WinterSpell
Linda Moon
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WinterSpell
Sample Chapters
1. New Beginning
2. Warning
3. Breakfast
4. Lab Rat
5. Supernatural Beings
6. Abyss
7. Connection
8. Chimera
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Psalm 23:4
PART 1: DARK PLACE
Journal.docx
Autumn Equinox
Sixth day since stopping the Dopamine. The drowsiness - greatly improved, but as expected
the restlessness at night, the urge to hunt and the sensory overload are greatly increased.
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Today was marked by an odd event - a girl came to live with us.
It was like watching a hungry lamb lured into a field of predators by the scent of sweet
grass, her face so hopeful despite her rather transparent attempts to pretend this was just
like any other day in her life, that I almost felt sorry for her.
It seems money buys all kinds of things – even people.
Once again we celebrate - the last day of Autumn; the beginning of winter. So the cycle
turns.
It reminds me of death – my own; time passing, and I wonder: What is this strange dream
they call life? And when will I wake?
[From the computer journal of Ganymede Heydrich.]
1. New Beginning
It was drizzling and misty when I stepped off the train, the cold against my skin
jumpstarting my heart like an adrenaline shock.
The nerves were suddenly so intense I couldn’t breathe.
It won’t work out.
Shut up! My life will work out! I will make it!
I shook off the sudden premonition of dread; the sense this was a mistake; something I
might regret. Perhaps it was something slightly carnivorous in Gaard Heydrich’s eyes the
last time we’d met up. The eyes of a person could never hide the truth. In my battle for
survival I’d learned to study them and the words that inadvertently gave away the true
thoughts and beliefs of each individual.
Survival and the fight for it: that was all I knew; all I had ever known.
It’s up to you Ayesha to keep your wits and work out who to trust and who to run from.
Remember what happened before.
Not sure I wanted to get too quickly to the next installment of my crap life; uncertain
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what it had in store for me, I walked slowly toward the exit behind two mountain climber
types clumping forward in serious looking gear, taking it all in: the autumn clad deciduous
trees, the tourists. I’d known this feeling before, from other times – the feeling of
movement and change in the air, of everything being shaken up until it re-settled in a new
pattern - and now I wondered what was ahead.
New faces, new school, new social situations to try to fit into. Always the random fly-in;
the loose string.
I spotted my father’s old Ford station wagon waiting on the kerb as we’d arranged, and
cringed at the bizarreness of the whole situation - my dysfunctional dad picking me up from
the station and driving the hour or so distance to a remote region of the Blue Mountains to
hand me over to the Heydrich’s - a wealthy foster family. But then, nothing about my
family was normal. Nothing about me was normal. And, nothing about my life in all its
sixteen years had ever been normal. I was kind of resigned to that.
A group of teenagers loitered on the street level and I wondered if this was any indication
of the local youth population. Already I felt like too much of a city girl in my bootleg jeans
and light floral top. I’d chosen the top thinking my new foster parents might like it; that it
might be something a country girl might wear, but all the teenagers here looked more
gothic in their motley blacks, pale skin and dark hair. I huddled into my own shoulders and
stared at them from the corners of my eyes as I passed. Already I was having serious doubts
about fitting in here.
I’d always felt separate from others. Perhaps it was what I’d been through; the fact I
found life painful rather than merry, or maybe it was just my intense and awkward
personality, but I didn’t mix well with people and in turn they seemed to sense I was
different and were wary of me. If I could’ve come back as a different person it wouldn’t be
me, but someone vacuous, blonde and giggly, someone ordinary, just so I could blend in
and be accepted.
But that was never going to happen. Whatever. I’d have to make do.
I stuffed my suitcase in the back of Dad’s car amongst a nest of boxes, clothes, a rolled up
futon mattress and other random possessions. So, he was still living in his car then. That
tore me up, but I didn’t say anything. It was the least I could do. Thankfully, he’d at least
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cleared a space for my legs in the front passenger seat which seemed more squeezy than
last year. I must have had a growth spurt.
As we drove away I looked out at the hanging mists. The mist made the late afternoon
seem like twilight, the rest of the world far away, the city and the past four years of my life
at Wesley Dalmar like a tarnished, mythical land of Oz.
After a few fumbling words to each other, both of us stared out the window lost in our
own separate worlds. Quietness was a shared family trait. Stubbornness, height (Dad was
six foot five) and big feet were others. But Dad had won out on the whole car ride issue not wanting to hurt his feelings by seeming ungrateful, I’d eventually given in to his idea of
picking me up and taking me to my new family situation. He was still trying to do what he
could for me – which wasn’t much. Yet, it meant a lot to him. I could only imagine what he
was thinking right now. When I looked at his rugged yet sagging profile he looked typically
inscrutable, his expression a non-expression, his brown hair smoothed back into the style
he’d been wearing all my life.
A whiny song about lost love was playing on the car radio; the kind dad was into ever
since mum left him. I gritted my teeth and tried to block it out, along with the emotions and
all the apprehension churning through me.
It was the first day of my new life: I should have been happy, but anxiety drowned out
every other emotion and I couldn’t get past one thought.
They’re not going to like me.
Rejection and being alone was something I’d known all my life: it was hard for me to
fathom anything else.
My father’s voice, blurred and soft like mine, sliced suddenly through my thoughts.
“How many children did you say they have?”
The random question came out of the blue. That was my dad.
I stared at him incredulously. “Seven.” I’d already told him this before. I supposed he’d
forgotten. These days he only remembered things that were relevant to his survival: the
cheap day to buy petrol; the day his welfare payments came in and the time the newsagent
opened for his Lotto form.
“That many.” He snorted incredulously. “Seven. Now eight.” Like me, he couldn’t
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understand why they wanted another child; or more specifically, why they wanted me.
“What’s he do for a living? The father?”
“He’s a scientist – a geneticist - and he owns a chain of hotels.”
“Must make big money to pay for all those children.” The tone implied he didn’t think
much of that.
“I suppose.” I shrugged. I didn’t want to make too much of the obvious differences
between my dad and my new foster father Gaard Heydrich. I stared guiltily ahead at the
window screen.
“What about her? The wife. Does she work?”
I couldn’t help it. The sigh escaped. Dad was so un-subtle with his questions.
“I think she’s pretty busy running the guesthouse these days,” I growled. “Remember, I
told you they run a guesthouse.”
“Oh,” Dad said, then another question came to him. “How many hotels does he own?”
I shrugged wearily. “I don’t know. A couple - all over the world. I don’t ask questions
like that.” I thought that would have been obvious.
Dad grunted. “He’s a rich man then. Where did you say he’s from? A German?”
He remembered that at least. “Mmm,” I said.
“What about her?”
“Freyja’s German too. They came to Australia a year ago,” I added before he asked me
that question.
“Why did they come here?” he mused then answered his own question. “Maybe a change
of scene. A quiet life.”
I didn’t answer. I really had no idea why a cultured family like the Heydrich’s would
come to live in such a remote area.
Neither of us spoke much more on the drive. That was normal for us. I stared at the
knuckles of my balled up fist, enraged with myself that after not seeing Dad for more than a
year, here I was practically arguing with him.
The only sound was that of the wipers flicking back and forth and the persistent rattles in
the engine. Like a grind through my heart the sound got to me in the way it reminded me of
how poor dad was.
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Curious, I peered through the condensation on the window at the scenery. I had to admit
the mountains were pretty. Inexplicably, hope rose up in me. Hope. That was a scary thing.
Almost just as quickly I tried to push it back. To tell myself it wouldn’t work out. Or
couldn’t.
Through the veil of mist I saw wooden cottages peeking from behind deciduous trees,
great oaks, conifers, picket fences and tumbling roses; the shapes indistinct like the images
of a half-remembered dream. Actually, I felt like I was dreaming. Perhaps it was just the
misty landscape or the whole strangeness of going to live with a family so different from
my own, but everything felt surreal.
My thoughts drifted. To him. Soon I’d be seeing him face to face. I held my breath and
tried to fight the dizzy feeling and the palpitations the thought generated. If I was honest,
completely honest, with myself he was the real reason I’d accepted the Heydrich’s offer to
foster me. He was the reason for the hope. He was all I could think of ever since I’d laid
eyes on his home movie. He was the reason for the sick feeling in my stomach and the
rushing of my heart happening right now.
I remember the moment it happened: the whole home movie thing.
In response to all my eager questions about their seven natural children, Freyja, my new
foster mother, had emailed me some home movie’s to look at. As I’d opened each of the
short movie’s of the home schooled Heydrich children on the computer, bizarre, clannish
and attractive were the words that came to mind. Each child was distinctly different from
the other, almost as if they’d made an occupation out of nurturing their own individuality.
One boy was very gothic, while another was conservatively dressed and althetic looking.
There was a girl my age dressed like a bohemian flower child, an older girl who looked like
a gothic princess in medieval attire and the youngest girl: cute and punk, almost clownish.
But one child in particular stood out: the oldest son – a fair boy one year older than me with
the odd name Ganymede. The artsy, dressy, sensitive one. Always in creative clothing,
parts of his hair plaited, the rest in a wavy style. Unbearably attractive. Whenever he
appeared in the footage – hugging a goat, a cat or a dog – always with animals, playing an
instrument or interacting affectionately with his siblings or mother – the sun seemed to
shine brighter. In all my sixteen years on the planet I’d never seen a boy like this. It wasn’t
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just his looks – which were mind blowing in themselves – but the whole package: the
personality; his voice; his laugh; even the way he moved. Beautiful, bright, passionate,
caring, so adult for his seventeen years yet somehow innocent too – he was dazzling. There
was one particular movie where he spoke about his passion for animal rights; a close-up of
him staring into the camera, his spectacular eyes intense yet dreamy. I’d never believed in
love at first sight, but …. for the first time the concept of it had crept into my mind like
some primeval yearning causing an unfamiliar excitement to boil through my blood. There
was something magical about him that made me believe in fairytales, impossible things; the
world becoming a better place.
That was the moment. Now, out of the dreariness of my life, there was suddenly
something to look forward to. Something that made my heart lurch back and forth giddily
in a way it never had. From that moment all my thoughts and hopes had been pathetically
centred around Ganymede Heydrich.
In less than an hour I was going to meet him in person. Face to face.
There’s no way a boy like that is ….
My mind broke in with its usual objections to anything good ever happening.
Regardless of the obsession with Ganymede Heydrich (and that in itself posed a whole
heap of dilemma’s), I had my reservations about how it was all going to work out. Another
part of me dreamt of a stable family life, a home, pets, my own bedroom, real Christmases
with presents; all that normal warm fuzzy stuff others took for granted.
We’d left the residential area and the scenery we now passed was more isolated and wild:
escarpments filled with hanging mist, brooding cliffs and stretches of dark gum forests met
my eyes. The mist seemed to be moving, revealing more of the road ahead, the bush and the
smoking edges of the blue hills at the horizon.
As of yet, I’d never visited the Heydrich’s guesthouse residence at Jenolan – on account
of the whole distance - but the Social Worker had, and I’d done my own research on the
web. It seemed Jenolan was famous for the caves and not much else. Think – secluded,
dead end creepy place with not much to do.
I’d also googled the nearest town, forty minutes or so drive away from Jenolan and where
I’d be going to school.
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Oberon: highest village of the Blue Mountains, altitude: 1,113 metres; population: 2,600.
Pictures of snow mantled guesthouses appeared in websites dedicated to the area and
commercial activities were listed as logging, forestry and beef farming; recreational
activities as fishing in the local river. Think – hick town with bad weather and cows and
nothing to do. That was the picture in my mind.
“How’s your mother?” my father asked suddenly. I lurched slightly in my seat.
“She’s good.”
My voice was tight and I didn’t look up. I hated the topic as much as I knew it was
inevitable, and, selfish as I knew it was, I didn’t want to talk, but to dream about Ganymede
Heydrich while I still had the chance, before the reality came crashing down around me.
Already I could see myself staring at him like a fool; stuttering if he actually spoke to me;
breaking out in a clammy sweat if he came near me. Very uncool.
“Is she still with the same old man? Don?”
My attention jerked back to my dad. He’d tried to make the question sound casual, staring
ahead like he didn’t care. I wasn’t fooled. In fact the whole charade was more than
depressing.
“Yeah, they’re still together.” Afraid of encouraging him and his depression, I tried not to
say much. I just wanted him to move on. Talking about her was like his way of keeping her
alive in his mind; keeping the relationship going – even if it was in the negative sense.
“Is he still sick?”
“Yes. Alzheimers doesn’t get better.”
He grunted. “Why doesn’t she find someone who’s healthy?”
Like him, I supposed.
I shrugged. Love was a mysterious thing. Something I didn’t understand at all.
Eventually he seemed to realise he wasn’t going to get much information out of me. We
drove again in silence and both of us stared moodily out the window.
The road began to wind up what I considered a death stretch. Both lanes were so narrow a
small car could barely fit on one side of the line and with all the bends, twists and hairpin
turns in the road you couldn’t see what was coming. The trees twisted overhead creating a
melancholy twilight and leant into the plunging ravines like masses of dark ogres at a
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corroboree, and on one side the road dropped away into a precipice of gullies and valleys.
As soon as we passed one view of mountains loping away in all directions, more mountains
appeared, hemming us in on all fronts. There was a sense of slowly gaining altitude. As we
went deeper and deeper into the mountains a sense of claustrophobia tightened its hold over
me. I clutched the dashboard feeling suddenly car sick, Dad focused hard on his driving and
on the curving and disappearing road in the gleam of the head lights, the demister roared
and the engine whined.
Sure, I’d known the guesthouse was out of town, but I was only just now getting a grasp
on how isolated it actually was. We’d been driving maybe thirty-five minutes and I hadn’t
seen another house in the last twenty minutes, let alone a shop. It seemed that kind of thing
didn’t exist out here. That was a worry. What was I going to do out here? Bushwalking,
exercise of any kind, wasn’t exactly my thing. I began to panic at the thought of living in
such seclusion and its impact on my social life. What else might they not have told me
about?
We hit a pocket of cloud. Dad slowed the Ford right down to about ten kilometres and we
crawled cautiously forward into an impenetrable white wall. The yellow headlights
bouncing back off the fog only made it harder to see. It was like my future. A big unknown.
The anxiety escalated and clamped hard over my lungs. It was easy to imagine coming out
of that fog into another world: the kind of place where witches, ghouls and other creatures
out of legend might exist. My future felt just like that: tenuous; at the mercy of whatever
good or evil forces waited ahead for me.
Was it possible the wreck that was my life could somehow work out?
I stared across at my father and he was scowling out the front windscreen - just as intense
as me. I suddenly realised this was just as hard for him, but for different reasons. He was
about to give me away to strangers, essentially admitting his failure as a father, while for
me it was another depressing episode in my overall depressing life – my parents couldn’t
afford to look after me so someone else had to. The silence between us seemed to magnify,
the tension to build, all the issues unspoken yet omnipresent.
All of a sudden, towering above us, the caves appeared: a gigantic arch of rock, somehow
mysterious, ancient and forbidding, hemmed in by the wandering mist and the brooding
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bush, its limestone façade pocked by dark crannies and crevices. A second great arch hung
further up, projections of stone hanging from its open mouth like fangs, ledges of ferns and
weeds crawling down its underside. I craned my neck to stare up at it, and a chill swept
through me. It looked like something out of a horror movie – a vampire’s lair.
The back of my neck prickled instinctively.
A tourist bus slid suddenly from the bowels of the great arch of stone and shuddered past
us.
On the way out. A place to visit, then get out of.
In the distance, perhaps a kilometre away, I saw the lights of a grand residence built high
up on the cliff, piercing though the gloomy monotone of the mist and bush. My eyes held
onto that sight wondering if it were the guesthouse. I gulped as I realised that in no time at
all I’d be ensconced in a house full of strangers; people I barely knew. Face to face with
Ganymede Heydrich.
Freakin’ holy crap!
It suddenly seemed that the drive here had taken no time at all.
All too quickly Dad’s Ford rattled past the ‘Elysium’ guesthouse signpost and through
geometric, iron security gates and rolled into the level stretch of a drive. My gut felt like a
dog had it clenched in its teeth and was pulling my innards back and forth. My legs were
doing their jittery thing – another bad sign of nerves.
The pattern on the gates struck me. A wide, staring eye inside a star. The great stone posts
either side were monsters composed of various parts of animals.
Bizarrely, thousands of twinkling lights lit up on the conifers and autumn trees either side
of the drive as we drove through, and music – some classical piece - began to play
bizarrely, echoing eerily through the mist. It seemed somehow creepy and added to my
feelings of apprehension.
I sat up straight in the seat, my shoulder blades suddenly rigid, my neck tense, and
swallowed.
Before us was the house. If that’s what you could call it.
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2. Warning
When I’d thought of a family home this wasn’t exactly what I’d had in mind.
I stared through the foggy car window at the grand building: a rambling, old, two-storey
mansion painted up like an eccentric old lady in garish colours. Yet in the greying, misty
light the house possessed a gloomy, almost spectral countenance as if the surrounding sea
of black bush and the enveloping mists had sucked all the vibrancy from it.
Suddenly I felt like I couldn’t move.
The intricacy of the woodwork, the finials, posts, cornices and balustrades, the elaborate
ironwork, the big brass knocker on the carved door and the arched leadlight windows
somehow added to an overall macabre effect. A suitable lair for ghosts. I half expected a
horde of them to come flooding out to meet me.
A splash of autumn coloured trees surrounded the guesthouse. In the foreground, cracked
marble statues poked like bone through thorny shrubbery and a blood red vine twisted up
the escarpment of the house. Conifers grew over the top of the house like dark steeples
leaning into the lee of the wind. Images from the last century; antique cars, ladies in trailing
gowns came to mind. Yet, the old hotel didn’t seem out of place here in the bush, but like
the cliffs and the caves, something that might have been here for centuries, hiding in the
mist. I shuddered at the thought of the people who’d lived here in the past stuck out here
with nothing but miles and miles of bush.
My spine prickled.
Get me out of here.
I had one of those odd, heart-stopping moments when it feels like the universe is trying to
tell me something. A voice in my head told me there was something wrong with this place;
warned me to run.
The rational side of me shrugged it off. Irrational fears of big, old houses. Heebie jeebies
about being rejected again.
Across from me, I could see my father frowning, taking it all in: the big old house, the
bizarre, almost futuristic cars in the drive. His whole body sagged and he looked
bewildered, even a little worried as if at some level he thought this wasn’t a good place for
me. That didn’t help.
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From the top storey of the mansion, light glistened at the panes from behind heavy
curtains and leered into the mist. A hand drew the curtain aside and the indistinct face of a
girl peered out, seeming to me, somehow anxious. Two more faces appeared, then were
joined by several more until a whole group of children were staring down at me. I
recognised them from their home movies.
Ugh! I was like a sideshow.
The seven Heydrich children were checking me out.
Even from here I could see the expressions etched on their faces. Horror and a little
fascination. I wondered which one was Ganymede - from here it was a little hard to tell –
and then, I didn’t exactly want to stare too closely back at them.
The palpitations started up again so bad I thought I was about to pass out.
One of the boys pressed his face to the window and cracked open his jaw to reveal a pair
of fake fangs. I gasped involuntarily and moved back in my seat. Muffled laughter sounded
from the window.
How immature.
While I sat gawking back at them, probably giving them the Lees scowl, Dad got out of
the car, took my suitcase from the back seat and headed off down the drive. I thanked God
at that moment he wasn’t that perceptive around my feelings. I imagined my face was
bright beetroot or multi-coloured at least.
I forced myself to get out, and trying not to look up at the window, tramped across the
wet, spongy lawn after dad towards the front entrance where a porch light glowed in the
rapidly deteriorating light. Despite my best efforts to look like I didn’t care what they
thought, I stumbled and dropped my backpack, almost tripping over. That was highly
embarrassing knowing they were watching, possibly laughing about it. I could just imagine
what they were saying about dad’s car too. Bomb. Heap of metal. I’d heard it all before.
For a moment I wished the earth would split open and gobble me up. No doubt my face
was fire engine red. In the next instant I was stubbornly angry. I forced my chin up and my
shoulders out and kept walking. I wouldn’t let those spoilt, hot shot brats get to me.
I forced myself to be distracted by the garden and the cars choking the drive (to pretend I
cared about something other than the fact they were staring at me). Parked haphazardly all
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over the grass, were about fifty or more cars. Several of them looked like they belonged in
some futuristic sci-fi thriller. I didn’t know a thing about cars, but I knew I’d never seen
anything like them before. They had some swish clientele then. I supposed some kind of
event was happening. Either that or the guesthouse was full.
My heart galloping at some ridiculous pace, I stood shivering at the front door while Dad
went back to the car to get something. While I waited, I looked about me, trying to calm
down. Although it had stopped raining, everything, the air, the trees, the grass, was damp. It
was as if the cloud that enveloped the mountain sucked all sound into itself. The only noise
was the dripping of the trees, like old women nattering softly amongst themselves. After the
city, the quiet was strange. Penetrating even. Like a voice I’d never heard before. From the
verandah I could see that the property was on a plateau at the top of a mountain. Below, an
expanse of valley brimmed with fog and trailing tendrils of cloud. The seclusion took my
breath away: it was like being in another world.
Let’s hope you get on with the family Ayesha. There won’t be anyone else. Unless you like
talking to trees.
Dad came back with a package of biscuits for me. Cream ones – the kind I hated. In all
the years I’d been his daughter he still didn’t know what I liked to eat. Nevertheless, my
eyes went all teary.
I was thankful when he didn’t hang round. It would have been too weird and way too
uncomfortable. We said goodbye at the door, neither of us hugging or kissing. That wasn’t
our way. But my father’s eyes were suspiciously red and I had the feeling he’d probably cry
on the way home.
Once Dad left I pressed the buzzer on the door. I suddenly felt claustrophobic, like an iron
hand was squeezing my lungs.
A panel on the door slowly moved apart to reveal a LED screen with the creepy masked
face of a jester on it. I screamed slightly and took a step back from the door. Ugh!
“Good afternoon,” the face chirped in a smooth, sophisticated voice. “Welcome to
Elysium. Someone will be here shortly to attend to you. In the meanwhile for your benefit
here are a few local details. The weather is currently a cool ten degrees celsius with rain
expected on the morrow. Breakfast is served promptly at seven-thirty am in the guest
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dining room. The next bus to the Caves leaves in the morning at ten am. All services for
today have closed…”
I drew a deep breath as I waited, staring at the freaky talking face. This place was
seriously bizarre.
After an eternity a flustered middle-aged man came to the door. That was something
vaguely in the realm of normal. I stared at him.
The man had a pudgy indistinct face that reminded me of a blancmange; the sort of face
that in fifteen years time would descend into an unfortunate pile of cheeks, jowls and
double chins. The sheen of some hair product shone on his perfectly placed chestnut hair
giving it the glow of polished mahogany. His body was bulky, but he had the height to hide
the fact.
“Ayesha Lees?” His tone was warm, his voice loud and rich. An extrovert’s voice.
I nodded. “Yeah … that’s me.” I tried to hide behind my fringe. “Hi.”
“Cheers. I’m Robert Melrose. I’m the Manager here.” He extended a white sloth like
hand.
Very formal. We shook hands like business partners.
“Welcome to Elysium. I suppose you’ve met James.” He indicated the talking jester on the
screen.
I laughed a little too loudly.
“Well. Come in. Much warmer in here.”
I tagged after him as he took off with my suitcase, prattling away.
“My apologies I was a tad late to the door. The cook did the bolt and I was on the phone
to the local Gazette organising an ad for a replacement. Didn’t care much for his cooking
anyway. New Zealand bloke he was. Last time I hire one of them.” He scrutinised my face
cautiously. “You’re not part Kiwi?”
I flushed a little, something that always happened when anyone asked about my heritage.
You’d think I would have been used to it by now. “No. My father’s Hungarian, Scottish
and French and my mother’s a mix of Asian and Celtic.” I wondered how that went down
with him. “I’m like a mixed spice,” I said dryly. I’d learnt to get the joke in before others
did; to laugh at myself before anyone else could, developing my own weird brand of
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humour as a survival strategy.
“Yes, yes, of course, aren’t we all,” he said amiably. “My mother’s a pom.” I’d gathered
that from his accent. But he didn’t get it: being a pom just wasn’t the same.
As I followed him through a grand spacious room, I tripped on the rumpled edge of a rug
… I was sure it had been flat until the moment just before I stood on it. Robert looked back
at me. “Oh, watch the rug.” He sighed and shook his head. “Persephone and her tricks.”
I had no idea what he meant, but after that I was watching the ground carefully.
“You’re not looking for some weekend work by any chance?” he said hopefully. He went
on to elaborate about problems he was having with getting reliable staff, explaining he
needed someone to wash dishes, take out meals and just generally help out.
“Well have a think about it and let me know if you’re interested. I suppose you want a
few days break though before you start school to settle in and all that.” He gave me a
searching, sidelong glance.
I agreed to let him know either way. It was all too much to think about at the moment. My
mind was on the immediate future: meeting the family and how I was going to survive that.
Robert gave me a perfunctory tour of the house. It seemed to go on forever, rooms
leading into more rooms like growths bulging off a central organism; the space, the regal
furnishings, the high ceilings, old fireplaces and wide old windows with their sweeping
draperies reminding me of an old country manor. The guesthouse occupied the lower part
of the house and the grandest rooms including a library, games room, sitting room, dining
rooms, two lounge-rooms, a private office and a great hall with guest rooms either side with
the more dingy, yet equally large kitchen and storage areas at the rear.
My heart stopped its stuttering when I saw that the Heydrich’s children weren’t around.
Then again, meeting them might come later on. Better not get too hopeful. My heart started
puttering up again.
It suddenly struck me. There was no-one about. With the amount of cars parked outside
I’d expected the place to be bustling with people, but since arriving I hadn’t seen a soul
apart from Robert and a housemaid.
Robert took me to the room that was going to be mine, stopping at a door that was one of
many identical ones off a very wide hall. At the far end of the hall a wide staircase curved
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upstairs.
“What’s up there?” I said, my eyes following the sweep of the stairs and banisters to a
heavy, barred door.
Robert coughed uncomfortably into his balled fist. “The families living quarters.”
I stared discreetly up at the geometric metalwork on the door with a shiver. It reminded
me of something out of an ancient crypt. I wondered if the Heydrich children were locked
up there. I shook my head at myself. Too many horror novels lately. Another worse idea
came to me: maybe they were hiding from me.
“Where is everyone?” I said, biting my lip.
He stiffened and looked at me oddly from the drooping corners of his eyes. “Gaard is
busy entertaining the guests? They’re at a seminar. A whole group of them from Germany.
Gaard is a pioneer in his field of gene technology and often has the scientists up to stay.
Freyja and the children are out … celebrating the Autumn Equinox with friends from
Europe.” He coughed into his balled up fist and didn’t look at me as he answered.
I gulped and looked away at the obviousness of the lie. I’d already seen the children
upstairs – at least I supposed that was them. I hoped the fabricated story didn’t have
anything to do with my arrival. Thinking about those horror stories where the seemingly
innocent orphan child turns out to be an evil character who murders the whole family, a
theory came to me. Maybe they were afraid of me. In all the movies I’d seen about orphans,
the family that took in the homeless kid was always kind and well meaning. Every time it
was the orphan child who was the monster: a demon disguised as an innocent. Okay, so I
probably wasn’t a demon in their minds – at least I hoped not - but maybe some kind of
infiltration or contaminating force; something along those lines. And if that wasn’t the
reason for them avoiding me, I wondered what was.
“Freyja thought you might like this room,” Robert said quickly, seeming to pick up on my
sagging mood and entering the room in a hurry with my suitcase.
I felt a little crushed that they were rooming me separately – it made me feel like a guest
– but after sharing a dorm with other girls for the last few years the thought of my own
room was mildly exciting.
I walked in surveying my new quarters.
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Wow!
A huge wooden four poster bed dominated the room. There was a tiled fireplace with a
carved mantle and two matching wing-backed chairs either side of an elegantly draped sash
window. Other items of furniture included an ultra stylish, modern looking dressing table
and a walk in wardrobe that was practically a room in itself. Off an alcove was an ensuite
bathroom.
“Now before I go are we right for towels and things?” Robert bustled by me conducting a
quick inspection of the room. “Okay, good good. Oh, just another thing.” He leaned
towards one of the bedside lamps. “The lamps are hand activated. You just do a little
swishing motion like this, like you’re waving at the Queen. And presto, on comes the
lights. There’s also switches if you forget. Some of our guests are a little old fashioned. The
same to start the gas fireplace, except in this case its four loud claps. It’s not magic,” he
hastened to add in response to my boggling eyes. “Just motion detectors.”
“Now my dear,” Robert said, clasping his hands together and addressing me with
ceremony. “I’ve left a little snack out in the dining room; some canapés and antipasta. I
must dash and do some chores. Cheerio then. See you in the morning.”
He nodded pleasantly and left.
After the meal, eaten alone in the enormous dining room, I walked back to the room, deep
in thought.
I’d seen several things in the house that had my brain ticking so strenuously my head was
starting to ache with the strain. For starts – the art work: dark medieval paintings full of
dancing witches in forests and around bonfires; canvasses covered in strange symbols and
creepy pictures of animals with human like faces, especially cats, bats and wolves.
Calendars of lunar phases and astrological charts. Secondly, the tarot cards and books about
witchcraft, spells and human sacrifice I’d seen in the loungeroom, and in the dining room
the massive iron cauldron bubbling away under the fireplace, a peculiar clock with about
twelve hands and the bottles of liquids and herbs filling the dresser. Even more telling hanging over the fireplace had been a photograph of a man with an imitation stag’s head
standing beside a very strange looking blonde woman dressed in medieval clothing,
wearing a cape and holding a dagger to his neck. After glaring at it for a while, it had
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dawned on me that the woman was Freyja, my foster mother. I’d only ever seen her in
conservative business attire.
Let’s say, I was freaked, seriously freaked.
The words ‘witchcraft’ and ‘pagan cult’ went round and round in my head, rearing up at
me with all their frightening connotations. My heart was leaping wildly; my imagination
racing from one dark scenario to another.
What kind of family was this? And, Ganymede Heydrich: was he involved in the same
pagan cult? Thinking back to my past outings with Gaard and Freyja I could only ever
recall seeing them in suits and conservative attire. There’d been no talk of pagan cults. Had
they been deliberately trying to hide the fact?
In an instant my bright new future had turned into something fearful and dark.
I unzipped my suitcase thoughtfully, the domestic routine giving me something else to
focus on. My nerves jittered away and I could feel the acid in my stomach eating away at
my insides.
It didn’t take me long to unpack. My wardrobe was pretty lean if not near non-existent. I
walked into the wardrobe and hung a few of my own clothes on the empty hangers. I placed
Pog, my childhood teddybear on the bed. Then I took my novels out and the bible my great
grandmother had given me and propped them on the mantlepiece.
I opened the bible at Psalms and read.
“Hear my voice, O God, in my prayer; preserve my life from fear of the enemy.”
That seemed fitting for the present circumstance. I closed the bible and placed it on top of
the mantelpiece. I wondered what they would think of it; what they would think of the fact I
was a Christian opposed to the very thing they were into.
After I’d put out all my stuff it still didn’t feel like home.
Lastly, I inspected the ensuite bathroom.
I stared in the gold mirror over the basin – amazingly pitched at the right level for my
height that I didn’t have to bend my knees.
My skin looked oily, sallow, like someone who’d spent too much time indoors, my dark
hair, wild and tangled. My brown eyes looked lighter than usual, a pale caramel, my pupils
tiny as if I were in shock. In the right colours and mood I could pass as pretty but I didn’t
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have the type of look, the curves and blonde hair or the kind of personality that seemed to
attract boys. Yet, in the last year I seemed to have left my gangly, childish stage and
entered a strange world where the opposite sex noticed me.
I caught the troubled expression in my eyes and backed away from the mirror.
Ayesha, you look like a ghost.
I blamed it on the trauma of relocating - to such a strange place.
I walked back into the bedroom, drew aside the drapes on the four poster bed and sat
down. Suddenly I felt lonely and depressed. It was almost an anti-climax. I’d expected
everyone lined up for my arrival like a new pet to be inspected and I couldn’t deny I wasn’t
relieved, but now the fact they weren’t here to see me was starting to really bother me.
Along with everything else.
I fingered the bed posts absently. They were carved like twisting trunks with writhing
imps, serpents and little satyrs with horns carved into them. There was a darkness about the
Heydrich’s style in interior decorating I wasn’t sure I liked. Not for the first time I
wondered about their motive in fostering me. It couldn’t have been for the government
handout: they were already loaded. So, why?
I thought back to how it had all begun – the social worker, Letitia Edwards, visiting me to
tell me a family was looking for a child just like me. That seemed another lifetime ago.
Then, I’d been hopeful. Now I felt an opposite emotion. Despair and apprehension.
My body felt sluggish and heavy, my mind overloaded. I decided to go to bed, to sleep it
all off. Perhaps in the morning things would look different. It was a strategy.
I stripped off my jeans and top and rolled the bed linen down. Something caught my eye –
a piece of purple paper lying on the sheet, folded into an unidentifiable shape. What was
that doing there? I picked it up, unravelled it.
The few lines of words scrawled on it were in very messy writing, slanting diagonally all
over the page as if the person writing it had been half asleep at the time. I had to turn the
paper sideways to read half of it.
Run over the white road bearing the blood rose.
When the cloud passes over the moon left is your turn
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At the webbed knoll enter the black mass
Run catalyst and don’t look back.
Death fastens on those who sleep.
At the top of the page in small, neat print was the words:
To the girl with the red heart-shaped gem in the gold cross.
I hadn’t seen that straight away.
All the hairs on my scalp prickled as if I’d been irradiated from the inside out.
I looked down at the gold cross dangling on a chain at my neck. The red garnet stone
embedded in the middle of the cross was a bit dull and needed a polish. So, the message
was for me then.
What was this? Was someone trying to creep me out? Who had planted the note?
I stared at the slanting words on the paper, turning it over in my mind, then I crumpled the
paper decisively in my hand. Probably just a practical joke by one of the Heydrich kids. I
thought back to the kid baring the fangs at the window. Yeah, that was likely. I breathed
hard in disgust. Ha ha. They got me with that one. Almost. No matter how much I thought
about it, there was only one interpretation I could give to the untidy prose. It was clearly no
welcome: they wanted me out.
A noise outside the window sliced through my thoughts. I rushed over and pulled aside
the curtain. Beams from several torches formed fragmented tunnels in the mist, now as
thick and gluggy as glue. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could hear the tramping of feet and
voices and far off an eerie red glow that flickered - perhaps a bonfire.
What was going on out there?
I recalled what Robert had said about the Heydrich kids and Freyja celebrating something
– the Autumn Equinox. That was the kind of thing devil worshippers did. So, I was right
then.
When I turned off the lights and climbed into the huge four poster bed, the darkness was
so dark. The words ‘black as hell’ came to my mind. Light rain prattled on the eaves and
dripped from the trees. The big house creaked and groaned as if her joints were sore and
arthritic. I lay there twisting beneath the weight of the quilt unable to sleep. I had no idea
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how long I lay there awake.
I sat up and drawing the covers to my chin, glared into the darkness. Upstairs, I could
hear strange mewls and cries. Animals. Many of them. What was up there? A zoo?
I took my mobile out of my bag and cradled it in my hand. My contact to the outside
world.
I keyed a quick text to Belinda my school friend back in Sydney. Before I pressed ‘send’ I
re-read it.
Hey Bel, How are you? I’m here. I think they’re devil worshippers or something. If you
never hear from me again you know why – they’ve sacrificed me or turned me into a
toad. LOL. Sweet dreams. Ayesha xx
I hunkered back down under the mountain of quilts, suddenly tired, and moderately less
anxious now I’d had a laugh. I wondered what Belinda would make of the text. I mumbled
a prayer and next thing I knew I was almost on the way to sleep.
I was drifting … when some sound ….
I heard footsteps creak on the staircase leading down from the Heydrich’s upstairs
quarters. The footsteps grew progressively louder as they reached my door, then they
stopped. The door handle rattled and it was like it was touching every nerve in my body.
Every muscle in my body went rigid, my skin prickling as I stared at the door, waiting for
whatever was about to happen next. I didn’t move but my eyes stared hard at the door. My
heart started to thump real hard.
Someone opened the door. An indistinct face peered in. A black blob.
Then the footsteps padded towards my bed. A tall shadow towered over me. I froze on the
bed, breathing hard, yet trying not to breath.
Who is this? Er …. Hello? Are you the grim reaper?
Every muscle in my body went rigid. I didn’t move but I stared hard at the shadow
leaning closer over me. So close now, I could hear the raggedness of their breath. My heart
started to thump real hard and goosebumps rose up all over my skin.
Suddenly, the shadow spoke. In an ancient sounding language I didn’t understand. The
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voice was male and almost harmonic.
Somnus amo eternus pulvis Volito in obscurum, in nox noctis.
The man in the shadow repeated the phrase over and over, each time growing slower,
softer. Something light and powdery sprinkled down onto my face, flicked from their
twitching fingers. Powder or salt.
My whole body grew heavy, like rock, my eye-lids wavering. Suddenly, despite the fact
there was some weirdo standing over me chanting, I felt immensely sleepy.
A spell, my mind cried out. Then it was silenced. The last thing I heard was the click of
someone’s fingers and a single word uttered low and far away as if in another room or
another realm from me.
I sank away. Into oblivion.
At some indeterminate time in the night I woke, my head propped up against the plump
pillows, my mind groggy and far away like I’d been drugged.
So, I was still alive. Somehow, that was unexpected.
It was dark in the room and silent. I quickly noted, I was alone.
There was a painful stinging sensation on the surface of my left wrist …. as if something
had bitten it with very sharp teeth. I felt a scab at the site of the pain. Maybe a knife? Or a
snake? Or …..
I didn’t believe in vampires.
But devil worshippers used blood for sacrifices.
My heart squeezed out a tiny, choking pulse. My mind didn’t want to think about it.
About what it might mean.
One minute I’d been wide awake, the next I was deeply asleep. In all the years of my
insomnia I couldn’t recall ever getting to sleep that easily and quickly. It had to have been
some kind of incantation. I didn’t believe in magic, but I believed there were spiritual
powers that could be unleashed for evil or good.
I wrapped my arms about me and stared into the darkness. Shock spread over me like
anaesthetic. What were the words of the psalm?
“Hear my voice, O God, in my prayer; preserve my life from fear of the enemy.”
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Though I pushed against the black haze of the memory I couldn’t recall a thing after the
man had chanted over me. I remembered only some kind of dream and sounds so odd
they’d become irrevocably entwined with my nightmares. Howls, part-beast, part-human
coming from out in the bush. And I’d heard chanting, grotesque laughter and singing,
music and a strange babbling in a language I didn’t recognise. Or was it part of the dream?
I wasn’t sure.
With extreme effort I lifted my hand. It felt like a block of cement. I reached over slowly
and forgetting what Robert had told me about motion detection, I flicked on the lamp. Then
I waved my fingertips feebly at the chandelier lights at the ceiling and the other bedside
lamp, watching as with each wave they glowed brighter and brighter. Neat! I over-did it a
bit. The room was ablaze. It was brighter in here than a David Jones store at Christmas.
I got up groggily and hobbled over to the window and lifted the filmy white curtain
beneath the sweeping velvet drapery with fingers that felt like knobs of wood. Barely able
to hold myself up I grasped the side of the window.
Outside, a lamp on an ornamental post shone through the mist like a beacon in a cloudy
sea. So the mist was back again. Or maybe it had never left.
I couldn’t see anything except the glare from the bedroom lights spilling out onto the
foggy garden. My heart started to palpate with some unknown fear and I turned away
quickly back to the light of the room. Lost in circling thoughts that didn’t seem to go
anywhere I stood there, statuelike, staring blankly at the window.
In shock. My mind blank as an empty page.
Something, some sound, made me limp back to the window and look out.
That’s when I saw them!
They were moving through the garden in a tight bunch, tramping through the mist.
Passing just by my window. The seven Heydrich kids. Except their feet made no sound on
the ground and the way they moved was odd. I’d never seen anyone walk with such grace:
it was almost as if they were dancing through air.
Though I peered hard I couldn’t distinguish which one was Ganymede. Weirdly, the skin
of one of the boys where it was exposed at the face and hands, seemed to glow with a
fluorescent bluish tinge. A skin paint, I hypothesised.
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I wondered what they were doing out in the middle of the night in that weather.
Then, I heard my name amongst their conversation and the hair on my scalp prickled.
They were talking about me!
Automatically, I cowered back behind the curtain, my ears straining, my heart thudding
like a jackhammer. They’d stopped and were standing directly outside my window peering
in. I froze where I was. I wondered if they could see me behind the curtain. I’d seen how
light from an inside room could create a silhouette effect against linen. I hoped it wasn’t
doing that.
“She doesn’t look that dangerous. Are you sure it’s her?” I heard one of the boys say. The
voice was melodic, almost musical.
What did he mean? If they were talking about me, who did they think I was? No. They had
to be talking about someone else.
“Trust me. It’s her!” a female voice snapped back, somehow still managing to sound
polished and pure. “She has very distinct dark eyes. And, the cross – it’s exactly the same.”
Maybe they were talking about me. My spine prickled.
“What do you think we should do?” another female voice rang out. Sweeter and softer,
almost like a bell.
A satiny male voice growled some comment that resulted in throngs of laughter.
“That’s a bit harsh,” another boy dissented. A deeper, very masculine voice that hadn’t
spoken yet. “Shhh!” he hissed. “Let’s get out of here.”
I felt rather than saw them look directly at me through the window. I stood still as stone,
waiting for the sound of their footsteps to tell me when it was safe to move. My heart was
pounding so hard it was difficult to believe they couldn’t feel the vibrations.
I waited five minutes, then a few more. There was no sound of movement; of them
moving away. What were they doing?
When I peeked out they were gone. It was as if they’d disappeared into the mist; as if
they’d never been real; as if I’d imagined them.
Weak and unable to stand up any longer, I went back to bed. Although I wasn’t cold, I
pulled the quilt about me and hugged Pog.
I fell asleep again and instantly started dreaming. I was running through the black bush,
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running for my life, pursued by something behind me. Ahead of me, the path suddenly split
into two and I froze, certain that one way led to my doom and the other to life and freedom.
I couldn’t choose; couldn’t move. I screamed and screamed but no sound came out of my
mouth.
I woke in my bed except I wasn’t awake. My eyes were closed, but I could see right
through them.
Ganymede stood at the end of the bed, inhumanely beautiful, staring at me with eyes like
cold starlight.
Or was it a demon? My heart thudded real hard and it wasn’t just with fear.
“Go home Ayesha. It’s all a very bad dream.” There was both menace and gentleness in
his tone: a combination that startled and confused me. “Go away Ayesha. Be safe.” His
magnificent eyes burned at me, intense, trying to convey some unspeakable and urgent
message to me.
I sat up in bed, suddenly aware of the thin singlet I wore and my hair tumbling in a
tangled mess over my shoulders, my bare skin burning against the cool of the air.
“Why?” I gasped. “What do you mean?”
As if in reply, the room began to spin and all the furniture to fly away till there was
nothing in the room but me and Ganymede and the spinning bed. Outside, the trees were
derelict like corpses, the night starless like death.
“There’s nothing for you here – only lies,” he shouted, practically shaking with emotion.
“This is not the salvation you think – it’s hell!” He shook a fist at me for emphasis. But the
fist shaking at me and the mouth screaming at me were so perfectly formed that all I could
see was a thing of beauty.
“What are you saying?” I screamed back at him. “What?” I tried to hold onto the minor
connection we’d made; to keep him talking. “I don’t understand you.”
There was no answer.
Giddy, I held onto the bed as the room turned faster and faster. The boy morphed
suddenly into a leopard and leapt out the open window with a roar.
I woke again – really woke this time – to the grey light of early morning.
