by Fiona Horne
I faced the principal uncertainly.
She shuffled some papers in front of her before looking up at Mr Barrow. ‘Yes?’
‘Vania Thorn, while being a capable student academically, is proving herself to be a disruptive influence among the other students,’ Mr Barrow said loudly.
I was too shocked to defend myself, so I just stood there looking back and forth between Mr Barrow and the principal.
Mr Barrow opened a folder he was carrying. ‘Cheating on tests, causing a commotion in the school cafeteria and encouraging other students to skip classes,’ he said as he turned a couple of pages before removing one and handing it to the principal. ‘I recommend this letter be sent to her parents.’
The principal looked the letter over. After a long silence she said, ‘I want to speak with Miss Thorn. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr Barrow. You can leave her with me.’
Mr Barrow went to say something, but the principal held up her hand to silence him.
He snapped his folder shut and gave me one more withering look before leaving the office.
‘Have a seat,’ the principal said without looking up from the letter.
I did so and waited with my hands in my lap.
‘I don’t like Abraham Barrow,’ she said after a long pause.
My hand went to my mouth in shock at how open she was being.
‘But unfortunately I have to adhere to a strict hiring policy, and he was next in line.’
I didn’t say anything. What could I say?
‘Don’t you want to speak in your defence?’ Mrs Stinson asked.
I cleared my throat. ‘Yes, ma’am. I did not cheat, but I did suggest to the students I share a Friday elective class with that we work on that project this morning, off the school premises.’
‘Which project did you choose?’
‘We’re attempting to solve the mystery of the woman of Queen’s Cross.’
‘Oh, yes, a famous case in Summerland. Well, how is it coming along?’
‘We think we’re really close to a breakthrough that might even force the case to be reopened.’
‘How very thrilling. I do enjoy seeing students passionate about their work. As you are a relatively new student to this school, Miss Thorn, I have made it my duty to stay informed of your progress, and all your teachers speak very highly of you – except Mr Barrow, of course. Sometimes personality clashes are unavoidable, so to avoid further issues I am going to remove you from his class and place you with Miss Clarke instead.’
‘But Mrs Stinson, Miss Clarke’s class is the year above mine,’ I said.
‘I know. It is a little unorthodox, but you appear to be uncannily gifted in this area of study. I hope this news pleases you.’
Pleased me? I was over the moon. My toes curled up in my shoes, and I had to resist the urge to fling myself at Mrs Stinson and hug her. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Stinson. I won’t let you down. I’ll study really hard.’
‘Make sure you do, Miss Thorn.’ But her serious words were accompanied by a smile, and she energetically scrunched Mr Barrow’s letter into a ball and threw it in the bin.
‘You may return to your classes,’ she said and went back to turning over the papers on her desk.
I virtually skipped out of her office.
My coven and I met in the quad for lunch. They couldn’t believe what had happened in the principal’s office either, especially Mrs Stinson’s openness about not liking Mr Barrow.
‘Maybe he’s going to be fired?’ Alyssa said.
‘I can’t tell psychically yet,’ Amelia said. ‘But it’s pretty obvious he’s not making any friends among the staff. Here’s hoping his days at Summerland High are numbered.’
‘It would be awesome if he left,’ Dean said. ‘I doubt anyone would miss him. I’ve heard other students complain about him, too.’
‘Vania has copped it the worst, though,’ Bryce said. ‘But it should get better now that you’re not in his class.’ He squeezed my shoulder and I swooned a little. I loved it when he touched me.
I stood there revelling in the knowledge that there would be no more chemistry with Mr Barrow . . . And then I felt the blood leave my head and pool in my feet. The witches’ second warning started blaring in my head like a demented nursery rhyme.
‘Guys . . . this is probably ridiculous, but in the witches’ second rhyme, could “One, two, three, rhymes with tree” mean “chemistry”?’
‘Chemistry rhymes with tree . . . and three, obviously!’ laughed Alyssa.
