Conjuror

by John

  ‘Seriously hot,’ she said happily.

  ‘I’ll go and bring him in,’ said Matt, getting to his feet.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said Em, catching Matt’s arm. ‘The sun’s too bright for your eyes.’

  *

  The physical transformation to Matt’s eyes had begun two years ago, about six months after his return from the fourteenth century. At first, it was occasional blurred vision and then a painful sensitivity to bright sunlight. After a year, his eyes began to change colour from a brilliant cobalt to a cold, pale arctic blue. Then, just when he’d accepted the physical changes, fizzing lines like electric currents appeared in his peripheral vision, fluctuating with the light, framing everything Matt looked at with a pulsing halo.

  The winter following the twins’ sixteenth birthday, Matt woke up swearing his eyeballs were melting. When his mother managed to coax Matt to open them, it was as if he was staring at the world from under murky water. A translucent film like an alligator’s third eyelid had dropped over his eyeballs.

  For three days Matt stayed in his room, alternating cold compresses with warm poultices of Jeannie’s concoction. The poultices looked like sanitary pads soaked in pea soup. As if that wasn’t bad enough, Matt was convinced she had lathered the poultice in sheep’s dung too. But it seemed to work, giving him a modicum of relief from the burning, and after a while he developed a tolerance to the smell. The other advantage the poultice had was in keeping Em and Zach at a tolerable distance, so Matt did not have to witness their far-too-frequent bouts of snogging.

  One morning after a restless night, Matt’s eyes had itched more than they throbbed. In the bathroom, he’d drenched his eyes with a warm face cloth until Jeannie’s crusty mixture loosened from his eyelids, then leaned his head over the sink and wiped the final layer of sludge from his eyes.

  Em had tapped gently on the door. ‘Are you OK? Your anxiety is making my stomach ache.’

  Throwing a towel over his head, Matt had opened the door. ‘Something’s changed,’ he said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I haven’t looked.’

  Em had rolled her eyes. ‘You’d better look now!’

  ‘But what if I can’t see anything? My eyes are itching like crazy.’

  ‘Oh, for… put on your big-boy pants. Besides, itching’s usually a sign of healing.’ Em had softened her tone. ‘Do you want me to look first?’

  Matt had sighed. ‘Let’s look together. Turn off the light first. I have a feeling it’s gonna hurt.’

  Em had hit the switch, plunging the room into semi-darkness, and Matt took off the towel, keeping his eyes closed.

  ‘How bad do I look?’ he’d asked anxiously.

  ‘Your skin’s pretty red, but that’s probably from rubbing off Jeannie’s poultice like a crazy person.’ Setting her hands on Matt’s shoulders, Em had tried to inspirit and calm him. ‘Ready?’ she said.

  As Matt slowly opened his eyes, his relief had flowed through Em’s palms.

  ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘You’re just as ugly as ever.’

  Em had whacked him. ‘I knew you would be able to see— oh my God, wow!’

  Matt froze. ‘What?’

  ‘Your irises are huge, with slivers of light floating in them. Looks like you’ve had drops put in your eyes… or you’ve been smoking… Have you been smoking?’

  ‘It’s six in the morning!’

  ‘Take a look. It’s super cool, in a Prince-of-the-Damned kinda way.’

  Matt had faced his reflection. The whites of his eyes were almost non-existent. ‘Jesus. I look like I’m possessed.’

  ‘It is a wee bit creepy, I can’t deny. How many fingers am I holding up?’ Em had said, waving her middle finger in front of Matt’s face.

  Matt had gently slapped her hand away, then grabbed a hair band and pulled his hair into a ponytail before examining himself more carefully. He was paler than usual, but other than eyes like dark blue marbles flecked with light, he’d looked OK. And when he gazed around the bathroom, everything seemed normal.

  ‘I’m… I think I’m good.’

  Em had jumped from the counter, knocking Zach’s contact container and solution on to the floor. Forgetting Matt’s earlier discomfort, she’d flipped on the bathroom light.

  Matt had been plunged into darkness. He’d dropped to his knees, the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes, his agonized howls bringing the entire Abbey into the bathroom.

  *

  Now, his vision was only unimpaired in complete darkness. He could see as keenly in the dark as any night predator. As a result he’d become a night owl, a kind of vampire, wandering around the Abbey alone until the small hours, and, on most occasions, sleeping well into the day.

