Tides of magic, p.1
Tides of Magic, page 1
Tides of Magic
Andi R. Christopher
Sleepy Squid Press
Copyright © 2022 Andi R. Christopher
All rights reserved.
No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by law.
Cover design by Jacqueline Sweet.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the National Library of New Zealand.
ISBNs:
Paperback: 978-0-473-65762-8
Epub: 978-0-473-65763-5
Mobi: 978-0-473-65764-2
Contents
1. Chapter 1
2. Chapter 2
3. Chapter 3
4. Chapter 4
5. Chapter 5
6. Chapter 6
7. Chapter 7
8. Chapter 8
9. Chapter 9
10. Chapter 10
11. Chapter 11
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Chapter one
Charley pulled her car over as far left as she could manage, far enough that she was in the shadow of the pine trees that lined her route, and jabbed her GPS. She’d planned the journey beforehand, and it had seemed something even she could handle; follow the state highway south, turn off towards the sea, and then take the winding coast road north to her destination. She pulled out her phone, which very generously allowed two bars of reception – though still 3G reception – and worked out where she’d gone wrong. She was just at the edge of a headache, her mouth felt dry, and even though she’d showered just hours ago it felt like her skin was crawling with weeks of grime.
She’d meant to set off early, but of course it didn’t happen, between a missing shoe and everything else taking inexplicably twice as long as she’d meant it to. She’d always assumed that in an actual emergency she’d miraculously get her shit together, but she’d never really expected to have that put to the test. Now her sister, her sister who had always looked out for her, was missing and somehow Charley still couldn’t manage to leave the house before ten, even though Melissa’s safety may well depend on it. What a selfish little girl.
“Stop it,” Charley said aloud to her own self-talk, swinging the car round in the empty road to retrace her journey to the site of her last mistake. These mishaps were always shameful even when she was the only one to witness them. To snap herself out of the put-downs she found a playlist she and Melissa had created together in her sister’s last year at home – it was poppy and upbeat, the sort they could dance around Melissa’s bedroom singing to, the sort that forced a smile even in the worst times.
Half an hour lost, and Charley was finally heading towards the sea, a river on her right. This was forest and floodplain country, sandwiched between the university city and the rugged lands of the far south. One side of the road was lined with pine trees, while on the other the river caught the glint of the late morning sun. This far south, the air had a cold bite even in the late spring days of early November, but the skies were blue and Charley felt like there was hope.
If she made it to the tiny settlement of Inver Aora, there was someone there who could help her. According to the on-again-off-again girlfriend of one of her workmate Liam’s cousins, anyway. She was more than a little sceptical, but what else could she do? The police were dismissive and her parents more so. And the way her sister had disappeared was weird, verging on impossible, so maybe a weird solution from out here in the middle of nowhere would be the one that would actually work.
Charley could only hope so. It didn’t feel like she had anyone else on her side.
Their mother’s comment that “if one of our children was going to go missing, I’d have thought it would be Charlotte” was a low, spiteful blow, but she couldn’t deny there was truth in it. Melissa had her life together – and always had. Melissa was a fifth-year medical student and a pleasure to be around. Probably the oddest thing about Melissa was that she loved Charley as much as Charley loved her, had snuck into her room late at night to console her, had sent her goofy texts when she was at uni and Charley was in full-on war with their parents, had helped Charley move to Dunedin, move into her flat when a spare room came up, enrol in uni, enrol in uni again after she dropped out, find a polytech course that might be better suited to her. Melissa had faith in her – she always said things like less well suited rather than failure. Well, Charley had let her down once again. She was pretty sure she’d failed again this semester, and she doubted anywhere else would take her.
Truthfully, she wouldn’t have minded working late-night shifts in the convenience store for the rest of her life. She didn’t care about her parents’ expectations; she was an adult now, barely spoke to them, even if it sometimes felt like their voices were echoing through her skull. But she would have liked to make Melissa proud.
And now Melissa was gone. Vanished from her flat just before her fifth-year exams. The door to her bedroom led into the living room where Charley had been gaming into the early hours of the morning, and yet she hadn’t heard or seen her leave. Her passport and bank account untouched. Her car, tank half-full, still parked on the street outside. Her phone was by her bed and, unusually, completely out of battery. Charley had recharged it and tried every possible PIN she could think of with no success.
Stress the police had suggested, citing the case of a doctor who vanished from a specialised course decades ago and was never seen again. Rumour had it he’d become an artist in Australia. Art was one of the few things Melissa wasn’t good at. Maybe she needs a break and will be home soon. But neither the police nor anyone else could explain why there was sea water soaking her desk chair, dripping onto the carpet below.
Charley tensed up at the thought and kept her eyes on the road ahead. There wasn’t much traffic now she’d left the state highway, just occasional cars and utes headed west. The road curved and dipped with the shape of the land, the pine forests thinning out, and she caught her first glimpse of the sea. If she’d had her way, she’d have never gone to the coast in her life again. Charley had hated the sea from when she was small – just another way she was weird and difficult – and could never explain why, only that it made her nauseous, her head heavy, and her whole body ache. She didn’t have a choice now, though, and she tried to focus on other things, as the looming deep came ever closer.