We all giggled except Dean, who looked serious.
‘“Four, five, sparrow, rhymes with narrow”,’ he said, ‘which rhymes with . . . Barrow.’
Could it be that simple? The witches were warning us about Mr Barrow? I stood there like a bowling pin knocked unsteady, rocking back and forth, looking at the others. Bryce put his arm out to steady me.
‘It’s Mr Barrow,’ I whispered.
‘But what about Mr Barrow?’ Bryce raised his eyebrows.
‘He murdered the woman of Queen’s Cross,’ I said.
‘That’s crazy!’ Amelia laughed out loud.
‘Shush!’ I whispered. ‘Seriously, it all makes sense.’
‘But surely he wouldn’t kill her and then move into her house?’ Dean said incredulously.
‘I read somewhere that criminals stay close to the scene of their crime, so they don’t seem like the perpetrator. But I’m going to talk to my father tonight and see what he thinks,’ I finished emphatically. Suddenly talking to him seemed like a very good idea.
I finished my last mouthful of the vegetarian lasagne my mother and I had cooked together and carefully laid my cutlery down on my plate.
‘Dad, I need your opinion on something,’ I said.
‘This is a first!’ he said. ‘What is it?’
I resisted the urge to make a sarcastic remark back to him. ‘I have a class project where we’re examining the mysterious death of a woman in Summerland fifteen years ago.’
‘The woman of Queen’s Cross!’ my mother said loudly. I jumped.
‘Well, yes—’
‘Keith!’ my mother cut me off. ‘Did you know about this?’
‘Darling, be quiet,’ my father said.
What was with their total overreaction? I hadn’t even asked them anything specific yet.
‘What do you want to know, Vania?’ my father asked evenly.
‘Um,’ I said, feeling thrown by their weird response but determined to push on, ‘I think the woman was murdered, and I have a feeling that one of the teachers at my school did it.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ my father said.
‘Why is it ridiculous?’
‘What proof do you have?’
What proof did I have? I couldn’t tell my father about the witches. ‘It’s just a hunch. And he lives in the house where she died.’
My father shook his head dismissively.
‘So you’re not going to help me?’ I said.
‘Vania, you’re being silly. You should be focusing your time on more serious areas of study.’
I pushed back my chair in frustration. ‘That’s all I do!’ I shouted. ‘I work as hard as I can, I get good grades, but it’s never good enough for you!’
‘Sit down now, Vania!’ my father yelled.
‘Keith, please,’ my mother said in an odd tone. ‘Maybe we should tell her?’
‘Tell me what?’ I screamed.
My father stood up and grabbed my arm, but I wrenched it away.
‘Don’t bother,’ I said. ‘Why should I listen to you? You never listen to me.’
I bolted out of the kitchen towards the front door.
‘Vania, get back here!’ my father called after me.
I ignored him and took off into the night.
Ten minutes later I was tapping on the doors of Bryce’s bedroom. The curtains were drawn, but there was a light on. I tapped again hesitantly. The curtain slid open and I saw Bryce’s fami
liar outline. My thudding heart started to slow down.
As soon as he saw me he opened the door.
‘Vania, you scared me! I thought you were one of those witches knocking at my door this late.’ He laughed.
‘Bryce, can I come in?’
‘Of course. My parents are home; I’ll tell them you’re here.’
‘Can you not, please? I just had a huge fight with mine,’ I said, wiping at my tear-stained face.
‘Hey, no worries. Let’s talk quietly then. What happened?’
I sat on the bed and for a second thought about the amulet I’d placed under his mattress. I wondered if it was protecting him like it was supposed to.
‘I told my dad I thought Mr Barrow was involved in the woman of Queen’s Cross’s death, and he basically just laughed at me. Nothing I do is ever good enough for him.’
‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ Bryce said, ‘but it is a bit of a stretch to say that Mr Barrow was involved in the woman’s death.’
