Page 24 of The Book of Unwritten Stories

She threw herself onto the sofa and tucked a cushion under her head, tugging the throw over herself. She was trembling, and her teeth were chattering against each other as the realisation of what she had done sank in.

She stared at the book of spells on the table, wondering what had happened between it and the crazy lady who’d brought it to the shop yesterday. If a few simple words had the power to almost take a life what else was it capable of? Her eyes kept flitting towards the grimoire, where had the woman got it? Maybe she should go and speak to Ethan across the road, but then he would know what she’d done; after all, he’d witnessed it firsthand. Was serious injury by spell admissible in court? She turned to face the sofa, away from the book, and closed her eyes.

Morana needed to process the events of the last two hours to see if she could stop the feelings of guilt that seemed to seep into the feelings of elation that were simmering below the surface. It wasn’t directly her fault, she never pushed the woman under the wheels of the truck, she never touched her. Yet, indirectly, had she caused this by using the spell and banishing her from her life?

As she lay there, she realised the only way to find out for sure was to try another spell, but which one would be the most suitable?

Tapping on the window made her sit up, did she just imagine that?

Tap, tap, tap.

There it was again, insistent, as if someone wanted her attention, but how could that be when she lived in a second-floor apartment? Ice-cold fingers of fear stroked the skin on the back of her neck, and she wondered if it was Mrs Danby’s ghost coming back to haunt her. That would be about right, wouldn’t it?

Frozen to the sofa, she waited to see if it was all in her head.

Tap, tap, tap.

Morana forced herself to stand up. Her hands shaking, she pushed her feet towards the window and pulled the blinds, then fell backwards to see a huge black crow staring at her through the glass. She screamed. It didn’t move just kept on staring at her. She was now sitting on her ass on the floor, locked into some kind of staring contest with a crow.

What was going on? Oh God, was this Mrs Danby’s pet? Was it going to peck her eyes out for revenge?

Morana couldn’t tear her gaze away from it. The crow pecked at the glass again, harder, and she didn’t know what to do. Pushing herself up she stood and waved her arms at it to shoo it away, but the damn bird didn’t even flinch, it just stared at her. Her mind told her to ignore it, and her heart told her to open the window. She found herself sliding the window up.

‘What are you doing? Why are you knocking?’

The crow hopped inside, perching on the windowsill its eyes never leaving hers.

‘I don’t know what you want, are you hungry? Hurt?’

Its head moved from side to side in one quick movement.

‘You understand me? Wait, are you the crow from the Old Burying Point I see on the way to work each day?’

This time it gave her a quick nod.

Morana perched on the arm of her sofa. ‘What do you want?’

A voice whispered inside her mind, you’ve gone insane. Do you realise that you’re having a mental breakdown?

The bird was staring at the spell book.

‘You want the grimoire? It’s yours, take it. It made me do a bad thing. Is that why you’re here? Have you come to peck my eyes out in revenge?’

The bird looked as if it was considering this option. It was big enough. If it attacked her, she would struggle to fight it off. It hopped onto the floor and strutted towards her, and Morana let out a screech and scrabbled backwards, hitting the coffee table with such force the book fell onto the floor with a loud splat.

The bird strutted past her and jumped onto the book, still staring at her.

‘I don’t know what you want.’

The crow hopped up and down on top of the book and out of nowhere shot a bolt of red electricity, making the bird screech and topple backwards. The awful smell of singed feathers lingered in the air. Morana was unable to form coherent words and stared from the book to the crow, who was now perched back on the windowsill, shaking its beak at her.

‘Hey, sorry, but that wasn’t my fault. Are you hurt?’

The bird squawked.

‘That book is bad, but you know that, don’t you? Is that why you’re here? Well, bird, you can take the book. I tried to throw it in the trash only it was still here when I came back up. How do you explain that? What am I supposed to do about it?’

The bird turned its back on her, hopped out onto the ledge and soared away, leaving her staring after it.