《Step》


 Chapter 1: Such Big Shoes To Fill

    Stella hated waiting.


    But there were four others between her and the dance floor. She would not get her turn for some time yet.


    In her mind, she relived the morning¡¯s routine. It was better than looking ahead...


    Step out. Step right. Step in. Step up. Step left¡ª


    ¡°STELLA!¡±


    The music cut out. The beat froze. Her heart kept pounding in her chest so hard she thought it might just break free and dance its way across the studio, right through the opaque second-floor window, and down the street, never to be seen or heard again. Even if it had done just that, Stella figured it wouldn¡¯t make much difference to her anyway. Her healing magic probably would have kept her alive even without it. Last year during recess, a boy had pushed her from the top of the jungle gym. The other kids had told her that when she¡¯d hit the ground, her neck had made a cracking sound and spun right around like an owl. Stella didn¡¯t remember that bit. She just remembered falling and the way they¡¯d looked at her when she¡¯d gotten back up again after.


    Every step the dance teacher took toward her made her feel smaller and smaller. If she got much closer, Stella was afraid the woman might just grow through the ceiling, just like the giant in that movie her grandma always let her watch whenever she was staying at her house.


    Luckily Ms. Rivera stopped about halfway across the dance floor and took a deep breath.


    ¡°What have I told you? It¡¯s right right left left, not right left right left. Don¡¯t you know your lefts and rights, girl?¡±


    Stella had nodded, too scared to speak.


    And now she was scared it was going to happen again. That she would forget, or trip over her feet, or do one pirouette too many. This dance had to be perfect. Today her mum was watching. But she could do nothing until it was her turn. She tried not to fidget. Her mum hated it when she did. It was unladylike.


    Finally, she got her chance.


    The floor opened up before her. A great piney yellow expanse, so polished she could almost see her reflection.


    Stella swallowed her fears with one large gulp, and then she flew out one perfectly placed toe at a time.


    She made not a single wrong move this time. Each step was precisely placed and her foot turned exactly at the angle it should be. She danced and she jumped and she spun, just like a robot that had done the moves a thousand times before. And when Stella breathlessly stepped off the floor, her mum was waiting with a smile.


    ¡°Well, well, that wasn¡¯t bad. Your demi-bra was a little off-centre but at least it was better than Melody¡¯s. That girl couldn¡¯t hold a jar of apples straight if it was sat on a bench.¡± Her mum looked pointedly in the direction of some of Stella¡¯s classmates as she reached out and smoothed Stella¡¯s already perfectly tidy blonde bun. ¡°And that Greta. I¡¯ve seen more grace in an elephant. Speaking of elephants, I do wonder if that¡¯s the role Felicity has in mind for her Fiona. If they keep letting her eat the bake sale leftovers, they¡¯re going to need to fit her a new leotard.¡±


    Stella nodded along absently, but her mum¡¯s words left her confused. Fiona didn¡¯t seem that fat and Stella wasn¡¯t sure exactly what constituted grace and what didn¡¯t, but if she couldn¡¯t tell what it was then how could she possibly prevent herself from making the same mistakes? And she hadn¡¯t noticed Melody¡¯s crookedness either. But she couldn¡¯t be sure she had been watching the same performance as her mum. Sometimes when she was waiting, instead of looking backward she looked forward.


    Unfortunately, the only thing the power of premonition granted her access to were possibilities. With enough focus, Stella could sometimes tease out the more likely outcomes but much like regular life, nothing was guaranteed and sometimes she had trouble telling the difference between her own vision and that which was actually happening.


    Her mum prattled on. ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s fair that they let Otto compete. His levitation gives him too much of an unfair advantage. And I know Greta¡¯s shapeshifting helps lighten the costume department¡¯s workload but that¡¯s no reason... Stella, are you listening to me?¡±


    ¡°Yes, mum.¡± Stella was. She always was. As a mindwalker, her mum would know if she wasn¡¯t but Stella had long ago mastered the art of splitting her mind into two. It was not dissimilar to the method she used when she saw the futures, intentionally and unintentionally. Although she wasn¡¯t sure quite how it worked, but she had figured out a way to keep one surface level portion of her mind active and attentive to what was being said. It was enough to make it seem like she was paying attention. She could have heard only every third word and still managed to deduce enough to answer any questions her mum might ask. She knew if her mum ever probed too deeply, if she had ever really wanted to know what her daughter thought, the facade would fall apart in an instant. But she never did, and Stella¡¯s second mind was left free to wander, often to ponder more deeply the confusion that her mum¡¯s judgements spawned.


    ¡°That Michelle performed well though. We¡¯ll have to do something about her. Brittany and Kendra are also potential competition. There¡¯s two lead parts though and I overheard Pat saying Kendra was trying out for Elphaba so all you have to do is better than the other two and you should be a shoo-in for Glinda. We¡¯re lucky the songs are all pre-recorded. Perhaps we could get you a vocals coach this summer. Andrea¡¯s daughter does both ballet and musicals. I know university may seem like a long way away to you, but everything builds on the previous accomplishments you know.¡±


    Stella winced as her mum roughly redid her hair. Then she turned her head up, down, left, right at her mum¡¯s prompting so her face could be checked from all angles.


    Her mum sighed and shook her head. ¡°But when would I fit that in? Between taking you to horse-riding, piano lessons, art classes, not to mention the extra tutoring sessions. Golly, nobody appreciates how much work it is raising a child. Eugh! Look at Tina. Her mother really needs to get her to work on her flexibility. Her foot is barely off the floor.¡±


    Stella looked past Tina, whose foot looked pretty high to her, and watched Michelle chatting with a group of girls across the room. She wished she could join in, but she knew her mother would make a fuss. Besides, what would she say?


    Her mum¡¯s voice filtered in and out. ¡°And Kayla?¡± She shook her head. ¡°That girl has two left feet. Oh look at Brittany¡¯s hair. It¡¯s always a mess. I doubt she¡¯ll get a prominent part...¡± She lowered her voice as Brittany and her mum approached the bench next to them. ¡°Mrs Vole, how are you?¡± Brittany looks so lovely today.¡±


    Brittany was taller than Stella with friendly brown eyes and purple clips in her hair. Stella loved those clips. They looked so cute. She wished her mum would let her wear things like that, but she dared not ask. She knew what the answer would be and she dared not think about it too loud either. It was reactive now, when she saw something she liked, she immediately hid the thought, pushed it down deep inside. Instead, she tried to focus her fore-mind on the things her mum would pick on.


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Although Brittany was slim she was less so than Stella. Stella knew she needed to lose some weight herself. Her mum often said so. It was why she was forbidden from eating anything sugary. Thus, Stella acquired some tainted satisfaction in being not quite as big as the other girl. Although she would never say so out loud. Deep down inside she really just wanted them to like her, and Stella understood, from observing her mum, that politeness was instrumental in being liked. One must be perfect and humble, at least on the outside. What was inside did not matter, as long as it was buried too deep to be seen. Stella also understood perfectly that no compliment her mum gave could ever be taken at face value. Something always went unsaid. For Stella, there were many things that went unsaid.


    The parents chatted for awhile, exchanging fake pleasantries while Brittany sorted out her things and prepared for her own performance, which would be in the next group.


    Stella watched silently.


    Eventually, Brittany¡¯s mum turned to her daughter.


    ¡°Remember, keep loose but not too loose, point your toes, and always remember to smile.¡±


    ¡°Yes, mother,¡± replied Brittany.


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget to re-hydrate afterward.¡±


    ¡°Yes, mother.¡±


    ¡°Did you bring your water bottle?¡±


    ¡°Yes, mother.¡±


    ¡°What about your cardigan?¡±


    ¡°Yes, mother.¡± Brittany rolled her eyes, caught Stella watching her, and shared with her a secret smile.


    Stella smiled cautiously back.


    Then Brittany ran to her place in the line.


    One by one Stella watched the other kids dance, trying to find the flaws her mum often spoke of.


    They rotated through groups a few more times, but eventually the last group was finished and the parents were called to the meeting about logistics for the audition.


    Stella was left alone next to Brittany.


    ¡°Your dancing was nice,¡± Stella ventured bravely, thinking if she started with a compliment maybe she could make a new friend.


    But Brittany just shook her head and kicked her feet beneath her chair.


    ¡°No it wasn¡¯t. I messed up coming out of the spin. Mother says it¡¯s ¡®cause I don¡¯t spot, but it looks so weird when you keep your head in one place.¡±


    Stella¡¯s pulse quickened. The potential of a new friend was high stakes and her compliment hadn¡¯t been received quite like she¡¯d thought it would be. Before fear overtook her, she quickly asked, ¡°How come you call your mum ¡®mother¡¯?¡±


    Brittany smiled and shrugged. With a now confident jut of her chin, she replied, ¡°Because that¡¯s the grown up word and I¡¯m not a baby anymore. My sister says only babies say ¡®mum.¡¯¡±


    Stella remained silent until her mum returned.