Where the road reached the coast was beautiful, even for someone who hated the sea. The bay stretched out wide and even, the yellow sands a slice of lightness amid the dark blue sea and brown rocks. A few houses clustered, then thinned out, then clustered again, on the inland side of the road. The road was just wide enough for two cars to pass, and Charley slowed her speed, doing her best to focus even as the sea beside her made her feel nauseous. An older person with a wide-brimmed hat tended a little garden, while two figures constructed an elaborate sandcastle. Aside from that, the coastline seemed deserted. The sandy beach gave way to rugged rocks as she drove north, seals basking comfortably on the crags.
Twice she had to stop, shaking and nauseous. Twice she took a drink of water, counted to 20, and drove on. It was like the waves were crashing inside her head and salt was burning her eyes. She’d tried asking a doctor about it once, and he’d shrugged and said maybe she was allergic to a coastal plant, prescribed her antihistamines and eye drops. They didn’t help. She doubted it was about a plant anyway, but who on earth was allergic to the sea?
Her GPS alerted her that she was getting close to her destination. Her whole head was spinning, and she didn’t know how she was going to get through any kind of conversation without sounding like a crank. As she rounded a corner, a wide bay came into view; the far headland was dark with bush, and what seemed to be the remnants of a stone tower stood right at the top. She passed a couple of boatsheds on the right. To her left, a scattering of small houses – wood painted in whites and pale yellow-browns – were built into the hillside.
At the northern end of the bay, the road turned inland, just ahead of where a small river emptied into the sea. Charley had reached her destination. She found a space by a cluster of houses and what looked like a scarcely-used sports field and pulled her car over. She clambered out and dusted herself down. Something was stuck to her shoe, and she raised her foot and pulled what seemed to be an old receipt off the sole. She chucked it in her car, amongst the food wrappers and assortment of random items that had accumulated in there. It was a fucking mess, just like her life. She slammed the door and locked it, took a pen from her pocket and drew a small circle on her wrist as a reminder, another failing system to try to organise her life.
There wasn’t a person in sight. She followed the road back and was pleased to find the address easily, the number 3 in irregular mosaic pieces, like fragments of a smashed plate, inlaid into a wall, blue number on white. Looking up from it she saw a winding, twisting path, with occasional steps cut into it and retaining walls on the uphill sides. The walls were decorated with rocks, shells, and orb-like buoys. As she climbed they were joined by driftwood, nets and seagrass, even skeletons of impossible creatures to make up a vast three-dimensional collage. Charley would have appreciated a handrail as she walked up over the uneven path, but she figured touching the wall wouldn’t be a good idea.
As she followed the path up and round she saw the sea, and far out along the extent of the coastline, the occasional boat in the distance. At last, she reached the top – an old cottage with seaweed hanging above the doors, clustered with a couple of smaller buildi ngs to make a sort of semi-courtyard. There was a little flat paved area with a barrel about as high as Charley’s hip, and a rudimentary bench seat. She could see beehives set a little further back into the hill, along a narrow foot track, and behind them a small cluster of fruit trees, all with full crops; cherries and apples, and also… were those lemons, this far south? A sign read: If door is closed please wait here. Be patient. Charley looked in the barrel. It was full of water, and small creatures swam far below the surface. She couldn’t help but feel it ran far deeper than the ground. She took a seat and waited as directed, catching up on her messages with the one bar of reception.
An hour passed. Charley was starting to wish she’d found somewhere to use the bathroom, but in a place as small as this she doubted there were many options, and she’d have preferred her arrival not to be heralded by someone finding her squatted behind a bush. Still, things were getting uncomfortable. Charley paced the little yard and played flash games on her phone. She wondered if patience was not, in fact, a virtue.
About 40 minutes later, she heard noises down the hill, car doors opening and closing, and then slow footsteps. Charley looked but couldn’t see anything. A few minutes later though, a child of about ten appeared, pale skin and dark hair with stripes shaved into the sides, his arms loaded with supermarket bags, puffing as he reached the top.
“Thalassa’s right behind me,” he said. “I’m just the pack horse.”
“None of that cheek,” said a voice from further back. “A little more respect for your elders would do you a world of good.”
Charley stood and dusted herself down, swallowing. This wasn’t going to be an easy encounter. Behind the child came the person she assumed was Thalassa – a woman whose long white hair flowed behind her, her face wrinkled and sea-hardened, dressed in a long dress with a knitted shawl buttoned across it. Despite her apparent age, she stood straight, one hand on what appeared to be a driftwood staff that stood taller than she did. The child left the bags and ducked past, running down to the street.
Thalassa looked Charley up and down, appearing not to blink. Charley felt small and scruffy, as if she was still a school kid about to be in trouble for not tucking in her shirt. She felt vulnerable, as if Thalassa were seeing more than just her appearance.
Charley took off her sunglasses and coughed, desperate to break the silence. “Your grandson?” she asked nervously.
