Old Magic (30 page)

“Kate, will you calm down. Can you explain what this is all about?”

“It’s the wine.”

His face is blank. He doesn’t understand, so I backtrack. “Remember when we dined at Blacklands and Rhauk told us how he was brewing his curse in the tower?”

He nods and I try sitting again. I explain about the curse being in the wine, and how Rhauk tricked his half-brother by making him think the wine, of a far superior quality than his own, was a gift from the King.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Am I laughing?”

He finally catches on. If there’s anything funny in all this, then the joke is on us. Jarrod’s head falls back, considering. His gaze explores the darkening sky, seemingly enthralled in the pattern of emerging stars. Eventually they drift to mine. “Jillian was out by twenty years.”

I shrug. “No one’s perfect.”

“But why did Rhauk tell us he was still brewing the curse when he’d finished it twenty years ago?”

I think about this for a long moment, and then it comes to me. “He was always playing games. And he lied to get what he wanted.”

“He wanted you.”

“Yes, to replace Eloise. And he wanted revenge. The curse was his revenge, but as long as we thought it wasn’t complete yet, he could manipulate us to suit his plan.”

‘To have you,” Jarrod confirms.

“He promised he wouldn’t produce the curse as long as I stayed with him. That was the arrangement.”

“So what was that wine in the tower?”

Finally I understand. “That was the curse, all right. Just more of it. He probably gave Lord Richard a fresh supply every year, under the guise, of course, that it was from the King.”

Jarrod straightens and moans. “So what does this all mean, Kate? Was it all for nothing?”

I have to think. “No, I won’t believe that.” And then I remember the words from the ancient scripts. “The only way to stop the curse is to end the sorcerer’s life.”

“What?”

I start pacing the short plot of grass in front of him again, this time with excitement. “Let’s stop and think a minute. The ancient text said you had to end the sorcerer’s life. Jarrod, that’s exactly what you did. You killed Rhauk—the sorcerer.”

“Which means, exactly . . . ?”

Suddenly everything fits into place. “The curse is ended, Jarrod. For you at least. From this moment on.”

He stares at me, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I don’t mean this moment in medieval times. Nothing will change for your ancestors, the curse will still run its course. After all, your ancestors have been drinking the wine for twenty years. I mean when we get back to our time.”

“I hope you’re right, Kate.”

I smile, actually I beam. Smugly. I have been so far, I can’t help thinking.

He stands over me, peers down into my face, both eyebrows lifting halfway into his forehead. Belatedly, I remember he can read my private thoughts!

Heat burns my face, and I wish it was even darker. I wonder, how am I going to cope with someone who knows what I’m thinking? I could try to block him but my powers haven’t returned yet. I hope my gift hasn’t been permanently damaged. I couldn’t stand that.

Suddenly a shout erupts from the battlements. “Scots!”

The single word reverberates as word is passed on. Chaos erupts. But it’s a chaos with a certain order to it. These people have done this drill before—and they’re ready to do it again—to defend their lands and livelihoods. As the villagers are rushed into the bailey Isabel takes control, arranging suitable locations and jobs for them. Lord Richard is putting on his chain mail and ordering his knights to action.

It’s an amazing scene, something I consider myself privileged to witness. And as much as I’d love to stay and be a part of this battle, nowhere in these grounds is going to be safe.

Jarrod has the same thought. “Let’s get out of here.”

I nod and look for a quiet place in the organized chaos.

RETURN

Jarrod

She makes me promise never to read her thoughts, no matter the circumstances. I don’t want to anyway, so the promise is easy to keep. Without it, there would be a problem with privacy. This agreement makes things easier between us.

We arrive back at the same place we left, by the creek in the forest. Jillian’s still standing where we left her, keeping a silent vigil in the rain forest, keeping the circle blazing and protected. It turns out we were only away a few hours, even though it was over a month at Thorntyne Keep. She hands me my watch and glasses. I thank her, glad to have them back.

