‘Well, don’t worry, Sho,’ said Mirela. ‘You’ll have your big tough brother to sit next to. He’ll hold your hand.’
‘Eww,’ said Shofranka. ‘I’m so not sitting with Tamas.’
‘Well, you’ll have to ride alone then,’ said Mirela. ‘Because Sam and I always sit together.’
Shofranka stopped shuffling. A gap formed ahead of her in the queue. She put her hands on her hips. ‘I am not going on there by myself,’ she said.
‘Hey, move!’ someone yelled behind them.
Samantha turned towards the shout, as did Tamas. She couldn’t see his face, but the girls behind them obviously could. The ten or so closest female faces stared openly at him.
Tamas turned back around before Sam did, and she felt a rush of blood to her cheeks. She dipped her head to try to hide the blush. You are so lame, Sam, she told herself. Can’t you be a little more cool?
‘What’s the matter, little Witch?’ he said.
He reached out a hand and put a finger under her chin, lifted her face. ‘You should never hide that face from me,’ he whispered. ‘It hurts when I can’t see it.’
She just stood there. Open-mouthed.
He put his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. ‘But I’m going to have to survive,’ he said from behind her again now. ‘Because the line is moving.’
He did not just say that, Samantha, you idiot. He said something else entirely. He probably said that it hurts to look at you, or something. That’s what he meant. But her cheeks were already beginning to ache because her smile was so wide. And he was standing even closer to her now, if that was possible. Every few moments she felt their clothing touch and the fleeting movement raised goosebumps over her bare arms. She closed her eyes as she moved forward in the queue, vaguely aware of Mirela and Shofranka arguing up ahead. What if I just lean back right now, she thought, right into that chest? Into those arms?
‘Um, wakey, wakey, nutbag,’ said Mirela. ‘We’re up next.’
They’d reached the edge of the platform. Staring at them was a bleary-eyed attendant and a faded monster’s face, plastered across two red doors.
‘Two at a time,’ the attendant sing-songed. ‘Keep your arms in the carriage at all times.’
The red doors crashed open, splitting the monster’s face in half, and a dilapidated cart jerked out. A bored-looking Gaje couple readied themselves to alight from their flight into hell.
‘Looks like you get to ride with your boyfriend,’ said Mirela, whispering the last two words. ‘On account of how Shofranka’s gonna spit the dummy if one of us doesn’t ride with her.’ She ramped up the volume on the last sentence and gave her younger cousin a scowl.
Samantha swallowed.
‘You’re welcome.’ Mirela gathered up her skirt and climbed into the cart with a nervously grinning Shofranka.
Samantha had known Tamas her whole life. She’d thrown rocks at him, raced horses with him, shared a plate of food with him many times. When they were younger they’d even slept in the same sleeping bag, just as she had with every other kid in camp. She’d always fought for his attention, and gabbled away about anything she could think of just to get him to talk to her.
Now, she could not think of a single thing to say.
He towered over her with an amused smile on his full lips. ‘So, I get to go on the Ghost Train with a witch,’ he said. ‘I’m kinda scared.’
‘You’re scared,’ she said. She couldn’t look at him.
Tamas gave a laugh. ‘You’re not scared of little me, are you, Sam?’ He hooked a finger through one of her curls and pulled.
‘As if,’ she said, straightening her shoulders and meeting his eyes as they roamed her face. ‘I am a witch. I might put a spell on you.’
‘Too late,’ he said, tucking the tangled tress behind her ear.
Fireworks went off in her stomach.
Their carriage lurched to a halt in front of them and Tamas climbed in first. He held out his hand to help her in and she grabbed it quickly, before he saw hers shaking. He lifted her into the cart as though she weighed no more than a saddle. When he let her go she wished he hadn’t and her chest hurt.
My God, what is happening to me? she wondered. She felt burning hot and shivery all at the same time.
As they moved towards the black fire-painted gates, they each sat rigid, separate. But by the time they’d cleared the gates of hell, Tamas was on her side of the carriage. She turned to face him, dizzy, unable to think.