“Ha, no! Just one of the locals. You can get them to do all sorts for you. I assume you’ve come to engage my services?”
“Yes, please. My name’s Charley Deacon, and I...”
“Take a seat at the dining table while I get the cold stuff away.”
“Thank you. Do you need a hand with anything?”
“Ah no. No. The hill’s a little difficult but other than that I’m fully capable.”
“Um, is there a toilet I can use please?”
“Of course there’s a toilet, I’m old but I don’t live in the middle ages. Down the corridor, last door on the right.”
At this point, Charley would have been thankful for a long drop, but there was a modern toilet behind the door, and sitting down with the door closed she felt more like she could do this, that the worst was behind her, that she could find Melissa and all would be well again. She emerged through a hallway decorated with seascapes, photos of jellyfish, and a framed copy of that one New Zealand Seafood poster that is in every single chip shop.
Thalassa pointed a bony finger at a wooden chair and set a mug down in front of it. “Drink this. It will help your headache.”
The tea Thalassa had strained for Charley smelled disgusting; it was thick and grey with hints of green. She sipped at it anyway, trying not to think about the fact she’d never mentioned she had a headache. Surprisingly she did soon feel better; the nausea lifted after only a few sips, and halfway through the contents of the delicate china cup she was feeling almost normal. She supposed she’d have to ask what was in it – it was the only thing that had ever really helped her reactions – but she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Thalassa took the chair opposite her, with a folder of papers in front of her. “Missing person?” she asked.
“Yes, my sister. Melissa.”
Thalassa pulled out some papers from the folder. “Here’s my standard contract. You can get a lawyer to look it over if you like, but I doubt you have time to waste on that. So the main points are that you will tell me the truth, and you won’t hold me liable for anything. If I don’t find your sister you don’t pay, if I find her you do, and terrible things will happen to you if you don’t give me what I’m owed. Finding her doesn’t mean you have to like the circumstances. If I find your sister dead, you still pay. If you find she’s been on the meth, or with the wrong crowd, or sleeping with your man, you still pay. If she’s about to be caught sneaking pain pills like most doctors seem to be these days, you still pay. Got it?”
Charley nodded. “I don’t have a lot of money, but our parents will be able to come up with it...”
“Ah no. No. If you don’t have the money, I’m not faffing around going after parents and sugar daddies and fairy godmothers. I’m too old for that. If you don’t have the money you pay with time. Seven years of your life.”
Charley blinked, trying to process what she’d just heard. “Seven years... you mean I have to work for you?”
“No no no. Indentured servitude is illegal these days. Along with recreational opiates and everything else fun. I mean, what’s your life expectancy, maybe 85? 90 if you’ve got this far? So if I take seven years you still live to say 83, which is a very respectable age, and I live an extra seven. How’s that for an arrangement?”
Charley suppressed a giggle. She didn’t know if the instinct came from nerves or disbelief. She’d never been asked to agree to the impossible before – the unreasonable, yes, she’d worked in retail for long enough, but not the literally physically impossible. And yet… she was here for the impossible. Nothing about Melissa’s disappearance had been normal. She was here for the weird, the impossible… maybe even the magical.
Charley looked into Thalassa’s eyes, deep blue like a baby’s, and realised she was far older than she looked. It felt like there were whole worlds hidden in those...
Charley forcibly cut off her gaze, drinking the dregs of the suspicious tea. “You’ll kill me?”
“It’s nothing personal. I don’t control the means – heart attack or stroke, most commonly, but it depends. You probably won’t see it coming.”
Charley felt like her head was spinning. Sacrificing years of her life seemed ridiculous, but the thought of never finding Melissa, never knowing what had happened to her, seemed far more agonising. And as Thalassa had said, she probably would be old by then anyway. And chances are this was a load of nonsense... either it wasn’t true, in which case she didn’t have anything to worry about – or if magic was real, this could be her only hope of finding Melissa.
Thalassa opened a drawer and pulled out a vial half-full of what looked like water. She wrote Charley’s name and the date on a label, affixed it to the glass vial, and removed the lid. It smelled of the sea, more strongly than such a small amount of sea water should.
She held out a needle to Charley. “Prick your fingertip, and then seven drops of blood in there.”
Everything in Charley’s head was telling her this was ridiculous, that she should run from here, get in her car, and never return to this weird and unsettling place. But she had a sister missing in mysterious circumstances, and someone who knew how to treat the bizarre ailment no doctor had been able to diagnose. She was on the verge of finding out so much that she couldn’t just go back now.
She winced as she pricked her finger, but the blood flowed easily. She could have sworn the liquid glowed for a moment after the seventh drop reached it, but then it was nothing more than vaguely murky water.
Charley leaned over to see Thalassa put the vial back in the drawer. Along with what looked like several others.
The second cup of tea was more normal. Still herbal – Charley doubted there was decent coffee or anything round here – but less suspicious in appearance and consistency. Her hand trembled as she raised her cup. She told herself this was just woo anyway, like psychics who can’t really speak to spirits but are sometimes helpful because they pick up on clues others miss. It didn’t feel like that though. She’d basically just sold her soul.