    On the way out, the teacher was standing by the door giving advice to kids as they left.


    The raven-haired, ever-towering Ms Rivera smiled as Stella and her mum approached. She was tall and bony, but her dark hair flowed like a waterfall out of her bright pink scrunchie. It was the only pink on her, and it brightened up her otherwise dark and stern look. Stella fixated on it so she didn¡¯t have to look the woman in the face. She was captivated by the way her hair moved. She wondered if anyone else noticed it. She got so distracted by it that she forgot about her two minds.


    ¡°That was much better than this morning, Stella,¡± Ms Rivera told her. ¡°You¡¯re still quite stiff though. I¡¯d love to see you loosen things up a bit, bring a bit more fluidity to the floor. You think you can work on that for the week?¡±


    When Stella didn¡¯t immediately answer, her mum¡¯s voice suddenly invaded her mind.


    ¡®Pay attention child! Or I will smack you half way to Sunday! Goodness gracious. This is why you can¡¯t get anything right. Now answer your teacher.¡¯


    An icy chill ran across the back of Stella¡¯s neck and down her spine. Then it vanished a moment later like someone lifting their fingers away. Stella re-established her mental barrier. Her first mind realising that she hadn¡¯t been paying attention and suddenly thinking apologetic, guilty thoughts, her second mind still reeling from the surprise company in what she had briefly forgotten was not her own space.


    ¡°Y-yes,¡± Stella replied rapidly. ¡°I will.¡± She spared a quick glance at her mother and saw the pursed lips and wild, penetrating blue eyes. Eyes like a pool of water, the same colour as her own. But that was a pool whose depths she would never know. In her first mind she promised to work very hard at getting the dance just right before the audition next week. And she meant it. She would practice as much as she could. Her second mind tried to figure out where she had gone wrong.


    The butterflies that often made their home in Stella¡¯s stomach didn¡¯t settle until she was seated back in the car. There, she suddenly found she was overcome by a sense of complete calm. She should have known better, should have immediately recognised the feeling, but she was still stuck back on all the mistakes she¡¯d made, like losing focus at the door and before that out on the dance floor. No matter how hard she tried, she never seemed to be able to get things just right. There was always something she forgot, like right now. She should have known what the calm meant. It was a feeling that often preceded one of her visions, the ones she wasn¡¯t expecting. And then a tingling. But by the time she felt the tingling, it was too late. It was just lucky that she was already seated and not in public. Non family members weren¡¯t meant to know about her second power. Weirdly, it never seemed to bother her mum so much if it happened in public, unless it was at a party with the fancy people. She otherwise seemed to enjoy the attention and sympathy it brought.


    Even though Stella knew she was still in the car and she could feel and even mentally register the world around her, she could also see and feel and even smell another world, a future world. When she did it on purpose she could jump about and alter things a little, but when it was sudden and unintended like this, Stella had no choice but to let it play out.


    She was home and the living room was filled with flowers. Lots of them. White lilies and pink roses. They spilled over every surface still bright and beautiful, but beneath the facade, Stella could smell the decay. They were not fresh but a few days old at least, rotting and withering down where their roots had been thrust and left to soil in dirty water. Someone had taken the time to pot them but not to refresh their water supply. But it wasn¡¯t just the flowers. Something else was going off.


    At first glance, the food on the bench looked plentiful, as if a party had just occurred, but upon closer inspection Stella could see that the lasagne was moving, wriggling, crawling. Flies sprouted all over the surface of the fruit bowl and its contents. There were so many, some were stacked one on top of the other all across the outside of shiny red and green apples. Those at least still looked fresh, but underneath, Stella suspected they tasted like cotton.


    And there on the couch, sitting in a black dress and staring off to space was her mum, with tear-stained panda eyes and a terrifying look. On the coffee table in front of her were piles of receipts and bills. There was no sign of her dad.


    To Stella¡¯s left, hanging from one bouquet of lilies, was a tiny card. Stella reached up and carefully read what it said:


    ''Sorry for your loss...''


    Just as Stella was starting to get an idea of what her vision was about, she found herself back in the car.


    ¡°Ah, and she¡¯s back, is she?¡± Her mum spoke with a slight sigh as if Stella had simply stepped out to get the mail or something equally innocuous.


    But to Stella it was quite serious.


    ¡°Mum, I think... I think dad made a bad investment again.¡±


    Her mum frowned, obviously not pleased at the suggestion of it. There was that pursing of the lips, the angry look, that said she better be sure this time. Stella¡¯s visions were not always perfect; neither were her dad¡¯s investments strategies. There had been dark days before when her mum had had to return several new pairs of shoes and they¡¯d had to live out of a dirty motel until her dad had found some new investors whose money he could use to make more for himself. Stella wasn¡¯t completely sure how it worked. All she knew was that one day she would be living at her grandma¡¯s, sleeping on the couch, and the next she would have her own large room in a mansion. It went the other way too, though. Sometimes Stella could warn him. Sometimes she couldn¡¯t. Sometimes she got things wrong. Sometimes her father didn¡¯t take it well.


    ¡°I... I think he might actually do it this time.¡±


    Stella couldn''t foresee things that she had no possibility of witnessing, so she did not know if her father was sitting in the living room armchair right now with his hands in his head and a bottle of whiskey and a handgun waiting on the table in front of him but she had foreseen such a scene before and so it was what she imagined.


    Her mum huffed as if her dad¡¯s potential suicide was nothing but a mere inconvenience. Then she pulled over, spun the car around and drove in the opposite direction from home.


    "Where are we going?" Stella asked even though she already knew the answer.


    "I''m dropping you off at your grandma''s house before I go and deal with your father¡¯s other mistakes.¡±

 Chapter 2: House of Ginger

    ¡°She raised him. She can damn well babysit when he¡¯s imploded things. He better not have mortgaged the house again. If I have to return that new dress I just bought, I will not be happy.¡±


    Stella had felt the fingers in her mind as her mum had read her vision for herself. In a way it was one of the few times that Stella was glad that her mum was a mindwalker. It meant she didn¡¯t have to explain what she¡¯d seen. It also meant she was believed. Not every vision was as clear as that one though. Sometimes things could be misinterpreted. Furthermore, what meant one thing to Stella might mean an entirely different thing to her mum.


    Grandma¡¯s house was in the country, nestled comfortably at the edge of a forest of beech trees. A winding gravel drive took them past horse-filled paddocks and right up to the one-story red-roofed white-brick cottage. Stella tried not to look at the horses as they passed. Some of them were technically ponies but to Stella they were all the same, terrifying, unpredictable beasts. She always dreaded her weekly riding lessons. She hoped her grandma wouldn¡¯t want to take them out while she was here.


    Soft, white smoke was rising up out of the chimney. Evidently, someone was home.


    Her mum pulled the car up parallel to the front door. Through the windows of the cottage, Stella could see the the lacy curtains that adorned the windows of the guest rooms. These at least gave her some comfort, although she couldn¡¯t have explained why.


    ¡°Right, out you get.¡±


    Stella glanced briefly at her mum. She had been just dropped off like this before and yet every time a small part of her wished she wouldn¡¯t just leave her like this. She hated walking up to the front step alone and knocking on the door. What if it wasn¡¯t her grandma that answered? She knew that was unlikely, but she also knew that her grandma was going to have a lot of questions and Stella hated answering questions. Why couldn¡¯t her mum come with her just for a second to do the talking? Stella hated herself for the thought, however brief it was. Had her mum caught it too? She hoped not. She would be disappointed in Stella if she had.


    Stella climbed out of the car. Before she¡¯d even reached the little alcove at the front door, her mum¡¯s car had already disappeared from sight.


    Stella rapped the big silver wolf knocker that adorned the brightly painted red front door. The shape was a nod to her dad¡¯s family¡¯s last name, Wolfe. Her grandma liked little things like that. Stella liked the sound it made, a big deep bellow.


    ¡°Stella! My merry munchkin! My gracious goblin! Where is your mother? Has she left you all alone on my doorstep again?¡±


    Stella loved her grandma but she hated the way her grandma asked her questions. The tone was so babying and the fact that she often voiced all of Stella¡¯s fears accurately but without knowing for sure made Stella feel like she had no control over her own self. Everything was known. How could she surprise anyone if they already knew all about her even without reading her mind?


    Stella didn¡¯t answer. She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak.


    There came a sigh. ¡°Well, are you hungry? It just so happens there¡¯s some fresh gingerbread in the kitchen.¡±


    Stella¡¯s heart fell. She had known that this was coming from the moment she¡¯d seen the smoke coming out from the chimney. There had been a flash of a vision, of sugary bread and a cozy creaking armchair, even a glass of milk or something similar. And Stella would say yes to it all. She didn¡¯t want to disappoint her grandma after all. Unfortunately, that meant her mum would not be pleased when she returned. Stella racked her brain trying to think how she might make them both happy.