I sat up groggily and wondered, which was the dream, which was reality. The distinction
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between the two seemed totally blurred in my mind. Had anything I remembered actually
transpired or was all of it a dream?
I stared at the room half expecting to see the pale pink walls of the dorm at Wesley
Dalmar. Instead, I saw the elegant mantlepiece with my books on it and the two wing back
chairs by the window that told me I was at Elysium. No, I hadn’t dreamed up the whole
thing.
I tried to remember what Ganymede had said to me in the dream but already it was hazy.
Some kind of warning. Go away. Something like that.
I lay there trying to hold onto the memory of his image. When I could no longer fight the
lethargy in my body, I succumbed again to sleep. It was like falling into a black well with
no end.
3 - Breakfast
When I opened my eyes, the autumn sunshine was streaming through the curtains,
bathing the room in a soft, golden light. Birds chorused outside, a symphony of twitter’s,
throaty carols and soft peeps. It was a vastly different atmosphere from the one last night;
one that made me believe I could have imagined everything that had happened last night.
There was a surgical smell of antiseptic and blood coming from my wrist … as if blood
had been taken from me in my sleep. So I hadn’t imagined that then.
Again, I pushed against that black barrier but no memory of anything came. There were
only the odd dreams and the memory of waking and hearing the Heydrich children outside
my window.
I walked to the window now, drew the curtain with one hand and looked outside. The
mist had cleared and now I saw that the window looked out on a rose garden.
Big improvement.
There was a young gardener forking compost beneath the bare rose bushes. He waved at
me and I waved back. His average, friendly face reassured me.
I got up and dressed. Loose track pants and t-shirt. I felt almost normal again. Almost.
Then I sat on the bed and did something totally normal: I wrote out a card to send Belinda
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for her birthday next week. I’d always clung onto the few friends I made and tried to be a
loyal friend. Commitment to people mattered to me.
Beyond the door, I could hear muffled sounds - footsteps, voices. The guests, I supposed.
And maybe the Heydrichs.
Sweat broke out on my forehead and upper lip at that thought. I hovered about in the
room, wondering how long I could stay in here without it appearing that I was avoiding
everyone.
I checked my phone for messages. The battery was dead so I put it on the charger. There
was a humorous text from Belinda, two messages from my mother and about twenty missed
calls from my dad. When I checked the time on the last one I got the shock of my life.
Electricity zapped through my body.
It was Wednesday the seventh of April. I’d arrived here on March the 20th. Which meant
…
I gulped and stared at Pog lying on the bed. His beady eyes were blank, telling me
nothing.
How long had I been asleep?
Hang on Ayesha? You’re an insomniac you dick-brain. There’s no way you were asleep
for over two weeks. At least, not naturally.
Someone must have drugged me! Either that, or my mobile was playing up and telling me
the wrong date. Or, somehow, I’d managed to time travel. Ha ha.
I flicked through the pages of my diary. The last entry was March nineteenth. Nothing on
all the pages after. I switched on my bulky, second hand laptop, a gift from dad and
checked the date there. It agreed with the phone. Maybe I was having a memory lapse.
There had to be some rational explanation.
I stared out the window at the trees and tried to remember if there were less leaves than
when I’d arrived.
There was a light tap on the door. In knee jerk fashion I jumped.
“Ayesha?” I recognised Freyja’s high-pitched, crackly voice. “Are you up? Breakfast is
ready.”
“Okay, I’m coming out,” I piped back. My voice sounded nervous, almost squeaky; my
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attempt to sound calm and confident a total flop.
I was about to meet Ganymede Heydrich in person for the first time. Not to mention his
six brothers and sisters.
I tried to breathe normally instead of gasping for air. Not a good look.
Before going out, I checked myself in the bathroom mirror and did what I could with my
hair. I had the kind of annoying wavy hair that couldn’t be tamed and generally behaved as
if it had a mind of its own. I parted it one way then another in a useless attempt to get rid of
the annoying cowlick then I splayed toothpaste all over my gums and washed my mouth
out just to make sure there were no lingering odors. Finally I applied a thin line of eyeliner
to my upper lids but my hands were shaking so badly I didn’t bother with the bottom ones.
My mother always said I didn’t need make-up, but I wasn’t convinced - everyone knew
mother’s were notoriously biased; definitely not to be trusted when it came to fashion and
make-up.
I took a long, deep breath and went out. Well, I guess I would have to meet them at some
stage. I suddenly felt so sick I thought I was going to throw up.
When I got to the dining room they were all seated. I stood awkwardly in the doorway
staring in and my heart started to thump.
My eyes passed over everything in a perfunctory fashion, taking it all in – the long carved
dining table lined either side with people staring my way and spread with a banquet that
seemed extravagant if not totally over the top for breakfast - but it was the Heydrich
children I was focused on.
They sat either side of this end of the table, meticulously dressed and groomed, like they
were about to go out. All their faces scrutinised me, as different and individual as flowers in
a garden.
I stared dumbstruck. I’d never seen such perfection; such disturbing beauty, in one room.
But my eyes stuck on one face unable to let go. Ganymede Heydrich. It was like a bright
star was in the room and I couldn’t see anything else; couldn’t think of anything else. My
mind seized up as if I’d incurred some kind of temporary brain damage. The home video
just didn’t do him justice: in real life he was magnificent.
Like one of those Greek statues of exemplary Utopian youth, he was devastating. Three
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thin braided plaits hung amidst the wavy gold hair that fell to his shoulder. His pale skin
was so smooth it didn’t look real but more like silk. The contours of his face, the angles of
his cheeks and shape of his lips and nose were startling and perfectly moulded but it was
his eyes that stood out: deep set, large and luminous, yet slightly feline, they were the
colour of blue marble and outlined remarkably with dark eyelashes and brows. Any single
part of him was perfect, but the combination together was dazzling. He was more like a
fantasy painted by a renaissance art master than anything I could associate with reality.
For a moment I think I’d stopped breathing.
I forced myself to look away; to look at the others. On the same side of the table, on the
right of Ganymede, sat his brothers. Of the four, Ganymede was the most attractive but the
others weren’t far behind. I stared longer than was polite at the second brother, a lithe
black-haired boy with skin like gold satin and slanted jade eyes bristled with the blackest
lashes. With his peaked black hat, scarf, sweeping fringe, tattoo’s and the black star painted
around his eye, he reminded me of a gothic wizard. To his right sat a boy in a sports
jumper, about fifteen with classical dark good looks and the kind of muscles any gym
fanatic would have been proud of. The youngest, about twelve had russet coloured hair
partly covered with a head scarf, unusual amber eyes, and a tattoo on his cheek.
The three girls were seated across from the boys. I placed them from the home video: the
oldest, the gothic princess, about twenty, had overpowering violet eyes, black hair and
ivory skin and was almost surreally beautiful in real life. Beside her was the middle sister
about my age, with the trailing honey brown hair - the bohemian hippy. The youngest girl,
the punk tattooed princess with flaxen ringlets and the strawberry dyed fringe was about ten
yet you could see the potential.
I couldn’t stop staring. It would have been good to have had a warning before walking
into this. Scarily, the Heydrich children were even more captivating than their movies.
Every one of them, the boys as well as the girls, had super sculpted hair like they’d spent
hours in the salon. All of them had teeth like a Colgate advertisement. Artificially white.
Perfectly straight. I guessed rich parents could afford orthodontists.
The question begged itself: why did Freyja and Gaard want me when they had this? It
wasn’t like I was some cute and cuddly baby. The children’s story, the ugly duckling came
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to mind. I knew which character I was.
“Why don’t you take a seat Ayesha,” Freyja suggested, stating the obvious. Seated at the
end of the table closest to the door, Freyja, my foster mother was dressed in a pea green
gown that flattered the graceful lines of her figure and complimented the green of her eyes
and gold tones of her hair.
“Sure. Hi everyone,” I mumbled as I edged dumbstruck towards the table. They continued
to stare at me, not saying anything; everyone’s face trained on me. I didn’t know what to do
then. I fumbled for the back of the nearest empty seat – near Freyja and the oldest girl and
opposite Ganymede - and somehow managed to sit down without knocking anything over. I
sat there staring back at them like some dazed and frightened animal caught in the ray of an
oncoming headlight. I could feel all the blood rushing to my head and my nose felt like it
was going to start bleeding at any moment. I reached into my pocket for a tissue then
realised I didn’t have one.
When I glanced at Ganymede Heydrich he was examining his plate, studiously avoiding
looking at me.
Very uncomfortable.
In my family we’d always eaten dinner on our laps in front of the TV. I sat there rigid as a
knife feeling like I was part of some formal performance.
Pre-stage jitters Ayesha. Relax.
“Ayesha, let me introduce you to everyone,” Freyja said with a pleasant smile at me.
“Lord Friedrich and Lady Geneveive up the end are Gaard’s parents visiting from Feldberg
in Germany. They’re going back home in two months after Winter Solstice.” Peering
towards the end of the long table I saw a very old man and woman. They were the creepiest
old people I’d ever seen. They reminded me of fat, white, very wrinkled, shrivelled old
spiders. They smiled tightly and regarded me with shrewd yet unfriendly eyes. Gaard, I
suddenly noticed, was absent from the table.
“Sitting next to them is Gerda, Gaard’s sister and their daughter.” Freyja continued.
“Gerda works for us so you will see her about the house.”
The woman peered sternly at me as if I were a fox that had somehow got in and she didn’t
know what to do with me. Definitely very unfriendly. She was a blonde, middle-aged
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woman, somehow manly, thick bodied and square faced, her hair tied back. I didn’t like her
eyes. Large and torquoise, they were the kind of eyes that would have been considered
beautiful, yet they were hard and piercing. Like a hawk’s. I tensed. Instinctively, I disliked
her.
Then, I wondered: could any of these people be the one who came to my room in the dead
of the night?
“Mag, the lady with the black hair is my best friend,” Freyja continued with a grin at a
middle-aged woman in a purple shawl. The two women exchanged a knowing look that
unnerved me.
Rather than the neutrality afforded to a stranger, the woman called Mag looked at me with
an expression that looked like pity. I flushed. Obviously, she knew about me then; knew
who I was.
“And, Gudrun, is Mag’s daughter.” The black-haired teenage girl at Mag’s side gave me a
rudimentary glance then quickly looked away. Definitely very unfriendly.
“You won’t see us much,” Mag gushed, almost apologetically and cast a reproving glance
at her daughter. “We’ve just been here for Samhain. We’re flying back home today.”
Suddenly, everyone laughed. I wondered what was funny. Some ‘in’ joke, I gathered.
“Where do you live?” I asked, trying to be polite. Everyone stared at me as if I were a
dumb cow that had suddenly started talking.
“Kesswil,” Mag replied.
No idea where that was. I blushed and looked down to hide my ignorance.
“It’s in North Switzerland,” she said for my benefit. “Very pretty and quiet. Just like
here.” She smiled too much. A fake smile.
“Ayesha, this is Ganymede, my oldest son,” Freyja continued with an affectionate smile
at him.
I dared myself to look at him then. The boy nodded curtly at me, his expression dark and
guarded, almost hostile. I flinched at that. Nothing like the charming boy in the home
movie. The difference was so dramatic that I almost fell off my chair.
Freyja’s voice flowed on in the background introducing me to each of the children in turn
but after the way Ganymede had looked at me, the blood was pounding in my ears and I
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couldn’t focus. Besides, all their names were like something out of an ancient play. Oh
crap. How would I ever remember them? I just kept nodding, hoping that would get me by.
“This is Hermes.” She waved her hand at the striking gothic wizard.
“Welcome,” he said in a voice like silk. The tone was sarcastic, his smile very unpleasant.
I swallowed.
“Perseus.” Freyja indicated the handsome well-built dark boy in the sporty clothes. He
folded his muscular arms and scowled at me from under his dark eyebrows. His cocoa
coloured eyes penetrated me in a way that made me squirm in the chair.
“And, this is Achilles.” The youngest boy with the headscarf stared at me dully.
“Ayesha, this is my oldest daughter, Andromeda.” The oldest girl – the gothic princess
with the violet eyes - stared solemnly at me.
“And Demeter.” The middle girl – the bohemian hippy - offered me a tight, grudging
smile.
“And last but not least Persephone, our youngest.” The little blonde punk girl stared at me
with open curiosity.
“Are you a ‘normal’?” she said.
I stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“Persephone!” Freyja frowned at her, effectively closing off that conversation. “Would
you like to lead the blessing today?”
The blessing? I watched in alarm as they all closed their eyes.
“Blessed be this fodder thou sacred sustenance of the earth ...” the little girl began in a
voice surprisingly clear and strong. It seemed an odd kind of grace. My face grew hot with
discomfort.
“Perfect love and perfect trust,” they repeated in unison after each verse, like a kind of
chorus.
As the blessing went on, I studied the Heydrich children in fascination, wondering what it
was that niggled me about them.
Perfect to the smaller details of their hands and nails and ears, each single child was a
work of art on their own and could have commanded a high income as a professional
model. The only imperfection was the dark rings shadowing their eyes that all seemed to
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share, as if they were seriously deprived of sleep.
Then it hit me. None of the seven children resembled their parents in any way, let alone
each other. Any one aspect of this family taken on its own was extremely weird, but the
whole picture was mind boggling.
Like me, the boy with the brown hair had his eyes open during the blessing. He rocked
about in his chair, moaning some gibberish and as I stared at the blank expression in his
amber eyes it dawned on me that he was intellectually impaired – probably autistic or
something. That seemed sad to me.
I turned my eyes back to Ganymede and studied him with his eyes shut. He was leaner
than the two youngest brothers but more muscular than the gold skinned, jade-eyed one, his
beauty more subtle yet somehow more striking and his features more sensitively drawn. I
had to look away. It was like being dazzled by a supernova. I felt dizzy, shaky, my stomach
trembly.
How would I ever relax at home? How could I even eat with something like this sitting
across from me? I felt severely under-dressed in my daggy track pants and t-shirt, wishing
I’d put on something better. Not that I could compete at any level with them. No-one could.
I couldn’t wait to text Belinda. She’d be up to visit in a flash to check out the boys. Then
again, I wasn’t sure I wanted her to see my weird new family. Maybe we could go on a
bushwalk instead.
Ganymede Heydrich suddenly opened his eyes and looked straight at me.
In horror, panic filled my lungs. I literally stopped breathing.
His eyes probed me curiously then an expression of abhorrence filled them.
I couldn’t look away. It was like holding onto a kitten that was sinking its teeth through
my flesh – I just couldn’t let go.
I managed to drag my eyes away and pretended to study my meal while my heart
thumped at the boy’s over the top reaction to me.
When I risked another peep at him, it seemed he was deliberately avoiding looking at me
now, trying to pretend I wasn’t there. Very uncomfortable.
What is your problem?
My heart relaxed just enough for me to think again. Slightly.
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Everyone else except the two of us had started eating. I stared at the food on the table,
really seeing it for the first time and then I had another near coronary. Platters of runny
poached eggs, pale pink meat - what looked like barely cooked offal, probably liver,
mounds of leafy greens and late autumn flowers, a plate of herbs including dandelion
flowers, leaves, thyme, mints and sliced garlic, lightly braised mushrooms of kinds I’d
never seen before, berries, fruit and little pies. Who knew what was in them.
Holy crap! What weird kind of breakfast was this? Where was the cereal and toast?
In front of each place setting was a canister of vitamins and an enormous glass of green
juice. Crap! Was I expected to take all those? Ganymede had an additional tumbler full of
pharmaceutical pills. At least ten pills of different sizes and colours. I wondered what was
wrong with him. He looked healthy enough.
I could feel the eyes of the children on me - as if they were trying to gage my reaction to
the meal. Almost as if they were amused. A brooding darkness emanated from them.
The blood rushed to my face and I looked down. Picking up my knife and fork, I tried to
ignore them and focus instead on the challenge the breakfast presented. As I leaned over the
table toward the plate of poached eggs, Ganymede Heydrich gave me that look again and I
knocked my juice over. Juice went everywhere, soaking the tablecloth, running onto my lap
and – oh crap – over the other side of the table. His side of the table.
Everyone was staring at me and at the mess I’d made of the tablecloth.
“Oh sorry,” I stammered.
Ganymede jumped up and began to limp across the room to the kitchen – to get a cloth I
supposed - and it was then I saw that his right foot was in plaster. Even limping, there was
something graceful and feline about him. I cringed when I saw the wet patch I’d made on
his expensive designer jeans.
“Ah, never mind,” Freyja soothed glancing my way. “The tablecloth needs laundering
anyway.”
I glanced at her gratefully, sure my face was a horrible colour.
Ganymede returned and began mopping up the mess. I sat frozen as he worked around
me. As he leant towards me to mop my side of the table, his beautiful arms just inches from
mine, I glanced at his wrists and hands, slim and shapely like an artist’s, covered in tasteful
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jewellery. On the inside of his wrist was a tattoo - a unicorn with wings inside a five
pointed star. I remembered seeing a similar shaped tattoo on Freyja’s arm. Maybe it was a
family emblem type thing.
I swallowed and my heart went into over-drive. It was almost unbearable having a boy
that attractive in such close proximity to me.
Please go away before I die.
As he leaned over the table the pendant around his neck swung to and fro as he moved. It
was some kind of symbol; a five pointed star.
A pentagram!
Wasn’t that something to do with the devil?
I froze and my skin crinkled.
“Did you sleep well last night Ayesha?” Freyja asked me. Probably a diversion.
Suddenly, the whole table was looking at me.
“Um …. yes, thank you. Very well.” I tried to think of something to add to that. “Actually
…” I was about to ask what day it was when she spoke over me.
“The mountain air and high altitude often makes people sleep well in this place.”
Sure. Whatever you say.
I stared at her neck as she spoke. She too wore the pentagram. I noticed then that every
single one of them, even the little girl and the older family members and Gudrun and her
mother Mag, wore the pentagram. My legs shifted uncomfortably under the table touching
one of the massive wolf like dogs sitting under there. Someone kicked me under the table. I
searched the faces of those sitting around me wondering who the culprit was.
When I looked at Ganymede Heydrich he seemed to be looking at me in the same way he
had in the dream: as if he was trying to tell me something vitally important.
Freyja and Mag exchanged a look.
“It’s such a lovely time for you to come here,” Freyja gushed at me, grinning too much.
“Autumn is such a beautiful season in the mountains – the Goddess dresses all the trees in
such beautiful hues.”
Goddess? What kind of religion were they into?
“Um… did you enjoy your … um … celebrations?” I stuttered, finally thinking of
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something to say. “Robert .. said you went away.” Crap. I wish I hadn’t said that. I noticed
all the children had stopped eating and were staring expectantly at their mother.
“Yes, we had a lovely time celebrating Samhain. In the Northern hemisphere where I
come from the date is celebrated at the end of Autumn and marks the beginning of the
darker days of winter. You probably know of it as Halloween. In Australia it’s celebrated in
October and like Yule the true association with the cycle of the seasons has been sadly lost.
Amongst those of us who follow the Old Religion, Wicca, it is one of our holy sabbats, the
time of mists and sighs, when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. The culmination of
the seasons results in a peak of energy and is a very magic time. At a deeper level it’s a
celebration of all things past and of the dead. It is fitting that another rite of passage - your
arrival – should coincide with our celebrations.” She smiled slightly.
There was a magical quality about her voice that made me see green woods in my mind. I
didn’t know exactly what she was talking about but the word Wicca stood out in my mind:
that was something to do with witchcraft – I knew that much. So that’s what they were –
witches.
Remembering the bonfire last night and the strange sounds that had intruded my sleep,
the back of my neck prickled. Had I arrived in the middle of some major witchfest? Or even
worse, some Satanic ritual?
I glanced across at Ganymede, letting my eyes drop to his pentagram, wondering how
deeply he was into this Wicca thing. His plate was empty and he hadn’t touched a thing. I
wondered what was wrong with him; why he didn’t eat; if my presence at the table was
giving him indigestion. He looked like he was hyperventilating, but trying to control
himself, gritting his teeth, breathing hard, his shoulders rigid.
The feeling of someone’s eyes on me drew my attention. The oldest girl, the gorgeous
gothic princess, was staring transfixed at something near my collarbone. Her face wore a
horrified look.
I tried to peer down at my neck, ready to flick away any bug that might be crawling there,
but I couldn’t see anything. Then realisation hit me and I almost died. My necklace. My
cross – a gift from my great grandmother. Suddenly acutely aware of the touch of the metal
against my skin, I bent my head forward hoping to hide it a bit with my chin. The blood
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welled up in my cheeks.
“The weather’s fined up nicely,” Freyja remarked.
I looked up wondering if she was addressing me. Looked like it.
“Perhaps Ganymede might take you to look at the caves later, mightn’t you puss?” She
looked hopefully at him. “Or maybe you could all go together.”
No way. I couldn’t go anywhere with this boy I’d fantasised about but who’d turned out
to be a witch who hated me. I’d rather jump off a cliff. Just sitting in the room with him
was more than I could bear.
He leaned over his empty plate, crimson streaks flaring suddenly on his cheeks, his mouth
set in a stubborn line, ignoring his mother. I noticed no-one else took up her suggestion. No
surprises there. The room filled with silence. Thick. Uncomfortable.
My heart ticked by. I prayed for an earthquake. Armageddon. Anything to get me out of
there.
I realised I hadn’t heard him speak yet. Or the dark haired well built boy or the two older
girls. What were they? Mutes? Or did they simply hate me so much they refused to
acknowledge me? I’d never belong here. How stupid of me.
Tears pricked at my eyes and I stared down at my meal, blinking them away, prodding at
the horrible runny poached egg on my plate. The rejection was more than I could bear.
Suddenly the window rattled aggressively, despite the fact there was no wind and no-one
standing near it either on the inside or out. Everyone’s eyes flew to the window. No-one
remarked upon it, but the littlest girl and the autistic boy giggled.
“A late visitor to the celebrations perhaps?” Mag hazarded and laughed.
“Mrs Chisolm doesn’t like the window’s closed,” the little blonde girl stated matter of
factly.
Suddenly the autistic boy spoke. “What’s she doing here?” he erupted, staring at me as if
I were a spider that had just dropped down from the ceiling. He waved his fork at me like a
weapon and a little piece of food dropped out of his mouth. “I don’t want her here. She’s
sitting in Cassiopeia’s chair.”
All the others looked at him and eyeballed each other silently.
Freyja put her fork down with a clatter, staring crossly at him. “Achilles, that’s enough.
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Be kind to Ayesha.”
“No!” the boy roared, only getting louder, squirming back and forth like he was sitting on
an ants nest. “She’s sitting in Cassie’s chair. Tell her to get out. Get out. You. YOU. Ugly
bitchface!” He stared at me fiercely, grabbed his fork between the two ends and snapped it
in two. I looked down at the two pieces of misshapen stainless steel wondering how he’d
managed to do that. Another thought occurred; one that involved wondering what he could
do to me if he lost his temper. The rest of the children glanced at each other in a horrible
knowing way. A shiver went down my spine. The coronary I’d felt was there in the
background, really started coming on now.
I wondered who Cassie was. I knew one thing. I wasn’t her and I was never going to fill
her shoes – or seat.
Tears swelled in my eyes and clustered around my eyelashes threatening to spill, while
my throat choked up. I clutched my mouth and nose in one quick motion and stood up,
lowering my eyes in Freyja’s direction.
“My nose is bleeding,” I blurted.
Not waiting to see if anyone bought into the story, I ran out of the room. Before I’d gone
I’d seen what could have been a brief flare of pity in Ganymede’s Heydrich’s eyes. For
some reason that really got to me, more than anything else had.
I half ran, half walked to my room and closed the door behind me. I stood for a while
with my back against the door listening to make sure no-one had followed me, then I went
to the bed, slumped over it and sank my face in my palms. Gritting my teeth, I closed my
eyes and pressed out hot tears that drenched my palms.
Suddenly it hit me: the stupid note I’d found in the bed – it wasn’t a joke.
Why did they hate me so much? Theories buzzed through my mind, each trying to find
leverage. They’d probably planned the whole silent treatment thing at breakfast.
Now, a lump formed in my throat as I wondered what else they had in store for me.
My mobile tone: a sheep, rang out. Everyone thought I was a dag because of the sheep
thing but it got me laughing and anything that did that was always a bonus.
Belinda’s name came up on the screen. Wiping away the smudged tears with one hand, I
pressed Talk with the other.
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“Hi Belinda,” I gushed into the phone. I was so glad to hear from someone normal;
someone who actually liked me.
“Hi. I just thought I’d check on how you were going,” she said with a teasing air. “Did
you get my text?”
Oh, the text – I was beginning to regret that now.
Her voice started fading a bit. “Hang on. Let me close my door.” I heard her rumbling
around. “I’m supposed to be cleaning my room.” She snorted. “Stuff that. What parents
don’t know can’t hurt them.” She giggled into the phone. I knew Belinda’s Catholic mum
wasn’t keen on me, being from a broken home and having lived in a refuge and therefore
possibly a bad influence on her good little girl.
“So, how’s it going with the witches?” she sniggered into the phone. I laughed too.
I fobbed it off with some bogus funny story then I told her all about the rattling window at
breakfast but really, I was more worried about other things: being rejected by the other
children foremost. Fear of rejection and abandonment was like the weakest link in my
armour; the thing I feared most in life. I’d rather face a firing squad.
“What are your new sisters and brothers like?” Belinda asked, almost purring through the
phone. She’d been so excited for me moving in with the Heydrich’s, almost dazzled by the
whole idea of them; their wealth and aura of European sophistication. To Belinda, my life
seemed glamorous and exciting compared to her own. I didn’t want to shatter that illusion.
“Okay,” I said automatically. There was a pause between us. “Actually,” I sighed. “Let
me revise that. They are kind of weird.” Then, like floodgates being opened it all burst out
of me. I told her everything about the bizarre breakfast and the pentagrams, lowering my
voice low, suddenly filled with paranoia that someone might be watching or listening. For a
brief moment my damaged self-esteem felt buffered by my back-stabbing.
I could tell by Belinda’s silence she was genuinely shocked and didn’t know what to say.
She laughed nervously. “Maybe you can trade them in for a new family.”
“You’d like the oldest one though.” Belinda’s life was a lot more sheltered than mine and
like a big sister I didn’t want to disappoint her too much. “He’s about our age and a real
hottie.”
“As good as Rob Wilkinson?’ she crooned then giggled. Rob was a guy at my old school;
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the kind you knew you would never have a chance with. Belinda was in love with him in a
puppy dog way.
“No. Better,” I said. “Rob Wilkinson is nothing compared to the oldest son. Except his
personality … that part really sucks. On a scale of zero to ten, think zero or lower.” I
laughed nastily. Geez it felt good.
“I like the first part.” She giggled. “I suppose you can’t have everything in life. So.
When’s my invite to come up?” She giggled again. I knew she’d bite.
We talked more about old school stuff. Belinda did most of the talking, filling me in on
the latest gossip. I wasn’t really listening properly. Just the familiar sound of her voice
comforted me, ebbing in and out of my own thoughts, and I hung on, offering the
occasional encouragement to keep her talking, like she was a drug: my own personal
Valium. Belinda’s mum came in and she had to go.
“I’ll pray for you,” she promised.
“Cool.”
After the call, I decided I’d better get back to the breakfast table otherwise my story about
the bleeding nose was going to appear the lame fabrication it was.
I took my seat. No-one said anything. But all the children peered at me. Very
uncomfortable.
Not long after I’d taken my seat, Gaard strode into the room, his appearance diverting
attention thankfully away from me. Like every other time I’d seen him, he was cleanshaven and impeccably but conservatively dressed. I studied his face - the strong, sharp
features, angular cheekbones jutting like two prows, thin smatter of dark brown hair and
dark blue eyes that were more piercing than sunny.
His kids don’t look like him.
All eyes flashed to him, but there was more fear than affection there. I wondered about
that. He was the one with the power then.
The two huge wolf-like dogs that had been sitting beneath the table, bounded up to greet
Gaard and he lunged at them, kicking them until they retreated whining.
“Perseus, get these damned dogs outside,” he snarled.
The muscular dark-haired boy jumped up from the table and called to them - “Skoll!
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Gjalp!” - tugging on their leads and dragging them outside.
Gaard’s eyes whipped over to me as he took his seat at the head of the table and a thin
smile curled on his lips making my insides blanch. His dark blue eyes pinpointed me as if I
were an interesting new bug. Then, as if he’d flicked on a switch the irritated vibe left and
his demeanour changed instantly to courteous and relaxed.
“Good morning Ayesha. Have you been introduced to the tribe?” He had a voice that
projected across the room like a stage actor’s; strong and resonant, reverberating with
perfect diction. Despite that, there was no warmth in it.
“Yes ….” I stammered.
“I hope you’ve all become well-acquainted in my absence?”
“Yes, we have, thank-you,” I agreed, although I wasn’t quite sure about that.
“Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to greet you on your first night - I’ve been tied up with a
major project, delivering my latest research breakthroughs to the German scientific
community. I assume you recall my stature as a leader in the field of genetics.” He lifted his
chin and peered down his nose at me. Unsmiling. Kind of arrogant.
I nodded my head obediently. He’s the one with the power.
“Just to give you a picture of how busy I am - I lead two international teams of geneticists
and am in the midst of writing my twelth book, not to mention my ongoing research and the
biofarm.”
I stared at him, my eyes widening. My mouth dried. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to expect
me to say anything.
“The importance of my work and the hectic nature of my schedule, dictates that you
won’t see me about the house much. Robert is employed to run this establishment for me.
And Freyja and my sister are occupied with its many roles as well.” His eyes rested on his
wife and then on Gerda, then he turned his gaze back to me. Looking at Gaard and his sister
and parents in the same room I could see the family resemblance, the same stiff, cold smile
and humourless eyes. His genes didn’t seem that dominant in his children.
“At any rate, I expect the rest of the family will keep you suitably entertained,” Gaard
said drily and looked at them.
I straightened the grimace that had automatically broken out on my face at the idea of
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that. Fortunately he didn’t notice, continuing on with what had the feeling of a prepared
speech.
“A few ground rules Ayesha Lees. Breakfast is at seven; dinner at five and before you
leave the table you must request permission from me – provided everything on your plate,
all food and drink, tonics and supplements have been consumed. Lunchtime, snacks and
supper, we help ourselves. All junk food is absolutely forbidden, as is television and radio,
those polluters of the mind. Hired DVD’s are acceptable but must be screened by me. You
are to be home before dusk each day without exception and be warned, I don’t tolerate
tardiness or excuses. All social activities outside of school must be sanctioned by me as
must all visitors to the premises, but be aware, I find the majority of people obnoxious,
stupid and a poor influence. It may sound harsh to you Ayesha Lees, but I am trying to
maintain a standard here. Respect my rules and you will live happily here; neglect them and
you will quickly discover the true meaning of misery. Whatever else you do is up to you.
The upstairs quarters of the house including my research facilities are totally out of bounds.
At this point in time I’m at a very important stage of my research: I’m on the breakthrough
of cracking the holy grail of genetics: the secrets of immortality. Although you are a child, I
am sure you understand the weight, the import and the significance of that. I don’t need
disturbances to my work. Is that clear?”
I swallowed and nodded. Everyone was staring at me. Very uncomfortable.
“Do you have any questions Ayesha Lees?”
“No.” I didn’t dare. My head was spinning. I imagined I was red or multi-coloured.
“Well, then, now that we understand each other, to welcome you to the family Ayesha
Lees, I have a surprise.” Like the flick of a switch, he’d changed again and become all
suaveness and smiles. He punched a number on his mobile and Robert came floundering in
with a stack of gift-wrapped boxes which he deposited on the table in front of me.
The jade eyed goth wizard boy muttered something beneath his breath. “Blood money,” it
sounded like.
I tried not to look at him. Instead my eyes caught on the other children’s faces and I could
have died. Their expressions ranged from disturbed to looking like they were going to
vomit. Jealousy, I imagined. Or resentment.
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I cringed with embarrassment.
Gaard was watching me with a slight air of anticipation. I supposed that meant I was
supposed to unwrap everything now.
My cheeks flamed and my hands shook as I tore obligingly at the paper, feigning
enthusiasm for the whole thing.
Inside the first one I found a very fashionable white dress and an expensive silver watch
studded with REAL rubies and diamonds. Red was my favourite colour.
“Oh, wow! Thank you!” I gushed. “The watch …” I was so overwhelmed I’d forgotten
how to speak properly. “Is … so … so beautiful. And … the dress … it’s so nice.”
I went pink again. No-one had ever bought me anything like this.
Gaard smiled indulgently and waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing. The rest are
clothes. I like to see all my children dressed well at all times. There is nothing more
appalling to my senses than imperfection. As you may have noticed Ayesha Lees, I like to
surround myself only with beauty and with the best this life has to offer us.” He made a
sweeping gesture with his hand that took in the whole room, the banquet and those at the
table. Despite his obvious arrogance, there was something so powerful and eloquent about
Gaard, that I felt captivated, eager to please him.
After eating a few mouthfuls and moistening his lips, Gaard again addressed me as if I
were the only one present at the table.
“As you see Ayesha Lees, our family enjoys an extravagant breakfast but our dinners are
a smaller affair. Breakfast should always be the prime meal of the day with less calories
consumed by the end of the day. I call it the ‘longevity’ diet and I designed it myself based
on the Palaeolithic diet of our ancient forefathers: high in protein, seeds and nuts, raw fruit
and vegetables and low in grains and very economical in calories. We also slaughter our
own free range meat just as they did, thus avoiding unwanted sources of hormones,
antibiotics and excessive amounts of saturated fats. Through diet, the genetic engineering of
humans and organ transplantation, significant life extension is a realistic possibility for the
future.”
I leaned forward getting interested despite myself.
“Do you know how old I am?” he said suddenly. He leaned forward as if inviting me to
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take a better look at him.
“N… no,” I stammered.
“Take a guess.”
“Oh no, I …” I didn’t want to stuff up on this one. “I’m not very good at guessing …”
“I’m seventy six,” he stated with satisfaction. I could tell he enjoyed holding me as a
spellbound and fascinated audience. I gulped and my eyes widened.
“Wow! I would never have guessed,” I said, truly astonished. Gaard, I had presumed, was
about forty.
The goth wizard boy with the gold skin snickered. I glanced uneasily at him and then
back at Gaard who’d started speaking again and hadn’t seemed to hear.
“My body when measured for all indices, is that of a fit and healthy thirty-five year old
man. I intend to be the first man to live to past the age of two hundred, if not far longer.”
He smiled but it was a self-congratulating smile rather than aimed at me.
Throughout the conversation, the rest of the family looked bored as if this was a drill
they’d seen many times before. The children eyeballed each other, but otherwise sat as still
and prim as little dolls. I sensed an undercurrent flowing between them. I got the feeling
they didn’t like their father very much.
“No-one can really predict how long they’ll live,” I pondered aloud. “You could have a
car accident like my uncle did.” I instantly regretted saying that and flushed. Dick! It was
an annoying tendency of mine to occasionally say the wrong thing without thinking.
The goth wizard boy laughed out loud. Gaard glared at him then me. His face darkened as
if we’d just colluded in a joke about him.
I bit my lip and stared tremulously at Gaard.
“Perhaps you don’t really like the clothes I bought for you,” Gaard said, narrowing his
eyes and smiling slyly. “Should I take them back to the store for a refund?”
I felt my face drop. My blood seemed to stop mid-course and do an about turn. He was
toying with me and I didn’t know what to say. I sifted quickly through my brain for the
right answer but I was shaking so badly I couldn’t think straight.
“No. I love the dress …” My throat constricted around the words. I gulped trying to think
of something more to say. “I’m sure you’ll live as long as you want. Maybe longer. My
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uncle … brought it on himself. He was an alcoholic. Not someone like you.” I was so
anxious not to lose his approval I was shaking.
Gaard’s lips parted and he gasped involuntarily. “I like you Ayesha Lees. I think we will
get along just fine. Loyalty and obedience is such a small price to pay for all the benefits
you will enjoy here. Don’t you agree?”
I stared at him feeling almost hypnotised by his eyes and nodded obediently, at the same
time catching Ganymede’s look of horrified disgust. For a moment I’d forgotten he was
there, watching the whole thing. That they all were. My cheeks felt like they were on fire
and a pulse at my temple started to throb. I really was beginning to dislike him. In a
passionate angry rebuffed kind of way.
Suddenly, the chair opposite me scraped back. Ganymede jacknifed up out of his chair in
a single fluid movement and bolted out of the room without a word.
I stared after him. He didn’t just dislike me: he loathed me. They all did. They were like
cold beautiful demons. I pictured them pouring boiling oil from a cauldron over a voodoo
representation of me. Laughing about it even.
Freyja looked at Gaard.
“I’ll deal with it later,” Gaard grunted dismissively.
Just then, Mag’s daughter, Gudrun got up from the table and went after him. I swallowed
and looked down at my plate, feeling his behaviour was somehow to do with me.
So, she was his girlfriend, then? Of course someone like that would have a girlfriend.
How stupid of me not to think of that.
As each of the remaining children finished their meal they addressed Gaard with the
formality “may I be excused now sir?” Before I knew it everyone had left the table except
Gaard and I. That was uncomfortable.
“I will drive you to school in ten minutes. Make sure you’re ready,” Gaard said without
warmth, glanced at the clock, looked over my clothes and left.
I sat there for a moment in a daze.
Then I got up and rushed off to my room to get dressed.
School. I suddenly felt ill.
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4. Lab Rat
As the car reversed out of the drive I saw Ganymede Heydrich and his oldest sister
Andromeda standing before the upstairs window staring down at me. The expression on her
face was freaked out, as if I were an apparition about to vomit blood. I wondered what her
problem was; why they both hated me? The only thing I could think of was the cross at my
neck. Maybe they really hated Christian’s. Maybe they were frightened of them in the way
ghosts terrified me.
As I watched, Ganymede pulled his sister close to him and patted her face before hugging
her tight. There was something so intimate about the action that I stared hard, unable to
look away.
Neither Gaard or I spoke much during the forty minute or so drive to Oberon Public High.
He put on some classical music and I stared out the tinted windows of the most bizarre car
I’d ever been a passenger in.
It was like something out of James Bond; a wealthy man’s fantasy car.
The exterior was silver glass and smooth as a bullet. Inside the black leather upholstery
was polished to a shine and a luxurious black carpet lined the floors at our feet. A glass roof
allowed one to see the sky and the interior was roomy with the luxurious feeling of a hotel
lounge. In the back, instead of regular car seats, a modular lounge equipped with seat belts
was positioned around a small square coffee table rooted to the floor of the vehicle and a
chandelier dangled from the roof. The chair I sank back into was padded and blissfully
comfortable.
Gaard pressed a button on a remote and a table top slipped out from a partition in the side
of the door. While he typed notes on a small notebook computer and sipped intermittently
from a juice cocktail he’d poured himself from a minibar located along the sides of the
doors, the car drove itself following some kind of pre-programmed GPS system that
showed on a screen in the dash.
Bizarre, but very Gaard Heydrich.
As I didn’t have a school uniform yet, I’d dressed in the best casual clothes I had: my
jeans and a white off the shoulder peasant top. I was almost, but not quite, grateful to be
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going to school. Compared to hanging out with the Heydrich family it felt like something
normal.
Nevertheless, I felt nervous, a feeling that increased in intensity the closer we got to the
high school. I’d been to many different schools in my life but it was the small town ones
that frightened me the most. Small towns were where all the important things in life
happened: marriages, alliances, betrayals, revenge. They were places where everyone knew
everyone else and there was nowhere to hide; where a whole persons reputation could hang
on a shred of gossip or a single mistake. I would have to hide my past well here. One slip
and the gossip about me would rip like a bushfire through a Eucalypt forest. In other words,
I’d be roasted alive.
When we got there, kids in varying forms of the red and grey school attire were unloading
from buses and cars, walking into the school grounds. As Gaard parked the car on the
street, the churning in my stomach intensified.
It was the standard depressingly ugly brick seventies building but in every other respect it
was a real country school with a paddock and farm animals, a vegetable garden and kids
being dropped off in utes and trucks and old battered sedans.
I cowered down in the seat. Gaard’s bizarre futuristic car seemed embarrassingly out of
place. I wondered if there was a bus from Jenolan I could catch instead.
I felt horribly self-conscious as I got out of the car and we walked into the building. My
eyes darted wildly about as I tried to take it all in whilst trying not to look too obviously
lost and conspicuous. It didn’t help matters that I was out of uniform. I felt eyes everywhere
rolling towards me: the new girl.
The cold gnawed at my skin and I shivered in my thin top.
The whole rigmarole of making friends loomed before me like an obstacle course. I’d
never been popular and somehow, though I didn’t understand why, I didn’t make friends
easily. While to others it seemed to come naturally, to me it was like some complicated
puzzle I’d yet to work out. On the surface I looked like anyone else. Like any other
teenager. Two eyes, a mouth, a nose in the right place. Inside was a different story. I faced
my peers knowing I was facing one of the biggest challenges of my life.
I pushed the burgeoning insecurities back inside.
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We walked into the administration block and into the office. I filled out an enrolment
form and chose my subjects from the list. Concentrating on that for a while steadied the
agonising nerves. Briefly.
I chose all the dodgy, non-competitive subjects: less chance of being humiliated in class.
Psychology? That sounded like a bludge. So did Ancient Civilisations. There was an option
not to do maths or physical education. I took it. Another chance to avoid public
humiliation. I wouldn’t knock that back. There was a subject called “Protecting yourself
from spiritual warfare.” I asked the office lady about it.
“I recommend taking that.” She peered at me meaningfully through her steel rimmed
glasses. “Trust me - you’ll need it here. This isn’t your everyday school.”
Gaard sent her a look that could have boiled an egg. I wondered what she meant.
Flustered, she peered at him and dropped her pen.
“What size is she?” she said to Gaard. She was staring at my outfit in a disapproving way.
“She’ll need a uniform. We can order some in for you here.”
Gaard looked me over uncertainly.
“Probably a ten,” the office lady estimated.
I felt too nauseas to answer. Stress always went straight to my gut. Or my lungs.
“But she’s tall.” Her eyes scrutinised me. “How tall are you love?
“Five foot, eight.” My height had always been an issue. Along with everything else.
She discussed the various options for year eleven girls. Apparently there was a choice of a
long skirt or slacks in winter.
Gaard cut her off as she began to discuss the summer options. “We won’t be needing
that,” he said impatiently. “Just the winter uniform.”
I wondered why not. Wasn’t I going to be around in summer or was Gaard just being
economical? My stomach started fluttering. Something I didn’t understand, warned me
something wasn’t right.
The office lady handed me a timetable and a map of the school, pointing out relevant sites
like the toilets and the canteen, while Gaard paid for my fees and uniforms.
“You want to avoid this area here,” she said, pointing to a spot on the map and staring at
me pointedly from behind her glasses. “The trees at the back of the school.”
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“Why?” I said.
She whispered cryptically behind her hand. “Never mind love, it will all make sense in a
few weeks.”
I stared at her.
In the background the school buzzer went off, a sickening sound like a war siren, that had
my nerves fraying, my temples pounding. To me school was a place I had to survive and
like a military zone I was relieved when I returned home each day intact. Careers, learning
– that was all antecedent to the huge social pressures of having to fit in.
“I’ll pick you up at three-thirty,” Gaard said. He slipped a hand over my back but rather
than comforting it felt possessive, like a farmer patting his cow before he let it out to
pasture. “At the front where I parked the car. Don’t be late? Got that?” His tone was
unnecessarily aggressive. “Lateness is a thing I don’t tolerate. I expect you to be punctual at
all times.”
The office lady was watching our interaction, making me self-conscious. Heat spots
erupted on my face. Didn’t she have anything better to do? Obviously not. I felt like some
sideshow in her dreary existence.
“Okay” I said quickly, biting my lip, trying to ignore her. “I’ll be there. See you later
then.”
