Esther

By Tai Le Grice

Esther McBride is ordinary, so completely and utterly ordinary, in fact, that she sails completely below the radar. Everybody’s radar. That is, until her seventeenth birthday, when suddenly everything changes.

Seventeen isn’t meant to be a big deal. There is, as a general rule, nothing especially extraordinary about turning seventeen. Unless you happen to be Esther Merilyn McBride, who, from her seventeenth birthday, discovers what it is to have power beyond imagination and an unbelievable heritage which just might save the world, not to mention an irritating and yet nearly always wise voice in her head, a bodyguard who is simply too good looking to be real and a whole new bunch of friends, each equally as extraordinary as it appears she has turned out to be.

Witches, warlocks, black and white magic and an adventure any ordinary girl could only ever dream of. Welcome to Esther’s far-from-ordinary world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley
• Release date: May 14, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463004883

Tai Le Grice

Tai Le Grice is a study in contrasts; a woman who prefers to live in fairly isolated small-town New Zealand with her brother and menagerie of animals; a woman who is fascinated by interpersonal relationships and writes eloquently about the nuances and subtleties of friendships, intimacies and acquaintances. Her favourite saying is: ‘Every day above ground is a good one’, capturing her quintessential black humour contrasted with her practical nature and positive outlook. Tai has had numerous jobs during her colourful life but writing has been a constant grounding force, providing a creative outlook for her active and imaginative brain.

Book preview

Prologue

In the beginning, there was darkness. Then God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was, and there came to be a separation between the light and the dark, and God called them ‘Day’ and ‘Night’.

However, before the light came into the world, there was already a separation, a parting of two completely opposite realms of existence, and one was called ‘Chaos’ and the other was called ‘Order’, and so that there would be no confusion between the two, God placed a barrier between them and He set a Guardian to watch over the space between. And Chaos He gave over to the dark angels, the Lords of War, while He himself took dominion over the universe of Order wherein He created the Earth and all things upon it.

And so, balance was created, and God saw that it was good.

But in their mirrors of dark magic, the lords of war saw the world of Order and they also saw that it was good, and they desired what they did not have, and so they plotted and schemed as to how they could enter the forbidden world of Man and take what was not theirs to have. Many times, they forayed forth through rifts that they created through the space between and where they ventured, they left the ripples of their Chaos in their wake. War and famine and pestilence were the signs of their presence, and the world of Order was tainted by them.

Dominion was, however, denied them.

Knowing that the dark angels would ever strive to assail the light of the world, a force was assembled against them and the weapons of their arsenal were of Magic and their armour was of Faith. And as long as the Knights of the Faith stood against them, the Legion of the Darkness could not prevail and ever would they be driven back into Chaos where they belonged.

Until it came about that one of the Faith turned his back on the world of Order and betrayed his brethren unto the lords of war. And he took it upon himself to create a weapon with which he might slay the Guardian Between and so open a gateway between the worlds and allow entry of the darkness upon the light. This weapon, crafted of blood and magic and steel, infused with the malice of the lords of war and the spirit of the world of Chaos, was wedded in unholy communion to the hand of this Black Knight, and only he could wield it. And the sword he named Grafanc Ddraig, Dragon Claw, for it was brought forth unto him by the great dragon Dyfarniad, which means Judgement, and with it, he intended to rule the world.

And well, his plan might have succeeded but that at the last moment, his deceit was uncovered and one alone stood against him to thwart him. Vast was the battle, both of magic and of steel and at the last, the weapon of Chaos was flung from the grasp of the Great Deceiver and was lost to him, and he fell in defeat. Grievously wounded in body and in spirit, the Black Knight retreated through the Space Between before his enemy could deal the final blow, and in this world he has not been seen from that day to this.

Excerpt from The Book of Faith

With permission from The Council of Twelve

Chapter One

It was August, one of those typically non days for which August is renowned and my best friend Alice, no, correction, my best and only friend Alice, and I were walking home from school. We weren’t exactly slouching but we certainly weren’t in any particular hurry either, and not least of all because it is very difficult to go anywhere in any kind of hurry while wearing ankle-length woollen kilts and blazers.

So, got plans for your birthday? Alice asked.

My birthday is kind of, although not quite, in the middle of August and thus was only a few days away and Alice’s question wasn’t really asked seriously as, for as long as we both can remember, plans for my birthday have always been the same.

I thought I might do something different this year, I replied casually.

Alice almost missed a step, not difficult as we are both equally uncoordinated on our feet at the best of times, not to mention in kilts and Clarkes.

Oh? she queried, shooting me a suspicious ‘I don’t believe you’ sideways glance.

Yes, I said. I thought this year I might bake a cake.

Alice did not bother to stifle a snort of laughter.

What, like that last effort which we could as easily have used as a frisbee if we could have lifted it off the plate?!

The thermostat was out, I said defensively.

Sure it was, Alice chortled. And it probably had nothing at all to do with not reading the instructions before you began.

I blushed, just a little, and stared at the pavement.

I was distracted, I mumbled.

The boys at the park? Alice queried, practically shaking with amusement.

Well yes, as a matter of fact, there had been that, or them. But not just any boys.

I sighed deeply.

No cake then?

Alice shook her head and clapped a reassuring arm over my shoulders.

Sure you can have a cake. But let’s get Mum to deal with it, shall we?

I grinned.

I was hoping you’d say that.

Alice punched me and I yelped.

We crossed Garrison Street and turned onto Long Parade and almost immediately, Alice’s steps slowed even more from our near dawdle.

Folks home? I asked.

Alice is an only child after her parents lost her brother, her sister, and an unborn baby sibling in a terrible car accident two years before she was born and her parents handled the tragedy by going all uber-religious and turning into what my dad calls ‘God-freaks’, which perhaps isn’t the most PC term but sums it up pretty well all the same. It doesn’t exactly make life easy for Alice.

Alice sighed so deeply, I thought she might hyperventilate.

