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Old Magic(5)

By:Marianne Curley


Unfortunately, I don’t think he knows it, and certainly has no control over it. These latter thoughts are scary.

Thunder roars as lightning and thunder follow each other in one continuous dramatic roll. Mr Garret tries to calm the class. He wants us to leave, but his words are lost in the battle nature is having in his lab. Not knowing where this is going to end, I decide Mr Garret’s idea is best.

‘We have to get out of here!’

‘What!’ Hannah’s mouth moves but her words disappear, ravaged by the wind that has now accelerated into cyclonic mode.

I see other students at the door, Year 12s, being pushed back against the far wall. They look stunned and race off to get help.

Empty stools suddenly become dangerous projectiles. I duck out of one’s way and glance at Jarrod. He’s still sitting on his stool, staring into the face of the wind. He must be catatonic to do this without flinching. A window shatters, and, as if in slow motion, I watch as everyone hits the floor in self-protection. Everyone, that is, except Jarrod. He remains rigid in his seat, completely mesmerised, his eyes wide and vacant.

Inevitably, something hits him. A piece of jagged glass rips into the skin of his inside lower arm, then continues wind-driven across the room. Strangely enough it’s the catalyst that breaks the spell, or whatever it is. Suddenly the wind drops as if it never was, quietly disappearing, its work apparently done. The remaining jammed windows slide down and those threatening clouds roll briskly away.

For a whole thirty seconds there is complete stillness. I think the entire class is in shock. Slowly Mr Garret comes round, organising groups of students to attend to different tasks in a clean-up campaign. Jarrod still hasn’t moved, and I’m worried about this. He’s unbelievably pale, like you could only imagine someone might be if they were dead. Of course half the class doesn’t look much different, except Jarrod’s skin looks completely drained of blood. But it isn’t. Where the glass slashed his arm, rich red blobs have dripped on to the bench top.

Mr Garret seems oblivious, apparently unaware of Jarrod’s injury. I push through the wrecked furniture and equipment to stand beside him. ‘Jarrod’s been hurt.’ I sound defensive without meaning to, and glance around for something to use on the bleeding arm. I spot a box of old rags, mostly just discarded clothing that’s been cut up to use in the lab to clean up spills and things. The wind has knocked it about, but after a quick hunt through the few remaining items, I find a clean-looking piece.

Mr Garret’s eyes bulge at the sight of Jarrod’s blood. ‘Oh dear.’ He sounds more like a blubbering idiot than a man of thirty-nine. ‘You’d better get to sick bay, boy, right away.’

I get the feeling the sooner Jarrod’s out of his classroom, the better Mr Garret will feel. What a jerk. Looking around I guess he has his hands full putting the lab back together, but the condition of his students should come first. He looks so unsure of himself. It’s a relief I think, when several other teaching and office staff arrive, shocked and outraged. As Mr Garret calls them over and starts attempting to explain, I wrap the white cotton material tightly around Jarrod’s lower arm. I take his other hand and put it on top to keep the makeshift bandage from slipping and to stem the blood flow. ‘Keep it there until it stops bleeding,’ I say.

His eyes look odd as they shift to mine, like he’s been off with the fairies. I try not to probe, it comes too naturally sometimes. Jillian’s always warning me to be careful. With Jarrod I’ll have to be even more so.

Mr Garret shifts his gaze back to the one problem he knows he can get rid of quickly – Jarrod. ‘Off you go, boy. To sick bay. Someone will look after you there.’

Jarrod slides off the stool. ‘I don’t know where it is,’ he mutters, still holding the bandage.

‘Er, um, oh dear,’ Mr Garret stammers, flicking his gaze around the room, looking for someone to take Jarrod to sick bay. Meanwhile, I’m standing directly in front of him. ‘Yes, well, OK, I’ll just find someone …’

‘I’ll take him.’

Mr Garret’s eyes zoom back as if seeing me standing here for the first time, which doesn’t really surprise me. Teachers are used to seeing through me. I like it like that so I don’t go out of my way to be noticed. But Mr Garret was my form teacher last year, and came to Jillian’s shop to see for himself what all the rumours were about. Of course he found nothing suspicious or even remotely sinister. All the same, Jillian didn’t want him misconstruing her personal stuff. She didn’t show him inside her private rooms. No one goes there except me. Not even Hannah. ‘Of course, Kate. Good idea.’ Mr Garret glances at the white bandage, seeing it for the first time, and looks relieved. ‘Did you do that?’