Outback Spirit Read online

  “Here,” she said. “Take this.”

  Eloise glanced nervously at the stone.

  “It’s Tiger’s Eye,” Vera explained. “For the protection of the sun and Earth. If you’re going to travel the Dreaming with Coen, it’ll help. It’s not called the all-seeing eye for nothing.” She held it out, knowing it wasn’t the crystal Eloise was anxious about. “Don’t worry, your energy has changed. I can feel it.”

  “It has?” She tentatively reached out and plucked the stone from the witch’s palm, her fingers brushing against her skin. The elemental laughed softly as her hand closed around the Tiger’s Eye.

  Vera smiled and opened the door to her dugout. “I better get back.”

  “Take care. I’ll come see you when I get back, okay?” She turned and began to walk towards the road.

  “Eloise?” Vera called.

  The elemental turned. “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  Her head tilted to the side. “What for?”

  “Being my friend.”

  Drew’s human eyes opened and he jerked upright with a growl. Pain seared through his body as his muscles coiled, ready to attack.

  “Drew.” Cool hands pressed on his shoulders. “Drew, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

  Pain forced him back down and his chest heaved as his vision began to sharpen. Warm light surrounded him and the scent of eucalyptus filled his nose.

  A woman knelt beside him. A woman with a shock of red, curly hair.

  “Vera?” he managed to rasp.

  “You fool,” she murmured, wiping at a stray tear. “You bloody fool.”

  “Roth,” he said with a grimace. “Where’s Roth?”

  “We don’t know,” Vera replied. “Hardy left him.”

  “Hardy?” He tried to lift his head again, but the witch clucked her tongue and pressed her hands on his shoulders again.

  “Stay still,” she told him. “You’re in a right mess. I’m good, but not that good.”

  “What happened? How did I get here?” The last thing he remembered was fighting Roth, then collapsing. There was a shadow in the darkness…a kadaitcha. It’d attacked the alpha.

  Vera moved from her knees and perched on the edge of the couch, picking up a damp face washer. She folded the fabric and pressed it to his forehead, the coolness soothing his flushed skin.

  “I broke my promise…” she explained. “I shouldn’t have let you go in the first place. I’m sorry.”

  Drew frowned. He was the one who should be sorry. He’d messed everything up, but it was like a broken record with him—messing up was the only thing he knew how to do right.

  “I knew you were in trouble and went to Hardy for help,” she went on. “He was the one who found you. Him and Coen.”

  His mind went back to the kadaitcha, wondering if he’d seen it at all…or if it was just the vampire.

  “Drew… The Dust Dogs were hunting you, and by the looks of it they—” She clamped her mouth closed and turned away, hiding her expression.

  “They beat the shit outta me,” he said. “Locked me in a cage so the sun burned my bare arse, threatened, taunted, but… I challenged Roth.”

  Her gaze returned to his. “You challenged him?”

  Drew grasped her hand. “It was the only chance I had to avenge them.”

  Vera was quiet for a long moment. She dabbed the face washer on his forehead again, using the gesture to cover her silence. “Who?”

  “My family. My pack.”

  The witch’s magic seemed to stir, a small crackle of electricity playing over his forehead.

  “My parents died when I was a pup,” he explained. “I lived with my grandfather after. He was the last of my pack.”

  “The last?”

  He nodded. “They were all killed by the Dust Dogs. I never knew until Roth told me last night.”

  Vera’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Drew…”

  He shifted, the movement making him wince. “I was four or five at the time, I don’t really remember. I have pieces of memory that never made much sense. Howls in the night…” He narrowed his eyes as the visions replayed in his mind. “Crashes, fighting, the scent of blood and smoke. Fire… Someone telling me to shift and hide…my mum, I think. I remember digging underneath a house, our house maybe. I curled up in a hollow and it was hot, so hot.”

  His grip tightened on Vera’s hand. This was the first time he’d spoken about it. Until now, they’d been blurred memories buried inside his head that no one had ever wanted to know—not that he’d bother telling anyone. Not one had ever cared about him…until Vera took a chance on his sorry arse.

