Isla's Inheritance

by Cassandra Page

I spent the next twenty-four hours wondering how to escape my family in order to visit my father with Jack. Alone.

  As Carter had predicted, Dad was moved onto a regular ward the next morning. Because of the more relaxed set of rules about the number of visitors, we all went in to see him. At least it denied my grandmother the opportunity to ask awkward questions when no one else was around, but, as I sat by his bedside and listened to my aunt make subdued conversation with Nana, I worried I’d struggle to find an opportunity to come in to the hospital without them.

  It was Dominic who gave me the excuse I needed. We’d already returned home from the hospital when he called, asking if I wanted to go out for dinner that evening. He’d won the job he was after, working behind the bar at the Irish pub Paddy’s, and wanted to celebrate.

  Feeling like the worst girlfriend in the world, I begged off, telling him I had a headache. It was a lame excuse, but the first one that came to mind. “I’m sorry. How about we have dinner tomorrow night instead?”

  “Great. I hope your head feels better soon.”

  “Me, too.”

  After I got off the phone I told Sarah and my aunt I was meeting Dominic in the city for dinner. They both agreed it was a good idea for me to have a bit of “me time”. Nana, who was less overtly disapproving since I’d worn the haematite necklace, said nothing. I wondered what she thought now that I’d disproved her suspicion I was manifesting aosidhe traits. Or did she realise my reaction to the haematite was diluted because I wasn’t a pureblood?

  To avoid raising Sarah’s suspicions, I went through my regular pre-date ritual, taking a shower and fussing over what I was going to wear. Conscious that I didn’t know what the evening would involve, I chose denim shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt with a scooped neck, as well as my canvas sneakers. They were less dressy than what I’d normally choose, but I hoped no one noticed. A little foundation, mascara and eye shadow, and I was ready to go.

  “Don’t be late,” Aunt Elizabeth called after me.

  “I won’t.” I hope.

  Feeling excited and guilty, I drove around the block, leaving my car on the street at the other side of the park, out of sight of the house.

  I had a brief dilemma when I neared the swings; it was almost six o’clock, and sunset wasn’t for a couple of hours. If I sat where I’d normally wait for Jack, I’d be visible from the lounge room window if anyone looked. But visiting hours at the hospital ended at eight, so I couldn’t hold off until the sun vanished below the distant Brindabella mountain range.

  I settled for sitting on the grass, putting one of the taller shrubs between me and the house. I closed my eyes and turned my thoughts to Jack, willing him to appear. I had no idea if it would help, but it couldn’t hurt.

  “Isla,” he said from right beside me, making me jump. For the first time since I’d met him, he was wearing different clothes: knee-length baggy cargo shorts, sneakers and a plain black T-shirt. Instead of a hood, he wore a red Canteen bandana beanie-style, holding his golden hair back from his face and covering the points of his ears. His features were still striking and unusual, with large blue eyes and a slightly pointed chin, but he was not obviously inhuman.

  “Wow!” I grinned. He looked good.

  “Do you like it?” He held his hands out from his sides, self-conscious.

  “It’s nice to see you in something different. The jumper and jeans were nice, but a bit samey after a while.”

  “And long sleeves and pant legs are quite conspicuous in summer.”

  “True.”

  “What can I do for you?” He moved towards the bench, but I waved him off, standing.

  “Dad’s been moved off the ICU. He doesn’t share his room with anyone, but I don’t know how long that’ll last.”

  “We should act immediately then,” Jack said.

  My stomach rolled with anxiety. “Is there, um, anything I need to bring?”

  He shook his head. “The power to remove the elf shot comes from within you.”

  “Oh. Right.” I swallowed. “Let’s go, then.”

  We walked the short distance to my car. It wasn’t till I was putting the key in the lock that I noticed Jack hanging back a little, his lips pressed together grimly. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong and then it hit me. “The steel!”

  “Indeed.” His face was pale, but he squared his shoulders and walked forward. “I will be fine.”

  I searched his face for a lie. Steel didn’t bother me—one of the perks of being a half-breed—but I’d seen him avoid touching it many times before. “Really?”

