Twiceborn Page 4

  I started to tremble. To think, six months ago I might have welcomed this—the chance to give in to forces beyond my control, and let it all end. No more struggling to get through the empty days. Now, with death breathing down my neck, I realised that somehow, without my noticing, things had changed. I wanted to live.

  My therapist would be thrilled, if I had one. The closest I had was Ben … Ben, who was on his way here right now.

  Okay, now I had a plan. I just had to keep this guy talking till the cavalry arrived.

  “Why do you care whether it’s Alicia or Valeria?” I didn’t have the faintest clue what any of it meant, but I had to say something. My voice shook.

  “Well, sweet pea, I need to know who to go after next. After I’ve killed you.”

  Oh, God. Sweat ran down my back. The pepper grinder in my hand was slippery with it. I tightened my grip. Looked like I needed a Plan B. I might not last till Ben arrived.

  “What if …” Thinking on my feet wasn’t normally my strong suit, but it’s marvellous how having a knife at your throat sharpens your concentration. “What if I told you it was neither of them?” And please God let that be the right thing to say.

  “I’d say you were lying.”

  Through the kitchen window I could see the lights of Tanya’s house, a beacon of normality in a world gone crazy. Maybe I should cut the mind games and just scream my lungs out and hope somebody came running. It could work. On the other hand, crazy knife-wielding guy might decide to slit my throat before he bolted.

  “Can you afford to take that chance? Surely you can think of someone else who might have hired me?” Hell on a stick, maybe someone had hired me to do whatever Crazy Guy thought I’d done. After all, I couldn’t remember what I’d been up to this afternoon.

  I felt his tautness relax, his body ease away from mine a little, as if I’d distracted him.

  “Elizabeth?” he said, as if to himself. “No. Impossible.”

  I seized on this, improvising like mad.

  “I can prove it.” Suddenly the plan was back. God, this had better work. “I have the documents in that drawer over there.” I gestured to the side with my chin.

  His head started to turn and I brought the pepper grinder up lightning fast and slammed it as hard as I could into the hand holding the knife. He yelped, and I tore out of his grasp and scrambled for the open door.

  He barrelled into me. I skidded across the floor, spraying broken china everywhere. He growled again and got between me and the door. He was so fast. My heart hammered in my throat, and time seemed to slow down.

  He lunged for me but lost his footing on the uneven surface. His hand caught at my leg, but I managed to kick him off and half-hurdled, half-fell across the kitchen bench.

  I turned to face him, breathing hard, the bench a flimsy barrier between us. Never had I wished so hard for a bigger kitchen. His muscular shape was silhouetted against the open door, haloed in light. He looked like someone who worked out a lot. His neck was almost as wide as his head, and I could see the bulge of his biceps from here. My measly sixty kilos plus pepper grinder didn’t stand much chance against that.

  “I’m going to enjoy killing you,” he said, in the way a normal person says they enjoy ice cream. “I’m going to rip out your heart and eat it.”

  Now that was just going too far. So much adrenalin raced through my veins that I’d gone beyond fear to a strangely calm place. I drew in a shuddering breath and squared my shoulders. I refused to be eaten by some gym junkie in the grip of roid rage.

  I reached behind me to the knife block and pulled out the biggest knife, a wicked number with a blade near as long as my forearm.

  “Come any closer and it might be your heart getting cut out, sunshine.” How dare he break into my house, wreck my kitchen—and probably my Grandma’s best willow-pattern plate—and then threaten to eat my heart? “If you don’t get out of here right now I’m going to scream the place down and all my neighbours will come running.”

  “Then they’ll only have themselves to blame for what happens to them,” he said, all low and menacing, like a villain in a B-grade movie.

  He didn’t move, and for a moment I thought we had a stand-off, until there was a distinct and nauseating crunch, like a dozen people all cracking their knuckles at once. I stared at him, standing there in the doorway outlined against the light, and it hit me that some of the light came from him—oh Lord, please no more glowing people—just as the shape of his silhouette changed. He seemed to melt and fold forward.

