John began moving again, slowly; the two of them strolled in silence.
After a minute, Stony said, “That’s if we do what we’re told. We could ignore the director and do things our way.”
John shook his head. “Bad idea. Best case is we get fired. Worst is we end up in a federal prison. And we can’t be sure threatening Heritage with China will even crack this case.”
“Nah, worst case we end up dead.”
John smiled in spite of their predicament. “There’s a cheerful thought.”
“Marva’s orders are probably related to the Burns thing, right?”
“I have no idea. Could be just what she said. There are a dozen other reasons to yank our chain. Doesn’t make any difference.”
“Fuck it,” Stony said. “I believe this shit with China is real. How does the U.S. fight magic? And what about the kids who are stuck in this mess?” She took a breath. “Before you say it, I know children are abused every damn day in lots of horrible ways, and we can’t stop it. But this is a chance to make a difference.”
John stopped again and gazed at her. “Think about what you’re saying. We’ll be lying to our own people and maybe more at risk from them than the Chinese. Our careers will be over. Prison is a real possibility.”
“Jesus, John, you forgot the part about you being so old it doesn’t matter, and me having more to lose. Enough already.”
“You still want to do this? Of your own free will?”
Stony lifted her chin and the amethyst stone on the side of her nose captured the sunlight. “Yeah. Fuck the director and the horse she rode in on.”
Darwin
The Northern Territory, Australia
“Guess what?” Eleven-year-old Sarah Billingham asked her parents as she pushed the last chunk of bloody beef into her mouth. “One of the other kids in my class—Belle—woke up in Transition yesterday. Now there are two freaks at St. Bart’s.”
Their family steakhouse outing was the first time Sarah had seen her mom and dad since they’d dropped her at St. Bartholomew’s Preparatory School two weeks earlier. She’d started Transition a week before the trip to St. Bart.
Jack Billingham sighed. “Sarah. Neither of you are freaks. Is Belle okay? She knows not to try magic, right?”
“We’re the only two in the entire school,” Sarah said. “Sure feels like we’re freaks.”
Sarah had been terrified of magic from the time she was old enough to understand Transition. She’d sworn she’d never try it to her parents, her teachers, and kids she met online.
But now she carried a secret, a problem so terrible and foul that she’d promised to use magic to help fix it. Her promise gnawed at her relentlessly.
She needed to distract her dad from questions about Belle. Her mom gave her the chance.
“You have blood on your chin, dear. I think you’re part vampire.” Sarah swiped her mouth with the napkin in one hand while pulling the hair out of her eyes with the other. The insubordinate strands bounced off the cascade of curly red hair surrounding her freckled face and fell back over her forehead.
“This is ripper rare cow! It’s so much better than the boiled shit at St. Bart’s.”
“Watch your mouth, Sarah,” her dad snapped. Her parents had worked at the Ranger Uranium Mine in Australia’s Northern Territory for more than thirty years. Sarah had learned to talk using four letter words, the backbone of communication among Australian miners. “You’re going to a proper boarding school; you need to clean up your language.”
“You haven’t tasted their food, Jack,” Sarah said. “That shit is way worse than crap.” He hated it when she used his name.
Her mom interrupted before her dad could react, caressing his cheek with the back of her hand, smiling. “For such a smart man, you seem to have trouble with a simple truth. The more you push our daughter, the more she resists.”
“I don’t give a damn, Jill. She needs to listen to me.”
Sarah grinned. “You both know I’m sitting here, right?”
Her father sighed. “Only too bloody well, I do.”
“Finish your meal, dear,” her mom said. “Your curfew’s close, and we have a 250-klick drive home after we drop you off.”
Sarah shoveled the last bit of baked potato into her month. “Okay, ready to go.”
Her dad tossed cash on the table and they strolled from the restaurant to his newest baby, a Range Rover. He was a nut about cars, Rovers in particular. He bought a new one every couple of years. Sarah guessed the dirty gray car had been white when they left Jabiru, but this was the middle of the wet season, and the outback roads to Darwin were a mess.
