‘I’m not going anywhere until I talk to Rafa.’
Jason rubs the back of his neck, sighs. ‘I’m not kidding. He’s not going to take this well.’
‘He doesn’t take anything well. But he needs to know and he’ll get over it.’
Rafa’s number rings four times before he answers. ‘What’s up?’ He sounds out of breath.
‘Taya’s here.’
Silence.
‘And Jason’s back.’
‘And?’
‘He needs me to go somewhere with him and—’
‘Where are you now?’
‘The bungalow.’
‘Where does he want to take you?’
Jason watches me, silhouetted against the sunlit window.
‘He won’t say. But I thought—’
Rafa materialises in the room, wearing grey trackpants and a black singlet, his phone still to his ear. He’s covered in a light sheen of sweat and his hair is messy. He tosses the phone on the table. ‘What now, Goldilocks?’
‘You could have finished what you were doing,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t going anywhere.’
‘I can throw punches here just as well as in Mexico.’
Jason gives me a pointed look. ‘Yes, this was a terrific idea.’
I step between them. ‘Hey.’ I get Rafa’s attention. ‘I’m trying to keep you in the loop here. Don’t make me regret it.’
He eyes me for a moment, stretches one arm across his chest, then the other. The nick on his shoulder is completely gone. ‘What’s the story?’
‘I don’t know yet,’ I say.
Jason’s fingers are splayed on his hips. He stares down at the faded black and white lino. We wait. Finally, he lets out a deep, defeated sigh.
‘There’s a way to keep Mags safe…’ I prompt him.
He glances at Rafa. ‘There are others who know about the Rephaim. A group of women in America.’
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Rafa says.
Shit. I pull out a chair and sit down. Every time I think I’ve got a handle on Jason…
‘I met them in New York, in the summer of 1940—’
‘They’ve known about us for seven fucking decades?’
‘I was in Central Park,’ Jason says, ignoring Rafa. ‘I’d seen these two women before, watching me. I didn’t think much of it, even when they approached me. But then they said they knew what I was, that they’d received a revelation from God about the Fallen and their offspring. They knew things about me. They knew Nathaniel was in Italy—I quote—“building his army of bastards”.’
‘Did they know where the Fallen went?’ Rafa asks. ‘No? Then what did they want?’
‘For me to stay away from Nathaniel. They said the Rephaim were an abomination, but if I kept myself from Nathaniel and the others I might be spared when the final judgment came.’
I look from him to Rafa. Abomination is not the first word that springs to mind. ‘You weren’t kidding about getting mixed messages about religion.’
A sad smile. ‘They knew about Zarael and the Gatekeepers. They hoped the demons would find the Fallen and drag them and Nathaniel back to hell and take their offspring with them.’
Rafa is perfectly still. ‘And what did you tell them?’
‘Nothing. I didn’t tell them my mother survived and had another child, or about her descendants and their visions. They left and I never saw those two again. But about fifteen years later another two women visited me, again in New York. They were daughters of the first two, younger—maybe early thirties. They somehow knew I’d never been to the Sanctuary. They said I’d proven I could be trusted, so they took me to meet the rest of the family. In Iowa.’
‘So you weren’t searching for Dani and Maria this morning?’ Rafa says.
‘I’m always looking for them.’ There’s sadness in his voice, loss. I feel it, but I can’t overlook the fact he didn’t tell Maggie and me the truth.
‘You lied to us?’ I ask.
‘I wanted to know if the women could help me before I put them in danger. And I did call Dani and Maria again. I asked if they’d ever heard of an object that could protect humans from Rephaim. They didn’t return my call.’ Jason doesn’t add that apart from the phone call where Dani told him I was in Pan Beach, they haven’t taken his calls for a year.
Rafa shakes his head. ‘So, there’s a cult of women who know about us, and they live among the fucking corn in Iowa?’
Jason looks to me, needing me to understand. ‘My mother was long gone, none of the girls in the family were having visions at that point…I was curious.’ He pauses. ‘We travelled by bus—I didn’t know I could shift with humans back then. I met three generations of the family. All women. They asked me questions about my abilities—’
‘Did you tell them about me and Jude?’ I ask.
‘No, I lied about how I learned to shift.’
‘And you’re still in contact with them?’
He nods. ‘The current generation knows more about the Rephaim than any before them.’
‘How? Who are they?’
