“Ancestors,” he told her. “Animals, creatures.” He pointed to the sky again. “Those that come from above, sealed below.”
“How do you know these things?”
Coen beamed. “I’ve been many places. Faraway places. Places where mobs speak many different words. I travel the Dreaming.”
She didn’t understand how she felt it, but she could sense magic around him—tingling, shaking, vibrating, warmth. In all her travels, she’d never found anyone like him. Her heart leapt and she stepped closer.
“How?” she asked. “Can you find answers there?”
“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Depends on what you ask.”
Her throat tightened. How could she ask the one thing she desperately wanted to know? Where could she find the truth?
“I don’t know where to go,” she said, hardly understanding why she was opening up to a stranger, in the dark and the middle of the outback, no less.
“Make paths by walking.” Coen pointed to the scrub. “Walk and you’ll find your mob.”
“Is it really that simple?”
“You already walkabout.” He laughed, a long, comical cackle that split his sides, then he backed away, melting into the shadows.
“Wait!” she called, but he didn’t reply. “Coen?”
It made no difference how loud she called. Like a spirit, he’d disappeared into the ether.
Chapter 3
Eloise dreamed about the mountain again that night.
It rose high above her, the outline of the black magma-infused peak dull against the midnight blue sky. The air was still, the usual noisy nocturnal animals of the outback silent in the dark.
As she stood there, her heart hammered so loudly in her ears, she was sure the ghosts could hear it. They were out there, lingering just out of view, in this world or the next, she was never sure.
But they were there. Calling.
The distinct sound of stone against stone echoed in the distance. It knocked three times. Knock, knock, knock.
Eloise woke with a start.
A knock sounded at the sliding door of her van and she swore. It must have filtered into her dreams.
She peered behind the curtain and saw a man lingering outside. What was it with all the guys in this place?
Rubbing her eyes, she slipped out of bed and padded the three steps to the sliding door. She slid it open, the metal whizzing over the runners, and squinted out into the early morning sun.
“Hey,” he said. “Sorry to wake you.”
Eloise sniffed and looked him over. He seemed to be in his early thirties and a rugged sort of handsome. Chiseled jaw with a coat of stubble, longish, wavy brown hair that was tied back in a low man bun, bright hazel eyes. He had the whole outback stockman vibe going with his dusty jeans, boots, and khaki shirt that was open at the collar. He was pale though, like he’d never seen more than five minutes’ worth of sun in his whole life. It was a juxtaposition if she ever saw one.
“Can I help you?” she asked, now blindingly aware she was wearing her purple unicorn pyjamas and was lacking a bra. Scratch the bit about the bra, she thought. Guys are into that kind of thing.
“I’m Hardy,” the man said. He pointed over his shoulder towards the road. “I’m the opal buyer.”
She blinked. “Okay…”
“Blue said you were looking for work,” he added. “I might have something for you, if you’re interested.”
“How much does it pay?”
Hardy laughed, flashing his perfect, white teeth. Eloise was beginning to see there were two types of people who lived in Solace—old dusty men or oddly beautiful young people. The ratio of women to men was alarmingly low, though.
“You’ll go far in a place like this with that attitude,” he told her. “But you have to be prepared to negotiate. Miners will try to squeeze every last cent out of you.”
“What are we talking here? Minimum wage? Is there a finder’s fee?”
Hardy shook his head and laughed. “Maybe you want to get dressed first, eh? I’ll wait for you in the shop. Hop on over when you’re ready. I ain’t going nowhere.”
Eloise looked down at her faded unicorn T-shirt and shrugged. “Cool.”
Hardy gave her a wave and walked away, disappearing around the corner of the garage.
There was nothing else going for her, so Eloise dressed, pulling on a pair of denim shorts, a T-shirt, and her boots. Locking the van, she ventured out into the heat of the morning and went over to Hardy’s shop, curious to see what this mysterious job entailed.