“Enjoy class,” he said with a cold smile. I watched as he strode off.
After he left, the office lady looked at me with pity in her eyes. “There’s a school
counsellor here if you ever need,” she mumbled, almost apologetically, then seeing my
expression of horror looked away.
I left abruptly.
My first class was Protecting Yourself Against Spiritual Warfare. With the aid of the map
and the office lady’s instructions I found the room but at the sight of all the kids lined
outside chatting in tight social groups I did a u-turn, walked round the building and came
back. When I got back everyone was inside and the door closed.
After a few minutes of building up the courage to go in, I turned the doorknob and walked
in.
The room was full – a popular subject then. A sea of eyes turned to me as I walked
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cautiously towards the teacher’s desk, my mouth dry and my knees suddenly weak.
After I’d seen the female teacher at the front and had my name added to the roll, I stared
into the blur of faces for the vacant seats. There was an empty desk at the back away and I
headed for that like it was a life raft.
Once the heat left my face and my heart stopped thudding, I stared at the faces around
me. Despite the office lady’s strange warning, the other kids looked normal enough. I’d
been to several schools in my life. In every school there were the same types: the academic
ones who sat up the front, the quiet ones who never spoke in class (that was me), the
oddball loners (me again), the popular kids, the sporting heroes, the bullies and the troublemakers and then a miscellaneous bunch of characters who didn’t fit into any particular
category. In general it seemed like attracted like.
I heard a boy mumbling something nearby and looked at the next desk where two boys,
one small and short with sand coloured hair and the other an over-sized giant, slightly
overweight with a mop of untidy dark curly hair, were whispering loudly and peering at
something on the big ones laptop. A porn site. The teacher gave them the evil eye, but that
didn’t stop them for long. The big one’s face was defiant and surly like a dog’s when it’s
been aggravated. There was a tattoo all over his bicep: a man with horns and a beasts head
inside a circle with eight points. Kind of reminded me of Ganymede’s except the unicorn
had been inside a five pointed star. Not to mention the unicorn was a lot less offensive.
No wonder there’d been no-one sitting on the desk next to them. I’d try not to sit here
next time. The trouble-makers usually sat up the back, I suddenly remembered.
I focused on the teacher standing in front of a whiteboard and tried to block out the two
boys. Her eyes sharpened on my face. She had a very serious white face, thin lips, messy
mid-length auburn hair and probing hazel eyes. She suddenly scrawled her name on the
whiteboard. Ms Blair. For my benefit I supposed.
“Okay, for the sake of the new girl up the back,” she said, and people actually turned
around in their desks to stare at me. Yuk! I flushed.
“Can somebody please explain the nature of spiritual warfare to the new person?”
A boy’s hand shot up at the front. “It’s the battle happening in the realm of the spirit.”
“That’s right,” she said, staring at me as she spoke. “And the reality is that each of us is
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part of this battle whether we like it or not. We are being attacked at school, in our homes
and on the streets, anywhere that our souls are.”
Attacked by who, I wondered. The devil?
“What are some of the ways we can protect ourselves and fight back?”
“Prayer,” the same boy volunteered.
“Spiritual armour,” a girl with a soft voice said.
“Words and thoughts,” another girl said. “Knowing the truth.”
“Yes, and guarding that truth as if it were the most precious diamond in the whole world,
one that the Diabolus Templar would steal from us if they could. And, let’s not forget,
banding together to fight the enemy,” Ms Blair said.
I stared at the other pupils, wondering if I was the only one that thought this was a little
weird, but everyone was staring ahead in earnest. What was it about this school. Everyone
here was seriously paranoid
“Now, I’ve heard people in this very school saying that the wearing of symbols doesn’t
mean anything, but symbols are not just pictures. They have meaning and in that sense they
resonate with power. What are some of the evil symbols worn by the Diabolus Templar?”
Who were they talking about?
“The Pentagram,” a boy said in a quiet voice.
“Yes, the most powerful occult symbol,” Ms Blair affirmed. “What else?”
“The Horned man,” a girl on the other side of the room said.
Beside me I saw the boy with the tattoo shift in his chair, then grunt or burp belligerently
– I wasn’t sure.
The teacher was still looking at me and I put my head down and tried to ignore her, trying
to shake off the paranoia she knew something about me and the pentagram wearing
Heydrich’s. I felt very much as I had that day at the breakfast table with Gaard: that the
whole dialogue was for my sake and that I was being told what to do and what to think.
Even worse, now I had two opposing sides vying for control over me.
After that class, was something relatively normal: Psychology. The teacher, Mr Yanovski,
a chatty half bald man, welcomed me to the class and introduced me to everyone. Of course
I went bright red. But after that horrifying beginning the rest of the class passed easily
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enough – I actually found the lesson interesting and Yanovski was energetic and spoke to
the class like we were a bunch of sophisticated adults rather than stupid kids. That was
refreshing.
At one point in the discussion on motivation I looked up to find him staring at me with a
knowing expression. Now that I thought about it, he looked familiar. I cowered in my seat
trying to place his face. Anyone who knew me from the past probably knew things about
me I didn’t want made public. I huddled behind my laptop and tried not to look at him.
At lunchtime I walked towards the canteen. I had my own lunchbox – one of the
Heydrich’s healthful concoctions – but going to the canteen killed some time and made me
look like I had something to do besides standing around by myself.
I glanced at my watch. Oh crap. Exactly thirty-five minutes to fill until the next period. I
didn’t feel hungry. I’d been feeling nauseas for so long an acid path was burning from my
gut to my throat.
I stood in front of the canteen scanning the menu board amongst the buzz of conversation.
There were two long queues of students lined up, several others sitting in groups on the
seats, eating. A few curious eyes flickered my way. I looked at my watch. I stood back
from the other students looking at the menu board and watching the lines advancing. When
I looked at my watch only five more minutes had passed since I’d last looked. Still loads of
lunchtime to endure. This wasn’t going to work.
I left the canteen amidst the stares surrounding me.
I walked as slowly as I could towards the outdoor seats I’d seen grouped on a grassed
area at the side of the building, trying to make the trip out there stretch out as long as
possible.
When I reached the outside door, I stopped and scanned the seats. They were packed with
students. A group of juniors played handball on the concrete, leaping about like
grasshoppers.
Panic stuck through me like a knife twisting through my guts.
Spread out one of the tables sat a group of boys and girls from my year. I remembered
some of the faces from the classes this morning. I could tell by their clothes and the way
they sat there, talking and laughing loudly, staring imperiously over the rest of the students
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like nobility presiding over a gladiatorial game, that these were the ‘cool’ people of the
school.
Two of the girls turned and stared at me. I was still standing there, looking obviously like
I didn’t belong, like someone stuck in quicksand, sinking on the spot.
Oh crap! I couldn’t turn around now. I’d have to walk past them.
Social groups of any kind scared me. As I walked I put my head down and tried to
pretend they weren’t there. I could feel their eyes on me as I passed. Even worse, I could
hear the girls whispering about me.
“That’s the new chick,” I heard one of them say.
“Do you reckon she’s God Squad or Diabolus Templar?”
“Definitely God Squad. Totally!”
“Check out her top. It’s sick!” They started laughing nastily.
My mouth dried and I swallowed, my tongue rubbing against the roof of my mouth like
sandpaper. Self-consciously I pulled at my top slipping it back onto my shoulder, wishing
I’d worn something else; wondering what the acceptable fashions were at this school.
Then something truly awful happened. A ball hit me straight in the guts and as I lurched
forward, winded and surprised, my backpack fell on the ground, splattering the contents all
over the grass.
I saw my lunchbox splatter open, my fruit go rolling away.
Dang it!
As I kneeled, red-faced, and began to gather up my stuff, a wiry wrist held an apple out to
me. I looked up and stared into the face of my rescuer, a thin boy my age. Mild pastel blue
eyes crinkled at the edges looked back at me from a lean healthy face with no other
standout features. His thin, ash brown hair was cut very short so that every bone in his face
stood out, the fringe too straight at the front. A silver chain glittered in the V of his neck.
No pentagrams there. That was a relief. In fact there was a cross on the chain. Very tiny and
fine. Silver. The whole thing about symbols in today’s class came to me.
His eyes crinkled at me. “I think this is yours. Pesky eighth graders. You’ve gotta watch
out for them. They’re lethal.”
I took the apple off him. When he stood up straight he was exactly my height. Very thin.
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But in a healthy way. Like a wiry but well-cared for dog.
“I didn’t want that lunch anyway,” I mumbled back at him. “But thanks.”
“No problem,” he said and whisked away.
When I next looked up he was sitting with the ‘in’ crowd watching me. So he was in our
year then. Something about him, perhaps his slight build and smaller stature, made him
look younger and more boyish than the other boys in our year. A girl with cropped auburn
hair and a heart shaped face sat beside him, watching me with what looked like more than a
passing interest – like I was a possible threat or something. She had the kind of hair that sat
straight, that looked like it had been blow-dried in front of the mirror into a perfect sculpted
shape. Nothing about her was outstanding but nothing was weird either – exactly the kind
of mediocrity I envied and dreamed of. Her face was contented like a well fed cow’s; the
face of someone who was secure in their paddock and belonged. I tried to imagine what it
would be like to be someone like that. A pointless exercise. I’d never know what that felt
like.
The two of them were staring at me as if I were a mirage and I had no doubt they were
wondering about my heritage, where I’d gone to school before and a dozen other things.
The girl leaned toward the boy, smiling and saying something. He was still looking at me,
a little too much, and when she saw that her smile withered slightly. Her eyes turned back
to me and scrutinised me as if she was trying to work something out.
Yeah sure. Stare away. No problem. Anytime. It’s great to be a walking billboard.
I looked away first: I didn’t need the whole form of girls hating me. I guessed she was his
girlfriend. Or a wannabe. Unlike most of the other students they were both tanned and
looked like the athletic type. No matter what school you went to, popularity and athletic
ability seemed to go together – another reason I was doomed to the outer ranks.
I finished picking up my lunch. When I looked up at the boy and the girl, she was sitting
facing him with her back towards me, effectively blocking me out of his view.
I sighed to myself and walked away. I had an idea to get out of the school where no-one
could see me. If I had to suffer; if I had to be miserable, I’d rather not have an audience.
I walked back the way I’d come, taking an indirect route around the back of the building
towards the bushy area at the back of the school. Once I reached the trees, tears were
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burning in my eyes. I rushed forward blinking, forgetting till I was actually there that this
was the ‘no go zone’; not noticing there was someone else there till it was too late. I hadn’t
anticipated someone else might have the same idea as me. Bummer.
A large boy with a mop of dark curly hair was standing beside a tree, carving something
into the trunk with a knife. I recognised him from the morning’s class: the annoying boy
with the freaky tattoo who’d been sitting up the back looking at a porn site. The kind of
person I generally avoided.
I peered at his handiwork on the bark expecting to read some expletative.
The words ‘C. H. and D.O. forever’ were inscribed within a love heart. Somehow, that
surprised me.
He was smoking something with a weedy odour. My nose wrinkled. Pot.
On the ground nearby were several empty beer bottles. Encrusted with dirt, they were
obviously consumed some time ago. I figured this was a regular drinking spot for him then.
I was used to people like him at Wesley Dalmar – a lot of them, when they could afford it,
smoked cigarettes and pot and drank alcohol - so he didn’t frighten me. Not too much
anyway. I wondered if, like those kids, there were family problems.
As I walked by, his face loped towards me and he moved away from the tree and started
following me. When standing up straight he was so much taller than when seated, a
monster of a boy, his torso round and thick but his legs long like a spiders.
“Hey new girl. What’s happening?”
“Not much.” I didn’t look at him, just kept walking, hoping he’d go away. There was noone about and it was kind of creepy having him follow me. The office lady’s warning came
to mind and the back of my neck prickled.
He grunted. “I heard you live with that freaky family that lives out at the caves in that
spooky big old guesthouse? The Hedwicks or the Haysticks?”
How did he know that? Seems like the rumour mill had started.
I scowled. He thought he was being funny.
“The Heydrichs,” I corrected him.
He grunted. “Doh. That’s it - the Heydrichs. I mean they might be a nice freaky family. It
could be fun, right? Are they good to you?” He tried to back track. It was too late.
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“Oh yeah, they tie me to a rack every night and whip me.”
He snorted. “Huh. I like you. You’re funny.”
The feeling wasn’t mutual.
He kept following me. I walked a bit faster. Heard him increase his pace.
“There’s a lot of creepy people up there,” he muttered away. “People who are into
witchcraft and voodoo, human sacrifice and shape changing. Real heavy things.”
It sounded like he was trying to really creep me out. Or maybe I just didn’t like the story.
I walked off trying to put as much distance between him and me as possible.
“See ya,” he called after me.
I turned and scowled before I shot off away into the trees.
“Don’t end up like that other girl did,” he called after me. I was well away from him
when I realised what he’d said. What was he talking about? Or more to the point, who?
When I looked back he was talking to two other boys, a blonde and a brown haired boy,
who’d materialised out of nowhere. Something odd about them made me keep looking.
They looked much older than us: about twenty. The blonde boy was extremely skinny but
muscular and there was something strange about him that made me look a second time,
unable to work it out. Then, I realised. His skin had a greyness about it.
I looked at the other boy. His physique was unusually developed; every muscle defined,
like a top level athlete’s. His skin was more healthy looking but also had an overall grey
tone. Another odd thing – despite the cold both were in short sleeved school shirts.
But there was something more. Studying them, it was clear both boys were attractive, yet
as if something rotten inside detracted from the exterior it was hard to think of them as
beautiful. Their energy was unmistakably heavy and they exuded a darkness I couldn’t
explain but could somehow sense.
Though the two boys seemed to be communicating to the big boy, no-one was actually
talking. Instead, I saw only strange grimaces, tongue and eye rolling, bared teeth, squints
and grotesque facial expressions and heard only hisses and exhaled breaths. The tone and
expression was threatening. I picked up that much. The two strange older boys moved
fluidly as if their feet didn’t touch the ground; as if they were floating or dancing just
slightly above it. I blinked, sure I was imagining that part.
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I stared perhaps too long. In unison the two boys suddenly turned their heads and stared
straight back at me. There was nothing friendly about their stare. They looked at me as if I
had nothing on and for a moment I almost wondered if I did.
I looked away quickly and bolted off into the bush.
I got to Biology twenty minutes late. I’d lost track of the time - the words spoken by the
boy in the bush and the behaviour of his strange older friends - circling in my head
demanding some kind of response from me. Without understanding why, I feared them. I
hoped I wouldn’t see them around again, but already there was the harrowing feeling that I
would.
There was a horrible stench of chloroform and dead meat in the room when I arrived. The
smell took my mind back to that night, the antiseptic smelling scab on my wrist. My
stomach heaved.
I stared into the room.
Groups of students crowded busily around the microscopes on the lab tables. When I
looked to see what the subject matter was my gut lurched.
Oh yuk. Just my luck. The dreaded rat dissection. I stared at the closest table where what
had once been a healthy thriving mouse lay with its stomach slit open.
I shivered with horror. Weirder and more horrible was the fact I was possibly the only
one in the room who saw the unfairness in it. I was the anomaly; the freak, the gulf between
me and the rest of humanity once again too apparent for me to ignore. As I stared across the
room at the other students crowding about the tables I felt a horrible sense of separation
from my own species; a gaping sense of isolation.
I fronted up to the teacher, a frantic, praying mantis like man with rust-brown hair and a
moustache he kept twiddling, who hovered over the students. I waited for a moment when
he wasn’t moving or speaking or glaring at someone. Standing in front of the classroom of
students my face felt like a melon about to burst.
Finally I got his attention.
“Yes,” he said as his eyes snapped on me.
“Um, I’m in your class. I’m new.”
He propped his glasses back over his bulb-like green eyes and stared at me properly this
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time, then took the slip of paper I handed him.
“Class! Class!” he bellowed, staring at the students with pique after his attempt to arrest
their attention failed. Eventually he resorted to thumping his fist on the table, gritting his
teeth with repressed pain as it jarred against the wood.
Suddenly there was silence. All eyes were on me. Inquisitive. I suddenly knew what it
was to be a bug under a microscope.
“We have a new girl.” He looked down at the paper in his hand, reading it. “Ayesha Lees.
We need to make room for her. Who wants to take her?”
I wished he hadn’t phrased it like that. So tactlessly. Science teachers. They weren’t
always so good with human emotions.
I stared across the room wishing I could die. Then the second really embarrassing thing
happened to me that day. It was probably the combination of my nerves, the smells in the
rooms, the dead rats on the tables and the fact I’d forgotten to eat at lunchtime, not to
mention running back to class on an empty stomach. Worst of all was the smell of the dead
rats.
Black spots swarmed before my eyes. My gut heaved. My legs crumpled beneath me.
Darkness swallowed me again.
When I came to I was lying on the ground. My first awareness was the sound of some
boys at the back laughing.
Yeah, real funny.
“Are you all-right?” The teacher was leaning over me tweaking his moustache anxiously.
I could smell his lunch on his breath, a burger and sauce kind of smell. Phenomenal.
“I’m fine,” I said. My voice sounded far away from me rather than in the same room. I
dragged myself up without any help from him. I supposed he was concerned about touching
me, sexual harassment and all that stuff.
“You don’t have diabetes or allergies?” he said.
“Just asthma.” I wasn’t sure if that was an allergy or not.
His eyes widened in horror.
“I don’t have it now,” I hastened to add. I stood straighter, trying to look normal, trying to
fight off the dizzy feeling, the weakness. “No. I’m fine, really.”
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He looked relieved. “Who’d like to volunteer to take Ayesha down to the sick bay?” he
shouted at the class.
Oh God, not again. The offers weren’t exactly coming in thick and fast. That was highly
embarrassing.
Suddenly an arm shot up at the front. “I will,” someone piped up.
I turned to look at the masochist who’d volunteered to take me. I saw a small girl,
strawberry blonde hair curling about an elfish freckled face and a seriously snubbed nose.
As we walked through the corridors of the building, she walked slowly at my side as if I
were a frail ninety year old. Her name was Joss and it turned out she was a real chatterbox,
but she was so sweet I really didn’t mind.
“I really just wanted an excuse to get out of class,” she giggled as we plodded along.
“I’ve got my period and I feel a bit off – you know how you get that tired, crampy feeling and then this boy we were doing the experiment with squished the rat’s intestines up into a
mush – he thought he was being funny,” she laughed - “I just wanted to slap him.” Her
snubbed nose wrinkled up at the end. “I hate boys like that.”
In that instant I decided I liked Joss and we were going to be friends. She was everything
I wasn’t: guileless, chatty, sunny and sweet.
“So, how’s your first day going?” she said, then kept talking before I could reply. Which
was fine by me. I hadn’t really wanted to answer that. “I remember when I first started here.
It was so nerve wracking. It took me ages to make one friend?”
I found that hard to believe.
“You can hang out with me and my friend Trudy at lunch if you want,” she offered.
“Aw, thanks.” I stared at the ground, a bit overwhelmed. She sounded like she really
meant it. Tears welled up in my eyes and I blinked them away.
“Oh cool!” I said. “Um … that would be good.”
She explained to me where her and her friend hung out at lunchtime. While she was
talking I noticed for the first time the tiny cross about her neck. There was a miniature Jesus
hanging to it. So that was the reason for the friendliness then. Christian charity.
“You have to be careful who you hang out with here,” she said.
“You’re not wrong,” I said. I told her about my encounter with the three boys down in the
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bush at the back of the school.
“Oh. Be careful of them.” She sounded a bit alarmed. “The one in our form is Dog.” Her
tone was suddenly scathing and her gnome like nose wrinkled with disdain. “That’s what
everyone calls him, but his real name is David O’Dwyer. He’s one of those boys … you
know, the kind you don’t want to hang out with.” She began whispering loudly behind her
hand despite the fact there was no-one in earshot. “He comes to school stoned almost
everyday and I reckon he’s an alcoholic and drug addict. He lives with his aunt and she has
different blokes come round to her place all the time. I feel sorry kind of for him.”
It seemed everyone knew everyone else at this school. Not to mention their inner family
details. Very uncomfortable.
I wondered how long it would take me to break in. How long it would take for everyone
to find out about me?
I realised then she hadn’t said anything about the other two boys. They were the really
weird ones.
“Who are the boys he was with? They were having this weird conversation – like not
actually talking, but pulling faces and hissing.” I didn’t say anything about floating – that
would just make me sound weird.
Joss stared at me in a freaked out way and seemed to shudder. Her face paled.
“Vexen Depraedor and Braedon Daray. They’re really bad people.” Her tone was
suddenly so low I could barely hear her. “They’re part of a Satanic coven – the Diabolus
Templar. Have you heard of it?”
I shook my head. Actually, I had heard that name this morning in class.
“The back of the school is their hangout and no-one goes there except their friends.
Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere with them. If they offer you a lift or ask you to go
somewhere with them, don’t go and never eat anything they give you.” She was staring
intently at me, trying to stress the point I guessed. “Don’t be anywhere alone with them.
Ever.”
I swallowed. Obviously there was way more to this story.
After that we talked a bit about something less heavy: what classes we were in. We
discovered we were in two others together.
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And then it happened.
“Where were you before you came here?” Joss said, squinting at me.
I gulped. Looked away.
“In the city.” I kept my answer deliberately vague. There was always a part of me I kept
back, in case I was rejected. It wouldn’t hurt so bad the less people knew me. And people
with normal families just didn’t get my family situation or know what to say to me. My life
caused others embarrassment. It caused me embarrassment.
Joss blinked and rubbed her nose, staring ahead as if a little offended. She wasn’t fooled
and knew I was holding back. I felt almost guilty that I hadn’t shown more trust. I ditched
the guilt quickly.
Survival Ayesha. Some things are necessary.
“I live in Albion street,” Joss said. “My family’s massive. I’ve got eleven brothers and
sisters. Do you live in Oberon too?”
“No. I live at Jenolan, near the Caves.”
“Oh wow! All the way up there. Do you ever see ghosts? I’ve heard there’s ghosts up
there. And witches. And ..” She lowered her voice suddenly and her eyes widened.
“There’s a real creepy family that live up there in a guesthouse. If you see it, it’s the one
with the big security gates called Elysium. Apparently that’s a word for a place in the
Greek underworld. My brother’s friend worked there and apparently they’re into blood
sacrifices.” She pulled a freaked out face. “Real evil stuff.”
I froze. I felt all the blood drain from my face. It was the second time today I’d heard this
story.
She blinked uncomfortably into my silence I’d left, sensing something wrong, but not
understanding what. “You don’t know them do you?”
I couldn’t speak, only stare at her in horror. Her eyes scanned my face.
“It’s probably just a story,” she reassured immediately. “I’m sure where you live it’s safe.
Apparently they keep to themselves.”
I was spared from answering by our arrival at the sick bay. Joss knocked at one of three
identical doors in the corridor. After a while a woman came out. The woman peered at me
anxiously and immediately looked at the inside of both my arms. Whatever she saw there
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seemed to reassure her.
“A new pupil then,” she said, more cheerily.
I wondered how she knew that.
Joss explained everything on my behalf.
“Aw. I hope you feel better soon,” Joss cooed, patted my arm, blinked and slipped off.
I left the sick room at twenty past two, before the end of school. The nurse had notified
my guardians of my fainting spell and I’d been given a message from Freyja that Gaard was
coming to pick me up. I was to meet him outside the school at exactly two thirty. Such a
big deal over a sick stomach.
As I passed through the school building on the way to meet Gaard, a group of students
were putting up posters on the noticeboards. The boy who’d helped me pick my stuff up
was amongst them. Our eyes met in recognition and he dangled a flyer in front of me as I
walked past.
“Come along,” he encouraged. He had a nice voice, I decided. Mild yet confident. I
imagined him as the focused, disciplined type who always did their homework.
“Thanks.” I took the flyer, smiling.
After I’d left the building I took a look at what was in my hand. It was an invitation to a
weekly Christian meeting at lunchtime. Better not let Gaard see that. I scanned the flyer
quickly.
“Join the war against the occult and Satan and his followers residing in this very district,”
a bold italic font proclaimed. At the bottom was a quote direct from the bible.
“Let no-one be found among you who sacrifices his son or daughter in the fire, who
practises divination or sorcery, interprets omens, engages in witchcraft or casts spells, or
who is a medium or spiritist or who consults the dead. Anyone who does these things is
detestable to the Lord.” [Deuteronomy 18:10-12]
Definitely better not let Gaard see this. I looked out for a bin as I walked.
I played with the idea of myself going along to the group. Already I had a negative
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picture in my mind: lots of girls and boys from good Christian families. Try as I might I
couldn’t see myself in that picture. But something even worse gripped my imagination.
There seemed to be a lot of Christian kids at this school – already I’d met two. I was tainted
by my association with the enemy; by the fact I lived with a family involved in witchcraft,
perhaps the very people that were the target of this campaign. If people knew about that ….
I could just imagine …. I’d be a total social pariah.
Then again, it might be to my benefit to go and learn whatever I could about the
Heydrichs from their enemies.
I folded the flyer and put it in the pocket of my backpack. Just in case I got the balls to
go. The stubborn obstinate part of me resisted the idea of giving in too easily. If I did go
Joss might come and the boy who’d given me the flyer would at least talk to me.
Like a windblown dandelion seed, I was grasping at anything.
5 – Supernatural beings
When the car rolled into the drive, I felt the darkness that seemed to hang about the place
close over me.
As I trudged after Gaard to the house, I saw the Heydrich children walking in a group
through the garden. As usual they were all together, arm in arm, all over each other. As
thick as a pack of wolves. Or a coven of witches. All their eyes sidled to me but they didn’t
say anything. ‘Hello’ would have been adequate, but obviously was too much for them to
bother with. I didn’t say anything to them, certain they’d freak if I did.
Ganymede’s eyes penetrated mine as he passed me, lingering longer than was necessary.
Trying to work me out.
I shivered.
Don’t strain your brain beautiful. You won’t work me out.
I looked away quickly. But not before I’d noticed how strangely they were all walking.
As if they were floating rather than treading on the ground. That made me think of the two
boys Joss said were involved in a Satanic group – the Diabolus Templar - and I wondered,
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were the Heydrich kids part of the same group?
While Gaard unlocked the front door I turned my head back to look after them - but
they’d already gone. Disappeared into thin air. Far too quickly. Soundlessly.
Gaard went upstairs to work and I went to my room, unsure how I was going to spend the
rest of the day. On the way I tripped on the rug. I stared back at it resentfully, sure this time
the edge had bunched up as I’d approached. My spine prickled. Next time I wouldn’t let it
get me.
I remembered what Robert Melrose had said about needing help in the kitchen. All of a
sudden that proposition was looking appealing. Better than hanging about in my room
waiting for shadow man to come bite me.
First I went to my room to dump my backpack and laptop.
I stared about the room and a memory filtered up from some dark recess of my brain. The
sound of a violent argument in a strange babble and a scuffle outside the door of my room,
waking me while I slept in my bed.
What had that been?
By daylight the whole macabre experience of being absent from my life for weeks didn’t
seem real, more like something I’d dreamed. Or hoped I’d dreamed. I quickly opened my
diary and made sure I noted the date. I scrawled down a summary of the assignments I’d
been given and made a quick entry about the day to ensure I wouldn’t forget which day was
which. The whole disorienting feeling of being caught between realities had my head
spinning again.
On the walk through the house towards the kitchen I saw no sign of any of the
Heydrich’s. I tried to shake off the feeling the whole family were avoiding me. Only
several tourists loitered in the house, hovering about the windows staring curiously at the
scenery of mountains outside, almost as if like me, they were in awe of the place.
On the way past I dropped into the Heydrich’s massive library to see if they had any
books that might help me with my assignments. At the sight of what was in there I almost
walked straight out again. I wanted to but that would have been too obvious.
The Heydrich children were grouped on one of the lounges. Ganymede sat in their midst,
with his face bent into his older sister’s breast. She was comforting him, stroking his head
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and whispering something in his ear. His dark haired brother had him clenched in a bear
hug from the other side and the little girl Persephone sat in his lap cocooned in his arms.
The middle brother, Achilles, the intellectually impaired one, hovered above them on the
other side of the lounge, moaning softly, rocking to and fro. Demeter, the sweet, honeyhaired middle sister knelt at his feet, stroking his knees and the dark jade eyed boy stood by
her side watching with sobre eyes, his arms folded.
“No more tears beloved. They’ve gone to the Summerland now,” I heard Demeter say
softly to Ganymede.
I wondered what she was talking about; what was going on; what was wrong with him.
I couldn’t help staring at the ensemble of beauty they formed. It was like one of those
paintings of angels comforting their fallen brother. Like a vision of heaven; one I would
never be a part of.
I blushed at the sight of such an open demonstration of love and went to the bookcase,
pretending to be vitally interested in whatever was in there, then grabbing the first two
books my hand fumbled on, I stalked out again.
Just as I walked past them, they all stared at me. That was a horrible moment.
Ganymede lifted his head and looked at me. There were two horrible bruises on his face –
at his cheek and forehead. His face was instantly wary. His lips tightened and his eyes
burned into me with some emotion: pity or trepidation.
I almost fell over my own feet in my haste to be out of there. As I left the room, Gaard
stormed past me and I heard him disciplining someone in a sharp tone.
I hurried off.
It was unbearable not to know what was going on. Unbearable not to know what was
wrong with Ganymede Heydrich. Unbearable – the way he had looked at me. Why?
I knew one thing: they loved each other as much as they hated me. For the umpteenth
time since I’d come here I rushed off in tears. I kept seeing the image of the Heydrich
children collected around their brother and I couldn’t stop thinking about the beautiful
forlorn boy in their midst.
I wondered about them, but especially about him. When I thought about Ganymede he
was always courteous and pleasant to everyone else and except for his father, appeared to
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love and be loved by his family.
He seemed to have singled me out as the one exception. Why?
I found Robert dashing about setting out cutlery in the guest dining room, a formal room
with eggshell blue walls and identical sets of tables draped in pristine white linen.
“Hello my dear. You should be happy about dinner tonight – Gaard’s allowed dessert to
celebrate your arrival. How was breakfast this morning?” he said drily.
“Healthy,” I returned blackly. Seeing as I didn’t know how close he was to Gaard, I
wasn’t sure how much detail I wanted to go into. “And big,” I added and grimaced.
“You can always get some cereal in the kitchen if you ever want.” He said the words
casually without batting an eyelid. “So, let me guess: you’ve decided to take up my offer
then?” He raised one eyebrow at me.
“Yeah.” I bit my lip apprehensively, trailing behind him as he walked back to the kitchen.
I hoped the offer was still open.
“Good good. I was hoping you might.” He eyeballed the pile of dirty dishes submerging
the sink. “I really need someone for those. I’ll have Gaard put you on the payroll. You’ll
just need to get a tax file number. Want to start this weekend then?”
“Yeah, sure,” I agreed. “That would be great.”
There was a short, stubby bodied male chef scraping at the grill with a blackened spatula,
his back to me.
“Oh,” Robert said, following the line of my gaze. “Ayesha, this is Toby. He started with
us today.”
The chef turned around, still brandishing the spatula in his hand. He had piggy blue eyes,
pale, unhealthy looking skin and a crew cut of pale ginger stubble.
“Hi there,” he said with a Cockney accent and a larrikin grin. “Grand to meet yer. So
you’re gonna help out, are yer?” he said conversationally as he resumed his scraping. “Yer
live round here?”
I suddenly noticed Robert hovering like a protective chaperone. “Ayesha is Gaard’s
adopted foster daughter. We’ll only have the pleasure of her company on the weekends as
she’ll be at school most of the time.” His emphasis on the word school made me blush
hotly. I suddenly felt like a pre-schooler in nappies.
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“Might see yer round then,” Toby said, grinning, too guileless to pick up on Robert’s
implied innuendo. “I’m living in a room out back. Mr Heydrich’s kindly renting it to me
until I find me own drum and base.”
“Sorry? You play music?”
“You Aussies not heard of that here. Drum and base. Place. Me own place? Get it?”
Finally getting it, I smiled and nodded cautiously, feeling the weight of Robert’s eyes
upon us. The idea that there were other normal people round here that I could talk to was
reassuring.
Outside, there was a repititious thudding, followed by a splintering sound. Everyone
looked towards the window.
“Poor bastard,” Toby said, shaking his head. “Bit of a severe punishment, don’t you think
Governor? What’s your valuable opinion from the eyes of a man who’s seen a bit of the
world? I mean, you know these people better than me.”
I looked out the window and saw Ganymede Heydrich chopping wood. His beautiful
clothes and hair were dripping with water and he was shivering profusely in the wind.
Against the white of his skin, the bruises on his face stood out.
No!
The thought of injury or violence to that face was appalling.
What had happened to him?
“My dear boy, there’s ways of knowing people and ways of knowing them and although I
have been in the employ of Gaard Heydrich for seven years now, in three different
countries, I don’t profess to understand him.” Robert peered past his eyebrows at the ceiling
as if it might be listening, managing to manoeuvre the conversation in a way that still had
me guessing which side of the fence he was on.
Toby pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Fair enough. I suppose what he did would have really
pissed his old man off.”
“Well, yes,” Robert said and spluttered. “Probably damn well pissed him off. The winter
supply of organic meat has pretty much gone walkabout.”
“What do you think he did with the animals?”
“Who knows dear boy. Who knows.”
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“Weird family … the father’s a scientist who experiments on animals and breeds his own
meat and the son is the opposite – an animal loving vegan. Go figure that out.”
“Life often works out that way,” Robert said as if that explained everything.
I stared at Ganymede Heydrich shivering in the cold and wondered what he’d done.
Robert glared ominously at the wall clock and slapped his palms together, addressing
Toby. “One thing you will learn quickly about Gaard Heydrich my dear boy: he is very
thingy about a punctual dinner. Better get cracking, that’s the chap. Not to mention the
Swedish group will be here at six. Now, Ayesha, could you be a doll and take that bucket of
scraps out to the compost on your way out.”
I guessed that was my cue to leave. I grabbed the bucket of overflowing vegetable refuse
and took off.
I stumbled outside into the shock of glaring white daylight and the icy slap of a violent,
blustering wind. The sun striking my face felt strange and as I stood there staring at it,
trying to shield myself from the wind with my hand, I realised I hadn’t seen daylight for
some time.
My heart whacked back and forth in my chest as I eyed the chopping block tentatively,
but Ganymede Heydrich wasn’t there anymore. I breathed out in relief.
On my right I could see the paddock enclosed by a wall of bush. I headed over towards a
wooden framework of three open aisles that looked like the compost.
Off to one side of the paddock was a mixed crowd of odd looking goats, sheep, pigs and
cows. At first I couldn’t work out what was wrong with them; only that they didn’t look
right. There was a pig so large it looked more like a massive walking barrel with a tiny
head and tottering little feet barely supporting its weight; a woolly cow that looked like a
cross between a sheep and a cow and had far too many udders and a very weird goat with
stripes and a strange, segmented head. Um … two heads.
Horrified, I stared at it, then disgusted, I kept walking.
Gaard’s experiments, I hypothesised.
Too late I saw a person amongst the freaky animals, the gold wavy hair beaten back and
forth by the wind and the lean, perfectly proportioned body of the beautiful oldest boy,
dressed creatively in jeans, a flamboyant knee length embroidered tunic, silk shirt, and a
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dark overcoat with coloured arm bands and ribbons.
Ganymede Heydrich. My heart thudded. Not him.
I stood frozen like a stunned rabbit caught in an open field. I didn’t want to walk past
him, but to get to the compost I’d have to. Unsure what to do, I didn’t do anything. Then,
realising what a moron I probably looked like, I continued walking, more slowly and stiffly
than before.
For a second our eyes locked as we passed each other. He held his head high and proud,
but his arms were huddled around his shivering chest in a miserable defence against the
cold. He didn’t look very happy. It hadn’t occurred to me that anyone else here might have
problems. I thought I had a monopoly on unhappiness.
There was a horrible tension between us that I didn’t understand. Despite myself, pity
welled up. I stared at the bruises on his face. Had he been in a fight?
“Hi,” I mumbled stupidly. “You all-right?” Then I sucked my cheeks in and bit on my
tongue at how moronic I sounded.
His eyes bore into me, full of reproach and a little fear, as if I’d done him some personal
wrong. He gave me an incredulous look as if the everyday greeting was totally illogical and
ridiculous rather than something normal.
“I’m fine. You?” His manner was extremely short, almost hostile. He scowled at me and
stormed past not even bothering to wait for a reply. He was unbelievably rude.
I was left there with my mouth open, staring after him, my cheeks flaming like they’d
been slapped.
Disoriented by the whole experience I totally forgot what I’d come out here for in the first
place. Shaking, I walked back toward the kitchen in a daze forgetting to bring the compost
bucket back with me. Annoyingly, tears pricked in my eyes. I folded my arms about my
chest for support and before I could stop it, a single sob escaped. Totally against my will,
the tears rained down.
“Hooroo,” someone called out, just as I reached the door. The voice was irritatingly
cheery.
In alarm, I swivelled my head to look across the garden in the direction of the voice and
saw the gardener I’d spied from the window this morning. His dirt-stained, sun-weathered
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face was somehow innocent, his knotted smile kind and his brown eyes twinkly, giving him
an ageless look like a garden gnome. He could have been twenty or thirty with one of those
timeless faces that somehow always look the same. A bush of frizzy brown hair was swept
untidily back into a band at the back of his head, a leaf snagged in it. What a relief.
Someone normal looking; someone plainer and daggier than me. But, how embarrassing!
He’d probably seen me crying. That made me cringe. Crap. I’d rather run a marathon than
let anyone see me cry. And I loathed exercise. I looked down at the ground hoping he’d go
away but when I looked up again he was still staring at me.
He propped one arm to rest over the shovel. “Enjoying the sunshine, are we?” he said
cheerily in an Irish brogue that somehow reminded me of a leprechaun.
“You mean the wind.” I angled my face away from him.
“Oh, it’s not that bad, aye. Just hold onto the ground or you’ll get blown to China.” There
was a teasing smirk on his face, a twinkle in his brown eyes. Despite myself, I laughed
back.
I turned and started walking off.
“Do you like parsley?” he yelled out above the wind.
I had to think about that. “Sure,” I hollered back.
He trudged towards me with a bouquet of herbs in his brown weather worn hands.
“Thanks,” I said, bundling them in my arms and wondering what I was going to do with
them.
“You’re welcome. Here. Have a pansy.” When I looked back at him, he was holding out a
velvety violet flower.
Seeing there was nothing else I could do, I took it, keeping my eyes lowered.
“If you look at its face you’ll see a leprechaun smiling back at you,” he said, smiling, his
cheeks dimpling like someone had pressed their finger into a strudel and left an imprint
either side. “True. Cross my heart. I’m Curdie by the way. If you ever want a chat, I’m here
in the garden.” He leant back on his spade and stared at me with the sweetest of smiles.
Kindness was only making everything worse; and as if my emotions were contrary things
more tears sprouted in my eyes. I had to get away from him before I turned into a
blubbering freak.
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I took the herbs in to Robert Melrose.
“The gardener picked these.” I dumped the herbs on the bench. My mind was still on the
encounter with Ganymede Heydrich; stewing over it.
“Joseph’s a nice chap isn’t he?” Robert said.
“Yeah,” I said absently. It was so unjust how Ganymede Heydrich had treated me. What
had I done to deserve such dislike?
I suddenly realised what Robert had said. “Joseph? Isn’t his name Curdie?”
“No. Joseph’s our gardener. Old man in his seventies. Sprite as a fiddle and been with us
for years. Didn’t know he was in today ...” At my confused expression he stopped. “He
normally comes on the weekends.”
“That wasn’t who I was speaking to. It was a younger guy. With an Irish accent. His
name’s Curdie.”
Robert”s bland features rearranged themselves into a puzzled expression. “Don’t know
who that is. Maybe it was one of the maintenance men. They can be rather intrusive at
times.” He glared out the window with an irritated air.
“No. He definitely said he was the gardener,” I insisted. I studied the herbs on the bench
broodily. I didn’t really care who he was. I was still too upset and offended about how I’d
been treated by Ganymede Heydrich to think about anything else.
Robert looked perplexed. “Well, perhaps there’s a new staff member I don’t know about.
I’d better go and introduce myself to this mystery gardener.” He wiped his big white hands
on a cloth and hurried out. I followed after him, suddenly recalling I’d left the compost
bucket outside. There was no sign of Curdie and when I bumped into Robert on the way
back, he looked perplexed and mystified.
“No sign of the mystery gardener,” he said and shrugged. I didn’t care. Feeling suddenly
feeling faint, I walked back to my room to get ready for dinner.
When I opened the door to my room what I saw there hit me like a blow.
I stared into the room in shock.
Everything had been trashed. My books and clothes lay all over the floor. The chairs had
been overturned, the bedding twisted all over the place and even the contents of my
backpack were strewn all over the carpet. I picked Pog up from the floor and stared into his
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blank beady eyes.
If only you could talk.
Then I saw what was on the wall!
Instinctively, I backed up towards the door. I stared in shock at the big jagged red words
scrawled in what I assumed was lipstick.
Go Away!!!!! Go back to where you came from before it’s too late!
I grasped the wall to hold myself up. Then anger surged through me.
I was outraged that they could actually do something like this. It was more than obvious
to me who was behind this. I gritted my teeth and thought murderously about telling Freyja
or Gaard on them.
In the next instant I knew that wasn’t a possibility: it would only inflame them further,
cause them to hate me even more than they already did.
I gritted my teeth.
Something in me, the stubborn contrary part I’d inherited from my father, refused to be
cowed by them. Another more vulnerable part of me felt fragile and alone, like I could
easily break piece by piece, till I was a shattered heap on the floor.
The tears came as I knelt down to clean up the mess. A delayed reaction.
It was so unfair.
Why did they hate me so much? They didn’t even know me?
Suddenly, I had to get out of there.
I hurriedly changed my school uniform for jeans, a jacket and running shoes and left the
room. I was shaking the whole time.
Once outside, I realised I didn’t have a key to get back into the house. Maybe, I wouldn’t
come back. I’d run away.
As I fled back through the garden, the tears streaming out with too much force for me to
hold them back, I saw the gardener pressing bulbs into the trench he’d been digging.
No. Not him again. Always popping up at the worst time.
I fled down the drive until I reached the gates then after one look back to make sure no-
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one was following me I took off down the road.
I passed through the gates staring at the two massive statues that formed the posts either
side. Both statues were identical: a lion’s head bourne on a goat’s body with a serpents tail.
The emerald eyes of the statues shone, seeming to watch me, and some inner sense told me
that surveillance camera’s were installed in them.
I followed the road downhill at a fiery pace. Occasionally a car passed, but overall there
was nothing but my own mind to disturb the solitude of the road. My thoughts circled with
nowhere to go. I hoped by the end of the walk I would have worked out what to do.
Somehow, I found myself at the caves.
I shuddered involuntarily as I looked up at the vertical rock walls arching above me.
There was a brooding silence about the caves and the surrounding bush that unnerved me. It
was as if I could feel the compression of time and energies harking back to a more
mysterious past laden with secrets and the supernatural. Staring into the closest black
cavern, it was suddenly easy to believe the stories circulating at school about rampant
witchcraft up here. Robert’s ghost stories also loomed horribly in my mind.
Thanks Robert.
I marched quickly through the cave opening to the light at the other end.
Hurrying away from the intense vibe of the cave I made my way toward the blue lagoon.
Reading some of the tourist boards, I learned the lagoon was called the Blue Pool and was
part of a small river system that journeyed underground the caves, acquiring its unusual
colour from the action of acids leeching limestone deposits from the rocks.
