by Alison Evans
She pats my arm. ‘Any time. You read them through, and if you have any questions let me know.’
‘I found this book,’ I say, bringing it out of my bag. ‘It was humming at me.’
Wendy takes the old book with two hands. ‘Goodness.’ She flicks through the pages. ‘This is very special, keep it safe.’ Now she turns to Babs, her frame sagging, revealing how tired she is. Her eyes have bags under them, suddenly very pronounced. ‘I’m going to have a nap before dinner, can you keep an eye on things? It’s the same as last week, just make sure nothing burns, keep the water topped up.’
Babs nods. ‘Mum, I’ve been making bolognese since I was like, seven.’
‘I know, I know. Wake me if you need anything, okay?’
‘Okay,’ Babs says, but I know she would only wake her if it was an emergency. Once Wendy is in her bedroom, the door closed, Babs leans in to me. ‘Can I see the book?’
‘Yeah!’ I lay it on the table, opening its pages so a spread near the middle faces out.
‘They’re all blank.’ Babs flips through. ‘Are they blank to you?’
I nod.
‘That’s so strange. If anything appears, tell me, yeah? I want to know more!’ She grins. ‘Anyway, I reckon Mum is gonna go to sleep for the night. If it gets too late, we’ll just start eating, if that’s okay?’
‘That’s fine,’ I say with a reassuring smile.
We do end up eating by ourselves, so we sit on Babs’s bed and watch a movie on her laptop. When Moss comes to pick me up later, I tell her about the food and the spells, and she nods, takes it all in. ‘Clover probably has some herbs you can use,’ she says. I nod, and remember the huge patch of sage near the roses; Clover planted heaps of it to attract bees.
Once Moss and Clover have gone to bed, I slip out of my window and into the garden. I’ve only got a singlet and undies on, and the grass is cool and wet under my feet. The air is warm, but not enough to stop the little shivers on my skin. Our solar-powered fairy lights, strung up everywhere, still have some charge left from the sun. And the moon is full, which I can only take as a good sign. It lights up the roses, and the other plants Clover included to make sure that flowers would bloom even in the night, like the big bush with curly white bells hanging from it.
I see peach glitter, then Saltkin appears, slightly ruffled. ‘Sprout,’ he says, ‘you’re sparking.’
I hold up an arm, and a few white flecks of light come off me. ‘Oh my gosh.’ I raise my arm again, but nothing happens.
‘You’ve only got a bit at the moment,’ he says, perching on a flower near my face. ‘She’s unlocked you. You’ll get colours too, not just light. But not for a while.’
‘I thought you said my magic wouldn’t be like yours?’
‘It’s usually not – only some humans can do this. Faeries are born into it, so it’s easier for us. But sometimes one of your kind slips through.’
‘Is this because we’re friends? Did I catch it from you?’
‘No,’ he says. ‘This is all you. Maybe that’s why I was drawn to you in the first place? But it’s not because of that now. Remember that, okay?’
‘Okay.’ I nod. ‘So, what does this mean?’
‘I’m not sure,’ he says, thinking. ‘You need a teacher. Wendy could do it.’
‘I think she has enough on her plate.’
‘Hmm.’ Saltkin hovers. ‘I’ll look around.’
‘Wendy said I should learn more about crystals.’
‘Oh yes, I could tell. I’m glad you like the rose quartz. It’s so heavy!’ He laughs, delighted. ‘It loves you. She was absolutely right. The smoky quartz from the forest loves you as well.’
‘I feel like they would appreciate the rope.’
‘I should hope so.’ He laughs again. ‘That took a long time to make, and with the forest being the way it is . . .’
‘Are you okay, Saltkin?’ I ask him.
‘You shouldn’t ask me that right now,’ he says. ‘It’s not safe. You’re just a baby.’
‘I’m sixteen!’
He’s holding up his hands in apology. ‘In faerie terms, you are. I’m over a hundred years old, Sprout.’ He’s never told me this before.
‘Is something out there?’ I ask.
‘Yes.’
‘What is it?’
He ponders his words. ‘Anger. Hurt.’
