Dark Confluence (17 page)

“So no go here?” asked Trent, scratching his dark hair.

“No go,” Bill growled. “However this is not the end of the matter. I have contacts within police headquarters. I plan to get to the bottom of this!”

*

The sleek grey car drifted into town as if it were part of the mist itself. It sat for a moment idling at the red traffic light, then as the light changed it eased off again, the expensive European engine purring gently. Slowly, it drove through town until it stopped outside the office of one of the three real estate agents in the town. Silently, four adults got out of the car, the fog muffling the sounds of doors closing. The men were dressed in expensive designer suits, the type that if you needed to ask the price, then you couldn’t afford it. The women were dressed simply in silk blouses and linen slacks. Their immaculately coiffed hair showed scarcely a tendril out of place, and they wore dark sunglasses, even though it was late in the day and the mist still hung heavy about the town. They stood there for a moment, furtively glancing about, and then after a low conversation, walked into the real estate office. One of the men carried a slim leather briefcase and he wore an expensive Swiss watch upon his wrist.

The receptionist at the Real Estate office looked up as the group came inside. She greeted them with her usual blinding smile, perfected over many years of use. Yet her smile faded away as the group stared back at her with unsmiling, impassive, pale faces.

“Good afternoon,” she persevered, effortlessly reworking her smile back to its usual brilliance.

“We are here to collect the rental key,” the man with the briefcase said curtly, softly. “It is all arranged, we have money.”

The receptionist nodded, noting the unusual Eastern European accent and imprecise English. “I will need the letter that was sent to you, and some form of ID,” she said.

The group looked at each other briefly, and then silently the man with the briefcase nodded.

“Very well,” he placed his briefcase up on the counter, opened it and took out a folded piece of paper, plus a passport. He handed both over to the woman, and as he passed her the papers, she noticed a strange tattoo on the back of his wrist. She perused the letter, nodded and then taking his passport glanced at it and him.

“You are a long way from home, Mr Dalca. Are you and your friends here on holidays?”

“Working holiday,” he replied briefly.

The receptionist handed back the passport and then consulted the computer, “Ah, I see Neil Jenkins has processed the deposit on your rental. You have the bond?”

Mr Dalca nodded imperceptibly, “Here, two thousand dollars.” He handed over a wad of cash.

The receptionist balked, and then nodded as she again consulted the letter. “Cash only? Very well, and Neil has noted that you are additionally paying for three months rental in advance.”

“Correct,” the man said, and then handed her another even larger wad of cash. Patiently, the group waited as she counted the notes, and then placed them into a lockable drawer.

Going to a board on the back wall, the receptionist selected a key from a number that were hanging there and gave it to the mysterious Mr Dalca, along with an A4 sized envelope.

“Here is the key, along with a map of the town and surrounding area, and some information about the town, its facilities, and the house you are renting.” She pushed a sheaf of papers to him. “This is your rental agreement. I have tagged the places where you are to sign.”

The man nodded, and taking out a gold fountain pen from his inside jacket pocket, quickly and efficiently signed the document.

The receptionist nodded and handed back his passport, “That is all Mr Dalca. I hope you and your friends enjoy your stay at Emerald Hills. The house is just three streets away, almost in the centre of town.”

“Good,” he took the passport, papers and key. All vanished into the slim leather briefcase. The group glanced at him and he nodded briefly. As one, they left the office.

“Will she be a problem, Vaslav?” asked one of the women in her native Romanian.

Mr Dalca shook his head, and replied in the same language, “No, by morning the paper trail to us will vanish into dust. However, we now have the key. I have ensured that our presence in the town will be overlooked, except for those who know why we are here, and are sympathetic to us. We have important work to do here, and we need to settle in and then get started.”

The four got back in the car and with a low purr of its engine, turned around and was soon lost to sight in the mist.

*

Jen leaned back into her old leather seat until it creaked and with her fingers, massaged the strain out of her temples. Jen was beginning to understand what was going on, or at least she supposed she had some comprehension of the puzzle.

She had read various sites that she would normally dismiss as at best dodgy, and at worst, outright loony. These sites dealt with leylines, those mysterious paths claimed to be channels of mystical energy. Linking ancient Neolithic sites in England and Europe, the New Agers claimed that these lines or paths channelled natural energy. Leylines were also supposedly present in Australia, although the online maps of such lines were crude and scarce.

It seemed that some people even claimed that Uluru was a key focus of earth power and there were even maps of leylines radiating from the natural monolith. She also read about spirit paths, or corpse roads, those track ways and paths made for transporting the dead to their final resting place. It seemed possible that fairies could use both leylines and corpse roads to travel, and perhaps Emerald Hills lay along one of these roads.

