Shadows (10 page)

Shifting with Daniel is nothing like shifting with Rafa. It’s less extreme for starters, no worse than being on a rollercoaster. Then there’s a change in the temperature. It’s still warm, but the air feels more artificial.

I’m in what looks like a pricey hotel room, everything stainless steel and polished timber. The carpet and walls are beige, soulless. There’s a bed, a desk, and a flat-screen TV on the wall. But no Maggie.

‘Where is she?’

Daniel lets my hand go. ‘In a moment.’

‘Let me see her.’

He walks to the door and I follow.

‘I need to speak to some people first. Be patient.’

‘This
is
me being patient.’

He turns to me. ‘I need you to wait here.’

‘Why?’

‘We’re at the Sanctuary. There are rules.’

‘Didn’t I used to live here?’

‘And now you’re a guest.’

I know the door is locked before I turn the handle, but I try anyway, then press my ear against the cool timber. Faint voices. I can’t make out words but Daniel is talking to at least one other person. Male. The voices fade. Tell me I haven’t done something incredibly stupid.

The windows are the oldest things in the room, three of them, rectangular with timber frames. A white muslin curtain obscures a bleak sky outside. I pull it back and draw in my breath. It’s not the sky that’s grey. It’s the side of a mountain. There are snow-covered peaks high above. Three storeys below is a wide piazza with a fountain in the middle and, beyond that, a church with a domed roof.

Rafa said the Sanctuary was an old monastery. I’m in the right place. I push open a window and a cold blast drives me back.
Much
colder than Pan Beach. I slam it and rub my bare arms to warm up.

Fuck. I’m in Italy.

I pull my phone out, thinking I’ll call Daisy again. But there’s nothing where the signal bars should be. Which is when I remember I stopped paying for international roaming six months ago. Shit.

A bell tolls. Monks in dark robes move along a cloister on the far side of the piazza, towards the church. I’m trying to figure out why monks live with the Rephaim when the door opens behind me.

Daniel places a top on the bed, black, a light knit.

‘That won’t be enough to keep you warm,’ he says, gesturing to my t-shirt. He seems to be making an effort not to look at my breasts. I make it easier for him by folding my arms.

‘I don’t want hand-me-downs. I want Maggie.’

His mouth quirks a little, but it’s far from a smile. ‘It’s your jumper. You left most of your things behind when you went.’

‘Where. Is. Maggie?’

‘I told you, she’s safe. As soon as you tell me what happened with you and Jude, she’ll go home.’ He could easily pass for an Italian with his dark hair and brown eyes. There’s even a hint of an accent.

‘Is she here?’

‘She’s safe.’

For a second I can’t feel my legs.

She’s not here.

I’ve given myself over to them for nothing. I knew this was a trap, but I still thought I’d find Maggie in it somewhere. ‘You lied to me… I trusted you and you lied to me.’ I lower myself onto the edge of the bed. The mattress is hard.

‘I never said she was here.’

‘You’re an arsehole.’

‘I didn’t lie.’ It seems important to Daniel that I believe him.

‘No, you just let me believe a lie.’

‘Your friend is safe, and your cooperation will keep her that way. That’s not a lie.’

I focus on the thick beige carpet, blood throbbing at my temples. I may be caught here, but that doesn’t mean I have to play nice. I get up and move towards the desk, my eyes still down.

‘Gabriella.’ Daniel’s voice is soft. ‘You have to prove your loyalty. You’ve been hiding on the other side of the world with Rafael. You have to understand how that looks. Taya is not your enemy. Neither am I—’

I grab the chair and swing it at his head, hard and fast. But he’s faster. He dodges sideways, barely making a sound as he blocks the strike. Before I can turn to swing again, the air beside me shimmers. I have time to recognise Goatee before he knocks me onto the bed and straddles me. I thrash wildly. He shifts his knees until they’re on my shoulders, and pins my wrists over my head with one hand. His other is around my throat.

‘Malachi, enough!’

The pressure immediately eases.

‘Get off her.’

He does as he’s ordered. I spring to my feet, backing away until I hit the wall beside the bed, all the while dragging in oxygen. Daniel is by the window, straightening his clothes. He’s not calm anymore. ‘I told you to stay out of this.’

‘But she attacked you—’

‘You don’t think I can look after myself?’ Daniel’s tone is dangerous, and Goatee lowers his eyes.

‘Of course, Daniel. I’m sorry.’

How did he know what was going on in here? I scan the room and see a small black dome over the door. Like the ones you see in supermarkets and service stations.

The door opens. Taya. Her black hair is tied back and she’s still wearing the dark jeans and shirt she’s had on both times I’ve seen her.

‘Look who’s come home,’ she says, walking calmly into the room.

Bitch.

I leap on the bed and launch myself at her.

‘Taya, no—’ Daniel says. But her fist catches me while I’m still in the air. I have no idea how hard I hit the floor because the world goes black before I get there.

When I come to, there is blood in my mouth and ropes cutting into my skin.