    Stella¡¯s grandma was her dad¡¯s mum, and everything her own mum wasn¡¯t. Stella¡¯s mum was slim, tidily dressed, always with a new haircut, and a fashionable pair of shoes. When she moved she strode so fast that Stella often had to trot to keep up. Grandma was round and comfy with loose clothing. Her hair was frizzy and grey and on her feet she never wore shoes, not even in winter, except when working around the horses. When she walked she glided at a glacial pace such that if Stella stopped paying attention sometimes she would accidentally walk into the back of her and bounce back like little a rubber ball.


    ¡°And how about a glass of milk?¡± grandma asked as they reached the kitchen.


    Stella didn¡¯t think she had much of an option. Grandma already had the milk half out of the fridge and she could just foresee the look of disappointment if her offering was refused.


    ¡°Oooh or a hot cocoa?¡± Grandma¡¯s eyes widened like dinner plates as the idea popped into her head. She gave Stella a conspiratorial look like they were being so naughty and it was such fun. But Stella just felt guilty.


    Still, Stella nodded more eagerly at this. She liked her grandma¡¯s hot cocoa¡¯s. They always had a slight bite to them, a tingling spiciness. It was better than milk.


    Soon, dessert was served. Her grandma dumped a large dollop of cream on top of the gingerbread without even asking. Stella bit her lip to suppress the worms crawling inside her stomach. She tasted blood and immediately felt calmer. When her grandma next glanced up with a smile, Stella was sitting up nice and straight and smiling sweetly back, not a blemish on her newly healed lips.


    Her grandma didn¡¯t boil water for the cocoa; instead she filled the mug with milk, and using her temperature magic, warmed the entire thing up with her hands. At the end she added the cocoa and gave it a gentle stir before handing it to Stella. All of her grandma¡¯s mugs were some weird shape or a depiction of a creature. This one was a pig. Its front trotters curved under its belly to meet the rear ones, forming the handle. Stella liked to run her fingers over the small curly tail on the other side. She found the rough features calming. Sometimes her visions stole her senses but it was rare that she couldn¡¯t feel the original world at all. Capturing detailed things like this, that she could run her hands over and store in her mind, helped make reality much more distinguishable.


    Her grandma prattled on, asking questions but only sometimes waiting for an answer. Stella didn¡¯t mind. She liked not having to talk too much and her grandma¡¯s tangents were sometimes quite interesting.


    ¡°And how is school?¡±


    ¡°Good.¡± Stella didn¡¯t elaborate. What could she say? That the other kids made fun of her? It wasn¡¯t entirely true, really it was just the one boy. The other kids mostly just ignored her, but somehow that was worse. Less justifiable to complain about, though. That her grades were perfect as usual? Except in art which her mum said was a useless subject anyway. And her natural skill at math didn¡¯t feel like it was related to anything specific she¡¯d done, so Stella worried that one day she¡¯d wake up and suddenly be terrible at it. Maybe she was already bad at it and it was just luck that she managed to get the answers right? What if she was using her powers without realising? Except that the testing rooms were always surrounded in a binding spell cast by a sorcerer. No one was supposed to be able to break those. Which meant if she was using magic she was also cheating. She wished she was good at art instead, to be able to paint such fantastical scenes that could take people away even if just for a moment. But nothing ever came out like how she saw it in her head and no one ever praised her drawings.


    Her grandma sighed. With caring, hazel eyes, she looked at Stella. ¡°Your mother has such high standards, doesn¡¯t she? You know, it¡¯s okay to fail at things some times. It¡¯s part of the process of growing up.¡±


    But Stella knew it wasn¡¯t okay at all. She shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m not failing; I have perfect grades in math.¡±


    Her grandma smiled. ¡°I¡¯m sure you do. Just like your daddy. Tell me, do you know what he¡¯s working on these days? He¡¯s so busy, he hardly ever calls anymore. Is he still working on those cars of his?¡±


    Stella nodded. ¡°He¡¯s working on a silent engine, one the dragons can¡¯t hear.¡± She faltered. Was he? Or was that the project that had failed? It was hard to know. Her dad had so many different projects, and new ones all the time. Brilliant ideas, some that took off and made the sky rain cash, some that drowned them in debt. The one constant was the cars. It was the only thing that lasted through all their ups and downs, the only thing he ever put his foot down on. He¡¯d sell the clothes off his back before he¡¯d sell those cars. Stella understood why. They were beautiful, elegant things. Things that could take you places, show you new worlds around every corner, or softly rock you to sleep. But Stella wasn¡¯t allowed to ever touch those cars. They were not for young girls. Once, and once only, he had taken her for a drive in one. That had been the best day of her life.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    ¡°A silent engine, huh? You know back in my day, we just rode horses everywhere. None of that fast paced stuff. There was this one freezing cold morning, me and my friend Daisy were riding our ponies to school. It was wintertime but near the end of the season when some of the early flowers start poking their heads through the soft snow. Well, on this particular day-¡±


    The phone rang. Stella knew already that it was her mum. They were coming here, both of them. Her dad was fine. But they were poor again. There would be shouting later, and a broken vase. She could hear it all already and smell the apples baking. That gave her pause. Her mum rarely baked anything, but she was pretty certain it was her mum she could see in the kitchen, and wearing her grandma¡¯s bright red apron. There would be another phone call later too, but from who she wasn¡¯t sure.


    Her grandma paused in her story to glance toward the phone.


    ¡°Now, I wonder who that might be.¡± She turned back to Stella. ¡°When you¡¯ve finished your gingerbread why don¡¯t you go into the back garden, just through the rear gate, and pick me some mushrooms for dinner. You know how to tell the right ones don¡¯t you dear?¡±


    Stella nodded. Even if she couldn¡¯t, a glimpse into the future could usually give her an answer. But that shouldn¡¯t be needed. Her grandma had once shown her how to tell which ones were safe to pick and which ones weren¡¯t.


    While her grandma answered the phone, Stella stared down at the remains of her gingerbread. Should she finish it? Her grandma had told her she should. It actually tasted quite nice too. But she knew she shouldn¡¯t be eating it; so much sugar was bad for you. It would make her fat, and nobody would like her if she was fat. The longer she stared at the gingerbread the more distressed she got until she decided that the best thing to do was just to get it over with. She couldn¡¯t leave it there; that would be wasteful¡ªanother thing her mum didn¡¯t like, even though she was regularly buying new things, and throwing old things out. But that was different, wasn¡¯t it? And the sugar might make her fat, but she could go outside, practice her dancing, and burn it off that way right?


    As fast as she could, she shovelled the rest of the gingerbread into her mouth, not pausing to enjoy the taste at all. Once it was gone, she slipped off her chair and disappeared into the back garden. There was a little basket for foraging just by the back door, which she collected on her way out.


    A half-sized white picket fence surrounded the rear of the property. From somewhere nearby, she could hear chickens squawking. A few autumn leaves littered the ground but most of them still clung to the trees, glowing gold and red in the bright sunlight. The air was fresh and the world open before her. Stella felt free.


    She lifted the latch on the back gate and stepped into the forest. She skipped down a small path coated in a dew-soaked orange carpet of leaves.


    She swung around the trees as if they were her dancing partners. On other days, she had given them names and personalities and carried secret messages between them.


    She leaped over roots and skidded down little muddy slopes, imagining she was on some grand adventure. Sometimes, she wondered what would happen if she just kept running. She supposed the woods ended somewhere and she would get tired eventually. And then where would she sleep? The bushes with their small red berries might look comfy but that was a deception. She knew from experience that if you lay down on one, it was spiky and not soft at all. Out here nothing was as it seemed. Like the little rings of mushrooms that the humans sometimes called ¡®fairy rings.¡¯


    They weren¡¯t fairy rings, of course. They just grew like that, something to do with the nutrients. It was a good thing too, because the guardians help anyone who ran into a real fairy. A girl in Stella¡¯s class had been attacked by a group of them last year. She hadn¡¯t smiled for several weeks, not until her parents had bought her some temporary dentures, to be used until her adult teeth came in. Fairies didn¡¯t typically bother adults. Apparently they liked baby teeth best. This was why despite some fairies being tool wielders, capable of picking the locks on windows and sneaking down chimneys, no one really worried about them too much. No one except children, that was. Most fairies weren¡¯t that intelligent anyway, although they did have a tendency to bite if bothered, and their teeth were as sharp as steak knives.


    Stella paused before one of the rings. This ring lay right across the path, made up of closely pressed tiny little tan heads. These were the edible ones. She was pretty certain.


    Not far away lay a ring of a different type. The wrong type. Her grandma had said they were poisonous and from her visions she was pretty certain this was the case. Although, this often confused Stella, not because she couldn¡¯t tell them apart, but because she was pretty sure she could remember her mum once feeding them to her when she was very young.


