Euphoria Kids

by Alison Evans

  As I walk, I can feel the Earth hold me.

  Babs creaks open the wooden gate to the garden, and we walk up the path between rows of flowers tumbling out of their beds. The path widens as we get closer, bringing us in. At the front door, Babs doesn’t hesitate. She raises her hand and knocks three times, firm. She stands tall, and waits for the knock to be answered.

  There’s a surprised noise from inside, and some rustling, the clattering of pots and pans.

  And then a very windblown witch opens the door. Her black curly hair is everywhere, she has dark circles under her eyes, and she’s got a tiny piece of calcite orbiting her head like a moon. She’s wearing lots of black eyeliner, a long, oil-slicked dark pearlescent dress, and shoes that don’t quite match. A maidenhair fern is growing out of one of the many pockets in the dress. ‘Oh,’ she says, ‘I’m so glad you’ve returned.’

  Babs is taken aback; the boy and I exchange glances.

  ‘Come in!’ The witch steps aside and gestures us into the house. When she moves, I glimpse the open fireplace next to a big red rug on the packed-earth floor.

  We go inside. A lumpy couch and two armchairs are huddled around the fire. Dried herbs are hanging from the roof, and live healthy-looking ones are in pots along the windowsills. The plants tell me how happy they are, and they look so full of life. I relax; I think we’re safe here.

  ‘I don’t know where to start,’ the witch says, wringing her hands.

  The boy spots a kettle on the stove. ‘Maybe some tea first?’

  ‘Good idea. Please have a seat.’

  We watch as the witch starts to clean. Well, she waves a hand and the broom sweeps, while a cloth dusts down the windows. She picks a few stones off the floor and throws them into the air so they get caught in her orbit. It’s mesmerising to watch them circle round and round. She is younger than I expected, maybe about thirty. Which probably means she was about twenty-five when she cursed Babs, unless witches age differently.

  The couch is comfortable, and I sink in. It holds me gently, like the earth did outside.

  When the kettle starts to whistle, she gets out a tea set from the cupboard, puts some loose leaves into the pot and waves a hand at the kettle, which pours its water into the pot. She rotates it a few times clockwise, muttering to herself. Then she brushes some of her wild hair off her face, walks to an armchair and sits down, and floats the tray over onto the coffee table between us. ‘So,’ she says, and seems unsure what to do with herself. She keeps sitting on her hands, then playing with her hair. ‘How . . . are you? Going with it, I mean.’

  ‘It’s . . . interesting,’ says Babs, who’s been watching the witch intently the whole time.

  I can sense an unbalance in Babs. She was expecting a fight, a resistance, not a woman who’s just cleaned her home and made tea for some visitors.

  ‘I knew you were like me, even though you were so small,’ the witch says. ‘For girls like us, it can be handy to disappear sometimes.’

  ‘Oh.’ Babs is unbalanced further still, her fire sputtering in all directions like she’s in the wind. ‘Oh.’

  ‘Um, do you have a name?’ the boy asks.

  ‘For you?’ the witch asks.

  The boy blushes. ‘I, well, I meant, what’s your name?’

  ‘Zahra,’ she says. ‘But I can help you find a name.’

  ‘Oh.’ He takes a big gulp of tea and seems unable to say anything else.

  The fire crackles red and green. As I watch the flames, I realise two tiny creatures are in there, salamanders. They’re mostly black with red and orange spots. One looks like it’s sleeping on top of a log; the other is scampering through the hottest parts of the flame. And where the salamanders are, the fire is turning green. The scampering one seems to realise I’m watching it, and it goes to wake up the other one. They move behind a log where I can’t see them, but I still see the green flames.

  ‘Why did you curse me?’ Babs asks Zahra softly. She flickers a couple of times, then she’s gone.

  Zahra stares at the space where Babs was. ‘Can she hear me if I speak?’

  ‘Yeah,’ I say, ‘but she can’t reply. I’d wait.’

  Zahra gets a red crystal chip from her pocket and balances it in her palm. She rolls it around, holding it up to the flames so the light shines through. And then she places it into her orbit. ‘How long will she be gone?’