Dad has a study tonight and so he’ll be home early, and Mum will be baking brownies or something. I can only hope that it’s not a woman so I have to sit in.

Part of being uber-religious, apparently, is that a man and a woman can’t be alone in the same room together unless they’re married.

You don’t know?

Alice shrugged.

The calendar only says ‘Bible Study, 7pm, J’ and it’s not like Dad tells me anything. I won’t know until this J person arrives.

No study tonight then, I state solemnly and trying not to sound too disappointed so as not to make it any worse for Alice.

I wouldn’t count on it, she agrees, but keep an eye out, just in case.

Alice and I live on the same street, on the same side, and with just a park dedicated to some long deceased soldier from World War One named, kind of ironically I feel, ‘Hempseed’, between us. My bedroom window and Alice’s bedroom window both look out over Hempseed Park; so if Alice is free for a study session, she will put a salt lamp in her window. I can see the changing colours from my side of the park even when the fog rolls in.

We are standing at my gate and we both stop, Alice shuffling her feet reluctantly.

Are you sure you can’t come in for a Milo? I ask.

Better not, Alice says. Not if I want to even remotely have a chance of getting out later.

True that, I agree. OK, well, I’ll keep an eye out then.

My house, the only two-storey house on the street and one of only four in the whole entire town, is empty. I can sense it as soon as I let myself in and I once again sigh deeply. Dad must be driving today although I can’t remember whether or not he told me so when he left this morning. There is a note propped up on the toaster on the kitchen bench.

‘Hi sweet pea,’ it reads. ‘Travis called in sick (again) this morning and I am taking the Blenheim run. Should be home around 2000. Can you please light the fire and I’ve put one of Auntie Di’s casseroles in the oven. All you have to do is turn it on. Love you xx. Dad.’

Dad is a former Army mechanic (he always says he was far handier with a wrench than with a rifle though he’s a crack hunter) and 2000 means eight p.m. Mostly, he works as a mechanic either from home or for the local transport company but every once in a while, probably too often now that I’m old enough to be left home alone, he also drives the trucks. Blenheim borderlines on a long haul and, to be honest, eight is probably being optimistic. Then again, it is Dad that’s doing the driving.

First things first. Kettle on and upstairs to get out of my uniform and into tracks and sweatshirt. I hate my school uniform and I can’t wait till I’m a senior so that I won’t have to wear it anymore. Thankfully, holidays are just around the corner and then one more term before Christmas, and next year...? Senior! Happy days!

I am coming down the stairs when I first notice it, an odd tingling on my skin and the hairs on the back of my neck going up. I stop and pull up one of my sweatshirt sleeves and the hair on my arm stands to attention as well. How bizarre. After a moment or two, the strange sensation passes and I immediately shrug it off and continue down the stairs.

The incident is quickly forgotten.

There is no light in Alice’s window by seven p.m. and I rather sadly close my curtains. It may be a non-day, as in not raining and not raining, but it is still cold and the room warms considerably as soon as the curtains are closed. I do my homework on my own and wait for Dad.

At eight p.m. almost exactly, I hear the loud rumble of Dad’s modified Dodge as he pulls up and parks in the garage. The Dodge door slams, followed by the internal garage door.

Hey sweet pea! Dad calls as he walks in and strips off his Swanndri. You got any of that casserole left? I’m starving!

He hugs me and swings me off the ground, not difficult given he is almost 6’ 3" and I am most certainly not.

I haven’t eaten yet, I tell him. I wanted to wait for you.

For a moment, he looks as if he might be about to growl at me but, as always, he can’t do it and he grins instead.

So serve it up and let’s eat!

There are only Dad and I in our little family. My mother died, also in a terrible car accident, when I was only four, along with my grandmother, and my grandfather, who lived with us from the time of the accident, passed away only last year. Dad had a brother, who I believe died while Dad was away overseas with the Army, and a sister in Australia that he doesn’t talk to all that often. We don’t actually know if Mum had any living relatives. She was from Wales and working for the UN as a nurse when Dad met her and she never mentioned any family. Dad always thought it wise not to ask if she didn’t bring it up first.

Hence the reason I prefer to wait and have dinner with Dad when he comes home.

Alice not come over tonight? Dad asks.

Nope, I agree sadly. Bible study.

Dad snorts and shakes his head sympathetically.

Poor kid.

He mops up the last of the delicious gravy from his plate with a chunk of bread and leans back in his chair.

Dessert, by any chance? he asks.

Only if you got some when you got the casserole, I inform him.

‘Auntie Di’s’ is our local diner-cum-cafe and where Dad will invariably go to arrange our dinner if he’s going to be late or gone overnight. ‘Auntie Di’ also does spectacular desserts.

As a matter of fact… Dad drawls nonchalantly.

I do the dishes after dinner while Dad has a shower and then we have a final mug of Milo together before Dad heads into his ‘man cave’ to watch the Motorsport on Sky and I head off to bed.

I might be late again tomorrow, he informs me. And I’ll probably be gone before you get up in the morning.

Oh?

Jason booked a transit to Gore which Travis was supposed to be doing but…

"Travis is sick," I finish for him.

New girlfriend, Dad explains ruefully. Shane’ll catch him and then that’ll be the end of that. I should think he’ll be out of a job this time.

Shane owns the transport company Dad works for and Travis is his son. But there’s only so many missed days even a dad can take.

How long will you be gone? I ask.

Be home day after tomorrow, late probably, Dad says. Want me to see if you can stay at Alice’s? he adds with a grin.

This is a joke. Much as I love Alice, I know and she knows that our friendship is not capable of withstanding a sleep-over at hers. A zombie apocalypse maybe, but not a sleep-over.

No thanks, Dad. I’ll be fine.

Want me to order you something from Auntie’s?

Dad, there’s stuff in the cupboards and the freezer is almost full. I’ll be fine, I reassure him.

Well, OK, if you say so, he finally agrees, somewhat reluctantly. But you know you can put it on my tab if you change your mind, right? And call Kirby if you need anything.