Jason sits at the table, runs his fingers along the edge. ‘There’s a strong religious tradition in the family but I haven’t been able to pin down what, if any, denomination they follow. There are rules about what they will and won’t tell me. The standard response is that I can’t know too much in case I fall under Nathaniel’s influence.’
‘You’re a smart guy,’ Rafa says. It’s not a compliment. ‘Why didn’t you do your own research?’
‘I didn’t know how seriously to take the whole “revelation of God” thing. I didn’t know if they would find out.’
‘Are you shitting me?’
‘They knew things, Rafa. I don’t know how. I didn’t want to risk losing contact with them.’ He drums his fingers on the laminate. ‘But they’ve never seemed like farmers. The current matriarch, Virginia, walks and talks like a corporate CEO and her eldest daughter Debra is an architect. They don’t come across as religious zealots—until they start talking about the Fallen and the Rephaim.’
‘And it’s always women you meet?’ I ask.
He nods.
‘How can they help Mags?’
Jason’s eyes stray to a mark on the table. An old candle burn. He doesn’t look up. He’s really uncomfortable talking to Rafa about this.
‘None of them have ever been scared of me. Nervous yes, but not frightened. They knew about shifting—don’t ask me how—so they should be more on edge in my company.’ A pause. ‘I’ve had a theory for a while now. I think they wear some kind of trinket that would prevent them from being forced to shift.’
Rafa lets his breath out. ‘Not possible.’
‘What sort of something?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Then how—’
‘Hear me out. They all wear a chain around their neck, which they tuck inside their clothes. These women spend a lot of money on jewellery. They flaunt it—they don’t hide it.’
‘Is that where you went this morning?’ I ask. ‘Iowa?’
He nods. ‘Sophie was on her own. She’s Virginia’s granddaughter, about sixteen. I asked about her necklace. She was cagey, but she said she’d show me if I brought you to the farm.’
I blink. ‘She knows about me?’
‘They know about all the Rephaim.’
‘But she knew I was alive?’
Jason shakes his head. ‘I had to tell her. It was the only way I could explain why a human was at risk and why I needed her help.’
‘She probably already knew,’ Rafa says. ‘These women have to be in league with Zarael. How else could they know things we don’t?’
‘No. They’d bear Nathaniel’s bastard child before they’d align themselves with a creature from hell. They hate demons even more than they hate the Fallen. ’
‘God, you’re naive.’ Rafa shakes his head. ‘If you’re so convinced a
necklace
could protect Maggie, why didn’t you grab it off the girl while you were there?’
‘Because I’m not you.’ Jason takes a deep breath, calms himself. ‘Look, Sophie is still there on her own. We need to go now.’
The tap drips in the sink. Fat drops splashing on scarred stainless steel. What if Rafa’s right and these women have contact with the Gatekeeper demons?
‘You’re not taking Gabe to Iowa,’ Rafa says, his voice flat. ‘Not without me.’
‘Rafa—’
‘Who’s going to look after Mags?’ I interrupt Jason. ‘Taya’s already paid the cafe a visit today.’
‘Did she threaten Maggie?’ Rafa asks.
‘No, but—’
‘As long as Maggie stays at work, she’s fine. What time does she finish?’
‘Six,’ Jason says. ‘We’ll be back way before then.’
I chew on my lip and then grab Rafa’s phone from the table. ‘What about Ez or Zak? Can they check up on her while we’re gone?’
‘Yeah, I’m sure they’d love to cut short training to babysit—’ He stops, sees I’m serious. The call is quick.
‘They know where to find her,’ he says when he hangs up.
‘They’ll be there in five.’
I nod. Taya won’t try anything with two Outcasts there. Not in broad daylight.
Jason runs his hand through his hair. ‘And how do I explain you to Sophie?’
‘Can she sense Rephaim?’ Rafa asks.
‘No—’
‘Then don’t tell her who I am. Tell her…’ His attention drifts to me for a second. ‘Tell her I’m Gaby’s boyfriend.’
It takes a second for me to realise he called me Gaby. Not Gabe.
‘The family will never forgive me—’
‘Who cares?’
‘I do. I care. I never would have been able to keep track of what was happening at the Sanctuary—how Gabe and Jude were doing—without them.’
‘They know about all of us?’
‘Bits and pieces. I picked up enough over the years to understand what the Sanctuary was, and that Gabe and Jude were still there—and were okay.’
Rafa studies him, a small smile on his lips. ‘How many of these women have you slept with?’
