When she woke, she longed to return to the dream again, convinced there was some hidden meaning in the kite. She lay, watching the dark sky outside her window, listening to the rain fall.
At 7 am she made her way downstairs for breakfast, half hoping she wouldn’t run into Lazariel, half hoping she would. The door to his bedroom was shut firmly and she continued downstairs. There had been a time when the commune members would rise early to meditate together, but Ishran had decided meditation made for a dull and boring mind, and daily life was to be their meditation.
Lately, the women had taken to dressing themselves in long gowns and nightdresses they bought from the op shop in the village, powdering their faces white, and painting on ruby-red lips. Sometimes the members of Light Vision would sleep all day and meet at night by candlelight. Once Theresa was convinced they had all slept for days in their rooms. She would not have been surprised to discover years had passed while they had slept, and the trees and bushes had grown over the house as in an old fairytale.
Minette was the only one up when Theresa entered the kitchen. She sat at the table yawning over a bowl of cereal and reading the local paper. She was dressed in a navy and white tracksuit, the kind that had not been in fashion for years, with her dry, bleached stringy hair pulled back in a ponytail. Theresa realised she must have risen early and jogged into town for the paper. That had been her and Sophie’s latest craze. A health kick. Neither of them needed to lose weight, they were both like stick insects: scrawny, hard and bony. Minette had not bothered to remove her previous day’s make-up and there were black panda patches under her eyes. She shot Theresa a look of dislike at being interrupted.
‘Someone else has gone off one of our cliffs,’ she said. She picked up a spoon and stirred her tea. Her mascara-ringed eyes were too bright when she looked at Theresa, like a bright little hard bird. Theresa didn’t reply, hunting instead for the bread. Finding the knife, she began to slice.
‘It’s a beautiful day outside. Cold, but the sun’s out. Where is everyone? They’re all so lazy, they’ll sleep all day. They’re missing the best part.’ Minette had the morally superior tone of the early riser.
‘Ishran thinks exploring the other worlds is just as important as this world,’ Theresa replied, spreading Vegemite on her toast.
‘Right. In other words he’s too lazy to get up. Or else someone is keeping him occupied in bed. Lazariel perhaps? The two of them make so much noise. Howling and grunting, like a pair of rutting pigs. No wonder I don’t sleep well.’
Theresa sat down at the table with her toast and tea. ‘Have you heard from your children lately? They must miss you terribly.’
Minette’s eyes were beams of hate but she kept her voice sugary sweet. ‘You know I don’t like to talk about it, Theresa. I would love to have them here with me. but I just couldn’t bear to disrupt them from school. They are both doing so well academically. I have to, I simply must consider their needs first before my own selfish desires. It would just upset them and their father too much. God knows there’s nothing for them here. They’re better off remaining in Sydney for now. Of course, it breaks my heart for us to be apart.’
‘You’re a legend, Minette,’ Theresa said. She glanced at the paper and saw a black and white photograph of a young blonde woman. TV Star Dead! Mystery Fall Off Cliff the headline read. The woman’s face was vaguely familiar. There was a tight fist inside her stomach, the fingers threatening to uncurl. She thought how much she disliked Minette as she dunked her toast in her tea. She remembered a photograph she had seen of her two children; matching bob haircuts, designer clothes. They had cried for a pet for months, wouldn’t shut up about it, Minette said. She had eventually caved into their demands and bought them a Persian kitten. They had bought a truckload of toys for the kitten and a diamanté collar. The kitten began damaging the furniture, shredding the sofa, then grew too quickly into a cat and the children had lost interest. Minette had got rid of it, taken it to an animal shelter so the family could travel to Singapore for a holiday. It made Theresa feel sick to think of the cat’s fear and distress at its fall from grace. Minette had told her the story as an example of how spoilt her children had been and how she had stood up to them when their father would give in to keep the peace. Stupid bitch, she had never considered the cat’s view. Not for the first time, Theresa wondered how Ishran could bear to stick his dick into Minette and Sophie. They were both so vacuous. Minette was like a dried out old stick insect. Always bleaching, waxing, plucking, exfoliating and moisturising. The endless slavery of the tyranny of beauty, the futile chase for the power of youth and glamour. Both children in the photograph had looked pinched, miserable and unhealthy, despite the fact their father was a doctor.
