Read Online The Midnight Carnival by Erika McGann - Free Book Online
Authors: Erika McGann
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reattachment spell.’
‘You mean you can reattach a finger with magic?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Seriously? So if I cut off my leg–’
‘Don’t cut off your leg.’
‘No, I know. But if I did –’
‘Anybody got a bruise,’ Ms Lemon said loudly, ‘or a cut? Anything we can heal?’
‘I’ve got a bruise, Miss. It’s a whopper.’
Jenny pulled off her boot and wrenched down her sock to reveal a mean-looking bruise, deep purple with an angryred centre.
‘Ow, Jenny,’ said Grace. ‘How’d you get that?’
Jenny’s face coloured all the way to her auburn hair.
‘Dropped a weight,’ she said. ‘I was lifting one of the bigger ones, just to try it out, and it slipped out of my hand. It’s really sore.’
‘That’ll do perfectly,’ the teacher said. ‘Now, everyone watch. You just apply a small amount in a circular motion, like this.’
The pale brown substance went hard and flaky as soon as it touched Jenny’s skin but, as Ms Lemon gently rubbed at the bruise, it turned to goo once more and was absorbed in just a few seconds.
‘Oh.’ Jenny sat up straight and blinked. ‘It’s gone all fizzy, like pins and needles.’
‘Give it a minute.’
The girls watched in awe as the various shades of purple began to move around Jenny’s shin. They swirled and sank, slipping back to her calf and zipping forward again, before curling into a spiral with a line through it. It looked a bit like an upside-down treble clef.
‘ Cho ku rei ,’ Ms Lemon said. ‘The symbol enhances your body’s natural healing powers.’
‘How long will it stay like that?’ asked Grace.
‘For a few days. But try pressing on it now, Jenny. See how it feels.’
Jenny gently pushed a finger into the centre of what had been the bruise, and grinned.
‘It doesn’t hurt at all,’ she said. ‘And it looks awesome . It’s like a tattoo!’
‘And for that reason, young lady, you’re going to keep it covered until the symbol fades.’
‘Aw, but Miss, it’s so cool!’
‘It’s a Wiccan badge,’ said the teacher, ‘and you’ll keep it hidden.’
The tall girl looked sullen as she pulled up her sock.
‘Okay.’
Adie stood in front of a shop window. The Penny Farthing was a decrepit-looking newsagents on the far side of town. The sign above the door featured the old-fashioned bicycle with one huge wheel and one small, which was its namesake. Through the window Adie could see rows and rows of dusty jars, filled with boiled sweets in a hundred different flavours. The shop was always open; and always empty.
She didn’t go in. Instead she slipped down the alleyway next to it, scanning the ground for a little clump of wildflowers. Smiling, she plucked a daisy from a crack in the pavement, tore it between her fingers and scattered the remains against the red-brick wall of the shop. There was a whoosh of perfumed air and the red bricks pulled apart, dropping tothe ground which folded under their weight, revealing stone steps leading downwards. Glancing left and right to make sure no-one had seen, Adie hurried down the steps, hearing the entrance crunch shut behind her.
The air cooled at the bottom of the stairs, and Adie followed the faint light that led her to an underground cavern. The high walls were stained with damp and lit with numerous fiery torches. The cave was filled with tables and trunks, half-rolled rugs, lamps and pots of every size, shape and colour. Every flat surface was strewn with trinkets, books and wooden ornaments, and the musky scent of incense was overpowering.
Adie’s fingers slid over an ancient text, bound in deerskin, with a title she couldn’t read.
‘Good evening, young wiccan,’ said a voice behind her.
‘Hello, Mr Pamuk.’
The shopkeeper’s smile was welcoming as ever.
‘A delight to see you, as always. Are you shopping for something special today? If so, let me tell you what treasures are new in this week. I have a range of pink amulets – perfect specimens of
‘You mean you can reattach a finger with magic?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Seriously? So if I cut off my leg–’
‘Don’t cut off your leg.’
‘No, I know. But if I did –’
‘Anybody got a bruise,’ Ms Lemon said loudly, ‘or a cut? Anything we can heal?’
‘I’ve got a bruise, Miss. It’s a whopper.’
Jenny pulled off her boot and wrenched down her sock to reveal a mean-looking bruise, deep purple with an angryred centre.
‘Ow, Jenny,’ said Grace. ‘How’d you get that?’
Jenny’s face coloured all the way to her auburn hair.
‘Dropped a weight,’ she said. ‘I was lifting one of the bigger ones, just to try it out, and it slipped out of my hand. It’s really sore.’
‘That’ll do perfectly,’ the teacher said. ‘Now, everyone watch. You just apply a small amount in a circular motion, like this.’
The pale brown substance went hard and flaky as soon as it touched Jenny’s skin but, as Ms Lemon gently rubbed at the bruise, it turned to goo once more and was absorbed in just a few seconds.
‘Oh.’ Jenny sat up straight and blinked. ‘It’s gone all fizzy, like pins and needles.’
‘Give it a minute.’
The girls watched in awe as the various shades of purple began to move around Jenny’s shin. They swirled and sank, slipping back to her calf and zipping forward again, before curling into a spiral with a line through it. It looked a bit like an upside-down treble clef.
‘ Cho ku rei ,’ Ms Lemon said. ‘The symbol enhances your body’s natural healing powers.’
‘How long will it stay like that?’ asked Grace.
‘For a few days. But try pressing on it now, Jenny. See how it feels.’
Jenny gently pushed a finger into the centre of what had been the bruise, and grinned.
‘It doesn’t hurt at all,’ she said. ‘And it looks awesome . It’s like a tattoo!’
‘And for that reason, young lady, you’re going to keep it covered until the symbol fades.’
‘Aw, but Miss, it’s so cool!’
‘It’s a Wiccan badge,’ said the teacher, ‘and you’ll keep it hidden.’
The tall girl looked sullen as she pulled up her sock.
‘Okay.’
Adie stood in front of a shop window. The Penny Farthing was a decrepit-looking newsagents on the far side of town. The sign above the door featured the old-fashioned bicycle with one huge wheel and one small, which was its namesake. Through the window Adie could see rows and rows of dusty jars, filled with boiled sweets in a hundred different flavours. The shop was always open; and always empty.
She didn’t go in. Instead she slipped down the alleyway next to it, scanning the ground for a little clump of wildflowers. Smiling, she plucked a daisy from a crack in the pavement, tore it between her fingers and scattered the remains against the red-brick wall of the shop. There was a whoosh of perfumed air and the red bricks pulled apart, dropping tothe ground which folded under their weight, revealing stone steps leading downwards. Glancing left and right to make sure no-one had seen, Adie hurried down the steps, hearing the entrance crunch shut behind her.
The air cooled at the bottom of the stairs, and Adie followed the faint light that led her to an underground cavern. The high walls were stained with damp and lit with numerous fiery torches. The cave was filled with tables and trunks, half-rolled rugs, lamps and pots of every size, shape and colour. Every flat surface was strewn with trinkets, books and wooden ornaments, and the musky scent of incense was overpowering.
Adie’s fingers slid over an ancient text, bound in deerskin, with a title she couldn’t read.
‘Good evening, young wiccan,’ said a voice behind her.
‘Hello, Mr Pamuk.’
The shopkeeper’s smile was welcoming as ever.
‘A delight to see you, as always. Are you shopping for something special today? If so, let me tell you what treasures are new in this week. I have a range of pink amulets – perfect specimens of
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