Agent Nomad 1 Read online

  ‘My dad,’ I said. ‘I can’t just leave my dad, he’ll be –’

  ‘Your father knows what you are, Natalie.’

  ‘– worried sick, and he …’ I faltered as his words registered. ‘Wait, what?’

  Centurion gave me another steady look. ‘Your father knows what you are. As soon as I identified you as a Witness, I suspected at least one of your parents was a sorcerer too. The gene required to access quintessence is heritable.’

  ‘But my dad –’

  ‘I have just left the police station,’ Centurion said. ‘I spoke to your father, and he confirmed my suspicions. He was once a HELIX agent, but he rejected his powers years ago. He had his records erased, and voluntarily put his magic into stasis. His, and yours too.’

  ‘He knows?’ My voice broke. ‘He knows about … about all this? And he never told me?’

  For the first time, Centurion looked slightly uncomfortable. His lips were pulled tight, forming a terse line. ‘It is not my business to investigate the relationship between children and their parents. If your father chose not to share his secret with you, that is his business – not mine. My only concern is whether you will accept my offer of recruitment.’

  My heart thudded.

  ‘What about my mum?’ I said.

  Centurion shook his head. ‘As far as we can gather, she is just an ordinary woman.’ He reached into his pocket and produced a folded slip of paper. I stared at it for a long moment, before accepting the note. I unfolded it with fumbling fingers and strained to read it in the shadowed light of the petrol station.

  Instantly, I recognised my dad’s handwriting.

  Natalie, I’m so sorry that it has come to this. I thought I could protect you. I thought you would be safer if you didn’t know.

  I was wrong.

  The man called ‘Centurion’ works for an organisation known as HELIX. I once worked there myself, before you were born. He says the Inductors have found you. If that is true, I have failed. I can’t protect you from them.

  If you wish to join HELIX and train as an agent, I won’t stop you. However, it must be your choice.

  I will always love you, no matter what you decide.

  As I read the note, my entire body tensed. This was really happening. John Smith wasn’t some crazy conman. HELIX was real, and Dad knew all about it, and …

  It must be your choice.

  I’d never had a choice before. Mum had dragged me halfway around the world, and then dumped me on a whim. Just another decision made by an adult on my behalf. This was my chance to decide for myself. To choose my own life, and my own future.

  If I stayed in Hollingvale, I would put Dad in danger. Not only Dad, but my friends too – what if the Inductors came for me at school tomorrow? What about Billie, and our classmates, and even Mrs Strickland? Normally, I’d have given anything to interrupt the Trig Test of Doom, but a horde of homicidal sorcerers breaking into the classroom wasn’t really what I had in mind.

  No, I couldn’t stay here. If I did have some kind of magical ‘quintessence’, I had no idea how to use it. I needed to be trained, to learn how to defend myself.

  And that left only one option.

  I folded the letter carefully and slipped it into my pocket. Then I took a deep breath and met Centurion’s gaze. ‘How do I join?’

  His expression did not shift. There was no look of surprise, or pleasure, or approval. There was just that blank stare – as if he’d known all along what I would choose. ‘To join HELIX, you must pass a certain test.’

  ‘Test?’

  ‘You must show courage and ingenuity. A great HELIX agent is a talented spy. You must decipher codes, take risks, and think on your feet. A sorcerous gift is not enough. To be an agent takes more than genetic luck – it takes talent.’

  I blinked. ‘But I thought you wanted me?’

  ‘We do,’ he said. ‘It would be a great boon to have a Witness on our team. But as the head of HELIX’s Australian division, I have rules to uphold. I cannot relax our entry standards – not even for you.’

  A gust of wind rippled across the street beyond us, churning rain into splatters on the asphalt. The lights of the petrol station flickered, before settling back into their steady, fluorescent buzz.

  ‘If you wish to join us,’ Centurion said, ‘you must meet two of my operatives at midnight tonight in the Hall of Quiet Eyes.’

  Centurion reached into his pocket and produced a folded newspaper. It was thin and bedraggled, slightly soggy, but still readable.