Kirby is one of Dad’s three best mates, they all went to high school and then into the Army together, and he and his family live only a couple of blocks from us.

Dad! I’ll be fine.

Dad grins.

I know you will be, pumpkin. But an old man’s allowed to worry.

Old man my left foot but I kiss him on his unshaved and thus prickly cheek and head off upstairs.

Night, Dad.

Night, kitten. See you when I do.

I love my bedroom, I love my bed and, as a general rule, sleep comes way too easy for me. But every once in a while, the ‘nightmare’ comes and when it does, better I never went to bed at all.

This was one of those nights.

It always begins with rain.

The rain is torrential, hammering down in sheets so thick that it is impossible to see more than a few feet in front of your face when you’re standing in it never mind driving in it, and it washes over the car like a deluge from God so that the window wipers have no hope of catching up. It sluices over the sides of the gorge and washes equal parts rock and mud across the road and the car slews sickeningly from side to side, doing its best to avoid the debris while lightning cracks and the bruised sky lights up in shades of brilliant white and seething black.

Nana is crying. I can hear her sobbing incoherently in the front seat though I have no idea if this is because she is afraid or because she is in pain. I start to cry too. I am not in pain. I am terribly, terribly afraid.

This part of the nightmare makes sense. This is the memory that repeats itself like an unwanted replay in my head. Mum taking Nana to her doctor in Westport, because she insisted, because when Nana wanted something, Nana always got her way.

‘It’s not safe today, Marianne,’ Mum said. ‘The weather’s simply atrocious and goodness only knows what it will be like in the Gorge.’

Nana pouts.

‘I’ve got a terrible pain in my stomach and who knows what’s going on in there. How would you feel if I had a perforated ulcer or something? I have to go to the doctor. Today!’

Mum sighs.

‘Fine. But Esther will have to come with us. I don’t suppose you made an appointment?’

‘Of course I have,’ Nana barks. ‘And does the child have to come? I’m not well, you know.’

Mum’s face hardens and Nana takes a step back.

‘Fine. But wouldn’t she be better off at Jackie’s?’

Jackie is Kirby’s wife. In hindsight…

‘No, Marianne, she would not be better off at Jackie’s. She is coming with us. Now get your coat and let’s go.’

Through my tears and from my position in my booster seat behind Nana, I cannot see Mum’s face and besides, the clouds and the rain are so dense as to make it almost as dark as dusk. All I can see are her shoulder’s hunched in fierce concentration and her hands clenched on the wheel so hard that her knuckles have turned white. The side of her face that I can see shows her jaw clenched tightly and she says not one word to either Nana or to me. I try very hard to stop crying.

It is at this point that memory stops and nightmare takes over. There is no way that what infiltrates my memoryscape at this point is real and I can only assume that my tortured imagination is filling in the blanks of what as a four-year-old I could not begin to comprehend.

I see wings, vast, sweeping black wings, not feathered but scaly and leathery and with the scalloped edges tipped by great hooked talons. Something thuds against the roof of the car and Mum’s arms strain at the wheel. There is an ear-splitting screech as of talons on steel followed by a deafening roar and Nana goes limp as she presumably faints.

‘Esther,’ Mum says to me, her eyes never leaving the road and her hands still clenched on the wheel. ‘Listen very, very carefully.’

I take a final sniff, stop crying, and crane my head forwards to listen. There is another violent thud and the car rocks side to side on its chassis.

‘Think a bubble,’ Mum says. ‘I want you to close your eyes and think a bubble and don’t stop, do you hear me?’

I am confused.

‘Think a bubble?’ I ask, still sniffing just a little but suddenly more intrigued than afraid.

‘Yes, Esther,’ Mum says, risking a glance at me so that I can see just how taut with fear her face is. ‘Imagine that you are in a bubble as you blow it out of your bubble loop. OK? Can you do that? Close your eyes and think a bubble.’

She says something else but I cannot hear her as the car seems to momentarily leave the road, the back end higher than the front so that I fall against my seatbelt and stare out the windscreen directly at the road, and another ear-shattering roar splits the air. I close my eyes and start thinking a bubble.

And then there is nothing but unbelievable, bone-numbing cold, and darkness.

I woke up in hospital two days later. Nana’s body was recovered from the Buller River, still strapped into the car. Mum’s body was never recovered.

Chapter Two

It is at this point that I wake up, as if I am once again waking up in the hospital as I did more than twelve years ago. I am shaking and crying and my bed is damp equally with sweat as with tears. And as always when the nightmare takes me, there is a gentle tap at my door in its wake.

Esther? Dad whispers. Esther, are you alright?

I don’t know how he knows. I don’t think Dad knows how he knows. He sleeps downstairs and he swears I never make a sound but somehow, every time, he knows.

I think so, I say.

The door nudges open and Dad peeks around the corner.

Hug, shower, or hot chocolate? he asks.

All three, in that order, I reply, sitting up and wiping the dampness from my face.

He comes in and plonks himself on the edge of my bed, immediately wrapping me in his warm, flannel-clad embrace. I bury my head against his shoulder and hug him back.

Bad? he asks.

No worse than usual, I murmur, half-lifting my head out of his PJs.

Dragon? he queries further.

I rock back and study him quizzically.

Dragon? I ask.

He shrugs.

Big leathery wings, roaring, car lifting off the ground. I figure dragon.

I have told him every detail of my nightmare many times, and dragon actually seems appropriate though it had never occurred to me before.

Yes, I admit ruefully. Dragon.

Come on then, Dad says, standing up and offering me his hand. You get through the shower and I’ll get the hot chocolate. Need clean PJs?

I’ve got some, I say, and grab for my robe and towel off the back of my door. See you downstairs in five.

Roger that, Dad agrees.

A half an hour and a shower, a change of PJs, a hot chocolate and two Tim Tams later and I am back in a warm dry bed (Dad changed the sheets while I was in the shower) and ready to try again. The nightmare has never occurred more than once in a night so, it is a safe bet that I can now get back to sleep. Dad tucks me in as if I am still his little girl and not about to turn seventeen.

