‘Alcohol and sluts!’ The spruikers outside the strip joints were warming up their voices for the night trade. ‘Juicy young pussy. Sluts galore! Alcohol and sluts!’
The television crew hail finished filming. One large van remained, into which technicians and caterers were packing up folded wooden tables. She watched the activities around her, knowing the strange beast that was the Cross was beginning to wake from its day of slumber and arise. The air was so cold she felt as if her lungs were turning to ice, but she welcomed this sign of life. A young prostitute stood on the side of the street shivering in her mini skirt and tiny crocheted top. She could have been Dea Dreamer from the past come to life. Dea watched as a car stopped and a businessman opened the door, the girl jumped in. The cold began to lace through Dea’s bones.
The phone was ringing again when she entered her apartment. She ignored it, stooping down to caress her cats which rubbed themselves against her in welcome. She already knew who would be on the other end. Phillip. She made herself a cup of tea and heated up some fried rice left over from the night before. Then it was time for her nightly prayers. Even as she knelt, Dea kept glancing around her brightly lit apartment. The feeling of something wrong, something staged that she had sensed in the streets of the Cross earlier had returned. Everything in her apartment looked out of place, as if she had wandered onto the wrong stage set.
‘Sorry, Miss Dea,’ a technician in overalls and a bright orange scarf tied around his head gave her a cheeky grin in her mind. ‘You’ve entered the wrong stage set, Blondie. Your apartment is three doors down, doll face.’ He waved a cigar at her and winked, vanishing abruptly when the phone rang again. Damn! Her technician, her prayer, all disrupted because Phillip refused to leave her alone. For a wild moment she imagined picking up the phone, refusing his demands, being assertive with him. She could tell him about her vision of Johanna in the street earlier today, he would understand. But she couldn’t. She knew that it she listened to his soothing, carefully modulated voice, she could easily find herself remembering things she preferred to forget. She sat, peeling old nail varnish off her fingers listening to the phone cease its harsh demand, feeling a small sense of power flooding through her. She lit a white candle, and began another prayer. Halfway through the soothing communion she was startled by a knocking on her door.
Heart beating, Dea tiptoed down the carpeted length of her corridor. The knocking had intensified its rhythm. Whoever was on the other side obviously knew she was home and was refusing to leave. How she despised herself for cowering like this in her own home! Fear was replaced by anger and she opened the door with the safety chain left on. There, just as she had expected, was Phillip. But he was not alone, there was a group of people behind him. It took a moment for Dea to work out the group of strangers were in fact her old friends Leonora, Odolf and Agatha, and the very glamorous couple were Lucius and Faline.
Despite her annoyance at their interruption, Dea couldn’t help wishing she had dressed in something smarter before she opened the door. Sweet Jesus, everyone looked so much older. She could suddenly see herself through their eyes, and she disliked the picture. Not only was she older, she was much fatter. Her hand went to the crucifix around her neck. Phillip was still wearing his gold pentacle. She couldn’t count the number of times she had lain beneath him as that pentacle swayed over her face, her breasts. His hair was now silver; he was more handsome than ever.
‘What do you want with me?’ she said. ‘I told you I don’t want to get involved. Please leave me alone.’
The group on her doorstep looked at each other. ‘I’m sorry, Dea Dreamer,’ Phillip said softly. Oooh, she had to be careful when he used his voice and eyes in that manner. Phillip could charm the Devil himself into ironing his trousers if he so desired. Now his dark eyes were on her, trying to enforce his hypnotic will. ‘You have no choice. I know you are afraid, but we have to finish what we started, before more people die up there. You don’t want to be responsible for that, do you?’
‘Go away!’ Dea snapped. She closed her eyes and began to pray.
‘Dea.’ Faline stepped forward. Dea opened her eyes to see Faline’s great green cat eyes regarding her with kindness. ‘We all understand you want to forget, but we can’t leave the portal open. We need you to help us to close it. We need the original coven.’
‘The original coven is dead,’ Dea said. ‘You murdered it with your belief in Satan and your love for his children. May Jesus forgive you for that sin.’