  He wore shades most of the time. They helped keep the flashing images at bay. They also stopped people staring at him. But the one compensation for Matt’s distorted vision was how shockingly, disturbingly beautiful his eyes had become. Em had no doubt that one inspiriting look from Matt’s eyes could easily bring Lord Nelson down from atop his column.

  21.

  OUTSIDE THE HIGH KIRK

  Despite all the weird alchemy happening to Matt’s vision, the most surreal transformation occurred a month later. The twins and Zach were at the end of a day trip to Edinburgh. With an hour to spare before their return train to Largs, Em insisted the three of them check out a stained-glass window at the High Kirk, recently restored and glowing with colour.

  After five minutes, Matt and Zach went to perch on the bollards outside.

  ‘Pretty much what I expected,’ signed Zach. ‘Coloured glass. Lots of it.’

  Matt shrugged. ‘Em operates on a different universe of enthusiasm from most people.’

  Two girls slowed to a stroll and stopped at the foot of the statue of Adam Smith, glancing at Matt and Zach with obvious interest. Matt rubbed his eyes. A headache had been taunting him all day. The overcast Edinburgh sky wasn’t helping.

  He suddenly felt as if an opaque screen had slipped over his eyes, filtering out colour and light. Like a drunk, he wobbled off the bollard and fell on to the cobbles. For a horrible second he was in complete darkness.

  Then a shrieking woman with no front teeth began smacking him repeatedly across the side of the head with a scuffed leather book. Instinctively covering his head with his arms, Matt scrambled to his feet and stared in shock at the mob of women surrounding him on the steps of the kirk. Every one of them looked as if they were cosplaying Downton Abbey kitchen maids. And they were all locked in what appeared to be hand-to-hand combat with a battalion of tin solders come to life.

  ‘Get aff me, ye bastard! Fore I beat the devil out of ye,’ screamed one of the women as a soldier grabbed her shoulders and threw her to the ground.

  More than a little confused, Matt ducked, only to be thumped in the chest by a stool flying from the hands of a young woman with a filthy apron and spiky hair.

  ‘I’ll no be told by anyone what to say to my God!’

  The women charged at the soldiers. Matt pivoted in a split second to avoid the clash. ‘What the—’.

  ‘In the name of God, ladies, stop this affront! Yer no animals! Put down your stools!’ yelled a man in a black frock coat with a white collar, loose at his neck.

  The minister tried to speak again, but before the words escaped his lips, the woman with the spiky hair threw a heavy punch to his jaw, knocking him to the ground at the bottom of the church steps. Three other women whaled on him with stools. Matt found he couldn’t just stand there and watch. Diving into the fray, he grabbed the minister by the collar to drag him loose. At once he was rounded on by one of the attackers.

  ‘Get off me, you crazy woman!’

  A rotten cabbage flew towards Matt’s head and he rolled on to the street… into the path of an oncoming cyclist.

  The cyclist swerved and swore. ‘Take yer drinking inside, ya stupit bastard!’

  Matt was dimly aware of Zach and Em rushing towards him.
r />   ‘Matt, what are you doing? Do you have some kind of death wish?’

  Matt was having trouble focusing on the peaceful square. Where had the fight gone?

  ‘The women were attacking me,’ he managed.

  Em zoned in on the two girls by the statue goggling at Matt. ‘Them?’ she said. ‘Why would they attack you?’

  Matt let Zach help him to his feet. ‘Not them,’ he said helplessly. ‘The other women… The ones with…’ He tried to gesture ‘stools’ and ‘aprons’ but it wasn’t coming out right.

  Em stared at him.

  ‘We need to go home,’ she said. ‘And talk.’

  *

  Twenty minutes after Matt’s skirmish, his eyes still hadn’t stopped watering, the sparking lights around the edges of his vision more insistent than ever. He had a headache sharp enough to crack an egg and the caffeine in the two Red Bulls he’d gulped wasn’t helping dull the pain.

  ‘Tell,’ Em commanded as the train pulled out of Waverley Station.

  ‘Don’t laugh,’ said Matt finally, ‘but I just experienced some kind of flashback outside St Giles.’

