It’s like a plague of locusts have been through the kitchen. My pantry and fridge have been emptied. Locusts wouldn’t have cleaned up after themselves, though. At least the Rephaim wiped the sink and packed the dishwasher.
‘You hungry?’ I call out to Rafa as I dig through the freezer.
‘I am now.’
I look around to find him pulling up a stool by the kitchen bench, shirtless. Daylight streams through the window onto the benchtop, highlighting every scratch and wine stain. He grins at me and that irrational sense of hope rises again.
I find a couple of blueberry bagels buried behind a frozen chicken and pop them under the grill. The coffee machine is already on, so I make us cappuccinos while we wait. Rafa gets out plates and knives, finds a scrap of cream cheese in the fridge. It’s the most helpful he’s ever been in my kitchen. My kitchen.
I watch the milk froth in the jug, hissing and spitting, think about how many times Maggie and I have prepared meals together in here, and I know it’s true: the bungalow is my home. Even now.
‘Okay,’ Rafa says when I take the stool next to him. ‘Now you can give me the full story about last year.’
I push the sugar in his direction and, over bagels and coffee, I tell him everything, from Jude’s first phone call to what happened in the forest in Idaho. Rafa listens, making the occasional disparaging remark about Jason—more out of habit than genuine derision—but grows restless when I mention Jude’s deal with whoever saved us.
‘I wish he’d told me what was going on,’ Rafa says, swirling the dregs of his coffee.
I use the tip of my finger and gather up crumbs on my plate. ‘What would you have done if he had?’
‘Whatever he asked me to.’
‘No you wouldn’t have.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it involved me. Anyway, it would’ve meant telling you we’d met Jason over a century ago, and that wouldn’t have gone down well either.’
He drains his cup, doesn’t argue.
I make us another coffee and conversation drifts to the things we’ve missed over the past decade. I tell him about Brother Ferro wrapping his beloved 1949 Fiat Berlinetta around a tree halfway down the mountain after one glass too many of grappa. Rafa tells me about Jones taking up skydiving and Seth having a brief fling with a footballer in Manchester. About the Outcasts going to Bolivia to investigate demon activity near a mudslide and spending a week digging out victims instead.
‘Mya said Immundi have been turning up in bigger numbers,’ I say.
We’re outside now, sitting on the front steps of the deck. I’ve got one leg draped over Rafa’s thigh. The sun is on the other side of the house, starting its descent.
‘If they’re all in league with Zarael and he brings them along…’ A chill creeps up my spine. I check the horizon. At least the sky is still cloudless. Someone starts up a lawnmower a few doors down, oblivious to the coming threat.
‘We’ll be ready.’
‘You think everyone will show?’
Rafa leans in and kisses the top of my shoulder. ‘What else are they going to do?’
I guess he’s feeling hopeful too.
We head to Rick’s a little before five. Rafa suggests shifting—no surprise—but I talk him into walking down to the esplanade. I love this time of the day. The sun is starting to dip below the headland and the sky is streaked orange, turning the sea purple and gold. Lorikeets gather in the park, shrieking and squawking in their usual pre-dusk chatter. The smell of burnt sausages carries through the trees; sounds of children playing, dogs barking. It’s Monday, but there’s always somebody on holidays in Pan Beach.
We’re both wearing jeans and boots, our heavy-duty soles loud on the steep road. Occasionally my knuckles brush against Rafa’s, and a few times I catch him glancing at me.
‘What?’
He gives me a lopsided grin. ‘Nothing.’
We’re passing the shopping centre car park. I nod in the direction of his shack. ‘Do you want to round up the stragglers at your place?’
‘Nah. Let’s just see who turns up at the bar.’
The esplanade is buzzing. Black-clad wait staff are preparing tables for the early sitting, setting cutlery, lighting tea candles in glasses, straightening chairs. A handful of surfers are out on the water and two stand-up paddle boarders beyond the break are starting to make their way in. We round the bend to Rick’s just as the fairy lights come on in the poincianas. It’s beautiful and familiar and it makes my heart ache.
Jude, Ez and Zak are at a stainless steel bench under the verandah. They’re in front of the window where Maggie and I usually sit to scope the street. The three of them pause mid-conversation to watch Rafa and me approach. Based on the empties between them, they’re onto at least their second round. At least they’re speaking.
‘Neither of you is limping,’ Jude says when we reach them. ‘I’ll take that as a good sign.’
I pull up a stool. ‘Yep, all windows are intact.’
‘Does this mean you two are…together?’ Ez asks and Rafa and I glance at each other.
‘Yeah,’ I say, sitting next to him. Not wanting to care what they think, but caring just the same. ‘We are.’
‘About freaking time.’ Zak holds out his fist and Rafa bumps it. I raise my eyebrows and Zak offers his fist to me, grinning. I half-laugh, slap it away. Rafa still hasn’t made eye contact with Jude.
‘Drinks, then?’ Zak stands. ‘It’s fine, Gabe, I’ve already been in once. Nobody ran out screaming.’
Ez rises too. ‘I’ll go with him. Really give them something to talk about.’
