Disharmony (33 page)

She stared morosely after them as they pulled away from the curved driveway of the elegant hotel. Now she really was on her own. And the love-spell or whatever she’d performed at the airport had obviously not reached the hotel.
A beautifully dressed woman took a step away from her and huddled a little closer to her escort. A dark-suited attendant stepped to her side.

‘May I assist you with anything this evening, madam?’ he said, smiling.

‘No, I’m okay, thanks,’ she said, turning away.

I didn’t think so, she knew he was thinking.

She huddled into her jacket, trudging along beside the curved walls of the building. The rain was just a miserable drizzle now, enough to further wound her aching heart as she thought about the golden sunshine that would be drenching Romania. Cars slid like dark eels in the gloom along the road beside her. Everything felt wet, worrying and winter-like.

Even though she’d read on the website that it was winter here in Australia, she’d still somehow expected it to be warm. That’s how she’d always pictured Australia: kangaroos, beautiful beaches, sunshine and …

The Opera House!

She rounded the final corner of the hotel and stepped into a postcard. Ahead of her spread a wide, sandstone forecourt dotted with fairylights; beyond lay an inky harbour; and glowing incandescently directly ahead of her was an image she’d only ever seen in photographs: the Sydney Opera House. It seemed to float on the dark water like a full moon fallen from the night sky.

She made her way across a boardwalk that ran along the other side of the Park Hyatt hotel. The guestrooms, glowing warm gold, were just above her, wrapped around the harbour, around this view. She was sure it must be the most beautiful hotel in the world. She reached the edge of the walkway, the edge of Australia, and stared at the Opera House. From the
first time she’d seen its image, she’d dreamed of coming here. She could never have imagined that it would be under these circumstances.

A solitary tear escaped her lashes. She stopped the others immediately, certain that if she began to cry now she would never stop. With all of the panic and despair at the Carnivale, the shocking news about her past, and the terrible knowledge that she’d brought mortal danger to everyone she loved, Sera’s plan to spirit her out of Romania had seemed her only option. She saw now that it was the most ludicrous action she could ever have taken. How could she have been so completely stupid to have trusted that woman so blindly? And how could Birthday Jones have gone along with everything?

Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it, hard. They’d promised to explain everything to Lala. Would they do that, or would they just let everyone think she’d been abducted, or worse? How could she trust either of them? How could they send her here with nothing, no one?

Although the rain was little more than a frigid mist now, the chill had saturated the leather jacket; she tugged the collar up around her ears and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. There were very few pedestrians, and those who passed her wore coats and scarves. She began to walk again, left this time. She imagined herself up there in one of the hotel rooms with Mirela, Tamas and Shofranka. And a hot shower and food and a bed.

Well, that’s not going to happen, Samantha, she told herself. And it’s not like you haven’t slept outdoors before. And they call
this
winter? Winter in Romania would give these people a lesson about winter, she thought, trying to rally her spirits, fearing that if she didn’t, she would sit down in a
puddle right there and give up.

Find somewhere drier, away from the wind and rain and bunk down for the night, she told herself. Tomorrow’s another day. You can look for Luke tomorrow. She ignored the other voice telling her that tomorrow that would be just as impossible as tonight.

She rounded another corner. And gasped. Right above her, rearing like a massive grey dragon, was the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Even from underneath its enormous belly, there was no mistaking it. She hugged her arms about her chest, staring upward, open-mouthed, and was so captivated by the bridge that she missed the feeling of threat until she heard voices. Drunk males. Three of them, twenty metres ahead and closing.

Sam knew they’d seen her. A thread of adrenalin wired its way into her bloodstream. She quickly scanned the ground for something she could use as a weapon: a bottle, a rock. Nothing. She reached into her bag, eyes on them, sizing them up. She knew she could easily outrun the two fat ones; they looked to be having a hard time of it just walking, let alone chasing her. The shorter skinny one, wearing a knitted beanie pulled down almost to his eyes, looked as though he could run, and like he knew what he wanted. Her.