A bell tinkled as she opened the door and a relieving blast of cool air hit her in the face. Closing out the heat behind her, Hardy emerged from a door behind a glass counter that ran the entire width of the shop. There were seats to one side and some posters and framed photographs on the wall, but there wasn’t much else to see.
“Couldn’t keep away, huh?” Hardy asked as she peered into the display cases under the counter.
She smiled and looked at the array of polished opal. They glittered with various colour combinations and shapes, but it was the price tags that made her eyes water.
“How’s Solace treating you?” Hardy prodded when she didn’t reply.
Eloise thought about the pub and grimaced. After she’d left, she’d met Coen, which had been another strange encounter, but it had left her feeling so dreamy and whimsical that she’d sat outside under the stars eating her instant noodles, contemplating the meaning of her existence like she never had before.
“I met a man last night,” she began. “An Aboriginal man.”
“Ah, that’d be Coen. He’s on a walkabout.”
Coen had said something along those lines, but he’d disappeared before she could ask him anything else.
Eloise frowned. “Walkabout?”
“It’s a spiritual journey where the Aboriginal people return to their traditional way of life. To live off the land and connect to it as their ancestors had.”
To Eloise, it sounded peaceful. People caused her so many problems, and she was so tangled in the anguish over her abilities, it sounded like a good way to figure out who and what she was.
“There aren’t many places a man like Coen can settle in this modern world,” Hardy mused.
Eloise frowned.
“Oh, it’s nothing bad,” he told her. “Now, come out back. I want to show you what unpolished opal looks like.”
A little frustrated at the way he’d brushed her off, Eloise followed Hardy out into his workshop. She supposed he couldn’t blame him. Racial divide was a delicate topic even she wasn’t sure she was qualified to speak on, being a white woman and all. Maybe if she saw Coen again, she could ask.
“What’s the job exactly?” She was having visions of cleaning and attending the shop front but couldn’t see the need for it. Trade was at a roaring standstill.
“You’ll see,” he replied. “Have a little patience.”
Out back, Hardy’s workshop took up most of the floor space. There was a complicated set up of tables and sinks with lathes and grinding wheels. It was an intimidating array of machines, all of which seemed overkill for a little stone, but when he showed her what rough opal looked like, she began to understand.
He opened a plastic ziplock bag that was full of stones and dropped a shard into her hands. She noted that he made sure not to touch her, but she wasn’t sure if she was grateful or embarrassed. Either way, the non-contact was welcomed.
The rough opal was nothing like the gems on display out in the shop. It looked like muddy and milky shards of rock that glittered a little when tilted towards the light. Bits of sandstone and other junk was still attached, hiding the treasure that may or may not lie underneath. No wonder Hardy needed ten million different lathes and saw bits.
“This is some seam opal that’s mined around Solace,” he began. “But there’s many kinds of opal, all differentiated by colour and composition. There’s boulder opal, fossilised opal, crystal opal, fire opal, white, bla
ck, matrix, pineapple clusters…” He waved a hand. “I could go on all day about all the differences, but the one we see the most here is white and black seam opal.”
Eloise wondered how many times Hardy could say opal before the word lost all meaning.
“Opal is formed when water and silica mix and seep down into the earth, settling in natural faults and voids. As the water evaporates over millions of years, it leaves behind a silica deposit. You get your different opals depending on what’s down there in the ground and where the silica forms.”
“What makes black ones?”
“Iron oxide and carbon.”
“Carbon?”
“There used to be an ancient forest here millions of years ago,” Hardy told her. “Also, rivers and lakes, and even ancient coral reefs. Miners have found plenty of opalised fossils—coral pipes, shells, plants, dinosaur bones.”
Eloise was hooked. Her imagination began to conjure images of glittering spiral shells and skeletons of extinct beasts.
“I recognise that look on your face,” he said.
“What look?”
