Old Magic(8)

She shrugs. ‘It’s OK. You’re not the first one to say something like that.’

‘Really?’

Her head swivels sideways with a smile. ‘You’re a jerk.’

‘You know, that’s not the first time someone said something like that to me.’

Her smile deepens, reaching her eyes, and I feel instantly better. I want her to keep talking. I like the sound of her voice, the way her mouth moves. I try to find something safe to talk about. ‘So, what does your grandmother do for a living?’

I’m so not prepared for her answer. ‘She’s a witch.’

My first thought is that she is obviously joking. I mean, I really believe she’s joking, except something isn’t right. For starters, she isn’t laughing, or even smiling, not a crinkle around her unusual eyes. ‘I see,’ I say as I try to understand.

‘Please don’t tell anyone I said that. I shouldn’t have told you, but … well, I know that you’re different too.’

I decide she definitely must be joking, pulling my leg. Her sense of humour is really warped, but, well, I guess I can handle that. ‘Ah, black magic and all that stuff.’

I hear her suck in a deep sharp breath. Great. Now she’s mad at me. ‘Never black, Jarrod,’ she says in all seriousness. ‘At least not black in the traditional sense of the word when referring to witch practices.’

I stare at her and she says, ‘Jillian would never do anything to hurt anyone. She’s adamant about that. All her magic is pure. She’s a healer.’

I realise she is one hundred per cent dead serious. She notices my stunned-mullet look and spins around. ‘Look,’ she starts explaining, fast realising she’s losing me. ‘I wouldn’t be telling you any of this, believe me, I don’t usually encourage gossip, except I believe you have the gift too. I’m guessing you don’t know it, let alone understand it,’ she continues in one long rapid burst. ‘I can see all that, and I’m sorry if I’ve shocked you or anything, but you have to understand, the gift as strong as yours could be dangerous. Manipulating the weather is something …’ she hesitates, searching for the right words. I get the feeling it isn’t so much searching for an explanation, but trying to find words that won’t incriminate her sanity even more.

‘Look,’ she tries again, and I’m surprised to see her actually blushing. Her cheeks turn the colour of tomato sauce. ‘Usually only sorcerers can do this sort of thing, enchanted sorcerers, not ordinary people like us. D’you know what I mean?’

I stare at her even harder, my mouth hanging open. Is she really saying this stuff? I decide to see just how much she’ll admit. ‘So, both you and your grandmother are witches?’

She takes her time answering like she’s choosing her words extra carefully. ‘I guess you could say that.’

‘Jillian and Kate. They don’t sound much like names of witches.’

‘Well, what did you expect?’

‘I don’t know … Laeticia, maybe.’

She frowns at me, but a smile is pulling at her mouth. ‘Laeticia? Where did you dig that up? A grave or something?’

‘It was my grandmother’s name.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yeah, and she even looked like a witch.’

‘Maybe she was.’

‘I don’t believe that for one second. Besides, witchcraft doesn’t exist.’

She says softly, ‘It exists.’

‘No way. You would never convince me. It just …’

‘Doesn’t follow the rules?’

‘Not mine, that’s for sure.’

‘Look, Jarrod, I’ve seen your gift in action. And if you’re not trained to handle your skills, anything could happen. People could get hurt. Just look at your arm. What if it’d been your throat that glass had slashed?’

I stare at my arm. The white bandage has slipped again but it’s stopped bleeding now. I take this to mean I’m not about to drop dead at this strange girl’s feet, nor am I in desperate need of a transfusion. All the same, her fun with me has gone far enough. ‘What are you saying? That I caused that storm today?’

She nods and smiles and looks genuinely relieved.

I know for sure then. It hits deep in my gut. And it’s such a shame because I find myself attracted to her in a way I’ve never felt with a girl before. But this one is bad news. She’s crazy – in the head. There’s no other explanation. I start walking backwards, down the deserted mountain road, picking up speed with each step, calling back briefly, ‘I think I’ll take my chances with sick bay.’