Magic Lessons

by Justine Larbalestier

  Jay-Tee had called Danny yesterday. She’d chatted away with her brother for what seemed like hours, but I hadn’t gotten to talk to him. It hadn’t occurred to Jay-Tee that I’d want to. And Danny hadn’t asked for me. I could call him later, when Sydney and New York time lined up properly, but I was too embarrassed.

  Still, it was only Monday. I’d last seen Danny on Thursday. No, not Thursday. That had been in New York City; it’d been Friday here in Sydney. It was three days since I’d last seen or spoken to him. I’d been asleep for almost two of those days, recovering from battling Jason Blake with magic. Maybe Danny had asked after me and Jay-Tee had forgotten to pass it on.

  Did magic affect time? I’d first arrived in Sydney on Sunday afternoon and here it was, Monday, only eight days later, and yet so much had happened—I’d learned that magic was real, stepped through a door to another country, discovered other people with magic, made friends, met Danny, discovered what it is to be truly, truly cold. Far too much had happened in such a short amount of time—eight days!

  My world wasn’t spinning on the same axis anymore. The rules of physics had been broken. Magic was real.

  The grey-haired woman’s daughter leaned forward to nod at me briefly before turning her attention back to her loud, unstill mother.

  I stared at Sarafina’s profile, counting the freckles—thirtyeight of them—on the side of her nose. I followed the line of her gaze: out the window, down to the bay, where fifteen whitesailed boats floated on the sparkling water. Did she see any of it? Her eyes were glazed over, vacant.

  Two weeks ago Sarafina’s eyes had been alive, full of plans. We had been on the road together, had decided to go to Nevertire because the name made us giggle. She hadn’t been sad, hadn’t gotten all obsessive, insisting she count every speck of dirt or wash her hands fifty-five times in a row. None of the usual signs that she was about to lose it. But then, she’d never lost herself completely. She’d never tried to kill herself before.

  It shocked me all over again how unlike Sarafina she seemed. She’d never been a still person. Sarafina was always in motion, her face showing exactly what she was thinking. I looked at her now and saw no thought at all. It was as if she had stopped thinking, had run down and become still. All motion gone. Sarafina gone.

  I tried to think of what to say. If I said, I know about magic, would that jerk her back to life? Not that I could say it with those two women close by. They’d think I was one of the patients. Besides, it was hardly the best way to break the news. What if Sarafina lost it again?

  A trickle of sweat ran down my back. “Hot, isn’t it?” I said, just to be saying something. “At least there’s some breeze off the bay.”

  “They never open the windows,” the jerky woman said, turning to look at me. Her voice was so loud I flinched. I was glad Sarafina sat between us; white, bubbly spittle formed at the corners of the strange woman’s mouth, and specks flew as she spoke. “The breeze isn’t allowed in. They want us to boil.”

  Every window was open wide.

  She tried to lean closer to me. “Did they do that to your eye?” I put my hand to my still-bruised face and shook my head. “Did they put their needles right into your eyeball?”

  “Mum, hush. Leave the girl alone.” The daughter leaned forward, pulling her mother towards her, and grimaced at me—though I was sure it was meant to be a smile. She looked very tired. “Sorry, love.”

  Sarafina wasn’t hot. My mother always stayed cool when everyone else was warm. In that way, she was still the Sarafina I had always known.

  I blurred my vision until I could see inside her, down to where nothing was still, to the pumping of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins, the acid roiling in her stomach, the movement of her intestines. I could see her cells, every single one of them. Hear the roller-coaster movements in every part of her, like the ocean in a storm.

  Governing it all was Sarafina’s pattern with its graphic confirmation that yes, Jason Blake was my grandfather. I could see both grandparents, Esmeralda and Jason Blake, in her, traces of their DNA. Like theirs, her pattern was woven through with magic. There in every part of her—in her cells, in the molecules that made up every cell. The magic smelled earthy, like rich black soil, but unlike my grandparents’ magic, unlike Jay-Tee’s, there was no taste of rust. In its place under my tongue was a sharp sourness, like an unripe lemon. The smell made my eyes water.

  Sarafina finally blinked. The movement pulled my senses back to the surface, where she was still and quiet.

