By the pained expression on Paul’s face, he must have accidentally dug into a pressure point at the joint.
‘Anyway. We’re late for that meeting,’ Mr Eisen added, giving the foyer one last inspection as they reached the lift. ‘It’s important. We can talk about this later.’
The doors closed, cutting off Paul’s indignant reply.
That was…intense. If he was like that all the time I did not envy Paul his home life.
I shifted the weight of the gym bag on my shoulder and headed for the front doors. As they slid open, North Queensland’s humidity enveloped me, the air thick and perfumed with greenery and distant rain. Nectar after the thin, cool, staleness inside.
I squared my shoulders, paused and eyed the patterns of shadow and light in the street. Nothing untoward was visible but disquiet fluttered my breath and tightened the back of my neck. Something felt off.
No, I was being paranoid again. That happened a lot.
The MJE office block was a shiny-new monument of blue glass and steel. The gym at the bottom was clean and usefully located, but once in the streets it became a different matter. This wasn’t the most wholesome area after hours. It was across from a pub and a park notorious as a hangout for binge-drinkers thrown out by the publican. The combination of that, single female, and Friday night potentially made me a target. Perhaps that was the source of my uneasiness.
Overhead, thick clouds obscured stars and moon and reflected the city lights as an unpleasant orange-grey glow. The sweet scent of frangipani and seawater lingered, heavy in the air. A distant rumble of thunder signified a possible storm. The sky seemed to spill its pent up fury almost every afternoon here; like the sky gods were making a determined effort to wash away the town. Electricity flickered high in the clouds. Ozone caught on the back of my tongue.
I strode to my car. Disquiet slid down my spine, infecting my limbs with the shakes as my body reacted to an unseen threat. I transferred keys to my pocket and bag to my left hand, leaving my right free.
At the car, I flicked the bag into the boot. Tension twisted a thin wire of pain in behind my left eyeball. Dammit. Another migraine? Now? Darkness pushed at my thinking. I thrust it down, stepped back...
3
Anything?>
Possibly. They’re about to make contact. A test, by the looks of it.
Don’t worry. I won’t interfere unless I have to.
… and jammed an elbow into the solar plexus of the man directly behind me.
He folded with a grunt and dropped a wine bottle. It shattered and sprayed cheap red wine onto my ankles. The vinegary smell overpowered the soft scent of distant rain on hot tarmac.
A second man’s thick arms wrapped me in a bear hug from behind. I swallowed a scream and crouched. Raising my elbows bought space. I shot straight back up. The hardest part of my head caught him under the chin. I saw stars for a second. My attacker went down like the proverbial sack of potatoes. His head smacked audibly on the road. I stomped on his knee for good measure. Something important snapped with a crack that echoed off the buildings.
The first guy regained his breath and pulled out a knife.
I swarmed in faster than he could react or move. Locking his arm straight across my chest cracked the elbow nicely. I dragged the knife from lax fingers. He stifled a shriek. His fingers raked at my arm, ripping off one of my gloves. He staggered back, cradling his arm. Anger blazed in his dark eyes. He straightened, his broken arm dangling, and stalked towards me.
From the corner of my mind, darkness pressed against my adrenalin-soaked thoughts. A thousand needles prickled delicately at my skin from the inside. My hands shook as I struggled for control. Fear mounted. Not of my attacker, for him. Perhaps I should end him with his own knife just to prevent something worse happening.
He grasped at my throat. I turned and wrapped an arm over his, trapping it. The point of my elbow struck his nose. He cried out. Blood spurted. His fingers clutched at me, digging sharp nails into my skin. A foot kicked at my knee.
Darkness surged forth. My bare palm fell onto his forehead. He gasped and dropped to the tarmac, eyes wide, mouth gaping. I burned, gloriously alight from within. I laughed. He fell. His eyes rolled back. His skin tautened.
‘No!’ I let go the fire, released him, and stumbled a few steps away. My heart hammered. I fought against myself, struggling for calm.
