Bye-Bye, Evil Eye Read online

  Bye-Bye,

  Evil Eye

  Also by Deborah Kerbel

  FICTION

  Mackenzie, Lost and Found (2008)

  Girl on the Other Side (2009)

  Lure (2010)

  Under the Moon (2012)

  NON-FICTION

  Money Savvy Kids (with Gordon Pape) (2013)

  Bye-Bye,

  Evil Eye

  Deborah Kerbel

  Copyright © 2014 Deborah Kerbel

  This edition copyright © 2014 Dancing Cat Books,

  an imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free 1.800.893.5777.

  The publisher gratefully acknowledges the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for its publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund (CBF) for our publishing activities, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Media Development Corporation, an agency of the Ontario Ministry of Culture, and the Ontario Book Publishing Tax Credit Program.

  LIBRARY AND ARCHIVES CANADA CATALOGUING IN PUBLICATION

  Kerbel, Deborah, author

  Bye-bye, evil eye / Deborah Kerbel.

  Issued in print and electronic formats.

  ISBN 978-1-77086-394-1 (pbk.). — ISBN 978-1-77086-395-8 (epub).-—

  ISBN 978-1-77086-396-5 (mobi)

  I. Title.

  PS8621.E75B94 2014 JC813’.6 C2013-907908-4

  C2013-907909-2

  Cover photo and design: Angel Guerra / Archetype

  Interior text design: Tannice Goddard, Soul Oasis Networking

  eBook development: WildElement.ca

  Printer: Trigraphik LBF

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  This book is printed on 100% post-consumer waste recycled paper.

  DANCING CAT BOOKS

  An imprint of Cormorant Books Inc.

  10 ST. MARY STREET, SUITE 615, TORONTO, ONTARIO, M4Y 1P9

  www.dancingcatbooks.com

  www.cormorantbooks.com

  For Barry,

  Opener of doors, fixer of words, guru of all things bookish.

  With thanks.

  Contents

  GREECE

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  TORONTO

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  GREECE

  Chapter 1

  “I think I see it!”

  I crane my neck as I peer out the small oval window, trying to spot a glimpse of the city below. A moment later, it rolls into view just ahead of the shadow of our plane. Clusters of white-washed homes and ribbons of roads surrounded by scrubby hills and mountains. And somewhere down there in that jumble is that old Greek building we learned about in history class. The Parthenon? Or is it the Acropolis? Or are they the same thing? Whatever. You know what I’m talking about.

  With my eyes fixed on the scenery, I tap the glass with my pen. “There it is — look. It’s Athens!” I lean back into my seat so Kat can see too.

  “Cool,” she says, peering across my lap. But I can tell from her tone that she’s pretending to be impressed for my benefit. And I guess I understand why. After all, she’s already been to Greece five times in her life. But for me, this is a huge thrill. In all my almost fourteen years, I’ve never left Canada before, let alone flown over an ocean. Or even seen an ocean, for that matter.

  I flip to a fresh page in my journal. Dear Mom, you’ll be happy to know that our plane just flew over something very ancient and ruined. It was probably once really important …

  “The captain is about to begin his descent into Athens,” announces a female voice over the droning hum of the engines. “Local time is 2:25 pm. This concludes our flight. Enjoy your stay in Greece and thank you for flying with Canada-Air.”

  In the middle of her French version, I begin to hear a sound like a bowl of Rice Krispies popping in my ears. A few seconds later, the sound morphs into pain. Raising my hand, I catch the attention of a passing flight attendant.

  “Excuse me? Can I get a piece of candy, please?” I ask, smiling my sweetest smile while I point to my ears.

  He returns my smile. “Of course. Right away.”

  Kat holds up her finger. “Could I get one als—”

  But he’s gone before she can finish her sentence. I shrug. “Sorry, Kat, didn’t know you wanted one. I’ll ask for another when he comes back.”

  She nods and slumps back into her seat. Her mother, who’s sitting next to the aisle, peers at me over the top of her Greek newspaper. “We’ll be landing soon, girls. Please start packing up.”

  Pack up? But there’s still at least twenty more minutes before landing. Kat dutifully leans over and stuffs her magazine into the front pouch of her carry-on bag. I smile when I spot a few of her contraband romance novels hidden in there.

  “Now please, Daniella,” Mrs. P says. I swallow the protest that’s rising in my throat and flip my journal closed with a slap. “Yes, Mrs. Papadakis,” I sigh, tucking it into my backpack and capping my pen. Our trip’s barely begun and my mother’s warning is still fresh in my head.

  Kat’s mom will be your chaperone on this trip. I’d like you to show her respect and listen to her the entire time.

  It was one of only two conditions Mom laid down in return for letting me fly across an ocean to spend three weeks on a sun-soaked Mediterranean island. The other condition was that I learn stuff about Greek culture and history and keep a journal about it all. So, of course, I agreed. Wouldn’t you? Even though I knew spending time with Mrs. P wasn’t going to be easy. She’s one of those strict, old-school moms. I knew it the second I met her last Christmas. She was baking bread when Kat and I walked into the kitchen of their Toronto home after our first tutoring session. The bread was my first tipoff. Do people still bake their own bread?

