Darkhaven, page 3
My phone buzzed again. Nancy would pick me up in an hour, after ballet. Cecelia and her two younger sisters all took lessons. I had tried hip hop for a while, but I didn’t have an ounce of musicality or commitment to practise and the teacher eventually advised that perhaps I would prefer athletics, which had to have been a joke, except she said it with a straight face.
I pushed the TISC handbook away, dumped my bowl in the sink, changed into comfy jeans and an old hoodie and found my sneakers, thinking of going for a walk. I was mostly okay with my soft, size 12 physique. Well, 14 if I shopped at those stores, but I avoided their disproportionate mannequins and their smug, skinny sales staff. I knew I wasn’t fat – I’d be a size 8 or 10 in America – and I wanted to be confident about my non-flat stomach, but damn it was hard, when media was full of rake-thin girls and airbrushed images. Even so, walking was more for reflecting on a book I was reading, or sometimes finding an idea for an essay. I needed more than an idea now though. I needed an intervention.
I peeked into Dad’s room as I passed. He’d left his jacket slung across the end of the bed. I hesitated, then ducked into the room and slipped my hand into the fold of the jacket, careful not to disturb it. Dad had an uncanny eye for details like that. My fingers found paper and I drew the envelope out, my skin tingling even though I knew he wouldn’t be back for an hour at least.
It was old-looking paper, thick and heavy in my hand, and had a roughened texture like parchment. The surface of it glinted in the light. Intrigued, with my ears straining for any sound of Dad returning early, I flipped the envelope over. It had been affixed with an old-fashioned wax seal in white, a lying-down figure eight with a line through it. He’d already opened it, so he wouldn’t notice if I lifted the seal again. I peeled the flap back, careful not to tear it, and peered into the envelope. It was empty.
My first thought was that Dad must have removed the contents. My second was that it was an extraordinarily heavy envelope to have nothing in it. I was just about to put it back when it started to glow. The pit of my stomach fizzed with excitement as a white, translucent orb the size of a golf ball floated out of the envelope and hovered around eye height. Mesmerised, I extended my hand, wondering if it was ridiculously foolish to touch it, but before I could bring myself to move closer it exploded in a puff of glitter like tiny stars, a miniature elliptical galaxy bursting into life and fading from the room. Nothing remained except an empty, now suitably light, parchment envelope resting in my hand. I stared at the space where the orb had been, then inspected the envelope, but it contained no further clues. Was it a message? More importantly – the effervescence in my gut intensified – was it…
I couldn’t let myself believe it. Magic. Maybe my mind was making up illusions to distract me from my career choices. I gave myself a shake, tucked the envelope back into Dad’s jacket and retreated from the room.
Chapter 3
Impossible Blanks
As I locked the front door behind me, the strange orb still a fading after-image behind my eyes, I noticed something sticking out of the letterbox. It was a white card, like a postcard, but instead of an image it contained just my name, written in script: Miss Gabrielle Whitehall. I frowned. Dad’s address wasn’t public information. Only Alex, Cecelia and Zenna knew I lived here, and they were all well aware that I hated “Gabrielle”. I turned it over.
Don’t let them take you.
Look for May.
The buzz from finding the orb evaporated, and a chill settled in its place. Had the postcard come from the woman who’d stopped by? Some part of me didn’t think so. I tucked the card into my jeans pocket and set off down the street with something else to ponder. Dad had always been concerned that I might get caught up in his work. He’d never said how or what might happen, but it was a large part of the reason I went and stayed with Alex when Dad was away. I supposed the card might be a threat, but I had a sense that whoever had sent the note – left it, actually, as there was no address or postmark – was trying to warn me, not threaten me. But of what? And “look for May”? Like, May the month? My brain had no other ideas. May was a long way off; TISC applications were due in September. Maybe the universities had their own police who came and interrogated students who were thinking of skipping out on the system.
