The sound of laughter woke Letha, and she blinked furiously, raising a hand to block the sunset. A blue curl caught her eye.
“I am really getting tired of opening my eyes to find you standing over me.”
Mickey stopped laughing, still smiling though, “I’ve only done it twice.”
Dragging her hair out of her face, Letha glared at him, “Try it a third time and see what happens.”
“Oh, gosh,” Mickey said, eyes comically wide, “Will you pulverise me like that other poor person from your last school?”
Letha smiled viciously, yanking on her gloves. The material clutched the flesh of her palms and she hid a wince.
“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” he continued, “What possible…”
Letha raised a hand, interrupting him, “you’ve been ‘meaning to’? What? During one of our many interesting and lengthy chats?”
“Maybe we should try a third and see what happens?”
Shaking her head, Letha scrambled to her feet, walking away from the boy. Smiling brightly, Mickey chased after her, holding out his hand. He poked her in the shoulder with the books in his grasp, but his expression faded when she gasped.
“Are you ok?”
“I’m fine,” Letha said curtly, pressing a hand to her shoulder. It didn’t help her arm and just made her hand hurt, so she stopped.
Mickey raised an eyebrow, “Then what’s wrong with your shoulder?”
Ignoring him and desperate for a change of subject, Letha looked at the books, “What’s that?”
“These,” he said, reluctantly dragging his attention to his hand, “are your books.”
“I distinctly remember throwing them in the bin.”
Mickey smiled again, showing blindingly white teeth, “And were you the angel on my shoulder, you’d also distinctly remember me getting them out again, and now returning them to you.”
“I’d be the other shoulder,” Letha commented, turning away.
Rolling his eyes, Mickey caught her wrist. Her head jerked to face him, eyes narrowed. She wrenched her arm free, swinging her other hand at his face. He stepped back, his lips parted in surprise, and Letha took a deep breath, calming her racing heart. Her hand hadn’t connected.
“Sorry,” Letha said tersely, “I don’t like to be touched.”
“Noted.” Mickey offered the books, keeping himself at arms-length.
Grudgingly, Letha accepted the books, resting them on a headstone. Mickey’s surprised expression switched to the books.
“Should you do that?”
Letha shrugged, “Nobody has ever complained.”
“Oh,” Mickey nodded, following her as she walked off, “So you know the family?”
“Something like that.” She span, glaring at him again, “Can I help you with something?”
“Yes actually. First question; were you sleeping in a cemetery when I came across you? Propped up by a grave no less?”
“Nobody has ever complained about that either.”
Mickey smiled, “So you come here a lot?”
Letha ground her teeth, walking off again, “I guess.”
“Ok, so you could help my family find a grave we’re looking for?”
Letha wound her way through the headstones, muttering under her breath about annoying teenage boys, “Is that your last question?”
“It depends whether you say yes or no to that one.”
“Will you leave me alone if I do?”
Mickey shrugged, “It’s more likely if you help me than if you don’t.”
“Fine. Yes, I can help you.”
Grinning, Mickey raked his hair out of his face, jogging in front of Letha and facing her, walking backwards to avoid being trodden on.
“Awesome. Where is the grave of…”
Letha held up a hand again, “I don’t know the whole cemetery off by heart!”
“Now that,” Mickey said, “I didn’t see coming.”
“Whereas the rest of me is a giant cliché?” Irritated, Letha stopped, placing her fists on her hips. She cringed, but didn’t blink, staring Mickey down.
“Teenage girl uses ‘whereas’ in a sentence? Totally cliché,” he said, hiding a smile until he finished speaking. When it broke, it was like dawn.
Letha shook her head, “You smile too much.”
“And you don’t smile enough.” His expression grew timid, craning his head to look into her face, “are you taking note each time I smile?”
Throwing her hands in the air, Letha groaned and stepped around him, marching towards a small building, “You and your family can meet me in there.”
“Why?” Mickey called, staring after her.
“Because you demanded I track down your relative.”
“How?” Letha was pleased he was restricting himself to monosyllabic questions, but not pleased enough to avoid the sarcastic response.
“By way of a séance.”
“What?” he took a step forward, a hand raised in protest, “really?”
“Of course not!” Letha twirled, scowling, “With a computer, Sherlock.”