  I shrug. ‘Never know. But she’s pretty upset, I’m guessing it’ll take a while.’

  ‘I was too headstrong when I was younger.’ Zahra sighs. ‘I could reverse it, if she wants.’

  ‘Should probably wait until she’s back.’

  ‘Right.’ Zahra nods. ‘I suppose you two need some­where to sleep?’

  ‘We have a tent,’ the boy says.

  ‘It can get a bit dangerous at night here,’ she says. ‘I’d recommend staying inside.’

  ‘Are the cold fae yours?’ I ask, thinking of the closest danger I know.

  ‘They aren’t anyone’s. But you should stay away from them, they don’t mean you any good. They’re angry they’re stuck in this foreign land.’

  ‘Did you make the ravine?’ the boy asks.

  ‘I did, to keep them out. But it doesn’t seem to work in the night. And they’re not the only dangerous things out there. Nothing can get in here, though.’

  I meet the boy’s eyes, and he nods.

  ‘All right,’ I say. ‘But do you have room?’

  ‘The couch folds out, and I can get another bed from somewhere . . .’ She runs a hand through her huge hair; a fat bee flies out and perches on the nearest table. ‘Oh!’ She gasps and carefully picks up the bee, carries it over to what looks like a bug hotel. The bee crawls in.

  A few minutes later we’ve cleared away the tea things, Zahra is fetching blankets, and the boy and I are sitting on the bare fold-out mattress. ‘Do you reckon Babs will appear again?’ he asks me. ‘She won’t leave?’

  ‘Yeah, of course . . . I just hope she’s safe. That she didn’t go outside before the witch warned us about it. I wish our phones were working!’

  ‘Maybe you can ask the plants if she’s inside?’

  ‘Hey, I never thought of that.’ I go over to a pot of sage and touch one of its leaves, and it’s sleepy. I close my eyes and try to feel if it knows anything about Babs. My stomach sinks.

  ‘Well?’ the boy asks when I step away from the plant.

  ‘The sage can’t feel anything. I don’t know if that just means they’re like us and can’t see her, or if she’s not here.’

  I sit back on the bed just as Zahra brings us the blankets. ‘I’m sure she hasn’t gone outside. Don’t worry too much.’ She looks at me and the boy, sees our morose faces. ‘Do you both like hot chocolate?’

  We nod.

  ‘All right. I’ll make you some.’

  As she heats a pot on the stove, the boy and I set up our double bed. Zahra has brought out a small fold-out bed for Babs, so we set that up too. The lounge room seems to grow larger so that we can fit everything in front of the fireplace for warmth. I notice the salamanders are asleep on top of the log, so maybe they’ve decided that we’re not a threat.

  Zahra hands us our mugs, turns off the lights by pointing at them, and then goes to bed with a murmured ‘goodnight’. The fire grows smaller. The boy and I sit, sipping the hot chocolate that fizzes in the way Livia’s and Wendy’s does. It’s slightly different, though; I think she’s added a bit of chilli. It keeps us warm.

  Thunder rumbles and rain starts to pour, very loud under the tin roof. The boy drifts off to sleep. I watch the salamanders walk all over the log, and while the fire dwindles it doesn’t seem to be dying. I add another log just in case.

  Something in the air shifts, and I know Babs will be back soon. My cup is still half full of warm liquid, even though I’m sure I must’ve d
runk three cups by now.

  ‘That smells good,’ Babs says behind me.

  ‘Hey.’ I give her a big hug, trying to convey how much I care about her. ‘It’s really delicious. Like your mum’s.’

  Soon, we’re sitting on the floor in front of the fire, watching the flames flick up the chimney, sharing my cup of never-ending hot chocolate. We hear a long howl outside, soon followed by another and another.

  ‘I hope that doesn’t go all night,’ Babs says. ‘Noisy neighbours.’ She smiles, small. ‘I didn’t expect her to be . . . nice.’

  ‘Yeah. I thought that’s why you just had to go.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I controlled it that time. It feels like I kind of did.’

  ‘Maybe you can control it?’

  ‘Maybe. I’ll ask Zahra more in the morning. I reckon it’s been easy to kind of hate her all this time, instead of her being someone who just wanted to help but messed up.’