A cat crossed the road in front of me, thick, steel-grey coat matching the colour of the sky. It sat with its tail tucked around its paws as I walked by, staring at me with wide amber eyes. I scowled. What was it with cats today? My skin prickled as I thought of the one I’d tried to draw. In my mind’s eye it had been a grey cat.
I looked back, but it was gone.
At the top of a hill, I stopped at the entrance to a park. It was a large, open space that extended down the other side of the hill, mainly for dogs, and at the bottom was a fancy new kids’ playground. It was always busy down there, but up here was an old swing set and a metal jungle gym that I often sat on to think or read. I climbed to the top of the jungle gym and watched the clouds rolling across the sky, forming towering shapes. Thunder rumbled like falling stones in the distance.
Despite the electric air, I struggled to lift my mind out of the fog I’d been swimming in for the past two years. I’d done, so far, what was necessary to pass, and sometimes I’d lucked out and achieved more – to the frustration of my teachers, who were torn between marking me down anyway because they knew I hadn’t tried or berating me for letting my academic ability go to waste. Australia needs biologists like you, Flamebeard had said. And female media producers. And people with an instinct for communications. All my teachers had an opinion. Yet, I couldn’t bring myself to apply for further study in any of those things. Perhaps there was something fundamentally wrong with me, some intrinsic thing I couldn’t find. Or maybe it wasn’t me. Maybe there was something missing from the world. The strange orb glimmered in my mind, but now the shock had worn off, I figured it had to have been a trick. A flashy effect to disguise a confidential message. More pressing was the postcard in my pocket.
Wind whipped my hair across my face and rushed through my ears, so I nearly missed the sound. The cat prowled around the bottom of the jungle gym, meowing and looking up at me. I had no idea what normal cat behaviour was, but this seemed odd. I gave it a withering look. The hairs rose on my arms, rubbing the wrong way against the fleece of my hoodie.
Closer to my ears than the distant thunder rumbling around or the weird cat racket, my phone beeped. Zenna.
Facetime in 30? Be good to go through portfolios.
I didn’t care about my portfolio, and it finally clicked. I was bored. I had been bored for at least two years.
Soz Zenna, am out for a walk.
In this weather? Are you mad?
The wind intensified, tossing the treetops lining the park and buffeting me on my perch. It was getting a bit intense. I climbed down and almost stepped on the damn cat. Thinking it might be lost, I knelt and held out a hand to see if it had a name tag, but it turned and trotted away, still meowing. Whatever, cat.
The darkened sky lit up with a blaze of forked lightning. Seconds later, the air rumbled like a bass drum. A thrill shot through my body. The cat stopped on the footpath, amber eyes wide, staring at me.
Lightning flashed again, followed immediately by thunder. I hadn’t realised the storm was so close. A loud buzzing emanated from the jungle gym, pushing into my head, and my thrill shifted to fear as Flamebeard’s lesson on lightning strikes jumped to mind. I hurried down the path, off the top of the hill.
A prickling sensation spread over my scalp. I reached up to find my hair standing on end. Hair that normally fell past my shoulders, sticking straight up, a foot above my head. Thunder snapped across the sky. I started running. I knew it was too late. My phone slipped from my hand as I sprinted.
The air around me erupted in a white-hot blaze. I wasn’t sure if I was seeing anything, or hearing anything. It might have been white fire or black flames, it might have been a stupendous roar or deafening silence, it might have seared across my skin and burned through my shoes and dropped me to the ground where my knees grazed the concrete path, but I don’t know for sure that I was aware of anything. Perhaps my mind just filled in the impossible blanks.
I fell into nothingness.
Chapter 4
Unkillable Woman
Damp sandpaper rubbed my nose. I opened my eyes to find an amber pair staring back at me and the world came into focus around the grey cat, its coat blending with the steely clouds above it. I brushed the cat away, trying to work out what had happened. I was lying on the footpath, my knees stinging and my body feeling like it had been pummelled by a million soccer balls. My fingers met sticky blood as I touched my knees. Had I fallen off the jungle gym? But then how had I ended up so far away from it? My hoodie and the t-shirt underneath were sort of shredded, my jeans weren’t much better and my sneakers were lying on the other side of the footpath.
