by Неизвестный
She told them about the boat, being unceremoniously tossed off the boat, and then the swim by suitcase.
“Just what I thought,” Carly said. “You're here illegally. Better not get too comfortable.”
“Illegally?” Opal repeated.
“You might be deported.”
“Deported,” she said, feeling torn by two conflicting emotions at once. She wanted to go home, but she wanted to stay. She hadn't even realized how much she was enjoying herself on the island until that very moment.
* * *
The other girls felt terrible about bringing up the deportation issue, so they kept stuffing Opal with more chocolates and making funny faces to cheer her up.
If Opal had been given the choice to immediately return home at the moment she was being thrown into the jail cell, she might have gone for it. When her great-aunt had been visibly disappointed about getting stuck with Opal, that would have been an excellent moment to leave as well.
But now, after making some friends and getting to see more of the beautiful island, she didn't want to leave just yet. She ate the chocolates and put a cheery smile on her face, pretending not to be bothered by the idea of deportation.
After they left the tree house, though, she dawdled along several bike lengths behind the others and didn't join in their conversation about cute island boys she'd never heard of.
When the shadow appeared up the road, and then the owl overhead, Opal considered holding her ground right where she was and allowing the giant bird to let loose on her, so she could have a really good, epic pout.
At the last second, she dropped the bike and dove into the plants. Nobody said anything for several minutes. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky. She couldn't locate the sun, and yet, the sky was still bright blue.
“What time is it?” she asked the girls.
One of them said, “Midnight, or thereabouts.”
Opal sat up quickly. “How can that be? Didn't the sun set yesterday before five? Before the fireworks? Do you not have normal twenty-four hour days?”
Carly moved through the plant stalks to sit in front of Opal. “This is the catch-up sun. The City Council borrowed the darkness for yesterday, but the dark came from today, so today is a daylight makeup day. The process is called Nightshading.”
Opal threw her hands in the air and said, sarcastically, “Of course. Duh. I should have known. Daylight makeup day. Duh.”
Carly patted her on the knee. “Hang in there. You'll get the hang of things.”
“No, I won't. And then I'll get deported, and I'll never learn magic.” Opal crossed her arms to help emphasize her sulk.
The girls exchanged some looks.
Opal said, “The worst thing is, after coming here, I'll always know what I'm missing, living my boring, non-magical life back on the mainland.”
Carly said, “Here, I'll show you how to make the bubbles.”
Delilah said, “You can't do that!”
Zara pushed over some stalks to make a tiny clearing within the field. Zara said to Delilah, “If you're so concerned, why don't you head on home so you're not party to unauthorized magic. She already used the stairs, anyway. What's another little taste?”
Delilah flicked at some leaves on the stalk near her. “Just bubbles is fine,” she said grumpily. “But no more.”
Opal clapped her hands together. “Seriously? I'm going to learn a magic trick?”
Delilah gave her a scathing look. “They're not tricks.”
Carly rolled her eyes. “Oh, Delilah. Don't be so serious! They are so tricks. Bubbles aren't exactly feats.” She stood and told them to wait while she got something.
Delilah called out, “There's no purple grass around here for miles.”
Zara bent a stalk of the plant next to her, playfully swatting Delilah across the head. “Don't be minus.”
Delilah scowled back, the edges of her pale pink lips turning as white as her skin. “You're the minus.”
Opal said, “You don't have to show me magic if it'll get you in trouble. Wait. What am I saying? Please, please, please show me how to do magic! I'll be so grateful. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I think, secretly, I always knew magic was real. Maybe not like how it is in stories, but I knew it had to be something, or else why would magic and spells be in so many stories? There's always a little truth in everything.”
The plants rustled, and Carly returned with a big smile on her face and several blades of purple-hued grass in her hands.
They spent the next hour teaching Opal how to make a simple beginner bubble. Opal's fingers weren't quite dextrous enough to do the spell perfectly, but she managed to form the proper-sized circle, with the blade of grass folded back on itself like a mobius strip, then she sang the wordless song. The girls explained that many beginner level spells had no words, but were simply melodies, though you had to get the pitch of the notes and the timing exactly right, or nothing happened.
For Opal, their instructions about holding bubble tension in her body and bubble thoughts in her mind at the same time, along with the twisting of the grass and the humming of the spell were almost too much to comprehend.
Learning the spell was not unlike trying to teach a dog to whistle.
And yet, just when they were about to give up, and the last dribbles of leftover daylight were draining from the sky, Opal produced a transparent bubble, about the size of a quarter, just in front of the tip of her nose.
Everyone admired the shimmering results, for all of a second before Opal sneezed. Her head whipped forward uncontrollably, popping the bubble with her nose.
Delilah's pale blue eyes grew very large. “I think she has Affinity,” she said.
Opal said, “Affinity?”
Carly jumped up. “We have to get you home before curfew,” she said to Opal.
“Curfew?”
Carly said, “Not yours, ours. Come on!”