  “Yes. I will be careful.”

  I opened the door for him; even though the door handle was mostly plastic, I decided not to risk it. He eased into the seat cautiously, sitting with his knees together, his hands resting primly on his thighs.

  When I got behind the driver’s seat he still hadn’t put his seatbelt on. “Why aren’t you buckled in?”

  He gestured to the silvery tongue of the belt mechanism that hung from the sash.

  “Pull it across by the belt and I’ll clip it in.” I wasn’t going to let anyone ride in my car without a seatbelt. Even if I ignored the chance I might get pulled over—and I didn’t imagine any police officer accepting the explanation that my passenger wasn’t wearing a seatbelt because he was terminally allergic to steel—I was paranoid about the idea of getting in a car accident and Jack ending up through the windshield.

  Being duinesidhe didn’t make him immune to glass or to impacting with the ground at speed. I didn’t care how fast he healed.

  Jack took the belt gingerly, holding it high above his lap so the stainless steel tongue didn’t drag across his pants. I took it as soon as it was within reach, sliding it into the buckle and clicking it in. Jack exhaled with relief.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay? You look sort of like you’re going to puke.”

  “I will be fine. Just … please do not take overly long to get there.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I put the car into gear and pulled out onto the street.

  Fortunately for Jack, we were heading north and most of the traffic was driving out into the suburbs, so we didn’t encounter any delays beyond uncooperative traffic lights. He was quiet. I considered turning the radio on but it seemed rude, so I drove in silence, trying not to think about what might be expected of me when we reached our destination.

  Jack visibly uncoiled when he got out of the car, as though he’d been trying to make himself smaller. “You okay?” I asked, shouldering my bag.

  He nodded. “Are you?”

  We started through the multistorey car park towards the main entrance. “A little nervous.” I lowered my voice. “What if I can’t do it?”

  “You will be fine. It is your birthright.”

  “Technically it’s only half my birthright,” I pointed out.

  He waved his hand dismissively.

  We stopped at the little shop in the reception area. It sold newspapers, magazines, cards, toiletries and gifts. Rows of beady-eyed monkeys and rabbits, most of them pastel blue or pink, stared at me as I hesitated over what to buy. I eventually got Dad the most fragrant bunch of flowers on the stand. If what Jack and I were about to attempt didn’t work, Dad wouldn’t see the other gifts, but he might be able to smell the flowers. Small consolation.

  We rode the lift to Dad’s floor. It was the dinner hour; the sounds of clinking plates and cutlery emerged from open doors leading to wards. An orderly pushed a trolley further up the corridor. Dad’s room, however, was quiet.

  I went into the room first and Jack followed, nudging the door closed with the toe of his shoe. He must have had a fair amount of practice at navigating the human world, with its love of steel.

  “Hi, Dad,” I said, kissing my father on the forehead. He looked like he was sleeping. But, unlike Sleeping Beauty, a kiss wasn’t enough to wake him up.

  At least not mine. I couldn’t speak for other kisses.

  I put the flowers in
to a vase, throwing out the bunch I’d bought previously, and switched my mobile phone off so we wouldn’t be interrupted. Then I turned to Jack. He was standing in the middle of the room, gazing around.

  “I have never been in a hospital before. It is very…” He trailed off, wrinkling his nose.

  “It is very,” I agreed. “Once Dad’s home I’ll be glad to never set foot in one again. The nurses and doctors have been nice, but…” It was my turn to trail off.

  “Shall we get started?”

  “Right. Hang on a sec.” I drew the curtains so they hung around the bed, allowing us a few extra seconds of privacy if anyone came through the door at a bad time.

  We faced each other across my father’s supine form, which was covered with a crisp white sheet and a blue woven blanket. Jack’s back was to the window and the sun silhouetted his head. His hair was a golden halo where it had escaped the bandana.

  “What do I do?”

  “Remember Ryan’s sketch of your father?”

  I nodded. It was hard to forget: my father, gasping with pain, gripping the shaft of an invisible something piercing his heart. A black shadow spreading tentacled fingers across his chest.

