Mammon (8 page)

‘
EVEN THOUGH
I knew Daniel for forty-three years as my little brother, I can't seem to think of him in any other state than paired with Susanna. They were a unit.' Diana smiled across the congregation, shivering in the small, stone chapel, but her eyes kept flickering back to Grace and Joe.

‘Their relationship was something special – a love that the great poets would have written about. The mission had gone wrong, Susanna was injured – she couldn't walk, and my brother carried her to safety. He knew she was the one that moment. He even told her, that very night, that if she wanted him to, he would take her away.

‘And so it was. He did take her away, with their infant son, into the safety of suburban anonymity.' Diana clutched the lectern. ‘Unfortunately, they didn't travel quite far enough.

‘They were loving parents, who wanted their children to be free – so very much.'

The mourners stood; their murmuring gave way to the rise of choral music. Celtic songs of lamentation. The two coffins began their lonely descent. Grace looked out the window – to a cliff face, where white waves continued their timeless ebb and flow. And so it was. Life just went on. Relentlessly. She swallowed, trying to kill the bitter- ness inside.

She still hadn't cried. Couldn't.

Solemn light shone through the myriad colours of stained glass.

Joe's face was downcast, his eyes filtering out all contact from others. He wouldn't cry in front of these people now.

* * *

WIND LASHED THE
cliff's grassy crags, sending ripples through the grass before whistling its way along the muddy earth and whipping at Grace's ankles. She rubbed her hands up and down her arms; goosebumps had spread in a regular pattern beneath the thin sleeves. The air gusted, sweeping along stark walls, billowing into the courtyard, where a lone willow thrashed.

It was quiet outside the chapel. Minutes before, mourners had spilled out, showering her in sympathy. Strangers, mourning her parents in this strange place.

So this was Renfield. Her new home.

The journey here was a blurred memory: driving south, past the neon glow that bounced off the City's towers, their reflection fragmented against the River's bleak surface. Rumbling across a railway line and into the outlands, where the undesirables of Border City had been pushed away to live in government-issue weatherboard houses.

Into the smothering blanket of the night. Three hours later, thundering along a tree-lined road, where all light was swallowed up save the two steady beams at the front and the white-cold headlights behind. The moon bobbing along the treetops, surrounded by a midnight-blue sky that was punctured with thousands of stars. A strange calm in an unfamiliar forest.

Another world.

A training ground for demon hunters. Allegedly, Mum and Dad had spent years living somewhere like this. Was it possible? Had they really been part of a mercenary squad, running around the grounds at dawn? Fighting hand-to-hand in a training simulation? Jumping – armed with rifles – into a helicopter and flying away on some mission?

Impossible.

Every night since arriving here, she'd curled up in bed, trying to adapt to the abrupt silence that fell at night; the hallways a brutally dark void compared to the warm yellow light of home that would filter from the living room as her parents drank tea and watched the late news.

‘I won't introduce you to any of the other recruits just yet,' Diana had said. ‘You and Joe need to rest and take time to think about your future. You can join up and train with us, or we can send you to a secure location.'

Run away and hide – for how long? The rest of her life? Grace peered out at the ocean and the trio of rocky towers that stood just off the coast. Skyscrapers of jagged stone and moss. They seemed to have sprung out of the ocean, or even forced their way up in a mutinous earth shift. Wave caps rushed the shoreline before they were sucked back out to sea.

Joe stood at the edge of the trees, his face turned into the wind, eyes closed.

Grace stepped over a rock boundary and squelched her way over through the spitting rain. She stopped, wrapped her arms tighter around herself and stared at the moss climbing up the towers.

Joe shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘I was supposed to go to Raven Point with Dad today.' He scratched his chin. ‘I'll have to go riding by myself now.'

She glanced across. ‘Someone will go with you.'

‘Don't try to make it better, Grace. You always do that.'

She frowned. ‘As if I could, Joe. I know what you're thinking –'

‘No, you don't.' He held up a hand.

‘Yes, I do. You're blaming yourself.'

‘How would you feel, if you were me? I mean, think about it, Grace! I got this gift – this ability – and I didn't even use it!'

