‘Hey,’ he said. ‘Great house.’
‘Yeah, I know.’ She dropped her arms and sighed. ‘And do I really live here? We’ve done this before.’
‘You want us to go now?’ he said.
‘Ah, no,’ she said. ‘You just got here. You’ve done nothing remotely entertaining, and I’m terribly bored. It’s raining, I’m alone, and I thought you two might be something I could play with.’
‘Play with?’ said Luke.
This chick was an accident waiting to happen. The kind you read about on the web, after she’d been missing for twenty-four hours. She’d just invited two strangers into her home, and she wanted to play. They could have been anyone. Well, actually, they were a psychopath and an immortal, he reminded himself, so she hadn’t exactly made good choices. She was your typical spoiled teenager, looking to shock the oldies, to find an experience that money couldn’t buy. Maybe she’d found it.
‘Yeah,’ Georgia said. ‘Aren’t you two supposed to be villains? Don’t you want to go and do something illegal?’
‘Actually,’ said Luke. ‘I just want to go shopping for some new clothes.’
‘Yeah,’ said Zac. ‘So we’ll be leaving now.’
‘Thanks for everything, Georgia,’ said Luke.
Georgia walked over and opened a kitchen drawer, then she turned and began digging with a fork into the cake.
‘This is great,’ she said, chocolate on her lips. ‘You guys haven’t had any.’
‘We’re good,’ said Zac.
‘Well, you don’t need to leave right now, anyway,’ she said, grabbing another forkful of cake. ‘There are heaps of clothes upstairs – they’re my brothers’. They’ll never know they’re missing. They won’t want them by the time they get back anyway.’
‘Where are they?’ said Luke.
‘Boarding school.’
‘Why aren’t you at school?’ he said.
‘Well, I am,’ said Georgia. ‘I’m tucked away nicely at boarding school. Out of harm’s way. That’s what my parents think.’
‘Why didn’t the school tell your parents you’re missing?’ said Zac, arms folded.
‘Because my parents wrote them a lovely letter explaining that I’ll be away with them for the winter.’
‘But you wrote it?’ said Luke.
Georgia smiled widely.
‘Now what’ll it be?’ she said. ‘Cake first or clothes? You don’t want to go outside today. It’s pouring. Plus, I’ve got the latest Halo game.’
***
Georgia led them up the stairs to the third floor.
‘Those are my brothers’ rooms,’ she said, pointing to two closed doors. ‘Help yourselves.’ She kept walking, pushing open a door that was part of a double set. Luke glimpsed Elizabeth Bay through the opening. That had to be one hell of a bedroom, he thought.
‘This is mine,’ she said. ‘Stay out.’ She stepped in and closed the door. But before they could even look at one another, the door reopened.
‘Oh,’ she said, black pigtails swinging with her sudden reappearance. ‘That door -’ she pointed a black fingernail at the far end of the corridor, ‘- is off-limits. That’s my older brother’s room. He’s away at school too, but he’s kinda – ah, funny about people touching his stuff. So stay out of there. Otherwise, have fun. I’m going to have a nap. I find sleeping when it’s dark such a waste of the night. Later.’
She pulled her door closed again.
‘She’s crazy,’ said Luke. ‘She just said she wanted to play. We could take off with anything.’
‘I think we should go,’ said Zac. ‘I don’t trust her. Who lets strangers walk around their house while they sleep?’
‘Well, I think she’s right,’ said Luke. ‘It’s freezing out there. And I’m in no hurry to take off. I mean, it’s best that we lay low a while. I know we’re not going to be broadcast on Australia’s Most Wanted, but it can’t hurt to stay off the streets for a couple of days.’
‘A couple of days!’ said Zac. ‘I thought you wanted to find your sister?’
‘Well, I’m sure Georgia’s got a great online set-up. I was going to head to the library to do some searching, but I bet I can get everything I need right here.’
‘I think we should go back to my house,’ said Zac. ‘They could know more about where your sister is. What can you find online?’
