Chapter 26

Harry stood at the front window, watching as Jess climbed out of the car. She looked beautiful, dressed in her white blouse and black skirt. There was someone else in the car.

Jess walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Harry caught a flash of white, but Jess was blocking the view. Then Jess stepped back and he saw the woman. Her face looked so dark, framed by the white hijab.

Harry moved to the front steps and watched, silent, as they walked through the front gate. Jess saw Harry’s expression and smiled.

‘You’re not the only investigative journalist around here,’ she said.

The other woman smiled, but Harry thought it was more through politeness. At the bottom of the steps she stopped and looked up at Harry.

‘This is Afsoon,’ Jess said. ‘Ahmed’s wife.’

Harry stood there, stunned. Then Afsoon crossed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him. She released him, and they shook hands. He stood back, looked at her.

‘Please, come in,’ he said.

As she walked past him, into the house, he shook his head. Afsoon. Ahmed’s wife. He pulled Jess to one side and spoke into her ear.

‘How?’ Harry said. ‘How did you find her?’

‘You know that dream I told you about? The one in the kitchen?’

Harry nodded.

‘It must’ve been when they went to get the tattoo, after the run-in at the Shelter Bar. I had the dream again, and this time I saw a bill on the fridge. With their full name.’

He ushered them through to the kitchen, doing a quick clean-up on the way, mumbling apologies for the state of the house. He didn’t really know what he was saying, just couldn’t keep quiet. He put the kettle on, rummaging around in the cupboards for three cups.

‘I can see Rob in you,’ Afsoon said.

‘You should see me with my shirt off.’

He realised how that must’ve sounded. Blushed. ‘I mean, the tattoos.’

Afsoon laughed. They sat down together at the table. Outside, the light was fading from the sky. Afsoon’s hijab glowed in the gloom.

‘How is Ahmed? Is he working tonight?’ Harry said. Then stopped, realising why Afsoon’s husband wasn’t with them.

‘He was killed,’ Afsoon said. ‘Shot, like a dog.’

She folded her hands on the table in front of her, stared at them.

‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

Afsoon and Jess sat at the table in silence, while Harry finished making the tea and brought it over.

‘Rob was a great man,’ Afsoon said. ‘I can remember when Ahmed phoned me from Christmas Island. This was many months after he left. I had thought he was dead.

‘He told me the story. He told he about how Rob pulled him out of the clutches of that cold, angry sea.

‘He told me how the soldiers could have stayed away. Should have stayed away. But they came anyway. And they saved as many as they could. Brave, brave men.’

Harry shivered, remembering the nightmare. Afsoon sipped her tea.

‘When they got back to Christmas Island they were checking the survivors, deciding which needed to go to hospital and which straight to detention. Rob asked about the tattoos. And Ahmed told him.’

Harry nodded. He felt humbled. He gestured to the tattoo on his neck.

‘What does this do, exactly?’

‘It’s an old symbol. Older than any of the tribes in Afghanistan. It will protect you from your enemies. The symbol itself is only part of it. My husband had…skills.

‘That was part of the reason he had to flee our homeland.’

Afsoon pulled up her sleeve, revealing an arm covered in ink. Harry recognised one set of symbols – the same as on his and Jess’s necks. The rest were in a similar style.

‘These were no trouble for me,’ she said. ‘I was covered all of the time. From head to foot. You know, the full burqa.

‘But the men, they were not so lucky.’

She circled a symbol with her finger, over and over again.

‘This symbol, like all these symbols, has been handed down from generation to generation. Like any sigil, its strength derives not just from the lines but from the way they are applied. Only the Mullah Sensees – magical healers, magicians like my husband – know how to apply them properly.

‘This symbol is a curse and a blessing. It seeks to protect the wearer. If this is not possible, it seeks vengeance on those responsible for harming the wearer.’

‘What do you remember of that night? The night they came for Ahmed?’ he asked.

Afsoon looked taken aback by the question.

‘I know it’s painful, but I think I can bring these men to justice, and I think I can do it without shedding blood.’

Afsoon nodded. A stiff up-and-down motion. ‘I understand.’

‘Can I talk to you on the record?’

