Rafa looks over my shoulder. ‘Thoughts?’
I open my mouth and then stop. ‘Maybe what I think isn’t helpful. The guy who put the password on here is your Jude, not mine.’ There’s that clench in my stomach again.
‘Forget all that,’ Rafa says. ‘Stay focused.’ He gets up, his mind working.
‘Let’s start with weapons.’ He names a string of deadly instruments: katana, poleaxe, scimitar, something called a sai. I type each into the password field. None unlock the laptop. Next we try books and authors, then bands—even drummers. Twenty minutes later the cursor is still taunting us.
I think about all those books on his shelves in the cottage on Patmos. ‘What about something more…theological?’
Rafa rubs his jaw. ‘Try two-Peter-two, four-nine-ten.’
‘Is that a bible verse?’
‘One of Nathaniel’s favourites: “For if God did not spare angels when they sinned, but sent them to hell, putting them into gloomy dungeons to be held for judgment… if this is so, then the Lord knows how to rescue godly men from trials and to hold the unrighteous until the day of judgment while continuing their punishment. This is especially true of those who follow the corrupt desire of the sinful nature and despise authority.”’ Rafa delivers it by rote, deadpan.
I lift my eyebrows.
‘Trust me, you know that one too. Raised by a fallen angel, remember?’
‘Yeah, but why would Jude—’
‘He recited it every time he got drunk. Thought it was ironic.’
‘Oh.’
But it’s not the password. I straighten the doona with my free hand. The sun through the window throws stripes of light onto the bed.
‘Maybe it’s all numbers.’ Rafa snaps his fingers. ‘Coordinates. Jude was freakishly good at retaining them.’
‘Like longitude and latitude?’
‘Yeah. Possibly somewhere he’s been. Somewhere important to him.’
‘What about Monterosso?’ Only Jude and I—and Jason and Nathaniel—know that’s where we were born.
Rafa is back on the bed beside me now. He finds the coordinates for the Italian village on his phone and I type them in. No go. We try the coordinates for the Sanctuary. Still nothing.
‘What about Patmos?’ I ask. ‘You said nobody but you two ever went there.’
‘Except you that time.’
Rafa knows those coordinates by heart. I type them in and hit enter.
The system starts to load.
My fingers tingle. My head swims in the sunlight. The rawness—the night, the hope, the crumpling metal—all of it tangled up. Neither of us speaks.
The directory appears.
‘Ready?’ I’m not sure if I’m asking Rafa or myself.
I take a deep breath, click on Documents. I stare at the screen. There’s only a single folder in it: Research. I open it and find dozens of files with names like Apocalyptic theory, Eschatology, Demonology and Angelic Garrison hierarchy.
‘Shouldn’t there be more on here?’
‘Keep looking,’ Rafa says.
I check Jude’s photos. My pulse skips: among the dozens of folders is one with my name on it. Well, Gabe’s name. Inside is a single image. It’s me—that other me—in a hammock. It must be somewhere warm because I’m in shorts and a singlet. There’s a tattered novel laid face-down on my stomach and my eyes are closed. I look… peaceful.
Rafa is still beside me. ‘He had a heap more photos of you than that.’
‘I guess he deleted them.’ The words are ashes in my mouth.
‘Check the emails,’ Rafa says.
I open the inbox.
Empty.
Web browser history.
Empty.
I stare at the screen, hollow.
‘This makes no sense.’ Rafa sounds as off-balance as I feel.
We sit in silence for a long moment. The magpies in my tree warble again. The distant surf rolls into the beach. None of it is comforting now. Sweat gathers at the base of my neck under my hair.
Rafa rests his elbows on his knees, his eyes fixed on the worn timber floorboards. ‘Maybe he knew he wasn’t coming back when he saw you that last time.’
‘You think he knew something bad was going to happen?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why didn’t he tell you what we were doing?’
A sigh, almost too soft for me to hear. ‘That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?’
I click on Jude’s web browser bookmarks, expecting more disappointment. But the list isn’t empty: there are thirteen sites listed. I check each one. They’re all for surf beaches: in Hawaii, South Africa, Indonesia, Peru, Australia.
My breath catches on the last one: Pandanus Beach.
‘Was Jude planning a trip?’ I ask.
Rafa gets off the bed, grabs his t-shirt from the floor and pulls it on. ‘Not that he told me.’
‘But he would have, right? If he was going somewhere, he’d tell you?’