  ‘Well, I mean, you did say when you went to this house the first time you stayed here for ages, you never said anything about being captured. It sounds like you had a good time, so I guess it makes sense that she’s kind. But I completely understand resenting her for cursing you. She shouldn’t have done that.’

  ‘I know. But also, it’s easier to hate someone for being mean instead of realising they’re just a person.’

  The thunder cracks, the house shakes. Through the window, I see spindly dark shapes. I shiver and move closer to Babs. ‘Cold fae outside.’

  ‘Are we safe?’

  ‘Zahra thinks so.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Babs takes a sip of the hot chocolate. ‘Maybe she could be the magic teacher you’re looking for – one who can do the kind of stuff you can.’

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I take another big drink of the hot chocolate. Could I have the type of power that can curse people? Do I want that? ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I mean, I wouldn’t recommend going around cursing children.’ Babs laughs. ‘But maybe other things. The stuff she did to clean the house was pretty cool, you gotta say.’

  ‘That would be cool. And I like her little moons.’

  ‘They’re cute. You could have some! Then Saltkin wouldn’t have to keep making you special rope.’

  I grip the rose quartz around my neck. ‘I hope he’s not too mad at me.’

  ‘He probably will be for a bit, but I think he’ll be okay in the end. He’ll understand why you did it.’

  ‘Yeah. I still should have told him.’

  ‘Maybe nothing like this ever again without telling him first?’

  I smile. ‘Deal.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Long Walk

  I wake before the others when the sun is still set. Zahra’s not up either. I sit up and the only light is from the glowing coals in the fireplace. While I’m staring, a salamander pokes its head out. ‘Hey,’ I say, and it scampers away.

  There are more logs next to the fireplace, and I grab one and chuck it on. Zahra was poking the fire last night, but I don’t know how to do it and don’t want to ruin the coals. Would the salamanders die? As I step away the log arranges itself anyway, flames starting up. The salamanders poke their heads up at me, so I nod at them.

  The kitchen seems a lot like Mum’s, with the herbs growing in little jars, the higgledy-piggledyness of it all. But there are heaps of herbs and things that Mum doesn’t have. Like, there’s a lot of sumac – which I only know because of the label on the jar – and about five times the amount of cinnamon sticks Mum has. There’s a tiny jar with saffron inside. Mum usually can’t afford actual saffron. I remember the few times she’s bought it, I love looking at the strands.

  The kitchen window faces into the garden, and at first I thought it was just a wild tangle of plants but it looks like it has some kind of order.

  I get out my toothbrush and go in search of the bathroom. There are so many doors, too many for what seems like such a small cottage on the outside. Most are closed, but I find a library, a laundry, a room I can’t see into despite using my phone torch to look inside. The bathroom’s at the end of a long hallway, and I hope I can get back to the kitchen.

  She has a lot of tubes and jars in the cupboard behind the mirror above the sink. Some I recognise, potions for hair and skin, but the others I’m not sure about. I open a pink sparkly jar and sniff it. It smells like musk lollies and looks like mousse. I stare at it for a second.

  I shouldn’t eat it.

  It smells so good. But I screw the lid back on and put it back on the shelf.

  There’s a tube of toothpaste, an ordinary thing among all these awesome-looking jars, so I brush my teeth. I take a quick shower and put the same clothes back on. I stare at myself. My hair’s looking sad without a fresh dye job, and I’ve got circles under my eyes.

  What am I going to do? The witch, Zahra, she’s so different to how I thought. What if she’s just like me, just trying to get by in a harsh world? I knew she was trans when we first met. Girls like us. How did she know I was a girl, back then?

  But she isn’t like me – she has far more power.

  I can feel the flicker of flames inside me, it wants to come back today. Maybe she could lift the curse, or . . . maybe she could change it? What if I could control when I was seen and when I wasn’t? I’ve never thought about that – I don’t know if I want it gone completely.

  After walking through the hallways, I finally find the kitchen again. The sun is up. I put on a jacket and go outside, though it’s not really very cold. I realise I’m not wearing shoes. I wriggle my toes in the grass.

