Old Magic

by Marianne Curley

  Jillian returns about ten minutes later with a steaming, strong-smelling drink. It’s a mix of herbs mostly: basil for mental fatigue, bergamot for stress, clary sage for muscle strength, lavender for anxiety and head pain. There’s something else but I can’t distinguish the aroma. Between the two of us we get most of the stuff down his throat. He falls back to the bed and while he rests I explain about the cafe, Pecs’s sick display, Jarrod’s trance, and the violent earth tremor.

  Jillian listens intently, sometimes shaking her head like she can’t believe it. ‘He doesn’t know how to handle the gift,’ she explains. ‘His brain is triggering the trance as a coping mechanism. He has a lot to learn before he can control it.’

  ‘That’s the problem, Jillian. He won’t learn while he’s in denial. And there’s another thing, I think he’s cursed, or his family at least.’

  I explain about the accidents and bad luck that Jarrod’s family’s had over the years, right down to the clumsy things Jarrod can’t seem to help doing.

  Jillian looks thoughtful. ‘It could explain the reason his gift has been released. Perhaps it’s meant for him to use as a tool – a subconscious attempt to counter the curse. But, of course, there’s no way of figuring it out without Jarrod’s help. His acceptance is vital. And by the sounds of things, Kate, time is essential. As Jarrod’s powers grow, so could the powers of the curse. These things are probably linked.’

  Jarrod

  I feel so strange. There’s a heat inside my body, a burning sensation. It’s as if I can actually feel every muscle, every tendon, every nerve cell.

  ‘He’s waking.’

  Kate! Please don’t tell me she’s in my head again. I open my eyes and she’s standing in front of me, her head and shoulders slightly stooped. I’m lying on a firm but comfortable bed. Looking about, other than Kate and her grandmother, I can’t recognise anything. There’s a softly glowing amber light beside the bed, an antique-looking dresser and stool, crystal wind chimes hanging in front of a closed lead-light window. There’s a wooden bowl on the dresser, in which Kate is running a finger around the inside rim. It appears to be filled with water and fresh flower petals. Beside this is a ceramic oil burner that isn’t being used. The room smells clean and woody, like the forest.

  ‘How are you feeling, Jarrod?’

  I lift myself up on one elbow to answer Kate’s grandmother and wonder how to address her. ‘Better, thank you …?’

  ‘Just call me Jillian,’ she suggests. Her smile is warm. At least this time she isn’t screaming and ranting about snakes.

  ‘Is this your room?’ I ask Kate. She nods and helps me sit up. I swing my legs to the floor, resting my elbows on my knees. That inner burning, that strange awareness of my insides, is easing. My head starts clearing. ‘What happened? How did I get here?’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  I have to think. ‘I was at the Icehouse. You were there with Hannah. The waitress broke a glass, it spilled all over Pete.’ I also recall Pecs’s slack comments. I look up to see if she’s remembering too. But her eyes, and Jillian’s, are busy elsewhere. The crystal chimes have started spinning, filling the room with flickering pastel colours and little tinkling noises.

  When they stop Kate glances at Jillian; a knowing look passes between them. ‘Is that all?’

  What does she want? An instant replay? My thoughts spin back to the moment. When Pecs grabbed Kate’s elbow and started mauling her throat I wanted to do damage. And I’ve never been a violent person. If anything, I usually run at the first sign of trouble. I haven’t got the stomach for blood, let alone spilled blood, especially mine. But Kate is waiting for my answer as if she wants to hear all the gory details. ‘Pecs spewed some very descriptive stuff about you, then slobbered all over your neck.’

  There’s an awkward silence. I’ve probably hurt her feelings. Whatever Kate is – strange, weird, whacky, even psychotic – at this moment I don’t care. Her unusual blue-grey eyes lock with mine and I can’t look away. I take in everything about her. Long silky black hair, pale – almost translucent – skin, the exotic shape of her eyes; and I know no girl could look more … I dunno. Striking.

  ‘Thank you, Jarrod,’ she says softly, and I wonder about this.

  ‘Why are you thanking me?’

  ‘For what you did tonight. In your own way, even though it ended disastrously, you did what you did because … Well, at least at the time, you cared. Pecs insulted me, and you got angry.’

