Rose (17 page)

Annie had the door open in the space of two minutes, as the others looked on in amazement.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Rose asked admiringly.

“I should think her thieving brothers taught her,” Freddie muttered. “She's the one we promised to look for, isn't she, Rose? She probably carries the lockpicks in case they're stopped by a constable.” He still had a grudge against the boys for attacking them. “Anyway, thank goodness it isn't bolted on the other side, else we'd have been well and truly scuppered.”

But the door swung open easily, revealing a gloomy flight of steps up, and the occupants of the cellar crept cautiously out. The steps led into the kitchen, which was deserted and unlit, and very different from the warm, welcoming room at the Fountain house.

“Doesn't she have any servants?” Rose murmured in surprise.

“I suppose she can't risk them finding out what she's doing,” Freddie mused. “Perhaps the house has a spell on it to keep it clean, though I've never heard of one.” He peeped out of the kitchen door and up another staircase. “This leads to the hallway, doesn't it? I don't remember much from when she brought us down here.” Rose blinked. She didn't remember anything. She'd been terrified and had spent most of the carriage journey with her eyes closed, hoping she wasn't going to be sick.

The hallway was patterned with black and white tiles, and looked very pretty, just like a normal sort of house. There was an elephant's foot umbrella holder, and an occasional table with a fern in a big blue and white pot. No blood. No sign of Amy. One of the doors off the hallway was ajar, and a bar of light showed down the side of it.

“That's her workroom,” Alice whispered. She had gone pale at the sight of it, and her eyes were all black pupil, no blue left at all. Lily and Annie were pressed close against her, thumbs firmly in mouths again.

Rose felt guilty—the workroom didn't make her feel more frightened than the rest of the house, but then, she'd never been in it. Almost all the others were shielding their wrists without realizing it.

“I think the little ones should go,” she whispered.

The older children looked longingly toward the door but nodded.

“Alice had better take them, the two littlest ones, and Isabella, and you four…” Jack sorted out the younger children and pushed them gently down the hallway.

“But I should come with you,” Alice protested guiltily, though her voice had gone high with relief.

“Just get them out of here,” Sarah-Jane urged. “Lily, behave, or else!”

Lily nodded emphatically around her thumb.

“You'll have to be silent going past that door,” Freddie reminded them.

The older children watched as the little group pattered down the hall and waited anxiously by the door as Alice fought with the lock. The key was in it, but it screeched, and everyone waited for the workroom door to fly open and Miss Sparrow to run screaming out. But at last it opened, and the children slipped quietly around it, Alice sending the others one last hopeful, grateful smile as she drew it closed behind her.

Rose let out a tiny sigh. It would have been so easy for them all to follow her. But they'd rescued them—that was what they'd come to do, after all. She should be glad. She exchanged a relieved half smile with Freddie and was about to ask what anyone thought they should do next, when Jack muttered, “A cat!”

Padding over the black and white tiles was a portly white cat, with one orange eye and one blue. He rubbed his head affectionately against Rose's skirts, and she bent to lift him up. “Gus! Did you follow us?”

“Of course,” grumbled the cat. “I came in when Isabella and all those other children went out. How long has that madwoman been collecting children for? I'd been waiting outside for ages, no windows open, not a crack I could find anywhere. I was just about to give up and go home to fetch Fountain when I saw the door open.”

Maisie put her hand on Rose's arm. “He talks!” she whispered delightedly. “You've got a magic cat, Rose!” For a moment she seemed to have forgotten her fear, and Rose realized that Gus probably had some extremely strong spell on him—a charm for charm, that made almost everyone happy to see him. It was probably why he was so fat.

Gus looked at Maisie with his head on one side. “She can hear me. Is she another magician?” His voice was doubtful; clearly he didn't think Maisie looked very magical.

Rose shook her head. “Freddie did a spell, binding all our power. So maybe all of us have a bit of magic now.”

