‘Birthday, bring me that chair, would you,’ said Seraphina.
Eyes closed, Sam heard a chair being scraped towards her and she dropped into it, guided by the woman holding her. She put her head between her knees and tried not to vomit. The musky smell of Tamas’s blood saturating her T-shirt and jeans didn’t help with those efforts. But it was much more than that – she had never felt so incredibly weak and exhausted.
What is wrong with me? she wanted to know.
‘What’s wrong with me?’ she groaned.
‘You performed a very powerful healing spell, Samantha White,’ said Seraphina. ‘And given that you’ve absolutely no training, you’re lucky to be alive.’
Oh great, thought Samantha, eyes on her sneakers. This must be some Roma witch who’s spun so much bull to the Gaje that she’s convinced herself it’s true. I need to get out of here. Is Tamas really going to be okay?
The image of blood pulsing from his throat caused a sob to rise to her mouth. She bit down on it. Did Boldo still have Shofranka? What if Lala had woken up and was frantic for them? Was Mirela okay? She needed to find them now, and Birthday Jones and this woman were not going to stop her.
The woman knelt in front of her, dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail. Her skin was fresh cream, flawless. Underneath a khaki trucker’s cap, her eyes glowed amber, multifaceted, golden. They emitted so much warmth and kindness that Samantha had to blink. Why did this stranger seem to give a damn about her?
‘Who are you?’ she said.
‘I work for Save the Children. We help street kids all over the world. Birthday Jones is my friend.’
‘Are you Gaje?’ asked Samantha, not because that mattered, only because she was trying to figure things out.
‘I’m not from Romania,’ said Sera.
‘Samantha, you’re being rude,’ said Birthday, folding his arms across his black T-shirt.
A khaki trucker’s cap hid his curls and Samantha suddenly did a double take. Sera was wearing the same outfit, right down to the cargos.
‘What are you, my private army?’ she said.
‘Um, kinda,’ said Sera.
‘You don’t look like a social worker,’ said Samantha.
‘Well, thank you,’ said Seraphina, with a wink.
Did she just wink? thought Samantha. I have to get out of here. She doesn’t have a clue how bad all this is. ‘I have to go back out there to them,’ she said.
‘Not going to happen,’ said Sera. She smiled sadly. ‘Best I can do is allow you to peek outside at what’s happening, but then we’ll have to go.’
‘Go?’ said Samantha.
‘Yes, honey. We have to get you out of Romania. Tonight.’
Okay, so she’s crazy, thought Samantha. At least we’ve established that.
‘Riiight,’ she said. ‘Okay, then.’
She gave Birthday a look which clearly said: what-the-hell-are-you-thinking-hanging-around-with-this-fruitcake?
She put on her most reasoning tone of voice. ‘Well, maybe I could just have a look at what’s going on out there. I am really worried about my friends, my family.’ And as soon as I get near the door I’m getting the hell out of here. Ninjas with killing stars, kidnapping cowboys and now some psycho social worker. Why the hell didn’t I stay in camp tonight, like Lala told me to?
‘Of course, honey,’ said Sera. ‘Just make sure you keep all parts of your body inside the Funhouse.’
The Funhouse?
Samantha took a better look around the room. The candy stripes from the ceiling continued jauntily down the walls, giving the effect of a striped circus tent, although, as far as she could tell, the walls looked solid. The floor was a giant checkerboard; its glossy black-and-white tiles looked as though they’d never been walked upon. Opposite them, against the wall, leaned a giant mirror in an elaborate gilded frame. The chair she was sitting on was heavily padded in deep red velvet. It was the only chair in the room. And other than a royal blue door with a glass doorknob, that was it. She had definitely never seen a place like this at any other carni.
Her heart began hammering at her breastbone. She turned to Birthday.
‘Are we still at the Carnivale?’
He stared at his shoes. Not good.
‘It’s just out there, Samantha,’ said Sera, nodding towards the blue door. ‘Take a look.’
