Magenta McPhee Read Free

Thai and Trib. What more evidence do you need?’
    â€˜That’s true, but the noodles told us nothing.’ Sometimes I have to fight hard against Polly’s mania for evidence. She can get things wrong, but it’s hard to remember that because she’s so smart most of the time.
    â€˜Whatever. They are part of a pattern. Patterns are important. I’m exploring patterns at the moment. I’m ... but this is a dark secret, Magenta, you mustn’t tell anyone.’
    â€˜You’ve got a secret you haven’t told me?’
    â€˜It’s very recent. I only started doing it last night and I could hardly ring you at ten o’clock, could I?’
    We sat down on Polly’s bed. She had a purple doona with silver stars scattered over it. There were no teddies or stuffed toys. They were just traps for dust mites, Jane said. A large bookcase on one wall had books in it two deep. They were all arranged, first by category and then by alphabetical order of author’s surname. She had a big, L-shaped desk with a computer, printer and scanner on it and nothing else except for a dozen tea light candles. Nothing had changed.
    â€˜What’s the secret, then?’
    â€˜I think I’m a witch!’ she said, paused and then looked at me, her brown eyes so wide I could see the whites all round them.
    â€˜A witch?’
    She nodded. ‘I don’t see why patterns in words can’t be as important as patterns in numbers. And patterns in numbers make things happen. Take your times table, for example. All that is, really, is a pattern of numbers, right?’
    â€˜I guess...’
    â€˜Well, the same with words. If you start repeating words in spells, then the pattern itself might be enough to make it happen. If you have the right kind of brain.’
    â€˜The right kind of brain?’ I knew I wasn’t sounding particularly smart but this whole conversation was bizarre.
    â€˜I may have the right kind of brain,’ Polly said, smoothing the doona under her fingers. ‘Last night I put together my first spell – a simple pattern of words, repeating one main word in different combinations. Want to hear it?’
    â€˜I guess...’
    â€˜Okay, but I’m going to say it normally rather than as a spell because it’s worked once and that’s enough.’
    â€˜Okay...’
    â€˜Jinx Jeremy, Jeremy Jinx. Bitter is the taste he drinks. Jinx Jeremy, Jeremy Jinx. Drinks he bitter inks. Inks Jeremy Jinx. Bitter is the taste he inks. Jinx Jeremy, Jeremy Jinx.’
    â€˜Right.’ It sounded good, even when said normally. I didn’t know what it meant, except that Jeremy was Polly’s little brother and sometimes he got too much for her, so I assumed the spell was against him in some way.
    â€˜So, I said that, right? But in the spell way, as an incantation, if you want to know. I looked it up on the Net. And guess what happened?’
    â€˜I can’t.’
    â€˜Jeremy Drank The Ink!’
    â€˜What ink?’
    â€˜The ink on the kitchen bench.’
    â€˜Why did he drink ink?’
    â€˜Because of the spell, you twit.’
    â€˜Did he know it was ink?’
    â€˜I told him it was ink and not to drink it. Then I said the spell in my bedroom where he couldn’t hear me. And he drank it. Against my express instructions.’
    â€˜Was it in a glass? Or in the ink bottle?’
    â€˜I’d put it in an ice-cream sundae glass.’
    â€˜Maybe he didn’t think it was ink?’ I was feeling confused. First Polly had told Jeremy not to drink the ink, but then she’d told him to drink it in a spell he couldn’t hear. ‘Maybe he thought you were trying to trick him into not drinking something that was good, by calling it ink? What colour was it?’
    â€˜Violet,’ Polly said, ‘Jane’s violet ink. It’s very beautiful. Jeremy’s tongue went purple. Probably his pee did, too, but he