Jason goes to the sink, tightens the tap so it stops dripping. Ignores the question. ‘This is a bad idea,’ he mutters.
‘You don’t think I know how to be charming, Goldilocks?’
Jason shakes his head. ‘Let’s just go.’
I meet Rafa in the middle of the room.
‘Please don’t screw this up for Mags.’ I say it quiet enough that only he can hear.
A hand slides around my waist. His lips brush against my ear. ‘She’s a teenage girl. I’ve got it covered.’
CHILDREN OF THE CORN
We arrive in a cornfield, in the dark.
Jason controls the shift, so it’s warmer and gentler than the chaos of travelling solo with Rafa. No furious wind, no sense of being stretched and compressed, no iciness. No skittery pulse like my first time. But it still takes a few seconds for my stomach to settle. Which is when the cold hits. After the bright Pan Beach morning, the night air here knocks the breath out of me.
Around us the corn whispers. Everything is dry, dusty. My eyes adjust and I realise the towering plants are dead. I run my hands through the leaves. They feel like ancient paper; I half-expect them to disintegrate under my fingertips.
Rafa and I follow Jason, who’s already moving down the cornrow with sure steps. The ground is firm so the going is easy. It’s also short. I almost barrel into Jason when he stops.
I don’t know what I was expecting—a cute farmhouse with a red roof nestled between cornfields maybe—but this isn’t it. In the middle of the clearing in front of us is a gleaming building that looks like a super-sized shipping container jutting out from the side of a hill.
‘What is that?’ Rafa is behind me.
‘There used to be an old barn here, but they built this place a few years back.’ Jason sets off across the clearing.
‘Why?’ I ask, hesitating. ‘It’s hideous.’
Rafa puts his hand lightly on my lower back, guides me forward. As we move closer, I work out that the structure is actually in two parts. The base is made of concrete and set into the hill, and on top of it is the huge rectangle building. It’s made from galvanised iron and is big enough to park a couple of Mack trucks stacked three high. It glints, even under an inky sky. The front wall is floor-to-ceiling glass, like some sort of new age church, but it’s too high up to see inside. We make our way towards two tall doors at ground level. I wrap my jacket tighter around me.
There’s no garden, just lawn mown close to the ground that crunches underfoot. A dusty sedan is parked on gravel at the end of a dirt driveway. The main building sits out over the entry, soft light spilling out from the glass above.
‘Let me do the talking.’ Jason’s face is lit by a row of recessed halogen lights. He checks Rafa over. ‘Maybe you should lower the hood.’
Rafa gives him a flat look. The hood stays on.
Jason pauses, knocks. A few second later, hurried steps descend an internal staircase.
‘Who’s there?’ The voice is young, confident. East Coast.
‘Jason. I’ve brought Gabriella.’
The door jerks open.
The girl is not what I expect either: her make-up is flawless and natural, her shiny blonde hair cut blunt to her fine jaw. She’s wearing a black silk dress cinched at her waist, a cashmere cardigan tied around pale shoulders. Gold bracelets jangle on her slender wrists. If she’s wearing a necklace it’s hidden by her cardigan.
I look at her. She looks at me.
‘Sophie, this is Gabriella,’ Jason says.
The breeze carries a strand of hair across her face. It sticks in her lip gloss. Her pale eyes flit to Rafa.
‘Who are you?’
‘That’s Matt, Gaby’s boyfriend,’ Jason says before either of us can speak.
I’ve only just managed to hide my surprise that Jason has acquired a New York accent in the last ten seconds when he floors me again by remembering the name I gave Rafa in the short story I entered in an online competition; the story that brought Rafa to Pan Beach to find me.
‘Are you still alone?’ Jason asks.
She uses a French-polished fingernail to drag the hair from her lip. ‘Yes.’ Another glance at Rafa.
Warmth and a hint of wood smoke seep out from the house, making the temperature outside seem even colder. I shiver.
‘Can we come in?’ Jason asks.
Sophie’s hand comes up to her chest. She hesitates, lets it fall. ‘Sure.’ She steps aside and we follow.
For a second, I think we’ve wandered into an art gallery, at least one devoid of art. We’re in a bright square room with a high ceiling, surrounded by bare walls. Our boots echo on hardwood floors. The only thing down here other than us is a long table lined with high-backed chairs. No bills or newspapers scattered across it, no vase or candles. No personal touches. Nobody lives here.