Free Clearheart by Edrei Cullen

making her drowsy. Trusting the smell, for it reminded her of her dead mother and her Flitterwig grandmother, Manna, she closed her eyes tightly and breathed it in, clutching the tip of her left ear between her fingers instinctively.
    In her dreams she was taken back, first to Manna’s house where she had learnt of her elven heritage, and then to Spain, where she had travelled after her Granny and Grandpa had been Shrinkified bythe Duke and Saul. The Spanish elves danced in her dreams and Don Posiblemente flickered before her eyes.

    She woke with a start. It was the middle of the night. Samantha snored peacefully beside her. Ella’s shoulders were itching and her ears tingled. Her hair flared up around her (without anyone to cut her hair shorter these days, it was getting way too long, for it grew much faster than it should). She had to find Charlie.
    Tiptoeing across the silent hall, down the steps and up the other side, Ella crept into the boys’ wing. There were doors everywhere. How on earth was she supposed to find him? Feeling her breath coming in short, sharp bursts, she wished she had brought her inhaler. Asthma was such a bore. Stopping for a moment to calm herself, Ella closed her eyes and followed her nose. She picked out the subtle, slightly mossy smell of frog through all the other smells in the corridor. Peat, thyme, socks, the oil students used to grease their skateboard wheels. She moved towards the mossy smell. Past the first door in the boys’ wing, past the second. At the third she paused. The smell was coming from in there. Ella padded in, past a boy who rustled in his sleep, and another who snored. Past one who smelt of basil, and another who smelt damp and mouldy. There was Charlie. His froggy friend, Harold, slept soundly on the bedside table.
    â€˜Charlie,’ she whispered urgently. ‘Wake up.’
    Charlie sat up, startled, and reached for his specs. There was a croak from his bedside table.
    â€˜What the…?’ croaked Harold.
    â€˜Shh,’ said Ella.
    â€˜Please hush, I think you mean,’ croaked Harold, not that Ella could understand him. She clamped her hand over his mouth.
    â€˜Stop it, you two,’ whispered Charlie, sliding out of bed and grabbing the frog. The boy in the neighbouring bed stirred. Charlie felt around for the boy’s wet sponge and tucked it back into his arms.
    â€˜Marshlin Flitterwig,’ he whispered, by way of explanation. ‘Loves wet stuff.’
    Every fibre in Charlie’s body was alert. He could feel an energy emanating from Ella that he hadn’t encountered since their adventures at the beginning of summer. Clutching her hand in his, he led her from his dorm, along the corridor, down to the loggia and out into the gardens beyond.
    â€˜What is it?’ he demanded, when he was sure they were far enough away not to be overheard.
    â€˜We have to get to Don Posiblemente,’ said Ella. ‘He’ll knowhow to help us. Dixon is in danger. I just know it.’
    Charlie shook his head to clear his thoughts. ‘Ella,’ he said, ‘it’s the middle of the night, we are in our pyjamas, and we are complete novices at the art of magic. What exactly do you want me to do?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Ella, ‘but I smelt lavender in my dreams and I saw Don Posiblemente in them too, so whatever it is, you need to do it quickly.’
    If it hadn’t been Ella telling him what to do, Charlie would have suggested that she was being an idiot and that they should both wait until dawn and have breakfast before they do anything at all. But it
was
Ella. And it was Charlie’s destiny to protect her. So, whether he wanted to or not, he felt compelled to act at once.
    â€˜Go and get dressed, and meet me back here as soon as you can,’ he told her.
    Ella did as she was told. Without waking a soul, she slipped on her T-shirt, dungarees and trainers, grabbed her hoodie, inhaler