by S E Holmes
critical for your survival. Bloods can sense others with their same talents. I was the ultimate Blood. My choices, and Tate’s, will lead Anathema to you. So far, they have not infiltrated Sydney. They prefer old cities with long histories and much to exploit. But they will come. They hunt you especially now—”
I interrupted. “Me? What for?” Did they aim to recruit me into their cult?
Hugo shook his head, as though he’d said too much already and wasn’t willing to share further. “They cannot sense you within these walls. You must stay inside, Winsome, to stay alive.”
The door flew open. “Hugo! Quickly!” At Fortescue’s insistence, he vaulted up and headed out, turning back to me briefly. “Listen to your heart and feel the truth of what I have said. Stay inside, Winnie!” And then he was gone.
What a load of codswallop! Bea had been excessively vigilant for years without proof. I rushed to the door and peeked out a crack. Fortescue and Hugo conferred at the entrance to the kitchen.
“The cats are uneasy. What do you think, Hugo? Has he found us?”
“He is slippery and demands the utmost stealth to track. It will prove exceedingly difficult.”
“There is no choice. We cannot leave him free to do as he pleases in Sydney.”
“That is true, Jerome. But can we leave her? Can we trust her to obey?”
“Winsome has never before directly challenged Bea’s authority.”
“If she leaves this sanctuary, she is at risk from more than just Anathema.”
“We are well aware of that. In any case, Hugo, there is no choice if we are to capture him and eliminate the most immediate threat. I have faith in Winsome. I cannot believe she would disobey Bea.”
There was a first time for everything! I was sick of all the gibberish and refused to listen to any more baseless warnings. Where had I put that annoying phone? I found it discarded on my bedside table, next to my treasured mermaid, and texted Smithy to meet me outside my door in half an hour. I showered and dressed in record time, before my conscience raised the alarm, wearing a short white swing dress with a black-ribbon drawstring halter-neck and black detailing on the hem. The flowing, slippery material begged to be fondled.
The matching black heels were so perilously high they gave Sydney’s Centrepoint Tower a complex. Fortescue deserved a trophy for shopper of the year. For once, my hair cooperated without undue product or fuss, spiralling down my bare back with no hint of frizz. My principles sparked up as I crept across my room. This was Bea I deceived!
Any doubts were hastily gagged on making the balcony. Smith waited with his elbows propped against the railing, making an art of casual leaning. Upon first sight of him, my tummy plummeted, my skin tingled and an unfamiliar spark ignited within. He wore jeans and a designer shirt that fitted nicely over his broad, incredibly buff chest. I inhaled his mouth-watering cologne and burst into flame when his lips spread into a wide smile on my appearance.
“Winnie.” Smithy’s eyes wandered over my figure to alight on my face. “You are beautiful.”
A short while later, we were intimately seated at the most stunning restaurant in my experience – including one at the Eiffel Tower. Except it wasn’t a restaurant. It was Smithy’s sculpture studio: a glass-walled cube balanced over a sliver of sand, hemmed by lapping water that glittered with a thousand points of vibrant light. It nestled in a secluded cove, reached via sheer steps carved from a crag between hilltop mansions.
“Are you sure that’s safe?” I’d asked on sighting narrow stairs that wound down the cliff.
Only a weathered wooden handrail that looked like it might give way at any moment provided support. Peeking over the cusp, I envisaged the long plunge to jagged rocks below if I tripped.
“Don’t worry, Bear. It’s perfectly stable.”
“Alright for you to say, you’re not attempting motion on stilts.”
Confronted by my anxiety, Smith solved the problem and piggybacked me down. I carried the plastic bag of Thai food that had been delivered by a boy on a moped as we hopped from a taxi in the street above. The descent with my extra weight gave him no trouble; he was as agile and powerful as a mountain goat. The friction of Smithy’s lithe muscles beneath my hand as I clung on enticed.
“This was my mother’s studio,” he explained, when we neared the dark building along a wooden-planked path. “It’s the only thing of value the judge has given me. He wanted me to use it as a sailing shed, but I’ve put it to better use.”
“I didn’t know your mother was an artist.”
He set me down on my feet and moved behind me, putting his hands over my eyes to guide me forward with his body. I enjoyed the feeling of him against me and hoped revealing his surprise would take a while.
