Authors: Nerine Dorman
“Mom, what’s going on? We’re worried, and Dad, he’s away and–”
“I’m in hospital, I-I–”
Helen’s chest tightened. “Did you have an accident?”
“No, nothing like that. I-I’m not well. Your aunt came to fetch me this morning. I asked her to call you. Didn’t she? Never mind. She’s sending someone ’round to spend the night with you.”
“What happened?” Helen hated the way her words came out like a childish whine.
“It’s my– Don’t worry, I just have to spend one night here. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll explain everything then. I love you. Tell that to Damon, too. Everything will be all right.”
“Love you too, Mom.”
Her mother killed the call. Helen put down the phone and she and her brother stared at each other without speaking, their breathing and the ticking of the wall clock filling the silence.
Damon ran a hand through his copper-colored hair. “What’s up with Mom? It’s bad, isn’t it?”
“I-I don’t know.” Helen was unable to keep the tremor from her voice. “She’s in hospital. That’s all she’s saying. I’m calling Dad.”
With shaking fingers, she dialed her father’s cell phone number. The call went straight through to voicemail and anger stirred in her.
“Hi, this is Brent Ashfield. I’m sorry I can’t come to the phone right now. If you leave your name, number and the time of your call, I’ll try to get back to you as soon as possible.” Typical. So fucking typical.
“Aaargh!” Helen slammed the phone down without waiting to leave a message. The urge to break any nearby fragile objects almost overwhelmed her.
Don’t panic, Helen. Everything is under control, right?
Damon said, “He’s not available again, is he?”
She shook her head. She was damned if she was going to let Damon know how much her father’s too-convenient absence pissed her off. “Guess I’ll have to call Aunt Tanja then. At least it’s not like Mom was in an accident or something.”
Damon sighed, his voice quiet when he spoke. “She was crying again this morning, sis. You’d already left. I didn’t want to tell you, but...”
“Fuck it!” was all Helen could say, her hands clenched tightly so that her nails bit into her palms.
Chapter 3
What the Cards Say
Etienne found Arwen in their new meeting place, tucked away in the nook between the music department and the school hall. His friend was bent over her tarot cards, her black-dyed fringe obscuring her face. She looked up when he flopped to the ground before her.
“Good, you made it.” Arwen gathered the cards spread before her, as if she didn’t want him to see the layout.
“I think Odette suspects we’re reading cards again. Johan and Jean-Pierre were following me.”
“They weren’t trying to make good on the bog-washing threat again, were they?”
“No. I think they mentioned a spot of ‘toss the dwarf’, this time.” Etienne tried to sound nonchalant, but Arwen mostly likely saw past his attempt at a calm facade.
“Fuckers,” Arwen muttered.
“Well, you gonna read the cards for me today?” Etienne gazed at the deck his friend still shuffled.
“I’m not really in the mood now. I don’t think they’re going to talk to me today.”
“You promised. This is the only chance we’ll get for a while.”
“It’s not something I can just do, Etti. I have to tune into their essence and after what happened in mathematics today, I’m not sure I can get back into it.”
“What were you doing when I arrived then? Just do a three-card reading for me, please?”
Arwen pushed a tendril of hair behind her ear, where numerous indentations in her lobe and cartilage betrayed she could wear almost a dozen items of jewelry. She sighed and smoothed down the ragged black velvet cloth in which she kept her tarot cards wrapped.
“Okay, just a three-card reading then, but don’t blame me if it’s not satisfactory.”
Etienne loved the way the big cards slipped through Arwen’s fingers when she shuffled them. In his small hands the stack was too unwieldy, and the cards never made much sense no matter how he squinted at them. Yet, still, Arwen flipped the cards over to reveal their illustrations and corresponding message.
“Okay, Etti, you know the drill. Shift the deck in your hands and think of your question.”
This was an old ritual between them, the words comforting. The cards he took from Arwen held the warmth from her hands. He had no question, though. In class or in the dormitories, he could always think of a dozen to ask but here, now, he drew a blank. He’d asked about love, exam results and now his mind refused to give him any clues.
What about asking how to get Odette Pienaar off his case?
Arwen smiled back at him and he was fairly certain she knew exactly what was on his mind. She accepted the cards from him and cut the deck. He pointed out an order for her to place three piles back into one. Three cards were laid face down on the cloth.
“Ready?” Arwen asked.
“Always.”
Arwen laughed–something she rarely did when other people were around. She looked much younger then.
The middle card was the first to be flipped over, and she said, “Oh, dear, the Nine of Swords. Cruelty. A malicious person, perhaps?”
Etienne nodded, the small hairs on his arms prickling. They did not have to speak the name out loud. Sometimes the cards proved eerily accurate.
The card to the left of the central card displayed the Two of Wands. “Dominion. We’re looking at force here, poorly dignified by the swords, perhaps interfering.”
“That’s stuff we both know,” he said. “This isn’t giving the solutions.”
“You’re too impatient. Wait to see what the last card says before you carry on bitching.”
Etienne frowned and shut his mouth. Patience was not one of his virtues. He didn’t need the cards to tell him that. The air was still and even here in the shade in the niche, it was hot–that typical dry, semi-desert heat that sapped strength and made breathing difficult.
Arwen took her time on purpose, first stretching and looking about before she turned over the last card. “Ah, well, this one’s not too bad, Etti.”