I sigh. ‘Fine.’
‘I just want you to be safe.’ He gets up off the flower and hovers around my head.
‘If there’s something out there that could hurt me, I want to know all the details.’
‘Some things in this world are too dangerous for you to know too much about,’ he says. ‘It would be harmful for me to tell you.’
‘Could I find out on my own?’
‘Yes.’
‘If I did, could we talk about it?’
‘Iris, I don’t want you to go looking for this danger.’ He takes my index finger in his hands imploringly. ‘Please don’t go looking.’
‘Fine,’ I say. ‘I will try not to go looking.’
‘Iris!’ he says, squeezing my finger. ‘Please!’
‘Okay. I promise.’
Sparks fly out around us, my pale white and his peach.
He gasps. ‘Oh no.’
‘What was that?’
‘If you make a promise to a faerie, sometimes this happens. It’s a bond. Do not break it.’ His peach dulls, as though the dye of him is running into water. ‘I’m sorry, Iris.’
I’ve never seen him like this. ‘What’ll happen if I do break it?’
‘Don’t do that, Iris. It’s extremely dangerous. I didn’t mean to cast it on you, sometimes it just happens on its own.’ Suddenly he looks all of his hundred years, and he curses; I don’t speak the language, but I can tell he’s swearing. ‘It’s not safe for you out there.’
‘Okay, okay. Fine.’ I sigh. He’s too good at avoiding the truth. ‘Can you help me find some ingredients for a spell? I’m not sure which plant is which.’
He perks up and immediately looks how he used to: young, but not really any particular age. ‘What do you need?’
We wander around finding sage, chilli, basil, rose petals. I place them on the outside table and go into the kitchen to get some other things that I know are inside. I consider grabbing the op-shop book as well, but right now I like having it as my secret, even from Saltkin.
When I get back outside, I light the tea candle and start to put everything into a little bottle I found in the cupboard. Saltkin sits beside the candle, his back to it. His wings sparkle in the flickering light, and he makes waves of glitter sparkle out across the table.
Peppercorns to give a fiery spell more passion. Sesame seeds I just grabbed because I like the symbolism of having something with so much potential in a tiny form. I put the garden ingredients into the bottle as well, then I sit and wait for the candle’s wax to melt completely.
I wonder if Babs needs to use matches, or if she can make fire just with her hands. Probably just with her hands.
I pick up the candle and it starts sparking, pale white. I put the cork in the bottle and then pour the wax onto it, sealing all the ingredients inside. The wax starts to harden and cool as soon as I tip it onto the bottle, and it blobs onto the table. My fingers are staticky as I pick it up and look at the insides. ‘Do you always feel like this?’ I ask Saltkin.
‘I’m not sure,’ he says. ‘I don’t know what you’re feeling.’ He laughs. ‘This is magic, Iris. It should feel good.’
‘It does.’ I put down the bottle, and already I miss the tingling in my fingers.
‘So, what was it for?’ Saltkin asks, gathering up the herbs I dropped on the table. He places them into the empty candle casing.
‘Protection, good will, just a general . . . goodness. I thin
k.’
‘That’s what it feels like.’ He pats the bottle, which comes up to his hips. ‘This is great, sprout. You did very well.’
I smile, then yawn.
‘You should rest,’ he says. ‘You have school tomorrow.’
I nod, yawning again. When I pick up the bottle this time, it doesn’t sparkle. I pull myself into bed, and Saltkin makes a nest for himself out of a jumper I left lying on the doona.
Chapter Eight
The Party in the Trees
The boy sees me as I get off the bus, and I wave at him. He’s getting off the train, chewing on an apple. We hug and start towards the cafe.
He asks, ‘Do you need a hand with something?’
I’ve got a backpack on, filled to the brim, and my picnic basket is heavy as. ‘I got it.’
‘What’s this all about? A picnic?’
‘You’ll see. The trees will reveal everything.’ I wiggle my eyebrows. ‘It’s a secret. Careful of the pothole.’
As soon as I finish speaking, the boy stumbles on the hole in the path. ‘Have you lived here your whole life?’ he asks.
