The Fairytale Curse (Magic's Return Book 1) (31 page)

“Just as well it’s not our problem. All we have to deal with today is going back to school.”

She sighed. “I wish we didn’t have to go back.”

I tried to think of something to cheer her up. “At least Josh won’t be there.”

He’d be starting his HSC exams soon. I hope he failed miserably, like the loser he was.

“Yeah. At least Josh won’t be there.” She didn’t sound any happier. “I really thought he liked me. I feel like such an idiot, as if everyone will be laughing at me. And now you’re going to say
I told you so
, aren’t you? That it was the diamonds he was after all along.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

“Was it so stupid to think he might like me for myself? I’m a nice person, aren’t I?”

“My favourite sister. You’re pretty hot, too. Not my type, but pretty hot all the same.”

“Thanks, Vile.”

“Welcome.”

And then she caught me looking at the flowers again. She sat bolt upright.

“You
are
up to something. What are you doing? It’s something magic, isn’t it?” The accusing tone was back in her voice.

“Don’t be stupid,” I said.

“You’re such a bad liar. Fine. Be like that. I don’t suppose Miss All-Powerful Latency would want to share anything with her useless sister. Go and tell your new best friend Simon. He thinks you’re so amazing.”

She flounced back to our room and slammed the door.

Ouch. I wished Simon hadn’t been quite so awestruck when I’d smelled the aether at Observatory Hill. CJ hadn’t said anything at the time, but she’d obviously been stewing on it ever since. I knew, the minute I laid eyes on that file, that this would be a problem. CJ
never
settled for second-best.

And if she knew I could actually do magic …

I peered at the white rose. There was the faintest blush of pink at the very edge of the petals—so faint that I couldn’t be sure it hadn’t been there all along. So much for my supposed powers. Maybe CJ had nothing to be jealous of after all.

Simon actually sang along to the radio as he drove us to school. The difference was astonishing, like aliens had kidnapped Mr Grumpy and left this smiling stranger in his place. But maybe this was the real Simon. We’d only known him since Kerrie was cursed, after all.

I wanted to ask if he’d spoken to Kerrie since he kissed her awake, but I knew that would go down like a lead balloon, so I kept my mouth shut and only winced occasionally as he hit a particularly bad note. He got full marks for enthusiasm, but holding a tune was not his forte.

At least someone in the car was happy. Kyle was his usual quiet self, but CJ stared stonily out the window, still mad with me. I was glad now I hadn’t told her that Simon was the one who woke Kerrie. She would have dropped a hint that she knew by now, and there’d be two people here who hated me.

Or maybe three. I wasn’t very happy with me either. Puck’s escape still weighed heavily on my mind. The only bright spot on the horizon was the prospect of seeing Zac today.

And Sona, of course. Mustn’t be one of those girls who forgot all about their friends the minute they hooked up with some guy. Although I’d hardly thought of Sona all holiday—just another thing to feel guilty about.

She didn’t leave me in doubt long as to her feelings on our separation. I was barely through the door of the senior study before she pounced.

“Where have you
been
? I’ve been so worried!”

“Mum and Dad went away, so we had to go stay with someone else.”

“I sent you a million texts, and you never answered one of them. I thought you were dead for sure—or turned into a toad or something equally horrific.”

“Sorry. I didn’t have my phone.” Still didn’t, in fact. Hopefully when Mum got home tomorrow Dorian would finally hand it back.

She blinked. “You didn’t have your
phone
? How did you live?”

“Shut up. It wasn’t that bad.”

“But you’ve got it now, right?” She seemed fixated on the phone thing. As if being phoneless was the worst thing that could happen to anyone. She should try being in my shoes for a while.

“No, actually. It was kind of confiscated.”

“Really? What did you do?”

Only then did it occur to me that this might not be the real Sona. Sure, she acted like it, but how could I tell? The senior study was packed—and any of these people could be a Sidhe wearing a false face. Could even be Puck. We’d never found out what happened to him.

I could hardly tell her my phone had been taken to protect me from magical doppelgangers when for all I knew she was one. I sighed. Damn, life got complicated.

“It’s a long story. How was your holiday?”