The tourists seemed to have evacuated the area. Only a lone backpacker couple milled
about, holding hands and taking pictures of the unusual coloured aqua pool. Hoping to
avoid them and their happiness, I followed the path past the lagoon, following the river into
the bush. It was darker here, as if the sun didn’t like the place. When I looked back I could
see it peering at an angle past the dark boughs, but not venturing in. A feeling came over
me that I shouldn’t continue on. At the same time I felt drawn to something I couldn’t
define. A cloud passed over the sun, already weak and fading with the imminence of
evening, and I shivered with what could have been a sense of premonition or alternatively
paranoia.
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Branches and tangling vines hung over the path. Spindly Eucalypts and sharp leaved
native bushes - the dominant vegetation – and towering conifers, swamped the path in a
dark gloom. The gloom wasn’t doing wonders for my mood of paranoia. Though not
malevolent, there was a definite unfriendliness about the bush that had my skin prickling.
After walking fifteen minutes or more I hadn’t passed anyone except a male backpacker
turning hurriedly back and I’d begun to experience a discomforting sensation that someone
was watching me. It was a feeling that was hard to define; a feeling that there was someone
else here besides me; someone I couldn’t see, but who could see me. I wondered if spirits
hung about the land. I’d heard the Aborigines believed in something like that. I looked up at
the wall of bush on my right and down at the thin streak of river meandering below on my
left but I couldn’t see anything or anyone. There was an intensity about the bush that
confused my mind and the further I walked the more it seemed to grow. Rather than the
peace and tranquility I’d been hoping to find, I felt increasingly unsettled.
I continued on, not seeing anyone on this more lonely stretch of the track. The constant
sound of the river, occasionally prattling over rocks, or roaring where the water
congregated in thrashing pools, seemed to block out every other sound. After a while the
effect of the sound was hypnotic, with an almost opoid-like effect on my brain. I realised
I’d been walking for a long time in a kind of relaxed trance.
I stopped and found a grassy spot down by the river, lay on the grass and closed my eyes.
The pain in my heart ached as if the weight of a stone slab sat upon it. I tried to block out
the pain and every thought and every feeling with a hymn my great gran used to sing me in
a time before I was cast out into the storm my life became.
Somehow I must have fallen asleep. As my eyes flickered into focus I thought I’d heard
voices, laughter and felt the shadows of something large overhead. A dream, I told myself.
There it was again.
I jacknifed up immediately into a sitting position, promptly alert and vigilant.
It was looking a lot darker, the bush almost malevolent. The sun glanced at me from
behind the trees, at a lower angle than before. I checked my watch. It was just after five, the
light dying earlier than I would have expected. I was going to miss dinner then. I wondered
how that would go down with Gaard.
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As I started to walk away I had the sudden disconcerting feeling that someone or
something was watching me. Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to come this far. So far
from other people. I looked up and behind me, then around at the trees. I couldn’t see
anything.
Almost out of nowhere a clammy mist came drifting in, white and cold, and filled the
valley. That was odd. I tramped blindly on with outstretched arms. Soon the fog was so
murky I was totally disoriented, my sense of direction obliterated. I imagined I was inside
some kind of cloud. My feet brushed against the light green weeds that seemed to be
everywhere here and I felt a vicious stinging sensation on my ankle followed by acute
itchiness.
Oh crap. Stinging nettle.
I backtracked back the way I’d come, away from the nettle, and stood waiting for the mist
to clear.
As it slowly lifted and passed on its way, like some super-sized wraith, I found myself
inside a copse of conifers. It was dim and quiet, the conifers providing a natural sound
barrier against the acoustics of the river. A concentric ring had been formed on the grass
within the copse, with large chunks of quartz, perfectly placed, glinting in the last oblique
rays of the sun. A large flat stone propped on top of two others in the centre of the circle
made what could have been an altar. All over the grass within I saw dark rose petals and
salt.
My skin prickled.
A child’s game? Or something more sinister? Like witchcraft.
Footsteps and voices echoed outside the copse. Suddenly the Heydrich children came into
view. I ducked quickly behind a tree, my heart jerking wildly in my chest.
What were they doing here?
It seemed a small eternity that I waited, hearing nothing but their voices over the pumping
of my heart. After a long silence, I dared to peek around the edge of the tree.
They were seated within the circle, either kneeling or cross-legged, holding hands. As
usual they were dressed impeccably. My eyes sought and paused over Ganymede and my
heart thumped in a sickening wave.
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Too good looking to be real.
He’d changed his wet clothes. Now dressed in an embroidered designer coat of smoke
blue, stylish boots and navy cords, he was sitting beside Andromeda the oldest girl, leaning
towards her, his head bent so close to hers they touched. Ebony against gold. My cheeks
felt suddenly hot as I wondered about their special closeness. Before they looked my way I
withdrew back behind the tree.
“I think someone should tell her the truth,” Andromeda said. Her comment seemed
antecedent to a prior conversation and was followed by murmurs of dissent.
Ganymede’s golden voice split through them. “You’re right Andra. As always,” he added
and laughed.
“If no-one will do it, I will,” Andromeda said firmly. Her voice, as pure and precise as the
notes of a harp was always recognisable.
My throat tightened. Were they talking about me again? Or someone else?
“Let’s vote on it.” It was the silk voice that belonged to the sarcastic goth wizard boy,
Hermes. “Then we can spin the crystal to see who has the unpleasant chore of telling the
little lamb its unfortunate fate.”
Someone sighed. “Too late, you old fart. Time to get back.” The remark was made by the
muscular, dark-haired boy with the deep voice - Perseus, I thought - and was immediately
followed by the rustle of movement.
I froze and edged back behind the tree; trying to guess from the sounds which direction
they were going to move in.
Over the dark treetops I could see the sky deepening into a carmine flush.
Sunset.
Followed by nightfall! Darkness!
Darkness – a thing I hated and feared almost as much as ghosts!
I swallowed, suddenly remembering Gaard’s rule about being home before dusk. For the
first time I wondered if there was a more disturbing reason to that than I’d first thought.
What would happen when I got home after dusk? There now didn’t seem any other option
but to go home – I didn’t exactly want to hang out here all night. I looked back at the track
wondering how I could get back there without the Heydrich kids seeing me.
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A flapping sound at the tree canopy made me look up. Above me the treetops shook, the
wind suddenly picking up. Thunder groaned and the air vibrated with electricity. The storm
had come violently out of nowhere.
Then, above me somewhere at the tree canopy, I heard a voice speak and my scalp
crinkled. Lightning arced across the sky. The air snapped and bristled.
“Now!” a voice commanded. “Raise the cone of power!”
My whole neck was prickling as I angled my face upward. Almost reluctantly.
Then I saw them!
Oh MY GOD!
They were levitating slowly, floating in the air, hovering close to the trees, their bodies
forming a circle, palms extended towards the dark green boughs of the pines, eyes closed
and faces focused, chanting softly, their lips moving. Their feet dangled several metres
from the ground. It was inconceivable. I looked for evidence of wiring, harnesses or other
props, but couldn’t see anything – although my mind was convinced they were there
somewhere.
As I backed up, keeping my eyes fixed on them, I trod on a fallen branch, stumbling back
and cracking off a smaller offshoot. The eyes of Perseus (the dark, muscular brother)
snapped open and pierced me in surprise and at once he dropped a metre, his legs
floundering in the air.
I ran without looking back. Oblivious to the branches and nettles that scraped and clawed
at me.
What were they?
Ideas of demons and other dark beings out of literature invaded my mind. I tried to tell
myself such things didn’t exist. But the irrational, emotional side of me was too strong.
And I had no other explanation for how they did that.
Settling into a fast jog along the track I watched the last scrap of light diminishing. A
blaring frog chorus accompanied the falling darkness, pounding in my ears. The wind
pushed like cold creepy hands at my back and suddenly hard drops of rain begin to splatter
down.
Something swooped in the tree canopy behind me. In response my heart fluttered and
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sweat broke out on my temple. Whatever was up there it was no possum.
It sounded hefty.
Louder this time.
Closer.
Following me.
More than one creature. Like a whole group. A pack?
Or a coven of witches? The Heydrich children.
The back of my neck was prickling like crazy; my heart jumping at every sound. Were
they hunting me? Not waiting to find out, I bolted down the track.
Finally I made it back to the caves. There was a bit of lighting here. Not much. But, noone about.
I gagged as I tried to catch my breath, my throat so parched it was like breathing in
cement. I was wheezing too. Asthma. And, my ventolin was back at home. Oh great!
I ran wheezing down the road that continued through the cave - there was no other way
back to Elysium. As I ran stumbling through the dark abyss of the cave I tried not to look
too deep into the blackness. Robert’s stories of ghosts tapping people on the shoulder
surfaced.
That just made me run harder.
Thanks Robert.
Just when I thought I could bear it no more, I reached the other side of the cave.
Stopping to breath, I looked back. That was a mistake.
They were coming after me. Floating instead of walking. Their feet dangling, their arms
outstretched. In the dark I couldn’t make out any features clearly but there was a smaller
figure amongst them – Persephone, the little girl? One of the boys also stood out because
wherever his skin surfaced from the clothes it emitted a soft phosphorescent glow, slightly
blue. In the sky behind the wall of rock a three quarter moon glowed and bats swirled in a
frenzied mass. I almost laughed. It was too much like a B grade horror movie.
This is a dream. This is a dream.
Paralysed with shock I stood rooted to the spot. My throat tightened and I could feel my
heart throb like some tiny petrified animal.
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One of them, the one with the blue fluoro skin, separated from the rest and floated
forward towards me. On his shoulder, a bat perched, rustling tiny wings too big for its
oversized body.
That spurred me into action. I didn’t wait to see what he wanted. I ran.
I looked back once and saw one thing. He had a strikingly beautiful face; pale, glowing,
ice-blue skin, eyes like cold starlight. The face of a fallen angel who’d crossed over to the
dark side.
Ganymede Heydrich.
The boy I’d pathetically imagined I was in love with. Under another circumstance,
another lifetime ago, it had been a face to fall in love with. Instead, now, it filled me with
horror.
I ran hard away from him with no idea in what direction I was going. If I could just get
back to the house I’d wake up in my bed and find this was just a nightmare. I’d heard
someone say that if you died in a dream, you also died in real life. All I had to do was stay
alive long enough to wake up.
Black creaking bush loomed either side of the road. I ran into it. A clearing between the
walls of trees opened up suddenly to reveal the sky freckled with faint stars. I stumbled
through.
Somehow, I misjudged my footing.
I felt my body go flying through the darkness. Through air.
Where was the ground? Where were the trees? I must have literally walked off the edge
of a cliff. My arms flailed as desperately I tried to find contact with something other than
air. My body whacked against what must have been a projection of branch or rock but felt
like concrete, and I started rolling over lumps and bumps of rock so hard and jagged it felt
like I was being pulverised by a mincer. The pain was excruciating. That part just had to be
real. Pain this bad couldn’t be imagined. It was so bad that inconceivably, I screamed out to
the thing, the demon that was pursuing me, to help me.
As I rolled down to my death my rational mind was still with me, and told me at least it
would be a quick death and the pain and loneliness that was my life would soon be over.
Still I wasn’t expecting to die so young and I wasn’t ready to die when there was still a
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chance I could make something of my life. My hands tried desperately to grasp something
to slow the fall but I was rolling too fast and the slope was too sheer. Then my right hand
hit something and my wrist bent backward. I screamed with agony.
It will all be over soon.
I squeezed my eyes shut tight and braced myself for the pain of hitting the bottom.
It was a shock when instead of death I felt my whole body jerk upward, the wind ripped
from my lungs, as something grabbed me from above. The hands around my body lunged
into my flesh and tightened like talons. My legs dangled momentarily, flailing at the stony
slope.
As I dangled I could see an abyss of darkness yawning below me. I was literally hanging
at the edge of a cliff.
Then, the grip of the demon (for want of a better word) began to slip.
I looked down. This was it.
The choice was all too apparent. Death or the possibility of life in hell.
I held on. Screaming.
“Hold on.” The demon’s voice was strained with the effort of holding me, desperate, yet
sublime like an angel’s. The simple words were the most merciful thing I’d ever heard. His
arms, unexpectedly warm and reassuring, tightened around me, locking around my waist
and shoulders, firmer but more gentle now.
The silent dark land fell away. Treetops swayed below. A kaleidoscope of stars whirled
overhead. A breeze fanned against my skin.
We flew. Faster and faster. The world a blur.
I guessed that meant I was on the way to hell.
My lungs tightened. I could hardly breathe. Where was the air? I fought to get free of the
restraining arms around my chest that only seemed to squeeze my lungs even harder. In
turn, the creature gripped me tighter.
Air! Air! I need AIR!
Then I sank down into oblivion, into a velvety darkness so deep no-one could find me.
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Journal.docx
Moon phase – waxing gibbous
Target this week:
Pig farms – following the video A.G. sent me of pigs squealing in fear and pain as
electrocution is applied to their heads (the typical means of execution for what is to become
our Pork meals). It took seven agonising goes for one particular screaming, terror struck pig
to die – one of the most traumatic things I’ve had to watch and made me vomit after – yet
this is probably a daily occurrence. The footage of the pigs in their tiny stalls unable to turn
around or scratch themselves was also depressing even though I’ve seen this stuff so many
times before – it never gets any easier to take. Heart-breaking when this animal is
considered one of the most intelligent mammals – smarter than a dog, with an intelligence
superior to a three year old child. And, whoever would sanction that kind of treatment for a
child but the most brutal, inhumane mind. Yet, for another species that cannot write or
speak our language or campaign for its rights, earn money or buy goods, this treatment is
sanctioned by our atrociously ugly dog eat dog world [or more correctly – ‘human eat
animal’ world].
Why can’t they see: when we bleed, when we cry, it feels the same.
[Half an hour off in the home gym to work off my aggravation: back again.]
Also this week: Compiling a list of all puppy farms and breeders in the state with the
valuable help of R. B. The majority of pups end up at the pound or in pet shops where in
turn the end result is often to be put down or even handed over to science for
experimentation via the pound. Also planning an expose of the deplorable side effect of
breeding including lowered life expectancy, compressed brains in skulls that don’t fit, fits,
hip problems and a myriad of other health problems that end up befalling these innocent
beings.
The animals are considered disposable and profits more important. It’s all so depressing.
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Have to keep fighting. Never give up till there is CHANGE and LIBERATION for these
weaker, less powerful beings who share our planet and trust in us.
Sometimes I feel my life is so inconsequential – flashing before my eyes – a speck of dust
swept away in a sandstorm - and I grasp on trying to find the meaning, trying not to let go.
Then I wonder: What lies on the other side. Will it be a kinder place than this world?
Another week on the pill-free regime. I wake again to the nightmare: the uncontrollable
urges, the torment of not knowing what I can and can’t control, what I might be capable of.
There is still the problem of the girl – she who walks alone, as I’ve come to think of her.
Even after concussion, a badly broken wrist, a battered and bruised body and a life
threatening asthma attack she is still with us.
Though I try I can’t get it right.
[From the computer Journal of Ganymede Heydrich]
6- Abyss
I was in a starlit hall of stone, drowsy, unable to move, my arms and legs pinioned
somehow. When I realised why, my heart quailed within me. What held me were the cords
of a gigantic web reaching to the ceiling. Four enormous white spiders with the faces of
Gaard, his sister and elderly parents, clung to the webbing, gorging on my wrist, slowly
sucking away at my blood and my life sustenance. I screamed but no-one came to rescue
me. Outside, people flew in the sky instead of birds. Instead of the moon, a bright red apple
roasted in the sky. Snow fell sporadically and the bony trees jarringly white against the
darkening sky were the skeletons of people. The sky was like a silver mirror in which I
could see my own reflection, large and amplified, as I screamed.
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I woke screaming, my arms flaying wildly as I tried to release myself from the webs of
the dream. My wrist was on fire.
A dream Ayesha, you dickbrain.
I twisted and turned beneath the heaviness of the bedding and gasped as pain sharp as a
shark’s tooth lunged through my right wrist and seared along my arm.
At least the pain meant I was alive.
Gradually I became aware of music, soft and unearthly.
Two murmuring shadows hovered over me, conferring in feminine whispers. One of them
stroked my forehead with a maternal tenderness, babbling some chant in a high-pitched
whisper while a glowing crystal was held over my forehead, my solar plexus, then my
heart.
At first I thought I was in hospital, then through the blurred screen of my eyes, I
recognised the mantelpiece with my novels on it. They were back in the right place. So,
someone had fixed my room to order then.
In the background I could hear more voices babbling in the strange foreign language that
reminded me a little of the speaking in tongues I’d once heard in a Pentecostal church
ceremony: it wasn’t German, but something I couldn’t recognise – the words ancient
sounding, the vowels long and slow; unlike anything I’d ever heard before. I turned my
bleary eyes towards the odd, almost musical sound.
Freyja and Perseus stood by the window talking (babbling) while Hermes, the Goth
wizard brother sprawled in one of the wing chairs playing a game on a laptop. In the other
chair was Achilles the autistic brother and Persephone the punk princess sat on the floor
teasing the two huge wolf-like dogs by blowing unusual spotted bubbles at them.
As I watched Freyja and Perseus, I noticed they embellished the garbled and
incomprehensible words with odd yet grotesque facial twitches and poses.
Just like the two boys at school.
It was as if now that I was sick they made no attempt to hide whatever it was that they
were.
Which was?
Suddenly, I was too sick to care. Whatever they were, they were at least looking after me.
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Then I saw him.
My heart went into its usual flurry.
Ganymede had suddenly appeared and stood in the open doorway staring in at me. Our
gaze met in an awkward moment. His magnificent eyes bore into me with open distress,
then his face shadowed over with guilt; he swallowed then retreated. When next I dared to
look, he’d gone. Although the central heating warmed the room, I felt suddenly cold; that
somehow I was responsible for his unhappiness.
The rest of the day seemed blurred into a single long slowly unwinding tapestry. Never
had time passed so slowly, in such a haze of pain. Never had everything: the bedding, the
mattress, the very clothes I wore, even the light pressing inexorably through the window,
seemed so excruciatingly hard and so unendurably heavy, prodding and poking at the
bruises and pains all over my body. As if I were buried at the bottom of the sea able to
discern just a glimpse of what was at the top, I forced myself to find my way out to the
surface again.
The next time I opened my eyes, I saw with surprise that it was twilight. It had seemed
the day would go on forever, torturing me.
My room was filled with candles that staggered up brightly emitting violet flames and
some sweet indescribable scent, glowing crystals and flowers that emitted a floral bouquet.
A vapour of oils and incenses rose from the bedding and I realised the liquids were
smothered all over my body.
I was practically embalmed.
There were only two people in the room with me this time. When I realised who they
were all my muscles stiffened.
Ganymede sat on the wingback chair, his head bent, crying softly into his hand while
Andromeda knelt in front of him stroking his face, speaking in a soothing tone.
“It’s not your fault, beloved,” I heard her say.
That didn’t make sense. And, the ‘beloved’ bit. That was a bit nineteenth century.
Demeter walked suddenly into the room and stood at my shoulder.
“Oh good, you’re awake sweetheart,” she said and stroked my head. She urged me to sit
up and drink something from a cup she pushed to my lips. I coughed and spluttered at the
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bitterness that filled my mouth and brought the bile to my throat, the spasm of the cough
reaching into and grabbing at all the pains in my body.
The pain clenched and swooped like an animal biting frenziedly at my arm and nausea
spun sickenly through me. I cried out just as I sank again, fighting to wade back to the
surface, to elude the shadows that stalked me dragging me down again, gnawing away at
my life.
Grasping for something to assemble all the disparate pieces of myself around, I tried to
remember something good. The sun. Blue open sky.
Ganymede Heydrich’s tear stained face suddenly looked my way. His eyes bore into me
full of pain and regret.
That was the last thing I remembered.
I opened my eyes to weak tea-coloured sunshine and the sound of wind ripping through
trees, bashing the walls of the house and thundering down the gullies.
What day was this?
I sat up groggily, my head pulsing, my whole body heavy as if I’d been drugged or
sedated.
In a rush it all came back to me – the Heydrich children flying after me down at the caves
– too much like a surreal dream totally incongruent with any reality I could place. Yet the
binding on my wrist with its camphor like smell of herbs and oils convinced me the whole
thing had been no dream. I remembered falling down the gulley but not how I got back to
the house. Going over it in my mind I was suddenly struck by the thought that I could have
died. That something or someone had saved me. I sat up. I had to know to what I owed my
salvation. I needed to talk to him. To know if what I remembered was real.
What is reality anyway?
Something bright fluttered outside the window. Looking out I saw that someone had
installed a window box of bright purple and yellow flowers on the ledge outside the
window. Now that looked real enough.
Each flower looked like a happy face. Pansies. It must have been Curdie the Irish
gardener. I had to smile at that. It was the brightest, happiest sight I’d seen in days. I’d have
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to thank him. For a minute I thought I was going to cry. I touched my cheek and rubbed a
tear that was rolling by. Oh Curdie.
Then almost as if he’d known I was thinking of him, Curdie appeared outside my
window.
Despite the wind, he was digging a trench, wearing nothing but a mud-stained t-shirt, his
face and hands purple with cold, his curly brown hair wind tousled, but his smile as
friendly as ever.
I felt kind of sorry for him – having to work so hard for the Heydrich’s in that weather.
He smiled and waved a hand at me. Again, just like the other times, something about his
presence reassured me. With people like Curdie in the world there had to be something
right.
I waved back enthusiastically with my left hand and smiled. This time I was able to move
my hand without pain.
Surveying the room I saw that the flowers were past their best, limp and starting to
discolour. As if days had gone by. Or weeks.
How long had I been asleep?
I fumbled through my bag for my mobile. Once again the battery was flat. Damn.
While I waited for it to charge I flicked through my diary to the last entry I’d made.
Seventh of April.
I re-read the entry about my first day at Oberon High.
My heart hammered when I stared at today’s date on my mobile.
The time was 2.35pm. The date was the fifteenth of April.
Where had the time gone? Why didn’t I remember a single day in between?
There were nine missed calls from my father and two from Belinda.
Immediately, I lifted my unbound hand and stared at the inside of my wrist. There was a
fresh scab on it, crusted with blood. A whiff of antiseptic crept under my nose. When I
picked at the scab I found a single puncture mark with a rosy circumference.
The same mark. What had caused that?
I suddenly felt weak.
A single dark rose, almost black lay on the bedside table. It was extremely thorny, but the
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petals were perfectly formed in a tea-rose shape and the scent coming off it was divine. A
small card was attached to the stem. Inside one word “sorry” was written and nothing else.
My heart quickened, then fluttered nervously as I wondered who was making the apology
and why. I could only think of one person.
Outside, the wind roared constantly across the ridge, stripping the last leaves from the
trees, leaving them bare as bones flayed of flesh. I could feel winter descending: silent,
cold, mysterious and dark, tightening its grip over me, over Elysium, over everything, and I
knew suddenly as I remembered how kindly the Heydrich family had looked after me and
thought of the strange dream of flying and Ganymede Heydrich’s arms wrapped so
completely about my body, that I was in too deep.
I stared out over the dying garden, wondering what the sick leaping of my heart meant: if
it was anything to do with Ganymede Heydrich and how far I’d go; how much of my soul
I’d jeopardise to know him better. The answer frightened me. I was sure my flesh burned at
night in the places where he or his demon form had held me on that night he’d rescued me
from the fall.
I was a Christian girl living with a family involved in the occult. Things couldn’t get
worse or - suddenly it seemed as I sniffed the rose - more exciting.
I felt like someone standing in front of a yawning abyss.
I heard the verse from Genesis in my mind:
But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day
that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
I stared at the tree outside my window. Definitely less leaves.
Then a thought came to me: Robert would know if I hadn’t turned up for work. As I
hurriedly threw on my clothes, I hoped the kitchen hadn’t suffered because I hadn’t been
there. Then again, I hoped selfishly, that I hadn’t been replaced.
Robert barely glanced at my sling as I walked in but pity surfaced in his eyes.
“Hello Ayesha. Would you like a piece of devil’s cake? There’s a whole pile of it in the
pantry.”
“Hi Robert,” I said, bristling a little at the name of the cake. “No cake thanks.”
Toby bustled in with a broom.
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“Hey! Maty. Heard you were sick? I broke the same arm tobaganning when I was four.”
So, I had been away then.
“Finding it hard to wash I bet?” Toby grinned at me and two dimples appeared on his
cheeks.
I stared at him. I hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. My job – I needed it. Not the money –
although I needed that too. But the company.
When I found a gap in the conversation I spoke to Robert about my job. I’d been
worrying unnecessarily. It turned out everything was cool. So, he was doing me a favour
then. That’s the way I saw it. I suddenly felt extremely indebted to Robert. He was one of
my only friends here.
Robert cleared his throat, signalling a change of subject was on the way. “So … did
anyone get a visit from Miss Chisolm last night?”
Toby and I looked at each other, bewildered.
“No? Should we have?” Toby said, staring blankly at him. He laughed apprehensively.
“Who’s Miss Chisolm? She sounds like someone me gran’s age. Looking for a bit a hanky
panky last night was she, the dirty old girl?” His laugh was irrepressible. I couldn’t help
smiling.
“Miss Chisolm,” Robert said, throwing Toby an amused glare, “was a maid who worked
here in 1901.”
“Uh huh,” I said, my back prickling. “Doesn’t that make her …” I did my maths. “Over a
hundred years old.”
Toby’s eyes were boggling. “You mean a … ghost, don’t you?” His face had gone white.
“She doesn’t … er …. fold up clothes, does she?” He laughed nervously.
“That’s her,” Robert confirmed.
“Hmm. I wondered how my room got so tidy this morning,” Toby mused. “I mean, I’m
not that clean.” He chuckled raucously and I smiled again.
Robert broke into a flemmy laugh. “Bit of a sloth are we dear boy? Don’t worry. She
won’t hurt you. She’s a right old dear - one of the resident ghosts. All harmless, interesting
characters.”
“How many is there?” I gasped, horrified.
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“I’m not entirely sure. At least four who appear on a regular basis. In addition to our
darling Miss Chisolm, there’s Harold, an old caretaker who sometimes appears in the
garden and storage rooms; James who has been known to tap people on the shoulder; and
an unpleasant dark figure who sometimes appears.” He raised a hand in response to my
open mouth. “Please don’t ask me about that – no idea.”
“So what’s this Miss Chisolm look like Governor?” Toby said.
Robert scratched his head. “Actually, I haven’t seen her or any of the others. Don’t know
if I should be bothered by that or not. But from those who have I’ve heard she wears a turn
of the century maid’s outfit and has her hair in a bun. She’s very fussy about any changes to
the guesthouse. She’s our most prolific ghostly visitor and apparently she’s quite sour
faced.”
“Sounds like a real sexpot,” Toby joked and chuckled mirthfully.
Robert slapped him playfully on the wrist. “My dear boy, let’s not go there. Actually a
photo of the living Miss Chisolm is on the Elysium website. You should check it out. The
ghost tours and séance nights have been a real drawcard with the tourists.”
Great! So I was living in a haunted house. I’d never seen a ghost, but just the thought of
one gave me the sweats. If the idea of sleep had been an improbability before, now it was a
distinct impossibility.
I stayed in my room for the rest of the afternoon. That night I had dinner at the table with
the family. When I entered, the room was in darkness, the only light issuing from the
candleabra’s and everyone was dressed in black like they were in mourning or a seance.
There was no mention of my accident. It was as if it had never happened. I put my face
down and focused on eating. Or trying to eat the horrible raw cabbage and carrot in the
dark.
The Heydrich children all looked lethargic, the violet shadows beneath their eyes darker
than ever; their expressions masked and purposefully wary. Only Demeter, the Bohemian
hippy sister, smiled slightly at me.
So, their attitude to me hadn’t improved much then. I had thought after the fall, after the
way they’d nursed me ….. but I must have been wrong. The hope that had lifted was
crushed.
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My eyes sought the one face I’d been most fearful to look at, afraid of what it might
reveal.
I slowly raised my eyes to look at him across the table. He looked like he’d been up all
night, his expression dark and edgy, violet shadows etched beneath his beautiful marble
like eyes.
His eyes sidled quickly away from mine, his expression unreadable and remote but not
before I’d seen the look in his eyes. Almost conspiratorial, like we shared a secret no-one
knew about. That sent a shiver up and down my body. I thought of the black rose back in
my room now standing in a vase on the mantelpiece; the card with the single word ‘sorry’.
So, I was probably right then that it had been him.
Halfway through dinner Gaard informed me that I’d be going to school tomorrow.
“But, be aware Ayesha Lees, the privelege of going to school has been granted you only
to silence that rat infestation that is your father and for no other reason.”
I blushed and cringed in my seat. All the Heydrich kids were staring at me, pityingly.
Freyja looked down at her plate. I did my best to avoid Ganymede Heydrich’s eyes; to
pretend he wasn’t sitting there directly opposite me, witnessing my humiliation. Why did
Gaard have to be so public with his belittling of me?
But that wasn’t the end of it.
“While you are in that abomination that passes as a place of learning,” Gaard continued.
“I expect you to keep your mouth shut and to avoid all contact with others apart from what
is strictly necessary to your studies. There shall be no consorting with other students, no
lunchtime gossip, no dating and no telling tales to teachers. You are my ward now and I
make the rules. Is that understood Ayesha Lees? Furthermore, there shall be no mention
outside these walls of anything that goes on here – not to your white-trash father who keeps
ringing here driving everyone to the point of madness, not to your mother, not to the staff
who you think you’re so chummy with and not to anyone whether that be a louse infested
cleaner at your school or some nitwit Japanese tourist looking for directions.”
What the hell?
My head was spinning, my eyes snapping, with the whole injustice of the thing. I wasn’t
going to agree to all that. No talking to other students even? Spending every single
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lunchtime and recess on my own? I’d be the freak of the whole school. No way!!
Absolutely, no way!
What is this? A prison?
“Come here.” He waggled a finger at me and smiled craftily. “I want you to look at
something I found.”
Not liking where this were going, I stood up and with reluctance walked over to where
Gaard sat at the far end of the table. My legs were shaking and barely carried me.
Freyja got up suddenly and left the table in distress. She avoided looking at me. Not a
good sign. Supremely self-conscious, I glanced over the others at the table: Gaard’s sister
and parents were smiling triumphantly, while the Heydrich kids were watching me with
pity.
Gaard shook something, a piece of paper, in front of my face.
A flyer.
The flyer.
OH NO! Not that!
THE ONE THE BOY HAD GIVEN ME ABOUT THE CHRISTIAN MEETING! THE
ANTI-WITCHCRAFT CRUSADE!
Oh hell! Somehow I’d known that was going to come back to haunt me. He must have
found it when his children trashed my stuff all about the room. Or maybe one of them took
it to him.
Immediately I reddened.
“Know anything about this?”
I gulped down a tennis ball sized lump that had suddenly popped up in my throat.
“Um …” I couldn’t think of an appropriate answer that didn’t involve outright lying.
“If I learn that you are fraternising with these moral imposters, you shall be cast out of
here in an instant, back into the hole you came from. I won’t tolerate interference in my
life! I won’t tolerate these purile spiritual fascists and I won’t tolerate anyone in this house
consorting with them.” His voice intensified to an angry pitch. His eyes flashed.
What was the big deal? So, he was threatened by them then?
“Regarding your recent transgression,” he went on.
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I assumed he was talking about my trip down to the caves by myself; not being home by
dusk and all that had transpired. But, hey, I wasn’t going to ask for a re-cap of my sins.
“Be warned Ayesha Lees, if you wish to remain here you shall abide by my rules. Do we
have a clear understanding?”
I stared back at him, defiant, my cheeks acutely hot.
No! You will not make a social pariah out of me!
“I see.” His tone incised through me like a guilletine. “Perhaps you want to do this the
hard way? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“No.” Suddenly I was confused as to what I’d agreed upon.
I was so aware of Ganymede Heydrich and his brothers and sisters staring at me that I
couldn’t think properly.
“Don’t look at them, but at me,” Gaard hissed.
My attention snapped reluctantly back to Gaard’s face. The shadows created weird angles
that made his nose and chin longer.
“Give me your hand,” he said in a slow, deliberate voice.
I held out my left hand.
“Not that one. The right?”
The one I’d broken. I had a bad feeling about this.
“Why?”
“Do as I say?”
I slowly held out my hand. Gaard immediately gripped my wrist and squeezed. The pain
was like a lions jaw ripping through my wrist. Red. Hot. In shock and agony, I cried out.
When he didn’t let go I sucked in my breath, cringing with pain.
On the inside of his wrist I saw a dark tattoo of a single open staring eye. I’d never
noticed it before. That was an ancient symbol of something. I tried to think where I’d seen
it but my attention was brought back to the pressure on my hand.
He intensified the pressure till I cried out again.
“How does that feel? Take note and remember the sensations.”
“Stop!” I wheezed. “Please! It hurts!”
“There is only one evil Ayesha Lees,” he stated, indifferent to the fact I was writhing
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about in agony. “Morality. It’s for the stupid and spineless, the weak and those who lack
the ability to think for themselves. Let ‘do what thou wilt’ be the whole of the law. Perhaps
you have heard the commandment ‘love thy neighbour’. ‘Despise one’s neighbour’ is the
commandment I live by and give to you.” His lips thinned in a trace of a smile.
I nodded, hoping he’d ease up on the pressure.
“Who makes the rules around here Ayesha Lees?”
“You do,” I wheezed.
“Very good. You are learning the association between fear and compliance. Any rat can
learn that. So can you. Therefore I trust we have an understanding now about what I spoke
of earlier; about not associating with those lower life forms that exist at the local fleamarket that parades itself as a school of learning.”
I nodded just slightly.
“I don’t hear your answer Ayesha Lees.”
“Yes!” I yelped. Loudly. So there was no mistake.
Dark spots were circling in front of my eyes. I felt like I was about to faint. My legs
weakened and I stumbled slightly backwards.
I heard someone yell out in protest. ‘No! That’s enough!” Ganymede Heydrich’s voice.
The thought that someone was defending me unhinged me just enough that I lost the fragile
grip I had on my self control.
I fell on my knees, sobbing.
Gaard relaxed the pressure on my hand, then let go.
“Get up Ayesha Lees!” he snapped at me. “Show some dignity. Let that be a warning to
you. That will be nothing compared to the pain you will feel if you transgress my rules
again. Is that clear?”
I nodded vigorously. Anything to avoid being publicly tortured like that again. I wasn’t
sure which was worse: the physical pain or the public embarrassment.
Behind me, I heard a chair crash back on the floor and looking over I saw Ganymede
Heydrich storm out.
“This is sick!” he snapped as he slammed the door behind him.
I stared after him in shock.
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Before I went to bed that night, I scribbled a brief entry about today in my diary (so I
could be sure which day was which). The whole incident with Gaard got a mention as well
as Ganymede’s comment on his way out and the black rose.
I wondered about him. He’d saved my life and he’d even spoken out for me – or at least
that’s how I interpreted it. Yet, in every other respect he seemed to detest me.
I closed my eyes and tried to sleep, doing my best to ignore the sound of a guest snoring
blissfully in another room. Sleep eluded me. The thoughts beat in a restless tide through my
head, one after another.
Why was it that no-one in my new foster family wanted to know me? Immediately after
the meal everyone had disappeared. So things really hadn’t changed then. I had thought ….
Or hoped.
Why was I here then?
Would I wake up tomorrow or in some date far from now? Where had the missing days
gone? Was I really asleep or was it a severe memory lapse?
School tomorrow. Would I really do as Gaard expected?
So, it was only because of my father that I was back at school. For the first time in my life
I saw my father’s stubbornness as something positive. My strange funny dysfunctional dad.
Then I thought of Ganymede Heydrich’s outraged yet pitying eyes at the dinner table
tonight. The sense of wounded pride was simply unbearable. How could I ever look him in
the eyes again after my very public humiliation by Gaard.
I tried to imagine the unnattainable: kissing a boy like that. It was almost too painful. Like
wishing to fly to the stars. My heart alternately burnt like a furnace and sang like a hymn
then sank into bitter despair.
I wriggled and tossed all night trying to get to sleep. Never before had my insomnia been
so bad.
Somehow, I must have fallen asleep. I woke in the dead hour of the morning from a
dream an angel warned me to leave Elysium.
The angel was dazzlingly bright with magnificent furred white wings, a muscular torso
and a halo of light above his golden hair. Very Michael Angelo. Tacky. I couldn’t imagine
God sending such a Hollywood type vision. I must have conjured it with my own fears.
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As I tossed in the bed, trying to get comfortable, I could still hear the angel’s voice in my
mind.
“Ayesha, this is a dangerous place for you. You must leave now. Or tomorrow.”
I wouldn’t leave. I couldn’t. Not yet.
In my mind, I heard Ganymede Heydrich’s voice raised in outrage for me. My heart
started thrashing in my chest as I wondered what would happen next.
7 - Connection
Sam, a chauffeur Gaard had hired for the purpose, drove me to school the next day in a
Jaguar. Compared to Gaard’s James Bond fantasy vehicle it seemed ordinary and
commonplace.
Thankfully not the conversational type, Sam drove with one hand on the steering wheel
and sipped from a can of Red Bull with the other, studying the road ahead with a
melancholy expression on his thin drooping face. If he found my long lapses into silence
strange or thought the way I kept twining strands of hair around my fingers, staring
vacantly into space and biting my nails like a nervous dog, weird, he never said anything.
In return I pretended not to notice his low mood. It was like a tacit arrangement between us.
There was so much going on in my brain I had no capacity for normal conversation. I
stared numbly out the passenger window and tried to block out the fears, the worries. I
made my mind a blank fuzz. Like the static on the TV when programming has ceased.
Somewhere inside of the front I presented, I was existing, waiting to fight the next battle.
My second day as the new girl at school loomed before me like an impossible obstacle
course. Back to my other just as difficult alternate reality.
I shivered as I wondered what the day would bring. My gut was suddenly a mix of
churning emotions.
Unexpectedly, my mobile bleated out its sheep tone. Sam jumped slightly in surprise and
the corner of his mouth quirked.
“Hell, I thought I was back home for a moment,” he joked. Sam was from New Zealand
and just like every other Kiwi I’d met, sheep jokes were in his repertoire.
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My mum’s name came up on the screen.
I cupped the phone to my ear. “Hi mum.”
“Hi darling. I’m just ringing to see if you’d moved in with those people yet?” Her voice
was a little tight and guarded. Nevertheless, I could tell she was concerned. “I called once
or twice on your mobile but you didn’t answer. I suppose you were busy.”
“Um … yes. I moved in a few weeks ago.” Suddenly, I wasn’t sure. I tried to keep my
voice neutral. This was a delicate topic.
“Oh, well. And how are you finding it? Is the lady of the house a nice person then?”
“She’s okay.” I knew my mum well enough to know where this was heading.
“You know how I feel about it. You know this wasn’t what I wanted. It was your
decision. Some people have so much money they can afford to take other people’s children
while others have so little they can’t look after their own.” She sighed vehemently. “It’s not
fair is it? You don’t know what’s it like for a mother to have her children taken away from
her.”
“No, I don’t,” I agreed and waited for her to change the subject. I held my breath and
clenched my teeth. She seemed to forget she had dumped me at Wesley Dalmar for the
Government to look after.
“Oh well, I just hope it works out and they’re good to you. If that’s what you want,
there’s not much I can do to stop you.” She sounded hurt and betrayed but also like she
didn’t really want it to work out.
I didn’t say anything. I could feel her guilt and inadequacy and my guilt and annoyance
like something palpable between the phone. If only she knew how badly things were really
going for me? A part of me wondered if I should confide in her. But a bigger part of me just
couldn’t.
“Pretty German lady isn’t she? You said she used to be one of those fashion models.” Her
voice lifted a little in an obvious fake attempt to sound positive.
I flashed a look at Sam to see if he was listening. “She’s not that great. A bit of a witch.” I
laughed as if it were a joke rather than the reality and told mum about the cauldron and the
tarot cards, but not about the picture of Freyja holding the dagger to the throat of the man
dressed as a stag – that might be too alarming. I glanced across at Sam. If he thought
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anything about what I was saying it didn’t register on his face, his lifeless mask unchanged.
I watched as he changed channels on the radio.
Mum perked up a bit after that and even laughed. “Watch out. She might fly off on a
broomstick at night.”
I giggled at the image that brought to mind. After that I decided to switch to a safer topic.
“How are you? How’s Queensland?”
She talked about the weather and the problems with sandflies and humidity. Then she
asked for my address so she could write to me. No-one I knew wrote letters except my
mum.
“How’s Don?” I said.
“Not the best. We take it one day at a time.” She sighed. Another delicate topic.
“I suppose you’ll be starting a new school,” she said in a more hopeful tone.
“Yes, I started last week … I mean …. A few weeks ago. Oberon High. I’m on the way
there with the chauffeur. It’s a long drive – almost an hour away,” I explained.
“A chauffeur. Very flash! Oh well, it might be a pleasant trip on the way,” she said
positively. “I’ve heard the Blue Mountains is a beautiful place.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, my voice doleful. “Lots of trees.”
“Has your father called yet?”
“Um … not lately.”
“Oh well, I guess he’ll get round to it. He’s probably busy.”
I didn’t say anything. The conversations they had about each other always made me
uncomfortable.
After that there wasn’t much to talk about. Our conversations were never very long.
When someone isn’t a steady presence in your life there’s not much to talk about.
“Don’t forget I love you,” Mum finished up. “I may be far away in Queensland, but I’m
still your mum and I still care about you.”
“I know,” I said, feeling awkward. Even though she wasn’t in the car with me, I could
feel my face flushing an acid pink.
The call ended. It had been less than five minutes. I shoved the tears back and swallowed
the lump in my throat, then I looked out the window so Samuel couldn’t see my face.
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In Psychology I sat by myself: the only person without a partner. Folding my arms and
focusing on Mr Yanovski’s face I tried to blend in. It was almost impossible to focus. I kept
feeling my wrist, wondering if there were any bruises coming up. Everytime I moved my
hand it hurt and made me remember Gaard’s bullying.
While I’d been away I’d missed out on a bit. They were talking about a different text to
the one last time I’d been in class and nothing made sense. That wasn’t my only concern. I
stressed all through the class about what I would do when lunchtime arrived. I remembered
Joss’ invitation to hang out with her and her friend and my mind hung onto that like a fly in
a whirlpool grasping onto a dangling thread that had been offered to it. I wondered if she
still remembered asking me. If she even remembered me at all.
Eventually I gave up trying to understand what was going on. I went into the movie file of
Ganymede Heydrich talking about animal rights and watched it with the sound turned off. I
knew the words almost off by heart anyway. Words that both shocked and inspired me with
their extremity.
“Mahatma Ghandi said that the greatness of a nation and its moral progress could be
judged by the way its animals, those most powerless members of our society, are treated.
Compassion for animals elevates our own humanity and recognises our interconnectedness
to them and our planet. It’s time to challenge the corporate ethic that supports live exports,
uncontrolled breeding and sales of pets that mostly end up being euthenased, genetic
engineering causing health problems, experiments on animals apparently justified by
science; and a view that see animals as commodities to be exploited rather than beings with
rights of their own. Why is a mouthful of meat so important to us that we’re willing to
create the inhumanity and suffering of factory farmed animals? Just like the American Civil
War over slavery, it’s time for those of us who care to make a stand for the kind of world
we want to live in. I personally, offer my life to this cause and ask others around the world
to follow me in this spiritual crusade.”
It was suddenly vitally important to me to understand what he thought and who he was
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beneath the cold yet beautiful exterior. I didn’t need the volume on to see the passion
flaring in his brilliant intense eyes. Such an extreme, alive personality.
At the end of the class, just as I was walking out, Mr Yanovski motioned to me. That
threw me.
“Hey Ayesha, great to see you back in class. What happened to your arm, little champ?”
His voice was casual but his expression, I quickly saw, wasn’t.
My first reaction was to look down at the ground.
“I broke it,” I mumbled.
He tossed the whiteboard duster from one hand to the other, then back again. Very
distracting.
“Mmm. I broke the same arm when I was fifteen – on a trampoline. Sports injury?” he
guffawed. “Did someone chuck a basketball too hard at you or something?”
