by Penni Russon
Morally neutral. The term sounded kind of cold and dangerous…something the military might use, like friendly fire. But there was nothing friendly about being shot. And while the magic might be morally neutral, human beings weren’t. No one is above morality.
And, Trout thought, power corrupts.
MAX: Trout? You still there?
TROUT: Yeah, sorry, just thinking.
MAX: You have to tell me more! How did she do it? What else has she done?
Suddenly Trout felt uneasy about the direction the conversation was taking. Nervously, without giving much thought to what he was doing, he moved the cursor over the X in the corner of the private box and jabbed his finger twitchily on the mouse button, ending their chat session.
Of course, it happened all the time in chat rooms—the real world intruded and the session ended abruptly. For all Max knew, Trout was an eleven-year-old boy and his mother had called him downstairs for milk and cookies. But still, as the computer shut down, Trout felt embarrassed. Had he overreacted? It was hard to put his finger on exactly why he had suddenly had to end the session. Oh well, he thought, he could apologize to Max next time.
But as he went through the automatic routine of preparing for bed, washing his face, cleaning his teeth, putting on his pajamas, Trout couldn’t shake the feeling that he had made a mistake, discussing Undine with Max.
Undine sat on the veranda looking out at the night. Away from the lights of town, the sky seemed overcrowded with stars, and she looked for the constellations Trout had shown her: the Southern Cross and Orion’s belt were easy. In the east she located Sirius, the Dog Star. In the western sky she found Piscis Austrinus, the Southern Fish. She rolled the names around in her mind, remembering the way Trout had whispered them as she peered through the telescope, as if the stars formed the language of incantation.
What would Trout have to say? He had such a scientific mind. Was magic a science? Did it operate within predictable boundaries? Or was it just chaos, an enormous, unruly force spilling out into the universe? Were there really others like Prospero? And like her? Or were they alone?
She looked into the curved dome of the night sky for answers. The universe, Trout had told her, was composed of a very small amount of ordinary matter (like people, plaster, chickens, dust), and a larger quantity of dark matter, but mostly it consisted of dark energy, meaning the universe was expanding at an increasing rate. Undine had never really understood this, but right now it was as if she were watching it accelerate away from her into the infinite blackness.
She looked at the stars. Some of them burned strong and constant, while others, apparently smaller and weaker, occasionally seemed to flicker and go out. Trout would say that what she saw in the night sky didn’t represent what was really out there, but instead was a kind of map of the past. The light belonged to stars remote in time and space, some of them old, dead, dark things now. All that light, stored up in the universe…photons traveling hundreds of thousands of light years, just to dress the sky in stars.
She wondered, could she rearrange the stars? Was her magic that potent, that it could reorder the universe?
She framed a star with her index finger and her thumb, squinting through at the brave flickering light. She pinched her finger and thumb together and the star disappeared. When she lowered her hand it was still gone, vanished—dark space where the light had once been.
A trick of the night? If she altered a star in the night sky, did that mean she had changed the past? Was this what Prospero felt when he reached out into the air and rearranged the world with his magic—creating infinitesimal vibrations of sound for her ears alone, or small, tame puffs of wind? Something surged through her, breathtaking, and in an instant she recognized what it was.
Power. It was exhilarating.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Light coming in through a crack in the curtains hit Undine’s face and woke her. She had no idea what time it was. She lay in bed listening for telltale sounds, but the house was silent, except for Caliban’s occasional squawk.
Despite the astonishing magic of the night before and the extraordinary conversation she’d had with Prospero, she woke up feeling surprisingly mundane. Her bladder was full and her mouth was dry; her eyes felt grainy and leaden.
In the kitchen she found muesli and a clean blue-and-white striped pottery bowl set out on the table, and noticed Prospero’s dish draining beside the sink. The clock on the oven said it was just after eight. Prospero was probably the sort to rise early.
She remembered the diving and looked out the kitchen window. The Fiat was parked on the nature strip. They must already be out on the water.