I’m still in the beige room, but now I’m tied to a chair. Not the flimsy wooden one I tried to break open Daniel’s head with, but something sturdier. Antique, by the feel of it. What is it with the Rephaim and old furniture?

My tongue finds split flesh inside my cheek. My face aches. I’m wearing the jumper Daniel brought for me; it’s a good fit, so maybe he wasn’t lying about it being mine.

My back is to the door. Like I’m not vulnerable enough strapped to a chair.

‘Arseholes,’ I say, and wish it didn’t come out as a croak. There’s no response but I know I’m not alone. ‘I’m thirsty.’

There’s movement behind me, followed by clinking
glass and the sound of liquid pouring. Daniel steps in front of me, holding a heavy tumbler.

‘Are you going to sit still?’ he asks.

I give him a black look.

He puts one hand behind my head and lifts the glass to my mouth. I part my lips, and he cradles my head while I drink. When I’m finished, his hand lingers under my ponytail, and then his fingers trail down to the thick scar.

I jerk out of his reach and his fingers don’t follow. He sits on the edge of the bed, which was remade while I was out cold.

‘So, Taya’s not my enemy?’ I find the cut in my cheek again.

Daniel rests his elbows on his knees, watching me through thick eyelashes.

‘How many days was Rafael with you?’

This is what he wants to know?

‘I don’t know. A couple.’

‘Did you sleep with him?’

‘What the hell would that have to do with you?’

‘Nothing at all.’ He’s as unreadable as ever. ‘But Gabriella would never forgive you.’

My hands ball into fists. ‘Stop talking like there are two different people involved here.’

‘All right.
You
won’t forgive yourself.’

‘And why is that?’

‘Didn’t he tell you?’

‘All he told me was that I broke his nose the last time I saw him.’

He pauses. ‘Well, that’s something.’

I can’t tell if he means the fact Rafa told me, or that I broke his nose.

‘Did he tell you you’re the only Rephaite woman he hasn’t been with? No?’ A pitying smile. ‘He’s seduced all of them except you, Gabriella. And before he left here, he was obsessed with having you, so I find it hard to believe he hasn’t taken advantage of the current
situation.’

My smile is bitter. ‘You’ll be happy to hear my record is untarnished.’ He can thank Maggie for that.

His shoulders relax a fraction. How important was that answer?

‘You need to remember, lust is what made our fathers fall,’ he says. ‘Lust is part of our nature. Even when you didn’t know what you were, you must have felt it?’

Heat spreads across my cheeks and I turn my face away. I actually hadn’t felt it until Rafa walked out of my dreams and into Rick’s that afternoon. Correction: until Rafa ran his hands through my hair and kissed my neck…

‘Nathaniel has taught us control. It’s what separates us from those like Mya and Rafael.’

‘And Jude?’

He nods. ‘It’s why you didn’t follow him, no matter how
much he wanted you to turn your back on the Sanctuary. You understood the need for discipline and restraint.’

‘Who’s Mya?’

Daniel’s lips harden. ‘The worst example of what we can be. Obsessed with sex and power and incapable of respecting authority.’

‘And she left with Jude?’

‘She manipulated him beautifully.’

I can’t imagine my brother being manipulated by anyone. ‘Was he in love with her?’

Daniel lets out a low laugh. ‘No. Rafael was.’

I ignore the faint sting behind my ribs. ‘So, why did Jude leave?’

‘For the same reason the other twenty-one did. To do as they pleased. And because your brother and Rafael were incapable of independent thought. Whatever one did, the other followed. Your brother chose him over you. You owe him no loyalty.’

‘I’m not protecting him. The brother I remember was a high school drop-out who loved tequila and surfing—not the guy you’re talking about.’ The ropes are biting into my wrists. I can move my arms a little, but there’s no relief. ‘Help me understand this. Jude, Rafa and the others—they left here, but they still fight demons?’

Daniel laces his fingers together. ‘It’s not the same. We fight demons to keep them from the Fallen. The Outcasts
provide a mercenary service. They track and kill demons with no regard for human collateral damage. They hire themselves out to the highest bidder to solve
problems.’
He regards me for a moment. ‘But you already know that. You wrote about it. And that particular bit of recklessness cost sixteen human lives.’

‘I dreamed it. I had no idea it was real.’

‘You dreamed about fighting with Rafael?’

I grit my teeth. ‘When I wrote about it,
I had no idea he was a real person.’

Daniel takes a slow breath. Good to know I’m getting under his skin. ‘Please, Gabriella, tell me what you remember.’

‘Will you let me out of these ropes then?’

‘Perhaps.’

I don’t believe him, but I’ve got nothing to lose.

So I tell him what I told Rafa: about backpacking with Jude, the crash, and what happened when I was in hospital. I don’t get choked up talking about it this time—either because I’ve said the words out loud before, or because I’m starting to believe they might not be true—but it still drains me.

‘And you knew nothing about the Fallen or the Rephaim until a few days ago?’

