by A. L. Knorr
“But a pretty one.” He took another drink, his eyes darting off to a corner of the pub before giving me a sly look. “Hey, did you ever reread the letter I sent you?”
My face flushed and I looked away.
He set the pint down with purpose, then lay his elbow on the table and leaned forward, expression as inquisitive as a fawn’s. “I see you have.”
I nodded and took a sip of my drink. “You were right,” I mumbled. “You never explicitly invited me.”
Jasher nodded and I leaned forward on my elbows and whispered, “But you did! I know you did, I just can’t…prove it.”
“Maybe you just missed me so much, you imagined it,” Jasher said with a smirk. His eyes darted to someone behind me again.
“You’re so cocky, and who do you keep looking at?”
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw a dark sea of heads under the low beamed ceiling. Tartan curtains framed the small windows whose sills were deeper than my entire arm. A slender man in a fedora fiddled with a guitar in the corner.
“Is he going to sing?” I spun on my stool, angling my shoulders toward him.
“Aye. There’s wailing here most nights,” Jasher mumbled. He finished off his pint and lifted a finger to the bartender for another.
The fellow in the hat began to warm up his vocal chords and tune the guitar. The overall din of talk dwindled.
“Come on Garret, loose the thunder,” somebody bellowed to a gale of laughter.
The musician revealed a set of oversized teeth. “Ye’re just jealous, yeh old badger,” he bellowed back between twanged chords. He threw his head back and with a full-throated wail––Jasher was right, there was no better word for it––let loose with a lively tune.
“Oh, ye cannae fling pieces oot a twenty-story flat…”
The singing was bad. Really, really bad. I glanced at Jasher, wide-eyed. Was this guy for real? Jasher almost spat his beer back into his pint glass.
“Seven hundred hungry weans’ll testify to that,” the singer belted atonally.
I hissed in Jasher’s ear, “Is this a joke?”
“If it’s butter, cheese or jeely, if the bread is plain or pan…”
“I’m afraid not. It’s the best wee Blackmouth has at the moment,” Jasher whispered back between dissonant phrases, wincing.
“The odds against it reaching earth are ninety-nine tae one.” The warbling went badly off key then wandered adjacent to it.
“Oh my god.” I put my forehead down on my arm. “I can’t.”
The singer hit a few wrong chords before picking up a fresh and painful new chorus.
Jasher didn’t bother holding in his laughter anymore. The rest of the patrons were cracking up, too.
I mouthed, “My ears are bleeding.”
Jasher nodded. “Why do you think I’ve taken up drinking?”
He wiped his mouth on his sleeve as he set his glass down. His eyes did another dart across the room.
“Who do you keep looking at?” I scanned the crowd.
“No one. Listen to Garret, don’t be rude.” Jasher gave me a stern look.
Cringing, along with everyone else in the room, I listened to the rest of the song, if you could call it that. Some people were crying with laughter, and the singer often broke into laughter himself. At least he knew he was awful.
He closed out the ditty with a flourish, to a gale of cheers and applause.
“Ye’re stunned by my soulful talent, thank you. So kind.” Garret swung an arm wide. “But big-hearted artists such as myself would be, well, just arrogant and self-centered, if they didna allow the dreamers, the little people, to practice their chords now and again.” He put a hand over his heart and made a puppy-dog expression. “Ladies and gentlemen, would you please put your hands together for Blackmouth’s newest talent, Jasher Sheehan!”
I turned and stared at Jasher, whose complexion flushed red.
He shook his head, but the crowd began to chant his name. I pulled him off his stool and pushed him toward Garret, who was holding out the guitar.
Jasher snatched up his pint glass and made his way to the small stage. Even his ears were blushing. Taking the guitar from Garret unleashed a fresh gale of cheers and whistles. Based on their reactions, it was not his first time singing in front of this crowd.
I’d heard Jasher play guitar and sing before. He was excellent. Just, at the time, I’d been distracted by the fact that he’d been singing for and talking to someone I hadn’t been able to see.
