“One of my mates has a holiday house at Avoca. Nothing fancy, but I know where the key is and he won’t mind if we borrow it for a few days. Better lie low till we find out what’s going on. How are those scratches looking?”
Cautiously I peeled the wad of bandage away from my arm. “Red. Kind of puffy.” Were my tetanus shots up to date? “Hurts like hell.”
What kind of infection could you get from a werewolf’s claws? I patted at a slow ooze of fresh blood, then blinked.
“Shit. I’m not going to turn into a werewolf, am I?”
“Don’t think so.”
“You don’t think so? Geez, that’s reassuring.” A hollow opened in the pit of my stomach. To lose control of my own body, to become a monster …
Ben pulled off the road and switched on the interior light. A cliff loomed above us, honey-gold in the light from the headlights, its straight edge showing its manmade origins. When they’d built the road they’d cut right through many of the sandstone bluffs. “Let me look at you.”
He pulled out pads and tape and rigged a proper dressing for my arm and the big scratch below my ribs, his hands warm and sure. “He didn’t bite you, did he?”
“No-o.” Had he? It was hard to be sure now. The snap of his jaws in my face was an instant of pure terror seared on my memory forever, but after that the details were hazy.
“You should be okay, then.” His voice was soothing, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. I wasn’t reassured. “Although we’ll have to clean those scratches out.”
He picked up his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“A friend. He can tell us for sure. He’s an expert.”
“Why, is he a werewolf too?”
Ben shushed me as the phone answered. “Damn, message bank … Hi Trev, it’s Ben Stevens. Please call me back. It’s urgent.”
He hung up and glared out the windscreen for a moment, lost in thought. We were a little island of light in the darkness, with only the occasional whooshing roar as another pair of headlights swooped past us. I felt exposed, vulnerable. I switched off the interior light, making us less of a target.
Ben put the car into gear and pulled onto the motorway again. Being on the move felt safer. Cliffs were replaced by trees, blurring past as the car picked up speed.
“Trev’ll know why you were targeted. He’s usually got his finger on the pulse.”
“Isn’t there anyone else you could ask?” Personally, I was more interested in the answer to the original question—whether I was likely to start sprouting teeth and fangs—and I didn’t want to wait to find out. My heart raced. I took a deep breath. Hysterics wouldn’t do either of us any good.
He gave me a level stare. “I trust Trevor. Anyone else I rang might be the guy who attacked you.”
Right. Good point.
“Unless you can tell me what he looked like?”
“I didn’t see much. It was too dark.” I rubbed at my temples. The rush of adrenalin had banished the headache for a while, but now it was back with a vengeance. There’d be a worldwide shortage of paracetamol if it didn’t let up soon. And I was so tired. Thank God Avoca wasn’t much further.
“He looked like a gym junkie—big guy, all neck and shoulders. He was already in the house when I came home. Must have turned off the power at the mains. No lights. I thought I’d blown a fuse. Anyway, it was dark, and he jumped me when I came into the kitchen. He asked who I was working for—Alicia or Valeria. Do those names mean anything to you?”
He nodded, looking grim. “People you don’t want to cross.”
“People? Or werewolf people?”
“Neither. The wolves aren’t the only shifters.”
I shut my eyes. They were gritty with exhaustion. “Of course they’re not. What else? Vampires? Don’t make me play twenty questions.”
He sighed. “A lot of the old stories are true, or at least based in truth—all those ones about people changing into something else. Turns out there’s a surprising number of creatures passing themselves off as human—things like vampires and werewolves, plus lots of others you might not have heard of. Even mermaids, though I’ve never met one of those.”
Which implied he had met the others? Holy supernatural freak show, Batman.
“Considering how many different types there are, it’s a wonder there’s not more trouble, but they mostly keep to their own kind. I guess it’s in their own interests to lay low. No one wants to be the one who starts the humans off with the pitchforks and the burnings again.”
