Guardian of the Dead

by Karen Healey

  ‘But it’s complicated,’ he added. ‘I mean. With what I am.’

  Self-hatred was a serious turn-off, I decided, still dizzily turning over I like you too. He liked me. He liked me. He liked me. ‘You’re not off the hook for enchanting me,’ I added. ‘That was not good. But I like you anyway.’

  ‘About that,’ Mark said, smile vanishing. He’d picked up a stone somewhere. Now he turned it over and over in his hands. ‘I should warn you about Mr Sand.’

  I settled back.

  ‘I came to him two years ago, three years after I’d left the mists. I could still travel under the earth then, so it was easy. I wanted him to teach me some magic, teach me how to protect Kevin.’

  ‘And he didn’t?’ I guessed.

  He grimaced. ‘Oh, he did. He taught me everything I can do now.’

  ‘But you said Reka taught you.’

  ‘She did.’

  ‘Are you being confusing on purpose?’ I demanded.

  He weighed the stone in his palm, still looking at it instead of me. ‘Look. It’s important that you understand that I’m still a monster. I still have the eyes, and I’ll still live a long time, and the smell of cooked food makes me a little queasy, though I’m human enough to stomach it. Reka taught me how to walk the mists and make claws from my fingers, and charm people with flute-music or song. But I can’t do that now. I can’t use the patupaiarehe magic I was born to.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because Sand ate it.’

  Shock curdled in my stomach.

  ‘It’s really not that different from what the patupaiarehe are doing. Just less messy. I . . . I showed him some of the things Reka showed me in exchange for his teaching me and making the bracelet. I thought I was getting the best of the bargain.’ He gestured at the kennel. ‘But I was stupid. While I slept like a dog in his yard, he gorged himself on the power I was born with.’

  ‘Like a vampire, but of magic?’ I ventured.

  ‘Pretty much. He calls himself an animavore.’ He shook his head. ‘He says he was old long before Greek got established as a language. He says he doesn’t remember what he was called before that.’

  ‘He says?’

  ‘He says he never lies, and I think that’s true. But he’s worse than Reka. He’ll twist the truth around on itself, and hand you the knot, and laugh when you can’t find where it begins.’

  ‘Poetic.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He flung the stone. It bounced off the guinea-pig hutch, taking a small chunk of rotting timber with it. He made no apology. ‘We’ve got some breathing space. Want a lesson in the theory of magic?’

  It was a neat bit of misdirection, but he was hiding behind his hair again. ‘You’re not telling me something,’ I said flatly.

  He brushed back his hair and glared at me. ‘Do you want to know the whole story?’ he demanded. ‘Every little humiliation, every awful, petty task?’

  I recoiled, cursing my impulsive tongue. ‘No. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ he said, and held up a finger. ‘There are three kinds of . . . well, ‘magicians’ works. Three kinds of magicians. The first kind is born to magic. They’re either supernatural creatures, or humans who are magic from birth. They’re born with intrinsic power, and they learn how to use it as easily as you learned how to walk – it takes a little while, but it’s instinct, and they’ll always do it. That’s rare these days, especially among humans.’ He held up a second finger. ‘Then there’s people like you and Kevin, people with potential, either inherited or a genetic wildcard. That’s more like . . . uh, learning to swim. You might figure out how to swim if you just jumped in, because you have everything you need to do it. But you’re much more likely to learn how – and survive learning – if someone teaches you. And a lot of people get by without ever learning.’ He glanced at me.

  ‘Got it so far,’ I assured him. His face was easing as he explained, and I watched the tension go out of his hands as he gestured.

  ‘And the third category is everyone else,’ he said, holding up the third finger. ‘Almost anyone can learn to do spells, but if they don’t have any power of their own, they need a power source, to see and to do. An object of power, or a tattoo, or a ceremony – something that charges them up. And they can’t learn those spells by just messing away at them. It’d be like trying to put a computer together from the parts when they’ve never seen one before. They need an instructor, or at the very least a manual.’

  ‘So the patupaiarehe are . . . category one. But they’re stealing extra power to tug at the fish.’

  ‘Yes.’