Rafa gives me a pointed look and jams his foot into a boot.
Idiot.
Jude kept more than one secret from his best friend. Trust me to grind salt in the wound.
Rafa stands up, straightens his shirt. He stares out the window, but I don’t think he’s really seeing anything.
‘I’ll be back.’
And he’s gone, shifted, before I can speak.
I stare at the space where he was and then flop back onto the bed. My eyes track to a tuft of cobweb suspended from the ceiling.
I don’t get it. Any of it.
Jude wiped out all clues of what he was thinking a year ago except for generic information on a handful of the world’s best surf beaches—and he put a password on the laptop only Rafa would figure out. But he didn’t tell Rafa about it.
What the hell does any of it mean?
THE FALLOUT
I grab a lift when Jason takes Maggie to the Green Bean. I need to think about something other than what’s not on Jude’s laptop, and the look on Rafa’s face when he disappeared.
The esplanade is humming. It’s always noisier on Saturday, with the roving calypso band, traffic and fishmongers shouting their specials. The breeze is light today, the surf calmer. A few wispy clouds are stretched thin along the horizon, far out at sea.
I’m going to Rick’s in the hope I can talk to Taya without it ending in an argument—or worse.
Simon and Rick live above the bar on a floor that was once guest rooms: back before the resorts and backpacker lodges sprouted up and down the coastline. I climb the back stairs, catch a whiff of stale alcohol. Why is it bars and pubs always smell so much worse in daylight?
I find the dark green door on the second storey landing, pause, ring the buzzer. A few seconds later Rick is in the doorway, holding a set of keys. The sound of an acoustic guitar drifts out from the apartment.
‘Gaby,’ he says. ‘Enjoy the fun last night?’ He’s sporting a fat lip. I pretend not to notice.
‘Not particularly. How’s Simon?’
‘Check for yourself.’ He gestures behind him, but I can’t see past an ornate bamboo screen shielding the rest of the apartment.
‘Actually I’m looking for Taya.’
He leans against the doorjamb. ‘She’s a firecracker, isn’t she?’
I manage a tight smile. ‘Something like that.’
‘You’re a bit of a dark horse yourself. You’ve got some interesting friends.’
‘I wouldn’t call them friends.’ I crack a knuckle and then stop myself. That’s one habit I don’t need. ‘Was there much damage?’
‘Enough.’
‘I’m sorry.’ Someone has to say it.
‘I was down there till three this morning, cleaning up. I’m still not done.’ He glances at his watch. ‘How about you take your mates to the Imperial next time?’ He moves past me, not expecting a response, and takes the stairs two at a time.
I scratch at the bandage under my jeans. I’m grateful the wound is healing so quickly, but I could do without the constant itching. The music in the apartment stops. Another song starts. I can’t stand out here all day.
Beyond the screen is an airy room: the walls are covered with old posters of retro martial arts films, and sliding glass doors open onto a narrow balcony overlooking the esplanade. The place smells of raisin toast and the sea.
Taya is sitting on the arm of a worn red leather couch, checking Simon’s stitches. He’s trying not to look at her breasts while she leans over him. Her black hair is tied loosely at the nape of her neck and hangs over her shoulder. It takes them both a second to notice I’m in the room and, when they do, it’s like I’ve walked in on them undressing each other. Simon jerks away from Taya, and Taya
blushes
.
‘I guess Mya’s job went bad even quicker than usual,’ she says. Is that a hint of relief I hear in her voice? Clearly she wasn’t expecting me to come back.
She swings her legs off the couch and stands up. Her black eye looks way worse than last night, the lid half-closed.
‘Why haven’t you had that healed?’
Taya gives me a withering look. ‘When have I had time?’
I check Simon. ‘How’s the head?’
‘Sore.’ He gives me a once-over, probably more out of habit than any lingering attraction. ‘Ten stitches.’ Simon glances at Taya. ‘Turns out having a psycho behind the bar isn’t all bad.’ There’s no malice in his voice. Wonderful—they’ve bonded. I think about joining him on the couch, but stay standing.
‘What happened with Mya?’ Taya moves Simon’s fingers away from the dressing and takes over putting it back in place.
‘We went to LA. To the club that used to be the Rhythm Palace.’
Taya goes completely still. ‘Tell me you’re joking.’
‘I’m not.’
‘You can’t be that stupid.’ She stares at me. ‘You have no idea what you’ve done, do you?’