  The crazy woman’s daughter hugged her mother, stood up, and said goodbye. Her mother started to cry.

  “I’ll be back, I promise.” She glanced at me, embarrassed, and then away again, avoiding her mother’s eyes. “I have to go. I’ll bring your granddaughter next time, I promise.” She left quickly without glancing back. Her mother started to rock back and forth, her cries gradually getting louder. A nurse came to quiet her and led her from the room.

  When they were gone, I moved to the other side of Sarafina and screwed up my courage to speak to her. There was so much I wanted to ask. What were the feathers Esmeralda had put under my pillow? What were they supposed to do? How did magic work? How long did I have to live? I wanted to tell her about the letters Esmeralda had slipped under my door—the letters I hadn’t opened, that Esmeralda had stolen back before I could read them. I opened my mouth to say, I’ve been to New York City.

  But Sarafina spoke first. “You’re hers now, aren’t you?” She wasn’t looking at me. Her tone was flat and even, but her eyes had somehow cleared.

  “No. No, I’m not.” I wasn’t sure, though. I was staying under Esmeralda’s roof. I had helped her win the stoush against Jason Blake. She was going to teach me about magic. She had put those black and purple feathers under my pillow. Did all that make me hers?

  “Then why are you wearing those pants?”

  I looked down at the green pants Tom had made for me, his magic sewn into every seam. I flushed.

  “You’re going to die,” Sarafina said. “Soon.”

  “Then tell me what you know,” I said, trying to sound brave, though I felt ill. “Tell me what I can do. I don’t trust Esmeralda. But at least she’ll tell me how magic works. If I’m going to fix this, I need you to help me.”

  “There’s no fix. You die or you end up here. This is better.”

  I didn’t believe that for a second. There had to be a way, a path that didn’t lead to madness or early death. I was going to find it. I opened my mouth to tell her.

  Instead, a question bubbled out. “Why did you lie to me?”

  Sarafina closed her eyes, then opened them. Turned to look at me—really look at me—for the first time since she’d tried to kill herself. “I never lied.”

  “But magic is real. I’ve seen—”

  “I was trying to make it unreal by denying it. I wasn’t lying.”

  “But what about all those things you told me? You said there was no electricity in her house. There is. That she sacrificed babies—”

  “I never lied.”

  “What are the black and purple feathers for? What do they do? How much danger am I in?”

  But Sarafina was gone, her eyes filmed over again with the drugs they’d given her. The unripe lemon taste filled my mouth, and something sharp and jolting filled my nostrils. I gagged, my eyes watering, as I realised what it was: I could taste and smell my mother’s madness.

  3

  Someone at the Door

  “At least she left a note.” Jay-Tee grabbed two more slices of toast and doused them with so much strawberry jam, there was more jam than bread. Heaps more. Tom wondered why she didn’t just eat it out of the jar with a spoon.

  Jay-Tee was wearing a green T-shirt Tom’d never seen before. He wondered if it was Reason’s. Jay-Tee’d come through the door from New York City with only the winter clothes she was wearing. Not very useful in Sydney in January. The rest was borrowed from Mere: a pair of tennis shorts a
nd thongs…though what had Jay-Tee called them? Flup-flaps? Some stupid name like that.

  If Jay-Tee wasn’t mean, Tom would’ve considered making her some clothes. She’d look good in red—though really, JayTee’s brown skin would look good against any colour. She could even wear white or yellow. Pale people looked terrible in those colours. (Tom’d learned ages ago never to wear them. Or red.) But he would never make Jay-Tee anything in green. Green was a Reason colour.

  Tom picked up the note and reread it. Why’d Reason want to go to Kalder Park without him? His mum was there, too, and she was as mad as Reason’s. It’d be much easier if they went together. Less foul, anyway. Ever since his sister, Cath, had moved to America, Tom hated visiting his mother.

  Tom missed his sister heaps, even though she was not well pleased with him. She didn’t buy his crook explanation for having suddenly arrived in New York City and then even more suddenly racking off, leaving his backpack behind. Both he and Dad’d spent hours on the phone with her since, but she didn’t believe a word they said, which was fair enough given that it was all a crock.

