The Fairy Rebel (8 page)

“That can’t be it,” said Charlie at last. His mouth was dry and his voice was hoarse.

“It must be,” said Bindi. She was whispering, for
some reason. “It was growing out of the holly bush. That proves it’s magic. But what’s the matter with it?”

Jan took it gently in her hand and touched the poor dried-up bud. As she did, the black, unfinished petals dropped away, leaving something like a green star with a yellow center. Something flashed from this yellow part, and Jan, with a little cry, dropped the thorny twig on the path.

“It moved,” she whispered. “It twisted in my hand. It—it seemed to burn me for a second, too.”

Bindi was reaching down.

“Don’t touch it!” ordered Charlie suddenly, catching her hand. “Leave it. It’s not your birthday rose; it can’t be. Come inside. It’s time you were in bed.” And he took Bindi’s hand in his and walked quickly with her into the house.

3
The Dried-up Twig

After they’d tucked Bindi into bed, Jan and Charlie sat up late. At first they just sat looking at each other.

Finally Jan said, “Something terrible’s happened.”

And Charlie said, “It’s none of our business.”

Jan felt as if she were married to a stranger.

“How can you possibly say that?”

Charlie turned his face away, and after a few moments he said, in a muffled voice, “I didn’t quite mean that.”

“I should hope not,” said Jan. “Of course it’s our business.”

“I meant,” said Charlie, “that there’s nothing we can do. So it doesn’t help to worry.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” said Jan.

Just then the phone rang. It was a patient of Charlie’s who said he felt very ill, and could Charlie come? Usually Charlie was fairly cheerful about visiting people at night, but tonight he didn’t want to. It was as if he was afraid to leave Jan and Bindi alone in the house.

“Oh, go on, don’t be silly!” said Jan. “We’ll be all right.”

So Charlie went off. And Jan sat for a bit, thinking and worrying. She kept remembering that strange feeling in her hand when she held the dying rosebud. She thought of the twig lying on the path. And then she thought of something else.

Every year, on the night of Bindi’s birthday, Jan had gone out into the garden and left Tiki a thank-you present. There were only two charms left on her charm bracelet. One was a little woven silver basket. And one was a tiny silver rose.

She took the silver rose off the chain, found the old glue-cap that had been Tiki’s cup, filled it with honey and crept out into the dark garden. She tiptoed across the lawn to the pear tree, keeping well away from the path. The roses on the bushes seemed to glow in the dark. She picked a petal, laid it on the grass and put her presents on it. She was trying hard to make everything seem as it always had in the past.

But as she turned to go back into the house, she caught sight of something that froze her in her tracks. On the path was a weird glowing light. It came and went, never quite going out, like something breathing, alive.

She wanted to run, but she felt she ought not to leave it lying there, any more than you would leave a sharp knife or a bottle of poison lying about. Suddenly she
knew
that everything was not as usual. That
thing
which had stung or burnt her and twisted like something wickedly alive in her hand was deadly dangerous.

Slowly she moved toward it. When she got close, she could see it by its own light. The dead petals lay
scattered near it, and the heart of the star beat like a pulse in the darkness.

Jan felt terrified of it. She tried to reach out her hand, but as she did, the pulsing light grew stronger, the beat quicker, like a warning signal. Her hand drew back by itself. Her feet began to run before she’d told them to. She found herself back in the house, leaning against the locked back door, panting and gasping.

When Charlie came home, he found her still pale and shaky.

“Charlie, that—that thing Bindi found. We must get rid of it. It’s—alive. It’s awful.”

Charlie saw that she had had a fright.

“I’ll see to it in the morning,” he said. “Come on. Bed for you.” She didn’t feel strong enough to argue.

Next morning, Bindi woke up very early. She’d had bad dreams all night, and now she had that flat, letdown feeling you often get on the day after your birthday when all the excitement is over. She had it specially badly this year, because it seemed her fairy had forgotten her.

Then she remembered that there had been a rose-present, even though not a very nice one. She lay in bed thinking how oddly her parents had behaved about that poor, withered rose she’d found growing on the holly bush. They shouldn’t have thrown it away. Perhaps it was just one of Tiki’s tricks, and if only they’d brought it into the house it would have turned into a magic toy, like the others.

At this thought, Bindi jumped out of bed, put on
her slippers and ran into the garden. In the middle of the path, she stopped.

The strange, thorny twig was gone.

Only the dried-up petals still lay scattered on the path. If they hadn’t been there, Bindi might have thought she’d dreamt the whole thing.

She turned toward the pear tree. Every year until now, the thank-you presents had gone. This year they were still there. The silver charm rose winked in the grass. Bindi bent to pick it up—and then jumped back.

A big stripy wasp was crouched on the rim of the cap, sucking up the honey.

Bindi stared at the wasp. Somehow it reminded her of a fat tiger, drinking at a jungle pool after it has eaten a big meal.