The ride to St. Bart’s from the restaurant took ten minutes along Stuart Highway. Students weren’t allowed to leave school overnight during the term, so Sarah and her parents spent the short drive planning their next visit.
Her dad turned onto Lagoon Road, bounced down the rutted path, and pulled into the school grounds. The campus, surrounded by the Knuckey Lagoons Conservation Reserve, spread over fifty hectares. The sun settled behind a grove of foxtail palms, splashing the high, thin clouds with bronze. The brown gravel access road curved in front of the low administration building containing the headmaster’s office and Terrible Toussaint’s lair.
The SUV scrunched to a stop. Her mom twisted in the front seat and looked back at Sarah. “You want us to go in with you?”
“Nah, you guys go on.” She climbed out of the car and circled to her dad’s and mom’s windows for half hugs. “Love you guys. See you in a month.”
She stared after them as they drove away and waved. Her dad honked the horn as they rolled back onto Lagoon Road and began their journey south.
My Transition will be over next time I see them. Thank God, it’ll all be over.
She turned and ambled into the Admin building.
* * *
The Terrible Toussaint lurked behind the waist-high counter, her hair pulled back so tightly her eyes appeared Asian, her half-rim glasses down on the end of her nose.
Maybe longer than Cyrano de Bergerac’s.
Sarah had recently read Rostand’s play for her lit class and all noses were hysterical to her.
Terrible was secretary to the headmaster, and she ruled the school in his name with a scary ferocity. Sarah scribbled her name and the time of her return in the Off Campus Visits log. Ms. Toussaint looked at her watch and noted the time Sarah had written, nodding.
“How was your dinner with your parents, Miss Billingham?”
“Great, Miss Toussaint. I miss them sometimes.”
Shit, why did I say that? I’m just asking for a trip to the counselor.
“Focus on your studies, child, and homesickness won’t be a problem. Shall I talk with your teachers to ensure they’re challenging you sufficiently?”
“No, Miss. I wouldn’t know what to do with any more work.”
“I’ll check with you again in a few days, all the same.”
Sarah stifled a grin. Terrible pronounced “again” like “agane.”
“Now, off to your dorm with you. Miss Thompson checked in about an hour ago.”
“Thank you, Miss.” Sarah scooted out the back door of the Admin building before she could cause herself any more trouble.
She strolled through the warm, wet air along a serpentine brick walkway toward the girls’ dorms. Stubby lanterns shaped like dark green mushrooms sprouted next to the path, casting patches of anemic light between alternating pools of darkness. Crickets and frogs sang a complex melody in the deepening evening.
The buildings at St. Bart’s were single-floor structures of white painted siding. They perched a meter above the ground, protection from the water that sometimes escaped from the Knuckey lagoons during the wet season. A wide wooden porch, covered by a canvas awning, surrounded each building. Sarah imagined the campus was a massive African mission deep in the wilderness, at the edge of danger and excitement.
The path forked. To the left lay the g
irls’ dorms and the Middle School. To the right, across a stone bridge arching over a long, skinny lake, lay the boys’ dorms and the Senior School. Sarah bore left toward her dorm, away from the bridge and the murky water beneath.
A dark shadow leaped out of the night, arms outstretched, screaming “Got you!”
Sarah’s heart tried to jump from her chest. She lunged forward and kicked the apparition in the balls, if it had balls. The spirit collapsed, moaning, into a puddle of light, transforming into Steve Bronson, a third-year who was half a foot taller than anyone else in Middle School.
“What the fuck, Stevie! Are you okay?” Sarah’s heart pounded in her chest. Her dad had insisted she take self-defense classes. She was a natural with her wiry build and fearless personality. This was the first time she’d used one of the kicks outside class.
“I’m sorry. Trying to.” He took a deep breath. “Scare you. Sorry.” He lay on his side with his hands cupped between his legs.
“That was stupid.” She bent over, grabbed his arms, and helped him sit up. “My dad says standing helps. You gotta let’m hang. Course he also says you should’ve puked. I must’ve missed.”