    She was probably just mis-remembering though, besides, the mushrooms would not do much to Stella. They might make her a little sick temporarily, if she ate enough, but her healing powers prevented them from killing her. Anyone else, however, would not be so lucky.


    She went to stand up and found herself suddenly falling forward instead. The ribbon on her white ballet cardigan had come loose and caught beneath the toe of one red shoe.


    Afraid of squashing her newly collected mushrooms she only threw one arm out. She came down hard on her left hand. There was a sharp snapping sound like several twigs being stepped on. She rolled to her side and onto her shoulder as pain shot through her hand. But the mushrooms, at least, remained unsquashed.


    She winced as she set the basket down. Then she lay on her back, breathing hard, and tentatively raised her injured hand above her so she could look at it. For a moment she didn¡¯t think it was her own at all. The angles of the fingers were wrong, all bent and twisted. But then, they started to shift, to mend on their own. Illuminated by golden-red rays of sun that penetrated the canopy, the joints of the shadow clicked back into place one by one. A fiery heat made her hand throb. Her bones were too tight for her skin. A cold chill started at the top of her head and sunk down and in to choke her. She could not have screamed even if she¡¯d wanted to. The sky above went black.


    When she woke up again, the pain was gone and her fingers felt and looked fine.


    She sat up and could feel the weight of the leaves clinging to her back.


    For some time, she just sat there. She wondered if she remained still long enough, would she grow roots, just like the mushrooms? Perhaps if she wished hard enough? And then maybe she¡¯d be able to talk to the trees for real?


    Her thoughts were interrupted by birdsong and the sudden flap of wings nearby.


    A tiny, red-tailed fantail danced around her head.


    Cautiously she reached out a hand for it, but it dashed away just at the last minute before deftly dancing in close again.


    She laughed and was surprised at the way the sound echoed in the forest. She listened carefully. She could hear more birds now, and the rustle of other things among the leaves. Something bigger?


    She giggled again, quieter this time.


    ¡°Come out, come out, where ever you are,¡± she cooed softly.


    But what ever it was was too afraid to show its face. She studied the bushes around the area the sound had come from. There were dark patches among the undergrowth. Was it just the shadows or were those eyes watching her?


    She blinked and they were gone. Probably just a trick of the light?


    The fantail danced in front of her face again, inviting her to dance. She felt only a tinge of fear, but the bird was reassurance enough. If it was not afraid then neither was she.


    She curtsied graciously. ¡°Why of course I¡¯ll have this dance with you Mr. Fantail.¡±


    Picking up her basket of mushrooms she twirled her way back to the garden gate. The bird followed her the entire way, darting around her and in between the trees, as she spun and skipped with shiny red shoes though the mud.


    She stopped briefly at the apple tree, which dangled a big bushel of red, ripe-looking fruit over the gate, at least they looked like apples. But her grandma had once told her never to eat these ones. They weren¡¯t deadly like the mushrooms but they would knock a person out for a few days. But not Stella. This she knew because she had eaten these before, back when she had been very small. She had been mad at her parents. She no longer remembered the reason, only the angry feeling. Thinking that she¡¯d show them, she¡¯d come out to this tree¡ªto the poison tree, as her grandma had called it¡ªand she¡¯d picked and eaten three whole apples. Despite the poison they¡¯d actually tasted surprisingly sweet. But all it had done was made her feel mildly ill for about an hour.


    Stella knew better now.


    Grandma¡¯s garden contained an awful lot of poisonous things and not a single one could harm Stella. But not everything remained poisonous once it was cooked or mixed with something else, and not everything was for eating. Her grandma sold various potions and ointments to help people, at the local market.


    The fantail darted into Stella¡¯s sight once more reminding her it was there. As she opened the garden gate and saw the lawn spread out before her she felt another compulsion to dance. Not like she had at the ballet recital this afternoon. This time she made up the steps. She started up as she might for the actual dance but then she lost herself in the invisible music. She imagined she was on a grand ballroom floor with men and woman in beautiful gowns all around her. She spun, and she twirled, and she leapt. The world drifted away. She was free like a bird. But something felt wrong.


    Someone was watching.


    She stopped and looked up.


    There was her grandma.


    As Stella set eyes on her and faltered in her dance, her grandma clapped.


    ¡°Beautiful, you¡¯re so graceful. That was lovely, all flowy. You looked so relaxed when you dance.¡±


    At first Stella felt a little like she did when her mum read her thoughts. At recognising the praise she beamed but then felt immediately guilty for not spending her time practicing the dance she was actually supposed to be doing. She tucked one toe shyly behind her other ankle.


    ¡°Oh, did you get some mushrooms?¡±


    Stella held out her basket so her grandma could see.


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s them, how lovely. Now come inside. I better get dinner started. Your parents will be here soon. Looks like you¡¯ll be staying the night. And take off your shoes at the door, they¡¯re covered in mud my dear girl.¡±


    Stella glanced down at herself. Her nice, white cardigan and tights were white no more, and her red character shoes were coated in thick, soggy dirt.


    She didn¡¯t need to be a psychic to know there was trouble was in her future, and that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

 Chapter 3: Things That Go Bump In The Night

    Stella was wrong. There was no shouting. What came next was far worse, a sharp comment followed by silence, coated in a thick layer of disappointment.


    Stella had run out the door to hug her dad, but her mum had stepped between them, grabbed her by the shoulders, and looked her up and down.


    ¡°My gods, Stella! What have you done to your clothes? Are you two years old? Are you regressing? My, my, how embarrassing. Go and clean up at once and then come back out and redo that greeting properly.¡± She turned to her husband and in a less shrieky voice remarked, ¡°I don¡¯t know what¡¯s wrong with that girl.¡±


    ¡°Mmm,¡± he replied, but he wasn¡¯t focused on Stella. He was looking past her to the doorway.


    Stella slunk back into the shadows as her grandma joined them outside. She wasn¡¯t sure how she was supposed to go and clean up when she had no other clothes to wear.


    ¡°Mum,¡± her dad acknowledged to Grandma in a stern, almost proper tone.


    Grandma smiled and replied warmly, ¡°Frankie, It¡¯s good to see you, how have you been?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, alright. Financing took a little bit of a downturn on the latest project but we¡¯re not completely out of options yet. The bank¡¯s holding the house hostage until I pay. We¡¯ll just be here a few days. It¡¯s nothing to worry about, really.¡±


    Grandma smiled again, but this time it was more strained. ¡°Mmm, I¡¯m sure. Well, you¡¯re welcome to stay as long as you want.¡± Her eyes shifted over to Stella¡¯s mum and in a tone of a completely different temperature she said brusquely, ¡°Beatrice.¡±


    Stella¡¯s mum replied, in much the same tone, ¡°Ginger.¡±


    Greetings done, the adults all trooped back into the house. Stella stood to the side and let them all pass.


    As her mum stepped over the threshold, she heard her whisper to her dad, ¡°Your mother has plenty of money stashed away. Why don¡¯t you ask her for a loan?¡±


    He whispered back, ¡°She doesn¡¯t have as much as you think. Most of it is tied up in this house. And for the last time, I¡¯m not asking her for anything. I can get out of this myself.¡±


    No one talked to Stella during dinner.


    ¡°So, what was this venture of yours that¡¯s not going well?¡± inquired Grandma of her son.


    ¡°Well, it was a specially designed structure for containing snacks for telekinetic children which absorbs kinetic energy on impact.¡± Frank waved his hands enthusiastically.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fancy cookie jar,¡± explained Beatrice.


    ¡°Well, yes,¡± agreed Frank, now a little deflated. ¡°You see-¡±


    Beatrice interrupted again. ¡°There was a death. Some woman¡¯s child bashed its own head open trying to get to the cookies. Which is exactly why parents shouldn¡¯t be feeding their children such sugary snacks in the first place. If it doesn¡¯t kill them now, well it sure will later.¡± She gave Ginger a pointed look.


    Frank gave his wife a similar look and then turned back to his mother. ¡°Anyway, it hasn¡¯t been quite as popular as we¡¯d quite have hoped.¡± He glanced at Beatrice, waiting to see if she would have more to add. When she didn¡¯t say anything he resumed his meal.


    They were almost finished eating when the phone rang.


    Stella sat up straight and looked at the adults. She still wasn¡¯t sure who was calling. It was probably the phone call she¡¯d foreseen earlier, and she wanted to know who it was, but to her confusion, no one answered it.


    It rang, and rang, and rang.


    Her mum suddenly slapped the table.


    ¡°For goodness sakes, Stella, stop staring off into space and eat your food.¡±


    The phone stopped ringing.


    Grandma Ginger looked at Beatrice pointedly but said nothing.


