Old Magic by Marianne Curley Page A

strength of it is coming from Jarrod. It isn’t anger, but an interesting mix of wonder and shock and alarm.
    “When you came along,” Ian continues a little more brightly. “You were so strong and healthy—a true miracle. Your mother and I swore to put the past behind us. To move forward we had to forget the pain that went before. You see, if we didn’t, we may have raised you as if you were made of fragile glass. You would have suffocated in our fears.”
    “So you never told me,” Jarrod replies softly.
    “When you were seven, and still strong and lively, even if a little clumsy, you gave us courage to try again.”
    “Casey.”
    “Your little br-brother.” Ian attempts a smile, but his voice breaks on the last word.
    I watch Jarrod as he takes this all in. I want to probe, but don’t dare, not when his feelings are so obviously intense. It would be insulting and intrusive. But his emotions are clearly displayed anyway. He shifts from open shock to a kind of stunned awareness. After a long few moments, Jarrod’s deep green eyes narrow and shift sideways, catching mine. Even though his words are meant for his father, he never stops looking at me. “What does that make me?”
    “You?” Ian replies. “You’re our seventh son. Our lucky seventh.”
    Jarrod
    Dad’s revelation shocks me. This is the moment I start to believe in the curse. Actually it’s quite an enlightening moment in many ways. I have a clear picture of the struggle my parents endured in the years before I was born. The pain of it goes straight through my chest, like a dagger to my heart. How much pressure can one family take before it collapses? I feel a sudden swelling of pride for both of them. They’re strong. Stronger than I could ever be.
    So now I have to look at things differently. The vision of my world has radically changed. My family is cursed. Whether I want to admit it or not, the evidence is there. What family these days has six births and six deaths and continues to try for more? It’s as if I had to be born—so the curse can live. Have my parents been manipulated by some force greater than life itself?
    What am I thinking? Can I hear myself? Cursed, as in jinxed? Cursed, as in ancient sorcerers wielding magic from centuries past? I don’t believe in this stuff. It’s not possible. It’s pure fantasy! There has to be an explanation for everything. I live by this rule.
    What is happening to me?
    I try to pull myself together and put reason to this sudden madness. I’m just distraught, that’s all. I’m in shock from Casey’s accident. My little brother could yet die, or be brain-damaged for the rest of his life. On top of this I just found out I had other brothers—six of them, all dead before I was even born. I wonder where they are all buried. It’s a thought that hits me unprepared. My eyes fill with moisture.
    Kate is staring at me, wondering I guess what I’m thinking. It’s a wonder she’s not in my head right now, trying to figure me out. In some ways I wish she was, then maybe she could tell me what’s going on in there. I have to sit down, get a grip. My head drops into my hands, it feels good there, not so heavy.
    A warm gentle hand touches my shoulder and I look up. It’s Kate. “Are you okay?”
    I nod, not trusting words. Something might come out that sounds like an admission, and I’m not ready to hear my doubts verbalized. It will make it all too real.
    The doctor appears. I only notice when Dad’s crutches strike the tiled floor with a hurried sort of tap. All of us stand and form a half-circle around her, eager for news of Casey. Her name is Dr. Reed, and she was on duty when Casey came in. “He’s a strong young man,” she begins, letting us know right away he’s okay. “We’ve had to drain a lot of water from his lungs, but fortunately the rivers and creeks up here are pretty clean. They bottle it, you know. So I don’t expect problems with infection. All the same, I want to keep