Fire Girl (2 page)

A demon
, Mary thought
. It was watching me while I slept. It’s been here all this time!

Murrell picked up his cup. ‘Delicious mead. Most refreshing.’

Mary pointed a shaking finger at the demon. ‘By the power of the moon goddess, I command thee to leave this place.’

The demon yawned, exposing even ranks of wicked teeth. Its serpentine tongue quivered across the table, tasting the air.

‘Your feeble magic won’t have any effect on Rawhead,’ Murrell said. ‘You should count yourself lucky, witch. Few people get the chance see such a powerful demon; fewer
still survive to speak of it.’

Mary shrank back as the beast leaned towards her, hot breath jetting from its nostrils. ‘Summoning demons breaks the laws of magic,’ she said.

‘I’ve chosen to overlook them.’

‘You have no
right
. What if the binding spell fails? What if you were to die and this . . .
abomination
was allowed to roam free with no master to control it?’

‘We are at
war
, Mary. We need weapons with which to fight. Now – to business. Where . . .
is
. . . she?’

Mary steeled herself. ‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

‘Liar.’

Mary stared at the table, lips pursed together.

‘Rawhead’s hungry,’ Murrell said. ‘Perhaps he’ll start with your feet?’

The old witch closed her eyes as the demon champed its drooling jaws.

‘I’ll give you one last chance, Mary Applegate,’ Murrell continued. ‘Where can I find Hecate Hooper?’

Witches are wise, cunning folk, clever with herbs

and healing. The most skilled – known as Wielders –

harness magic to cast spells and charms.

Notes on Witchcraft and Demonology
by Dr Neil Fallon

The Glade, Wychwood Forest, three days later. . .

H
azel Hooper strolled along the orchard path, whistling quietly and enjoying the sun on her back. Beams of light slanted through the trees, turning
the floating cherry blossom into flakes of gold. It was a perfect summer’s day in the Glade, the only home she had ever known.

She plucked an apple from her basket and took a huge bite, letting the juice dribble down her chin.
Just right for a pie,
she thought.

She froze, mid-munch, as something large and orange burst out on to the path in front of her. It was Ginger Tom, her mother’s bad-tempered cat-familiar, with whom Hazel was in a perpetual
state of war. Something small and furry dangled in his jaws.

‘Tom!’ Hazel shouted. ‘What have you got there? Oh, you horrible creature – it’s a poor little dormouse.’

Bursting with rage, she hurled her apple as hard as she could. It flew over Tom’s head and exploded against a nearby tree, showering him with sticky pulp.

‘Pick on something your own size,’ she said as he dropped the mouse and disappeared yowling into the undergrowth.

Dropping her basket, Hazel picked up the limp dormouse as gently as she could and enfolded his shaking body in her hands. She closed her eyes, searching for a spark of magic and muttered a healing
spell painstakingly memorized from her mother’s books.

‘
Magia-mus-sanaret
,’ she whispered. As usual, nothing happened.

‘Hold on, little mouse,’ she said, pushing her disappointment aside. ‘Ma will set you right.’ She scampered out of the orchard into a well-tended vegetable garden. At the
end of the path was a cottage with a sagging thatch roof and flowers rambling around the door. Hazel dashed breathlessly into the kitchen. ‘Ma, look what I—’

A foul smell stopped her dead. Barely visible through a veil of greasy steam stood Hazel’s mother, Hecate. She was staring into a simmering cauldron with one hand on her hip and the other
stroking her chin.

‘What
is
that smell?’ Hazel gasped, fighting the urge to choke. ‘More Boggart repellent?’

‘Mmm, it needs something to liven it up, doesn’t it,’ Hecate murmured. ‘Be a love and pass me some briar-wort, would you?’

‘In a minute, Ma. First, look at what Tom did.’ Hazel held out the dormouse. ‘All your good-for-nothing familiar likes to do is torment animals smaller than him. He’s
such a bully.’

‘He may be my familiar, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t still have his animal instincts,’ Hecate said. She frowned at the mouse. ‘His leg’s broken and
he’s had a shock, but I think I can help him.’

Hazel watched transfixed as her mother muttered an incantation – ‘
Magia-mus-sanaret
’ – touched her lips to the mouse’s nose and exhaled a silver mist. A few
moments later, the dormouse opened his eyes and sat up, brushing his whiskers with a newly healed front paw.

‘I tried that spell, but it didn’t work,’ Hazel said, carefully setting the mouse on the table-top.

‘I’m sure you did your best,’ Hecate said, putting a lid on the bubbling cauldron. ‘Perhaps we should open the windows . . .’

‘But shouldn’t my magic have appeared by now? I’m old enough, aren’t I?’