  ‘What’s the Hall of Quiet Eyes?’ I said, accepting the paper. ‘I don’t understand where –’

  ‘That is your challenge. If you reach the meeting place by midnight, you pass the test.’

  ‘And if I don’t?’

  He gave me a long, slow look. ‘Then I am afraid, Miss Palladino,’ he said, ‘that you will be left to face the Inductors on your own.’

  Silence.

  Centurion turned away. He slunk between the petrol bowsers, angled away from the security cameras. His dark coat flapped behind him as he slipped into the street beyond. And then he was gone: just another shadow in the dark of the storm.

  For a long moment, I simply stood there. I clutched the sodden newspaper, staring into the darkness where Centurion had vanished.

  I was on my own. The Inductors were out there, hunting me. It was 10 pm, which gave me only two hours until midnight. If I couldn’t figure out this clue in time, I would have no choice but to run and hide, and wait for them to find me.

  Unfortunately, I hadn’t chosen the safest location to loiter. In the chaos of the storm, it would be easy to sneak up behind a petrol pump. I was vulnerable here – and somehow, I doubted the CCTV cameras would prove much of a deterrent to the men who had broken into my house.

  Quickly, I headed for the automatic doors of the petrol station. As I scurried inside, the sound of the storm faded, sliced away as the doors slid shut behind me.

  Behind the counter, a bearded cashier was enthusiastically humming the Star Wars theme under his breath. As I entered, he faltered halfway through a note, looking slightly embarrassed. ‘Er … can I help you?’

  I blinked. In the bright, garish colours of the shop – all fluoro lights and chip packets, chocolate bars and magazines – it was hard to believe that any of this was real. But I was still clutching Centurion’s soggy newspaper, and a drip of water dribbled from the paper onto my palm.

  No. It wasn’t just water.

  Something was stirring around my hand. It flickered and fizzled, like popping bubbles of lemonade. Just for a moment, the lights flickered.

  Quintessence. Was this it? Was this the touch of magic, awakening slowly across my body? It slunk and sizzled, faint as a breath, before it finally dissolved into a rush of breeze across my palm. I’d felt a similar sensation earlier, hadn’t I, on the couch at home? A brush against my leg, like the fur of an invisible cat, while my phone screen stuttered like a strobe.

  Too late, I realised the shop assistant was still staring at me for an answer. I cleared my throat, feeling awkward. ‘Just … just browsing, thanks.’

  I shuffled down an aisle, out of sight of the windows. If any Inductors crossed the street outside, they wouldn’t spot me in the clutter of the shop. Not unless they had X-ray vision, anyway, and Centurion hadn’t mentioned that as one of their powers. For the moment, it seemed, I was safe.

  The attendant began to hum again, more quietly. I heard a clatter of coins and suspected that he was tallying his till, or perhaps moving some of the night’s takings into a safe in the back room.

  As he hummed, I took my chance to open the newspaper, peeling wet pages apart. If Centurion had given me this paper, it had to be some kind of guide. He wanted to test my ability to decipher clues, to think on my feet. Perhaps there was a hidden reference to the ‘Hall of Quiet Eyes’ in these pages.

  The first few articles offered no help. There was a big feature about a plane crash in Europe, and then
a double-page spread about the state election. The next page focused on the planned demolition of a beloved old theatre in Melbourne, to be replaced by a swanky new apartment block. The theatre was famous for its rock concerts, so a bunch of music fans were picketing to save it.

  On the opposite page, I spotted an article about a possible new treatment for macular degeneration. Wasn’t that an eye condition? Perhaps this was the answer to Centurion’s clue about the ‘Hall of Quiet Eyes’. As I read on, though, my stomach sank. ‘The treatment is currently being trialled in Amsterdam, where researchers are hopeful …’

  Amsterdam? I was stuck on the opposite side of the planet, and it was 10.05 pm. Surely not even a sorcerer could make it to the Netherlands by midnight. Clearly, this wasn’t what Centurion had meant for me to find.

  I flipped through the paper, my fingers fast and nervous. There had to be something here, something I was missing. I skimmed the sports pages, TV guide and world news, before ending up back at the front. I was vaguely aware that the attendant had stopped humming, but it didn’t really register until he called out to me.

