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  Once inside, sunlight shone down on the class through the circle of windows that spanned the curved peak of the tower. They settled themselves flat on bean bags and stared out the windows at the vast blue skies above while they waited for class to begin.

  ‘Now children,’ said Mrs Howzatful, authoritatively, ‘sit up and take a test tube, they’re lying right next to your bean bags. Not like that, Max Pepper. Don’t tip it upside down.’

  Max blazed red, from head to foot with shame and let out a sort of bullish grumble, which just made the class chortle. Max, everyone knew, was Mrs Howzatful’s least competent Salamander pupil!

  The giggling subsided as the class was calmed by their teacher’s mesmerising voice. ‘Now don’t close your eyes yet, children,’ she said in hushed tones. ‘Just lie very still like your fellow Salamanders. Like most of your fellow Salamanders,’ she corrected, again, glancing furtively at Max. Max thumped his bean bag angrily while the other two Salamanders in class remained as still as statues.

  Useless or not, Max was pretty much the only Dream Catcher and Unweaver Ella knew. She squinted at him and his furrowed brow, and pictured again the gentleness he’d shown the ladybird in Environmental Science earlier. Ella’s gaze moved to Charlie, who had settled himself onto a bean bag next to Max, his foot tapping on the floor at ten to the dozen.

  Mrs Howzatful flattened out the folds of her silk skirt and sat herself up on one of the benches. She crossed a long leg over the other before speaking again. ‘As you know, we’ve been studying the Library of Memories this year, our store of important information from the past for the future study of Flitterwiggery. And, of course,’ she added, patting a pocket in her skirt proudly, ‘I am the Library’s Keeper.’

  Ella caught Max glaring at the other Salamanders.

  ‘You may have heard about the wonderful example of a memory examined just recently,’ said Mrs Howzatful. ‘It was that of a Moglin Flitterwig ancestor that led us to discover that Moglins used to be able to control facets of the weather. Fascinating, right? Until this memory was examined, we had no idea—with Moglins being so rare—that this was a skill of their kind!’

  Humphrey, the only Moglin in all of Hedgeberry, sighed and hung his head low.

  Mrs Howzatful pointed to a wooden bowl of water beside her and tweaked her ear. Out of the water, misty liquid sheets rose into the air, one by one. Each of them sprouted wings, arms and legs, then flapped in unison across the classroom, distributing themselves amongst the students, rippling in the air before them.

  Upon the liquidinous surfaces, for every student to read, floated the words:

  The Library of Memories

  The Library of Memories is a sacred place. Within its walls are stored memories of events and history that are crucial to the past, present and future of Flitterwiggery. The memories are all extraordinary and rich in nature and almost impossible to decipher in raw form.

  Flitterwigs are still learning about the art of Magic, and rely on historical archives such as this to bolster research and to delve into the past. The Library of Memories is also an ever-growing archive. The time will come when particular memories from the present require examination, and thus the Library is always open to new deposits.

  However, the Library is meticulous in its selection process. An instinctive commitment to the Natural Truth is a prerequisite for memories to gain access to the Library, which is a decision that rests in the enchanted Magicality of the Library’s foundations. Such deposits are made by throwing the memory at the Library door in the hope that it will be ingested. Indeed, it is a rare occasion for acceptance to occur, and only the most wise and learned of Flitterwigs can engender such results.

  Ella remembered well the odd and unpleasant ordeal of having her memories of her battles with the Duke secretly Poofed out of her mind for the Library of Memories last year. Samuel Happenstance had told her then that they were required for the future study of her particular skills. Ella was pretty certain she didn’t know anything about engendering—whatever that meant—but the moment her memories had been thrown at the door they had disappeared inside as if they’d always belonged there.

  ‘Well, my dears,’ said Mrs Howzatful, ‘today we are going to select and collect a memory in our test tubes and offer it to the Library by way of thanks for its storage of so many important moments passed. As you know, this is an age-old ritual at Hedgeberry and as we approach the end of the year it’s your turn to have a go. They might not make it into the Library, remember—only one in one hundred-thousand does—but it’s fun, and important, to try.’

  Ella’s mind boggled at the thought of so many memories being rejected, while hers were accepted last year.

