Old Magic

by Marianne Curley

  I tumble bum first out of the window, scrape my arm against a cracked timber frame, landing with a loud thump and whack in a pile of dry, crackly leaf residue. I glance up, glad it’s a single-storey house, and rub my sore elbow. No lights go on so at least I didn’t wake anyone, or break another bone.

  Outside it’s already freezing, and it’s only around 11:20 pm. Just enough time I reckon to cycle to Kate’s and tread through the scrub to the place by the creek where I have to meet her. She told me not to use a torch unless I really have to. The full moon tonight is supposed to be enough. And my senses. Rely on them, she said.

  She has to be kidding. My senses are on red alert, nothing is working except fear and adrenalin. And that predicted full moon has decided it’s not coming out. Who could blame it? It’s not stupid.

  I shouldn’t be doing this.

  I feel for the jar of goat’s blood, tucked neatly into my shirt pocket beneath my black ribbed jumper. I groan, but only in relief, the jar is still intact. It should be after all I went through this afternoon to find some. The town vet gave me a list of farms with goats, but assured me milk would be easier to obtain than blood; then looked at me as if I wasn’t all there. He wasn’t far wrong. Striking out on the farms, whose owners had at least enjoyed a good belly laugh at my expense, I ended up at the abattoirs where I had a nightmare of a time convincing the attendant it was goat’s blood I needed for my biology assignment, and not the usual animal organs such as pig’s brains, or livers or eyes. He assured me I was making a mistake, had somehow got my instructions muddled; but seeing how my little brother came so close to death recently, made an exception in the case of my sanity.

  I cycle harder at the memory: at least this is something I can do without falling over. And I need to get some speed up to tackle the hills leading up to Kate’s. The streets are quiet. In fact, there isn’t a car or anything in sight. Which is good for me. No one will see me in this ludicrous get-up – all black from my toes to my head, just as Kate ordered, except for the small red insignia of the NBA Chicago Bulls on the front of Casey’s beanie. But the air is so icy, this close to winter, I decide to risk the slight oversight on Kate’s instructions.

  By the time I make it to Jillian’s shop I’m exhausted, having walked my bike up the last steep incline. I leave it out the front and head for the rainforest track that Kate once showed me. Of course in the dark I can’t find it easily and have to use my torch. It’s hardly a track at all and after a few minutes my heart starts thundering. If the noise my feet are making crunching the millions of dry fallen leaves doesn’t alarm the forest animals, surely the sound of my thumping heart will throw out the harmony between the forest and the moon. Or whatever it was Kate said.

  It turns out newly-formed spider webs with fat juicy spiders in their centres, just waiting for easy prey like me, are my worst enemy. I keep my head buried, hands spread wide in front of me as I knock down one web after another. With every step adrenalin pumps harder, making my pulse go berserk. Sweat forms everywhere even though the temperature keeps dropping. I suddenly wonder if I’m even heading in the right direction. A seasoned bush-walker wouldn’t attempt a forest walk in these conditions, at this time of night, without a compass.

  These particular thoughts make me even more edgy. My breathing starts coming in rapid short bursts, exhaling smoky puffs into the chilling air. What if I end up way off course and miss the creek altogether? What if I find a gully or ravine instead? Hypothermia will set in. I could freeze to death before anyone finds me, probably in two or three days’ time.

  Panic sets in, destroying my nerves like acid on sugar. I’m drawn into making a decision. I can’t continue. I spin around in a mad swirl, too fast. Which way is which? I become disoriented. It’s at this moment I see a faint glimmer in the distance. At first I think it’s a fire, but it lacks a familiar orange glow. Whatever it is, my breathing instantly slows. It has to be Kate. No one else would be out here in the middle of the night, except perhaps an axe-wielding murderer.

  I grope my way toward the light, calming with every step, so that by the time I reach the spot, I have taken on a transient image of physical control.

  ‘You made it,’ she says as if she entertained some pretty realistic doubts.

  I shrug, attempting to look unconcerned. If there’s one thing that hits deep, it’s Kate’s lack of faith in me. She thinks I’m a spineless wimp. I don’t mean the accidents, she’s not shallow, she’s looking deeper than that – right into my soul. ‘Sure. Whatd’ya think? I said I’d come.’