“The Wheel of Fortune, but which being will be in ascendance when it turns, the Sphinx, the Monkey King or Typhon himself?”
“Does it matter? The point is that it turns. Justice will be served.”
“Can we nudge it along, eh?” Predictable. What goes around, comes around. Waiting sucked.
“Perhaps,” Arwen said. “But I’m too boiling right now to think.”
A babble of Afrikaans voices intruded on what he’d wanted to say, echoing off the walls. Both friends froze. Their nook had been a great place for them to meet but the only drawback in their plan was if their refuge was discovered. They were hopelessly trapped.
“Crap one,” Arwen muttered while she quickly gathered her cards.
He’d try to create a distraction. Etienne leapt to his feet in time to look up into Odette’s sneering face as well as those belonging to a gaggle of her cronies.
“Oh, look, it’s the Poison Dwarf and the Wicked Witch of the West.” An ugly smile smeared across Odette’s features.
Her companions filled the space in the narrow passage, effectively hemming them in. Etienne considered pushing past them in the vain hope of drawing them off but that ploy had worked once before and he doubted Odette or the others would fall for it again.
“I do believe that the correct terms would be ‘little person’ and ‘goth.’ The words you have chosen betray your sore lack of interpersonal skills, Odette. How terribly non-PC.”
“Oh, what mighty big words for such a little rat.”
“Leave him be!” Arwen rose to her feet, her bundle clutched to her chest.
Odette’s lazy grin spread even further–a face Etienne had always felt was only a handful of genes away from being considered bovine. She shifted her attention to Arwen. “Have you been playing with those devil cards again, little witchy-poos?”
Arwen’s anger was tangible, her breathing ragged.
Please don’t do anything stupid, Arwen
.
“Give those here.” Jean-Pierre held out a meaty hand.
“You heard him.” Odette’s laugh was as cold as her steel-gray eyes.
No one moved and Etienne tensed, unsure. If he slapped Jean-Pierre’s hand away, he would most likely receive more than his fair share of swift kicks. If he managed to spit on Odette’s foot the action would elicit the same response and he wasn’t so stupid as to try to kick her knee the wrong way, like the occasion when they’d eventually pushed him down a flight of stairs. Afterward he’d had to make up some pretty wild stories about where he’d gained the livid bruises.
Arwen spoke in a quiet voice. “No.”
Red in the face, Odette barreled past Etienne to snatch the bundle from Arwen.
Etienne leapt and fell hard against the bitch’s thighs, unbalancing the big girl so that she knocked back into her friends. She certainly had not been expecting this.
“
Fokken dwerg
!” Jean-Pierre grabbed Etienne behind his arms, and threw him against the wall. Bright sparks impacted in his vision, the blow against the side of his head interrupting all rational thought until the pain cleared.
“I thought the headmistress put a ban on dwarf-tossing,” Etienne said as he tried to get to his feet. He swayed, unable to regain his balance, and the world lurched to one side.
Odette and Arwen wrestled for ownership of the bundle of cards.
“Let go, you stupid witch! We should have burned these when we had the chance!”
Arwen’s face had gone very white. Her eyes glistened. “They’re mine! My aunt gave them to me!”
The flat of Odette’s hand cracked against Arwen’s cheek and the smaller girl fell back. The velvet tore, and the cards spiraled to the ground like autumn leaves.
An animal-like whine escaped Etienne’s lips as he sprang forward, trying to save the cards from being damaged. There were too many to catch and someone kicked him hard in the ribs so that he fell, unable to breathe. His palms stung, grazed on the paving.
Through the haze of pain, Arwen’s cries and more cruel laughter reached him. Every time he tried to get up, he received another kick, either to his ribs or belly. These blows were never hard enough to break bone, but they’d certainly bruise, and they were never aimed at his face.
“Oh, look,” someone jeered. “Our mini Prince Charming still wants to come to the rescue.”
Etienne allowed his limbs to slacken. Playing dead was a better option.
The flick of a cigarette lighter was accompanied by Odette’s nasty giggle, which reminded him more of a donkey braying. Arwen wailed.
They were burning her cards–the ones her late aunt had given her. Sick to his stomach, Etienne could do nothing. He was too small, too weak.
“I curse you, Odette! I curse you three times over for what you’ve done!” Arwen yelled.
Odette laughed again but her friends muttered among themselves, disquieted.
Superstitious bunch of fools.
“Leave the witch alone,” someone said. “Jesus will deal with her on her day of reckoning.”
“Oh, please, who’s afraid of Arwen Wareing and her pet dwarf?”
Chapter 4
A Land of Desolation
The big truck had already left with the bulk of their things when Uncle Reinhardt–Aunt Tanja’s husband–arrived to collect them. The man pulled up outside the house in his big gunmetal gray BMW and did not come inside to help them bring their suitcases and the last few boxes to the trailer. Uncle Reinhardt sat with his window rolled down, a pink elbow poking out while he puffed on a cigarette. Apart from a slight nod and a half-mumbled greeting, their uncle had very little to say to them.
Helen and Damon handled most of the packing. Their mother would first pick up a box before putting it down then scratch through her suitcase to check if she’d packed something else.
Damon said, “It’s the medication, isn’t it, sis? It’s making her all scatty.”