Disharmony (29 page)

But Luke’s tracking software found it. Interpol had picked up the case. He learned that Interpol had logged the last known sighting of Morgan Moreau in Geneva, Switzerland. It was one year later, June 1997, and she’d been in the state’s largest hospital, giving birth.

He found the birth certificate – Jake Grey Moreau.

Next, he found the death certificate for his mother, Morgan Moreau, signed off by her midwife, Jamala Creole.

He read Fairlie Merryweather’s Interpol report about his mother’s death. Merryweather had actually travelled from Australia to Switzerland and had interviewed nursing staff, the on-call doctors and Jamala Creole. Morgan Moreau is deceased, the agent had coldly concluded in her report. There was no mention of Jake, or the whereabouts of his twin.

But Luke had the names of his three other siblings. They were in Australia. There were no fathers listed for any of them. Samantha White Moreau, his twin sister – the empath; Jake Grey Moreau, his younger brother – the supposed genius;
and three older siblings, all born in Australia: Kyle Green Moreau, Daniel Brown Moreau and Liza Blue Moreau.

What was with the ridiculous colour thing?

He’d found the Welfare files on Daniel Brown and Liza Blue. After being removed as babies from his mother they’d both apparently been adopted into happy families. Their case files were minuscule, with brief yearly notations about their progress until they turned eighteen, and then their files had been closed. His own Welfare file, well, that was not so thin. He’d sent everything to his online storage files – maybe he’d go back to it one day, but the parts he’d seen were not exactly happy reading. Besides, he’d lived it, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go over his memories so soon.

Luke pulled the quilt up to his chin, freezing on the inside. He supposed he could track down Liza and Daniel, but they probably wouldn’t want anything to do with their old life, especially if they knew anything about their mother: the witch and child killer.

And she dumped me like trash, he thought.

He pulled the quilt up over his head, shivering.

‘Get up, already! It’s night-time!’

Luke peeled the covers back from his face. Although his eyes had been closed, he was wide awake and he was still freezing.

Georgia stood in the doorway.

‘Why, do you want us out of here?’ said Luke.

‘No, dummy,’ said Georgia. ‘I want you to eat. I’ve been cooking since seven.’

‘What time is it?’ said Luke.

‘Nine,’ said Georgia. ‘At night.’

‘I’m starving,’ said Luke.

‘Well, of course you are,’ she said.

‘What have you been making that takes two hours to cook?’

‘Why don’t you come and find out, instead of just lying there interrogating me?’

Georgia left the room and Luke climbed out of bed. The rain had really kicked in again, battering at the windows and causing the boats to bob and bounce about on the bay. He realised how lucky they’d been to find Georgia; it would have absolutely sucked to be sleeping outdoors tonight. He wondered where Zac was, but, more importantly, he wondered about the food. He really was ravenously hungry.

After visiting the bathroom, he stepped into the hallway, and … yep, he should have known.

‘Why do you do that?’ he said to Zac, who was squatting by his door.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ said Zac. ‘Why don’t we get out of here now? We can go to my house. My brother, Anthony, wrote a thesis on the Telling for his post-doctoral degree. He could give us a lot more information.’

Luke shook his head. He wanted to say: One, why didn’t you tell me this before? And two, are you for real: elves study prophecies that human beings have never heard about?

Instead, he said, ‘I am so hungry.’

‘Me too,’ said Zac.

They made their way downstairs, Luke’s face brightening with every step. He didn’t notice that Zac’s became more morose. All his senses were acutely focused on the kitchen. The smell was absolutely amazing.

‘Roast lamb,’ said Georgia as they rounded the entrance to the kitchen.

Glowing flames spattered and sparkled merrily in a modern gas fireplace set into the wall closest to the ocean. The whole kitchen radiated warmth and comfort.

‘I didn’t see a fireplace there last night,’ said Luke, rushing over to it and warming his hands.

‘I forgot to turn it on,’ said Georgia.

Zac frowned.

‘Roasted potatoes and pumpkin and buttered corn on the cob,’ said Georgia, pointing to the dishes that sprawled across the table. ‘I’ve made heaps too much gravy, that’s cheese bread and it’s freshly made, and I found a jar of a secret-family-recipe mint jelly. Oh, and I’ve made butterscotch pudding with banana custard for dessert.’