“Um …. No.” I paused, wondering what to say. “I fell off a cliff … I mean … off a
track.”
The juggling act with the whiteboard duster stopped. An awkward silence spread between
us as he processed something in his mind.
I flushed what I imagined was a horrible burgundy.
“Oh, what cliff was that? Not a thirty metre drop I hope?” He laughed too loudly.
“Something like that.”
“Goodness.” He pulled a face. “Bushwalking and not looking huh?” He chuckled lightly
but his grey green eyes squinted at me, suddenly acquiring a concerned look / quality.
“Mmm.” I looked down again, fearful of meeting his eyes. I wasn’t a good liar.
There was an awkward silence. When he spoke again his tone had changed and was lower
and more serious. “Actually, there was something I wanted to say to you. Before I became
a teacher, I worked for many years as a psychologist and as the school counsellor here I run
a group once a week during lunchtime for kids from disadvantaged backgrounds.”
I shuffled my legs slightly, wondering where all this was going. Kids from disadvantaged
backgrounds. It sounded like some kind of sub-species; like something you might find at
the animal shelter.
Mr Yanovski cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “It just so happens it’s on today.
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Perhaps you’d like to come along. I know that you used to live at Wesley Dalmar.” He gave
me an odd look. “You probably don’t recall me. I had a beard back then, and more hair.”
He stroked his own chin wistfully. “You were about – fourteen, I would think. I was the
psychologist that spoke to you the day you cut your wrists. It’s quite common people don’t
remember much under such circumstances. You’ve probably blocked the whole day out of
your mind.”
So that’s where I knew him from.
I blushed furiously, squirming uncomfortably and looked at the door, wishing I could
leave. I may as well have been standing there stark naked before a loaded gun there was
that much adrenaline shooting through my system.
“Anyway, you might find it helpful – meeting other kids with similar backgrounds.”
I stared at him like that was the most ridiculous proposition I’d ever heard.
I took the details from him – that at least gave me an out from the horrid turn in the
conversation - then I shot out of there fast. Only then did I realise my heart was crashing
about like it was about to explode out of my chest and go running off. If Yanovski worked
at Wesley Dalmar he knew the truth about my sorry family life history and could expose
me to everyone else. The whole wrist cutting episode was something I didn’t want to
remember; a me of a former life before the Christian rally where I’d been saved and found
my strength in God.
When the morning recess arrived I headed up to the grassy outdoor area to check out
Joss’s spot near the steps on the side of the building in preparation for lunchtime. Already
the desperation over lunchtime was setting in.
On the way I passed a girl with a white peasant top on, suspiciously like mine, then
another one with a similar top, walking with her friend. They stared at me as I passed,
seeming to scrutinise me with more than a passing interest. The one with the top on even
had fine silver cross shaped ear-rings just like mine.
Very weird. It seemed I’d started a new fashion trend while I’d been away.
I spotted Joss and her friend standing side by side against the wall, nibbling candy bars
discreetly in the shade. It looked kind of intimate.
The nerves shot through me like dynamite.
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I studied the pair, trying to make up my mind whether this was a good idea or not.
Gaard’s warning played in the back of my mind.
He’s not here.
The other girl was attractive with wild, mid-length cocoa coloured hair, a buxom figure
but very trim ankles. I remembered seeing them sitting together in Biology. The saying
‘threes a crowd’ slipped into my mind.
Before either of them saw me I turned and slunk off on my own.
That’s kind of cowardly Ayesha. You’re being paranoid.
The Lees stubbornness kicked in. Breathing hard, I circled the building and came back.
They were looking at me knowingly when I walked up to them, smiling about something.
Joss waved and motioned excitedly for me to come over. At least she remembered me. I
wondered what was going on. Up close the other girl had bold dark blue eyes in a sharp
face and the kind of curly eyelashes other girls dreamed of.
“Hi,” I said, nervous about the smiles.
“Hey, the uniform looks great,” Joss enthused.
I looked down at myself and cringed. “Oh, really. Thanks.”
“Not like mine.” Joss held up a faded piece of her skirt and stared at it ruefully. “It’s a
hand me down from my sister who had it handed down from my oldest sister. All my
clothes are hand me downs. I’d kill for something new.” Joss suddenly looked at her friend
then back at me. “Oh, Ayesha, sorry, this is Trudy,” she said. “Trudy this is Ayesha.
Remember? The new girl I told you about.”
I blushed at that imagining all kinds of potential gossip.
“Hi Trudy,” I said in my friendliest tone. Then I cringed at the desperate sound of my
own voice, so like the new girl anxious for people to be friends with her.
“Hey,” the girl drawled back, looking me over, my new uniform, ultra white new socks
and black shoes. Her tone wasn’t the friendliest. I think I’d been right in thinking she might
feel I was cutting in on her friend. She wasn’t exactly the subtle type.
Swallowing, I took a step back from the two of them and pretended to rummage through
my backpack for something. I supposed automatic inclusion into their click had been a bit
too much to hope for.
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“Have you been away? I looked out for you but I haven’t seen you around?” Joss said.
Then she caught sight of the sling and bandage Freyja had fashioned for my hand. “Hey,
what happened to your arm? Are you okay?”
I swallowed nervously. “I tripped and fell off a cliff.”
Her face had a look like she’d just taken a bite of a burger that unexpectedly tasted
suspect; a look like she wasn’t sure whether to believe me or not. After I’d spoken I
realised how it might sound. She probably thought I’d jumped. My whole awkwardness
around the subject probably didn’t help.
The two girls exchanged looks. The kind of look that suggested they thought I wasn’t
mentally competent.
“It was more of a gulley really. I’m physically uncoordinated,” I added, grimacing. “If
there was a class on how to walk in a straight line without falling over, I’d definitely enrol.”
“Me too,” Joss gasped hurriedly. “I get bruises from bumping into everything which I
hate. I worry people will think my dad hit me or something. You know what people are
like? They always get the wrong impression.”
“Yeah, for sure.” I looked away.
The topic changed quickly after that.
“Guess what? We’ve got some interesting news for you,” Joss breathed. Her smile
stretched from one dimpled cheek to the other giving her the look of a friendly pixie.
“You’ll never guess who was asking questions about you in our maths class.”
I looked at them blankly. I really had no idea. I thought back to my first day at school.
Nothing stood out. “No, um .. who?”
“Ryan Van Wijk!” she squealed. They waited for me to react.
Trudy nudged Joss. “She probably doesn’t know who that is, you dick brain.”
“Oh!” Joss gasped. “Look. He’s over there.” She pointed to where the ‘it’ crowd hung out
on their table in front of the tennis courts. That was one thing I had learned on my first day.
“Just pretend you’re looking ahead at something and I’ll tell you who it is,” Joss hissed in
an excited whisper despite the fact they were totally out of earshot.
I affected a glazed expression in their general direction while she whispered excitedly in
my ear. She was so little she had to stand on tiptoe to reach me.
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“It’s the one in the white shirt with the brown hair.”
“It’s blonde you bogan, not brown,” Trudy snapped.
“Oh! I don’t know. It looks brown to me. Light brown.” Joss pulled an exasperated face.
“It’s ash blonde,” Trudy insisted.
“Anyway,” Joss fumed, pouting and looking as vexed as it’s possible for a snub-nosed
gnome to look. “Caramel. Green. Whatever. He’s talking into his mobile phone and is
sitting next to a dark-haired boy in a sports shirt.”
I stared looking more closely at the group.
“Can you see him?” she said.
“I think so. Is he eating a sandwich?”
“No. Not that one,” Trudy said. “That’s Stevo. Next to him. He’s got a red school jumper
wrapped around his shoulders.”
“Oh. Him.” It was the boy who’d helped me pick up my lunch the first day. The one
who’d handed me the Christian flyer on the anti-witchcraft crusade that had got me in big
trouble with Gaard.
“He was asking lots of questions about you in Maths,” Joss said. “Actually the whole
class was.”
I blushed at that. Ugh.
“What do you think of him?” She stepped back a fraction, standing on tiptoe, trying to
survey my reaction.
“I don’t know him.”
“That’s the whole point you spastic,” Trudy said. “You get to know him.”
I stared at her, flinching a little. She had an abrasive manner.
“He wants you to meet him at lunch in the canteen so you can talk and get to know him,”
Joss said.
“Why would I want to do that?”
Joss and Trudy looked at each other like I had a few screws missing in my brain. In a way
I was used to that reaction from people.
“I’d go out with him,” Joss said with a little wistful laugh. “He’s really very very nice and
in the swimming team and the soccer team. His mum is really involved in the P&C and
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Oberon Christian Life Centre. I can totally vouch for him. He would treat you well.” She
sighed suddenly. “I wish he’d asked me.”
I looked over at him again, trying to see what they saw, trying to see something I might
have missed the first time.
Though I tried to be positive about it, I saw nothing but an ordinary looking thin boy with
a fringe too straight at the front. He had been very nice to me that day I’d dropped my
lunch. That had to count for something. And, I’d never had a boyfriend before; never even
come close to it. It seemed crazy not to at least consider his invitation to lunch. Yet, as
much as I tried to talk myself into it, the enthusiasm wasn’t forthcoming and there was
Ganymede Heydrich in my mind, blocking out every other guy.
“But he doesn’t know me,” I hedged. Sport of any kind wasn’t my thing. Once he found
that out….and about my strange family situation; the kind of people I was living with …
well, let’s just say, it would be a brief and probably humiliating acquaintance.
“Listen love, just talk to him. We’ll come with you for moral support,” Trudy said,
leaning on my shoulder in a way that felt intimidating rather than friendly. She winked at
me. “Don’t worry, we’ll sort the boy out for you.”
I had no doubts around that. I started licking my lips and jittering my legs. All the
scrutiny was uncomfortable to say the least. I wished they’d back off.
“Go on,” Trudy urged. “It’s not going to kill you to have lunch with him.”
She was pushy and that made me bristle. The agitation increased.
I stared back over at Ryan Van Wijk. He’d spotted us looking at him and started looking
intently our way. As I peered back, feeling embarrassed, he started showing off, playwrestling with his friend, pretending to smack him.
My cheeks flamed. As if that was going to impress me?
I couldn’t help comparing him to Ganymede and finding him less mature, wanting in
every way.
“You could just have lunch with him,” Joss suggested in a macabre attempt to be helpful.
“Then if you don’t like him you don’t have to talk to him again.”
That’s really going to go down well. Get his hopes up then crush him.
I shrugged nonchalantly and sighed, just wanting the whole conversation to end. I felt
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pressured to say the least. Not to mention the whole question of what Gaard might do to me
if he found out. But I couldn’t exactly tell them about that.
I peered over again at Ryan Van Wijk. He was staring straight at me, a hopeful puppy dog
look on his innocent face. That grabbed at my heart in a way nothing else had. The thought
of disappointing that face, crushing that hope … I just couldn’t do it. It seemed too cruel.
Like telling a little boy there was no santa claus. It wouldn’t hurt me to humour him for one
lunchtime. After that …. well … there would be no ‘after that’. He would realise I wasn’t
whatever he seemed to think I was and hopefully leave me alone.
“Okay.” I sighed and gritted my teeth in frustration at myself. That stupid soft spot.
“So, you’ll do it?” Joss breathed, all excitement.
I nodded reluctantly.
“We’ll go tell him your answer then,” Trudy said. She snatched Joss’ hand and skipped
gleefully off, flicking her hair and dragging Joss along after her. In a kind of horror as to
what I’d just agreed to, I watched them talking to Ryan and waved back feebly when Ryan
waved at me and grinned. Ecstatic and hopeful, like a puppy that had been promised a
bone.
“Done. Lunch in the canteen tomorrow,” Trudy said when she got back. She hi-fived my
palm.
I groaned. But it was done. Now I had another thing to worry about.
On the way back to class I passed Mr Yanovski.
“See you in the group,” he called out to me.
I nodded. I didn’t recall committing to anything. Or had I?
At lunchtime I found myself walking reluctantly to Mr Yanovski’s group for
disadvantaged kids. At least it solved the dilemma of what to do at lunchtime today. I
trudged towards the room expecting the usual dropouts; kids with coloured hair and
multiple body piercings.
As I slipped in late, a dozen curious faces stared at me. All eyes slithered in my direction
as I sat down on the only vacant chair, blushing furiously. I imagined what they were
thinking: what problem would she have?
Compared to everyone else here, I was better dressed and groomed and looked the most
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normal. I’d been right about the body piercings, tattoo’s and coloured hair.
I felt the pressure of someome staring at me with a particular intensity. Glancing to the
right I saw Dog O’Dwyer. What was he doing here? I could see the same shocked surprise
in his eyes about me. He glanced away and pretended to look for something in his bag.
I looked away quickly.
Mr Yanovski gave me a friendly nod as I sat down and introduced me briefly to the
group. He stressed that anything said was confidential and to remain within these four
walls.
Everyone talked about the latest issues they were having. One girl was going through a
hard time after her mother’s death from cancer and cried openly; another girl was
experiencing bullying about being gay. Some people talked a lot while others were more
guarded.
I watched Mr Yanovski hoe into a corned beef roll while he listened. It suddenly occurred
to me he must be a good person to give up his lunchtime to listen to a whole bunch of
students talk about their problems.
When the circle came round to the big surly boy, Dog, I sat up straighter in my chair,
paying extra attention.
“David, have you sorted out your problems with your social security payments?” Mr
Yanovski said. So that was his real name.
Dog (I just couldn’t think of him as David) spoke reluctantly about his disorganised living
arrangements. Of everyone here his problems were most like mine: his family was
dysfunctional and he didn’t live with his parents, but with his aunt. I remembered what Joss
had told me about that.
“How is communication going with your father?” Mr Yanovski asked and bit into his roll.
Dog clenched his fists. His eyes narrowed and his bottom lip jutted out defiantly. “I don’t
want to talk about him. I hate him.” The room went dead with silence. “He’s a cunt,” Dog
growled and his large dark eyes were intense and full of rage. “Everyone knows I don’t
want to come here; that it’s imposed on me by that wanka at Youth and Community
Services.” The words shot out of his mouth like gunfire and he was shaking like a grenade
about to explode.
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I stared at Mr Yanovski wondering how he was going to react. He swallowed what was in
his mouth but his face remained carefully neutral and expressionless. I wondered what Dog
had done wrong and imagined some minor offense: drinking or wagging school or getting
into a fight.
Mr Yanovski’s eyes finally fell on me. Somehow I knew that was coming. I squirmed
uncomfortably.
“Ayesha, would you like to say anything?”
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, wondering: the enigma. I imagined myself telling
them about Gaard and the witchy Heydrich family; imagined their reactions. My problems
weren’t normal.
“No,” I said hoarsely. “Maybe next time.”
I saw Dog’s eyes penetrate me and then slide away. He lurched suddenly to his feet and
grabbing his rucksack stormed out. His whole intense vibe combined with his enormous
physical presence was like a slap in the face. It occurred to me then - it was as if he’d been
waiting to see what I was going to say before he left the room. That made me more
determined than before to watch what I said.
At the end of the day, I hurried towards the school gate. After waiting twenty minutes
there was no sign of Sam in the Jaguar or of Gaard’s bizarre silver glass car. I watched the
students leave, cars and buses coming and going in a long chain. Then the teachers left,
some of them casting concerned stares my way, the lone figure standing outside the school.
Finally I stood on my own. It was getting cold, the warmth of the sun waning. I hugged my
arms over my chest trying to keep warm.
I waited, staring at the road, my throat tightening, my eyeballs getting hot – the sign tears
were on the way. My mind toyed with a few possibilities – it was a long drive, Sam could
have been held up or there could be traffic, a road accident even. Then again, maybe they’d
decided they didn’t want me. Perhaps Freyja was on the phone right now to the Social
Worker at Wesley Dalmar to tell them it wasn’t working out; asking if they could take me
back. Anyone knew the cross and the pentagram didn’t mix. Yet, every time a car drove
past my throat constricted another notch. I was reminded of the day my mum explained I
was going to be staying in a refuge for a short time – then how the months had stretched out
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longer and longer until I realised she wouldn’t be coming back for me anytime soon.
Abandonment. Always a possibility in life.
Irrationally I began to imagine Sam wasn’t coming for me and I’d been dumped again
from yet another family. My mind ran wild, tormenting me with theories that pointed in one
direction. They didn’t like me. They didn’t really want me. Nobody did.
While I was stressing, propelling myself into a greater and greater panic, the strangest car
– a sleek sportscar I recognised seeing parked in the driveway at Elysium with midnight
blue stainless steel and glass panels and odd wings - rolled soundlessly up to the kerb and
stopped in front of me. The window rolled down. Loud music booming from within,
snapped off suddenly. To my surprise Ganymede Heydrich’s face looked out at me.
“Hi,” I said, confused; typically getting irate when I was upset. “What are you doing
here?”
I cringed when I realised how bad that sounded. Meanwhile, my mind started racing and
the adrenaline pumping.
Was it a coincidence he was here or did this mean I’d have to get in the car with him?
He frowned at me from the window. “Samuel’s father had a heart attack and he’s gone
back to Auckland for a few days. Gaard asked me to pick you up.”
Ganymede Heydrich just spoke to me!
I almost fell over. Except for the fact the conversation was totally normal.
The tone of his beautiful voice was short, just as irate as mine. Obviously he wasn’t too
pleased about being sent to pick me up.
“I’m the only other one with a license. Monday is Robert’s day off and Freyja is at an
appointment with the accountant,” he explained, not looking at me but at some point in the
distance. He sounded defensive, his eyes aloof and remote. I guess I didn’t help things.
He was glaring cautiously at me from the window and I realised he was waiting for me to
get in. Finally it sunk in – he was here to pick me up. I’d been standing back as if it was
Charles Manson waiting on the curb for me instead of my foster brother. Then I
remembered: Charles Manson had been into witchcraft too.
I peered in looking for space for my backpack. As I did so he pressed some button on the
dashboard and a roomy luggage compartment opened up where before there’d been three
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seats. The seats flattened and folded away and the back door flew up like a wing. Trying
not to look too dazzled by the mechanical wizardry, I shoved my backpack in there. I
thought about sitting in the back too, but that would be too weird and probably offend him.
In the cat-shaped rear vision mirror I could see his face as he stared ahead. I could tell he
was wondering why I was taking so long. He was frowning and his arms were crossed
defensively as he waited.
Suddenly his eyes in the rear vision mirror caught mine looking at him. He frowned and I
scowled. My cheeks scorched. We were both trapped in this situation and would just have
to make the best of it.
I climbed in the front, suddenly panicking, my lungs straining for air.
Crap. I had to sit in a confined space with him for forty five minutes or more. I suddenly
remembered the fantasy about kissing him and my face burned like a radiator. I pushed it
from my mind half afraid he could read my thoughts, imagining what he’d think of me if he
knew about that or about the fact I’d watched his home movie obsessively hordes of times.
It would probably make him puke or want to put a hex on me. Then another image came to
mind: the flying demon boy who’d saved me. My heart rushed.
I gulped as I grappled with my seatbelt and pulled it over my shoulder. I didn’t know how
to position my legs. I suddenly felt all limbs and hair, like my lap was huge and my face a
stupid oversized balloon. I crossed my legs and placed my hands on my lap. I sat back in
the seat, then not liking that position, leaned forward. I hoped he wasn’t watching. I
probably looked like I had ADD.
Once I was more or less settled, we drove off. I pretended I was looking out at the
scenery, but really I was sneaking looks at him. He was wearing thick winter jeans of some
light coloured material and a long sleeved t’shirt that clung to the shapely contours of his
chest and arms. On him the simple outfit looked like something a model might have paid a
million bucks for and I swallowed. I could smell him; all his tantalising layers - hair gel and
sweet soap and a smell like a sandy kitten that was his own personal scent. I stared at his
hands resting either side of the steering wheel, the wrists and fingers so perfectly shaped I
couldn’t help but stare at them like some psycho with an obsession for hands.
Suddenly I felt dizzy, nauseas and sick. Like I’d had too much chocolate. Or not enough.
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We drove in silence and I stared ahead at the bush either side of the road, not really
seeing it. I couldn’t think normally, if at all, when he was around. I watched him from the
corners of my eyes and I could see him doing the same, glancing over at me but trying to
make it look like he wasn’t. He’d moved to the edge of the seat and had one hand clamped
over his mouth and nose like he was trying not to breathe. Suddenly he put the window
down. I wondered what was wrong with him. The silence got so stifling and uncomfortable
I felt the blood pounding in my head so thick it might explode. If something didn’t break
the silence soon …..
Suddenly we spoke at once, our words toppling over each other.
“You go first,” I said breathlessly. I released a whole lungful of air I’d been holding in.
“It wasn’t anything. You go.” His voice, when he wasn’t angry was so beautiful I held my
breath again.
“No, really, I want to hear it,” I insisted. I was curious what he was going to say to me.
“Okay.” He sighed slightly. “How was school? I told you it was nothing.”
The question seemed normal enough.
“It was okay,” I answered. “Nothing too dramatic.” I didn’t feel comfortable telling him
how bad it had really been, about my general dislike of school and everything else. I turned
it back on him, a trick I’d learnt to get the heat off me when I needed to. “Um … so, how
come you don’t go to school?”
“Freyja home-schools us.”
Yeah, right, indoctrinates you with witchcraft.
“Have you ever been to school?” I asked.
Oops. Hadn’t meant the negative tone to slip out.
“No. Never. Not your kind of school anyway.” His tone was just as negative.
I wondered what kind of school he’d been to.
“Ever wanted to?” I said.
“I have had moments of curiosity.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not missing much. It’s a bit of a jungle. And most of what you
learn you forget.”
His forehead creased just slightly. “Oh really. What’s the point of it then?”
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“You do learn a few things. I probably exaggerated about that part.” I smiled slightly and
he smiled slightly back.
I relaxed a little into my seat for the first time since we’d driven away. So far, the
conversation seemed normal enough. There’d been no mention of blood sacrifices or upside
down crosses. “Home schooling’s probably better,” I said.
“Except for the socialising part.”
I thought about that: about how weird his life was compared to the average teenager. “I
suppose that’s important,” I conceded.
He seemed to change his mind, or feigned indifference. “Not really. I have my siblings.”
That wasn’t the same, but I didn’t say anything. He seemed the arguementative type;
disagreeing with me for the sake of it. I let it be.
The silence continued again. He looked distracted by something, his eyes darting at the
scenery outside but never seeming to focus on anything for long, his face so expressive that
I couldn’t stop watching it.
“Are you all right?” I said after I’d watched him for a full five minutes or so.
He made himself sit still and focus on the road. “Yes. Why?”
“You just seem …. “
“I’m fine.”
I didn’t dare contradict him.
“Do you have a lot of perfume on?” he said after a while.
“No.” I was mystified. “I don’t wear perfume. Just deodorant. Why?”
“Just that I have a very sensitive sense of smell. Maybe it’s the deodorant then, or
something on your clothes.”
I wondered if that could be true. All of a sudden I felt paranoid, wondering what else he
could smell on me with that ultra-sensitive nose.
A truck ahead of us belched a cloud of fumes and looking like he was going to choke, he
abruptly put up the window, scowling heavily. I guessed I was the lesser of two evils. My
lips quivered.
Again his eyes started flickering all over the place.
Was he on some kind of drug?
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He saw me staring at him and made himself focus again. On me this time. That was too
much.
“So.” He looked at me pointedly with his wonderful eyes and my heart flapped wildly.
“What do you do exactly at school?”
I’d never had to explain this to anyone before. I had to think about it. Seeing as I hated
school so much I didn’t feel qualified to talk about it, sure my hatred for the place coloured
all my perceptions. “They put you in classes of subjects with other kids and a teacher. The
subjects include things like maths, sciences, English, social sciences, history, physical
education, art, cookery and at our school, agricultural sciences.” I guessed that kind of
encompassed it. “You go to your classes, have lunch and hang out with your friends –
which like we were just saying – the social interaction side is a big part of it. If you don’t
have any friends, you probably walk around by yourself and have a really bad time. That’s
pretty much it.”
He listened seeming to think about it. “Is that what you did today?”
“What?” I blushed darkly.
“Walk around by yourself?”
I looked down at my lap. So he wasn’t stupid then. I wondered if he was having a joke at
my expense, but when I looked up his eyes were grave. There was no amusement in them.
“No. Not really,” I almost snapped. “How was your day then?” I said, trying again to get
away from my day.
“Probably not as interesting as yours.”
I noticed he totally evaded my question. That was clever, but annoying. But, two could
play at this game.
“So what were you going to ask me before?” he said, before I could think of a question to
throw back at him.
I couldn’t remember now. “Oh. I was going to ask if this was your car?” It seemed an
outrageous and expensive car for a teenage boy to own.
“Yes it is.” His tone was a little guarded. So, I’d found some chink in his armour.
“It must get you plenty of interest from girls,” I joked.
“I wouldn’t be interested in anyone who liked me because of a car,” he said with a
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sideways glare at me. “I don’t like shallow people.”
I wished I hadn’t said that now. I hoped he didn’t think I was one of those kinds of girls.
“I’m really not into cars,” I said hurriedly, trying to shake off the feeling I was sinking in
quicksand. “I wouldn’t even know the difference between a family car and a sports car. But
your family do own some pretty amazing cars. It’s hard not to notice that.”
“It gets me around.” His tone was carefully nonchalant. “It’s cheap to run, clean and kind
to the environment as it runs off water and solar energy and it’s handy for fitting all my
siblings in. Right now it looks like a sedan, but it actually changes shape. It has four
distinct conformations: long and thin for transporting people; short and small for parking
and wide and thin for long range driving alone on country roads and …”
“It changes shape?” I cut in, wondering if I’d heard right.
“Uh huh.”
“How does it do that?”
“Through flexible, multi-functioning parts. It also flies. It’s a one off custom made design
from Germany.” He smiled slightly at the look of awe on my face.
“It flies? Are you joking?”
“No. It’s slow in the air though, not a jet. Strictly two hundred and fifty kilometres per
hour maximum on cruise mode and there’s no pressurization so obviously reachable
altitudes are limited.”
“That’s slow?” I laughed to myself. “Can you give me a demo?”
“Not here. I don’t want to get arrested.”
He stared ahead, serious again. “So, did you learn much today?” Back to me and my day
again. Looked like that subject wasn’t going away fast.
“Not really.” I shrugged. “At least there were no rat dissections like last week … I mean a
few weeks ago. Not that I actually got to ….” My voice tapered off at the sight of his face.
He was suddenly scowling, his knuckles hardening over the wheel. “Not that I got to do it
….. but that was by choice.” I wondered what was making him so angry.
“Oh, why?” His tone was a little cynical, his eyes slitted.
“It makes me sick. I think it’s cruel too. And unfair.” I blushed and braced myself for the
usual disagreement and stupid jokes.
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His hands relaxed a little and his face softened. But his eyes still blazed with anger. “Me
too. The way humans treat animal’s sucks. It says a whole unpleasant stack about our
species.” He was gritting his teeth, breathing a little hard.
I nodded and swallowed, a bit overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions.
He was staring across at me and frowning. Then he laughed breaking the tension. “You
think I’m strange?” He brushed one hand through his beautiful hair and glanced at me. A
self-conscious gesture. “I suppose I can hardly blame you for thinking that.” He chuckled
lightly.
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I don’t think you’re strange. I agree with you. I’m all
for what you just said. I’m just not as good as you at expressing myself.”
An odd look came over his face. “I thought Christians didn’t care about environmental or
animal rights issues. Most of them think the planet and everything on it was put here by
God for them to consume before they move into their heavenly home.” He sneered slightly,
then dropped the attitude when he saw the look on my face. “But you – you think the same
hey?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Meeting another person who felt the way I did about anything was rare. I swallowed selfconsciously, wondering if he was feeling the same sense of connection I was feeling.
When I looked at him, he was frowning thoughtfully.
“Anyhow, I like strange people,” I added.
“It doesn’t get much stranger than me.” Rather than humorous, his face was serious.
The silence started again but this time it was more comfortable.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking … I was wondering … what star sign are you?” he
said.
My lips tightened. I hated questions about star signs, knowing I was the wrong one every
time.
“Or is astrology an affront to your religion?” he said and studied my face, trying to read
me.
“I don’t believe in it,” I admitted.
He rolled his eyes. I chose to ignore that.
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“But … all-right, I’m Gemini?” I scowled down at my lap and waited for the inevitable
jibes about two-faced twins.
“Oh. Really. So am I? When’s your birthday then?”
“The fourteenth of June.”
“No way!”
I stared at him, wondering the reason for the reaction. “What?”
“That’s my birthday?”
“Are you serious!” That was weird. The improbability …
We stared at each other with wide, startled eyes.
“So do you get the jokes about two-faced twins?” I said.
“Oh yeah!” He rolled his eyes. “I really hate that. And the split personality jokes.” He
chuckled to himself.
“So do I.”
“Except in my case they’re probably warranted.” He chuckled again.
“Oh. Why?”
He slitted his eyes at me. “That’s my secret.”
Frustrated, I snorted.
“I’m older than you though,” he said. “By one year.”
“I guess we’re not really twins then.” Somehow I was disappointed.
There was another silence and I thought about how odd it was that both of us had the
same birthday. The statistical chances made it seem more than a coincidence.
“So today at school didn’t blow you away then?” He sniggered. “It was just an average
kind of day?”
I laughed at that. “Oh yes, very average.”
“What would have made it more than average then; like a great day?”
He was so analytical my mind was all over the place trying to keep up with his questions.
At first I wasn’t sure how to answer. No-one had ever asked me anything like that. Then it
dawned on me that right now I was enjoying myself; that it had turned into a more than
average day.
“Making a connection with someone you really like,” I decided. “Then, maybe, having a
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good time with that person. Doing something fun.”
He listened carefully.
“Perhaps that person will come.” His beautiful eyes penetrated me for a moment then
turned back to the road.
I shivered and drew a shaky breath. I felt personally invaded, like he could see all my
thoughts, my fears and phobias. I turned my face and looked out the window with a sudden
desire to run and hide.
“So, um … what’s home schooling like?” I asked, changing the subject before it got too
personal again.
“I don’t know how it compares to going to a proper school.” He glanced across at me
making my heart start dancing away again. “We have tutors in a wide range of subjects
including things not taught in traditional schools – we study music, dance, astronomy and
astrology, computing, sciences, meditation, ancient cultures and religions, herbs, healing
arts, divination and Freyja teaches us too and makes sure we acquire practical skills like
cooking, horticulture and sewing. She’s our main influence really and has studied things
like metaphysics and healing arts in detail. Her level of knowledge is as good as some of
the best brains on the subjects. Better, I think.” His eyes were glowing as he stared ahead at
the road and it was obvious he adored his mother. “She gives us two full days of studies in
the craft …” he broke off whatever he was about to say and studied the speed sign with
affected enthusiasm. An obvious slip.
“Freyja says we’re better educated than most students and have more one on one time. All
of us were child prodigies and are way advanced for our age. Perseus is fifteen and already
doing university level maths and computing. We’re all Mensa graduates, not that that
means much.” He shrugged almost bitterly. “Hermes is probably the brightest of all. He
excels in everything but isn’t interested in much except astrology and sciences. Then we all
play several instruments, dance and sing. Some of us better than others.” He grinned
suddenly.
Wow! I was impressed. My shoulders sagged a little. By comparison I felt uncultured,
dull and ordinary. He seemed to read my feelings, shooting me a penetrating look.
“Knowledge and talents are meaningless if they aren’t used for the betterment of the
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world and there are other experiences just as vital that I’d like to have.” He was staring over
the steering wheel, suddenly reflective now.
What? I wondered.
“What do you plan to do when you finish your schooling?” I said. “Go to uni?” I
imagined he would do something like that.
“Actually, I’ve already done a Uni degree. I’m completing postgrad studies in law at the
moment - by correspondence. I also write songs that I sell to producers and I have my own
personal projects that I’m involved in.”
“Oh.” I was flabbergasted. “What do you plan to do with your law degree?” I couldn’t see
the connection between law and witchcraft.
His whole face tightened but his eyes looked fiercely ahead. “Campaign and advocate
rights for animals.” He fell silent and that intense dreamy look came into his eyes. He was
suddenly far away.
“That sounds really cool,” I enthused. “It’s refreshing to meet someone who isn’t just
about money or themself.”
He didn’t say anything – as if he was thinking about what I’d said.
“Thanks,” he said belatedly. “Do you mind if I turn on some music?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
He pressed a button on the dashboard and above our heads at the roof of the car above the
dash, a partition moved across revealing a paper thin, long, flat screen. A 3D image of a
very overweight, very submissive genie appeared on the screen.
“Yes Master?” The image spoke, seeming to look down on us. At us! With an awareness
that unnerved me.
“Play us some tunes Genie. Start with track twenty-three from my faves,” Ganymede
said, then turned to me. “I always feel like a freak with voice activation – it sounds like I’m
talking to an imaginery friend.” He grimaced and raised his eyebrows comically and
laughed - the most enthralling sound I’d ever heard. Shivers went through me. And the
thought he had the same insecurities as anyone else was somehow endearing.
Music pumped out real loud so that I jumped and clamped my hands over my ears.
“Hey rude dude. Down a notch. We do have a passenger here.” As Ganymede spoke the
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volume lowered enough that we could talk. “Genie is programmed to react to your presence
and knows you’re there. There’s heat sensors reading your every move and changes in your
skin temperature or respiration that might indicate discomfort, cold or anxiety. But you
know what computers are like. They have a mind of their own sometimes.”
“What is Genie exactly?”
“The operating system of this car. He controls everything: the air con, music, lights,
navigation, speed. Of course, I can and do over-ride him, which he hates.” He laughed to
himself. “He might look like a himbo, but that’s just an act. He’s the brain’s of the whole
car.”
“Oh. Right!” I laughed and sank back into the chair, wondering if Genie knew how hard
my heart was pumping right now. “You like this kind of music?” I said, listening to the
song. It was dark and heavy.
“Oh yeah. Music keeps me alive. Actually I like all kinds. It depends on my mood. Gaard
doesn’t allow modern music in the house so when I get a chance I can go a bit overboard
with it.”
“Just a bit huh?”
He laughed his enchanting laugh.
When I looked back up the genie on screen was dancing with a group of similarly clad
friends in a room with curved walls, the interior decorated in an exotic Arabian theme. I
sniggered.
“He’s kind of strict,” I said. “I mean .. like … your … dad.” Ganymede didn’t take up my
cue to talk about it. His face went stony and I felt his walls go up. I looked for the bruise on
his face that I now supposed had been put there by Gaard – it had almost healed and wasn’t
so apparent anymore. I put that down to all those supplements and juices we were forced to
take.
“Pick a song you like,” he suggested in what seemed to me an obvious change of subject.
“As you’ve probably worked out it’s voice activated. At the moment it’s just playing from
one of my playlists, but ask Genie to play you whatever you like. If it’s not in my collection
Genie will source it from one of the online stores, but I’ve got a pretty diverse range of
tastes.”
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I couldn’t think of anything or to be more exact, I couldn’t concentrate on the task.
“No. I like this,” I said, surprising myself by starting to get into the song. “It’s kind of
heavy. But, it’s good.”
“Life is heavy,” he said.
“You’re not wrong there.”
“It can be fun too.”
“Sure,” I agreed. Not my life, I thought to myself.
“I wanted to ask you something,” he said suddenly in a voice so tantalising my tongue
thickened in my mouth. I stared at him, wondering what he’d want to ask me. I didn’t feel I
was that interesting.
“What about?” I said, instantly defensive.
“I wanted to ask you about ...” he looked at me again, hesitating. He was staring at my
neck with that look of dread back on his face. “The cross you wear.” He licked his lips.
I shivered, like really shivered. Witches and Christians were enemies. Anyone knew that.
“Are you cold?” he said, glancing across at me.
“I’m okay.”
He threw Genie a reproving stare and pumped up the air conditioning anyway. “Those
clothes don’t look too warm. My sisters have more clothes than they can wear. I’ll get some
warm jackets for you from Andromeda or Demeter.” He glanced at me uncertainly seeming
to change his mind. “Or I can ask Freyja to buy you some new stuff. I know how girls are
about clothes.” He laughed enchantingly.
“Thanks,” I said. “But, I’m fine.”
He rolled his eyes. “The independent type huh?”
“Okay fine,” I huffed, frowning. “Get me the clothes. Thank-you,” I added hastily in case
I sounded ungrateful. “It’s very thoughtful of you.”
He looked suddenly distressed. “I’m not really that thoughtful.”
“Maybe you’re more thoughtful than you think you are.”
“Then again, maybe I’m not.”
He fell silent, staring ahead, as if something I’d said had deeply affected him.
“So, the cross,” he said, returning to the subject. “A lot of people wear them? But you
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also have the Bible on your mantelpiece, so we kind of gathered you were into it. How
much of a Christian are you or is it just a decoration?”
When I looked at him, he was staring over the wheel, kind of freaked out.
“I believe in God, Jesus and the bible but in a quiet way. My great grandmother gave me
this necklace. It’s pure gold. Actually, Chinese gold which is more yellow in colour.” I
fingered it as I spoke. “It comforts me to wear it.”
“Like a kind of talisman,” he hypothesised.
“I suppose.” I didn’t really like the analogy. I glanced at his neck to see if he was wearing
the pentagram and spotted the chain tucked away beneath his shirt. I wondered if he was
hiding the pendant on purpose.
His face was wary. “So you probably think things like astrology, astral travel and magic
are evil, huh? Like the mark of the devil - 666 – all that kind of stuff.” He was smiling,
trying to keep it light, but I could see how rigid his back had become.
I hunched my shoulders, feeling cornered into a conversation I didn’t want to partake of.
“No, I don’t agree with that stuff.” I clenched my lips preparing for an argument over
theology. From the corner of my eye I saw him swallow.
“You think it’s an abomination, right?”
The conversation was getting tricky. “No. Just that it might not be good for them or
others. It could be dangerous.”
“So, you wouldn’t get involved with anyone who was into that stuff,” he speculated.
“You wouldn’t even be their friend?”
“Well, it depends. But, no, probably I wouldn’t. Why?”
There was silence. “It was just a theoretical question,” he said finally. His beautiful lips
fell slightly ajar, then he broke the tension with a slight laugh. “At least you’re honest.
More honest than I would be if someone asked me that.” He laughed again. His laugh was
so enchanting and so infectious, I felt totally warmed by it. I couldn’t help smiling.
“If I knew someone, theoretically speaking, who was into witchcraft I’d want to help
them,” I said, feeling like I hadn’t explained myself properly the first time.
He looked stunned, his eyebrows lifting. “Help them? Why?”
“Free them from bondage to a false theology.”
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“Oh, I get it.”
We were silent a while and I thought of the irony of the whole situation: the Christian girl
coming to live in the Witch family. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing.
“I was just thinking …” he said.
“What?” I prompted him to finish.
“Never mind. It was a stupid idea.”
I groaned. “I really hate it when people do that?”
“Do what?”
“When they start saying something and don’t finish.” I waited for him to complete his
sentence. The car rolled on in silence except for the music. “Well? Aren’t you going to tell
me?” I teased.
“It really annoys you?” He looked across at me and laughed. His laugh was like a burst of
song. “Why?”
“It’s like seeing the beginning of a movie and not knowing the end.”
“I wouldn’t take it that far. But if it means that much to you.” He sighed. “It wasn’t
anything. I was just going to say it would be nice if Christians and Wiccans; if people of all
religions, could see what they had in common and be friends. If love was more important
than theology; if it was the central theology, that could happen.”
“Are you crazy?”
“Apparently.” He shrugged and rolled his eyes, chuckling darkly.
“Witches and Christians have absolutely nothing in common.”
“Oh well, I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree on that one.” He looked away, nonplussed. “But I hope to convince you otherwise. Already we’ve found a lot of common
points don’t you think?”
“As in?”
“Our birthday for starts, music, and the insanity of respecting the life of a lab rat.”
I stared ahead in silence hoping he didn’t think that won the argument for him.
He sighed. “All-right. I warned you I was different. I suppose I don’t think like the rest of
the world does.”
“Me neither, but …” I totally lost my train of thought when he looked at me in that way.
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“What I meant before is I try not to just sit back and accept things that aren’t right. I try to
influence and change things.”
“That’s pretty admirable,” I said and I really meant it. I was in even more awe of him than
I had been before.
He laughed. “It’s more painful than anything else. Like trying to rip your way through a
million tons of concrete with just your bare hands.”
An interesting analogy. “Definitely sounds painful and could end up with a few injuries.”
He laughed for some time, a stream of music to my ears. “I don’t know any other way to
be,” he said, pressing down on the steering wheel with his hands. “I choose to fight rather
than bury my head in the sand.” He suddenly looked fierce and proud, like a lion or a
prince.
I wondered what he meant by that; what he was fighting. He wasn’t like any other boy I’d
ever met. He wasn’t just startlingly beautiful, but intelligent and kind and he had principles
and he made me laugh. Everything about him was fascinating if not a little weird. My
attraction to him was suddenly all the more deeper than before. I wouldn’t have thought
that was possible. He didn’t even need the looks: he was more than perfect without them.
Trembling, I turned my face to look out the window. I saw my reflection in the glass and I
could just see a blurry outline of his reflection too. I watched him, trying to decide if I liked
his face best from a side angle or front on. Every way was startling. That just wasn’t fair on
the rest of us. Again, I could see his eyes darting about and him cocking his head sideways
listening to things I couldn’t hear. He probably thought I wasn’t looking.
“How’s your wrist?” he said. I looked over at him. He was staring out the windscreen, his
face a carefully composed mask of casualness. Trying to pretend he didn’t know anything
about it; hadn’t been there that night I fell.
“Oh, it’s fine.” I tried to sound breezy, like I didn’t know either.
“Fine?” he repeated incredulously. “Didn’t you break it? I’ve broken my bones countless
times. I know what that feels like. It doesn’t feel fine.” His voice shook just a little.
“This is my first ever broken bone,” I growled. I hadn’t meant to: the anger had come out
unintentionally.
His eyelids batted furiously and his beautiful face mottled. He gripped the steering wheel
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and stared at me cautiously. “So do you remember how you did it?” His voice was lower
than before.
“Of course. Clear as a bell. That kind of pain is unforgettable.”
He winced and his face coloured. “So, what happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I was being chased.”
“Chased?” His voice cracked on the word. All at once he bit down hard on his bottom lip
and turned his face from me by looking out the driver window. The car swerved off the
road a little and clipped some bushes. I saw him exhale and drag the steering wheel swiftly
to the left just in time to avoid ploughing into the embankment. As his hands crossed over
the steering wheel, I spotted the unicorn tattoo on the inside of his left wrist. Further up on
his other forearm was the same tattoo I’d seen on Gaard: the open, staring eye. Somehow,
that disappointed me and marred the perfect image I had of him.
“Sorry,” he apologised. “Um, so who was chasing you?’
“A demon,” I said pointedly. There. I’d said it. “Or, I think that’s what it was?”
He covered part of his face with one hand. “Is that what you thought …” His voice trailed
away as if he realised he’d revealed too much. He laughed a little nervously.
I glared at him. “What?”
“Um, never mind.”
We drove in silence for a while. This bizarre two level conversation was doing my head
in.
“How do you know for sure you were being chased?” he resumed again. “By this …
demon … thing.” He swallowed over the word demon.
“It was rather apparent. The thing was coming straight at me.”
“Maybe it was just trying to help you,” he suggested.
“I don’t think so somehow. It didn’t exactly look friendly.”
“Really? How could you tell?”
I didn’t have an answer for that.
“I’m sorry … “ he gulped. “I mean .. about your wrist.” He looked really miserable and
upset.
“Don’t be. Maybe it was like you said. The thing didn’t mean me any harm.”
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He didn’t say anything.
We drove in silence for a while and I wondered if all the topics had been exhausted. He
leaned towards the middle of the seat, scouting around in the compartment. His hand was
near my thigh making me shiver all over. If it came any closer I was going to die and enter
heaven.
