by Paula Weston
I stare down at the mat under my feet, worn and cracked from years of wear. For the first time I feel a flutter of pride in Gabe. And relief: I was a good friend. We sit in silence for a minute or so, watch Jude block punches from Jones, counter with a solid kick to his thigh.
‘You and Jude…’ Micah shakes his head. ‘I never thought I’d see either of you alive again, let alone together as a team. When you two weren’t talking, it was like the world turned inside out.’
I probe the bruise on my ribs. It’s still sore. I don’t want to think about Jude and me being angry at each other, but I have to ask. ‘Do you know why I didn’t leave with him when they all walked out?’
Micah shakes his head. ‘I honestly thought you were going. And I got it, completely. Things had gone too far with Nathaniel and he needed to give Jude answers. It came down to leaving—accepting there was more to know—or staying and pretending it didn’t matter.’
‘Why didn’t you go with them?’
Another sad half-smile. ‘Because you stayed.’
I close my eyes. It always comes back to this: Why? Why did I stay behind when Jude and the others became Outcasts? What did Jude and I find out that brought us back together? And what did we do that led to us having our pasts taken from us? Does any of it have anything to do with what’s happening to Rafa and Taya right now?
Micah glances at his watch and stands. He brings his fingers to his lips and lets out a piercing whistle. Everyone stops.
‘Lunch is in twenty. You might want to think about showering beforehand.’ He waits until he’s satisfied the Outcasts are wrapping up and then turns back to me. ‘Those roughnecks you brought with you will get fed in the infirmary. They’ve been giving the brothers a hard time.’
The Butlers. And Simon.
‘Has anyone told them where they are or what’s really going on?’
‘Brother Ferro thought it would be better coming from you.’
Yeah, because they trust me so much. But whose responsibility are they if not mine? I was the one who wanted to warn them about an imminent demon attack.
‘Now those guys I can take you to,’ Micah says.
I drag my fingers through my hair, retie my ponytail. I imagine explaining to Mick Butler that he’s in a monastery in Italy with a fallen angel and more half-angel bastards than he can count. And then I think about Daisy, and realise my next chance of seeing her will be at lunch.
‘Let’s eat first.’
BREAKING BREAD
I’m in the shower when I lose it. The blast of warm water dissolves the lie that I’m okay. I drop to my knees under the weight of the truth, feel it twist my face, my insides. My shoulders heave with the effort of not sobbing: I don’t want Jude to hear me in the next room.
All I can see is the demon sword coming out of Rafa. Rafa’s eyes searching for me in the shadows, full of pain. Full of fear. He’s been trapped in that room for an hour and forty-six minutes. An hour and forty-six minutes for Zarael to hurt him—
Stop. Just…stop.
Rafa is alive. We’re getting him back.
I lose time watching dirt and blood swirl down the drain. The water finally runs clear. I find the strength to stand, force myself to wash my hair and scrub my skin, scrape the black grime out from under my nails.
This gleaming white bathroom is exactly like the one I almost drowned in last Monday. Am I ever going to have an experience at the Sanctuary that doesn’t involve me sobbing, fighting or aching?
I dry my hair and wipe steam from the mirror with a damp towel, get a good look at myself. Great. My face is blotchy and my eyes look like I’ve been drinking rum for twelve hours. I look exhausted.
Someone has left clothes on the bed: jeans, t-shirt and a fleece-lined hoodie. I get dressed and pull back my hair, repeat my new mantra: Rafa is alive. We’re getting him back. I wish it felt like the truth.
A knock on the door. It’s Jude. He hasn’t shaved, but his hair is damp. It hangs almost to his shoulders, uncombed. I’m met with a waft of mint toothpaste. He takes in the state of my face. ‘You should stick your head outside for a few seconds.’
I go to the window and push it open. Cold air stings my cheeks and slaps all the breath from me. The clouds have lifted enough that I can see the steep, rugged face of the alps, dark clumps of pine trees, valleys of snow. Patches of pale blue sky far above.