  ‘Now try to remember something you care about deeply. And if it isn’t accepted into the Library, do try to recapture your memory in your tubes afterwards,’ advised Mrs Howzatful. ‘Which I’m sure you’ll be perfectly capable of,’ she added, nodding at every Salamander in the class… except Max Pepper. Charlie noticed Max scrunching up his fists. ‘Although, if they do manage to escape, there’s no need for alarm. They are only duplicates of your memories. The originals always remain inside you.’

  The teacher gave a little shiver of a thrill which made her long neck quiver and her auburn hair bounce. ‘Now I want you all to reeeelaaaax, as we’ve learnt, with our left hand to our corresponding ear, test tubes clutched carefully in our right, so that we can practise Poofing! I know, it’s terribly advanced, but I believe you are all quite ready for it. Well, almost everyone,’ she said, placing a hand on Max’s shoulder. ‘Close your eyes.’

  Ella felt another pang of sympathy for Max. It wasn’t very teachery or Hedgeberryish or supportive or nice of Mrs H to single Max out for his shortcomings.

  Everyone in the laboratory closed their eyes, hands ready, and did their best to relax. A frisson of nervousness passed through the room. Mrs Howzatful began talking the class through some breathing exercises, until every last one of her students was in a calm and soporific trance.

  ‘Zone out now,’ she said in a hypnotic tone as the room fell still as midnight. ‘Draw your memory to you, as we’ve practised.’ She paused for a moment or two to give the children time, and flattened out her skirt. ‘And once you have the basic substance of your chosen memory, remember to tap into how it makes you feeeeel. You must focus on how it makes you feeeeeeeeeel…’

  Poofing a memory out of the ear and into a test tube is a tricky business, without question. First, one must be in a sort of sleepy trance. Next, one must capture the smells and sounds and colours that accompany the memory, by tapping into one’s deeper instincts. And then one must capture the feelings that accompany it, which is far from simple. But if you manage to do all of this (while sort of asleep, mind you!) and tweak the ear just so while reciting the required incantation, it is possible to awaken the memory. Like a translucent slug, the memory works its way from the head and out of the left ear.

  Mrs Howzatful slowly talked the children through each step. A few students raised their eyebrows as they felt their memories surfacing. A few crinkled up their noses. One or two even began to blow out of their nostrils, their expressions bemused and amazed at the heady, sneezy, glooky experience of the sliding thing in the head area. Mrs Howzatful encouraged the children, talking them through their ear tweaks and the incantation, staring hard at each and every one of them, as if beckoning the memories forth with her will.

  Ella had plenty of important memories to recall, but she settled on the comforting memory of eating pumpkin soup with Granny, her human grandmother, instead. It might not make its way into the Library, she figured, but it might at least make its way out of her head.

  But she was getting nowhere. She couldn’t conjure up the simple memory to save herself. Whenever she tried, all that came to her were darting moments from her recent nightmares. The horrible images flitted through her mind like slides on a projector.

  A Salamander Flitterwig sneezed all of a sudden, which se
t off a series of sneezes across the room and rousing applause from Mrs Howzatful. Eyes opened and darted left and right, while hands desperately sought to catch and cork the elusive memories as they began sliding out of ears and slipping away. To see a class full of children, with peculiar ears, hair and faces, reaching out this way and that, trying to grab almost-invisible sluggy somethings, is a funny experience indeed.

  The only exceptions to the fumbling in the laboratory were the two Salamander Flitterwigs, whose rainbow-tinted memories rolled out of their ears and into their test tubes with the smoothest of ease.

  Mrs Howzatful continued to talk to the other students, as if oblivious to Ella’s slight, disheartened frame, slumped on her bean bag. But once the room had been divided by those who were successful at extracting and catching, and those who had failed to capture their dreams, the teacher made her way over to Ella. She deftly dodged the delighted Library-bound Flitterwigs, corked test tubes in hand, as they scrabbled out of the lab and down the steep steps of the tower, on their way to test the door of the Library of Memories.

