Miss Isolde turned away from the window and straightened her jacket. ‘We can’t give the villagers any further reasons to disapprove of us than they already do! We must fit in. They have to realise that we’re . . . just like them.’

  I wrinkled my nose. ‘But we aren’t, are we?’

  I didn’t only mean the way we looked, of course. I meant the fact that we’d been separated from our parents, family, people we loved. All us children at Fablehouse felt, in some way, that we were a mistake. Sometimes it was because of what people said or did to us, but oftentimes it was what they didn’t say or do. The whispers, the turning away or staring, the lack of invitations, the ignoring. ‘Has the inspector said when he’s coming back?’

  ‘No. But he’ll be back any day.’

  With my heart thudding, I said, ‘I understand why you don’t want us using our powers, but why don’t you like us even talking about them?’

  Even though I didn’t trust my own magic, I knew having powers made the others feel special. It went some way in stopping them feeling on the outside and that they didn’t belong or fit in. Having a special power gave us power where usually we had none. Thinking this, a spark flared in my stomach, outwards like a fan, the heat so strong that I doubled over, clutching my stomach.

  Miss Isolde caught my arm. ‘Oh, Heather dear. Are your menstrual cramps already so awful? We can get you—’

  I shook my head, grimacing. ‘It’s not cramps, miss. It’s . . .’ I straightened up. I didn’t want to mention anything more about my fire, knowing how she felt about our magic. With the fire bubbling inside me, I wondered: what if our powers didn’t go? What if we were stuck with them forever? Then where would we be?

  Her grey eyes were steely. ‘And to answer your question – I can’t see a time when revealing you have special powers would be of any benefit whatsoever. Their very existence are another reason why I believe that if Fablehouse does get closed down, and you children split up – sad though it’ll be – it might be for the best. If these powers are still evident, if you’re separated and living apart, then perhaps they’d be less likely to be discovered?’ She twisted her hands in front of her.

  It was obvious now how much she’d been worrying about all of this.

  But I wasn’t sure I agreed. Separating us and pretending our powers didn’t exist – what was ‘for the best’ about that? If people didn’t accept us, maybe they didn’t deserve to even have us in their community! What had Rose called us last night? Precious. Maybe we were.

  ‘But what if we’ve been given them for a reason? What if we’re supposed to help people, or . . . use them to change things?’

  ‘No more talk about these powers, please, Heather.’ She pulled her sleeve cuffs taut and cleared her throat. ‘You do not need magic powers to show the world you’re exceptional, and the sooner you realise that, the better. Now, Cook needs extra help in the kitchen. Lloyd, Judy and Davey are already there. Could you give them a hand?’

  Miss Isolde didn’t look at me as I left; instead I watched as she touched her fingertips to the glass.

  * * *

  The kitchen was bustling. Judy and Davey stood at the sink washing blackberries while Lloyd rolled out pastry on the worktop. Cook stirred an enormous metal pot on the stove bubbling with sugar.

  ‘Davey!’ Cook admonished. ‘Will you stop eating them!’ She tapped him lightly on the back of his head.

  ‘I only had a few!’ he grumbled.

  I pointed at his mouth, already stained purple by blackberry juice. ‘That’s not what your mug says.’

  ‘Nice to see you, Heather.’ Cook threw me a pinny. ‘Jam season, and I need to make a few pies and crumbles too. There’s a pencil next to the jars. Neatest handwriting please!’

  Rows of empty jam jars lined every available bit of counter space. I positioned myself opposite Lloyd and started labelling the jars as Cook had asked.

  ‘Miss Isolde reckons now that maybe we should audition for the Harvest Festival,’ I said.

  Lloyd pressed down hard on the rolling pin. ‘She’s probably been thinking about what Rose said last night. Maybe she felt that it’s worth a try?’

  ‘Where has that Davey got to now?’ Cook asked, exasperated. ‘He keeps on disappearing, but this jam will not make itself!’

  I stood next to Judy, remembering how she’d glazed over for a moment the previous evening. ‘Did you see something last night at dinner?’ I asked her quietly.

  She licked sugar off her fingers. ‘The flower-name lady . . .’

  ‘What about her?’ I asked.

  ‘She lives in a lake. Water, water everywhere.’