Thunder crashed, close. Sirens screeched in the distance. I examined my hands, my arms, looking for some sign of what had happened, but my skin at least looked fine, and I could move all my fingers, even if it felt like pushing through melted ice cream. The cat kept rubbing my legs, looking at me, then trotting away, thick grey fur rippling, like it wanted me to follow it. Perhaps the stress of TISC decisions had finally rendered me insane. The sirens wailed closer now, cutting through the pealing thunder.
I climbed to my feet, teetered for a moment on wobbly legs and collected my shoes. I found my phone a few metres further up the hill, powered off. My head pounded. The sirens had stopped, replaced by tyres squealing on the road next to the park. I looked up as a black SUV mounted the kerb, drove up the grass towards me and swerved to a stop. Two men in dark suits jumped out.
Don’t let them take you.
I froze, caught like peach slices trapped in jelly.
‘Come with us, miss,’ Suit One ordered. Suit Two backed the command up with an officious stare. When I made no move, they stepped forward, reaching for me. I stumbled back. Suit Two grabbed my upper arm while Suit One fished a phone out of his pocket. He nodded at us, and Suit Two began pushing me to the car. Panic snapped through my body like lightning, freeing me from my jellied state.
I dug my heels in and punched Suit Two in the throat. At least, I tried to. In the next second, my arm was twisted down behind my back and something small, hard and round pressed against my spine. I kicked at the man as he shoved me into the back seat, and shouted, but my voice was hoarse, ripped away by the howling wind. Suit One was already at the wheel. Fear spasmed across my mind. The door slammed shut behind me as I sprawled on the thick black leather, scrambling for the door handle, but it wouldn’t open. Wire mesh separated me from the front seats. I clawed at it. ‘Let me out!’
‘Don’t worry, miss, we’re from the government,’ Suit One said, eyes black in the rear-view mirror. His partner climbed in next to him and the car took off, bouncing over the kerb.
‘Who are you? Did you leave the note?’ I demanded, pushing against the mesh. The men exchanged a glance.
‘They’re close,’ Suit Two said. Suit One looked grim. He swung around a corner, flinging me across the seat. I twisted towards the sound of more tyres screeching behind us. A small silver car swerved around and came after us, so close I could see a brown-haired man behind the wheel, face set.
The car followed us out of the suburbs, keeping up as the SUV careened around corners. I kicked at the window, wondering what my chances of survival were if I jumped out headfirst, but it didn’t even crack, and I chickened out as we hit the freeway. The silver car got left behind, along with any ideas of escape. I hammered at the mesh again. ‘Where are you taking me?’
No reply. Not even the turn of a head.
I dropped onto the back seat, helpless. If they were on my side, surely they wouldn’t keep ignoring my questions. Maybe the man in the silver car had left the note. But who was he, and how did he know where I’d be?
We blazed down the freeway, dodging cars. Unbelted, I gripped an armrest as I slid across the back seat. I glanced through the windscreen: a wall of traffic, red tail lights snaking along all three lanes, bumper-to-bumper for as far as I could see. We were coming up fast. Cars around us slowed as they approached the jam, but we didn’t break pace. The swerving through traffic became frantic. Horns blared around us. A police siren sounded, distant.
Too distant to help me.
I watched, unblinking, my eyes drying as we closed the final metres to the crawling traffic. We veered into the left emergency lane, to angry protests from other drivers, and flew past, inches from side mirrors on the right and the barrier on the left. At the last moment, we took an exit at full speed, flying towards a line of cars waiting to turn right. There was nowhere to go. We were going to crash.
I screamed. I wasn’t the only one.