‘This is hopeless,’ she heard Lucius say. ‘We’re wasting our time.’
‘Please, Dea.’ It was Faline’s soft voice again, causing shivers down Dea’s spine. Now she knew Faline was more dangerous than Phillip. She was a true witch who would charm with her sweet smile and soft ways. All the softer to hand you over to hell.
Dea gave a small scream. ‘Go away, you witches! I’ll call the police if you don’t stop harassing me!’ She slammed the door in their astounded faces and ran to her lounge room to check the windows were barred. Quickly, she lit a green and a white candle, then falling onto her knees, she began to pray.
‘Well, that’s it then,’ Lucius snapped. ‘You’ve probably given her a nervous breakdown. Great plan, Phillip. Harass the poor woman day and night until she falls in with your plans. She’s a born-again Christian, for Goddess’s sake! Did you really think she would meekly fall into line just because you were giving the orders?’
Phillip, who had hoped exactly for that, fell silent. Dea was proving to be the most difficult to convince of the need for action than any of them.
‘Lucius, shut up,’ Faline said. ‘Unless of course you have a better plan?’
‘Well we haven’t got nine anyway, have we? So it’s not feasible to resurrect the original ritual,’ Lucius said.
‘Phillip has planned to work with the energy of Johanna and Cael,’ Agatha said. ‘I agree with Faline. It might be better to reserve your comments until you have something constructive to add, Lucius.’
‘Well, the most constructive thing I can think of is that Phillip is totally fucking mad,’ Lucius said, ‘He’s planning to call up the dead to help him work a ritual that he was responsible for in the first place. You’re the one who opened the doorway, you bastard. You close the thing. I’ve had enough.’
Lucius stalked off, his black coat flapping behind him. Faline went to follow and then stopped. An image came to her of Johanna running for her life in terror with Solumbi, or worse, following her. How many other beings from the shadow worlds had crossed? Were some even now walking among the people of Earth? Hiding in shadows, frightened and aggressive? They knew so little of the damage they might have brought upon this world with their ritual. She turned towards Phillip, wishing he would put his arms around her and comfort her as he had done so many times in the past. Lucius would kill her for the thought, but she craved his touch, hungered for his attention.
‘He’ll be back,’ she said in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘Now, what are we going to do?’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
You are going to hurt me, please don’t hurt me, just one more moment, I beg you!
— GUILLOTINED — MADAM DU BARRY,
MISTRESS OF LOUIS XV, DIED 1793
Frustrating was not the word, Veronica thought, attempting one last time to get past the officious-looking policewoman at the hospital.
‘We just need a quick word with him,’ she begged. She had reached the point in her career when she was not afraid to beg. ‘We won’t even turn the camera on.’
‘I have my orders.’ The woman stared at her with contempt. You blood-sucking leeches, her expression said. ‘No press, no media. Kevin’s been through an ordeal. He needs to rest.’
Veronica tried another tack. ‘Then maybe you could answer a few questions for us on air? Just describing how the boy was brought in?’
The policewoman hesitated for a brief moment, caught between a desire for her fifteen minutes of fame and her duty. ‘I have my orders,�
�� she said again.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She was talking to a machine. Giving up, Veronica walked back to where Anthony and Matt were waiting hopefully.
‘No luck?’ Anthony sipped at a cup of coffee. He hadn’t stopped complaining about the lack of quality coffee in the mountains since he arrived.
‘Nope. They’ve been turning away everyone this morning. The family are probably already phoning agents to get them the best deal,’ Veronica said. She felt irritable and incapable of handling rejection. Today she had wanted to be Super Journalist and score the story of a lifetime.
‘Bummer.’ Matt flicked the empty coffee cup in his mouth up and down in an annoying fashion. ‘We could shoot some exteriors. Don’t suppose the dead boy’s family feel like talking?’
‘They’ll talk when they’re offered enough money,’ Veronica snapped.
‘Bitch.’ Anthony grinned at Matt. ‘Come on Grouchy, let’s go and do a piece to camera where the body was found. There might be some action happening there. We could get a few locals talking. Better than nothing.’