“That guy in my kitchen didn’t seem to care about laying low.” I couldn’t stop replaying the horrible images over and over in my mind. Hot meaty breath in my face, yellow soulless eyes, hulking body bristling with shaggy fur. And my God the teeth. I would not turn into that. I’d rather die. I realised my hands were shaking and tucked them into my armpits to hide them.
“No.” He chewed his lip for a moment. “It’s out of character. Something’s going on. Did he say anything else?”
I thought back. “We exchanged threats. He said he was going to eat my heart.”
“You exchanged threats with a werewolf?” He sounded amused.
“Well, I didn’t know he was a werewolf at the time. I just said ‘not if I cut yours out first, buddy’, or something like that. Oh, and I pretended I was working for someone else, to try and stall him. He asked if it was Elizabeth, but he didn’t seem to like the idea.”
“Lord, I hope she’s not involved,” said Ben.
“Who’s Elizabeth?”
Fierce blue eyes regarded me from a face beginning to show its great age. Her white hair was impeccably styled in a sleek bob, the ends coming to a sharp point on either side of her jaw. On the wall behind her head hung a famous Renoir, and it was no print. Only the best for Elizabeth. She had more money than Midas, more power than God—yet she still wasn’t happy.
At the moment her unhappiness seemed largely my fault, judging by the sour expression on her face every time she forced herself to look at me.
She pushed the deeds across the desk and I glanced at the paper. The address was in the heart of The Rocks and I had no doubt it would be impressive. There was money too, in shares and cash—enough zeroes to satisfy anyone. But who was she trying to impress?
Not me. Dragon queens rarely showed much interest in their progeny, but I had the distinct impression that in my case she’d gone beyond lack of interest to active dislike.
Not her other daughters, who would all be receiving similar largesse. She could afford to be generous, since only one of us would live through the proving, and she would get it all back from those who didn’t survive. She seemed to be going through the motions, as if this were a book she’d read before.
Or a trial with a foregone conclusion.
“Is there any hope for the rest of us?”
She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow at my hostile tone. The queen wasn’t used to attitude from her subjects.
“What do you mean?”
“Is there any point going through the motions of a proving when you’ve already decided Valeria should succeed you?”
Her spymaster stirred from his position by the window. “Don’t address your mother like that, Leandra.”
Odious little man. How dare he chide me? He was probably sleeping with her again.
“Watch your own tongue. I’m not a child any more.”
Elizabeth waved us both to silence with an impatient hand. “No queen ‘decides’ on her heir. Your hostility would be better directed at your sisters. I have given you each enough money to get you started. You are free to seek any alliances you wish within the domain, except among the members of my own household.”
Her tone made it clear she thought the possibility of anyone allying with me unlikely. She might be in for a shock there. Not everyone considered her precious Valeria the obvious candidate.
“Aren’t you going to wish me luck, mother?” My whole life had been leading to this moment. Fin
ally I could seize my fate with both hands. Luck had little to do with it. Who was better prepared? Who had the wits—and the right alliances—to outscheme and outlive the other four?
Her lip curled into a sneer. “The true queen doesn’t need luck. And the rest of you will find that no amount of luck will save you.”
“Kate? Kate!” Ben sounded urgent.
“Don’t yell. I’ve got a headache.”
I squinted at Ben, barely able to focus on his worried face. The pressure in my skull was unbelievable. If someone stuck a pin in my head it would explode into little pieces like a popped balloon. My mind whirled with fragments that dissolved as I tried to grasp at them: a cold face; a feeling of anger …
“I’m not yelling. You just kind of sagged in your seat as if you’d blacked out.”
“Did I?” It seemed to me we’d just been talking when he suddenly started yelling my name. Guess I’d have to take his word for it. With an effort, I turned my throbbing head to face forward again and watched the headlights sweep along the road. The dark trees whizzed by at a phenomenal rate. “Are you speeding?”
“I need to get you somewhere safe. Don’t go to sleep. Keep talking to me.”
“Fine. You were telling me about … Elizabeth?”