Sona’s grandparents were visiting from India, so there were many funny stories to tell. At least, the real Sona’s grandparents were visiting. Was the real Sona standing here laughing about her grandfather’s dreadful English or was this a Sidhe pretender?

God, I could go crazy thinking like this. I couldn’t go on suspecting everyone.

Zac walked in, Ashleigh trailing behind him. Out of the corner of my eye I saw CJ tense, but I had no emotion to waste on her problems with Zac here. My heart leapt at the sight of him. He nodded to me and put his bag down on the other side of the room.

I swallowed. A feeling of dread squeezed my throat. He stayed chatting to Ashleigh. A nod? That was all the acknowledgement I got?

Oh, hell. He was mad that I hadn’t contacted him all holidays. I knew it. I marched over to him, though my heart was stuttering with nerves, determined to put this straight right away.

“Hi, Zac.”

“Hi.” No dimple. Not even the hint of a smile.

“Did you—” I cleared my throat. Ashleigh stared at me as if I was some bug she’d like to squash. “Did you have a good holiday?”

No. This was all wrong. I didn’t want to make meaningless small talk about the holidays.
Why are you being so cold?

“It was okay.” He shrugged. “I tried calling you, but …”

“I was tied up. With … the frog thing. You know.”

How could I explain anything without explaining it all? I glared at Ashleigh. Why wouldn’t she just get lost? This was hard enough without her standing there smirking and listening to every word.

“Right. Yeah.”

He was really pissed. I’d never seen him like this, as if he just didn’t care.

Or maybe this wasn’t really him. Tears pricked my eyes as I heard Dorian’s warning again in my head:
Everyone you saw—virtually anyone you know—could potentially be a Sidhe
. Why did everything have to be so bloody
complicated
?

“I just … my phone wasn’t working.”

Ashleigh folded her arms, as if she was just waiting for me to take myself off so she could resume her much more interesting conversation with Zac without interruption.

“Uh-huh.”

He turned as if to go.

“I really wanted to call you!” I said desperately.

Ashleigh snorted. I could feel myself blushing furiously. Right now I was convinced Ashleigh was the damn Sidhe, and if I’d had a piece of iron handy I would have decked her with it.

He looked away, as if the conversation bored him. “Look, Violet, it’s no big deal. You don’t have to make excuses.”

He’d called me Violet. He never called me Violet. And then he really did walk away, leaving me standing there with every eye in the room on me. I’d never felt so exposed, not even with my face all over the internet. I was hurting for him, and hurting for me. Not being able to explain, to make it right, was breaking my heart.

The bell rang for the first class. I got my bag and trudged out of the room with everyone else, unshed tears burning in my eyes.

Simon took one look at my face and lost his new smile. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”
Everything
. My turn to be the grumpy one now.

CJ came up behind me and grabbed my arm. “Someone needs to hit that boy with the clue stick,” she said tartly. “It’s not as if there’s nothing weird going on in your life right now. You’d think he might realise it’s not all about him.”

Coming from CJ, that was pretty funny. But it was nice to have her standing up for me. When it really mattered, no one cared for you as much as family. Twins first.

I gave her a wobbly smile. “Boys suck.”

“Amen, sister.”

I was glad, the next day, that CJ’s Visual Arts class was coming with us on the excursion to the Art Gallery. She got on the bus and gave Zac a glare that would have stripped the skin off him if he’d been looking. Even though I was sitting next to Sona and she sat with a girl from her class, it was good to know she had my back. And tonight Mum and Dad would be home. I’d decided to tell Mum everything. Maybe she’d be able to help me bring my magic out again—she was a warder, after all. And she’d want to help Dad as much as I did.

Miss Moore and CJ’s teacher, Miss Tan, got on the bus and did a headcount.

“Everyone got a clipboard and pen?” Miss Tan asked.

There were groans along the bus. “Can’t we just go on an excursion without taking notes for once, miss?”

“And where would be the educational value in that?” she asked, passing worksheets to all her art students.

Miss Moore had a different set for the Ancient History class, of course. She strode down the aisle of the bus like a glamazon on the catwalk, handing them out. She was in a black pants suit today, her bright red stilettos the only pop of colour. I don’t think I’d ever seen her in any colour other than red or black. I guess it made getting dressed for work easier.

