6.

Sitting back on the wooden bench, I stare into the park’s aviary. Nothing moves inside the cages. It’s pitch black and above me one sliver of moonlight cuts the sky like a splinter. Down the path a rock garden lies hidden, masked behind the Australian Arboretum. The air reeks of blue gum, mixed with the sweet smell of rotting autumn leaves.

I can’t see Stella’s house from here even though the garden slips upwards against a hill. She’s farther down in the valley and redwoods block my view. There’s nothing beyond the aviary, except trees.

‘Hello! Hello!’ The shadow of an enormous white cockatiel presses against the fence. ‘Cuppa tea?’

I look away. ‘Show off. Save it for the tourists.’

‘Cuppa?’ He bobs his neck, pressing his head against the wire, and his eyes narrow. If I put my fingers into his cage, he’ll bite.

‘You’re kidding right? I’m not falling for that. So what if you can talk? Anyone can mimic humans. No big deal.’

‘Give us a kiss! Cuppa tea!’

I wonder what he’s saying, the real thoughts behind his mimicked words. Let me out of here, I want to fly. Come closer and I’ll rip off your fingers. No wonder he wants to bite humans. Birds don’t belong in cages, even as part of a breeding programme. Bet they’re full of rage, watching sparrows and bellbirds fluttering past and thinking hope you fall down dead.

Or worse, something stupid like I love you. Being caged might warp their minds. Maybe they fall for birds who have what they don’t: freedom. Imagine tropical finches falling in love with seagulls.

Their kids would look like freaks.

I wander past the parrots, moving towards the kea. Reaching down, I scrape around for a couple of beetles along the mud-filled gutter, stuffing bugs through the wire, careful not to touch the metal frames. The beetles scurry away, thinking they’re safe, but kea rustle in the darkness, stalking from the back of their cage.

We’ve all got to eat. Don’t we?

And then, something soft like rustling leaves touches the pavement, and I almost smile. It’s the dull patter of bare feet. They’re slipping across the paved walkway, moving away from the rhododendron garden and towards the aviary. A woman’s voice rolls through the air, soft and lazy. ‘Well, well.’

I mutter into the cage, ‘Hi, Celeste. You took your time.’

She laughs and I turn around. Celeste’s marble-coloured skin almost glows and loose blonde hair hangs from her curled bun. Solid, she must pass for a Greek statue. She told me about her plinth once, carved with a name: Persephone, Goddess of Spring and the Underworld.

Celeste turns her head to one side. ‘Are you here to share memories?’

‘No. Not tonight.’

It’s our trick. I remember every memory she shares, and then repeat it back. If I want to remember something important, I tell her and she repeats the memory to me, so I can take it back again. A memory filtered through ‘stealing’ stays stronger but there’s always danger. The other troll mightn’t give everything back, for a start. But it’s worth trying. That’s why we meet, trading stories, swallowing our pasts whole and eating regurgitated memories like starving baby birds. It’s the only way to keep our memories alive. She knows me and I know her. This way, we also know a part of ourselves.

But it’s risky. Always.

Celeste’s lips curl into a smile, but the rest of her face looks empty. ‘We haven’t talked in ages. At least I don’t think so.’ She tilts her head sideways, examining me. ‘You look well fed. You know, if there’s a buffet nearby I’m feeling peckish.’

Just like that, I know I’ve made a mistake. She’ll have answers, but Celeste’s hunger outweighs even mine, maybe because she’s full grown. What would she do to Stella, a regular snack waiting just outside her territory? I know the answer, and there it is again — a long scrape tearing through my insides. I touch my chest, breathing against the pain. Celeste could eat until she left a human shell, leaving only the scraps. The thought hurts, just like Stella’s words.

‘Well,’ she says, shrugging. ‘Don’t keep me in suspense. Why are you here?’

I can’t ask her for help and anyway, she’d be furious to hear how much Stella knows about trolls. She’d blame me. But I still need answers. There is one thing she might be able to explain.

‘Celeste, I need to ask you a question.’

She nods her head, waiting.

But I’ve got to be careful. A direct memory will leave me, unless I wrap it tight with words. ‘Maybe I — I’ve been feeling sick. There’s this thing called appendicitis — have you heard of it?’

One eyebrow shoots up. ‘We don’t feel pain.’

‘Tell that to my ribs.’

‘Wrong place for appendicitis, for a start.’ Then she stares at me, like she’s choosing her words carefully. ‘When did it start?’

Okay, this requires a straight answer or I’ll never get any help. I take a deep breath. ‘I talked to someone and this pain started in my chest, like an ache.’

‘I see.’ Great … but I don’t. There’s an empty space inside my head where she ripped the words clean out. For a moment Celeste glances at her hands, then she repeats my words, shoving memories back into the gaps. ‘So, who was it?’

‘I’m not sure, I can’t remember.’

She moves closer, looking into my eyes without speaking. Celeste can’t know I’m lying, can she? Our memories rot like falling leaves, she must believe me. It’s entirely possible I’d forget.

Celeste sighs. ‘Well, what you’re describing sounds like the echo of a bad memory, like an aftertaste.’ Her frown cuts deeper. ‘We don’t experience feelings. Not like humans, anyway.’

Is she right?

‘But it didn’t seem unhappy, just the feelings it left behind hurt. They’re … uncomfortable.’

Celeste leans forward, her breath cold against my cheek. ‘Those feelings must be linked to something unhappy. Perhaps you just caught the beginning of a memory. I’d say you didn’t eat enough to reach the unpleasant part. Probably just as well. Stay away from her, no point taking those kinds of risks.’