‘You’d be surprised what I can find online, Zacster,’ said Luke. ‘You take that room, I’ll take this one. See if you can find some clothes to fit your skinny arse.’
***
Luke emerged from the bedroom wearing the coolest jeans he’d ever seen, brand new Adidas sneakers and a badass hoodie. Zac was waiting impatiently for him outside the door, dressed in similar gear.
‘Not bad,’ said Luke.
‘Can we get on with it?’ said Zac.
‘I wonder where the computers are.’ Luke moved across the carpeted hallway and tried the door next to the off-limits room. He pushed it open.
‘So cool,’ he said. ‘You have to check this out.’
They stepped into a study wrapped floor to ceiling with bookshelves. Hundreds of books filled three walls of shelves, with a ladder waiting nearby to take the happy reader right to the top of the stack if there wasn’t enough available within reach.
But it was the fourth wall that made Luke hold his breath. Five computers: the latest Apples, all widescreen, two touchscreen, and all of them in sleep-mode, blinking quietly, waiting for him to wake them. Who needed books? So far, there was nothing he had ever wanted that he hadn’t been able to access online.
‘Let’s get to work,’ he said to Zac, cracking his fingers.
‘What about Georgia?’ said Zac.
‘What about her? If she has a problem with us using this stuff, she’ll tell us.’
Luke took a seat and randomly stabbed his fingers into the two keyboards closest to him. The machines whirred efficiently, flashing into life.
Zac plonked down next to him, scowling at the two Siamese cats who’d just sashayed through the door.
‘I don’t like it here,’ he said.
‘Yeah? Well, that’s getting old,’ said Luke, typing rapidly.
Within seconds he was negotiating the Births, Deaths and Marriages website. Using one of the hundreds of false IP addresses he’d created before being locked up, he registered as a random civilian.
He clicked Next, Next, Next, as screens popped up, informing him about privacy policies, security information and blah, blah, blah. Finally, he arrived at a screen he was happy with.
Enter a name and date range, the website invited, cursor blinking.
M-o-r-g-a-n M-o-r-e-a-u, he typed. 1947-1997. That should do it, he thought. That made his mother any age up to fifty when she died. If his brother was born in 1997 he would be fourteen now. The thought of having a younger brother sent a teensy thrill flashing through his stomach, surprising him. He hit Enter.
The website shot up a warning screen.
You cannot search for any person born after 1909 due to privacy considerations.
Luke snorted in frustration and read on to learn that accompanied by three forms of identification, he could personally attend the registry office, and then they would assist him with yada yada yada.
I don’t think so.
He began typing furiously, navigating out of the program and into the one-zero world he loved so much. The world of logic, of cold, clever code, where emotion was irrelevant, irrational, completely useless. Perfect.
This was his favourite place. And it loved him right back.
‘Where did you learn how to do that?’ said Zac, watching reams of digits scroll the screen before them.
Luke had forgotten Zac was even there.
‘Foster parents three,’ he said, tabbing, scrolling, typing. ‘They liked the welfare cheques, but not me so much. She worked for Telstra, though, and she had unlimited download access. So they left me alone with the laptop. They liked it when I was quiet.’<
br />
‘But how did you learn to do that?’ said Zac.
Luke pulled himself from the moment to consider his flying fingers. Sometimes he wondered how he could do what he did online. Most often, though, he just did what he did and thought about that.
‘Um, I just kind of understand it,’ he said.
He couldn’t explain that the numbers made beautiful patterns for him, artwork that he loved to explore and manipulate. And that the security that people set up to try to encrypt their data, lock down their sites, restrict access, were irresistible puzzles to him – challenges that he became obsessed with until he had broken through.
‘And I met some people online,’ he added, aware of Zac gaping at the screen. ‘They kinda showed me stuff too.’
Those faceless hackers had been his only real friends, but they stayed that way only when they stuck to speaking about code. Once they began posting about birthdays and ballgames and current affairs, he blocked their mail. If they were smart enough to break back through his lockout, he resumed the friendship, but only on the proviso that they kept their gossip for their girlfriends.