Jasher struck up a minor chord and the crowd simmered down. The strains of Spanish guitar filled the small pub, raising the hair on my arms. Jasher’s fingers flew over the strings, quick and delicate. He punctuated the song with drumbeats against the side of the wooden guitar. His eyes went soft and unfocused as the melody lifted. But as the song went on, those dark eyes narrowed on one point in the crowd and didn’t shift from it for the remainder of the song.
I found the source of his attention. A young woman with dark, curly hair and a creamy complexion sat at a table with a group of young people. Her chin was crooked in her palm, and she gazed at Jasher with a dreamy expression.
At first, I couldn’t tell if Jasher was looking at her or through her. But as the applause died down and he began a second tune, a Celtic ballad, I realized that they were looking at one another. It seemed as though Jasher was playing for her.
A shard of jealousy cut through my heart. Jasher and I had enjoyed a little romance in the summer, sure, but we weren’t in a relationship. Jasher had been here for months already. Why shouldn’t he have a highland fling? Unexpectedly, Lachlan’s freckled face rose in my mind’s eye. I was young, free, and Jasher was not the only coal in the fire. Just because we’d kissed didn’t mean we had to pick up where we’d left off. Did it? The rationalizing came easily to my mind, but I had to admit, in my heart I was hurt.
The crowd was on their feet as Jasher finished. He stood and took a little bow before handing the guitar back to Garret. His eyes fell on the woman again and I watched as he jerked his head subtly toward the bar. She smiled and got to her feet, nodding.
Jasher picked his way over to me.
“You were just as amazing as I remembered you to be,” I said. “Well done.”
“Thanks, Georjie.” He slid his empty glass to the bartender.
The dark-haired woman approached, her expression closed and shy. She was petite and possessed the kind of curves I could never hope for, a picture of femininity. Soft waves of hair framed her face, she had big doe eyes with long eye-lashes, and the small waist and wide hips possessed by fertility statues. I felt like a giraffe as I dropped my chin to smile at her when she stopped in front of me.
“You must be Georjie,” she said in a soft voice. Her Scottish accent warmed my ears. “Jasher told me his cousin was here.”
I shot Jasher a look of surprise. He never introduced me as his cousin to anyone. He liked this woman…a lot.
Jasher blushed again. “Georjie, this is Evelyn.”
I shook her proffered hand. “Lovely to meet you,” I said, and found that I genuinely meant it.
Evelyn’s expression hardly changed, but the relief that flooded into her eyes melted my heart. It mattered to her that I liked her.
“I just arrived last night; when did you have a chance to tell Evelyn I was here?” I asked Jasher.
“Early this morning.” Jasher blinked, but his eyelids were slow to move. “Evie and I met for coffee.”
“Oh, how nice.” I gave Jasher a concerned look. He was looking downright dopey.
“Jasher, luv.” Evelyn lowered her voice. “How many drinks have you had?”
“A few.” His voice was half an octave higher than normal.
“You have to work tomorrow.” Evelyn glanced at the fine silver watch on her wrist. “Why don’t we call it a night?”
I agreed. “I have to study for a physics exam, and I’m still feeling a little jetlagged.” I smiled at Evelyn. “But it was great to
meet you. I’ll see you around?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but then looked taken aback as Jasher swung his head like it was on a string hanging from the ceiling. She took his hand. “Why don’t I walk with you? I live close to the castle, on Strathvaich road. You pass right on the way.”
“Perfect.” I settled our bill as Jasher and Evelyn made their way to the door, arms around each other. Frowning, I noted Jasher leaning heavily on Evelyn. Why hadn’t I noticed he’d had too much to drink? We’d only gone to one party while I was in Ireland. Jasher hadn’t even finished his one bottle of beer, and we ran out after a bunch of spooks began to harass him.
They waited for me at the door as I snagged my jacket from the coat hook and pulled it on. We stepped out into a misty night. The air was biting. Jasher and Evelyn walked arm in arm toward the castle and I fell in step with them, zipping my jacket all the way up and bundling my scarf around my neck.