‘Well, yes. But . . . we’ve talked about this, Hazel. The chances of you becoming a Wielder are very slim. We’re a rare breed.’

‘But I
want
to be like you,’ Hazel said. ‘To have my own familiar, and heal things and . . .’

‘I know you do.’ Hecate sighed. ‘But believe me, it’s much safer if you remain an ordinary, un-magical girl.’ She patted down Hazel’s tangled red hair.
‘You could run a comb through this every so often. And I see you’ve been climbing trees in your best dress again. Look, the stitching’s coming undone.’

I wish you wouldn’t treat me as if I was a little girl
, Hazel thought, her temper flaring.

‘Mary’s comingtoseeussoon,’ Hecate added, interrupting Hazel’s thoughts. ‘She’s bringing that book on herb-lore I was telling you about.’

Hazel rolled her eyes. ‘Great,’ she muttered.

‘It’s got a very informative section on toadstools that I think you should read,’ Hecate said with one eyebrow raised.

‘I said I was sorry about picking the wrong sort,’ Hazel bristled. ‘I didn’t mean to poison us with that pie.’

‘I know,’ Hecate smiled. ‘I’m only teasing.’

Hazel watched the dormouse waddle towards the fruit bowl and tried to calm her angry mood. It was too nice a day to spoil with an argument. ‘Is it true Mary’s familiar died last
month?’

‘It was Gander’s time to pass on,’ Hecate said.

‘So she’s all alone?’

‘Well, she has us.’

‘But she
lives
alone. She must be so lonely.’ The dormouse was struggling to climb into the fruit bowl so Hazel gave his portly bottom a lift and he tumbled inside.

‘Mary’s a tough old bird and used to her own company.’

‘But she’s blind and getting old, Ma. I think it’s sad – no one should be alone
all
the time.’

Hecate sat down at the table and took Hazel’s hand. ‘I’m sure you have a suggestion to remedy this, as usual?’

‘Well . . . why don’t I go and stay with her – keep her company? Just for a day or two? When she comes to visit I could go back with her and—’

‘You know you can’t leave the Glade,’ Hecate said.

‘But it’d just be for a couple of days . . .’

‘No, Hazel. No. We can’t go beyond the Border Hedge. We’ve talked about this.’

‘We haven’t, not properly.’ Hazel pulled her hand away. ‘You’ve told me we can’t leave, but never explained
why
.’

‘You’re too young to—’

‘I’m nearly twelve!’

Hecate jabbed her finger on to the table. ‘
Exactly
.’

‘I just want to know why you’re keeping me here like a
prisoner
.’

‘But . . . this is our home.’ Hecate’s face fell. ‘I thought you loved the Glade?’

‘I
do
,’ Hazel said. ‘But I’ve been stuck here my whole life. I want to see the rest of England. I want to meet other people apart from you and Mary. Why
don’t you understand that?’ She yanked at her red curls in frustration. ‘I mean, are you really going to keep me here
forever
?’

Hecate looked down at her clasped hands. ‘You don’t know what it’s like out there.’

‘Then tell me. I just want the truth. I deserve to know.’

‘My little girl’s growing up.’ Hecate smiled sadly and ran her hand down Hazel’s cheek.

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Ma.’

‘Perhaps it is time you knew.’ Hecate plucked the startled dormouse from the fruit bowl. ‘I’m going to let this fellow go, then take a dip in the pool to clear my head.
We’ll talk when I get back.’

Demons are unholy creatures in endless forms most foul.

Glimpses of the Demon Underworld

by Grand Magus David Ellefson

H
azel watched through the doorway as Hecate skirted the pool and put the dormouse down by a willow tree.
What is it about England that frightens
Ma so much?
she wondered. The prospect of finally knowing was as exciting as it was terrifying.

Dandelion seeds sailed on the breeze and hunting swallows swooped and dived over the glittering water. Hecate, her hair burnished in the sun, waded waist deep into the water. The scent of
honeysuckle drifted into the kitchen, carrying with it a faint coppery undertone that Hazel couldn’t quite identify.

As the smell got stronger, it awoke a feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach. She stood up, banging her leg on the table and upsetting the fruit bowl. Apples rolled and fell to the floor
with heavy thumps. Hazel reached the door in time to see something under the water break away from the bank and glide up behind her mother.

A creature with a domed, eyeless, bone-white head slipped through the surface of the pool. Higher it rose – tense, poised, its clawed fingers folded like a praying mantis ready to
strike.

At last Hazel’s throat loosened and she cried out, but before Hecate even had a chance to look around, the creature pounced, grabbing her throat and waist and lifting her clear out of the
pool. She thrashed and struggled as it dragged her towards the far bank, her legs kicking up silver arcs of water.