Guardian of the Dead

by Karen Healey

  ‘Yin-yang?’

  ‘That’s the Chinese; this is Korean. Same concept. It’s all about finding balance, physically and mentally. It really helped, last year.’ I shrugged, trying not to feel embarrassed at spilling my guts so very thoroughly. ‘So I guess I have faith in that; in trying to be balanced, even though I’m not very good at it. And trying to pass it on.’ I gestured at the theatre. ‘Even through something like this.’

  Mark had twisted on his step so that his body was angled toward me, elegant shoulders leaning in. ‘That sounds really good,’ he said. It was an ordinary enough thing to say, but his voice was soft, and a little wistful, and sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the weather. ‘Listen, Spencer—’

  The door banged open and I jumped, filled with instant hatred for whoever had interrupted this moment. So much for balance.

  ‘Oops,’ Iris said, and grimaced apologetically. ‘So! We’re closing up now.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, getting to my feet. Of course Kevin was right behind her, giving me incredibly subtle eyebrow-raising, twisty-mouthed, aha-I-see-you-there-with-your-eternal-crush faces. Of course he was.

  And right behind him was Reka. She stopped, staring down at Mark, and though I took a step down, he refused to take the hint and move. We were all lined up on the steps, like that bit in The Sound of Music where the kids sing the goodnight song, except this was not cute and funny, but cold and weird. There was a prickly sensation in the air.

  Reka’s eyes went from Mark’s face to mine and back again, absolutely blank. Then she smiled; not the beautiful one she reserved for Kevin, but something small and sharp and not very nice.

  ‘How’s it going, Nolan?’ Kevin said.

  ‘Hi,’ Mark said, eyes narrowing. He nodded slightly. ‘Okay. I’ll see you later.’

  He didn’t look at anyone in particular when he said it, but I decided that he was talking to me. I’d said things I’d said to no one but Kevin and my big sister, so he’d better have been talking to me.

  ‘Good night,’ I said, and he got up and walked away.

  In the car park, Reka cozied up to Kevin again as Iris locked the doors. She spoke quietly to him with her hand on his arm, the fog drifting around her stockinged legs like a caress. Didn’t she have any pride? I leaned against Theodore’s front passenger door, and sent Kevin glowering looks. Not that he noticed.

  ‘Ellie,’ he said. ‘Reka needs a ride home.’

  I nodded.

  ‘So you can walk,’ Reka said, without even looking at me.

  My jaw dropped at her rudeness and then I straightened. ‘Actually, I can’t.’

  Kevin was looking bemused, and Reka stepped closer to him. My skin prickled all the way down my spine. ‘You’ve walked home from the library by yourself plenty of times,’ he said slowly, as if he were talking out one of his trickier Calc problems.

  ‘I promised Chappell,’ I said. ‘It’s nearly time, come on.’

  ‘She can walk,’ Reka said, looking directly at him.

  He blinked twice, and then pulled away from her. ‘What? No. I promised I’d drive her.’

  Reka’s face was blank, but her fingers tightened in Kevin’s coat collar, twisting in the fabric. Then she let him go and stepped back. ‘Another time, then,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Sometime soon, I think.’

  The hairs rose on the back of my neck, but Kevin said goodnight as pleasantly as if she’d never said a thing out of place, and I couldn’t exactly bitch about his new friend without being truthfully accused of envy and spite.

  But though I replayed the highlights of the evening in my head, with first Blake and then Mark talking to me like someone they’d like to know better, I could not recover my previous good mood.

  I managed to spend only half an hour reading in the living room before I resolved that I really would honestly and for true write the damn Odyssey essay now.

  I went to my room, crammed my knees under the desk, and levered the laptop open.

  There was a scrap of paper lying across the keyboard.

  MARK! BIBLE! DON’T FORGET!

  My head cleared as the memories jolted back into it.

  ‘Shit,’ I whispered, and stared at the letters I’d inscribed, trying to think it through.

  Mark had done something to me, and I couldn’t come up with a logical explanation. So I went with the illogical one.

  Magic.

  Magic was real.

