‘How?’ Linnéa asks.
‘Among other things, the Council has a special department that goes through whatever information is on the Net. There may be kernels of truth in what you find there. Some magical facts are hidden in folklore and traditions, but they’re so inextricably intertwined with nonsense that it’s virtually impossible to distinguish one from the other. We remove anything that gets too close to the truth, and leave all the misleading junk. The lunatics and amateurs actually do us a big favour.’
‘So you’re engaged in censorship as well?’ Linnéa says contemptuously.
‘We’re entering a new magical age so we have to be in control of whatever knowledge there is. You can’t imagine what damage it could cause if it were to fall into the wrong hands.’
But Linnéa won’t back down. ‘And who decides whether it’s in the wrong hands? You and the Council? Who keeps an eye on you?’
The principal smiles mirthlessly. ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes? “Who protects us from our protectors?” The ancient philosophers asked that question, and I’m not going to discuss it right now.’
Minoo looks pleadingly at Linnéa and gets a grimace in return. She longs for order, not more chaos.
The principal opens her bag. She hands out five identical black books and silver loupes. Minoo weighs her book in her hand. It’s incredibly heavy for something so small. She examines the loupe. It’s segmented into eight parts of which six are very thin, ribbed and adjustable.
‘This is the Book of Patterns,’ the principal says. ‘And this’ – she holds up a loupe – ‘is one of two tools at your disposal for interpreting it. This is the other,’ she says, and taps her temple.
Vanessa groans.
‘Open your books,’ the principal says.
Minoo opens hers. Six symbols are lined up on the first page.
She turns it. Then another and yet another.
‘I don’t see any patterns,’ Ida says. It’s the first thing she’s said all morning.
Minoo doesn’t say so, but she agrees with Ida. The pages are covered with incomprehensible symbols of various sizes. Some may look as if they’re in some kind of order, but others are scattered everywhere. Some pages are blank. It looks like the most difficult IQ test ever, and Minoo is stumped.
‘Six symbols,’ the principal says, ‘arranged in magical constellations. You can only learn what they mean through deep and sustained reflection and with the help of this.’
She holds up the loupe again. ‘The Pattern Finder.’
‘What’s in this book anyway?’ Anna-Karin asks.
‘That depends on who’s looking,’ the principal responds. ‘No two witches see the same thing. The Book of Patterns acts as transmitter and receiver. The witch reading it has to know what she’s looking for. Then the book will show her what she needs. It’s like tuning into the right frequency on an old-fashioned radio.’
‘And the thing you use to tune in with is … that?’ Ida asks.
‘Yes. But it’s useless if your senses aren’t focused on the search.’ The principal’s eyes are dreamy. ‘The book often knows what we need better than we do. It’s as if it can see right into our souls.’
‘Cheesy,’ Vanessa says in a sing-song voice.
The principal glares at Vanessa. ‘On the contrary,’ she says. ‘This book contains all the knowledge that a witch will ever need. What you see depends in part on how well developed your powers are, and in part on what symbol you belong to. It contains magic formulae and rites, prophecies and tales from the past.’
‘Does that mean our prophecy looks like this?’ Linnéa says, and points at a page on which the symbols look as if a tornado has passed through the book.
Adriana Lopez nods. ‘That’s why it’s not easy just to read out the prophecy to you. When the time is right, you’ll be able to see it, but you won’t all see it in the same way.’
‘Then how do you know what’s in it?’ Minoo asks. ‘If everyone sees different things, I mean.’
‘Generations of witches have read the prophecy and written down exactly what they’ve seen. The texts overlap at a number of points. It’s a question of pure statistics.’
‘So the majority is always right?’ Linnéa asks.
‘I see you’re the philosopher here,’ the principal answers mordantly.
Minoo sees Linnéa’s eyes darken and realises she must intervene. ‘What was it you said about the symbols before?’
Adriana holds up the books.
‘There are six different symbols in this book, arranged in different constellations. They resemble Asian pictograms in that they can mean many different things, and each symbol stands for an entire concept. But, for the sake of simplicity, you could say that they represent the six elements.’