“Can we stroke him?” Ellen asked, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Ask
me
if you don't mind,” Gus said haughtily. “She doesn't own me. And yes, you may if you have clean hands.” He closed his eyes happily as the children stroked him. It seemed a silly thing to be doing just then, but Rose could see the sparks of magic rising off Gus's silky coat, filling the admiring children with hope. Hope worked. They needed it right now, as they had very little else.

“Is there a plan?” Gus asked, butting Rose's chin.

“Only that she's in there, we think.” Freddie pointed to the workroom. “And she's got Amy, one of the girls. We have to get Amy out, Gus. We think Miss Sparrow wants to kill her. She's trying to find a way to live forever, you know.”

“Ridiculous. I knew she was mad,” Gus said gloomily. “I wish old Fountain had never got mixed up with her. The worst of it is, madness works so terribly well with magic. Oh well. I can go and spy around the door for you if you like. I'll be able to sense any guard spells with my whiskers.” He jumped down lightly from Rose's arms and stalked down the hallway, carefully inserting his whiskers into the gap in the door. The others followed cautiously, until they were gathered in a kind of ring, watching the cat edging into the room.

He seemed to be gone forever, but it was perhaps only a minute until he was back, creeping out of the door with ears laid back and his whiskers drooping like an ancient Mandarin's mustache.

“What is it?” Rose asked anxiously.

“I think the girl on the couch is dead,” Gus admitted reluctantly, and there was a low moan of disbelief. They had done so well escaping from their prison—to be denied Amy was unbearable.

“If only we'd been faster,” Maisie whispered, and Rose put an arm around her.

“What's the witch doing?” Jack demanded, and Gus blinked at him. “That's the strange thing. She seems half dead too. Or fainting at least. She's slumped on the floor by the couch.”

“Let's get her!” Jack snarled, springing forward to the door, but Freddie grabbed him back.

“Slowly!” he hissed. “She's a—a witch, remember? Don't go dashing in like that.” He peered carefully around the door, Jack with him, and Rose and Maisie followed.

Gus was right. Miss Sparrow lay against the couch, quite still, a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth. But it was Amy who drew their eyes. She was half falling from the cushions, one arm trailing along the floor. If they had thought she was pale before, now her skin had a deadly greenish tinge. The slit in her wrist was not even bleeding; it gaped sluggishly open.

“Let's get her out of here.” Jack's voice caught miserably, and the others came forward to help him.

Amy's black hair fell over their hands as they tried to lift her, and Rose couldn't help stroking it. It felt alive, even if Amy didn't. It was soft and sleek. How could Amy be dead and still have such pretty hair?

“Freddie,” Rose murmured. “Give her the marble.”

“Rose, she's—”

“So it won't make any difference, will it? Just try.” Freddie kneeled in front of the couch, and wrapped Amy's hands around the marble. The wound in her wrist flexed horribly as he touched her fingers, and he gagged. But the light flushed Amy's icy fingers pink, and they twitched.

“It's working!” Maisie whispered. “Quick, let's hurry!” Maisie, Ellen, Sarah-Jane, and Jack grabbed Amy and hauled her out of the room into the hallway, Gus running before them with his tail raised like a flag.

Rose stayed behind. If she went out into the street, she didn't think she would have the courage to come back. Not when she could run. So it was better not to go because Miss Sparrow wasn't dead. Rose could see her breathing. She knew it was stupid to stay—foolhardy. But she'd stopped that mist monster without knowing what she'd done. Maybe the same luck would save her now.

Miss Sparrow opened her eyes. They were like beads, Rose thought, small and not very pretty. Or more like boot-buttons, actually, round and dull. The alchemist wasn't beautiful at all. Then she seemed to wake up a little more, and she shook out her hair, which was coming loose from its pins. All at once her eyes were deep and dark again, and her face exquisitely painted. She had control of her glamours now. She seized something that was lying in the folds of her black silk dress and sprang up, towering over Rose. She was tall anyway, but the glamours had an edge of fear magic to them, and she seemed a giantess.

