Olivia pulled out her phone. “Selfie time!” We stood on London Bridge. Menacing black clouds closed in around the Thames, but it wasn’t raining. Yet. Red double-decker buses and black London cabs zoomed past. We were looking across the brownish-grey river at Tower Bridge. As pretty as the scene was, the river looked kind of dirty. Swimming was definitely out of the question, not to mention it was cold. Olivia turned around, putting her back to Tower Bridge. “Come on, Lily.”
I turned around, and we leaned our heads together, smiling. She used her phone to take the shot, then checked it. “What do you think?” She showed it to me.
“Looks fine. No double chins. We’re good. Can you message it to me?” There was no way I was getting my phone out and taking photos of us. It wasn’t just the fear of taking a photo I didn’t want to see, but what if something weird showed up, and Olivia saw the picture. How would I explain that extra person behind us that wasn’t actually there, or the fact that someone was faint enough to see through?
I did have my Nikon with me—let’s not get crazy; it came with me almost everywhere—and I snapped a few shots, because no one ever asked to see those. Nothing weird showed up. My shoulders relaxed, releasing the tension I didn’t realise I harboured. The quicker I figured out how to turn my talent off, the better. I’d managed to learn another two spells on Sunday, as per Angelica’s challenge. I could now magic an item to me or away from me, but I had to know what the item looked like, where it was, and I had to be able to imagine the place I was moving it to. The other super exciting thing I could do was dewrinkle my clothes without ironing. You’d be right if you thought that was beyond boring. There were even more mundane spells than that—I’d picked the more exciting ones from the beginner’s book.
“What’s that building over there? It looks like one of those old mobile phones, the really big ones.”
“That’s the Walkie Talkie.”
“Ha! Cool name.”
“It’s not the official name, but that’s what everyone calls it.”
We walked to the other side and along the northern side of the Thames, towards Tower Bridge. There was a bit of a line to get tickets, but that was to be expected. Beyond the gatehouse, the bridge towers rose five stories and had character galore, having been built in the late eighteen-hundreds. Four turrets surrounded a main one on each of the two towers. I’d taken a handful of shots when the lighting changed. It switched to sunny, and walking towards me across the bridge was a procession of horses and carts, all driven by men with some kind of hat on—some wore berets, and some wore traditional wide-brimmed hats. Oh my God! This was amazing. There were no cars, just people dressed in olden-day clothes, and my picture was in colour. I swallowed. This was a big deal. Imagine the history I could uncover with my abilities. But no one would believe it wasn’t Photoshopped. Bummer.
“Getting some good shots?”
I flicked the Off switch and let my camera dangle from the neck strap. “Ah, yeah. Great. Thanks for bringing me here. I imagine you’ve been here heaps of times.”
She laughed. “I’ve had two school excursions and shown about four other people around, so you could say that. But I don’t mind. I love history. I have a bachelor of arts in social anthropology and history.”
“Can I be rude and ask why you’re working at Costa?” Too bad if she didn’t like the question; it was out there now. I wasn’t exactly known for my tact. I hoped she wasn’t offended.
She smiled. “It’s not a rude question.” Phew. “I can’t decide where I want to take it next. I’m deciding between teaching and working at a museum. I’ll be going back to study again next year, depending on what I decide, although I think it’s easier to get a teaching job rather than a museum one. Plus, now that I’m marrying Ernie, I don’t want to commit to too much. I really want to have kids soon, and his job’s going really well, so we’ll have that option.”
Yeah, his theft was going great guns. Gah. I plastered the smile on my face. If we outed Ernest, all her dreams were going to go down the toilet. How could I do that to her? She was so nice. I guess I shouldn’t get too close to her, because she was going to hate me when this was all over. She was so much better off without that jerk, but you couldn’t tell someone that, especially someone you hardly knew. She had to find out for herself. My heart hurt for her. Stupid magic. Stupid Ernest, and stupid bloody Camilla.
We got our tickets and went to the upper level of the bridge that sat above where the road underneath opened. There were even glass panels in the floor. Wow. Looking down on the people and cars was cool, if a bit off-putting. You’d think I’d be an expert at dealing with weird crap by now, but I was a slow learner.
I’d read an entry in Mum’s diary talking about her and Dad visiting Trafalgar Square and the art gallery there, so I’d asked Olivia if we could visit. I just told her my parents had been there before, because the diaries were still a secret. The only ones who knew they existed were me, Angelica, and James.