‘Okay.’ Veronica nodded slowly, an idea was beginning to form. Emily Robson might be a possible lead. She told Anthony and Matt, but they looked dubious.
‘She’s probably the town nut,’ Matt said. ‘If she’s raving about witches and everything, then she’s not all there, is she?’
‘She could talk about her dog,’ Veronica said. ‘It’s better than nothing.’
‘As long as we don’t get complaints we’re depicting the mountain residents as freaks by filming the local eccentric,’ Anthony commented. ‘Everybody’s so touchy these days.’
‘We’ll balance it,’ Veronica said, beginning to feel excited about her idea. ‘Maybe get one of Kevin and Jackson’s schoolfriends. A teacher or librarian to add a few comments. We need a human angle to give us an insight into what is really going on here.’
‘Well, you’re in charge, but can we eat first?’ Anthony said. ‘As long as we can find somewhere that serves decent coffee in this town.’
After a hot country breakfast of sausages, eggs, bacon and hash browns for Anthony and Matt and porridge for Veronica in a cheerful Katoomba cafe, Veronica asked the owner if she knew the whereabouts of Emily Robson.
‘She had a little dog called Freddy,’ Anthony volunteered.
‘Sure, everybody around here knows Emily. She’s lived here all of her life,’ the woman commented, looking at them shrewdly. ‘Now what would you be wanting with her? She keeps herself to herself most of the time. You’ve come up from Sydney about that poor little boy’s death, haven’t you? I know your face from somewhere.’
‘Yes, we have,’ Veronica said. ‘We’re from Australia Tonight.’
‘Really?’ the woman beamed, impressed. ‘I knew you were familiar. We’ve had a few television people in today. Alan and I watch that show every night! We just love that reporter Lisa! Such a pretty, sweet girl.’
Matt laughed out loud and Veronica was grateful that her mobile phone rang, saving her from having to force a reply.
‘Hey, Ronnie! Where are you? On a bus? It’s Simon.’
‘Simon?’ Veronica had forgotten she’d asked Simon to chase up information on mysterious happenings in the Blue Mountains. ‘I’m in the Blue Mountains. Did you manage to find anything?’
‘Sure did, baby. How about the children’s book illustrator and well-known witch Johanna Develle being discovered on a bush track drained of blood? I’m talking X-Files style, drained of blood. Not one drop left in her body. You must remember it, Ronnie, it made headlines everywhere.’
Veronica did vaguely remember the case. She had just returned from an overseas trip and it had even made the news in England. It had been a sensational story in Australia, but Veronica had arrived back halfway through it breaking. Then a series of gruesome murders of models had occurred in Kings Cross and Bondi, and the combination of beauty struck down in its prime had knocked Johanna Develle from the media’s glare. She longed to scream her excitement into the receiver, but had to content herself with making a noncommittal grunt.
‘Here’s the juice,’ Simon continued, oblivious of her excitement. ‘Her niece took over the house, it was reported she went a bit kooky from living there, she was always seen around the village talking to herself, and she had a heart attack in the same house in the front yard. But wait for the punchline, there’s meant to be a coven of witches living in the same house now. The same fucking house! Plus, over the last few years there have been a few disappearances of young people in the area. Spooky stuff, hey? Do you think the witches are killing them, Nancy Drew?’
‘Sure thing Simon, certainly sounds possible.’ Veronica struggled to keep the dislike she felt for the tape librarian out of her voice, she couldn’t afford to antagonise research staff. She could feel excitement blaze inside her belly at the connection she had previously overlooked, focused as she had been on the wild dogs. ‘Have you got the address?’
‘Does a dog like to lick its own balls?’ He gave her an address that meant nothing to Veronica, but she knew it to be between Leura and Katoomba, near one of the less popular walking tracks. She hung up after promising Simon a movie ticket for his trouble and turned to Malt and Anthony. ‘I knew it! I could smell it. There is a story up here!’
The two men looked at each other. ‘Does this mean we don’t have to go film the town nutter?’ Matt said.
‘No, we do her, but we have another stop after her,’ Veronica said. ‘We’ll have to get the budget extended so we can stay overnight.’