She raced across the tiles and grabbed the door handle, pausing for just a moment. What if the ninjas were still there and they spotted her? There was nowhere to hide in here. She’d be cornered. But the need to know was too strong.
She hid her body behind the door and cracked it carefully, peering out into the night. She knew that with the bright lighting behind her inside this freaky room she’d be lit up as though on stage, but she had to see what was going on.
She could glimpse just a little from this angle. The gravel road of the carni met the front door of the Funhouse, and she spotted the food tent opposite; it looked like the same one she’d seen when the ninjas were chasing her. But now it seemed to be closed for the night. A couple of carnis walked by, smoking and talking; she could hear them grumbling about losing money.
It appeared as though this room was just a few metres down from the Ghost Train, right where she’d been standing when Tamas had been hit by the star.
But that can’t be right, she thought. I would definitely have noticed this place.
She could see strobing police lights against the night sky, but not the spot where Tamas had fallen. She needed to move further out the door to see what was going on.
‘Can we turn the lights off in here?’ she hissed, frustrated that she hadn’t thought of doing so earlier.
‘They can’t see you, Samantha,’ said Sera. ‘You can open the door as much as you like. Just don’t try to go out there.’
Samantha gave Sera a tight smile and turned back to the door, rolling her eyes. Yeah, like I’m gonna listen to the crazy woman. Still, she could see no light switch by the door, so she risked showing a little more of herself in order to see further down the street.
And there he was. Tamas! Her hand flew to her throat. He was on a stretcher, medics bending over him, and in a huddle behind him were Mirela and Luca, Hanzi and Shofranka. They looked exhausted and upset. A police car waited behind them, its lights flashing.
That was enough for her. The police had scared the ninjas off last time – well, with a little help from Gudada and his pistola – so she decided she’d take her chances. I’m not going to hide in here all night, she thought. She stepped out the door.
And found herself back in the red velvet chair.
‘What the hell just happened?’
‘Imperceptible spell,’ said Sera, now sitting cross-legged on the tiles.
Birthday Jones leaned against the candied wall, near the mirror. He rubbed a hand across his forehead and still would not meet Sam’s eyes.
‘Say what?’ Sam said, moving forward and standing over the woman, her fists clenched.
‘An imperceptible spell,’ said Sera.
While Samantha stared, incredulous, the woman pulled an emery board from her pocket. ‘It means that no one can see the Funhouse,’ she continued, filing her nails. ‘It also means that no one can go in or out of that door.’
Samantha grappled to stay patient with the lunatic. She tried for logic. ‘Well, how did we get in here then?’
Seraphina used her nailfile to point to the mirror.
Samantha closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She spoke quietly. ‘Listen, lady,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what kind of drugs you’re taking or what kind you should be taking, and I don’t know what you’ve done to my so-called friend over there…’ The volume pumped up with the last few words. ‘But I am getting the hell out of here.’
‘Sam -’ Birthday walked towards her, arm outstretched, his face miserable.
‘Don’t,’ she said, hands held out towards him like a stop sign.
Her hear
t ached at the realisation that he was not the person she thought he was. What was he doing not even trying to help her?
‘Birthday, it’s okay, let her go,’ said Sera.
‘Like he could stop me,’ said Samantha, marching back to the door, yanking on the crystal doorknob and heading out into the night.
Back on the velvet chair, she screamed and then burst into tears.
Elizabeth Bay, Sydney, Australia
July 1, 1.30 p.m.
‘So, what else do you know?’ said Luke.
The toasted sandwich and orange juice had gone a long way towards making him feel normal again. Well, towards what he thought normal was supposed to feel like.
Georgia was still upstairs. He pulled the chocolate cake from the fridge. As confused as he was about everything – Zac, himself… hell, the whole world – his greatest wish at the moment was that Toad could see him right now.
‘Wait,’ he said, before Zac could speak. ‘You say you’re magic. Is there any way you could make Toad watch me eat this cake while he’s still sitting in Dwight?’
Zac studied his nails. ‘You’re not taking this very seriously, Luke,’ he said.