  He groaned as if in pain and stepped into the square of light from the window, hunched and horribly misshapen. Something popped, and I screamed as hair sprouted on his rapidly deforming face, faster than the time-lapse photography in a David Attenborough film. I swear I heard the hissing as it grew.

  I kept on screaming as he took another step, on all fours now, his mad eyes never leaving my face. And then, oh God, the man was gone and a wolf stood in my kitchen, growling fit to shake the rest of the plates down out of the dresser.

  Its lips skinned back from its teeth and my heart hammered so hard it could probably hear the panicked rhythm from where it stood. My monkey brain screeched at me to run, almost gibbering with fear, but there was nowhere to go but back down the hallway, and he would be on me before I’d taken two steps. I had no hope of outrunning the death that stared me in the face. I shrank back against the stove, knife held out in one wavering hand.

  With a snarl the creature leapt. It cleared the bench as if it wasn’t even there. I slashed wildly with the knife but went down under a ton of fur and muscle, rolling frantically as its jaws snapped in my face. Claws ripped at my bare shoulders, but I scrambled away. I scooted back till I felt the kitchen cupboards behind me. Nowhere else to go. I was caught in the little U-shape formed by the cupboards, the sink and the bench.

  Its yellow eyes gleamed in the moonlight from the window over the sink, almost as if it were laughing at me. I had the impression it was toying with me, that it had let me escape to enjoy my terror for longer.

  It took a step forward, ignoring the knife. I stared into the nightmare’s eyes, long-ago taekwondo lessons returning. Watch the eyes, not the hands or feet. I groped beside me as its weight shifted.

  It sprang and I whipped a cupboard door open in its face. Its weight jammed me painfully half into the cupboard, the door between my throat and its snapping jaws. Its claws raked me again and I screamed.

  A bang like a car backfiring shook the room. The monster collapsed on top of me, a dead weight.

  Ben stood in the doorway to the hall.

  “Are you hurt?”

  He lowered his arm, then crunched across broken china and laid something on the bench. I caught a whiff of gunpowder as he dropped to his knees. It took my overtaxed mind a moment to put things together.

  “You shot it?” I hadn’t even known he owned a gun.

  He heaved the creature off me—not an easy job, given the size of the thing—and caught me in his arms. “You’re bleeding!”

  “A few scratches.” My right shoulder throbbed with the promise of agony. The scratches there were long and deep. Blood ran freely down my arm. Looking at it made me queasy, and I started to shake again.

  But looking at the creature was worse. My mind couldn’t accept that such a thing could be, though I could feel its fur against my bare leg. The fact that it was so dark I couldn’t see it properly made it seem all the more menacing. I blurted the first thing that popped into my head. “My kitchen wasn’t built for this kind of thing. Too small.”

  The battered cupboard door hung crazily from one hinge.

  “I don’t think many kitchens are designed to repel werewolves.” He pulled me to my feet—a lot more gently than the last guy. Even so, my shoulder screamed in protest.

  I looked down at the impossible creature. “Is it dead?”

  “Unfortunately not. I didn’t have the gun loaded with silver. The body will heal itself soon.”

&
nbsp; It took a minute before the implications of that statement hit me. “Bloody hell. You knew?”

  That werewolves existed. That I really was in danger.

  Ben wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  As he spoke I realised I could hear Tanya’s voice next door shouting for Roy. The whole thing felt as if it had taken forever, but in fact only moments had passed since I’d started screaming.

  “But what about—?” I gestured at the monstrosity on the floor. A paw twitched, and I was sure its fur had been longer a second ago. Was it turning human again? “We can’t just run away! What if it attacks them?”

  The creature spasmed, its wolf face starting to slide.

  Ben grabbed my hand and pulled me to the open back door. I tripped on a pile of rags that must have been the remnants of its clothing, then ducked aside to snatch up my fallen handbag.