Because you are and always will be, Dad says, as if having read my mind.

He smiles at me.

I can tell what you’re thinking, princess. You can’t hide anything from your old man.

Good to know, must tuck that away for future reference.

Love you, Dad, I whisper.

Love you too, sweet pea. Now get some sleep.

The door shuts gently behind him.

I don’t hear him leave in the morning and I wake to an empty house. I wish it wasn’t. There is a bitter lingering after taste of the nightmare in my mouth and a dull residual ache in my head to which I am unaccustomed. This hasn’t happened before, or at least, not that I can previously recall. I scour the downstairs bathroom cabinet for Panadol and take two and then, although I know I oughtn’t to and that Dad would absolutely not be pleased, take another. At least Dad stoked the fire before he left at whatever ungodly hour he did this morning and with a little extra prompting it quickly re-ignites and sends a blessed heat through the kitchen. Somehow the house always seems both emptier and lonelier when it is cold. I put the kettle on and pop two slices of Auntie Di’s artisan bread into the toaster and then sit at the breakfast counter contemplating whether to go upstairs and get dressed while waiting for the toast or to wait until after breakfast. The toast pops before I’ve decided which pretty much decides for me.

The phone rings and despite myself, I jump.

Hello?

Of course, I’m an idiot. It’s not as if my house has high volume traffic and, given the hour, it is really only likely to be one of two people.

Morning, pumpkin. How you feeling?

Dad. I feel inordinately pleased to hear his voice.

OK, I tell him. I miss you though.

I know, sweet pea. I miss you too. I’ll do my best to be home as early as I can tomorrow, OK?

Where are you now? I ask.

Dad laughs.

I haven’t even left Dunstan yet, kitten. Shane is negotiating with Temuka Transport over whether I’ve got a load to pick up from Pleasant Point or not so I know which route to take.

Seriously? I ask.

Worry not, my little possum. I shall be home for tea tomorrow.

And just like that, he was gone.

It was as I was holding the phone kind of sadly half still to my ear and feeling suddenly as bereft as if I were the last girl left on earth that I picked up the faint echo of a voice. I put the phone back to my ear.

Dad?

But there was nothing but the dial tone and after staring curiously at it for a moment, I put the phone back in its cradle.

Weird.

The phone immediately starts ringing again and I swear that this time I don’t only jump but I also yelp which would have been downright embarrassing if I’d not been alone, but I was, so that was alright.

"Hello?"

Why am I feeling so on edge this morning? The nightmare doesn’t normally have quite this dramatic an effect on me.

Esther? Are you OK? You sound weird.

Weird? Didn’t I just have that exact same thought? I pull myself together and focus on the call.

Yes, sorry Alice. I just had Dad on the phone.

Alice chuckles.

Not usually what I would expect as an explanation for weird. Where is he?

Still at the yard, I say. They’re about as organized as ever. But he’s going to Gore overnight.

"Gore? I can hear the incredulity in Alice’s voice. When will he be back?"

He reckons he’ll be back by tea tomorrow, I tell her. I wish he hadn’t gone. Damn Travis.

Sick again? Alice guesses.

Yeah, right! we intone in unison.

We both laugh.

Want me to stay over? Alice asks with a chuckle.

I wish! I say.

As soon as I turn eighteen, Alice informs me somberly. As soon as I turn eighteen, on my eighteenth birthday as a matter of fact.

I take it your folks aren’t home? I venture.

Dad went to Grey to meet with some DHB rep or something (Alice’s dad is the accounts manager for the local hospital and medical centre) and Mum went to get Mrs Reardon ready for her hospital visit. Shall I come over?

Hell yes, I agree. See you in two.

I am moving about as soon as the phone is once again in its cradle, up the stairs to get changed before Alice turns up to find me still in my PJs, but as I reach the landing I am once again hit by the same strange sensation I had experienced the day before. It is as if I have walked into one of those cold, still patches, one sometimes encounters when swimming in a river in mid-summer, you know, where one moment the water feels relatively warm and the next it is as if you have swum into the proximity of an iceberg? I stand like a deer in headlights while every hair on my body stands slowly to attention and the breath catches in my throat. There is a buzzing in my ears, like white noise only sharper, somehow more defined and for just a split second of half a moment, I think I hear voices. I spin on my heels on the landing and look down the stairs, and the moment is gone.

I am still standing there when Alice lets herself in the front door.

Esther? she asks, looking up at me with her back pack slung over her shoulder and wisps of hair escaping from beneath the hood of her black duffel coat.

I jerk back into reality.

You’re not even dressed, she observes disbelievingly. What is this?

Um? I fumble. Uhh?

Uh huh, she says, eyebrows raised. How about I get breakfast and you get dressed.

Without hesitation, I obey.

That’s what I thought, she calls after me.

The day passes without further incident, although the dull thump in my head continues to linger, and we meet in the Quad at lunch. Alice and I are in separate form classes and share not one single class together. For best and only friends, how singularly tragic is that? We share lunch which is because Alice’s mum is one of Dunstan’s best bakers (better even, dare I say, than Auntie Di) while Dad always provides me muesli bars and yoghurts and snack logs and things that Alice’s parents don’t.

Mr Cotter gave us another assignment for the weekend, Alice says, unwrapping one of my snack logs.

What about? I ask, helping myself to one of her mum’s peanut slices.

Feminism in literature, Alice says.

I am about to say something probably not half as witty spoken as it sounds in my head but instead I pause with my mouth half open.

Might want to shut it before a fly flies in, or before you’re spotted, Alice observes mildly.

My mouth snaps shut.

Not that he even would, I mutter.

True that, Alice states dryly, leaning into my lunchbox for a muesli bar.