We walked in silence for a while. The sound of Jasher dragging his feet on the cobblestones was making me feel bad. I was thinking of a casual way I could ask Jasher about his new habit when Evelyn spoke.
“You’re lucky you’ve come at this time of the year.”
I shot her a surprised look. “Most people have told me the opposite.”
“It’s the season for spunkies.” She smiled.
“What’s that, a pastry?”
She laughed. “In other places they’re called will-o-the-wisps. Some people think they’re spirits that live in the woods.”
“And what are they actually?”
“Oh, swamp gas for sure.” She revealed a set of straight white teeth. “It’s a very gassy area.”
“Highland farts,” Jasher added, and our peals of laughter filled the abandoned streets.
We walked until Evelyn stopped in front of an adorable thatched roof cottage, where we said goodnight. Evelyn kissed Jasher’s cheek and we didn’t move on until she was inside and the door was shut.
“She seems nice.”
“Evie’s the bomb.”
“Uh huh.” I glanced sideways at him. “Why didn’t you mention her in your letters, Jash?”
He looked down as we walked for a while before answering. “I didn’t want to hurt you. If I had known you were coming, I would have.” He hooked an arm through mine, slurring his words a little. “Honest. I’m sorry.”
I let out a sigh, still hurt but feeling a little better. “That’s okay.”
“Really?” In the glow of a passing streetlight, his face was soft with relief and his exhale sounded shaky. My own heart melted. He cared how I felt about Evelyn, which meant he knew that what we had shared back in Ireland had been special, even if it was temporary. I was glad.
“Of course.”
He let out a sigh and squeezed my arm tight as we continued uphill toward the castle.
___
My phone alarm, turned very low so as not to wake Jasher in the next room, went off at three in the morning. Flicking it off, I perched on the edge of my bed, my brain coughing along at half-speed. Shucking my pajama top and reaching for a sweater, I paused. It wasn’t likely I’d run into someone at this hour, but what if I did? Wouldn’t it be better to be caught in my sleepwear than in day clothes? I could pretend to have been sleepwalking.
I looked longingly at where my parka peeked out from behind the wardrobe door but I pulled on the bathrobe instead. I stood at my door in a sleep-stupor, looking around for my slippers. Once they were found and donned, I made my way to the rear door. Leaving the door shut but unlocked behind me, I slipped down the steps and through the fragrant garden.
Feeling a little like a criminal, I threw a glance over my shoulder up at the castle. The many windows were dark, though several spotlights remained lit, casting large coins of light against the turrets, the leafless wisteria and the evergreen ivy. The wind tugged at my hair and blew through the fabric of my bathrobe, raising gooseflesh. Tugging the robe tighter, I shivered and continued on down the narrow path and through the woods.
The tangle of thorns looked like a jagged lump in the dim light of the grove. A thin cool shard of moonlight escaped through a rift in the clouds and illuminated the ruin momentarily. The men had made some progress in cutting back the thorns. Stumps of surprisingly thick trunks could be seen poking bluntly from the shadows. A silhouette suggesting the shape of a person materialized in the thorny shrub, as though someone had gotten trapped in the center of the bush and stood there waiting for rescue. My heart leaped, but a moment later the clouds moved and the shadow dissipated.
Kicking off my slippers and letting my bare soles press against the earth, I closed my eyes. Tuning in to the shrub, I realized it was a form of berberis called stenophylla. My eyes flew open in surprise. Stenophylla was an evergreen shrub and though it was spiny, this particular plant seemed to have spines in excess, and the thorns were longer, with a stronger connection to each branch than I would have expected. Stenophylla was used as a defensive hedge by some, because it was impenetrable, but it wasn’t known for being more difficult to root out than other thorny bushes. Strange. Perhaps the thorn was sickly? Closing my eyes again, I searched the layers of earth, mentally sifting until I found the roots. Sensing a strange, stubborn resiliency but no illness, I shrugged.
Sending the stenophylla a command to retreat, I relaxed into the task, coaxing the shrub to shrink. Instead of taking energy and nourishment from the earth, it poured the energy back in. I could hear the subtle sounds of its growth reversing, its spines shrinking and retreating, its trunks thinning and weakening.