What she was holding was a knife.

A silver knife, Rose noted with a sort of panicky attention to detail, as it came closer. She'd already spent considerable time polishing silver at the Fountain house, and she knew a hallmark when she saw one. A very shiny, very sharp, silver knife.

“Rose!”

Rose jumped, luckily backward. The knife had mesmerized her, and in a couple more steps, Miss Sparrow would have had it at her throat.

Freddie seized her tightly as she stumbled, and he hissed, “What were you
doing
?”

“Later,” Gus mewed.

“There is no later…” Miss Sparrow told them gently, the knife weaving in front of them. “Two mage children's blood will have to do. The other girl was useless after all. I was wrong, I admit. Silver, and the lifeblood, I was so sure…”

“She's mad,” Rose muttered.

“Being mad doesn't make her knife any less sharp.” Gus's claws scratched on the parquet floor as they edged backward, and Miss Sparrow seemed to realize that her prey was perilously close to the door. Her face at once became ten times more beautiful, so perfect that it was terrifyingly wrong, like one of Isabella's expensive dolls come to life.

They couldn't defeat anything so lovely, Rose knew. If they fought, they might spoil her. They should stop. Stand still. Give in.

But
what
about
the
blood?
Rose asked herself suddenly.
A
minute
ago
she
had
blood
dripping
down
her
chin, and now it's gone. Just like Gus eating too much to be a thin cat.

So
this
isn't real!

Rose's eyes snapped open, and she poked Freddie in the side, hard. “Wake up! She glamoured us again!” She picked Gus up and shook him a little.

“Fish!” he mewed sharply, and then shuddered and stared at Miss Sparrow. “The cheek of it! Glamouring a cat.”

Miss Sparrow had taken a step back and was wiping the blood from her face with a delicate lace handkerchief, eyeing them cautiously. Clearly they were more of a threat than she had suspected, and the strong spell had tired her.

Unfortunately, even tired, she was more than a match for two untrained children, even though they had Gus to help them. Rose suspected that Gus was actually a lot more powerful than he let everyone think. But Miss Sparrow had still caught him with a glamour—and it had been Rose who broke them out of it.

Gus put his paws on Rose's shoulder and purred encouragingly in her ear.
Rose, you are the strongest of us against her. The glamours don't work well on you. She will try again, harder, any moment. Freddie, whatever happens, believe Rose!

Rose nodded, gulping nervously, and Freddie scowled but reluctantly murmured, “Yes, I know…” He moved to stand slightly behind her, as though he was admitting she was the stronger one.

Believe
Rose…

Rose held Gus tightly, staring at Miss Sparrow, waiting for her to strike.

“She's not doing anything! Why isn't she doing anything?” she whispered to Gus.

“Be on your guard,” Gus hissed back. “She's tricky.” Miss Sparrow seemed to have decided that Rose was her main enemy too. She walked forward very slowly, with her hands stretched out, and a lovely smile on her face. Only the chalk whiteness of her skin spoiled it.

Rose took a step back, and then another, her hands tightening in Gus's fur.

We've made a mistake
, she howled in her head.
She
isn't going to glamour us. She's just going to kill us! Help!

She
can't
, Gus said, a little doubtfully.
All
her
power
is
in
her
glamours. She won't be able to strike us with anything real. At least…I don't think so…

Are
you
sure?
Rose begged, as she backed up against Freddie, and Freddie backed up against the door.
I
think
she
could
kill
us
pretty
easily. It feels like she only needs to touch us. And she's still got the knife!

And Freddie reminded him,
You
said
believe
Rose! Now what do I do?

“Little Rose,” Miss Sparrow murmured as she came closer still, the point of the knife trembling. “A new witch.” She smiled wider. “Oh, yes, I use the old words. You're a witch, just like me. You could be so powerful. So special. So rich. No more slaving, Rose. Come with me, and I'll teach you. You could do so much!”