I know she means her scars, but that’s not why people stare. They stare because she’s beautiful—even with the claw marks—and Zak is impossible to miss with his flawless ebony skin and massive shoulders. He ducks to clear the doorway as they go inside. Heads immediately turn. Murmuring follows. They make their way to the bar, and I’m surprised to see Simon behind it. His movements are tentative but he can reach the glasses and work the tap, so he’s managing. He carefully pours a beer and hands it to Taya. She’s sitting with Malachi, half-turned to the street, ready for action. But she makes a show of inspecting the beer and nods her approval.
‘She can do better,’ Rafa says, following my gaze.
‘The beer or Simon?’
‘Both.’
I roll my eyes. ‘Get over it.’
I turn back to the table to find Jude bending back the edges of a coaster, lost in thought. Rafa glances at him and reaches for an empty beer bottle, peels a strip off the label. Neither of them speaks for a good half a minute. I should say something, get them started—
‘Fuck, Jude,’ Rafa says in a burst of impatience. ‘If you didn’t want me to know what you were doing last year, why’d you leave all that cryptic shit on your laptop?’
Jude tears a corner from the coaster. ‘I set all that up before I had any idea what was going to happen.’
‘What for?’
Another piece of coaster drops to the bench. ‘Back in the day, Gabe and I used to joke about seeing the world without demon blood on our hands. After we left the Sanctuary, I hung on to the idea of us still disappearing one day to sort ourselves out—without everyone else weighing in with an opinion.’
‘Everyone, as in me.’
Jude lets that slide. ‘A few times, after too much tequila, I’d trawl the web for places we could go, bookmarked sites—stupid stuff like that. And then last year, Jason called. Next thing, I’m sitting on the pier at Santa Monica with my sister, and the idea didn’t seem so crazy. I didn’t know what was going to happen when we met Dani, but either way, I was going to float the plan to Gabe of us taking time out. Before I left that last time, I cleaned out the laptop except for those few bits and pieces—’
‘Yeah, but why?’
‘Because I didn’t want to disappear without leaving you some hint of where I’d gone.’
‘You could’ve just told me.’
‘And when would I have done that—on the patio at Patmos? Before or after Gabe broke your nose?’
‘If I’d known what the fuck was going on, that exchange might have gone down differently.’
‘No it wouldn’t have, and you know it. Not how things were back then. And by that point, it wasn’t only about us. Gabe and I knew enough about Dani to put her at risk if we talked to anyone else.’
‘Leaving random clues was an idiotic plan—even before Mya stole your laptop.’
‘Yeah, well,’ Jude says. ‘Nothing quite worked out the way I intended. And I wasn’t the only one being selective with information.’
Rafa peels another strip from the bottle, pastes it next to the first one. Between the label and Jude’s half-destroyed coaster they’re making a mess of the bench. ‘How the hell was I supposed to talk to you about that?’ Rafa says.
‘You’re certainly not discussing it now.’ I’m all for them talking through their issues, but not if it involves my sex life. ‘And enough with the craft projects.’ I snatch the coaster from my brother and the bottle from Rafa. They both look at me, startled.
‘Do you want to keep picking apart your mistakes, or can you move on?’
Jude gestures to Rafa. ‘I can if he can.’
‘Of course I can,’ Rafa says. ‘It’s not like I’ve got the high ground here.’
They watch each other for a full five seconds. And then they slap their palms together, lean over the bench and thump each other on the back.
And like that, they’re good.
Guys. Unbelievable.
Rafa straightens. ‘Right. Where’s our beer?’
He heads inside and Jude and I sit without speaking while half a dozen motorbikes rumble past. Exhaust fumes waft over us.
‘Princess…’ He says it tentatively, as if he’s not sure how I’ll react to the nickname now.
‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘We’re okay.’
Jude meets my eyes. ‘I need to say it.’ He reaches for the scraps of coaster, stops himself. ‘When you found me on the dock in Tasmania—when I realised you were alive—that was the biggest moment of my life. It still is, even remembering everything else.’
I nod. The world dropped away for me too when I saw him on that boat. I remember how it felt to cling to him, feel his heart beating, his tears hot on my neck. Alive.
‘That life we remembered might have been a lie,’ he says, ‘but I miss it more than the real one.’
The lie: travelling the world together. Laughing. Looking out for each other. Promising we’d always have each other’s backs. And the more recent promise made in ignorance: that no matter what we found out about ourselves, we wouldn’t let it tear us apart.
‘Me too,’ I say.
‘Really?’
‘They were good memories.’ I brush my cheek, smile at him through wet eyes. He takes my fingers, holds them tight. For the first time since arriving in my kitchen this morning, I finally fit this skin.
Rafa is on his way back out with Ez and Zak. At the bar, Taya says something to Simon—he looks unnerved now—and then she and Malachi follow. I check my watch. It’s well past five. Is this it then? The seven of us against Zarael and his horde?
The sky is darker now, bruised in the dying light. I see it in the gathering dusk, far out on the horizon, and my heart gives a painful thump.
A bank of thunderclouds.