It darkens quickly with the candles extinguished, but I hardly notice. We’re both exhausted, the return journey has taken a lot out of us both, but especially Kate, who hasn’t recovered completely from Rhauk’s drugs. Jillian and I have to help her walk.

At the house, Jillian sits us down at the kitchen table and brews Kate a hot herbal drink that smells vaguely familiar. When she’s made sure Kate’s drunk more than half of it, Jillian starts pounding us with questions. Hours later we’re still talking. Jillian wants to know it all. We tell her as much as possible without revealing everything, especially the sharing the bedroom part. Her eyes never leave us. She hangs on every word, and laughs when Kate tells her about Emmeline’s “crush” on me and how she almost came back with us, startling us both with her presence just as we were saying the Latin chant.

“Luckily I was able to stun her thoughts, long enough for us to escape,” I explain.

Jillian agrees it would have been disastrous if Emmeline had forced her way back with us. “Your father’s heritage book is very clear on Emmeline’s future,” Jillian informs us. “She is sent to live at the Palace, where she meets and becomes the Earl of Drysdon’s mistress, bearing him three illegitimate sons. She is never happy though, as the Earl’s wife makes her life miserable.”

Jillian astonishes us with this information, and suddenly I feel sorry for my ancestral “cousin.”

Kate starts telling Jillian about the battle with Rhauk. Immediately she gets up to take a look at my wounds. “The stitches look fine, I’ll dress them again in the morning.”

It’s not long before Kate starts falling asleep at the table and Jillian sends her to bed. When she’s gone, I try to thank Jillian, and I mean for everything she’s done. But I know simple words are not enough. She collects my clothes, making a huge fuss over them. They’re not the original ones she stitched for us, but, as these are truly originals, she will treasure them more.

I doze eventually on a mattress laid out for me on the floor, and it turns out Kate and I sleep for two whole days. We wake on Friday morning, having missed a couple of days of school. We’re not particularly worried about this as Jillian covered for us at school and with my mother. I do worry about Mom and Dad though; it’s time I phone.

I use the phone at the front of Jillian’s shop. Mom’s voice is unbelievable. She actually sounds happy, something I don’t hear very often. She tells me Dad’s improvement in the last forty-eight hours has been remarkable, both mentally and physically. His leg is almost pain-free and he’s walking now with just a cane. “It’s a miracle, Jarrod,” Mom says, crying. “I wish you were here. When are you coming home?”

“Soon, Mom,” I assure her. She goes on to tell me Dad’s mental state of mind has also improved, probably due to his having to cope with less physical pain. Apparently the psychiatric doctors are amazed. There’s even talk of releasing him soon. I hang up with a lump in my throat the size of a watermelon, fighting back tears.

These things are signs, our first, that our luck is changing.

“Good news, huh?”

I nod at Kate, unable to speak at this moment without disgracing myself. I pull her into my arms, burying my head in her shoulders. After a couple of minutes she moves back, noticing Jillian standing patiently in the doorway. I fill them both in on Dad’s improved health.

“That’s wonderful, Jarrod,” Jillian says, her voice husky, wiping away a tear. She gives me a hug and I thank her.

“Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand at me. “You did it all yourself.”

She goes into the kitchen to make herself some tea and Kate comes back into my arms. “I’m so happy for you,” she says. But her voice has a deflated edge to it.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

She shrugs. “Nothing, really. Just my magic. It hasn’t returned yet.”

“It probably just needs a push to break it free of Rhauk’s lingering hold.”

Her eyes narrow. “And how do I do that if I don’t have any magic to do it with?”

“Hmm, good point. But don’t worry, Kate, I have enough magic for the both of us.”

“That’s great for you, and no offense, but it’s hard living with the idea that you’ll always be stronger than me. I want my own powers back so we can be equal. Jarrod, I lived with these things all my life. I feel like I’ve lost an arm, or worse, part of my soul.”

I know the second the thought hits her. “Of course, your powers are so extensive now, fueled with Old Magic, there must be something you can do. You beat Rhauk once, maybe you can do it again ’cause it’s his drug that did this to me.”

