And so it was to Jing Wei that he directed his anger.
His magics were small at first. A lost storybook, one of her favorites. A scratch on her favorite Star Wars DVD (The Empire Strikes Back, a movie far superior, she insisted to Suraya, than all the others), rendering it unplayable. A smack to the face during a game of netball, shattering her glasses into three pieces and bruising her cheek. An ink blot blossoming on the pages of her English essay, eating up the neatly written words until only a third could be seen, earning her a sharp rap on the knuckles from Miss Low’s heavy wooden ruler—Miss Low never could tolerate any carelessness in homework. A hole in the pocket of her pinafore, so that her pocket money worked its way out and she had to go without the new Millennium Falcon figurine she’d been saving up for. “I don’t know how it happened,” she told Suraya, blinking back tears of disappointment as they frantically retraced her steps. “It’s never happened before.”
It was never anything that couldn’t be blamed on bad luck or carelessness, never anything big enough like the last time, for Suraya to glance suspiciously at Pink and his antennae.
Or so he thought.
It was a perfect Saturday afternoon, the kind with blue skies dotted with fluffy white clouds, the kind sunny enough to bathe everything in a warm glow, but breezy enough to make venturing outside for more than five minutes actually doable.
Are you not spending today with . . . your friend? Pink asked as Suraya made her bed, her hair still damp from the shower. He couldn’t bring himself to say her name.
“Not today, Pink,” she said, smoothing the sheets down neatly, folding her blanket into a perfect rectangle. “I thought it could just be you and me today.”
Just you and me? He felt light suddenly, as though someone had lifted an invisible stone from his back.
“Like old times.” Suraya smiled down at him, and he smiled back, nodding.
All right then, he said. What shall we do?
“What we always do,” she said, grabbing her sketchbook and clipping her favorite pen to the loop that held it shut. “Head to the river.”
The river was a small one, just barely big enough to avoid being called a stream, and its appearance was governed by its moods. Sometimes it was calm and flowed at a sedate pace between its grassy banks; sometimes it grew swollen with the rains and flowed fast and furious, sweeping up everything that crossed its path and swallowing it whole.
But there was no danger where Suraya and Pink sat, on a rocky overhang that jutted out a little over the water, perfectly shaded by the trees overhead. Sunlight streamed through the leaves and dappled the water in pretty patterns of light and shadow. Suraya sat cross-legged and bent over her sketchbook, her pen flying busily over the page, and Pink curled up in a warm patch and dreamily watched the dragonflies play over the water. That’s how he would have been content to stay all day, until Suraya opened her mouth to speak.
“Pink.”
Hmm? He looked over at her, still feeling warm and altogether too comfortable; he was about to fall asleep.
“I want to talk to you about something.” She set her pen down now and looked right at him. The page was covered in trees; a pathway leading into a forest, the branches closely woven so no light could get through, each leaf meticulously inked into place.
Oh? He sat up then, shaking himself awake. What about?
“It’s about Jing.”
Pink’s ears prickled at the mention of her name. Even the sound of it was enough to set off tiny sparks of anger in his chest. Oh? She sounded serious, and for a moment he thought she might say she didn’t want to be friends with Jing Wei anymore, and he felt almost giddy with delight at the idea.
There was a long pause before she continued, as though she was trying to find the exact right words. “I know what you’ve been doing to her, Pink.”
He frowned. I don’t know what you mean.
“Yes, you do.” She looked steadily at him, holding his gaze until he had to turn away from her big brown eyes. “You do, Pink. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”
He fiddled with a blade of grass, not saying anything, not meeting her eyes.
“You have to stop, Pink. She’s my friend and you have to stop.”
I used to be your friend, he said sullenly. Your only friend. He knew that last bit was nasty, but he couldn’t stop himself.
“I know. And you are still my friend. But Jing is too, and what you’re doing isn’t nice.” She sat back and sighed, sweeping her hair off her neck and tying it into a messy ponytail. “I tried to let it slide, those first few times. But losing the money—that made her so sad. She was really looking forward to buying that figurine, you know. She’s been saving forever.”
Pink said nothing, crossing his grasshopper arms tight.
“Will you stop?”
If she expected an answer, she certainly wasn’t getting one.
She sighed again. “Come on, Pink. Don’t make me do it.”
Still he refused to answer, or even look at her.
“Fine,” she said, standing up and brushing the dirt from the bottom of her jeans. “Fine. You forced me into it.” She towered over him, her eyes glinting with anger, and he couldn’t help shrinking slightly. “I am your master,” she told him, her voice hard and cold. “And I command you to stop playing your tricks on Jing Wei. Do you understand?”
There was no disobeying her when she used that tone, and Pink nodded. “I understand,” he muttered.
“Good. Then that’s settled.” She picked up her sketchbook and turned to go. “Come on. I’m getting hungry.”
Pink hopped along slowly in the grass behind her, and with every minute that passed, his anger grew and grew until he thought he might burst in a brilliant explosion of fire and rage.
Jing was a poison, a virus that had worked herself into Suraya’s life and taken root. It was only his duty, he told himself, to cut her out before she did any real damage. No matter what he’d told Suraya. No matter what he promised.
A pelesit protects his master. And that girl would get her due. He would see to that.
Twelve
Ghost
PLOTTING HIS REVENGE was, in the end, the easy part. Pink had plenty of time to lay down his plans, plenty of time to think and scheme as he rocked and swayed in the pocket of Suraya’s school uniform. The hard part was figuring out how to make sure Suraya wouldn’t find out. But even that, in the end, wasn’t that hard. Between school and Jing Wei and her books and her sketches, there was plenty in her life to keep her happy and occupied. She was content. She was also distracted, which made his plan easier even as it sickened him. She didn’t even think about Pink or what he was doing. And he needed to put a stop to it. He needed her to go back to needing him—almost as much as he needed her, though that last bit he refused to admit even to himself.
In the end, it was the bullies that were the key.
He’d promised to leave Jing alone, after all, and a pelesit would never disobey his master. But there was a way. There was always a way.
And it was simple enough. Simple to have red paint fall just so on the seat of Kamelia’s chair, so that she sat on it unawares.
Simple enough to use a little notice-me spell as he clung onto her ballet slipper shoes, something that made everyone turn to look at her as she walked to the canteen from her classroom, the last one in the farthest block. Simple enough to make sure everyone noticed the bright red stain on her pinafore, looking for all the world like fresh blood blooming freely into the turquoise cotton, every girl’s nightmare.