‘Indeed?’ Orson looked slightly more interested. ‘Perhaps you understand this place, then?’
‘Afraid not, my lord,’ Tabitha replied, raising her hands to indicate her helplessness. ‘I was raised elsewhere by my aunts – my mother died when I was small.’
Orson paused awkwardly upon hearing this news, and Isobelle took the opening, diving into the conversational gap. ‘Thereissomething to understand, though, isn’t there? The way the people behave, when you try to talk about the past. There’s magic here.’
Orson cast her a sidelong glance. ‘Or, you know, the people are not fans of their new lord coming in and turning their generational tragedy into a travel destination.’
‘Maybe. Who could blame them? But thereismagic here – someone’s trying to target Gwen.’
That got their attention, and Isobelle told them about Gwen’s inability to speak the night before, her freezing and dropping her sword mid-fight, and the bag of wretched spell ingredients that had been slipped into her pocket. Perhaps Isobelle could have dismissed those first two clues as fallout from her continuing nightmares about the dragon, and whatever happened that night to frighten her so.
But the bag?
That was proof.
‘It sounds like a hex bag.’ Tabitha’s face was grave when Isobelle had finished her description. ‘Many witches steer clear of baneful work like that, but it does happen. Can I see what was in it?’
‘I stomped it into the ground,’ Isobelle admitted with a shudder. ‘I can show you, though.’
She glanced at Orson, who was no longer looking at her. ‘This way,’ she said finally, murmuring Orson’s name by way of farewell.
Tabitha followed her to the gap between the houses where Isobelle had opened the bag. Isobelle paced downthe length of the little alley before realisation struck – there was no sign of anything amiss. No wax-sealed twine, no burlap. No dead spider or rusty nail or poisonous berries.
Isobelle felt a sudden stab of queasy alarm. ‘It was right here,’ she gasped, dropping to her knees in the dirt to check along the bases of the houses, thinking someone might have kicked the spell ingredients aside. ‘No … it washere, I’m not imagining things!’
The bag was her only proof that somethingrealwas happening to Gwen, her only clue towards how to stop it.
A hand came to rest on her shoulder. Tabitha had dropped into a crouch, her hazel eyes anxious but steady. ‘Isobelle, I believe you.’ Her voice was low and intent. ‘If you say someone is trying to hurt Gwen, then it’s up to us to help her.’
Isobelle could have sobbed from the sudden relief. She drew a shuddering breath instead, smiling weakly back at Tabitha and feeling the tiniest bit ashamed of her earlier jealousy. No wonder Gwen had confided in her – she had a way of projecting calm competence that Isobelle couldn’t help but admire.
‘How?’ she asked.
‘I don’t know much about curses,’ Tabitha said slowly. ‘This seems like something different from what may be affecting the town, for her to be so specifically targeted. But sometimes the answers are simple. Intention andbelief are key. If this were the fairytale Lord Bingleton is making it out to be, then true love’s kiss might be enough to break the spell.’
Isobelle eyed her askance. ‘That really works? It’s not just a thing from stories?’
Tabitha flashed Isobelle a wry smile. ‘People like to think magic is about combining the right herbs and crystals and saying the right words. And those things are important, sure, but it’s not the herbs or the crystals that create the magic. They … put you in the right space. Magic has its own rules. It follows the logic of stories, of fairytales. Any child who ever heard the words “once upon a time” understands magic. Spells are simply the stories we tell to reshape the world to our liking.’
‘And the story changes the way things are?’ Isobelle asked.
‘It can,’ Tabitha replied. ‘Even I occasionally question whether magic is real – it’s easy to believe it’s all coincidence, imagination, suggestion.’
‘Sylvie calls it headology,’ Isobelle muttered.
Tabitha chuckled. ‘Sometimes that’s all it is. But there’s a core of truth and power in magic. Just because an experience takes place in your head doesn’t mean it isn’treal. If you know, if you arecertain, that you will do a thing, then the odds shift dramatically in favour of you being able to do it. If the world you believe in is a world in which a thingmusthappen,willhappen, then, most likely,it will. Witches are simply those who know this to be true, and have the tools to make it so.’
‘So …’ Isobelle mused. ‘Magic is really just hope?’
‘That depends.’ Tabitha looked across at her, hazel eyes unreadable. ‘What do you believe the world to be?’
‘Well, I’ve kissed Gwen more than once since we arrived and she’s no better, so I’m not sure the archetypal approach will help. We’re going to have to take a more logical approach in the meantime.’
Tabitha laughed softly and got to her feet, offering Isobelle a hand up. ‘In that case, we need to learn all we can about this place. Maybe we’ll find out who’s doing this.’
‘You’re absolutely right.’ This time, when Isobelle went hunting for her smile, she found it not very far away. She had an ally – Tabitha believed her. And she knew what to do. ‘I’m going to go find Gwen, and we’re going to track down Lord Bingleton andmakehim tell us what’s real, and what’s his own silly story, once and for all.’
She found Gwen at the town smithy, where she’d drawn quite a crowd, and no wonder.