A second before we hit a delivery van, it jumped the kerb and got out of the way. Our SUV charged through, snapping off the van’s side mirror. We barrelled left, where the road, narrowed to single lanes, was clear. I stopped screaming.
The other scream continued, but it wasn’t human. It was the roar of an engine.
A motorcycle flew in from the left in a green blur, snaking through the jammed exit. In the rear-view mirror, Suit One’s eyes widened as he swerved. He clipped a silver car passing in the right lane. More horns. The motorcycle swung in again from the right, pressuring us off the road. Suit One scrabbled at the steering wheel, but the car went off the shoulder, sliding on the gravel. The front airbags exploded as we crashed into a fence. My head smacked against a pillar, and my headache burst into a thousand more shards of pain.
Fighting against a wave of blackness, I tried to open my door again, but it was locked. One of the agents was beating back the airbags and reaching for something at his belt. I fumbled for my phone, praying it would turn on. I had to call Dad.
Someone wrenched my door open.
A tall, slim woman in black and grey leathers held the door with one hand, motorcycle helmet in the other. ‘Huh. Dead ringer for Luce,’ she remarked. She had straight, blonde hair cropped under her ears and the most perfect teeth I’d ever seen. Not that she was smiling – more like grimacing. Her hazel eyes were wild.
‘Get out.’ She jerked her head towards the monstrous green motorcycle posing in front of a massive tree.
My knees buckled under my weight, the grazes from falling on the pavement tugging painfully. The woman took a firm hold of my arm and shoved me towards the motorcycle before she turned back to the SUV. Two gunshots rattled my already ringing ears.
I whirled around. The woman ran towards me and shoved the helmet into my hands. Her other hand gripped a pistol.
‘Did – did you kill them?’ I asked, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.
She arched an eyebrow. ‘Will it make you feel better if I say no?’
As my trembling fingers struggled with the helmet straps, an engine revved. The SUV reversed out of the fence and gunned for us.
She huffed. ‘Apparently not. Run!’
She spun back, drawing another gun. I stumbled a few steps out of the way, but I felt like I was stuck in a dream, unable to run. The car kept coming towards her, and she kept shooting, pulling another pistol from some imperceptible pocket in her leathers. The windscreen cracked through. Finally, the man slumped, but the SUV was too close. With a dull thud, it ran straight over the top of her, then into the motorcycle before it smashed into the tree with a metallic crunch, crushing the bike into its fender as leaves showered the wreckage.
I clapped my hands over my mouth in horror. The woman lay in a twisted heap on the ground. I started towards her when the little silver car that had been following us before the freeway – the same one, I realised, that had just run us off the road – pulled up next to me. The driver wound down the window.
‘Quick, get in!’
I stared at him.
‘Quickly!’
A fraction of my headache cleared and I remembered how to speak. ‘You’re joking, right? I’m not getting in another car against my will.’
The next voice came from behind me, impossibly familiar.
‘It’s not against your will if you climb in by yourself.’ The woman. I turned around. She was walking towards me. Perfectly fine.
‘How are you…?’ Alive? Walking? Maybe there really was something wrong with me. The woman stalked around the front of the car and folded her long frame into the passenger seat.
The man leaned out the window. He had deep, serious eyes, and his forehead creased with worry.
‘Please. I’m Stephen May. Those agents would not have left you alive, and there are more coming. We didn’t get you out of there just to hurt you.’
My mind whirled. I was stranded on a side road, probably in need of medical attention, and these two seemed genuine –
Look for May.
Not May, the month. I’d stuffed up the first part – not that there was much else I could have done. A note saying “Don’t go for a walk. People will abduct you” might have been a bit more helpful. But I’d found May, or he’d found me. I took a deep breath and climbed in the back.
As I buckled my seatbelt, movement flickered at the corner of my eye and I nearly leapt back out of the car. The grey cat was curled up on the other end of the upholstery. As if it felt my gaze, it twitched an ear towards me. I stared at it, then turned my attention to Stephen May and the woman.
