Before I digested this latest headline, Seth plucked the newspaper from his lap and bent close to thrust it under my nose. He was too near for my tolerance and I scooted as far back as the seat would permit. The paper was folded to reveal a short article in a foreign language.
“Portuguese?” I squinted.
“Yes. Look at the picture.”
Accompanying the text was a grainy close-up photo in black and white of a corpse’s hand. The skin was mottled by rot, but a scorpion tattoo was clearly recognisable between the thumb and forefinger.
“You know to whom this belongs?”
That image had been branded on my brain forever. “Tate,” I said, surprised by the hatred in my voice.
“I shall cut to the chase and summarise the contents for you. ‘Lisbon. A body was discovered Saturday morning on the border of the Tejo estuary and the Cacilhas dry dock, its only distinguishing feature the pictured tattoo. Further identification has been hampered by extensive animal interference, water damage and advanced decomposition.’ Etcetera and so on. This small justice has been far too long coming for our vile colleague. And only other members of Anathema will ever realise its significance. Tate shall remain just one more John Doe, languishing in the morgue.” He tossed the paper aside and poured himself another generous drink.
“How on earth did his body get there? Hugo killed him here, just outside our warehouse.”
“You, young Keeper. Hiding and subterfuge are your supreme skills, particularly against anything that risks exposing the Trinity. Your touch can transport an enemy far from wherever you are.”
“What?” I said, my jaw dropping. Fortescue would not be pleased by this latest rudeness. “You mean, literally move someone from one place to another? Like …” I snorted a laugh. “Teleportation or something?”
He nodded, as if such a skill was akin to playing soccer or sketching well. “Under certain circumstances.”
For the moment, I couldn’t really contain my incredulity enough to grapple with anymore circumstances, certain or otherwise, and forged on. “So Tate tracked Hugo to Sydney and followed him to the party? Why attack me? Bea said that our crossing paths with a member of Anathema was too big a coincidence.”
“Anathema attracts the nastiest of predators, whose urges are outside ordinary behaviour. The Crone is tolerant of their habits, providing a member does not earn undue attention. You were exceptionally unlucky to encounter him. That is all.”
The clipped dismissal seemed very suspicious. I remembered Hugo gave a slightly different reason for Tate’s presence, the night of his disappearance when he explained the role of Bloods to me. Something about tracking a potential Anathema recruit who was attending the judge’s exhibition. I wondered if Hugo and Seth’s conflicting accounts revealed a lie or were just another example of Chinese whispers. Seth didn’t seem inclined to pursue the matter further and I tried another approach.
“You aligning with Hugo, trying to flee Anathema and the Crone, wanting to defeat her. And loving Raphaela …” Beneath the relaxed countenance, I glimpsed a flash of pain. “It all begs the question. Why murder me? Are we on the same side or not?” No matter how he answered, I knew I would never trust him.
Seth’s brow creased. “I … lost control. I allowed my feelings of hurt and betrayal to colour my decisions. Raphaela didn’t tell me we were expecting a baby. If it wasn’t for Hugo trying to stop me as soon as I arrived in Australia, trying to divert me back to the plan …” He let the statement hang, battling to regain his poise.
“I was originally aiming to let the Trinity detain me at the warehouse by surrendering. But I can perceive you so strongly. Even as we sit here, your company exerts a strange influence that at once reminds me of Raphi, and is also utterly foreign. I was not expecting this force of emotion, which hit me on first setting foot in Sydney. The recall of my love’s loss was still too fresh, the agony too raw. As soon as Hugo clapped eyes on me the night before I was due to throw myself on the mercy of the Trinity, he understood there was something very wrong and the plan had gone awry. In a wrath, I was forced to restrain him.”
“Because he realised you’d decided to use me to convince the Crone to kill you. By whatever means of persuasion the situation demanded.”
“You have no reason to ever put faith in me, no reason to believe a word I say. Keeper know this, I will never turn on you again. I pledge my loyalty to you and will honour the memory of Raphaela until the end.”
This was not the sneering, superior enemy I was familiar with. The boy before me was vulnerable and remorseful and I had no clue if he was acting or genuine. Or if I was a gullible idiot.
“Forgive me, Keeper, please.” He entreated softly.
“The end … Whatever that brings,” I mumbled unhappily.