  She has a wand in her hand which she points in a wide arch. ‘I’ve already cast the circle. The candles are its perimeter. You can only enter at the place directly behind me.’

  I go along with her, even though her words send an icy chill along my spine, and do exactly as she says. I end up sitting cross-legged opposite her. It’s then I start to absorb everything around me. The creek is here, familiar and very close. I can touch the crystal water if I stretch my fingers far enough to the right. A steamy mist hovers low over its surface. It looks spooky and surreal like a scene from a fantasy movie. There are very small flames coming from heaps of white candles burning smoke-free in an odd shaped circle surrounding us. Strangely, they don’t appear to be burning down either. On Kate’s right side sits a gold box, shaped like a small treasure chest. The lid is open and inside I see a perfectly smooth pink crystal, a silver goblet, a pair of scissors, a length of blue cord, and a few other oddities. My eyes feel huge in my head and I decide not to investigate any more. There is a putrid smell coming from somewhere. I really don’t want to ask about it. Yet, it is the light that is strangest of all. Other than the small flames burning around us there seems to be no other light source, but the entire area, like a dome, is filled with a strange white light, as if the very air is glowing.

  She sees the wonder on my face. ‘It’s just a bit of magic Jillian taught me,’ she says softly, her voice smooth and melodious. I envy her calmness. It makes me feel more gutless than ever.

  ‘Do you like it?’

  What does she want me to say? ‘Er, yeah,’ I stumble. ‘How …?’

  She merely smiles. ‘It’s complicated, and I’m not sure you’re ready to hear it. Einstein would love it though.’

  I have to be content with that, though I want to ask more. I start relaxing a little at the evidence of her magic, and start to hope. If Kate can do this thing with the light, and there truly is a curse on my family, perhaps she can solve my problems after all.

  ‘Are you ready, Jarrod? It’s almost midnight.’

  I nod slightly. ‘Yeah, I guess.’

  She smiles again, and I start to unwind, my pulse finally slowing down to something resembling normal. She’s in her element, totally in control. Some of it brushes off on me. ‘You will have to remove the beanie, and strip down to your jeans.’

  My head shoots forward, eyes the size of eggs. ‘Strip?’

  ‘Not everything!’ she laughs. ‘Just the top part.’

  My face forms a smirk. ‘I didn’t mean that. It’s just, well … it’s like two degrees out here.’

  She frowns and looks puzzled. ‘Are you cold?’

  Her question, issued as a challenge, has me reassessing the situation quickly. I realise our breath isn’t steaming any more, and my fingers aren’t numb. Even my toes are comfortable now. I touch the skin on my face. Amazingly, it’s not icy cold as it was only moments earlier, but warm. I look at her, intently. ‘How did you do this?’

  ‘I didn’t really. I have no effect on the weather, though I’ve tried lots of times. It’s the light that’s generating a little heat, enough at least to take the chill out of the air.’

  ‘Wow,’ is all I can say. My mouth is a desert.

  ‘Did you bring the blood?’

  This brings back my attention quickly. I reach into my shirt pocket with a bit of a smirk, remembering the embarrassing afternoon chase; and withdraw the half-filled jar, all the attendant would give
me. I hope it’s enough.

  ‘Excellent,’ she says, relieving my fears.

  ‘What are you going to do with it?’

  She reaches behind herself and drags round the source of the putrid smell – a small bowl with something squishy and brown and slimy inside. Carefully, she pours the goat’s blood over the top of the foul-smelling mixture and stirs it with a plastic spoon. ‘Jillian’s vision of snakes circling your body means that evil spirits surround you. You know,’ she remarks in an offhand manner, ‘you probably carry them with you all the time. Snakes are just their mortal form.’

  Exactly what I want to hear.

  ‘The odour produced by the goat’s blood mixed with fish heart, liver and toad’s entrails is supposed to,’ she adds softly, leaning forward, ‘hopefully, get rid of them. At least long enough for our magic to work. It’s a temporary tactic; but if the spell works tonight, it might help get rid of the snakes on a more permanent basis.’