    Beatrice sighed and replied with a dismissive flick of the wrist, ¡°It¡¯s her visions again. The child still hasn¡¯t learned to control them.¡± Food finished she got up from the table and started to clear her plate away.


    Grandma replied thoughtfully, ¡°Well you could always have her powers bound if it¡¯s a problem.¡±


    ¡°None of my children shall ever have their magic bound! I can¡¯t believe you¡¯d even suggest such nonsense.¡± Beatrice spun on her heels and headed toward the kitchen.


    ¡°Children? What children? I see only one child.¡± Grandma snorted. It was well known that both she and her son had wanted there to be more children.


    But Frank silently shook his head in warning. There had been many attempts and many miscarriages. Only Stella had survived past birth.


    Stella didn¡¯t like how they talked about her like she wasn¡¯t there. She was glad when she was finally allowed to leave the table to get ready for bed, although she kept this thought well hidden.


    She liked the guest rooms at her grandma¡¯s house. They were cozy. Her mum hated them, all covered in lace, mismatched teddy bears, and fragile ornaments shaped like strange things.


    ¡°Oh, your mother¡¯s a right goblin,¡± spoke a soft voice at the bedroom door.


    Stella looked to find her grandma there. "I thought I was your little goblin, grandma?"


    "Oh you are. Different kind of goblin my dear. Different kind of goblin. Now, would you like a bedtime story before your mother comes in and kicks me out?¡±


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Stella nodded eagerly. She loved her grandma¡¯s stories.


    ¡°What¡¯s the ballet you¡¯re doing? Some adaption of a musical?¡±


    Stella nodded. ¡°Wicked.¡±


    ¡°Wicked? Hmm.¡± Grandma took a seat on the edge of the bed. ¡°Do you know the story? Did you know in the original the witch was wicked and her sister got a house dropped on her? And then the witch was defeated by a young girl in red shoes.¡±


    ¡°Like my shoes?¡±


    ¡°Yes, that¡¯s right. Magic red shoes and a little grey dog, named Toto.¡±


    ¡°How did she defeat the wicked witch in that story, grandma?¡±


    Before her grandma could answer, her mum poked her head around the corner of the door.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s nice to see you in bed on time, but what is your grandma doing keeping you awake?¡± The voice she spoke in was sweet, like sorbitol, the stuff she sometimes put in her coffee. It was the same tone she used when she spoke to all the other kid¡¯s parents. Stella knew it well. So did her grandma.


    Grandma got to her feet slowly and stiffly.


    Her mum¡¯s foot started softly tapping on the carpet, which only seemed to slow grandma down even more. But even, old Ginger, had her limits. Eventually, she said, ¡°Good night, sleep tight, don¡¯t let the goblins bite.¡± With a wink to Stella, she left the room.


    Stella¡¯s mind was immediately filled with an image of her mum with green skin and long pointy ears. She giggled without meaning to. Then she saw the expression on her mum¡¯s face and felt the icy fingers in her mind, prying, looking, tearing things apart.


    Thought found and read, her mum¡¯s demeanour relaxed. She smiled as she sat on Stella¡¯s bed, but Stella was familiar with that smile too. It was just like her tone from earlier. Fake.


    ¡°So she thinks I¡¯m a goblin does she? What was she talking to you about before I came in?¡±


    Stella didn¡¯t try to hide it. There would have been no point. ¡°Grandma was just telling me a story, about the witch whose sister got a house dropped on her.¡±


    To Stella¡¯s surprise her mum laughed. ¡°Oh what a wicked witch. I¡¯d like to drop a house on her sometimes you know. She fills your head with such fantasies, and your belly with fattening foods.¡± She poked Stella in the belly in what was perhaps intended to be playful but which made Stella feel horribly self-conscious.


    Suddenly a crooked smile came across her mum¡¯s face and she murmured once more and in an entirely different tone, ¡°Oh, I¡¯d sure like to drop a house on her... one big out in the country house...¡± Her eyes got a sort of shiny, glazed look as she stared off at something Stella could not see.


    ¡°Mum?¡±


    ¡°Oh, don¡¯t worry your pretty little head, we¡¯ll be out of this place and back on our feet in no time. Mummy will make sure of it. You¡¯ll see. You just worry about that audition coming up. Make sure you don¡¯t get your lefts and rights mixed up. I know you¡¯ll do fine. You are my daughter after all, so you have the right genes at least. The rest is up to you.¡±


    ¡°Yes mum.¡± Stella nodded like the good little girl she was.


    Her mum beamed. ¡°I¡¯m so very proud of you.¡±


    Stella¡¯s heart swelled. Her mum seemed happy and pleased for real now. If only she knew what she had done to cause it so she might cause it again.


    Her mum would have stayed longer but right then the phone rang. For real this time.


    Her mum sighed. ¡°Who could possibly be calling at this hour?¡±


    Stella still didn¡¯t know so she didn¡¯t answer.


    She waited for the door to shut and the lock to click as it always did when her mum left for the night, but it never came.


    Her mum had even left the door open a crack. A small slither of light painted a line on the floor. Stella lay her head on her pillow and watched it for awhile. She imagined she could see things in the dust.


    Swirls of colours pulled their way across her vision, giving way to another scene. Her at the audition, dancing her way across the floor like a dandelion caught on the wind. Perfect and fluid, just like her teacher wanted. But then a second vision took her by surprise, a tumble, a fall. Clapping and cheers. Laughing and jeers. Stares. Silence. Disappointment. A commendation.


    There were so many options and so many visions that Stella could not be sure which was the most likely one. It was like she had taken a bag of dice and thrown them all out on the table. Six, five, four, three, two, one, and all were Stella¡¯s future. Trying to see her own path was the hardest of all. She often heard the adults whisper about how most psychics went mad before they hit twenty years of age. That seemed like a very long way off to her, but sometimes she wondered what going mad felt like. How did a person know if they were mad? Would the world look different? Would it be better or worse? Would she even know at all?


    At some point she must have fallen asleep because she awoke to the sound of shouting followed by a loud crash. Her parents were arguing.


    She listened for awhile but she could only make out the occasional word. Eventually there was silence and moment later she heard her dad storm down the hallway past her room, and then the hallway light flicked off. She knew all the sounds this house made and the way each of its occupants walked. Her dad thudded much louder than the others. Her mum walked with a softer slap slap slap, very fast, only her toes ever touched the floor as if it were dirty. Her grandma slithered and creaked, like a giant snake shifting itself very slowly forward. But as her dad returned to his room, silence claimed the house once more and sleep claimed Stella, at least for a little while.


    She awoke again, not too much later. Outside her window, a branch, pushed by the wind, scratched at the glass and somewhere in the house she heard the pitter patter of tiny footsteps.


    She sat up straight and pulled her feet up close once she realised that one of them had been dangling over the edge of the bed where anything might grab it. She listened carefully.


    There is was again. Somewhere out in the hallway, something was moving. The crack in the door was a dark black now. She could see nothing through it. The light of the moon cast shadows on the back wall, spirals like eyes looked back at her.


    Stella wondered if it were real goblins come to eat her, or fairies come to steal her pretty smile. If they took her teeth, would they grow back? A cut would be gone in seconds. Her hair was fixed and stubborn. Her mum hated it. Evey strand, no matter what haircut was given to her, always grew back by morning, always to the same length, and no longer. The hair at the bottom of her head grew further down her back than that at the top of her head. Her ends were never even with one another. Her nails kept their shape. Even when her frustrated mum had cut them so short that her fingers bled, by next morning they¡¯d grown back again. Always to that same perfect length. So it stood to reason that her teeth would do the same, didn¡¯t it? Except she had lost some baby teeth already so maybe they wouldn¡¯t? And she still seemed to grow a little bit each year. How her healing magic worked was a mystery to her just as much as her visions were. She hoped it wasn¡¯t fairies. How would she be able to dance if she couldn¡¯t smile?


    There came another tap tap tap, but it sounded no closer.


    The more Stella listened, the less it sounded like footsteps at all. She considered getting out of bed to go and investigate, but that meant putting her feet down by that gap between her bed at the floor. Who knew what monsters lay hidden under there?


    Tap. Tap. Tap.


    Still no closer.


    She took a deep breath and smelt something. Something sweet, like baked apples.


    Curious, she slipped from the bed, moving quickly across the floor to the door, least some goblin beneath the bed get some grand ideas about grabbing her feet.


    She peered up and down the hallway, half expecting the shadows to suddenly move toward her and claim her for themselves. But none of them did. Behind her the tree still scratched at the window, covering any sound she made.


    There was a light coming from the kitchen. Stella crept right up to the edge of the doorway and peered around into the brightly lit room. She stepped on something sharp near the door. She winced as she lifted her sore foot. From it she pulled, very slowly a two inch long shard of glass. She braced against the wall and watched as her skin closed itself back together and only the blood was left. Below her, on the floor, lay the remains of a smashed glass vase. Probably one of her parents had thrown it earlier.