My breath catches in my throat. ‘Her?’

She pulls back, a faint smile on her face. ‘Didn’t you say it was a girl? Well I guessed. It was fifty percent either way.’

‘Oh.’

I don’t believe that for a second.

Celeste looks away again, running a hand over her hair. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but don’t be ridiculous. How could I know who you’ve been talking to? I wouldn’t go into your territory. Not without a good reason.’

I nod my head, we’ve both felt the strange weight of entering someone’s boundaries, sharing the memory so we’d never forget. I remember pressure, like being squeezed by an invisible hand. I don’t ask why it happens or how the aviary became neutral ground: there’s no point. Celeste already told me, she can’t remember why herself.

And yet, she seemed to know about Stella.

Celeste keeps talking, ‘The point is something’s wrong, so don’t feed from anyone with serious problems. Unhappy memories taste vile, you know that.’

True, but I don’t think I swallowed bad memories, they seemed ordinary. Still I don’t argue. I’ve said enough.

She sighs. ‘We both need a proper meal, something bigger. I haven’t had a decent homeless person in ages. This town’s too upmarket, don’t you think? Not enough people stray over the fence. It must be the holidays. I’ve hardly seen a university student for weeks.’

I keep my eyes on the ground. ‘Hmmm, probably term break.’

I try not to picture Celeste hunting through her territory, twisting in and out through ancient magnolia trees like a hungry ghost. Talking to humans isn’t hard; Celeste taught me the art of coaxing. But when a feed doesn’t go well, if the prey grows reluctant, Celeste makes them talk. What do they think, when they wake in the gardens? Either they don’t remember how their bones broke, or no one believes them. A university town has plenty of drunk teenagers, happy to take short cuts over the fences. They don’t make great witnesses, most wouldn’t even believe themselves.

Not that I should care.

At least, I didn’t. Not much …

But now, I’m imagining Celeste gripping Stella’s thin arms, and I don’t like it. My body feels heavy and my chest aches. What’s happening to me?

Celeste glances at my face. ‘Is that all?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You came all the way up here and there’s nothing else?’

Should I tell her about the memories I didn’t take, thoughts connected to Stella that wash through me like rain and make no sense, as if we’ve met before … and then, what about the pain?

But I can’t trust Celeste. If I tell her about the new hunger, she won’t understand. I want friends, not just food. Celeste wants memories and nothing else.

Looking away, I shrug. ‘I was just bored, that’s all.’

‘Hmmm. Well you’re young and alone all night, naturally you feel bored.’ She stretches again, yawning. ‘I just hope you’re behaving.’

‘What?’

‘I know you — always taking chances.’

‘No I don’t.’

‘Trying to climb over those fences? Breaking the locks … you know it’s impossible. And before you ask, you’ve told me. You’ve tried millions of times.’ She shrugs. ‘Seth, you need to accept your home, we’re stuck here. No point fighting the inevitable.’

How can Celeste expect me to accept those fences? But she’s older than me. She’s like these exotic birds, used to living in cages. I don’t want to get used to our garden — not ever.

I shake my head. ‘No one ever sees me, it’s always the middle of the night. Does it matter? It’s not that risky.’

‘Perhaps not. But what about leaving your position to the last moment, just to see if you’ll make it back in time?’ She casts me a glance so sharp, it nearly leaves a scratch.

‘Well …’

‘Seth, we can’t have them finding statues in the wrong position or different parts of the park. People would ask questions. It causes trouble for both of us.’

How did she know? But Celeste is older and … different. Something inside me whispers magic but we’re the same and I’m not magical. I only know her limbs, white as bone, make the air around her appear darker like shadows under trees. And maybe she’s right. Racing against the dawn gives me something to do, another element of danger … like talking with Stella.

Not thinking, I mutter, ‘It’s no big deal, I always make it.’

‘No big deal?’

Something white blurs past my head. No … her hand crashes against my ear. Pain passes through my head. Rock against rock, the air cracks and I’m gasping.

‘Celeste!’ I hold my head and jump backwards, putting space between us, ready to run.

But her hand drops and her voice turns soft, ‘I’m sorry Seth, but how many times do I have to tell you? Don’t be late for the change-over. If humans find statues in new positions, they’ll ask questions. It just takes one inquisitive human. Can you imagine how people would behave if they knew about us?’

I rub the side of my head and, for some reason, think about Stella. ‘It mightn’t be that bad.’

Celeste snorts and looks down at her lap, smoothing her long gown. ‘Seth, we’re vulnerable when asleep, we can’t take any risks. Stone smashes into smithereens. Our kind have lived this way for centuries … you know this. We can’t trust any of them.’

She’s warning me? How much does she know? Did I say something and then forget? It’s possible. My heart thumps into my ribs, and I force my face to stay calm.

She says, ‘It’s not just you we have to protect. If they find one of us, they’ll come looking for others. We’ll both end up being destroyed. Is that what you want?’

I shake my head.

I don’t want anything bad happening to Celeste, but I was stupid to come here. I might’ve given her clues about Stella and if she finds out I’ve told someone about us — she’ll rip me apart. Worse, she’ll come after Stella and everything inside tightens like a fist, as if I want to hit out and protect Stella. A girl I don’t even know. Someone whose memories burn, who called me a monster and threatened to give away my secrets.

Someone … who once asked if I was all right.

‘Don’t worry,’ I say, keeping my voice calm. ‘I’d never trust a human.’

She looks at me with cold eyes. ‘You’d better be telling me the truth, Seth.’

I look her straight in the face and say, ‘Of course I am.’

But it’s Celeste I don’t trust.