Free Magic Lessons by Justine Larbalestier Page B

death.”
I was suddenly aware that almost everyone on the block was staring at me. Across the street two men on scaffolding had stopped work to watch the show.
“Did someone do something to you?”
“Oh, no. Really, no one did nothing, I mean anything. I . . . I got locked out,” I told the two women. “It’s a long story. I’m visiting from Australia.” I added the last in case they thought my accent was strange. “I just have to call my friend’s brother. It’s his place.” I shivered. My toes were hurting with the cold.
“Here, use my cell.” The second woman gave me her phone.
I dialed Danny’s number—without the prefix it was the thirty-third number in the Fibonacci series. A very good omen—not that I believed in omens, though maybe I did now—I hadn’t used to believe in magic.
I pressed the phone to my ear, hoping he’d answer. It felt weird making a phone call with so many people watching. I shifted back and forth, trying to keep my feet from going completely numb. It was freezing, and here was me in my PJ’s.
“Hello?”
“Danny!”
“Who is this?”
“Reason!”
“Reason? Julieta’s friend?”
“Yes! I, um . . .” I paused, very conscious that the women were listening. “I got locked out. Can you come let me in?”
“You what? What do you mean?”
“The door slammed and I left the key inside.”
“What? Where are you? Is Julieta with you?”
“Near the house. No, she’s not.”
“What do you mean, ‘the house’? Are you here? In the city?”
“Yes!” I yelled, so relieved he’d understood. “I need you to come let me in. I’m in my pyjamas, no shoes, and it’s cold. I got locked out.”
“Where are you exactly?”
“Ah . . .” I didn’t know. It was the East Village. A street whose name was a number, but I didn’t know which one. “Very close to the house.”
“Same street?”
“Yes. Same block.”
“On Seventh Street.”
“Seventh Street,” I repeated.
“Okay. There’s a café on the corner, same side you’re on. You won’t have to cross the street to get to it; just head towards the park. I forget the name, but it has glass cabinets full of muffins. You’ll be warm in there. I’ll be right over.”
“Okay,” I said, hoping I’d find it.
“How come you’re not in Sydney?”
“It’s a long story. I’m cold, Danny.”
“I’m on my way. I’ll see you at the café.”
I handed the phone back to the second woman. “He’s com- ing for you?” she asked.
“Yes, he’s meeting me at the café on the corner.” My teeth were chattering so much it was hard to get the words out. “The one with the glass counters?”
The woman with the pram nodded. “Titi’s,” she said, pushing the carriage into motion. “It’s this way; follow me.”
The other woman slipped off her fluffy red coat and draped it around my shoulders. “Come on,” she said, taking my hand in hers, then, feeling how cold it was, starting to chafe it.
    The two women led me to a table and called to the waitress for some towels. They pushed me into a seat and I started rubbing the blocks of ice that were my feet.
    A waitress came over with two cloth dish towels. “Might help,” she said, looking at me dubiously. The same look the other two women had given me: narrowed eyes, eyebrows almost, but not quite, raised. Not suspicious of me, but of whatever or whoever had left me out on the street barefoot in the middle of winter.
    “Ta,” I said. I took a towel, wiped away melted snow and grit, then wrapped it around my feet.
“Now,” said the woman with the baby, “are you sure you’re going to be okay? I have to be going is all.”
“Oh, yes,” I said, teeth still clattering against one another. “I’m much warmer, and Danny will be here soon.”
She didn’t look like she had much faith in Danny, but she nodded. “You look after yourself in the future. No messing around outside without the key.”
“I won’t. Thank you so much.”
The two women nodded at each other, as