Fire Girl (12 page)

Why do I feel like I’m the dishonest one?
Hazel tried to keep hold of the truth but it had become slippery in her mind.

‘Let me relieve you of the one fear that I know weighs you down,’ he continued, raising his finger into the air. ‘The one thing that stands between us. The one thing that is
stopping
us
from becoming
friends
.’

Hazel felt fuzzy, as if his words were sticking to her brain and clogging it up. She stared at his hovering finger, vaguely aware of Bramley squeaking into her ear, but the mouse’s words
were slurred and meaningless.

‘Your mother, Hecate, is safe and well in my care,’ he said. He lowered his finger and Hazel was engulfed by a wave of relief and gratitude. But a part of her deep inside knew that
this outpouring of emotion was false, and that her sudden, inexplicable trust in this man was misplaced.

She wobbled to her feet, mind churning. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Nicolas Murrell, and I have the honour of leading the Chosen. Have you heard of us?’

Hazel ran her hand over her face. She felt woozy, and when she spoke her voice sounded far away. ‘No. Who are the Chosen?’

‘The Chosen is a secret organization of witches and Wielders, good people like my consort, Lilith here –’ the witch bowed her head and smiled – ‘sworn to end the
oppression of our kind.’

‘You took my mother . . .’

Murrell nodded. ‘That’s true, and I’m sorry for it, but we need her and the power she wields. We didn’t mean for her to get hurt. That, I’m sorry to say, was
your
fault.’

An image of Hecate’s terrified face flashed into Hazel’s mind, cutting through the confusion. A spark of anger kindled in her stomach. ‘Your demon grabbed her. It
hurt
her . . .’

Bramley’s squeaking became louder and more insistent, stabbing through the fug inside her head.

‘No, Hazel,’ Murrell said. ‘
You
hurt her. With your fire-magic. My demon was trying to protect her.’

‘No . . .’ Hazel shook her head and the world spun. She wasn’t sure of anything any more.

Murrell took a step closer. ‘But she forgives you, Hazel, and she wants to see you again. I made a promise to bring you back to her. You don’t want to disappoint your mother, do
you?’

No, I don’t want to disappoint Ma.
Hazel stood up. ‘I just want to see her again.’

‘Hazel, listen to me,’ Bramley’s voice pierced her mind like a needle. ‘He’s
lying
.’

Murrell offered a hand towards her. ‘Come. Leave the dangerous company of this Witch Hunter and join your own people. Don’t you want to see your mother again?’

Hazel longed to feel her ma’s arms around her and hear her soft voice telling her that everything was going to be all right. She moved to the ladder as if in a dream.

‘Hazel!’ Bramley wailed.

She looked at Murrell’s outstretched hand and put her foot on the top step.

At that moment David stirred and struggled to his knees. His face was pale and oddly bloated. ‘Don’t leave, Hazel,’ he cried. ‘They’ll kill me.’

Murrell’s head whipped round towards him. ‘Spindle,’ he snapped.

The spider hissed and sprang back towards David, sinking its fangs into his cheek.

Hazel blinked. Her mind cleared. Murrell’s spell was broken. The silken words he’d implanted in her mind shrivelled up in the rising flames of her anger. She stepped away from the
ladder and leaned over the railing as the spider-demon scuttled away from David’s motionless body and started to advance towards her.

‘You’re a liar,’ she shouted. ‘You stole my ma and poisoned my friend.’

‘Hazel,’ Bramley cried from somewhere near her shoulder. ‘I thought I’d lost you.’

Murrell looked disappointed. ‘Your mother wouldn’t want us to fight, Hazel.’

‘That shows what
you
know,’ she replied. ‘Because fighting you is
exactly
what she’d want me to do.’ Heat rose in a haze from her skin.

Murrell took a few steps back, gesturing for Lilith and Spindle to do the same. ‘Before you strike me down,’ Murrell announced, ‘let me give you some advice.’