  “The house burned down on top of you?” she asked. “And you survived?”

  “By some screwed up miracle. The foundation was still smoking when I was dug up. It was light out and the last thing I remember was my grandad’s disappointed face.”

  Vera stilled. “Disappointed?”

  “The old bastard was disappointed I was alive.” Drew snorted. “We were the last of our pack. They’d all been killed. Exterminated.”

  “Why would he be disappointed in finding you?” She didn’t bother wiping away her tears. “If everyone was gone…”

  “He didn’t want to raise a shifter kid on his own. He was a no-good son of a bitch. He beat me, told me I was no good, never bothered sending me to school. I grew up by the pain of his belt on my arse.” He coughed, his ribs aching. “His favourite thing, other than drowning his sorrows in a bottle of grog, was reminding me how much he wished I’d died.”

  “Oh, Drew…”

  “I don’t want your pity,” he hissed.

  Her expression hardened. “Then what do you want?”

  “Justice.” He tried to sit again, but Vera shoved him down more forcibly this time. “It was them. The Dust Dogs. They murdered my pack. They took my parents from me.” He pushed against her hold, but she sent a jolt of magic into him. “I want to kill them all.”

  “Drew, please,” she murmured. “You’re hurt and I don’t want you undoing an entire night’s work.”

  Drew heaved in a deep breath, his anger calling to his dingo side. “I was so stupid.”

  “You ran with them for months,” Vera said. “You didn’t know?”

  He shook his head. “Roth told me last night.”

  “That’s why you challenged him.”

  “If I died trying to take him down, then who’d care?”

  “I’d care!” Vera exclaimed. “I’d care.”

  “I… I was on my own. I just wanted… I just…”

  Vera smoothed her hand over his cheek. “You wanted to belong.” His gaze met hers as his eyes filled with tears. “Drew, you’re an Exile now. You belong to our pack.”

  His bottom lip quivered. It was all he’d ever wanted, but he’d messed up big time. It was his actions that’d brought the Dust Dogs down on Solace. He didn’t deserve the protection or friendship of the Exiles, even if he was trying to do the right thing.

  “I know you took the key to the seal from them,” Vera murmured.

  He stared at her. “How do you know?”

  “Eloise told us.”

  “Eloise?”

  Vera nodded. “Turns out her hallucinations in the outback were real. She knows everything…and more besides. You were trying to do the right thing, though I wish you would’ve just told us.”

  “I want to explain,” he said, grasping his side. “I don’t want them to hate me.”

  “They don’t hate you, Drew,” Vera told him.

  He was only half listening. “I tried to do the right thing. I tried.”

  “Drew.” She grasped his face, forcing him to look at her. “Take a breath. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

  A distressed sob burst out of him and he jerked upright. Vera caught him in her arms, her magic wrapping around him in a comforting wave.

  “Shh,” she murmured, holding him against her chest, the balm she’d rubbed on his wounds smearing over her clean bl
ouse. “Let it out. It’s okay.” She smoothed a hand through his hair as he broke down and sobbed. “You’ll never be alone again.”

  Chapter 22

  Eloise opened the door to her van, the metal panel whizzing across the runners.

  Climbing through the cab, she plucked the feather from where she’d pinned it on the headliner right next to the bright yellow badge from the ‘Big Banana,’ which was one of Australia’s most famous ‘big things.’

  She twirled the brown and white feather in her fingers and wondered why it was so important. It was just a shed feather from some bird—a hawk or an eagle, maybe. How was she going to use this to find Coen?

  Snorting, she jumped out of the van and closed the door, which shut with a loud whizz and a bang. She’d stopped in more than a few campgrounds where she’d heard other people referring to her little motorhome as a ‘whizz banger’ and it wasn’t hard to understand why.

  A soft breeze full of warmth and the scent of trouble buffeted her hat, and she pressed her palm against the crown as she jogged around the side of Wally’s garage.

