Magic or Madness Read Free

had said. I tried not to think about the cellar underneath.
    Fibs, I told myself. What was the next one? Fib (47): 2,971,215,073 (a prime factor). Add it to Fib (46) to get Fib (48): 4,807,526,976.
    I followed Esmeralda’s shiny shoes, dazzling in the sunlight, through the low wrought-iron gate, along a short tiled path, between squat rosebushes and a tangle of tiny native violets. The tiles on the porch were maroon, black and cream, arranged in a pattern of hexagons and seven-pointed stars. The doormat said Welcome.
    As she opened the heavy wooden door, it let out a loud groan. I almost jumped.
    “I keep meaning to oil it,” Esmeralda said.
    I squinted. The house was almost as light inside as out. I’d always imagined it dark and dank, smelling of blood and bones. Instead I smelled fresh flowers, books, and timber.
    I was standing in a long, wide corridor of reddish brown polished wooden floorboards that shone almost as brightly as Esmeralda’s shoes. I looked down at a blurry reflection of myself.
    The ceilings were ridiculously high. I wondered how she managed to change the light bulbs. At the end of the corridor I saw the bright shining surfaces of what was obviously the kitchen. Everything was so bright and shiny, so clean.
    Esmeralda turned. I lowered my gaze just in time.
    “Do you want something to eat now? Or should I show you your room? There’s an en suite.”
    Fib (49) is 7,778,742,049.
    Esmeralda let out a sound that could have been a sigh. “Your bedroom, then.”

    As soon as Esmeralda left the room, I jammed a chair under the door handle. I felt shaky but pleased with myself. I’d managed to get through the whole ordeal without looking at Esmeralda or saying one word.
    I sat down on the bed. It was hard to believe. I was in Esmeralda’s house and Sarafina was in the loony bin. I was in the house my mother had run away from at the age of twelve. I’d heard about this place my whole life. It wasn’t what I had expected. A clean, airy witch’s house?
    And a clean, airy bedroom. I looked around carefully. This was to be my room. Bare and unornamented, no pictures on the wall, no rugs on the floor, and plain white curtains at the windows. The floorboards shone like the ones downstairs. There was a side table beside the bed as well as a desk, bookshelves filled with books, a couch, and a stand with a television resting on it.
    I was half tempted to turn it on. I’d seen so little television in my life—only horse racing, cricket, and footie in pubs, and only five minutes at a time. Sarafina always said I wasn’t missing much, though she hadn’t seen much more than me.
    The room was large, with two glass doors that led out onto a balcony, a big one that ran along the front of the house. I leaned out over the lacework iron railing, looking up and down the street. None of the other houses were as big as this one, but each had a balcony, however small.
    It would be pretty easy to climb down to the street from here. A couple walked by below, wheeling a baby in a pram. One of them looked up at me and waved. Hmmm, I thought, waving back, and pretty easy to be spotted doing it. I needed a different escape route.
    I walked the length of the balcony, came to another set of glass doors. The room I glimpsed through them was a mirror version of my own, though more sparsely furnished. The bed had a mattress but no covers. Another guest room. For a moment I wondered if it was waiting for another prisoner like me. Someone else trapped in Esmeralda’s web.
    I went back to my bedroom, continued my recce. There were two more doors to open. The first led into an enormous walk-in wardrobe. I stepped inside, stretched my arms out, and spun around. I didn’t come close to touching the shelves. It was bigger than any of the rooms I’d ever stayed in. How could one person need this much space?
    When I opened the second door, I was dazzled by gleaming white tiles.
    “Bugger.”
    It was the biggest bathroom in the world.