Magic's Child

by Justine Larbalestier

  He tipped his hat at me and said something too fast to catch. I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t think it was English. But the only language I knew other than English was Kriol, and I suspected they didn’t speak that much outside the Northern Territory. I smiled at him, pretty sure now that this was not the U.S.A., wondering if I was ever going to see Sarafina alive again.

  Two old women, skin dark like the old man’s, trudged up the hill. They held bunches of dried flowers, offering them to me. I shook my head and they continued on their slow way. They were dressed in colours as bright as the walls.

  The sky was almost as big as it was out in the deserts of home. Brilliant and blue, threaded with cumulus clouds fluffier than balls of cotton and a contrail left by a passing plane. When I looked down again I half expected to see spinifex, a wedge-tailed eagle snatching up a rabbit.

  Instead a four-wheel drive made its slow way down the narrow, steep, unevenly paved street. Beyond the car, a whole town was laid out. Square houses of faded yellows, browns, blues, and reds; flat roofs; trees and bushes and gardens; the occasional church steeple, arrayed in tiers down the hill. And past them a plain of greens and brown, and then, in the distance, a ridge of blue mountains.

  I turned back to the door, reached for the handle that still didn’t turn. “Please,” I whispered as I had before. “Please. I’m ready to go back now.”

  The door would not open.

  18

  Morning After

  Tom woke to the smell of something clean and damp roaring in the distance, and a hard, cold floor under his back. He shivered and sat up, blinking to unglue his eyes. He was on Jay-Tee’s bedroom floor. He rubbed his neck and turned to look at her, asleep, sprawled across her bed.

  He grinned.

  The roaring was getting louder. Rain, he realised. Drops were hitting the glass doors that opened onto the balcony. The clean, damp smell was ozone. He tried to remember the last time it had rained. Must have been when he’d shown Reason the cemetery and old lady Havisham and the Cansino family monument, but that shower hadn’t lasted long. He hoped it’d last longer this time.

  The phone rang. Tom jumped up, groaning at the effects of a night spent on the floor. There wasn’t a phone in Jay-Tee’s room. Was there one in Reason’s room? He opened the door, and just as he found it on a small table in the hall, the ringing stopped.

  Tom thought about lying down on Reason’s bed and getting more sleep. He was tired. Somewhere outside someone was playing loud dance music. He smiled, thinking of the two of them dancing last night, of all their kissing. He wondered how late it was.

  A different phone started ringing. His mobile. He lunged back into Jay-Tee’s bedroom, to his backpack, fishing it out and answering softly as he slipped out into the hallway.

  “Tom?” It was Esmeralda.

  “Yes, it’s me.” The music was a lot louder out in the hallway. He wondered where it was coming from.

  “How are you and Jay-Tee going?”

  Tom glanced at the door to Jay-Tee’s room. His cheeks went hot. “Good. We’re good.”

  “Really? Jay-Tee hasn’t been acting strange at all?”

  “You mean about her magic being gone?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s cool about it. She’s fine.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “I, er,” Tom stammered. “I just woke up.”

  “I thought she might be with you. She didn’t answer when I rang my place.”

  “Huh,” Tom said. “Have you found Reason’s mum?”

  “Not yet. Reason’s looking. We haven’t given up hope. Has the social worker phoned again?”

  “Not yet, but we’ll call the second she does. How’s Reason?” Tom asked. “Jay-Tee said she was getting kind of weird. Glowing or something.”

  Esmeralda didn’t say anything.

  “Is she okay?” Tom asked again, wondering how powerful Reason had become. Turning Jay-Tee’s magic off was intense. He wondered what else she could do.

  Behind him he heard Jay-Tee yawn. She came out of her room still in her pyjamas and sat on the floor beside him, leaving enough space so that they wouldn’t touch. He wondered why.

  “She’s changing,” Esmeralda said at last. “It’s hard to describe. Listen, I should go. If anything happens, let me know. And keep an eye out for Jay-Tee. I’m worried about her.”

  “Of course.” He pointed at the phone and mouthed, “Esmeralda.” Jay-Tee put her hand out for it.

