Disharmony (34 page)

‘You really wanna know what’s in there?’ he said, holding out the torque wrench and rake.

‘Are you crazy?’ hissed Zac. ‘No. I just wanted you to know that this chick isn’t telling us everything, that’s all. Let’s just get out of here.’

‘But aren’t you a teensy bit interested now?’

Suddenly, Luke felt much more alert. The locked door was a puzzle, just like the riddles online. He wanted to know what was behind the door.

He raised his eyebrows, asking without speaking,
Coming?

Zac sighed.

They made their way quietly back up the stairs.

Samantha felt unnerved by the tall boy standing silently above her. He’d been holding that notepad out in front of him for several minutes. She didn’t want to touch it. How could there possibly be such a picture? Who had drawn it?

The boy had arrived right after she’d used the phone – had Sera sent him? Maybe he was the next part of her destiny. Maybe she was just crazy with fatigue. In any event, her bum was cold. She reached out her hand and the boy took it, pulling her up from the wet pavement.

‘Who are you?’ she tried again.

He twisted his full lips into a worried grimace and held the pad out to her. She took it.

He’d turned the page to a new picture. She felt a thrill jangle painfully through her stomach – excitement threaded with fear.

She recognised the railings bordering the harbour – she was standing right next to them. But there was no Opera House in this picture. What there was, though, was an image of herself standing next to the boy in the striped T-shirt, this time viewed only from behind. They stood facing a small
structure, maybe the size of a phone-box, situated right on the edge of the water.

She looked up at the boy, frowning with confusion. ‘What is this?’ she said.

He pointed.

Her gaze followed his arm and she gasped. Maybe eighty metres from where they stood was the white structure from the picture. It resembled a miniature lighthouse. She hadn’t noticed it before, but given her extraordinary surroundings and the even more bizarre things that had taken place in them, this did not surprise her.

So – what did this mean? Was she supposed to go over there with him? She took another look at the picture.

‘Let’s go,’ she said.

They reached the small building within a couple of minutes. She realised that it was not quite as tiny as it had seemed. She guessed that it was some sort of historical structure with a maritime purpose. It didn’t seem to be of much use – it was windowless and would fit maybe four people standing upright, and given that it was right on the edge of one of the most beautiful harbours in the world, it seemed to be pretty much wasted space. And whatever was in there was closed off to the world by a blue door.

‘What now?’ she said, looking up at the boy by her side.

She realised that someone viewing them from behind right now would be looking at the precise image captured on his notepad.

He reached into a pocket in his jeans and pulled out an old-fashioned key. He held it between thumb and forefinger, a question in his eyes.

‘You want
me
to go in
there
with
you
?’ she said.

I don’t think so, she thought. I don’t know you. Once we’re in there anything could happen. Maybe you think I’m some lost, naive little girl, but I’ve been running with Birthday Jones for five years …

At the thought of Birthday, the indignation melted away, leaving a residue of grief. Still, she wasn’t stupid. She opened her mouth to tell him to come up with another suggestion, and he gave her a lopsided, apprehensive smile. She supposed he was trying for reassuring. What he looked like was a kid trying to convince his mum not to take him to the dentist.

A train rumbled over the bridge behind them and she glanced up at it, startled from the moment by the sound. Rain began to fall again, spitting down onto her upturned face.

What the hell. She couldn’t sense any danger from him. She didn’t
feel
that he wanted to hurt her. And at least it would be dry in there.

‘Open it up,’ she said.

She watched him push open the door, and peered around his broad shoulders. It was nothing but a dark, empty room. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. Maybe this could be a safe place to stay until morning; although it looked as though she’d be sleeping sitting up, given its size.

At least it didn’t look as though her night was going to get any weirder.

‘Harder,’ said Kirra Kiyota, draped in a towel, lying face down on a massage table in the penthouse suite of the Shangri-La Hotel. ‘I’m not going to tell you again.’

The Yakuza assassin massaging his boss cringed at the tone in her voice.

‘I’m sorry, Kirra,’ he said, applying more pressure to her petite shoulders and neck. He was stripped down to his waist, full-torso warrior tattoos the only thing covering his martial-arts-honed chest and arms.

Kirra wanted the rest of her crew to see Golden Tiger, one of the most feared fighters in their Yakuza family, humiliated this way. He and the rest of the crew had failed her.

She turned her head towards the spectacular view of Sydney spread out three hundred and sixty degrees around the room. But she did not see the glamorous jewellery box that was Sydney at night from thirty-five floors in the sky. She saw only the image of the gypsy witch and her gesture of contempt at the airport. If anyone else had dared disrespect Kirra that way, she would not have rested until she found them and personally cut out their heart.

Kirra sent her thoughts out into the night, hunting her. Where are you, little witch?

Despite the expert massage – Golden Tiger had trained under Takashi Shadow, studying many forms of healing as well as killing – her muscles were taut. She hated the cold, and had the room-heating pumping. She was definitely not happy that they’d missed the female in Romania – twice. She’d been looking forward to summer in Europe once they’d completed their mission. But then losing her at the airport had been inexcusable. She knew that she had lost face with the Chairman. She could not afford to fail again.

The girl had help. Kirra knew that now, but she also knew that she was facing something more than their usual enemies like the law, rival Yakuza, other gangsters. No, this gypsy seemed to be protected by spirits of some kind. Kirra did not know what had happened at the airport, but she had never seen a crowd whipped into a frenzy like that. Their eyes had been blank – as though they’d been possessed.