“I turned at the last second. Jesus, if that was a miss, I don’t wanna know what a direct hit would feel like. You killed my nuts. My voice is never gonna change.”
“You want me to go get Nurse Hannah?”
“Nah, I’d never live it down. Besides, I’m better.” He rolled to his knees and climbed upright, bending forward and bouncing gingerly on his heels. “Promise me you won’t tell anyone.”
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Stevie, but you scared the crap out of me.”
“I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ll never do that again.” He took a deep breath. “I gotta walk around. See you tomorrow.”
Stupid boy. Now it’s spooky out here, like the night has secrets.
She broke into a jog. The walkway widened and split into a loop that encompassed the Middle School grounds. She turned toward her dorm, which lay closest to the Reserve and farthest from the other campus buildings. Sarah loved walking in the Knuckey, the isolation and solitude.
She clomped up the steps and into the building, blinking from the overhead fluorescent lights, and shuffled down the center hall. She liked the squinchey sound of her shoes on the blue artificial turf that served as carpet.
Slamming open the door to her room, Sarah found Belle lying on the bottom bunk, studying a field guide to Australian birds propped on her belly. She’d pulled her umber hair into short tufts on each side of her head; with her oversized round, black glasses, she looked like a lavender-eyed owl.
“You’ll never guess what I did to Stevie Bronson!”
Belle’s head swiveled from her book to Sarah. “Can’t you come through a door like a normal person? Stevie? What?”
“I’ll tell you on the way to the activity room. I want a candy bar.”
“You always want a candy bar.”
Belle climbed from the bed. “Help me find my shoes.”
Their room resembled a prison cell without the toilet. A stacked pair of bunk beds lay along the wall to the left of the door. A couple of worn oak tables were shoved against the opposite wall, separated by a bookcase. A poster of the Australian rock opera ensemble The Ten Tenors was taped on the chalky wall above the bookcase. Sarah was a fan. A jalousie window that reached from Sarah’s waist to the ceiling dominated the wall across from the door. The panes were cranked open, and warm, humid air carried the sound of tree frogs and the scent of Eucalyptus into the room.
Neither Belle nor Sarah was interested in keeping a neat room. Books and piles of clothes covered the bleached plank floor. Belle assumed the posture of a crane, standing on one foot, lifting the clothes from the piles with her toes and flipping them aside. “We gotta clean this mess up before inspection tomorrow.” She froze, then pounced. “Got em!”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ll have time in the morning. Come on, let’s go.”
Sarah shared the details of her martial arts attack on Stevie while they walked to the activity room in the center of the building.
“Wasn’t he pissed because you kicked him?” Belle asked.
“Nah. I think he was embarrassed because a girl beat him. He didn’t want me to say anything to anyone.”
“You didn’t promise to keep it quiet, did you? This is too good.”
“Nope,” Sarah said, grinning. “Spread the word. It serves him right.”
“Snotty third-years. Tomorrow is going to be so much fun! He’ll just die.”
No one was in the activity room. Three ping pong tables hid in the shadows of a solitary safety light over the vending machines. Belle bought a roll of Necco Wafers, Sarah a Milky Way.
“Where’s everyone?” Sarah asked.
“In their rooms. Terrible cruised through a half hour ago and chased everyone out. She said if we didn’t have enough homework she’d talk to the teachers about giving us more.”
“That’s what she said when I checked in,” Sarah said. “Wonder what put that burr under her saddle?”
“Who knows?”
“And who cares?”
They giggled and strolled back to their room. They sat crossed-legged on the floor, using the discarded clothing as cushions.
“How were your mom and dad?” Belle asked.
“K. We went to Hal’s diner and I scored a big bloody steak. That’s about it. They seemed to be in a rush to head home.”
Belle shuddered. “Don’t see how you can eat bloody meat. Jesus.” She was ten centimeters taller than Sarah, but weighed almost five kilos less.
“Well, you eat like a bird woman. Seeds and nuts.” Sarah bent over to the floor and mimicked picking up small seeds. Belle poked her, knocking her sideways, both of them laughing. She sat up. “Can I have your chocolate wafers?”