“Are you hungry?” he said. Back to normal topics again. “There’s some chocolate in here
somewhere. I’m sorry I don’t have something healthier to offer you.”
“Like one of the Heydrich special lunchboxes,” I said, gaining control of myself.
He chortled deliciously.
“I thought Gaard didn’t approve of chocolate,” I teased.
He laughed enchantingly again. “It’s my secret stash. Do you want some?”
“I’m not hungry.” With all the nerves in my stomach there wasn’t room for food. Besides,
I didn’t think I was capable of eating in his car, sure I’d drop crumbs of chocolate
everywhere. “Thanks anyway,” I mumbled. “But I’ll leave all the joy to you.”
He laughed again. “Are you sure? Why don’t you take it for later? I’ll only make a pig of
myself if you don’t.” He laughed again. A sudden picture of him sitting in his car secretly
gorging chocolate came into my mind and I grinned to myself.
“Then I’ll end up with acne and Gaard will have me on laxatives for two weeks to purge
my bowels.” He rolled his eyes and laughed.
“All-right,” I said, grabbing the chocolate. “Give it to me. I don’t think I want to see that
happen.” Then both of us were laughing so hard he couldn’t drive properly and had to slow
down. But, another part of me was thinking about what he’d just said; about how Gaard
expected his children to be always attractive and dress and behave like perfect little dolls
instead of real life children.
“Sorry. My driving is really pathetic today. You seem to have a really bad effect on it.”
He stared back at the road, his face suddenly serious. “It must be hard coming into an
established family,” he speculated. “Especially one like ours.”
I pressed my lips together. “A little bit.” I felt my cheeks reddening. I wasn’t used to this
kind of directness. Most people our age avoided personal topics and talked about trivia I
wasn’t interested in: what they did on the weekend, the football score or what was on
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television the night before. Yet another reason why I found Ganymede Heydrich so
intriguing.
“What happened to your foot?” I asked, kind of wanting to get the heat off me again. The
cast was off it now, I saw.
He laughed. His laugh, like everything else about him, was always so enthralling I stared
at him like an idiot.
“Don’t ask?” he said. That laugh again. I couldn’t help smiling.
“Too late?” I teased, sensing an embarrassing story. “Did you slip over in the mud?”
He laughed again. “Okay then. You asked for it. I tripped on a tree root when I was
bushwalking.”
“What? Are you serious?”
He laughed at my reaction. “Yes, I’m afraid it’s really that ridiculous.” His face suddenly
sobered. “Actually, I have a juvenile form of osteoporosis. My bones are brittle and break
very easily. It’s a side effect of steroid medications I take for a heart condition.”
I swallowed but he spoke as if it didn’t bother him too much. It was hard for me to fathom
how someone so perfect looking on the outside could have health problems.
“But you’re so cut, I mean muscular.” I immediately regretted saying that. It sounded like
I’d been ogling. Which I had. Damn! I gave myself away.
“That’s the muscles, not bone.” He shot me an amused look. “I have to keep my muscles
strong to support the bone so I work out a lot.”
“That must be hard for you … having that condition.” Already I couldn’t remember the
name of the disease.
“No, not really, I’m used to it now. I’ve been this way from a young age. I’ve broken my
right leg twice already, the other one once, plus wrists, toes, fingers, ribs, more bones than I
can remember.” He sounded almost blasé about it.
“Is that why …” I began, struggling with the right way to say this. “You take so many
pills?”
He was silent. “Yeah, I’m like one of those disappointing floury apples. Healthy looking
on the outside. Rotten inside.” He laughed but it was empty. His beautiful face twisted into
a bitter mask and I could see that just like that morning at breakfast he was seething inside.
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I stared down at my hands frowning. I wished I hadn’t brought it up. Many people would
have traded perfect health for only five percent of his looks. Not to mention all his other
abilities.
We drove for a while in silence. Now we were on the stretch of winding road coming up
to Jenolan known Jenolan Caves Road. The trees hanging over the road blocked out the
light so that it was like driving through twilight. The road twisted in jagged turns, left then
right. Ganymede was taking the corners too fast, his face dark and angry and I wondered
what had happened to change his mood. It seemed a different road to the one I’d driven on
with my father that first day I’d come to Elysium, as though things were changing, moving,
too fast for me to follow. The world seemed unsteady and unpredictable; something I
couldn’t rely upon to stay the same one minute to the next.
He seemed to gain control over his emotions and smiled reassuringly at me.
“I hope you don’t mind me asking,” he said in a low tone and automatically I stiffened.
“What happened to your parents … Ayesha?” The soft gentle way he said my name as if he
were experimenting with the sound of it in his mouth had the butterflies dancing in my
stomach. I liked the way he said it. It was like no-one had ever said my name before till that
moment.
I froze and stared at the walls of bush clambering either side of the road. The road dived
round another bend as I wondered what to say. I was about to churn out the road accident
story – a fabrication about my parent’s death from a head on with a truck that I spun for
most people. It was easier than the messy truth of my parent’s divorce, dad’s mental illness
and mum’s new boyfriend who didn’t want me on the scene. Easier for others to understand
too. The road accident thing was a real conversation killer and spared me answering
uncomfortable questions.
But something about his expression made me feel he wasn’t just prying the way others
did. I’d risk it - the truth. Still, I couldn’t help swallowing. It was difficult.
“Didn’t Gaard or Freyja …. explain .. about me?” I began, hoping that might get me off
the hook.
“No.” He studied the road ahead.
“Well,” I sighed. “After their divorce, they … were too busy … having nervous
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breakdowns … working out their lives, their partners and where they were going to live …
to care for me.” I stumbled over the words and looked down at my lap. It seemed the safest
place to stare at. From the corners of my eyes I could see him turn his head to look at me,
feel his eyes boring into me. My cheeks burnt.
“That doesn’t make sense. Couldn’t they just consolidate you into their new lives?”
I gritted my teeth. This was exactly why I didn’t like talking about it. The questions. The
need for others to understand the situation. The shame and inadequacy I felt for myself and
for my parents.
“Not everyone’s loaded with money,” I retorted.
“Money’s not everything. It doesn’t make a family.”
“But it helps.”
“Where’s your mother then?”
“She’s in Queensland with her boyfriend. She doesn’t have a job or a house. She lives in
a bedsit.” I felt pressured to add that last bit, to explain that she did in fact love me in her
own imperfect way.
“What about your father?” His eyebrows lifted anxiously.
“He lives in the back of his station wagon and travels about. He’s got manic depression.”
My voice was doleful as it always was when I had to go over this stuff. “I think the
travelling is his way of trying to escape from being depressed.”
“Why don’t they work something out and take you back?”
My cheeks flamed like a blowtorch had just applied to them.
“I don’t know,” I admitted, my voice small like a little child’s. I folded my arms, hugging
them tightly across my chest. I clenched my fists, willing myself not to cry.
I could feel his eyes penetrating me. Pity. I couldn’t bear it.
“They’re mad not to want you,” he said with feeling, his voice suddenly thick. His hands
clamped tighter on the steering wheel. “You seem smart and sensible and kind and you’re
attractive enough; virtually everything any parent would want in a child.”
He paused and stared at me with troubled eyes and I swallowed uncomfortably.
“I don’t understand people. Sometimes they take what they have for granted; their health,
their loved ones; even their very lives and all they might accomplish with them.”
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My eyes were smarting. What was it to him? It sounded like he’d done a lot of deep
thinking about life and in this department as in everything else about him he was way ahead
of me. Ahead of everyone our age.
I sat there staring fiercely ahead, jiggling my legs anxiously. I exhaled a heavy breath. For
some odd reason, having him care was frightening, almost claustrophobic, making me want
to run.
“What is it?” he said.
“Nothing.”
“Bullcrap. What’s annoying you right now?”
I folded my arms tightly across my chest. “I don’t need your pity,” I admitted. “Anyway,
what’s it to you?”
“Exactly.” He puffed out a bit of air. “I must be stupid to care.” His tone was sarcastic.
I hoped I hadn’t gone too far. “I don’t think you’re stupid at all.”
He didn’t say anything.
“You’re just not like anyone else I’ve met,” I explained, or tried to explain. Oops. I’d
meant that to be a compliment. But it could be taken the other way.
“Maybe that’s because I’m really not like other people.” His face was suddenly broody.
“Although you couldn’t be expected to understand that,” he muttered, almost to himself.
“You know what Ayesha - I just don’t like to waste my time talking crap. No-one really
knows how long they’re here. For all I know, I could have a heart attack tomorrow. If today
is my last day on earth I don’t want my communications with others to be meaningless,
random pieces of bullshit.”
I nodded, a bit overcome. As I always was with him. I felt suddenly like a rodent beside a
mountain lion. I felt like nothing.
“As for my parents, they aren’t bad people,” I said, returning to the subject, trying to
complete it. “They’ve had hard lives. They can’t even look after themselves let alone me.”
“You’re not bitter?”
“No.”
“I find that surprising.” His tone was sceptical.
“It’s not their fault they weren’t cut out to be parents.”
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“Now you’re justifying them.”
He was silent. Staring ahead over his hands on the wheel, frowning.
I looked away wondering. Was he right? Was I justifying? Or was it just that others
couldn’t understand because they didn’t personally know my parents and their struggles.
When I looked up I saw him blinking away tears, frowning hard as he tried to contain
them. Frankly I found his emotions disturbing – they opened a crack in the rock that was
my heart and made me feel vulnerable, like I was opening up, trusting him, but terrified at
the same time.
I stared at his beautiful artistic forearms and wondered what it would feel like to have
them wrapped around me. Just once. Oh hell! The thought was exquisite.
Get real idiot. That’s never going to happen.
I closed off the thought. It was like forcing the cork back down on a bottle of partially
opened champagne.
The car swerved suddenly as it hugged the sandstone embankment, clipping shrubs. His
eyes had caught on something unable to let go. A bird flying from a branch. Just as quickly
he corrected the direction of the steering wheel and re-focused on the road. The tyres
squealed and I lurched sideways bumping my head on the window. I enhaled a nervous
breath and my heart slowly returned to its normal pace. We’d almost had an accident.
Death, as he’d just asserted, was never far away.
“Please stay alert Master,” Genie reprimanded. “I suggest, perhaps, a small break.”
“Chill out big boy. It’s all under control,” Ganymede said then turned to look at me. “I’m
sorry Ayesha. I’m really sorry. I promise that won’t happen again. Is your head okay?”
“Yes.” I smiled to show I was fine.
I watched as he dug into his pocket with one hand and took out a pill container,
shovelling a couple of them into his mouth.
“I’m really sorry,” he said again.
“It’s totally fine. Not even a scratch. There’s no brain in there anyway.”
He laughed. Then, so did I. The laughter between us was contagious.
“So, does it mean a big deal to you, coming here to live with us?” he asked, under control
again, playing the big brother role or the father role - I wasn’t sure which. “Being fostered.”
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I was kind of thrown by the question like someone had thrown a ball sideways at me
when I wasn’t looking, unsettling my equilibrium. I didn’t know how to answer.
“Were you really excited about it?” he clarified, misunderstanding my silence, perhaps
thinking I didn’t understand the question.
“It’s not a big deal,” I lied and swallowed at the obviousness of the casual lie. “But it’s
better than being stuck in a refuge.” I looked at my feet on the car floor, just so I wouldn’t
have to look at him, see that pity in his eyes again. He was silent so long that I was forced
to look up at him. He was frowning and he looked deeply worried or upset, his eyes
burning with some emotion. I wondered about that.
I looked out the window. We were approaching the turnoff to Elysium. Ever since he’d
asked me that last question, he’d been silent, brooding over something. Disappointment cut
through me. The trip home had taken no time at all. I wondered what I’d feared so much
from him. Once we’d started talking it had been impossible to stop. I just wanted to keep
talking to him.
He suddenly floored the accelerator and zoomed past the turnoff.
“Where are we going?” I gasped.
“Round the block.” The worried look hadn’t left his face, only intensified. I wondered
what was troubling him.
“There’s something I need to tell you.” His hands were tense on the steering wheel, his
jaw clenched, his whole demeanour one of tension. I was suddenly sure I didn’t want to
hear whatever it was he wanted to tell me. The whole of my brief time at Elysium flashed
before my eyes: the scary note left in my bed, the silent treatment from the Heydrich
children, the trashing of my room, the scary night down at the caves, the person who had
come in the middle of the night and chanted over me, the insanely rigid rules and the
imposed isolation.
I stared at his tense beautiful face wondering what he wanted to tell me. My heart began
to race.
The scenery fled by. We were going too fast. I don’t think he even realised how fast. I
stared apprehensively at the speedometer. It was reading 120km/h.
I waited for him to say whatever he was going to tell me, but he didn’t speak for some
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time as if he was having trouble getting out the words. When he finally did speak, his tone
was low, almost a growl.
“Things aren’t what they seem at Elysium. We’re not some perfect family.”
Acid bile rose in my chest, burning, and I swallowed. Again there was that feeling of
things moving too fast for me to follow. I felt like someone hanging out of a rollercoaster.
My legs started jittering nervously.
“Every family has its problems,” I said, side-stepping the issue. Better than anyone, I
knew that.
“Yes, but we have bigger problems than most.” He gritted his teeth. “What I’m trying to
say is ... you might not be safe here. You’d be better off with another family.”
A coldness solidified along my spine. I looked down at my hands in my lap and was silent
for a long time, pondering his words. In a strange sense, I felt rejected. He kept glancing
across at me, frowning; a fact that worried me when he was driving so fast.
“I don’t think you understand,” I said, twisting my hands in my lap, trying to fight off the
disappointment and the feeling he was rejecting me. “I don’t have any other family. It’s not
like I have hordes of people waiting to foster me. I’m sixteen, turning seventeen next
month. No-one wants teenagers that age. They all want some cute baby.”
“Isn’t there somewhere else you can go?” he insisted. His eyes were soft, yet at the same
time, dogged.
“No.” I folded my arms defensively.
“Then give me the name of your parents. Let me ring them.”
“No way! You are not doing that.”
“What’s their surname? Lees?”
“No! I’m not telling you. Back off. I do not want my parents contacted. They already
have enough worries.”
“But they’re your parent’s right. They would want to know if you were in trouble.”
I said nothing. I crossed my arms and frowned hard.
“Please listen to me. Stop being stubborn for just one moment and hear what I’m saying.
You’re in a lot of danger here and you don’t seem to care about that. Trust me, this is not a
place where you want to be.”
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“Would you like to elaborate?” I leaned back in my seat and stared across at him in my
most challengingly manner.
“No. Actually, I mean … no I can’t.” He sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his
beautiful hair. For a moment I lost all my focus again as I imagined what it might be like to
brush my hands through that perfectly groomed wavy gold hair. My stomach bounded.
“I’ve already said way too much,” he said. He braked suddenly and the tyres screeched on
the road. Then, he did a U-turn back in the other direction down Two Mile Road. He
sighed. “Look, I’ve got to get back to the house. Gaard is timing me.” He glared at his
watch. “If I don’t get back in two minutes he’ll go ballistic. Does that give you any
indication of what he’s like? Please at least think about what I’ve said.”
I was thinking about what he’d said about Gaard timing him. That was weird. So, most
likely whatever he was warning me about it involved Gaard.
“Okay, I’ll think about it, but if my life’s in so much danger don’t you think I should
know why.” I stared at him, willing him to answer me. He had to see the logic in that.
He didn’t reply. The car slowed slightly. He lifted the hand nearest me to cover the side
of his face and I realised he had tears in his eyes again. He swiped the tears away with
vicious jerking movements of his hand and stared hard at the road.
“What’s wrong?” I said, alarmed. I seemed to have a bad effect on him. It was like the
second or third time I’d made him cry.
“You are what’s wrong.”
I waited for him to explain.
“You must have had a rotten life that you would risk your own safety to live with us. I
don’t get it. Look at you – you’ve been with us only four weeks and already …” He
glanced at my wrist in the sling, his face contorting openly with distress. “I can’t ….” He
stopped whatever he was about to say. Then he took several deep breaths and tilted his head
back trying to calm himself.
“You were going to say?”
“Nothing.”
That was helpful. I was silent a while, thinking or trying to think. My head was spinning.
“Are you always this sensitive?” I said finally. Despite myself, I was blinking furiously,
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trying to keep back the tears at the thought that someone would cry for me. In the deepest
part of me, something was stirred. The urge to feel his arms around me was so
overwhelming I shook all over and had to grit my teeth to try and ground myself.
He snorted. “Once again, this is not about me. This is about you.” He turned the full
strength of his eyes on me in a look that could best be described as seductive and imploring.
It was the kind of look that would have gotten him any girl anywhere to do anything he
wanted. My heart ricocheted in its walls.
“Look Ayesha, it’s incredibly touching, almost heart-breaking, that you want to live with
us all so much, that you actually trust us that much, but please think about what I’ve just
said,” he implored. “Please?” His eyes when he spoke like that … it was all too much.
“It might be hard not to,” I said and grimaced, looking away and trying to breath. He was
wrong about the trust thing. “So, are you going to tell me what you’re talking about? Why
am I in danger, as you say?” I crossed my arms in front of me, starting to get irritated now.
“I told you. I can’t say.”
“You mean won’t. That’s so unfair. If you really did care you would tell me wouldn’t
you.”
“I’m sorry. I know it’s frustrating the hell out of you, right. Like you said, knowing only
the beginning of the movie – but I can’t do anything about it.”
“Why not?” My eyes snapped back in challenge to his beautiful face.
“I can’t tell you that.”
I groaned. “Surely you can see it from my perspective. How would you feel if you were
me?”
He exhaled a puff of air, a sound of frustration. “I see your point,” he said. “All-right. I
will tell you one thing.”
I waited. He had all my attention now.
“I’m bound by oath.”
“By oath? To who?”
He frowned and his lips tightened. “I’m not saying anymore.”
It took me a moment to compose myself. He hadn’t told me anything! No doubt he meant
his oath to the coven or some other entity or individual. So, in a way he was involved in
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this too. That didn’t feel good. I tried another tack. “Was it you who planted the note in my
bed?”
He looked at me blankly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
That threw me. I thought I’d been on a winner with that one. So, if I was wrong about
that, then who?
The car rolled suddenly into the drive of Elysium. We’d been driving way too fast and the
tailgate bumped against the surface of the road. I saw someone lift the curtain in the
downstairs office and Gaard’s face peer out. The curtain dropped back into place. So it was
true about him timing us! That sent a shiver up my spine. I still had so many questions but
now they’d have to wait till another time. The frustration was almost too much to bear.
I stared up at the big old house, confused, my mind full of conflicting emotions. I knew
only two things, both of them extremely troubling: I was horribly attracted to Ganymede
Heydrich, my foster brother and probable witch, and for some reason unknown to myself,
my whole future at Elysium was looking uncertain, standing on a shaky foundation. If I was
totally honest with myself what bothered me most was losing the connection I’d made with
him. That was totally sick. I should have been worried about my safety. My priorities were
totally wrong, verging on suicidal. Or insanity.
After he’d turned off the engine I sat in the car, not wanting to get out. I glanced
helplessly across at him. He was so beautiful - from the top of his shining head to the end
of his black boots - that my insides ached.
“So, what are you going to do Ayesha?” He folded his arms and scowled out the window.
While he waited for my answer, we sat for a minute, staring out, and the air between us
seemed to bristle with tension and excitement. The intensity of the feelings that were
developing in me terrified me. Needing anyone, depending on another human always
terrified me, but especially when that person was someone like Ganymede Heydrich.
I breathed erratically. I felt like I would die if I couldn’t see him again; if I couldn’t laugh
or fight with him – for beneath the tug of war that passed between us on the surface, I felt
an intense attraction simmering. To have that taken away after one glorious taste ...
Oh crap! I had to get away from him and the affect he had on me. I needed air. Space.
Automatically, I reached for the door handle, but there wasn’t one. He pressed a button
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and the door flew up like a wing. Oh yeah. That. I tried not to look surprised.
“Well, thanks for the lift home,” I said stiffly. “And the advice.”
I got out of the car, snatched my backpack and took off towards the house before he could
say another word to me.
“Ayesha!” I heard him call after me. The sound of him sighing heavily and kicking the
turf reached my ears.
I suppressed a smile. So, he wasn’t so perfect after all.
Cockatoos rose screeching from the trees as I walked down the drive. I stared up at the
configuration they made, the sky stretched out behind them, white and tense like a canvas
waiting for something to be applied. Clouds growled and boiled on the horizon. I wondered
when the storm was coming.
Staring up at the house, I felt fear hardening like ice around my thawing irritation.
A police car was parked in the drive. Wondered what the cops wanted here.
As I passed through the hall, taking care not to tread on the rug this time, I saw two men
in the office with Gaard.
Beside Gaard stood a middle-aged man in a rather dishevelled suit, his torso thick and
rounded like a bears beside Gaards more lean, gaunt height. They bent over the computer as
Gaard fiddled with the keypad. Despite the ordinariness of his appearance the man in the
suit emanated an air of casual authority. I guessed he was probably a plain-clothes cop.
Another man in a regular police uniform stood silent in the room, his hands clasped behind
his back.
Questions piled in my mind. What were they doing here? Had there been a crime
committed at Elysium? Was it anything to do with Ganymede’s warning to me?
Probably just a coincidence. A petty theft. Or a guest gone bushwalking and got lost.
I halted outside the door and listened.
“I’ll need a record from your database of everyone who stayed here in December and
January,” the plain clothes cop said, his voice expressionless and methodical.
“Everyone?” I heard Gaard bleat, then recover himself quickly. “Of course. I will get my
wife to see to it, sir. She handles all the administration. When do you require it sir?”
He was crawling hard. That made me want to vomit.
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“As soon as you can. I’d also be interested in any transients that might have visited; all
gardeners and maintenance people that might have been on site at the time as well as all
staff of the premises. We appreciate your assistance with this investigation Dr Heydrich,”
the cop said somewhat more solicitously, stepping back from the desk.
“I’m very happy to help in any way I can,” Gaard said. “Please let me know if there’s
anything at all I can do. It must be very hard for the girl’s family. Are they local people?”
“We haven’t identified the body yet.” The cop sounded gruff, reluctant to say anymore.
Had someone died, I wondered?
The policeman in uniform turned his head in my direction, spotting me, then the others
looked my way.
Hurriedly, I put my head down and thumped slowly off down the hall.
“How many people live on the premises?” I heard the plain clothes cop say as I passed
down the hall.
I heard Gaard cough, then clear his throat. “Just my wife and I. And our foster daughter.
And three staff live on site.” I heard the door of the office snap closed. Wondering about
that last statement, I kept walking to my room. It struck me as strange that he hadn’t
mentioned his natural children to the cop. I wondered what he was hiding; what was going
on, and suddenly I knew where to ask. The kitchen. I made a mental note to probe Robert
and Toby on the weekend.
That night I finished my meal ahead of everyone else for a change. There’d been a
strange atmosphere of disquiet over dinner: Freyja picked at her food with an expression
like someone had died; some of the children looked like they’d been crying, red welts
circling their eyes. Only the cutlery clattered above the silence. I wondered what was going
on, if it had anything to do with the visit from the police.
When I asked to be excused from the table, Gaard looked up and scrutinised me coolly.
“Ayesha Lees, I would like you to wait for me in the office.”
I stared back at him, my skin crinkling. “Sorry?” I caught Ganymede’s look of alarm.
That scared me. I looked from him to his father.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Gaard said impatiently. “What are you looking at him for? I just
asked you if you could wait for me in the office. You know where it is don’t you?” He
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looked at me as if I was stupid.
“Yes. The room at the front with the computer in it.” I frowned, puzzled. Was I in trouble
or something? It would have been nice to have had an explanation. “Sure,” I said, starting
to rise.
Across from me I heard Ganymede clear his throat. I clutched the back of the chair
apprehensively and stared over at him.
“She can’t,” he stammered.
His words caught me by surprise. Both of us stared at him. His hands were gripping the
underside of the table.
“You had something to say on the matter?” Gaard’s voice was like hoar frost. Everyone
had stopped eating and was watching the exchange.
“She’s …. she’s going to help us with … internet research.” The muscles of his face
trembled slightly; but his eyes were steady and unfaltering on his father.
Was I? That was news to me. Some of the children eyeballed each other. It seemed they
didn’t know about that either.
“And, it’s so urgent that you can’t do it another day?” Gaard said sarcastically. He stared
his oldest son down with the power of his eyes.
A muscle at the side of Ganymede’s mouth flickered. Apart from that he was still as rock,
his eyes blaring with an intense determined expression. The angry lion look. The same look
they had in the home movie where he spoke out for animals.
“Perhaps then you needn’t use the internet at all tonight if you can’t do it without her.”
Gaard smirked triumphantly. “You can all go upstairs tonight and improve your circle
casting and chakra levitation techniques.”
“But ...”
Gaard raised a hand for silence. “I don’t want to hear anything further from you. If you
can’t make rational sense, don’t open your mouth at all.”
A burgundy hue had risen on Ganymede’s face. He frowned down at his plate. I guessed
that was that. Before I left the room I glanced at the others. Freyja was staring down at her
plate. In contrast, Gerda’s expression was triumphant, her eyes almost greedy. That was
scary. Except for Achilles who was staring at his plate abstractly, the rest of the children
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were looking at me with an expression that could best be described as pity. As I left the
room, Ganymede’s thwarted and anxious face watched me. None of it very comforting.
I stood in the guest office, pacing the floor and waiting, frustrated by all the secrets here. I
folded my arms about my chest and shivered. The central heating hummed routinely in the
background. It didn’t seem to work as well in this room, probably because the room was
close to the front door.
One thing was for sure: no-one was going to give me the answers. I had my theories, but
if I wanted to find out anything concrete, I’d have to hunt it out myself in whatever way I
could. It was survival and nothing was more intrinsic to life.
So far, all I knew was there was some ulterior motive to me being here. According to
Ganymede, I was in some danger. Then, there were the stories circulating at school about
witchcraft and blood sacrifices which might or might not be related to Ganymede’s
warnings. Small towns could breed exaggerated gossip and Christian people in particular
could imagine demons everywhere. But there were a couple of things that had me very
uneasy: first, the predatory way Gaard and his parents often looked at me, second, the
strange puncture wounds on my wrist and third, the lengthy unexplained sleeps.
Hidden somewhere in this house there had to be little pieces of the truth.
I rattled the drawers of the desk. Except for one they were locked. There was a book
inside, handmade and full of beautiful pages, the purple cover decorated with swirling
patterns and strange letters that reminded me of hieroglyphics. The cover read:
Lady Freyja’s Book of Shadows.
Inside, the pages were filled with handwriting in a strange alphabet, decorated with
spirals, diagrams, inscribing and odd symbols such as a door with wings and an open palm.
At the top of the page were the only words I could read:
Spell for sealing and binding a familiar.
On the next page page.
Spell for an amulet to ward off the evil eye.
I shivered at this conclusive proof of witchcraft. My fiercely Pentecostal great
grandmother would have been horrified to know I was living with a family so involved in
witchcraft.
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My attention turned to the computer.
The green and yellow Elysium Guesthouse home page displayed on the screen. I clicked
on all the tabs in the website but found only routine information on rates, rooms, packages
and links to tourist sites and the Jenolan caves website. Nothing particularly innocuous.
Some information about the resident ghosts, murder mystery dinners and the Halloween
séance nights caught my eye. I skimmed over it.
Then I checked the bookmarked websites and studied the history of recently browsed
sites. Nothing too weird there: banking sites, airlines, travel agents and online
merchandisers, but there was a link to a site called Southern Hemisphere Spells that caught
my eye. It was Freyja who did all the book-work. Gaard probably had a separate computer
elsewhere, probably upstairs – and that was what I needed to get hold of. Gaard was the one
in control of everything and in my mind I’d already nailed him as the instigator and brains
behind whatever was going on here. Freyja, I believed, played a minor, more submissive
role, perhaps forced to comply with whatever Gaard wanted.
Just then a mail notification came up on the screen. I hesitated, then clicked on it.
An email came up.
Mrs Heydrich
Re: your query for 10 tonnes of wicker-work.
I have contacted the manufacturer in China and can supply the above prior to June as
you requested.
Please contact me to arrange delivery.
Yours sincerely,
John Hodgekins
Hodgekins and Meyers WickerWorks
I clicked on the email below it.
Please find attached invoice for my services.
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Kind regards
Letitia Edwards
Nothing much. Just a bill.
Except …. The name was somehow familiar.
Then it hit me. Letitia had been the social worker at Wesley Dalmar. A brown-haired
woman with shrewd eyes. About twenty eight. She’d always been exceptionally nice to me.
Why was Letitia sending a bill to the Heydrichs? Since when did Government social
workers start charging for their services?
Curious, I clicked on the attachment and an invoice opened up. My eyes focused on the
sum in bold at the bottom of the invoice.
$20,000
I quickly scanned the words at the top of the invoice.
To: Mr and Mrs Heydrich
Elysium Guesthouse, Jenolan Caves
As per our agreement, the securement of a ward with the following features:
- Female, minimum weight 60kg with correct body mass for height
- 16-18 years old
- No history of disease and in excellent health
- No history of tobacco, alcohol or drug use
- Mild manner and compliant disposition
- Star sign – Gemini
- Blood type - O
- No close ties to family
As discussed, if there are any problems, a refund of $5,000 will be supplied.
I look forward to the Winter Solstice celebrations and the fruition of your plans.
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Your sister in the faith,
Letitia Edwards
My brains cells were firing like pistons. A creeped out, ice along my spine feeling,
clutched me.
Was the email about me?
What was going on?
So, Letitia, was one of them – ‘Your sister in the faith.’
Suddenly, the computer started making a loud noise. Roaring. Like a dragon. Or a demon.
Automatically, I jumped back. You could hear the noise all the way through the house.
Probably some kind of alarm.
I pummelled the keyboard, madly trying to shut the thing up. When that didn’t work I
tried closing the email. No good. It was jammed.
I swore at the thing. At myself for being so stupid.
The door opened suddenly and Gaard strode in. I backed away quickly from the desk,
withdrawing my hands from the keyboard like it had suddenly turned into a hot stone. His
eyes fell on the email on the screen.
Holy crap!
“It wasn’t me …” I stuttered. “It just …. suddenly starting going psycho.”
“You opened that email didn’t you.” The tone was crisp. It wasn’t a question.
“An email notification came up and I thought it might be something urgent so I clicked on
it.” Since I’d come here to live I was becoming a good liar. Very worrying.
Gaard stared at me coolly. Contempt and disbelief registered on his face. And something
else …. he looked ruffled.
“Take a seat,” he commanded me.
Dropping onto the deco lounge behind me, I obeyed even though I would have rather
faced whatever unpleasantness was to come, standing up.
He closed the door, then locked it. I stared at the locked door, gulping. I had some issues
with that. My hands tightened on the edge of the lounge. Swallowing, I hid my right hand
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beneath my jumper.
“And, what did you think about it?”
“What?”
“The email. You’ve obviously read it,” he said. “Don’t play stupid with me Ayesha
Lees.”
I didn’t know what to say. I stared at him dumbly, caught on the spot.
“I’ll tell you what it is,” he said regarding me carefully as if he truly cared for my opinion
– something I wasn’t used to with him. “As you may have noticed I’m a perfectionist. I
wanted a child who would fit in here and complete my family and I was willing to pay for
that level of compatibility. It would be true to say, this is no ordinary family, as I’m sure
you’ve found. Does that explain the email to you?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
What about the blood type?
“My wife and I always joked that another Gemini in the house would liven things up a
bit.” He laughed stiffly. I realised then I’d never heard Gaard laugh before. The sound
almost frightened me.
“Doesn’t it please you to know you were handpicked from hundreds, if not thousands of
children?” He smiled a rare smile.
“Me?” I cringed. “I’m nothing much.” I shrugged guardedly.
He stared at me pointedly. “You are exactly what we wanted. You must trust me in that
Ayesha Lees. I know I may seem very hard to you, but I am very pleased with you.”
I blushed.
That encouraged me to ask the question that had always been on my mind. “Why did you
want another child Gaard?”
He studied me and I could see the cogs turning in his brain. “There was another daughter
in our family…” His head bowed just slightly. “She was the same age as you – but she
died.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He didn’t say anything, but peered at me incredulously.
So I was the replacement?
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“Now.” He turned to his black briefcase on the floor. “If there are no more questions, let
us get on with business.”
Gradually, I’d calmed down and many of the doubts in me were soothed. So, there was a
rational explanation. I just would not have suspected that Letitia was one of them.
“I suppose you’re wondering about the point of all this,” he began.
You could say that.
As he talked he unpacked the contents of his briefcase and I saw a long needle, some
glass vials, bandages and a stethoscope. “As you know I’m a doctor. I monitor the health of
all my children and I would like to conduct some routine examinations on you.” He turned
around muddling again through the briefcase. “Please take off all your clothes and lie on
the lounge.”
I stared at his back in fright. “What … everything?”
He turned around to face me. At my shocked expression, he amended that to, “you may
leave your underwear on.”
I dismantled my clothing, then with my arms covering my bra, I slowly levered myself
down onto the antique lounge. I stared up at the patterned ceiling, my heart quivering like a
tiny trapped rodent cowering inside the walls of my chest. I couldn’t stop shaking. Maybe it
was the cold. Or Letitia’s words on the invoice.
“… securement of a ward with the following features …” Like I was some kind of pet.
Did I come up to scratch? What if Gaard found some imperfection in me? Would he send
me back and ask for a refund?
Gaard approached the lounge and instinctively my arms tightened over my chest. He was
holding a clipboard and pen and had put on glasses. Through them his dark blue eyes
looked bulbous and predatory but he could have been an attractive man if he wasn’t so
creepy.
He shone a torch into my eyes, measured my height, examined my teeth, took my pulse,
heart rate and temperature. Then he had me jump on the scales.
“How am I looking? Am I normal?” I joked, a reaction to the nervousness.
He looked down at my face as if he’d forgotten I were there at all; as if it were an item of
furniture he were measuring up for inclusion in the guesthouse, rather than a human being
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lying there. “You’re in good health for now; at sixteen most humans are in the peak of their
physical fitness and beauty, but it won’t last.” He smiled, almost nastily. “Unfortunately,
the ravages of death and decay await us all Ayesha Lees. It’s downhill all the way from
here, I’m afraid. What can I say but enjoy it while it lasts.” He patted my shoulder in what
might have been intended as a comforting gesture, but to me felt only condescending. I
didn’t dare attempt any more jokes after that.
He went to the desk and returned with the needle and a brace which he wrapped around
my arm and inflated. I watched as he swiped the inside of my elbow with something then
jabbed the needle in. Bright red blood began filling the vial. My blood. He filled ten vials in
all. I wondered what he wanted with so much of my blood. Feeling faint, as if all my vital
sustenance had been milked out of me, I rested my head in my hand.
“What’s the blood for?” I reasoned I was entitled to know. It was part of my body after
all.
“Routine tests,” he said without further explanation. Suddenly too weak to ask anymore
questions; too weak to think, I slumped in the chair. I badly wanted to close my eyes and
sleep, but I felt edgy and suddenly as thirsty as an empty well.
“Done,” he said. As he swabbed the puncture mark left by the needle, I realised now what
had caused those marks on my wrists. It was exactly the same mark. So, he’d been taking
my blood. Why?
“I need to ask you some questions now.”
“Okay,” I choked. Questions I could handle. That sounded kind of easy after everything
else. Although the way I was feeling right now, I hoped it wasn’t going to be some major
quiz.
First were questions about my cardiovascular system. I answered as best as I could.
“I need to know about the rest of your blood relatives?” he said. He wanted to know about
every single person – grandparents, great-grandparents, cousins. Then, there were more
questions about my current state of health. The questions went on and on.
All at once I felt so cold I started shaking uncontrollably. I badly wanted to sleep. My
eyelids starting swaying.
I looked up. He was staring intently, almost impatiently at me. He’d asked me a question
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and I hadn’t noticed.
“Any loss of memory?” he repeated, a trifle impatiently.
“A little.”
For no reason at all he smiled.
“Missing days?”
I wondered how he knew about that.
“Yes, why?”
“I’ll ask the questions,” he sneered.
Whatever.
“Good. Everything’s perfect,” he muttered finally. “Now, I have a little activity for you
Ayesha Lees.”
Didn’t like where this was going.
“Starting from tomorrow, I want you to do half an hour on the treadmill every day.”
I stared at him. Exercise and I didn’t mix.
“Do you know where the home gym is?”
I nodded reluctantly. So, he wanted me to become like his other children: an
exceptionally fit and healthy super freak.
“Together we are about to make a super human out of you, Ayesha Lees.” His eyes lit
with a feverish glow.
“Excuse me?” My spine started prickling.
“Get dressed,” he said, packing his medical equipment back in his briefcase, turning his
back to me. “I want you to drink the hydrating tonic and the vitamin concoction I’ve left on
the desk and two litres of water. I will see you outside.” He opened the door and strode out,
leaving me lying on the lounge in shock.
I got up looking for my clothes on the back of the lounge. Some creature flew clumsily in
through the open door and perched on the back of the chair at the desk staring at me with its
dark orbs. A bat. Or at least that’s what I thought it was.
Freaky! That didn’t even encapsulate it.
It was the weirdest thing I’d ever seen. Its face was wizened and leathery like a bat’s
while its body was thick like a cat’s, covered in striped grey fur. Two tiny, black, scaly
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wings were folded across its chest in praying mantis fashion, but its back legs clinging onto
the back of the chair were like a cats. A hairless, pink curly tail wriggled at its rear. As I
lifted one finger towards it, a strange high-pitched squeal came out of its mouth. Like
everything else here it was a freak. I wondered if this monstrosity of a creation was
something to do with Gaard’s genetic work. It sickened me. Why would he want to create
such a thing? This was a living thing not a toy.
I reached for my clothes on the chair. Before I could grab hold of anything, black spots
swarmed before my eyes and my knees buckled. I reached out to cushion myself as I fell
forward. For the third time since I’d come to live at Elysium, I fainted.
I woke in my bed. To darkness kept at bay by a circlet of lamp-light. My heart jolted
when I saw who was sitting on the bed beside me.
Ganymede Heydrich!
Holy crap!
Impeccably dressed as always, exquisite as an angel, he sat slumped forward on his arms,
staring at my face with the broody, troubled expression I’d come to associate with him.
Above us, the freakish bat hung by its hairless tail from the chandeliers, squealing and
wriggling its wings.
“Oh God!” I snapped. “You scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry.”
“How did I get in here?” I suddenly remembered I hadn’t been wearing anything but my
underwear, and flushed.
He stared back, suddenly circumspect. “I found you on the ground in the office.”
He’d found me like that! Very embarrassing. I tried to remember which underwear I had
on, hoping it was nice underwear, but I had a horrible feeling it was a slightly stretched,
faded pair. That was agonising. I swallowed and avoided looking at him, sure he was
thinking the same thing.
“What happened?” he demanded, staring at me so intensely that all my skin bristled.
“In the office? I … um … fainted.” Another reason for me to blush. It sounded like I was
some pathetic, weak female. “I faint fairly easily,” I added as an explanation. With me my
emotions were sometimes so extreme they immobilised my whole body. My body wasn’t
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strong. My mind was stronger. But I didn’t want to tell him that.
“I mean, did he hurt you?” he said. His lips were tight around the words, his eyebrows,
normally so delicate and fine, twisted into knots.
I wasn’t sure if I’d been hurt or not; if being frightened and examined while half naked in
a locked room constituted being hurt. With effort I tried to sit up, and settled for resting on
the back of my elbows. “No, he just stole half my blood and creeped me out big time. Your
dad’s not a vampire by any chance?” I joked.
He laughed a little crazily, lowered his head, clamped it between his hands, then sighed
deeply.
“Is that what you were trying to warn me about? Something to do with your dad?”
He didn’t answer. He lifted his head and looked at me with very grave eyes.
“Isn’t it enough what I’ve told you already Ayesha?” His eyes implored me. Very hard
not to acquiese when he looked at me like that. Again, as before the sound of my name on
his tongue made me shiver.
“No.”
“Are you always this difficult?” He laughed in disbelief.
“Me difficult? Hello? You’re the one that’s withholding the truth from me.”
He didn’t say anything. He seemed to be listening to something I couldn’t hear.
“Someone’s coming,” he said tersely. “I’ll come back later.”
Both our eyes flew to the door.
Oddly, I hadn’t heard anyone approach, but I quite clearly heard the doorknob rattle and
saw the door swing open. Robed in a black dressing gown, Gaard stood towering in the
doorway.
“Sorry to break up your little slumber party,” he said in a chilling tone. Gone was the
earlier polite charade revealing the scarier character Gaard could sometimes turn into. His
eyes fell on Ganymede, who’d straightened in anticipation. “Why aren’t you with the others
studying? Get out! Await my justice upstairs.” His face was promptly stormy.
Ganymede slipped off the bed and trundled disconsolately out. Gaard gave me a sharp
glance then followed. I shrugged resignedly. I was almost getting used to the whole
weirdness of the family, my new blasé attitude troubling in itself.
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Outside in the hall I could hear them arguing, Ganymede’s voice shrill alongside Gaard’s
deep and resonant baritone.
“I won’t let you harm her! She’s a human being, not a commodity.”
He was defending me!
The muscles in my stomach tightened as I listened at the door.
“You will no longer challenge my authority in this house!” Gaard roared back.
They started shouting at each other in that weird, ancient sounding language. Although I
didn’t understand the words, the tone was unmistakeably aggressive and angry; the way
Gaard expelled the words uttered like a curse.
There was a thud. A gasp. A groan of pain.
Ganymede!
My heart jolting, I listened after the sound of their argument continuing, footsteps
retreating, then the house was quiet again, the central heating humming and the wood of the
house making its odd creaks.
In the room adjacent to mine I could hear two people muttering in Dutch to each other. It
sounded like they were a little freaked out. I didn’t blame them. In another room a guest
coughed uncomfortably, opened their door then shut it again. Bizarrely, I wondered what
they thought of the whole thing.
I woke in the middle of the night, panting, from a dream I was about to die.
In the dream, I was a super being. I was running through the bush pursued by a man with
a tall, gaunt body, thin dark brown hair and a jutting face. Gaard. Except it wasn’t quite
Gaard as I was used to seeing him. He was flying above me, his arms outstretched to grab
me, his eyes glowing a piercing vermillion.
I woke just as he gained on me.
I shook my hand frenziedly at the lamp till it snapped on a small reassuring bud of light
and stared at the shadow’s that reared up on the walls. I sat up waiting for my breath to
calm and the frightening images of the nightmare to fade.
I was supposed to go to school tomorrow. Supposed to have lunch with Ryan Van Wijk in
the canteen. This environment wasn’t exactly conducive to normal behaviour. In no time
I’d be looking as haunted and sleep-deprived as the Heydrich children. I recalled the sound
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of Ganymede Heydrich fighting with his father, crying out in pain and hoped he was all
right. Inescapable was the conviction that what had happened to him was my fault. He’d
put himself out for me, but how much could I really trust him?
The moonlight slanted through the window and across the room like an uninvited guest. I
stared back at it and weighed up my options for a sleepless night.
A loud rustling sound just outside the window made me look out, my skin prickling. It
sounded like a very large animal – a dog or something – was out there. But when I went to
the window and parted the curtain I couldn’t see anything except a faint fluorescent blue
shimmer beyond the trees, and the full moon hovering, its face leering down at me and
making a silver cast over the garden. The sound stopped and I felt something looking back
at me.
I thought then of Gaard’s rule about being home before dusk and my spine prickled. Was
there something out there at night? Another one of his creations perhaps?
I peered harder into the trees and heard a soft growl unlike anything I’d ever heard before.
In my mind I had a picture of something deformed and dangerous, with lots of teeth and
hair and little red eyes.
I hurried back to bed. Burrowing under the blankets I murmured the Lords Prayer.