“The same one Icarus had when he got too close to the sun.” He sighed and shook his head. “It’s driven many to the brink. The lure of opal is worse than gold. It’s the colour you see… Opal fever.”
“Is it worth that much?” Eloise asked. “I mean, they can’t mine it just because it’s pretty to look at.”
“Oh, it’s the money for sure. The rarest opal can fetch twenty thousand a carat.”
Her mouth fell open. “Twenty thousand dollars?”
Hardy chuckled. “One good seam can make a miner a millionaire overnight.”
“I’m beginning to understand what the fuss is all about.” She’d been amazed at how it formed around ancient bones, not the money, but cash was a necessary evil.
Reminded about her broken head gasket again, she sighed.
“How do people find them?” she asked. “How do they know where to look?”
Hardy laughed and picked up the plastic ziplock bag full of creamy-coloured stones. “You can’t learn all there is about opals in a day,” he told her. “Let’s begin at the start before you bury yourself underground, shall we?”
“So…you buy raw opal from miners and then polish it?”
Hardy nodded. “Once they’re shaped and polished, I sell them on to collectors and jewellers all over the world.” He pulled a chair over to the table, where a magnifying glass was clamped to a stand, and gestured for her to sit. Then he picked up a small, thin, metal post that had an opal stuck to the end and held it out to her. “Look.”
Sitting, Eloise plucked the post from his fingers and held it underneath the magnifying glass. She tilted the stone, watching the light play across the surface. Flashes of colour ignited—blues, greens, and purples—shining like iridescent flame. Comparing it to the piece of raw opal he’d given her, she immediately saw the difference.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hardy asked. “No two stones are alike. How could something so precious and wondrous be created? Nature is pure magic.”
Eloise tensed and leaned back from the magnifying glass. Nature was cruel and unforgiving. There was nothing magical about it.
The opal was beautiful and rare, but people had gone mad searching for it. They’d lost all their money, their families…they’d gone mad searching for this little thing she held in her hands. A glittering stone that held no magic.
In the end, money fixed nothing. Just her van. It didn’t fix who she was.
“So, what do you want me to do?” she asked, setting down both pieces of opal. “I can’t see that you need any help.”
“I want to teach you how to cut and polish,” he replied.
She frowned. “But I’m only here until my van gets fixed…”
“I know, but I need help polishing potch.”
“Potch?”
“Colourless opal,” he explained. “It’s worthless on the open market, but I polish it up and give it to Indigenous artist collectives. They make pretty souvenirs for tourists in the bigger towns and it helps the locals. That’s where you come in. I can’t keep up with the demand.”
“But you give it away for free…”
Hardy laughed. “Don’t think too hard about it, Eloise. I look like a hero and you get money to pay Wally. We all win.”
She grimaced and looked at the bag of opal. It would be kind of exciting…and there was air-conditioning.
The bell on the door rang and someone came into the shop. Hardy leaned back to see who it was and his expression became troubled.
He sighed. “Hang out here for a bit and think on it, eh?” he told her. “I’ll be right back.”
Glancing after him, Eloise’s frown deepened. The trust these people were giving her was worrying. They knew nothing about her and her them. After so many years of isolation, it conflicted her to no end. She wanted to open up and be a part of something, but it could all be over with one innocent touch.
Standing, she looked over the saws and ran her fingertips over the grinding wheels. Yes, she decided. She’d do it.
“Holy shit on a stick!”
Hearing Hardy’s excited voice, Eloise turned towards the door. Peering around the corner, she saw him holding up a piece of opal, but her gaze moved straight past it to the man who stood on the other side of the counter.
He was another ruggedly handsome male, with a dirt-stained face, black cowboy hat that hid shaggy, almost black hair, a checkered shirt, and muscled torso. But as his blue eyes met hers, his expression turned sour and he snatched back the opal from Hardy.
“Who’s that?” the man demanded.