I sigh deeply. Nathan Barnett, Troy Brittenden, and Cody Harris, between them the better part of Dunstan High School’s senior rugby front row and easily the cutest boys in the entire senior school, stroll casually into the Quad, their attention apparently upon the conversation they are having with each other but to the eye of the keen observer clearly on the girls equally ogling their every step. And in their wake and apparently distracted by a conversation on his absolutely not-permitted cell phone is… Casey Templeton. My breath catches in my throat and my skin tingles but this time it has absolutely nothing to do with any bizarre and unexplained phenomenon. You see, for me, Casey Templeton is that boy.

You know what I mean, right, when I say that boy? Seriously? I mean, come on. That boy. Surely you have one too. The boy who makes your heart beat just that little bit faster and who makes not just butterflies but whole flocks of butterflies erupt in your tummy? The boy whose name you write, hopefully very discretely, in love-hearts inside the covers of your books and folders? The one you wish would notice you just once while at the same time hoping he doesn’t because at that very moment you would probably fall right on your face and make a complete fool of yourself? Aha! I knew it! Of course you know what I mean!

For me, that boy is Casey Templeton.

I’ve never actually spoken to him and, as he’s a senior, I don’t share any classes with him and if he’s ever been aware of my presence in any way, form, shape or manner, he’s pretty damn good at hiding it. But that doesn’t matter because I still think he is without a doubt a god amongst boys!

I am obviously deep in Casey la-la land because ‘nec minut,’ Alice kicks me.

Hey, dreamer, wake up!

I look up and almost topple backwards off the picnic bench at which we are seated as I find Nathan Barnett staring at me with a slightly puzzled expression on his face. OK, so not Casey, but he must be close.

Um?

I said, Nathan says, you’re at our table. Think you could scoot?

I look around. Their table? Why is it suddenly ‘their’ table? It’s never been their table before. In fact, I’m fairly sure Alice and I have been having lunch at this self-same table for as long as we’ve been at High School. Somebody giggles.

Oh. Penny drops like an anvil into a puddle.

Do you mind? Nathan says, sounding a little aggrieved now.

I stand up, as does Alice, and the gaggle of girls at the next table begins to laugh and titter behind their elegantly raised and elegantly over-polished hands. Miriam Connaught and Heather Brown and their accompanying bunch of powder puff minions. I blush and Alice and I duly move to find another place to finish our lunch.

This is the problem with being Alice and I; we are at the bottom of the High School social food chain. Flag that. We’re at the bottom of the social food chain, period. We don’t even register on the social radar and to be honest, this is probably the closest we’ve ever come to being noticed at all, just sufficiently to be told, politely enough I guess, to ‘bugger off’. We are, for all intents and purposes, invisible. No, seriously, I kid you not; invisible.

OK, to be fair, Alice would probably not be quite as invisible were it not for the fact that her parents’ religious mores manage to have her come across as some kind of eighteenth-century nun. Underneath the ‘everything too big’ uniform, the black-rimmed glasses big enough to hide an elephant, and her glorious black hair always tied up in a single, head-strangling, no-nonsense plait, Alice shows absolutely no hint of what lies beneath. And she’s quiet and unobtrusive, not because she’s afraid of ‘them,’ whoever ‘them’ might be on the occasion, but of her parents. The one, and only, time she ever got into trouble at school (for punching Derek ‘Huhu grub’ Mears in the face after he tripped me into a puddle on the playing field) she was grounded for a month and had to write out the ENTIRE gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John by hand! She has never taken that risk again, no matter how much she’d obviously often like to.

As for me, my invisibility is more complete. I simply am so completely and utterly ordinary that I sail completely below the radar. Everybody’s radar. In a nutshell, I have straight, mousy brown hair that gives the impression of having been washed too often and left out in the weather too long and eyes that refuse to decide on what colour they want to be and so end up being a mixed palette that is somehow no particular colour at all. Even my skin looks oddly wrung out and colourless, like an over-washed towel. OK so I don’t have spots or freckles or so much as a single birthmark. I don’t get sunburnt, but then I don’t seem to be able to get a tan, either. I’m not fat and I’m not thin, and I’m not particularly tall or particularly short. I just am. A kind of nothing that slips between somehow. It has often occurred to me that it is just as well I never got lost anywhere because I hate to think how anybody would have gone about giving a description of me. ‘Looking for: girl!’

Anyway, not only am I rather remarkably under-endowed in the looks department, I haven’t exactly made up for it in co-ordination or athleticism either; the sport has yet to be invented in which I could conceivably excel. That said, I’m not a complete and total klutz, and I don’t wear glasses or have buck teeth or pigeon toes or one arm shorter than the other. I may not be an Einstein but I’m also far from being an Igor. I’m simply average. Hopelessly, totally, tediously, tragically average. And I guess that’s why I never seem to get noticed. For heaven’s sake; what is there to notice?

I am waffling and sounding terribly self-involved and as a general rule, I really don’t care. But, well, there is this matter of Casey Templeton. Deep sigh. Oh well. C’est la vie.

Alice is not despondent so much as she is quietly seething with rage.

The nerve of them, she hisses between clenched teeth. How dare they?

Because they’re seniors? I venture with a sigh.

Alice punches me and gives me a dead arm.

Ouch! What was that for?

For being a mooning half-wit, she says bluntly. Stop day-dreaming and get with the programme. Egg-head numb nuts, she continues, casting a glance like a Southern storm over her shoulder at the two tables of seniors, boys and girls, now caught in avid conversation and oblivious to our departure.

Harsh words for Alice.

Alice does not, to my knowledge, have one of those boys. Boys, she says, are never going to bend her to their will or chain her to a kitchen or force her to go to Church or to have babies. I suspect Alice’s parents have a lot to answer for.

The bell rings and we are saved from any more of Alice’s frustration.

I’ll see you after school, she says, giving me a quick hug in apology for the punch which still has my arm tingling like it’s been, well, punched.

Sure thing.

We part company and Alice disappears into the post-lunch throng.

Chapter Three

The following morning it is raining, and not just raining but one of those torrential downpours for which the West Coast is renowned. It is also cold, bitterly cold, and although, fortunately for me, I have not suffered another nightmare through the night, I am heartily wishing that Dad had not gone to Gore. The fire has gone out, the kindling is damp, and I am feeling thoroughly at odds with the world in general. As I struggle with yet another match which refuses to ignite under my fumbling ice-numbed fingers, Alice stomps into the kitchen and shakes off her duffel coat resulting in a spectacular puddle on the kitchen floor.

