Amanda Cadabra and The Hidden Depths by Holly Bell (good book recommendations TXT) 📗

She went to the space behind the stairs, and there was panelling … Just panelling. Unless … another memory … unless you knew where a hole was … for a key. It had been above little Amanda’s head height and now, ‘Nothing there … Great-grandmother said something … a word. I wonder …’ She took out her mini-wand and spoke the spell: ‘Onlideskovra.’

It was as if the knot in the wood had always been there. But it was too dark to blend in and definitely lock-shaped. ‘Aha! Now which key?’ asked Amanda rhetorically. ‘Hm … how about … no … Oh, it’s the simplest on the bunch. As you might expect for just a cupboard under the stairs, I suppose.’ She inserted and turned the key. The panel swung open into the hall, but the sight that yielded to the light was disappointing. Cobweb-strewn brooms, mops and disintegrating wooden crates were all that met her eyes.

Amanda stood back in surprise. ‘Oh … No. Wait. This is wrong.’

Granny remained silent, watching carefully from her chair.

‘No …’ said Amanda, then carefully stretched her hand out towards the interior of the cupboard. Sure enough, her hand met a barrier at the threshold. ‘It’s an illusion, Granny!’ she cried with glee. ‘Onlideskovra portow.’ The door within revealed itself: predictably dark oak, double-leaved. The key to this was more ornate. Now the stone stairs of Amanda’s troubled dreams and visions showed themselves.

She looked at her grandmother. ‘At last.’

‘Ready, dear? Do you want me to come with you? If not, I’ll take a look at the bramble festival that used to be the kitchen garden.’

‘Thank you, Granny. I’ll be fine. Now it comes to it, and I’m here, I’m not afraid. Memories can’t hurt me … and maybe they’ll help me.’

‘That’s my girl,’ Senara approved, putting aside her magazine and standing up.

The light dimming with each step, Amanda stopped and switched on the torch app on her phone. Descending ... gloomier ... it was growing unnaturally cold. Suddenly she wished she had asked Granny to stay with her.

Down the steps …

Back in her three-year-old body. Down, round and round and down and down … to a door … a door of adamant … This had the lock for the largest, most intricate key on the bunch, the one Amanda had thought was for the front door. Of course, this was the most important in the house. The most secret.

She felt the door free but not open.

‘Agertyn,’ she pronounced, and it yielded. Breathless with anticipation, Amanda pushed it open. She stepped over the threshold, and the phone light went out.

Chapter 53

Total Recall

The darkness was absolute. And so cold Amanda would have sworn she could have seen her own breath if only there was …

The phone was dead. But then, of course it was, she thought. There was a magical dampening field here.

‘Golow,’ she instructed her mini-wand. Amanda exhaled and looked down at the warm furry shadow, rubbing at her left ankle comfortingly. She reached down and stroked him. ‘Ah Tempest, I’m glad you’re here.’

He looked up at her, livid eyes a-glitter, scenting the trace of old, dark sorcery.

In a sconce by the door, Amanda found a candle and matches. The flame was enough by which to see something of the room. She toured the perimeter of the large round space, lighting each of the candles set at intervals in iron holders on the stone walls. With the last one, she turned and viewed the chamber. It was bare, grey, with a stone lectern to one side and, at the centre, a great granite font-like structure. There were steps up to it, like a pulpit.

‘I know this.’ Amanda approached. ‘These carved symbols … I remember these.’ She put out her hand to trace one of the strange forms of lines and curves and circles. ‘I don’t know what they mean …’ Suddenly, she drew back. ‘But I don’t want to touch them … Tempest, this is Darkside magic, I am sure of it.’

On either side of the narrow steps leading up to the huge stone bowl was a curious wooden railing.

‘What …? It comes up to only just above my knee …’

Amanda gasped. All at once, she was back … three years old, her hand held in the dry claw of her great-grandmother. The door opening. In the shadows between the candles were grownups … a man … a lady … another lady with long brown hair and a white face … and another man … all standing, silently watching her being led into the cold room. Her great-grandmother’s voice:

‘Here we are.’

‘Hello,’ said one of the men dispassionately.

‘Don’t expect a reply,’ the old woman replied to him. ‘The child is mute. I told you. And ninepence to the shilling, for all I know.’

‘And a good thing too,’ replied the long-haired woman. ‘Saves us the complications of taking stronger measures, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Hm,’ agreed the other woman.

But little Amanda’s attention was now all on the mighty stone vessel in the middle of the room. For a moment, her eyes rested on the strange images cut into its surface. Still more, they were drawn to the deep emerald vapour that emanated from the surface of whatever was filling the hollow of the monstrous container.

The smoke was floating, not up like it did when Grandpa burned old leaves in the garden, but left, to the big carved book rest on a thick pillar.

‘Come and see this,’ the old woman instructed in saccharine tones. ‘I know you like books. That’s right.’ She picked up Amanda, whose small face turned and, with round eyes, looked upon the largest tome she had ever seen. Bigger than any in the cottage or Cornish-home chalet or the village library. ‘Look at this page.’ A gnarled beringed finger pointed to the left-hand leaf, illuminated, and inscribed with aged ink. ‘See this? It’s a special poem. Just for you. Isn’t that nice? I’ll read it to you