He’d moved in with foster family number three at age ten. By eleven, he was mentoring the hackers who’d taught him the basics.
‘Ah, here we are,’ he said. ‘Their admin area. That’s much more helpful.’
He again typed his mother’s name, linking it with the name she so kindly gave him at birth – Lucifer Black Moreau. A hyperlink to his birth certificate popped up immediately. He had that already. He wanted to know the names of his siblings. He set up a search for all children registered to his mother. The results were almost instantaneous.
‘Oh my God,’ said Zac, watching closely.
Eight hyperlinks had popped up.
Luke flopped back in his chair. He had eight siblings? He’d always been alone. Eight?
‘There,’ said Zac, pointing. ‘That would be her: born 1996. The same year as us.’
Slightly dazed, Luke clicked on the link.
‘Samantha White Moreau,’ read Zac, now peering over his shoulder. ‘The Empath.’ He spoke the words with awe.
Luke quickly scanned the dates within the other links.
‘Are you sure you got your fairytale right, Nguyen?’ he said. ‘There isn’t a link for 1997, the year the so-called Genius was supposed to have been born.’
‘It’s not a fairytale,’ said Zac, frowning. ‘I don’t know what it means that he’s not listed there. Maybe he wasn’t born in Australia. Your mother could travel anywhere she wanted, you know. I have no idea why she used a mortal hospital to give birth to any of you in the first place. I mean, she was a witch.’
Luke spun his desk chair around, aiming to smack straight into Zac and send him flying. Instead, with one backwards bound, Zac was already on the other side of the room. Where he stood, palms out.
‘What?’ Zac said.
‘My mother is a WITCH?!’ Luke shouted.
Zac coloured. ‘Oh, didn’t I mention that before? I just thought you knew. I mean, everyone knows that Morgan Moreau was a very powerful witch.’
Luke buried his face in his hands and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.
‘Zac?’ he said, through his fingers.
‘Yes, Luke?’ Zac was sounding extra polite.
Luke raised his head.
‘Would you mind, in future, not presuming that I know anything about anything that you couldn’t find in an encyclopaedia?’
‘Witches and elves are in the encyclopaedia.’
‘Okay then. How about this?’ said Luke, speaking super-slowly. ‘Any pieces of information that you think an ordinary mortal might not be familiar with, would you mind letting me know about it? Especially if it has to do with my family!’
‘’kay,’ said Zac. He cleared his throat. ‘Um, but Luke…’
‘Yes, Zac?’
‘You’re not an ordinary mortal.’
‘Thank you, Zac. I think I’m beginning to get that.’
Luke turned back to the screen. The world in there made a lot more sense to him. Well, it used to. He stared at the hyperlinks.
‘Hello, brothers and sisters,’ he said, and began clicking the links.
Henri Coanda Airport, Bucharest, Romania
July 1, 7.58 a.m.
Samantha hunched in a booth in the British Airways business club lounge with her knees up on the seat, a resting place for her chin. She half sat on her Ride it like you stole it bag, her only luggage, worried someone would take it if she fell asleep. She was bone tired. Beyond exhausted. She felt she’d aged ten years in the past ten hours. But she knew there was no way she could fall asleep with so much going on inside her head.
Besides, she had to board her flight at 0830 hours.
Samantha had never told the time by the 24-hour clock before. She’d never been in a club lounge. She’d never been to an airport. And she’d definitely never been on a plane.
A cheery attendant bustled past her table, removed her empty apple juice glass, and gave the table a quick wipe. The woman was Gaje – cleaning up after her! The attendant had been past five times already in the few hours Samantha had been here, and still she could not comprehend it. She dropped her feet to the floor, worried she’d be in trouble for having them up there.
‘Thank you,’ she said to the woman.
The woman smiled and moved her trolley to the next table.
Samantha tried for a return smile, but didn’t make it. Right now, she doubted she’d ever smile again.