“D’you think I can help you get your magic back?”

“Why not? It’s worth a try.”

We go outside and walk around for a few minutes while we think about how to do this.

“What about a spell?” she asks.

“My magic doesn’t work that way.”

“Oh.”

Suddenly it hits me and I spin her around so that we’re standing face-to-face. “How much power do you want, Kate? What would make you happy?”

She starts thinking, and this one time I ignore her request never to read her mind-thoughts. She’s thinking about the weather and how she’s always wanted to be strong enough to manipulate it. But she doesn’t tell me this, she just shrugs.

It starts to rain, sprinkles, icy cold. I shiver, not used to this mountain weather yet, then realize it’s colder than rain ought to be, even for this time of year. Kate lifts her hands, palms up. “Jarrod, it’s sleeting.” She shivers all over. “We’re going to freeze out here. Let’s go back inside.”

She goes to move but I stop her. “Just a minute.”

“What? What is it?”

“Close your eyes and think warm.”

She gives a little laugh, like she’s humoring me.

“Concentrate,” I tell her and start working my thoughts into her head, searching for remnants of Rhauk’s magic.

“What are you doing?” she squirms. “It’s ticklish.”

“Keep your eyes closed and concentrate on something you really want. Go with your heart, Kate,” I say softly.

She stops squirming and thinks about being warm.

“More, reach deeper.”

Suddenly it stops snowing and the air grows warmer. So warm, in fact, I’m thinking of taking off my sweater.

Kate looks around us, her mouth open, her eyes staring widely. “What’s going on?”

I follow her stunned gaze. Everywhere is still snowing except here, directly over the two of us, like we’re standing inside a protective dome. “Thanks, Kate. This is great.”

“Don’t thank me.”

I smile at her without saying a word.

“What?”

“I didn’t do this,” I say.

“Don’t be annoying, Jarrod.” Her eyes suddenly squint, then I feel her—probing inside my head. I tell her with my thoughts that she’s the one who made the snow stop, and warmed the air around us.

With a sudden burst of comprehension she pulls out of my head with a loud gasp. “Oh, God!” she whispers hoarsely. “I was in your head,” she says in a rush. “You did things to me. You gave me powers.”

I shrug one shoulder. “I didn’t give you anything that wasn’t already there. I just put you in touch with the gifts you were born with.”

She grins and laughs and spins around. “Wow! This is fantastic. I made it warm.”

The crunch of tyres coming up the winding mountain road puts Kate into a spin. “The circle of warmth?” she asks quickly.

“You made it,” I tell her. “You get rid of it.”

She nods and closes her eyes. In a second sleet starts driving through us again. Quickly we dive inside, finding warmth in Jillian’s shop.

It’s not long before the chimes sound customers. And of all people it has to be Tasha Daniels and Jessica Palmer. This time Ryan and Pecs are with them.

“Hey, bro.” Pecs sickeningly slaps my back. “How’s your pop? Heard he was in hospital.”

“Better, thanks.”

Tasha slips her long fingers into the crook of my elbow. Jillian is nowhere to be seen and Kate starts disappearing into the background, instinctively searching for a quiet unnoticeable corner. I try to catch her eye, but she’s avoiding me. And even though I don’t invade her head I know exactly what she’s thinking. We’re back, quickly slipping into our usual routines. Everything we shared in that other time will be forgotten, as if it was only a dream. Tasha and her pals will come first in my life, over her, again.

“You weren’t at school for two days,” Tasha purrs. “I was starring to worry.”

“Er, well, I’m fine, thanks.”

“So, what are you doing here again?” She throws a fleeting glance at Kate, but returns it quickly, dismissing Kate from her thoughts. “Are you picking out a costume?”

For a second she throws me. What is she talking about? Then I remember, Ryan’s fancy dress party—the event of the year, always held on the first day of winter. And that’s tomorrow. “Actually, I have my costume ready.”

Kate slinks farther away as not one of these four snobs acknowledges she’s even in the room, yet they must have seen her when they came in.

