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Nathaneal flicks out his fingers and shimmering dust flies out of his hand, waking the fur-ball. It knows the dust is bad and shakes furiously, its furry cat-like ears sitting up straight on top of its possum-like head. It spots Nathaneal and snakes out black claws and screeches.

‘Nice effect you have on the wildlife here.’

He sniggers. ‘Watch.’

I take a step closer. But quickly step back as the little fur-ball bursts out of itself. ‘Whoa!’

Right before my eyes its chubby little paws stretch, growing longer until its limbs are like a bird’s wings. Meanwhile, its cute rounded snout pushes outwards to form a sharp pointed beak. It ends up part covered in glossy black
feathers, part still fur. It’s quite a look, as if it was in a hurry to get dressed and didn’t quite finish.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s almost a bird now, but with longer legs, a more slender body, larger eyes and big bright blue irises. In its near-completed transition it’s dead ugly.

It squawks, its eyes focused on Nathaneal. ‘It doesn’t like you much.’

The hideous almost-bird tilts its head to look straight at me, and shrieks.

‘Back up, buddy.’

Then, wham … Nathaneal takes the critter by the throat.

Dangling and squirming in the air, it tries to bite his arm. Drool forms frothy bubbles around the edges of its beak. Where its saliva drops, the grass shrivels and turns black. ‘She likes firm and stringy meat like the muscles of an arm or leg. It’s an easy, quick meal, with only a few layers of skin to find it.’

‘She?’

‘They’re all female. But don’t be fooled, Jordan, there isn’t a feminine bone in her body. Her favourite muscle is the heart. She’s been known to gnaw through the bones of the sternum to get to it.’

He releases her, and she curls into her original fur-ball shape. Using her possum-like claws, she leaps from one branch to another and scurries into the scrub.

‘Man!’ I’m practically speechless. ‘These
things
… they’ve never actually attacked a human, have they?’

‘Unfortunately, there are some known cases of human attacks. But the Aracals are observers, not fighters.’

‘The Dark Prince’s spies. Hey, you woke her up, and she’s a spy! It won’t be long before
he
knows you’re here!’

Nathaneal smiles, looking too relaxed, before he says, ‘This one won’t be reporting anything, because I just removed all traces of us from her memory.’

‘So, just how many Aracals are living here without us knowing?’

‘Not as many as you’re thinking, but their numbers are growing.’

Back in the car and on our way again, I hardly notice the changing scenery. Something is happening to me. I’m starting to accept there really is more to this world than I can see.

We arrive at the ancient-looking monastery. Its walls shoot up out of the cliff as if the ageing stones are part of the ridge itself, sentinels of a time in history that is long past.

Instead of driving into the parking area for visitors, Thane takes a left turn off Ridge Road and follows a dirt track around the monastery’s western boundary and up into the hills where the tall pine trees grow.

A few minutes later we come to a three-metre high solid-block wall that runs alongside the road. Topped with steel mesh and barbed wire, this fence would be a challenge for a hardened criminal to cross over, but an Aracal? What about their powers?

‘I’m not without powers of my own,’ Thane says. ‘My house and property are protected by more than bricks, mortar and wire.’

We are now close to the northern tip of the ridge, where a thousand-metre-deep gorge separates it from the next mountain range, and all the way along we follow the white block wall. ‘What is this? The Great Wall of China?’

‘You’ll see it’s a substantial property, and completely enclosed,’ he says. He starts gearing down, looking for a gate. It’s not easy to spot, which is the way Thane obviously wants it.

‘How would I find this place in the dark? Is there a light or something?’

‘A light would be too telling,’ he says. ‘It will just take practice. Watch for the locations of two natural markers.’ He indicates a tree on our left about a hundred metres ahead, stripped bare of bark by past lightning strikes, and a boulder on the same side in the shape of a piano. He stops in front of it. ‘If you pass the piano rock, you’ve passed the driveway. Remember that, and you’ll be just fine.’

He throws the Lambo into reverse and turns into a driveway cleverly concealed by silvery hanging vines that completely obscure a set of black iron gates. The gates open at the press of a shiny switch on the dash. When they close silently behind us, Thane draws in a deep breath and sighs contentedly.