He cupped her face in his hands. They were warm and dry, and scratchy with work. She pushed her head closer, butting into him like a cat. She entwined her jeans with his. Her mind was still blank and she couldn’t catch her breath. He bent his head towards hers. Stopped when their noses touched.
‘Are you doing this to me?’ he whispered. His lips almost touched hers with each word.
She said nothing. She’d forgotten how to speak.
They sat there like that. She slowed her breathing to match his, inhaling when he exhaled, breathing him in. Headless horsemen sprung from gloomy corners, damsels screeched, and a henchman’s axe swung through the air. A child cried piteously, on loop-tape.
Samantha raised her hand to the back of his neck. She had no idea what she was doing. She had very little idea where she was. In fact, had someone asked Samantha White right at that moment to identify herself, she’d have nothing for them.
She snuck her hand underneath Tamas’s ponytail and trailed her fingers across the soft skin there. She felt his shiver through her whole body. He closed his eyes. She pulled his face closer.
Status: Logged in User: Intellice
Back again. Where are we up to? I’ve only got a few minutes…
Oh! Samantha White has had her first real kiss in the Ghost Train at one of her favourite places on earth. The Carnivale. And it’s with Tamas – the boy she’s loved her whole life. He loves her too – she feels it.
Well, I saw that coming a mile away.
And at that moment everything was perfect. Smiley, smiley, happy, lovely…
But hang on. Not everything is perfect. Didn’t you notice that the moon was not quite right? That a sliver of silver was missing? Enough maybe for a dagger? Or a sword?
You are going to need to stay on top of these anomalies. Pay attention for me. I wish I could help you more but I’m not exactly a free agent.
Not yet.
Speaking of which, someone’s coming. Must run. Work hard. We need you.
Later…
Elizabeth Bay, Sydney, Australia
June 30, 11.11 p.m.
Luke had never seen a home so huge. Well, maybe on TV, but he’d never even dreamed he’d actually spend a night in a house like this. Even so, he couldn’t find any enthusiasm for the thought: so much had happened that he was just counting down the minutes until midnight so that this freaky night would be over.
‘You seriously live here?’ he said again.
Georgia laughed. ‘It’s really not that big a deal,’ she said.
Luke stared at the Goth girl who’d come to their aid on the train. She just did not match that house. Long black hair in pigtails, black biker jacket, tartan mini skirt with black tights, and those frightening boots riding up over her knees. The platform soles on the boots gave her a good couple of inches on Luke and she towered over Zac, who’d been very quiet since they’d left the train at Kings Cross station.
Walking the twenty minutes from the station, from city craziness here to perfect Elizabeth Bay, he’d found himself wondering more than once how she’d managed to put on her black lipstick over the two thick rings piercing her bottom lip. As he studied her while she supposedly rummaged through her backpack for the keys, he realised that the stud in her nose was actually a tiny silver dragon, its tail curled about itself as it slept.
But he wasn’t holding his breath for the keys. Because behind her, spotlit by lamps embedded in an emerald, carpet-like lawn, rose a three-storey sandstone mansion. Two stor
eys high, the wrought-iron front gate was entwined and twisted with spirals, curlicues and vines. He wondered what a set of keys would even look like for a gate like that.
Surrounding the home was a park-like garden, impossibly lush in the middle of winter. Hundreds of fairylights climbed palm trees, danced and twinkled in bushes, sparkled through hedges.
Luke closed his eyes against the overwhelming brightness of it all. He was exhausted. He just wanted to sleep, and try as he might, he could not convince himself that it would be inside this house. The quiet clanking of boats in the dark harbour behind the house sedated him further. Even to just drop onto that carpet of grass and sleep until the frozen dawn would be enough for him.
‘Oh, here they are,’ said Georgia. Incredibly, she dangled a set of two keys from her fingers. A filigreed silver cat kept them company on the key ring.
Zac gave a soft growl.
Luke ignored him. ‘So you actually live here?’ he said.
‘I think you’re faulty,’ she said. ‘There’s a scratch on your disc somewhere. You keep saying the same thing.’
