Old Magic (3 page)

I lunge forward and with my good hand grab her arm, losing the makeshift bandage in the process. Her eyes look really strange for a second, the blue-gray almost disappearing into black, their unusual almond shape rounding out to that of an egg. “Are you kidnapping me?”

She glares for a second, and I think she’s taking me seriously. Then her eyes drift to the bandage at my feet. She picks it up, gives it a little shake, and wraps it around my arm again. While she does this she starts laughing, and her face transforms. I stare at her sudden beauty. I swear it, the girl is truly unique. And her laugh is like music, an enthralling melody. She stops laughing and I shake my head, amazed at what I’ve been thinking. It has to be stress. Either that, or I’m losing my sanity. No girl has ever affected me this way.

“I’m taking you to see my grandmother,” she says.

“Is she a nurse?”

Her mouth twitches a little, just in one corner, as if she’s holding back a cynical laugh. Slowly an incredible smile forms. “Not exactly, but she’s a whole lot better than the office staff playing with first aid.”

For some reason I suddenly trust her. Okay, maybe I really do know the reason—it’s all because of that smile. I’m a sucker for smiles. Having changed schools so many times, a smile has often been a lifeline. But this one is something special. It changes her whole face. Makes her look . . . ethereal. Now, where did that word come from?

We shove our way through the scrub to the main road and follow this for a while until we reach a fork in the road. I think for a minute she’s taking me home as the road to the left leads directly to the property my parents are renting, but then she turns right, taking the narrow dirt and gravel road into the rain forest. It looks fairly steep from here, winding upward. I lose sight of the main road after the first hairpin bend. I realize now how Kate gets her fantastic legs; climbing this road every day would shape the legs of a rhinoceros.

The farther we climb though, doubts set in. It looks lonely and secluded. “Where does your grandmother live? You know, at this rate I could bleed to death before we make it to her front door.”

She spins around, giving me an incredulous stare that makes me feel like a real wimp. So, Mr. Garret’s not the only one who doesn’t like the sight of blood. I feel my face fire up in embarrassment.

“If you’re still bleeding, apply some pressure to that bandage. That’s the idea.” She looks at my wound, winces when she realizes it’s probably deeper than she first thought, then rewinds the bandage, making it tighter.

Her fingers dealing with my wound are steady and warm. I glance into her face when she finishes. “Thanks, Kate.”

My words stun her for some reason. Her head shoots up and our eyes lock. The moment is intense. We could be lovers on a secret rendezvous. At least this is what my vivid imagination comes up with. Sure. As if.

Then somehow the sensation intensifies, as if her eyes and her mind have found a secret passage inside my head. I recognize the buzz. I felt this same sensation in the classroom, when my head had felt invaded. I swear loudly, giving myself a good shake. “Hell, what was that?”

She breaks away and starts climbing the lonely road again, ignoring me.

“Hey!” I catch up with her, needing an answer. “Do you know what happened just then?”

She doesn’t stop walking, just looks straight ahead. “Yeah, of course.”

So casual, when my head is still spinning. “So, what was it?”

“You don’t know?”

“If I knew,” I practically yell, “would I be asking?”

She smiles as if she’s playing a game. “What do you think it was?”

She’s testing me. It’s in her voice, challenging. I don’t like challenges. I have a golden set of rules I try to live by. Challenges sometimes force me through my self-imposed limits. “I have no idea. Only that it doesn’t follow any of the rules.”

She slows a little but keeps walking. I’m grateful but don’t say anything. My legs are tiring from the climb.

“What rules?” she asks.

“I don’t know . . . normal, everyday life rules.”

“Does everything in your life follow the rules, Jarrod?”

I don’t have to think long about that. Of course they don’t. Maybe that’s why I dream of an ordered lifestyle. I’ve never had it.

When I don’t answer she says, “It’s funny, you know.”

Though I try, I can’t see the humor. That intrusive feeling in my head was unreal. Actually I’m starting to think Kate is bad news, a little crazy even. “What’s funny?”

“You’re completely oblivious of yourself.”

“Interesting observation. Don’t stop there.”

She does stop, walking that is. She looks me straight in the face, unflinching. I want to look away but can’t. Both her hands lift, palms up. “Your power. You have so much of it.”