‘
Our
house is just through there.’ He points to a road that cuts a path through the forest.

We follow it for what seems like ages, eventually arriving at a clearing the size of a football field with an amazing glass house in the centre, surrounded by manicured gardens and paved footpaths.

It blows me away. Built into the sloping ground there are levels going up and down all over the place and floor-to-ceiling walls of glass – tempered and non-transparent, he tells me. Holding it all together is toughened steel. The roof is in sections, with some made from the same tempered glass as the walls. They stretch across from one section to another, with each individual panel raised up higher on the outside edge, like wings. These panels give the house the look that it could take off at any moment.

After he parks in the garage, we walk out into the front yard and cross a bridge over a pond with giant floating lilies and huge silver, gold and black fish. A few steps lead up to a timber deck and the front entrance.

He opens the front door to a wide open space. Light pours through the angular glass ceiling like sun bursting through a rain cloud. One step inside and I feel as if I’m walking on sunshine. Thane tells me his idea was to build a house where Ebrielle could spend her time training in complete safety and not feel like a prisoner.

The airy feeling carries through to an open-style lounge and dining area. Everything here is restful, from the living walls of lush plants, to the trickling waterfall and the fire blazing behind the glass and sandstone block wall that divides the lounge from the dining room.

Down a flight of stairs there’s a games room with a big TV, a full-size pool table and another living wall of purple flowering vines winding up a trellis to the ceiling. I can see the gymnasium down there, just like Lillie said.

This house is something else and I imagine showing Danny and Sophie and … and that girl from the club – if I
ever get the guts to approach her at school. I have these thoughts as we pass through a kitchen that’s mostly white, with marble worktops and stainless-steel appliances.

I begin to think I will like living here very much.

The police arrive and, while the fire crew are fighting to save as much of my house as possible, a male and a female constable ask me dozens of exasperating questions. No, I did not see my parents this morning so, no, I don’t know if they left the house after I did, but they must have because they’re not here now, are they?

The questions keep coming. Many are expected, like do my parents smoke? Have there been strangers hanging around? And then there are questions I don’t expect, like do I get on with my parents? Had we argued in the last twenty-four hours? Were we on the verge of bankruptcy? Does Dad gamble? What insurance policies do my parents have? How much do I stand to inherit?

‘We will be checking,’ the dark-haired female officer declares, tapping her pen on her notebook and looking me straight in the eye.

I look her straight back. ‘I don’t know who benefits, but I think it’s safe to assume, considering I’m their only child, the beneficiary would be me, unless Dad wanted to leave everything to the horses.’ Standing close behind me, Amber snorts with laughter.

Unbelievably, the questions become even more intrusive. They want to know if my parents still love each other, if they’re still intimate (as if I would know!). Standing beside me, Mr Lang notices my accelerating agitation, no doubt from the steam starting to hiss from my ears.

‘For your own safety, officers, that better be it for today.’

They close their notebooks and go to talk to the fire chief.

Mr Lang asks, ‘Is there someone I can call for you, Ebony?’

I shake my head. There are relatives in London on Mum’s side, but she’s only mentioned them once and I don’t even remember their names.

Dawn comes over after talking to the lead fire fighter. She walks straight up to me and pulls me into her arms. ‘You poor girl, you’re coming with us. Our home is your home for as long you need or want it.’ She pulls back to look into my eyes. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying, Ebony?’

The kindness in Mrs Lang’s eyes, golden-brown like her children’s, is exactly what I need right now.

‘Can Mum and Dad stay too?’

She hesitates, as if I caught her off guard.

‘It won’t be long before we’re back on our feet. Please?’

‘Of course they can!’

‘They’ll turn up soon,’ I reassure her.

Death is final; the returning of one’s body to the earth so the atoms that make us can be recycled back into the universe to start again. It’s simple and beautiful, but I can’t consider that concept for Mum and Dad. How can it be possible for two people to be here one moment and gone the next?

When Dad sees what’s happened, he’ll want to bunk down in the barn near his horses, but Mum will insist on a motel. I won’t care. As long as we’re together, I’ll sleep under the stars.

