Old Magic (15 page)

“I know. I don’t do it often. Really, I don’t,” I add at her disbelieving look.

“It’s all right, Jillian,” Jarrod says quietly. “Most of the time I don’t mind. It doesn’t hurt or anything. I can block her out if I want to.”

“Really?” Jillian queries. “That’s impressive, Jarrod. Most people can’t detect she’s even there, let alone forge a block against the intrusion.”

Jarrod’s lips shut tightly. He looks annoyed, probably thinks he’s been manipulated into an admission of some sort. The water and juice in our glasses starts fizzing furiously. Jillian notices and slips me an interesting look.

“Don’t you start too, Jillian. I’ve explained to Kate she’s on the wrong track about this gift rubbish.”

“You don’t have to get nasty, Jarrod,” I snap.

He stands and his chair falls backward, hitting the timber floor with a loud crash. “Look, I’ve had it, okay. So forget your . . . your crazy plans. I’m out of here.” He turns and rights his chair, then looks for my eyes. When he finds them he says slowly, making sure I understand the meaning behind every word, “I’ve gone along with your theories, Kate. Hell, I even started believing them. And now my head’s all messed up.” He drives a hand roughly through his hair. “But this time travel stuff, it crosses a line with me. I want nothing to do with it. I’m leaving now, and I’m not coming back, Kate. Never!”

His words hurt. The thought of Jarrod not ever talking to me again, or coming over and doing stuff together, rips into me. He has no need for specifics, I understand what he’s telling me clearly enough: If I approach him, he will ignore me, pretend we’re strangers. I want to hate him. I want to cry. But Jillian is watching and I feel sympathy pouring out—a thing I despise. So I just say quietly while my voice is still under some form of control, “That’s fine with me. You know your way out.”

He turns and leaves.

The second the front door tingles shut, the water and juice in all three glasses fizzes over the sides and spills onto the tablecloth.

Kate

The next day Jarrod misses school. I don’t know what to make of this, just hope nothing else has happened. At first I try to tell myself I don’t care, but as the day progresses a dreadful sense of foreboding kicks in that no amount of mental distraction can shake. By the end of the day the feeling of impending doom is so real I can’t concentrate. I feel wasted. Even Hannah is steering clear.

Walking home I come to the fork in the road and fight the temptation to take the asphalt track to Jarrod’s. After all, I could be dead wrong and Jarrod could simply have missed school for any number of insignificant reasons. Maybe he’s got a cold, or a headache, or goodness knows what. If I turn up at his front door and nothing tragic’s happened, I will look like a complete idiot, or worse—he’ll think I’m obsessed. His message yesterday was humiliatingly clear—Stay out of my life!

So I trudge home and decide to check with Jillian to see if she’s heard anything.

She hasn’t, but says she’s been thinking of Jarrod and his family all day too, harboring a strong sense of prophetic gloom. She tries to put it down to the unpleasant scene in the kitchen yesterday but admits she doesn’t often get such strong feelings.

There is nothing we can do, so Jillian finishes off the medieval garments she’s been working on, deciding to make a shop front display out of them. “Someone might want them for the fancy dress party coming up.”

“Good idea,” I mutter, but can’t work up much enthusiasm, not the way I’m feeling.

While Jillian finishes stitching, I prepare the evening meal of vegetable pasta. Both Jillian and I are vegetarians. We eat a lot of salads, but today has been our coldest day so far this year and preparing all the vegetables gives me something to do, anything to take my mind off Jarrod.

I almost phone him several times but can’t go through with it in the end. He doesn’t want me in his life. I have to accept this. Just after nine I talk Jillian into phoning. It will be all right coming from her. All she has to do is inquire into Casey’s recovery.

Jillian phones but no one answers.

“Please, Jillian, let it ring out this time.”

“I did, Kate. There’s no one home.”

“At this time of night?”

Jillian glances at the white-faced digital clock on the wall. “It’s only nine twenty, darling. Maybe they went to the theater.”

“It’s not Friday.”

She pats my shoulder comfortingly and starts clearing dishes.

“I’ll do it,” I say irritably, needing something else mundane and laborious to fill in time.

Washing dishes for two takes a whole twelve minutes, even after scrubbing the bench top three times. There is nothing left but to go to bed. Homework doesn’t even come into it, I couldn’t concentrate anyway. I say good night to Jillian and go to my room.