Hazel hardly heard him over the rush of blood in her ears; her chest glowed like a furnace as she gathered her magic.

‘Never,’ Murrell continued, ‘start a battle without knowing the odds.’ He glanced over his shoulder and shouted, ‘Rawhead!’

Fear suffocated Hazel’s fire and she shrank back against the wagon as the demon stalked out of the mist – powerful, menacing and cloaked in blood-stink. It halted by Murrell, leaning
forward on its knuckles, nostrils dilated, and pointed its blank face towards her.

Murrell placed his thumb-less hand on the creature’s head.

It can smell me. Just like the book said.
Hazel tried to swallow her fear but the demon’s ravaged flesh and rows of teeth melted her courage away. It pawed the ground, carving
runnels in the dirt.

‘Steady, Rawhead,’ Murrell said. He turned to Hazel. ‘I’m afraid you’ve made quite an enemy of him.’

‘I’m glad.’ Hazel wished her voice wouldn’t shake so much.

‘Did you know that in our world, demons cannot heal their wounds? Rawhead is in great pain from the burns you gave him.’

‘Well, I’m
so
sorry,’ Hazel said. ‘Remind me to be more welcoming next time a demon comes to abduct my mother.’

‘This is your last chance.’ Murrell pointed his walking stick at her. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if you force my hand.’

‘You can’t fight us all,’ Lilith added as she sidled closer, her oversized spider-demon behind her.

Hazel raised her arms and flames spread from her hands like a phoenix reborn. ‘I can try.’

Murrell, Rawhead, Lilith and Spindle spread out in a semi-circle and began to close in on the wagon. The horses shied anxiously, jingling their harnesses.

Can I do this? Can I deliberately hurt other people?
Hazel thought
.
A worm of doubt wriggled in her stomach.

That half-second of hesitation was all Murrell needed. He slammed his walking stick on to the ground and a blinding light flashed from the handle. Hazel yelped in surprise, and through the rain
of stars obscuring her sight, she saw Lilith bounding towards her, closely followed by Spindle.

Hazel cast her arm towards them and released her magic. A wild arc of fire roared from her fingers, lighting up the forest and scouring the ground to the side of the wagon. The horses reared
backwards in panic, almost jerking Hazel off her feet as smoke filled the air and flames cut a swathe across the track, throwing up dirt and vaporizing puddles.

‘Lilith!’ Murrell dropped his stick and dived forward, throwing his arms around the witch’s waist and knocking her away from the wave of fire. She screamed as they landed
together and rolled to a stop at the edge of the track.

Murrell lay on his back, the edge of his cloak smouldering from where the flames had caught him. ‘Get the girl,’ he growled to Rawhead.

Hazel slumped into the seat, blinking the sight back into her eyes, vaguely aware of Samson barking frenziedly inside the wagon.

Rawhead appeared through the receding wall of fire, vaulting from the back of the whinnying horses and up on to the carriage. The wagon creaked under its weight.

Clammy, long-fingered claws closed around Hazel’s neck, shoving her back against the wagon and cutting off her breath. She stared past rows of teeth into the ridged flesh on the roof of
Rawhead’s mouth. The smell of blood was overwhelming.

‘Rawhead,’ Murrell cried. ‘Don’t kill her – I command you
not to kill her
.’

The demon leaned closer, mouth widening. Hot breath blasted her skin.

A roar came from inside the wagon, followed by a crash as a roof hatch was thrown open. Everyone froze. Rawhead’s grip loosened just enough for Hazel to strain her head towards the
noise.

Titus White appeared through the hatch, coat billowing and with a blunderbuss in his hands. He glowered at them all from under a wide-brimmed capotain hat.

‘So,’ he bellowed, ‘what the
hell
do we have we here?’

Cromwell’s Witch Hunters have rejected the dead King’s

Witch Finders’ principles of investigation, fairness and justice,

and replaced them with brutality, indifference and fear.