  Minutes into Matt’s description of the fight scene, Em was Googling his description. With a snort of triumph, she passed her phone to Matt. Matt stared at a picture of a mob of women throwing stools and prayer books at soldiers in front of St Giles.

  ‘But… that’s it,’ he said in astonishment.

  Em read the caption. ‘It’s a woodcut depicting a riot during the Bishops’ Wars that resulted in the signing of the National Covenant in 1638.’

  Zach and Matt both looked blank.

  ‘The National Covenant,’ said Em, ‘was one of the first political documents proclaiming people had a right to worship what and how they wanted.’ She looked at her brother with awe. ‘You just witnessed a major historical event. Do you know how crazy that is?’

  ‘Whatever I witnessed,’ Matt said with feeling, ‘I’d be OK with not witnessing it again.’

  ‘We should tell Mum,’ said Em.

  Matt fixed his sister with his best death stare. ‘Don’t you dare.’

  ‘I think it’s cool.’ Zach’s signing was more animated than it had been for a while. ‘A new angle on your abilities.’

  ‘Easy for you to say.’ Matt winced at the bruise flowering on his spine. ‘You don’t have a three-legged stool imprinted on your back.’

  *

  Although Em had never experienced a visual flashback like Matt, her abilities were developing in their own way.

  A few months earlier, she had been in Edinburgh with her mum, shopping. As they wandered in the Grassmarket and turned into a vaulted passageway to an antique store, Em had been violently sick without warning. No time for cupping her hands to her mouth, or grabbing a tissue, or even rushing to the gutter – just a sudden wave of revulsion and then a projectile of vomit on to the stone steps. A couple of tourists travelling in the opposite direction stopped, eyes wide in horror, then backed away.

  Em’s pulse was racing. Her stomach felt like jelly, but the nausea had gone by the time she and her mother had sat themselves at a nearby café, where Sandie bought two bottles of water and a Mars bar.

  ‘Whoa,’ said Em, sipping the water. ‘I don’t know what just happened.’

  ‘Em,’ Sandie began, ‘I know that you and Zach are close. Really close.’ She cleared her throat. ‘And I… well… do you think…’

  Em almost spat the water out. ‘Mum! Awkward. I’m not pregnant!’

  Sandie leaned back on the chair, exhaling audibly. ‘OK, OK. But you know if you are, you know, having sex, I hope you’re—’

  ‘Mum, stop,’ said Em, wincing. ‘I know. Birth control. Protection. Got it. It’s Lecture Number Four.’

  Sandie looked horrified. ‘You’ve numbered my… my advice? What’s Number One?’

  ‘Depends. My Number One, or Matt and Zach’s?’

  ‘Good God, you’ve even categorized them.’ Sandie bit off a chunk of the chocolate bar. ‘OK. Give me your Number One.’

  ‘Boys always want to touch what they don’t have,’ Em said, mimicking Sandie’s serious voice. The one she usually heard before going out in Seaport on a Saturday night.

  Sandie burst into laughter.

  ‘Well, it’s true. You can thank my mother for that. That was her only contribution to my sex education. So, if you’re not pregnant—’

  ‘Muuum!’

  ‘—then maybe it has something to do with your abilities? No one is sick like that for no reason.’

  Later that evening, they had done a little research in the Guardian archives, delving into Edinburgh’s general history. They learned that many of the passageways, or pends, in Old Town had been restored using cobbles from where the Old Tollbooth had once stood: a place where witches and sorcerers were tortured and killed in the eighteenth century.

  It looked like Em and Matt’s burgeoning talents were continuing to complement each other. While Matt might see events in situ, Em sensed them, as if the places themselves spoke to her. She and her brother were still a team.

  The thought comforted her more than she could say.

  22

  MOTHBALLS AND LILACS

  Matt watched with mixed emotions as Em and Zach kissed on the jetty. The Union Ceremony to be held in a couple of hours may not have been marriage, but it was just as binding. Every Animare was partnered with a Guardian for life, to protect and inspire the Animare and his or her art. For the conservative members on the Council of Guardians, the relationship was also meant to keep the Animare in check, to make sure he or she did not bring attention to their existence in the world. He couldn’t shake the absurdity of choosing not only your future path at seventeen, but also the person who’d accompany you on that journey. It was medieval.

