‘Holly,’ he said, his voice booming down the corridor. ‘What did you just call me?’
Skidding to a stop, she turned, her face drained of all colour, her mouth hanging open.
‘Did you insult me?’ he spat, nostrils flaring.
She stuttered. ‘I'm sorry, Mr Ravenswood. But you won't listen to me.’
‘What did you say?’ His lower eyelid twitched. ‘Repeat what you said.’
Holly stared at the floor.
‘Now!’ he bellowed. ‘Answer me.’
She replied in a faint whisper. ‘Useless.’
He narrowed his eyes.
‘How dare you! Get out of my sight! I should throw you out of the play this very instant.’
Holly jumped back, the force of his voice like a kick to the chest. ‘I'm so sorry, Mr Ravenswood but someone has to listen.’
She scampered off down the corridor.
Ravenswood grabbed at the cold brick wall. He’d prove them wrong.
All of them.
No one would call Paul Ravenswood ‘useless’ ever again.
***
Dear Journal
I am happy. I am positive. I am in control of my destiny.
For the first time, these words ring true.
I could laugh. I could sing.
But then they would know and it would spoil the surprise.
But I will show them.
All in good time.
And what a good time it will be.
***
VIOLET
Violet couldn't face the bus with all the other losers, so she chose to walk, but she took the route along the road rather than the short-cut through the bush.
The black candles jostled in her backpack. She’d read the book Anthea had given her last night, practised the verses and lain the three candles out on her bed. Hours had passed as she stared at them, waiting for the courage to light one.
But it never came.
The warnings and predictions had whirled around her head.
What would she unleash if she said the words?
But now time was running out. Tomorrow would be too late. Ravenswood needed enough time to replace Angelika's name with hers in the program.
As she trudged up the road with her hands shoved deep into her pockets, her worst nightmare played on the screen in her mind: Angelika on stage, bathed in glorious light while Alan Wolf sat in the audience, his adoring gaze never leaving her face for a second, while Violet was left to skulk anonymously in the wings. As soon as the curtain fell, Alan Wolf would rush backstage to Angelika and gush. He’d clutch Angelika’s hand and beg her to join his company. She would toss her hair and blush while he grovelled – but only for a very brief moment. Then she turn and smirk at Violet. And her smile would be like a dagger through the heart.
Violet sucked in a deep breath through her clenched teeth. What would be her future if she didn't make her move? Shuffling papers for an insurance company all day like her mum? Pushing a pram? Washing some man's undies? Growing fat and silently dying from what-ifs?
No way.
Her backpack had everything she needed. Her motives were unquestionable, her actions were pure. She'd been wronged and she was only reclaiming what was rightfully hers. This was a noble act, and Shakespeare would most definitely approve.
She had everything she needed.
Jason and Wayne were kicking a hacky sack in front of the school building. Violet marched right past them with her chin held high.
‘Gonna chuck another tantrum today, Vile-ette?’ Jason said. The hacky sack hit the concrete with a soft thud. ‘Aw, shit.’
‘Who are you going to push down the stairs next?’ Wayne sniggered. ‘I dunno about you, Jase but I'm looking forward to her next spack-out.’
‘Wait and see,’ she said with narrowed eyes.
Rather than heading towards the drama department, Violet veered off to the left inside the building. She tried the handles on every door until she found an English and Social Studies classroom open. Violet could see that the rest of the cast were arriving in the Quad below, their stupid voices muffled through the glass. There wasn't much time. There was enough grey morning sun streaming in through the large windows for her purposes.
Violet unzipped her bag and took out the three black candles. They were cool and waxy in her hands. She searched around the empty classroom for a makeshift candlestick but the room was bare. She tipped the contents of her backpack out onto the table and her paperback copy of Macbeth tumbled out. Violet smirked. Was there a more appropriate altar? She lit the wicks with her red lighter and dripped pools of black wax onto the book cover then planted the candles upright.