  She’d always known she was different, but the supernatural world was far greater than anything she could’ve anticipated. Werewolves, vampires, witches, fae, shapeshifters, elementals, and likely more besides.

  Whatever lay underneath the mysterious seal could be anything…or anyone. How could they protect something they didn’t understand?

  Andante would know, even though she’d spoken in riddles. She’d said everything, but nothing all at the same time. Who was she, anyway? Why was she living in the remote outback in a cave? How anyone could survive out there without access to food and water year-round was yet another mystery to add to the ever-increasing pile.

  Eloise had come to know Solace as a sleepy town, but that morning it seemed it sat on the precipice of a jagged cliff. The air crackled with promise and the sky was a shade of purplish-pink she’d never seen before. The land seemed to understand a battle was brewing.

  Hurrying along the road, she crossed over and approached the boab. The tree was an impressive sight on an ordinary day, but Eloise was beginning to suspect it was more than it seemed.

  As she stood there, she realised one thing Vera hadn’t told her was how to call for Coen. She looked around, feeling awkward.

  “Coen?” she called, but her voice came out in a ragged whisper. Man, she felt like an idiot right now. “Coen? Are you there?”

  “Hello,” he called, peeking his head out from behind the boab.

  Eloise jumped, her heart almost bursting. “Holy f—” She stopped herself from cursing one of the ultimate bad words just in time, much to Coen’s amusement.

  He chuckled and walked around the tree, jumping barefoot over one of the exposed roots. That man must have hard soles; she couldn’t walk across Wally’s yard without either burning her skin or stepping on a sharp rock.

  “You scared me,” she said, placing her palm over her heart. She was never a fan of jump scares and always watched horror movies during the day, but boy did she feel alive right now.

  “I woke you up,” Coen told her with a wide grin. “Better than an alarm clock.”

  Eloise had so many questions, but first she said, “I never got to thank you for helping me when I was lost.”

  “I know you’re grateful,” he replied. “You don’t need to say. Marlu helped more.”

  “Yeah, but I want to.” She smiled. “Thank you. And to, uh, Marlu.”

  “I like your hat.”

  Her hand brushed the brim. “Yeah, thanks. Kyne got it for me.”

  Coen laughed knowingly. “I know.”

  Eloise felt her cheeks flush and she said, “Vera said the boab was the best place to contact you. Can I ask why?”

  “Memory,” Coen replied. “The boab bloats like a man with too much beer in his belly. See?” He patted the trunk with his hand and laughed. “Rock solid.”

  Eloise laughed, his enthusiasm infectious. The boab collected the memory of the Dreaming, which Coen travelled on his walkabout. It was a spiritual mobile phone.

  “Ah.” He pointed to the feather clutched in her fingers. “He found you.”

  “Finn gave it to me,” she told him.

  “Good.” His grin widened. “It’s a tail feather from the great wedge-tailed eagle. It’s special. For you.”

  “Oh… Thanks.”

  He looked her over, his dreamy eyes keen in the lightening day, waiting.

  “Coen, when I was lost…” Eloise trailed off, not knowing how to explain her visions without sounding crazy.

  “Don’t worry,” he told her. “I’ve seen many things that don’t seem possible to those without all eyes open.” He jabbed a finger in between his eyes and chuckled. “You can tell me what you think is crazy. It’s not.”

  Eloise raised her eyebrows, still not sure how to take him. Sometimes Coen was clear and sharp, other times he was dreamy and misty-eyed. He was like a spirit himself—flitting here and there, appearing and disappearing without rhyme or reason…or so it seemed.

  “Well, when I was lost, I kind of met someone…in my dreams. I thought it was a hallucination because of dehydration, but I’m not so sure.”

  “Ah,” the Indigenous man said. “Many souls wander the Dreaming. More likely to meet some out there,” he pointed to the scrub, “away from humans and their noise.”