Sam pulled the phone from her bag. If they thought she was talking to someone, or that she could call the police, they might leave her alone. And besides, it was the hardest object she had. If she did have to run and Skinny could keep up with her, she’d make sure she took all his teeth out with it if he tried to touch her.

She flipped open the scarlet case of the phone and almost dropped it. Impossible! The screen glowed green. A cursor
flashed patiently, waiting for input. Oh my God! But there’s no battery? She stared at the phone, stunned. Her heart began to race with excitement.

‘Hello, gorgeous.’

The drunks had reached her. Skinny, who’d greeted her, already stood too close.

Oh, I
so
do not have time for this, she thought. Not now.

‘GET LOST!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs, pushing out a wave of anger-emotion.

To her surprise it worked. They backed away and shuffled off with curses she was glad she couldn’t understand.

She turned back to the phone. How was it working? What else could it do? Suddenly, she realised that Seraphina
had
given her this phone for a reason. Maybe she’d be able to talk to her? What if it could somehow connect her to her brother, to Luke?

The cold air transformed her rapid breaths into steam, and her fingers trembled as she hovered them over the keypad. There was no number she knew to dial – she only hoped the phone knew what to do.

Holding her breath, feeling more optimism than she’d experienced in more than two days, she pressed the Send button. And waited.

Nothing.

The cursor flashed just as before. She frowned at it, struggling to think of something else to try, when she heard a footstep immediately behind her.

She spun, ready to attack or bolt. Or both.

A boy stood there. She jumped back quickly, her hand over her mouth. He felt familiar. He felt confused. He felt strangely broken.

‘Luke?’ she said.

The boy just looked at her, blinking. She stared back.

Taller than her, and older, she guessed, by maybe a couple of years, the boy wore jeans and a black-and-white-striped T-shirt. She glanced down at his feet – no shoes. He had to be freezing. He had brown-black hair, blue eyes and full lips. He wore a slightly worried half-frown. She had a sudden, ridiculous urge to reach up and stroke his beautiful face. He seemed so puzzled, so childlike.

‘Who are you?’ she said. He wasn’t Luke, she instinctively knew that.

The boy said nothing.

Okay, she thought. I must just be tired. This boy doesn’t have anything to do with me. The thought made her desperately sad. She had so wanted something to happen. Maybe he’s lost, she thought. Well, I’m definitely the wrong person to look to for help. She began to walk away.

She heard him following and turned again, preparing to scream at him too. But she couldn’t do it; he stared down at her so innocently.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

He reached a hand around behind his back and she tensed, ready to run. But he pulled a folded notepad from his back pocket, holding it out towards her.

She frowned. Maybe he couldn’t speak and he had something written on there, to help him if he got lost. He certainly didn’t look as though he should be out here alone tonight. Knowing she couldn’t help him, she took the notepad anyway.

‘What have you got here?’ she said, opening it. ‘Are you lost?’

It took her a couple of seconds to register what she was looking at. When she did, she threw the notepad as though it had burned her. She stood there, wild eyed, trying to process what she had seen. The boy ran after his pad, retrieved it and held it to his chest. He faced her, head slightly askance. She felt suddenly weak at the knees.

He’d shown her an ink drawing of a person that was unmistakeably her, standing right here in the shadow of the bridge, holding a phone. And beside her was the boy, wearing a striped T-shirt and no shoes and clutching a notepad.

What the hell?

‘Were you watching me?’ she said. ‘Why did you draw that?’

The boy stood there morosely. The drawing astounded her – there was such incredible detail. She couldn’t have been here for more than five minutes – how had he captured everything so perfectly? Actually, not perfectly, she suddenly realised; there had been other people in his depiction, and a bus pulled over to watch fireworks over the harbour.

Sam shook her head tiredly. She turned to walk away, unable to deal with this strange stalker-artist after everything else that had happened tonight.

And right then a bus rounded the street corner ahead and the harbour exploded in coloured pinwheels and shooting stars of light.

Sam sat down hard on the footpath and stared at the cascading fireworks, at the bus, and at the tourists piling out to snap photos. Beyond the railing a frigid mist rippled over the harbour.

She could not find a word to say.

Luke bumped into the wall on the way to the bathroom and giggled. He frowned. He’d never giggled before.