    The tapping started up again, and she looked into the room and realised that it hadn¡¯t been footsteps at all. It was none other than the gentle pounding of dough with a rolling pin. A key step in the making of an apple pie.


    There was nothing she needed to worry about in the kitchen of her grandma¡¯s house.


    No fairies. No monsters. Just her mum.

 Chapter 4: Fairest of Them All

    ¡°Come on, Stella! Quick! Quick!¡±


    ¡°Where are we going?¡±


    ¡°Quick! I said quick! Get your clothes on. You can eat when we get there.¡±


    ¡°Where?¡±


    ¡°Good gods, girl, I thought you were psychic. If you want to know so bad then use your damn powers, but do it while you are getting ready. Hurry up!¡±


    ¡°Yes, mum.¡±


    Stella did not like to be rushed. Visions were difficult to focus on when everything around her was moving so fast. Where and when got mixed up so easily. She tried to steal a moment but her heartbeat drowned out her thoughts and cut her off from her own mind. Where? When? Why?


    Stella didn¡¯t get a chance to look ahead properly until she was seated in the car. And then she knew. Lots of food. People dressed in black. A casket? No. Wait. That wasn¡¯t right. When was that? She tried again. She used her deeper mind, just in case her mum was listening in. With her shallow mind she looked out the window and counted cows.


    Black. White. Ms Rivera was in black. The others were in white, like little swans. Except Greta, who was wearing blue.


    ¡°Mum, was I supposed to bring my leotard?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be silly, girl. The audition¡¯s not until tomorrow.¡±


    Stella glanced into the backseat. The apple pie was there. Recently grabbed from the freezer and microwaved on the way out the door this morning.


    She waited as her mum pulled up at the local grocery store, ran inside, and came back out a few minutes later with another apple pie, two packs of brownies, a bag of freshly baked cookies, and some lamingtons. Her mum carefully tucked the receipt inside her handbag.


    Oh! The Bake sale! That¡¯s what it was for. That¡¯s where they were going. The bake sale to raise money for the show. Except, that didn¡¯t make sense either.


    ¡°Mum? I thought we weren¡¯t doing the bake sale?¡±


    ¡°That was when it was on next weekend. Molly phoned last Sunday and said it had been brought forward a week.¡±


    That didn¡¯t make sense to Stella either but she didn¡¯t argue.


    As they drove across the little country bridge on their way into town, Stella watched with confusion as her mum stopped the car, got out, and threw the newly bought apple pie, without its packaging, right off the bridge and into the river below.


    The bake sale was being held in the auditorium next to the theatre and just downstairs from the ballet studio. After her mum exchanged pleasantries with some of the other parents, they were shown to their table. In the car her mum had removed the baked goods from their packaging and neatly arranged them on plates. Now, they looked home baked, but only the apple pie actually was, and a week old at that.


    Stella wasn¡¯t sure what was happening. Her mum had been in an extra good mood all week while her dad had hardly been home, although the latter wasn¡¯t unusual. Her dad was rarely home. They were still living at grandma¡¯s but every night her dad would promise, ¡°It won¡¯t be long now,¡± which was always followed by a loud sigh from grandma and a roll of the eyes from mum. But Stella knew he was right. She could see herself back in her own bed with the big white teddy bear that sat in the corner and which she wasn¡¯t allowed to touch least she got its fur all dirty. She couldn¡¯t quite pinpoint when, which meant it probably depended on something she couldn¡¯t see or something she was yet to do or not do, but she knew it was coming. Something would take them home.


    She watched as her mum put on fake smiles and talked about everything and nothing with all the people who came to their stall, but for some reason none of them wanted to buy a slice of the apple pie. At least not until, Stella¡¯s classmate, Brittany Stevens walked by with her mum. Brittany S, as the teacher called her, was everyone¡¯s darling, with red hair, green eyes, the perfect smattering of freckles, and the power to talk to animals. Her power was so well controlled that last year in her audition she¡¯d had her mum release two blue birds which she¡¯d trained to fly in sync around her as she danced. Stella was deeply jealous of her. To make it even worse, both Brittany and her mum were the nicest people you ever met.


    ¡°Ooooh! Look!¡± Brittany cried and tugged at her mum¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Can I please get some apple pie?¡±


    The apple pie turned out to be surprisingly popular with the girls in Stella¡¯s class, almost as if some small goblin had slipped in through their window the night before and whispered in their ears as they slept. Or perhaps it hadn¡¯t been while they had slept at all.


    After a little while, Stella started to get an inkling as to what her mum was doing, but she had no way to be sure. And grandma had always said it wasn¡¯t nice to assume bad things about people unless you were certain. And it seemed that while many of her classmates went for the apple pie, they also all bought marshmallow cookies from the next stall over.


    This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.


    Something in Stella¡¯s stomach didn¡¯t sit right, but it could just have been that she hadn¡¯t had breakfast yet. She longed to take something from the table. The apple pie looked so nice but she dare not ask her mum for fear she might ruin her good mood. She could hear the words already.


    ¡°Not for you, Stella.¡±


    Eventually she could bear it no longer. She went for a walk. Away from her mum, she didn¡¯t have to worry so much about what she thought. She could let both her minds wander as she pleased. She walked, and as she walked her mind fanned out, it split in two. Each version of Stella stepped down a different path.


    One version took the spiral staircase into the back of the theatre. From up above she looked down past the many rows of red velvet chairs toward the stage. The stage was not as bare as she had expected, but was covered in cobwebs, and a low obscuring mist. In the middle of the stage sat a dark shiny casket.


    ¡°Arghhhh.¡± Someone leaped down past her, a dark cape fluttering out behind.


    As Stella looked around the room, she realised that the theatre was not empty. Each seat was filled with a different person. Further down the aisle, the boy who had flown past in the cape, now took a seat next to his family, ready to watch the show.


    From nearby, one woman murmured to another, ¡°It¡¯s a little insensitive them doing this show don¡¯t you think? I¡¯d have given it a pass but I haven¡¯t missed one in over ten years. Well, I suppose the witches do what they want.¡±


    Stella caught a glimpse of the woman¡¯s violet eyes; a colour that indicated she was a vampire.


    A boy stepped out onto centre stage, as the lights dimmed, and announced that the show was about to start.


    Stella left the theatre. A poster on the wall outside displayed a chalk-faced man with fangs. No violet eyes though. This was a story stolen from human history not long after the world had been split. Below the picture of the man, the poster announced,


    ¡®Dracula. Five nights! This week only! Tickets limited!¡±


    Stella¡¯s other mind found a different staircase, the one that led to the ballet studio. She took a step inside and found herself surrounded by green goblins. Upon closer inspection however, she saw that their ears were a normal length and their faces were all the same. In fact, it was her own face that stared back at her from every mirror that hung on the wall. She tilted her chin, up, down, left, right. The green monsters in the mirror did the same. She touched her hair, no longer blonde, but a dark black, striking as night. It came away in her hands. Dark threads hung from her fingertips.


    She dropped the wig onto the floor and approached the nearest mirror. She studied her face. It was paint, dark green paint, or makeup? She looked down at her hands and found that they too were green. She tried to scratch it off, but it had stained her skin.


    ¡°Stella!¡±


    She whirled to find her mum standing there in the doorway, hands on her hips, eyes flashing angrily.


    ¡°Come on!¡±


    Stella turned back once more to her reflection but the paint was gone, only the goblin remained.


    ¡°Stella!¡±


    ¡°Yes, mum.¡± Stella trotted after her.


    The next morning was much the same, a rush to get ready, although not quite so much as the day before. It was the day of the audition. Stella stood nervously by the door while here mum tried to find her red shoes.


    Grandma ruffled Stella¡¯s hair gently. ¡°Good luck with your audition, my dear. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll do just fine.¡±


    Stella tried to duck down, out of reach, worried grandma was going to mess up her hair.


    ¡°What are you looking for?¡± Grandma asked Mum.


    ¡°Her red character shoes.¡±


    ¡°Oh, I put them in the cupboard.¡±


    Before they hopped into the car, Stella¡¯s mum fixed her daughter¡¯s hair for the thousandth time that morning.


    ¡°That old witch is always getting in the way.¡±


    The studio was not as packed with people as Stella would have expected. As she took her place in line just behind Greta and Brittany V, she whispered to them, ¡°Where is everybody?¡±


    Greta, who loved to gossip, widened her eyes and leaned in conspiratorially. Today her eyes were a light shade of blue. On other days they were green or brown or even a vibrant pink, depending on what colour best matched her outfit.


    ¡°I heard mamma talking on the phone and saying they all got sick after the bake sale yesterday. One girl even ended up in hospital.¡±


    ¡°Are they all right?¡± Stella asked.


    Greta shrugged. ¡°I dunno.¡± She smiled. ¡°But it means less competition for us today.¡± She turned back to face the dance floor and squared her shoulders waiting for her turn.