  I grimaced, and pursued another line of inquiry. ‘You said almost anyone can learn?’

  ‘Some people can’t even use stored power. I don’t know why. It’s like some connection is broken.’

  ‘Huh,’ I said, and thought about it. The world was much stranger than I had ever supposed.

  ‘People will be on the way. I better let them know where to come. Can I use the phone?’

  I stood too, disappointed that the moment seemed to be over. ‘Yeah, sure, I think it’s still connected.’

  Someone thumped on the front door, and Mark started, grabbing at his wrist.

  ‘Ellie?’ a familiar voice called. ‘Ellie, I know you’re there.’

  ‘Shit,’ I said, and shook my head at Mark. ‘No, it’s just the neighbour. You make your calls. I’ll get rid of her.’

  He let go of his bracelet, tension easing, but I wasn’t as confident as I sounded. Hinemoana Simpson was not the sort of person you could just get rid of.

  Without letting myself think about it too much, I fetched the handbag holding the mask.

  I summoned a smile before I pulled open the door, my cheeks aching under its manic force. ‘Hi!’

  Hinemoana seemed unmoved.

  I liked her a lot; she’d lived next door all my life, a no-nonsense midwife who’d brought over casseroles and baking long after the rest of my parents’ friends’ donations to the Cancer Year had slowed to a trickle. But she had my parents’ itinerary and the list of their hotel phone numbers in case of emergency, and she was absolutely the last person I’d wanted to notice I was back.

  ‘Hello, Ellie. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Home for a brief holiday,’ I said. ‘Just checking up on the place, you know.’

  ‘I’ve been doing that,’ she said. ‘Watering the plants, taking the mail. Your parents didn’t mention you were visiting.’

  ‘They didn’t? Well, I guess they’re pretty busy in Vienna.’

  Her gaze didn’t waver, but her generous mouth thinned. ‘Munich.’

  I tried to laugh. ‘Right. I get confused with all those German-speaking places. So how’s it going?’

  ‘I spoke to your mum yesterday, Ellie,’ she said, resting her fists on her hips. ‘You’d better tell me what’s going on.’

  The mask hummed at me, and I heard her next question through the rising buzz of its eagerness to serve me.

  ‘Do your parents really know you’re here?’

  I flinched, and that must have been answer enough.

  ‘I know it’s not school holidays, Ellie. David has another week to go at Boys’ High. Your parents are spending a lot of money on that school. They’re very proud that you got in.’

  ‘I know,’ I blurted. ‘I’m just . . . I’m just homesick.’

  This had the advantage of being true, but Hinemoana’s eyes got even flintier. ‘Ellie,’ she said. ‘I saw the boy.’

  The mask hummed again, insistent.

  ‘I’m calling your parents’ hotel,’ she said. ‘You’d better come with me; you can’t stay here with him.’

  What the hell was happening with Mark? Surely his bracelet had recharged; he could come and do his memory magic. Or had he taken me at my word, that I could handle it? I swung the handbag off my shoulder to clutch it in one hand, feeling the mask vibrate through the leather.

  ‘I have to stay here,’ I said. ‘I have to do som
ething, there’s going to be a thing, I can’t talk about it. Hinemoana, I’m really sorry but I can’t—’ ‘Ellie, right now I think you’d better call me Ms Simpson. Grab your stuff and tell your boyfriend to get out of the house. If he needs somewhere to stay—’

  ‘You can’t call my parents.’

  ‘Can and will.’ She was already turning away. There was no time to call Mark now.

  I took a deep breath and opened the handbag. The mask nearly leapt into my hand, and its delight as I fitted it to my face was both thrilling and stomach-churning.

  ‘Ms Simpson,’ I said, and she turned around to stare at my new face. ‘Listen to me.’

  It was even worse than Mrs Chappell, maybe because Hinemoana already liked me, when I wasn’t being a disobedient liar. Her face went slack, all that intelligent vitality transformed to mindless devotion. ‘Yes?’ she said, her voice eager. ‘Can I help you, Ellie? Tell me what to do.’

  ‘Don’t tell my parents,’ I said. ‘Don’t tell anyone; forget that you saw me. But remember these instructions. Remember that you shouldn’t tell anyone I’m here.’ That ought to cover it.