She flipped the spell book open to a specific dog-eared page and drew three deep breaths into her lungs. She channelled all her energy, all her determination, all her hope into the words in front of her. This had to be her best performance ever.
‘O Hecate. O Dark One.’
Each word was thick with purpose and desire, each syllable voiced directly from her heart. She wanted to shout the words to show her true commitment, but she kept her voice low. She couldn't risk being overheard or, worse, interrupted.
‘Hear my pleas. Right the wrongs and bring forth justice.’
The room was icy cold and her words were puffs of white smoke drifting out into the universe. But she was warm. Her skin, her bones and every cell in her body vibrated. The blood in her veins was replaced with flowing golden currents of power.
It was working.
Dizzy, she giggled. Her intention unfurled and amplified. She leaned her head back and drank it in.
It was working.
Her body ballooned with a spacious confidence, a strength, a force thousands of years old, the purest of delights.
It was working. It was working. It was working.
Angelika would be out of her way before the day was over.
‘O Hecate. O Dark One.’
She closed the ritual with a deeply satisfying sigh and a sincere thank you as the last delicious shiver trickled down her spine.
She shut the door, leaving the three candles burning to complete the spell.
Yaya and the others at The Three Torches were wrong.
Black magic was the purest of the pure.
There had been nothing evil in what she’d experienced.
The old woman had probably never had the guts to try for herself.
Violet hurried towards the theatrette along the deserted corridors. The fluorescent tubes above her head stammered but Violet didn't flinch as the lights flickered on and off again. She felt Hecate, her fellow witch, walking by her side as she headed down the steps for the final rehearsals. She wrapped the black scarf around her neck and grinned like a jack-o’-lantern.
Her time had finally arrived.
***
THE DARK HAND
I am driving you like a car, working through your body, speaking through your mouth, smiling with your face.
You are a delight.
Perfect.
Now I will be your strength. Your impetus. Your persistence.
I will take you beyond your barriers. Push past who you think you are. Who you think you're not.
I will give you whatever you desire.
What we both desire.
What we both deserve.
***
RAVENSWOOD
Ravenswood stood at the front of the theatrette stage, his hands clasped behind his back, and looked out at the teenage faces in the audience on the tip-up chairs. He said nothing as he did a quick head count. Everyone was here: Angelika with her enigmatic smile, Lionel and Jez huddled over a Disc-man, Jacinta inspecting her nails, Jason and Wayne scratching themselves. Toby's silhouette was visible in the lighting box and Violet had a strangely serene expression on her face. Lila was even paler than usual. He ignored Holly in the front row. The mere sight of her face made his blood boil again.
He must remain in control.
Ravenswood cleared h
is throat. He spoke quietly, smiling in anticipation. By the time he'd finished, they'd all be champing at the bit to prove themselves.
‘Today is the day, players.’
They responded with groans and one weak hooray.
‘How did you feel about yesterday’s run through?’ he asked, tilting his head.
‘Shit,’ said Wayne.
‘Speak for yourself,’ Jason laughed.
‘Could have been better,’ said Lionel.
‘It’s the curse,’ Lila squeaked. ‘But there's an antidote. We all have to—’
Jason moaned loudly and Lila crumpled, mumbling to herself.
‘You should all be ashamed of yourselves. Not just Wayne.’ Ravenswood scoured the aisles, making eye contact with each actor, one by one. ‘If yesterday was the best you can do, perhaps we should all pack up and go home now. Let’s stop wasting our time. I’m sure you've got plenty of other things to do in your last few days of holidays.’
Lila inhaled sharply.
Jacinta folded her arms tightly across her chest.
Lionel raised an eyebrow.
Wayne got to his feet, the tip-up seat clanged against the back rest as he stood.
‘Sit down, you dickhead,’ said Jason and tugged at his friend's arm. Wayne shrugged and flopped back down.
