For Catherine, Paul, Fran, and Jean.
CONTENTS
Part 1: Someone New
Mirabelle
One week later Jem
Mirabelle
Jem
Mirabelle
Part 2: What Piglet Saw
Mirabelle
Jem
Freddie
Jem
Mirabelle
Jem
Mirabelle
Jem
Freddie
Part 3: Comes the Malice
Mirabelle
Freddie
Jem
Freddie
Mirabelle
Jem
Freddie
Part 4: Signs and Portents
Mirabelle
Freddie
Jem
Freddie
Mirabelle
Freddie
Mirabelle
Freddie
Jem
Mirabelle
Freddie
Mirabelle
Part 5: Where and When
Jem
Freddie
Mirabelle
Author’s Note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
About the Illustrator
Part 1
Someone New
Mirabelle
Mirabelle was in the garden feeding bones to the flowers when Uncle Enoch came for her.
The flowers swayed above her, sniffing the night air. She could hear the creaking of their tree-trunk-thick stalks and the soft wet sibilance of their petals smacking together as they fed. Though they were nursery plants, each one of them was already over six feet tall, their heads moving blindly in the starry night. A light breeze was blowing. Mirabelle inhaled the air. It was grass-scented and warm. Behind her in the great house, she could sense the others stirring from their day-long slumber.
A shadow moved over the moon. Mirabelle smiled as she heard the light flapping of wings and the sound of feet touching the earth.
‘Good evening, Uncle Enoch.’
The tall black-clad figure stepped out of the darkness, his wings melting into the air behind him. His pale face was dominated by a long nose. His jet-black hair was pasted back over his skull in a widow’s peak. He had an austere presence, but there was genuine warmth in his eyes.
‘Good evening, Mirabelle. How was the day?’
Mirabelle sniffed. ‘Bright and sunny.’
Enoch shook his head. ‘Not my cup of tea.’
He reached into the bucket beside Mirabelle, fished a bone out and threw it up in an arc. One of the flowers whipped forward and snatched it from the air. Another hissed at it, then turned away and went back to bobbing its head.
‘They’re very hungry,’ said Enoch.
‘They’re always hungry,’ said Mirabelle.
‘Like children. Always hungry. Like your Uncle Bertram, but with more table manners, perhaps.’
Mirabelle took another bone from the bucket. It still had some meat and gristle attached, and for a moment she turned it over and examined it. Enoch watched her.
‘I take it you’re not tempted to try it.’
Mirabelle shook her head. She was never hungry. Not like the others were. They spoke about their hunger and their appetites frequently, but Mirabelle never fully grasped what that actually meant. She had never experienced hunger of any kind. Nor did she sleep, either during the day – as the others tended to do – or at night, like the humans in the outside world.
She held the bone up in the air towards the nearest flower. It craned its head downwards, and she heard the warning in her guardian’s voice.
‘Mirabelle.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said.
She smiled as she held the bone towards the flower. The flower’s head dipped slowly, and it seemed as if its dozen or so companions inclined their necks towards her to have a look too.
As it came closer to Mirabelle’s hand, its head unfurled and she could see the rows of needle-sharp teeth that lined the mouth just where the stem met its petals. With a deft flick of her wrist, Mirabelle threw the bone. The flower snapped it out of mid-air but kept its head close to Mirabelle as it chewed its morsel. Mirabelle stroked the smooth leathery petals, and the flower nuzzled her cheek and started to coo. The other flowers followed suit, and soon they were all cooing gently. She smiled.
‘So, why are you here, Uncle?’
Enoch stood with his hands clasped behind his back.
‘I may have some news,’ he said, pursing his lips in an effort to hold back a smile.
Mirabelle frowned. ‘What kind of news?’
‘I had suspicions this week about one of the Spheres. It seems my suspicions were correct. We may be about to witness a very rare event.’
‘No!’ she said, dropping a bone back into the bucket without even noticing. ‘Someone is coming?’
Enoch smiled now.
‘Someone new?’ Mirabelle squealed.
Enoch nodded. ‘Someone new.’
Mirabelle felt a quick fluttering sensation, then her heart started to pound.
‘But there hasn’t been anyone new since . . .’
‘Since you,’ said Enoch.
‘We need to tell the others.’
‘You can tell them.’
Mirabelle nodded, not quite believing what she was hearing.
‘Everyone can convene in the Room of Lights as soon as possible.’
Mirabelle was already halfway to the back door when Enoch shouted, ‘Don’t tell Piglet.’
‘Why not?’
‘It may well be that he already knows, but it’s best not to overexcite him.’
Mirabelle nodded. ‘What about Odd? Where is he?’
Enoch shrugged. ‘He’s on his way.’
Mirabelle ran into the house and through the gloom of the dusty unused kitchen, dominated by its old wooden table. Cupboards lay open and bare, and a single chipped mixing bowl sat forlornly on a countertop.
There was a subtle movement from the top of a cupboard. Mirabelle looked up to see the one-eyed raven looking down at her. It came and went inside the house as if it owned the place. The bird was old and scraggy, and now it blinked its one good eye at her. Its other eye was a blind milky grey. Mirabelle nodded at it in greeting, and it seemed to regard her with an air of calculated indifference. She grinned at it, feeling almost compelled to share her news.
She tried her best not to run in the hallway, but she was giddy with excitement. She stopped outside Aunt Eliza’s room and pulled at the cuffs of her black velvet dress as she tried to compose herself. She rapped on the door. When there was no reply, she opened the door quietly.
She looked in at the large four-poster bed, its blanket neatly tucked under the mattress. Then at the dresser, with its large vanity mirror and the ornate chair placed in front of it. The dresser was filled with perfume bottles, and jewellery boxes, and various containers of powder.
Mirabelle sensed movement. She looked up into the far-left corner of the ceiling to see a patch that was darker than the rest.
Mirabelle