After Tower Bridge, we took the underground. The tube was packed but orderly. We made the trip without any problems. After a short walk from the tube station, we arrived at Trafalgar Square. The large paved area was surrounded by roads on three sides with the National Gallery overlooking Nelson’s column—it was quite tall—plus a statue with a horse, and a fountain. A couple of street artists drew chalk pictures on the pavement near the gallery. Tourists took photos, and workers in office gear hurried past.
Drops of water landed on my face, and I looked up. “It’s raining.”
“Let’s get inside.”
We hurried up the stairs and into the National Gallery, which was free. “Are you kidding? Nothing’s free.”
“Most of our galleries and museums are free.”
“Ours aren’t.” Australia needed to get onboard with generosity. What a great idea, making tourists feel like they weren’t getting ripped off. Novel idea. Plus, if you felt really guilty for getting something free, like I was sure to, you could buy a souvenir at the end, because what exhibit didn’t end at a gift shop?
We wandered through high-ceilinged rooms, one of which had an impressive domed roof and gild-accented arches. Hushed voices echoed in the vast spaces. You could smell the history, that almost-musty yet sweet odour of old books and antique furniture.
We entered a new room, and I stopped in front of the first painting. Holy crap. It was one of my favourite artists—Canaletto. His renditions of Venice blew my mind. That’s what I’d do in the next life: be an artist. Hmm, maybe I could take up painting again on the days I had nothing to do and didn’t feel like confronting my camera. I’d enjoyed art at school but hadn’t done any since. Something to think about.
Olivia stood next to me, our shoulders almost touching. “You ever been to Venice?”
“Yeah, once. My dad’s family used to live near there. It was awesome, although it was so long ago, I’ve forgotten a lot of it. Photos help me remember.” And that was for all things—not just holidays. If it weren’t for photos, I’d lose my parents for good. “What about you?”
“Twice. My parents love to travel. We go somewhere different every year. It’s easy when everything’s so close.”
“You’re lucky. To get here from Australia takes at least twenty-four hours.”
She looked at me and smiled. “But you’re lucky now too. You live here. Hey, we should go on a long weekend somewhere together. Ernie often has to go to conferences for the weekend. We could go to Paris, Berlin, Rome. Wherever you want.”
“That would be freaking awesome! I’d love to.” I was close to everything now, so why not take advantage? I snorted: I wondered how Beren and William would like following me around Europe. Ha! Something else niggled at me, though. Oh, that’s right, Ernie and his conferences. Conferences my arse. He was probably liaising with super-witch Camilla. I bet she was giving him presentations all right. Cow.
Gah, push out the negative thoughts and enjoy the moment. There was nothing I could do about it right now, so I stepped back from the Canaletto and framed a wide shot. As I clicked, two people, their backs to me, popped into the picture. They were holding hands. The woman was about my height, with shoulder-length wavy brown hair. The man stood a few inches taller. They wore jeans and shirts, casual gear. Something about them was familiar.
My mouth went dry, and my stomach dropped. It couldn’t be. I kept the camera up and walked around them, so my camera was pointing at their faces, towards Olivia who stood behind them.
I froze for a moment, not even breathing, tears blurring my sight. I shook my head. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. My hands trembled as I clicked and clicked and clicked and clicked. I reached out one hand. Please, please, please.
But there was no one there.
I knew there wouldn’t be, but I couldn’t help it. My heart constricted, and I couldn’t breathe.
“Lily, are you all right?”
I reluctantly lowered my camera, aware of the tears running down my face but not caring. I didn’t want to stop looking through my camera, but I was sure my behaviour already seemed strange to my friend. “I don’t feel well. Can we grab a water or something and sit?”
I thrashed against the panic threatening to drown me. It couldn't be, but it was.
I’d just seen my parents.
Nausea crawled up my throat. I made it to the garbage bin just in time.
Olivia rubbed my back. “Oh, no, you poor thing. Let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll head home.”
I nodded, grateful I wasn’t alone. All the walls I’d built, all the progress I’d made since my parents had disappeared was destroyed in an instant. I was that fourteen-year-old girl again, crying myself to sleep every night, comforting my brother who cried almost as much as I did for weeks, until he got it together. It had taken me longer, but I’d done it. Now all that healing had been undone, sliced to pieces by my own damn magic.
A wound so bloody and painful had opened, spilling my insides onto the shiny gallery tiles. Olivia led me out, and I wondered how they were going to clean my blood off the floor.
There was no way I was ever using magic again.
Ever.