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chances with the nurse’s office.”
    “Geez!” she hisses between clenched teeth. “I’ve frightened you.”
    I keep moving and hear her mutter something under her breath. I can’t be sure but I think she says, “Not that it would take much.”
    She runs over, takes my elbow, crooning softly and patting my arm. I suddenly feel like an abandoned puppy she’s found on the side of the road. “It’s okay. Don’t worry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that. Jillian is always better with words than me. C’mon, Jarrod, come back with me. It’s not far now.”
    Eventually I let her lead me. It’s easier to give in. My policy is to avoid scenes wherever possible. And I guess my curiosity has kicked in. Surely she can’t be too sick, at least not dangerously. She has to be about sixteen, like me. She’s in my class. And I imagine they don’t let delusional teenagers into schools nowadays. They have special homes for that sort of thing.
    Don’t they?
    Kate
    I found out heaps about Jarrod Thornton really quickly. The scariest part is the fact that he has absolutely no idea of his talents. His gift, I mean. And he lacks confidence in himself, badly. I wonder why? What sort of life could have reduced his self-confidence to zilch? Especially in the face of all that power he’s sheltering. I wonder what Jillian will think.
    There’s only ever been Jillian and me. We keep mostly to ourselves, except for Hannah. And even though Hannah has no natural talent, it doesn’t make any difference to her enjoyment of the magical arts. I’ve only heard from my mother once, a brief note explaining she’s found happiness at last, living in Brisbane with a man with three grown up children. That was a few years ago and the note was addressed to Jillian, as if she can’t acknowledge that I was actually born. I reckon the man she’s with has no idea I even exist. I should feel relief at this really ’cause I don’t ever want to leave Jillian, or Ashpeak, but sometimes I can’t stop thinking: What on earth is wrong with me that my own mother doesn’t want to know me?
    Jillian too was a single mom, but she rarely talks about it. All I know is that her old folks turfed her out as soon as they found out about the pregnancy. She hooked up with an artist for a while, but he was so moody she had to move out. She moved in with a couple of witch wannabees, both into fortune-telling, seances, materialistic spells for cash, and other stuff like that. They weren’t very good either, made their money from ripping off gullible members of the public. Once they distressed an elderly widow trying to contact her deceased husband, telling her his spirit was lost, that he was miserable without her and couldn’t settle. A couple of days later Jillian found out the woman had swallowed a whole packet of sleeping pills, putting herself into a coma from which the doctors couldn’t revive her. This tragedy pushed Jillian to move out on her own. It ended up the best thing she ever did. She started her own business, selling her craft, herbs, incense, crystals, and stuff like that, at a local market. She worked hard, saved her money, and now she has her shop—the Crystal Forest.
    I never ask Jillian to tell me more than she wants to. Privacy I respect. It works both ways.
    I lead Jarrod through the last of the three hairpin bends, the road ending in a private cul-de-sac. My house is now the only building in sight. There are other properties lower down the mountain, but mostly Jillian and I live by ourselves. Jillian likes it this way, and well, it suits me too.
    The cottage is small, A-frame, mostly timber and a little brick around the foundations with an old detached garage on the side. The lower front half forms the shop. Standing here you can see straight through the full front glass windows where Jillian’s trinkets blink back the mid-morning sunlight. At the rear are Jillian’s rooms, and a kitchen–living room and bathroom. My