  “Thanks, Tom. I’ll talk to you soon. Oh,” Esmeralda said, as if suddenly remembering. “Where were you?”

  “Oh, you know,” he said, wondering why he didn’t just tell her. “Around.”

  “That’s what I told the girls. They seem to forget you have another life.”

  Tom laughed. “Them and me both. Listen, Jay-Tee just came round. Do you want to talk to her?”

  Esmeralda said she did. As he passed the phone to Jay-Tee, she didn’t meet his eyes and managed to avoid touching his fingers. He stood up and she sat down, turning her back.

  Okay, he thought, checking his watch: just after nine AM. Plenty of time before breakfast with his da. At least his father wouldn’t give him the cold shoulder. Or maybe Jay-Tee just wasn’t a morning person.

  8

  The dance music was still playing loud outside. Then Tom thought he heard a crash from downstairs. It was a second before he recognised the sound: the front door opening.

  Bugger, thought Tom, who the hell could that be? He dashed down the stairs, realising halfway down that the dance music wasn’t coming from outside. It was coming from the dining room. They’d left the radio on. Bugger.

  Rita, Esmeralda’s cleaner, stood in the hallway, hanging her bag and raincoat up on the hallstand. She smiled at him. “Hi, Tom. What’s up?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Tom said.

  “That music’s pretty loud, isn’t it?”

  “Yup,” Tom said. “I was just about to turn it off. Lot of rain out?”

  “Cats and dogs.”

  “Brilliant. So, um, Mere’s not here.”

  “Well, no,” Rita said. “She’s at work, isn’t she?”

  “Nope, she’s in the city. The other one.” He gestured back at the door.

  Rita nodded but didn’t look in that direction. Like Tom’s father, she wasn’t comfortable about magic, didn’t like to talk about it. “What happened to your face?”

  Tom touched the bandage covering Jason Blake’s handiwork. “I was climbing. It’s nothing. I thought you only came on Mondays?” he asked.

  “Mondays and Thursdays. But it’s been mixed up a bit lately. Appointments,” she said, shrugging. “Is that something on your neck? Did you do that climbing too?”

  “My neck?” he asked, thinking, Oh crap! What’s on my neck? He put his hand to his throat, as if he could feel whatever it was. Unsurprisingly, he couldn’t.

  “Looks like a bruise.”

  “Huh,” he said. Jay-Tee had marked his neck? He moved so that he stood between Rita and the dining room door. No way did he want her walking in on the mess they’d made. Not when she’d already noted the bruise—or rather, hickey—on his neck. She’d tell Esmeralda. He blushed thinking about Esmeralda knowing about him and Jay-Tee. If there was a him and Jay-Tee. Why was she avoiding touching him? Why hadn’t she said anything to him about last night? Why did she give him a hickey?!

  “And how have you been, Tom?”

  Tom’s cheeks got hotter. Stupid blushing genes. “Good,” he said, “you know.” He shrugged, and leaned back against the door as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. At least, he hoped it looked that way. Then his bum slipped across the wood and he almost went arse over tit.

  Rita smiled. “Been on holidays too long, have you? When my ones were still at school, I used to think the summer holidays lasted forever.” She sighed. “How’s that sister of yours? Still overseas studying?” />
  “That’s right. She’s going good. Cath really likes it there. Sometimes I don’t think she’s ever coming home.” He wished Rita would keep heading to the kitchen. Wasn’t that where she normally started? He had to get in and clean up the dining room and turn the music off. How did you get a hickey off your neck?

  “It’s always the way. So many young people go away and then never come back or don’t for years and years and years. My brother Simon lives in England, so my nieces and their children all have proper English accents. Very strange.”

  “Must be.”

  “Well, I better get on with it. Nice chatting to you.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. Grouse.”

  “Don’t forget to turn that music down.”

  “No fear.” He waited until she was in the kitchen and then eased himself into the dining room, where he turned the stereo off. His ears buzzed in the sudden silence.