  I try hard to follow. Sure, I remember getting angry. ‘What did I do?’

  ‘You caused an earthquake.’

  OK, I hear what she’s saying. I caused an earthquake. I stare at her. ‘I caused an earthquake!’

  A smile forms, but there’s no humour in her voice. ‘I can’t be sure exactly what it was. Let’s put it this way, there’s not much left of the Icehouse Cafe.’

  ‘I remember something now. Breaking glass, screaming.’ I shake my head, trying to clear it. There’s more I’m sure, but the memory of it is fuzzy. ‘Maybe I got hit on the head. If it’s as bad as you say, something must be responsible for my hazy memories. I don’t remember an earthquake.’

  Kate is shaking her head in frustration. ‘You almost were hit on the head, by a collapsing ceiling and crashing chandelier. But I pushed you out of the way.’

  ‘Are you saying you saved my life?’

  Suddenly the frustrated look mutates into something definitely hostile. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, Jarrod, you’re missing the point.’

  Jillian touches her arm, an attempt I realise to calm her. ‘A little slower I think, my dear.’

  Kate tosses her head aggressively, spinning around and muttering under her breath. She moves to the centre of the room where she can stand without stooping, her hands on her hips.

  Jillian is still hovering by the door. I realise these are the only two places a person can stand without hitting their head on the ceiling. ‘I met your mother this afternoon, and your little brother, Casey, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I reply. Jillian is trying to lighten the atmosphere. I’m glad of the reprieve. Things have a way of growing eerie very quickly with Kate.

  ‘They had a browse in my shop.’

  I drag my eyes from Kate’s stiff back. ‘Did they? Mum would like that. She’s into all this weird stuff.’

  Jillian’s eyebrows lift. Oh no, I’ve probably offended her too. ‘I didn’t mean …’ I stumble to find the right words. As usual they never come when I want them.

  She smiles reassuringly, and I see a resemblance to Kate. Not in appearances; they’re different there. Jillian’s hair is wavy, kept short, especially at the back, and light brown. Kate doesn’t look anything like Jillian except in the eyes. It makes me wonder about Kate’s father’s origins – Asian probably, or some Hawaiian island perhaps. I bet she wonders too.

  ‘She told me about the clothes and jewellery she makes,’ Jillian says. ‘They sound interesting. She’s going to drop in with a sample next week. We’re going to hang them in the shop, see if we can generate some movement. Tourists like that sort of thing. You know, weird stuff.’

  I can’t help but laugh. Jillian is all right. She has a sense of humour. I wish she could’ve passed some on through her genes to Kate.

  ‘I’m going to make you two a couple of sandwiches.’ And to Kate Jillian says, ‘Remember, Kate, you’ve had sixteen years to adjust to your talents, but can you tell me you’re totally at ease with yourself, with your abilities, even now, after this length of time?’

  Kate nods without replying. It seems Jillian doesn’t require any other confirmation anyway. I’m glad. The thought of them discussing powers and talents and abilities gives me the shivers. Jillian leaves and I decide to set this discussion straight before it gets out of hand. ‘Look,’ I begin and Kate spins around with an aggro look on her face. ‘I know you’re into magic and stuff.’ She glares at me, her incredible almond-shaped eyes narrowing defensively. I put my hand up to stop
whatever she’s going to say. ‘That’s OK with me. I can handle that, I think. At least, I will, as long you don’t involve me in it. I mean, you can involve me, but not include me. The point I’m pathetically trying to make is that I don’t have any magical powers, or mystical talents, or anything like that, unless of course you count clumsiness in your list of paranormal qualities.’

  She actually smiles, then lowers herself to the floor so that her back rests against the edge of the bed. My knees are level with her shoulders. My hand is so close to her head I have a sudden urge to touch her, feel for myself if that hair is as soft and silky as it looks. I don’t though. As much as part of me wants to, I’m just not sure. She’s beautiful. In a really exotic sort of way. But looks aren’t everything. Kate is different from other girls. Maybe that’s the attraction. Those other girls at school, Jessica Palmer, Tasha Daniels, they’re really shallow. I guess their only appeal over Kate is that they’re ‘safe’. They don’t scare me, like Kate does. And that makes me comfortable in their company.