She gasped and darted back into the workshop, his anger biting into her like a slap on her cheek. The same vibration she’d felt on the road last night trembled up her legs and into her heart.
Magic. It had to be magic.
Biting her bottom lip, she peeked back through the door.
Kyne parked his ute out the front of Hardy’s shop and snatched up the bag of opal from where it lay on the passenger seat.
After a long day and night down Black Hole Mine, he’d finally jackhammered out the first vein of black out of the wall. Glorious colour had fallen out of the sandstone and into his hands, and the feel of it against his skin had been electrifying.
For the first time in months, he’d felt his power begin to surface. The opal spoke to him, leading his hand towards the heart of the seam, but his bucket was full.
Picking out the best pieces—black with flashes of green, blue, and red—he’d slipped them safely into a plastic ziplock bag ready to take to Hardy.
The shop was empty when he walked in, but it almost always was. Not many people came to Solace, and those who did rarely stayed for more than an hour or two.
As Hardy emerged from his workshop, Kyne set the parcel on the counter.
“Got something you might like,” he told the buyer. “Finally got that black.”
Hardy picked up the ziplock bag and his eyes widened. “Holy shit on a stick!”
Kyne shook his head. As Hardy was pawing through the opal, he looked up and saw a woman staring at him from inside the workshop—a little mousey thing with big eyes.
“Who’s that?” he snapped.
She ducked out of sight at his sharp tone and Hardy glared at him.
“That’s Eloise,” Hardy told him. “I just hired her.”
He snorted and raised his eyebrows. “To do what? Suck on her neck?”
“That’s not fair, Kyne,” he said. “Keep that up, and I’ll have to take you down a peg or two.”
“Why is she here?” he hissed.
“That’s what we’re figuring out,” Hardy murmured. “Someone’s gotta be proactive around here.”
“I can’t hold everyone’s hand all the time. I have my own living to make, you know.”
The buyer rolled his eyes. “I thought finding some opal might have calmed you down a bit, but I see your anger issues are still
centre stage.”
“Watch yourself, vampire.”
Hardy chuckled. “You and I both know you’re no match for me, even with your powers…which are still beyond your reach, no matter how much black you dig out of that hole.”
Kyne’s scowl deepened. “Do you want the opal or not?”
“Nah…yeah. Give us a look.” Hardy pulled up a chair behind the counter and tipped the opal out onto a mat. Pressing a jeweller’s loupe to his eye, he squinted through the magnifying glass. Turning the opal this way and that, he umm-ed and ahh-ed, making a show of inspecting Kyne’s haul. “You’ve got some big pieces here. Let me see…” He sorted the stones into three different groups. “How much do you want for it?”
“A hundred and fifty,” Kyne stated.
“A hundred and fifty K?” Hardy snorted. “You really think I’m that rich?”
“I know you are, and you know I’m low-balling.” He had the skills to tell which opal was the best, even before it was polished—hell, he knew even before it came out of the wall. If Hardy played his cards right, he’d get twice that much on the open market, especially for black.
“Want to get out of Solace that badly, huh?”
“Tough love ain’t going to help me, mate,” Kyne said, glancing over the vampire’s shoulder to the workshop. He could sense the woman lurking. She was uneasy, confused even, but he was beginning to see why Wally had a feeling.
“Come back to civilisation a bit more, eh?” Hardy asked, looking up, still pressing his loupe against his right eye like he was trying to see the imperfections in Kyne’s face.
“Why?”
“Isolation makes you angry. Not to mention paranoid. Paranoia is bad for a man digging on his own…and you shouldn’t be flying solo, Kyne, not right now.”
“I have no choice,” he said. “Not when I’m on the black.”
“I’d come with you, but…” Hardy turned towards the workshop.
“No,” Kyne said, “not in a million years.”
“Why? Because she’s a woman?” The vampire snorted and set his loupe down. “She’s already made it clear she’s as capable as any man. Blue said she fired up at him.”
Outback Spirit Page 3