Limp on the ground, he moaned. At least he lived. The knife hilt, thumped into the back of his head, stopped the groaning. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. The darkness retreated, taking the taste of blood and ozone with it.
I watched the two unconscious men a while. Gritting my teeth, I mastered the weakness in my knees and the roiling in my stomach and fumbled for the car keys. If I didn’t think about the horror on his face, and the heady fire of his life curling under my skin, I could get through this.
Sharp little diamonds glittered behind my eyelids as I closed them against the overbright streetlights. Adrenalin ebbed, leaving me weak and sick, my mouth full of saliva. Needles drilled behind my eyes.
I thumbed the electronic key and squinted against the flash of the car lights as it unlocked. The knife went into the back seat. Time to get out of here. If the police showed up there would be questions and a report filed with my name on it. I didn’t need that.
‘Hey!’
I jumped and spun, hands up defensively. A man approached from the back of the car. Even in the muggy evening heat he wore black jeans and a black motorbike jacket. He nudged the two unconscious men with a toe.
There wasn’t enough time to get into the car and I didn’t want to be caught half-in and vulnerable. How did I not sense him? Was he another attacker?
He moved closer.
I backed away.
Light spilling from the pub opposite illuminated a pair of dark-rimmed, lead-grey eyes, startling against tawny skin. Dark, straight brows snapped together in some emotion I couldn’t read.
Why did he seem…familiar? Black hair, short and deliberately untidy, framed a lean face. But not a face I knew.
‘What happened? You ok?’ He cocked his head. ‘Aren’t you in…Cairns High? I think I’ve seen you there.’
What was this, schoolies night downtown? I backed away again, keeping fighting distance. I didn’t remember seeing him around the campus, but it was a big school. Maybe that’s why he looked familiar.
‘What are you doing here? You with them?’ I jerked a chin at the two insensible bodies.
‘I’m not going to hurt you. I was in the pub across the road.’ He pointed. ‘Saw those two coming after you. Just thought I could help.’
‘The pub. You’re too young.’
He shrugged and stepped closer again. ‘Drinking age in Australia’s eighteen.’ An overhead streetlight emphasised high cheekbones, a sharp jaw and narrow nose. He wasn’t classically handsome so much as striking; strong.
I stepped back.
He held his palms out in a placating gesture. ‘I just want to make sure you’re alright. Those guys seemed pretty serious. I’m Fynn Litson. What’s your name?’
Checking the unconscious men, I swallowed. There was no evidence of what had almost happened. But what had Fynn seen? Anything? Had I betrayed myself again in another act of stupidity?
‘I’m fine. Those two attacked me. I defended myself. Hardly even a fair fight, considering how drunk they are. Now I’m going. Stay out of it.’ Tension made me more abrupt than I meant to be.
‘But you…’ He seemed to reconsider his words. A flicker of something akin to doubt or suspicion crossed his face as he took in the inert forms on the ground.
I should never have come here tonight. I’d nagged Anna until she let me use MJE’s secure server to search some otherwise-inaccessible online archives in the hopes of finding a new lead to the ocair. It’d been fruitless and now two people had almost exposed me.
Fynn’s eyes
widened. He muttered something that sounded very much like ‘ocair’.
‘What did you say?’ I straightened out of a fighting stance.
He cleared his throat. ‘I said, “take care”. You don’t look all that good. Let me drive you home.’
‘No! I’m not some damsel in distress. I rescued myself, thanks.’ I glared at him. ‘Just get out of my way.’ One of my attackers stirred and groaned, his fleshy, meaty fingers scrabbling at the warm asphalt. ‘Now.’
‘Fine.’ Fynn yanked up the zip of his motorbike jacket. His jaw clenched. He gave a sharp nod and stalked down the silent, grey-and-orange shadowed street. I half-expected his jacket to have “Hell’s Angels”, or something like, blazoned across the back. Instead, it bore an intricately-embroidered Celtic symbol of some sort; a stylised silver tree.
He vanished into darkness.
A motorbike engine roared. The red taillight dwindled down the length of a dim street.
He’d lied. He had said ocair. I was certain of it. But why? How did he even know the word? I was an idiot to let him out of my sight.
