Unfortunately, as we crested the top step onto the landing, we hit the impenetrable barricade of Bea, Hugo and Fortescue. Aunt Bea tightly clasped her hands in front – a familiar cause for pessimism – made more ominous by the fact Fortescue gripped her shoulder in restraint. Hugo scowled at Smithy and in return he muttered “Wanker.” Just spoon the two of them into a room for instant hostility, no need to stir.
Bea smiled warmly at Smith. “Good evening, Vegas. Lovely to see you again. Jerome will show you to your room and help you settle in.”
“Ah, thanks. I really appreciate you putting me up, Aunt Bea. But … how did you know?”
Damn it. They’d been watching on the monitors. I felt like a specimen in a lab and pleaded silently that they’d at least had the decency mute the volume.
“You are a tad encumbered for brief visit,” Bea said. Fortescue smoothly shepherded Smithy away. He looked over his shoulder at me and shrugged bemusement. “If you could assist, Grace? I’d be grateful. Thank you.”
Mrs Paget frowned and hurried after them. I recognised this strategy: separation from the herd in readiness for an assault. “Regrettably, I see no alternative than to ground you, Winsome. Hugo will prevent you from wandering.”
“What the hell for.” I’d never endured this approach to discipline: it didn’t usually work with nowhere to go. Until now. “Not answering the mobile? Welcome to the world of the oppositional adolescent.”
Outwardly, Aunt Bea seethed. But even in my mounting fury, I discerned an odd staged aura to the whole display. She was normally cooler than Iceland, no matter my mess-ups, and over the years these had been far worse than not pressing the receive button. It was as if they strived to get me safely out of the way, rather than teach me a lesson for disobedience. Were they jailing me in the warehouse?
Inquisitiveness competed with my anger. What were my guardians really up to? It all seemed so extreme for a single guest. I’d evolved a healthy resentment towards this stupid visitor, who’d turned my state of being inside out. If it was anyone less than Johnny Depp, maximum whinging would ensue.
“Go to your room immediately, young lady.”
“You’re the one telling lies. You should go to your room!”
I stomped away along the balcony, but not before glimpsing Bea’s distraught features. I tried to slam my bedroom door hard enough to snap the hinges, but Hugo, hot on my tail, thwarted the arc. I threw myself onto my bed, even denied privacy for a tantrum. He dropped onto the edge, the action bouncing me on the mattress. I suppressed the strongest urge to ask for his biggest gun.
“You don’t have to sit in my lap. Where am I going to go? I need a permission slip to use the blasted toilet. Or are you to accompany me in there, as well? Help me to wipe my bum?”
I pointedly gave him my back. Feeling a bit sorry for Hugo, I secretly acknowledged this gig was no promotion. In the mirrored door of my wardrobe, he shook his head.
“Patience is not your strong suit. If you insist on behaving like a baby, you shall be treated so. Although, a hefty pay rise would be necessary in order to wipe your bum.”
My sympathy dissolved. “Your job is to shadow me. Speaking is not required.”
I planted a pillow over my head. Whoever formulated the Zen philosophy probably lived in an isolated shack with well-trained llamas, never having to endure the irritations of day-to-day. It was easy to channel immovable mountains with no one monitoring their every twitch or relaying impossible stories with frightening conviction. And they probably didn’t have visions so real it was as though you were there or an audience waiting to dissect said visions.
All I wanted was a simple, perfect evening with Smithy. Was it so much to ask? Why would Aunt Bea offer unprecedented freedom and then wrench it away? It made no sense at all, rather a cruel game. I’d stand Smithy up, probably alienating him for good. I imagined Tiffany rushing the engagement announcement in the society pages. I had to admit, they would have cute children. A stab of hurt brought tears to my eyes, but I hastily blinked them away.
“When you finally understand the actions of your minders, the shame for this treatment of them will seem unbearable. It might fade over time. Of course, time is a luxury they do not have.”
I sat up and glared at him, barely refraining from belting him with a pillow. “Is that advice meant to help?”
“Have you given no consideration to how your attacker came to be in the exact right spot last night?”
“Fluke? A crystal ball? Cyborg tracking system? Perves are known to lurk in the bushes – it comes with the territory.”