  “Hold your hand where he had his,” Jack instructed softly.

  Trembling, I held my hand over Dad’s left breast, fingers splayed. I took a deep breath and willed myself to stillness. “Do I touch him?”

  “No. Hold it higher than that. A bit higher. Good.” He nodded, satisfied, when my hand was a good two feet above Dad’s gently moving chest, at shoulder height. “Right.” His voice continued. “The time I saw this done, the aosidhe drew the elf shot out by projecting a sliver of his own power. The elf shot responded to the lure and left its host.”

  “I’m going to be bait?” I squeaked and almost withdrew my hand, but Jack took my wrist in his fingers, steadying me.

  “I suppose you could describe it that way. But it is more like calling the elf shot to its master.”

  “What happens when it comes out?”

  “I will secure it for you. And then we will destroy it.”

  “What if—”

  “You can trust me, Isla.” He leaned forward to meet my gaze, his sapphire eyes earnest.

  I wanted to trust him, but everything he’d told me about the fae made me wonder if that was the wisest course. It felt uncharitable given how much he’d helped me, but I was way out of my depth, and I didn’t want to cling to something only for it to drag me under.

  Then I remembered something.

  “Swear.”

  He blinked, and I wondered if I’d offended him. Then he smiled—pleased I’d been listening, I guess. “Of course. I, Jack, swear to you that I will secure this elf shot and protect you and your father from further harm by it.”

  Shivering as though someone had walked over my grave, I considered his words for a moment, trying to see if there was a loophole. “Good enough. What next?”

  “Close your eyes.” I frowned and he added, “It will help you concentrate.”

  So I did. My world narrowed to the steady rhythm of our breathing and the warmth of Jack’s fingers around my wrist.

  “Imagine a glowing heat emanating from the palm of your hand,” Jack said. “It is the colour of golden sunlight on a summer afternoon, warm as a laugh or a hug from a friend.”

  As he spoke, he placed his hand beneath my palm. His fingers were points of heat against my skin. Having them there helped me visualise a bigger, more encompassing heat spreading outwards. I pictured it originating from my palm and growing, like a flower opening its petals, to surround my fingers and Jack’s outstretched hand in a bright sphere.

  I don’t know how long we stood there, holding hands, but I knew when something began to happen: I felt a wrench inside me, like someone yanking at an invisible rope tied around my chest. I staggered a little.

  Jack’s hand let go. Surprised, I opened my eyes. And stared.

  The ball looked rather like I had imagined, yellowy gold and centred on my palm, but it was shot through with glints of brilliant white, as though fragments of the sun were floating like motes of dust at my fingertips.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered. Jack beamed at me.

  I felt another wrench and braced myself against the bed with my other arm. “I don’t know how long I can keep this up.”

  “Just a little longer.”

  My father began to stir. His fingertips twitched on the bedcovers, barely noticeable, but more movement than he had managed independently since the seizure. My heart leapt, thundering inside my ribcage like a galloping brumby. It was working!

  The elf shot, when it emerged from his chest, was shaped like an arrow but without the fitting for a shaft. It glowed white hot, leaving an afterimage on my retina when I blinked. It passed through Dad’s flesh and the hospital gown he wore without leaving a mark and oriented itself on the luminescent sphere. On me.

  The elf shot tensed like a snake ready to strike. But Jack was faster. He scooped the arrow up in a clear plastic container and screwed on a yellow lid.

  “You can stop now.”

  I let the image of the ball that filled my mind go, and the glow dimmed. I’d imagined it flickering out like a candle being extinguished, but it faded, seeping into my palm the way water sinks into dry soil. My hand tingled.

  Jack held out the container, which looked oddly familiar. It fit neatly into his hand. The elf shot lay in the bottom, no longer glowing, seemingly harmless. It had markings along its two sharpened edges that looked like writing. If they were, I couldn’t read them.

  Staring at the container, hysterical giggles bubbled up in my throat.

  Jack looked puzzled. “I did something funny?”