‘Four,’ Ida cuts in, as she spins her necklace. ‘There are four elements.’
The principal sighs irritably, and Minoo is relieved she hadn’t beaten Ida to it.
‘As I said just a moment ago, you must forget everything you thought you knew. The concept of the four elements was put forward by the pre-Socratic philosopher Empedocles. In China and Japan they talk about five elements. But the true number is six. And every witch is closer to one element than the others.’
Six elements but seven Chosen Ones. What does that mean? That two of them have the same element? Or could one of them be left with none? Minoo feels the nagging fear that it might be her.
‘Do you know which ones we are?’ she asks.
The principal gives her a look that’s difficult to interpret. ‘Yes. The results of the analysis arrived today. That’s why I was late. I’d like to start by saying that the powers you have are typical of your respective elements. But that doesn’t mean a given power can’t be found in several different elements. For example, air and water witches can learn how to control storms. Metal and fire witches can generate lightning, but not rain. There’s a whole science to it.’
‘Can I guess?’ Vanessa asks. ‘I’m air?’
‘Correct,’ the principal answers.
‘Does it mean I can learn how to fly?’
‘That depends on how your powers develop,’ the principal answers, a little impatiently.
Five elements left, Minoo thinks.
‘Excuse me, but can I guess now?’ Ida asks. ‘Is Anna-Karin earth?’
‘Yes.’
Ida gives a scornful laugh that stops abruptly when the principal stares at her disapprovingly.
Four left, Minoo thinks, and concentrates on taking notes.
‘Earth is associated with a strong connection to nature and living creatures,’ the principal continues, looking at Anna-Karin. ‘And strength. Physical as well as mental. You, Ida, are metal.’
Three left.
‘Ida’s connection to the metallic element makes her a perfect medium, which you saw on the night of your awakening. The art of fortune-telling and visions are also natural abilities.’
For a wonderful moment the principal lets her gaze move towards Minoo before she turns to Linnéa.
‘You, Linnéa, are water. You should be able to learn how to control your element in various forms—’
‘What was Elias?’ Linnéa breaks in.
‘Wood,’ the principal answers. ‘A typical wood quality is being able to shape and control different kinds of living material. And Rebecka was fire, like me,’ she concludes.
Minoo often has nightmares in which she’s at school and suddenly discovers she’s naked. That’s exactly how it feels now when everyone turns to her. She’s the only one left.
‘Am I the same?’ she asks. ‘I mean, do I have the same element as someone else?’
The principal looks at her for what seems aeons before she answers. ‘No. Unfortunately I can’t see that you’re close to any of the elements. Technically, you shouldn’t be here.’
It’s worse than the nightmares of being naked. She looks up at the ceiling, as if someone up there could save her. The only thing she sees is the f
aintly shimmering air that lies like a dome under the roof of the dance pavilion. More magic. Magic she will never master.
‘That’s bullshit,’ she hears Linnéa say. ‘Minoo had the same dreams as the rest of us. She came here on the same night as us.’
‘Minoo,’ the principal says.
Minoo lowers her eyes reluctantly to look at the beautiful dark-haired woman, so confident in her knowledge and authority.
‘I can’t explain it. Just as I can’t explain why there were seven of you and not one, or Nicolaus’s role. But I’m sure we shall find out more.’
Nicolaus, Minoo thinks. It’s me and Nicolaus. The failures. The ones who don’t belong anywhere.
And Minoo does something she’s never done before. She gathers up her things in the middle of a class and walks away. She ignores everyone calling to her and doesn’t stop walking until she gets home.
All through school, Minoo has waited to be exposed. And now it’s happened. Minoo Falk Karimi is a fraud. She’s nothing. It’s been confirmed once and for all.
Lasagne – make every day a party! it says, at the top of the sheet of paper Vanessa is holding.
‘Ugh –gross! It says you’re supposed to put chicken liver in the meat sauce,’ she says.
Evelina makes a puking sound and pretends to stick her fingers down her throat. Normally Vanessa would have laughed, but now she’s far too nervous. There are so many steps to keep track of. Her normal cooking repertoire consists of pasta and ketchup or fried eggs.