  “It’s not interested in anyone but you. And if we don’t get out of here right now it’ll be after you again.”

  That was a damned persuasive argument. I followed him to his car and we roared up the street as if all the hounds of hell were after us.

  For all I knew, they were.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I sagged back against the soft leather car seat and burst into tears. I’m not usually a waterworks kind of girl, but if you can’t cry when a guy promises to eat your heart out, then turns into a wolf and attempts it, I don’t know when you can. On top of losing my memory and the other weird crap that had gone down, it was enough to send anyone into shock.

  Ben drove like a madman. We were around the corner before I even had my seatbelt on.

  He reached back and dug under my seat, producing a huge first aid kit.

  “Bandages in there,” he said. “Get that bleeding under control. I’ll have a look as soon as I get some distance between us.”

  With shaky fingers I folded a bandage and pressed it against my shoulder, which was bleeding the worst. Ben took us north along Pennant Hills Road. We passed the car dealerships and the driving range, now dark. Trucks thundered past in a swirl of fumes. The normal grime of a busy main road was outside my window, the houses and shops along this stretch a familiar sight, but suddenly I didn’t recognise the world I lived in. The clock on the dash read 8:39—a lot had happened in the last few hours.

  Traffic was reasonably light—as light as it ever gets on Pennant Hills Road, anyway—but every time we stopped at a red light I found myself looking around, checking over my shoulder, as if I expected to see a wolf come charging out of the dark.

  “It’s all right.” Ben read my mind. “We’re not being followed.”

  How did he know? And how come he knew so much about this stuff, anyway?

  “Okaaay. Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on? That was a—a werewolf, wasn’t it?” I held the wadded-up bandage against my burning shoulder. I’d been attacked by a werewolf. “I feel stupid even saying it. Werewolves are real? What is this—the Twilight Zone?”

  “I know it’s a shock.”

  The calm in his deep voice irritated me. “Shock? No, this is not a shock. A shock is what you get when you hear your favourite TV show is being axed. A shock is looking at your watch and realising you’re ten minutes late for an important meeting. Being attacked by a werewolf in your own kitchen is not a shock. I don’t think they’ve even invented a word to describe that particular feeling.”

  He glanced across at me but said nothing. The glow from the dashboard lent a greenish tinge to his skin, making him look a little supernatural himself.

  “So now I have to believe in werewolves? What else? Are vampires real too? Witches? Geez—the abominable snowman?”

  He snorted, which only inflamed me further.

  “And what about this?” I popped the glove box and let it dangle open, revealing the gun he’d thrown inside. It had a silencer fitted to its gleaming barrel. A silencer! Clearly there were sides of Mr Stevens’ personality I’d never seen. My voice was getting shriller, and I made an effort to wrench it back down out of the stratosphere, though I wasn’t ready to let go of the accusing tone. “By the way, I think your silencer’s broken. My ears are still ringing.”

  He leaned across and shut the glove box. “This isn’t Hollywood. In real life silencers can only do so much. They can disguise the source of a gunshot, not make it sound like a water pistol. Keep pressing on that bandage.”

  “What in God’s name are you doing with a gun? This is Sydney, not America.” I’d never even seen a gun in real life before, only in movies and TV shows. “The only people who own guns here are policemen—and Ben Stevens, apparently. Do you even have a licence for that thing? Cause if you do I think you just broke half the rules.”

  “Would you rather I didn’t have it?”

  I glared at him. “Oh no, I’m grateful you got there when you did, with your silencer too, so prepared—except, whoops! You forgot to bring the silver bullets.” And there was the crux of the matter. I stopped yelling. “You knew. You knew all this crazy shit existed. You knew werewolves were real, and God knows what else—and you never told me. Somehow you got me mixed up in all this.” I couldn’t imagine how, but he wasn’t getting out of this car till I found out. “That thing could have killed me, Ben. A little heads-up would have been nice.”