Ravenswood had them with his classic strategy: tear them down before building them back up again.
‘Now I know we're all upset about Rowan. But the police believe she's run away from home with her boyfriend. So, while we miss her, we need to focus on the real task at hand. We've still got a job to do. Here and now. I don't care that this is a school play. I expect you to act like professionals. Put everything else behind you: Rowan, last night's fight with your parents, whatever party is happening on Saturday night. You have a production to put on and I need your total focus.’
The little troublemaker, Violet, smirked back at him but he had to admit she had been one of the better performers yesterday. Under her smug smile, dark circles ringed her eyes. Ravenswood pursed his lips at Holly and wondered whether she was to blame for Violet's restless nights.
‘If you can't guarantee me your full attention, we should give up, refund all the tickets and let everyone know we are cancelling because you're not up to it. Do you want to do that?’
‘No,’ Jacinta mumbled into the neck of her jumper. Lila fidgeted and Holly stared down at her shoes. Angelika gazed directly back at him, not defiantly, but with a look of bemusement. As if his reprimand didn't apply to her. Her unflinching stare forced him to look away.
Holly’s insult echoed in his ears. He clenched his jaw. This was his theatre. He'd show her how capable he was.
Rolling back his shoulders, he lifted his chin again. ‘I didn't hear you?’ he said cupping his hand to his ear. ‘Should we cancel?’
‘No,’ the cast said, a little louder this time but it was still barely more than a murmur. Jacinta rolled her eyes at Holly. Lila chewed her nails and Violet's lips didn't even move.
‘Sorry?’ Ravenswood folded his arms across his chest. He wanted to leap off the stage, throttle their skinny necks and shake some loyalty into them. He would not allow them to let him down. Not again. He would not call Alan Wolf to cancel.
He tapped his foot. ‘I'm waiting.’
His armpits and his forehead dampened in the awkward silence that followed. He blamed the lights.
‘Do you want to go home to your families and tell them what a failure you are?’ he roared, immediately regretting the ferocity of his own voice.
‘Fuck you,’ someone muttered.
‘Who said that?’ He whipped his head around, searching the faces with an outstretched finger.
‘Mr Ravenswood.’ Lionel rose from his chair slowly, his hands up in surrender.
‘Did you say it?’ he spat.
Lionel inched to the front of the stage, hands raised. ‘Everyone here is committed. Aren't we, guys?’ He turned to the rest of the cast. They responded with sullen nods and half shrugs. ‘We want this to be a success as much as you do.’
Ravenswood folded his arms. ‘I have plenty of better things to do with my time than waste my holidays on a bunch of ungrateful...’ This time he saw the flaring nostrils and the tightness in their eyes.
He grimaced. He imagined calling Alan Wolf, explaining the show was off. His theatrical career was dead in the water, his big comeback was a write-off. He couldn't even manage to put on a school play. He'd be stuck here, teaching drama to self-centred teenagers until he retired, bitter and red-nosed like all the others.
Ravenswood slumped. 'Useless' should be tattooed across his forehead.
‘Mr Ravenswood?’ Lionel said, his forehead wrinkled.
Ravenswood realised he'd been standing there silently while his whole cast stared up at him. It was not as disastrous as last time.
‘Should we get on with the rehearsal?’ Lionel offered.
Ravenswood scowled. He'd have to keep an eye on this cocky kid.
But he cleared his throat and dredged up a smile. ‘Right. Come up on stage everyone and let's warm up.’
The teenagers grumbled to their feet and joined him on stage.
There was hope.
***
VIOLET
Ravenswood tried to gloss over his pathetic little tantrum with a big fake smile. He was cracking at the seams; even his eyes were crinkling with fresh wrinkles.
Violet’s stomach fluttered as she watched Angelika swan up onto the stage with her pretend innocent expression. Jez was one step behind her like a little lamb.
Had the candles burned down yet? How long did a spell take to work?