‘You must be able to leave it out without it making much difference,’ she says, in dire need of back-up. ‘Or do you have to add more mince?’
‘How should I know?’ Michelle says, as she sits on the floor scratching Frasse’s stomach.
You’re a big help, Vanessa thinks, and lowers the heat so that the béchamel sauce won’t stick to the pan.
‘Excuse me,’ Evelina says, ‘but are you pissed off with us because we didn’t buy chicken liver? You didn’t put it on the list.’
‘I know,’ says Vanessa. She has to try hard not to lose her temper at Evelina’s whining. ‘But celeriac was there.’
‘I don’t even know what it is, for Christ’s sake.’
Vanessa doesn’t either, but she has no intention of admitting it. The frying-pan sizzles as she tosses in the onions. ‘Never mind,’ she says. ‘It’ll have to work without it.’
‘Where did you find the recipe?’ Evelina asks. ‘In the Middle Ages?’
‘Can’t you give me a hand?’
Evelina’s eyes widen. ‘Excuse me. But we did the shopping for you while you were clearing up. Or have you forgotten that?’
‘Why don’t you shut up?’ Vanessa blurts out. When she sees Evelina’s angry face, she adds: ‘Sorry! I’m so nervous.’
Evelina’s expression softens into sympathy, while Michelle gets up and comes over to them. ‘Tell me what to do,’ she says.
‘It’ll be fine,’ Evelina says.
Vanessa feels enormous bubbling love for her friends – her real friends, whom she barely has time to see any more – before stress takes over again and she picks up the recipe. ‘Michelle, could you “peel the carrots and the celeriac”, only not the celeriac obviously. Evelina, could you “chop everything very finely”?’
Like good little soldiers they position themselves along the counter with their implements and the carrots.
‘So, how do you think it’ll go?’ Michelle asks.
She peels as slowly as she talks, one rasping pull of the peeler at a time. Vanessa wants to snatch the carrot out of her hand, but instead stirs the sauce slowly and carefully, trying to breathe at the same pace.
‘Nicke hates Wille. He thinks Wille’s, like, a total criminal,’ she says. ‘And my mother believes everything Nicke says. Plus she hates the idea of my getting engaged.’
It’s become clear that her mother has only tolerated Wille up till now because she thought things wouldn’t last. But since the engagement she’s been in a total panic and has become intensely anti-Wille. She goes on about how Vanessa’s too young to be making momentous decisions, as if she hadn’t made an even more momentous decision when she was sixteen and got pregnant with the first drunken screw that came along.
Vanessa hopes this evening can be the start of something new. She’s going to make this goddamn lasagne. It’s going to taste great, and everyone will be impressed that Vanessa is much more grown-up than they’d realised. And Wille is going to charm her mother. He’s promised to make an effort.
‘Well, Wille is a drug dealer,’ Michelle points out. ‘Nicke, like, arrested him.’
‘That wasn’t for dealing drugs. It was for smoking dope in Storvall Park,’ Evelina objects.
‘My mother thinks that if you smoke once, you turn into, like, a crack-whore the very next day,’ Michelle says. ‘She always thinks I’m doing drugs. I mean, like, if I happen to be a bit tired it’s “Are you doing drugs?” Or if I’m annoyed or too happy, “Are you on drugs?” She’s on at me whenever I behave in a way she thinks a normal person shouldn’t.’
‘My parents are exactly the same,’ Evelina says.
‘They must have been made in the same factory as my mum,’ Vanessa says.
Michelle grins. She starts talking about a new haircut she’s thinking of having, then she and Evelina launch into a deep discussion about the pros and cons of a fringe. Vanessa works hard not to scream with boredom.
Ordinarily, Michelle’s hair would have been a normal topic of conversation, not all that exciting but acceptable. Now it’s difficult for Vanessa to show any interest in such things when there are so many more important things on her to-do list: She has to (1) save the onion that’s in danger of burning in the frying-pan; (2) save her future with Wille by making a perfect lasagne; and (3) save the world.