Minette, probably aware of the unspoken criticism, crossed to the kitchen window to look out. ‘I don’t sleep well of a night,’ she repeated. ‘Last night I thought I could hear wolves howling. Then a woman crying. It was horrible. Of course, there’re no wolves in Australia, are there? But I thought it might have been those wild dogs.’
Theresa watched her, eyes narrowed, dreading her next words, wanting to barricade herself against them.
‘Do you ever get flashbacks?’ Minette continued, avoiding Theresa’s eyes. She looked frail, aged and vulnerable, skull-like for a second. She was dried, ancient and foul. ‘Well, do you?’ Minette asked, her voice cracking.
Theresa stared at her, sipping her tea. The conversation had altered so quickly she felt cheated, set up. Many years ago her mother had done this to her. Lured her into her bedroom on some pretence of looking at a fashion catalogue, and then had begun talking in a hushed voice about periods, before handing her a packet of sanitary pads. She had felt cheated then, slightly sick and embarrassed.
‘I don’t think about it,’ she said, knowing her answer was inadequate. Minette glared at her. Theresa saw with shock that she had tears in her eyes.
‘It’s all gone too far,’ she said. ‘I have never felt more lost in my life.’
After her conversation with Minette, there was no way Theresa wanted to stick around the house. She dressed quickly, and decided to walk into Katoomba and ask for work in some of the local shops. It was time to become independent, she thought. Ishran had never said so directly, but he had encouraged all the members of Light Vision to rely on him for food and money. After the first couple of weeks they had stopped questioning his generosity as they floated in an embryonic, dreamlike state. Now Theresa wanted to work, to cut the ties that bound her to Ishran and make herself independent,
The air was frigid as she walked the short walk into Katoomba. Black puddles of mud smeared the ground, a crow watched her with silent venom as she passed. One for sorrow, two for joy. The sky was an unhealthy grey. The colourful, sprawling town seemed unusually subdued when she reached the main street. Locals stood in small groups talking in hushed voices. A young woman was crying, held by one of the group. What the hell was going on, Theresa wondered. Had the country gone to war overnight? Cocooned inside Light Vision as they were, anything could have happened in the outside world without their knowledge. She passed by them trancelike, and they fell back as if to avoid touching her, as though a dark angel was passing near them.
Theresa ducked into the public restroom to use the toilet and check her reflection. A dark-haired, gaunt stranger stared back at her from the pink ceramic mirror. Her eyes concerned her, they were fixed and wild. The eyes of a visionary, eyes that smoked. With a shaking hand she took out a red lipstick and ran it over her lips. She had to contain the fire within her, had to appear normal. She needed a daily routine that would ground her. If she could hold down a job, no matter how menial, it would prove to her she didn’t need Light Vision, that she could function in the world without Ishran. It was within the marrow of her bones, this impulse to escape, to move as far away from the house as she could. There was too much sadness and tragedy suffocating her within its walls. Too many bees and flies, too many cries from different rooms late
at night and walls that creaked with pain and loss. There was also Lazariel; she wanted to leave him before she came to care for him too much.
Theresa entered a cafe at the top of the main street, the Royal, an Art Deco place popular with weekend tourists. A young woman looked at her, dislike flaring in her eyes when she recognised one of the weirdos from Light Vision in her store. Theresa was grateful for the long black lace skirt — a cast-off of Sophie’s — the black boots she wore all through winter, and the long grey coat that she’d found in a vintage clothes shop in Sydney.
‘Yes?’
‘Hi. My name is Theresa. I’m wondering if you have any work going, or do you know of any jobs going in the town?’
The woman shook her head. ‘I don’t own the place, I just work here, but I can tell you he wouldn’t put you on. It’s dead at this time of year, all the businesses are struggling.’ There was a look of triumph in her face at this announcement.
‘Okay, thanks.’ Theresa left the shop, an annoying bell tinkling as she departed. Outside, she looked down the street. Shop after shop, cafe after cafe. She was going to ask at every single one of them, and surely someone would give her a chance. It they all said no, then she would try Leura tomorrow, then Blackheath and Lithgow. She walked into the next shop.
