Leah Giarratano - Disharmony

Sheesh. Get me out of here, thought Sam. I do not want to be in here when these gods hurl lightning at each other.

‘Um, I’m really tired,’ she said. I’m reeeally tired, she thought. And I need to have a shower and change my clothes. Except that I have no other clothes, no money, and nowhere to shower. Still, she did think it best to be away from the police when they figured out that she wasn’t actually a movie star but a fifteen-year-old runaway gypsy from Romania.

‘If you wouldn’t mind dropping me at that Park hotel whatsie, that would be lovely,’ she said.

Mason and Ruben hadn’t been too happy about leaving her unaccompanied at the front of the Park Hyatt hotel in Circular Quay, but she’d assured them that she had staff and friends waiting for her, and that she didn’t want to cause another scene.

‘Please,’ she’d smiled, extra wide, and they’d relented.

She stared morosely after them as they pulled away from the curved driveway of the elegant hotel. Now she really was on her own. And the love-spell or whatever she’d performed at the airport had obviously not reached the hotel. A beautifully dressed woman took a step away from her and huddled a little closer to her escort. A dark-suited attendant stepped to her side.

‘May I assist you with anything this evening, madam?’ he said, smiling.

‘No, I’m okay, thanks,’ she said, turning away.

I didn’t think so, she knew he was thinking.

She huddled into her jacket, trudging along beside the curved walls of the building. The rain was just a miserable drizzle now, enough to further wound her aching heart as she thought about the golden sunshine that would be drenching Romania. Cars slid like dark eels in the gloom along the road beside her. Everything felt wet, worrying and winter-like.

Even though she’d read on the website that it was winter here in Australia, she’d still somehow expected it to be warm. That’s how she’d always pictured Australia: kangaroos, beautiful beaches, sunshine and…

The Opera House!

She rounded the final corner of the hotel and stepped into a postcard. Ahead of her spread a wide, sandstone forecourt dotted with fairylights; beyond lay an inky harbour; and glowing incandescently directly ahead of her was an image she’d only ever seen in photographs: the Sydney Opera House. It seemed to float on the dark water like a full moon fallen from the night sky.

She made her way across a boardwalk that ran along the other side of the Park Hyatt hotel. The guestrooms, glowing warm gold, were just above her, wrapped around the harbour, around this view. She was sure it must be the most beautiful hotel in the world. She reached the edge of the walkway, the edge of Australia, and stared at the Opera House. From the first time she’d seen its image, she’d dreamed of coming here. She could never have imagined that it would be under these circumstances.

A solitary tear escaped her lashes. She stopped the others immediately, certain that if she began to cry now she would never stop. With all of the panic and despair at the Carnivale, the shocking news about her past, and the terrible knowledge that she’d brought mortal danger to everyone she loved, Sera’s plan to spirit her out of Romania had seemed her only option. She saw now that it was the most ludicrous action she could ever have taken. How could she have been so completely stupid to have trusted that woman so blindly? And how could Birthday Jones have gone along with everything?

Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it, hard. They’d promised to explain everything to Lala. Would they do that, or would they just let everyone think she’d been abducted, or worse? How could she trust either of them? How could they send her here with nothing, no one?

Although the rain was little more than a frigid mist now, the chill had saturated the leather jacket; she tugged the collar up around her ears and shoved her hands deep into her pockets. There were very few pedestrians, and those who passed her wore coats and scarves. She began to walk again, left this time. She imagined herself up there in one of the hotel rooms with Mirela, Tamas and Shofranka. And a hot shower and food and a bed.

Well, that’s not going to happen, Samantha, she told herself. And it’s not like you haven’t slept outdoors before. And they call this winter? Winter in Romania would give these people a lesson about winter, she thought, trying to rally her spirits, fearing that if she didn’t, she would sit down in a puddle right there and give up.

Find somewhere drier, away from the wind and rain and bunk down for the night, she told herself. Tomorrow’s another day. You can look for Luke tomorrow. She ignored the other voice telling her that tomorrow that would be just as impossible as tonight.

She rounded another corner. And gasped. Right above her, rearing like a massive grey dragon, was the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Even from underneath its enormous belly, there was no mistaking it. She hugged her arms about her chest, staring upward, open-mouthed, and was so captivated by the bridge that she missed the feeling of threat until she heard voices. Drunk males. Three of them, twenty metres ahead and closing.

Sam knew they’d seen her. A thread of adrenalin wired its way into her bloodstream. She quickly scanned the ground for something she could use as a weapon: a bottle, a rock. Nothing. She reached into her bag, eyes on them, sizing them up. She knew she could easily outrun the two fat ones; they looked to be having a hard time of it just walking, let alone chasing her. The shorter skinny one, wearing a knitted beanie pulled down almost to his eyes, looked as though he could run, and like he knew what he wanted. Her.

Sam pulled the phone from her bag. If they thought she was talking to someone, or that she could call the police, they might leave her alone. And besides, it was the hardest object she had. If she did have to run and Skinny could keep up with her, she’d make sure she took all his teeth out with it if he tried to touch her.

She flipped open the scarlet case of the phone and almost dropped it. Impossible! The screen glowed green. A cursor flashed patiently, waiting for input. Oh my God! But there’s no battery? She stared at the phone, stunned. Her heart began to race with excitement.

‘Hello, gorgeous.’

The drunks had reached her. Skinny, who’d greeted her, already stood too close.

Oh, I so do not have time for this, she thought. Not now.

‘GET LOST!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs, pushing out a wave of anger-emotion.

To her surprise it worked. They backed away and shuffled off with curses she was glad she couldn’t understand.

She turned back to the phone. How was it working? What else could it do? Suddenly, she realised that Seraphina had given her this phone for a reason. Maybe she’d be able to talk to her? What if it could somehow connect her to her brother, to Luke?

The cold air transformed her rapid breaths into steam, and her fingers trembled as she hovered them over the keypad. There was no number she knew to dial – she only hoped the phone knew what to do.

Holding her breath, feeling more optimism than she’d experienced in more than two days, she pressed the Send button. And waited.

Nothing.

The cursor flashed just as before. She frowned at it, struggling to think of something else to try, when she heard a footstep immediately behind her.

She spun, ready to attack or bolt. Or both.

A boy stood there. She jumped back quickly, her hand over her mouth. He felt familiar. He felt confused. He felt strangely broken.

‘Luke?’ she said.

The boy just looked at her, blinking. She stared back.

Taller than her, and older, she guessed, by maybe a couple of years, the boy wore jeans and a black-and-white-striped T-shirt. She glanced down at his feet – no shoes. He had to be freezing. He had brown-black hair, blue eyes and full lips. He wore a slightly worried half-frown. She had a sudden, ridiculous urge to reach up and stroke his beautiful face. He seemed so puzzled, so childlike.