‘But I would seriously like Toad to watch me eat this cake in this house.’
‘You’re the psychopath, Luke. A lot of people will be looking for you right now.’
Luke left the cake on the bench and shut the door to the fridge. He leaned his back against it to have contact with something solid, real.
‘The psychopath,’ said Luke. ‘Not a psychopath. You said the psychopath.’
Zac said nothing, just met his eyes.
A grey cat, mean-faced and battle-scarred, limped – as though with arthritic knees – in an ungainly swagger into the kitchen. The small cat tried to leap onto a benchtop; failed. Instead, it propped against a cupboard, cleaning its face, as though nothing at all had happened.
‘So I’m the psychopath,’ Luke continued. ‘What does that mean, Zac? Am I gonna become, like, the new Hannibal Lecter?’
‘Not all psychopaths are serial killers, Luke.’
‘Well, that’s a relief. Because otherwise I’m a long way behind all the other psychopaths in my career so far.’
‘You’re still not taking this seriously,’ said Zac.
‘Well, you’re still speaking in tongues,’ said Luke.
Zac moved silently across the marble floor tiles and stopped in front of the little grey cat. He squatted. There was silence for a beat and suddenly the cat reared up on its hind legs, mouth open, teeth bared, hissing. Doubled now in size, the fur on its back and tail standing bolt upright, it made a lightning-fast vicious swipe for Zac’s face. Zac rocked backwards in a move that would have put anyone else on their arse. The cat missed. Zac hissed. And the little grey warrior limped painfully out of the kitchen.
‘I think these cats are spies,’ said Zac.
‘Spies,’ said Luke.
They stared at each other.
Zac looked away first.
Luke sighed deeply. ‘Are we gonna talk properly, Nguyen, or do you wanna tell me more about the 007 cats?’
Zac looked away from Luke for a moment, and then stood. ‘More than five thousand years ago,’ he said, ‘there was a very brief time in history when peace reigned between animals, mortals and immortals.’
Luke picked up an apple and began tossing it. ‘Were you there?’ he said.
Zac gave him a sour look.
‘What?’ said Luke. ‘Why is that so stupid? I mean, you’re the one who’s supposed to be a magic elf, and I’m supposed to just know that you’re not thousands of years old? Aren’t elves supposed to be immortal?’
‘Well, we’re not mortal,’ said Zac. ‘And we can live for thousands of years. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t die and that we can’t be killed.’
Luke’s scalp itched, as it always did when something didn’t make sense. He’d always figured it was his brain’s bullcrap detector, and right now it was in overdrive. But Zac really believed what he was saying, and he had thrown a knife and caught it before it hit the wall. Maybe Zac wasn’t actually an elf – Luke definitely wasn’t living life in the Disney channel – but he wasn’t the slightest bit ordinary, either.
‘Okay,’ he said, scratching his head. ‘So you weren’t there five thousand years ago in that peaceful hippy time, but how old are you?’ He braced himself. He didn’t know how he was going to speak to Zac again if he learned that he was ninety, or three hundred and eight.
‘I’m fifteen,’ said Zac.
‘For real?’ said Luke.
‘For real. I guess that’s why they assigned me to you. One, they thought we could relate; two, they wouldn’t have to tell me anything because I’m pretty much considered an infant.’
‘But why wouldn’t they want you to know what’s going on?’ said Luke.
‘They probably figured I’d freak out,’ said Zac.
Luke sighed. ‘Well, that’s very helpful. So, five thousand years ago there was this big love fest, and everything was happy families. Next.’
‘And then there was this terrible disturbance,’ said Zac. ‘This awful disruption that spread across the whole world.’
‘Like an earthquake?’ said Luke.
‘More a poisonous gas leak,’ said Zac. ‘But the poison was like a toxic emotion, a volcano of hate. All this rage and fear suddenly erupted into the atmosphere. The elves who were alive back then reckon they could see and smell it – rotten, grey-yellow filth oozing out from the soil, bubbling up from the oceans, bursting into the air as a putrid gas. Trees died. Climates changed. Wars began. People fought and killed so that they could own more than they could ever use. Some would watch their neighbours – even their family members – starve, just so that they could have more and more. Hoarding it, keeping it for themselves.