  When Ella explained that she just couldn’t get her memory to stay awake in her head the way they’d been taught, because her dreams kept getting in the way, Mrs Howzatful surveyed her with great seriousness. The teacher paused dramatically, eyes staring massively through those orange lenses of hers, and rested her fingers on her nose. She took a sharp intake of breath and shook her flaming hair most decisively.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Ella,’ said Mrs Howzatful, drawing the Elven Flitterwig aside. ‘Let’s try something different with you, shall we? Let’s try a Grabber.’

  Ella nodded compliantly, though she had no idea whatsoever what a Grabber was. Mrs Howzatful checked Ella’s ears and hair quickly and nodded to herself. ‘Yes, an elf. This will work with you,’ she said. ‘Let’s try to capture whatever it is that’s getting in the way and identify what’s blocking your memory.’

  Instantly Ella began worrying that her nightmares were going to be exposed. They were what was stopping her from focusing, weren’t they?

  ‘It is a slightly different process,’ said Mrs Howzatful, ‘and one that is rarely necessary for you Elven Flitterwigs. It is predominantly used for getting memories out of the way so that dreams can come through, for my kind to unweave.’

  Mrs Howzatful passed a long finger across her mouth and frowned slightly as she tried to settle a slightly uncomfortable sense brewing in her overly instinctive mind. Something strange was up with this Ella Montgomery. The child had a curious energy about her. Potent, somehow.

  ‘Oh, and I’d like anyone who’s finished flinging their memory at the Library door to come and watch,’ she called out over her shoulder. Only the other two Salamanders had returned to class. They stared dismally at their rejected memories.

  Ella flushed. She hoped her dream wouldn’t splurt out in front of everyone, showing that Giant and those keys and Hedgeberry all destroyed. Ella was such a private person. Public displays of ineptitude weren’t her favourite thing, and the fear of people watching her, combined with the worry of her Clearheart identity being exposed right now made her feel perfectly queasy!

  Mrs Howzatful set about selecting little bits of powder and leaves she pulled from one drawer and another, explaining their name and purpose as she did so. She mixed them together with her finger in a wooden bowl. Max, who had lost his extracted memory somewhere in the courtyard, before he even reached the Library, slipped into class, quietly cross.

  ‘Spit in there,’ instructed Mrs Howzatful, motioning to the powdery bowl. Ella squinted at her teacher. Was she joking? ‘Come on, Ella, spit.’

  Ella did as she was told, and instantly the contents of the bowl fizzled and hissed.

  ‘Now,’ said Mrs Howzatful, ‘you mix it with your pointing finger, the Dust one, and let the feelings flow.’

  Ella did as she was told again and the mixture settled into something like a sticky poultice. When she tried to pull her finger out, she couldn’t!

  ‘Ooooh, a powerful one, this,’ said the teacher, looking somewhat taken aback. ‘Now repeat carefully after me.’

  Ella held tightly to the almost non-existent lobe of her ear exactly as Mrs Howzatful was demonstrating.

  Within seconds, Ella’s body began to tremble, then it began to wiggle and jerk, causing the growing crowd of students surrounding her to stop and stare. And then every hair on her head burst out of her hair-band and stood on end like a honey-coloured fan!

  If Max Pepper found the process amusing he didn’t show it at all, but a few of the other students chuckled.

  And then, out of the bowl, a sluggy, vaguely rainbow-coloured translucent-looking something emerged and flung itself onto her finger!

  ‘Quick, finger to your nose, and sniff in the Grabber!’ instructed Mrs Howzatful.

  Ella did as she was bid and took a long, deep sniff! The Grabber, with its flickering rainbow patterns making it visible, paused on her finger, flipped back and forth for a moment and then, sensing the wind going up Ella’s nose, slurped itself across her cheek and after her sniff!

  And if it’s weird feeling something sluggy come out of your ear, it’s even weirder feeling it go up a nostril! The Grabber wormed its way up Ella’s nasal passages and into her head.

  ‘Oh! Most powerful, indeed,’ said Mrs Howzatful in a truly startled voice, as she watched in wonder the great, crystal teardrops that began to tumble from Ella’s eyes.