I needed to find out. If I’d heard correctly, then he was the first person to even know the word. The first evidence in five years it even was a word. I had to find him again. Had to be sure.
I slid into the driver’s seat, struggling with the simple act of sliding the key into the ignition. As I pulled into the street, I scrabbled for my phone.
‘Anna!’ For a relieved moment, I thought she’d answered, but it was her voicemail telling me cheerfully to leave a message. Why wasn’t she picking up? Was she alright? Damn. I’d forgotten: she had a meeting until eight at least.
I hung up and kept driving, holding the single red taillight in sight.
Lights and streetlights lashed my eyes, lending strength to the headache that clouded my thoughts and fed on my fears. If I went home and lay down in a dark room, I could probably avoid a brain-fry migraine. I kept driving. My brain could roast over hot coals if it meant finding out who was after me and why.
About twenty minutes north, somewhere around Smithfield, where the road split, I lost him. The red light vanished in a sea of traffic and I couldn’t tell if he went left, to the Tablelands, or right to the northern beaches.
A petrol station nearby offered a chance to regroup. I slammed a fist against the steering wheel, swore and closed my eyes. Migraine and no answers. Perfect.
What I needed now was somewhere dark and cool to sulk and groan a lot.
I bought a drink and some painkillers. My phone told me the beaches were close. The thought appealed. Dry, cool sand. The sound of waves hissing and sloshing. A huge, golden full moon had risen and shrunk into a silver disc. It would light my way.
Following the moon took me north but the sledgehammers in my head grew too much and I had to stop. Painkillers weren’t helping.
I drew to a halt at Ellis beach. The sand lay right in front of me. Glistening water beckoned, cool and inviting. A sign warned of lethal box jellyfish, lurking in the summer-warm waters. What a pain in the ass. Literally. Another warned of estuarine crocodiles. A third of poisonous stonefish. What sort of place was this? Next they’d be telling me drop-bears were real.
With a regretful sigh, I unbuckled the seatbelt. kicked off my shoes and headed for the sand. It crunched and squeaked, cool beneath my toes. A palm tree leaned at the right angle and I sat with my back against it, eyes closed.
Slowly the smell of sand and salt; the soothing ebb and flow of gentle waves lapping on the beach; the breeze whispering through leaves above, all filtered past the blanket of pain. I willed my shoulders to relax. Tension drained away but the migraine stayed, stabbing in behind my left eye.
I thumped my head gently against the tree in a vain effort to beat the pain into submission and tried to think of something else.
Had Fynn spotted me? I’d been mugged before, twice in LA, and successfully defended myself both times without being seen – and without turning life-vampire on anyone. So was it just bad luck this time? What had triggered my self-control breakdown? I’d come so damned close to killing that guy. Frighteningly close. It’d been two years. Why now?
And what had Fynn seen and said? Now I wasn’t certain of what I’d heard. Perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Maybe I should just cut my losses and get out of town, just in case. That would be the smart, safe thing to do; the thing I always did.
No. I had to know.
I opened my eyes. The silver-water moon path shimmered at my feet. I was tempted to step onto it and fly away; to dance through the forest on beams of moonlight, leaving the cities behind.
The pain tightened a band around my skull. Nausea churned my stomach. This was worse than normal. I threw up the meagre remains of my afternoon snack into the sand. It didn’t help. Now even the glow of the moon hurt my eyes. I wiped my mouth, wished for water and half-heartedly buried the nauseating mess in the sand. Somewhere dark to curl up. Somewhere in the cool rainforest. That was all I wanted now. The future could wait.
A mosquito whined in the dark and settled on my arm, its sharp sting barely registering. I couldn’t stay here. I’d be sucked dry by morning. Determined, I struggled up from the sand, leaning heavily on a palm tree.
The first step jarred my head so much tears welled. I bit my lip against the urge to throw up again. Another step brought me to my knees, tears coursing freely down my face. It hurt too much. I couldn’t think; couldn’t see.
I swore inventively through clenched teeth, despising my weakness.