“What time will you be picking me up?” Tasha commands.

I unhook myself from her solid grip, lunge right back and link fingers with Kate, tugging hard. Awkwardly, reluctantly, Kate lands in the middle of our circle. “I won’t be picking you up, Tasha.”

Tasha flicks a brief look at Kate, then stares at me with hard, wide-open eyes. “What? And why not?”

I position Kate right in front of me and slide my arms around her waist.

Possessively.

“Well, that’s easy. You see, I’m going to be taking Kate.”

Marianne Curley

lives in Australia with her family. She has experimented

withdifferent genres, but finds writing for young adults

to be the most challenging and satisfying.

From the #1 New York Timed bestseller

Not all vampires are out for blood. . . .

by L.J. Smith

You don’t invite the local witch to parties. No matter how beautiful she is. That was the basic problem. Idorit care,Kaitlyn thought. Idont need, anyone.

She was sitting in history class, listening to Marcy Huang and Pam Sasseen plan a party for that weekend. She couldn’t help but hear them: Mr. Flynn’s gentle, apologetic voice was no competition for their excited whispers. Kait was listening, pretending not to listen, and fiercely wishing she could get away. She couldn’t, so she doodled on the blue-lined page of her history notebook.

She was full of contradictory feelings. She hated Pam and Marcy, and wanted them to die, or at least to have some gory accident that left them utterly broken and defeated and miserable. At the same time there was a terrible longing inside her. If they would only let her in—it wasn’t as if she insisted on being the most popular, the most admired, girl at school. She’d settle for a place in the group that was securely her own. They could shake their heads and say, “Oh, that Kaitlyn—she’s odd, but what would we do without her?” And that would be fine, as long as she was a part.

But it wouldn’t happen, ever. Marcy would never think of inviting Kaitlyn to her party because she wouldn’t think of doing something that had never been done before. No one ever invited the witch; no one thought that Kaitlyn, the lovely, spooky girl with the strange eyes, would want to go.

And I don’t care, Kaitlyn thought, her reflections coming around full circle. This is my last year. One semester to go. After that, I’m out of high school and I hope I never see anyone from this place again.

But that was the other problem, of course. In a little town like Thoroughfare she was bound to see them, and their parents, every day for the next year. And the year after that, and the year after that. . . .

There was no escape. If she could have gone away to college, it might have been different. But she’d screwed up her art scholarship . . . and anyway, there was her father. He needed her—and there wasn’t any money. Dad needed her. It was junior college or nothing.

The years stretched out in front of Kaitlyn, bleak as the Ohio winter outside the window, filled with endless cold classrooms. Endless sitting and listening to girls planning parties that she wasn’t invited to. Endless exclusion. Endless aching and wishing that she were a witch so she could put the most hideous, painful, debilitating curse on all of them.

All the while she was thinking, she was doodling. Or rather her hand was doodling—her brain didn’t seem to be involved at all. Now she looked down and for the first time saw what she’d drawn.

A spiderweb.

But what was strange was what was underneath the web, so close it was almost touching. A pair of eyes.

Wide, round, heavy-lashed eyes. Bambi eyes. The eyes of a child.

As Kaitlyn stared at it, she suddenly felt dizzy, as if she were falling. As if the picture were opening to let her in. It was a horrible sensation—and a familiar one. It happened every time she drew one of those pictures, the kind they called her a witch for.

The kind that came true.

Secrets don’t always stay buried.…

Dark Secrets !

by Elizabeth Chandler

Author of the New York Times bestseller

Kissed by an Angel

LAST NIGHT I visited the house again. It looked as it did ten years ago, when I dreamed about it often. I’ve never seen the house in real life, at least not that I can remember. It is tall, three stories of paned windows, all brick with a shingle roof. The part I remember most clearly is the covered porch. No wider than the front steps, it has facing benches that I like to sit on. I guess I was never shy, not even at six; in the dream I always opened the door, walked inside, and played with the toys.