She did another sweep of her surroundings. She’d never seen a place so plush, so expensive, so airless. So completely alien to her life at home. She had to keep forcing herself to unwrinkle her nose. Everything smelled terrible! A disinfected, chemical fog that set her already tear-swollen eyes to watering again. She had an awful headache. Right now she felt that one gulp of camp air – the mountain breeze, Nuri’s black coffee, horse – would blow the pain right away. She sighed and drew her knees closer. When would she get to smell those things again?
Over the past few hours, especially since sunrise, she’d noticed a change in the type of passengers strolling past the wall of glossy magazines she’d parked herself behind. At first she’d seen tired couples with silver hair and sensible shoes, and young families bundling along with impeccably dressed, heavy-eyed children. But since six a.m., men and women marched in as singles, wearing suits and towing behind them black bags.
She wondered whether they could be some kind of army. They all smelled the same, dressed the same and constantly watched their watches. She focused on them – a little paranoid after everything Sera had told her – and wondered if perhaps they were some sort of secret service, here to monitor her. At first she figured that some of them were quite mad as they murmured quietly into thin air, until she noticed little earpieces. Her anxiety increased. She’d seen movies with spies wearing those.
She found only one difference between them – attached to most of their identical, expensive-looking wheelie bags was a little charm: a yellow ribbon wrapped around a handle, a glittering star clipped to another, a plastic green frog lolling about on a zipper. She figured these must be amulets that had been blessed for luck.
Her stomach grumbled; whether it was with grief or hunger, she was beyond caring. Although Seraphina had told her repeatedly that she could eat anything she wanted in the lounge – for free! – she’d had nothing but juice. Mostly because the juice bar was just to the right of the magazine wall and she’d watched several people pour glasses for themselves. She figured she could do that without breaking something, bursting into tears, or setting off an alarm.
She had passed the food bar on her beeline to the corner booth. Her senses already completely dazzled by the lights of the airport shops, she’d stolen just a quick glance at the food laid out in cabinets of stainless steel and glass. Other than fruit and bread rolls, she hadn’t recognised anything there, and nothing smelled real. Not even the apples.
Onc
e she’d sat down, she’d moved again only three times. Twice for juice and once for the toilet.
The toilet experience had threatened to bring the tears back.
Everything was so clean it almost stung. She’d tiptoed into the shiny, empty room, shocked by all the reflections of herself. She turned away from the wall of vanities but met herself again, sneakers to curls, in a full-length mirror.
And for a second – in the most opulent toilet she could imagine – she saw herself as the Gaje must. She wore her favourite sneakers – pink faux-Converse. She noticed holes that she’d never before cared about, and one of the laces had freed itself from the plastic tip on the end that had held it together. It was fuzzed up like a stringy afro, and had apparently gone about gathering up burrs and grass seeds for extra adornment.
The waistband of her black faded jeans didn’t quite meet the hem of her aqua T-shirt, and she tugged it downwards to try to cover her flat, brown stomach. It snapped back, settling just above her hips, and for a moment she saw the now-clean T-shirt as it had been before Sera had hovered her hands over it in the Funhouse: covered in Tamas’s blood.
She pressed her fingers into her eyes to try to blur the sudden vision. It wasn’t until she’d been in the rental car that she’d realised her shirt was spotless and the stiffness of Tamas’s dried blood on her jeans had vanished.
Hating the sight of the shirt, she zipped up the black jacket Sera had given her. It smelled like leather, so she assumed it was, and right then she was glad she had it. The air in the airport seemed to be skin-temperature, but she felt she’d break out in shivers at any moment.
She studied her face in the mirror. There was no sign of the bruising from the skirmishes in Pantelimon – another apparent ‘gift’ from Sera – but her green eyes accused her from behind tear-swollen, red lids. Why are you doing this to me? they asked. She shrugged. She had no answers. She’d untied the golden cord from around her forehead. Her curls flopped into her eyes, but she thought she now looked maybe a smidge more like some of the other travellers she’d seen so far.
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