England – A Land in Turmoil
by Lady Lucinda Munday

T
he stooped drunkard last seen snoring on the floor and stinking of cheap cider had gone. Titus White now glared down at them all like a preacher
berating his terrified congregation from a pulpit.

The demon snorted, its claws still tight around Hazel’s neck.

Titus flicked his eyes at her. ‘Slop-sprite,’ he said with a sharp nod. Then the blunderbuss roared, spewing fire, metal shards and a plume of black-powder smoke.

Hazel gasped a lungful of sulphur-tinged air and fell back into the seat, cracking her head against the eaves and dislodging Bramley who tumbled out of her hair with a terrified squeal and
landed on the footboard.

The demon lay on the ground, mouth agape and seeping blood. Its neck and shoulders were covered with smoking shrapnel wounds. Quick as she could, Hazel grabbed Bramley and put him in her
pocket.

‘Rawhead – get up.’ Murrell’s cry cut through the fading echoes of the gunshot. ‘Kill the man, but leave the girl unharmed.’

To Hazel’s horror, the demon was already lurching back to its feet, turning its blank, eyeless face towards her. Murrell, mud-splattered and shaking with anger, stalked behind it, his face
still hidden by his hood.

‘This is Rawhead, blood-hunter, prince of the Slaughter Gardens in the seventh circle of Dryhthelm. Did you really think your wretched little pop-gun would stop him?’ he yelled at
Titus.

Ajax and Hercules stamped nervously as Lilith and Spindle edged forward from the roadside. Trapped inside the wagon, Samson continued his barrage of fearsome barks.

‘That was just a warning shot,’ Titus growled, dropping the blunderbuss and reaching for the swivel cannon. Hazel groped for the reins, preparing herself for what she guessed was
about to happen.

Murrell stopped and pointed his stick at Titus. ‘Wait,’ he breathed. ‘I know you. Damn me to the devil, I
know
you.’

Titus curled his lip and aimed the cannon at Murrell. ‘No one knows me any more,’ he said, and pulled the trigger. The flint struck the firing pan with a
click
. Nothing
happened. No one moved, then Titus yelled, ‘Misfire! Drive, girl,
drive
.’

Hazel jerked the reins. ‘On, on!’ she cried as the horses pulled away, their iron-shod hoofs ringing on the road as they picked up speed.

Bramley scrambled up her dress and perched behind her ear. ‘Go on, Hazel, run that beastly man down.’

Murrell stood transfixed in the wagon’s path, staring at Titus as if he couldn’t believe who he was seeing. The half-panicked horses bore down on him, snorting and tossing their
great heads.

Hazel braced herself, waiting for the snap of breaking bones but a second before impact, Rawhead leaped full-stretch and pushed Murrell to safety. The wagon rumbled past, the front wheel
clipping Rawhead’s tail as it tumbled into the ditch next to Lilith and Spindle – its master clutched in its arms.

Ahead, David lay prone in the middle of the road.

‘Titus, can you grab him?’ Hazel yelled, her voice nearly drowned out by jangling reins and creaking axles.

‘Drive around him, I’ll do the rest.’

Hazel pulled the reins and the horses jinked left. She slid helplessly across the polished seat as the wagon slewed off the road, spraying dirt into the air; for a breathless moment she thought
it would capsize.

Titus swung his legs over the railing, clambered down from the roof and dropped on to the running board just behind the driver’s seat. The wagon juddered over the rough ground at the side
of the road, but somehow the old Witch Finder kept his balance as he crouched down with one arm outstretched.

‘Slow down,’ he commanded.

Hazel pulled back on the reins. As the horses slowed to a trot Titus grabbed David by his trouser belt. ‘Go, go!’ he grunted to Hazel as he lifted the boy off the ground and, using
the wagon’s momentum, swung him on to the seat next to her. Hazel jerked the reins with one hand and grabbed David’s collar with the other.