  “Mummy, this is my new friend Dani Price,” Kat said. Mrs. Papadakis looked up from her dough. The look on her face was like she’d been sucking on a lemon. “Dani? But that’s a boy’s name,” she said in Greek-accented English. “Who would call a girl by a name like that?”

  Whoa. Nice to meet you too. “Well, it’s really Daniella,” I said. “But my parents and everyone just call me Dani — like, since the day I was born.”

  Her lips stayed pursed as she dusted the flour off her hands. “It’s very nice to meet you, Daniella.”

  Beside me, Kat turned pale. “Mummy, stop,” she said under her breath. I waved my hand like it was no big deal. I knew how badly she’d wanted to make a good impression on me. Fact is, she’s not that popular, and I am. Yeah, I know that probably sounds conceited, but it’s the way it is.

  As we left the kitchen, I patted her sympathetically on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about
it. My grandma Rose is the same. Lots of old people don’t like to shorten names.”

  She turned to me and flashed a grateful smile. Because I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, I stopped myself from saying the words that were sitting on the tip of my tongue: that my mother was the complete opposite of hers. Trendy, fun, and modern, she’d always loved having three pretty, stylish daughters with cool, boyish names. But of course I kept my mouth shut. And, as per Mom’s instructions, I’m planning on keeping it shut for the rest of July. So go ahead, Mrs. P — call me Daniella all you want. See if I care.

  The plane floats down a few metres, taking my stomach with it. I wince from the stabbing pain in my ears and look around to see where my candy is. “Try yawning,” Kat says. “It’ll help.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t yawn if I’m not tired.”

  “Try it anyway. It’ll activate the muscles that open your eustachian tubes.” She says it like I know what that means. Gotta love Kat.

  “Thanks, but I’m way too psyched to yawn.”

  Before I can argue any more, she opens her mouth wide and lets out a loud, yodelling yawn, knowing full well I won’t be able to stop myself now. “Gotcha, right?” she says when she’s done, a devious grin spreading over her face. Sure enough, a second later I’m yawning too, so wide and long it’s like I haven’t slept in days. Miraculously, my ears open back up.

  “You’re awesome,” I say. She takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. I smile and squeeze back. And then the two of us have one of those weird, psychic moments that happen sometimes. You know, like when you’re thinking of a Taylor Swift song and then it comes on the radio a split second later?

  “I’m so excited,” we say at the same time. I giggle and whisper, “Jinx!” like I did when I was ten. Kat’s eyes widen. Before I know what’s happening, she leans forward and touches the bright red maple leaf embroidered into the fabric of the seat in front of us. Then she sighs and relaxes back into her chair. Beside us, Mrs. P nods her approval as she pats her daughter’s hand. “Bravo, Katerina,” she murmurs softly.

  I stare at Kat in surprise, the giggle dead on my lips. “What are you doing?”

  She glances shyly at me, her face slowly turning a warm shade of pink. “Sorry, old Greek habit. Touching red keeps away the bad luck.”

  “Really?” I wait for her to tell me she’s just kidding.

  She doesn’t.

  “So is everyone in Greece as superstitious as you two?” I ask.

  Kat checks to see if her mother’s listening, then leans close to whisper in my ear. “Actually, I’m not really superstitious; it’s just Mummy who’s into all this stuff. But she gets upset if I don’t go along with it.”

  “Like with the bracelet?” I whisper back, glancing down at the chain of small blue eyeball beads snaking around Kat’s thin wrist — a perfect match for the one her mother’s wearing. I first noticed them this morning on the way to the airport.

  “Mummy bought them for our trip,” she explained, raising her arm to give me a better look. “They’re Mati charms. She thinks they ward off evil spirits.”

  I pick up her wrist now and take a closer look at the bracelet. My insides twist at the sight of all those funny-looking little eyes staring back at me. “Evil spirits and touching red to keep bad luck away?” I whisper. “How can your mother believe that stuff?”

  “It’s just a Greek thing,” she says. “Didn’t I ever tell you the story about how she spat on me three times the day I turned thirteen? To keep the bad luck away, of course. And whatever you do, don’t freak out when you see the bat bones she carries around in her purse.”

  I stare at her in shock, trying to figure out if she’s joking or not. Sometimes with Kat it’s hard to tell. “Bat bones? Really?”

  She laughs and pulls her sleeve down to cover the eyeball bracelet. “Don’t worry about it — we’re going to have a great time. My aunt and uncle’s resort is the nicest on the whole island. Sun and beaches and ocean as far as you can see. Just one more quick flight and then we’ll be there.”

  My stomach flip-flops with excitement. I’ve never been to an actual beach before (the painted concrete shore at the wave pool isn’t the same as the real thing). I smile and turn towards the window to watch the landing. In all the commotion of the past few minutes, I almost missed it. My heart jumps into my throat as the wheels hit the runway with a screeching jolt. I bounce up and down in my seat as the plane skitters to a stop.