I slumped back and sipped my drink, lost in a tangled web of terrible thoughts, thankful the alcohol dulled the impact he had on me, at least. I was no nearer to saving my guardians from their horrid fate.
He peered keenly at me, sitting upright and breaching the gap spanning our chairs. “I wish to tell you something and I hope you understand its import.” He reached for my hand but dropped his on seeing me cringe. “No one has ever challenged me while under the influence of the seethers. Never before, over a countless record of foul misdeeds. You have more courage and ability than you think.”
“It’s not brave to fight to survive. It’s instinct. Just ask the rats. Tell me, Seth, that you and Raphaela contrived a way to help the Trinity. They don’t have much time left.”
“You will need to touch me.” Seth raised his hand, as though readying for an arm wrestle. “Enclose my hand in the Delta gate.”
Distaste was evident in my hesitation. “Contact with you hasn’t been such fun. I can still smell the stink of my own rotting flesh.”
“I promised not to hurt you again. I meant it. If you rely on any part of all I have said, I pray this be it.” He chuckled and shook his head. “And you have now denied me twice, a novel experience. Remember Keeper, a proverb from my youth eons ago. ‘There be many a slip, ’twixt the cup and the lip.’”
“Er, most illuminating,” I said, uncertainly.
He was poised with his hand suspended, eyes twinkling bluer than the water below us. “We must be hasty,” he explained patiently. “Enoch grows restless for an audience with you.”
Sometimes it’s tougher to look than to leap. Smithy had taught me this saying during parkour lessons, so that fear did not prevent me from jumping. Looking down from a height was never the best idea during a run across rooftops. Before I could dither, my hands shot out to grab Seth’s and I pressed my wrists together. I’d finally worked out that the Keeper’s gifts existed between these special tattoos.
My mind rushed into a strange emptiness that flowed and whispered, pinpoints of light swirling to occupy the entirety of my awareness, as if I’d stepped into star-filled space. A small object gained shape from nothing and hurtled towards me, hitting me in the chest with such energy that I rocked the chair backwards upon returning to myself on Seth’s veranda. The wind was knocked out of me.
He fanned me with the newspaper and held the reviving drink to my mouth, as I struggled to regain my bearings. I wondered if accessing my so-called power would ever be easier and less disconcerting. Seth dropped the apple-sized parcel into my hands. I could not help but notice he’d been reluctant to handle it, gingerly pincering the bow of string between fingertips.
“A gift from Raphaela. Take it as an offering of my allegiance.” I’d hardly recovered from my trip to the void, when I was abruptly reefed up under the arms. Seth herded me unceremoniously through his stylish apartment for the door. My stomach boiled and the beginnings of a titanic headache hammered my skull.
“What are you doing?” I all but screeched.
“Enoch’s patience wanes. I do not wish to cross him by keeping you here too late. I would like it very much for you to come back here to my island paradise, rather than the punishment of a yurt on the Siberian tundra.”
My grit-coated tongue was good for one last question. “Why did Finesse keep you?” I gave him a sidelong glance. He stumbled; it was odd from one so graceful.
“I resemble the one who forged her Stone, as he appears to her,” he said with great weariness.
“You … look like Satan?” Of course, saying this aloud was so completely ridiculous, I nearly succumbed to hysterical giggling.
“Few say no to an offer from Finesse. Her terms are undeniably appealing. She will grant one’s deepest desires. Fame, wealth, beauty, power – people are extremely predictable – in return for lifelong vigilance and servitude. Those who refuse her, do not outlive her wrath. But I was not granted the choice in my own downfall. I am the embodiment of the witch’s only love. I was forced to do her bidding due to a random resemblance to her husband.”
Pity for him overwhelmed me. What dreadful misfortune: a life obliterated because he was as dazzling as Lucifer, god’s most favoured angel. Well, until pride got the better of him and he took a tumble from heavenly heights. We slowed at the filmy curtain and Seth spun me around to face him. The floor teetered precariously.
“I have no right, Keeper, but would ask you for one favour on your return.”
Seth gazed fervently down at me. He was too intimate and I froze.
“Uh, uh, um,” I said, feeling ill and unsteady.
“I will be presumptuous and take that as a yes.” He smiled widely. “Not that you do not look very fetching, but on our next meeting, please leave your hair out.”
