Magic or Madness (8 page)

“Southerly’s starting to hit,” she said. “Can you run and open the front door, Tom? Use the stop. Nice to get some air through.”

“Sure,” he said, jumping up.

“Help yourself, Reason,” Esmeralda said, sitting opposite me and taking a cinnamon roll. Her hands looked young, as if they’d never seen the sun, the fingernails long and even, painted a browny red. Like blood, I decided, though really the colour was more like that of the earth up north.

Tom returned, plonked himself down. “Chocolate muffin, please.” He picked out the biggest one and bit in. “Mmmm,” he said with his mouth full. “It’s pretty blowy out there. Clouds coming in. Might be a storm.”

The sound of the wind in the tree, in
Filomena,
was getting louder. There was a sharp noise as branches scraped the side of the house. I found it comforting that the weather could change as fast in the city as it did in the bush.

Esmeralda nodded. “One’s predicted, but for later.”

“Should I open the back door, too?” I asked, standing up. I directed the question to Tom, so technically I still hadn’t spoken to Esmeralda.

Tom looked at Esmeralda. I couldn’t quite read the expression on his face. I put my hand on the doorknob.

“No need,” Esmeralda said.

I turned the handle, but it didn’t move. Just like before. “It’s locked,” I said to no one in particular. “I wonder where the key is?” In my backpack, maybe?

“I’m not sure,” Esmeralda said. “The lock sticks. I keep meaning to get it replaced. In the meantime I go out the front door and use the side passage.”

I’d heard her go out the back door that morning. Why was she lying? Sarafina had told me that she lied about everything. The more Esmeralda knew, and the less everyone else did, the more powerful she felt. Her “magic” was all about having power over other people. Even in the petty matter of the whereabouts of a key. I shrugged and sat down. I’d try the infinity key on the door later.

“You should have a muffin,” Tom said, taking another for himself. “They’re fantastic.”

“Not hungry,” I said, though as usual I was starving. “Still full from all the sandwiches at your place.”

“That was hours ago!”

Esmeralda looked at me, her brow creasing. “You haven’t eaten much since you got here, Reason. You sure you won’t have some?”

“Maybe later.” I didn’t look at her when I said it, but there was no escaping that I’d answered her question.

“There’s potato salad in the fridge and a quiche. Bought them with the pastries. And cheese and chorizo and lots of other things. Help yourself,” she said, standing up and pushing her stool under the counter.

I thought of the frogs and brains and liver and snails Sarafina had told me about. But somehow I couldn’t imagine them in her huge stainless steel fridge alongside the cheese and cake.

Esmeralda reached out a hand as though she was going to pat my shoulder but instead brushed a few imaginary crumbs from her skirt. “I have to get back to work, might not be home till late.” She paused. Her eyes were wide looking at me, hopeful. “I know you’ve been through a lot. I’ve tried to give you some space. . . .” She trailed off. “Maybe we’ll talk later?”

I looked down and muttered.

She bent forward but instead of kissing my forehead kissed the air. I heard the light smack of her lips against Tom’s cheek.

“See you both later,” she said, dashing out the front door. It slammed behind her. For a second I wished she
had
kissed me and instantly felt that I’d betrayed Sarafina. All because of some pretty-looking cakes.
Don’t let her charm you.

“Bye!” Tom called before turning to me. “Want to have the quiche now?”

I shook my head. “Not hungry. You still going to show me around? Not touching the ground once?”

“Sure,” Tom said. He grabbed a lemon tart and wolfed it down as we climbed out the window.

“So how do we get
across?” Reason asked.

It had taken them barely ten minutes to get here from Mere’s. Reason did
not
climb like a girl. Tom was dead impressed at how easily she kept up with him despite the wind as they climbed along tree, fence, wall, roof, ladder to this corner where they now perched on the low brick fence around the microscopic front yard of Elohtihs Ruo.

