Queen of the Night (16 page)

‘I think it’s, yeah it’s—here.’

Paul drags the clinking, rustling plastic bag out of the tree hollow. He pulls out a spray can and tests its nozzle on the gravel. ‘We’ve only got black and red, but that will do, right?’

‘Perfect.’ Nia claps her hands.

‘Can’t believe you’re still caught up in your life of petty crime,’ I say.

‘Hey,’ Paul protests, ‘Graffiti is self-expression of the highest form. Let’s go before anyone figures out my secret hiding place. I want to keep using this tree.’

His hair is still damp and his clothes borrowed, but he looks like the old Paul returned. Not just pre-dream Paul,
but pre-Ingrid Paul. We cross the vacant lot and return to Grey Street.

The Shyness side of the road is a dark ribbon, but the other side glows with the soft burn of late afternoon. I watch a Panwood mum herd her three children into a four-wheel drive, looking fearfully at us like we’re going to mug them. I wave at her. She slams the car door and rushes to the driver’s side.

Nia skips ahead of us, skips backwards, talking and waving her hands about, conducting the air. She wears every part of her school uniform at once, plus Amelia’s winter coat.

‘I think I remember where it is. It’s this way. Who’s going to do it? Should we all do a bit?’

She leaps up and tries to slap a broken shop sign that hangs over the footpath. It pleases her so much, she takes a running stab at the next sign. The Shyness footpaths are riddled with cracks and holes. I hope she doesn’t trip and break her leg. At least she gets the left turn onto Saturnalia Avenue right.

I ask Paul. ‘Are you feeling as good as she is after that drink?’

Paul swings the bag as he walks. ‘I don’t think anyone in the world is feeling as good as she is right now.’

‘You got that right.’

I’m hoping that at least a small part of her hyper mood
might have something to do with me. With us.

‘I still feel bad about what I did,’ Paul says.

‘You have to stop torturing yourself,’ I say, turning when I realise we’ve already passed the old milk bar. ‘We all have to stop torturing ourselves. Nia. Nia, you’ve gone too far. It’s here.’

Doctor Gregory’s ‘Dream a Little Dream’ billboard is still unblemished. I feel less than ever now when I see his big orange head, but this time I notice the tiny datura flowers and a toll-free phone number in the bottom corner of the poster.

‘Hey, new poster,’ says Nia, looking up. ‘Still Doctor Knobhead, but different.’

‘Right, you’re up,’ says Paul, dropping the bag on the ground and handing me a red spray can.

‘Me?’ I try to hand the can back. ‘Why me?’

Nia joins us. ‘Because vengeance is yours. Well, vengeance should be yours. If anyone should give Doctor Gregory a big old symbolic bitch-slap, it’s you.’

‘Also,’ says Paul, ‘I don’t think either Nia or I are going to be able to reach.’

I look down at the can. ‘This is stupid.’

Nia grabs the can out of my hand and shakes it, before handing it back. ‘Sometimes stupid is all we’ve got.’

I climb the ladder all the way to the bottom edge of the poster, and then inch along the narrow metal gangway. I
begin drawing. The paint sprays in fits and starts at first, but after a few shakes it comes good.

I concentrate on getting the lines right but it’s difficult to tell from this close up.

‘What is that?’ yells Nia. ‘What are you drawing?’

‘Try and shade it a bit on the right,’ Paul says. He understands my vision.

‘Oh. Oh.’ Nia laughs when she gets it.

When I’ve finished I climb down. I put my arm across Nia’s shoulders as the three of us look at my artwork.

‘Beautiful,’ pronounces Paul. ‘And anatomically correct.’

‘That felt surprisingly good,’ I say. ‘If my parents could see this, they’d be so proud.’

‘Do you think?’ says Paul, missing my point.

I give him an incredulous look. ‘Dude, you know my dad almost as well as I do. He doesn’t do proud. At least not where I’m concerned.’

