She tremored. She was the ocean. She was desolation.
‘No,’ groaned Dot, as she reached deep for her own fury. Willard, screaming at her. Lio, screaming at her. Opal, on top of her.Just a pinch.Her finger was gone. Her writing hand – why did it have to be her writing hand?
‘Good!’ came Theodora’s voice over the rain. There was a crashing sound. Faraway yelling and the beeping of motor car horns. Was that the ocean she could smell? Could she hear the waves? ‘Anger, Dorothy! Come on. Balance it.’
The streets were filling with water, collecting first in the gutters and drains and then rising over the footpaths as the rain gushed over the city.
Theodora was beside Dot now. She squeezed Dot’s afflicted hand. The witch forced some sharp liquid down her throat. Then, Dot’s right hand began toburnas fire ripped over the stump to stop the haemorrhage. Dot screamed again. She concentrated on the smell of burning flesh and the sound of crashing waves and the flood that was collecting around them below and the sharpness of the rain. Back and forth, the magic spun within her, leaning between the icy cold and vicious heat, in and out, until quite suddenly the magic stopped and so did the rain and Dot collapsed against the roof.
Theodora steadied her. Down in the street, enchanted waves slapped at living room windows. In the absence of the rain, Dot heard the shouting now. Archie and Rupert were down there in the water, and she dimly watched Lio as he stepped into a portal.
Above, Opal tremored like a paper doll, caught in the wind. She reached again and again for Dot’s magic, but Dot fought off each attempt until, at last, Opal noticed her own skin.
‘What’s happening?’ shrieked Opal, gawking, horrified, at her hands. From the tips of her fingers to her angular wrists, Opal was covered in milk-white scales.
Opal stared between Dot and Theodora for a moment – manic, confused – and then keeled violently over and vomited whey-coloured liquid all over the rain-soaked roof and down her black gown. She coughed; she wiped her mouth on her forearm. The raven, Eliot, noticing Opal’s distress, fluttered over to her.
‘What is wrong with my hands?’ shrieked Opal.
Lio appeared beside Theodora, coughing violently as he stepped out of his portal and tugged Archie and Rupert alongside him. Archie dropped to his knees before his granddaughter. ‘What did she do to you, Dottie?’
Opal clenched her shaking, scaled hands and called down at them from the chimney, ‘Soon, Dottie won’t mind one stitch about that finger. Soon Salamander will have his tubes in her, and it’ll be far the worse, so don’t you worry, Archibald—’
Theodora shot flame, thick and vicious, at Opal. The ball of fire smacked into her, and Opal screamed and doused herself in water and dropped the bread knife, which clattered down the rooftiles and landed in the gutter. Opal cursed. Eliot the raven, having dodged the flame, now nuzzled his head on her arm. Opal raised her fingers at Belchamber, but whatever magic controlled the spirit was now utterly spent, and he did not move.
Opal’s dress was singed. Her legs were burned. Perhaps in spite, she raised Dot’s finger and, with it, dragged out another shot of magic which spewed up and into the storm clouds.
Dot’s magic was torn out of her again and channelled into Opal. Dot cried. The scales again grew.
Theodora’s hand was on her shoulder. ‘Balance it, Dorothy.’
Dot drew as deep as she could.Her brother’s cruelty. Lio’s cruelty. Her severed finger.It wasn’t enough anymore – the finite fuel of her anger was depleting. But nevertheless, Opal’s spell began to weaken. Dot sobbed at the effort until, at last, the spell was over and she collapsed in Archie’s arms.
A hiss of pain escaped Opal. She doubled over, her own white scales cutting up her arms.
Then they all heard a deep rumble that rose from the end of Ethel Avenue. Opal smiled down at them.
‘You never had the stomach for true witchcraft,’ said Opal. She stood tall and wiggled Dot’s finger.
‘Opal,’ said Theodora, slowly climbing the roof. In the street, the enchanted sea water was surging, swirling, rushing down Ethel Avenue in one vicious wave. ‘Give the finger back.’
‘Do you know what Salamander has planned for your tea shop?’ asked Opal, her wet, matted hair whipping in the wind. ‘Those valuable little wards – they can hide just about anything, can’t they? Saints, that’s probably where Sal will keep Dorothy, in a tiny metal cage, her blood leeched every day, doomed to look out at the ugly jacaranda tree until she dies or goes insane or both.’
‘I gave you a home,’ said Theodora. ‘I gave youeverythingyou wanted.’
‘You were scared of me,’ said Opal. ‘And more scared, yet, of being alone. Of being the sad little girl from the valley of the willows whose parents couldn’t be bothered to respond to her letters. You simply loved my attention, until you didn’t.’
Theodora shook her head. ‘Why did you do it?’ she asked, edging forward. ‘Why not just take Dorothy to Salamander?’
‘I wanted to spare you, if only a little,’ said Opal, and behind those gaunt features, Theodora saw that some small part of her meant it. ‘My mother weakened the wards outside the tea shop. Lio weakened the ones within. That just left the keystone ward. Between you and Belchamber, wasn’t it?’ Opal shook her head and laughed. ‘I’ve known for years that I would have to weaken your wards in preparation for Salamander. I neverwantedto. I was still loyal to you, T, for far longer than you deserved, and although I amnot now, although I despise and resent who you’ve become, I still have love for that girl I met in the forest.’
Opal nodded down at Wren Court, and Theodora turned. She squinted. That low, heavy wave was rushing down the street toward them.
‘You meant it quite literally,’ said Opal. ‘That the keystone was between you and Belchamber. So long as one of you was in the tea shop, the wards could not be destroyed entirely.’
Jacaranda trees buckled. The wave coursed toward them.
‘How could you have known that?’ asked Theodora quietly.