I stare, not understanding a word she’s talking about.

“Inside you.” She taps a long finger at my chest. “I sense it. No, I feel it. And I’m good at that sort of thing.”

“You’re a little funny, aren’t you?” I point to my head and rotate a finger in little circles.

She snorts and grunts. The only thing she hasn’t done is stomp her feet. She takes off and I catch up with her, trying to ignore the throb of my arm. “Sorry,” I mumble.

She shrugs. “It’s okay. You’re not the first one to say something like that.”

“Really?”

Her head swivels sideways with a smile. “You’re a jerk.”

“You know, that’s not the first time someone said something like that to me.”

Her smile deepens, reaching her eyes, and I feel instantly better. I want her to keep talking. I like the sound of her voice, the way her mouth moves. I try to find something safe to talk about. “So, what does your grandmother do for a living?”

I’m so not prepared for her answer. “She’s a witch.”

My first thought is that she is obviously joking. I mean, I really believe she’s joking, except something isn’t right. For starters, she isn’t laughing, or even smiling, not a crinkle around her unusual eyes. “I see,” I say as I try to understand.

“Please don’t tell anyone I said that. I shouldn’t have told you, but . . . well, I know that you’re different too.”

I decide she definitely must be joking, pulling my leg. Her sense of humor is really warped, but, well, I guess I can handle that. “Ah, black magic and all that stuff.”

I hear her suck in a deep sharp breath. Great. Now she’s mad at me. “Never black, Jarrod,” she says in all seriousness. “At least not black in the traditional sense of the word when referring to witch practices.”

I stare at her and she says, “Jillian would never do anything to hurt anyone. She’s adamant about that. All her magic is pure. She’s a healer.”

I realize she is 100 percent dead serious. She notices my stunned-mullet look and spins around. “Look,” she starts explaining, fast realizing she’s losing me. “I wouldn’t be telling you any of this, believe me, I don’t usually encourage gossip, except I believe you have the gift too. I’m guessing you don’t know it, let alone understand it,” she continues in one long rapid burst. “I can see all that, and I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you or anything, but you have to understand, the gift as strong as yours could be dangerous. Manipulating the weather is something . . .” She hesitates, searching for the right words. I get the feeling it isn’t so much searching for an explanation as trying to find words that won’t incriminate her sanity even more.

“Look,” she tries again, and I’m surprised to see her actually blushing. Her cheeks turn the color of tomato sauce. “Usually only sorcerers can do this sort of thing, enchanted sorcerers, not ordinary people like us. D’you know what I mean?”

I stare at her even harder, my mouth hanging open. Is she really saying this stuff? I decide to see just how much she’ll admit. “So, both you and your grandmother are witches?”

She takes her time answering like she’s choosing her words extra carefully. “I guess you could say that.”

“Jillian and Kate. They don’t sound much like names of witches.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

“I don’t know . . . Laeticia, maybe.”

She frowns at me, but a smile is pulling at her mouth. “Laeticia? Where did you dig that up? A grave or something?”

“It was my grandmother’s name.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, and she even looked like a witch.”

“Maybe she was.”

“I don’t believe that for one second. Besides, witchcraft doesn’t exist.”

She says softly, “It exists.”

“No way. You would never convince me. It just . . .”

“Doesn’t follow the rules?”

“Not mine, that’s for sure.”

“Look, Jarrod, I’ve seen your gift in action. And if you’re not trained to handle your skills, anything could happen. People could get hurt. Just look at your arm. What if it’d been your throat that glass had slashed?”

I stare at my arm. The white bandage has slipped again but it’s stopped bleeding now. I take this to mean I’m not about to drop dead at this strange girl’s feet, nor am I in desperate need of a transfusion. All the same, her fun with me has gone far enough. “What are you saying? That I caused that storm today?”

She nods and smiles and looks genuinely relieved.

I know for sure then. It hits deep in my gut. And it’s such a shame because I find myself attracted to her in a way I’ve never felt with a girl before. But this one is bad news. She’s crazy—in the head. There’s no other explanation. I start walking backward, down the deserted mountain road, picking up speed with each step, calling back briefly, “I think I’ll take my chances with the nurse’s office.”

