I was sad, at the time, and I still am when I think about him. He was a good kid, and getting better. Three-year-old Carl and eight-year-old Anton played together. Little kid stuff, but it was still fun, especially when he cackled that laugh, which he never grew out of.
And so was Bec right when she said that who I am now is a result of what happened then, and that smartarse Anton is covering up the pain of this loss? On the one hand, der. We’re all who we are now because of what happened to us in the past. What we do, what we experience shapes us as much as the gene lottery. But is it a one-to-one thing, where X causes Y? I think it might be a bit more complicated than that. People are always a whole lot more complicated that we think. We might like tidy answers and neat equations but humanity isn’t like that. We’re messy, we’re muddled, we’re all over the place, and that’s fine with me because it makes us more than just machines that have been programmed by our past.
I still miss Carl. He was so little and I wasn’t there and I couldn’t help him and I hope he wasn’t scared.
Messy, muddled, all over the place.
Dad greeted us with, ‘Rogues are incredibly bad news.’
Which was a bit of a downer.
‘I helped find some useful stuff,’ Bec said. ‘And it’s made me more determined to digitise the collection. What a mess!’
‘Rebecca has an organised mind.’ Dad studied me. ‘Are you all right, Anton? What happened?’
‘Grender’s dead. Killed by a Rogue.’
Dad went pale. ‘Grender? Another Rogue? No.’
‘Yes. Really, definitely, unarguably dead.’ I took a deep breath. ‘I think we need a cup of coffee and a sit-down.’
In the kitchen, we gathered at the round table. Dad fussed around getting coffee for Rani and me and, for Bec, tea. Bec was finding it hard to keep still, and resorted to ordering and reordering the pile of books and article photocopies she had in front of her. Rani hung her coat on the hook near the door. She looked strained, but calm, and started stretching exercises while she sat there.
Dad put a plate of Scotch Finger biscuits on the table. Not my favourite, but Bec and Rani fell on them like wolves on the fold.
I took a sip from the espresso Dad handed me. It was strong, black and tasted like coffee. No sugar, no milk, nothing to dilute that coffee taste. Heaven.
The real world was coming back into focus – I’d been in a nightmare land for too long. ‘You want our report first, or do you want to tell us what you’ve found out about Rogues?’
Dad had settled himself next to Bec. ‘Report.’
I kept the speculation out of it, so the report was reasonably brief. We told Dad and Bec about the flat, about the Rogue, about the wild-eyed woman and about Grender’s ghost. I tried to explain how the Weeper had felt, too. Then I described Rani’s part, she described mine. ‘If it wasn’t for Rani, I don’t think I’d be here now.’
‘And if it wasn’t for Anton, I’m sure I’d be in pieces,’ she said.
‘There’s that teamwork again,’ I said. ‘We’ll be signing up for volleyball next.’
‘Ahem,’ Dad said. That’s right, he didn’t clear his throat, he actually said ‘ahem’. ‘Can we move on? Especially since we possibly have some extraordinarily malevolent magic on the loose?’
Now that made my head jerk around. Dad rarely used the M word. His explanations, the entire Marin approach to the ghost business, was down-to-earth. We didn’t concern ourselves much with metaphysics and we kept away from airy-fairy explanations. It was a job. An important, worthwhile job, but a job. Anything like my pendant was in the Magic basket so we didn’t talk about it much. We accepted it.
Two things Mum was into, apparently, were tea and magic. Not at the same time, I think, but you never know. A few times Dad said stuff that made me think this had caused tension between them. Mum’s family had a ghost-hunting tradition too, but it came from a different base from the Marin family. Not a contradictory base, just another slightly different take on the best way to conduct the final moments a ghost spends here. Dad never hid this from me, but he never really talked about it. ‘It’s in the archives, help yourself,’ was his usual reply.
For him to mention magic now meant that something big was up.
‘It’s the two Rogues in two days thing, isn’t it?’ I guessed.
Dad looked at me sharply, but I wasn’t expecting Bec to chip in. ‘There’s that, and then there’s this daylight Rogue manifestation. That’s almost unheard of.’