  ‘Hey!’ he said. ‘You buying something, kid?’

  His voice was tight with suspicion now, and I couldn’t really blame him. I was a lone teenager, dripping wet, lurking in the aisles. He probably thought I was shoplifting. Luckily my wallet was in my pocket, with a few coins left over from my icy pole at the school canteen. I grabbed a pack of cheap spearmint gum and took it to the counter to pay.

  ‘Heck of a night to be out,’ he said. ‘Better get home, or your parents’ll be worried about you.’

  I nodded. I couldn’t really stay in the shop now, not without arousing too much suspicion. I pocketed my gum and slipped outside, pausing in the light of the petrol bowsers. How long until the Inductors found me? A few minutes? An hour? They could be ten streets away … or ten seconds.

  At least I had a head start. By the time they realised I wasn’t home, it would be too late to determine which route I’d taken. Hollingvale was a cobweb of suburban streets, thick with tangled courts and looping crescents. It would be a labyrinth to search, especially in the dark of the storm.

  Even so, I couldn’t afford to linger.

  As quickly as possible, I flipped through the paper again. The articles were familiar now, and I fought down a surge of despair as I scanned the headlines. Plane crash, state election, macular degeneration …

  Almost unconsciously, my gaze settled again on the article about the old theatre. There was a picture of the protesters, dressed in band t-shirts and waving placards. ‘Rock, not apartment block!’ ‘Music for the people!’ ‘Save the Visionary Theatre!’

  My breath caught in my throat. The Visionary Theatre …

  Scanning the article, I found a description of the theatre’s history. It had started as a music hall for vaudeville shows, then became a cinema in the 1930s. Over the years it had morphed into a theatre for musicals and plays, and finally a beloved venue for rock concerts.

  But now it was being demolished. A place of music, becoming dull and quiet. I clenched the page in excitement. This was it, it had to be! The building had started its life as a music ‘hall’. The word ‘eyes’ was clearly a reference to ‘the Visionary’, and the word ‘quiet’ meant the music was finally ending …

  The Hall of Quiet Eyes.

  As the realisation hit me, my hope shrivelled. The Visionary was in the middle of Melbourne, smack bang in the CBD. Hollingvale was too rural to lie on the electrified train line; I’d have to catch an old diesel train into Frankston, and then a metro train from there to the city. I peeked at my watch: 10.09 pm. It was a weeknight, so the last train from Hollingvale should be at 10.15 pm.

  Six minutes.

  Before I knew it, I was running. I pelted away into the darkness, charging back down the shadowed street to the place where I’d crashed in the gutter. The storm swirled around me, thick and wild, as thunder rumbled in the rain.

  My bike lay where I’d left it. One of the pedals had come a bit loose in the crash, but I was pretty sure it was still rideable. Ignoring the ache of my bruised knees, I yanked it upright, hauled myself onto the sodden seat and kicked off down the road. Rain tossed and turned around me, rolling and churning. All that mattered were my legs pumping down on the pedals and my grip on the handlebars as I spun around the corner.

  Five minutes.

  I rocketed down Lyle Street, spun around the roundabout and up the slope of Wattle Grove. A plant nursery flashed by, bristling with eucalyptus leaves and the stink of potting mix. What was Centurion playing at, setting this impossible challenge? He knew I was too young to drive. The only way to reach Melbourne was by train, and he’d set the challenge just before the last train left for the night.

  Four minutes.

  But that was the point, wasn’t it? It was supposed to be hard. It was supposed to be almost impossible. HELIX was a multinational organisation, with potential recruits all over the world. If I couldn’t prove I was good enough …

  With tyres slipping wildly, I sloshed through an enormous puddle and skidded down the gutter of Wentworth Road. I gritted my teeth and stood up slightly, fighting to keep my balance, before I wrenched the handles and yanked my bike around, barely saving myself from a violent crash into a parked car.

  Three minutes.

  Lightning flashed. Thunder roared. I rode on.

  The train station lay up ahead: an oasis of light. I pedalled harder than ever, my thigh muscles burning, as I pushed down my head and streamlined my body to cut through the night.