  ‘Really?’ is all I can manage. Vivid images of snakes circling my body suddenly make my skin crawl as if these fictitious snakes are real. I lived on this farm about six years ago that used to be a horse stud before Dad decided to try his hand at growing turf. It was twenty-two hectares of prime river flats. We saw the first snake the day we moved in. By the end of the week, we were ready to move out. They came up from the river as if they were drawn to us. Must’ve been the dry spell, the neighbours told us, that lured them to the farmhouse. We took a huge loss on that place, couldn’t sell it fast enough, especially after I woke up with three snakes in my bed, and had threatened to never sleep again. Just thinking about the memory can still spook me. That impulse to run starts thumping away inside again.

  Kate finishes stirring and lays the stick down beside the bowl, which she pushes just a little out of reach, but still within the circle of flames. At least now it’s a little easier to live with. ‘Relax,’ she says softly, ‘I won’t hurt you, Jarrod.’ Her eyes, now brilliant sapphires, hold mine in a kind of promise. ‘Ever.’

  I’m glad to hear it. ‘What now?’

  Her words stun me. ‘I’m going to cleanse you.’

  One eye narrows as I try to absorb this bit of information, recalling her request that I strip down to my jeans. ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Of all evil.’

  The curse, of course. Was I really thinking she meant a sponge bath? As entertaining as that would probably be in a cosy environment, the thought of it out here in the middle of the night is somehow a lot less exciting. ‘How?’ I ask quickly to hide my embarrassment.

  ‘With the help of the elements – earth, air, water and fire.’

  Is she serious? The words sound like dialogue from a cheap-thrills horror movie. ‘You’ve been watching too much television.’

  Her reply is straight to the point. ‘We don’t own one.’

  ‘OK, then tell me this. How are you going to get these four elements to help you? Ask them nicely?’

  She stares at me with slits for eyes. She’s mad as hell and I can’t hold her stare. ‘Sorry,’ I mutter.

  ‘This isn’t going to work without some cooperation from you, Jarrod. Sarcasm won’t do anything except cause a block. A cleansing spell is far from easy.’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’

  ‘All right then.’ She’s still angry and I really am sorry now. I remember she’s doing this thing for me. ‘Try not to question everything, just flow with me. OK?’

  I nod, contrite.

  And then she says, ‘Now take off your beanie, jumper, and anything else under there.’

  My nerves are jumping but I do what I’m told, laying the clothes down in a small pile by my side. Heat floods my face as I feel her gaze on me. Though far from naked, I may as well be, the way I’m feeling right now. I feel like a scrawny bag of bones. I try to look anywhere but at Kate. She’s doing something with her hands, and I recognise with an odd sensation in my gut that they’re raised in prayer. She’s speaking too, but it’s not to me. Her head is tilted backwards, and I can’t distinguish her words. After a few seconds of this she shifts into a kneeling position, grabs her scissors, taking them towards my head.

  ‘Hey, wait a minute. What are you planning with those?’

  Her voice is amazingly calm, if anything, kind of flat, as if she’s entered a trance. ‘I need your hair.’

  ‘Hair!’ I lift up on my haunches, ready to run somewhere, anywhere, quickly. This little charade is going too far.

  But she’s smiling at me gently. ‘Not all your hair, just a few strands, that’s all.’

  She snips quickly, in case I change my mind, then wraps a length of blue cord around the little bundle. ‘This might smell a bit.’ She holds the bundle over a candle on her left and starts reciting again, this time a rhyming chant.

  Personally I don’t think anything can smell worse than the goat’s blood concoction. The wrapped hair sizzles as it curls up and disintegrates in the yellow flame. When it’s all gone I look up at Kate. She seems ethereal in the way her still vivid blue eyes reflect the candle flames, a soft breeze gently tugging and playing with wisps of her long black hair. Right now Kate actually does look like a witch even with those light, unusually-shaped eyes; all that is missing is the legendary broomstick.

  Her eyes lift to mine. ‘You’re not going to like this next part,’ she says softly.

  My pulse takes a flying leap.