‘No.’

He rolls his shirtsleeves up over his toned forearms.
He doesn’t dress like he’s about to commit violence, but I get the feeling he’s capable of it.

‘What’s your story?’

The question catches him off guard. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, you don’t seem to be a meathead like Taya and Melchezedick—’

‘Malachi.’

‘Whatever. You’re different, so what do you do?’

‘I’m one of the Council of Five. The governing council of the Rephaim.’

‘I thought Nathaniel ran the show.’

‘He’s our leader, not a dictator. We elect our own council every five years.’

That explains a lot. He’s a politician. ‘I hope you don’t think you’re getting my vote.’

He dips his head but I think I catch a smile.

‘What?’

When he speaks, his voice is warm. ‘You’re like my Gabe in so many ways. I miss her.’

My
Gabe?

I’m trying to work out how to ask the obvious question when there’s a rap on the door. Daniel stands up, his face again composed in that infuriatingly calm expression. He talks to someone in the hallway and then comes back into my line of sight.

‘I have to attend to something. You should drink some more before I go.’

He pours another glass of water and again slides his fingers into my hair to hold my head. It makes me think of Rafa.

And then Daniel’s gone and I’m alone, tied to a chair in a monastery in Italy. I’m exhausted. Every muscle in my body aches and my eyelids are too heavy to keep open. Warmth floods across my chest, and as I give in to the pull of sleep, the realisation hits.

The bastard has drugged me.

As usual, I wake to pounding guitars and screaming vocals. Bloody Jude and his need for continuous noise, even at this hour of the day.

‘Turn that down!’ I call out, and drag the quilt up to my neck.

My bedroom door opens and the music blasts even louder. Jude stands there in torn jeans and a faded t-shirt. ‘What?’ He grins at me. ‘You love it.’

I throw a pillow at him. He catches it in one hand and saunters over, kicking the door shut behind him with his bare foot. The wall of noise is again muted. Jude holds the pillow like he’s going to use it as a weapon, but when he reaches the bed he tosses it aside and sits down.

His thick dark hair is a mess but, as usual, it looks good.
We have the same crazy hair, but I can never pull off that level of cool dishevelment. Kids at school used to mistake us for each other from a distance, at least until I grew my hair to my shoulders and filled out my bra.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘I think we should do it.’

I sit up against the bedhead, drawing my knees to my chest. ‘Do what?’

‘Hit the road.’

A smile spreads across my face. ‘Hoo-fucking-ray.’

Jude laughs. ‘Some guys mightn’t want to kiss a mouth as dirty as yours, you know.’

‘Lucky I’m interested in culture then, not foreign tongues.’

‘Glad to hear it.’

I give him a gentle shove. We sit there, grinning at each other. Where will we go first? We’ve always talked about Machu Picchu…

‘They’re going to lose it,’ I say, nodding in the direction of the kitchen, where our parents are eating their homemade eggs Benedict and sipping freshly squeezed organic juice.

‘They’ll find a way to spin it. They always do.’

Our parents have high hopes for us. Our father is a big deal in legal circles. He married beneath him when he fell for our mother, and his parents never let him forget it.
They’d hoped having exceptional children would justify the choice. Unfortunately, Jude and I haven’t lived up to expectations.

We’ve inherited our parents’ good colouring and bone structure, we have above-average grades, do well at sport and have thriving social lives. But it’s not enough. Jude loves music but doesn’t play. I love to read, but my writing’s never going to set the world on fire. Neither of us have a gift worth bragging about at dinner parties.

We should be planning for our futures in law or medicine or literature studies, not watching bands on weekends, reading fantasy and daydreaming about Machu Picchu, Abu Simbel and the Colosseum. I wish I had a dollar for every time one of them told us what a disappointment we were, more often than not in front of their friends. Or ours. We could have left years ago.

‘Are you sure we’ve got enough cash?’

Jude nods. ‘For a couple of months at least, especially if we start in countries with a kind exchange rate. Say, Peru?’

‘You read my mind.’

‘And when the money’s gone, we’ll look for work.’

‘Good enough for me.’ I smile. ‘They’re off to Paris again next month…’

Jude nods. ‘We can get organised by then. We’ve got money, maps and passports—’

‘Our charm and wit.’

‘Now all we need is an itinerary, and a brilliantly crafted letter that makes them think we’re finally taking some initiative, which they can take credit for.’ He collapses back on the bed and stares up at the patched ceiling, a reminder from our father that tennis is not an indoor sport. ‘We’re going to do this, aren’t we?’

I nudge him with my foot. ‘You bet your arse we are.’

Jude turns so he can look me in the eye. ‘You’re not worried about what could happen?’

I shrug. ‘Nope. You?’

‘Shit, no. It’s you and me against the world, kid. Who’s gonna get in our way?’

It’s the best dream I’ve had of Jude since he died, and I can still hear his voice when I wake up. About a second before someone shoves my head into a tub of freezing water.