At least they’d been able to outrun the police who had come after them. Did the gypsy have them on her side too?

Kirra hoped that the Chairman had obtained a fortune for this contract. There was definitely something supernatural going on here. And now there was another mark. A boy. Same age, same instructions: bring them both in alive. She’d issued multiple photographs of their new target to her crew. They’d all studied them thoroughly.

Her ringtone sounded. She gathered the thick towel about her slender body, pushed Golden Tiger away and sat up.

Her number one soldier, Dagger’s Breath, held the phone out towards her, his eyes hooded with hate. Since he’d let the gypsy girl go when he was shoulder-shot in Romania, the
beautiful scar through his lip had glowed vivid white, as it did only when he was enraged. She knew that the scar would not return to normal until he had the girl in his hands again.

‘Thank you,’ she said, reaching for the phone. She held it to her ear for a moment and then disconnected, tossing it onto the bed.

‘Saddle up,’ she said to her team, who watched her soundlessly. ‘We know where they are.’

If they were caught this time, they couldn’t just pretend to be curious.

Luke had his tools in under the handle of the only door Georgia had told them to stay away from. If she walked out of her room right now, there’d be nothing they could say but see ya, thanks for the memories.

Georgia’s home was much older than any Luke had been in before and he wasn’t used to this type of lock. Like most internal doors, it had no keyhole, but this one also had a lever-lock mechanism. And while he would have been inside the locked door of a regular bedroom in sixty seconds – even if he only had a matchstick, bobby pin, credit card or paperclip – he’d been working on this one for a good three minutes.

One step away, Zac shifted from foot to foot. Luke ignored him and breathed out. He allowed his thoughts to slide one more time into the lock, and yep – there it was – he popped the lever. He looked up over his shoulder at Zac. Grinned. It’s now or never, his smile said.

He opened the door.

Other than some furniture, the semi-lit room was empty.
Luke walked in, squatted beside the big four-poster bed to peer underneath – just to make sure – and then checked out the rest of the room. Waste of time, really. Nothing to see in here. He turned around and shrugged.

‘Pretty boring,’ he said.

‘Someone left the lamp on,’ said Zac, pointing with his chin to the desk.

‘People with houses like this don’t worry about electricity.’

‘Yeah, well, I still think I heard someone in here,’ said Zac. ‘And I still have a really bad feeling. I just think now’s the time to get out of this house.’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ said Luke.

He walked up to the window and cracked the blind a fraction. The lamp-lit street beyond the tropical garden was slick with rain. Out there waited the real world, the wealthy and the wannabes of Elizabeth Bay. And around the corner was Kings Cross, where the dark and damaged of Sydney did business.

Suddenly, he wondered what he’d been doing in this house for so long. It
was
time to move. Something big was definitely going on, and playing PSII was not going to help him learn what that was.

Zac froze on his way to the door and Luke heard it a split-second later. He dropped and rolled, but even though Zac had been further away, he was still first under the bed.

They both locked eyes on the source of the sound. The wardrobe? They waited. Nothing.

Luke had half made up his mind to crawl out from under the bed when one of the cupboard doors squeaked open. He scuttled backwards silently, grateful that the desk lamp wasn’t powerful enough to banish the shadows hiding them.

The door opened further. Who hides in their own cupboard? he wondered. This oughta be interesting.

Although he was completely focused on the wardrobe, he barely noticed the barefoot kid in the striped T-shirt who stepped out of it.

Because there was someone else in there behind him. He could sense her. And he was already halfway out from under the bed when she spoke.

‘Luke?’ she said, stepping out of the wardrobe.

‘Samantha?’ he said.

He stood up, ready to meet his sister.

Luke wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting when he met his twin sister. He hadn’t really had time to think a lot about it. Two days ago, he didn’t even know that this girl – with her arms locked around his neck in a death grip – existed.

But now that she was here, he realised that somehow, somewhere, he’d always known.

And everything felt wrong. Not wrong, exactly – more like right. Everything felt right. But not right, exactly. More like something he had never felt before. As Samantha clung to him, sobbing, Luke
felt
his heart pulsing in synch with hers, he
felt
each beat becoming more noticeable, more painful, more loud. He hugged her back. This stranger. The only family he’d ever known.

A sob rose in his throat. That hadn’t happened since he was four and foster mummy two had drunkenly pushed him into a kerosene heater and his pyjamas bottoms had melted into his thighs. The memory flared a moment of panic and he dropped his arms and pulled away.

When they broke connection, the drumming in his chest
stopped mid-beat; his heart instantly became cold and quiet again. The tears in his throat evaporated and his brain clicked in, razor-sharp, as the rest of his body became comfortably numb.

What the hell was that? he wondered.

Samantha teetered there without him, her eyes bereft.

‘What
happened
to you?’ she said, tears streaming.

How do I answer that? he thought. He didn’t try.

For the first time, Luke noticed that Zac wasn’t behind him, crawling out from under the bed. He was standing at the open doorway of the wardrobe. Luke wasn’t surprised. It was difficult to be shocked by anything Zac did any more. Besides, there was also the fact that his twin sister had just stepped out of a cupboard. He’d never done surprise very well, anyway.

And who was the other kid?

He turned to face the taller boy who was staring back at him. The kid was completely panicked. Fear crouched in his dark eyes and he ducked his head, cowering, as a newbie might in his first week at Dwight when he was about to be ‘counselled’ by Mr Holt and his henchmen.

‘Who –’ he began.

And then the wardrobe door creaked again.