Paul tilts his head. ‘Oh. Yeah, I was just thinking. The whole time I was at the institute, I never saw anyone who looked like you, Jethro. But there was this one time, I saw a young guy, younger than us, who looked really similar to you. He had the hair and the
grrrr.
Doctor Gregory was ushering him into the back offices. When I asked the other patients who he was, one said the kid was Doctor Gregory’s son.’

‘Oh,’ I say. I gaze at the billboard. ‘So, you’re saying this kid had the…what I’ve got, the night sickness?’

Paul nods.

‘You’re not sick, Wolfie,’ says Nia.

‘Uh, I think I might be a bit sick.’ I look at the billboard and Doctor Gregory’s oversized head in a new light. ‘This guy is trying to do something for his son, and what do I do? I draw a giant body part pointing at his mouth.’

‘I should have realised,’ says Paul. ‘After all those questions about you, I should have put the two things together. But I was dreaming so often, and I only saw the kid once. It makes you think, though, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t feel sorry for Doctor Gregory,’ says Nia. ‘I don’t care who his son is. I want to do a billboard too. Is there another one that’s easier to get to? I could stand on your shoulders, Wolfie.’

I look at Paul. He shrugs. The new colour that was flushing his cheeks has faded a bit.

‘There’s the one near Dreamer’s Row.’ I say. I find I don’t feel that sorry for Doctor Gregory after all. ‘It’s not far.’

As we continue along deserted Grey Street I feel unfamiliarly content. What Paul has told us is a weapon I can use should Doctor Gregory hassle me again. But after hearing it I don’t feel like fighting him anymore. I don’t need revenge on Doctor Gregory. If daylight is really coming to Shyness, his days are already numbered.

‘Paul, how much of the dream do you remember? Our dream, that is,’ asks Nia.

‘A bit. Not all of it,’ he says, sounding nervous. ‘I remember I would have stayed there trying to talk to Ingrid for the rest of my life. And you saved me again in the river.’

‘Does this make any sense to you?’ Nia asks me.

‘Not really. Sounds interesting, though.’ If I had the guts for it I wouldn’t mind a peek into Nia’s dreams. I’d hate her to see inside my head, though.

‘It wasn’t interesting, it was pathetic and probably perverted,’ Paul says. ‘And I feel like there was an important lesson I missed. Something I’m supposed to remember.’

‘Don’t put girls in lycra,’ says Nia. ‘That’s a lesson for you, right there.’

‘Oh god,’ says Paul. ‘I don’t want to know what you mean by that.’

Nia gives him a quick one-armed hug. ‘I didn’t save you,’ she says. ‘You saved yourself. You were brave.’

We turn onto a side street, near where I saw the blue people for the first time. The billboard I’m thinking of is right near Ennio’s cafe. I don’t think Nia will be able to reach it anyway, putting an end to our run of vandalism for the afternoon.

Paul speaks again. ‘The strangest thing was seeing Diana’s face in the crowd. I haven’t see little Di in months,
and then she pops up in my subconscious.’

‘Jethro’s niece?’ Nia’s interest sparks. ‘What does she look like?’

‘Tiny, brown hair shaped like a bike helmet. Dresses kooky, little girl kooky. Pink and red and stripes and stuff.’

‘Does she have gumboots with rainbows on them?’

‘Yeah, they’re her favourite.’ I answer for Paul. Sometimes Diana won’t even take those boots off to go to bed.

‘I saw her. She was in the sky as well. I saw her in the sky.’ Nia looks up at me, her hair tumbling in unbrushed waves. ‘But I don’t think that was from Paul’s mind, I think it came from mine. I put Diana in the dream.’

‘But you’ve never met her,’ I say. ‘How could you dream about her?’

‘No, but I saw her earlier today in the fake forest, except I didn’t know it was her. I just thought she was some cute little kid.’

I halt. ‘When?’

‘While you were sleeping. I couldn’t get back to sleep so I went for a walk in the forest.’

‘Are you sure? Maybe it was someone else.’

‘No. I saw her this morning, and then again, twice, in the dream. And Paul recognised her.’