  The garden has plants I recognise from the meadow and other places in the realm. Some glow with soft light, some change colours as I move. Some reach towards me, some back away. There are also herbs and flowers I know from Mum’s garden. I sit on a smooth rock and watch the flowers opposite me. They reach out tendrils like snow peas. As I stick out a finger, the little vine curls around my skin.

  A raven catches my eye. Have I seen it in the forest? It caws once then takes off. Maybe it’s telling Vada what’s going on.

  I hear a door open and close. Big heavy boots on the gravel path.

  Zahra’s got a hat on, and a backpack over her shoulder. The coat she’s wearing has about a million pockets, like her dress from last night, but this is made out of something thick like leather. Her necklaces catch in the light, shining out little rainbows. She smiles warmly, maybe sadly too, and holds up my shoes. ‘Let’s go for a walk.’

  I lace up my shoes, and she hands me a hat that matches hers.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ she asks.

  I shrug. ‘Fine.’

  ‘I thought we could go pick some veggies.’

  ‘Okay.’

  I keep sneaking glances at her while we walk. I have no idea what to say. A million things spring up, but how do I talk to someone who’s made my life so lonely? Does she know? Why don’t I want to tell her how much she’s hurt me?

  We come to a high bank covered in emerald grass and plants I don’t recognise, ones with bright, luminescent leaves, and lots of grey-green mushrooms. I’m not sure what kind they are. She puts the backpack on the ground, and I realise it’s made of hard wicker with a flat top. Like a big basket. ‘These ones are all good, I think, just don’t pick any that have weird spots. And we don’t want to pick them all, only a few handfuls each.’ She gets to work, throwing them into the basket as she goes.

  I touch the nearest mushroom, feeling the frills underneath the head. I don’t know what fish gills feel like, but maybe like this. Slightly wet, fleshy. Zahra’s gripping the mushrooms from the base and just pulling them up. I do that too, surprised by how meaty they feel.

  Next we go to a veggie patch in a clearing, not near her house at all. But we don’t come across the vacuum of
the cold fae, or any dryads, or anything else except birds and insects.

  She cuts the stem of a big grey pumpkin with a fat knife and passes it to me. It feels hollow, and I cradle it in my arms.

  A while later we stop at a river, and Zahra sets down the basket, now filled with veggies and herbs. I sit cross-legged and put the pumpkin in my lap while she gets out some snow peas. We crunch on them.

  ‘I’m sorry about your curse,’ she says.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I say automatically.

  ‘It’s not.’

  I crunch some more snow peas. ‘No, it’s not. You ruined my life.’

  She doesn’t say anything, just watches me.

  ‘I was so lonely. It’s so hard to make friends when no one can even see you! I didn’t get to say goodbye to my grandma when she died because she couldn’t see me. I never got to play in any team sports at school even though I’m really good at them. I can’t even go to class half the time because it’s too depressing to sit in a room filled with people who can’t talk to you. Even with Iris and the boy – they can’t see me all the time. And I need them to. I get so sad. I’m so alone.’

  I’m crying. For all these years, existing without anyone seeing me. Being pushed into while walking, being overlooked in class when I know the answers or have questions.

  The witch who cursed me puts a hand on my back and lets me cry.

  I curl up around the pumpkin, leaning forward, blocking out the sun. I breathe in and out, big gulping breaths, letting my lungs pour out the sadness. My throat’s raw by the end. She hands me a tissue and I wipe my eyes, stinging from the tears, and blow my nose.

  ‘I can take it away, Babs. Not the years of pain, which can never be undone and I’m sorry. But the curse, I can lift it.’

  I sigh. ‘I don’t want it gone, not all the time.’

  Zahra’s eyes widen. ‘Really?’

  ‘Can you help me control it?’

  She smiles. ‘Yes. We can rework the spell, I think.’ She pulls a little worn-out book from an inside pocket of her coat and skims it. ‘This might take a while.’ She then gets an impossible amount of things out of her pockets: beeswax candles, little jars of herbs, crystals, paper, a golden bell, a dish. After a while, she searches through every pocket again.