  The car turned on to the M1, the main northern highway, as a strained silence fell. It was a six-lane divided road with a speed limit of 110 kilometres per hour. We sped up, the big diesel engine purring as we swooped around the first bend, leaving the streetlights and houses behind.

  “I know,” he said at last, eyes firmly on the dark road ahead. “I’m sorry. But you should have been safer working for me—I don’t understand what’s going on. Besides, would you have believed me if I’d told you?”

  I considered his profile, lit by the soft green glow from the dashboard. Of course I wouldn’t have believed him. Who would? But that didn’t make me feel any better.

  “I don’t like being lied to,” I said stiffly. Especially not by him. Hadn’t I had enough of that with Jason? Ben was different: reliable, practical, blunt. He’d never make the diplomatic service, but you always knew where you stood with him.

  At least, I thought I had.

  “So when I said I could see glowing people, and you said what colour—what was that about? Can you see them too?”

  “No. And you shouldn’t be able to either.”

  Well, add that to the list of things which shouldn’t be happening, then. It was getting scary long. Werewolves, memory loss, the black stone …

  My phone shrilled by my feet, and I nearly leapt out of my seat. I’d forgotten my handbag was there.

  I should have been expecting the name on the screen. “It’s Tanya. What do I tell her?”

  “Stay calm,” said Ben. “Let her do the talking.”

  “Oh, thank God!” Tanya screamed as soon as I answered. “You’re alive! I was so worried.”

  I held the phone between us so Ben could hear too, though it was hardly necessary. Tanya had no volume control when she was worked up.

  “Um … of course I’m alive.” Playing dumb seemed the best option.

  “Ohmygod, that wasn’t you screaming? I thought you were dead for sure!”

  “Why? What’s going on? Where are you?”

  “I’m at your place, hon. The police are here too. I called them as soon as I heard the screaming—oh, it was terrible. It sounded like someone was being murdered. I sent Ron over with the cricket bat, but he couldn’t see anything, so then we waited for the cops—and your power was off at the board, it looked really suspicious, you know? and your back door was wide open—my goodness, you should see the mess they made of your kitchen! and the police asked us if anything had been taken, but really, how would we know, and anyway I was more worried about what had happened to you—there was blood on the floor—”

  “Does she ever take a breath?” Ben muttered.

  “—so I though
t I’d try your mobile, even though your car’s still here, and hope to God you answered. But where are you?”

  “With Ben.”

  “You’d better get home real quick then; see if anything’s missing. The police say it looks like the thieves were interrupted, because it’s only the kitchen that’s been touched. Thank God that blood’s not yours. God knows what they were doing.”

  I threw Ben a panicked look.

  “Tell her your mum’s sick and I’m taking you to visit her.”

  Obediently I relayed the lie. “I can’t. Mum’s in hospital and Ben’s driving me to the airport. I’ve got a plane to catch.”

  “Oh, no! What’s wrong?”

  Good question. It had to be something serious, with a sudden onset. I hated gifting my mother with a fake disease; it felt like tempting fate.

  “It’s her heart.” Sorry, Mum. “They’re running some tests, but I don’t know much yet.”

  “Poor thing. How scary for her! Do you think you’ll be gone long? The police want you to let them know if anything’s been stolen.”

  “Don’t know yet. I’ll have to play it by ear—tell them I’ll get in contact when I get home. Is the back door busted?”

  “No, not a scratch. They must have picked the lock.”

  “That’s something, at least. Could you lock up for me, and keep an eye on the place till I get back? You know where the spare key is, right?”

  “Yes, of course. Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll take care of it. You just look after your poor mum, okay?”

  “Thanks, Tanya.”

  “No worries, hon.”

  I ended the call and looked at Ben. “Okay, where are we really going?”

  Maybe I should have asked before, but I’d been a little distracted. At least the bleeding had slowed, and I’d stopped shaking.