She ate her breakfast; the clink of the spoon hitting the bowl echoed through the empty kitchen. She wondered what Lou and Jasper were doing. She had been away a whole night. Lou would know she was not at Trout’s by now. She felt surprisingly gleeful at beating Lou at her own game, and managing to be unpredictable after all. Was Lou missing her?
It was strange thinking about house-on-the-steps-Lou and then remembering that Lou-who-lived-here was the same person. Undine was deeply curious about this other Lou. She pushed her half-eaten breakfast away. She looked carefully out the windows to see if she could spot any sign of Prospero or Grunt and then snuck down the hall. She paused outside Prospero’s room. She was dying to get in there, to see what she could find out about her mysterious father. But Caliban screeched and, cowed by his presence, she moved into the slightly less treacherous territory of Lou’s old room. Why had Lou had her own room? Undine wondered. Didn’t she and Prospero sleep together? Didn’t they…? Well, they must have, at least once.
“Ew!” she said, and did a little grossed-out dance trying to get the thought out of her head.
In Lou’s old room there was the kind of miscellany that could belong to anyone. Books, blank postcards, pens, cassettes. She rummaged through boxes, but there was nothing there, nothing personal.
She was shoving everything back when from one of the books a small dense nub of paper hit the floor. She unfolded it and smoothed out two pieces of paper. One was a photocopy of an ultrasound print, and looking at the dates she saw it was herself, scooped in a bowl shape, her profile clear and still recognizable as her own.
She recovered the other sheet of paper and found it was a poem, written in Lou’s light script. She didn’t know Lou wrote poetry. She scanned it quickly.
ULTRASOUND
A luminous, looping
Scrawl of light.
It’s a girl.
She inhabits darkness.
Darkness inhabits her,
Tunneling through a
Dull opening
In her otherwise radiant cranium.
When the moon is said and done,
And the night gives way to dawn
What will be and what will come?
Will darkness or light be born?
What did it mean? Once again she longed for Trout. He was so much better at this stuff than she was.
Think about English classes, she told herself. Work it out.
Okay. The luminous, looping scrawl…that was the picture, the ultrasound. She could see exactly what Lou meant—the arc of the cranium, and the s-shaped curve of the spine were like a doctor’s illegible handwriting. The dull opening was a part of the picture where the baby’s skull (her skull) was in shadow. And apart from the bright white smear of her cheekbone and the small hollows of light that signified ear, eye, and spine, the rest of the picture, outside and in, was darkness.
So the poem was asking, what will be born? A baby of light? Or a girl made of darkness? Am I evil? Undine had asked Prospero. Is that what Lou meant? Will good or evil be born?
The back screen door slammed shut and Undine jumped. She slipped out of the room. Grunt was in the hallway. She tried to look less slippy and more like she was meant to be there, though her heart hammered her ribs. Darkness, she thought. Light.
Grunt gave her a peculiar look, or rather
a look that told her she was peculiar. “Your dad’s putting the boat away.”
Undine didn’t know anything about boats. Were boats put away? Apparently so. She’d had some idea they just bobbed about in the water all the time. She smiled stupidly and tried not to notice how good Grunt looked in his wetsuit.
She folded the poem surreptitiously behind her back and tucked it into her jacket pocket.
Grunt went into the bathroom to change. Undine busied herself making drinks.
She had hoped Richard might come today. She could have done with it—the physical, immediate distraction of Richard. She wanted him to look at her and say…oh, some movie thing about only and always and can’t stop. He hadn’t been so very cold in the car, had he? She could almost allow herself to believe this. Just embarrassed maybe, embarrassed by Lou walking in on them.
Or scared? Of her. Will darkness or light be born? He should have been scared. She had verged on darkness with him; she had almost controlled him completely. Prospero had said there were no witches or magic wands, no abracadabra, but one thing was for sure, Richard had been under her spell. Had Richard known it? Had he felt the darkness? Had Lou?