Rani looked amused as she nibbled on another Scotch Finger. I had to work my mouth a few times before I could form an adequate response. ‘And who made you the Great Ghost Authority?’
Bec threw a pencil at me. I ducked. Without spilling the coffee she was sipping, Rani leaned over and snapped it out of the air.
‘I’ve just collated some information that Leon pointed me towards,’ Bec said.
‘She’s exceptional,’ Dad said.
‘I know that,’ I said, ‘and now she’s Director of Ghost Operations, Marin Branch? After years of sticking in the mud, things are sure moving fast around here.’
Bec rapped the books in front of her. ‘Someone needs to bring you guys into the twenty-first century. It’s lucky you’ve got me. Just wait until I have everything humming along digitally. You won’t know yourself.’
‘And while I’m afraid of that,’ Dad said, ‘I’m also strangely looking forward to it.’
‘So on top of a murder, what are we up against?’ I asked. ‘Some sort of magical outbreak? An intrusion from a dark dimension? A few lame card tricks?’
Dad clasped his hands and put them together on the table in front of him. ‘I’ll need to do some more research, but it looks like phasmaturgy.’
Whoa. It’s hard to roll out a snappy answer when someone tells you you’re dealing with genuine ghost magic.
‘What’s phasmaturgy?’ Bec asked.
We all looked at Dad. ‘It is a perverted form of magic, Rebecca, where depraved individuals seek to use the moment of transition from life to death to gain power.’ He rubbed his forehead. ‘They either enslave the dead to do their bidding, or they simply wring information from them. It is as evil and self-seeking a practice as there is.’
‘Ghost magic,’ Rani added. ‘Summoning, controlling, and generally using ghosts for one’s own ends. It’s not healthy, in any way. We must root it out and destroy it.’
‘That sounds like a quote,’ I said. ‘That’s the Company line?’
She nodded. ‘The Company hates phasmaturgy even more than it hates ghosts. Those who would work with spirits are corrupted and cannot be saved.’
‘It’s all black and white with Company true believers, isn’t it?’ I said. ‘It must be nice to live a life that’s that certain.’
‘Enough, Anton,’ Dad said.
Rani stood. ‘I have to report it. Phasmaturgy cannot be allowed to stand.’
Another quote, I guessed. Those Company of the Righteous types had a way with a dull slogan all right. ‘I don’t think we’re talking about letting phasmaturgy stand, are we, Dad?’
‘Certainly not. But I do think that we need more information before any action is taken. This is a Marin matter, not a Company of the Righteous one.’
Hm. Was Dad being territorial?
Bec frowned. ‘But it looks like now that Rani knows, she has a duty to inform her superiors.’
‘That’s right,’ Rani said. ‘We’re good at taking action in these cases.’
Dad was looking decidedly firm. Rani was on her way out the door. Bec was punching something into her phone. ‘Wait, Rani,’ I said. ‘This works out perfectly with your plans to get a cleaner in.’
That sidetracked into an explanation for Dad, and a promise from Bec to find Pulp Fiction for us.
‘So,’ Rani said when we were finally back on track. ‘We sort this out and then I can get in touch with my Company contacts with plenty of useful information.’
‘Cool,’ I said.
‘They’ll love you for it and send a cleaner around pronto.’
‘They already love me,’ she said absently. ‘They’re not fools.’ She tapped her foot for a moment. ‘All right. Let’s do it.’
‘Yay!’ Bec said. She had her phone in her hand. ‘We’re now a supernatural investigative team!’
‘If you suggest that we all bump fists, I’m leaving,’ I said. ‘Who were you texting?’
‘I wasn’t,’ she said. ‘I was checking to see if there’s been any media reports about Grender’s death.’
Dad leaned forward. ‘And?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Looks like we have some time, then,’ Rani said.
‘How much time?’ Bec asked.
‘Who knows?’ I said. ‘How fast can we track down this phasmaturgist woman?’
‘Quickly, I hope,’ Dad said. ‘That woman you saw is out there manipulating Rogues.’