  The dining room was a catastrophe, the carpet crooked. Two of the chairs lay on their sides, one up against the folding wooden doors that when closed (which they never were) divided the big room in two. The chair had left a scratch. Tom could only hope Rita and Esmeralda wouldn’t notice. He didn’t remember knocking either chair over.

  “Tom,” Rita called, opening the dining room door closest to the kitchen. “I’m just putting the kettle on. Do you want a cup…?” She took in the room. “Oh, my. Had a party, did we?”

  Tom’s face got hot all the way to the top of his neck. “No, no. Jay-Tee was just teaching me how to dance. And we needed space.”

  “I see. Lots of space, eh?” Rita looked at Tom with an expression that made the blush extend down to his chest. “Jay-Tee’s that American lassie who’s staying here?”

  Tom nodded.

  “Yeah, that’s me,” Jay-Tee said, coming through the other door. She stopped to stare at the room. “Oh.” Tom could’ve sworn that she was blushing. He hadn’t known she could. She was still in her pyjamas. Bugger. That would just make Rita think…Tom looked at Rita, who was staring at Jay-Tee. Too late. She was already thinking it.

  “You’re the dance teacher, then?”

  Jay-Tee shot Tom a look. “Um, yeah, that’s right.”

  “I’m Rita,” she said, and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise,” Jay-Tee said in a tiny voice as they shook hands.

  “I was just offering Tom a cuppa. Would you like one?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine,” she mumbled, staring at her feet.

  Embarrassed, Tom realised. She was embarrassed about them. Oh great, Tom thought, even though he was embarrassed too. But he wasn’t embarrassed because they’d gotten together. He wasn’t embarrassed about Jay-Tee. He was just, you know, embarrassed.

  “Tom? A cuppa?” Rita asked, looking from him to Jay-Tee and back again. Tom could’ve sworn she was smirking. He was so mortified he didn’t know where to look. Though his feet seemed like a good idea.

  “Nope, I’m good, Rita. Ta, but.”

  “Well, I’ll leave you two to straighten up. Careful with that table. It’s heavy.” Rita closed the door behind her. Tom tried to think of something to say to Jay-Tee but couldn’t. She must’ve thought he was a total dag.

  “What’s a cuppa?” she asked.

  19

  A Different Sky

  I ran through the first two hundred Fibonaccis before I tried the door again. It didn’t budge. “Please,” I whispered, wishing there was a way to beg that didn’t sound pathetic. Jay-Tee’d given me the impression that the door wouldn’t open if it didn’t respect you.

  I put both hands flat on the wood, feeling the ripples become more and more agitated. I whispered to the door to hush, that I meant no harm. I had to get back. “You don’t understand,” I told it. “My mother is dying. I have to save her. Please.”

  The ripples stopped. But the door didn’t open.

  I wished Esmeralda had come through with me. Maybe she’d have remembered something out of one of her books, something that would lead me to Sarafina.

  I closed my eyes, probed between the 907 lights and the cords that bound them. This time I found tiny fissures that closed tight as soon as I approached. I opened my eyes, laid my cheek against the door, whispering, begging it to please, please, please, please open for me. I offered the biggest prime I knew as a precious gift: 22976221-1.

  The door stayed deaf to my offerings. I apologised for whatever it was that I might have done wrong. I promised not to do it again. I said I would do whatever it wanted, though I had no idea what a door would want.

  I slid down onto the raised footpath, then crossed my legs under me and leaned back against the wall.

  Sarafina was dying somewhere.

  Another car drove by, this time struggling up the steep hill. The road was so narrow the driver had to stop to let two men walk by carrying slabs of beer. They called out to each other, but I couldn’t understand what they were saying. They laughed.

  There were other doors in this town. But not so many as in New York City. I could see them. But even if one opened for me, what then? The odds were long of them leading back to Sydney, or New York, or to wherever it was that Jason Blake had hidden Sarafina. Most likely they’d lead to another strange place like this, where I couldn’t understand what anyone said.

  If my mother hadn’t been dying, if she’d been here with me, it would’ve been fun. Find another door, see where it led. Travel the world. Discover how many doors there were. Hundreds? Thousands?

