The Rephaim: Burn Part 25

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.

THE LAST SUPPER.

'We ordered pizza.'

Ez hands me a drink and the others bring over two more tables-Taya helping one-handed-and claim the spare stools. There's nothing like optimism. A couple of surfers lean on the railing at the other end of the verandah, hair damp and boardshorts low on their hips. Actively ignoring us. Maybe they were here for the brawl last week and remember seeing Rafa, Jones and Taya in action.

Ez glances at the clouds over the sea. 'I thought we had until Wednesday?'

'Maybe that storm won't make landfall,' I say. Or maybe Zarael's summoned something so nasty from the pit it's messing with the weather. 'Hey Malachi, I thought you were keeping an eye on the radar?'

Malachi looks to the east and grabs his phone. 'There was nothing half an hour ago.' He taps the screen, frowns. 'Huh. Now there's a storm warning. It's supposed to hit sometime in the next few hours.'

I feel a chill, even though the breeze coming off the water is warm. We're not even close to being ready for Zarael. I try to ignore the image of Gatekeepers overrunning the esplanade. The first priority is having a force to greet them, and right now we're seriously undernumbered.

'We can still eat,' Taya says. She sits next to me, clinks her gla.s.s against my bottle. 'Here's to you forgiving me for that little incident in the park.' She means the night she kicked the s.h.i.+t out of me: my introduction to the Sanctuary Rephaim post-memory loss. 'I thought you'd run off with Rafa and joined the circus'-she tips her gla.s.s in his direction-'no offence.'

'And at the Sanctuary?' I say, willing myself into the conversation. 'When you suggested I deserved to die?' I'm not p.i.s.sed off at her, just remembering.

Alarm flickers across her face. It's the same look I got at the Sanctuary when I tried to bluff her and Malachi into thinking I remembered how to fight. 'We thought you'd screwed up our chances with the Garrison.'

I laugh without humour. 'It wasn't for lack of trying.'

She takes a swig of beer. 'So, now you remember who you are-that doesn't change anything here, does it?'

'Did you think it would?'

Taya studies me for a second. 'I've given up trying to second-guess you.' She scans the street, absently fiddles with the edge of the bandage on her hand. 'About time.' She's spotted Daisy, Jones and Micah crossing the road. There's no mistaking Daisy and Jones for tourists. They walk with too much purpose, too much tension. They head straight for the bar but Daisy glances our way before she goes inside. Seth and a handful of Outcasts cross from the opposite direction and follow them into Rick's.

'Never let it be said those boys back down from a fight,' Ez says. The Butlers are stalking our way a few doors down from the bar. Mick has lost the sling but his arm doesn't quite hang naturally. He's surrounded by denim and ink: Rusty, Joffa, Woosha, the blond mullet, and the giant with the tribal tatts. Their numbers are bolstered by the hoodie brigade-the barely p.u.b.escent chain-smoking, footpath-spitting crew led by Mick and Rusty's younger brothers.

Mick and Rusty come straight to us. Mick signals for the hoodie brigade to keep going. The tallest of the five boys scowls at him, facial piercings catching the light from the bar. Definitely a Butler. He's the smart-a.r.s.e who sa.s.sed me on the street last week. He checks me out-more respect now-and shoves his hands in his pockets. Then he jerks his head at his mates and they amble along to their usual loitering spot under a blue neon sign promising Pan Beach's best steak sandwiches.

'You recruiting them out of high school?' Rafa says to Mick.

Mick ignores him and glances through the open window to the bar. 'The world must be ending for me to be drinking at w.a.n.kers Central.'

It's then I notice Mick and Rusty are the cleanest I've ever seen them. Beards trimmed, faces scrubbed. Rusty's sc.r.a.ped the crud from under his nails. Even Mick's oil-stained fingers are more pinkish than black. They're in jeans-threadbare at the knees but clean-and fresh flannelette s.h.i.+rts with the sleeves rolled up past their elbows. This is their idea of sprucing up-court appearances notwithstanding.

'Had a visit from the cops this arvo,' Mick says, watching the drinkers inside part to let his mates through. 'They found the ute. Sarge didn't push it today, but he'll be back.'