Bec was a little green around the gills. ‘And there’s a dead body lying around in a St Kilda flat, too. Gotta get that taken care of soon.’
I went back to what Dad had been saying. ‘But why did this woman want Grender dead? I know he was offensive, in lots of ways, but calling up a dangerous ghost to cut his throat is going a bit far.’
Dad crossed his arms. ‘It’s unlikely to be for any noble reason. Phasmaturgy is ultimately a selfish craft.’
‘You think? Releasing slavering, insane ghost dudes on the city is a selfish thing?’
‘You should give up sarcasm,’ Bec said. ‘People could get the wrong idea about you.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘Rebecca,’ Dad said, ‘how busy are you at the moment?’
‘Well, my course is pretty full-on, and I want to do some flat hunting.’
‘I was wondering if you’d like to take on a formal, paid, research assistant job.’
‘Here?’
‘That’s what I was hoping. Getting the archives in shape will be a major part of what you do, but we need to find this phasmaturgist. I think your skills might be of great assistance.’
‘Done.’
She was happy, and I was happy for her. Marin and Son Ghost Hunters had grown from a two-man operation to a three and a half, just like that, counting Rani as a point-five.
My face nearly cracked with a yawn of titanic proportions.
‘I have to get some sleep,’ I might have mumbled. ‘Sleepy sleep sleep.’
‘We must have the same sort of schedule,’ Rani said. ‘I’m exhausted.’
‘I bet you have beepy time reminders and stuff like that though,’ I said. ‘Company policy.’
‘Something like that.’ She stood. ‘Time for me to vanish like the wind.’
‘To your Fortress of Solitude? The Emerald City?’
‘Hawthorn,’ she said. ‘It seems to be a pleasant area.’
‘Can you get back here tonight before you go out patrolling?’ Dad asked. ‘Rebecca and I should be able to find something to help you look for this phasmaturgist woman.’
‘Come on, Anton,’ Rani said. ‘I’ll give you a lift home.’
CHAPTER 11
‘What’s your name?’ I asked to her as we drew up at the lights near the Westgarth Cinema.
Rani glanced at me. ‘The art of conversation isn’t your strong suit, is it?’
‘What?’
‘Starting off with a blunt question like that would get you killed in some cultures.’ People streamed across the road in front of us. On the way to catch a movie? ‘Besides, you know my name.’
‘Full name, I mean. In all, we really haven’t had a chance to do the proper introductions. I’ve been trying to read your name upside-down on your schoolbooks, but I keep getting distracted by your ponytail, braces and giggling friends.’
‘Rani Barsha Cross. Pleased to meet you, Anton Marin.’ The lights greened and we surged off, the G force pressing me back into the lush seat. ‘Marin. Is that French?’
‘Slovenian. My great-grandfather anglicised it when he came here after the war.’
Rani’s face took on the faraway look that people do when they’re calculating. ‘The Second World War?’
‘That’s the one. Yeah, and he anglicised it pretty badly. He could have stuck a T in it, for a start. No one would have been any the wiser, and Martin is a pretty standard Aussie surname.’
‘I think it works,’ she said.
‘And Cross…’
‘Go on, say it: “You don’t look like a Cross.”’
‘Don’t you? What’s a Cross meant to look like?’
‘I told you I’m adopted.’ She shifted gears suddenly and sent us scooting past a tip truck that was struggling up the hill towards the cemetery. The engine whined. ‘My real dad was Assamese, my real Mum was Chinese Malaysian.’
She turned and looked at me, which freaked me out because we were curving around the cemetery and about to launch into that long complicated roundabout near the university colleges and she WASN’T LOOKING AT THE ROAD. ‘I’d really like to be able to remember them.’
She turned back to the front, and sent the car wriggling through a gap that hadn’t been there a second ago. Pro-level driving made look easy.
A few seconds later and we were in the quiet back streets of Parkville and I started breathing again. Sweet, sweet air, how I love you.
‘Just so you understand,’ she said when we pulled up in front of my house, ‘we’re sharing now.’