Afsoon shrugged. ‘I told the police everything. There were stories in the newspapers at the time, on TV. I don’t understand…’

‘Please,’ Harry said. This time Afsoon nodded, and swallowed. Harry got his notebook and phone and returned to the table. He set his phone up to record.

‘Can you talk me through that night?’

‘It was dinner time,’ Afsoon said, glancing down. ‘Little Wasim was in his high chair, throwing food off his fork. Ahmed was driving taxis then, but he had the night off. It wasn’t his choice. Work phoned him and told him the car was in getting fixed.

‘So he was home, and I was dishing up dinner. It was nice, you know? Most nights, he worked. And then there was a knock at the front door. Ahmed had nothing to fear. We had nothing to fear. Occasionally some kids would throw stones on our roof, tell us to go home…’

She shrugged, as though this was nothing, given what they’d gone through to get to Australia.

‘Even after Rob confided in him and he marked Rob and Kyla, he had no reason to fear anybody.

‘And yet…I had that feeling. In that moment when he walked to the door, I knew.

‘Does that make sense?’

She clutched a tissue in one hand, then dabbed her eyes with it. It did make sense. It made perfect sense. Even before all this, Harry had been in situations where something, some force, had tried to warn him of impending calamity. He thought, deep down, that he knew Bec was going to break up with him as he walked up to the apartment that day.

‘I knew. And I pushed it away. I had a saucepan in my hands, you know? I was busy.’

She threw her hands up, pushed the air out of her mouth with a sharp hiss. ‘How many times have I wished I could take that back? But you can’t take those moments back, can you?’

Jess held Afsoon’s hand.

‘The screen door opened. There was a massive bang and I knew what it was. I knew from back home what a gun sounds like. A shotgun. And my first thought…’

You used a shottie.

She was crying openly now. Hands over her eyes as though she should be ashamed of it.

‘…My first thought was of little Wasim! I ran to him and he was crying but he was okay. Just scared. And then I turned…

‘Ahmed was on the floor. The blast had thrown him across the lounge. There was blood on the floor. A lot of blood. I ran to the door. I don’t know why but I ran to the door.

‘I don’t know what I thought I could do. Get myself killed too!’

‘What did you see?’ Harry said. He was prepared for her to say ‘nothing’. But his premonition was wrong.

‘I saw a man running away. There was a car out front. As he ran under the streetlight he turned. I flinched. I thought if he saw me there he’d come back.’

‘What did he look like?’ Harry said.

‘Dirty jeans. Black t-shirt. I noticed the tattoos,’ Afsoon said, holding up her arms. ‘I always notice the tattoos. He had those European designs, interweaving bands…’

‘Celtic bands?’ Jess said.

‘Yes! And a tear. Tattooed under one eye.’

Harry didn’t make a big show of it, but he felt like punching the air. It was shaky, but it was coming together. He thought he could write a story about this.

Jess shook her head.

‘You said that your son is living with you – Ahmed was murdered there. Why hasn’t the tattoo manifested?’

‘I don’t know,’ Afsoon said. ‘I have seen this tattoo work. One time, back in Afghanistan, Ahmed was out tending the goats and he trod on a land mine. But it didn’t explode until he was safely out of range.

‘Another time – just before he escaped into Pakistan – the Taliban came to collect him. To take him away. They drove over one of their own bombs. All dead.

‘But this,’ she gestured to the tattoos on Harry’s body, even though she couldn’t see them. ‘This is a mystery to me. Something is different.’

Harry thought about Rob’s body, under the house. And about Kyla’s, under Jess’s. He held his tongue. He didn’t want Jess finding out like this.

‘Is there any way we can reverse the spell?’ Jess asked.

Afsoon shook her head.

‘No. This is old magic. Older than the American invaders. Older than the Taliban. Older than the Russians, and the British who came before them. Older than the Mongols. This magic is as old as the mountains themselves and, like the mountains, eternal.

‘This will only end when justice has been done.’

‘Justice?’

‘Justice. If the people who did this are brought to justice, it will end.’

‘As in, courts? Jail?’ Harry said.

Afsoon shrugged. ‘Harry, I could be wrong. But the magic is borne of blood. I would say this magic would require blood to satisfy it.’