Paul chimes in. ‘It was Diana, Jethro. I’d recognise her anywhere.’

‘See, Wolfie, it makes sense.’ Nia hits me lightly in the arm.

I remember trying to call Ortolan and Diana when I woke up. It’s possible they were playing in the fake forest, although I’ve never heard Ortie mention going there. But then there were all those text messages yesterday that Ortie didn’t reply to. She’s normally pretty good at replying.

‘Was she with Ortolan?’

‘No, she was with some guy.’

My blood runs ice, even while my voice stays calm. ‘Which guy?’

‘A man in a suit. I assumed it was her dad.’

Nia’s face drops as she realises Diana doesn’t have a dad who’s alive.

‘What did he look like?’

‘Just a regular old guy. Kind of graying hair I guess.’ Her eyes are already looking scared. She blinks. ‘He had this, it was a birthmark, I suppose. A red thing over his eye.’

I’m stuck to the footpath with horror, almost as surely as if my feet had been concreted in. ‘Fuck. The darkitect. We have to find her.’

Wolfboy punches buttons on

his phone, and Paul and I try to cope with the typhoon force of his panic. The effects of Amelia’s recovery drink have worn off, and I’m starting to feel flat and queasy. It must be the same for Paul, because he sits at the edge of the road with his head in his hands. Either that or he’s sick with worry.

‘No answer, no answer, no answer,’ repeats Wolfboy, stepping up and down on the gutter. I try to see his face, because I can’t talk sense to him if I can’t look him in the eye.

‘We don’t know anything about this guy. Diana didn’t seem scared. She was laughing.’

‘Shh, I’m trying to think.’ Wolfboy clutches at his
hair. ‘Doctor Gregory mentioned her. He threatened her. I thought he was bluffing. What if he sent someone for her? We need to start looking.’

‘Should we check Birds In Winter first? Or the fake forest? How about we start there?’

‘Is there any point? That was almost eight hours ago. If you’d told me at the time maybe we could have done something about it.’

Wolfboy’s voice is full of jagged edges. I tell myself it’s because he’s upset and that I shouldn’t take it personally. ‘I didn’t know at the time who she was. If I did, then of course I would have told you. Let’s go to their house then.’

‘If anyone was there, they’d pick up the phone.’

I try to keep my voice reasonable. ‘Maybe they have loud music on. Or they could be taking a nap.’

Wolfboy finally stops moving. He rests his forehead heavily on my shoulder, which I take as an apology.

‘You’re right. I don’t think I can face going straight to the house. We’ll check the forest, then I might be ready to do the shop.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ says Paul.

We both turn to look at him. My eyebrows raise a notch. The phrase ‘death warmed up’ doesn’t even do justice to Paul’s appearance at the moment. I’m feeling crappy, but there’s no way I look that bad. His hands are fluttering like butterflies.

‘You’ll slow us down too much,’ Wolfboy snaps.

I make an apologetic face, on Wolfboy’s behalf. ‘Paul, you don’t look so good. Why don’t you call Blake, and she can come get you?’

I can tell he doesn’t like it, but he nods and gets his phone out.

‘Right then,’ I grab Wolfboy by the hand and drag him towards the main road. He’s gone from paralysis to mania to paralysis in three minutes. ‘Let’s go.’

Back in the forest again, with Amelia’s fur-trimmed hood hugging my face, I feel like I’m in a fairytale, but it’s not a good feeling. The wolves are bitey, the witch can’t be vanquished and someone might cut off my toes to fit them in a slipper. I can’t find the clearing. The torchlight, if anything, makes the flat trees look even weirder and more confusing.

‘I’m sure we’re close.’

I take us in another circle. Wolfboy’s hand burns in mine. You wouldn’t think it would be so difficult to find an exercise bike among a bunch of fake trees. I slow down. Deep breaths. Think. I don’t want to fail Wolfboy on this. His panic is contagious.

‘Sorry for snapping earlier,’ he says.

‘It’s fine.’ I’m more worried that I won’t be able to find the place where I saw Diana.