“Geez!” she hisses between clenched teeth. “I’ve frightened you.”

I keep moving and hear her mutter something under her breath. I can’t be sure but I think she says, “Not that it would take much.”

She runs over, takes my elbow, crooning softly and patting my arm. I suddenly feel like an abandoned puppy she’s found on the side of the road. “It’s okay. Don’t worry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that. Jillian is always better with words than me. C’mon, Jarrod, come back with me. It’s not far now.”

Eventually I let her lead me. It’s easier to give in. My policy is to avoid scenes wherever possible. And I guess my curiosity has kicked in. Surely she can’t be too sick, at least not dangerously. She has to be about sixteen, like me. She’s in my class. And I imagine they don’t let delusional teenagers into schools nowadays. They have special homes for that sort of thing.

Don’t they?

Kate

I found out heaps about Jarrod Thornton really quickly. The scariest part is the fact that he has absolutely no idea of his talents. His gift, I mean. And he lacks confidence in himself, badly. I wonder why? What sort of life could have reduced his self-confidence to zilch? Especially in the face of all that power he’s sheltering. I wonder what Jillian will think.

There’s only ever been Jillian and me. We keep mostly to ourselves, except for Hannah. And even though Hannah has no natural talent, it doesn’t make any difference to her enjoyment of the magical arts. I’ve only heard from my mother once, a brief note explaining she’s found happiness at last, living in Brisbane with a man with three grown up children. That was a few years ago and the note was addressed to Jillian, as if she can’t acknowledge that I was actually born. I reckon the man she’s with has no idea I even exist. I should feel relief at this really ’cause I don’t ever want to leave Jillian, or Ashpeak, but sometimes I can’t stop thinking: What on earth is wrong with me that my own mother doesn’t want to know me?

Jillian too was a single mom, but she rarely talks about it. All I know is that her old folks turfed her out as soon as they found out about the pregnancy. She hooked up with an artist for a while, but he was so moody she had to move out. She moved in with a couple of witch wannabees, both into fortune-telling, seances, materialistic spells for cash, and other stuff like that. They weren’t very good either, made their money from ripping off gullible members of the public. Once they distressed an elderly widow trying to contact her deceased husband, telling her his spirit was lost, that he was miserable without her and couldn’t settle. A couple of days later Jillian found out the woman had swallowed a whole packet of sleeping pills, putting herself into a coma from which the doctors couldn’t revive her. This tragedy pushed Jillian to move out on her own. It ended up the best thing she ever did. She started her own business, selling her craft, herbs, incense, crystals, and stuff like that, at a local market. She worked hard, saved her money, and now she has her shop—the Crystal Forest.

I never ask Jillian to tell me more than she wants to. Privacy I respect. It works both ways.

I lead Jarrod through the last of the three hairpin bends, the road ending in a private cul-de-sac. My house is now the only building in sight. There are other properties lower down the mountain, but mostly Jillian and I live by ourselves. Jillian likes it this way, and well, it suits me too.

The cottage is small, A-frame, mostly timber and a little brick around the foundations with an old detached garage on the side. The lower front half forms the shop. Standing here you can see straight through the full front glass windows where Jillian’s trinkets blink back the mid-morning sunlight. At the rear are Jillian’s rooms, and a kitchen–living room and bathroom. My bedroom is the entire top floor. It’s small but I love it there, even though I can only stand full height in the center where the sharply angled roof is tallest. But it has privacy, and the sounds of the forest inhabit my room at night comfortingly.

I suddenly wonder what Jarrod thinks of my home. Strange, I’ll bet. I won’t dare probe his mind again, it only alarms him when I do. He’s not very receptive to new ideas. What he doesn’t understand straight off, what doesn’t follow his “rules of life,” scares the hell out of him. I’ll have to tell Jillian to take it slowly.

The door chimes ring as I lead Jarrod through the front glass door. Jillian is out back, but comes through the timber-framed arch at the sound of impending customers. I smile at her. Even though it’s unusual to see me here at this time of day when I should be at school, I know she won’t be angry. That’s the way she is—nonjudgmental.