Reversing the stenophylla’s growth was harder than I remembered it to be. I hadn’t used my powers this way in several weeks, so perhaps I was just out of practice. Realizing I was shivering, I doubled down on the thorn bush. Its thick shadow was retreating across the ground, centering around the ruin. Rigid branches fell back like long wispy hands withdrawing from a cookie jar. The thorns softened and the fibers dwindled. Branches became nubs, and trunks became stems.
I couldn’t get rid of the shrub altogether. That would be too noticeable. But I could make it a little easier for the men to clear it all away. Letting the reversal slow to an end when the shrub looked smaller but not alarmingly so, I sent the plant a comforting mental sign off, telling it to release its hold on this patch of earth without resistance.
That done, I took a deep breath, slipped my chilly, dirty feet back into the bath slippers, and picked my way back up to the castle in the dark. I was snuggled under the duvet a few minutes later with no one the wiser.
Chapter 5
After breakfast the next morning, I sat in the big second floor parlor, trying to keep focused on my physics lesson and failing. It was nearing ten. I had expected Jasher to poke his head in and pass along a secret thank you for making the job of removing the thorns a little easier. I told myself he was too busy removing the old walls and foundations of the ruin and couldn’t get away. But once the thought entered my mind, I couldn’t shake it. Finally, I packed up my laptop and deposited it in my room before trekking down to the site to check on the progress.
The mumble of male voices drifted through the trees as I passed through the narrow pathway. When I got to the clearing, I took a few steps back to keep my astonished face hidden while I absorbed what I was seeing.
The thorn bush was larger than it had been even before I had reversed its growth. I stood there, half hidden in the foliage, staring at the monstrous stenophylla, as shocked as I had ever been about anything in my young life. That included learning that my best friend Targa was a mermaid.
Lachlan, Jasher, Will, and one other man I hadn’t seen before were chopping away at the shrub with heavy-duty hedge clippers, each of them tackling a different side of the bush. Their mumbles and mutters were unhappy, and no wonder. Finally, I fixed my expression into something I thought might look neutral and emerged from the foliage.
“Hey, Georjie.” Lachlan was the first to look up from his work. A large pile of
cut-off branches lay within a stone’s throw from him. Similar piles lay scattered throughout the glade.
Jasher and Will looked up and waved. Neither of them smiled.
The fourth man didn’t even look up from his work but remained bent over with both hands on his clippers.
“Can you believe it?” Lachlan stepped away from the bush and took a kerchief from his back pocket. Mopping his brow with it, he stuffed it back into his pocket and stretched his spine. I could hear the snaps and pops from where I was standing.
“Take a break, guys.” Jasher extricated his clothing from the grip of a few clingers. “Get some water.”
The men slowly stretched their bodies and took turns pouring water from a large jug.
My mouth felt dry and the right words seemed so far away. What could I say? Great job? Not only had no progress been made, the shrub was bigger and nastier than the day before. Sorry my plan didn’t work out? Nope. I finally settled for, “How’s it going?”
Jasher handed the jug of water to Will. “This beast is unreal. We think the Mandela effect is at work here.”
That gave me pause. “The what?”
“It’s a pop term for group false memory,” Lachlan explained, which didn’t clarify things for me.
“The Mandela effect is just a name someone gave a weird phenomenon where a large group of people all remember something inaccurately.” Will poured himself a second cup of water.
“Can you give me an example?”
“The name is the first clue,” Lachlan said, plucking random spines from his pants. “A significant number of people remember Nelson Mandela dying in prison in the eighties.”
The man I hadn’t been introduced to yet blinked in surprise. “He did.” He shot me a wave. “Thomas, by the way.”
I gave him a smile. “Georjie.”
Jasher was shaking his head at Thomas. “Nope. That’s the effect talking. He passed away in twenty-thirteen from a respiratory illness.”
I gave him a blank look. “Is there an example I might be familiar with?”