‘Some of the worst of these people rose to the highest ranks in governments around the world. Or to huge positions of power. Millions starved. Animals were slaughtered for the hell of it. For fun. And the most evil of all things happened. For the first time ever in history, people began to torture other creatures – making others suffer just to give themselves some kind of sick pleasure.’
Luke’s mind was filled with images of people who fitted that bill. Officer Holt, Zecko Sevic and Foster Daddy Dick led the parade. He gave a bitter smile.
Zac walked over to the window facing the ocean. White rain slashed down from the sky, hurling itself at the glass, each sliver sacrificing itself in its efforts to break through, to reclaim nature.
‘It was called Disharmony,’ Zac said. ‘But it wasn’t just a division between mortals and animals. The immortals were also affected. Many witches and warlocks became black overnight. Orcs – ordinarily dumb as rocks – chose the dark, as did goblins, the succubi…’
‘But not the elves,’ said Luke.
‘No, not the elves,’ agreed Zac. ‘Nor the vast majority of mortals. But the tiny number of the worst of the worst grew. This small group of mortals and immortals seemed to have no feelings at all for others, no empathy, no remorse; they made their way through life with one aim only: to please themselves, regardless of what it cost anyone else.’
‘Psychopaths,’ said Luke.
Zac nodded.
‘So, basically, I’m the bad guy,’ said Luke.
He wanted to feel something right now, but mostly he wanted to feel nothing, like usual. Unfortunately, he was somewhere in between. And what that felt like was uncomfortable, kind of itchy.
‘Well, sort of,’ said Zac. ‘But you see, you’re not just a psychopath.’
‘Oh, right,’ said Luke. ‘I’m the psychopath. Like the big daddy of all psychopaths.’
‘No, idiot,’ said Zac. ‘But you are part of the Telling.’
‘The Telling?’
‘It’s a prophecy. All immortals are taught the basics of it before they can even fly.’
‘You can fly?’ said Luke.
‘The Telling,’ Zac co
ntinued, ‘decrees that one day three siblings will be born who can rid the world of Disharmony forever.’
‘Make everything all happy-happy again?’
‘Yep. Well, there’s a little bit more to it than that, of course,’ said Zac.
‘Well, what else do I need to know?’
‘I don’t know the whole prophecy. There’s a saying that if you don’t know something about the Telling, then you’re not yet meant to know that part of it.’
‘That makes no sense at all,’ said Luke. ‘I’m finding this is a theme with you, Nguyen. Anyway, you said that one of the siblings is a psychopath?’
‘Yep.’
‘And my sister?’ Luke really wanted to know more about his sister, and…
‘Wait – did you say three siblings?’ he said.
‘Yes,’ said Zac. ‘You’re the psychopath. I’m betting that your twin sister is the empath. It’s a symmetry thing. It makes sense. Nature loves symmetry.’
‘What’s an empath?’ said Luke.
‘Um, someone, like, not you,’ said Zac.
Okaaay. ‘And what’s the third?’ said Luke, his mouth dry.
‘The third would be your brother,’ said Zac. ‘We know he’s a boy. He’s a year younger than you. And he’s a genius.’
Zac moved closer to Luke, reached a hand out towards him, then dropped it again.
‘And your mother died giving birth to him.’
***
‘And I thought girls were supposed to talk a lot.’
Luke raised an eyebrow and turned. Zac hissed quietly. Rich-punk-bad-girl Georgia stood in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the jamb, arms folded. This morning she was even more Goth than yesterday. A long-sleeved black fitted T-shirt, black micro-mini skirt, black leggings, bare feet, black toenails. It seemed she hadn’t gotten around to the black lipstick yet, but she’d definitely found the eyeliner.
For some reason Luke felt mildly guilty. As though he’d been caught talking about her. He wished his conversation with Zac had been about something so simple.
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