Luke grinned. ‘You don’t really look domestic.’

‘Boarding school,’ she said. ‘Zac, could you bring the lamb over? It’s just resting there by the oven.’

‘No,’ said Zac.

‘Whoops,’ said Georgia, smiling, with a hand on her hip. ‘I forgot. You’re vegan. Oh well, you can still eat the vegetables.’

‘Not when they’re covered in butter,’ said Zac.

‘Well at least you can eat the bread. It’s still warm.’

‘Pass,’ said Zac. ‘It’s
cheese
bread. Vegans don’t eat any animal products.’

Georgia laughed. ‘No wonder you’re so skinny,’ she said. ‘There’s nothing in the whole world you can eat.’

‘I’ll have a banana,’ said Zac.

‘Except that I used them all for the custard,’ said Georgia, grinning. ‘But it’s great custard.’

‘Made with milk,’ said Zac.

‘Of course! How else do you make custard?’

Zac sighed. ‘Enjoy your murdered baby sheep,’ he said, stalking from the kitchen.

‘He’s a weird one,’ shrugged Georgia, scraping a chair out from the table.

‘You know, he really is,’ said Luke, carrying the roasting tray over, dodging the cats twirling and twisting about Georgia’s chair legs.

He grabbed a plate and piled it super-high.

Outside, the wind howled.

In Terminal Five of Heathrow Airport, Samantha White cleared the covered walkway for the British Airways flight, and froze, wild-eyed and panicked. A sea of people frothed and boiled around her. She stood stock-still in the middle of it, drowning. She had never seen so many people, so many signs, so many moving walkways in all directions. The worst thing was she had never
felt
so many emotions, all undercover in some hideously huge building. They darted, seeped, echoed and flung themselves at her from every direction. She thought she might vomit.

A motorised cart driven by a man in a grey uniform whizzed past her and she spun, tracking it with her eyes. But now she’d turned herself around, and she didn’t even recognise where she’d come from.

She read English well and spoke it clearly, as did all the gypsies in her camp. English-speaking tourists always had money to spend or to steal and it paid to be able to communicate well with them. And she’d rote-learned that she was supposed to make her way to Terminal Three and find the Qantas Club so that she could wait out the hours until her
next flight. In Romania, that waiting time had seemed like it would take forever. But right now, she had palpitations – would she get to where she needed to be on time?

There were supposed to be a few options to make her way there – a free shuttle bus, an underground train, or else a terribly long walk for the very bored. Problem was, she couldn’t see a sign for any of these selections; everything had blurred together into one horrible, colourful, nauseous mess. She knew she had three hours before she had to fly again, but she figured it was going to take her at least that long to move from this spot.

I am so lost, she told herself.

‘If you don’t mind me saying, miss, you look very lost.’

She spun around. A man wearing a grey uniform stood behind her. He had an Indian accent, dark eyes and a warm, comforting smile.

She shrugged, then nodded and gave her best shot at a smile. She didn’t have a lot of faith in her attempt.

‘Very lost, indeed,’ he said.

‘Um, thank you?’ she said.

The Indian man gave a laugh.

‘My name is Amit,’ he said. ‘And I am especially interested in the lost.’

Samantha eyed him cautiously.

The man laughed again. ‘I am very sorry,’ he said. ‘My wife tells me to not all the time tell jokes. My name is Amit and I can help you to get to where you need to go. That’s my job here at the airport. Would you please show me your travel documents?’

Samantha pulled the plastic wallet from her satchel and handed it over.

He studied her flight ticket and the Carnivale Admit One ride pass and beamed.

‘Oooh, you need to get to the Business Class Qantas Club,’ Amit said. ‘Aren’t you a lucky young lady?’

Yeah right, that’s exactly what I am, Amit, very, very lucky. Sam tried her best not to scowl.

‘Do you know where it is?’ she said.

‘I know where everything is, Miss White. Follow me.’