  ‘By a lake,’ I corrected. ‘No, I don’t think so. I’m not sure London has many lakes.’

  ‘Davey!’ Cook hollered. ‘Where is he? I need to get on and get home to keep an eye on my Suzy.’

  Uh-oh. I squinted, focusing into the distance. Davey was still at the sink! He’d gone invisible. I stifled a laugh, watching him scoop handfuls of sugared blackberries into his mouth.

  ‘Davey!’ I exclaimed, once Cook’s head was deep in the pantry. By the time she’d emerged, armed with more sugar, Davey was smiling, once again visible and looking like butter wouldn’t melt.

  I sidled over to him. ‘Davey,’ I whispered. ‘You can’t keep vanishing like that! If Cook sees you, she’ll . . .’ I trailed off. I didn’t quite know what Cook would do if she saw him vanish and reappear, but I don’t think we wanted to find out.

  ‘But Heffver, it’s fun!’ He giggled. ‘She won’t see me.’

  ‘She might!’ I said sternly.

  Davey poked his tongue out at me. ‘You’re no fun any more!’ he said, running out of the kitchen.

  ‘Davey!’ I shouted. ‘You come back here!’

  Cook sighed. ‘What’s up with him now, hmn?’

  ‘Cook!’ Judy stood behind Cook, tugging on her apron strings. As Cook spun around, bending to catch her apron from falling on to the floor, she and Judy almost banged heads. Judy reached out, grasping Cook’s arm.

  Judy gulped, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘It’s hurting!’

  ‘Oh pet, I’m sorry. What did I do?’ But staring at Judy, I knew she’d seen or sensed something else. Fluttering hammered at the base of my throat, and suddenly a huge whoosh of flames flared up from under the pots on the stove.

  ‘Oh!’ Cook stepped back, pulling a now sobbing Judy with her. ‘Everyone out of the kitchen!’ she shouted, and pushed Judy towards the door.

  The pot boiled over, and thick, sugary, boiling-hot liquid splattered over the stove and dripped on to the floor.

  As we left, I saw Cook fiddle frantically with the stove controls.

  In the corridor, the four of us huddled nervously. I put my arm around Judy, who was sniffling and sucking her thumb.

  ‘Are you OK, Judy?’ Lloyd asked. ‘Did you get a fright?’

  ‘It’s Cook’s cat Suzy, she’s really poorly.’

  I couldn’t speak – I was shaking too much. That flare-up of fire wasn’t a coincidence. I’d been panicked; I’d felt it. I’d been staring right at the cooker.

  I’d done that.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Icrossed the lawn to where Arlene and Rose sat on a bench, their heads bent low together. Seeing them so close, a pang hit me. I realised, a lump filling my throat, that if the inspector closed Fablehouse down, I might never see Arlene again.

  ‘Morning,’ I said.

  ‘Morning,’ Rose and Arlene said, almost in unison.

  I smiled at Arlene. ‘Your ankle – is it better?’

  ‘Yes,’ Arlene said. ‘I woke up this morning and the pain was gone. The swelling’s gone down too. It’s like a miracle.’

  ‘That’s amazing.’ I grinned. ‘I’ve got good news too!’

  Her eyes widened in anticipation. ‘Spill then!’

  I was going to mention the pony, but then wasn’t sure if I should. What if Rose wanted to see it? I wasn’t sure that Pal wanted strangers knowing about him, so instead I shared our other news.

  ‘Miss Isolde says we can audition for the Harvest Festival!’

  Arlene leaped up, clapping her hands. ‘Oh! That’s brilliant!’

  She twirled around. She was wearing her nicest frock, the one usually reserved for church. She’d even rubbed a little blush into her cheeks – Miss Gloria had given her an old compact months ago. Her pale blue dress billowed out.

  ‘How perfect.’ Rose smiled at both of us. ‘I’m delighted Miss Isolde agreed with me. We had such an interesting conversation last night. So, what will you sing?’

  Arlene flopped down on to the bench, out of breath. ‘I could sing, but it’d be a hoot to do something together!’ She looked up at me. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t mind, as long as it isn’t dancing.’

  ‘Don’t you like to dance, Heather?’ Rose asked, looking at me keenly.

  I shrugged. ‘I trip over my own feet, given half a chance.’

