He was nervous.
What was he going to say when Cath opened the door? "Surprise"? What if she fainted? What if she had a heart attack and died? He'd read somewhere that way more women have them than you'd think. He imagined explaining that one to Da and shuddered.
He
was the one who was supposed to die young, not her.
Don't be retarded, Tom
, he told himself. The sooner he got this over and done with, the sooner there'd be no secrets in the family. Whatever remained to him of his life would be a whole lot better because he'd be able to tell Cath everything. No more lies. No more quoting Esmeralda to himself:
That's just part of being magic: sometimes you have to lie
. Not anymore!
He pressed the doorbell.
After a few long seconds, during which Tom decided she'd racked off despite her promise, he heard the sounds of scrabbling at the thousand locks. The door opened. Cathy's mean, don't-touch-my-bathroom-products, crooked-seam, dropkick wanker of a flatmate let out a scream. "No, no! Absolutely not! No way! You are
not
staying here." He slammed the door.
"Wait!"
Tom pressed the doorbell again. Then again. Then he just leaned on it, watched the tip of his finger go white. He heard shouting. Then at last the door opened and Cathy was there.
"'Ken hell. I don't believe it," she said, staring at him. "No way. We were just on the— "
"Yep, it's me. This is what I came to tell you about."
"He's not staying here," Dropkick interjected. "Over my dead body is he staying here."
"No," Tom said, swallowing the language he really wanted to use— he'd be
very
happy to see Dropkick's dead body. "I'm not staying here. I just came to take my sister out to dinner. Not that it's any of your business."
"Not a single night," Dropkick said, turning to Cathy. "I'm warning you."
"Oh, piss off, Andrew," Cath said, not even looking at him. "I'll grab my coat."
"Could you get my backpack too?"
"No worries. You just wait there. Don't want to set the poxy wanker off again."
* * *
Cath led Tom along the dark, wintry streets. The only snow left was grey and miserable. Everyone outside was rugged up and in a hurry. They passed a man selling roasted chestnuts. The smell was so good Tom's stomach rumbled, even though breakfast hadn't been that long ago.
Every step of the way to the restaurant Cath pestered him to tell her what was going on, but Tom stayed firm.
"It's not something I can blurt out on the street," he said, watching his words turn into puffs of condensation. "It's going to be a serious conversation. Your mouth's going to drop wide open a lot and it's too cold for that out here."
"Ooooh, Tom! So intriguing."
"It's too cold, Cath. Save it— "
"Here we are," she said, opening the door and leading him into a posh-looking restaurant, all pale green, maroon, wood, and metal, with a curved bar in front and a tree of wine bottles lit up like it was still Christmas. It looked like the kind of place his Da liked to eat at, but said he couldn't afford.
"Pretty flash," Tom said as Cath chose a low table with lounge chairs. He sank into his. It was lower and less comfortable than it looked. The tables and chairs at the back of the restaurant seemed much better, but he didn't fault Cath's choice: these were more private. He didn't fancy telling his sister within anyone else's earshot.
"It is, isn't it? You'd never know it was vegetarian, would you?"
Tom bit his bottom lip. She was about to hear some unbelievable news. She should at least be somewhere she felt comfortable. He figured he could stomach budgie food this once. "Nope, you wouldn't."
A waiter brought them menus. Tom scanned it quickly, seeing lots of stuff he'd never heard of, like cauliflower risotto and strata and who-knew-what-else. Eww. Bloody vegos. Fortunately they had burgers, even if they were fake. At least they came with chips.
"You know that's not meat, right?"
"Yup, I do know what vegetarian means, Cath."
She ordered them two coconut waters. Tom hadn't known they had such a thing in New York City. These weren't as good as at home. It was winter after all; he wondered where they were imported from.
A waiter came and reeled off a stack of weird-sounding specials. Tom ordered his burger and Cath one of the specials, which was when he realised he'd forgotten to bring any American money.
"Um, Cath?"
"Yeah?"
"You know how I said this was on me?"
She groaned. "Don't worry about it, Tom, I can cover it. I think."
"You know, I could pop back and get the money. It's in my sock drawer. I just don't wanna get busted. Esmeralda doesn't exactly know I came through."
"Came through?"
A waiter refilled their waterglasses. Tom said thank you, wishing he would go away. He resolved to drink slowly.
"Through the door. Esmeralda's back door. That's how I got here so fast."
"Well, of course," Cath said, as if he'd gone mad.
Another waiter went by. Cath beckoned him over. "Could I have a glass of the Malbec, please?" She turned back to Tom, who was wondering what Malbec was— probably wine. "I need it, okay? You were talking about a door?"
"Esmeralda's door. Yeah."
"I know," Cath said. "You didn't go home, did you? You've just been pretending to be back in Sydney, but you've been here the whole time."
"Cath,
you
called me."
"That was some kind of phone number routing thing. To make me think you were at home when really— "
"I'm magic. So's Mum."
"Magic," Cath said, as if she had no idea what that word meant.
Their food arrived, along with Cath's wine. Tom was pleased that his burger looked like a real burger. He had a bite. Not bad at all. Pretty good even. Cath started hoeing into her food, which came in a big bowl and wobbled. Only the fancy lettuce on the sides was recognisable. Rather her than him.
"I came here by opening the back door in Esmeralda's kitchen. When you step through, you're in New York City."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that."
Tom told her about meeting Esmeralda, about madness. He told her about dying. He told her everything. She said she didn't believe him, but he could see that she did.
