‘Don’t mind her.’ This from Tasha, her hands all over Jarrod now, tugging him back down, claiming his attention. She’s sitting so close, if she moves one more centimetre she’ll be in his lap. ‘Sure, she’s good entertainment value, but her grandmother’s the drawcard. And even though her shop’s interesting enough – I go there myself sometimes – the real stuff is hidden in the back rooms. Jillian’s into live sacrifices, you know. They drink blood and hold black masses.’ He stares at her incredulously, eyebrows raised. Immediately she pouts. ‘It’s the truth, Jarrod. Every word.’ Her eyes widen while her gleaming pink mouth trembles affectedly. ‘I’ve seen drops of blood on the carpet myself.’ Her head swings momentarily to the side. ‘Something red anyway. And,’ she adds in a husky whisper, close to his ear now, ‘they’ve been seen dancing naked in the rainforest. It’s disgusting – pure devil worship.’
Her head swings away so that the others at her table (and the surrounding half-dozen tables) hear her distinctly. ‘There’s only the two of them, but, well, who would have them?’
The glass shatters just as the waitress lowers Pete O’Donnell’s drink. ‘What the …!’
‘Sorry. Oh my goodness. Sorry, Pete.’ Dia Petoria, the girl from my science class, is the waitress. She’s a nice girl, studies a lot even though it doesn’t show up in her marks. But she’s a trier all right. Instantly I feel sorry for her. This incident isn’t her fault. She doesn’t need Pete O’Donnell’s anger on top of her confusion. ‘I don’t know what happened. It just exploded!’
Bella Spagnolo, one of the owners, comes rushing over, whipping past where Hannah and I are quickly making up our minds to leave. She looks so angry I think she’s going to get stuck into Dia. She must be having a bad night ‘cause she’s not usually like this. She comes to Jillian’s shop sometimes, looking for decorative pieces to dress up her cafe, trying to make it more appealing to a younger age group. I met her a couple of times. She even asked me what I thought young people liked. She seems nice.
I glance out of the corner of my eye as I wait for Hannah to organise herself. Her jacket has slipped to the floor so she has to climb down between the bench and table to retrieve it. Bella is listening intently to Dia’s explanation. Thankfully, she can tell Dia is innocent – no one is that good an actor. Bella helps her clean up the mess, promising the entire table a free cappuccino or soft drink.
At this stage leaving is our best option. I mean, I’m no coward. I can do damage to the lot of them if I want. But what would be the point? If I did hurt them, I’ll just be sorry later – not for them, for Jillian. Her shop is her livelihood, and even though she doesn’t make a lot of money out of it, she enjoys it, collecting things, experimenting with what sells, what doesn’t, and especially talking to the many tourists that come through.
I guess if I’m honest, I have to admit I’d be worried about what would happen to me as well. They think I’m weird now, and they don’t know the half of it. If they discover the truth, my life would be hell in this small community. And I like it here too much to jeopardise anything seriously. It’s quiet, and most people leave me alone.
One look at Jarrod and leaving becomes an urgent priority. He looks livid, and if he really does have the gift and loses his temper, things could start hotting up.
I almost make it to the door, except Pecs is up to his tricks again, and I, apparently, am making a return appearance in the form of his momentary kicking bag. The wording of several malicious spells flick through my mind like electricity. I have an inner battle to stop myself from going through with some of them.
‘Hey, there, Scary Face,’ he croons, his fingers tightening around my elbow so that it actually hurts. ‘Leaving so soon? We haven’t had any fun yet.’
‘Push off, Pecs. Your breath smells like frog dung.’
I stun him, but only for a second. It isn’t enough to break free. I send out a silent plea to Jarrod to remain calm. He doesn’t get it. This time glass shatters everywhere. No table or shelf or window is spared. Drinks spill on to tables, floors, customers. People scream; and Bella loses it completely, reverting to yelling out phrases in rapid Italian. Kitchen staff come tearing out in white aprons and funny little white caps.
For a second I think Pecs is going to release my arm, his concentration easily distracted by the surrounding chaos. I move a bit, try to yank my arm out of his grasp, but he just digs his fingers in deeper. I swear there’ll be bruises tomorrow. ‘Not so quick, Witchy One.’ His head flicks about. ‘This is your handiwork, isn’t it?’