The Shattering (27 page)

Tiberius and Octavian Maukis stepped out of the gallery and headed straight for the beach without looking behind them.

Heading for Takeshi.

Sione stopped walking and glanced up at the gallery. The unguarded gallery, with its empty upstairs room, where Janna had last seen The Pride of Summerton.

Aroha's hand tugged in his. ‘What —'

‘I forgot something,' he said. It was the first excuse that came to mind. ‘I'll meet you there, okay?'

‘What did you forget?' she asked, looking disappointed and suspicious.

‘It's a surprise,' Sione said. ‘Go find Takeshi, okay? It's for you and him. Don't let him go
anywhere
.' He kissed her before he could lose his courage. It would be so easy, to just go out with his girlfriend and be happy.

Matthew.

‘I'll catch up with you,' he promised.

‘Okay,' she said, face still full of questions. ‘I'll see you soon.' She started walking, and he waited until the gleaming red hair had turned at the next corner. after. He would tell her
after.

He pulled out his phone and hesitated, thumb poised over the two girls' names. He should really tell them what he was doing, warn them that the Maukises were on their way.

But he couldn't make himself do it. The hate was just too strong to let him talk to them.

Okay
, he thought.
I'll do it alone
.

It was easy to break in, especially since the little alley between the library and the gallery protected him from view. Sione wrapped his white jacket around his fist, squared up against the door, and punched right through the ornate glass door pane.

No one came to investigate the noise. Grinning despite himself, he reached in to turn the dead bolt. The door swung open into the dark building, and Sione slipped in, crunching carefully over the broken glass in his soft -soled sneakers. There was no sound of alarm from upstairs; good, Daisy and the other two weren't around.

He couldn't turn on the lights without risking discovery, but that wasn't a problem. He'd bought the torch in his bag for just this kind of possibility. Not that he was ocd or neurotically over-prepared, like Keri. Just ready for an attempt to save someone's life at night.

The gallery looked weird by torchlight, all those massive landscapes ghostly without their bright colours. It was definitely the perfect place for a ritual. He headed straight up the stairs, freezing every time one creaked under him.

When he reached the room at the top and swept his beam of light across it, he nearly wet himself. But it wasn't someone standing there — just the stone plinth. It was only a trick of shadows that made it look so creepy, that made it seem for a moment like a man crouched and ready to attack.

The top of the plinth was bare.

Disappointment surged over him. He'd been so
sure
that they'd returned the crown in preparation for tonight and then gone to find Takeshi. If they had, he could have ended the whole sick nightmare right then, without relying on
those girls
. He could have been a hero, all by himself.

Scowling, Sione looked around the room one more time and spotted the office door at the end.

It didn't have a handy glass pane, but it also wasn't locked.

On first glance, there was nothing wrong with the contents. It could have been anyone's office — two messy desks, a computer on a separate table, a bulletin board covered in bits of paper, and a few art supplies piled in the corner.

But nested among those supplies, between a damaged canvas and a tumbled box of paintbrushes and palette knives, were the three statues.

They were knee height and painted, made with more care than the little clay figures had been, but they were definitely of the same people — the short, sturdy girl; the young man with the wild hair; the slender girl with the pretty face. They were arranged in a triangle, back to back, and their faces were obscured by red cloth blindfolds.

Nausea roiled in Sione's stomach as the hate flooded through him. If either of the girls had stepped into the room right then, he'd have tried to kill them. Swallowing as hard as he could did nothing; acid burned in his throat.

He gagged on the taste and swallowed again, stepping forward through air that was suddenly moist and rotten against his shivering skin. The spells on
them
could remain; he didn't care. But the figure of him had to go. Heedless of the noise, he picked up the statue and swung it at the floor.

The head shattered, and it felt like he could breathe for the first time in days, as if the room had suddenly flooded with oxygen. The base, still in his hands, slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers. It was
gone
, all the hatred that had eaten at him for days.

Was it the blindfolds? Red for rage? It didn't matter. The disgusting feelings were
gone.
He laughed, in pure joy, and grabbed the statue of Janna, yanking off the blindfold before he broke it against the wall.

‘Sione!' Aroha yelped behind him. ‘What are you
doing
?'

He jumped to face her, dumbstruck for only a second. She'd followed him, obviously not fooled by his earlier hasty lies. Man, his girlfriend was smart.

‘I'm —' he said, and gave up. ‘I can't explain right now.' He grabbed at the Keri statue, but Aroha's arms were around his waist, tugging him away.

‘Stop,' she said. ‘Oh my God, Sione, stop!'

‘I have to!' he said, but she wouldn't let go, and he couldn't just shove her away. ‘Look at it, Aroha! It's Keri!'

Her grip slackened as she looked, and he lunged forward out of her arms, catching the statue with the side of his fist. It toppled but didn't break. He lifted his foot to smash it when someone much heavier than Aroha launched into his side and knocked him face-first into the edge of the desk. Pain exploded from his cheekbone to his jaw.

A chunk of time went missing — maybe only a few seconds, because when he came to, he was still slumped against the desk.

And Kirk Davidson was advancing toward Aroha.

Aroha screamed twice, short, sharp cries as if she were cutting the air with her voice. Then she seemed to give up and put her back to the wall, fists clenching as she prepared to fight.

Sione pushed himself to his feet. The right side of his face felt like something with sharp little teeth was gnawing at it, and he could taste blood down the back of his throat. But Mr Davidson was looking away from him, and the toppled statue was in reach. He grabbed for it, knowing that if he missed, they were both dead.