  ‘Snakes are an ancient symbol of evil.’

  I hang my head in my hands. ‘Oh, God.’

  ‘I looked it up. Here, I’ll show you.’ She scrambles to her knees and carefully lifts a thick ancient-looking book off the dresser, holding it like she’s afraid her fingerprints will make the soft leather cover disintegrate. She sits back on the floor cross-legged, the book in her lap. It has to be a thousand years old, with a thousand years old yellowed and tattered pages. The soft black cover is bare except for a twisting pattern of gold vines like a border. ‘This is the oldest book Jillian has. It’s unique, you know. Handwritten and filled with Old Magic.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ I mutter, not knowing what she expects.

  Her head lowers as she finds the page she’s marked and starts reading. ‘“Snakes are an ancient symbol of evil. Many snakes, especially around the head, indicate that evil surrounds the figure and all those to which the bearer has alliance”.’

  I yank out my glasses from my jeans’ pocket and scan the script. It’s handwritten all right, articulately in black ink, but the letters are completely indecipherable. I wonder what language it is. ‘How can you read that?’

  She spins her head around and looks up. ‘It’s an early form of English, dating back almost a thousand years. Jillian taught me how to speak and read the ancient tongue.’

  I’m going to be sorry I ask, but I just have to. ‘Why? It seems like a lot of work for something you’re never going to use. I mean, if you learned French, or Japanese, sure, you could travel there one day.’

  Kate’s eyes widen as if she can’t believe anyone can be so stupid. ‘So I can read the ancient scripts of course. I’m fascinated with this era, Jarrod. Magic was alive then. There were some really powerful sorcerers around.’

  I decide to go along with her. Even though I don’t believe in this stuff, I can see it means a lot to her. She must spend half her life on the subject. It’s all she thinks about. I guess she doesn’t get to talk about supernatural stuff with friends very often, except perhaps for Hannah. Most people already believe Jillian is a witch. How would they treat Kate if they knew just how deep she is into this stuff herself?

  ‘And you think,’ I begin, leaning forward with what I hope is a mild amount of interest in my voice, ‘this snake stuff relates to a curse or something.’

  Her smile transforms her face into a picture of relief and excitement. It very nearly blows me away. I experience a moment of instant regret; and hope my humouring hasn’t accidentally misled her. Her eyes sparkle. ‘Look here,’ she says, holding the heavy book up high for me. Why? I wonder. I can’t read this ancient script anyway. So I focus on the diagram, sketchy but still clear, a bit like a 3D drawing. I peer closer and see that it has incredible detail – a half-man, half-bird creature. I think it’s a crow. The half that is human grips a smoothly polished wooden staff with a serpent’s head. His – its – eyes are eerie, crow-shaped and tilting sharply upwards at the outer ends, yet oddly human. I swear the creature is looking straight at me.

  ‘A shapeshifter,’ Kate explains with a shiver. ‘Only the most powerful sorcerers can do this. They’re rare, and even reading about them gives me the creeps.’

  It’s an admission I’m relieved to hear. At least something gives her the creeps. Just looking at the figure on paper is enough for me. I take the book she’s got practically in my face, and find my hands shaking. This doesn’t surprise me as I hate the unknown, things beyond my control or understanding, especially the paranormal. I like the simple things that follow the rules, like the sun rising every morning from the east, and that annoying family of kookaburras that insist on cracking their jokes outside my window every dawn, or the way I can look in the mirror and know my own reflection will be looking back, whether I like it or not.

  My life is complicated enough; this book I simply don’t need. It even has a smell about it, musty, old, remarkably authentic. I want to hurl it back to her and get the hell out of her bedroom. That sudden urge to run returns, hitting me hard in the stomach, making my adrenalin surge. But Kate is smiling excitedly, pointing to the undecipherable words, quoting bits here and there.

  ‘“Once a curse is placed it can take several forms. The most powerful can linger through generations to eternity …”’

  Her finger trails the words across the page. My head tilts to the same slight angle the book is held and I can’t stop my eyes from following. They’re foreign words. I try to relax, try to make my mind wander, but nothing’s working.