‘Okay.’ I shifted uneasily in my seat.
‘Which means it’s your turn. That’s how sharing works.’
‘Uh huh. Anything in particular you’re interested in?’
‘No.’
‘No?’
‘It’s not question and answer time. You have to volunteer if it’s going to be meaningful.’
Family. She opened up about her family. ‘I suppose I could tell you about my Aunt Tanja.’
‘Not if you don’t want to.’
‘What? I thought we were sharing.’
‘If it’s going to be a bore for you, I’d rather we didn’t.’
‘Bore?’
‘Your tone of voice.’
‘Look, I’m not responsible for my tone of voice.’ I stopped short. ‘Did I sound bored? Honestly, I didn’t mean it.’
‘Tone of voice and body language were consistent with each other.’
‘Maybe I was uncomfortable,’ I said, more to myself than to her.
‘You don’t always have to be comfortable. Discomfort can mean something.’
‘Maybe.’
‘That’s not very helpful.’
‘I’m lost here. Just tell me what you want me to say, okay?’
‘Don’t you dare try to make your feelings my responsibility.’ She studied me for a while and just as I was getting uneasy all over again, she turned on the engine. ‘I think we’d better leave well enough alone. Goodnight, Anton.’
‘Wait. I’ve got a lot to share. I just missed the moment, that’s all. Whistle it back and I’ll jump aboard.’
‘Another time. Perhaps.’
She left me standing by the front gate, kicking myself stupid.
CHAPTER 12
After sleeping hard, showering, picking a jacket (royal blue, with big lapels, hard to miss) and eating, I rode my bike to the shop. I felt like I needed a bit of exercise to clear my head because it was obviously thick as a couple of dozen short planks.
I can overanalyse as well as anyone – no I can’t. Well, possibly, in some circumstances. Or can I? – but I accepted that, yesterday, I’d been insensitive, unaware and generally thick as.
Sometime over my slow and soggy breakfast, I’d realised that yesterday Rani had been reaching out to me. I hate the phrase – no one gets in touch anymore, they reach out, and it makes everything sound like a drowning swimmer grabbing at a life preserver – but it described what she’d been up to. She’d started to tell me about herself and how it felt to be ripped away from parents she couldn’t remember, and I’d sat t
here like a stone.
Insensitive, unaware and thick as. I think it’s in the job description for an eighteen-year-old male, but I hate it when I fall into a stereotype like that.
And so the bike. I had to get to the bookshop but I wanted to make a detour to the all-night florist on Bell Street in Preston.
Then the weakness in my plan became obvious. Have you ever tried to carry two bunches of flowers while riding a bike?
I tried holding them under one arm, catching them between the handlebars, and clamping them in my teeth like a matador, but eventually I shoved them into my backpack so they stuck out over my helmet as if I was carrying a bunch of floral spears. With the flashing lights and my hi-vis vest, I was hard to miss. I accepted the humiliation and the wild car hoots along the way. I deserved them for being such a fool the night before.
The lights were on in the shop as I pulled up – good – and Rani’s car was parked out the back – also good. I locked my bike to a downpipe, held the irises behind me and pushed the door open.
Dad wasn’t there, but I could hear him rattling away in the front of the shop. Bec and Rani were sitting at the table, which was heaped with newspapers, books, maps and documents. Rani was in purple and dark blue, a top and jeans. Bec was wearing a T-shirt: Cosplay – Dress Ups for Grown Ups.
‘Hello, Anton,’ Rani said. ‘Bec has been explaining all about her eye.’
‘Really?’
‘She asked,’ Bec said. ‘Which is the best way, by far. Then we got onto board games. You know that she’s heavily into them?’
‘We used to play Pandemic all the time while we were in training,’ Rani said. ‘It was relaxing.’
Bec stared. ‘What have you got behind your back, Anton?’
This was the moment for a suave and urbane move. Instead, I fumbled around, nearly dislodged my helmet and got caught up in the straps of my pack before I was able to work the flowers free. ‘This is for you, Rani,’ I panted, and I presented her with one of the bunches of flowers.
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