Around us, more Rephaim arrive. The weight finally lifts: we're not in this alone. Rusty raises his eyebrows at Ez. 'Where's the crazy blonde and her pet cop?'

'Not here yet,' Ez says. 'And don't ever call Jess that again.'

Daisy, Micah and Jones sit at the next bench, not quite ready to talk to us. By the time our food comes out, the verandah is crowded. I do a quick head count and feel a ripple of relief. We're all here, the same disobedient crew that left the Sanctuary less than twelve hours ago. Back then, of course, we were united. Now, not so much. The Rephaim cl.u.s.ter around tables and wine barrels, talk to each other in low voices. Eyes flick in our direction, wary, as if Jude and I are dangerous. Whether we like it or not, our link to Semyaza sets us apart now.

I take a bite of wood-fired pizza: roasted pumpkin, sage, goats feta, caramelised onion. It's never tasted better.

'By the way,' I say in Daisy's direction, still chewing. 'Who cleaned out my fridge this morning?'

She shrugs. 'You should've stocked up before you invited half the Sanctuary back to your place.'

'Nice to see you're still good on the tooth.'

She half-smiles, her mouth full of souvlaki. 'Look who's talking.'

I half-smile in response, feel the distance between us shrink a little.

'So, you're here to fight with us?' Jude directs the question to the entire table, but looks only at Daisy.

'No, just the food.' She wipes her mouth on a paper napkin and meets his gaze. 'Like Ez said, there's still a town to protect.'

Jude nods, satisfied.

'What is this s.h.i.+t?' Mick picks at the crust of his pizza like it's something he found on the bottom of his boot. 'Where's the pineapple?'

'Bro, it's gourmet,' Rusty says. 'Ton of f.u.c.ken rabbit food where the pineapple's supposed to be.'

I look around at the unlikely gathering: Outcasts and Sanctuary Rephaim. Mick and his crew. And me-me-here with Rafa and Jude. Things aren't perfect, but they're the best they've been for more than a decade.

Rafa leans in. 'You getting misty-eyed over the Butlers?'

'Yeah, right.' I laugh, embarra.s.sed, and reach for my gla.s.s. But then I see the softness in the set of his lips, a knowing. He gets it. I touch the bruise on his jaw, the one I gave him when we were sparring. 'You need to let me heal this.'

'May as well wait until I have a few more.'

'I'd rather you ease up on the bruise count.'

His lips curve a little. 'Does this mean you worry about me now?'

'You've always been a worry.' He's close enough to kiss and for a second I seriously think about it. And then I remember where we are. By the time I draw back at least half of the Rephaim are watching us, fascinated.

'Look who else has decided to show,' Jones says.

Mya and Jess are standing on the footpath beyond the verandah. Mya is wearing jeans and a loose-fitting t-s.h.i.+rt. Her hair is tied back and she's been unusually sparing with the kohl. Battle-ready.

Jess has come without the shoulder holster-good call-but she's wearing boot-cut jeans, which probably means there's a small handgun strapped to one or both of those ankles. Waves break on the beach across the road, louder now under the streaky orange sky. Am I paranoid or have storm clouds swept closer in the last ten minutes?

Mya is defiant, chin set, her back to the sea. 'I'm here to help. Take it or leave it.'

'That's it?' Rafa says. 'That's all you've got to say to us?'

She gives herself away with a sideward glance at Jude. 'Here.' She tosses something on the table between Jude and me. The journal from the farmhouse. Red leather flaking at the spine, held together with fat rubber bands. 'Everything you want to know about my life is in there.'

The sepia edges of old photographs stick out one end. I know what they are: men in top hats and waistcoats burning Mya's mother's body in a cornfield in 1874. I don't need to see them again.

'They call me Verdammt, the d.a.m.ned, never my name. That book lists every ritual, every test.'

'Rituals for what?' I ask.

A bitter smile. 'The family thought more visions from Michael would come if I was bleeding, like the first time.'

The thought sickens me. 'Even Virginia?'