"Show me," she said, after she'd ordered a third glass of wine. Her cheeks were pink.
"Didn't you hear the part about not using too much magic? The part about me dying?"
"Just a little, then."
Tom sighed. "Just this once, right?"
She nodded, her cheeks flushed.
"See the candle?"
"Yup, I might not be magically abled, but I ain't blind." She took a long gulp of her wine. "Yet."
Tom thought about the candle going out. It went out. He thought about it being lit. It came back to life.
"Oh," Cath said. "Right, then."
"Yeah. It's like that. You should've seen Da after Esmeralda told him. Not happy. He's still not happy. He's not wild about talking about it. Ever."
"I can see why not. It's not exactly comfortable, is it?"
"Comfortable? No, not really."
"What about Mum, then?"
"She's mad because she won't use her magic. I mean, she doesn't know she's magic and so she doesn't use it. Same thing in the end."
"Didn't you tell her?"
Tom nodded. "She's nuts, Cath. She didn't believe me. And when I tried to show her, she totally lost it."
"Lost it?"
"She lunged at me. They had to— "
"That's okay. I get it." Their mother had once cut Cath with a knife, screaming that she was going to kill her. They'd never talked about it. Tom had been there, but he was too young to remember. "So you're…" She trailed off, but Tom could see her struggling with what he was telling her. "Why aren't I magic, then?"
Tom shrugged. "Dunno? Why am I an albino?"
"You're not an albino, you're just pigment-challenged."
"Cheers, sis."
"No worries."
"Is it really real?" She looked straight at him, a softer version of her high-voltage interrogation stare.
Tom nodded sadly. "Wish it weren't."
"'Ken oath," Cath said fiercely. "My daggy little brother is going to die young." She reached her hand across the table and squeezed his. Tom felt his eyes getting wet. "Don't think that means you're forgiven, right? You're still a bloody, buggery little bastard for holding out on me for so long." A tear trickled down her face. "Complete and utter, utter, utter bastard."
8
Glowing
Jay-Tee tried the handle of
the door to New York. It turned, but the door didn't open. Locked solid, of course. She didn't know where the key was, and even if she did she wouldn't have used it, on account of how opening the door was still using magic, even if it was only the tiniest, tiniest bit. She'd sworn she wasn't going to use magic anymore. Looniness before death!
Jay-Tee just wanted to see home. She bent down and peeked through the keyhole and could barely make out the bottom of a rickety fire escape. New York didn't seem to have any colors. It was blurry, like she was looking through Vaseline. It made Jay-Tee feel weird inside, as though fleas were crawling under her skin, like magic was leaving her. She shivered and slid to the floor and, knowing she shouldn't, pulled herself up to the keyhole for one last blurry glance of a higher-up section of the fire escape and the bricks behind.
How was she going to keep from using magic?
Jay-Tee wished she could squeeze through the keyhole. Go stay with her brother. She missed Danny more than she ever had now that he was her only family in the world. Now that she was stuck in Sydney with no way to get home. She couldn't go through the door, so how else was she going to get back? On a magic carpet? Nope, that used magic too. She didn't have enough magic, and she didn't have a passport either.
Suddenly Jay-Tee was so tired she felt like crying again. She was trapped with no passport, no clothes of her own, no money, no family, no magic, no nothing.
She went upstairs, collapsed onto the bed that wasn't hers, and shut her eyes. She didn't care if Tom never came back from talking to his sister, or if Esmeralda never took her shopping for clothes, or if Reason turned into a monster elf man like that Raul Cansino guy. What did it matter? Jay-Tee wasn't going to be around to see any of it.
* * *
Jay-Tee dreamed
he
was chasing her through the streets of Manhattan. Only they were covered in mist and all the buildings were tall. No matter how fast she ran, the man who'd drained away most of her magic was always just a few feet behind her. But then he wasn't him anymore, he was her father.
She sat bolt upright in bed. Where was she? For a moment Jay-Tee thought she was in
his
apartment. But this room was so big, so light. White curtains, shiny wooden floorboards. That wasn't right.
Then she remembered: she was in Sydney. In Esmeralda's house. With Esmeralda, the wicked witch, who hadn't turned out to be anything like as bad as
he
'd said, which figured. Why had she ever believed a word he said? Except that sometimes he did tell the truth…when it was useful to him.
Jay-Tee was so glad she'd escaped him, that Reason had rescued her. She had been too afraid to run away on her own. Reason wasn't afraid of anything. Right now Jay-Tee was afraid of pretty much everything.
She was in Sydney, where the best she could do was peek through the keyhole at New York City. Where…
Tom hadn't come back. Or maybe he had seen that she was asleep and gone away again.
She went into the bathroom, splashed her face with water, looked at her clothes. The T-shirt she was wearing (one of Esmeralda's) was all wrinkly. Figured, given that she'd just slept in it, but there wasn't anything else to wear. Not anything clean.
Jay-Tee headed downstairs, thinking about finding Tom. He was probably at his house, next door. She could resume teaching him about God, and about kissing too. First she checked out the fridge, but it was just as full of all sorts of scary junk as the last time she looked. Certainly nothing edible. She reluctantly took a green apple from the fruit bowl, the only normal-looking fruit in it.
She heard the back door open behind her.
Jay-Tee swung around, crossed herself with the apple still in her hand, and backed away. But the person who stepped through was Reason, not
him
.