What are you doing here so early? I grump, flicking the broken match in amongst the rest of its companions in the fireplace.

Alice raises her eyebrows.

Aren’t we in a snot then. What’s gotten you so moody? Period?

"Alice!"

I am mortified. We may be girls and we may be best friends and all that but there are still things that simply needn’t be discussed, public, private or otherwise. There is no otherwise! No. So many shades of no.

Alice grins at me.

Just pulling your chain. Do you need a hand with that?

I throw the offending box of matches at her and clamber to my feet as Alice drops to her knees in the place I vacate and within moments the fire is blazing merrily while I stare at it in disgust.

It’s not like it cares whether you’re mad at it or not, Alice observes mildly, But keep glaring at it like that and it’s likely to be smothered.

I’ve been trying for over half an hour to get that blasted thing to go, I growl, and you just saunter in here and bam, there it goes.

Arsonist in another life, Alice says as she gets up and puts the jug on. Tea?

Actually, I’ll have a coffee, I tell her.

Ooh, is that your rebellious streak appearing? Alice teases.

I ignore her.

So, tell me again why you’re here so early?

I didn’t tell you the first time so I can hardly tell you again, can I? Alice points out, rather maddeningly.

I hold my tongue and put bread in the toaster.

If you must know, Alice continues, spooning coffee into the coffee maker, Mum and Dad left earlier than sparrow’s fart to drive to Christchurch.

I am stunned.

You’re kidding, I say.

Nope, Alice grins.

And they left you behind?

Well, duh, obviously. I told them I had an assignment due today and I’d be risking demerits if I wasn’t present without a medical certificate.

You never! I challenged her, still amazed her parents had left her home alone.

Alice turned to look at me and put her hands imperiously on her hips.

Are you suggesting, Esther Merilynn McBride, that I would lie to you about such a thing?

I can’t help it. Looking at her trying to be all stern and matriarchal nearly dissolves me into tears of laughter.

I’m sorry, Alice. Of course not.

Alice scowls at me but only for a moment and then she too begins to chuckle. Very soon, we are both rolling on the kitchen floor in an uncontrolled hysteria of laughter, tears streaming down our faces, holding our sides and almost completely unable to breathe.

Stop, stop, I beg. Stop it. I can’t take any more.

Then stop laughing, Alice snorts, pushing her fogged up glasses back onto her nose which only results in me going off into yet another round of hysteria.

We are finally reduced to a series of gasps and snorts and we sit up, Alice with her back to the kitchen cupboards and me against the leg of the dining room table.

Are we done? Alice asks, wiping her glasses with a tea towel.

I think so, I say, although being far from entirely sure.

Good, Alice sighs as she scrambles rather inelegantly to her feet, because I’m fairly sure I was going to succumb to hypoxia there for a moment.

I grab hold of the edge of the table and drag myself to my feet.

Hy what? I ask. Have you been studying your medical books again?

Hypoxia, Alice states knowledgeably. A lack of oxygen to the body or part thereof. And yes, actually. Plans, you know.

Right, plans. It is no secret between us that Alice intends to go to Otago as soon as she finishes school, to study medicine, and that as soon as she has her degree she is off to travel the world and be a doctor to underprivileged children. I haven’t actually got a plan as yet but it is agreed that until I do, I can carry her bags.

Back to your folks leaving you unattended at home, I prompt her.

Alice shrugs and pours me a coffee.

Oh, that.

Well, yes, that. It’s unheard of.

She hands me the coffee and puts toast on a plate.

Nana Lynn is coming over, she grins.

No way! I state, dumbfounded.

Alice glowers at me, though without any real intent.

Yes, way. She ought to be here by the time we get home from school.

Epic!

And I mean it. Alice and I both worship her Nana Lynn. Alice’s Nana Lynn, her father’s mother, is absolutely awesome and nothing at all like her parents. For a start, she’s small and quick and as wizened as a winter apple with the heart of a saint and the wit of a navy seaman. Nana Lynn always says she ‘can’t abide by all this new-fangled, New Age Christian feel-good claptrap’. She can’t understand why ‘what was good enough for Grandy and I’ shouldn’t be good enough for Alice’s parents. I think she’s an Anglican, or something. She is also one of the very few people who seems also to actually notice, and approve, of my presence. Alice’s parents must really have believed Alice’s story for them to concede to Nana Lynn coming to watch over her. And for all her age (and I don’t think anybody really knows for sure what that is and she only ever tells us she’s 26 going on ancient) she acts more like us, as in like teenagers, than we do.

I brightened up considerably.

We were cleaning up post breakfast when, for the third time that I could recollect, the air went still and cold and the hairs once again began to stand up all over my body. I stopped drying the plate I was holding and stood very still.

Can you feel that? I asked Alice.

Alice stopped wiping down the bench and cocked her head, like a bird listening for a worm in the grass.

Odd, she admitted.

So, you can feel it?

Alice raised her eyebrows at me, as she does, and the side of her mouth quirked into a cheeky smirk.

Ghost, she mock-whispered. It’s just waiting for us to leave so it can re-arrange the house.

Alice!

Alice shrugged and carried on wiping the bench.

It’s nothing, she said. You must have left a window open somewhere. It’s just a draft.

She put down the dish cloth and reached for her duffel which was drying on the back of a chair near the fire.

Come on. If we don’t get moving, we’ll be late.

There was a knock at the door and we both jumped. Alice looked at me.

Expecting someone?

Other than you? No. And you’re already here.

I opened the door apprehensively.

Kirby was standing rather sheepishly on the doorstep. Behind him, the rain was still sheeting down and farther back, parked up to the kerb, was Kirby’s big black Ford Explorer.

Um, Dad’s not here, I said, looking a little confused.

