Old Magic (2 page)

But most alarming is my instinct that this power is coming from Jarrod.

Mr. Garret’s expression changes from disbelief to accusation, his voice slick with impatience. I’ve heard it before. It’s how he copes when schoolboy pranks continually disrupt his lessons. “Not a good way to start your first day, Mr. Thornton. I hope this behavior is not indicative of things to come.” He’s trying to assert his authority, but who’s he kidding, really?

I lost sympathy for Mr. Garret when he started producing enough self-pity to drown in. And I know he’s become gutless lately, but to accuse and convict on the face of one lousy piece of suspect evidence is truly pathetic. Jarrod apparently agrees. His lips snap together as he inhales deeply through suddenly widened nostrils, fingers clenching into tight balls.

He’s losing it. Fast now.

The fluorescent lights are the first to go. They flicker uncontrollably, then fizz out with a simultaneous flash and hiss, as if struck by a sudden vicious power surge. No doubt they have been. But not the kind you get from a fault at a power station. The room darkens even though it’s still morning. Someone screams and everybody starts murmuring.

Mr. Garret, forgetting the shattered beaker incident, raises his hands. “Calm down, everyone. Remain seated while I go and see what’s happened to the power.”

Of course nobody pays attention to him, and as soon as he leaves the murmuring becomes frantic. It’s really strange how one minute the sky is cloudless on a brisk autumn morning, and now, with the lights off, it has transformed into an eerie twilight. Dark, thunderous-looking clouds roll toward us really fast, like a big hungry mouth gobbling up the soft blue sky and everything in its path.

“Look at the sky!” Dia Petoria yells from near a window.

Some people rush over but then everyone’s attention zooms back to Pecs. With Mr. Garret out of the room he’s decided to have another shot at Jarrod. “Such lovely hair,” he taunts, lifting some of it, letting it drift through his rugby-thick fingers. “Are you sure you’re not a girl, pretty boy?”

Jarrod moves once, jerking his head just out of Pecs’s reach. I marvel how he takes so much without retaliating. I would have lost my cool ages back, and thought about casting the first spell that flicked through my mind. I’ve never been able to master the art of shape-changing spells, but a sloth—hairy, slow, and weighing 440 pounds—would be appropriate right now. Pecs would make a good one. Instantly, visions of him hanging upside down in one of the giant eucalyptus trees that predominate the forest up here saunter through my subconscious, and I can’t help but smile. Thinking about changing Pecs into a sloth takes my mind off the encroaching storm. But just as suddenly it zeroes back as windows fling open on their own, vibrating with the force. Papers, pens, test tubes, Bunsen burners, and anything that moves lift off the benches, getting caught in the increasing wind, and start smashing against walls or other moving objects.

“What the hell!” Pecs, momentarily distracted, goes to close windows. So I’m surprised when, considering his size and strength, the windows still don’t budge.

Mr. Garret returns looking stunned. “What’s going on?” He soon collects himself, remembering, I guess, that he’s the teacher in charge, and starts yelling orders at us. “Hurry! Close those windows! This is apparently the only room that’s got a power problem. Where did this wind come from?”

He’s babbling a bit; I guess it is a little strange. I don’t understand it either. It feels unnatural.

“They’re stuck, sir!” Pecs yells over the gathering wind. I remember then that strange feeling I sensed earlier. This is it—or rather, the result of it—anger, dark and intense.

A couple of girls huddle together in a corner scream-ing. Others race around stupidly trying to collect their work, which is circling the room. One girl, sitting on the floor, wraps her arms around her knees and cries like a baby. Only Jarrod looks calm. He’s still sitting at his bench, and his eyes have gone really weird, like he’s staring at a ghost or something. Wind tears at his shirt, thrashing his long hair about his face. He has to notice this as it whips across his nose and eyes, but he remains unmoved.

Lightning flashes and I think everyone except Jarrod screams and buries their heads. It’s as if the lightning is right in the room with us. Without even getting our breaths back it flashes again, filling the room with a staggering light and the sound of a horrifying sizzle. Everyone screams as if in unison, clutching at each other and hitting the ground. Hannah grabs my arm just as thunder explodes so loudly it near deafens us all, her fingers digging so deeply her nails are going to leave holes in my skin. “What the . . . ?”

I yank her hand off my arm. “I don’t know.”

“Then it’s not you doing this?”