‘What?’ I bristled. ‘You know the witches’ second rhyme clearly points to him.’
‘Hey, whoa, don’t get so worked up!’
That was the wrong thing to say. I stood up in a huff. ‘Bryce, I’ve been doing my best to stay nice after what happened at the beach, but you know what? This is even worse than that. I can’t believe you’re not backing me on this.’
I leapt up and ran out of the open door.
Halfway down the street I stopped and turned around. He wasn’t following me. I took a deep breath. I felt worn out and sad. Maybe I had him all wrong.
There was one more person I needed to ask: Brenda. She would know what to do.
It took me half an hour to walk to the Purple Raven, and it was after nine p.m. by the time I arrived. The cafe was closed, but thankfully as I peered in the window I could see Brenda counting money at one of the tables. I knocked.
Minutes later I was sipping on a mug of hot chocolate and feeling a lot calmer. The money had been replaced on the table by Brenda’s tarot cards, and she was shuffling them slowly.
‘Let’s see if we can get a little clarity with these,’ she said.
She cut the deck into three piles. ‘Choose one.’
I pointed to the middle pile.
She moved the others to the side and started to turn over the cards of my chosen pile, one at a time, until five cards formed the shape of a cross.
Brenda looked up at me with her good eye while the glass one stayed fixed on the spread. ‘You have the Justice card at the centre, surrounded by the Nine of Swords, the Page of Coins and the Magician. And here at the bottom . . .’ she picked up the card carefully and presented it to me, ‘. . . you have Death.’
I shuddered at the grisly scene on the death card. It was a skeleton in a black hooded cape holding a giant scythe.
‘What does it all mean?’ I asked.
‘These cards mean you are correct in your assumptions. So your school teacher, Mr Barrow, probably does know something about the death of the woman.’
‘So he did kill her!’
Brenda held up her hand. ‘Wait, I didn’t say that. The cards are merely guides; there are no absolutes.’
‘What should I do?’
‘You should go to the police.’
‘I already have. I asked my father. He didn’t believe me, and he’s the police chief. Can’t we do a spell on Mr Barrow and force a confession out of him?’
‘Absolutely not!’ Brenda said sternly. ‘It would break the primary law of spell-casting, as you know. You can’t interfere with another’s free will.’
‘But this is for justice!’ I wailed.
‘Vania, no. And don’t take this into your own hands – it will only backfire.’
I slammed my mug down and stood up. The angry feeling was starting to churn deep in my stomach like a big black snake uncoiling.
‘What’s the point of being able to do spells if you’re never allowed to use them?’
‘Vania, please calm down!’ Brenda said in a firm voice.
‘No, I won’t calm down! If no one is going to help me, I’m going to do this myself!’
I stormed out of the cafe, back into the night. The snake was now writhing wildly inside me, and I knew what I had to do.
There was a lighter tinge to the sky tonight: a huge full moon floated in the sky. It was yellow like spoiled butter and looked ominous.
‘Perfect. Time to do some serious magic,’ I muttered under my breath.
Fourteen
I climbed through my bedroom window. Once inside I could hear my father on the phone. He was talking to another policeman about finding me. He’d probably called my friends, too. I needed to officially come home to stop them looking for me; then I could get what I needed and sneak out again. I slid back out through the window, and moments later I was knocking on the front door.
My mother opened it. ‘Vania, I was so worried! Your father was about to go in to work!’
‘I’m sorry, Mum, I know I overreacted. I went over to Bryce’s place.’
‘We called his parents. They said you weren’t there.’
‘I asked him not to tell them.’
My father appeared and promptly clipped me over the ear with his palm. I put my hand to my throbbing head.
‘You’re grounded, missy.’
The snake in my stomach twisted in fury, and I wanted to strike out and hit him right back, but I knew I had to play it smarter than that. ‘I’m sorry for running off, Dad.’
‘Get to your room.’
I slunk past both of them.
In my room, I got into bed and turned out the light. A few minutes later my mother appeared, silhouetted in the doorway.