Every time Tom saw the plaque—all fancy cursive writing and a picture of a rose-covered cottage bearing no resemblance to this one—he cracked up. Elohtihs Ruo! He bet whoever’d first come up with Emoh Ruo was pretty cranky, ropeable even. Around here the other houses with plaques mostly had try-too-hard names like Bates Motel or Burning Palms Cottage with a picture of upturned hands burning. None came close to topping Elohtihs Ruo.

He and Reason looked at the park on the other side of the road; all the rain this summer had made it ridiculously green. A Newtown mums’ group (including some token dads) were packing away a picnic, which involved much running after hats and rubbish and even Tupperware picked up by the southerly, holding skirts down and hair out of eyes while trying to round up their children crazily running around fuelled on sugar and barometric pressure, committing mayhem and interfering with the uni students’ already crap cricket game (they were using a tennis ball, a plastic bat, and for the stumps an upended esky, which kept blowing away). Beyond them was the cemetery wall, the church spire, and a jungle of trees, riotous in the wind.

It all seemed impossibly far. Squat bottlebrush trees lined the footpath, none of them strong enough to support his or Reason’s weight. Not that any of the branches spread out far enough over the road. There was no way of getting across without touching the ground. Tom regretted his wild claim. He’d been half hoping for another opportunely placed ladder. Or a crane or
something.

“Well, okay, I admit it. I exaggerated a tad.”

Reason’s eyebrows went up. “A tad? No
way
can we get across.”

“We don’t
have
to go to the cemetery.” Tom had spent the whole windswept journey selling Reason on the glories of the cemetery, as well as hinting at the certain something he wanted to show her. He was pretty sure she didn’t know about it.

She and Mere didn’t exactly seem to know each other well. He wondered what that was about. Reason seemed great, and he knew that Mere was, so why weren’t they getting on like a house on fire? Reason had gotten quiet as soon as Mere showed up, had hardly looked her in the eye. She hadn’t touched any of her food either, though she must have been as hungry as he was.

And on top of that Mere had whispered to him not to mention things to Reason, giving “things” a slight emphasis so that he knew she was talking about magic. He’d raised his eyebrows, but Reason had been right there, so Mere couldn’t explain. Why would she tell him not to mention it? Reason was her granddaughter and seemed to be magic herself; surely she’d know all about
things?
Unless she wasn’t magic? Tom found that hard to believe; there was something about her, about the way she’d climbed that tree.

As it happened, he hadn’t said a word to Reason. That was just standard cautiousness. It wasn’t something he talked about with anyone but Mere. His dad knew, but he wasn’t magic, and the idea of it scared him. Especially the way it was with his mum. They almost never spoke of magic. Tom wasn’t even allowed to tell his sister. Mere had been very firm about that. As far as she was concerned, it was bad enough that his dad had to know.

But Tom’d planned on dropping Reason a few hints. Like taking her to the graveyard. He figured Mere wouldn’t mind as long as Reason brought the subject up.

“We
do
have to go, Tom. You made it sound amazing. I want to see.”

“I could carry you,” he offered. She couldn’t weigh that much. Not that she was likely to say yes.

Reason giggled. “Okay. That counts. You didn’t say we’d
both
be able to go blocks and blocks, you just said me.”

Tom liked her reinterpretation. He also liked the idea of getting to hold Reason.
Best day ever.
He grinned and slid off the fence. “Okay, my unworthy feet are on the ground. Shoulder carry or piggyback?”

“Which is easier for you?”

“Piggyback,” Tom said. The grin was not going to leave his face anytime soon.

“Ready?”

She sat down on the fence and put her arms around his neck. Their faces were very close. He slipped his hands under her thighs, filthy pleased with himself, and took an unsteady step forward. He let out a grunt.

“You right?”

“Yeah,” Tom said, talking almost normally.
Heaven,
he thought, stepping slowly to the curb.