  Max was staring at Ella, as usual, but not because of the Grabber wriggling about inside her, making her eyes water and the rest of the class stare. No, it was because, if Max wasn’t much mistaken, there was a Magical in the girl’s lap! The creature was hiding as best he could, but he was a pure Magical nonetheless, gathering up Ella’s tears and sneaking them into a pack on his back!

  Charlie, who had been watching Max closely, shrunk to the back of the room and gulped. Everything felt like it was coming slightly undone!

  Max raised an eyebrow and breathed slowly. It was very rare to ever see a pure Magical, even if the Ban had been lifted. Never mind one scurrying about on somebody’s lap! He had always thought of Ella as a bit different but this, this put her in a whole other category.

  Ella was quite still as the Grabber wrapped itself through her mind and down to her heart. She put her hand to her chest and rubbed it softly, trying to soothe a dreadful tightness as the Grabber clutched at something deep inside.

  The Grabber, having found the obstacle that Ella’s instincts had led it to, suddenly Poofed it out of her nose with such a powerful sneeze that the honey-haired Flitterwig almost toppled over.

  But what landed in the bowl wasn’t any part of Ella’s bad dreams. And it had nothing to do with her memory of pumpkin soup. What shot out was actually a memory Ella didn’t even know she had.

  Mrs Howzatful covered the bowl quickly with a perfectly fitting semi-circle of glass, and handed Ella a delicate magnifying glass. ‘Go on,’ she said, gesturing Ella to the bowl.

  When Ella squinted through the magnifying glass and examined her memory, moving in glistening pictures inside the slug, she was surprised by what she saw.

  She saw herself in miniature, in a room, alone, sitting by a tall pile of notebooks. The sad sound of a man’s sobs warbled through the Grabber like a cool shudder.

  It was the sound of her father crying.

  The scene and the sounds were familiar to Ella, but she couldn’t quite figure out why.

  She squinted at the notebooks again and then it struck her. She was remembering the day after her mother and brothers were killed in the automobile accident!

  Hearing her father’s sobs again made her shiver. Ella had never known what was inside the notebooks, but her father had placed them close to her, and their presence had strangely given her comfort. The recollection of the aloneness and sadness of that moment was emptier and dizzier than a night without stars.

  ‘I caught your tears, Ella,’ Dixon whispered in Ella’s ear, leaning
out of the neck of her hoodie as she shakily made her way to the next class. ‘Got ‘em in in my backpack, smack! Even though you Sleepified me, I woke up, naughty Ella, and scooped them off your knees, sneeze. I’m actually quite handy,’ he added proudly. Then with a giggle he tapped her on the tip of her ear reassuringly. ‘Believe it or not, snot.’

  chapter 5

  empathy & eggshells

  Ella and Charlie sat in the back of the Montgomery Bentley later that afternoon, while Mr P, the general caretaker and chauffeur for Willow Farm, drove up front. It was a holiday weekend from boarding school and Charlie was getting a lift with Ella because his family home—Snoppit Farm—sat on the very hill next to Willow Farm, where Ella’s grandparents (her legal, and human, guardians), resided, and where Ella had lived until going to board at Hedgeberry.

  Ella was deep in thought, distracted by the power of the memory that had revealed itself in her Instinctamology lesson. She was wondering, too, how she would keep up on any weekend updates in The Daily Flitterwig about her Giant friends and the menacing Giant from her dreams if she wasn’t at school.

  ‘I think Max spotted Dixon today, which totally worries me you know, but anyway, I had a chat to him after class, which I was intending to do in any case,’ jabbered Charlie, interrupting Ella’s thoughts, ‘and he’s very keen to talk to you about your dreams when we get back to school on Monday. I offered to do his Animumble homework for the next three weeks but he actually said no, so—’

  ‘You what?’ said Ella, turning at once to Charlie and putting her finger up to her mouth to hush him. She raised her eyebrows in Mr P’s direction.

  Charlie stretched his mouth apologetically, showing his bottom teeth.

  Mr P was a Goblin Flitterwig Protector himself—of Ella’s maternal Flitterwig grandmother, Manna—and Ella did not want him alerted to her odd dreams.

  If Mr P had heard anything, his face didn’t show it. Dixon was sitting on the steering wheel, singing him a song, and Ella hoped this had distracted him and muffled Charlie’s words.