The name started bells ringing. A flash of cruel blue eyes. But I didn’t know her, did I? Why did I feel as if I should?
“Well, that’s the other reason the shifters don’t like publicity. At the top of the shifter food chain are the dragons. They’re determined to stay hidden, and dragons generally get what they want.”
I nodded. Yes, that was right. No, wait … What the hell?
“Their queens carved up the world between them centuries ago and keep their own kingdoms under tight control. Or domains, as they call them, since there are no kings.”
“Is that who Valeria and Alicia are? Dragon queens?”
“No, but their mother is. Elizabeth has been around a very long time. I’ve heard she was actually Queen Elizabeth the First, though I don’t know if it’s true.”
“As in, the daughter of Henry the Eighth? The Virgin Queen? That Queen Elizabeth?” The strongest sense of déjà vu gripped me. Surely we’d already had this conversation?
He nodded.
“But she died! It’s in the historical record—how could it be the same person?”
“If you have a lifespan of a thousand years, you need to move on every so often to avoid suspicion. Dragons get a lot of practice at staging realistic deaths and re-establishing themselves with a new identity.” He shrugged. “Anyway, as I said, it could just be a rumour. The point is, she’s old and powerful, and if she’s involved we’re in deep trouble.”
Great. Well, at least he said “we”. Silence fell as the car swooped down the long hill to the Mooney Mooney bridge across the Hawkesbury. The yellow windsocks hung limp on their poles, mocking the signs that warned “High Wind Area”. Beneath the bridge the river gleamed in the dark like satin, flat and still.
I was hot and headachy and my arm burned like hellfire. In fact I was hot all over. Anxiously I scanned the backs of my hands for any sign of fur. I wished I could pretend this was all some crazy fairy story of Ben’s, but I’d seen the creature, felt its weight, smelled the meaty stink of its breath. And had the scars to prove it. Please God scars was the end of it.
Neither of us spoke for a long time. I had a lot to think about.
He took the Gosford exit and we cruised down quiet streets. Gosford was the hub of a loose collection of beachside towns known as the Central Coast, prized for their proximity to Sydney as much as their prettiness. But even the “big smoke” of Gosford was pretty dead at night. Still, Ben kept closer to the speed limit here. The last thing we needed was having to explain my blood-soaked appearance to a curious highway patrolman.
After about ten minutes we turned off the main road, following the signs to Avoca. Once a seaside tourist haven, it was now increasingly settled by commuters who had to work in Sydney but didn’t like the big-city lifestyle. Despite the encroachment of apartment blocks, it still kept a lot of its old-style charm, with old beach shacks nestled among the newer developments. Lachie and I had visited its grand old cinema once on holidays and paddled canoes on the lagoon behind the beach. Or rather, I’d paddled and he’d yelled excited commands as the captain of our little vessel.
No one moved on the streets now as Avoca lived up to its sleepy reputation.
Ben turned left and slowed the car to a crawl. “It’s along here somewhere. Ah—there.”
He pulled up in the carport of a tiny little box of a house, with a front door in the middle and a window each side, like something a child might draw. I got out and gulped big lungfuls of the salty air as Ben disappeared around the back. I could hear the faint shush of the surf; the beach must be close—probably at the end of the street—but it was too dark now to see.
Ben came back brandishing the key and let us in. The door opened straight into the main room, with lounge and dining table at the front and a primitive kitchen along the back wall. Inside was hot and stuffy; Ben went around opening windows while I yawned fit to crack my jaw, barely able to keep my eyelids open.
“Come on, Sleeping Beauty, let’s get you cleaned up and into bed.”
I followed him into the tiny bathroom, forcing myself to hold it together. “Best offer I’ve had all day.”
CHAPTER SIX
The little bathroom was too cramped to fit a chair, so Ben boosted me on to the small sink, where I perched with my feet resting on the edge of the bath. It was an ugly shade of pink that matched the pink and caramel wall tiles. Probably the height of fashion in whatever long-ago decade the house had been built. I wondered how long Ben’s friend had been coming here. Maybe the house had been built by his dad, or even his grandfather. Bet they’d never had any werewolf victims here before.