Strong arms scooped me up and cradled me, like a child, against a broad chest. I protested weakly as each step unsettled my stomach. The arms gripped tighter. I struggled. I wasn’t safe. I had to run.
‘Stop wiggling or I’ll drop you!’ an impatient voice muttered in my ear.
He put me down long enough to fumble through my bag for my car keys. I peered up at the dark figure looming over me and heaved a sigh of relief.
Paul Eisen. Hopefully not a threat.
‘Come on. Get in,’ he said. ‘I’ll drive you home.’
The drive home barely registered. It was all I could do not to throw up again and humiliate myself in front of Paul. Streetlights stabbed at my brain, even through closed eyelids. I whimpered and swore at my own wretchedness.
‘Hey.’ His warm hand patted my knee. ‘We’re almost there. I called your mum and she’s waiting. You’ll be ok.’
‘Thanks.’ My voice was a cracked whisper. ‘You shouldn’t have called her, though. I’ll be ok in the morning. I just need to sleep.’ I draped an arm across my eyes.
‘You get these headaches often? Is it normally this bad? Should we get an ambulance?’
‘No,’ I muttered. ‘No hospitals. This is…a little worse than usual but I can handle it.’
He gave a soft chuckle. ‘You’re a tough one, I’ll give you that.’
His words barely registered and I didn’t understand them, anyway. A tough what? Girl? Why did he sound so surprised a girl could be tough? What was tough about surviving a headache. I was a prize idiot. Stories of my pathetic weakness would be all over school on Monday.
Paul pulled into my driveway. My door opened and my mother helped me out. I half-heard her grateful thanks to Paul and his easy assurances in return.
The elevator ride up to the apartment was a blur; my dark, cool room a blessing. I threw the wig aside, sank onto the bed and curled around a pillow. The smooth cotton pillowcase felt rough against my skin.
The mattress sagged. My mother brushed hairs from my forehead.
‘Bad?’
‘The worst. Just shoot me now.’
‘Oh, babe.’ Her fingers massaged my temples.
‘Where were you? I called. I was worried.’
‘Sorry sweetheart. I’m fine. I was at the meeting at work. Didn’t hear the phone. Taken anything?’ She tugged my shoes off. They thumped into the corner of the room, joining various other bits of discarded clothing and three half-unpacked box
es lurking there. The sum of my life.
‘Not helping,’ I managed. ‘Could only find synthetics.’
‘Do I need to call a doctor?’
‘You know we can’t,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll be ok. Let me sleep.’
She rhythmically stroked my damp hair.
‘Anna?’ I said.
She made an inquiring noise in response.
‘I might have screwed up again.’
‘Oh?’
‘I think maybe someone saw me.’
There was a long silence and she sighed. ‘You sure?’
Right now, with the fire in my head consuming logic, I couldn’t be. ‘Not really. Maybe not. I don’t know. I’ll try and find out tomorrow. I don’t want us to have to go so soon.’
‘Well.’ She smoothed my hair again. ‘Sleep on it, then we’ll discuss it in the morning.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Tears slipped down my cheeks. ‘I’m sorry I keep messing up your life. I try but I can’t help it. I’m sorry I ruined your night. I know you like that Mick guy you talk about at work. You deserve someone to look after you.’
‘Oh, baby, I know how hard you try and I hate seeing you turning yourself into something you’re not. You used to be such a bubbly, happy little thing. You’re too young to worry so much.’ She wiped the tears away and kissed my forehead. ‘If we have to go, we do. It’ll be ok. Mick is…well, it doesn’t matter. As long as you’re safe, it’ll be ok.’
‘Thanks, Mum.’
She gave a little gasping laugh. ‘Now I know you’re sick. You haven’t called me that since you were six.’
I managed a weak chuckle. ‘What, in London, when I was dressed as a boy and you were my aunt? It was easier to call you Anna.’
‘I’m surprised you remember.’
‘I remember everything – from after Dad left, anyway.’ The pain spiked in my head again.
Relics and Runes Anthology Page 62