‘That’ll do or you’ll end up with frostbite.’ Jude leans out and pulls the pane shut. I shiver in the warmth of the room. Brown eyes watch me through thick lashes. My brother, alive—not decapitated on the side of a deserted road. Not lost to me forever. Ready to face Gatekeepers and hell-beasts.
‘Shit, princess.’ Jude pulls me to him. I bury my face in his neck, breathe him in: pine forest and sea salt. We stay like that for a moment until I can form words again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I manage when I finally pull back. The neck of his shirt is wet. ‘I can’t get a grip on any of this. And I’m terrified something’s going to happen to you—’
‘You don’t think I’m scared of losing you again? It doesn’t matter how much we learn about that farmhouse or how many Rephaim are with us when we storm it, we’ll still be fighting demons.’
I nod, wipe my cheek on my shoulder. ‘Demons who want us. That’s all taking Rafa and Taya is about: getting to us so they can find out if we had contact with the Fallen last year.’
Jude walks to the window and stares down at the piazza, not really seeing it. When he turns back, he’s focused. ‘Let me see that scar again.’
I lift my hair and turn around. He touches the thick skin on the nape of my neck, the wound that destroyed the mark of a crescent moon he and the rest of the Rephaim have in the same spot.
‘Bel said he put a blade through my neck last year and you begged for my life.’
Jude says nothing for a good ten seconds. ‘If he did, he either pulled back before it severed your head or someone stopped him.’ His gaze drifts as he tries to force the pieces together. ‘Do you think I did a deal with that demon to save you?’
My skin chills to hear him say it out loud. There’s a knock on the door before I have to answer.
Ez is waiting in the hallway. She glances at my face and gives my shoulder a quick rub. ‘Let’s eat.’ Jude and Zak fall into step behind us. It’s eerie up here, silent except for the quiet hum of ducted heating and muffled steps on endless carpet.
‘Where is everybody?’ I ask.
‘Already downstairs. I’m not the only one who’s missed the cooking.’ Ez gives me a small smile. I had a taste of Sanctuary food when I was here last week—mushroom risotto—but I’d been half-drowned by Malachi and drugged by Daniel, so I wasn’t exactly primed to savour it.
Ez leads us downstairs and along a wide hallway lined with enormous works of classical art—the largest I’ve seen hanging outside a major gallery. Certainly more impressive than anything the Pan Beach Gallery has ever exhibited. And again, they’re all battles between angels and demons. More carnage.
It’s as if the Rephaim need constant reminders of what’s in store if the so-called prophesied war between angels and demons eventuates. Of what will happen if they (we) fail to find the Fallen and hand them over to the Angelic Garrison. My scalp tightens. God, I hope Jude and I didn’t have contact with the Fallen last year.
‘No word from the Five?’ Jude asks Ez as we pass a life-size image of an angel impaled on a spike, his helmet askew, wings broken and torn.
‘Not yet.’
We reach a set of carved timber doors. Jude steps in front of them, blocks the way. He tells Ez and Zak about our plan to get Daisy alone and ask for her help—without anyone else knowing.
‘You need to tread carefully there, Jude,’ Ez says. ‘Daisy’s loyalty is to Nathaniel, no matter how misty-eyed she was to see you.’
But she doesn’t tell us not to try.
We pass through another building, another hallway. Mya is waiting at the end of it in front of double doo
rs, hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. As we get closer, I hear clinking cutlery and low voices in the room beyond. The commissary.
‘So you do still have friends,’ she says, nodding at my clean clothes. She checks Jude over, meets his gaze fleetingly and then opens the door.
I’m expecting a boarding-school–style dining room. By now, I should know better than to make assumptions about the Rephaim. Jude and I prop in the doorway. His jaw drops a little.
The room is modern, airy and huge. On one side, floor-to-ceiling windows give a clear view of the pine forest; on the other, an open kitchen bustles with activity. Men in chefs whites line up behind steaming pots, ladles in hand. White laminate tables are grouped together in long rows, set with silver cutlery, wine glasses, miniature lamps and fresh purple flowers. The chairs are made from funky curved timber and the floor is covered in dark slate. A wall of wine dominates the back of the room, dwarfing a polished timber bar. The air is heavy with roasted tomatoes, basil and garlic. My mouth waters. Apparently not even high levels of anxiety kill my appetite.