  “Uh huh,” I told him. “Where’d you swipe that from?”

  “Out there,” he said, nodding towards the corridor.

  “It’s a sample container.”

  “What is that?”

  Before I could explain, another wrenching feeling and a wave of dizziness overcame me. I sat on the edge of Dad’s bed. “I don’t feel so good.”

  Jack was at my side in an instant, slipping the container into a pocket of his cargo shorts as he moved. He put a finger under my chin and tilted my head up to look into his eyes.

  “You are drained,” he said after a moment.

  “My battery needs recharging?” My voice slurred when I spoke and I blinked rapidly at him, trying to make him less blurry. Was this what being drunk felt like? And if so, why did people drink?

  “Again with the batteries,” he muttered, his expression a mixture of concern and exasperation. “But yes, you need to rejuvenate yourself.”

  “How?”

  Jack didn’t answer.

  On the bed, Dad moaned.

  “We should go.” Jack slid one arm around my waist, pulling me to my feet.

  “But…” I looked at Dad. He wasn’t awake yet, but he was stirring. I wanted to be here when he woke. The idea of walking away now, when he was so close to coming back to me, brought tears to my eyes.

  “How would we explain your current condition to the healing staff? Your father will awaken, and they will think it was spontaneous. They do not need to know we were here.”

  His words made sense. Also, I was meant to be on a date with Dominic. The nurses mentioning to my family that I was here when Dad woke up would reveal my lie.

  “Okay.” My voice was hoarse. I swallowed and tried again. “One thing, though.” I pushed the nurse call button. The idea my father wouldn’t be alone when he finally roused loosened the knot of emotion in my chest. “Hopefully they’ll think Dad did it. Let’s go.”

  Jack pushed the curtain back on its rail and helped me to the door. I leaned awkwardly against him. The effort involved in pulling the heavy door open—Jack couldn’t help because the handle was stainless steel—left me panting, and I was grateful for his support.

  In the corridor near the lift, a nurse smiled at us, probably assuming we were a couple walk
ing arm in arm. Concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other allowed me to ignore the flush of embarrassment. The corridor swam before my eyes, which were gritty with fatigue. Others’ perceptions didn’t seem that important right then.

  Once we were back in reception, Jack led me to a chair. I sat, putting my head in my hands. The chair shifted as Jack sat beside me.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I said after a minute or two.

  “Which one?”

  “How do we … rejuvenate me?”

  He was silent for so long I sat up straighter in the uncomfortable chair, looking him in the eye. “Jack?”

  “A couple of days’ rest and you should be fine,” he said. But there was uncertainty in his voice.

  “I can’t drive home like this,” I pointed out, glaring—although the glare was undermined by the squint that brought him into focus. Even then, he looked a little blurry and was surrounded by a strange pattern of lights: flickering pink and yellow, a hint of red. Was I getting a migraine? I’d never had one before, but Aunt Elizabeth got them sometimes and she’d talked about seeing auras.

  I closed my eyes, leaning back against the cool glass of the window behind me. “Sorry I snapped,” I muttered. “But seriously, I’m seeing things. I can’t drive home.”

  “What are you seeing?”

  “A sort of rainbow around your head.”

  “Hmm.” He was silent for a moment. “Do you remember how you said you wanted duinesidhe superpowers?”

  “Yes.”

  “The colours you’re seeing might be an expression of their development.”

  “I take it back.”

  Jack laughed softly. “It does not work that way, Isla.”

  “Figures.” I opened my eyes to look at him again. “So what do I do about it?”

  The flickering yellow was stronger in his aura. “I am not sure. If you have inherited your mother’s talent for manipulating emotions, it might be that the colours you see are a manifestation of what people are feeling, your way of rationalising something your senses cannot otherwise perceive.”

  “What are you feeling right now?” I asked.

  Jack blushed, his aura flashing a salmon pink. I realised the question was rude. But before I could apologise, he answered. “Uncertainty. Concern for you.”

  “How do I turn the colours off?”