I wait for her to tell me.
‘You’ve been rubbing her nose in the Rhythm Palace massacre for six years—and now she’s got you back there to fight
alongside
her. You’re going to hate yourself for this when you remember.’
I should have known there’d be a sting in the tail.
‘You’re probably right,’ I say. ‘But we saved twenty terrified kids from Immundi.’
‘We’re not here to involve ourselves with humans.’ Taya’s hands drop to her sides. ‘That’s what got the Fallen into trouble in the first place. The Outcasts draw attention to us. We fight demons only when they get in our way—’
‘Most of the kids were under twelve, Taya. A couple of them were so drugged up they didn’t know what country they were in. You think it’s okay for those monkey demons to kidnap them and sell them to perverts?’
‘That’s what the police are for. You still don’t get it, do you? The only reason we’ve been allowed to exist is so we can find the Fallen and deliver them to the Angelic Garrison. Wasting time doing anything else is an abrogation of our responsibilities.’
‘Why? Because Nathaniel says so?’ No way did Taya come up with the phrase ‘abrogation of our responsibilities’ without help.
‘Daniel said Rafa’s filled your head with lies. I never should have let you go with him.’
‘This isn’t about Rafa—it’s about doing what only the Rephaim can do. The police can’t stop the Immundi or the Gatekeepers—they don’t even know they exist.’
Except for Jess, but Taya doesn’t need to know about her right now.
Taya moves away from the couch. ‘The Gabe I knew would never have fallen for this crap. This world is saturated in evil. If we tried to counter that we’d never have time to do anything else. We can’t turn the tide so what would be the point?’
‘So you do nothing?’
‘It’s not up to us.’
‘Then who is it up to if not the offspring of angels?’
Simon presses his hand against his head. ‘Can you two stop arguing? The balcony doors are open.’
Taya ignores him. ‘So that’s it, then, you’re joining Mya?’
‘Not a chance.’
‘Then why are you defending her?’
‘I’m not. But I’m not going to pretend there’s no value in what the Outcasts do’—I hold up a hand—‘I’m not saying Mya’s not manipulative or a huge pain in the arse.’
‘What
are
you saying?’
‘That you might want to see what they do before you write them all off as mercenaries.’
A scowl. ‘Did you get Jude’s laptop?’
‘Yeah.’ The breeze coming through the open door blows a strand of hair into my face. I catch it and retie my ponytail, squash my feelings down. ‘There’s nothing on it. He deleted everything.’
‘So Mya got what she wanted and you got nothing? Who could’ve seen that coming?’
Simon sits forwards and rests his forearms on his knees. ‘We should tell her about Mick and Rusty,’ he says to Taya.
When did they become ‘we’?
‘Yeah.’ Taya turns to me. ‘Those guys Rafa
sorted out
? They’re building an army.’
‘I heard.’
Simon drags his fingers through his hair and winces. ‘Rusty thinks you guys are part of some government experiment with mutants. He said you confirmed it.’
‘No,’ I say slowly. ‘It was their theory, which I didn’t correct. You think they would have taken the truth any better than you did? You didn’t tell them, did you?’
Simon makes a choked noise. ‘I can’t get my own head around what’s going on. You think I could explain it to Rusty? He only told me what they’re doing because he wants me up there with them to back their story.’
‘What did you say?’
‘That I’d think about it.’
I rub my eyelids. Brilliant.
My phone beeps with a message.
‘Give me a sec,’ I say to Simon and go out on the balcony to check it.
Ring me. Urgent.
A stab of fear.
Maggie.
WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD
It’s not Maggie who answers; it’s Jason. He sounds flat, drained.
I can’t get the words out quickly enough. ‘Where’s Mags?’
‘Right here.’
Relief washes over me. ‘What is it?’
‘Gatekeepers have taken the farmhouse.’
I stare down at the esplanade. I can’t grasp the significance of his words. My eyes track to the row of poincianas. A few orange blossoms still cling to the trees, but the rest are scattered on the road, crushed by passing cars.
‘Zarael has control of the iron room.’ Jason says it slowly, as though he’s heavily medicated. ‘The one people like us can’t get out of.’
I have a flash of Rafa hurling himself at those walls. ‘Does Rafa know?’
‘I tried to call. It went straight to voicemail.’
I feel everything slow down around me: the traffic, the drumming of the band. It lasts a beat, then the world returns to normal speed.