Page 51 of The Strawberry Thief
I said:I believe in magic.
‘Of course you do. Your mother’s a witch, isn’t she?’
We were having breakfast: chocolatecroissantsand coffee. Thecroissantsare from Monsieur Poitou’s bakery; the coffee was hot and very dark. I’m not supposed to drink coffee.
She looked at me and smiled. ‘Do you think I don’t know a witch when I see one?’ she said. ‘Scrying with chocolate, scrying with ink: there’s really not much difference. Do you want to try?’
I finished my coffee. It was good. Maman says it makes me hyperactive. But Morgane drinks a lot of coffee, andsheisn’t hyperactive; in fact, she’s the calmest person I know. And I love the way she talks to me – as if we were colleagues or something – and the way she always understands, even when I don’t speak aloud.
‘Well?’ said Morgane.
‘I’m not supposed to,’ my shadow-voice said.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Why not?’ she said.
‘Sometimes there are Accidents.’
Morgane nodded and looked at me. She was smiling, but I knew that she was also serious. ‘Lifeis an accident,’ she said. ‘You can’t live your life in fear. Besides, this isn’t dangerous. It’s only a little practice run.’ She put down her empty coffee cup and handed me the tattoo machine. ‘I’ll show you how to use it,’ she said. ‘You need a steady hand, that’s all; and to get a feel for the medium.’
The medium turned out to be a sheet of something like a soft white vinyl.
‘It’s supposed to feel like skin,’ said Morgane. ‘I haven’t used it myself for a while, but I still like to keep some pieces around.’
I looked at the tattoo machine. It seemed like a pretty simple design. I pressed the needle against the practice sheet, and made a little mark.BAM!
‘Go ahead – don’t be afraid. Try drawing something,’ said Morgane.
And so I did – a monkey – taking it very slowly, keeping the needle angled just so against the piece of plastic. In the mirrors, Bam pulled a face and rolled around in the strawberry leaves.
‘Let me see. Not bad,’ said Morgane.
Some of the lines didn’t come out quite clean.
‘That’s because you’re not pressing down firmly enough. Try again, and be sure to keep the pressure even all the time.’
This time it was better, I thought. The line was strong, and dark, and true. The trick is keeping control of the line and going at a speed that seems much, much slower than normal. When I draw, I draw very fast, like feathers over the paper. This was like drawing in treacle. But then, your skin isn’t really like paper. You’re not just drawingonthe skin: you’re drawingthrough, to what’s underneath.
Morgane looked at the picture. ‘Good. Now look in the mirrors.’
You mean, like my reflection?
‘Reflection’s just another word forthought. Anddrawingjust meanspulling through. Just look, and think, and draw it through, like thread in the eye of a needle.’
I shrugged.I’ll try.
In the mirrors, Bam chattered and danced.
‘Ask your little friend to back off a bit.’
Morgane can see Bam as well as I can. One more reason to like her. I waved impatiently at Bam, who stuck out his tongue, and retreated.
‘Good. Now try it,’ said Morgane. ‘Don’t think too hard. Just try to see.’
It felt odd at first, looking at the practice sheet upside-down and back-to-front. It made me feel a little sick, trying to work the perspective. My hands were everywhere, like birds pecking at canvas.
‘Don’t concentrate on those things,’ she said. ‘Don’t even look at the picture. Just try tosee.’
I drew a line. It looked like the bank of the river.