“Such an opportunity would demand an extended stay in the bushes. Your impertinence galls me, Winsome.”
“And your self-righteousness pisses me off. I am the one nearing jagged rocks without a beacon! Feel free to switch on the light at any convenient moment, preferably before I’m broken against the cliff face.”
Sure, it was overly theatrical, but excessive frustration does that. He grinned. “You insult an assassin who can crush your windpipe as easily as breathing out. You would get on well with my sister, Latoya. She has a big mouth and is fearless to the point of idiocy. She is also partial to teenage hysterics.”
“Give me a break, Hugo. Please.”
He sighed. “Every event that transpires in your world is due to a cascade of decisions. Some your own. Some those of others making their impact. These colliding outcomes form a web of intricacy that seems random, but is not.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Why is it even relevant?”
“Patience.” Oh, how I hated that stupid word! “The best way to conceptualise it is by tracing the movement of millions of molecules bouncing off each other in a never-ending series of actions and reactions. The trick is to follow the course of a single atom.”
“Sounds like chaos theory. The flapping of a butterfly’s wings in the Amazon triggers a tidal wave across the other side of the world. I always thought that was ludicrous. And what you describe is contradictory. Chaotic, yet predictable.”
“The mind is limited in the patterns it can hold and decipher. You must suspend disbelief if you are to navigate these strange waters. The networks I am talking about are cosmic in their breadth. They spread across human history, too huge for all but the most powerful and hypersensitive psychic to follow.”
“If your story sounded less like science fiction, I might have a slim hope of believing. Again, what’s this got to do with anything?”
He quirked an eyebrow at my rudeness and resumed speaking. “When particular individuals seal their deal with Anathema, a change sometimes takes place. They become what we term ‘Bloods’, short for bloodhounds. It is like any other talent. Some people are well endowed, some slightly, some not at all. Very rare members can hunt the strands of this energetic web to their source like an explorer journeying to the most important upstream branch of a river. These Bloods are highly valued because they can alter choices to suit Anathema’s aims before a target even makes the decision.”
“By granting someone their deepest desire? Just like Faust?”
“Yes. A desire or desperate need that can only be gained by Anathema’s means in exchange for unquestioning service. If you can grasp a person’s intent before they choose, you can manipulate the unwary and lead them into temptation more readily. Each step heralds a certain path, a certain future. A Blood can anticipate and hijack this potential to Anathema’s advantage.”
“Are you telling me that Tate is a Blood and he’s here tracking a potential target?”
“Was. Tate is no longer here.”
I forcefully swallowed that unpleasant imagery, but as usual curiosity got the better of me. “Which target?”
“My guess is someone at the judge’s party is in trouble and ripe for the harvest. Insurmountable debt, an illegal habit or disturbing urges, unacceptable to the normal person in the street. Or maybe just the simple wish to make one’s father proud.” His face was so sad. “Tate was here to make an offer that, as they say, could not be refused. You were simply a chance fringe benefit. But Tate’s presence has cost your guardians dearly. Others will follow.”
I concentrated on the angle that seemed the most logical. “Surely not everyone is so easy to corrupt, so greedy.”
Hugo stared at me and I understood belatedly that my slur about such weakness could easily apply to him. If anything he said was remotely true. “Oh, Hugo. I’m sorry—”
He raised his hand to stop me. “You have nothing to apologise for. It is true. I was greedy and I let it destroy everything I hold dear to me.”
“Go on,” I said, even though my tolerance for more tall tales waned.
“The vulnerable are trapped in Anathema’s world before they even know it. And likewise, those most resistant to the lure are discovered, the good and pure of heart. The enemy. It is why you are surrounded by implements of torture. Waves of misery radiate from these foul objects. This negative aura counteracts the positive energy given off by virtue.”
Stone, pah. All this talk of Anathema and Stones and Crones proved to be the worst series of cryptic lessons Bea had ever set for me. And virtue was the last thing on my mind at the moment. What really concerned me was how to sneak out for my date with Smithy. Hugo must have sensed my wandering mind.