  ‘Oh, I bet you don’t!’ Rose laughed.

  But I did, so I don’t know what she was laughing about. I wrinkled my nose. ‘What’s a song everyone knows?’

  ‘“The Ugly Duckling”!’ Arlene said.

  Rose snatched up Arlene’s hand and pulled her to standing. ‘My dear, no one would believe you singing that!’

  Holding her at arm’s length, she spun her around and Arlene giggled, letting herself be whirled.

  ‘We should buy you a beautiful dress!’

  We?

  Arlene twirled away tittering, and Rose called after her, ‘I could iron your hair!’

  ‘Oh yes!’ Arlene breathed, thrilled. Again, a sharp stab of something dark flared in me. And around us was the strangest smell – like the forest after rain, deep and earthy, dark mulchy soil.

  We’d only met Rose yesterday, but here she was, acting as if she’d known us forever, getting Arlene excited about dresses and hairdos – but it unsettled me. I felt defensive, and protective of my friend, and a flash sparked in my palms. I clenched my hands into fists, hid them behind my back and focused on my breath, slowing it down.

  Anyway, being allowed to audition didn’t mean we’d get in.

  ‘Let’s not get carried away . . .’ I began, but neither of them heard me.

  ‘You’d be the belle of the ball. Fitting, of course, seeing how pretty you are. And even from the little I’ve heard, you sound like an . . . angel! Would you sing something now for me?’

  Opening her mouth, the notes trilling out, Arlene literally glowed. Rose couldn’t look away. For a moment it looked like Rose was bathed in bright sunshine. As if there were a spotlight shining on only her. I blinked – that wasn’t possible. It must have been the sun glittering through tree branches and the rays bouncing off the windows.

  Once Arlene had finished, Rose reached for Arlene’s hands.

  I took Arlene’s hand, breaking her link with Rose.

  Arlene frowned, pouting. ‘What?’ she moaned.

  ‘We have a lesson now, with Pal, and isn’t it time you –’ I stared pointedly at Rose – ‘got going?’

  Rose recoiled slightly. Then she smiled easily. ‘Oh my, yes, you’re quite right. I do have business to attend to.’ She glanced at her silver wristwatch. ‘Thank you, Heather. Without your keen eye, I might have been late!’

  ‘Must you go?’ Arlene cried out, disappointed. ‘I was having fun!’

  ‘As was I,’ Rose replied. ‘Don’t fret. I can assure you, this isn’t the last you’ve seen of me!’ She strode towards her car parked in the driveway, waving over her shoulder. ‘Say goodbye to everyone for me, won’t you?’

  Arlene snatched her hand from mine – I’d forgotten I was still holding it – and whirled round, her eyes blazing.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ she snapped.

  ‘What?’ I said innocently.

  ‘You were so rude!’

  ‘I wasn’t.’ I knew I’d been rude, but I didn’t care. Something about how Rose had been carrying on with Arlene brought out the worst in me.

  ‘Yes you were. You’ve got no manners! I think you’re . . .’ Her eyes narrowed, and a sly look crossed her face. ‘Jealous!’

  ‘Jealous?’ I tried to breathe slowly because a familiar heat was seeping through my skin. ‘Of what?’ I countered. The fire inside me coiled like a rope.

  ‘The attention I’m getting,’ Arlene crowed. ‘Rose kept asking me about my parents and I think she wants to – well, I think she wants to adopt me.’ Gazing into the cloudless sky, Arlene spun around, her arms held out to the sides. ‘Can you imagine? Now, wouldn’t that be something?’

  What? That couldn’t be right. I stared at her, dismayed. She’d entered a bloomin’ dreamworld based on one conversation. But then I thought back to how Rose couldn’t stop looking at Arlene, practically since the moment she’d driven us back. Was I the one in a dreamworld?

  What if Rose had come to adopt a child from Fablehouse? Why else was she here? I tried to remember what she’d said . . . Research? A university? I wished I’d paid more attention, but I couldn’t remember any details. In fact I could barely remember anything Rose had said about herself over dinner. And if someone was going to be adopted, Arlene certainly was a perfect daughter-in-waiting. She always looked neat and tidy, ate her food nicely, said her prayers at night and cared about table manners and all that.

  It felt as if the fire inside me dwindled and died.