Lead us not unto temptation
I saw Ganymede Heydrich’s face in my mind.
But deliver us from evil.
Daylight and the sun couldn’t arrive soon enough.
8. Chimera
At lunchtime Ryan Van Wijk and I sat in the canteen staring at our burgers, both of us
tense and afraid to start eating first.
In the periphery, I could see Joss and Trudy standing by the fire haudrent pretending they
were just hanging out when it was more than obvious they were stalking us. Great! So I had
an audience to witness what I felt sure was going to be my humiliation. I tried not to look at
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them.
My legs jittered beneath the table as I examined Ryan’s crinkly pastel blue eyes in his
lean healthy face. His expression was a little awed. The whole hopeful puppy analogy came
back again.
“So… um what made you decide you wanted to have lunch with me?” I said, trying to
break the ice. “If I remember rightly when you first saw me half the grass was covered with
my lunch. As you can see I’m not exactly the physically co-ordinated type.” I waved my
sling at him and he laughed.
I studied his thin smooth forearms on the table; the raw looking stubs of his fingers
where’d he’d chewed his nails down. Up close he had clear blemish free skin and a trace of
Colgate lingered on his breath. His blue eyes were pure like a five year olds. The rest of his
features were undistinguished so I focused on his eyes. I decided he was the wholesome
type. I’d bet he had perfectly cut sandwiches in his lunchbox and no secrets. Unlike me.
There was no way he’d be sitting here with me if he knew – knew all about me.
I felt suddenly like an older sister sitting with her younger, more innocent brother.
He looked up shyly from his burger. ”I just thought you seemed like a really cool chick.”
He drawled the words and squinted at me in an embarrassing attempt to look cool.
Ha. He had no idea about me then or the kind of boys I was into.
“Did anyone ever tell you first impressions can be misleading?” I said.
He laughed heartily. Suddenly more relaxed, he took a tentative bite out of his burger.
“So, what subjects are you doing?” he said after he’d finished his mouthful and wiped the
grease from his lips.
“Nothing too challenging.” I was sure he was doing all the tough or advanced level
subjects. I rattled off my subjects and he listened, biting into his burger, chewing
thoughtfully. He was a good listener.
“I’m in advanced maths, computing, chemistry, physics and public speaking,” he stated
proudly. “And, I’m in the debating team, the soccer team, and I play tennis and practise at
the pool twice a week.” He looked pretty chuffed and I felt like he was boasting, thinking
I’d be impressed.
“Oh cool,” I said trying to sound convincing. Then I stared down at my burger, or rather
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the mess I’d made of it, the contents arrayed all over the plate. There was an uncomfortable
gap in the conversation and I nibbled at a piece of tomato. It tasted like plastic but served
its purpose as a prop to focus my attention on.
Ryan swallowed and his face looked strained, like he was trying to think of something to
say and having as much trouble as me. I had to give him points for trying. I wasn’t exactly
making it easy. “You should come down to the pool sometime after school. It’s heated,” he
added as if that was an incentive. He cocked an eye at me, waiting for me to say something.
I wondered what he expected me to do: stand there watching, maybe cheering every time he
completed a lap, or actually participate.
I smiled wanly, mysteriously, I hoped, but didn’t commit to anything. Gaard’s threats
were in the back of my mind and Ryan was exactly the sort of person I wasn’t supposed to
hang out with - involved as he was in an anti-witchcraft crusade. The thought of Ryan up
against Gaard was frightening. A mouse beside Predator.
Ryan looked a little offended that I hadn’t taken up his suggestion. His cheeks mottled
and he took another bite of his burger. I did the same, suddenly feeling uncomfortable
again.
“How’d you do that?” he said, indicating my sling. “You obviously must do some sport.”
He frowned in a puzzled way, as if the thought of someone not engaged in physical activity
was totally abnormal, unfathomable to his mind.
“I fell.” I laughed hysterically before he could say anymore. He stared at me like I’d
grown a few extra heads. I suppose I over did it a bit with the laughter.
“So, um ...” I said, quickly reaching for a new topic. “I read that flyer you gave me. Are
you a Christian?”
His cheeks reddened slightly. “My family goes to the Christian Life Centre. Well, just my
mum and my sister really. My dad doesn’t go much. Some of the people in our church
designed the flyer. They thought it would be good to get something happening at school. So
many teenagers in this area are getting into the occult. That’s why we formed Gods Black
Belts. Me and two other boys – Tristan and Elijah – started it, but we’re getting more
recruits all the time. I’ll introduce you to them if you want. We meet once a week in Room
seventeen.” He nodded approvingly at my cross. “You should come along.” Again that eye-
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cocking thing. It was a bit of a mannerism with him.
I nodded. He could interpret that however he wanted.
“So, your whole family are Christians?” I gushed hurriedly. Anything to divert the
conversation away from the subject of extra-curricular activities I couldn’t partake in. “That
must be nice.” I imagined camping trips with toasted marshmallows, roast dinners with
grace at the table, an atmosphere of warmth and love. Maybe it was a little too perfect in
my mind.
“My parents aren’t my real parents,” he stated suddenly. “I’m adopted.” The personal
information was delivered in the same matter of fact tone he’d told me everything else. As
if it was no big deal.
I stared at him. Wondering how he could just come out and tell me that at our first
meeting. Compared to me he was open. Trusting even. The trust in me was strangely
moving.
Is that wise little boy? You have no idea who I really am. Don’t trust me too much. I’m
not interested in you. You’re only going to get hurt.
“What happened to your real parents?” I said. Strangely, it hadn’t occured to me that
other kids at school might have less than perfect lives.
He glanced away to the side of him. “They died in a car crash.”
The irony of that didn’t escape me: after all my stories about my parent’s death in a car
accident, here I was finally face to face with someone that had actually happened to. Maybe
it was poetic justice that I was now on the receiving end of my own lie. In a way, I almost
didn’t believe him.
When he looked back at me there was something sad submerged in his lime-blue eyes.
Okay, so his story was true then. Of course it was. He wasn’t as calculating and as much as
a liar as I was.
“That must be hard for you.”
“No, not really.” His tone was patient as if trying to explain something to a young child.
He shrugged. “I was little when it happened. And, my parents are really cool.” His face
broke in a massive smile like a happy Labrador. That said it all.
I nodded. Swallowed a little. Happy families always had that effect on me. I stared at him,
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evaluating how I should handle this whole situation – his stupid little boy crush on me. It
suddenly felt like I was holding a bubble in my hands. Trying not to break it. Unsure how
that was possible.
He grinned across the table at me, his starstruck eyes never leaving my face - as if he
couldn’t believe I was real. I felt like a fraud. Whatever he thought I was, it wasn’t me. If
he knew: knew who I really was, he wouldn’t be smiling right now.
Little boy, I don’t want to hurt you. Not you.
I found myself smiling back. I hadn’t meant to. That was only going to get me into
trouble and make this whole situation worse.
“Joss said you live up at Jenolan. That’s a bit of a hike to school. My friend’s dad is a tour
guide up there. Are your parents in the tourist industry?”
I’d been holding my breath the whole time, afraid he’d been about to say something about
witchcraft; afraid of discovery. Phew! I allowed myself to breath again. So, he didn’t know
exactly where I lived. Or more importantly, who I lived with. Not yet, anyway. Once he did
find out there was no way he’d want anything to do with me. Maybe no-one would.
“Um yes, kind of.” I didn’t want to give away the name of the guesthouse. “He owns a
few hotels in Germany and other parts of the world, but he’s more of a scientist really. He
earns a lot from the hotels, so he pretty much does his science thing.”
Ryan gulped and looked at me wide-eyed as if he were a little awed by that.
“Money’s not everything,” I said quickly, looking down at my burger, trying to avoid
answering any of the possible personal questions that might arise and especially the one he
didn’t ask – about Gaard not being my real dad and the whole awkward story that entailed.
My chest tightened as I braced myself for the inevitable questions.
“For sure,” he agreed, then gulped uncomfortably. “But it does buy things. I’m sure you
wouldn’t marry a cleaner or some guy with no money.” His eyes challenged me, somehow
defiant. As if my opinions defiled everything he’d grown up to believe in.
“I wouldn’t rule it out – if I liked him,” I said, a little annoyed at his assumptions about
me. He looked confused and perplexed, squinting as if he were trying to work me out,
realising for the first time I might be more complicated than I appeared. I couldn’t see how
this was going to work out. We had nothing in common and there was a general lack of
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chemistry; a lack of anything. I guess he’d work that out for himself sooner or later. I felt
like I was on a date with a ten year old. Boys my age were so immature. I squirmed in my
chair and glared at the big clock on the canteen wall. I wondered if my detachment
intrigued and challenged Ryan; if it was part of the attraction even. I could see him
examining my face like I was a challenging game; like he was trying to work out the rules
and a strategy to win me.
Good luck little boy. You’ll never work me out. You’ll never get close. You and I are like
milk and vegemite: not meant to go together. There’s too much light and simplicity in you
and too much darkness and complexity in me.
Just then, something, perhaps the feeling of someone’s eyes upon me, or a shift in the
energy of the room, made me look up and I saw a stunning, beautifully dressed boy walking
through the canteen towards me.
Ganymede! Holy ghost! What was he doing here?
The cast was off his foot now and he glided like a lynx through the tables, drawing looks
from everywhere.
There just weren’t people like this at our school if in the entire universe. No wonder
everyone was staring.
Just before he reached us he tripped but re-balanced himself just in time, grabbing onto
the back of a girl’s chair for support. It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only klutz who
wasn’t looking where they were going. I saw him apologise to the girl, who looked up
speechless and blushing, practically having a stroke on the spot. The girl laughed loudly
and her cheeks went as red as beetroot if that were possible. It was somehow irritating to
realise I was just as impressionable as every other female.
I straightened in my chair, gulped down the food that was in my mouth and wiped my lips
quickly. I must have looked like someone about to be hit by a flying bus.
Ryan had seen the expression on my face and swivelled round in his chair to see what I
was gaping at. Of course he didn’t look too pleased to see me gawping at the hot guy
heading our way.
“Ganymede. What are you doing here?” I said, blushing when he stood before me, six
foot something of devastating, jaw-dropping physical attractiveness.
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His expression was dark, his manner tense.
“I had to post some assignments and had a few spare moments…” he broke off, looking
at Ryan, then back to me. “Can we talk? In private?”
I looked at Ryan who was scowling heavily. “Ryan, this is my foster brother, Ganymede,”
I said hurriedly. Immediately his whole demeanour relaxed. He reached across the table to
shake hands with Ganymede.
“Sorry. Do you mind?” I said to Ryan. “Maybe I can meet with you tomorrow instead.” I
stood up, scraping my chair backwards. In the background I could see half the canteen
staring at us. From an outsider’s perspective it didn’t look good: one of the most popular
guys at school stood up; the girl he was having lunch with leaving her burger only partially
eaten to take off with a much better looking stranger.
“It’s cool,” Ryan grunted, and cleared his throat. I could tell that despite his words he was
irritated. He glanced at me. “Tomorrow. Same time, same place huh.”
I nodded half-heartedly. Part of me couldn’t believe he wanted to see me again. There
was something seriously wrong with him. What did he see in me?
Ryan sized up Ganymede, his clothes, his broad shoulders and startling face. “Nice to
meet you,” he offered.
“You too,” Ganymede returned. “Sorry to spoil your lunch man.”
“No drama.” Ryan focused on finishing his burger, looking away from the stares
surrounding him.
Ganymede and I walked quickly out of the canteen. Being in his radius, it was like the
sun was shining again. My head was spinning, anxiety bunching in my stomach as I
wondered what was so urgent that he’d come to school to see me.
On the way we passed Joss and Trudy hanging out at the side of the building. From the
corner of my eye I could see them staring at us, but mostly him, nudging each other, Joss
mouthing “who’s that?” and Trudy’s eyes popping. Joss waved frantically at me.
Ganymede frowned in their direction as if he could probably hear everything they were
saying. I tried to warn them with a look.
“Is there somewhere we can talk privately?” He glanced at his watch. “I haven’t got
long.”
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“I know a place at the back of the school,” I said hurriedly. “There’s not much there – just
grass and trees, but its away from everyone.”
“Let’s go there then.”
We hurried across the grass away from the school building in silence. My heart was
clunking so violently I felt sure he could hear it.
Once we were well away from the school, Ganymede gave a shrill whistle and something
that couldn’t fly very well hovered down from a tree and landed bumpily on his shoulder.
The freaky bat.
“What is that thing?” I said.
“The thing is Griseld and Griseld is something Gaard created.”
Created?
“Gaard never feels any responsibility for the things he creates,” he said acidly. “They’re
just scientific projects to him. I ended up feeding and caring for Griseld. So, she attached
herself to me.”
Like everything else, I thought. Like me. Then I recalled that night down at the caves.
When Ganymede had floated towards me there had been a bat with tiny wings clinging to
his shoulder. Not a bat, I now realised, but Griseld.
“What kind of animal is it exactly?”
“A chimera?”
I stared blankly.
“A beast made up of two or more kinds of animals. The word derives from the Ancient
Greeks. Griseld is composed genetically of domestic cat, fruit bat and pot-bellied pig.”
I didn’t know what to say. My face must have said it for me.
“You find it grotesque?” he said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No. But your face did. I’m sorry but it kind of gives you away.” He laughed.
“Dang.” I shrugged. “But you have to admit it’s kind of gruesome, maybe cruel even. To
the animal I mean.”
Some intense emotion crossed his face, but he didn’t say anything. I wondered what I’d
said that was wrong.
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He quickly changed the subject. “Have you thought about what I said the other day?”
Of course. Back to that.
The shadow came back over my heart again.
“The pressure’s on then.” I glanced across at him but he wasn’t smiling. I sighed. “I
thought about it, but since I don’t have that many facts at my disposal I don’t know exactly
what I’m supposed to be thinking about.”
“Finding somewhere else to live,” he reminded me.
I looked down at the grass, biting my nail. The thought of being out on my own in the
world again was too huge and depressing for me to think about. Where would I go?
“It seems you can’t wait to be rid of me,” I teased, although I wasn’t joking.
“Is that what you think?” He flashed me a half-amused look.
I noticed he didn’t answer the question. That was so like him. So annoying.
“So, was that your boyfriend?”
“What?” The question shot like a bullet through my thoughts. “No! Just a boy I was
having lunch with.” I could feel my face flushing. Then I thought of what he’d said – about
how my face showed all my emotions. That was annoying to say the least. I wondered what
was showing right now.
“I was going to say, you move fast. Second week at school isn’t it?” He teased.
“It wasn’t my idea,” I flashed hotly. “He was the one that asked me for lunch.”
He sniggered at that and slitted his eyes at me. “I’m sure every boy in the school wants to
go out with you.”
I snorted. “I doubt the whole school somehow. Even one percent of the school would be
stretching it.” I rolled my eyes violently.
“Whatever you say.” He smiled to himself, amused.
“You know what, you can be really annoying.”
“Is that so?” He grinned smugly at me. “Sorry to annoy you then.”
“I don’t think you’re sorry at all. I think you’re enjoying this.”
We walked in silence and I wondered if I’d gone too far.
“So, if I were a boy at school, would you have lunch with me?”
When I looked at him he was smiling slightly, like this might or might not be a joke. His
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marble blue eyes sparkling in the sunlight, regarded me. My heart fluttered.
I looked away and steeled my heart. “Maybe,” I said.
“Just the kind of non-committed answer I’d expect from you,” he laughed. “But I’m not,
so it doesn’t matter.”
I puffed out some irritated air. “Well, why ask?”
“I wasn’t asking.”
“I never said you did.”
“I was joking.”
“I knew that.”
I groaned, thoroughly exasperated by this confusing discourse, my brain going in circles.
It seemed whenever we began to get even a little bit close it turned into this tug of war. This
battle of wills and piling up defences against each other.
“So, theoretically speaking then, would you have lunch with me?” His beautiful eyes
glittered at me.
I groaned. Was he teasing me? I felt like my brain was going to explode.
“Okay, yes, I would have lunch with you. Theoretically speaking of course.” Despite my
exasperation, which wasn’t really exasperation I now realised, but frustration, I felt myself
blushing fiercely, my heart thumping like adrenaline had just been administered.
“Would you have lunch with me now Ayesha?”
My heart went into over-drive and I almost stumbled over my own feet. Very
embarrassing. I saw him stare at my feet, noticing.
“Watch the ground,” he said and smirked.
I couldn’t think of anything smart to say back. I straightened and held my head as high as
it would go, trying to pretend nothing had actually happened.
“And so?” he said. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“What? Lunch? Now?” I stared at him incredulously. My cheeks were scorching.
“Well, yes. Isn’t that what I just said?” His lips quirked.
“Well, yes.” I must have seemed like a total spaced out zombie.
“And so?”
“Oh!” I repressed the urge to scream at him. “If you wanted to have lunch with me right
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now why didn’t you just say so at the beginning?” I turned my face away from him and
rubbed my temple trying to relieve the pressure in my brain.
“I thought I did. Does that mean yes then?”
“Well … yes, I guess it does. It’s not going to hurt me I suppose. You’re not as bad as
you seem,” I teased and smiled my obnoxious best at him. “Although of course I could be
wrong.”
“Now, why did I have the feeling you were going to say something like that?” He laughed
his enchanting laugh. I couldn’t help it – I laughed back.
“Anyway, I’m glad you said yes. I didn’t want to consume the forbidden foods all by
myself.”
“You’ve got junk food?” I gasped. I suddenly noticed the bag he carried over his
shoulder.
“While I was in town posting my assignment I dropped into the shops. I hope you like
strawberry cheesecake?”
“I love strawberry cheesecake.” Then I thought about that. “So, why did you really come
here today? To fatten me up?”
“Like I said – to talk to you about the whole problem of living with the villainous
Heydrich family. And … all-right, I admit it: I thought it might be nice to hang out with
you again. You’re not as bad as you seem. For a Christian.” He started laughing. The most
enchanting laugh I’d ever heard. It made me laugh as well.
At the back of my mind I was wondering why we couldn’t just hang out at home. I
assumed it was because his siblings wouldn’t like it, or because of Gaard.
We’d reached the patch of gum trees. Too late I realised he’d stopped and walked right
into him, smacking into his solid back and reeling backwards.
I sat sprawled on the ground, a bit dazed, looking up at him.
Oops. Very embarrassing.
“Sorry,” I said.
“You’re apologising to me? I think you’re the one on the ground.” He rolled his eyes, then
extended a hand towards me and pulled me up. His palm was soft yet firm and very warm,
almost hot and his fingers as they wrapped around my hand with just the right amount of
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pressure felt so amazing I gulped and looked down at the ground. It was a taste, a small
taste ...
When I looked up our eyes met. My heart ricocheted in its walls. This close, his eyes
were miraculous. Like staring into the sea. Full of depths, sunshine and shadows and
hidden things. I could have lost myself there.
Again, as before in the car, I was afraid. Afraid of trusting and all the pain that might
bring.
I withdrew my hand from his, moving quickly to stand on the other side of a tree.
“Is something wrong?” he said.
“No. Should there be?”
He stared at me without speaking, like he knew I was lying.
We continued walking. I watched as, wincing a little, he rubbed his top of his right
shoulder.
“Are you all right?” I said.
“Sure. I chipped a bone in my shoulder last night.”
I remembered him crying out last night, the thud in the hall during the argument with
Gaard.
“Shouldn’t you be seen by a doctor?” My brows furrowed. I couldn’t help feeling
worried, wondering if it was something the authorities should know of. Unfamiliar feelings
of protectiveness surged up. “Your dad shouldn’t ….”
“I’m used to it,” he said, cutting me off and shrugging. “Remember, I break things all the
time. I have evolved coping mechanisms for pain.” He laughed musically.
I tried to think about what I could do to make Gaard suffer in return. Nothing came to
mind.
“I don’t know how you handle it. One broken bone in my life is more than enough for me.
You must have internal codeine running in your veins.”
Just then, we came across four boys walking in the opposite direction. Dog O’Dwyer, the
large annoying boy from Mr Yanovski’s lunchtime group, loped towards us swearing and
muttering unhappily to his much smaller, shorter friend, John Lewis, who scurried quickly
like a loyal terrior at his side. The two older boys I’d seen talking to Dog on my first day
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(the creepy ones Joss said were involved in a Satanic cult), prowled at a close distance
behind them, almost as if they were hunting or herding their prey. As we watched, one of
the older boys growled menacingly in that strange, undecipherable tongue, Dog swivelled
around with a stormy look, muttered something and threw him a small package, then both
older boys turned around and started walking in the opposite direction, away from the
school. I wondered what was in the package.
I stared after them. There was something odd about them I couldn’t put a finger on; a
darkness hanging about them – if that were possible. Like a vapour. They drifted away
almost supernaturally fast, without seeming to actually walk. That reminded me too much
of the Heydrich children. Were they involved in the same Satanic cult? I’d heard people
could harness supernatural powers through the devil.
On my left, I saw Ganymede stiffen, his face suddenly alert and tense. So, I was right
then.
Ayesha, you know you can’t have anything to do with a person involved in the dark
powers.
“Hey new girl,” Dog called out. “Watch out you don’t get busted. There’s a teacher on
duty sneaking about.” He pointed at a man in a grey knit jumper hovering not far away. Mr.
Plum.
“Okay,” I said tightly. I still wasn’t sure about Dog.
As we passed each other, I saw Ganymede give Dog a look that could best be described
as hostile. Dog’s shoulders squared defensively and he returned the look. As he passed us
he muttered something aggressive. In response Ganymede clenched his fists and his
expression darkened. For a minute I thought …. could almost see another person in him …
someone violent and scary. I lowered my head and braced myself for a possible scene.
Then the moment passed and the voices of the other boys receded into the distance.
I exhaled the breath I’d been holding in.
“We’re not supposed to leave the school grounds during school time,” I explained, feeling
a bit disconcerted by what I’d just seen. “Maybe we can go back to your car and sit there?”
“I’ve got a better idea. If you’re up for it. Why don’t we go for a drive? I know a nice
spot. We can talk on the way. How long have you got?”
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“As long as you want.” The choice between school and spending time with him was so
obvious to me I didn’t hesitate over it.
“A bit of a rebel huh?” he teased. That wasn’t it, but I wasn’t about to tell him the real
attraction.
We headed back again over the grass paddock. I could see Dog and his friend on the other
side.
“Do you know each other?” I said, tossing my head in their direction.
Ganymede gritted his teeth and stared angrily ahead. “Keep away from him,” he growled,
not answering my question. “And those others. Don’t talk to them. They’re bad news.”
Mystified, I kept walking. If anything, I had thought he might be friend’s with them. Not
wanting to aggravate him further, I didn’t say anything.
“So do you usually hang out there by yourself?” he said, frowning. He seemed concerned
about that.
“Well, just the once.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
That seemed bossy. “Why?”
At first I thought he wasn’t going to reply. “Well, for one, those boys hang out there.”
“You worry too much,” I scoffed. “I can look after myself.”
“You don’t worry enough. Don’t you have any female friends to hang out with?”
“Yes, those two girls we passed before. I might have lunch with them sometimes.”
“Oh yeah, them.” I could tell he wasn’t fooled. “And the boy in the canteen?” He raised
an eyebrow at me.
“Well that was the first time with him.”
“Do you like him?”
“Not really?”
“So why have lunch with him?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know him. Something to do. Maybe I will like him. As a friend,” I
added so he was clear.
He was silent, staring at me.
“Okay, so I don’t have any real friends yet. I’m the school reject. You know, five heads,
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hopeless at sport and socially retarded. Not to mention having the lunchbox that marks me
as the health freak of the whole school.”
He frowned. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You only just started here. You would make
friends eventually, given the time.”
“Regardless, I wouldn’t fit in anyway.” I shrugged.
“That’s not exactly something to feel bad about. I’ve listened in on girl’s talking and the
average teenager’s conversation isn’t exactly engrossing.” He shook his head at me. “That’s
the weirdest thing about you. You can’t see yourself.”
I snorted. “How should I see myself according to you?” I was curious now.
“I haven’t known you that long, but from what I can see so far – beautiful, intelligent,
brave. Perceptive and thoughtful. As good as anyone else, if not better. That boy didn’t ask
you for lunch for nothing. For someone with a brain you really can be quite short-sighted
about yourself.”
All that! I felt like I was glowing from the inside. Then another thought dampened the
euphoria. Maybe he was just trying to make me feel good.
“I’ve got you totally fooled then,” I said.
He raised one of his perfect eyebrows at me. “Really? Are you hiding an evil bloodsucking alter-ego I should know about?” He laughed and I laughed and between the two of
us, other people were staring at us. It felt like the sun was shining on me again; shining on
the shadow over my heart, warming it.
He looked thoughtfully at me. I felt sure he was hiding a smile. “Actually, you are so not
what I expected you to be like.”
“What exactly did you expect me?”
“Just different from what you are.”
I could tell he was hedging.
“Different? In what way?” My neck started pulsing. “Like ‘good’ different or ‘bad’
different?”
“Actually I’d rather not say.” His face was masked like he was laughing at me internally.
“You might hate me if I tell you.” He laughed, a little nervously.
I swallowed. “That bad huh.” I glared at him. “You’re doing it again.”
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“What?”
“Telling me only the first part of the story. Not finishing what you say.”
“You really do hate that.” He shrugged then chuckled. “Okay.” His lovely eyes peered at
me contritely. “I’m sorry for how this sounds, but when Gaard first told us about you, I
thought you might be a bit dysfunctional. You know – a bit more hardcore. Maybe have
some tattoo’s and piercings, an attitude and walk around swearing. That kind of thing. I
thought you might be a bit scary even.” This time he couldn’t stop laughing.
I cringed. “Me scary?” I laughed testily. The idea of me frightening anyone was
laughable. “That’s what you thought?”
“Um, sorry. My imagination got away a bit. I’m glad you’re not like that.” He smiled at
me then his face hardened suddenly and his eyes grew despairing. “In another way I wish
you were. In a way I was hoping you’d be a better match for Gaard.”
I wondered what he meant by the second part. I was silent. Whatever colour my face was
I imagined it wasn’t looking good. I didn’t know whether to be flattered or offended. On
the one hand he’d expected me to be some messed up delinquent and because I wasn’t he
was surprised.
We’d reached the car. I got in the passenger seat and Griseld curled up on the back seat,
folding her tiny wings over her furry black face. Once we’d left the residential area and
were driving through the bush, Ganymede’s issued some orders to Genie and a whole lot of
lights backlit the circular portals on the dashboard.
“Hold on,” he said, pressing down on a third pedal on the floor and sliding the gearstick
forward. “We’re going up.”
He floored the accelerator, the engine screamed, and slowly we began to lift. I looked
down at the ground gliding away; the tops of the trees waving below. My heart, which had
already been beating fast since we’d left the school grounds, was now hammering wildly.
“Oh my God! This is incredible!” I felt my stomach drop away.
He smiled at my reaction. “The first time is always pretty amazing.”
“Wow! But this is …..” Words failed me. I looked out at the shining aqua of the sky and
down at the contours of land beneath us. It was like I was in a dream. Only better.
“It’s freaky … it’s too weird … it’s not real.” I started babbling senselessly.
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He laughed. “It’s real Ayesha.”
I stared out, still unable to believe it.
“So, where are we going?” I said once I’d calmed down a bit.
“You’ll see.” He smiled mysteriously. “I have a special place in mind.”
“What if someone sees us in … in this thing?” I still wasn’t sure what to call it. ‘Car’ just
didn’t seem to encompass it. “Are they going to call the police or something? I don’t want
to see my mugshot on the news.”
“We won’t be going to jail anytime soon. There are panels on the exterior that reflect
light so that if anyone happens to look up it just looks like there’s a shiny object in the sky.
Any reports would seem like the usual UFO nutcases calling in. And, where we’re going it’s pretty isolated.”
He was right about the isolation. Endless mountains of gum forest stretched out on every
side to the horizon, broken only by yawning gulleys.
“Where are we?”
“In the Kanangra-Boyd National Park.”
It seemed we were pretty high up now; great cumulus clouds floating not far away, the
bottom treacherously far down. This was the scariest part so far. Sometimes, the car shook
as it fought the wind that seemed to blow and batter more strongly here. I held onto the
dashboard feeling a space open up in my gut everytime I looked down.
“Don’t look down,” Ganymede said, eyeing me in a concerned way. “It makes it worse.
Here take this.” He took something out of his pocket. “It’s a ginger lozenge. It helps with
motion sickness.”
Suddenly breathless, I grabbed at my throat feeling like I was hyperventilating. It was the
excitement of the whole thing; the excitement of being with him, as well as the increase in
altitude.
“Are you all-right?” he said, watching me with sudden alarm.
“Yes,” I gasped.
“Where’s your ventolin Ayesha?”
“At home.” In my top drawer, I remembered with dismay.
His eyes widened and he groaned. “Great! Do you need it?”
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“No. I think its just nerves.”
“Try to breathe slowly then.” He took my wrist between his hand and listened to my
pulse, which of course only made the whole thing worse: my pulse speeded up, my heart
jerked in irregular rhythms and my lungs tightened. My wheeze sounded awful - like an
emphysemic’s after a pack of cigarettes. Very embarrassing.
“I’m okay,” I assured him, trying my best not to wheeze.
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think so. Your pulse is about one hundred and twenty beats a
minute. Breathe slowly Ayesha. Deep breaths.”
I watched as in a panic he summoned Genie.
Genie appeared on the screen, his massive barrel hips swaying slowly as he sipped a
cocktail. “Yes Master?” He looked like he’d had a hard night of partying: his black eyes
bleary and smudged with kohl.
“Music please. Something relaxing.”
“Something classical, master?”
“I’ll leave it to your judgement.”
In an instant relaxing new age music began to pour softly from the speakers.
“Master, if I might enlighten you to a pressing matter. The passenger has an abnormally
high pulse rate. I suggest we find the nearest hospital. Shall I locate one?”
“I’m going to land this thing wherever I can,” Ganymede said frowning, ignoring Genie.
“I’m worried about you.” He shot me a very concerned look.
“Don’t be,” I said cringing. Now I felt awful. I’d spoiled everything.
He sent me an incredulous look furrowing his eyebrows slightly and peering at me with
his incredible eyes, somehow managing to look alluring, causing me to hyperventilate all
over again. I was frustrated with myself that I could never be normal around him; that I
always seemed to stuff things up.
Ganymede hovered the car over a great wall of rock. As the car dangled over the
precipice I looked down and immediately regretted it. The bottom was so far down I
couldn’t see much more than a vague green-blue blur. Finally, the car landed with a bump
on the broad top of the cliff, and Ganymede parked it away from the edge and cut the
engine. Running around to my side of the car, he lifted me out and carried me over onto a
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shelf of rock in the sun. Eventually my breathing and heart rate went back to normal. Well,
not exactly. With him leaning over me that just wasn’t going to happen. His scent, his touch
and his beauty in such close vicinity made it a distinct impossibility.
“Wow, this is some spot,” I said, once I’d recovered and could take in the view. We were
on the top of a massive wall of rock overlooking hazy mountains receding into the distance
as far as the eye could go. On the opposite side a waterfall trickled over a canyon and birds
fluted all through a valley gold and lazy with afternoon sunshine.
For a moment both of us were silent, staring reverentially at the view. For the first time in
ages I felt calm, my eyelids heavy, my muscles relaxed.
I looked across at him and caught him looking at me, his eyes slitted like a relaxed cat’s,
his pupils enlarged. My skin prickled faintly with the awareness of him sitting beside me.
He swallowed and looked away quickly.
For no reason at all my heart started to palpate, my cheeks to spot. I looked away quickly
to hide whatever might be showing in my eyes.
Something in his look …. I couldn’t put a finger on it, but something about it frightened
me.
I was alone again with Ganymede Heydrich, possible dangerous levitating witch and the
most exciting person I’d ever met.
In the background I could hear the waterfall gushing, like a dream I’d forgotten.
“I can see why you like it here,” I said, my words breaking the mood.
“It’s quite a place isn’t it?” he agreed, but his mind didn’t seem to be on the subject. “So,
you must be starting to trust me more then,” he teased.
“Why?”
“There’s no-one around is there.” He turned his head to take in the vista’s of mountains.
“Just you and I. No witnesses to hear you scream. If I wanted to do something wicked to
you, it would be the perfect spot wouldn’t it?” When he smiled he showed his perfect white
teeth. I’d never noticed before how sharp his canines were, almost pointed like a cats.
Despite the warmth of the sun, a chill shuddered up and down my spine and I looked
down at the gorge so far below, now beginning to be a little creeped out by this sudden turn
in the conversation. There was the feeling he’d switched into a different character; one I
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didn’t like so well.
“I must be a girl who likes to take a risk.” My laugh jarred against the quiet. Beneath the
joke, I felt a little uneasy.
“Either you like to live dangerously or you’re beginning to trust me. A demon, wasn’t
that what you said I was.” He smiled slightly. “Perhaps you still think that now.”
I flushed as I remembered that, then inhaled deeply. So it was all out in the open now. We
stared at each other and the tension increased exponentially. My heart skipped a beat.
“There could be a third option,” I joked quickly in return. “I could be suicidal.”
“That too. Except I’m guessing it’s something else.” He raised one eyebrow at me.
“What?” I said, instantly curious.
“Oh, nothing…” He looked away, his lips quirking at the corners. “So, do you still think
I’m some kind of demon?”
“No …. not at all. I wouldn’t be here otherwise, would I?” I gulped, hoping I sounded
convincing.
He smiled. “Or maybe you don’t care about your own welfare. That’s a distinct
possibility with you.”
“No, I don’t think you’re a demon,” I said, swallowing over the words.
“That’s a relief,” he said with a teasing look.
“Why?”
“It put a few dents in my ego.” He laughed enchantingly.
The scary moment passed, my lungs relaxed and I started to breath normally again.
“But you have to admit it’s not everyday you see a person flying.” There, I’d said it; put it
out there in the open.
His cheeks turned a warmer colour. “I’m not your everyday person.”
“No, you’re definitely not everyday.”
“At least we agree on that.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment and I gazed off into the vista of green-blue trying to
collect my thoughts.
“I was only joking before,” he said softly and laughed. “You’re perfectly safe with me.”
His eyes fell on me more gently now. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He took my hand
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between both of his and peered into my eyes. “I didn’t scare you did I?”
“Nope. I knew you were having a go.” I laughed back - more of a gasp really.
“Did you?” His voice was teasing.
I pulled a face.
“That face is very cute. You could use it to your advantage. And, you can trust me
Ayesha. You can.”
“That’s reassuring.”
“Well, most of the time,” he qualified. “I’m not perfect.”
“And the rest?”
“What I’m saying is … “ He looked at me from beneath his eyebrows with an almost
paternal expression. “You can’t rely on anyone all the time. People are fallible.”
“I think I know that better than anyone.”
His eyes were instantly sorrowful. “I know.”
Both of us were silent then, his eyes suddenly aloof and faraway as he looked out over the
hazy mountains. I felt shut out and alone, floundering as I tried to think of something to say
to undo whatever I’d said that was wrong.
“So you said you wanted to talk to me about stuff?” I forced myself to broach the subject.
My heart began to accelerate with anticipation, my face to stiffen against the breeze.
Hugging my knees I braced myself.
His glance at me was almost guilty.
“Shall we eat first?” he said.
I could only assume that meant that once we’d talked I wouldn’t feel like eating. The
anxiety increased a notch.
I watched him cut the cheesecake, all his movements fluid and graceful. There was noone as beautiful as Ganymede Heydrich in the whole universe. No-one that I could imagine.
It felt like a beautiful dream. This experience just didn’t seem to belong in reality. Not in
my reality anyway.
“Everything in my life right now feels like a dream,” I said. “Or like something I’m
imagining.” I thought about the missing time; the long sleeps.
“Oh really.” He was leaning back on one arm now in a reclining position like a Greek
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God, regarding me, the mere mortal, with his beautiful jewel like eyes. “Go on,” he
encouraged.
“Well, for instance, the gardener, Curdie. No-one knows of him or has seen him. Except
me. I don’t know what’s real, who’s who or what’s what at Elysium.”
He observed me with suddenly wary eyes. “Go with that thought.”
Despite the sun I shivered. Another warning.
“Do you know him?” I said.
“Who?”
“Curdie.”
He frowned thoughtfully, sat up and folded his arms. “I don’t recall any staff with that
name. But I’m not the greatest authority on them.”
I suddenly recalled the police questioning Gaard the other day for the names of all the
staff and wondered if this Curdie guy might be a person of interest to them.
“Why were the police here the other day?” I asked.
He stiffened and his eyes dropped. He toyed with a pebble and for a moment it seemed he
wasn’t going to answer. “They were investigating a body … a girl that was found in the
Jenolan State Forest.” He frowned, suddenly a picture of misery.
“Did you know the person?” I went with the hunch.
He glanced suddenly at his wristwatch; like everything the Heydrich’s owned, a unique
and excessively expensive looking gadget.
“Don’t you have to go back to school?” he said. “Don’t want you to fail your grades
because of me.”
It was such an obvious dodge that I stared incredulously at him my mouth ajar.
“So … am I taking you back now?” he said.
“No, I’ve got a bit more time,” I lied, biting my lip and changing the subject before he
caught on and decided to take me back. “I think you just won yourself some fans before.
My friends - those two girls we passed. They couldn’t stop staring at you.”
He narrowed his eyes. “They’re not my type. Too immature.” He sounded so sure of
himself.
“Joss is the loveliest girl I’ve ever met,” I cried, unable to stop myself defending her.
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“I’m sure she is.” His expression wavered and softened. “I could be friend’s with girls
like that.”
Friends? Inwardly, I sniggered. That wasn’t what they had in mind.
“What is your type then?” I said. I watched his face carefully. I suddenly became aware
of my heart beating a little bit harder than normal.
He frowned. “It’s more complicated than that. I think a relationship should evolve
naturally from friendship and be deeper than physical attraction.” He shot me a challenging
look and I gulped, hanging onto his every word and nuance of expression.
“I’d want someone who wanted me for me,” he continued and his face filled with some
intense emotion. “Not for some shallow reason. She’d have to be on the same page as me,
so to speak – not many could fill that requirement.” He laughed self-depreciatingly, then
sighed. “But, I can’t see myself ever getting involved with anyone, so it doesn’t really
matter….”
His voice trailed off and he stared out at the view, not really seeing it. I could feel the
tension pouring off him. I wondered what was wrong with him. I waited hoping he’d
explain. He didn’t say anything.
“You want your freedom,” I hypothesized, latching onto the only plausible reason I could
think of.
He turned to face me. “No, on the contrary. It’s not about freedom, but responsibility.”
His tone was a little fierce. He stared hard at me as if for extra emphasis.
I reddened.
Responsibility? That piqued my curiosity.
He didn’t say any more.
Already I could see in my mind this exceptional temptress who would fulfill his
requirements: a pretty witch or brainy law student (preferably both), someone with as much
class and style like him. Someone of his own calibre – physically and intellectually. I
looked down at the sandstone rock to hide the disappointment I was sure advertised itself
on my face. My world suddenly felt very small and narrow again; the shadow back on my
heart.
“So. What’s your type of boy?”
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Stuck in my own gloomy thoughts I didn’t hear the question straight away. I looked up
wondering if he was just asking me to be polite. He folded his arms over his chest and his
eyes smouldered at me challengingly. I couldn’t think, couldn’t breath, with him looking at
me like that.
Breathe Ayesha.
He looked away, waiting for my answer, probably wondering why I was taking so long.
He glanced at his wristwatch pointedly and laughed.
Now that he wasn’t in my face I could think again. Just.
“Blue eyes,” I said, staring into his eyes, unable to let go. “Definitely blue eyes.”
He stiffened suddenly. “That boy you were having lunch with in the canteen – does he
have blue eyes?”
I had to admit he did. “Lime-blue,” I said, flustered, trying to make a distinction. “Not
like yours.”
His eyes flickered and I thought I read amusement or irritation in them.
“So they have to be a very particular shade of blue eyes?” He laughed suddenly. “That’s
it. As long as he’s got the right eye colour and presumably good looking, he’s in.”
The food totally forgotten, he crawled over to where I sat and leaned toward me. He
stared intently at me and the tension between us blistered. He slid his hand gently beneath
my chin, and tilted my face towards his. His eyes locked on mine and I shivered, not with
fear, but ecstasy and I stared hypnotised into his eyes; a totally willing victim for whatever
he wanted to suggest. I had the intuition then that he knew of my attraction to him, was
playing on it even, perhaps enjoying it, like a cat toying with a mouse.
“Take one word of advice.” His voice was like a soft purr, barely audible above the
waterfall and I shivered all over. “You should look deeper. People aren’t always what they
seem.” He said the words like some kind of challenge or a warning. “And perfect people.
They are especially not what they seem; they’re the ones to watch out for.” He lowered his
face to mine and brushed the tips of his fingers across my cheeks. “Perfect people are
always hiding something. Always.” He looked at me from beneath his brows, cat-like and
alluring.
I flushed. For a minute I’d been convinced he was about to kiss me, but then he’d pulled
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away sharply at the last moment, his eyes doing that odd flickering thing again, his nose
wrinkling.
My heart was beating so rapidly I thought it might go into cardiac arrest.
I stared back at him mesmerised, the electricity shooting through my body, my face still
tingling erotically where he’d touched it with his fingers. It was as if he’d flipped into a
totally different character; one with a dangerous, seductive quality that I wasn’t sure I
trusted, but someone I couldn’t pull myself away from all the same.
Finally, he moved away and I started to breath again. Started thinking of survival again
too. I gulped. Breathed. Collected my scattered senses. All the warnings he’d given me
flooded through my brain. Had he been trying to warn me about himself and I just hadn’t
got it?
“Are you hiding anything?” I stammered. In my mind I saw the image of him down at the
caves that night, levitating in the darkness; the personal grudge he seemed to bear for the
Diabolus Templar boys and Dog O’Dwyer; the misery on his face when he spoke about the
dead girl the police were investigating: he seemed to know more about it than he was
letting on and now I wondered. About him.
At my question he flinched and looked sideways. Aha. I sensed I’d hit a raw nerve.
“Are you what you seem?” I said, using his words. “Should I be watching out for you?”
“What do you think?” he said. Just a note of challenge in his tone.
The tension between us rippled. I wasn’t about to answer that.
“You seem to be always warning me about something or someone. Are you included in
that? Can I trust you?” I said it teasingly. Or tried to.
The question hung there.
He stared back at me, suddenly uneasy.
“Perhaps.” He shifted slightly then added almost as an afterthought. “I’d like to think so.”
Just the kind of answer he’d give. A non-answer.
“What’s your thought on it?” he probed.
“I think you’re a good person.”
His eyelids fell. “How can you say that when you hardly know me?”
“I can tell by your eyes. They’re kind. And, I judge someone’s character by their words
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and actions.”
He shook his head sadly. “What if I told you I’m not?”
“What are you trying to tell me?”
“What do you think?”
“Hey, I thought I asked the question?”
“You did. That was my answer.”
“Hello? You can’t answer my question with another question.” I was infuriated. “That’s
cheating. You never tell me anything about yourself but you expect me to answer all your
questions about me,” I vented, gritting my teeth with frustration. “That’s unfair.”
His eyes sparkled a little. Amusement. That was irritating.
“It’s not that I’m trying to be unfair Ayesha. Unfairness has nothing to do with it. I just
like to know what you think. And, I’m intrigued by what you think of me.”
I pondered that. “I think I’m not your type,” I said, forcing a smile, trying to make out I
was merely teasing him in return. Two could play at this.
He raised an eyebrow. “On the contrary. I have a thing for sultry brunettes with intense
dark eyes and I find you very intriguing.” His eyes had that wild, wanton look again.
“I intrigue you. Why?” That seemed incredible to me. Highly unlikely.