She turned away and inserted one of the keys into the lock. It creaked. She pushed it inward, holding it open with a hip.
‘Coming?’ she said.
Luke smiled. He was very rarely surprised any more.
The gate opened into a courtyard. A broad sandstone pathway led to the actual entry to the home: a shiny, red-lacquered door, twice as tall as he was. The sandstone path was flanked by stainless steel spears, each topped with a blue-orange flame. A snarl of black smoke curled skyward from the very tip of each as they walked by.
Behind the fire was water. Jade-green ponds filled with luminous darting fish whorled and bubbled on each side of the path. From the corner of his eye, Luke thought he saw an enormous golden tail the width of his thigh. He shook his head. I really need to get to bed, he thought.
Georgia stood at the red door. Luke watched her, wondering what lay beyond it. She put her key in the lock and turned the big brass door handle.
‘I am so starving,’ she said. ‘Anyone else hungry?’
***
Zac hadn’t said a word since the station.
Luke could quite understand that; he was also having trouble putting a sentence together.
He sat propped on a barstool at a big black marble serving bar in the most amazing kitchen he’d ever seen. But that hardly did it justice, he considered. Because before this, the most amazing kitchen he’d ever seen was one in which the dishes had been washed. He’d never even lived in a house with a dishwasher.
But this…
Well, this kitchen looked like it belonged in a restaurant and had that photo-clipped-straight-out-of-a-magazine look. Georgia, this freaky chick from the train, was making them bacon and eggs. If everything hadn’t smelled so good, he’d have been sure he was dreaming.
‘Do you really live here?’ he said.
She sighed. ‘You are becoming boring,’ she said. ‘I really live here.’
‘Who with?’ he said. ‘Where are your parents?’
‘Well, I think my mother may be with her lover,’ said Georgia, spooning mounds of buttery scrambled eggs onto a large green platter. ‘But please don’t ask me who that is at the present time, as their names change with tedious rapidity. I’m pretty sure that she just refers to each of them as “darling” because she has difficulty remembering them all. And my father – well, my father is in a place I’m sure you’re both very familiar with.’
She used tongs to drop sizzling bacon rashers onto the plate of eggs.
‘What are you talking about?’ said Luke.
Georgia slid a tray of thickly sliced toast out of the enormous oven.
‘Oh, don’t be silly,’ she said, using a knife to scrape wads of butter over the toast. ‘He’s in gaol, just like you were.’
Luke stared. Zac said nothing.
‘What do you want to drink?’ she said.
‘What makes you think we were locked up?’ Luke said.
‘Well, mostly your shoes.’ She carried the platter over to the oversized dining table. ‘I had a boyfriend who was locked up in Dwight. I used to visit most weekends. He wore those shoes. What are we drinking?’
‘Lots of people wear these shoes,’ said Luke.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But you were in Windsor and so were the transit cops who were looking for you. Also – um, I don’t mean to be rude, but have you seen the state of your face? You look more like someone stomped on it than that you spent the past couple of days reading poetry at your private school. I knew straight away you’d run away from Dwight.’
She walked back towards the fridge. ‘I’ve got juice, Coke, coffee, milk or wine,’ she said. ‘And pretty much everything else, actually.’
‘What were you doing in Windsor?’ said Luke. ‘When you live in a place like this?’
‘I have friends there,’ she said. ‘Drink?’
‘Coke,’ Luke said.
‘Zac?’ she said.
‘Water,’ said Zac. ‘And I don’t eat eggs.’
‘That’s a shame,’ said Georgia. ‘You haven’t tried mine, though. Maybe I can change your mind. Still, there’s heaps of bacon here.’
‘I’m a vegan,’ said Zac.
Georgia threw back her head and laughed. ‘Well, of course you are!’ she said. ‘How gorgeous. A vegetarian escapee from a juvenile detention centre.’
‘I’m vegan, not vegetarian,’ said Zac.
‘And we didn’t say we escaped,’ said Luke.
