Chapter 1 CHAPTER 1
The silver music box tinkled a calm and comforting tune, a far cry from the wild, scared, tumbling thoughts in Nine’s mind. Yes… there was no doubt about it: Nine was in serious trouble. And more than usual.

She sat on her iron-framed bed in her almost-but-not-quite-hexagonal bedroom in the House at the Edge of Magic. It was the perfect room for her—it had to be, as the rooms were chosen by the House especially for its guests. The walls were lined with lilac wallpaper speckled with gold stars, and there was a floor-to-ceiling bookcase. The floorboards were scattered with woolly rugs—the wool of what, exactly, Nine had never asked. There were many things she had yet to discover about the House itself, let alone the many realms through which it traveled. And all of these realms were potentially in grave danger, because of her mistake.

Nine tucked her music box into her satchel, which sat beside her on the turquoise sheets, and walked over to the two tall windows, covered by long turquoise curtains that spilled onto the floorboards. She pulled one back with her hand and looked outside.

The World Between Worlds. Beautiful blackness, split by swirls of silver strands rising out of nowhere, twisting and dancing together, then exploding in a blinding flash, leaving just a trail of fading stars. The House at the Edge of Magic hurtled through at a frankly ridiculous rate on the way to Nine’s old home—the mortal world—passing many hidden realms as it went. Part of Nine wanted to stop at one of these realms and hide from her mistake, but the larger part knew she had caused this problem and somehow she must fix it.

Nine pulled the curtain across the window and walked back to her bed. She flopped down, feeling the silky sheets with her fingertips—a far cry from the flea-ridden sackcloth on the floor of a damp cellar where she had once lived with a gang of pickpockets. She gazed up at the deep blue ceiling dotted with silvery runes, wishing the strange language would impart some much-needed wisdom to her at this time. She had never been able to understand what they meant. Not even Flabberghast the wizard could interpret them. And yet, Nine reasoned, the room was apparently perfect for her. So the runes must say something important, even if she couldn’t—

The bedroom door flew open. Nine jumped.

In strutted the most troublesome witch in all the realms. She had tumbling scarlet hair and wore a black crinoline dress that swished as she moved. Nine was almost the complete opposite of her, with short, dark, spiky hair and scruffy trousers and jacket. And while the witch seemed only a few years older than Nine, one look at her ancient blue eyes made clear that this was not the case.

“There’s this thing called ‘knocking,’?” Nine said sharply, standing up.

The witch swooshed arrogantly around Nine’s room, taking in the details with an air of distaste.

“What do you want?” Nine demanded.

“Come, come,” said the witch in a voice as smooth as it was unwelcome. “We are housefellows now, are we not? Perhaps we should try to get along.” She made a flourishing gesture with her hand. “All live together harmoniously.”

Nine snorted. “The day you and Flabberghast live together harmoniously will be the day Eric uses three-syllable words!” She thought how odd it would be if the housekeeper troll ever managed that.

The witch rolled her eyes and threw her hands in the air. “My brother is undoubtedly a fool, but he is a fool in possession of a traveling house, which unfortunately I am in need of.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers?” Nine taunted.

The witch smiled coldly, her eyes glinting like daggers. “The wise bide their time.”

Nine sighed. In the heat of the moment, it had seemed a good idea to do a deal with the witch—persuading her to betray her formidable aunt, Ophidia the Unpredictable, and help save the lives of Nine’s friends… in exchange for hitching a lift in the House at the Edge of Magic. She remembered the witch’s words to her in the Secret Shop of Secrets:

“I have my sights on something else. Something far more interesting. Something, as it happens, little thief, only you can help me with.”

Of course, it was only after the deal had been done, and the witch had stepped inside the House, that Nine suspected she was after a dangerous and powerful locket. Perhaps she was wrong…. Perhaps she had jumped to conclusions….

Nine watched the witch thoughtfully as she walked over to Nine’s bookcase and ran her scarlet-nailed finger along the books’ spines. The witch suddenly spun around and clasped her hands together. “Soon the House shall land in your peculiar little mortal realm, and I shall need your assistance, dearest thief.”

“My name is Nine, not Thief,” growled Nine.

The witch swayed over. She put a scarlet fingernail underneath Nine’s chin and tilted her head slightly upward. Their eyes met. “Your name,” whispered the witch, “is not Nine.”

Nine swallowed down the sting of knowing so little about her own life. Just a distant memory of being left in a doorway of a building, which she now knew to be the House at the Edge of Magic. She had discovered this was where her ma had always meant her to be. But things had not worked out somehow. Pockets the gang-master had found her and claimed her for his den of thieves.

The witch waltzed around the room. “So,” she continued airily, “you must keep your part of the bargain and assist me. You must do exactly as I ask.”

Nine folded her arms across her chest. “Well, I don’t trust you.”

“Well, I don’t care,” the witch retorted. “A deal is a deal.”

Nine stared at her, knowing there would be unspeakable trouble if she went back on her word. “And what do you want me to do?” she asked through gritted teeth, knowing exactly what she was going to hear.

The witch smiled. “You are going to steal a locket from that ridiculous old beggar of yours and hand it over to me.”

The words dropped like stones around her, and Nine fought to keep the despair from her face. So… she had been right….

Focus.

“That ridiculous old beggar is not mine anymore,” said Nine quietly. She felt a strange rush of emotions. For so long she had hated Pockets, that drunken, broken old man, with all her heart. But now more than hatred she felt pity.

“And why exactly do you want the locket?” she went on, wondering if she could tempt the witch to reveal the truth behind all the secrets and lies.

“That is my business, dearest thief, and not yours,” the witch replied icily. “It should not be too great a task. After all, you are such a remarkable pickpocket, are you not? Did you not once pickpocket the House at the Edge of Magic from my very bag?” the witch teased.

Nine bit her tongue. It seemed such a long time ago that she had stolen the tiny house ornament from the scarlet-haired witch in the marketplace, wistfully knocked on its tiny door, and watched in amazement as the little house expanded to become the wonky, eleven-storied House at the Edge of Magic that she now lived in. Yes, she had stolen the House. Yes, she had broken the curse the vengeful witch had put upon it. But there was something about the witch’s expression now that unsettled Nine. It was knowing. It was secretive. And both of those things implied great danger….

“And your beggar will be so thrilled to see you,” the witch continued. She glanced around Nine’s room. “It’s always rather splendid to return home, is it not?” She threw her arms open, gesturing at the room, then waltzed away.

“This is my home now,” snapped Nine, marching over to the door.

“We’ll see,” floated back the witch’s singsong voice from the landing outside.

Nine sighed in irritation as her bedroom door magically slammed itself shut in her face.