I hear the thumps on the shop front door just as I make it to the top of the stairs. I tear back down, calling out to Jillian as I go, “I’ll get it!”

It has to be Jarrod, I just know it. So I yank open the door, my heart thudding somewhere in the vicinity of my tonsils. When I see him, he looks so distraught, I can’t help but scream a kind of strangled gasp. It’s as if he’s been to hell and couldn’t find his way back, except via a sewer system. “Jarrod, what happened?”

He can hardly speak, his eyes sunken half into his skull, vicious dark circles surrounding them, his skin ashen gray. He doesn’t say much, except, “Dad tried to kill himself.”

“Oh, God, is he . . . ?”

“In the hospital.”

I drag him out of the freezing cold. He’s shivering and damp all over. He didn’t even bother to grab a jacket. In this weather it’s unthinkable. “How?”

“Overdosed on antidepressants.”

I remember Jarrod telling me once how depressed his father’s been, especially since the accident, and how his depression sparked the idea to move to Ashpeak—an attempt to lift his spirits, rejuvenate him. “I’m so sorry. What do the doctors say?”

His chest heaves. “He’ll be okay. But he has to have therapy. They’re worried he might try it again. They’re talking of institutionalizing him.”

Unconsciously, my mouth drops open. If this happens it will be very hard on them all. They’re such a close-knit family. They’ve been through so much already. I dread to think, emotionally, what this new problem will do to them. “How’s your mom coping?”

“She’s hanging in. It’s all she’s ever done. It’s not fair, Kate. Why?”

I don’t think it’s an appropriate time to start spouting curses to him, so I just shrug and offer a lame smile. “Come and sit by the heater.” We have one of those glass-encased wood burners in the living room. They’re great up here, heat spreads through the entire house, right up to my bedroom, even on really cold nights like this one.

But he doesn’t move. His head falls back, his eyes slide shut as he gulps in huge raking breaths. I wait silently while he attempts to pull himself together. When he does, he looks at me, his head tilted, and says, “I want a shot at Jillian’s plan.”

My stomach does a funny sort of somersault. “Sure,” I tentatively agree, suddenly very nervous. Jarrod looks desperate. What if Jillian’s plan doesn’t work? Chances are it won’t. Logic suggests it won’t. I don’t think it’s possible to go back in time and place. How disappointed will Jarrod be then? “Sure,” I repeat, stalling for time.

I become aware of Jillian, waiting silently nearby. Now she steps toward us. “I’m sorry, Jarrod, about your father.”

He nods, acknowledging Jillian’s sympathy. Then, “When can we do it?”

He means Jillian’s plan, but taking one look at Jarrod’s distressed state has my nerves jumping again. If it does work, it could turn out a harrowing event. We haven’t even talked about the details, what can go wrong, what to do when we get there. If we get there.

‘Tonight all right?” Jarrod asks.

I glance at Jillian. “Look at his condition, Jillian. Wouldn’t he need his strength about him for this sort of thing?”

Jillian’s face distorts as she thinks about this. “Strength is certainly important, Kate, but so are emotions, and Jarrod’s are highly charged right now. In this state he’s probably psychologically more accepting.”

“What are you saying? That we should do this thing now?”

“Well, I have everything prepared.”

I stare at them both in turn. Things are happening too fast. Surely more thought has to go into this decision.

“I’m ready, Jillian,” Jarrod says softly. His deep green eyes find mine, remaining steady, determined, challenging, as if defying my idea of him being a spineless gutless wonder.

“I’ll let your mother know you’re staying the night.”

Jillian goes to phone Mrs. Thornton, and I grab the moment to explain that I think he should wait a few days, one at least. But Jarrod rejects every point I make. Even suggesting his mother needs him at home while his father is ill in the hospital makes no difference.

“Something else could happen, Kate,” he reasons. “If there’s something I can do tonight, right now, to stop this craziness, then I have to try. No matter the consequences.”

He means his own death. And I know what he’s thinking. If he can’t lift the curse and dies trying, at least his family will be rid of the curse for this generation. Of course he isn’t thinking how devastated they’d be at losing him. So I remind him of how much they need him at home, how much they’ve already been through; but he can only see that, should he fail, his family would be better off.