‘Yeah. Well, no.’ I frown. ‘The part that matters, I’ve been here.’
‘I’ve never lived somewhere like this.’ He holds up the apple core. ‘Do you know where a bin is?’
‘Here.’ I piff it into someone’s garden. ‘It’ll be good for the earth, don’t worry. Worms will love it. What do you mean, anyway, by a place like this?’
He shrugs. ‘I dunno. With like, trees and stuff.’
‘Huh.’
‘Our school is like five minutes from a national park. And you can disappear! What else is there?’ He smiles at me. ‘I feel like anything could happen.’
I laugh. ‘There’s so much more, you just have to wait.’
When we get to the main street, we pause at the public toilets.
‘I’ll just be a sec,’ he says, and dashes in.
‘You don’t want to use these, they’re disgusting,’ I call through the door. ‘The cafe’s got a toilet!’
‘I’m not peeing, I just need to change.’
When he comes out, he’s wearing a binder. His shoulders are squared, not hunched in like at school. He’s standing taller, and when he smiles it feels more relaxed.
‘You look good,’ I say, and he blushes rose-pink. I want to ask why he doesn’t wear it at home, but not yet.
Iris is already sitting inside Eaglefern. They’ve got a hot chocolate, and they’ve ordered us a tea and a coffee. When the boy sits next to me on the couch, his shorts ride up a little and I can see some markings. Me and Iris lean in to get a better look.
‘Is that real?’ Iris asks.
He pulls up his shorts to reveal a geometrical pattern, triangles and stars and loops folding in on each other, tattooed on his thigh. ‘I did it,’ he says in his quiet, measured voice. ‘Stick and poke. I haven’t shown my dad yet, dunno how he’d feel. I should probably get longer shorts.’ He grins.
‘What’s stick and poke?’ I ask.
‘Tattooing but without the gun. Like, you use the same needle but you just poke it into the skin instead of the tattoo gun doing it for you.’
‘Oh!’ My body lights up like a match. ‘Like your rose on your arm. Have you ever done it on anyone else?’
‘A couple times, yeah, at my old school. We moved here because Dad got a cool job.’
‘I don’t know if I’ve met anyone with a dad,’ I say. I don’t really know a lot of people, but then I can’t think of a time I’ve met a dad since mine left.
‘You don’t have dads?’ The boy looks between us.
‘I have a mum, and Iris has two. It’s very strange that you have a dad.’
He laughs. ‘He’s a very good dad, if that helps.’
Iris grins. ‘It definitely helps.’
Livia brings over the cappuccino for me and a soy chai for the boy, honey on the side of the saucer. ‘I’ll pop back and have a chat in a moment,’ she tells us, rushing off to deal with other customers.
The honey slides over the boy’s spoon, slow and sticky, as he holds it above the teacup. ‘I love tea,’ he says when he catches us watching him. ‘The whole ritual of it. We have a lot of different teas at home, I should show you one day.’
‘That’d be nice. Clover loves tea. I’ll show you her collection. Plus, Babs, I’ve been to your house a few times and it’s my turn, I think.’ Iris taps their nose, and I reach up to my own to find a bit of cappuccino froth there. They grin as I wipe it away. ‘And I can show you the garden, and the moon roses.’
‘Why are they moon roses?’ I ask. ‘Are they lesbians?’
‘What?’ Both the boy and Iris look at me in confusion.
‘The moon is a lesbian,’ I say. ‘Have you really not heard this before?’
They’re both still looking at me blankly.
I sigh. ‘Oh, my sweet children. The moon is a lesbian and she is also trans. Never forget.’
‘Makes sense.’ Iris nods. ‘The moon roses – I don’t know if they are lesbians – they glow under the moon at night. Next full moon we can have a sleepover, then you’ll see.’
Livia wanders over. ‘How you goin’, Babsy?’ she asks. ‘How’s your mum?’
‘She’s, you know. Bit better lately, I think. She’s been going out more, too.’
‘How’s school?’
‘It’s good.’ I gesture to Iris and the boy. ‘They can see me.’
‘All the time?’
I shake my head. A customer walks in, and Livia goes back up the front.