I spy a gap in the trees ahead, where they are less dense. There’s no such thing as the sound of a footstep in this forest.

The gap becomes the clearing, and there’s the white bicycle frame. I speed up to confirm it. The clearing is as empty as the rest of the forest; the bike pedals stationary.

I move closer to inspect a darker speck on the pale wood shavings. It’s a stretchy red headband with white polka dots. I pick it up. Wolfboy watches me. Reluctantly I hold up the headband so he can see it.

We run up the middle of the road, my school shoes making slapping sounds on the bitumen. We’re in too much of a rush to hold hands, but there’s still an invisible thread linking us. The reflective stripes painted down the middle of the road flash by under our feet.

‘Little kids lose things all the time,’ I say. I’m too busy trying to keep up with Wolfboy to take in the sights, but I’m dimly aware of the darkness to my left, and the lowering daylight to my right.

‘You’re trying to make me feel better.’ Wolfboy’s not even out of breath.

‘No, I’m not. I’m looking at the facts.’

‘I know who Diana was playing with, I told you I’ve seen that guy before. She doesn’t know him. He’s probably been stalking the two of them for months.’

Proper dread settles in my stomach. I’ve been trying to stay positive, but now I’m unsure. I cast my thoughts back to the man in the forest, his strangely stilted, suited manner. He didn’t seem like a murderer, but what would I know?

‘Are we close?’

Now that we’re heading into Panwood it’s clear that the day is ending all over the city. The sky is aflame, to match the burning in my legs and lungs. Wolfboy doesn’t answer, but we’re only halfway along the street when he stops. I see a narrow white shop and a curved porch, heavy with vines. Curling cables spell out
BIRDS IN WINTER
in the window, but the attached fairy lights are dead. The shop looks closed. The blinds on the first floor are drawn.

Now that we’re here, Wolfboy doesn’t want to go in. He stands, arms by his side. I have to reach up on tiptoes to hook my arms over his shoulders. He crushes me to him and I crush him back.

‘I’m glad you’re here with me,’ he says into my hair.

‘Let’s check it out.’

I press my lips fleetingly against his, then lead him to the door. Wolfboy rummages in his pockets, before turning to me, hollow-eyed.

‘I left my keys at home.’

I bang as loud as I can on the red door with my fist. No answer. Wolfboy puts his ear to it and shakes his head.
He steps into the middle of the road to look up at the first floor. I hit the door again, and try to see through the gauzy material draped in the shop window.

‘Nia.’

Wolfboy points to the side of the shop. There’s a narrow picket gate to the left, squished in between the shop and the next terrace. The gate is ajar.

‘I’ve never noticed that before, in all the times I’ve been here,’ he says.

The gate grates and complains, but pushes open to reveal a narrow passageway clotted with knee-high weeds. The passage runs the length of the building, which is surprisingly deep. My entire body thumps with adrenaline, and I’m still breathing hard. It seems to me that the weeds have been trampled on recently, but I don’t say this to Wolfboy. It’s cold in the shadow of the brick wall and the vegetation pulls at my legs. I’m glad when I reach the end.

A large deck extends from the end of the house, overlooking the rambling backyard, and on it stands Diana. Relief floods my system.

‘Diana,’ I say, before considering whether I’m going to freak her out. She catches sight of me through the deck railing. She doesn’t smile, but she doesn’t scream either. She’s wearing a yellow rain cape that billows.

‘Who’s there, Diana?’

A man speaks, just as I round the corner and I see that
it’s the man from the forest. He walks towards me, with a puzzled expression. I judge the distance between me and Diana, right before I see Ortolan, leaning against the back of the house.

‘Nia?’ she says, and then she sees Wolfboy behind me. ‘Jethro. Why didn’t you use your keys?’

‘I don’t have them on me.’ Wolfboy walks up the stairs onto the deck, bristling. ‘I’ve been calling you for hours. Why haven’t you answered? I thought something had happened.’