Grunt reappeared, and hung his wetsuit out to dry on the veranda. They took their drinks under the peppercorn tree. Grunt told her enthusiastically about the ship, the Babylon: “It’s awesome. Your dad says no one’s ever dived it. I’m going to try to get a team from the university. I couldn’t do much today, I don’t have my proper equipment, but the water’s crystal clear and it’s a pretty shallow site. She’s still upright, though the masts are broken off. There’s plenty of bull kelp around, but it looks like we’ll be able to work through that pretty easily. Prospero says it gets muddy after rain, and the silt on the bottom is loose, so I wouldn’t want too many divers…”
Undine shivered, remembering her dream about the shipwreck. “Oh, it sounds so desolate.”
“Poor Babylon,” Grunt said. “Lying down there, her secrets submerged. Don’t you think she deserves to have someone uncover them?”
Will darkness or light be born? What would Grunt find, hidden in that submarine forest of kelp? The bay had its own magic, Prospero had said so. Did magic sink ships?
She looked up and Grunt was watching her. She felt exposed, as though the poem were a glittering thread she wore for him to see.
“Is Richard working today?”
Grunt shrugged.
Undine raised her eyebrows and leaned back, inviting Grunt to speak.
Grunt sighed. “Just…don’t expect too much from Richard, that’s all.”
“Why’s that?” she asked coolly.
Grunt drew a circle in the dirt with his heel. “Richard’s my friend and all, but I sure wouldn’t want to be in love with him.”
Undine almost laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Remember Lucy?”
The girl from the pub. The hair-flicker. So cozy with Richard, Undine knew there had been something between them. Some old spark. Not so old, she guessed. She closed her eyes, embarrassed for herself. It all made sense. Richard wasn’t scared of her. He was two-timing her.
“Is he worth it?” Grunt asked, looking at her face.
“Is he worth what?”
“Stuffing up your relationship with your best friend?”
It struck her as unnecessarily cruel that Grunt should broach this subject when she couldn’t broach it herself. It had seemed worth it when Richard was there, when he kissed her, or even just stood close, and she felt his warm breath on her skin. But away from him, it was different. She missed Trout.
“You must think I’m awful. Just like Dan.”
“Dan?” Grunt sounded genuinely surprised. “Dan doesn’t…”
“Yes, he does! At the pub, Dan was angry with both of us. Richard said…”
“Oh.” Grunt’s voice remained even and smooth. “Richard said.”
“Just leave. Nobody asked you to come here. Leave me alone.”
Deep down Undine knew she was angry at Richard, but as the anger rose up to the surface it somehow became twisted and confused. It sparked. She was alight with it.
“Undine…” Grunt tried, but she was on her feet. They stood there, staring at each other, Undine half wild, Grunt aware and wary.
She could feel the physical effects of the magic work its way through her body. She knew what was happening. It was taking hold of her physical self.
“Go. Go. I said go.” She heard desperation in her voice. I can’t control it, she thought and a wave of dizziness and nausea nearly knocked her off her feet.
Power welled inside her. She didn’t want to fight it. She wanted to destroy something. It was sudden and compelling. It was violent. She felt it surge through her arm, traveling through bone, blood, vessel, and skin. At the very last moment, she forced her hand away from Grunt, to protect him, and aimed instead at the peppercorn tree.
And then, the tree was gone. She felt a fierce exuberance at this awesome example of her power, Grunt forgotten. She was throwing off the ordinary, the mundane. Like before, with the storm, language left her. Nouns were weak, thin, and insubstantial. Verbs and adjectives hung useless in the air. She let them go, she threw them to the four corners of the garden.
Grunt opened his mouth to speak, but instead he gasped dry air like a beached fish. He reached for her, grabbed her shoulder, appalled.