‘Run!' he shouted. ‘Tell Janna!' He smashed the statue onto the back of Davidson's head and fell to his knee with the force of the blow. Everything was fuzzing around the edges now, and he was dimly terrified. But the Keri statue shattered, the man stumbled, and Aroha didn't hesitate. She twisted past Davidson's grasping hands and raced out the office door. Sione heard her clatter down the gallery stairs as Davidson turned, fury distorting his bland features.

‘You little shit,' Davidson hissed.

Get up
, Sione told himself, but he couldn't move, and the blood in his mouth was thick and raw. He watched as Davidson drew back a fine leather shoe, and he tried to at least get his arms up to cover his head.

It didn't work. The foot slammed into his broken face.

A burst of white noise sang through Sione's skull, and he fell, deep into the darkness that reached up hungry arms for him.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

KERI

Ready for magic, I walked down to the beach to find it transformed.

There was nothing witchy about it. People did this every year with technology and labour. The stage alone was a miracle of engineering — yesterday that patch of beach had been nothing but sand, and now it featured a huge black platform, full lighting and sound rig, and a bunch of people on cranes with tv cameras.

Even knowing what all this celebration secretly supported couldn't stop me from being impressed at the speed and scope of the work as I walked into the crowd.

The Beach Bash was the one time when locals and tourists of all ages mingled without any tension, so there were plenty of familiar faces around. No one said hi or even waved at me. It was as if my brother's blood made me invisible, protected me from their eyes. I felt like a ghost, drift ing unseen through the crowds as I moved steadily toward the stage.

When I got close enough, I paused to survey the security precautions. It looked exactly as I'd remembered it from last year: Wire fences now enclosed the shore from sand dunes to the high-tide mark, blocking off all but two of the paths down to the sea, and lower fences were in front of the stage and the tent set aside for the performers. There were black-shirted security people standing behind the stage barriers in that standard wrist-gripping, humourless way.

I felt my mouth curve in satisfaction. Perfect for plan B.

The next act was announced, and a mob of kids swarmed the stage. Any other year, I would have been excited too, but my focus had narrowed to a single point. I skirted the mosh pit and got myself to the corner closest to the ocean, where the stage fence met the wire enclosures. There was an arc light above me, but it was angled down toward the stage, leaving that corner entirely in shadow. Except for a couple of people who seemed too stoned to pay any attention to what I was doing, much less care, there was no one else there. Dad's wire clippers were sharp. Even one-handed it was simple to snip a hole and slip through.

‘Cool,' said one of the stoners behind me, and that was all the notice anyone took of my illegal exit.

Once I was in the backstage area, it was easy to stay there. I was wearing a black T-shirt and worn jeans, like a lot of other people, and I walked as if I knew where I was going, frowning at the clipboard in my good hand. It's amazing what you can get away with if you're carrying a clipboard. The homemade id card on the lanyard around my neck helped, too — I positioned it so the blank back showed, and no one seemed interested in taking a closer look. In fact, no one seemed interested in me at all. I faced straight ahead and kept moving toward the performers' tent.

I knew Janna would be in there, and the thought wriggled in my head like maggots. When I saw the pink hair in tight ringlets around her made-up face, I thought I was going to spew all over myself. Even the comforting blanket of grey nothingness wrapped around my heart couldn't stop my revulsion.

No. There was no way I could leave him with her. We'd have to go, now.

‘Hey!' Kyle Hamilton called out. ‘It's Keri! I didn't know you were working this thing.'

I hurried over, caught between my twin urges to protect Takeshi and stay away from Janna, who was foul and unclean. I trained my eyes on him only, concentrating on all the details of his appearance — dark blue jeans, white T-shirt, black jacket — hoping to block her out. It was no good. Just being near her felt like being dipped in a vat of cold grease.

‘Janna, you okay?' someone said behind me. Patrick Tan, probably, and the concern in his voice nearly made me ill. She fooled them all, all her boys, who had no idea how twisted and shallow she was. We were supposed to be working together, but I'd been dumb to trust her.

In fact, she was probably working with the enemy.

The little voice was huge now and finally making a lot of sense. I couldn't believe it had taken me so long to see it. She was a witch, after all, and she'd known both Matthew and Jake. It was so clear: She'd been Daisy's ally this whole time. She'd lured Matthew to his death, and now she planned to do the same thing to Takeshi, laughing at me all the way.

‘Who let the dyke in?' she said, and I spun to face her.

‘Who let the slut speak?' I said, and the boys around us did a quick double intake of breath that might have been funny if she hadn't been right there, sneering at me. I was in no mood to laugh.

‘You don't say that,' Takeshi told me, his eyes narrowing.

‘You don't understand,' I said. ‘She's
evil
. She wants to
hurt
you.'

‘Me?' Janna shouted. ‘It's you who —' She stopped. The ugly lines on her face smoothed out into absolute shock. ‘Oh my God,' she whispered. ‘Keri, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

‘You
are
sorry,' I said, and put my back to her, skin itching in anticipation of the attack I was sure she was planning. Just let her try! I'd tear every stupid pink hair out. ‘Takeshi, please come with me. You're not safe here.'

‘What the hell is going on?' Patrick demanded, but Janna ignored him, crooning more apologies in my ear as I tried to persuade an annoyed Takeshi to come with me, to trust me, not
her
.

‘Is she really a lesbian?' Hemi Koroheke whispered, very loudly.

‘No,' Janna said. ‘It's just a thing we say. God, Hemi, don't you know any girls?'