Jen stretched and heard her joints pop in protest. This was all supposition. There was no hard evidence that such paths existed. In addition, there was no hard evidence that the Fae existed either. Yet her direct experience was that they did so, then
ipso facto
the fairy roads existed also. In order to reach this conclusion, Jen had to abandon her innate skepticism. It seemed since the Fae existed, then it was likely they travelled along unseen roads oozing natural power, and one of those paths lay directly through Emerald Hills.

Jen shook her head, still puzzled. If the Fairy road had existed for many years, perhaps even forever, why then was it
now
that the problems were happening? Jen remembered Tom explaining how fifty years ago Anna had sensed the Fae. However, it seemed that what had happened then had faded; vanished of its own accord. So what had changed? Why was it starting up again? Fionn had told her to stop what was being done, but still she had no idea what he had meant. She guessed that the perpetrators were human agents of the rebel fairy court, and that they had moved into the area and were possibly changing things that affected the Fairy road. Jen frowned, this was all guesswork, and she doubted a word of it would hold up in a court of Law.

For a brief moment, she considered the construction of the underground power lines, and then laughed at her own absurdity. This work was coordinated by council, state government and through the power companies. It would be ludicrous to consider that the Government could be actively aiding the rebel Fae.

Jen paused, and drew an unsteady breath, considering another alternative. What if the Government did it inadvertently, and that, by putting the power underground it had affected the road and all that were bound to it? Could that be what was happening? Did the Government know what they were doing or were the rebels manipulating Government itself? Maybe they were manipulating the activist groups that leaned on Government and the electricity company. Tom had spoken of one, what was it...EGAG, EGOG, EHOG? Jen groaned, so many questions, so few answers, and the answers she was coming up with seemed too far-fetched to be true.

Jen put that puzzle to the side, instead addressing the questions of why; why now and why Emerald Hills? Jen massaged her temples. She was starting to develop a headache. With some relief, she decided to turn off the laptop and close its lid. The questions could wait; she could not concentrate with the growing hammering behind her temples. It was time for a painkiller and a nap. Jen locked the house and turning down the coverlet, lay down and went to sleep.

*

Chapter 15

The next morning, the people of Emerald Hills awoke to the mist still shrouding the town. For an area unused to such conditions, it was an unsettling experience, but people accepted the situation and began their daily routines. Life could not stop or slow for mere vagaries of the weather.

Robert White opened his classroom door and turned on the lights. To say the least, the fog had made the usual drive to school interesting, so he was glad to be out of the car and at the school. Unhurriedly, he finalised his lesson plans for the day, and laid the textbooks out on the tables for his small class of thirteen primary school-aged children. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that one of the overhead lights was flickering, and as he watched it, the light went dark, followed immediately after, by the light next to it. Frowning, he waited for more lights to blow, but the others still shone brightly. Shrugging his shoulders, he dismissed it. Surely, it must just be a malfunction in the electrics. He would let the school maintenance man know as soon as practical.

Picking up his laptop bag, he closed the door and walked down the corridor to the building that housed the staff room. As usual, there was a staff meeting this morning, and Robert planned to be early, so he would have time to speak to the Principal about some matters. Although he was only in his late thirties, Robert was a big man and he wheezed slightly as he walked. Every day he meant to do something about his weight, but by the end of the workday, he was usually exhausted and only had energy enough to deal with the schoolwork required for the next morning, prepare a meal and go to bed.

Thankfully, he reached the staffroom and sat down on a comfortably cushioned fabric chair. Resting the laptop on his knees, he nodded hello at the other gathering staff. The Principal was still absent, obviously busy with a parent or an early student - so much for his plans of having time to talk to him.

“Weird weather we’re having,” commented Janet Chin, the year five teacher, “Looks like we’re to be another casualty of climate change.”

Robert grunted a non-committal reply. Unlike most of the other teachers in the school, he was not yet convinced about the whole climate change ideology, but given it was part of the curriculum he had to teach it.

Finally, the Principal appeared. He was a small compact man who was prematurely balding. He perpetually wore a harried, worried expression on his face, as if the world itself was conspiring to make his life difficult. Robert guessed that the decades of teaching and then being Principal of the School had not helped his stress levels.

“Good morning, staff,” he said as he waited for everyone to find a seat. “We have twenty-five absentees today, ten up from yesterday.” He handed out copies of a list, Robert perused his copy, three of the students were from his class, including one of the habitual troublemakers.

The Principal went on, “It seems that the weather has spooked a number of parents, and some families are, in fact, relocating out of the town until the start of next semester. I have also had word from the Department that if conditions here deteriorate any further, then we are to send the children home early. I’ll let you all know at lunchtime whether that will happen today.”

He cleared his throat, “Keep in mind, the police directives that we have been given in regards to child safety. I have had a phone call from the authorities this morning. It seems there has been another abduction overnight, this time an infant. The child was removed from a cot in the parent’s own bedroom. So we must be extra vigilant with our own pupils.”