    Stella danced as best she could. The footsteps were all correct, perfect, not a single one out of place, but her heart wasn¡¯t really in it, and she doubted she had danced as Ms. Rivera had really wanted her to. Her mum seemed satisfied with her performance at least as she said nothing when Stella returned to her seat. She simply watched the rest of the dances with a careful eye. Finally the judges gathered together to deliberate.


    ¡°Well, I think that went alright,¡± her mum told her. ¡°They¡¯re sure to pick you for Glinda now.¡±


    But Stella wasn¡¯t so sure, and she watched with baited breath as across the room, Greta spun, magically lengthening her blue dress as she did so, and playfully showing off her brand newly shifted blonde curls to a friend.


    The judges returned. Ms. Rivera listened to them, nodded a little and then took the floor. ¡°Well, ladies and gentlemen, that was some lovely dancing¡ª¡±


    Beside her, Stella heard her mum quietly scoff.


    "¡ªBut of course, there are only so many main parts. My heart goes out to those who could not be here today due to unfortunate illness, but rules are rules and with the time frames for the show we must make our selection today. Those who are away may still audition for the smaller and understudy roles later in the week, but for our main characters training begins tomorrow. So without further ado I would like to announce our two leads. The role of Elephaba Thropp goes to Stella Wolfe and the role of Glinda Upland goes to Greta Thorngood.¡±


    Stella looked up in surprise. She stopped listening as Ms. Rivera called out assignments for other key parts. That had been her name they had called. She was one of the leads! She glanced at her mum but instead of a smile the woman wore a frown.


    ¡°Hurumph!¡± Her mum snorted as she dragged Stella roughly toward the car after the audition was all over. ¡°They just gave her that part because of the fancy dress up and her shoddy shapeshifting.¡± She stopped as they reached the car. ¡°Still, I suppose Elephaba¡¯s not bad. At least it¡¯s a main part, even if the skin colour is unflattering.¡± She stopped and looked Stella up and down. ¡°Maybe we can make it work. You¡¯re going to be the best darn Elephaba, even if I have to kill for it.¡±

 Chapter 5: All The Better To Kill You With

    Stella gazed at her face in the mirror. She was green again. For real this time.


    Her mum stepped back to check her handiwork. ¡°What do you think?¡±


    ¡°I look like a goblin,¡± Stella replied quietly.


    Her mum sighed heavily. ¡°You¡¯re right, it¡¯s terrible. I give up. We¡¯ll try again after dinner.¡± She waved the makeup brush then set it on the counter and went off to ready dinner.


    Grandma poked her head around the corner of the bathroom door the moment she was gone. She slithered in with a smile on her face. ¡°I hear you got the lead part? Congratulations.¡±


    ¡°Just Elephaba,¡± Stella replied, still studying her own face. Why didn¡¯t it look right? Why couldn¡¯t she have been picked for Glinda? Then, her mum would be happy.


    ¡°Oh, but Elephie is the best part,¡± Grandma told her.


    ¡°Mum says Glinda would have been better.¡±


    ¡°Uugh, that spoilt child, no. Elephaba is the best one. She¡¯s the fighter you know. She doesn¡¯t let anyone tell her what to do or what she wants. Tell me child what is it you want?¡± Her grandma placed both hands on Stella¡¯s shoulders and leaned in close, looking over Stella¡¯s shoulder at the pair of them in the mirror. It was a strange sight to behold.


    Stella thought about it. What did she want?


    She wanted her mum to be happy and proud of her. She wanted to go home to her own bed, even though she loved her grandma, she felt that trying to please two people was just too difficult. Every step she took seemed to be the wrong one for someone. She wanted her dad to make money again. To pick her up and spin her round like he sometimes did on the days when his projects went well. She wanted him to take her for a drive in the car again, to watch the world move by and not have to be a part of it. She wanted to disappear into the forest and to dance with the birds and the trees without anyone watching or judging. But none of that she could explain to grandma, so she picked the thing that was closest. ¡°I want to go and play in the forest.¡±


    Grandma sighed. Then she stood up and smiled, ¡°Well, it¡¯s still light out yet and dinner is awhile away, why don¡¯t you run along then, but maybe put some old clothes on first, hmm?¡±


    Stella nodded and ran off to get changed. She didn¡¯t really have any old clothes as such. Her mum never let anything get old, but she picked something that would be less likely to show the dirt at least and which was easier to clean.


    When she reached the back door she met her mum, just coming back in from outside with a basket in her hands.


    ¡°Make sure you¡¯re back before it gets dark,¡± her mum warned. ¡°Or I¡¯ll turn you into a pumpkin.¡± That was all she said before she disappeared into the kitchen.


    Stella nodded sweetly and then dashed out the door the moment her mum was out of sight. She didn¡¯t stop running until she was through the garden gate. Then she paused and looked back at the house. The windows glowed warmly, sleepily. The air was cooler tonight. It pricked at her skin like sewing needles. It sent thrills down into her, setting her alive with energy. The forest called.


    Knowing her face was still green suddenly made it all the better. Out here it was normal, natural, feral. Feeling like one of the forest¡¯s creatures Stella took off at a run again.


    She ran until it hurt, and then she ran some more. Pain pushed her forward, reminded her she was alive.


    The future of the forest didn¡¯t look much different than the now. The colours changed slower. The leaves shifted about and the branches swayed but overall everything remained the same. Trees were constant, fixed, and familiar, but so intricately detailed that she could find newness in them if she desired. She ran her hands along the bark, felt its roughness, each knot and swirl. All marks of time passing. The forest had been here a long time and it would be here for a long time yet. Stella felt a strange kinship among the trees. Out here she was the fast one, but they slowed her down. They made her calm.


    She reached the fairy rings again. But something was wrong. The rings were incomplete. Where before there had been many mushrooms, now there were only a few. It might have made sense, given she had just seen her mum returning to the house with a basket, if the mushrooms that had been picked had been the edible ones. But it was both circles that were broken, not just the one. Surely her mum wouldn¡¯t make that mistake?


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Stella ran as fast as she could back toward the house.


    In the kitchen her mum was just taking some pies out of the oven. Each one was just big enough for a single person and each one was lovingly decorated with a tiny pastry heart on top.


    Her mum looked up at she entered and handed her a plate with a single pie on it.


    ¡°Take this one to Grandma, and this one¡±¡ªshe handed her a second one¡ª¡°Put this one at my seat. Your father won¡¯t be joining us tonight. He has a meeting with some investors. Now, take those to the table and don¡¯t mix them up.¡±


    Stella didn¡¯t move. She looked down worriedly at the pies. ¡°Mum...¡±


    ¡°What are you dawdling for, girl? Get a move on. Hurry up, before the food gets cold.¡±


    ¡°Mum, which mushrooms did you use?¡±


    Stella met her mum¡¯s cold blue eyes. There was a new look there now, one she had never seen before. She wasn¡¯t sure what it meant.


    ¡°What are you saying, girl?¡±


    Stella hesitated.


    Those cool eyes looked at her, waiting for her answer.


    ¡°Do you think I¡¯d pick the wrong mushrooms?¡± her mum asked in an offended tone, one neatly trimmed eyebrow raised.


    There was something else in her voice, a warning. A challenge?


    Still Stella hesitated. Had she been wrong? Maybe she¡¯d just imagined there being less mushrooms. Perhaps it had simply been a vision of the future?


    Something in her mum¡¯s demenour relaxed and she smiled sweetly at Stella. ¡°Hurry along. Your grandma¡¯s waiting.¡±


    Stella nodded and slowly turned. Step by step she walked toward the dining room, the wheels in her mind spinning. Was she confused? Why would her mum pretend she¡¯d picked the right mushrooms if she hadn¡¯t? Stella was so lost in thought that she didn¡¯t register which plate her mum had said to take to which seat until she was nearly at the table. Had it been the left one or the right one?


    She slowed her steps and looked ahead. And there she saw death. A choking, suffering, horrible death. Her mum or her grandma. And it all depended on where she put the plate.


    In her mind the plates shifted. Left, right, right, left, back and forth they moved so fast until she wasn¡¯t sure if she had swapped the hands they were in for real or not. Or she could drop it?


    But it didn¡¯t change anything. She would be dragged away and locked in her room with no food for the night, and no prince to save her, but someone would still end up dead. There were more pies in the kitchen. And her mum would be very disappointed.


    From where she was seated comfortably at the head of the table, her grandma turned to smile at her. She looked at the pies in Stella¡¯s hands. She expected one to be set down before her. She would be disappointed if Stella dropped one.


    Stella didn¡¯t know how things would play out if she left the room but she knew for certain that was the worst of all the options. There were two placements in front of her and two pies. She had to choose. Left or right?


    But Stella could not remember, and upon hearing her mum enter the room behind her, she simply placed them as they were.