For a moment, still wild with the magic, she almost hurt him. She almost wanted to. She struggled, and he watched her struggle. Almost, the magic burst from her, almost she allowed it to, but she saw fear in Grunt’s face and something else, something…She pulled tightly on the magic, she yanked it in hard like a lassoed beast and then—
The world was quiet again. Undine deflated. The magic slid away, out from under her, and she wobbled on her feet and was just herself again—still and ordinary.
Elated, exhausted, her body twitching with leftover adrenaline, she met Grunt’s gaze, expecting fear—wanting him to be afraid. But he didn’t look frightened. He didn’t even look angry. He looked disgusted. He walked to the car, let himself in, and fired the engine. Without looking back, he drove away, skidding dangerously on the dirt road.
Undine was left in his wake, inhaling mouthfuls of dust and petrol fumes. As she walked up to the house she saw Grunt’s wetsuit, still hanging over the veranda railing: empty, limp, waiting.
Prospero was in the kitchen, making egg sandwiches.
He didn’t ask her about the peppercorn tree, and she did not tell him, though she knew he knew.
“Did I hear a car?” Prospero asked.
“Grunt…Alastair just left.”
Prospero took a hard-boiled egg and tapped it on the bench, then rolled it under his hand until the whole egg was covered in a map of fine cracks. He began peeling it.
“Did you two have a fight?” he asked.
“No.” Undine shivered. The magic had left her cold and numb. She remembered. “Oh. Yes.”
“Well, you’ll make it up. Isn’t that the best part?”
Undine stared at him blankly, then realized what he meant. “Oh, Grunt…Alastair isn’t my boyfriend.”
Prospero winked. “Does he know that?”
“I have a boyfriend,” she said, blankly. What had Grunt told her about Richard? The memory felt as distant as a cold, dead star. She didn’t even care. “Or had. Richard. He’s a friend of Alastair’s.”
“Is that the boy you call Trout?”
“No. Richard is Trout’s older brother.”
It all sounded so sordid as she tried to explain. It seemed so irrelevant too. She thought about the hot, fast presence of the magic. Her body ached from it…or for it. She realized with a start that she was already looking forward to the next time.
Prospero sat down at the table with a mortar and pestle, grinding seeds, chilies, oil, and lemon juice into a paste. “Remember I told you about this magic you possess?”
Undine barked a dry, humorless laugh. “The mag
ic that possesses me.”
“Yes, well. However you want to think of it. But be sure that it’s a very attractive thing. Most people you meet won’t understand it, nor will they guess at its true nature. But they will hear it resonating inside you, like a kind of electricity. People will be drawn to it. To you.”
“So now you’re saying,” Undine said, quietly fuming, “that boys will only like me because of magic?”
“Not at all.” Prospero ignored the barely muted hostility in Undine’s voice. “Any man with sense will like you because you are beautiful, intelligent, and possess many other fine qualities. But there will be those who are drawn to you for empty reasons, and you will need to learn how to make the distinction. It is no different than if you were of exceptional beauty or if you were very wealthy.”
“Oh crap,” Undine said, tiredly. “That sucks.”
Prospero smiled. “Some people would give anything to have this power of attraction.”
“Not me. I’m not very good at relationships.”
“A family curse, I’m afraid.” Prospero laughed at the suddenly eager expression on Undine’s face. “I’m speaking metaphorically. There’s no actual curse.”
Undine slumped down in her chair. “It would have been a lot easier to blame all my problems on a curse.”
“Indeed,” Prospero agreed, and began mashing the eggs with a fork, adding the paste he had made.
They sat companionably in the kitchen, Prospero industrious while Undine stared out the window, thinking about, not Richard or even Trout, but Grunt, wondering if he had been drawn to the hum of magic inside her. Well, she thought, even if he had, the roar of it had driven him away. She doubted she would see him again.
The afternoon light dappled through the trees on the rivulet’s walking track behind Trout’s house. Trout aimlessly followed his feet, watched his shoes scuffing along the path. He couldn’t get Undine out of his mind.