Georgia sighed and pulled two cans of Coke and a bottle of water from the massive stainless steel fridge.
‘You know, champagne would have been great with these eggs,’ she said.
Pantelimon, Bucharest, Romania
June 30, 9.09 p.m.
As they approached the exit doors of the Ghost Train, Samantha felt like crying. Tamas would have to let her go.
‘Sam, what’s the matter?’ said Tamas. ‘Are you mad at me? You look sad all of a sudden.’
A flash of fake fire, the ride’s last hurrah, lit up his face as she met his eyes, the flame reflected in their inky blackness.
‘You’re going to let me go when those doors open.’
He laughed. ‘You’re crazy,’ he said. ‘But don’t worry. Boyfriends tend to hold their girlfriends more than once.’
Boyfriend! Her heart leapt. But the red doors loomed ahead like a waiting mouth and the feeling of doom redoubled. She couldn’t help it – for some reason, cheesy and lame as it was, she felt compelled to say it.
‘I’ve loved you my whole life, Tamas,’ she blurted. And then cringed in embarrassment. But she hadn’t been able to keep the anxiety from her voice as disquiet buffeted the cable car, blown in with the wind beyond those red doors.
He smiled and pulled her close, but she caught the worried look in his eyes. Then their cart crashed through the doors.
And the world really went to hell.
***
The first person she saw was Mirela. And Mirela was screaming.
Tamas pushed Sam down into the cart.
The next person was Boldo, the gypsy king’s bodyguard. He stood by the gates to the ride, his pistol held loosely by his side. He seemed relaxed. In the other arm he gripped Shofranka by the shoulder, her pigtails swinging, mouth trembling, her spectacles reflecting the carnival lights.
Tamas reared up beside Samantha. She could feel the anger fizzing inside him. He reached into his jeans and pulled something from his pocket. She heard a snick, and then the attendant coughed.
‘Um, you need to get out,’ the pimply boy said.
Tamas now stood over her, a switchblade knife in his hand. He completely ignored the attendant.
In the queue waiting to board the ride, somebody screeched, adding to Mirela’s screams for help.
A knife versus a gun. This was not going to work. From the hard plastic seat underneath Tamas’s straddled legs, Samantha frantically tried to summon the
honeyed light to send it out towards Boldo. She didn’t know how the stuff worked, but maybe if she could send some his way he’d decide that the world would be a nicer place if he just packed up his gun and bought a kebab on the way home.
But nothing happened. Instead, Boldo told Tamas, ‘Send your witch over here. You’re making a scene.’
Tamas politely declined the request. ‘She’s not going anywhere with you, you pig,’ he called.
Boldo moved Shofranka a little further in front of him, tightening his grip. She whimpered in pain.
At the sound, Samantha felt fear and love jet into her bloodstream. She began gathering the energy into a ball, just like she had in the back of the van.
‘This will not go well for your family, Tamas, son of Besnik,’ said Boldo. His cowboy hat hid his eyes, his voice was gravel. ‘That little Gaje witch is not even your blood, our blood. She’s filth.’
There was silence for two seconds. Samantha used the time to gather energy.
But then Tamas spoke again.
‘Boldo, you need to listen to me very carefully,’ he said evenly. ‘I promise you, right here and now, that you will have to kill me to get her out of this park.’
The anger emanating from Tamas was white hot – Sam felt as though she stood in the centre of a bonfire. Her stomach recoiled at the strength of his emotions, and her focus shifted. The golden sphere in her mind dispersed into dust motes. Panicked, she tried rapidly to re-form it while she waited for Boldo’s reaction.
‘Be careful what you ask for, little boy,’ he said.
The ride attendant was on his radio now, his face milk-white. People had been drawn by the screams. Some held phones to their ears, but most used them to record the show.
‘Looks like you’ll have to shoot a lot of people then, Boldo,’ said Tamas, using his knife to indicate the growing crowd. ‘And the cops will be here soon.’
Boldo was silent for a moment. ‘Yeah,’ he said, finally. ‘I think I’m gonna split.’
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