Djinn (2 page)

"Hey!"

"Malcolm!" Ivan yelled.

Malcolm could see Ivan and the other man running for the car. Diving into the driver's seat, he put the car into gear and pressed the accelerator—hard. The car roared off with screeching tyres.

Looking in the rear-view mirror, Malcolm watched the two men disappear into the darkness, but he knew that wasn't the last he'd see of them.

From now on, they would be on the run.

Chapter One

"Ufffgh," I moaned as I landed hard.

I blinked, trying to focus on the clear blue sky above me. Shooting pain ran from my shoulder to my lower back. It really was a beautiful autumn morning, warmer than usual, which I would have enjoyed a whole lot more if I didn't keep getting thrown to the ground.

"You need to keep your guard up, kiddo," Dad said.

I flicked my eyes from the sky to him standing over me, his hand extended to help me up. I smiled, despite the pain, and took his hand willingly.

"My guard was up," I complained. "You used a cheat move."

I folded my arm across my chest as Dad's mouth broke into a wide grin. Despite being in his late forties, he looked really good for his age. He was fit and muscular, even though he had a slight limp from some old injury and a crooked nose that I thought made him look handsome. Only a few wrinkles around his brown eyes and his greying hair gave his real age away.

"Not everyone will fight fair," he said and I knew he was right … again, but I'd never tell him that.

He picked up two long sticks and threw one to me. I caught it in one hand and took up a fighting stance, just as he taught me: feet apart and hands up, ready to defend yourself. We were practicing in the front yard of our house, an old weatherboard built place that looked more run down then it was. The paint was peeling, and every board seemed to creak when you stepped on it, like some sort of eerie orchestra. It barely kept the heat in, but it was home … for now.

"Very good." Dad nodded at my stance. "But your feet should be further apart."

I groaned, knowing he was only doing it to bug me, but I moved my right foot an inch further back to please him.

"Good," he said. "Ready?"

"To see you fall on your ass? Hell yes."

He stepped forward to strike from above and I raised my stick to block. The sticks made a clunking sound as they smacked together, and the noise rang in my head after the fall I'd had. Dad spun his stick to strike from the side, but I anticipated and slid my feet like a dancer out of the way, moving the stick to protect my ribs.

"Nice footwork," he praised.

"You want me to say it's because you fixed my stance, don't you?" I replied, striking low.

He blocked and countered with a flick to my side. I winced, but composed myself quickly.

"Don't lose concentration," he said in his husky drill sergeant voice. "But if you wish to thank me, you can."

That was so like Dad. He got really serious about his training, but he still knew how to keep it light. I thought he would have been a great leader in another life, both strong and inspiring. Who knows, maybe he was.

We sparred for half an hour and, as usual, I was hit more times than I cared to admit while Dad remained mostly unscathed.

He'd been training me since I was thirteen. You'd think, after working at it for four years, I'd be able to hit him by now. I guess it came down to that whole no-one's-better-than-their-mentor thing.

He must have been a soldier before I was born; he's just too good, but then I see the various scars he's always tried to hide running down his body and wonder who gave them to him. Who could be better than my dad?

"You're doing better," he said, patting me on the back. He leaned over, out of breath, or maybe his leg was hurting him. Dad didn't like to whine; he'd rather fight it out in silence.

I put my hands on my hips. "Better?" I shook my head, and slivers of my long brown locks fell from my ponytail. "Look at this muscle." I flexed my arms and pouted my lips.

"All skinny muscle," Dad corrected, waving his finger. "You're only seventeen, Kyra. You're still growing into your body."

I dropped my arms and screwed up my face. "Dad. Gross."

He chuckled. "It's true. You'll be a woman soon—"

"Whoa, whoa!" I put up hands in defence. "Let's not have another talk about me or my womanliness. It's like when I got my period all over again."

"That was worse for me than it was for you." He pretended to shiver at the memory. "Come on, let's go for a run."

"Dad, I can see you're in pain. Can't we just skip the run today?" I said, more for his benefit than mine.

Dad stood up straight to show he was okay. "You're not getting out of it that easily." He started hobbling down the driveway, and I could only shake my head. He was the most stubborn person I knew—besides myself, of course. We would run until our legs fell off if it meant beating the others.

"Don't hurt yourself, old man," I called and ran after him.

We jogged all the way into town, which was a good half hour away. I lead the run for the first leg, but, to my amazement, Dad managed to overtake me just as we hit the shopping strip.

There weren't many shops in such a small town: a gas station, grocery store, some clothes shops and other odds and bobs—the essential supplies for the town to survive. We stopped at the gas station and bought bottled water and an energy bar and sat outside on a long wooden bench used for smoke breaks. Cigarette butts littered the ground below my feet

"You know I'm going to beat you one day," I said.

"One day," he agreed and smiled with his whole face, the way he did when he was really proud of me.

"I know all the moves." I punched my fists out at an invisible foe. "I'm totally prepared."

Dad remained silent. His face had changed and a cold stare claimed his eyes.

"Dad?"

"You can't always rely on training," he said, as though he wasn't quiet there, but off thinking about something else. "Sometimes your training goes out the window and you have to rely on instinct."

I didn't like the way Dad acted, like he was holding a heavy secret in his heart, taking him over so he wasn't my father anymore.