‘Stop blaming yourself!'

‘I could've saved them. I didn't even think about opening a rift! We could have got out that way! Why was I so stupid?' He lunged forward, kicking a small rock into the air. It soared over the cliff edge and disappeared. ‘You're acting like it doesn't matter!'

Grace ran her fingers through her hair. ‘I'm not accepting this . . . I'm not going to forget about what has happened. Diana told us to make a choice. I've made mine.'

Her eyes glimmered with anger. ‘I want revenge.'

GRACE LAY ON
top of her bed, on the undisturbed sheets and cover, still tucked into the wooden frame. She glanced out into the grey dawn and the stately bricks of the Residence. During the week that had passed since the funeral, strangers had carted in her old room, piece by piece.

Her cherrywood dressing table and stool, lined in purple velvet. Her gaze ran over the small family photos stuck to the mirror's edge.

Her heart swelled with grief.

The matching bookcase with Mum's old china cups, the ancient books. Their splintered, cracked spines wedged in rows between guardian-angel teddy bears in pink and blue.

Her feather boa, and the dress she'd never get to wear.

They'd even brought her art collage, peeled off the wall in careful fragments.

Diana was building a life for Grace in this room, pulling together chunks of her old world in an attempt to build comfort, familiarity.

The furniture didn't look right here.

She pressed her fingertips together, watching the skin turn white as the blood drained away. Enough of this room, now. Time to move.

‘Rest,' Diana had said. ‘Take time to grieve.'

Rest?
How could she? Where was she? This place was a universe away from her sunny home. Compared to the peace of her mother's house, the sure feeling of contentment – no, it went further than that –
safety
– the knowledge that Mum would make all things right.

No wonder Mum had been so protective. Often the worried look in her eye, exchanging glances with Dad. The hushed conversations behind their bedroom door.

Voices rumbled outside. People were on the move, their shouts competing with the omnipresent, thudding music.

Three short beeps sounded. Grace reached for her bedside drawer and the small pink phone Mum had bought her just a month before. The SMS read: ‘As a valued customer of Horizon phone network, you are entitled to two VIP tickets to Riverside Music Festival. TONIGHT ONLY. Quote number 6940 at the festival gate.'

She sighed, pressed ‘Opt Out' and put the phone down.

* * *

DIANA MADE HER
way across the driveway towards where Grace and Joe stood. She took a moment to study their faces. ‘Looks as though you haven't changed your minds. Still want to join up?'

They nodded.

‘You know that if you do, you will have to assume the roles of mercenaries, soldiers. We're not part of the mainstream army, but we do have that kind of structure as a private military company. Are you both prepared to take orders from us, even if you don't agree with them?'

‘Yeah,' said Joe. Grace nodded. ‘Absolutely.' Anything – for Mum and Dad.

‘Well, I can't imagine that Danny and Susanna told you about how things work around here.'

‘No,' said Grace. ‘Not really. We didn't have time.'

Diana pressed a fingertip to her lips. ‘Last night I stayed up thinking of how to introduce you to it all. A crash course in modern demonology.' She took a deep breath, clasping her fingers. ‘I could talk and talk, but I didn't think you'd dig that. Or, I could just show you.

‘So, follow me.'

Crunching their way along the driveway, the group moved towards the forest. Grace squinted and lifted her hand to shade her eyes against the sudden break of sunlight through the trees.

‘You have probably seen some of the old movies about demon possession,' said Diana. ‘Well, if only our job were that simple – stab a demon with seven holy daggers, compel them to leave by chanting incantations.'

She chuckled. ‘The modern demon is far more difficult to catch – and even harder to destroy.'

Passing a blue picket fence with a ‘Pesticide-free zone' sign, Diana paused. ‘Oh, that's our organic veggie garden. Sarah is the instigator of that little project. You'll meet her.'

She walked on. ‘So, where do demons come from? It's horribly simple. No possession, no intervention from hell. It happens when a person reaches a critical point, and he or she starts to manifest, or
grow
the demon energy until it becomes an irrevocable part of them.