  I could feel Mark at my back now, too goddamn late.

  The mask reminded me that I could make him love me, too. Forever and ever. All I had to do was turn around.

  I shivered, and not entirely out of fear.

  ‘Go now,’ I said, and Hinemoana turned on her heel and marched away. I watched her go back to her house and walk through the back door, never looking back.

  I waited three long heartbeats, while the mask whispered in my head, and then gently pulled it free of my face.

  ‘You did the right thing,’ Mark said.

  ‘Don’t talk to me about this,’ I said, without looking over my shoulder. ‘You gave me a migraine.’

  ‘If I’d had that mask, I wouldn’t have had to. You didn’t hurt her, Ellie. What we’re doing is important. The hard decisions get easier.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and only then noticed that I was stroking the mask. It was purring under the attention. I put the mask back in the bag and snapped the clasps. ‘That would be the problem. It already feels way too easy.’

  I looked at him then, but he was already moving away. I knew it wasn’t fair to resent him for not being there to bewitch Hinemoana, so that I wouldn’t have had to pull out the mask, and yearn for all its promises to come true. I knew it wasn’t fair, and I resented him anyway.

  ‘I have to call some more people,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah,’ I said, and decided not to think about how much the mask could do for me. ‘I should get ready for my guests. How many should I expect?’

  Mark looked vague. ‘I don’t know. Last night I called all the magicians I know even a little and asked them to spread the word. Maybe . . . twenty?’

  I calculated the likely cans in the pantry. Dad liked to shop for some forthcoming famine, and I could always go down to the supermarket with Iris’s wallet. I was in so much trouble that it didn’t really matter if anyone else saw me; Hinemoana had been the only one who could make the call.

  ‘Twenty,’ I said. ‘No problem.’

  UNITY

  I LEANED OVER MARK as he shrank into the dubious shelter of a corner of the laundry room. He looked torn between amusement and terror, and I had every intention of encouraging the correct response.

  ‘You said twenty,’ I hissed. ‘I’m going to kill you slow.’

  ‘This many is good.’

  ‘It’s good for fighting patupaiarehe! But how am I supposed to seat them? And I didn’t make enough food!’

  ‘They brought food,’ Mark protested. He slipped past me and stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, pointing. ‘Ellie. Come on. Tell me it’s not enough.’

  I glared at the kitchen table, fists on my hips.

  There were plates of neat-cut sandwiches and bowls of salads. There were platters of roast kumara chips, and copper bowls of fragrant curries, and a plate of sweet roasted bananas. There were bottles of sherry, and apple juice, and ouzo, and Coke, and brandy, and something homemade in a green glass bottle that I didn’t think even the ouzo-bringer was likely to drink.

  Three Mori men in biker leathers had brought cheerful smiles, a pile of roast beef and potatoes, and a case of DB Draught. A group of Fijian women in ruffled white dresses had brought grilled crayfish and vegetables simmered in spiced coconut milk. An older Pkeh man with a priest’s dog-collar sitting quietly above his dark-blue jersey had handed me a trifle in a cut-glass bowl, apologising that the custard was from a carton. A tiny Desi woman in a yellow blouse and sari had given me a vegetable curry so hot that my eyes had watered just from the smell. An oddly familiar, skinny Mori boy with moko patterns newly tattooed on his cheeks had given me a measuring look and a bowl of raw oysters. A tall Asian man with an impressive flowing beard, trailed by an equally impressive black cat, had put an enormous Tupperware container of cooked rice in the fridge, and politely assured me that more would be supplied at my will.

  The food had come, and come, and its givers also, and the few who hadn’t brought anything had mumbled alarmed apologies when they saw the table, quietly slipping out to buy fruit and wine. By now there were more than fifty people milling in the backyard, trampling the grass between my father’s roses. Mark didn’t recognise more than half of them; the others were people who knew those magicians he had met. It seemed that most magicians didn’t care too much for community-building, but I guessed that total isolation was hard to pull off.

  ‘This many is good,’ he repeated. ‘We’re going to win, Ellie. Can’t you feel the power gathered here?’