  “I am not sure,” he said again. “I will have to investigate. But our priority right now is to give you the energy to get yourself home.” I nodded, which set my head spinning. I took a deep breath to steady myself.

  “I want you to draw one of the colours from my aura,” Jack told me.

  “That seems like a bad idea,” I said. “A really, really bad idea.”

  “Do not worry. It will refresh you, not drain you further.”

  “That’s not what I mean. What if I break something?” Was taking someone’s emotions like pruning a shrub? Or more like uprooting it entirely and throwing it on the compost? “What if I take an emotion and it doesn’t come back?”

  “I do not believe that will happen.”

  “But you don’t know for sure, do you?”

  “Well, no.”

  “Is it possible to … take too much?”

  He nodded. “I have heard of such things. But only when the duinesidhe goes too far and takes everything, all the emotions, leaving only a shell.”

  “But how—”

  Jack placed a finger on my lips, cutting off further protest. “I insist. Here.” He stood, helping me to my feet. We went out the automatic doors and onto the lighted walkway. “We should head back towards your car. There will be more privacy there.”

  We passed a few people on the way to the car park. Visiting hours would end shortly and people were starting to return to their vehicles. We were able to find a spot behind a concrete pillar that was well lit but out of direct line-of-sight of the elevators. A fire extinguisher and service door were to our right. I leaned against the side of a grey four-wheel drive, and Jack stood with his back to the pillar, avoiding contact with anything metallic.

  His aura changed to a sickly yellow with patches of pulsating blue. The pink and red were interwoven with the other colours. A combination that would have made a circus clown proud.

  “Do it,” Jack told me.

  “I don’t know how.”

  The sickly yellow flickered with the brighter yellow from before. The colours were strange: I could see them but at the same time they didn’t in any way obstruct my perception of Jack’s features. The two images were perfectly overlaid. “Neither do I,” he admitted.

  “Great,” I muttered. Then I squared my shoulders and reached through the pattern of light, which proved intangible, cupping his face with both hands.

  The first time I’d touched his skin I’d noticed the fine net of wrinkles—now gone—and the silky, unnatural heat of him. He’d been so sure of himself.

  His eyes were uncertain now, but filled with trust.

  And my hands trembled with anxiety. Jack had become a friend. A strange friend, but a friend nonetheless.

  “Do it,” Jack whispered.

  Swallowing hard, I chose the sickly yellow colour, because it seemed the most unpleasant. And there was a lot of it, so I figured he had plenty to spare. I wasn’t sure what it represented … but surely it was better to reduce the amount of the unpleasantly coloured emotion and leave him with the attractive blue and the intermingled pink and red—a sweet colour that reminded me of Aunt Elizabeth’s roses.

  Visualisation had worked to create the glowing ball before. Why not again? I imagined myself drawing the sickly yellow from Jack, siphoning it through my palms and into the core of my body, like water running down a drainpipe into a water tank.

  The emotion that filled me as I drew the light from him was fear: the kind of persistent feeling that knots your stomach and leaves you trembling, so you have to clench your fists to hide your nervousness from others. At first I thought Jack was afraid of what I was doing—he wasn’t alone—but as the emotion seeped into me I realised it was the constant fear of touching something with iron in its makeup. An ever-present fear of injury or death.

  I finally appreciated the risk he took to see me, the danger every time he came out of … wherever it was he went.

  I released him with a gasp, stepping backward and then twisting to avoid touching the car behind me. Right then, with Jack’s fear bubbling inside me, the reaction was instinctive.

  Jack beamed at me. His pose was more relaxed; he held himself apart from the metal, but was less concerned about it.

  And my dizziness, that exhausted feeling, was gone. But the colours were still there. Disappointment sat heavy on my chest. The yellow was almost completely drained—I saw with relief I hadn’t taken all of it—the other colours growing brighter. Again I thought of gardening as it reminded me of Aunt Elizabeth pruning a large shrub back so the sun could reach the smaller plants underneath.

  “It worked,” he said, his voice warm. “I knew you could do it.”

  “Yes, well. I wish I shared your confidence.”