Taking my arm Mrs Lang leads me to their four-wheel drive. ‘Why don’t we head over now for a strong cup of tea.’ At my hesitation she adds, ‘We can wait for news there, Ebony.’

‘But the horses?’ I glance down to the barn where Pandora remains tethered to the outer-yard gatepost, and my chest fills with the need to run to Shadow and bury my head in his striking white mane.

Amber puts her arm around me, coaxing me inside the SUV. ‘The horses will be fine.’

Mr Lang says, ‘I’ll have my foreman help me bring them to our place right away. We have enough spare stalls. OK with you, Ebony?’

I nod. ‘Thank you, Mr Lang.’

‘You need to be with friends at this time, Ebony. You know we’re here for you.’ Across the front seat he exchanges a worried glance with his wife.

I look away from them to the house and watch as more of my home burns away. It’s starting to feel surreal, like it’s happening to someone else. But it
is
happening to me. That’s
my
life the fire fighters are pouring water over while all I do is watch. I’ve never felt more helpless. My eyes burn with the effort not to cry, but I force the tears away because now is not a time to fall apart.

Later, in Amber’s bathroom, I take a shower and stand still under the hot spray. The surreal feeling intensifies to the
point where, if I close my eyes, I can imagine this is all a horrible dream.

A persistent knock on the door dismisses this illusion.

‘Are you OK in there?’ Amber pokes her head around the bathroom door. When I don’t answer, she comes in, turns the taps off and holds out a robe. I step into it with mechanical movements, wondering dazedly what is happening to me.

Standing in the centre of Amber’s bedroom I keep still while she wraps my hair in a towel, twisting it around my head. She then pats me dry, but when her hands near my shoulders I ensure she bypasses the patches of rough skin that have recently grown into strange little bumps there. I’ve been thinking I should probably see a doctor about them, but that will have to wait now.

Amber lays clothes out on her bed for me – a white T-shirt, a denim skirt, some underwear, socks and a pair of tan ankle boots. It occurs to me that I have no clothes of my own, not even a pair of socks or pants.

‘You can use any of my clothes.’ Amber tries to keep her voice light. ‘Just think how much fun it’ll be buying a whole new wardrobe.’ She gasps. ‘I’m sorry, hon, I didn’t mean … It won’t be fun at all.’

I blink slowly to assure her I’m not offended.

While I dress myself, Amber makes up the guest bed across the room. I’ve stayed in it before. It’s a comforting thought in a day of trauma. Part of me wants to climb in it now, draw the curtains and turn off the lights.

When she returns, Amber leads me to the mirror on her wardrobe door. We stand side by side staring at our reflections. After a minute our eyes meet in the mirror. She’s
trying not to laugh. The T-shirt is too short, too clingy and gives me cleavage I had no idea I had, while her denim skirt, knee-length on her is a miniskirt on me.

‘At least the boots fit,’ she says, and begins to giggle.

I tug the T-shirt up to reduce the cleavage, but exposing so much midriff makes me look like a tramp.

We burst out laughing.

‘When did you grow those boobs?’ She shakes her head. ‘And those legs! No wonder the boys at school haven’t been able to take their eyes off you lately.’

‘What are you talking about? What boys?’

‘Let’s start with Jordan Blake, and move on to the rest of the grade!’

I laugh so hard at her ridiculous statement tears roll down my face and I have to sit on the edge of her bed and clutch my stomach. At some point, the laughter changes into weeping, and then raking sobs.

Amber sits beside me passing me tissues, one after another. When I finally stop crying, my mind is clearer.

‘Do you think they’ve turned up yet?’

She looks directly at me so I understand she’s not hiding anything. ‘Someone will let us know as soon as that happens. Ebony, everyone in the valley loves you.’

I close my eyes, and Mum and Dad are right there. ‘Do you think it’s safe to go back to the house yet?’

‘Probably tomorrow.’

Unable to stop the momentum building inside me, I run over to her wardrobe and fish through hangers until I find a coat to throw over my too-small outfit. ‘Amber, I’m going to search for my parents.’

‘Wait!’ She lunges as I head out the door, grabbing my arm. ‘Ebony, how?’