"Excuses," I replied and punched him in the arm. He snapped back, and suddenly was my father once again. A smile seeped onto his face and I let out the breath I had been holding.

* * *

I held the front door open for Dad as he limped inside and dumped the groceries on the table. I felt a pang of guilt for not stopping him on the run earlier, but Dad always said everyone was responsible for their own actions.

I had to say, I did quite like this house. It was a lot nicer than some of the shacks we'd stayed in over the years with its two-storeys, windowpanes and locks; everything you need to live a happy normal life. Except my life wasn't exactly normal.

Dad hobbled around the cramped kitchen fixing us some ham and cheese sandwiches while I put away the groceries in various cupboards. I took a seat at the small, Lino, fifties-style table and broke out the first aid kit. There wasn't much I could do for the bruises already coming up, but I also had some scratches and cuts. I dressed the wounds and stuck "Hello Kitty" band-aids all over my body.

Dad only struck me in places that wouldn't show when I wore clothes, so people wouldn't get suspicious and think he was beating me or anything. That happened once in another town, and one of my teachers called child services. We had to leave in the middle of the night before they arrested Dad but, to be honest I was glad; I didn't like living in the crappy motel room, and the school library was almost non-existent.

I cleared the first aid stuff off the table when Dad went to hand me the sandwich and glass of water. I bit into the bread like I'd been starved for a week. Training always made me hungry.

"What's the plan for the rest of the day, kiddo?" Dad asked.

"I have some homework to do," I replied. "But it's math."

Dad chuckled. "Math isn't that hard."

"Maybe back in your day, old man." I punched him playfully on the arm.

Dad shook his head, smiling, as he swallowed the last of his sandwich. He placed both our plates in the sink.

I couldn't help but smile looking at him; I couldn't have asked for a better father.

"I'm going to take a shower," he said.

"Shore fing," I replied, my mouth full of bread.

He stroked the top of my head down to my cheek as I give him a wide open-mouthed grin, exposing all my chewed food.

"That's my girl," he said, and headed out of the kitchen into the hallway. I heard his feet hit the creaky staircase, the eerie orchestra starting up.

"Don't fall over in the shower or anything," I called after him. "I don't want to have to help you and see you all naked."

"Very funny, Kyra." But I knew he was smiling.

I picked up my school bag from the couch in the adjoining lounge area and sat it on the chair next to me, weighed down by all my books. I pulled out my math homework and spread it over the kitchen table until the flat surface was entirely covered and fiddled with the pen in my hand, staring blankly at the gibberish in front of me.

I had never understood math. I mean, sure, I could put one and one together and get two, but anything the slightest bit complicated and my mind went blank. Teachers had tried to help me, and failed many times. My brain just wasn't wired to work out those kind of problems.

Seconds later, the phone rang like a chirping bird.

"Oh, thank god," I said and jumped to answer it. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sally. Is Bill there?"

"Hi, Kenny. Yep, I'll just go get him."

I placed the phone on the bench and headed up stairs. Sally was not my idea for a name, but Dad said we had to change it every time we moved. The least he could do was let me pick my own. Once I was called Tiffany. I wanted to kill myself.

I walked down the hallway to the bathroom door on the left. I knocked twice, watching the steam flow between the gap at the bottom and the floor, like mysterious fog in a horror movie.

"Dad?" I called through the door.

"Yeah, kiddo?"

"Kenny's on the phone."

"Give me a sec," he said. "Just got to put my contacts in."

"You don't need to see. He's on the phone." I shook my head and smiled.

"I'll be there soon."

I shrugged and headed back downstairs. I jumped the last couple of steps and skidded along the kitchen floor, stopping in front of the phone.

"Kenny?" I said into the receiver. "Dad will be down in a moment."

"Thanks, Sally."

I sat back at the table, flicking my pen between my fingers again. Dad stomped down the stairs and pulled his shirt over his head. I just caught a glimpse of some of the many scars on his chest as his shirt came over it. His brown hair stuck out in all directions—even as he patted it down, it sprung back up. He picked up the phone.

"Hey, Kenny."

Dad walked off to his room upstairs. He worked as a builder for construction companies wherever we were. It was the type of job where people were always looking for help, so he could easily get a contract in whatever town we stayed.

I wondered what Kenny wanted with Dad; work didn't usually call on weekends, but I tried to ignore my curiosity and turned back to the first math problem that barely looked like it was written in English.

Chapter Two

I sat at the kitchen table staring blankly at my homework until the sun had set and Dad came in to turn on a light. I squinted, not realising just how dark it had become. Out the window I could already see the moon rising over the treetops, like a great orb.

"You can't study in the dark," he said, ruffling my hair. His action would have annoyed me if didn't know it was one of the few ways he showed affection.

"I can't study at all," I replied, putting down my pen and fixing my hair back into place. Despite the hours I'd spent on the math homework I'd barely done any of the questions. The borders of my page were filled with little doodles of stars and dogs.

"Time for a break, I think." Dad closed my books and kissed my forehead. "How about some dinner and then we can watch
The Karate Kid
?"

"I'd like that." I smiled, thinking how well he knew me.

"Right!" He smacked his hands together and rubbed them. "Chicken wraps for dinner?"