‘Oh, see the clock tower?' She pointed to the left. ‘That's our Operations Building, where all the weapons and tactical training go on. Very high tech. We have a flight centre and medical bay as well, down there.'

Grace glanced at the tower. ‘How much flying is involved?'

‘Quite a bit,' said Diana, smiling. ‘Are you a nervous flyer?'

Grace shrugged. ‘I wouldn't know.' Mum and Dad couldn't afford to take them on holidays. She bit her lip. Where was she with her money, when they were struggling?

‘Anyway,' Diana said, ‘as I was starting to explain to you, these humans are responsible for their own degeneration. There can only be so many wrong decisions, so many immoral choices before, inevitably, they degenerate, lose the best part of their humanity. What's left? Our darker sides. The worst aspects of humanity. Rage, violence, lust, greed. Acted upon in unspeakable ways. So, that's why we exist; that's why the
sarsareh
do what we do.'

They progressed further into the forest, their feet now crunching on shards of bark, shed by the ghostly giants that stood all around them. Grace veered around the knee-high ferns that carpeted the forest floor. ‘Where are we going?'

‘Look ahead.' Diana pointed; Grace and Joe peered through the mass of trees at the giant, grey monstrosity that loomed there. As they moved closer, the sun disappeared behind it, bringing the huge wall into clearer view.

Joe frowned. ‘What the hell is it?'

‘This way.' Breaking through the last line of trees, Diana let them towards a curve in the wall.

Gazing up, Grace noticed the razor wire that ran along the top of the wall. ‘Is this . . . a
prison
?'

Diana punched in a code and waited. A bearded face appeared in the window. He leaned into a microphone. ‘Morning, Diana.'

‘Hello, Brutus.'

The guard gave Grace and Joe a once-over. ‘Fresh meat?'

Diana grinned. ‘My niece and nephew.'

‘Go on through.' He turned away; the door swung open. They moved through the guardhouse, where Brutus and another guard stood behind a glass barricade. Behind them was a wall of surveillance monitors with blinking monotone images.

Grace squinted, trying to make out those images.

‘Come on,' said Diana.

Proceeding through another door, they moved out into a courtyard. The door closed, echoed off the walls like thunder.

No colour, no sound. Around the sparse courtyard sat three storeys of concrete, topped by a corrugated iron roof and the obligatory razor wire. No windows. Diana led them towards a white door, strangely stuck within the concrete. Through long windows of frosted glass, Grace could see the dull light within. She struggled to draw air. The whole place felt . . . sticky. As if they'd stepped into a different climate zone.

Grace pictured the Residence, with the ocean air that brought the scent of roses through windows that glowed amber at night. Cool, yet welcoming. Could this really be on the same grounds?

‘It's our secure facility,' Diana said. ‘Where we bring the bad guys. Consider it a jail . . . for demons.'

‘Oh.' Grace pulled her jumper tighter around her. Her gut began to burn as the nausea rose. She sucked in a breath of stale air, folded her arms and stared at the pavers. The place felt so dead, so resistant to life that weeds dared not grow.

They moved on through the door and into a cramped reception area. Staff, all dressed in hospital tunics, sat behind a long window and stared at computer screens.

Through another door into a large recreation room. A suffocating cleanliness. Everything was slathered in white paint.

Standing out against the pale visage were a number of guards, covered in black from head to toe; faces obscured by balaclavas and black goggles. Each stood rigid, alert; each one held a rifle to their chest.

The guard standing nearest turned his head a fraction. Through the mask, she could feel vigilant eyes penetrating. She caught her breath at the sudden feeling of angry suspicion that overwhelmed her.

Diana touched her arm. ‘It's all right, Grace. They're here for our protection.' She stopped at a water cooler, grabbed a cup and began to fill it.

‘Here they are!' A voice boomed across the room. A slim, middle-aged man with short dark hair, glasses and a friendly smile crossed the room with long, confident strides. He wore a light blue polo shirt and beige pants. Behind him were two other adults, wearing white tunics and matching trousers, both with short hair and unsmiling faces.