  Humiliation smothered me. All this time Mark had been talking to me like a normal person, like someone who liked me. But it had been an excuse, a way to make me stay in at night, or an opportunity to steal the Bible. Even tonight, at the theatre, he must have been checking to see if his enchantment had held, while I babbled about tae kwon do and eum-yang. And I’d thought it was a happy coincidence that he’d been passing by. I’d thought I was lucky.

  I’d told him about my mother.

  The rage tasted hot and sour in my mouth. I got up to stalk around the room.

  ‘Stupid,’ I hissed, clenching the note tight in one hand and pressing the cool palm of the other to my burning cheeks. ‘Ellie, you are so – God.’

  We had Classics the next day, which would provide ample opportunities for saying ludicrous things like, ‘So, are you a wizard, you unbelievable dick?’ He’d bewitched me on a bus, which probably meant he wasn’t worried about witnesses, but it would make me feel a lot better to be surrounded by curious students before I confronted him. And La Gribaldi would be there. She could probably stop a charging bull with a level look and a raised eyebrow, much less Mark – magic or no magic.

  It seemed that if I was reading or touching the paper, I could remember what it said without Mark’s damn headaches. I cautiously slipped the scrap into my back pocket and waited. The memories were still there.

  It turned out that I could stop procrastinating on essay writing if I was using the essay to avoid thinking about something even more huge and intimidating. I worked steadily, touching the note in my pocket every now and then to make sure it was still there, like tonguing a sore tooth.

  My usual sympathy for Circe’s frustrating position in the Odyssey kept sliding into something more frightening as I wrote. A fear of a dangerous, beautiful woman controlling hapless men was so obviously ancient-Greek paranoia. But my head was clear now, after days of fuzz and mixed-up memories. And if Mark could do magic – I touched the note again – why not Reka, with her sometimes-strange eyes? He’d asked me about her on the bus, I realised, without ever seeming to.

  ‘Kevin likes her?’ he’d asked.

  And Mark had transferred into Kevin’s classes, and come to the theatre tonight, to participate in some weird standoff with Reka.

  Too many questions, and far too many of them concerned my best friend. I pounded out a frankly shaky conclusion and emailed the completed essay to myself so that I could print it in the morning. My knees made horrible clicking noises when I got up, stiff from being crammed under the low desk for so long. The curtains were still open. No wonder my back was cold.

  I went to close them and froze, staring out into the garden. It was dotted with wooden benches, and sitting on one was a tall figure in a dark suit, white hair in wisps around his head like a dying dandelion, waving at me.

  It was the crazy preacher from Cathedral Square. My fury returned, with an all-new target. He’d found out where I lived.

  I hauled up the sash window and climbed out, not wasting time by putting on shoes or grabbing my coat. The wet grass soaked through my socks immediately, but I covered the ground in seconds. He stood as I approached and held out a Good News Bible, looking very serious.

  ‘This is for you,’ he said. ‘To save your soul.’

  I stared at it. It was the same copy Mark had taken, I was sure, down to the blank faces and brilliant smiles.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ I demanded.

  The man blinked at me. ‘It’s mine. But you need it.’ He opened it to a passage underlined in red ink. �
�See? I marked it for you.’ He took a deep breath and began to read. ‘“ While I slept, my heart was awake. I dreamed my lover knocked at the door.” ’

  ‘I don’t want it!’ I hissed, flicking a quick glance at the buildings behind us. As far as I could tell, mine was the only light on. ‘What do you know about Mark?’

  ‘Mark?’ he said vaguely. ‘Mark’s a good boy.’

  I hesitated, then went for broke. ‘He’s a magician, right?’

  The man’s eyelids shivered nervously. There were liver spots on his hands, dark against the brown skin. ‘Mark’s a good boy,’ he repeated. ‘He can’t help what he is. He tried. She’s the demon.’

  I took a step towards him. I was on the brink of something important. ‘Who’s the demon?’

  ‘Back off, Spencer.’ Mark was suddenly moving toward us out of the shadowy trees, his hands thrust into the pockets of his long coat. He was glaring at me, as if I were the one in the wrong. I glared back, and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch.