I know, Kirby said, looking perhaps even more confused. I, uh, thought you might need a ride.

A ride? Wow. Yes, well, a ride to school in this monsoon would be awesome but in my entire living memory neither Kirby nor anybody else but my dad had ever offered us a ride to school before. Not even Alice’s parents because they believe that hardship is good for spiritual development.

Thanks, Kirby. That would be epic.

Kirby shuffled his feet and half turned off the step.

Well, I’ll, uh, meet you in the truck then, he said.

I turned to Alice as Kirby dashed back to his truck.

What was that all about? Alice asked.

I don’t know, I said, but I’m not about to argue the point. Let’s go.

We grabbed our stuff and I only just remembered to push in the dampers on the fire before we were dashing out the door and through the teeming rain for the shelter of Kirby’s truck.

Kirby’s fourteen-year-old youngest daughter, Kirsten, was in the front seat and she neither acknowledged us nor even for a split second shifted her attention from her I-phone. Even Kirby, now that his act of heroism had been initiated, had nothing further to say. We were driven to school in silence, dropped as close to the main entrance as Kirby could get us, and then he was gone. Kirsten and her I-phone almost immediately vanished into B block while Alice and I stood inside the front foyer and simply stared at each other.

Weird, Alice said.

I couldn’t agree more, I said. And for a brief moment, realised that that was not the first time I had used that word of late. Weird. Yes, things were definitely getting a little bit weird.

How little I knew.

The day passed and, because it was raining and we ate our lunch in the hall, we had no further encounter with either Nathan Barnett or, sadly, Casey Templeton. I did have another of those peculiar, out of the ordinary, weird moments, however.

Fourth period, directly after lunch, is art class and, unlike all the other subjects at which I am merely average, art may conceivably be one of the few things at which I almost excel. And besides, I happen to really like my art teacher, Mr Fletcher, and not in any student/ teacher crush kind of way but because he’s just really cool.

Remember, people, Mr Fletcher addressed the class once we were all in and at our work stations, the end of the year isn’t all that far off now and we need to be focusing on completing our portfolios for assessment.

There was a slight murmur of dismay from those whose work was behind and Mr Fletcher raised a hand for silence.

Therefore, for those who may be needing a little extra time or assistance with projects they’re behind on… he cast his glance over those who had been making the most noise, I will be making myself and the art room available on both Saturday and Sunday this weekend, between two p.m. and four p.m. If you would like to attend, please put your names down on the clipboard on my desk at the end of class. Thank you.

I had absolutely no need to catch up on any of my art assignments but a couple of extra hours in art class was not an opportunity to be missed. I must put my name down, I thought.

‘Birthday’.

It was as if an unknown voice had popped the thought directly into my head.

What? I said. Out loud.

William Carson, seated almost directly next to me, glanced up, but nobody else did. Except Mr Fletcher, who wandered to the back of the room to stand next to me?

Daydreaming perchance, Miss McBride?

I frowned and then blushed.

Um, no Mr Fletcher, I just…

Mr Fletcher smiled.

I take it there would be no point in telling you there’s no need for you to attend this weekend?

Um, no sir, except that…

How could it have slipped my mind? And what was with the reminder? I looked around the class.

Yes, Miss McBride?

Oh. Right.

Sorry sir, it’s just that it’s my birthday this Saturday and my dad always makes plans. Otherwise I would most definitely be here.

Mr Fletcher grinned and put a decidedly paternal hand on my shoulder.

"Congratulations for your birthday then, Miss McBride and I shall definitely not expect to be seeing you again until next week."

Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.

Mr Fletcher walked back to his desk at the front of the room.

I must have imagined the whole thing. Certainly, nobody in the class would have bothered to remind me; they neither knew nor cared that it was my birthday because they’d actually have to acknowledge I existed first. I opened my portfolio and pulled out the still life in pastels I’d been working on: the random cluster of seashells around a twisted piece of driftwood which Mr Fletcher had arranged on the carousel in the middle of the art room. I stared at my artwork, and blinked.

I’d been working on the pastel for several classes now and it was almost finished but I was quite, quite sure that what I saw in it now was not what I had put there myself. I leaned back from it, ran both hands over my face, rubbed my eyes, and looked at it again. Nothing had changed. From in the centre of the swirls of grey, blue, green and purple which previously had clearly represented the sea shells, there was now equally clearly a face. And not just any face. I recognised this face so easily that tears immediately sprang to my eyes. I sucked in a huge breath and closed my eyes to press back the tears before I shamed myself in the middle of class and when I opened them, Mr Fletcher was once more at my shoulder.

Very impressive, Miss McBride. May I ask, who is the woman you have so very cleverly managed to incorporate into the shell form?

My mother, I whispered.

Alice was waiting for me at our lockers by the time I got out of my last class. And it was still raining.

You know what we forgot this morning? she asked me as she closed her locker and swung her back pack over her shoulder.

I was still a little bit dazed post art-class-discovery but not that much so that I didn’t immediately know what she meant.

Rain coats and an umbrella, I said, looking up at the ceiling where the skylights were awash with rainwater.

I watched a single drop of water slip from the edge of the skylight and plop onto the floor.

Esther!

I jumped.

What?

Alice was staring at me, hands on hips, and a frown on her face.

You are very odd lately, she said. Is it because it’s nearly your birthday?

What? No. Why?

I just said I imagine Kirby won’t think to give us a ride twice, and you completely ignored me.

I didn’t ignore you, I said. I didn’t hear you. I’m sorry. I guess maybe I am feeling a bit, um, odd.

Alice adjusted her glasses and shook her head.

Well, whatever. You ready?

I closed my locker door.

As I’ll ever be, I guess.

True to Alice’s expectation, there was no Kirby waiting for us with his big, warm, and dry Explorer. Too much to expect a miracle twice in one day, I guess and, looking at the sky, there was no likelihood of a pause in the weather any time soon. At least, with Dunstan being situated in a sheltered pocket between hills and mountains, there is very rarely any likelihood of wind and so the rain simply comes straight down, not unlike the deluge from the monsoon bucket of a forest-fire-fighting helicopter. Alice and I stared at the rain and then, with mutual sighs, stepped outdoors.