“Here, take the rest. I’ve had enough.” She handed the nearly full roll to Sarah.
“How about your visit?” Sarah asked.
Belle’s smile fell from her face. She looked like she was going to vomit.
Shit. I had to ask.
“It sucked. My dad was all smiley. Honey this. Darling that. Praise God for how blessed we are. I’m so glad the school won’t let us go home during the term.”
“Your mom still clueless?”
Belle nodded. “She just sat there, drinking her gin and tonics, talking about having the church ladies over next week, what she was going to fix, how sleepy her medicine makes her. She didn’t ask about me or my grades or anything.”
Sarah shuddered. A few days after school started she had returned to their room from a late class, startled to find Belle lying on the floor, curled in a ball, crying.
“What’s wrong? You hurt?” Sarah rushed over and bent down to help.
Belle sat up, wiping tears from her face, staring at the floor. “I’m fine. I should’ve warned you; sometimes I get sad.”
“What could make you that sad?” Sarah sat across from her, their knees touching.
Belle’s face turned a blotchy crimson. “Nothing, I’m okay.”
“Nuh uh. I don’t believe you. Why were you crying?”
Belle snuffled, tears began to flow again. She shook her head, whispered, “I can’t talk about it.”
“Sure you can. My mom says talking about stuff always makes you feel better.”
“I wish my mom was like yours.”
“Don’t. She’s not always that smart. Spill it. Is it some boy?”
“I’ve never told anyone.” Sarah had to lean forward to hear her. “I’m so ashamed.”
“Why? What have you done?”
Belle held her breath, choked, let go. “It’s my dad. He called tonight and said he loved me and couldn’t wait for the term to be over so I’d be home.”
“I don’t get it. What’s wrong with that? It’s sweet!”
“He only wants me home to keep doing …” Another choking breath. “Stuff.”
“What stuff?” Sarah felt lik
e she was at the edge of a cliff, slipping, sliding toward the edge.
“He’s been... He’s.” She took another breath, released it a rush. “He’s been coming into my bedroom, touching me.”
Sarah skidded over the edge, in free fall, stomach churning. “You mean, like, your boobs? Like that?”
“Yeah. Boobs and way worse.”
If my dad did that, I’d die.
They both sat unspeaking for a minute, the only sound Belle’s sniffling.
“Do you hate me?” Belle asked. “Do you want to room with someone else?”
“What? Why would I want to room with someone else? Your goddamn dad is a fucking pervert. This isn’t your fault.” She reached out and the two hugged, rested their heads on each other’s shoulders, both crying.
They talked for hours. Belle described the humiliating horrors her dad had been inflicting on her for the past year, what he’d done, what he’d said. Sarah learned Belle’s mom was a drunk and didn’t know what was going on—or didn’t want to know. Belle was too ashamed to ask anyone for help. She had no way out.
Early in the morning a week later, Sarah was rubbing the sleep from her eyes when Belle woke her, yelling, “It’s here! It’s here!” Her eyes glowed with the electric lavender of Transition.
“And Sarah,” Belle said, tears streaming down her cheeks, “I’m gonna use magic to stop my dad. Will you do it with me? Will you? If we do it together, we won’t be so afraid and maybe it would help make the magic unique and powerful. Will you? Please, Sarah.”
Sarah had wanted to refuse, but couldn’t, no matter how terrified she was of dying. Transition offered Belle hope where none existed. She’d promised to help her friend but kept trying to find alternatives to avoid the risk of Transition magic.
“I was thinking,” Sarah said.
“Yeah?”
“Maybe we should go together and tell my dad what’s happened to you and get him to help. He’ll know what to do.”
Belle shook her head back and forth. She started to quiver, tears leaking from her eyes. “I thought you understood. No one can help. What would I say to your dad? That my high and mighty minister father sneaks into my bedroom and feels my boobs and crotch while he rubs himself? That he can’t wait for me to come home?”
The Scarlet Crane: Transition Magic Book One (The Transition Magic Series 1) Page 16