It takes me a moment to realise the chatter has stopped. Completely. My eyes skim over faces of Rephaim I don’t know but vaguely recognise from the chapterhouse, and then Daisy—thank god—and Micah, Malachi…more strangers…and finally a cluster of Outcasts in the far corner. They’ve pushed three tables together. Jones waves us over.
We cross the room, pretend everyone’s not staring at us. I flex my fingers, try to coax out this constant tension, but I’m still acutely conscious of each footstep.
‘Who pays for all this?’ Jude asks.
‘Nathaniel and a fleet of financial advisers.’ Mya says the last four words as if they taste bad. ‘He has more money than he can spend, and this is what he does with it: provides a luxury mountain resort for these bastards.’
I think about the cramped quarters the Outcasts use in Dubai: stuffy, hot and stinking of charred food and sweat. It’s a long way from this. A long way from the place they once called home.
Jones and Seth move down the table to make room. I sit between Ez and Jude, position myself opposite Zak—his shoulders are so broad I’m effectively screened from most of the room. Mya sits at the head of the table. Of course.
‘All good?’ Zak asks.
Jones nods. ‘So far.’
‘That could be about to change.’
Malachi is headed our way, hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. Apart from the faint shadow of a bruise around one eye, there’s barely a sign of our brawl. He looks up and down the three tables. ‘Why aren’t you eating?’
Jones half-turns towards the hostile crowd of Sanctuary Rephaim. ‘We’re trying to work out if it’s an “act of aggression” if we all get up at once to eat. Not that I mind a good melee, but I don’t think it would go down well with the kitchen. I am peckish, though.’
‘Just grab a plate and go to the counter,’ Malachi says, weary, and walks away.
Jones rubs his hands together. ‘You heard the man.’
Chairs scrape on the slate floor. I catch Daisy’s eye, briefly, before we approach the service counter in a pack. There, a young guy with curly black hair sticking out from under a chef’s hat points to each dish and explains them to us. In Italian. I glance at Jude. He doesn’t understand a word of it either, which I find a strange relief. The chef is talking to me now, asking me something. There’s recognition in his eyes: he knows me. I shake my head, embarrassed.
‘That’s goat ragu with pappardelle pasta,’ Ez says beside me. ‘This one is gnocchi tartufo—the gnocchi’s made from parmesan, truffle and potato—and that’s the best onion soup you’ll eat this side of the French border.’
I accept a bowl of ragu, earning an approving smile from the chef. Jude chooses the same and we head back to the table. He’s also juggling a tall glass filled with skinny breadsticks and a jug of red wine. We get settled and he pours us both a glass. I raise my eyebrows.
‘It’s Italy,’ he says, as if it’s a no-brainer to drink in the middle of the day. For a heartbeat I’m back in Monterosso with him, sipping limoncello in a café by the sea at ten in the morning. Another memory from a trip we never took. Another lie.
‘We need to stay sharp,’ I say.
‘Says the girl who just got the shit kicked out of her.’ He looks past Zak. ‘Bloody hell, he’s persistent.’
Malachi is coming back, this time with Daisy and Micah. All three cradle half-eaten meals. Jude knocks my knee under the table. Be patient.
‘You want to make room?’ Malachi asks.
Zak measures him, seems satisfies with what he finds. ‘Fine. But don’t think we won’t throw down in here if you pull any of your usual shit.’
‘Noted.’ Malachi sits in the spare seat beside Zak. Daisy puts her plate on the table and drags a chair over, squeezing next to Jones. Micah finds a spot further along. The two Outcast girls he sits between don’t seem too put out at having to make room for him.
‘Hey,’ I say to Daisy. ‘Did you bring me these?’ I pluck at my hoodie.