  “You could if you wanted to.” Jack grinned, and I laughed.

  “Pass. I want to get home and sleep for, like, a thousand years.”

  “You are still tired?”

  I thought about that as we walked back to my car. “Not physically. But it’s been a long day. Drawing out arrows, sucking emotions: you know how it is.” That reminded me. “What happened to the arrow?”

  He reached into the pocket of his cargo shorts and handed the sample container to me. “Here. We will need to destroy it, but that can be done another day.”

  “Let me guess. Iron?”

  He nodded. “That would be the most effective, if you can arrange it. Steel would work too, but it takes longer.”

  “I’ll have to think about it.” I turned the container over; the arrow clicked against the plastic as it fell on its side. “What does the writing on the edges say?”
>
  He peered into the container. “It reads ‘David Andrew Blackman’.”

  “A bullet with his name on it,” I whispered, a shiver running down my spine as though an ice-cold finger had run along my skin. That was the single most disturbing thing about everything that had happened: someone had targeted my father. To what end? Elf shot caused paralysis, not death. Were they thinking he’d starve to death? If so, they didn’t understand modern medicine.

  “Who sent it?” I asked.

  “There is no way to tell.”

  “It was probably her.” My mother. “Who else has a grudge against Dad?”

  He shrugged. “I would suggest, when you speak to him, you ask that very thing.”

  “I will.” I put the container in my bag, swapping it for my keys. Despite everything, the reminder that I’d be able to talk to Dad again brought a little smile to my lips.

  When I unlocked the car door and held it open for Jack, he took a cautious step back. The sickly yellow flared a little in his aura, although it wasn’t as strong. Despite what it represented, I was relieved to see it react; it meant I hadn’t drained the emotion to the point where it couldn’t return at all.

  “I will make my own way home, thank you,” he said.

  “You sure?”

  “Yes. There are duinesidhe I would speak to about your new superpower.” He smiled as he said the word, and I grinned back.

  Jack stood by the car until I got in and closed the door, starting the engine. He turned and sauntered away through the car park, hands in his pockets, looking like any other guy my age.

  I glanced at my watch. It was only eight. I wanted to go back and see Dad, more than anything, but visiting hours had ended—and the lie I’d told the rest of my family would be torn like tissue paper in a hurricane if I went back. Besides, he’d be swarmed by staff, and I might not even get to see him while they were running tests.

  Likewise, if I went home now, Sarah in particular would want to know why I was so early.

  I decided to give Dominic a call; maybe we could have that dinner after all, if he hadn’t eaten yet. I had something to celebrate now, too.

  I found my phone—it had made its way to the deepest corner of my bag, as usual—turning it on and drumming my fingers on the steering wheel while I waited for it to power up. I watched a couple walk past my car on the other side of the row. They were holding hands. Both of them had silvery grey auras: a sad colour.

  My phone beeped a message alert, and then, as I picked it up, two more. I frowned, opening up the message app.

  The first message was from Dominic: a missed call alert from about half an hour ago.

  The second and third messages were from Sarah, both in the last twenty minutes. The first was a missed call, the second a text message: Where the hell are you?!?!

  I bit my lip and debated whether to reply to Sarah’s text or give her a call.

  Whether to lie or tell her the truth.

  I wasn’t a deceitful person. And I trusted Sarah more than anyone else in the world. A weight lifted from my chest as I resolved to tell her everything I’d learned. I knew she’d believe it. She had a much greater faith in the supernatural than me. Than I used to have, anyway.

  Hell, if she didn’t believe me maybe I’d make my hand glow again, like I had in Dad’s room. That ought to banish all doubt.

  Smiling as I imagined the look on her face, I pressed the button to dial Sarah’s mobile.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, it’s me.”

  “I know. I have caller ID,” she snapped. “Dominic called not long ago.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “And?”

  “He rang to let you know he’d reserved a table at that pancake place in town for tomorrow night. And he said to give you a get well soon kiss.”

  “What did you tell him?” I asked after a moment, my voice tight.

  “I told him you were in bed,” she replied.