“Voila!”
Fourteen
Smithy removed his hands from my eyes, rustling around in the gloom until the lights switched on. My jaw dropped. Spaced evenly around the studio’s large back room were huge slabs of white marble in various stages of completion, graceful sculptures writhing free of solid stone. The statues appeared alive in the changing shadow. Big round fans in the walls filtered air, and winch-chains on runners looped from the ceiling.
“This is the dust room. Where I do most of the chiselling.” In a cleared space in the middle of the hall, an expertly wrought, life-sized marlin fought the lure over a churning sea. “My third commission, worth fifty thousand dollars. The judge’s grudge against me being an artist doesn’t seem to have anything to do with money. I’m making more than my trust fund pays and he still hates my career choice. I can’t figure it out.”
He led me through a sealed partition, which cut the cottage in half. We passed through the front room, which held a sitting area and kitchen, and onto an enchanting veranda that spanned its girth. I was too awestruck to speak as he seated me at a tiny square table and two chairs squeezed together, overlooking a curve of beach. A breeze blew the scent of star jasmine through my hair and moistened my skin with a briny mist. We were still in the city and I could hear the faint passage of distant cars, but I felt an infinity away, without a care. Only the whisper of beach scrub and splashing waves disturbed the peace. And my fluttering nerves.
Smith clattered around in the kitchenette, flicking on the stereo and fetching us drinks. We would eat in the glow of lights twining the veranda frame that twinkled like bubbles in pink champagne. Designed for romance, I thought, stifling jealousy over how many other girls he must’ve brought here. It made me feel less special.
He joined me and we sat in silence for a time, absorbed in the view of a passing dinner-boat. We brushed arms at the slightest movement, afloat in a dazzling aquarium made perfect by the glowing orb of a full moon so low, I could pluck it from the deepening sky.
“Smithy, this is amazing!” I blurted. “You are a genius.”
“Aw, shucks. I wouldn’t go that far.” But his face lit up at the compliment.
I couldn’t contain my curiosity any longer. “Are you able to tell me about your mysterious domestic situation? You don’t have to if it’s private.”
“As if I’d ever keep anything from you? You’re the only one I can be myself with, Winnie.”
His sincerity triggered a wave of happiness. I smiled, suddenly shy, and he reached over and pressed my hand. His tender expression clouded.
“Step-mummy Dearest decided to trade down.” My features remained gormless. “She suggested we take our relationship to the next level. I was in favour of the previous level – the one before we’d been introduced.”
He met my stubborn stupidity with a loud sigh and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “Brianna’s been trying to ambush me for weeks. That’s why I’ve been sleeping in the pool room. I was a bit worried when I went upstairs after you left this morning. I was distracted and forgot to lock the bathroom door when I had my shower. I’ve been so careful lately. She stripped down and hopped in. It wasn’t pretty. People such as Brianna aren’t used to the word ‘no’. Honestly, I didn’t g
et any unwanted come-ons with all my piercings and dyed hair. Or wanted ones for that matter.” His gaze locked on mine. “Tiffany and her are enough to drive me back to it.”
“Your father’s new wife tried to seduce you! I’m sorry, Smithy. The poor judge. Will you tell him?”
“Adorable Winnie, always defending the underdog. The judge will find out soon enough. Brianna wants it all. His money and power, and a little toy boy on the side to stroke her ego. She’s not much different to just about everyone we know. Greedy. Ruthless. Selfish. A moral vacuum. Hey, I’m pleased your leg’s better.”
My miraculously healed ankle was an issue best skirted. Not a scratch left after I’d returned from my walk around the city: another perplexing episode. He didn’t seem overly surprised by my special healing capacity.
“Thanks. Is that why you’ve changed? You don’t want to be like any of them?”
“I don’t want to be anything at all like Brianna or Tiffany, especially not the judge. That’s one reason. I was becoming a rich-kid cliché. I started to dislike who I was. And then …” he paused. “I can’t explain the other bit right now, but I will, Bear. When the time is right.”
He looked at me with a strange wistfulness. Fantastic! More puzzles. I tried to conceal my discontent and tamp the burning desire to know what on earth he was talking about. I could do nothing about the other desire
