Disharmony

She sighed and threw the phone back into the bag. Her hands found her tarot deck, or maybe her tarot deck found her hands. Through the lacquered box she could feel the cards inside jostling. They whispered to her. She closed her eyes, fingering the gold cord around the box.

‘Is there anything I can get you, Ms White?’

Samantha snapped open her eyes.

One of the serene, supreme, scented stewardesses stood there. Smiling, of course.

‘Um, no,’ said Sam. ‘I’m good.’

‘Okay, then.’ The smile stayed stuck, but Samantha felt the woman’s annoyance as she bent towards her. ‘You’ve clicked on your attendant’s light,’ she said.

‘Oh, sorry,’ said Samantha. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘That’s no problem,’ said the stewardess. ‘Everyone does it. It’s very sensitive.’

And then something weird happened. As the woman leaned over Samantha to depress the Call button, their hands touched briefly. And this time Samantha saw an image. It was the woman in her uniform, standing by a doorway, a black wheelie luggage bag by her side. A young child, a girl, maybe five, was crying piteously, her arms outreached. An older woman held the child back, terribly upset for the woman by the door – her daughter – and for her granddaughter who couldn’t understand what could be so important outside that door that would make her mummy leave her. Again.

The stewardess clicked off the button on Samantha’s console and straightened in the aisle. The image vanished.

Samantha squinted through the gloom at the woman’s name badge.

‘Thank you, Rebecca,’ she said.

‘You’re very welcome, Ms White,’ said the stewardess.

‘My name’s Samantha,’ she said, mentally gathering up some of the love she’d felt by the doorway in the image. She gently pushed the energy particles outwards. ‘What’s your daughter’s name?’ she said.

‘Daisy,’ said Rebecca, blinking slowly.

‘Daisy loves you very much,’ said Samantha. ‘Are you on your way home?’

‘Seventeen hours, thirty-nine minutes,’ said Rebecca, glancing at her watch.

‘She’s a lucky girl,’ said Samantha.

‘I’m a lucky mum.’

Samantha eased up on the emotion-emission.

A register of surprise flashed through Rebecca’s eyes. She straightened her shoulders and smiled, genuinely this time.

‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’ she said. ‘I make the absolute best hot chocolate, and I have to be awake now, anyway. You’d be doing me a favour.’

‘I’d love a hot chocolate,’ said Samantha. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever had one before.’

The stewardess turned, still smiling, but Samantha saw her shake her head, as though to clear it, as she walked away.

Samantha grabbed her tarot deck. This time, the cards whispered urgently. She figured she had time for a single-card reading before Rebecca returned. The thought gave her comfort. She had other skills she could draw upon besides running from people.

Hungrily, now, she scrabbled to undo the cord, wrapping it around and around her wrist to keep it safe. She opened the black lacquered box and withdrew the cards, immediately raising them to her face and breathing them in. She wasn’t aware that she smiled widely. She lost herself as she shuffled the deck, no longer airborne but in a lake where the cards swam about her, darting playfully. She joyfully tumbled with them, but a nagging worry tugged at her, finally pulling her back into herself. The single-card draw.

She never drew a single card. Why would you? If you posed a question of the cards and drew only one answer there was nowhere to hide. What ambiguity could there possibly be? What hope for better things if one drew an ill- fated card? She always felt it better to draw a suite – to paint a picture of possibility – than to draw a single card. A destiny card.

And yet the cards flew through her hands, butting against them insistently, urgently.

And one card forced its way into her palm.

Wait, I haven’t asked the question, she thought. This was not how to draw the single-card reading. The most important thing was to have the question uppermost in the mind when shuffling the cards. Nevertheless, she clutched the card in her hand.

The others were now silent, still, waiting.

Am I doing the right thing? That will be my question, she thought.

The cards jostled. Nope, wrong question, scratch that. She knew she was doing the right thing – she had no choice but to leave Romania. Tamas had almost died because of her.

What will happen at the airport?

Um, wrong again. The cards would warn her of danger if that was coming, and she already knew that was coming. Would there be any use in frightening herself even more?

What do I need to get through this?

The card grew warm in her hand. She opened her eyes. She straightened the rest of the cards and put all of them but one back into the box, pushing forcefully to close the lid. The deck knew a member was missing. She heard them hex and spit as she dropped them back into her satchel. She kept the golden cord wrapped around her wrist and the answer card face down under her tray table. The cord itched and the answer card hummed with heat.

‘Samantha?’ Rebecca appeared, beaming, and carefully transferred the contents of her white-linen-draped tray to Samantha’s tray table: a lovely silver teapot, a jug full of milk, and a tiny saucer heaped with pink marshmallows.

‘You’re gonna love it. It’s melted chocolate. From Belgium. We never give it to the passengers.’

Samantha smiled back, tightly. The card called, almost burning now, from beneath the tray table.

What do I need to get through this? Her single-card question. As soon as Rebecca turned away, she pulled the card from under the tray table and flipped it over.

Huh. She stared at the picture on the card and breathed deeply. A monk, small of stature, robed in deep green and gold, stood calmly, head bowed in thought. Behind him, filling the rest of the card, the monk’s spirit towered over him. His spirit was a giant, his robe thrown backwards, baring a broad chest and huge, powerful arms. The arms were raised high, holding up a cracking, crumbling ceiling.

Samantha gave a small smile and reached for her bag. She found the lacquered box and slipped the card back inside. Then she poured herself a hot chocolate. Rebecca was right. It was absolutely delicious.

She leaned back into the seat and thought about her answer. A spirit card, representing spiritual strength. The cards were telling her that even though she may be frightened and weary, this was no time to rest. A great danger was poised above her, but ultimately she was strong and had everything she needed within her to survive.

But it still seemed that everyone had more faith in her than she did. Because she still had no idea how she was going to get out of Sydney airport without being captured.

And then there was the small matter of searching a country she’d never set foot in, to find a boy she’d never met and wasn’t sure she wanted to – her twin brother, the psychopath.

JULY 2, 5.17 P.M.

Samantha followed the other Qantas passengers shuffling towards the immigration gates at Sydney International Airport. With her only luggage slung across her shoulder, she was not in any particular hurry to clear customs and race to the luggage carousel.

She still didn’t have a plan. She felt like she was walking towards her doom.

Let them wait, she thought.

Standing in the custom’s queue, she spotted Rebecca, the stewardess, moving with the other airline personnel through the staff exit. Rebecca caught her eye and waved. I’m an idiot, Samantha told herself. I should have asked her if there was a staff exit I could take. No one would think to look for me there. Too late now. She watched Rebecca’s back clear the doorway. At least Daisy will be happy to have her mum home, she thought. It was sad