* * *
They sped home, and Opal was grateful for the breeze that dried the sweat along her hairline. Making a simple spell had been hard work, but she had a smile on her face that wouldn't quit, even after several bugs embedded themselves in her teeth and gums. She spat the bugs out and tried to keep her lips sealed shut, but the joy of having her new bicycle combined with the knowledge she'd created a tiny magic bubble were too much, and the big grin came back.
They were nearly back to Opal's house when they smelled smoke.
Carly turned to Opal and said, “You'll vouch for us, won't you? We were all together the whole time.”
Zara said to Carly, “And Clover will stand for us as well.”
Opal said, “What's going on?”
Zara explained, “Witches are always the prime suspects whenever anything goes wrong. The only reason we weren't brought in for questioning about the Russian girl incident, was because we had an alibi.”
“Some alibi,” Carly said. “We were with the sheriff around three-thirty, being questioned about some missing fireworks.”
“That's not fair,” Opal said. “Just because you're witches?”
Carly laughed. “To the sheriff's credit, we were the ones who swiped the fireworks.”
Delilah said, “Carly! Never tell!”
Carly pedaled in front of Delilah and slowed down so Delilah had to brake.
Carly turned to Opal and said, “It was just a few fireworks. They still had plenty, as you saw.”
The smoke smell grew stronger until they reached the source, an entire field that had been burned down to the ground. The girls stopped and surveyed the damage, which was confined to a tidy square, with not a scorch on the neighboring fields or the pockets of trees that dotted the road.
Opal traced the route back in her mind. “That was a vegetable field, wasn't it?”
Carly said, “I predict a salsa shortage for the next week. Oh well. I'll save my real concern for sabotage to the chocolate trees.”
The witches started pedaling again, noting the disappearing
light and shortness of time.
* * *
At her gate, the witches all hugged Opal goodbye and kissed her on the cheeks, then giggled at her surprise. “See, witches are friendly,” Carly said. “I don't know when we can see you again, but hold us in your heart until the next time.”
The three witches tapped their chests, over their hearts, so Opal did the same.
Then they were off, riding at top speed, back in the direction of the town of Ystad.
Now that Opal was back at the house, tucking her new bicycle in a crevice where the house and mountain met, she realized what she had done.
Her first night in her new home, she'd taken off and not even left a note. If she'd done the same to her grandfather, he would have called the police by now. Then again, she'd always had a cell phone, so he would have reached her on the days she forgot to leave a note.
She cautiously opened the door, wondering if she'd be getting grounded, whatever that meant around here. It wasn't like Aunt Waleah could take away her computer and TV privileges.
The house was silent except for a steadily dripping tap in the kitchen. Opal realized how parched she was once in the kitchen, opening the exact right cupboard that held the glasses on the first try. She poured a glass of water, then jiggled the tap in the exact right way to stop the dripping. There was no dishwasher, that she could see, so after two glasses of water, she wiped the rim of the glass with the sleeve of her shirt and stuck it back in the cupboard, as she frequently did at her old home.
She crept upstairs, over wooden steps cracked and worn with age.
Down the hall, the door to Waleah's bedroom was closed, and faint snoring sounds emanated from within.
In the bathroom, Opal found a toothbrush laid out, along with other toiletries, and got herself ready for bed.
In her bedroom, she found that her new clothes had been hung up neatly in her closet, half-filling the tiny thing with her limited supply of outfits. Extra pillows and blankets had been set on the chair next to the bed.
On the bed cover was a slim book, a children's story book by the look of it.
The title was: The Goat People.
She opened the cover to find a hand-written note: Dear Opal, I'm sorry that I was following you, but I am glad we are friends now. I think you will like this book. Sincerely, your friend who is a boy but not your boyfriend, Peter.
Opal laughed and said to the note, “You are so odd, Peter.”
She sat on the bed and turned on the lamp, for the room was quite dim with the light disappearing outside the round window.
She turned the page, past the small text about the publisher in New York, and began to read the story.
Chapter Nine
Peter
Earlier that day
Peter knew his cousin Edwin wouldn't want a visitor, but he went to Edwin's house anyway, because the purpose of family was to provide advice and companionship, no matter how unwelcome.
Edwin came to the door with red-rimmed eyes, and Peter considered handing him the casserole then immediately leaving, but he had a secondary mission as well, which felt equally important.
Edwin confessed he had not eaten since the previous day, and yet, he looked warily at the casserole, as though the ceramic dish held danger—the danger of pulling him up from his wallow.
Peter didn't argue with Edwin's grief, didn't speak of how he'd barely known the girl beyond the exchange of a few letters. He simply pushed past his cousin, into the messy house. He rinsed off some dishes, then scooped a portion of the casserole onto a plate for Edwin, and then another for himself. They sat at the table and ate in silence.
The modest cottage should have been empty today, as Edwin and his new bride should have gone on the traditional honeymoon sailing trip, eating from the sea for thirty days and nights while acquainting themselves with each other. Peter may have only been fifteen, but he had a good idea of what acquainting themselves meant.
Peter reached for a slice of bread on the table, but put it back when he saw the spots were not seeds or herbs, but mold.