Amit set off at a rapid pace. Samantha trudged along behind him, her mind numb. She thought she now knew how the horses must feel when Milosh and Besnik ordered that they pack up camp to move on. Mustered. Herded. She’d been herded and mustered a couple of dozen times already today and it was only a little past ten a.m. She kept her eyes on the back of Amit’s shoes.

A woman carrying a red-faced, screaming baby girl stepped into Amit’s path.

‘Excuse me,’ the woman said. Samantha could
feel
the woman’s fear and fatigue emanating in waves. It was so strong she could almost see it. ‘Could you please tell me where –’

Amit stepped around her as though she and her distraught baby were completely invisible.

A tiny tingle buzzed at the back of Samantha’s neck and her footsteps slowed.

Why would Amit ignore the woman if it was his job to help people who were lost?

Suddenly, the tingle became an electric jolt. Why couldn’t she feel
him
?

She stopped walking.

She could clearly sense the emotions of this woman and her little girl. She widened her awareness – and
felt
the sadness
of an old lady just over to her right, taking a breather on a bench. And why could she
feel
that a man talking on a phone nearby was ashamed, and that the woman walking beside him seethed with quiet rage, and yet from Amit: nothing?

He noticed that she wasn’t following him and he turned, a small wrinkle appearing between his brows.

‘It’s this way, Miss White,’ he said, smiling widely. ‘I know you have a while until your flight, but you’d be surprised how quickly the time passes, and I’m sure you’ll want to spend some time enjoying the amenities of the Qantas Club lounge.’

‘Um,’ she said, heart pounding. ‘Actually, Amit, I think I’d prefer to do some shopping first, look around for a bit.’

‘Why would you want to do that?’ he said. The tiny wrinkle had become a deep scowl. ‘We’ve got to get you to where you’re going next. I have a car waiting.’

He took three large strides towards her.

Samantha took three backwards.

A car waiting. I don’t think so. Maybe Amit really was just the kind of guy who focused on one job at a time, but she’d had enough of being encouraged into waiting cars. She decided to try sending him some positive energy.

She focused on the centre of her body and pushed. Her skin tingled and she thought this time she actually saw the buttery light drifting from her skin. She wondered whether anyone watching could see it.

‘Miss White,’ said Amit, baring his teeth.

She couldn’t feel any change in him at all. In fact, now he just looked scary.

‘I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me,’ he continued. ‘We can’t have people just wandering aimlessly around Heathrow. It’s a security risk.’

He reached out a hand and Samantha took another step backwards, right into someone else. She spun around. Another man in a grey uniform locked his big hands around her arms.

‘Come with us quietly, Samantha,’ he said, his head bent close to her ear. His grip was vice-like, his breath smelled like death, and again she could feel nothing from him.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said.

She lifted her foot in front of her as though she was going to try to walk away, but then, as fast and hard as she possibly could, she swung it backwards and smacked the heel of her sneaker full-force right on target: exactly where the trousers of the grey uniform met in the middle.

The man with death breath let her go. In fact, he dropped to his knees, his screams drawing a crowd.

Sam bolted through the people, losing Amit in moments.

Mr Grey Pants will need to see a doctor to get some ice on that, she thought. Huh. No Roma boy would’ve fallen for that move.

Weaving through the crowd, putting more and more people between her and the men, Samantha mentally reviewed at least ten other ways she could have got out of that hold.

The thought cheered her. She set out to find the bus to transfer to Terminal Three.

Reclining in the huge business-class seat of the Qantas jet on her way to Australia, Samantha finally felt sleep catching up with her. She’d been up until dawn with Lala just two days ago, performing rituals for the moonlight festival. She blinked tiredly and sighed. Already that night felt like months ago. And then she’d snuck out with Mirela to the Carnivale. She’d been wide awake ever since.

But she had to admit, it was not difficult to relax on this plane. On the flight from Bucharest to London, she’d been too overwhelmed and intimidated to try to figure out how to use the instruments around her, but by watching the man in the seat next to her, she’d figured out on this flight how to make her seat recline and the footrest extend so she could lie back almost completely.

When the heavy-set, bald man in the suit next to her kicked his shoes off, she felt like doing the same, but she was pretty sure that her socks had holes in the toes and she thought that maybe – she bent down to check – yep, they didn’t even match. She left her sneakers on.