  My surge of gratitude confirmed my decision to be honest with her. “Thank you!”

  “So where are you? And why am I lying to your boyfriend about it?”

  “I’m just leaving the hospital.”

  “You lied about a date with Dominic to go see your dad?” Her voice was incredulous. I imagined her standing with one hand on her hip, jaw clenching and unclenching with frustration. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Uncle David, but you saw him earlier today. You’re taking daughterly devotion a bit far.”

  “It’s complicated,” I replied, staring out the windscreen of my car. There were more people entering the car park now, their auras in all the colours of the rainbow.

  It was complicated.

  “Try me.”

  “I will,” I promised. “When I get home, I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Are you coming straight here?”

  “Yep.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” she said ominously.

  We hung up, and I tossed my mobile onto the passenger seat of my car. Then I found my way through the twisting grey labyrinth of the car park.

  I’d grown more comfortable with driving in the weeks since Dad had given me the car. But the trip home that night was as unnerving as my first drive around the block as a learner.

  The sun had disappeared behind the line of mountains to the west, painting the sky vibrant pink and orange. The streetlights flickered to life, people turned their car headlights on, and, overhead, the moon was rising. All of this gave me enough light to see into the cabins of other cars on the road.

  The colours in people’s auras didn’t glow with their own light, but when I saw them, their strangeness drew my eye. Some were a single, flat colour; others were a dizzying kaleidoscope. Once, as I was waiting behind a bus at an intersection, I saw a man whose aura was as black as tar being squeezed from a lung in a quit-smoking commercial. He was sitting on the bench seat at the back of the bus, staring out the side window with a stony expression. I was glad he didn’t look back at me.

  By the time I reached our suburb, whose roads were mercifully quiet, my hands were shaking with nerves.

  Sarah was waiting out the front of our house when I pulled up. She leaned against the light pole with a hand on her hip, just like I’d imagined. The colours around her were an agitated swirl; I saw a bit of yellow and blue, similar to the colours I’d seen in Jack’s aura, but not identical. The yellow was less sickly, the blue darker.

  When I got out of the car she gave me a fierce hug. Then she punched my arm.

  “Ow.”

  “That’s for worrying me.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Why was I worried? Because you’re my sensible cousin, Isla. You don’t lie. And if you do, you tell me about it.” She rolled her eyes. But I saw the flash of that sad silver colour in her aura, and didn’t have to guess what it meant.

  “I’m sorry. It’s been a weird week.” I locked the car door and turned back to face her, wondering where to start.

  “So why were you at the hospital?”

  “Yes,” said a voice from the shadows. “Why were you at the hospital?”

  Nana stepped out from between Aunt Elizabeth’s car and the neighbour’s fence, bearing down on us.

  “You were spying on us!”

  “Not you, Sarah. Her.” She pointed at me. The colours rippling around her ran to a furious red shot through with black, like the patterns you get on the inside of your eyelids after you look at a bright light. Blood and shadows.

  I didn’t have to guess what they meant either.

  “That’s outrageous.” Sarah leapt to my defence. “You’ve been suspicious of Isla since the day you arrived, and for no reason. Just because she looks like her mother or whatever—”

  “You don’t know her, what she is capable of,” Nana said. Did she mean me, or my mother?

  Sarah frowned, sharing my confusion. “Of course I know her. Isla wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

  “Then ask her what she was doing at the hospital,” my grandmother demanded. S
he was standing close to us now, her voice low and intense, her accent growing more pronounced with the strength of her emotion. Somewhere in the house, the phone rang.

  “She was visiting—”

  Nana cut Sarah off with a sharp wave of her hand. “Ask her.”

  Sarah turned to me, the question in her eyes.

  Before I could answer, the screen door banged open and Aunt Elizabeth came out onto the porch. “Isla! Mum! Great news.” She almost sang the words. “The hospital rang. David’s awake!”

  Squealing, Sarah hugged me. I embraced her back, looking over her shoulder into my grandmother’s eyes.

  “Now you know,” I said softly.

  Chapter Fourteen