The latter really ought to be her main focus but, compared to the other things, it doesn’t seem quite as urgent at the moment.
32
FRASSE RUNS DOWN the hall barking when the doorbell rings. His tail beats against Vanessa’s legs as she opens the door. Wille is outside with a bunch of flowers. His hair is combed back, and he’s wearing black jeans and a black shirt under his jacket. He looks mature, clean-cut and a little dressed up. Her heart melts. He really has made an effort for her. ‘You brought flowers?’
‘They’re for your mother,’ Wille says, and lets Frasse lick his hand.
Vanessa kisses him blissfully on the lips. ‘You’re the best,’ she whispers, and almost trips over the dog on the way back to the kitchen.
Her mother and Nicke are sitting at the table, waiting. Their faces are locked in rigid disapproval, which doesn’t change when Wille comes in. Only Melvin, sitting on the floor playing with his bricks, smiles.
‘Hi there, squirt.’ Wille ruffles his hair. Then he holds out the flowers to Vanessa’s mother. ‘Thank you for inviting me to dinner,’ he says.
‘Vanessa did the inviting … Thank you,’ she adds mechanically, and removes the wrapping with an explosion of rustling.
Wille shakes hands with Nicke, who leans back in his chair and looks at him with a condescending smirk. Vanessa hates him for it, but says nothing. With this dinner she’s going to prove she’s an adult, no matter what her mother and Nicke think.
Her mother rummages in the cupboard for a suitable vase. She fills it with water and puts the flowers into it. They’re gerberas, Vanessa’s favourite. They look like the flowers you see in cartoons. ‘They’re very nice,’ her mother says, and puts the vase on the table, which Vanessa has laid for dinner.
‘I’m glad you like them,’ Wille answers.
There is an awkward silence and Vanessa is glad to have something to do. She pulls on a pair of oven gloves. Hot air hits her face when she opens the oven door. The lasagne dish is so hot that it almost burns through the gloves. She bites her lip to stop herself letting out a string of swear words and sets the dish on the stove with a little bang.
‘Smells gre
at,’ Wille says.
‘Vanessa’s been in the kitchen all day,’ her mother says, ‘and the girls were here to help earlier.’
‘I didn’t know you could cook,’ says Wille to Vanessa.
‘Me neither,’ she says, as she cuts the lasagne into individual sections.
It is bubbling and sizzling at the edges, and the cheese on top is dark brown, but the knife meets with unexpected resistance. She hopes it’s just that it’s blunt. The lasagne has been in the oven for a very long time.
She takes the salad servers out of the drawer and sticks them into the salad.
‘You have a lovely apartment,’ Wille says.
It’s such a typically grown-up thing to say. Vanessa is moved by his attempt to start up a conversation, but her mother and Nicke don’t try to help him.
‘Well, at least we have a roof over our heads,’ is all her mother says.
‘But it’s really nice. Beautiful wallpaper …’ His voice peters out.
Luckily Melvin starts whining that he’s hungry. Vanessa’s mother lifts him into the high chair and tells him that dinner’s ready. He claps his hands and everyone laughs, a little stiffly.
At last, the lasagne is steaming in the middle of the table. Salad, bread and butter are within reach of everyone. Vanessa takes her seat. She serves the first piece to Wille. He’s the guest, after all.
‘It looks delicious,’ her mother says, when Vanessa hands her a plateful.
‘Aren’t you on a diet, Jannike?’ Nicke says, and Vanessa suppresses another impulse to shout at him.
She looks at Wille nervously as he forks some lasagne into his mouth. To her horror, she thinks she hears a crunch as he chews. He makes a strange face and Vanessa can’t work out whether it’s because the food is too hot or disgusting. ‘I thought we could drink a toast to Wille’s and my engagement,’ she says. ‘I know everyone here isn’t as happy about it as Wille and I are, but I hope you’ll come round.’
Her mother raises her glass. She smiles quickly, as if she wants to get it over and done with. ‘Cheers,’ she says.
The Circle (Hammer) Page 22