“Pay attention, Winsome. This is critical for your survival. Bloods can sense others with their same talents. I was the ultimate Blood. My choices, and Tate’s, will lead Anathema to you. So far, they have not infiltrated Sydney. They prefer old cities with long histories and much to exploit. But they will come. They hunt you especially now—”
I interrupted. “Me? What for?” Did they aim to recruit me into their cult?
Hugo shook his head, as though he’d said too much already and wasn’t willing to share further. “They cannot sense you within these walls. You must stay inside, Winsome, to stay alive.”
The door flew open. “Hugo. Quickly!” At Fortescue’s insistence, he vaulted up and headed out, turning back to me briefly. “Listen to your heart and feel the truth of what I have said. Stay inside, Winnie.” And then he was gone.
What a load of codswallop. Bea had been excessively vigilant for years without proof. I rushed to the door and peeked out a crack. Fortescue and Hugo conferred at the entrance to the kitchen.
“The cats are uneasy. What do you think, Hugo? Has he found us?”
“He is slippery and demands the utmost stealth to track. It will prove exceedingly difficult.”
“There is no choice. We cannot leave him free to do as he pleases in Sydney.”
“That is true, Jerome. But can we leave her? Can we trust her to obey?”
“Winsome has never before directly challenged Bea’s authority.”
“If she leaves this sanctuary, she is at risk from more than just Anathema.”
“We are well aware of that. In any case, Hugo, there is no choice if we are to capture him and eliminate the most immediate threat. I have faith in Winsome. I cannot believe she would disobey Bea.”
There was a first time for everything. I was sick of all the gibberish and refused to listen to any more baseless warnings. Where had I put that annoying phone? I found it discarded on my bedside table, next to my treasured mermaid, and texted Smithy to meet me outside my door in half an hour. I showered and dressed in record time, before my conscience raised the alarm, wearing a short white swing dress with a black-ribbon drawstring halter-neck and black detailing on the hem. The flowing, slippery material begged to be fondled.
The matching black heels were so perilously high they gave Sydney’s Centrepoint Tower a complex. Fortescue deserved a trophy for shopper of the year. For once, my hair cooperated without undue product or fuss, spiralling down my bare back with no hint of frizz. My principles sparked up as I crept across my room. This was Bea I deceived.
Any doubts were hastily gagged on making the balcony. Smith waited with his elbows propped against the railing, making an art of casual leaning. Upon first sight of him, my tummy plummeted, my skin tingled and an unfamiliar spark ignited within. He wore jeans and a designer shirt that fitted nicely over his broad, incredibly buff chest. I inhaled his mouth-watering cologne and burst into flame when his lips spread into a wide smile on my appearance.
“Winnie.” Smithy’s eyes wandered over my figure to alight on my face. “You are beautiful.”
A short while later, we were intimately seated at the most stunning restaurant in my experience – including one at the Eiffel Tower. Except it wasn’t a restaurant. It was Smithy’s sculpture studio: a glass-walled cube balanced over a sliver of sand, hemmed by lapping water that glittered with a thousand points of vibrant light. It nestled in a secluded cove, reached via sheer steps carved from a crag between hilltop mansions.
“Are you sure that’s safe?” I’d asked on sighting narrow stairs that wound down the cliff.
Only a weathered wooden handrail that looked like it might give way at any moment provided support. Peeking over the cusp, I envisaged the long plunge to jagged rocks below if I tripped.
“Don’t worry, Bear. It’s perfectly stable.”
“Alright for you to say, you’re not attempting motion on stilts.”
Confronted by my anxiety, Smith solved the problem and piggybacked me down. I carried the plastic bag of Thai food that had been delivered by a boy on a moped as we hopped from a taxi in the street above. The descent with my extra weight gave him no trouble; he was as agile and powerful as a mountain goat. The friction of Smithy’s lithe muscles beneath my hand as I clung on enticed.
“This was my mother’s studio,” he explained, when we neared the dark building along a wooden-planked path. “It’s the only thing of value the judge has given me. He wanted me to use it as a sailing shed, but I’ve put it to better use.”
“I didn’t know your mother was an artist.”
He set me down on my feet and moved behind me, putting his hands over my eyes to guide me forward with his body. I enjoyed the feeling of him against me and hoped revealing his surprise would take a while.
“Voila.”
