Mason and Ruben. They smiled back at her, eyes glazed, goofy-looking.
I really must learn to control whatever it is I did back there, she thought. I wonder when it wears off?
The relief she’d felt at escaping the mob and the ninjas had dissipated, and now she was beginning to wonder how on earth she was going to get out of the back of this truck. She took another look around the insides of the AFP urban military vehicle. With bench seating for maybe twelve normal people and six Mason-Ruben-sized people, the rest of the space was occupied by computer screens, blinking lights, riot shields, facemasks and racks of weapons. She could hear the muffled sound of rain beating down on the armoured truck.
She stopped forcing her fingernails into her palm when she felt them break the skin.
‘Um, this is a great… place you have here,’ she said.
Mason grinned wider. His blond hair was cut so close to his skull he seemed bald. She imagined that would look pretty scary to a bad guy, especially when the body underneath the bald head was the size of a fridge-freezer combo.
‘But I think you can send the other cars away now,’ she said to Ruben, the other giant, who’d slung her over his shoulder and carried her through the airport.
Ruben looked as though he could bench press the truck. And like he ate a whole cow for breakfast. He pressed a finger to his ear.
‘Yeah, we got her,’ he said quietly into his mike. ‘Make sure the crowd’s dispersed and then report back to base. Roger that.’
He swung his face back towards her, awaiting further command.
Cool, she thought, in spite of herself. My own private tank. The thought gave her another idea.
‘Um, Ruben,’ she said. She felt Mason sulking because she hadn’t talked to him. ‘And Mason,’ she continued.
He snapped his eyes to hers, gave her full attention.
‘There are these four fans in there who kinda follow me everywhere,’ she said. ‘And they’ve been a little, um, threatening. I wonder whether your guys could ask them to…’
‘Describe them,’ they said, in unison.
So she did. It wasn’t too difficult. Two minutes later, Ruben had issued instructions for Kirra and Co to have a bad day at the hands of the AFP.
‘Now, where can we take you?’ said Mason.
‘And where are your handlers?’ said Ruben. ‘Why don’t you have bodyguards here to protect you?’
All very good questions, she thought.
‘Well, there was a mix-up,’ she said, thinking fast. ‘And my entourage ended up booked on the wrong flight, but I absolutely had to get here for an engagement, so I came alone.’
As she spoke, Mason nodded and Ruben shook his head.
‘And they’re all waiting for me at the, um, hotel.’
‘Which hotel?’ said Ruben. ‘We’ll escort you there.’
Samantha just wanted to get out of the truck before the magic spell thing wore off. Problem was, she didn’t know the names of any hotels and she didn’t think these guys would just drop her in the street.
‘Oh, you know, it’s the…’
‘Ritz-Carlton?’ said Ruben.
‘Park Hyatt?’ said Mason.
‘That’s the one,’ said Samantha.
‘I got it riiight,’ said Mason, poking his tongue out at Ruben.
Ruben flexed a bicep and his jaw twitched.
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.