“There’s more to you than meets the eye.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“That’s a distinct possibility. But I’d definitely hedge a bet I’m right. For instance why do
you always deflect every question I ask about you? What are you writing in your diary all
the time?”
I flushed. “What you notice that stuff?”
“I notice everything about you. Let’s just say I’m very observant and I find you … “ He
paused and studied my face. “… very interesting.”
That was scary. A thrill rushed through me.
“So why?” he said, probing me again with those eyes.
“Why what?” My heart was pulsing hard.
“Why do you deflect every question I ask about you?”
I grimaced. He wasn’t as easy to deflect as some people. It frightened me. And, excited
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me.
I stared at him defiantly. “All right. I’m hiding myself.”
“See. I’m wondering what you’re hiding. What’s behind that carefully cultivated mask.”
I glared at him. He was getting too close. My walls started going up.
“Only a select few get in. Right?”
“Something like that.” I tried to shake of the irritation that he could work me out so
easily, not to mention the sense of vulnerability that accompanied it.
“I thought so.” He sounded smug.
A thought came to me. “What if you didn’t like what you found?” I stared at him warily.
He wasn’t smiling.
“I could ask you the very same question.”
In the silence between us I heard the gush of the waterfall. I held my breath as my heart
started pounding. We stared hard at each other, and I could feel the challenge the words
presented.
Abruptly he turned his face away.
He glanced suddenly at his wrist watch and a shadow passed over his face. “I’m sorry but
this time I’ve really got to go.” He bounded up gracefully, holding out one hand toward me
to help me up.
He must have read the disappointment on my face.
“I’ll come and talk more to you tonight. You can ask me all the questions you want and I
promise to try and answer them.” He edged closer to me, moving uncertainly from one foot
to the other. “That’s if you can stand seeing me again.” He chuckled softly. “Twice in the
one day.”
“I think I can handle it,” I said with a teasing smile. “If you can.”
He smirked slightly.
When we got back to the school he kissed me on the cheek before I got out of the car.
Instead of the customary peck I was used to receiving, he held his lips there long enough
for my heart to go into over-drive.
“I’ll see you around ten thirty tonight. That’s not too late?”
“No. I never sleep anyway. Well, not much.”
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“Me neither. Well, be good. Study hard.”
I rolled my eyes at him. “Yes dad.”
His melodious laugh was the last thing I heard as I closed the door. He had no idea what
he’d just asked of me. The notion of study now was truly hilarious. There was no way I’d
be able to focus on anything.
It was the first time he’d ever kissed me and this time it was real not a dumb fantasy. All
afternoon I felt like I was flying.
Then I remembered: we hadn’t discussed what he’d come to see me about in the first
place: the whole topic of me moving out and escaping whatever danger I was apparently in.
Somehow, we’d got sidetracked. Let’s say I wasn’t exactly disappointed.
Another thought came to me, one that made my heart quicken: maybe he didn’t really
want me to go. Or then again, maybe he was merely saving that whole conversation for
tonight.
I glanced at the time on the watch Gaard had given me. Only five minutes had gone by
since I’d last looked.
I had on my favourite jeans – the newest ones with still enough dye in the denim so they
didn’t look faded but a nice deep blue, a long sleeved top and a jumper. I also had on
mascara and eyeliner I’d applied with painstaking care in front of the mirror and a beret
type knitted hat, the only winter hat I owned.
My stomach wasn’t in good shape. Gurgling, griping and wind was all happening in
there. I put it down to nerves.
While I waited for ten-thirty to arrive, I wrote a page in my diary and read two chapters of
Herodotus for Ancient Civilisations. After that, I changed the CD in the player and flicked
through the play we were studying for English, The Crucible. I eyeballed my watch
intermittently. It seemed to take an eternity to get to seven then another long eon until eight.
It felt like the longest night ever. And with my insomnia, I’d known some long ones.
It was impossible to concentrate and I hadn’t done much more than flick over a few
pages, re-reading the same paragraphs over and over not really taking anything in. I took
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my bible from the mantelpiece and looked up whatever I could find on demonology and
sorcery.
There was nothing that suggested a Christian and a follower of the dark Lord could
fraternise. On all accounts, witchcraft was an abomination to God.
Dang. Don’t know what I’d been expecting to find. Some exception in the fineprint?
The seconds crawled by. Then somehow, it was ten-thirty. Tired as I was, I felt wired and
alert.
I lay there listening to the house as it fell deeper and more profoundly into silence, my
heart lifting with anticipation at every creak and rustle, every bump or click, then dropping
just as quickly when Ganymede didn’t materialise.
When next I looked, it was after eleven.
By a quarter to twelve I had to face facts. He wasn’t coming. Maybe something had
happened and he hadn’t been able to come. Maybe that was God’s will. After all, the idea
of a Christian girl hanging out with those who followed God’s nemesis, probably wasn’t on
the spiritual agenda.
I sank back on the pillows and drew the covers up over my head. My heart felt like it was
lurching sideways, one way then the other, like a wounded animal loping off.
Reflecting back to dinner that night I wondered if the division that had broken out
between the usually close Heydrich kids had anything to do with why Ganymede hadn’t
turned up. Like usual none of them had spoken to me but I’d noticed a tension between
Ganymede and his older brothers and sisters. Perseus kept scowling at him, then at me, and
shaking his head in disbelief, and Andromeda looked upset, her perfectly arched movie star
lips firming in a disapproving line whenever she glanced across the table at Ganymede.
Hermes, the goth wizard boy with the freaky jade eyes, (I still wasn’t used to anyone with
eyes like that) glared constantly at me with an intensely unpleasant expression while
Demeter, the sister I liked best, had offered me one of her private grudging yet apologetic
smiles. The little girl Persephone had stared warily all throughout the meal at me as if there
was something about me she couldn’t comprehend. As if I were the single biggest freak on
the planet.
Somehow, without trying, I’d breached the wall of the Heydrich children. I wondered
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what Ganymede had told them about me.
By the window, the carnivorous plant Gaard had given me, snapped at a moth on the
other side of the window pane. I shuddered. Not exactly my idea of a pretty pot-plant.
Gaard’s behaviour at dinner tonight had totally thrown me. He’d been nice and that was
weird. Then there’d been all the gifts: the plant, bred by Gaard to eat houseflies and
mosquitoes, jewellery and clothes including an expensive pair of woollen gloves and
matching hat made from the hair of the woollen cow in Gaard’s biofarm. It was as if
nothing unpleasant had happened the other night; almost as if that more scary side of Gaard
was just a dream. That was so confusing to my mind. So surreal. For a moment, I could
almost believe that everything would be all right. With that thought, I let myself relax. Next
thing I knew I’d drifted off.
I was in a starlit hall of stone, drowsy, unable to move, my arms and legs pinioned
somehow. When I realised why, my heart quailed within me. What held me were the cords
of a gigantic web reaching to the ceiling. Four enormous white spiders with the faces of
Gaard, his sister and elderly parents, clung to the webbing, gorging on me, slowly sucking
away at my blood and my life sustenance. At the perimeter of the web, smaller spiders with
the faces of Ganymede’s siblings, waited. I screamed but no-one came to rescue me.
Outside, people flew in the sky instead of birds. Instead of the moon, a bright red apple
roasted in the sky. Snow fell sporadically in massive flakes and the bony trees jarringly
white against the darkening sky were the skeletons of people, clanging their knobbly fists at
the windows. The sky was like a silver mirror in which I could see my own reflection, large
and amplified, as I screamed.
I woke panting. A sound at the window made me look up … a definite tap on the pane.
Someone was out there.
Outside, a dull shape shimmered slightly fluorescent blue. I recognised Ganymede
Heydrich’s face. So it wasn’t skin paint then, but something, another odd thing, about him.
I pounced up and opened the window and he leapt in. Effortlessly. A burst of freezing air
rushed in through the window with him.
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I stood there like a dumbstruck idiot, marvelling at his feline grace, his shining beauty
and windswept hair.
“Sorry, I hope it’s not too late,” he said.
“No. No.”
“Are you okay? You look kind of ….” He didn’t say whatever it was he thought I looked
like. Very polite of him.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m good. I was asleep … having a bad dream. Happens all the time.” I
made a lame attempt at a laugh.
“Okay …” he said warily. “So long as it’s not me that spooked you.” He brushed back his
ruffled hair self-consciously.
As if. Ha. Like he had to worry about a bad hair day. A little pain squeezed my heart at
the sight of his insecurity. I wondered why all the Heydrich children were so hung up about
their appearance. I blamed Gaard for that. Futile anger and disgust towards Gaard stabbed
at me and again I wondered what I could do to get back at him.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t get away sooner ….” he said. Or purred. His alluring eyes regarded
my outfit.
“It’s fine.” I hugged myself with my arms and tucked in my chin, trying to keep warm,
but also to maintain my equilibrium. I knew if I looked at him, my mind would disintegrate
into some dithering mess.
“You look gorgeous, but …” he clenched his teeth and scrutinised my clothes. “Have you
got anything warmer?”
“Why? Where are we going?”
“Out of here.”
Outside? Brr.
I threw on my only coat and we left.
Together we tiptoed through the dark house. As we went through the dining room he
grabbed my hand and pulled me over to stand with him in front of the bizarre clock. Like
before his hand was hot. Dizzy with the euphoria of having him touch me I pressed my
other palm to my forehead and tried to focus on what he was saying.
“I want to show you something,” he whispered. “See that?” I stared at the multiple hands
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pointing at words on the perimeter of the face, trying to concentrate on what he was
showing me instead of the feeling of his hand. Tiny stones along the hands and around the
border of the face lit the clock in the dark. Each hand was impregnanted with a tiny moving
digital image of one of the members of the house. I could see Perseus snoring in bed;
Demeter tossing; Achilles staring wide-eyed into the dark, and so on. Of course, I looked
immediately for an image of myself, but didn’t find one. That was a relief.
“It shows where everyone is at any given time,” Ganymede said in a low tone. “Each of
the hands represents the person whose image is on it. And where it points is where they are.
Right now Freyja and the others are upstairs. See, I’m in the dining room. Notice that
Gaard isn’t represented and either are you. Yet.” My blood rushed at the ominous tone of
the word. “It works through a technology not unlike satellite mapping and fetching regular
Twitter updates on a person’s whereabouts, but more complicated than that. The main thing
to know is it works. I wanted to show you so you understand that if I want to talk to you
privately or vice versa, it has to be at night after Gaard’s asleep or at your school if I
happen to have errands in town. There are tiny surveillance camera’s everywhere
monitoring everything you do and say. The walls are full of invisible sensors and our
bodies are linked to a satellite GPS tracking device that tracks everyone when they’re out of
the house. Except for you Gaard knows where everyone is all the time; whenever he wants
to know.” He peered at me meaningfully to make sure I got the point. “Nothing is sacred
here. Nothing is private. Nothing Ayesha. Remember that.”
A chill went down my spine and I nodded in mute horror. I stared at the walls and
ceilings wondering where all the camera’s were.
“Are there security camera’s in here right now?”
“That’s right.”
There was the obvious question – why? In a way I was afraid to know. Afraid what that
information might mean for me. As I watched, the emerald hand bearing Andromeda’s
image, started to twitch and began to move towards the words ‘Upstairs Bathroom’.
“Everyone’s being tracked - except me - you said?” My heart lifted hopefully.
“Unless you’ve been microchipped by Gaard?”
“Microchipped?” I almost shrieked. “How would I know?”
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“You wouldn’t necessarily. It’s a pretty simple procedure.”
My mind went back to my first night and the missing days that had followed. Suddenly
that took on a more sinister connotation.
“How could I find out if he’s done it? Would a doctor be able to tell?”
“You’d never get there. Gaard’s a doctor and he’ll make sure he’s the only one who treats
you. If he hasn’t microchipped you yet it’s because he’s busy with other things. Still, you
need to get out of here before he does. It’s just a matter of time. Once it’s done, if it isn’t
already, it’ll be too late. You wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without him being able to
find you. He has contacts all over the world. There’s virtually nowhere on the planet you
could go – except maybe the middle of the Antarctic.”
I licked my lips nervously, overwhelmed by all he was telling me. My brain felt like it
was exploding.
“Do you get my drift now about leaving being a good idea?”
“Yeah sure. This is creepsville.”
The obvious question stood in the forefront of my mind.
“Why would he want to keep track of me? What for? I mean, I’m no-one.”
“That’s not entirely true.” He just stared at me with his beautiful eyes. No further
explanation forthcoming. I gathered there wouldn’t be one either.
His face in the shadows was suddenly very solemn and wary.
“So … why?” I prompted again. I thought of the email suggesting Gaard had paid twenty
thousand dollars for me. “I thought you said you were going to tell me everything?”
“Yes. But, not everything per se. Just everything that you need to know.”
I didn’t remember it being conditional like that. I frowned.
“The less you know the better for you. Trust me on that.” His beautiful lips firmed as if
that was the final answer on it.
“Do you know how frustrating you are sometimes?”
“Who me?” His eyes widened innocently. “Sorry. It’s not intentional.” He patted my hand
and I shivered. “Look, I’ll answer any questions that I can.”
I stared at him, wondering what to ask first.
So, what are you?
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What powers do you harness to fly?
Who do you worship?
He probably caught something of my thoughts from the intensity steaming off my face.
His eyes bore back at me. He took my hand suddenly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
We passed through the shadowy kitchen, he held the kitchen door open for me and I
walked out into the night. The cold hit me like an icy slap. Ugh! Brutal. I baulked, tugging
my hat down over my ears.
Dark trees stood in broody clans around us, their tops swaying slightly in the night
breeze. I had no idea where we were walking. As long as I was with him it didn’t really
matter.
“What about James? Is he part of Gaard’s surveillance?” I asked.
“Who?”
“The creepy guy who talks on the front door.”
“Oh, him.” He chuckled softly. “Yes. You’re onto him. He’s very much part of it. In the
screen there’s a secret recording device and camera that reads retinal images. Gaard is
immediately alerted if anyone on his blacklist; any police or enemies come to the door.”
“What’s he worried about exactly?” Already I thought I knew the answer to that.
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Let’s just say – some of his activities are highly illegal.”
I’d worked that bit out.
“Actually, there is someone he’s concerned about at the moment,” he said. “Someone
who’s hanging about the place, but doesn’t appear on any of the security camera’s.”
My blood crinkled backwards.
Curdie?
I immediately thought of the Irish gardener that no-one except me seemed to have seen.
“If no-one’s seen this person, how does Gaard know about them?” My back prickled.
“Doors and windows have been found unlocked.”
“Maybe it’s a ghost … or a spirit of some kind?”
“He doesn’t seem to think so.”
“Actually, I did have a question.” I stopped and studied his face. “I wondered what that
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foreign language is that you all sometimes use.”
He physically baulked, moving back on one foot, and blinked.
“Massaic. It’s a very ancient language and very powerful. It has spiritual sub-texts but its
primary use is to command and direct magic.”
Foreboding filled me. I was talking to a witch who believed in and practised magic.
All powers not of God are evil.
I peered at him hoping my face wasn’t revealing too many of my thoughts. He was
studying my face just as intently and as our eyes met anxiously, I was sure he could read all
my fears. I gulped. I wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed with my next question. “I’ve seen
other people using the same language - those two boys we passed at my school? The ones
you said to keep away from? Are they … like … friends of yours?”
He put his hands on his hips and shook his head.
“But, you obviously know them.”
He didn’t say anything, just stared back at me.
“Joss said they’re part of a satanic group. Is that true?”
“More or less. The Diabolus Templar. Alexander Moloch is their coven priest. Very evil
guy. Keep away from all of them.”
They speak the same weird tongue you do. Does that mean you’re a Devil worshipper
too?
My back prickled and I looked down at the ground to hide the flush that had stolen over
my face. “You have nothing to worry about there,” I mumbled, remembering the way
Vexen had stared at me. “They’re not exactly friendly.”
“They can be.”
Like you?
I snorted. “Well … I did notice they’re pretty out there. “For one thing their skin is a
weird colour – it’s kind of greyish.”
He peered at me with a wondering expression. “I’m surprised you can see that. It’s not
their skin you’re seeing. It’s their aura. It’s very dark. Every bad act they do makes it darker
and as you might have noticed Vexen’s aura is much darker than Braedon’s. It’s practically
black.”
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“That’s the fair boy right?”
He nodded. “Yep. He’s a very bad boy. Rotten to the core.”
“I don’t understand what they get out of belonging to a Satanic group. The whole school
avoids them.”
“Power.”
“Um …. I’m not getting you. How.”
“Many powers can be harnessed from the spirit realm, for both good and evil.”
I shuddered, suddenly frightened.
“Anyway, that’s enough about them.” He took my hand and we continued walking
through the dark garden. “Have you thought anymore about what I said?” His boots
crunched pleasantly on the ground beside me. I could feel his coat brush against mine and
the warm solidity of his body beside me. His beautiful hair combed into some wavy style
with gel, lifted just slightly in the breeze. His hand in mine sent ripples of pleasure through
my stomach. That’s all I could think about. My senses were full to the brim; exploding.
“Ayesha?” he said, bringing me back to earth. Mesmerised by him, I’d forgotten
everything except the wild, giddy jumping of my heart.
“Sorry, what?”
“Have you thought further about what I said?”
I inhaled, trying to focus. “You mean you want me to think about how you and your
family are vampires that want to suck my blood and sacrifice me to the devil?” I laughed
out loud into the darkness.
He snorted but his face stiffened. “That might be closer to the truth than you realise.”
Great!
“Okay, for starts I don’t believe in vampires outside of fiction and Hollywood. But demon
possession. Or Satan worshippers. I believe they exist.”
He flinched but didn’t say anything. I wondered if I’d struck the right cord then.
“What were you doing tonight before I came?” He tapped me gently on the arm. More
friendly now; almost flirty. An obvious attempt to divert me. Horribly, it was working. A
fire jolted through me where the tips of his fingers brushed my sleeve, a tingle spreading up
the length of my forearm.
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“Um … I was reading.”
“Oh. What were you reading?”
“Actually … I was studying my bible.” I looked down at the ground, wondering what he
would think of that.
“Any particular passages in the bible?”
“Oh, nothing much … just checking something.”
“Yes?” he prompted.
I gulped. “Demon possession.”
“Demon’s again.” He looked half amused, half annoyed. So you think I’m demon
possessed? Not a demon this time, but possessed by a demon.”
“No,” I said cautiously. “I think there’s too much goodness about you for that to be
possible. I mean …” suddenly I was getting befuddled. “You care about animals and you
obviously care about people or you wouldn’t be here trying to talk to me.”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Well are you?” I stared at the ground, suddenly realising how bad that sounded.
He pulled a face. “What? Demon possessed? Hell no.” He laughed breaking the tension.
“Not last time I checked at least. Is there a blood test for that?”
A choked kind of laugh escaped from me. “Actually, I did have another question. Tell me
– how do you do that ‘flying’ thing?”
His whole face went guarded and his lips tightened. “Sorry. Trade secret. My oath to our
coven forbids me from divulging the secrets of our craft to outsiders. But I will say this
much – it takes years of training and practise in harnessing energies and the mind and body.
Only a few succeed.”
“I see.” I tried to sound normal despite the fact this was anything but a normal
conversation. “So what exactly … I mean … what is it … that you believe in?” My eyes
rolled slowly over his face and settled on the pentagram dangling over the top of his coat.
Every muscle in my body pulled taut.
His eyes flickered slightly. At first I didn’t think he was going to answer.
“You said you were going to answer all my questions tonight,” I reminded him smugly.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said.
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We went past the biofarm and the animals seemed to sense Ganymede’s presence, calling
out to him with numerous mewling sounds.
“Okay, I’m a Wiccan. I guess that’s the same thing as a witch. In the way you understand
it.”
“Is your whole family involved in … Wicca?” I had trouble saying the word, hating all it
stood for. Here I was actually talking to a practising witch. Even worse - and I cringed at
that – I was hoping he’d kiss me.
He looked thoughtfully down at the ground as we walked around the hedges.
“Yes. We were born into it through Frejya and Gaard but spiritually speaking they’re on
opposite spectrums. Simply put, you could call Freyja a white witch and Gaard, a black
magician. Gaard is a hereditary witch. The old religion chose him rather than the other way
round. He’s not really passionate about it in the way Freyja is. He’s more of a scientist and
when he dabbles in the craft it’s in the black arts and for purposes that suit him. Gaard and
his family come from a long line of Wiccan’s and are descended from the House of
Hohenzollern in Germany. Have you heard of the Black Nobility?”
“No.”
“They’re the most powerful group of people on the planet and possibly the most evil.
Originally, they were oligarchic noble families of Venice and Genoa who controlled the
world through monopolies in government and commerce. Today, the Black Nobility
manipulates and controls the world through economic monopolies, political, media and
military control and mind control. The ordinary person doesn’t realise that Wiccans, of the
variety you associate with Satanism and dark practices, rule the world.”
“You’re part of that?” I was shocked and not quite managing to keep the indignation out
of my tone.
“No.” He stared at me emphatically. “Only those with the right bloodline can become
members of the Black Nobility. Anyone who isn’t one hundred percent white Aryan and
directly related to the House of Hohenzollern is automatically excluded. Then, there are
pretty severe initiation rites and vows of silence – in effect, death threats.”
“But you’re Gaard’s son. Doesn’t that give you the right bloodline?” I persisted.
“Yes, but …” He turned his back abruptly on me.
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“What?”
“Nothing. It’s all very technical.”
We kept walking, coming to stop alongside a row of trees.
“Why exactly did your family come here to live?”
His beautiful face was suddenly guarded. “Gaard’s work requires isolation.”
“So how long have you been into Wicca?” Somehow, my mind resisted the idea of that. It
just wasn’t acceptable for me to be in love with a Wiccan boy.
“Ayesha, Wicca isn’t what most people think. The original true meaning of Wicca is
about helping people, healing and personal empowerment. Wicca is a pagan religion based
on worship of the Goddess and the reverence of nature. It has absolutely nothing to do with
evil or the worship of Satan. Sure, some of the Black Nobility have gone that way, but
that’s not Wicca, that’s Satanism, which is an altogether different thing.”
“How do you know you’re not attracting something evil?” I shuddered, unconvinced,
shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets and stared into the darkness wondering if there
was anything out there right now, watching. I thought of the ‘thing’ I’d heard tramping
about the bush at night outside my window. Was it the ‘thing’ Ganymede had said was
hanging about the place. Perhaps an evil entity attracted by the Heydrich’s conjuring of
magic.
Across from me I saw Ganymede frown, then sigh. He shoved his hands into his pockets
and we walked in silence. Things suddenly seemed a little less friendly than before. We still
didn’t seem to be going anywhere in particular – just walking around the grounds of the
property, hanging in the shadows.
Suddenly, agitated, Ganymede stared into the distance, listening to something, his eyes
widening.
“Is something wrong?” I said, staring hard into the darkness, my heart palpating. I shook
all over. Nerves. And I was cold. But my heart was colder at the thought I might have
ruined things between us.
“I’m not allowed out at night. The idea of getting caught makes me a bit jumpy. And, I’m
not supposed to talk to you. That makes it a double felony.” He laughed slightly.
I gulped. Then, I almost tripped over something on the ground.
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His hand jerked out in the quickest reflex I’d ever seen, and grabbed me as I lurched
forward.
“Oh thanks.” Thankfully it was too dark for him to see the colour my face had turned. A
memory of the night he’d saved me when I’d fallen from the cliff came surging up. Ultra
quick reflexes then too.
“Um … so why aren’t you allowed to talk to me?” I laughed derisively. “Are your parents
afraid I might convert you?” Beneath the joke my heart felt like it was sinking into a
morass. Demoralised, my shoulders sunk.
“Do I really need to spell that out Ayesha?” He looked away into the darkness and one of
his hands balled into a fist. “Your kind and mine are not generally friends for starts, but
okay - it’s more than that. Let’s just say there will be severe repercussions for me if I’m
seen hanging out with you.”
“Like what?”
“Alright. You want to know. As you probably heard the other night, I’ve fought with
Gaard about you. I’ve had my Book of Shadows taken off me and my spell casting
priveleges suspended and I might have my car taken away if I’m not careful. Not to
mention that Perseus and Hermes hate my guts right now.” He stared ruefully at his fingers.
“I’m pretty much in the doghouse with everyone at the moment.”
All because of me? A horrible nervous space opened up in my stomach.
But, the obvious anomaly stood in my mind. We were family weren’t we? Obviously not.
Then what was I? Why was I here? I felt like the ground was falling away beneath my feet.
“If no-one wants to have anything to do with me, then what am I here for?” Tears blobbed
in my eyes.
A pained expression deepened in his eyes.
“Look, don’t make me tell you. I just can’t …” His eyes pleaded with me.
“Why do your brothers and sisters hate me so much?” I cried.
“They don’t.”
I stared at him incredulously.
“It’s not you but what you represent. They’re not as bad as they might seem.”
“And what do I represent,” I said furiously. “In their minds?” I had the feeling I knew the
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answer to that. But, I wanted to hear it from his mouth.
He stared at me cautiously and ruffled his hair.
“Ayesha, listen to me. They’re not what they seem and if anything bad ever happens to
me Andromeda will help you. Will you remember that?”
What kind of answer was that?
“But, she won’t even talk to me?” I protested, more furious than before. “Why would she
help me?” It was totally unbelievable.
“That would be the normal thing to do?” he agreed. “But it’s more complicated than
that.”
“Complicated?”
He just looked at me with his beautiful eyes. No answer. Of course.
“Um… so what will happen if you’re seen hanging out with me then? Or … have you
already decided you won’t?” My heart pulsed.
He stared at me darkly. “I’m not sure I want to test my theories and find out the
consequences. But I do know that I do want to keep talking to you. And I want to help you.
It just has to be in private.”
“So why?” I cried. “Why do you want to – when it’s so bad for you?”
“I listen to my own heart and I make my own decisions Ayesha.”
“Even when that decision isn’t good for you?” My eyes suddenly felt wet again.
“Yes, even then.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
“I just don’t want you to get in any trouble because of me.”
“If I did Ayesha, it wouldn’t be because of you, but because I’m doing what I want to do
and what I believe in.”
It seemed like we’d exhausted that topic. Both of us stopped speaking. We were standing
in thick darkness surrounded by trees. I suddenly became aware of the soft blue glow of his
skin: his face, neck and hands.
“Did you know you kind of glow in the dark?”
He didn’t say anything. His eyes lowered just slightly.
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“Can I touch your skin?”
“All-right.” He held out one hand, offering it to me. At first I hesitated, not sure how to
proceed. Then, I took my hand out of my coat pocket and ran my fingers along his beautiful
hand up to his shapely wrist. He drew in a breath.
My heart hammered wildly. Daringly, I stroked his palm and ran one finger up and along
his fingers.
“Nice.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment and sighed.
Oh God! It was like an electric current was surging from him through to me.
I withdrew my hand quickly and gulped. Had he felt it too?
As I’d pushed against his sleeve I’d seen the unicorn tattoo along his inner forearm.
“The tattoo? What does it mean?” Anything to say to get the focus off what had just
happened between us.
“Das Einhom. That’s our coven name and its German for the unicorn. The unicorn
represents purification, healing, self-knowledge, wisdom and eternal life.”
Hmmm. That sounded less evil than I might have thought.
“And the other one – the eye?”
He gulped and regarded me warily.
“It’s one of the symbols used by the Black Nobility.” His voice was suddenly tense, his
eyes turned away from me.
“I thought you said you weren’t involved with the Black Nobility.”
He stared away, seeming to hesitate over how much he was going to tell me. “I’m not.
Gaard is and he had all of us initiated from an early age – hence the tattoo. It wasn’t our
choice. We’re not members as such … but more like possessions of theirs. Notice my tattoo
is a lot smaller than Gaard’s and Gerda’s and their parents.”
Possessions? That sounded creepy. I didn’t understand. “Wouldn’t you inherit
membership through Gaard’s bloodline.”
Silence met my question. I jiggled my leg impatiently.
“So how long have you been a Christian?” he said. An obvious change of subject. He had
an irritating habit of doing that when he didn’t like the question put to him.
We started walking again. Or more correctly, he walked off and I followed.
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“Since I was about fourteen.”
“How did it come about?” He looked more than just politely interested, but positively
intrigued.
“I went to a youth rally.” I swallowed a bit. “Things happened from there.”
“It must be hard living with a bunch of Wiccan’s then.” His beautiful eyes were full of
speculation and curiosity.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “A little.” I gulped.
“Live and let live I say. I can’t understand why Christians are so against us.”
My whole body went tight. I’d known this argument was going to come up eventually. It
was inevitable.
“Maybe because your religion doesn’t acknowledge God. Witchcraft is a total denial of
the power and wisdom of God. It’s all about personal power isn’t it? Self-gratification.
Self-promotion. It’s a total deception. Humans can’t rule themselves. They’re totally
screwed up. You don’t know what you’re dealing with either; the negative spiritual forces
you might be attracting. I’ve heard it’s dangerous.”
His beautiful face displayed irritation. He looked away, frowning, his perfect chin lifting
proudly.
“That’s exactly what I dislike about Christianity. It’s so narrow when the world itself is so
diverse. Pagan practises have been going on for centuries. They’re part of our natural
heritage.”
“That doesn’t make it right.” I stared at him stubbornly, my face flushing at the
realisation we were actually fighting. The words pagan practises immediately conjured up
images of naked dancing under the moon, inflaming me further.
“Are you trying to convert me Ayesha?” He rolled his eyes.
“N..oo….” Even to myself that didn’t sound certain. “Is that what you’re family are afraid
of? Is that why they all hate me? Do they want me to forsake my religion and then they’ll
speak to me?”
“Ayesha, you have no idea what they think.”
“And you have no idea what I’m thinking.”
“I know what Christians think. You think I’m in a pact with the devil; that I’ll be toasted
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in hell and you want to save my immortal soul. Witches have been persecuted for centuries
by your kind – I’m not saying you’re responsible for that, but please don’t preach to me
Ayesha.” He leapt suddenly into the air, bounding off into the night sky and over to the
right - too far away for it to have been a natural act. Then he soared up high into the top of
a tree. It was ten metres at least. There was no way …. no way. I swallowed and my heart
was going very fast.
I stared at him. It was like he’d flipped into a different character. One I didn’t like so
well. All those stories about blood sacrificing witches I’d heard at school came to mind. I
cowered closer to the overhanging branches of the tree watching him, regretting I’d been so
forceful about my opinions. Suddenly, I felt horribly alone.
Then he flew soaring up and over the tops of the trees till I lost sight of him in the dark
opacity of the sky. I heard a whooshing sound and turning around, I saw him slowly
levitating back down onto the ground beside me. His boots landed on the ground with a
hard, heavy thump.
His face was still angry, I quickly saw. My insides quailed.
“Look at you. You’re terrified. Do you think I’ll hurt you? That I’m some kind of evil
guy? Demon possessed you said?”
I cowered away from him. Tears cracked in my eyes.
“You don’t know what I am Ayesha. You don’t know anything about me and my family.
You even imagine I’m some perfect guy.” He seemed especially angry about that. He was
puffing more from anger than exertion and his beautiful eyes flashing at me were as
brilliant as a thunderstorm. “Do you know how absurd that is Ayesha? How pre-emptive. I
may be many things, but let me tell you now, perfect isn’t one of them. In fact I’m probably
the last guy you’d want to know. There’s no way you’d want to know me if you really
knew me. There’s no way you ….” He cut off whatever he was about to say as if realising
he’d gone too far. His face was instantly remorseful and I noticed his chest was heaving
with some mixture of intense emotions.
I stared back at him angrily. I thought I had issues.
I knew one thing. I had to get away. I could feel my eyes getting prickly and hot: the sign
tears were on the way. Things were about to get ugly.
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I stormed off towards the bush, bolting straight through the rose garden. Stumbling
blindly through the prickly shrubs, I didn’t care how much the horrible bony things stabbed
and scratched me. Blinking away the tears that were welling up, I remembered when I was
a little kid I’d liked to imagine that if I kept walking into the bush I’d end up in a fairytale
world: one where everything was happy and I had lots of friends, a place where good times
just went on and on. I thought of that now and wondered how something that had started
out so good could have turned out so bad; why every encounter with him involved some
major emotional rollercoaster ride.
The saying came to me: ‘when you play with fire you get burned.’
That’s for sure.
I heard him tramping after me, calling my name, his voice so beautiful and alluring that I
wanted badly to relent.
That was so infuriating.
Thrusting my hands into my jeans pockets I ran determinedly through the rose beds and
marched across the garden in view of the house so that anyone looking out could see me.
I heard him crashing about behind me.
“Ayesha! Come back! Look, I’m sorry.”
I kept walking ignoring him.
I heard him wince and allowed myself to look back. Just once. His hand appeared to be
tangled in some thorny rose bush. I repressed a guilty smile.
I felt kind of childish then, so I slowed down. I sat on one of the garden chairs beneath an
arbour under the moonlight, putting my legs up on the chair, pulling my knees up to gird
my chin, hugging my arms about me to shelter my face. After a minute or so I heard him sit
beside me.
I didn’t look up.
“Ayesha?” He touched my arm softly and the skin sizzled where he touched me. This
time his voice was different. Soft. Remorseful. “Ayesha?” he pleaded again in a very soft,
contrite tone.
I ignored him, pressing my face harder into my knees. I was stubbornly angry and I was
scared of letting him through my barriers again.
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Enticing witch.
“I always sabotage everything.” His voice was rent with what sounded like real regret.
“Actually, I’m not that great with girls.” He sighed harshly, a sound of exasperation at
himself. “Look, I would perfectly understand if you never want to talk to me again. You
have every reason not to. I was wrong to act like that. I’m very sorry. I was a right real arse.
It was unforgiveable.” His voice had grown muter, becoming very soft. “If you forgive me
Ayesha I would feel very blessed. I would never, ever lose my temper like that again and I
will never fight with you about our beliefs.” He touched the top of my back with his hand,
moving it round and round in a circle of eight. It felt divine. That was extremely annoying
to say the least. And the eight – I wondered if that was a symbol associated with witchcraft.
Perhaps he was even conducting a spell on me. Something to control my thoughts.
I didn’t say anything, but I was beginning to thaw. It was like being transported from
heaven to hell then back again. Very disorientating.
“Ayesha, to tell the truth, I’m just afraid of falling for you and all it would mean. For you,
but also for me. I didn’t expect to feel this connection with you. It just makes my life so
much more complicated and it puts you at so much risk.” He sighed heavily into the night.
Falling for me? That seemed unbelievable. He had to be humouring me.
“We cannot …” His voice drifted away.
Cannot what?
After a while the warm hand on my back stopped moving and was lifted away. In the
silence between us I heard a bird hoot.
I looked up.
He sat with his head in his hands. Welts puckered darkly all over the skin on the back of
his hands and there was a rose on a long stem lying on the seat between us. A dark rose.
Almost black. Just like the one I’d found on my bed after the fall. So it had been from him
then.
“Um, are your hands all-right?” I said gruffly. I touched them with my fingertips. Softly,
like I was touching a fairy; something magical that might disappear.
That made him look up. He snorted incredulously. “You’re worried about me?”
He picked up the rose and held it out to me. “A symbol of my … penitence. Do you
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forgive me then, Ayesha?” His eyes shone at me in a way that had my pulse rampaging.
“Of course,” I stammered. As if there was any other option. “I’m sorry too. I really
appreciate that you came to talk to me tonight considering it’s so risky and all.”
“So, are we friends again?” He placed one hand lightly over mine.
“That’s if you can handle having a Christian as your friend.”
He smiled wickedly. “I think I can handle that, seeing as the Christian in name is
someone I like a lot. And then, she has the same birthday as me.”
“You have an odd way of showing you like someone. So, if you really liked someone
intensely, you’d probably kill them, right?”
He laughed. “Most probably. Self-sabotage and homicide - more of my numerous
inadequacies.”
I thought about the second one. Homicide. The dead girl found in Jenolan Forest. Could
that be why Gaard hadn’t mentioned his children to the police? Because he was protecting
one of them. A new theory. But, not one I liked.
We sat in silence staring out at the dark garden. The beds of dark roses with their intricate
and thorned stems formed an almost gothic geometric pattern under the moonlight. The
moon had changed position and was higher now, directly above us.
“A new moon,” I mused, trying not to think about dead girls. He gazed anxiously up at it
and the reflection shone in his eye. For a long while he was silent, just playing with my
hand. The circle of eight again. It felt amazing. I was beginning to be sure it was something
to do with witchcraft. Again, I felt calm, soothed, like a baby. Yet, he looked so worried
that my heart felt heavy.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“Just wondering where this is all going? You and me? What’s it all about? Why did you
come here? I wonder if there’s some bigger picture I can’t see?” He stared up at the stars
his eyes soulful and mysterious. “The truth is, although I got angry before, I really admire
you for standing up to me with your convictions and for having the guts to live here, a
Christian girl amongst a whole family of Wiccans who are making your life hell. I couldn’t
do it. I probably would have split on the first day.” He laughed then squeezed my hand. “I
think you’re very strong. I can see you’re trying to make something of your life Ayesha and
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I want to help you get there. You deserve that and more.”
Ha. He didn’t get it. I was dysfunctional. Just not in the usual way.
We sat for a while in silence, holding hands. I could see his eyes flickering over the
garden and through the trees as if he were listening to things I couldn’t hear and looking at
things I couldn’t see. Sometimes his nose wrinkled as if he could smell a whiff of
something particularly intriguing.
“Um … Ganymede?”
As if he’d forgotten I was there, he turned to me like someone coming out of a dream. I
wondered what was distracting him.
“I didn’t know there were roses in winter?” I said, hoping to draw him back into
conversation.
“It’s a frost resistant tea rose Gaard bred to bloom in winter – Morgan Le Fey. It’s a black
rose - well, more of a dark mauve really. But it’s badly prone to black spot, a fungal disease
that affects roses. Most of the hybrids are never as good quality as the originals.”
He rattled off the information but wasn’t really focused on what he was saying, watching
something, a rat perhaps, skittering across the grass. Something rustled in the bough of a
tree and he stared fascinated in that direction, his eyes bright with frenzy, the pupils
enlarged. His hands started trembling.
“Are you all-right?” I touched his arm gently. With effort he concentrated on what I was
saying. It was like I was with a different person. Again.
“Sorry … you were saying?” he tapped my wrist and turned the full attention of his eyes
to me. He smiled and his eyes glittered.
Whoa! Settle down heart.
“Nothing,” I stammered. “I mean … nothing much.”
“Sorry about my lack of attention. So, where were we?” He sighed and ruffled his hand
agitatedly through his beautiful hair. “The move. I mean, your plan to move. We need to
discuss that.”
Oh that.
My heart went still. The irrational feeling I was being rejected rose up. My shoulders
cowered instinctively and I looked down at the ground afraid I was going to cry.
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Furrowing his brows at me with a concerned expression he leaned towards me and
squeezed my hand. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.
“Really? How can you be sure?” My voice was just as low as his. Kind of husky. That
was embarrassing.
He put one arm around me and pulled me in against the solid wall of his chest. “We have
to make it okay.”
His body was so warm and sturdy, so sweet smelling and vital. I let my head rest against
his shoulder. My heart rushed wildly like a swooping bird. Every part of me was trembling;
my mind in a state not unlike intoxication. In disbelief that this was actually happening.
That I was this close to him.
He sighed at my shoulder and when he spoke his voice was husky. “You know what. You
feel unbelievably good.”
“You too,” I murmured back. I pressed closer against his chest. I’d dreamed of doing this
but the reality was so much better.
I could feel his warm breath at my cheek, his heart thumping away beneath the warm
clothes. An erratic beat. It seemed to be in two places at once.
“That’s odd.” I pressed my hand onto his chest feeling for his heart. The reaction was as
if I’d zapped him. He flinched slightly. Then he pulled away from me dragging all the
warmth of my body with him.
He stared at me unspeaking, his face suddenly tense and anxious, his breath a little
ragged.
“Sorry. Did I do something wrong?” The sense of rejection was unbearable. My face felt
suddenly as hot as a furnace.
“No.”
He stood up, his beautiful body outlined in the moonlight.
“What did I do?” My heart started to pound.
“Nothing at all.” He smiled reassuringly and his perfectly straight white teeth gleamed in
the moonlight.
I tried to smile back. My mouth moved feebly, reluctantly. Inside, I felt like I was sinking
in quicksand.
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“I have to get back … you know … Gaard.” He gave me a look that was meant to
illustrate frustration, but on him the facial expression merely looked cute. “Will you be all
right to go back into the house? I have to get in a different way.”
“Sure.” I nodded and swallowed. Whatever I’d done to spoil our moment of closeness, he
wasn’t going to relent. I felt so awful I wanted to die – except for the fact that there might
be a second chance somewhere further down the track and that was worth living for.
I stood up and stared mutely back at him. The kindest, most attractive and most exciting
boy I’d ever met. For a moment I’d led myself to believe he might have feelings for me.
Get real Ayesha. You’re nothing compared to him.
His fine brows furrowed at me and he peered at me like I was a small, frightened animal
he was trying to calm. “Are you all-right?”
I nodded.
“Sure?”
“Mmm.”
He took my hands in his. “Good night then. Think about what I’ve said and next time we
talk let me know where you want to go. I’ll organise everything to get you there.”
“Okay,” I faltered. “Gan?” I used the nickname I’d heard his siblings call him.
“What?” The way he purred the word had goosebumps prickling my skins.
“Will I still see you … I mean … after I leave here?”
“It’s possible.”
Hmm. Possible? He hadn’t ruled it out. But he hadn’t agreed either.
For a moment we stood holding hands and I gazed into his beautiful eyes. I stood
enthralled like a glowing eyed five year old child before a fairy with all their hopes and
dreams on their face. I was putty in his hands.
“I really hope so,” I said.
“I really want to see you too.” He was contemplating me, his face uncertain and
thoughtful, as if he were trying to make up his mind about something. I could see the
conflict in his mind; the war in his eyes. “But …”
He moved closer. For a second I thought he was about to kiss me. Or kill me.
“This isn’t right Ayesha. We can’t do this.”
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WinterSpell
Linda Moon
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Suddenly he took a step back and released my hands like they were two smelly fish. He
withdrew from me and stood egily beneath the shadows of the arbour peering at me with
intense agonised eyes.
“Ayesha, don’t fall for me. Trust me, it would only turn out bad.”
Shock spread through me in bilious waves. It was like being immersed in warm water and
sunshine one minute then hurled into frigid, fifteen foot waves the next.
I stood where he’d left me, numb and unable to move, unable to speak.
He stared back at me, his eyes burning. “There was a French Au Pair who lived with us
once …. Getting a job with the Heydrich family was the worst career move she could have
made.” His voice cracked on the words. “Now, instead of living her life she’s lying in a
cemetery somewhere in Italy.” His eyes filled suddenly, devastatingly, with tears.
“Choose life Ayesha, not me.”
I tried to focus on what he was telling me, but the roaring of my heart was drowning out
everything else.
He’d just pushed me away! He’d just rejected me!
“Do you understand me Ayesha? Are you listening to me? Do you ever listen to anything
I say?”
He was crying? Why?
A light snapped on suddenly on the upper floor of the house. Both of us turned to stare at
it.
Suddenly, he bounded off with a snarl and sprinted off into the bushes and out of sight so
fast he had to have been flying. Not before I’d seen his face change; something animalistic
and wild in his eyes; something I didn’t like and couldn’t conceive of in relation to
Ganymede Heydrich.
I stood there staring after him. Then I ran back into the house and straight into Gaard.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he said in a voice like a whole tonne of concrete
pressing down on my head.
“Um … nothing.” I stared up at him, biting my finger, cringing at how lame that sounded.
“I warned you didn’t I Ayesha Lees. You’ve just made a serious error of judgement that
you will live to rue. I’m sorry, but you won’t be doing that again.”
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WinterSpell
Linda Moon
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I heard the sound of Gaard click his fingers. A clock tocking very far away. That was the
last thing I remembered.
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