    Stella took her own seat and watched with ever-increasing dread as a third pie was placed in front of her own seat. She buried her thoughts deep and focused her fore mind on the pretty lace patterns that decorated the edge of the tablecloth.


    ¡°Ooh, smells delicious,¡± her grandma remarked as she picked up a fork.


    Stella thought of gingerbread, as the future licked at the edges of her vision. She resisted its pull.


    Across the table her mum fixed her with a pointed look. Cold. Expectant. Threatening. Knowing.


    But how much exactly did she know?


    In Stella¡¯s front mind, it was her grandma¡¯s plate that had the poison. In her second mind, she didn¡¯t know whose it was. It could have been her mum¡¯s, and truthfully she wasn¡¯t sure which one was worse. All her attention was focused on keeping her two mind¡¯s separate and the future at bay. But the future could not be ignored forever. Eventually everything arrived at the present.


    Stella watched as both woman gobbled up the food in front of them, one forkful at a time. Stella found she could not touch her own. Was it poisoned too? For her it didn¡¯t matter, even though right now she wished it did, and she wished it was. There was no escape in her pie however, only her mind could grant her that. She pulled back in further than she ever had before, until she was no longer in but out, up above and looking down. She watched as her own hand picked up her fork and began to eat the food too. She didn¡¯t feel like she was the one doing it. She knew she was though. Her mum hadn¡¯t been able to exert that kind of control since she¡¯d discovered her second mind, and now it seemed she had discovered more. This place, so distant, so much further away from the present. For the first time, she was sure she had found somewhere her mum could not reach her. But here, the future was closer than ever.


    And so she returned to the dinner table more scared of the future than she was of the now. But a new door had been opened and she didn¡¯t think she could close it. She also knew for certain now whose fate she had sealed tonight.


    Half way through her pie, her grandma paused to cough. She cleared her throat and then she kept eating. A few more bites, then she paused again. Another cough, stronger this time. Grandma tried to take a deep breath but the air got stuck in her throat. A look of confusion marred her face. Another failed breath. She tried to speak but it came out like a squeak.


    She looked to Stella for help, but Stella was frozen, too afraid to make a move. Her mum watched too, equally unmoving, but for an entirely different reason.


    Grandma slid from her chair and finally fell to the floor, and there she lay, so still and strangely peaceful looking that she might simply have been sleeping.


    Stella¡¯s mum picked up her fork and returned to her eating.


    Stella couldn¡¯t bring herself to do the same. Her own pie was not poisoned, but it didn¡¯t matter; she knew she would vomit it back up later anyway.


    Her mum finally looked up and commented in her usual voice, ¡°Eat your food Stella, before it gets cold. That¡¯s a good girl.¡±


    All Stella could reply was, ¡°Yes, mum.¡±

 Chapter 6: A Little Further From The Tree

    Her mum instructed Stella what she should say to the police if they asked her anything, but they never did.


    It was unfortunate, they said, that even with such experience, it was still possible to make such a deadly misidentification. It was so lucky that the poisonous ones, picked by Grandma Ginger, had only ended up in the one batch. So lucky that neither Stella, nor her mum, had happened to eat one of those poison pies. Yes, it was very lucky indeed.


    The cottage belonged to Frank Wolfe now, but with his mother dead he could not bear to live in it. He sold it, along with the ponies and the chickens. It raised enough to pay off his debts. They were back in their own home before the funeral.


    People brought them a lot of food. Stella gave the pies a weary look and then she studied the macaroni for any sign of movement. But the only thing that wriggled was the inside of her stomach. Nearby, a small card hung from a bouquet of flowers. It simply read:


    ¡®Sorry for your loss.¡¯


    They were gardenias, not lilies. That was what her mum had said before bursting into tears. They might have managed to pay off the house, but her mum still had to return many of her newest shoes and dresses. She was deeply distraught by this news.


    ¡°Mum, should we put some of the food in the fridge?¡± She held the vision of the rotten food in the forefront of her mind, but her mum was too focused on other things to read it.


    Her mum waved a hand and shook her head. ¡°Oh, leave it. Your father will do it later.¡±


    Stella wasn¡¯t so sure about that and she could see her mum making her eat it later too. She really didn¡¯t want that to happen, so she dragged a chair over so that she could get up to the kitchen island, and then she started moving things to the fridge herself.


    She¡¯d managed to move half the container of macaroni off the bench but as she was trying to get her small hands under it, the entire thing overbalanced and fell to the floor. She grabbed enough of it as it tipped so that the glass container did not smash.


    Her mum was up and off the couch in an instant.


    ¡°Oh, for gods sakes, girl. I told you to leave it! Can¡¯t you do anything right?¡±


    To Stella¡¯s dismay, her mum started scooping the macaroni right off the floor and back into the glass tray. Then she shoved it back up on the bench instead of in the fridge.


    Stella stepped back defeated.


    ¡°Go get your black dress on. Your father will be home to drive us to the funeral soon.¡±


    ¡°Yes, mum.¡±


    Stella watched the casket as it was lowered into the earth. She could see her face reflected back in the shiny blackness, all distorted and strange looking, but no longer green. She should feel something shouldn¡¯t she? But it felt like any other day, distant and just a little out of reach. The visions of the future that licked in her peripheral vision were just as real as that which lay right in front of her. She tried to ground herself by fixating on a small daisy poking its head out of the earth. But it may as well have been a painting, and when the crowed moved away as the service ended, the flower disappeared beneath a sea of feet, and was not seen again. Stella couldn¡¯t be certain it had ever been there at all.


    Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Was this her fault? Had there been any other option?


    She felt roots twisting within her, finding purchase, a solid hold where they could not be shaken loose, as her outside grew hard, like the bark of a tree. She was like the trees in the forest that swayed with the wind, that sometimes lost branches, but which always remained standing, even through the worst storms. A forest she would never get to run through again. Around her the world blew by hard and fast, and Stella swayed, but she never moved. She never took a single step. Her life was not her own. Her mind belonged to someone else. The future was fixed. She could see it but she had no choice. Every vision had an optimal option, all it meant was that she could see the tracks ahead. But on either side of railway line were solid walls. She was a train stuck in a tunnel. Unable to step left or right.


    Except, that wasn¡¯t true anymore was it? Not since that night. Not since she¡¯d opened that new door in her mind.


    She could see, at school on Monday how all she had to do was take a few steps to the left and then walk straight across the road. Her mum would follow after her and she would run into Matilda who she otherwise could have avoided if Stella had gone right. They would get talking. Matilda¡¯s youngest daughter, just a toddler, would get bored. She¡¯d wander off toward the road unseen. The driver would glimpse her just in time. He would swerve and he¡¯d miss her but he¡¯d hit somebody else, Byron, the boy who liked to tease Stella, and who after that day, would never tease her again. Stella could see it all as vividly as if she were there and all she had to do to ensure it was take a few steps.


    Just like her mum had done.


    But there were other choices too, millions of them, and Stella could see now how just a tug on one thread could unravel the whole world, if she had wanted it. What did she want?


    It was overwhelming.


    She could always decide later.


    But Stella hated waiting.


    Her mum grabbed her hand. ¡°Come along, Stella.¡±


    ¡°Where¡¯s dad?¡± she asked when she realised he wasn¡¯t coming.


    ¡°He¡¯s going to stay a little while longer, and talk to the lawyers. He¡¯ll follow in the other car.¡±


    In the car, her mum handed her a map. Her dad had navigated on the way over; now it was Stella¡¯s turn.


    For the most part, her mum knew which way to go, but eventually they came to an unfamiliar intersection. Even without the map Stella knew which was which. Left was the shortest route, although both directions would get them there, right would take longer.


    Stella was about to tell her to go left when the future grabbed her in her deepest mind and forced her to look. A truck was coming, far too fast, barreling down onto a one-way bridge. If she told her mum to go left now they would undoubtedly hit it. Stella would survive. Stella always did. But her mum would not be so lucky, and then Stella would be free.


    But it was too big. Stella could not do it. She loved her mum and she had no one else. But most of all, what she wanted more than anything was for her mum to love her. And she couldn¡¯t love her from the grave.


    ¡°Left or right, Stella. Pick one.¡±


    ¡°Right,¡± she replied.


    Her mum gave her one of those happy smiles. The one that said she knew she was completely in control and the world revolved around her. Normally it would have made Stella happy too but this time something was different.


    "You''ll always be mummy''s perfect little girl won''t you Stella?"


    It was more a statement than a question but an answer was expected.


    Deep within Stella''s mind, out of the goblin''s reach and sight, something shifted a little. Not a fire, just a spark. A quick flash of lightning. A sudden split branch. A kink in her railway line. And Stella decided that she could wait after all, but waiting didn¡¯t mean she had to stand still. All it took was one tiny step. She replied,


    "Yes, mother."