She felt suddenly sick. And furious. Without stopping to think, she snatched off her slipper and hit at the wasp with it.

“Go away, you hateful thing!” she shouted. “Don’t you drink Tiki’s honey!”

The wasp flew up with an angry noise. Bindi struck at it again and hit it, but she just knocked it sideways in the air. It buzzed around in a circle and then flew away.

Bindi stood there with one bare foot in the grass and a sick, empty feeling inside her. “I should have killed it,” she thought. But she hated killing things.

She walked slowly back into the house. Her parents were still asleep. Bindi decided to get breakfast for herself. She went into the kitchen and opened the cupboard where the cereals were. She chose her
favorite, which had the sugar already on it. She got out a bowl and opened the packet, which was brand-new. First the cardboard, then the sealed paper bag inside. She poured the white sugary flakes into the bowl. Then she dropped the packet on the floor.

Riding on the stream of flakes had come two large wasps.

How could wasps possibly have found their way into a sealed bag?

They were sitting in the bowl on the heap of frosted flakes, feasting on the sugar. They waved their horrid antennae at her and seemed to guzzle. Bindi wanted to shout at them and shoo them away, but she was afraid of them.

She left them there and ran upstairs to her bedroom. She wanted to jump back into bed and pretend the day hadn’t started yet, because so far it had been worse than her bad dreams in the night.

But just as she was going to jump into bed, she stopped.

Lying on her pillow, in the dent where her head had been, was the rose twig.

4
The Necklace

She stared at it from a little way away. Well, it certainly was magic, that was for sure. How else could it have arrived here? And if it was magic, it must be from Tiki. Or Wijic, getting up to his tricks. It was babyish to be afraid of a twig.

She reached out her hand and picked it up.

It lay in her hand, a dull, harmless rose stem with the petals gone and just the green leaf-things at the top, like a star, and a yellow pad half hidden among them.

She touched the pad. Some yellow stuff came off on her finger. Pollen. Well. That was natural enough. Maybe it was just an ordinary little twig after all.

She put the twig on her bedside table and got dressed. Then she found that the yellow stuff was still on her finger. She wiped it on the side of her school skirt. It left a long streak that glittered like gold.

She didn’t say anything about the twig to her parents. She didn’t know why she didn’t, she just didn’t. When her mother asked why she’d poured out a bowl
of cereal and not eaten it, she just said, “I found I wasn’t hungry after all.”

There was something else she didn’t tell them. When she went to the bathroom to clean her teeth, she squeezed a wasp out onto her toothbrush with the paste.

She went to school with her teeth unbrushed.

She was early. She found some of her friends in the playground, and almost as soon as she reached them, one of them, a girl called Manda, said, “What’s that hanging out of your pocket?”

Bindi looked down at the side of her skirt. Dangling from her pocket was something that gleamed. She pulled it out. It was heavy in her hand. She held it out, and Manda gasped, and the others crowded round.

“Where on earth did you get
that
? Is it your mother’s?”

It was a gold necklace. Most of it was gold. It had some dark brown gemstones in it too. The gold parts were pointed, like little curved knives, or an animal’s teeth. Or (but that was silly) like big stings.

“It’s not my mother’s,” said Bindi.

“Did you get it for your birthday?”

Bindi didn’t answer. The dark gemstones were shiny. They had a gold stripe across them. They seemed to be staring at her, like round eyes. She hated the necklace—hated it. She wanted to throw it away.

“Put it on, put it on!” the others were saying.

She didn’t want to put it on. It was the last thing she wanted to do. But one of the girls snatched it out of her hand and quickly fastened it round Bindi’s neck.

The moment it was on her, Bindi felt something strange. The necklace seemed to cling to her; the pointy bits stuck into her like little sharp claws, but oddly enough they didn’t hurt. She just had the feeling she couldn’t take it off again even if she tried.

All the others stood back. They’d gone oddly quiet.

“You should have worn that when you played the queen,” said one girl. “It shines, like real jewelry.”

“It wouldn’t have gone with the pink dress,” said Manda. “I think it’s ugly. Take it off, Bindi.”

Bindi started to put up her hands to take it off, but suddenly she heard a shrill, high voice, not like her own voice at all, saying, “I won’t. I like it. It’s beautiful. I’m going to wear it always.”

All the other children stared at her. Manda, who was her best friend, took a step backward. A boy called Keith, who normally never stopped teasing and bullying her, said, “Well, you’d better button your blouse right up to cover it or Miss Abbott’ll make you take it off.” And Bindi’s hands, which had felt frozen to her sides a minute ago, moved by themselves up to her neck and hid the necklace under her school blouse.

All day at school, Bindi felt the necklace clinging to her. But the warmth of her skin didn’t take away its coldness. She couldn’t concentrate on schoolwork at all. All she could think of was the necklace. Part of her longed to tear it off and throw it as far away from her as she could. But another part of her couldn’t and wouldn’t.