  We’re in Greece. And it’s going to be a summer to remember. I can feel it on my skin and in my bones — like that whispery tickle up your spine when something big’s about to happen.

  Yeah.

  Chapter 2

  When we walk out of the airport, the first thing I notice is the air. It smells salty — like a bag of potato chips in my face. And hot like sauce. The sun is so strong, it crackles on my skin. I reach into my bag for a bottle of water. I’ve only been here a few minutes, but I’m thirsty already. I wait in the shade with Kat while Mrs. P gets us a taxi. A few minutes later, we’re in the back seat of a dirty blue cab that’s puttering away up a long pitted road. The road bends and curves around the base of a mountain. Actually, from what I can tell, there are mountains everywhere. Their craggy peaks rise up in every direction, surrounding us like an army of giants. Silver olive trees line the road for most of the ride. We bump along past boxy houses, bleached white like seashells; dry, rocky fields where herds of goats stand with bored, droopy eyes; and still more olive trees. At one point, we pass through a small village. I drink in the sights, trying to remember all the details for my journal. Wrinkled old grandpas sipping coffee and playing backgammon outside the cafés. Stray cats dozing in the sunshine on every street corner. Crowded laundry lines stringing all the pretty white houses together like pearls on a necklace. And, in between the houses and buildings, quick flashes of the ocean. Bright silver water against tall blue sky. I can’t wait to see it up close!

  We get to the resort just after six o’clock in the evening. Even though it’s been a long day of travelling, I feel a burst of excited energy at the sight of it. Sitting at the very end of a long dirt road, the Olympic Palace is a whitewashed building with turquoise painted doors and matching shutters framing every window. Bright bougainvillea bushes in pink and purple grow from the rooftops and tumble down the white walls in a waterfall of colour.

  A full-figured woman wearing a flower-printed summer dress and flip-flops is standing on the porch with one hand on her round hip and the other raised to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the glare of the sun. Beside her stands a short, fat man with a salt-and-pepper moustache. I giggle as we get closer and see that he’s only wearing a bathing suit and a Blue Jays baseball cap. His round belly balloons out from his waist like a hairy, overgrown watermelon. Kat rolls down the window and waves.

  “Thea Sophia! Theo John! We’re here!”

  With arms outstretched, the pair hurries towards our taxi as it bounds up the gravel driveway. They pull Kat and her mother from the car and hug them so hard, I worry they might suffocate. I creep out of the cab and stand off to the side, watching the reunion from a distance. The heat’s so thick, I can feel it in my throat. When they’re done hugging, the aunt and uncle spot me and run over as quickly as their round bodies will allow. The woman catches my face between her hands and kisses my cheeks three times.

  “Ti kanis, Dani. How are you? Any friend of Katerina is welcome here — like family!”

  I smile. “Thanks, Mrs. Karras.”

  “No. Please, call me Sophia. And he’s John,” she adds, ges-turing towards her husband with an outstretched thumb. “Ella — come! We’re planning a big dinner tonight in your honour. But first you’ll need to rest. Let me show you to your room.”

  Kat’s uncle John might be fat, but he’s as strong as an ox. He hefts a suitcase up under each arm and then reaches down and pulls up another in
each hand. With a grin spreading under his moustache, he leads us to our room. It’s spacious and bright with walls, like the rest of the building, painted a pure, snowy white — a colour, Kat explains, that helps to keep the place cool. There’s a dresser, a couple of chairs, a TV, and two double beds covered with thin blankets of a bright coral pink colour that makes me think of the inside of a conch shell. John places the suitcases on a rack at the foot of each bed and, with a final round of hugs, leaves us to freshen up.

  After twelve hours of travelling, my body’s completely lost track of what time of day it is back home in Toronto. I’m tired and nauseous and grimy and hungry. The small island plane flew at a really low altitude, and the ride was so bumpy I thought I was going to hurl up my airplane-portioned, microwave-reheated moussaka the entire time we were in the air.

  But despite all this, resting is the last thing on my mind. I’m itching to go exploring. Kat, however, is another story. As soon as John’s gone, she kicks off her sandals and bellyflops onto the nearest bed. Mrs. Papadakis immediately begins unpacking her daughter’s bags, clucking under her breath in Greek.

  “Cardia mou, louloudi mou — a nice nap before dinner is exactly what you need.”

  Well, I’m tired too. But as exhausted as I feel, I know I can’t rest until I see the ocean up close. My whole body is buzzing with anticipation. Heading over to the window, I fling open the curtains. The bubble of excitement in my chest deflates a bit when I see the grey, concrete parking lot staring back at me. Suddenly I understand exactly why this room was given to us for free. Undaunted, I march over to Kat’s side, take her by the hand, and yank her up off the mattress.

  “Come on, we can sleep later. Let’s go see the beach.”

  She groans and flops like a skinny, overcooked spaghetti noodle. Mrs. P marches over and shoos me away. “Stop, Daniella. She needs her rest. And you do too.”

  Dodging her flapping hands, I yank on Kat again, harder this time. “Come on, please. Just for a bit before it gets dark.”