We were soaked through before we had reached the bottom of the steps and by the time we got to the gates, we closely resembled possums in floodwaters. Alice wiped water off the end of her nose, pointless because it merely continued to run off her head, and shifted her pack on her shoulder.

We could run, she said.

Are you kidding? I mocked. In this weather? Alice, you and I practically fall over our own feet when we’re in PE uniform on a level playing field.

Alice nodded sadly.

You’re right. Besides, we’re already drenched. What difference does it make, right?

Right, I agreed.

Alice did not come in when we got to mine, one because she was soaking wet and wanted to get changed and two because she was confident her Nana Lynn would be waiting for her.

Come over later if you want to, she said. It’s Nana.

Right, I agreed. I may just do that.

I stripped off most of my drenched clothing in the laundry and wrapped the towel from the previous night around me before heading up the stairs, and then almost lost towel and composure as the phone rang just as I was walking past it. This was beginning to become a habit.

Hello?

Esther, kitten. I’m glad you’re home.

Dad! Where are you? How far away are you? When will you be home?

I was so pleased to hear from him that I rambled on without giving him time to answer.

Whoa up there, pumpkin! Dad managed to squeeze in. Not so fast.

Sorry, Dad. It’s just, I miss you.

I know, sweet pea, and I miss you too and I’m real sorry to be doing this to you but I’m not going to make it home tonight.

Dad said it all so quick that I almost missed it and then the switch clicked.

What? What do you mean you won’t be home? Where are you? What happened? Are you alright?

Esther!

Yes, Dad?

I am on the wrong side of a washed-out bridge and I have to detour too far to risk trying to make it all the way home tonight so I’m going to find a safe spot and lay up. OK? I’ll be home as soon as I can tomorrow…

And then the line went suddenly dead.

Chapter Four

The line was dead; it was not that Dad had hung up on me, but that the connection was dead, lifeless, not so much as a buzz to indicate it had ever had any life at all. I stared at it for a short while, undecided as to whether to curse or cry, and then decided to do neither and simply set it back in its cradle, which was probably the most, ‘Wise’, course of action.

I blinked and turned stupidly around on the spot. I’d heard it again, that same odd, resonant voice inside my head that had earlier in art class reminded me of my upcoming birthday. What the hell was wrong with me? I put the back of my hand against my forehead, which was perfectly cool with not a hint of a temperature, and clenched my teeth in frustration. Was I too young to get schizophrenia or something? Cripes, did I have a brain tumour maybe?

I stood there a moment longer, contemplating my possible mortality, and then belatedly realised that I was still standing wrapped only in a towel and I hadn’t even checked the fire yet.

Yet another odd incident dismissed and forgotten, I scurried up the stairs to get changed.

Fortunately for me, the fire still held sufficient embers for me to coax it back to life and the kitchen was soon cosy and warm, my dripping uniform put through a spin cycle in the machine and drying on the rack above the fire. I briefly contemplated crossing over to Alice’s, and certainly the prospect of dinner with her Nana Lynn almost had me motivated, but one look at the bleak, dark curtains of rain still falling outdoors had me succumb instead to a desire for a long, hot bath, dinner, a good book, and bed. Of course, I couldn’t call Alice and let her know and, before you ask, no, Alice doesn’t have a cell phone and I therefore, never bother to even charge mine.

Mind you…

I rummaged around in the sideboard and eventually found both my phone and, miraculously, its charger and plugged it in. Maybe Dad would call again or leave me a text.

Dad did not call but he left me a text; Ph cut off. Will try again 2moro. Miss u, luv u, xxx D.

I ran a long, hot bubble bath in the downstairs bathroom and settled in with a huge mug of Milo and the last of the packet of Tim Tams, and afterwards had baked beans, bacon, and eggs on toast before taking Stephenie Meyer’s ‘The Host’ to bed with me. I don’t actually recall reading any of it as I must have fallen asleep not long after getting into bed.

As it turns out, I would have been better off to keep reading.

Shadows, darkness, a vast landscape swathed in nightfall and harried by a bitter, ice-laden wind. I was suspended above, within, beyond; rolling, sweeping, and falling. Nausea rose in bitter waves in my throat as the landscape ebbed and fell before my eyes, a patchwork of less than varying shades of darkness within shadows within empty fields of nothing at all. Was it snow that cloaked the valleys and the mountains? Or ash? Or was it all merely a barren wasteland devoid of anything at all? There was no light; no moon, no twinkle of star nor lingering remnant of sunrise or sunset, not a single beacon to break the monotonous darkness. My eyes searched for light and were left wanting. There was no light to be found.

And then it came like a great rushing wind; an irrevocable sense of impending doom, the rush of great wings driving against the keening wind, and fear, deep, dark fear ensnaring my heart, my breath, my mind in talons of ice and steel and flame. I gasped for air, fought the blindness that consumed me, felt myself plummeting helplessly towards the all-encompassing darkness below. My screams were caught in my throat, driven back by the onrushing wind of my cataclysmic fall, and at last I surrendered and simply waited for the falling to end.

I did not wake but lay suspended in that state somewhere between dreaming and waking, where you somehow know that you are asleep but cannot rouse yourself into the wakefulness which would save you from the dreaming. And there was no Dad to tap gently at my door, no hug and shower and Milo and Tim Tams. This time there was only the seemingly unceasing lash of the rain at the windows and tumult of it on our corrugated iron roof, too close to where I lay in that half-stupor in my bed on the second floor. Despite my unvoiced protests, the nightmare once again dragged me down into its darkness.

Rain, wind, the car skidding and sliding on the debris strewn road, Nana moaning and crying, Mum’s taut face barely glimpsed in the flashes of light from the violent lightning; once again I was repeating that awful accident from which I seemed unable to either fully recover or to escape.

The claws tore and scraped at the roof of the