I shakily get to my feet, looking to Freddy. He gives me a nod of encouragement and though I don’t know what awaits on the other side of the doors, I do know he had some part in it. Portia shifts her stance and clicks her fingers. The Fae, a little more reluctantly than usual, gather around her. Malachi sniffs and scowls, eyes pinned to the rear of the room.
“I’m not expecting anyone,” Portia says edgily.
I let myself bask in hope for a moment. I let myself dream. “I am.”
The doors burst open. A mass of people are revealed, and I gasp out a breath as I see three women at the front.
My mother, my grandmother and my aunt Leanna.
Gran stands in the middle of the trio, looking more glamourous than ever. I can’t help but release a snort of laughter as I watch her pointedly and deliberately turn down her hearing aid. Mum splays her hands and fire flares within her palms. The kind of fierce fire I could only dream of conjuring. Aunt Leanna has her hair scraped back and before anyone can utter a word, she stretches out both arms and releases green vines. They twist and turn and slither like emerald snakes across the floor before pinning Malachi and the Fae to the wall.
“We surrender!” yells one of the Fae, her eyes fixed on Mum’s hands and her fire.
“Coward,” snarls Portia, taking three steps
forward and addressing my family. “I wouldn’t advise this, ladies.”
My family are backed up by at least fifty Hidden Folk. I see Hulder, Blue Men, Selkies and Kelpies. A few Sprites hover overheard and there are even a few Fae. They advance into the room, and I watch as Mum glances between the Ripple and me, her face growing confused.
“I’m the real one,” I say, pointing to my chest.
She frowns, her eyes drifting to the Ripple. Doubt creeps into her features.
“I still think you all should have done this on day one, if that helps,” I add.
Her expression relaxes and she sighs irritably. “Yes, it’s definitely her.”
“This is touching but a few words from me, and most of you will happily walk yourselves into your cells,” Portia says silkily. “In fact—”
She is interrupted by the unimaginably, unmistakably loud drone of bagpipes. I clap a hand over my mouth in delight as my cousin edges to the front of the herd, his face red as he blasts out all his Grade 3 skills on the ancient and indominable instrument. Some Hidden Folk drum on anything that they can (walls, floors, discarded stone) to add to the cacophony.
“Yes, Marley!” I yell, inwardly taking back every mean thing I ever said about his choice of musical instrument. “Play!”
No one can hear me over the noise. Portia’s own fingers move to her ears in distaste. The Fae and Malachi are pinned to the wall and the Ripple has transformed into Marley, as if in admiration. Freddy dashes towards one of the antechambers and I spot Erica at the front, near Marley. We lock eyes and both break into beams, marvelling in relief at the madness of it all.
When Marley runs out of breath, Mum blasts some magic towards Portia, enclosing her in a circle of fire. The Siren hisses and steps towards it before checking herself. Her voice has no power over the elements, and she is not immune to burns. She glares at Mum with teeth bared.
Mum shrugs, smirking. “You can’t burn this witch, Portia.”
I laugh, still strangely delighted. My shoulders sag
in relief at the sight of my family and then I register one absence. Two. Three, when I look to the tree next to me.
Sacrifices that are like ghosts here with us.
I notice lots of other women standing among the Hidden Folk. Some Mum’s age, some older. They stare Portia down with as much ferocity as Gran. They must connect to Mum and Gran’s mission in some way. They make an intimidating team, whomever they are.
Then, time stands still for me. The room falls quiet and the large mass of people at the back of the hall parts to create a path.
And a ghost does in fact walk into the room.
Someone makes a noise of disbelief, and I’m not even sure if it is me or not. I stare at the figure as they move through the crowd of Hidden Folk to the middle of the hall, stopping before Alona and me.
Opal.
She catches my eye for the briefest moment. She touches her wrist. My eyes drop and note the teal fabric is still tied there.
“How?” I whisper, but Opal is no longer looking
at me.
She has to be a ghost. This can’t be real. Yet I know if I crawled over and touched her skin, I would feel blood pumping. She is not some ethereal spirit, she
is human.
Alive again. Right in front of me.
I expect Portia to take advantage of the silence and use her voice, perhaps to free her only supporters. I watch as Mum makes the fire circle a little calmer. She is watching Portia with acute concentration.
Portia does not seem interested in charming anyone. She is staring at Opal with the same disbelief that I feel, clearly trying to decipher how this is possible. There is also something I cannot fully name in her face. She is breathing rapidly, and her eyes continue to flit over my aunt with confusion.
Opal looks back, calm and collected. “Hello, Sha.”
I gape. The whole room seems to hold their breath at the utterance. I stare at the Siren, expecting her to hiss or spit at the informal greeting. I expect her to bristle at the impudent smile Opal is wearing. I expect her to call for her guard, bark orders and use the full force of her voice to fight back against this new development.
She does none of that. Her smile quivers. As does her voice.
“Hey, you.”