  I could; it saturated the air and prickled against my skin. It didn’t soothe my temper, but I had to admit – the numbers were reassuring.

  There was a sudden hot smell that wrinkled my nose, and Mr Sand wafted down the hall and past us into the laundry room.

  ‘Hello, Ms Spencer,’ he carolled. ‘I didn’t bring refreshments; but then, I don’t expect I’ll dine.’

  He beamed at Mark and slipped through the back door before I could react.

  ‘Right,’ I said, and started after him.

  ‘You can’t kick him out,’ Mark said sharply. ‘You already offered him guest-right.’

  I stopped. ‘I’m so stupid,’ I said, hearing it come out high and breathy. ‘What was I thinking?’

  ‘No. It was really smart. You’re about as close as it gets to neutral territory.’

  I sniffed past the lump in my throat. ‘I could use a hug.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I know. I’m just saying, I could really use one. I wish Kevin were here.’

  ‘Ms Spencer,’ a drawling American voice said from the front door, and my jaw dropped at its familiarity.

  ‘Professor,’ I said faintly.

  La Gribaldi’s many thin braids were coming down from their customary tightly-pinned crown. She flung them back over her shoulder. ‘The timing of all this is just appalling. Midyear exams are in a week, you know.’

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ I said wildly. I was fumbling back through my memories, trying to find some hint that would anticipate her appearance here. A number of things Mark had said slid abruptly into place. I squinted at her. She looked exactly the same to my ordinary eyes: a contrast of bright skirts and dark skin, moving as if the world would make space around her. But with my new sight I could sense great power. And despite our obvious differences, a feeling of similarity between us. I wondered what her talents were.

  ‘Of course not, Ms Spencer,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t an accusation.’ She plunked a black plastic bag on the table, where it clinked ominously. ‘Don’t let anyone drink that until after we’ve come to an agreement. It’s my best mead.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said faintly.

  ‘Don’t thank me, young woman; don’t you know anything? Mr Nolan.’

  ‘Professor,’ he said. ‘Did you find them?’

  She looked grim. ‘No. They’re back in t
he mists. You’re right; we’ll have to meet them here. This way? Excellent. Then let’s begin.’

  I waited until she was gone before I turned to Mark, waving my hands impotently.

  ‘She’s—’

  ‘I said that!’ he said quickly. ‘Or at least I meant to. We’ve been pretty busy.’

  ‘Well, wait, couldn’t she help protect Kevin?’

  He looked away. ‘She offered.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘Her solution was to kill Reka.’ He wrapped his arms around himself. ‘She helped me research the spell I used, but she thought it would be safer the other way. And part of me knows she’s right. But I couldn’t do it. I hate Reka’s guts most of the time, but I couldn’t kill her.’

  I thought of my own mother, weak and vomiting and her hair coming out in great clumps, of the way she’d moved painfully through this hallway. I would have done anything to make her better and keep her safe, but I’d been helpless. And even if she’d been a terrible person, like Reka, if she’d kidnapped and raped and stolen – I nearly gagged on the thought. I was glad I hadn’t had to make Mark’s choice. Since he’d chosen what he had, I could at least make it easier on him.

  ‘She’s your mother,’ I said firmly. ‘No one could expect it of you.’

  He gave me a startled look from the corners of his deep green eyes, and then that slow smile unfurled across his face.

  We went out to the gathered people, not touching.

  The meeting began with a greeting from me as the host, assuring everyone they were safe here as my guests, which was apparently all I had to do. I was careful to deliver it exactly as Mark had told me. Some tension released as I finished the words, the magic in the air no longer tingling unpleasantly.

  I was one of the few sitting on a chair – a lawn chair, in my case, unearthed from the garage. Mark leaned in the doorframe. The others stood, or leaned on the fence, or sat on the lawn, or perched in the remains of the tree house. They all looked human enough, but I wasn’t taking any bets. There was, for example, a slight and very pale Pkeh girl whose incisors were a bit too long for comfort, and who I didn’t want to think about too hard. And it was clearly a meeting of supernatural powers; small, round lights hung in nothingness, transforming the deepening murk into something that felt deceptively festival-like, and the air was early-summer warm.