‘Yeah, your stuff is in boxes in the storeroom.’
Something quivers in my chest.
‘Do you have anything of mine?’ Jude asks her.
‘No.’ Daisy concentrates on her bowl, pushing the thick soup around. ‘You took most of your stuff when you left.’
Of course he did. When Jude left the Sanctuary, he had no intention of coming back.
‘What sort of stuff?’ he asks.
‘Books, clothes, weapons.’ All the things in the cottage on Patmos. ‘You guys didn’t leave much behind when you left. Except Rafa’s motorbike.’
‘Rafa had a motorbike?’ I look to Ez. ‘Seriously?’
‘Yes,’ Ez says. ‘The guy who thinks cars are a waste of time decided he couldn’t live without an overpowered motorcycle.’
‘Why?’
‘To annoy Daniel. And then he learned to ride it and loved the speed. Never rode with a helmet, of course.’
I nod. ‘If he lost control, he could shift before he hit the ground, right?’
Ez smiles at her gnocchi, shakes her head.
‘What?’
‘You’re the reason he wrecked the first bike.’
‘That’s right,’ Zak says. ‘You wanted him to red-line it through the Alps. He flipped it on a corner north of the border and lost it over a cliff. You two thought it was a hell of a joke.’
‘I dared him to do that?’
‘Gabe,’ Ez says, almost chiding. ‘You were on the back with him.’
I try to picture it: me on a bike with Rafa. Fearless. Laughing. Before he and Jude left the Sanctuary. Before whatever happened between Rafa and me. Whatever it was, it stopped Rafa finishing what we started in his bedroom in Pan Beach; has held him back every time we start to cross that line. And now I’ll never feel his lips or his hands on me again unless we get him out of that room.
‘He bought another one,’ Daisy says, and I’m dragged back to the moment. She catches Jude’s eye. ‘You used to ride it too, just not like a lunatic.’
A crooked smile. He can’t help himself. ‘Is it still here?’
‘It’s in the garage as far as I know. Nobody’s been on it since you guys left.’
‘We should check it out,’ he says to me.
See Rafa’s motorcycle? One that I used to ride with him? Just thinking about it makes me feel hollow. ‘We need to check on Simon and the guys at some point too.’
Nobody seems excited by that prospect. The room hums with chatter now, the occasional chink of glasses and cutlery. A gust of wind disturbs the pine trees outside, the tops bending and swaying.
Jude finishes his meal first, scrapes his plate and licks the knife clean. ‘Could Rafa and Taya shift inside that iron room?’ he asks.
Malachi’s fork pauses at his lips. He looks at me, questioning.
‘When we were there, Rafa shifted as far as the wall. He’d disappear until he hit it.’ I try not to think ab
out how many times he slammed back into the floor. How his rage filled that tiny room.
‘That’s good,’ Malachi says, eyes distant. ‘It means he and Taya can heal each other. Theoretically.’
A tiny spark of hope. ‘Could they keep shifting—not stay still long enough to be pinned down?’
‘Not indefinitely.’
Ez pours herself half a glass of wine. ‘Those women must have factored that in when they built the room. What would be the point of trapping us if we could escape the second the seal on the door was broken? They’d need to incapacitate us.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t set up properly. It’s not like the kid was expecting you,’ Zak says.
The kid. Sophie. Dead after something far worse than us turned up at the farmhouse. The goat ragu sits heavy in my stomach.
‘So Rafa and Taya might not be conscious?’ Jude looks from Ez to Malachi.
Malachi lowers his fork, pushes his plate away. ‘That’s about the best we can hope for at this point.’
TIME TO SMELL THE ROSES
Jude nudges my foot.
‘Daisy, you got a second?’ he asks.
Her head comes up. She blinks at Jude and nods. He stands and I follow. I don’t look at Micah—he must know what we’re doing. Mya starts to rise too but Jude shakes his head. The skin around her eyes tightens but she doesn’t leave the table.
Daisy waits until we’re out in the hallway. ‘What’s up?’
‘We need to talk to Virginia,’ Jude says.