Suddenly all thoughts were ejected from his mind as he was shoulder-charged from his feet, into the air, through the doorway to his bedroom. He scudded chin-first across the carpet. The door to the room closed.

‘What are you
doing
?’ hissed Zac, standing over him.

‘What are
you
doing, nutjob?’ said Luke, pulling himself into a sitting position. ‘What the hell did you push me like that for?’

He touched his fingertips to his chin and they came away red.

‘Ouch,’ he said.

‘Ouch?’ said Zac, throwing his hands in the air. ‘That’s all you can say? We’ve just broken out of lockup and escaped an assassin; I’ve told you that you are a part of destiny and that you’re being hunted; and I’ve told you that we need to find your twin sister and younger brother as fast as possible. And you’ve just spent the entire day playing computer games and eating!’

‘Well, no wonder I’m tired after all that,’ said Luke, standing. ‘Can’t we relax for a bit?’

He had to admit he couldn’t remember ever feeling this tired, especially when he’d had so much sleep.

‘Um, no,’ said Zac. ‘This is my whole point. We can’t relax. We need to find out more about the Telling. And we need to get out of this house.’

‘You really don’t like Georgia, do you?’ said Luke.

‘I don’t trust her. I don’t trust the cats. And I don’t trust this house.’

‘The cats again.’ Luke rolled his eyes. ‘That’s pretty harsh coming from such an animal lover.’ He moved towards the bathroom. ‘Are you going to follow me in there, too?’ he said.

Zac stood there, fists clenched.

Luke splashed his face with cold water. He poked at the green-yellow puffiness around his left eye, surprised to see it there; he’d become accustomed to a narrow view of the world and had forgotten about the black eye. He sighed. He understood that he should be feeling pretty wrecked, given what they’d just been through, but still, he couldn’t believe how tired he was. He’d planned on catching a nap, as Georgia was doing, but Zac’s sense of urgency was beginning to worry him. Why didn’t he feel that way too? He remembered feeling a pressure to discover who he was, but the drive had left him. He felt as though he was drunk.

He left the bathroom. ‘We’ll leave first thing tomorrow,’ he said to Zac. ‘But I really need to get some rest tonight.’

‘It’s only seven o’clock,’ said Zac.

Luke yawned.

‘I think she could be drugging the food,’ said Zac.

‘You’re paranoid.’ But the suggestion set off a tick in
Luke’s mind. ‘Why would she do that?’ he said.

‘Maybe she knows who you are.’

‘How?’

‘How do I know?’

Luke shook his head. ‘It’s impossible,’ he said. ‘Even if she somehow knew who I’m supposed to be, how could she possibly be on the exact train we were on when we broke out of Dwight?
I
didn’t even know we were going to be on that train.’

‘Well, she’s up to something. Listen, you know how she told us that all her brothers are away at school? Well, I’ve heard something in that room she told us to stay out of.’

‘When?’

‘A couple of times,’ said Zac. ‘I reckon there’s someone in there.’

‘I doubt it. Why haven’t we seen them? They’d have to eat sometime, right?’

‘Well, Georgia’s in her room, asleep, or doing whatever she does in there,’ said Zac. ‘Come and listen for yourself.’

‘Yeah, whatever.’

He followed Zac quietly up the stairs to the third level of the house. The doors to the two rooms they’d raided for clothes were slightly ajar. Georgia’s bedroom doors were shut, as were those of the off-limits room. They tiptoed towards it.

Zac put his ear to the door, motioning to Luke to do the same. Luke tilted his head close, feeling sort of stupid. What if Georgia walked out here right now? She’d told them to keep away from here.

He wrinkled his brow when he thought he heard a sound from inside, like maybe a door being gently closed.

See? Zac’s eyebrows asked him.

Maybe the sound came from outside, he thought. This room must face the street. He reached out and ultra-carefully tried the door handle. Locked. Hmm. Shouldn’t be a problem.

He turned back towards the stairs, motioning Zac to follow.

Back in his room, he went straight to the middle pillow and reached a hand into the pillowslip. He turned to face Zac.