Wayne and Jason competed for who could jump the highest as they leaped onto the stage. Holly stuck close to Jacinta and eyed Violet sideways, but Violet took to the stage calmly. She was in a bubble. Their dirty looks couldn't touch her.
‘In a circle, players,’ Ravenswood said, and all thirteen cast members shuffled into position. ‘For our warm-up today, we're going to play a little game.’
Lila tittered and the boys groaned.
‘It’s called Murder Winks. Everyone, close your eyes.’
Violet’s fingertips were still tingling as she closed her eyes. She imagined what her life would be like if she had access to this power all the time.
‘Good. I'm going to secretly squeeze one person’s shoulder. They will be the murderer. When everyone opens their eyes and the aim of the game is to identify the murderer. If someone winks at you, you must die a dramatic death and you are out of the game. If you suspect someone is the murderer, call out their name but not after your death. If you correctly identify the murderer, you are the winner.’
Violet wished Ravenswood would touch her shoulder as his footsteps travelled around the circle.
‘Open your eyes,’ he said.
Violet blinked with a little humpf of disappointment.
‘Ok, let's begin.’
The cast eyed each other around the circle, lips and eyebrows pressed together. Violet glanced at each person sequentially. If she couldn't be the murderer, winning would be second best.
Jez moaned loudly and dropped to the ground, clutching at his chest.
Wayne and Jason sniggered and Violet narrowed her eyes.
Jacinta swooned like a silent film star, gasping with her hand against her forehead.
Then Wayne made exploding hand gestures as if blood squirted from his body.
Violet licked her lips. Only nine remained.
‘Any guesses?’ Ravenswood asked as he crept around the outside of the circle.
‘Lionel?’ Lila shrugged.
Lionel lunged forward with a groan, miming his intestines unravelling onto the floor.
Jason went down, then Kon and the minor cast boys until Violet, Lila, Angelika and Holly were standing.
‘Ok, ladies. Who is the killer among you?’ Ravenswood said as the four girls glared at each other.
‘Violet?’ said Holly with a f
rown.
Violet smirked with hands on hips, but before she could shake her head, Holly dropped to the ground with a shudder, her body convulsing.
Then there were three.
Violet sized up her best friend and her greatest enemy. Lila or Angelika? Lila's eyes darted skittishly while Angelika was more casual, but all three girls flitted back and forth, waiting for the wink.
Violet opened her mouth to name Angelika as the murderer but she was distracted by a wheezing sound. She narrowed her eyes as she glanced all around.
‘Heads,’ Holly cried from her spot lying on the stage floor.
Violet looked up.
A scenery set piece was hurtling towards the ground.
The wooden frame thundered onto the stage with a crash. Angelika gasped. Jacinta screamed. A third person howled in pain and this time it was a male voice.
‘Jez!’
The scenery flat divided Violet from the rest of the cast. She was alone at the front of the stage except for Jez. Violet heard Ravenswood’s voice from the other side. ‘Jacinta, go to my office and call an ambulance,’ he ordered. Footsteps rushed towards the door.
Jez was lying face down and motionless. The forest scene with its wooden baton rested on the back of his neck, hiding the rest of his body while his floppy hair spilled over the black painted stage. One hand was outstretched, the wrist with his familiar brown leather band was bent at a sickening angle.
‘No. Not Jez. Not him.’ Violet struggled to breathe as she stared at his lifeless body. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't. She wrapped her arms around herself.
Violet had replayed their night in the park a million times inside her head. He'd listened, he’d laughed at her silly jokes, he understood her. They were perfect. But as the weeks passed, the memories were fading and now she couldn't even remember half the things he'd said.
She stared down at him. She knew he didn't want her. No matter how hard she tried to recreate their special night, he wasn't interested. The truth ached. He'd wrenched her heart from her chest and tossed it in the bin, but she never wanted him dead. The candle magic wasn't meant for him.
The Flower and the Serpent Page 17