He looked both ways to check for traffic. Australia Street could be busy. A truck drove by, then two sedans, lastly two erratically riding cyclists, tennis rackets slung over their backs, having a shouted conversation about someone with the unlikely name of Chip. Tom looked both ways again, pausing briefly at the feel of her cheek against his when he turned his head left. Warm, delicious.

“No cars, Tom. Let’s go.”

“Right.”

Think about the road, Tom.
He sprinted across, feeling Reason’s cheek still resting against his, her breath mixing with his. It would be dead easy for them to kiss. Her warmth and closeness outweighed the annoyance of her hair flicking into his eyes. Tom kept running across the park.

“Hey,” Reason said.

Tom decided that with the wind, he could pretend not to have heard her. He could feel the tension of her muscles shifting; she definitely wanted down.

“Hey!” she shouted, her mouth in his ear. “You can let me down now.”

“It’s okay,” Tom said, still running. “You’re not heavy.”

“Tom! Let me down. You’re too bony. My legs hurt.”

Reluctantly Tom dropped Reason to the path. They were both wobbly for a second. Reason rubbed her thighs, looking up at him with a grin. “Made it. Ta.”

“No worries.” Tom dodged a bit of newspaper flying past. He looked up. Clouds were hurtling by; the sun kept disappearing. He saw jagged lightning flash briefly in the south. “Come on. Storm’s not far off.”

The delight on Reason’s face pleased Tom so much that despite his resolve to kill his inner dag (
must not be too enthusiastic
), he clapped. Reason clapped too.

“Bloody hell,” she said. “You’d hardly know you were in the city. It looks like a country graveyard. Only, I don’t know, spookier.”

“Isn’t it great? You step from the street and the cars to this, and whoosh, everything’s changed. This place is so old they don’t even bury people here anymore.”

Most of the graves were more than a hundred years old. Wherever you stepped, there were gravestones and statues falling to pieces. Where there weren’t graves, there were trees, lots of overgrown trees, their roots pushing up, knocking over more tombstones.

“Used to be even bigger,” Tom said. “The whole park—you know, where they were playing cricket and everything? That used to be part of the cemetery too.”

“You’re kidding,” Reason said, eyes wide. “We were walking on top of lots and lots of dead people?”

“Yup. See all the gravestones along the cemetery wall?”

Reason turned to look at the orphaned gravestones, long separated from their plots, sides touching, backs to the wall, like they were facing a firing squad. There were hundreds of them along the entire length of the high cemetery wall, made, like most of the gravestones, of sandstone. Their inscriptions so worn you could hardly identify so much as a single letter, though Tom liked to peer at them and guess.

Sandstone wears fast. Tom had wondered why people used it all over Sydney since it practically crumbled in seconds, but then Mere had explained that sandstone was pretty much the only local stone. Granite and marble and other harder stones all had to be imported.

“It’s normally much quieter.” The wall kept out sound, as well as blocking any view of the surrounding houses and most of the tall buildings on King Street.

“What, when there’s not a gale blowing?”

Tom grinned. It was
way
more than a bit blowy now. The sound of the wind through the trees, their branches waving wildly, assaulting each other, was a steady roar, almost drowning out the sound of thunder in the distance. The intense heat of the day had all been blown away—it was almost comfortable now.

“You should see this place when the sun’s blazing through the trees.” He stretched his arms, taking in the dilapidated tombstones, the twisting trees, the church. “Everything glows. It’s like there’s a force field around it. The light’s brighter, no sounds from outside. You can’t even hear the cars passing by.”

Reason shivered. “Perfect for ghosts.”

Tom held out his hand, and she took it unselfconsciously. He led her along a well-trodden path. “Come on, I’ll show you the most famous resident. If there’s a ghost here, it’d be her. The story’s excellent. And then”—he paused dramatically—“the mysterious thing I have to show you. Watch out for the dog shit.” He stepped over it, pulling her after him.