  If I waited long enough, would the door change its mind? I knew I could wait. I hadn’t needed to go to the toilet since Raul had changed me. I’d stopped being thirsty or hungry. This new body didn’t even want food. If I ate, I vomited.

  For me, waiting was easy, but Sarafina couldn’t wait.

  The people walking past me were dressed warmly. Jumpers, shawls. Winter, but not a New York, cold-all-the-time winter—a desert winter, warm during the day, cold at night. The northern hemisphere, then, but a lot further south than New York City. What was south of the United States? South America: Argentina, Brazil, Nicaragua. But they would be in summer now, like Australia.

  A few of the people smiled at me; others spoke, but I couldn’t understand them. Mostly, though, they avoided my eyes, made gestures across their chests, like Jay-Tee sometimes did when she was nervous or scared. They could see that I was gold. It frightened them.

  One woman spoke to me directly. I could separate the words, but I didn’t know what they meant. She had dyed-blonde hair and was brown-skinned, but in an over-tanned way, like her skin wasn’t meant to be that colour. She didn’t look like the other people I’d seen. When I didn’t understand her, she spoke to me in English, with an accent like Jason Blake’s.

  “Are you all right, honey?” She had so little magic that I doubted she could see my glow. “You’ve been sitting outside there for a while.”

  “I’m fine,” I said, though I wasn’t. Sarafina was so far away. “I’m just waiting for my friends to get back. They shouldn’t be much longer.”

  “You’re sure?”

  I nodded. “I’m good at waiting.”

  “You’re really okay? You must be so cold. Can I at least loan you a coat?”

  “I’m fine. Really. I don’t feel the cold. Honest.”

  “Well,” the woman said, obviously not believing me, “if you need anything, I live in that house over there.” She pointed up the street to a wall painted yellow with another blue door. “Number forty-nine.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  She paused as if she was going to say something else and then nodded. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

  I said that I would and watched her walk slowly up the hill to her blue door in the wall that bounded that side of the street. It was hard to imagine an entire house lying behind it.

  I whispered reassuringly to the door, asked it again to let me through, reminded it about Sarafina. “Please,” I said. The door ignored me.

&nb
sp; Two small children hanging from their father’s hands and slapping at one another came walking up the hill towards me. Their skin was as brown as mine. Or as mine had been before it had turned to gold. The little girl pointed at me and said something. The man smacked her hand and spoke to her sharply. Then he made the Jay-Tee gesture. He nodded to me but did not meet my eyes. He said something I couldn’t quite hear that might have been an apology. His pace picked up, until he was almost dragging his children up the hill.

  The little girl turned her head, stumbling as she walked half backwards, still clutching his hand. She stared at me, curious and avid. Her plaits bounced and twisted with her uneven gait.

  She was magic. As magic as I had been, as magic as Tom or Jay-Tee, but her magic was strong and crackling because she was still so young. I wondered if she knew what she was, if she knew how to keep from going mad, how to keep from hurting anyone. Did she know about this door? Her brother and father had very little magic.

  As the little girl disappeared around the corner, I stood up and followed.

  8

  A few narrow, winding streets later, the man and his little girl and boy disappeared into a door as small as the one I had come through, set into a long wall dotted with other windows and doors. I had begun to realize that different-coloured stretches of wall indicated where one house ended and the next began. The street was just as steep as the one I’d started from, almost at a forty-five-degree angle. This whole side of the town climbed a huge hill, the houses stacked like uneven books on a shelf.

  In my Cansino vision, I could see right into the house: two strong magics stood close together. The little girl was one. The other one felt related to her.

  I raised my hand to knock on the door, then lowered it. I didn’t know what to say and doubted they would understand me.

  A group of boys further down the street kicked a soccer ball up and down the angled street. I turned to look at them. One of them saw me and started, eyes wide—the ball shot past him down the long, steep hill. The other boys cried out in dismay; one punched his shoulder. With a last suspicious look at me, he took off at a flat-out sprint to retrieve the ball, one of the smaller boys trailing behind. As the rest waited, they glanced at me warily and moved further away down the hill.