‘Livia can always see me,’ I tell the boy. ‘That’s why I come here when I know no one’s going to be able to see me at school. Gets lonely.’
‘I kind of understand,’ Iris says. ‘I feel like no one knows who I am, really. You see me. It’s different but . . . I kind of get it.’
‘You knew about me,’ the boy says. ‘Without even speaking to me. How?’
‘Dunno. Magic, maybe.’ I shrug. ‘Or I recognised something in you that reminded me of me.’ I tell Iris, ‘That’s why I started talking to you.’
They blush. ‘All right. Well, shall we go then?’
Livia gives us a discount on our drinks, and we start off for the forest. The boy’s never been to a forest before – he says he doesn’t really go out exploring the world.
We head down across the road and follow the tiny creek behind the petrol station and the train station. It starts to twist and turn, away from the railway and into the forest. Eventually the road turns from bitumen to dirt, then it tapers off into a path that looks like it was made by animals. It’s winding, and the trees are slowly bending in the breeze. The birdsong sounds out like church bells, constant, everywhere, as they flit across the canopy. I can hear that some are magpies. There are butterflies, more than I’ve ever seen, on every trunk, all different colours. Black with blue, yellow and red, and there are orange ones, and lots of tiny white ones.
The forest is murmuring, rustling, like something’s going to happen. I turn to look at the others. The boy seems wary – not in a panicked way, just like he doesn’t really get what’s going on. Here’s a boy, not sure of his name or what he is made of. Iris, eyes wide with wonder, is touching the plants either side of the path as we walk by. Iris grew from a seed under moss, brimming with new magic. Their mothers chose their name, and they’ve grown strong, like the moon roses.
And me, the fiery mess of a girl, crackling when I walk. I forged my own name. I’m invisible sometimes, but I know who I am.
He just needs time. I hope he knows that.
‘How far is it?’ the boy asks.
‘Hard to say. Sometimes it takes five minutes, but the longest it’s taken is three hours.’
‘Like
the bus stop,’ Iris says. ‘Does yours ever move?’
‘Sure. All the time. Sometimes I can’t find it, so I just stay home from school.’
The boy’s frowning, just a little bit. ‘It seems very . . . odd.’
Iris laughs like a light breeze, wending through tree trunks. ‘It is a bit odd.’
‘Right. And Livia can see you all the time, though?’ he says.
I get the feeling he’d like to be able to vanish sometimes, the way I do.
‘Not by choice, but yeah. Livia, Bec and Mum are the only ones who can see me all the time. Bec is the other person who works in Eaglefern. She’s really cool. She’s studying to be an engineer at uni, and her hair changes colour all the time.’
‘Is she a witch too?’ Iris asks.
‘Reckon so. She’s always wearing crystals and has a tattoo of the lunar cycle on her arm.’
‘What’s magic about the moon?’ the boy asks.
‘I think it’s about cycles, like growth and then a time of rest. It’s just . . .’ I don’t know if I know how to explain it. ‘I’m not sure. I just love the moon. You can use its light in spells. The full moon and the new moon are both cleansing.’
‘My period always syncs to the moon,’ he says. ‘Almost every time.’
‘Mine used to sometimes,’ Iris says. ‘But then I started taking the pill so I wouldn’t get it anymore.’
‘I think I should do that,’ he says. ‘I can’t stand getting it.’
‘I know a good doctor, if you want me to come.’
He smiles at Iris. ‘Thanks.’
We get to a pass, rocks suddenly towering over us on either side.
‘Oh!’ I say when I realise where we are. ‘Hasn’t taken long at all, we’re almost there. It’s not long after this, just be careful. If anyone talks to you, don’t trust them. Stay with me.’ I take the boy’s hand, telling him and Iris to link up as well. ‘We can’t break the chain, okay?’
The boy looks at me, eyes wide. ‘Okay.’
When we start through the pass, right away the temperature drops. I think part of it is from being between two rocks, cool and away from the sun, but no breeze gets through here either. The cold fae live here. They usually stay in the other realm, but lately they’ve been leaking through more and more.