  Tom ached to tell Cathy about magic. He didn’t understand why Mere insisted she not know. Every time he asked Mere about it she’d say, That’s just part of being magic: sometimes you have to lie. But Cath could keep a secret, and not telling her was wrecking what was left of his family.

  “A note’s better than nothing,” Jay-Tee said.

  “I guess,” he replied. “You don’t think she’s run away again?”

  “Nah,” Jay-Tee said, mouth full of jam. “No way would she run anywhere without me.”

  I’ve known her longer than you, Tom thought but didn’t say, even though he really, really wanted to. Then he realised that if he calculated the amount of time he’d spent with Reason rather than how long it’d been since they’d first met, Jay-Tee was the one who’d known Ree longer.

  “She didn’t take anything. Reason would take something—”

  “If she’d done a runner,” Tom finished for her. “Yeah, you’re right. She’ll be back.”

  “Done a runner?” Jay-Tee pulled her you-talk-funny face. “That’s retarded. You talk even more spastic than Reason does.”

  Tom fake-yawned. “When in Rome, Jay-Tee.” He poured some more Coke into his glass. They’d have to get rid of the bottle before Mere got home; she didn’t approve of soft drinks.

  “It’s not Rome, Tom, it’s Sydney.”

  “When in Sydney, then.”

  “No way am I ever going to talk as spastic as you guys. Except for spewing. I’ll use that one.” Jay-Tee cleared her throat loudly. “Maaate,” she said in the worst attempt at an Australian accent Tom’d ever heard. “Mate, Mere’ll spew if you buy that Coke.”

  He did not sound like that.

  “Spew doesn’t just mean getting angry, you know. It also means throw up. You know, as in: Jay-Tee ate so much jam it made her spew. Heaps.” He took another sip of his Coke, wondering if it tasted so ace because it wasn’t allowed.

  “As if. I never puke. Anyway, moron, spew means throw up in America, too.”

  “Come on, you never chunder? Even when you drink champagne? You said you and Reason drank that stuff all the time when you were in New York City.”

  “But I never spewed.”

  “Whatever.” Tom wished Reason would get back. Jay-Tee wouldn’t be so cranky if Ree were here. Even more, he wished it was time to start their magic lessons. Mere’d said they could start as soon as Ree woke from her epic sleep. Which she had yesterday, and then Mere’d said they were all still too tired and she’d begin the lessons today, after work.

  He hadn’t had a proper lesson with Mere since Ree had shown up. Unless you counted the trick Mere’d done in New York City. She’d placed her hand on him, and then he’d started to feel awful, a burning sensation up his arm. He wasn’t in a hurry to do that again. Still, it’d helped them find Reason.

  “Do you think we’ll really start today? Lessons, I mean.”

  Tom nodded, startled. Could Jay-Tee read his mind? “That’s what Mere said.”

  Jay-Tee snorted. “That’s what she said about yesterday, too.”

  “We would’ve if you hadn’t kept falling asleep.”

  “Me?” Jay-Tee said, glaring at him. “You were the one who kept yawning the whole time.” She waved his protest away. “What’s it like?”

  “What’s what like?”

  Jay-Tee rolled her eyes. “Magic lessons, doofus. What are Esmeralda’s lessons like?”

  “Well…” Tom paused, overwhelmed with the urge to string Jay-Tee along with a line of total porkies. He took another sip of the forbidden Coke, swishing it back and forth across his tongue so he could taste every last drop. He could tell her that—

  A tremendous thud came from the back door, as if a giant were wielding a battering ram against it. They both jumped up. Tom knocked over the Coke bottle. Its contents spilled all over the table with a hiss. “Bugger.”

  “No kidding,” Jay-Tee whispered.

  The sound came again, louder this time. The back door shook. Mere’s brown leather, rabbit-fur-lined, ankle-length coat swung back and forth on its hook.

  Tom and Jay-Tee looked at each other. They edged towards the door. Tom had to fight his body to do it; his body wanted to be at the other end of the city—back in the Shire, even.

  Tom glanced at the open windows. He could see Filomena, the huge fig tree, and behind her the garage door. A flock of rainbow lorikeets flew by, fast and low under the tree, twittering and fluttering.

  “It’s not from outside,” Jay-Tee whispered. “It’s on the other side.”