Today was turning out to be a real day for firsts.
The house seemed like the kind of basic, homey place a family would come to year after year. On one side of the main living area two doors opened into the bathroom and a bedroom boasting a lumpy double bed. On the other was a small bedroom with two double bunks for the kids. Nothing flashy, but what kid would care? They probably spent their days at the beach, sunburnt and carefree, while mum and dad enjoyed the quiet. In the evenings dad would cook a barbeque, and after dinner they’d sit around playing cards or some noisy board game. Dad would probably cheat or pretend to be hilariously bad at it.
I sighed as Ben peeled the bandage from my arm. Why torture myself imagining happy families? Didn’t I have enough to worry about?
Red and inflamed, the wound looked nasty. The skin all around it felt hot and itchy. Was that a sign I was turning into a werewolf? Anxiety opened a pit in my stomach.
Gently Ben cleaned away the dried blood. He pressed against me in the small space, warm and solid and reassuring.
When he’d finished he produced a bottle of Dettol from the first aid kit. Right. Disinfectant—for werewolf germs. Bet the manufacturers hadn’t planned for that one.
“This might sting a bit.”
I snorted. “Yeah, I used to say that to Lachie. He didn’t believe me either.”
In fact he usually made more of a fuss about the Dettol than he did over the original scrape. I sucked in a breath at the bite of the disinfectant. Poor kid. No wonder he’d cried.
“Sorry.” Ben’s hands were gentle. I studied his face, so close to mine. Stubble shadowed his cheeks. It had been a long day. A single vertical line down the middle of his forehead spoke of concentration as he bent to his task. Or maybe worry. I had the feeling there was a lot Mr Stevens wasn’t telling me about our current situation. It was typical of him to try to shield me, but it only made my imaginings worse. And right now worse was pretty bad. The idea of being taken over by a monster, of changing into that nightmare thing in my kitchen, was doing my head in. I was barely holding it together. When would this guy Trevor ring back?
> “So, tell me more about these dragons the werewolf mentioned.” Anything for a distraction. I winced as Ben dabbed carefully down the length of my arm. “Elizabeth’s what? Queen of Australia? And who are Alicia and Valeria?”
“Elizabeth’s queen of Oceania, which covers most of the south Pacific. She’s been queen a long time, and she’s old even by dragon standards. About twenty-five years ago she laid a queen clutch, which is a sign she knows she doesn’t have a lot of time left.”
“What’s a queen clutch?” I wriggled a little and steadied myself with a hand on Ben’s shoulder. The tiny pink sink didn’t make the most comfortable seat.
“Dragon queens are the only fertile females, and for most of their lives they lay only male eggs, with a few infertile females thrown in. Apparently when they get to an advanced age it triggers their reproductive system to produce a queen clutch—anything from three to a dozen eggs, all fertile females.”
“So how come dragons haven’t died out? Seems a dodgy way of doing things. How many queens are there?”
“Eight usually, depending on territory wars and inheritance fights.”
“Ouch! Careful!”
“Sorry.” He began rebandaging my shoulder with practised movements. The antiseptic reek of Dettol filled the little bathroom.
“Eight fertile females doesn’t seem much.”
He grimaced. “Trust me, that’s plenty. With their long lifespans, the world would be overrun with dragons otherwise. Not a world I’d like to live in.”
“But what happens to the poor males who don’t get to do the deed with one of the queens?”
“You wouldn’t want to let a dragon hear you say it, but it’s certainly been suggested they’re all crazy because they’re so inbred. But you needn’t worry about their sex lives. Dragons have very healthy appetites, and if there aren’t enough females to go around, they’ll settle for something else. Human playthings, mostly.”
“Okay, so Elizabeth lays some queen eggs. That’s Valeria and Alicia?”
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