  ‘You arsehole! What did you do to me? What’s going on with Kevin?’

  Mark’s expression went pleasantly blank, and he fumbled for the bracelet around his wrist. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s nothing, Spencer. Nothing.’

  I could feel a pressure at the back of my skull, but my memory stayed intact. I fished the note out and brandished it. ‘Mark! Bible! Don’t forget!’ I quoted savagely. ‘A charm bracelet! That’s hilarious!’

  Shock flashed in his eyes. ‘Shit,’ he said. ‘You made a memory aid.’ His hand made an abortive gesture that was nearly a grab; I stepped back, clearing kicking range.

  ‘She needs guidance,’ the man persisted, turning to Mark as if to enlist his aid. ‘She nearly sees things.’

  ‘Through a glass darkly, and with extremely bad timing,’ Mark said, and sighed. ‘Spencer, this is my father. He is actually trying to help you. Dad, this is Ellie Spencer.’

  My mouth dropped open. I registered, again, the clean and ironed clothes.

  Mark’s father bent to grasp my free hand, and I was too shocked to resist. His palm was rough and dry. ‘What a charming young lady. I met a charming lady, once.’ He kissed my hand and straightened, giving me a smile of such sweetness I felt tears prickle at my eyes.

  ‘So if you can stop harassing him . . .’ Mark said, putting his arm around his father’s shoulder.

  ‘Why didn’t you just say it was your dad’s Bible? Why does he think I need help?’ I tried to sharpen my voice, but the sunken sorrow of Mark’s father blunted my most righteous efforts.

  Mark ignored the second question and answered the first. ‘Because you said he grabbed you. And the last thing he needs is assault charges.’

  ‘I wouldn’t do that,’ I muttered.

  ‘Did I do something wrong?’ Mark’s father asked, hopeless and sad.

  ‘No, Dad. I did.’ Mark lifted a shoulder, grimacing. ‘Sorry, Spencer. I should have just said.’

  It was ridiculous to feel mollified just because he’d baldly admitted to being in the wrong. And it wasn’t the point anyway. I settled back onto my heels. ‘Why were you even talking to me? What did you do to me?’

  He didn’t bother to lie again. ‘I’m not going to tell you right now.’

  ‘Hypnotism?’ I tested.

  ‘Sure. If you like.’ He gestured at my note. ‘Can I have that?’

  I smiled unpleasantly and tucked it back into my jeans. It seemed to vibrate faintly between my fingers. The soles of my feet were going numb, the toes tingling painfully in the chill, but I refused to dance from foot to foot with Mark bloody Nolan staring at me.

  The old man held out the Bible again. ‘You need it,’ he said.

  ‘You really don’t.’ Mark sighed. ‘I don’t think it can help you. Anyway, I’ll take care of everything.’

  I started to ask him about ‘everything’, but the old man began to cry. He wept like a child, noisy and unembarrassed, but with an agony that was entirely adult. I thought of my own father, so far from me, and flinched away.

  ‘Oh, Dad,’ Mark said helplessly. ‘Please don’t.’

  His father worked his hands together, dodging nervously away from Mark’s embrace. Tears collected in his wrinkles, dropped onto the lapels of his jacket. ‘You see me now, but never again. If you look for me, I’ll be gone. Don’t let your people practise divination or look for omens or use spells or charms. You will know them by what they do! It’s in the Bible!’

  The whole situation, I decided, was well beyond awkward. When Mark’s father tried to give me the Bible again, I took it from his calloused hands.

  Mark didn’t seem to care. He took off his scarf. ‘Here, put this on.’

  The old man let Mark wrap it around his neck and tuck the edges into his jacket. ‘Like a cloud that fades and is gone, we humans die and never return; we are forgotten by all who knew us.’

  ‘I know you, Dad. You did what you came to. You warned her. Let’s go home.’

  ‘Home,’ the old man agreed, blinking at Mark. ‘You’re a good boy. You can’t help it.’

  Mark flinched. ‘Spencer,’ he said.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Just forget about it for now. I’ll take care of it. Trust me.’