  In New York City. “Do you think it’s Jason Blake?” Tom asked, even though it was obvious. Who else could it be? Blake’d thought he had Reason and Jay-Tee for good, that he’d be able to take all their magic for himself. Tom didn’t imagine he’d be happy about them escaping to Sydney.

  Jay-Tee nodded, looking afraid.

  Tom reached his hand towards the door; Jay-Tee slapped it away.

  “He’s on the other side. What if he can get you?”

  Tom shuddered, even though he didn’t think that was possible. They stepped back. Tom heard a dripping noise, startled, and then realised it was the Coke he’d spilled making its way from table to floor, soaking into the tiles. Mere would be thrilled. He grabbed a cloth to clean it up, tensed for the next loud bang.

  “Did you see that?” Jay-Tee’s eyes were so large she could’ve been a manga heroine.

  “What?”

  “The door moved!”

  “It what?” Then Tom saw it, too: the texture of the door was shifting, becoming more liquid than solid, the grains flowing into one another like rivers of mercury. Esmeralda’s coat started to disappear into it, as if sinking into quicksand. The coat had been her mother’s. Tom reached forward to rescue it, and Jay-Tee slapped his hand away again.

  “Don’t!”

  “Ow!” Tom glared at her. When he looked back at the door, it’d stopped moving.

  “The coat’s gone,” Jay-Tee whispered.

  He looked down at his hand, imagined himself disappearing into the door. His thoughts were shattered by another loud boom, followed by a scraping noise, like giant metal talons clawing at the wood. And then the racket stopped as abruptly as it started.

  Jay-Tee screamed. A rubbery-looking, garishly bananayellow creature was stuck to her shin. “Get it off me!”

  Tom grabbed the thing, soft and malleable beneath his fingertips.

  It released Jay-Tee at once, latching on to him instead, sinking into his fingers, biting through his skin like a thousand little needles. He screamed.

  The thing kept tearing at his fingers. He tried to wrench it off. It didn’t budge, and then all at once, it dropped from his hand, zipping fast across the floor as if running on invisible little rollers. Tom’s fingers were numb.

  Jay-Tee rubbed at her calf and started to hobble after the thing. “Where’d it go?”

&nbs
p; “What was it?” Tom stared at the pinpricks of blood on his fingers.

  “I don’t—”

  A crash came from the front of the house, from the front door. Tom screamed. He and Jay-Tee spun around, gripping each other’s hands.

  Reason stepped into the kitchen.

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Jay-Tee said, dropping Tom’s hand and crossing herself. “Esmeralda has got to oil that door.”

  Tom flexed the fingers Jay-Tee had been squeezing. Great, Tom thought. Right hand numb and bleeding, left hand practically broken.

  “Hey,” Reason said, smiling and walking towards them. She was wearing the pants Tom had made her and she looked fantastic. The green of the cargos brought out the green flecks in her eyes, and her dark skin glowed. But then her face screwed up as if she were inhaling eau de dead, putrescent cat. “What’s that smell? What’s wrong?”

  Tom and Jay-Tee glanced at each other, then at Reason. “It bit me,” Jay-Tee said. “We were attacked,” Tom said at the same time.

  “This thing bit us.” Tom held out his right hand. “See?”

  Reason peered at the tiny spots of blood, her nose still wrinkled at whatever she was smelling. “What bit you?”

  “This thing. It came in through the door and ate Esmeralda’s coat,” Tom said. “We think Jason Blake sent it.”

  “And attacked your drinks?” Reason asked, looking at the mess dripping from the kitchen table. Tom realised he still had the cloth in his hand. He dumped it on the table. “Where did the thing go? How big was it?”

  “Small,” Tom said. “Size of a mouse, d’you reckon?”

  Jay-Tee nodded. “Don’t know where it went. The whole thing was freaky.” She glanced at the back door.

  The skin on Tom’s scalp contracted. Whatever had made those noises was very big. Tom wondered if, despite everything Esmeralda had taught him, trolls and bunyips really did exist. Maybe Jason Blake had conjured one up.

  Reason wiped at her nose as if to brush the smell away. Tom inhaled deeply, smelling the sugary-sweet spilled Coke and the musk of flying fox and rotten figs from the backyard.