‘Vania, we need to talk, but it’s too late now. Try to have a good sleep. Things will be clearer in the morning, I promise.’
‘Okay, Mum,’ I said in as normal a tone as I could manage.
About ten minutes later they switched off the light in their bedroom.
I slipped out of my bed and took off my red jumper. Scrunched in the corner of the room was a black one; it badly needed a wash, but I didn’t care. I slipped it over my head. Now all I needed to complete my stealth uniform was a beanie to cover my glowing blonde hair. I scraped open the top drawer of my dresser, coughing to cover the grinding sound it made. I grabbed a black beanie with a silver skull and wings stitched on the side, turned it inside out and put it on, tucking my hair up under it.
I switched on my torch and carefully pried open the loose floorboard under the rug. From the space I pulled out a slim book with a black cover: A Witch’s Cures and Curses. I knew what I was looking for, a binding spell – one that could stop a murderer and force him to confess his deeds. I found what I needed on page 33 and was relieved to see that I had all the key ingredients to hand.
Next I removed the black velvet drawstring bag from beneath the floorboard, which I’d been using to store a bunch of magical accoutrements I’d been accumulating. I set aside the rose quartz for love and the dried daisy petals for friendship, and instead assembled the more ominous items required by the spell: the ancient witch’s herb, hemlock; salt, extracted from the Dead Sea; and a bullet – mainly because it was made of lead, one of the densest substances on the chemical scale – which meant it had powerful binding properties.
Within minutes I was silently sliding out of my bedroom window again.
The moon was now blazing like the sun in the sky, its light casting a shadow under me. I ran through the spell checklist in my head. I needed to hypnotise Mr Barrow by waving the hemlock in an anticlockwise direction over his head. I had no idea how I was going to get close enough to him to achieve this, but I would cross that bridge when I came to it. And then when he was in the trance I had to sprinkle the salt around him in a circle with no gaps, to bind him from moving and getting away. And then I had to hold the bullet in my right hand and state the incantation quickly to capture his thoughts and force his confession:
Thou art beholden to my will
And answerable to my decree
Bound in limb but not in tongue
Thou shall render
Thy confession.
In twenty minutes I was in front of the house on Queen’s Cross Road. I started up the driveway, but stopped halfway as the stupidity of what I was about to do hit me. This was insanity!
Then the angry snake twisted in my gut and up my spine, forcing my head back. I looked up to the full moon. Its blazing light felt like it was burning a hole in my forehead when, from the glare, three familiar shapes appeared. The voices of the witches swirled in my ears.
‘Calmly, quietly, little one
The spell you cast has begun
To the right and to the left
Your destiny you must accept
And now with no procrastination
Second shall be your destination.’
And then they were gone. I took a deep breath and continued edging up the driveway. Even I wasn’t stupid enough to go waltzing in the front door, so I made my way down the side of the house. I saw two doors.
‘Second shall be your destination.’ The witches were telling me to open the second door.
There was a small window set high up the wall. I stretched up as far as I could on my tiptoes to peek in and saw that the door led into a small laundry, and through that was a room in which I could see a TV screen flickering.
I tried the handle. It creaked a little, and my breath caught in my throat like a fish hook. But it continued to turn, and with a light push I was able to open the door.
I hesitated, but the snake in my belly hissed, ‘Proceed! ’
I crept to the edge of the hall. I could see the back of Mr Barrow’s head. He was watching the television. My mind raced. If I could sneak up behind him and wave the hemlock over his head this could work.
I took a couple of steps along the hall towards the lounge room and then I heard it.
Snoring.
Mr Barrow was asleep! A rush of adrenalin went through me.
I opened up the neck of my spell bag, withdrew the sticks of hemlock, and snuck up behind his chair.
The snoring continued.
I waved the herb over his head. He spluttered and made a choking noise, and for one terrifying moment I thought he would wake up. But then the snoring started up again.
