Magic or Madness Read Free Page B

thinking about it. I closed my eyes to stop from crying. I missed Sarafina so much it made me ache all over. Looking at the books, wanting to read them made me feel that I was betraying her. I wouldn’t touch the books. Even the fact that the house did have electricity (probably added since Sarafina had run away), that I had already turned light switches on and off, made me feel guilty.
    The books, the pretty room, the balcony, the bathroom, the television, the blue-and-white robe and slippers, the electricity—I knew they were all bribes, tricks. Esmeralda wanted to turn me against my mother, make me believe in magic.
    There was a knock on the door.
    “Reason?”
    For a second I thought it was Sarafina. Every time I heard Esmeralda’s voice, I was shocked again by how much she sounded like my mother.
    “I’m going to the shops. Is there anything you want? You should eat something.”
    I didn’t answer. I knew not to touch my grandmother’s food. Firstly, it was disgusting: Esmeralda liked to eat snails, frogs, livers, brains. Secondly, in the old days she’d drugged Sarafina’s food to make her compliant.
    I’d stocked up. At the hospital I’d bought three Violet Crumbles, two Mars bars, and four sausage rolls. Even cold, sossi rolls were my favourites. I figured I could make the food last at least a couple of days. I wasn’t going to stay any longer than that.
    I listened to Esmeralda’s footsteps going down the wooden stairs, creaking loudly, then I crept out onto the balcony to wait for the sound of her leaving. The heavy wooden door gave its almost human groan. I ducked my head behind the railing, watching as my grandmother walked down the street.
    I looked at my watch: 4:35 PM. I’d give myself twenty minutes to check out the house as carefully and quietly as I could. Everything I did from now on was practice for my escape.

4
    In the Witch’s Bedroom
    I tiptoed to the top of the stairs. I told myself I was searching for escape routes, but the plan of this house was etched in my brain. I knew there were two ways out the back: from the balcony outside Esmeralda’s room and from the kitchen. All I needed to do was check them, see if I could climb down from Esmeralda’s balcony onto the fig tree, and run away, as Sarafina had eighteen years ago.
    Figuring out how best to escape was my priority, but I also wanted to search this house, find all its secrets. My mother had taught me to be curious, to ask questions, to explore. I had to compare the reality of Esmeralda’s house with the plan, to compare the stories Sarafina had told me with the places where they happened.
    I had to see Esmeralda’s room, see what she wore, what she kept on her bedside table, what secrets lay hidden in her dressing table.
    And, well, I wanted to hassle Esmeralda. She truly believed in her bones and amulets. That’s the problem with believing in magic: it backfires. Even though I knew it was bulldust and that her witchy stuff had no power, I could still muck Esmeralda around because she believed in it absolutely. Sarafina had taught me well. I knew just what to do.
    Most of all, even though the very idea terrified me, I had to see the cellar I had heard so many terrible stories about. Magic couldn’t kill anything or anyone, but knives could.
    Sarafina had also made it clear that there were times when curiosity had to be put on hold, times when curiosity could get you into trouble. The cellar most likely fell into that category, but, well, how could I resist? How could I not explore every room in the house that I had been warned about my entire life?
    But not known. Plans, no matter how accurate—and Sarafina’s were accurate—gave no sense of what a house is like. The corridors, the rooms, the stairs were all where they were supposed to be, which was definitely reassuring. But they were so vast!
    Somehow Sarafina had never made that clear. Or maybe I just couldn’t imagine a house this big. Unless it was a pub divided