  How could anyone go through with it?

  Leaving them, he trudged up the garden, past the waiters and the tent, the tables and chairs, all the way up to his room. Lying on his bed, he shoved his face into his pillow. He loved his family. He did. But they’d never understand what had happened to him when he was lost in the past.

  Thanks for the only gift you gave me, Dad. Self-awareness.

  There was a knock at his door.

  ‘Simon’s seating the Council in the library,’ Lizzy said, poking her head into Matt’s room. Her Guardian robe suited her, her long blonde hair in a fancy updo. ‘Em and Zach are already downstairs. We’ve about five minutes before they begin without us.’

  She held out a heavy brocade robe to Matt.

  ‘Put it on then,’ she said as Matt hesitated. ‘Come on, I’ll help.’

  She lifted the robe on to Matt’s shoulders, straightening the material against his back, running her fingers over its intricate stitching and its detailed design. She turned him to face the mirror.

  Matt’s eyes had trouble filtering his reflection. He blinked rapidly, letting the kaleidoscope of colours in his pupils settle. The robe was a lush burgundy and hung loose, in thick pleats of material, on his lithe frame. Silver threads, stitched in an overlapping infinity design, were piped around the cuffs of the wide sleeves and streamed down the floor-length lapels, the robe’s silver clasps shaped like the claws of a beast. The collar was stiff and high, framing his sharp features and keeping his long hair curled against the pale skin of his neck. The garment was lined in ermine that smelled to Matt of mothballs and lilacs. He turned to view the back. Embroidered in shimmering threads of silver was a flying stag, the peryton, and the symbol of the ancient order of Era Mina, to which he was about to belong.

  ‘I look like Dumbledore’s scary nephew.’

  ‘Lose the Ray-Bans,’ suggested Lizzy. ‘The room will be lit by candles and all the windows in the library have been draped. You shouldn’t need them.’

  Matt slipped off his shades and handed them over.

  ‘Better,’ Lizzy said. ‘Now you look like Snape, who I always thought was kinda sexy.’

  Lizzy’s boldness made Matt nervous. �
�I probably should’ve cut my hair,’ he mumbled.

  *

  Em and Zach were waiting in the foyer. Like Lizzy’s, Zach’s robe was lighter in colour but adorned with the same intricate glyphs and elegant stitching as the robes the twins were wearing.

  ‘Glad to see you look about as stupid as I feel,’ signed Zach to Matt.

  ‘No,’ Matt signed back, grinning despite his unease, ‘Pretty sure Em looks more ridiculous than any of us.’

  ‘I aim to please,’ said Em.

  Sandie squeezed Lizzy’s arm and then Zach’s before crossing the foyer to embrace her children. ‘You look so grown-up,’ she sighed. ‘I’m so proud of both of you. These past few years have been rough, but you’ve demonstrated more strength of character than most adults would’ve done in similar positions.’

  An elderly Guardian, in a scarlet robe trimmed in gold ermine, tapped lightly on the foyer floor with a ceremonial staff. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are ready to begin.’

  Zach shifted directly behind Lizzy and Em stepped behind Matt.

  Whatever you do, Mattie, I’ll support you.

  Matt felt such a rush of love and joy from Em’s touch, as pure as anything he’d ever felt before, that he swallowed a gasp.

  Impatiently, the piper was repeating the processional for the third time.

  That’s our cue, Matt. C’mon.

  Matt grinned when he saw how his mum had lit the elegant Victorian library. Specimen jars filled with glowing jellyfish, the kind that clogged the bay between Largs and Auchinmurn, stood on the bookshelves, casting a lustrous blue light on the chairs and dais. The glass cabinets, containing the library’s priceless manuscripts, had been draped with silver gauze to eliminate glare. The room looked like a scene from a medieval coronation arranged by Salvador Dali and Edgar Allen Poe: enchanting with a big dash of the macabre.

  Looks like one of your sketches, Em.

  Right? I love it. We should keep it this way.

  As the piper concluded and stepped aside, the four inductees walked down the aisle to where Renard, their grandfather, and Jeannie, their beloved housekeeper, stood in their ceremonial robes. They took the empty seats in front of Simon, Zach’s dad, and their mom, Sandie. Vaughn’s seat was empty. Matt wondered where he was.