  Suddenly I find myself gulping for air. I feel nauseous and need this extra oxygen. I wonder fleetingly if I’m about to pass out. My vision blurs and a sinking feeling kicks into my stomach. My eyes are still riveted to the page where Kate’s finger is passing across the foreign words. I jerk with a start as the ancient script disappears. But it’s only for an instant, and I relax a little when my vision clears and I see the fancy writing again. Yet somehow I sense it is different now. I adjust my glasses in a gesture that is more habitual than necessary. It’s really strange, but suddenly I find I can read the ancient script too, as if the words are present-day English. ‘“… legend has it that the most powerful sorcerers can enfold a curse that spontaneously recurs through future true-born inheritors of such curse … True-born inheritors in the form of the magical number seven. Every seventh-born son of succeeding generations shall carry the curse in its entirety, and for as long as the curse is left to fester unborn, it shall grow in strength and enormity until it is released …”’

  A sudden crash breaks my concentration and the words become undecipherable again. It’s Jillian at the door. I peer up at her through my glasses. She’s dropped a tray that was carrying orange juice and sandwiches. Bits of grain bread, tomato, salad stuff and juice are spread out over the shiny timber floor.

  ‘Jillian!’ Kate calls out, the book slamming shut in my hands as she goes to help Jillian clean up the mess.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Jillian apologises, her eyes wide and wary, remaining on me. ‘I’ve never heard the script read with such perfect enunciation,’ she says softly.

  My eyes jump to the book in my hands, that suddenly seems to burn my fingers. Did I really read those words?

  I must look confused. Jillian leaves the mess on the floor to Kate to tidy, her voice gentle and sincere. ‘Who taught you to read the ancient tongue, Jarrod?’

  I shake my head, unable to accept that I was reading from that book. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. Those words were in perfect English.’

  Kate lifts the tray now, carrying a load of broken china and bits of soggy sandwiches to her dresser. ‘Old English, quite undecipherable today.’

  ‘That’s not true,’ I counter, even though they were my own words. I recall something from last year’s history lessons. ‘English today has retained many of the ancient words. In fact it’s just an expanded and revised form.’

  Kate accepts none of this. ‘Wake up, Jarrod. You s
aid yourself it wasn’t English.’

  I stand a little unsteadily, aware that I need to get out of this house really quickly. ‘Look, I don’t know what happened just then, my imagination ran away with me, that’s all.’

  Kate groans. ‘Sit down, Jarrod, and listen. There’s only one way I can make you believe this stuff.’

  I stare at her, wondering what she has in mind. The hairs at the back of my neck bristle. She raises one arched brow, challenging me to sit and watch and obey. I open my mouth to say I have decided to stand and run, but she has her hands on my shoulders, shoving, firmly, until I sit again on the bed.

  Kate exchanges a quick glance with Jillian, who moves to the dresser and lifts the tray. ‘Nothing too startling now, Kate. I’ll just be downstairs if you need me.’

  I have a sudden urge to grab Jillian and drag her, albeit probably screaming, back into the room. I don’t want to be alone with Kate while she’s in this mood. Anything could happen. My heart starts pounding so fast I think it’s going to catapult up my throat and hurtle across the room.

  Kate’s voice is soft as she pressures me to stay calm. I think this is a joke, or a dream. I feel disoriented, and fight the need to move. She sits down again by my feet, and I’m trapped. Kate’s back leans against the bed frame and she twists her body so she can look up at me. ‘I’m not going to hurt you, Jarrod. I just want to show you a little magic.’

  I nod, words do not form in the arid desert my mouth has become.

  ‘Relax,’ she murmurs soothingly. Her fingers start spinning around a ball or something in her hands. I missed seeing where she got it from, but then I’m not exactly in the most alert state of mind. It’s a glass ball I realise, as I catch glimpses of it through her twirling fingers. She notices where my eyes have focused. ‘It’s a clear crystal Jillian gave me when I was three. It’s a training tool. I don’t need it any more but sometimes, especially when it’s late and I can’t sleep, I play games with it. Simple tricks really. Like this one.’