  “I want to find her again. She told me about the seal and about the key Drew took. The Dust Dogs are going to try to open it.” Eloise sighed and shook her head. “We need help. She might know how we can best protect it.”

  If Coen was surprised Eloise knew about the seal and the key, he didn’t show it. “She?”

  “She called herself Andante.”

  “Ah.” His expression turned thoughtful.

  “Do you know her? She is real?”

  “Yes, she is real enough. Alive, but not here.”

  “She came to me in my dreams, or at least, I think she did. I thought you might know how to find her again.”

  “The Dreaming doesn’t flow in a straight line.” He held up his arm and waved it through the air as if he were imitating a snake. “It flows like a river, filling every gap, going up and down, side to side, all at the same time.”

  “So, you’re saying reality isn’t a straight line?”

  Coen grinned. “Sometimes other rivers join, then break away. Other times they never part.”

  Eloise’s heart sank. “So you’re saying she can’t be found?”

  “She controls the rivers,” he replied. “We only travel them.” He took the feather from her fingers and gestured for her to sit. “May I?” He held the feather to his hair, then pointed to her.

  “Oh.” She raised her eyebrows and shrugged. “Okay.”

  “The feather will protect you,” he explained. “It will guide the spirits and the ancestors.”

  Eloise sat on the raised root of the boab. “Andante said they were attracted to me because of my gift.”

  He combed his fingers through her hair, his movements considerate of her aversion to touch, and picked out some long blonde strands behind her left ear.

  “You know everything you need to in this moment,” he said as his fingers worked. “She cannot tell you anything else.”

  She looked up at him and frowned. “I don’t know what to do. We need to protect the seal, but I don’t know how…”

  Coen pointed to the boab. “Would you like to see it?”

  Eloise blinked. “What?”

  “The seal.”

  “Am I… Am I allowed?”

  “Yes, you are welcome.” Coen laughed and fixed the feather into place with a small thread of something he took out of his shirt pocket.

  Eloise felt her hair, finding he’d woven the feather half inside a small plait. “Where is it?”

  “Come,” he said. “The entrance is not far.”

  He led her to the other side of the boab tree and dusted his hands over the ground, moving aside the och
re dirt from a concealed metal hatch. It was rusted a deep, burned brown, camouflaging into the earth around it.

  Not that far at all, she thought as Coen shoved aside the metal, revealing a narrow mineshaft.

  Coen didn’t hesitate. He hopped over the side and scaled the ladder, disappearing into the darkness.

  Eloise looked over the edge and bit her bottom lip. She guessed she was going underground again…hopefully with better results this time.

  With one last look around Solace, she followed Coen, making her way down the ladder much slower than he had. Her feet were unsure of the depth and she kept awkwardly reaching into the dark until she made it to the bottom.

  Peering up at the circle of light above, she estimated it was at least as deep as Black Hole Mine. The miners had to dig down to the right level, which was the ancient coral reef, to find opal.

  She took out her mobile phone from her pocket and switched on the torch. The harsh white light lit the tunnel, revealing Coen waiting within.

  “Come,” he said. “It’s not far.”

  Coen’s version of ‘not far’ could mean anything, but in this case, she guessed the seal lay underneath the road. After all, it was where she’d first sensed it.

  Eloise felt the magic reverberating in the air as they moved down the tunnel. The walls were pocked with chisel marks, but when they emerged into a larger chamber, it was clear the miners had stumbled across something that had been here long before them.

  It looked natural, like a hollow that had been missed when the earth reshaped itself millions of years ago. Maybe it’d once been an underwater cave and magic had kept it from filling with sediment.

  “Here,” Coen called, waving Eloise forwards.

  She shone the torch in his direction and paused. In the centre, jutting out of the uneven floor like a set of doors leading into a cellar, was a stone that didn’t belong. The mottled bluestone stood out like sore thumb against the warmth of the rock around them, the quartz flecks glittering in the light of Eloise’s torch.

  “Is that…?” She moved closer, the air filling with a strange sensation that made her bones vibrate. It was if the air was alive.