  With the goblet she scoops up some moist dark earth. ‘Breathe slowly and deeply from way down in here.’ Her hand touches my stomach just above my navel. It’s firm, yet soft and comfortably warm; and it takes all my concentration to do what she asks this time. Her hand, her eerily flat voice and glazed eyes, are doing strange things to my level of concentration. I try hard not to let my emotions show as Kate is good at sensing moods and feelings. Eventually I get the hang of breathing deeply from my abdomen. She allows her hand to move up and down with my breaths a few times before she raises it and slowly tips the cup of moist earth over my head. Using a circular motion she then starts rubbing the dirt into my scalp, forehead and chest with her fingers. As she does this, she repeats that same rhyming chant.

  My eyes close in a feeble attempt at self-protection as dust and tiny gravelly bits of rotted leaves and stuff try forcing their way into my eyes and mouth. I wish now I’d remembered my glasses.

  When I open my eyes Kate is smiling. ‘You’re doing really well.’

  I nod but the motion causes more dirt and grit to fall out of my hair. ‘You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?’

  She laughs a little, and I’m glad to see the glaze that shrouded her eyes a few minutes ago has disappeared. She looks normal again. Well, as normal as Kate is going to get I guess. ‘There’s just one thing left,’ she says, and reaches out to the creek, giving her fingers a quick clean. Then, with both hands cupped, she scoops up a handful of water and holds it dripping a bit towards my face.

  She doesn’t need to say anything, I know she means for me to drink, but the thought alone of sipping water out of her cupped hands does strange things to my anatomy. The gesture crosses some sort of invisible line. That line known as intimacy.

  She nods at the water trapped in her hands. ‘C’mon, what are you waiting for?’

  I watch as drips seep through tiny wedges of space between her fingers. Trying hard not to let any of my feelings show, I lean forward and start drinking. I don’t dare look at her as she would know instantly how she has affected me. When there is none left I drag in a long hard breath and sit back on to my heels. I glance up and see Kate’s mouth moving with whisper-soft words, her body gently swaying backwards and forwards. Shivers ride over me in waves as a strange heat suddenly fills me from feet to head. In an instant it passes, leaving me breathless.

  Kate sighs softly, then smiles. ‘Feel all right?’

  ‘A little strange, but it’s passing.’

  ‘Good. We’re done.’ Briskly, she starts tidying up, collecting her scissors and other bits and pieces int
o her treasure chest. ‘We have to leave the circle as we entered,’ she says. We do this and Kate puts out the candles. With the plastic cup, she makes a shallow grave, burying the stinking concoction of goat’s blood, fish heart, liver and toad’s entrails. ‘You can get dressed now, it’ll quickly turn cold.’

  As she says this the glow surrounding us becomes less and less until it disappears completely. The cowardly moon finally makes an appearance now that it’s all over. I catch a glimpse of it through the forest canopy, the little light it’s giving helps me locate exactly where I put my clothes. The air becomes chillier and after giving my head a quick shake and brushing dirt off my face and chest, I throw on my clothes, beanie included. ‘So that’s it?’ I ask, climbing to my feet, still wiping dirt off my forehead.

  ‘That’s it,’ she repeats.

  I rummage in my jeans’ pocket for my torch. It’s a relief when I find it and switch it on. ‘So what happens now?’

  We start walking towards the road. At least I assume we’re heading in the right direction. Personally I have no idea, but Kate seems sure of herself, so I follow close behind. ‘Wait and see, I guess,’ she says.

  She doesn’t sound too confident. ‘How long will it take, you reckon?’

  ‘If the spell worked, then the curse should lift pretty much straight away.’

  ‘All right then!’ I allow a little excitement. Maybe this whole crazy night will have been worth the adrenalin rush, amongst other things. ‘But how will I know if the curse has been lifted?’

  ‘That’s pretty obvious,’ she replies. ‘You won’t be so clumsy any more and your family will have a break from their endless list of disasters.’

  We come to the road and Kate walks me to my bike. There’s a lot more light now as clouds roll off, exposing a brilliant full moon. I switch off the torch. The miniature treasure chest is under her arm, and it reminds me of what we’ve just done. I suddenly feel awkward. How do I thank a witch for casting a spell that might lift a timeless family curse?

  ‘Look,’ I begin tentatively. ‘What happened tonight, I, er, well … Thanks, for your help.’