With that, he gently expelled me into the hallway. A couple of grumpy cats paced on his doorsill, their greeting for me not remotely welcoming. Although they were pleasant in comparison to one immensely irate Smithy storming down the corridor towards me.
“Bear,” he yelled. The volume split my aching head like a cracking egg. “You disobeyed Aunt Bea and jeopardised yourself with that knuckle-dragging mouth-breather. After all he did to you. Why?”
Aiming to stabilise myself against the hallway wall, I found thin air instead and flailed briefly. I swayed until re-establishing my balance. When I was eventually game enough to move, I tripped into Smith’s arms on the first step. He scrutinised me, glowering.
“Oops.” Hiccup. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“Are you … drunk?” His eyes narrowed incredulously.
He’d showered and donned drawstring pyjama pants, and his hastily towelled hair was damp and sticking out in all directions. He smelled mouth-watering, of the sea and spice. My free hand automatically wandered over the honeyed skin of his chest, warm and smoother than polished Tasmanian oak.
Hiccup. “Nope.” I tried to focus on his divine, if glaring, face. “Nice jammies.”
“Fortescue lent them to me. I didn’t bring any. I don’t usually wear them.”
My head swam and my legs were wobbly. I could pull it off if I didn’t speak too much, but I had to know. “What do you usually wear to bed?”
“How is that in any way relevant?”
Smithy had never been so boring. Walking presented an unavoidable challenge. I clutched the parcel Seth had given me and squinted towards the lift. The distance seemed marginally less testing than scaling Kilimanjaro. The jostling cats were bound to trip me up, and the floor was topsy-turvy.
“Stop that.” He grabbed my fingers, which had been idly circling his belly button. “Honestly, gone for less than an hour and look at the state you’re in. A bumbling disaster!”
“I prefer multry sphinx.”
“I should never have left you. Especially as you see fit to enjoy cocktails with a psychopath.”
“You couldn’t come with me. We had cocktails, you’re only allowed mocktails.” I was really witty. I giggled. And swayed a bit more.
“Nothing about this is funny. You’re making no sense. Tell me why you did it, Bear.”
His tone of profound hurt finally penetrated through the boozy haze and I felt ashamed all over again. “Instinct.”
I held out my hand and showed him the parcel. The motion unsettled me and I began to tip sideways. The parcel slipped through my fingers and tumbled to the floor, bouncing ahead of us. Smith grappled me back into a vertical position, scooping the lost parcel up on the way past as we trundled for the stupid, padded-cell elevator.
“It’s midnight. You’re going to have the worst case of the bed-spins.”
“Oh, my lovely hypotwit, how many times have you had bed-spins?”
“Don’t you mean hypocrite?”
“Not necess … essss … ness … No. And you’re not one to judge about drinking too much. Go the judge. Get it?” I was just too humorous. Who put that wall there?
“Stop laughing. Here, let me get a better hold.” He slipped a firm arm about my waist and walked me gingerly to the elevator. “Let me know if you feel sick. You look a little green.”
Ooh. Now he mentioned it, I did feel squeamish. If I chundered inside, would the lift be out of order for an extended period? It was seriously worth consideration.
“Smithy, guess how I resist Seth?” There were far too many S’s in that sentence and my tongue was four sizes too big.
“You’re slurring.”
We stopped and he pushed the button to call the lift. Smith peered warily at me, clearly wrestling with curiosity, his lips pursed in disapproval reminiscent of Bea. He heaved a sigh and gave up, facing me while holding me steady with both hands.
“How?”
“I think about you. The very first time I saw you in the garage. Your hair was bright pink and your t-shirt had holes in it. You were the grouchiest kid I’d ever seen. But you were still beautiful. You didn’t laugh at my name when Bea introduced us.”
He grinned, despite my disgrace. “You took your shoes off and walked over to me barefoot. Your feet got filthy in seconds. It looked odd with your expensive designer dress. You hopped right up next to me and sat on the bonnet of the judge’s new Merc, greasing the fender. Bea was furious. I thought you were an angel. You didn’t laugh at my name, either.”
I gazed longingly up at him. “I love you.”
He rolled his eyes and laughed. “If I’ve learned only one thing from the judge, it’s never believe the inebriated. Tell me again when you feel better.” Smithy hugged me tight. “As the only straight one here, however, what I have to say counts. I love you, Bear.”
Then, in affirmation of Karma from two years ago in his freezing shower, I threw up all down his front.
