#Tamas Kruger & Mike Horncastle

[thevoyageurmoteplass-writing]

Jed idly span his Kara around his wrist, replaying the latest match through in his head. They’d lost to one of the local comprehensives; a match that had been so assuredly theirs that the thought of having lost was a baffling one. Tamas paced the space in front of him, grumbling about each pass and every foul that had been thrown their way. He was even cursing the ref – at least, that was what Jed assumed the irritable Hebrew comments were given the hand gestures that seemed to punctuate every sentence. For once, the Krugers’s summer house wasn’t filled with post-match celebrations; it was filled with three irritable teenage boys and Danica sitting quietly in the corner.

‘You know,’ Danica said softly, drawing all attention to her in an instant. Her eyes were on her twin, tracking his movements across the room. ‘It wasn’t actually anyone’s fault.’

Mike scoffed, and Jed put his middle finger up at him instead of deigning him a response.

‘How’d you work that out, Dani?’ Tamas asked wearily.

Danica rolled her eyes but didn’t falter under the tone that had sent more than one younger player grumbling about trying better next time. She turned her piercing blue eyes to Jed and he tried not to balk at the intensity of the look. It felt like every nerve was on fire, trying to be seen.

‘How’s your day been, Jed?’ she asked innocently.

It was like a bucket of cold water, that simple question. Because that was where his thoughts kept trying to stray, kept seeming to want to wander despite his best efforts to focus on the game.

In short, it had been a pretty crappy day. His card had been declined on the bus so he’d had to walk in the rain; the queue at the deli had been so long he didn’t have time to grab food for breakfast and then he still managed to be five minutes late to form. And during the match? Well, he thought he’d had a decent line to goal and somehow curled the ball right into the hands – or rather, feet – of a member of the other team. He knew in retrospect none of it was terrible, but it still stung slightly to think about.

‘I’d take the sudden mutism as “not great”,’ said Mike.

Jed shot him a scathing look, but turned back to Danica. ‘Why?’

She seemed to preen with pride. ‘I think you’ve been cursed.’

Tamas scoffed, and Jed heard him resume his pacing.

‘Anything else weird happen?’ Danica pressed. ‘Since the Ouija Board?’

‘Besides Pint-Size and Ashcroft now running a semi-successful business praying on the gullible?’ Jed said before he could stop himself.

The light seemed to shutter behind Danica’s eyes, and despite the scoffs of appreciation from the others he wished he could take the words back.

‘So,’ she said, her voice far more measured than before, the tone almost as icy as Tamas’s had been in the post-match talk, ‘you didn’t shatter your phone screen the other week. Or flunk that Chemistry test that you had me help you revise for?’

‘Maybe Underwood cursed you to drum up business amongst the sceptics,’ teased Mike, wiggling his fingers in a vague mimicry of a ghost.

Jed swore at him but didn’t take his eyes off Danica. Her unwavering gaze, the set of her jaw, it all assured him that she was serious. Whatever the cause of his misfortune, she was certain it was supernatural.

‘I have no idea,’ she said simply, ‘but she stopped that kid from rampaging around the school. You didn’t see it.’ She shot a dark glare towards Mike before looking back at Jed. ‘Whatever it is she’s dealing in, it’s real.’

‘I don’t bloody care,’ snapped Tamas. ‘If she’s the only thing that can get you back on your game, I say speak to her.’

‘What, so she can earn money for doing nothing?’

‘Let her wave rosemary at you and mumble a few mumbo jumbo words. It’s that, or I bench you, Jed,’ Tamas admitted wearily.

Jed opened his mouth to argue, but Danica cut across him. ‘Even if it’s just bad karma, even if she says there’s nothing wrong and you lose a bit of your allowance, what’s the worst that can happen? She can’t curse you, remember?’

It was with great restraint that Jed didn’t agree with her final comment, noting the slight bitterness behind her words.

‘Oh this I gotta see,’ cooed Mike.

‘Bugger off, Michelangelo,’ snapped Jed, hitting the crown of his head against the back of his armchair. He really didn’t want to speak to Pint-Size, didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of thinking he believed all her bullshit. He didn’t think he could stomach the righteous look on her face, or Ashcroft’s. But he couldn’t afford to be off his game, couldn’t afford to be benched when they had no idea who might be watching. And, if Danica believed in it all, what was the harm in trying things her way?