  ‘What about us?’ I said quietly. ‘The Roamers?’

  Arlene curled her lip. ‘Sorry, but . . . you heard the inspector. If Fablehouse gets shut down and we get split up, then there won’t even be any Roamers, will there?’

  I spoke slowly and chose my words carefully so that I stayed calm. ‘How can you give up on us already?’

  As my breath hitched in my throat, coming fast, I smelt a heavily perfumed sweetness on the air again. Maybe Cook was boiling more blackberries.

  Staring at Arlene, my eyes began to water, and behind her the trees shifted, their branches waving, drooping. I blinked fast, swiping at the hot tears which were welling up. Took a deep slow count of four. Swallowed hard. The trees stopped swaying.

  She sighed and stared at me, her expression blank. Haughty, like someone had smoothed out her features.

  ‘I’m being – as me and Rose were talking about earlier – realistic. Rose was telling me about how there are different phases in life. New starts. She talked to me like I was a grown-up. Maybe this inspection isn’t so awful? Sometimes things do need to change. Things don’t stay the same forever.’

  This didn’t sound like the Arlene I knew. A deep buzzing started in my ears. Although I watched Arlene’s mouth move, I couldn’t hear any words. I was somehow outside of everything, but inside I blazed.

  What had Pal said about truth? That it glowed white-hot like fire.

  What if Arlene was right and I’d got this wrong? But I’d only just found the Roamers – I wasn’t sure I could bear for us to be split up.

  ‘Listen, Arlene . . .’ I held out my hand, hoping she’d take it, but she stepped back. ‘I think we can get through this inspection, as long as we do what we’re told and—’

  ‘You can’t stand it, can you?’ she sneered.

  ‘What?’ I asked, confused now.

  ‘That someone else actually likes me more than you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ I exclaimed. ‘I think it’s strange, that’s all. Adoption? Rose doesn’t know you, or any of us. We’ve only just met her. Maybe you’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’

  I wished Lloyd were around; he’d help me make sense of this creeping feeling that I couldn’t shake.

  ‘Jealous, jealous, jealous!’

  ‘I’m not!’ I gesticulated, exasperated, and as my words rang out, an arc of flame shot out of my palm and struck a bush opposite.

  Arlene and I stared in horror as the bush instantly shrivelled up. A bird squawked and shot into the sky, beating its wings.

  ‘Yes, you are,’ she yelled. ‘You’re jealous and dangerous! Look at that – look at what you’ve done!’

  She ran back towards the house.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ihadn’t meant to upset her! Anyway, she had it

  wrong, I didn’t care about Rose.

  Everything felt so muddled, with the little ones having new powers and Rose showing up, and Pal unsettled the other night . . . something in the air didn’t belong, but I couldn’t explain what it was.

  Ripples of cold air shuddered around me. I turned, jerking backwards as Lloyd appeared next to me.

  ‘Hullo,’ he said, grinning sheepishly. He ran his hand across his face, looking very pleased with himself.

  ‘What are you grinning about?’

  ‘I was in the kitchen, just thinking about where I wanted to go next, and then I was here.’ He shrugged, still smiling. ‘Pal said my tracking ability might get stronger, and it has. Now, if I focus on a place, or a person, I’m transported right there.’

  ‘So you thought “garden” and it brought you here?’ I scrunched up my nose. ‘But how does your tracking understand that you mean this garden?’

  Lloyd pushed curls off his forehead. ‘Um . . . I wasn’t thinking “garden”.’ He scratched the back of his neck. ‘I was thinking “Heather”.’ He chewed his lip, looking at the ground. Colour swam into his cheeks.

  Oh.

  I told him how upset Arlene was with me, and how cosy she and Rose had been, and he listened, without interrupting. When I’d finished, he said, ‘Are you jealous?’

  ‘Of course not!’ I folded my arms, annoyed. ‘I thought you’d understand.’ If Lloyd didn’t even get it, was I missing something?

  ‘What difference does it make to you then if Arlene’s so taken with Rose? It’s nice for her, don’t you think?’

  Lloyd looked so reasonable and sounded so patient that it drove me potty. I kicked at the tree trunk, the one I hadn’t managed to completely destroy.

  ‘Well, I think there’s something fishy about Rose,’ I said firmly.

 

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