Six shops later she was ready to admit defeat. Six pairs of eyes reflecting dislike, six mouths repeating the same curt rejection. Everything was wrong. Her clothes, her hair, herself. She was wrong,
She noted a small shop down an alleyway she had previously never gone into. It was an arts and curio shop, The Silver Hen. Near it was a deserted sweet shop, with old-style advertisements for cocoa and Cadbury’s still in the windows. The shelves of the shop were bare inside, covered in dust, and empty sweet barrels. Theresa imagined all the town’s children who had pressed their noses against the glass. She went into The Silver Hen. The same annoying bell tinkled. Did all the shop owners buy their idiot bells from the same travelling pedlar? A short grey-haired woman came out of the back room. Theresa glimpsed through the door to a little sitting room with an electric heater burning, a cup of tea steaming and a fat black cat dozing on a chair.
‘How nice!’ The woman beamed, ‘I had just put the kettle on and now we have company! Welcome, my dear. Come into the back room.’ Her friendliness soothed Theresa, and she found herself meekly obeying. The woman ushered her into the room. ‘You’re from Light Vision, aren’t you? What a fascinating little group you are.’ The cat hissed at her and the woman frowned. ‘Get off that chair, Pepe! We have a welcome guest!’ The cat shot from the chair, and then sat before the radiator, exposing its belly to the warmth.
‘Sit down, my dear,’ the woman urged. ‘It is so nice to see you. My name is Emily Robson.’ She looked eagerly at Theresa, and for a second a shadow seemed to pass over the shop. ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
Phillip put down the phone; he couldn’t help himself. An expression of triumph crossed his face. ‘Faline’s managed to convince Dea. She’s going to help us.’
Leonora nodded. She began to rub her hands together, a sign she was agitated. ‘She changed her mind too easily,’ she said, her cheeks flushed.
Phillip leant over her. He held her head in his hands, forcing her to look up at him. ‘Don’t be afraid, Leonora,’ he said. He patted her head as if she was some small animal. ‘They can sense fear. The closer we are to the original coven, the stronger our power.’
‘It seems your wife is not only charming and intelligent, but also persuasive,’ Odolf said to Lucius. Irritation spiked his tone. Lucius glanced about him, attempting to read the mood of the room.
‘Oh thou, delicious, damned, dear, destructive Woman!’ he said. Leonora looked puzzled.
‘Congreve,’ Phillip said, shooting a look of dislike at Lucius.
Lucius found it difficult to understand the resistance he read in the coven members. Why in the name of the Goddess did they allow Phillip to drag them around the world if they weren’t serious about closing the doorway? Did they think it was just an expenses paid trip to Sydney? Had they convinced themselves Dea Dreamer would never agree to Phillip’s scheme thanks to her born-again Christianity? If so, they had underestimated Faline and her powers of persuasion. Then again, by the way Phillip was smirking, who could tell what little secrets he had had up his sleeve to convince Dea?
Odolf and Agatha were seated together on one of the hotel room’s double beds, watching television. The news featured a woman found dead at the bottom of Elizabeth Gorge in the Blue Mountains. Lucius tried to avoid the images but it was impossible. They all turned as one to listen to it. She had been some sort of Sydney celebrity. A young woman dressed in black, with a very dark green auric field and a large bust was presenting a montage of the dead woman. A shot of the woman running after a man in the street as he tried to hide from the cameras, inside a circus riding on an elephant’s back, a glimpse of her joking with two cameramen. Finally, a close-up of her staring straight into the camera above the graphic: Veronica Stewart. We will miss you.
Words circled the room, words birthed from the television. From another world. Police believe there are no suspicions circumstances. The witches sat and watched. Outside, over Sydney, the night was darkening, the landscape would soon be filled with billions of twinkling lights, straining to outdo the stars. Inside this claustrophobic hotel room they were suddenly a bunch of old people who had lived through the unthinkable. Covered in grime, dust and cobwebs, they were living remnants, remaining, decaying fragments of a great Pharaoh’s nightmare. Leonora’s hands fluttered like restless spirits. Light flashed from the television. Nobody spoke.