‘No way,’ Anthony said. ‘We’re meant to be editing this afternoon, we’re booked in.’
‘Shit.’ Veronica went to make another call on her mobile, and then stopped. First things first, they would go and interview Emily Robson and then she would make a quick stop to the witch’s house. Go home! A voice whispered within her head, so tiny that she ignored it.
The three of them began putting on their coats. Suddenly, Veronica was filled with impatience. More than the wild dogs, there was something else happening in these mountains, and whatever it was had been happening for a while. Her mind spilled over with possibilities as they headed to the car. Serial killers? Satanic sacrifices? As Matt looked up the address the cafe owner had given him, Veronica hastily applied some lipstick. All her life she had the feeling that she was here on this earth for a reason. Somehow, the events of the last few weeks made her feel as if this was all part of that reason. The voice whispered again: Go home! leave what is here undisturbed!
Despite the cold, the scenery in the mountains was beautiful. The lush drama of autumn had passed with the orange and red leaves of the trees heaped upon the ground. But the landscape was still spectacular, with the dark browns and orange colours of the rocks contrasting with the green of the trees and shrubs. The crew was fascinated to see how the bushfires that had swept through the mountains the previous year had caused no permanent damage. The bush had already rejuvenated itself, although patches of burnt-out areas could still be observed.
‘It’s incredible how Nature bounces back,’ Veronica spoke all their thoughts out loud.
Matt turned around to grin and offer her chewing gum. ‘There is even a plant,’ be offered, ‘that can only flower and come to life after a bushfire. That’s how versatile Mother Nature is, she adapts to the environment.’
Veronica absorbed that information as they drove out of Katoomba to a small street outside the town. They parked outside Emily Robson’s house and looked at each other, not wanting to leave the warmth of the car for the cold air outside. They saw a curtain twitch at the front window.
‘Come on, let’s get it over with,’ Anthony said. ‘We haven’t got much time.’
Emily Robson was not exactly how Veronica had pictured her. One thing she had learnt working for Australia Tonight was people very rarely turned out as you expected. Emily was a small, frail woman with grey short hair and a no-nonsense air about her. Her eyes, although sunken with age didn’t m
iss a detail when the crew introduced themselves. Her manner was warm and gracious.
‘Come inside!’ she urged. ‘I’ve got a fire going, come and warm your bones! No doubt it’s warmer in Sydney. I’ve just heard on the radio snow is falling in Lithgow! Nasty old Jack Frost was about this morning, and no doubt tomorrow!’ She looked at Veronica with an expectant look, like a little sparrow.
The kitchen she led them to was warm and cosy. An overweight black cat dozed on a chair in front of the fire, and lovingly, Emily picked it up.
‘Show some manners, Pepe,’ she scolded. The cat stretched out its paws in a slow yoga stretch, shot them a smouldering dismissive gaze, and stalked out of the kitchen.
‘She’ll go on the bed now,’ Emily said. ‘Now, can I get you all a hot drink?’
The three of them, lulled by the warmth of the room, settled for hot chocolates and Veronica looked around her as Emily began putting on the jug and getting out a tray. There was a pot of stew simmering on the stove, which smelt delicious, and chopped vegetables were piled on a wooden cutting block. A basket of knitting lay on the hearth. On the white mantel above the fire were photos of what looked to be grandchildren, a photo of Pepe, a photo of the dog Freddy that had been emailed to Australia Tonight, an old colour photo of a soldier in uniform and a photo of Emily with a young dark-haired woman and some children.
‘Is this your daughter?’ Veronica asked.
‘Yes, that’s Wendy. She’s dead now.’
Veronica felt she should offer the obligatory ‘I’m sorry.’
‘She was a good girl, Wend. A hard worker. She used to own a shop in the village called The Silver Hen. It’s been taken over by foreigners. Shame, doesn’t do anywhere near the amount of business it did when Wendy had it. I do the odd hours on call for them. Jeremy, that’s her husband, was devastated after her death. He couldn’t stay in the mountains. Sold up everything and took the kids to Sydney. He’s married again now.’ She sniffed meaningfully and took down a cake tin.
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