Diana bobs towards him, tucking her hands under her armpits to make chicken wings. Wolfboy gathers her up in his arms and receives lip-smacking kisses all over his face.

‘We’ve had a busy day.’ Ortolan is taken aback. Diana squirms and Wolfboy puts her down. ‘I’m sorry, I should have checked my phone. It’s good you’re here, though. You should meet Mr Beechley.’

The man steps forward and I see his face clearly for the first time. He has a kind face close up, weathered, but soft where it counts. His suit is impeccable, his grey hair styled neatly.

‘I’ve met Mr Beechley before, although he didn’t tell me his name at the time.’ Wolfboy refuses to shake Mr Beechley’s outstretched hand.

Ortolan leans around the two men. ‘Nia, it’s good to see you back in our part of town.’

I creep up the stairs, super-sheepish, and conscious all of a sudden that my tights are speckled with burrs and my hair is tangled beyond hope.

‘Hi.’ I nod at Mr Beechley. I put my hand in the small of Wolfboy’s back, because I can tell he’s losing steam fast and probably isn’t going to talk again soon. ‘Sorry to barge in like this, it’s just that we, uh, we thought there was a problem—’

My words dribble away. There’s no polite way to say that we thought Mr Beechley kidnapped Diana, and no sane way to say that Diana appeared to me in a dream after I saw her in the forest.

‘The forest,’ I say to Diana, and to Mr Beechley, glad to have found something concrete to say. ‘I saw you there this morning.’

Mr Beechley looks puzzled. Diana has a smirk on her face, though, and I’m willing to bet she did actually spot me after all.

‘That’s correct,’ says Mr Beechley. His voice is radiopresenter pleasant. ‘I’ve been assessing Diana all day.’

‘Mr Beechley runs a school.’ Ortolan comes forward. ‘I’m considering sending Diana there next year. We’ve been spending some time with him, learning about his teaching methods and seeing if Diana is ready yet.’

‘It’s a selective school, for exceptional students.’ Now that I know who he is, I realise Mr Beechley looks very
much like my old school principal. ‘I’ve been doing some tests with Diana to assess her abilities. She’s a very special person.’

Diana stands with her stout legs akimbo. ‘Basickerly,’ she says, ‘Mr Beechley wants to see me fly.’

‘We did counting and shapes too, as well as drawing and cutting out,’ he reminds her.

Diana tugs on Wolfboy’s hand. ‘I’m not making it up,’ she says. ‘I can fly.’

‘I believe you, Flopsy. No one’s saying you can’t.’

‘Actually, we were about to test this young lady’s theory,’ says Mr Beechley. ‘But I think the deck is too high for our purposes.’

Ortolan rouses herself from smiling at the sight of Diana’s hand in Wolfboy’s. ‘How about the picnic table?’

Mr Beechley walks around the table and chairs nestled in the corner of the deck. He moves two chairs out of the way. Ortolan tests the table with her hands, making sure it doesn’t wobble. They’re determined to play along.

I turn to Wolfboy. ‘Are they for real?’

He shrugs.

‘Put me on the table, Jet-ro,’ says Diana, so Wolfboy walks her over.

Diana stands on the edge of the slatted table with her arms spread wide and her canary-coloured cape hanging down almost like wings. Behind her is the square shadowy
bulk of the house, above that the sky is a mass of streaky tangerine and cherry. The sun is falling fast. Ortolan and Wolfboy stand on either side, ready to catch her. The three of them look like a family. Diana is a miniature version of Ortolan. It’s so strange to see them standing side by side. I suddenly miss my mum so much I can’t breathe properly. There was never anyone else to help her; it was always and only me and her.

Diana points at me. ‘Are you watching me, pretty lady?’

‘I’m watching you,’ I tell her. I get a Polaroid flash from the dream—Diana bulleting across the sky.

‘Pink skies are the best for flying.’ Diana bends her knees and the hem of her cape skims her rainbow boots. She jumps, and almost before her feet leave the table Ortolan is there, to sweep her up and whirl her around.