  With two minutes to go, I dumped the bike, casting it aside with a ferocious fling. I barely heard its crash over the noise of the storm. All that mattered was the ache in my legs, as wobbly as jelly after that wild ride, as I fought to turn my stagger into a sprint.

  One minute.

  I burst through the turnstiles, pausing only to swipe my transport card. City-bound trains left from Platform One, up a flight of concrete steps. As always, the stairwell reeked of cigarette butts and mouldy rubbish. I pumped my legs, rasping for air, as my entire body throbbed like an enormous stitch.

  Thirty seconds, twenty seconds …

  I burst up onto the platform. The train sat there, its doors slowly closing. I pelted forward and threw myself at the closest carriage – and with a wild wrench, I managed to stop the doors. With a final gasp, I forced myself inside. The doors slammed behind me, and the carriage jolted forward.

  I had made it.

  The train was mostly empty. Not surprising, really, at this time of night. My carriage had only one other occupant: a man in a dark blue jacket, who sat facing forward near the front. His hood concealed the back of his head.

  My heart pounding, I took a seat at the very back. I wasn’t in the mood to strike up a friendly chat, and I was hyperventilating louder than an elephant in labour. Luckily, the rattle of the diesel engine was enough to disguise my distress. It took at least five minutes for my breathing to return to normal, and longer yet for my fingers to stop shaking.

  As the train jolted through the darkness, I clutched the soggy newspaper and stared out the window. Little by little, the storm was fading. The thunder and lightning were the first to go, followed by most of the rain. The world outside was black, except for when we paused at other stations. Morradoo, Hastings, Somerville …

  Every station carried me further from home.

  I huffed a breath, annoyed with myself. This was no time to get sentimental. Besides, I didn’t believe in ‘home’. Not anymore. When I was little, I thought my home was with Mum. Home meant a series of hotel rooms: swanky or shabby, five-star luxury or simple comfort. It meant instant coffee, and pay-per-view movies, and cuddles on the doona.

  Then Mum sent me packing, and I realised it was all a con. There’s no such thing as ‘home’ – just places you live in. You might stay in one place for a while, if you let yourself get complacent. But then it changes, or someone leaves you, and you have to start from scratc
h. It’s easiest not to get attached in the first place. And if Hollingvale had never been my home, then it couldn’t hurt to leave it behind, right?

  Around my legs, my quintessence began to stir.

  Now I knew what it was, the sensation didn’t terrify me. Not like earlier, on the couch at home. It was my own magic, swirling and settling. Centurion’s device had awoken its power, and little by little it was coming to life. Friendly, yet cautious. It felt almost alive as it crept around me, brushing silent hisses of its breath across my limbs. It swirled from my legs up to my torso, curling around me like an invisible blanket.

  The lights on the ceiling flickered. The carriage plunged briefly into darkness, and then flared back into a pool of cold fluorescence.

  Stop it, I thought, as firmly as I could manage, and fought to suppress the prickling. Hadn’t Centurion said that he and the Inductors had found me by detecting my quintessence? But he also said that sorcerers learnt to control their quintessences. Perhaps if I focused, the magic would subside for a while …

  Yet still it snaked around me.

  By the time we reached Frankston, the storm had almost completely petered out, reduced to a pathetic drizzle. Even so, I stepped off the train into a bluster of wind. The diesel line ended here, but I could switch to an electric train into Melbourne.

  The platform here was busier, populated by half a dozen suburbanites keen to venture into the city. Already, an electronic voiceover was informing us that the ‘10.54 to Flinders Street’ was about to depart.

  This was it. This train would take me all the way into the city, and into the waiting arms of HELIX. If I stepped aboard, I would officially be severing ties with my life in Hollingvale. It would be just another place I’d lived in, toppled in a lifelong chain of dominos.

  No such thing as home …

  As I ventured forward, there was another blast of wind. I covered my eyes to protect them from flying grit, but my cheeks and shoulders were pummelled. Further down the platform, a pair of girls in floral skirts shrieked and pushed the fabric down against their knees.