The Threads of Magic Alison Croggon (warren buffett book recommendations TXT) 📖

skylight. El was fast asleep in the next pallet, breathing easily now, and Oni was curled up next to her, snoring.

A safe house, Oni had called it. It did feel safe. The pallets smelled of lavender, and the attic was warm and clean, the walls whitewashed between dark oaken beams.

It’s not safe. The voice again. It was inside his head, but it wasn’t him. Clovis.

“Yes, it is,” said Pip crossly. The Heart was under his pillow, and he picked it up, whispering so he wouldn’t wake the others. “Did you wake me up?”

Safe for witches, maybe. Not for us. You can’t trust witches.

“Who says?”

We have to leave.

Pip was too tired to argue. “We’re staying here,” he said flatly, and turned over to go to sleep again.

We have to leave.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

I command you, as a Prince of the Realm.

The icy arrogance in the child’s voice called up all Pip’s truculent defiance. “You can’t command me,” he said. “It’s not your realm. You have a better place to be, huh?”

There was a pause of naked astonishment. You dare to defy me? said Clovis. You? A mere commoner like you?

By now Pip had had enough. He told Clovis, in a few short, impolitely chosen words, that he was as good a person as any prince, and to leave him alone.

Clovis’s rage struck Pip like a blow inside his skull. He reeled with a blinding headache, clutching his temples as a vicious howling drove out every thought in his head. A life of many blows meant that Pip was stoic about physical pain, but this hurt worse than anything he had experienced, as if his own brain was having a tantrum and kicking itself to bits. Tears of pain and rage forced themselves out between his closed eyelids and down his nose.

“Stop it!” said Pip. “Don’t. Just stop it!”

Clovis was yelling, his voice echoing around Pip’s skull. You do what I say. That’s the rule.

“It’s not my rule.”

Clovis’s anger was like a tempest inside Pip’s skull. It went on and on. Pip gritted his teeth, scarcely aware of where he was anymore, conscious only of his fury and outrage that this . . . this thing was inside his head, his own head, which was private and nobody else’s business.

A brief but horribly vivid vision flashed through his mind. A face spattered with blood. A woman holding a dripping knife in one hand and a clump of meat in the other, speaking words he didn’t understand but that filled him with loathing and terror. Clovis’s voice, screaming, I hate you I hate you I hate you . . .

The sickness of nightmare clutched Pip’s throat. He convulsed with nausea and threw up his dinner over the pristine coverlet. But still some small, stubborn part of him refused to give in.

And then, blessed relief. A hand on his forehead, a voice that wasn’t him and wasn’t Clovis. Oni. She sounded as if she were a long way away.

“Pip? Are you all right? What’s wrong?”

The pain lessened, as if the Heart had grown tired, like a sulky toddler. Pip opened his eyes and saw that Oni and El, woken by his shouting, were crouched beside him. Oni’s hand cupped his brow, cool and soothing. He sat up, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand. Although Clovis had quieted down, Pip could still sense his anger, simmering dangerously.

“It’s Clovis,” he said thickly.

Oni’s forehead wrinkled in puzzlement, but before she could ask him what he meant, Pip saw, with a clutch of foreboding, that the light had changed, as if the moon had come out from behind a cloud. But it wasn’t moonlight; it was a greenish glow. It rapidly grew so bright that it threw harsh shadows around the room. El looked over her shoulder, her eyes widening, her mouth open in fear. Pip reached for her hand, but she was pulled away by some invisible force, falling backward toward the light. And in the next moment, she vanished before his eyes.

Oni was being pulled away too. Screaming for El, Pip grabbed Oni’s hand, holding her fast against the awful gravity of the green light. He could see the Rupture now, an impossible hole in the middle of the room. He felt as if Oni’s hand was blurring, as if already she wasn’t quite there.

Neither Oni nor he had heard the door open, but suddenly Missus Orphint was next to them. She held a branch of sweet-smelling candles that flamed straight up without guttering, although she was moving swiftly. She thrust her hands into the center of the uncanny green light, but even as she reached, the light snuffed out.

Her head sagged for a moment in defeat, and then she turned to the other two. “What happened here?”

“It’s El,” said Oni. “She’s . . . she . . .” She covered her face with her hands, unable to speak.

Pip grabbed the Heart from where it lay beneath his pillow and threw it against the wall. It hit the plaster with a light thud and rebounded onto the floor.

“Bring her back!” Pip was so angry that he scarcely knew what he was saying. “Where is she, you dead, horrible worm! How dare you? How dare you take my sister?”

“Hush,” said Missus Orphint, and she lightly touched his shoulder. “Hush, Pip. Anger is no use now.”

“He took El.” Pip burst into tears. “He took El because I wouldn’t do what he said.”

“How do you know that?”

Her voice was very calm, and as she spoke Pip felt his fury die down, to be replaced by an awful grief. He knuckled his eyes and took a breath before answering.

“He told me,” he said. “Clovis.”

“The Heart? Clovis has been speaking to you?” Oni looked horrified. “Why didn’t you say so?”

Pip didn’t answer. He shrugged, walked over to where the Heart lay on the floor, and picked it up. Missus Orphint watched him carefully but made no move to stop him. The Heart felt neither warm nor cold, and there was