All three wore the same pendant as Grace. She reached up and grasped her pendant, a twinge of sadness at the memory of Mum's fingers securing it around her neck.

‘Hello.' The bespectacled man smiled and nodded. He shook her hand; Grace noted the roughness of his palm and his educated yet friendly accent. ‘My name is Lucius Penbury.'

‘Lucius is the boss,' said Diana. ‘And yours,
if
you decide to join.' She gestured towards the silent man nearby. ‘Marcus, his brother.'

Marcus didn't smile but looked out through calculating grey eyes. Harsh, thin lips sat below a perfectly trimmed moustache. He had curly blond hair, was taller than his brother and wore an air of superiority. A study in opposites. Grace shook his hand. His palm was soft, his nails manicured.

‘Hello,' Marcus said. ‘You can address me as Doctor Penbury. I'm sorry to meet you under such unfortunate circumstances. This is my subordinate, Agatha.'

‘Hello. Welcome to Renfield.' The woman, petite yet muscular with short black hair, spoke in a strong Scottish accent. Grace folded her arms, trying to ignore the distinct feeling of depression, almost hopelessness, that seemed to radiate from the pair.

Something moved in her peripheral vision. She glanced sideways; the nervous tumbling in her stomach returned. Each of the guards had turned, as though to acknowledge Marcus's presence. Watching him. Guarding him.

Diana cleared her throat. ‘Marcus and Agatha run this facility.' She handed Grace a cup of water. ‘Joe, want a drink?'

A new voice cut in from across the room. ‘It's actually an asylum.'

‘What?' Grace shot her aunt a look.

Red patches darkened Marcus's cheeks. ‘You speak when you are asked to, Cassandra.'

‘Oh well, I've started now. Might as well go on.' Two people crossed the room: a woman with beady eyes and long black braids framing her face, and a guy with dreadlocks who looked as though he could be her brother.

The woman gave the guards a derisive glance before swishing across to stand next to Diana.

Grace found it hard to place her accent. American? Canadian?

‘I'm Cassie.' The woman leaned forward and pulled Grace into a hug.

Grace stiffened. ‘Hi.'

Cassie paused before smiling at the frowning Joe. She lifted her hands defensively. ‘Don't worry. I won't force a hug on you.' Cassie pointed her thumb at her companion. ‘This is my brother, Calvin. We run the shelters in the City's east. Cal's just started.'

Calvin winked. ‘Hi.'

The siblings were flashes of colour in a bland world; both wore colourful cotton shirts with cargo pants and sneakers.

Grace looked at Diana. ‘Asylum?'

‘Psychiatric research and rehabilitation,' Diana said. ‘Nothing to worry about.'

Marcus pressed his palms together. ‘Some demons, when they are just starting to degenerate, can be rehabilitated. Through psychotherapy and other means.'

Cassie coughed. ‘But the success rate is very low, isn't it, Marcus? As our investigation will reveal.'

Marcus gave her a flat stare. ‘Why don't you tell these two about
your
work?'

Agatha snorted. ‘Yes, I'm sure they'll be impressed, in light of their recent history.'

Cassie looked at Grace and Joe. ‘Our shelters are proper rehabilitation centres.' She threw Marcus a smile. ‘Unlike our friends here, we practise non-violence. Our goal is to generate understanding and compassion for these beings. Demonhood is a sickness. Not an evil.'

Joe glanced between the colourful pair. ‘What . . . you actually feel sorry for demons?'

Grace scowled. ‘That's ridiculous!'

Calvin peered at her. ‘We don't take part in the torture.'

The cup wobbled in Grace's hand. ‘You'd feel differently if your family were killed.'

‘I didn't mean anything by that.' Cal's gaze flicked from the angry girl to her brother. ‘Sorry.'

‘All right.' Diana placed her hand on Grace's shoulder. ‘Calm down, relax.'

Cassie coughed and then glanced at her brother. ‘Well, time for us to go. Nice to meet you both.' Slowly, she and Calvin walked towards the exit.

Diana watched them leave. ‘We have different ways of looking at the problem, but we all have the same goal in mind.'