Sona chattered all the way into town, only requiring the occasional contribution from me. Zac wasn’t sitting anywhere near us, so she didn’t realise there was anything wrong. I stared miserably at the back of his dark head. He hadn’t caught the usual bus to school this morning either, as if he was trying to avoid me.

The bus dropped us at the base of the Gallery’s wide steps. With those steps and the outsized Corinthian columns, the Gallery looked rather Hellenic itself, like an ancient Greek temple, although with massive sculptures of eighteenth century horsemen out the front rather spoiling the effect.

We trudged up the steps behind a crowd of excited primary schoolers squawking like a flock of parrots. They looked like Year 6; some of the boys had already started their growth spurts. Inside, a massive banner welcomed us to the Treasures of the Hellenic World exhibition, “direct from the Louvre”, and Miss Moore led us down the stairs to the basement level where special exhibits were housed.

It was much darker down there than in the high-ceilinged open spaces of the entry level. My eyes took a moment to adjust to the dimness after the sunshine outside.

“Why’s it so dark?” one of the primary kids complained as we entered the first room. “I can’t even read the signs.”

“These treasures are very old,” his teacher replied. “Some of them were created seven centuries before Christ. They need to be protected, and bright light is bad for them.”

“My mum says sunshine fades the curtains in my bedroom,” one little girl piped up.

“That’s right,” the teacher said. “Too much light can damage things.”

The exhibition space was divided into several smaller rooms, with each room featuring a particular ancient Greek culture. This first room was Mycenaean, and three beautiful bronze horses about thirty centimetres high had pride of place in a glass case in the centre of the room. The little kids milled around it for a moment before their teacher split them into smaller groups, each accompanied by a mum. Two little Asian boys got into a shoving contest with a kid whose hair was nearly the same colour as mine. The teacher made sure they were in different groups, then sent everyone off to separate rooms. The noise level dropped abruptly as they departed.

“All right, VA students,” Miss Tan said, “I want you to move around the exhibit and find at least five pieces that speak to you, preferably not all from the same culture. Think about how form and function are combined in your chosen pieces, and what kind of decoration the artist uses. I believe there are some fine examples of Attic blackwork here. I want at least five sketches—” A few students groaned. “You don’t have to sketch the whole thing. I would rather you capture ten artistic details—the curve of a handle, the scrollwork on a pot—than spend all your time rendering the picture on one vase. Got that?”

They agreed they had, with more or less enthusiasm, and headed off. I don’t know what they were complaining about. I’d rather be drawing pots than filling in endless dates and details on worksheets, and I wasn’t even an artist.

Miss Moore was much briefer. “You have two hours, people. Get cracking.”

Sona and I headed straight for the Athenian room, which proved to be the biggest, and got to work. It turned out we did have some drawing to do, but only small things that related to our topic of everyday life in the ancient world. I managed a few lopsided amphorae that showed hoplites marching in a phalanx as I answered the questions about the duties of citizenship.

“Are they meant to be pregnant?” Sona asked doubtfully, peering at my work in the dimness of the room.

“They’re soldiers, idiot.”

“Then why do they have such big bellies?”

“That’s their shields!”

She was working on the page about the Greek gods, and had drawn a stick figure with a bird, which I assumed was meant to be the bowl in the case in front of her that featured the god Apollo with a raven. More damn ravens.

“You’re no Michelangelo yourself, you know,” I pointed out.

“Yeah, well, there’s a reason I didn’t take Visual Arts as an elective.”

Apart from the chatter of the primary school kids, the exhibition was pretty quiet, and even they were trying hard to keep their voices down, encouraged by constant shushing from their supervisors. The dim lighting fostered a quiet, contemplative mood in the rooms. It was hard to believe the great age of these things, that they represented the lives and works of people who’d lived so many centuries ago.

There were a few other adult visitors, but at this time of the morning on a Tuesday, the two school groups had the place pretty much to themselves. We spent half an hour in the Athens room then moved on to Sparta, which was a little smaller. Not surprisingly, there was a far greater emphasis on warfare in this room.