Jarrod is so adamant that all I can do in the end is agree and support his decision. I hand him the medieval garments Jillian prepared, explaining how to put them on. Nothing too difficult, a pair of tight woollen hose for his legs, a fine linen shirt, a long pleated tunic with padded shoulders, which belts at the waist with a buckle, and soft brown leather boots. He nods and I leave the room while he changes.

I go to my own room and change also. Jarrod doesn’t know this yet, but Jillian’s plan includes me. It’s the only sure way of knowing we can get Jarrod back to this time and place safely. He could possibly do it himself if he accepted that he has the gift, but he hasn’t yet, and maybe never will. So we can’t chance his going alone.

I step into my woollen stockings and flinch at the rough feel that makes me suddenly want to scratch. Maybe I could do without them? But, no . . . to succeed, it will have to be done right, to the smallest detail. The undergarment is next, soft and full length, with buttoned long sleeves from elbow to wrist. Over the top of this I pull on a long full robe, the top half snugly fitting my bust and waist with quite a flare to the floor. It has vertical slits at my hips to slip my hands through to lift the long undergarment. There are thirty-six annoying buttons down the back, and elbow-length sleeves that hang almost to the ground. My boots are also leather, not that you can even glimpse them underneath all this fabric. I brush my long hair, then braid it into two coils over each ear.

I practice slipping my hands through the dress slits to lift the undergarment as I descend the stairs. I’m concentrating so hard on not tripping on the long hem that I walk right through to the kitchen, where my subconscious mind registers Jarrod’s and Jillian’s voices, before looking up.

It’s the dead silence that hits me first. Both Jarrod and Jillian are staring at me. I hear Jillian’s breath suck in sharply while Jarrod just looks stunned, his mouth hanging slightly open as his eyes take it all in from my medieval hairstyle to the full-length beige-colored garment. “You look brilliant,” he says softly, then adds, “but why are you dressed up?”

It’s time to tell him, obviously Jillian hasn’t. I mentally thank her for this and take two small steps forward, conscious again of the full-length skirts and how they sway when I walk. “Didn’t I tell you? I never grew out of playing dress-up,” I joke, trying to inject some humor. He doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring. “I’m going with you, of course.”

He leans forward, locking his fingers firmly around my wrist. “No.”

I send Jillian a pleading look.

“She has to accompany you, Jarrod.”

He spins toward her. “Do you think I can’t do this without Kate?”

I snort at this, yanking my wrist out of his hold. Typical male pride. “This isn’t meant to be a cut to your ego.”

He snaps his head back to mine, eyes blazing at the insult. “I wasn’t thinking that. I’m actually thinking of you. Of the dangers.”

The lights overhead flicker. “Calm down,” I reprimand. “I apologize.”

He seems content with that and his eyes soften.

Jillian asks, “Do you think I want to send Kate on this journey?”

He frowns and I think he’s beginning to understand where Jillian’s coming from.

“She’s not just my granddaughter, Jarrod. Kate is my daughter in every sense of the word. Her mother abandoned both of us years ago, and Kate is very dear to me. But I care for you, too, and you may find this difficult to understand, but I sense there is something very special about you. I want to help you get rid of this curse so that you will be free to be the person you were meant to be.”

She sighs and puts a hand on Jarrod’s shoulder, locking eyes with him. I know this stance, it’s captivating. There’s no way he will be able to resist this pull. “Jarrod, Kate will help you in your quest, and you may need her talents to return home. Remember, it’s a big task to deal with a powerful alchemist’s magic. If you don’t realize your own powers, then you have no choice but to accept Kate’s generous offer.”

He quiets down submissively. “I’m sorry. I just don’t want anyone else getting hurt on my behalf.”

“Kate can take care of herself. I trust her completely.”

My eyes mist at Jillian’s words. I give her a hug and feel her warmth. “Thanks, Jillian.” I pull back and look at Jarrod. “It may take the strengths of the two of us together to beat this thing. Besides”—I shrug lightly, adjusting to the bulky feel of the garments—“how can I pass up an opportunity like this? If Jillian’s magic works, then I get to experience firsthand medieval life. The idea is nerve-racking but exciting at the same time. Don’t you feel it? And besides, I’ve always been fascinated with that part of history.”