  ‘But I don’t,’ I said, and saw him accept that with the same pained resignation he gave to his father’s madness. He took his father’s arm and they made their slow way out of that wavering circle of light.

  I managed to climb back into my room without being enchanted or sick or falling off the windowsill, which felt like a minor miracle all on its own. The Bible went in my backpack, and two pairs of dry socks went on my feet. I tucked my memory aid into the socks, which was a bit tricky with shaking hands.

  The mask went on the desk, the only beautiful thing in my cluttered, cramped room. So exhausted that I could barely think, I sat for a long time, staring blankly at that perfect face.

  Eventually, I mustered the energy to get up, and closed the curtains, shutting out the cold, and the magic, and the blind, wet night.

  CRAZY? YES! DUMB? NO!

  IWOKE BEFORE THE ALARM.

  During the night, the note had had some lasting effect; I tested it by putting it on my pile of clothes when I undressed for the shower, but the memory of Mark’s enchantment no longer dropped out of my mind or provoked those awful headaches when I let the paper go.

  I traced my fingers over the letters, and thought about the way I’d written it, pressing the words into the paper, willing it to help me remember. And it had.

  In the shower I let the warm water beat against my head and back, formulating and rejecting questions for Mark as either too broad (‘What can you tell me?’), too obvious (‘So magic’s for real?’), or too personal (‘Is your crazy father magic too?’). Or too scary.

  ‘Do you know what you are?’ he’d asked me.

  When I arrived at Classics for third period, having spent all twenty minutes of morning break struggling with the computer-lab printers, a note taped to the door informed us that Professor Gribaldi was on leave; we were to have a study period instead.

  I’d passed most of my classmates in the corridor, but one of them – Hannah something – was scowling at the notice, her own essay crumpling slightly in her hand. ‘I was up until four on this,’ she said. It wasn’t exactly to me, I thought, just a necessary burst of frustration. The skin under her eyes was dark and tight.

  ‘I turned down coffee with a hot guy,’ I offered.

  ‘Oh, that sucks! And after all her crap about dedication and sacrifice. I bet students in Virginia never take sick days.’

  ‘Are you kidding? Students in Virginia attend classes when they have the plague.’

  She grinned. ‘I heard that one senior in Virginia died in the first term, and his decomposing corpse still attended all the classes.’

  ‘And got top grades,’ I said, nodding.

  ‘And got into Yale, Harvard, and nyu.’

  ‘Unlike slack
Mansfielders, who have no Advanced Placement and no Ivy Leagues to aim for and no work ethic whatsoever.’ She laughed and shook her essay. ‘Four am! I’m going to hand this in at the office. Want me to take yours?’

  I handed it to her gratefully, and watched her leave with some surprise. Maybe I could make more friends.

  A tall redheaded figure turned the corner, saw me, hesitated, and then spun on his heel. Too late. I could move when I wanted to.

  I caught up with him just as he made it to the wide glass doors to the humanities building, closed against the winter chill. Outside, the skeletons of leaves danced over the bare concrete. There were no handy witnesses in case he tried anything. But I was not inclined to wait.

  ‘So what am I?’ I asked as he reached for the handle.

  He stopped, hair falling into his face.

  ‘It’s a fair question,’ I insisted. I’d flicked through his father’s Bible instead of going to breakfast; underlined with red were passages about witches, enchanters, and those who communed with the spirits of the dead. It had confirmed my general theories, but was frustratingly short on specifics.

  He withdrew his hand slowly. ‘It is. You’re Ellie-Spencer.’

  I opened my mouth, just as he added, ‘And your eyes are opening.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He ignored that, looking morose. ‘It’s my fault. I didn’t mean to. Be careful.’

  ‘Your fault?’ I wondered, through the rising thrill of both excitement and terror, and he jingled his bracelet at me. I remembered falling against him, and the strange, electric tingle down my spine as my hair had caught in his charms.Yes, and only after that had he come to fog my head.

  Only after that, in fact, had he noticed me at all.

  ‘What are you? Do you know Reka?’

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ he said, and screwed up his nose. ‘Gribal–di’s not sick,’ he offered.