The Changeover by Margaret Mahy Page A

said. "He was a terrific little boy and you talk about him dying as if you just didn't give a stuff about it!"
    "I used to have some brothers," Sorry said. "I don't know what I'd think if one of them was about to die, but I'm sure of this— none of them would worry about me. My feelings worked really well for years but I know they're not too good now. I suppose I did my own sealing off— a different sort from Jacko's— some time ago. But I'll do what I can for him, which is to ask Winter. She knows everything — Winter. So take a deep breath, Chant. You're no worse off and you might be better off... and at least you're not quite on your own with it any more."
    This was true. Laura did take a deep breath and realized as she did so that Sorry was not watching her face, but the rise and fall of the breath under her old pajama jacket. He sighed himself, met her eyes, and gave her a smile both deprecating and conciliatory.
    "You did invite me in," he pointed out, "even though you knew I was a mixed blessing."
    "I didn't invite you to watch me breathe," Laura pointed out.
    "You didn't make any conditions, either." Sorry looked away from her again. "An invitation means a lot to a witch. And the lemure could only put his mark on your brother's hand because it was held out to him. Sometimes these little rituals carry a whole lot of significance. Now you'll have to get him to take his mark off, and I think the only way to do that might be to put a mark of power on him and command him through that."
    "Could I do it?" Laura asked disbelievingly. Sorry shook his head.
    "I shouldn't think so," he said. "I think it would have to be a witch who did it— or someone similar. But the difficulty is he wouldn't let a witch get anywhere near him, let alone hold out his hand for any reason whatsoever. However, let's see what Winter comes up with."
    "Well, I'm going to get dressed," Laura said. "Why don't you look at some books?"
    "I'll make a cup of coffee if you like?" suggested Sorry. "Don't try and tell me where things are. I'll guess."
    "You'll guess wrong," Laura said. "Mum puts them in funny places."
    "But I have an instinct for coffee," Sorry said. "You'd swear it was witchcraft!"
    "It's only instant," Laura told him, like a true hostess.
    "I prefer instant," Sorry cried triumphantly. "I seem cosmopolitan now, but I'm suburban at heart."
    "I'm not even sure what cosmopolitan is," Laura replied. "Suppose you make the coffee and stop talking about yourself."
    "You're a bloody ruthless hostess," Sorry shouted after her, "You're supposed to make a guest feel relaxed." However, he sounded good-humoured.
    "Well, watch out for the kettle," Laura said. "Don't worry if it hisses. It's got a slow leak. Fill it quite full, and when it whistles it's boiling."
    She dressed rather more carefully than usual, borrowing a white shirt of her mother's to wear with blue jeans. The kettle screamed savagely and was silenced. As she was brushing her hair she heard Kate's voice and came in to find Kate, with Chris Holly at her elbow, staring with surprise at a stranger standing in the kitchen door offering her a cup of her own coffee. Sorry was friendly and polite and seemed completely at ease. He had found and set a tray and in the centre of it in one of the ex-peanut butter jars, was a bouquet of pink rose buds as perfect as if they had just come from a florist's window. Kate exclaimed over them, but Laura knew they were not natural flowers. They were the second outside proof she had had of Sorry's double nature.
    "I'll be spending most of the day at the hospital," Kate said wearily. "Chris, what can be wrong with him?"
    "Hospital's the place where they'll find out," said Chris.
    Laura looked at him suspiciously, wondering what he was doing there, but it seemed that he had offered to come round and bring Kate a particular book and, knowing she would be out in the afternoon, she had called in at his flat to explain this to him. Chris had immediately offered to