark and smoky for that. Luck was on our
side and, besides, there was no reason for Mum to think she was seeing anyone other than her daughter.

‘Is that a new jacket?’ Mum asked.

Gypsy nodded.

‘It suits you.’ Mum nodded approvingly, then noticed Piper lurking behind me. ‘Alice, who’s your friend? I don’t think we’ve met.’

I held my breath as Gypsy flipped open her pad and began to write. I peered over her shoulder, with quick glances at Mum. She was distracted by the smoking pyre in the town centre, but kept
sneaking looks at the boy behind me.

His name is Piper
, Gypsy had written.
I met him at the library
.
He’s helping me with the story I’m working on
.

‘That’s nice, dear. Why are you writing things down instead of talking? Have you got a sore throat? It is quite smoky, I must say.’

Gypsy shook her head and wrote something else.

It’s for research. I’m writing about a character who can’t speak
.

Mum rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond, if a little sad. She was used to Alice doing odd things to get ‘in character’ as she called it, but I guessed she must be reminded of
Alice’s father. ‘You do the daftest things for your stories.’

Her voice was muffled, lost in a crackle of dry wood rising up around us. A faint orange glow lit up the faces of people in front, growing stronger until the flames were visible and the
crackling of the fire became a roar. Likenesses blackened and charred like tiny, wingless birds tangled in a giant nest. I thought of the Alice Likeness, tucked inside the twigs like an egg waiting
to hatch. Had she burned yet, or was she still smouldering?

Sparks flew through the air like tiny sprites, glowing and fizzing, and I felt as if some had gone into my tummy and were fizzing there, too. One by one, the lamps lighting the square blinked
out. The town glowed amber. This was the signal. It was time to say the words: the words spoken on this night every year. I knew them by heart.

I thought of Alice and wondered if it could happen. If she
could
be Summoned. If the magic was real. What was the one question that would unlock the mystery of where she was?

The heat of the rising flames warmed my cheeks. Something hissed within the bonfire and twisted free, shooting up into the air in a shower of silver sparks. They streaked through the smoke,
glittering like sequins, then rained down over the flames. Some of them drifted over the heads of the people in front, fanned towards me by the breeze, and, as they got closer, I saw they were
white-hot flecks of ash. For a split second, they seemed to be letters tumbling through the air like broken words. I blinked and they were ash again, fading as the heat left them. I thought of the
pages I’d stuffed in the Alice Likeness.

A murmur went through the crowd, of excitement and confusion. Had others seen it, too? It was going to work. At that moment, I felt absolutely certain that Alice would come to us, because I knew
that some magic
is
real.