Free The Witch in the Lake by Anna Fienberg Page B

otherness of what it will become,’ Marco explained to him one night at dinner.
    But Leo shook his head in exasperation. ‘It’s like holding two sides of an argument in your head at the same time, and being equally convinced by both. You’d have to be strong for that—you’d need the heart of a lion!’
    Marco looked at him curiously. ‘Are you afraid?’
    Leo stared at his hands. ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’
    Marco nodded.
    Leo had often privately wondered if Marco had ever looked into
his
, Leo’s, own heart. What would he see there? Once, when Leo asked him, Marco just said, ‘That is for you to discover.’ Whenever Leo felt afraid or weak, he feared what Marco had seen inside him. Was it a mouse, a poor shivering creature, and Marco didn’t want to tell him?
    â€˜Sometimes,’ Leo said slowly, ‘a thing seems so right, just the way it is. What if I spoil it, what if I fail, and destroy it, so it’s not one thing nor another? Then I’d know I wasn’t a good wizard—I’d be a dunce!’
    â€˜How will you ever know if you don’t try? To go to the second stage of transformation, you need to know all the details of the new object. In a way, you have to become the thing for a moment yourself, in order to understand it.’ Marco looked away then, and stared out at the fire. ‘That’s where you can get lost. You must never lose your grip then.’
    Leo looked down at the table. His father was moving his empty glass around, making a wet circle on the wooden surface. In the silence they could hear the rain starting. Leo knew his father was thinking of Laura. He didn’t know what to do or say to make it better. Marco probably thought of Laura every single day.
    The next morning, when Marco had gone to work, Leo set off early for the market. After he’d bought some fruit and cheese, he sat down for a moment, piling his packages beside him on the low stone wall of the piazza. The early sunlight was warm on his face, and he sat idly for a while, content to watch the passers-by and listen to conversations going on at the stalls.
    â€˜
Ciao
, Leo,’ called Fabbio from his meat stall. ‘Why don’t you take a few of these sausages home for your papà. You know how he loves them!’ Fabbio was hanging great slabs of cured ham and salami onto the hooks of his stall.
    Leo smiled and waved at Fabbio. It was true, Marco couldn’t resist Fabbio’s sausages—always fresh and spicy. But Leo just wanted to go on sitting there for a while. Lazy, he felt so lazy . . . He’d get them later.
    A customer walked up to the stall just then, so Fabbio turned away to greet him. Leo watched them, grinning. Fabbio was the best salesman at the market. When he described the succulent qualities of his meat and just how to cook it, the juices started in your mouth. He’d wave his arms around, his endearing double chin wobbling with enthusiasm. No one ever left without a package from Fabbio’s stall.
    But something was different about this exchange. Leo couldn’t see any arms in the air, or hear any excited talk. The men’s voices were low, intense—perhaps this was a friend of Fabbio’s and they had some other business to discuss. Still, Leo felt uneasy.
    He studied the customer. The man wore no hat or cloak, and his long hair was matted with straw. Just then the man smiled and laughed at something Fabbio said, putting a friendly arm on his shoulder. Yes, the man must be a friend, Leo told himself.
    Feeling restless now, he bundled his packages together and stood up. As he wandered a little nearer to the stall, he glanced sideways at the man. And that was all it took. Just a glance and Leo had him. He looked at the pale eyes of the man and saw straight through, into the dark soul inside.
    Leo dropped everything he was holding and darted forward. He didn’t stop to think what he was