Returning to Light Vision, after an afternoon spent browsing in the shops and relaxing in the park. Theresa felt optimistic. She had achieved what she would have previously thought impossible. A job. A real job. Okay, so it wasn’t the career choice of her dreams, but it was honest, easy work. The money wasn’t great, she could probably have earned more from waitressing, and it was only part-time, but at least Emily Robson hadn’t looked at her as if she was something scooped out of a toilet bowl. She had been non-judgmental, almost motherly, and seemed relieved to have found Theresa —such beautiful eyes you have, dear. You are a pretty girl, a face like a little pussy cat. You must have many young men vying for your attention. Your family must miss you, are you close to them?
Theresa, starved for compliments, had run through those words more than a few times as she walked home, seeming to cover the short distance in great strides. She couldn’t remember a time when anybody had said she was pretty. Growing up in the shadow of her older sister Debra, she had rarely been singled out for individual praise. Have I a face like a pussy cat? She wondered as she walked. Am I pretty? And the thought that made her feel ashamed for even thinking it. Does he find me pretty?
She often felt inadequate around Sophie and Minette. Sophie had the blonde chocolate-box face that attracted stares and wolf whistles in the street and Minette seemed so damned sophisticated; knowing about things Theresa never even contemplated, like the latest opera, the ballet, the salon that did the best Brazilian wax or Botox job, the best recipe for smoked pigs’ ears, the Macquarie Street GP who unquestioningly wrote out prescriptions for anything you wanted. Minette’s knowledge of fashionable must-haves were another universe to Theresa. She had often felt like an overweight brown sparrow in the middle of two stunning birds of paradise. Now, in a couple of sentences, Emily Robson had given her a whole new perception of herself.
She repeated the words like a mantra as she walked. Pussy cat face. A pretty girl. Pussy cat face. A pretty girl. Enchanted words. Also, Sophie and Minette had changed, she realised this fully for the first time. Sophie was often pale and suffering from one flu after another. She spent entire days in bed drinking cups of tea and listening to dance music. She had cut her long blonde hair very short, which gave her a Tinkerbell look. But a wan, exhausted, ageing Tinkerbell. Minette was no longer as confident and vivacious as she ha
d been. She showed little interest in anything outside the house, including her own children. Once so fanatical about her grooming, she now often moped around the house in a discoloured white dressing gown.
There were no longer any shoe-buying excursions to Sydney, no trips to the cinema, an art opening, book launch, or even a nightclub where they would have writhed and flailed their arms around in a mass of writhing, arm-flailing strangers. Minette was robotical, and would sit staring at the television for hours, peeling off nail varnish, chewing on the end of her fingers. Before Light Vision moved to the mountains, Theresa knew Minette and Sophie had often gone to nightclubs together. ‘Minette after rough trade,’ Sophie would sneer. ‘It makes her feel young again. Christ, the hipster pants she wore last night, with her gut! Stretch marks everywhere! What a turn on!’ Although Theresa hated nightclubs and would have preferred to cut off her baby finger rather than accompany them, she couldn’t help an illogical pang of rejection at her exclusion. Now all she was excluded from were trancelike expressions, vomiting sounds in the middle of the night, and several times lately, screaming would ring through the house in the early hours. When Theresa would question them about the noises, they would get a blank look on their faces and say they must have had a nightmare, or it must have been something they ate in the village that was off.
Even the details were different, Theresa thought, shivering in the chill air as she walked. Small things. You never saw either woman on the phone lately, and that was very unusual the more she thought about it. Alan and Daniel rarely mixed with the Light Vision members, they would remain locked in their room for hours, rarely venturing outside their private world, only sneaking downstairs for snacks which they would carry upstairs on wooden trays to consume in secrecy. Once they had come downstairs wearing masks and costumes. Gold masks and antlers on their heads, their hands stained with red ochre. Nobody had commented upon it, everybody had taken their appearance to be normal. Strange days and confusing times, Theresa could remember thinking.
A Fire in the Shell: Circle of Nine Trilogy 3 Page 28