I stare at her, shaking my head. “I can’t do this sort of thing.” I have to yell over the wind. “I’ve never been able to manipulate the weather, Han.” What I don’t add, as Hannah already knows, is that I try, and keep trying, to the point of driving myself mad with frustration. But I just don’t have that sort of power. My eyes shift to Jarrod and linger. He may not be aware of it, but Jarrod Thornton does.

Unfortunately, I don’t think he knows it, and cer-tainly he 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, seniors, 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 mesmerized, 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, organizing groups of students to attend to different tasks in a cleanup 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 onto 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 the nurse’s office, 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 the nurse’s office. 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 the nurse’s office. Meanwhile, I’m standing directly in front of him. “Yes, well, okay, 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 rumors 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?”

I nod.

“Good girl. Now, off you go. And be careful where you walk.”

Jarrod follows me to the door, and as we step through it I hear Pecs’s sarcastic voice trail behind, “Be careful, pretty boy. Watch out for Scary Face. Don’t follow her into any broom closets! Oooh, I’m scared, I’m scared.”

Ha ha. Gee, I’m laughing.

Typically, the class roars with laughter. They have no thoughts of their own. He leads them like a pack of brainless sheep. An embarrassing chorus of wolf whistles follows us down the corridor.

Jarrod

I think I’ve been hit by a truck. My head is throbbing and my arm is aching with a sharp sting. I’m supposed to follow this girl to the nurse’s office, but that’s not where she’s taking me.

And what was that comment Pecs made about a broom closet? I shrug it off, the guy’s a half-wit.

I want to ask where this girl is heading, but can’t remember her name. Mr. Garret called her something, but at the time I felt as if I was living in dreamland. Well, not exactly in it, but like I was watching the whole thing from the outside. Strange, yet not really surprising. I’m kind of used to weird things happening to me. And to my family, come to think of it. That’s how we ended up here, in this godforsaken isolated mountain community in the middle of nowhere. They call it Ashpeak. I don’t want to ask why. Fires probably once devastated the rain forests. I’ve had my gutful of fires, and floods too, actually.

A new start, Dad had said. That’s what he says every time we move. I’ve grown to hate my life. I just want to stay put for a change. Making new friends has never been easy. I used to think, what was the point? But it gets lonely hanging around by myself, being labeled a loser. By the time I finally get settled into a new school, manage to make some all right friends, we’re moving again. Dad hasn’t had a steady job for sixteen years. Two years is the longest we ever stayed anywhere. That time I even made a couple of good friends. But we moved eventually, a freak flood washed away the house we were renting, even took the business that had drained our savings. The following year we went bankrupt. Sometimes it seems our problems never end. And now, after the accident that damaged Dad’s leg, he’ll be incapacitated for the rest of his life. He’s dosed up most days on morphine for chronic pain, has to use crutches when he walks, and will end up losing his leg, the doctors tell us.

It’s up to Mom now, but what can she do? She had a lot of ill health the first ten years of their married life and never developed any work-related skills. They don’t often talk about it, but I know it took ten years of trying before I was born. She’s good with her hands though, and has an artistic flair. She makes these clothes, girls’ things, with hand-stitched beads and colored stones—jewelry too. Cowboy stuff, I call it. It’ll never sell.

My head starts clearing just as we leave the school building. I’m still following the girl and can’t help noticing things. Like how she walks, casual yet determined. She knows exactly where we’re going. She’s wearing a gray school skirt midway down her thighs. Not short but high enough to see she has brilliant legs. Her skin is pasty white, like she’s anemic or something. It’s odd because her hair is completely black. Long too, all the way to her waist. It’s attractive though, quite unique. I noticed her eyes earlier in the classroom—blue, yet so incredibly light they were almost see-through, like crystal gray. That was a strange thing, come to think of it. The hairs on the back of my neck had stood on end as an eerie feeling of invasion throbbed inside my head.

Kate. Finally it comes to me. “Of course, Kate. Good idea,” Mr. Garret had said. We start heading into the scrub. At this rate, we won’t even get close enough to the nurse’s office to smell the antiseptic. “Hey,” I call.

She stops a few paces in front of me and swings around. “Yeah?”

This whole scene is getting weirder by the second. I shrug a little, my bleeding arm bent at the elbow, the makeshift bandage stained red with blood. I tip my head toward it. “You’re supposed to be taking me to the nurse’s office.”

She scoffs. “Why? They don’t know anything about healing there.”

As if that’s enough explanation she spins around again, giving me her back.