'No, the cutting ceremonies stopped after I torched the church. By the time Virginia was running things, she was more interested in learning the extent of my skills.'

Like whether or not Mya could s.h.i.+ft out of that iron room.

'Why didn't you leave decades ago?' Jones asks.

'I tried. I always ended up back there. I didn't know how to live anywhere else.'

Jude has been watching Mya, listening, his thumb tapping the side of his gla.s.s. When she falls silent, he exhales and the beat stops. 'You hungry?'

Mya blinks. 'Why?'

Jude gestures to the plates of pizza. 'There's plenty.'

She chews on her lip, still unsure of his mood.

'Over here.' Jones gestures for Mya and Jess to sit with him. Daisy moves her stool to make room, keeps on eating. Doesn't acknowledge either of them.

'They do vegan here?' Jess asks.

Mick scoffs. 'Course they f.u.c.ken do.'

Jess lifts her eyebrows at the oldest Butler. 'I hear you've got a half-baked plan to clear the town.' There's enough chatter floating out from the bar that her voice doesn't carry beyond our group.

'Maybe.' Mick wipes his mouth on his shoulder. He's managed to force down an entire pizza, despite the lack of pineapple.

'Do you have a map on you?'

'Why?'

Jess breathes out, impatient. 'Because I'm confident I know more than you about emergency planning.'

Rusty produces a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and Jess joins their table, clearing plates and empties so he can flatten the page.

I move closer. The map is smudged and stinks of motor oil and cigarettes, but it's legible. It shows the cl.u.s.ter of streets hugging the coastline, the two main roads in and out of town, and the estate on the headland.

'Right then,' Jess says, mostly to herself. Her fingers hover over the page, not quite willing to touch it. 'Evacuation protocols are driven by the nature of any disaster and the degree of warning. You want to give emergency crews time to get everyone out without panic, long before there's any real trouble. Is this area p.r.o.ne to hurricanes or earthquakes?'

Rusty nods. 'Cyclones.'

'That means there will be an early warning system. Mobile phone alerts, radio announcements, door-to-door warnings-'

'Yeah,' Rusty says. 'Before Fletcher hit the year before last, the cops went through town with a megaphone mounted on the paddy-wagon.'

'Good. The sooner we can get that system activated the better. Evacs rarely go smoothly. There are always a few idiots who refuse to leave, no matter how big the threat.' Jess gives Rusty and Mick a sharp look. 'I'm guessing that would usually be you guys.'

'Bang-on, sweetheart,' Mick says, not without a hint of pride.

'Don't call me sweetheart. Where are you planting the devices?'

'Here for the first one.' He stabs his finger on the map to a spot that looks suspiciously like where we're sitting.

'Think again,' I say. 'I mean it. And not the library.'

He glowers at me and then returns his attention to Jess. 'Once the town's empty, we'll blow here and here'-more finger stabbing, this time on the main roads in and out of town-'to keep everyone out.'

G.o.d, we're really doing this. A dull sense of dread creeps over me. 'Those clouds are definitely moving closer. We need to get ready.'

'Where are the best lines of sight?' Mya's beside Jess now, eyes fixed on the map.

Rusty indicates the resort at the top end of the esplanade-where Jason is staying with Dani and Maria-and the lifeguard tower.

Jude turns the map so it's the right way up for him. The rest of the Rephaim are around us now, jostling to see. 'Let's get sentries in place. Once the preliminary charges are set and blown, the rest of us will hang back out of sight while the town clears.'

Daisy glances in the direction of the sea. 'What if that's not the storm?'

'We can't take the risk,' Jess says.

I catch a flash out of the corner of my eye over the water. There. Another one. Sheet lightning. The sky is heavy now. A low rumble follows, louder and so much closer than I'd like. 'Whatever we're going to do, we need to do it now.'

'No argument here,' Rusty says. 'We've got-'

He turns at the sound of boots slapping on concrete. His younger brother is sprinting towards us, phone in hand. He skids to a stop next to Mick.

'Heads up. Some weirdo's sniffing around the resort.'

'Define weirdo,' Jude says, craning his neck to see up the street.