After they'd eaten, Edwin brightened up enough to inquire about Peter's plans for the summer.
“I'd like to get a paying job,” Peter said. “Above or below the table, doesn't matter, though my preference would be to work in salvage.”
Edwin allowed the faintest of smiles to cross his lips. “So you get first crack at new cultural artifacts, from the mainland. More Spider-Man comics.”
Peter smiled sheepishly. His cousin knew him well. “Speaking of culture, do you still have the storybook, The Goat People? I'd like to give it—or loan it—to a friend.”
“Probably.” Edwin got up and took a bottle of mead from his icebox. The home had not come with an electric refrigerator, but the block of ice delivered weekly kept the box cool enough, provided nobody stood there with the door open for long.
“I'll have one too,” Peter said.
“Nice try,” Edwin said, tipping back the bottle of mead.
Peter said, “We don't have to talk about anything if you're not ready.”
Edwin motioned for Peter to follow him to the corner of the cottage that was the library. “Life goes on,” he said. “This friend of yours, she wouldn't happen to be the wild-eyed Newface I considered marrying, even though she didn't quite match the photos I'd been sent, is she?”
“That would be the one. I was starting to worry I didn't like girls at all, until I met her. She's really different.”
“She's not that different.”
Peter took a slim book off the shelf. The covers were worn from the many times he'd read the story.
Edwin yanked the book out of Peter's hands. “Not so fast. If I give you this, what do I get?”
Peter grabbed for the book, but his taller cousin held it high above their heads. “My undying love and devotion.”
“Future favor,” Edwin said, placing the book in Peter's hands. “Thanks for coming by today. You took my mind off what happened to Svetlana.”
Though he knew it was rude and insensitive to ask, Peter's curiosity made him say, “What did happen to her?”
“I suppose it's beneficial to talk about these things.” Edwin stood up straight and jerked his shoulders, as though tipping invisible weight from himself. “From what I understand, it happened quickly, and she did not suffer too much.”
“But what? What happened?”
“She drowned.”
“In the middle of the forest?”
“I know,” Edwin said. “The circumstances are rather perplexing.”
“Drowned.”
Edwin tipped back his bottle of mead, finishing the drink. “The doctor said he found seawater in her lungs. That'll be in tomorrow's newspapers.”
Peter shook his head. “Drowned,” he said again. Even though he'd been born on the island and seen many unusual things in his fifteen years, the island, his world, continued to surprise him.
Edwin said, “Keep a close eye on that new girl. Don't let her fool you. People aren't always what they seem to be.” He pointed to his red-rimmed eyes. “I have a keen eye for trouble. A keen eye.”
“Yeah? Well, you ate moldy bread for dinner.”
Edwin rubbed his stubbly chin. “No, I don't think so. That bread was still good.”
“The bread had bits of green mold on it.”
“No.”
They returned to the table and argued over whether the green splotches were mold for a good half hour. Peter swore the mold was growing even as they argued, but Edwin denied it. Arguing seemed to brighten Edwin up. Either that, or the mold was the helpful kind.
* * *
After Peter left Edwin's place, he pedaled squeaky-fast on his old bike, up to the scary mountain house. The Weirma Mansion—called The Weirdo Mansion by most kids—wasn't so terrible during the day, but at night, the odd-shaped windows looked like a howling face, or a skull, depending on how you looked at it.
The man who came to the door said, “Opal who? Go aw
ay, you've got the wrong place.”
Peter handed the book to him. “Please, just leave this in her room for me.”
“I don't know anyone named Opal,” the man insisted. “I already know too many darn people. Too many!”
He slammed the door shut.
Peter wasn't sure what to do, until he spotted the mail slot. He pulled out the notepad that he'd brought along to take notes about movies, and spent forty-five minutes crafting the perfect, casual-sounding note. Then he shoved the book and the note through the mail slot, ran to his bike, and pedaled away like mad.
Chapter Ten
Opal set the book on the chair next to her bed and flicked off the light switch. Even without curtains drawn, the room was dark, much darker than bedrooms back home, lit by the glow of traffic and streetlamps.
She closed her eyes and thought about the story, which she'd read twice. Either Peter was playing a joke on her, or the people of the island had some very strange beliefs.
The story was about the origin of the island, which started off as a volcano that spewed forth from the core of the world—the story always called Earth “the world” and never a planet or Earth—until the new island was the size and shape it is today.
The great owls seeded the island from the nearby mainlands. There were multiple mainlands mentioned, as though the island sailed around the world, untethered to anything. The great owls brought over the plants and animals of their own choosing, to create a paradise for themselves. They argued over what type of goats to bring, but settled on the small ones, for they were the most delicious.
What the owls did not know, however, was the smallest goats were Blessed, and they were very clever. The goats grew in numbers over the years, and they made friends with the other birds on the island, who all hated the giant owls. The little birds warned the goats when the giant owls were coming to hunt.
The owls went hungry; the goats increased in numbers.
In anger, the giant owls hunted down and killed nearly all the birds, except a few who found asylum deep in the ocean. How the birds survived underwater was unclear in the book.