As soon as Letha turned back, storming to the building, Mickey broke out into a grin, shaking his head. He turned slowly, glancing over his shoulder at the girl, and walked off in search of his family. Letha slipped passed the old Ute, resolved not to turn and scream derogatory euphemisms at him. The white paint was flaking, the bulbar rusted, and the windows were filthy. Crinkling her nose, Letha used the tyre to step through the Information Centre door. The stairs were unsound, eaten by termites, and Letha didn’t trust them.
Inside was dimly lit, not much brighter than the dusk outside. The computer sat to the left of the door, beside a display cabinet. The town was the remains of an old mining settlement from the Gold Rush, and small chunks of gold and ancient picks were displayed proudly as signs of ‘heritage’. Letha thought it was stupid, as everyone in the town was either the descendants of convicts or gold-diggers, just like a whole lot of the country. The town was home to criminals and dreamers, but Letha guessed that was why she was here.
In the dreary light, Letha didn’t notice the man approach until it was too late to avoid him. Vincent Clements, Cemetery keeper and born before half of those he watched over, was a tall, thin man, with a hooked nose. He clattered around the graves at all hours, swinging a little lantern like he was out of a 19th century play. He had the damned thing with him now.
“Ah,” Letha grimaced, “Vincent, I see you still haven’t become accustomed to the 21st century and procured a torch for yourself.”
Vincent sighed, “And I see your back, Letha. It warms my heart, no end.”
Letha considered sarcasm a startling thing from a man Vincent’s age.
“I’ve made an agreement with a boy that if I help his family find a relative, then he’ll stop talking to me,” Letha supposed she should ask permission, “If that’s alright with you.”
Vincent hobbled passed her, aiming for the display cabinet, “You could save yourself the trouble and just give him a minute of your time. That’ll get rid of him.”
Letha scowled at him.
“Use the computer; use whatever you want except my lamp!” He opened the cabinet, resting it gently inside. And shut the door firmly.
Letha smiled falsely, “Well, I’m all torn up.”
Muttering under his breath, Vincent crossed to the other side of the room again, making a tortoise look like an Olympic sprinter. Letha desperately wanted to strap a pair of rollerblades to his feet, but turned to the computer instead.
“’Let’s throw some coal in this thing and fire it up’,” she said quietly.
“That’s from Bones,” an annoyingly familiar voice commented form the doorway. Mickey stuck is head inside, still smiling. Groaning internally, Letha opened the storage program on the computer, pressing ctrl + F. Glaring at the flashing cursor, Letha waited, watching the reflection of the blue curl in the screen. It disappeared, tanned hands wrapping around the doorframe.
Wood shattered and someone gasped, leaving Letha grinning cruelly. She smelled blood.
“Don’t bleed all over the floor,” she muttered, “or Vincent will kill you.”
An uninjured leg stamped inside, the taunt muscle peeked out beneath the three quarter shorts as it heaved its owner. The other leg was scratched below the knee, the shoe covered in orange termite dust. She was still smiling, if wryly.
“How’d you know I was bleeding?”
“A gift,” Letha tapped her fingers on the keys in agitation, “What’s the name?”
Mickey raised a finger, turning to pull his family into the room. The first through the doorway was the boy he’d been with that morning. His blonde hair was tinged with orange, as was most of his lanky frame. Letha had the decency to cringe at the idea of cleaning their white shirts. He smiled as her hesitantly, shuffling his lanky frame into the corner. Letha cast herself a look in the reflection.
Another man clambered in. He looked a few years older than them, with thick-rimmed glasses and a mop of raggedy brown hair. He had flecks of paint up to his elbows, and his tank-top had a peace sign on it. He seemed to be a little dazed.
Letha nearly smiled when the next two people entered the room; the people from the car. The guy raised his eyebrow, nodding at her. Unlike Mickey, he didn’t smile. When the girl came in, her eyes narrowed, and Letha could imagine her many piercings as steam emerging from her ears and mouth. She seemed to snarl, crossing her arms across her chest ad taking a step forward, but a concerned Mickey stepped between them.
The girl didn’t back down though, until the final figure entered the room. Letha felt fire eating at her cheek, and she turned to meet his gaze, raising her chin a fraction. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with black hair and bright green eyes. He was wearing a simple t-shirt, sunnies hanging from the neckline, and his hands were folded neatly in front of him.
“Are you going to introduce us, Mickey?” he asked after a pause, turning towards the boy.
Letha looked at each of them in turn, but none of them looked related except for the car-couple.
“Letha,” Mickey said, stepped beside her and indicating the people, “this is my family. This is Zach, Urnest,” the blonde and the painter, “Cassie and Gabe,” the car-couple, “and Azrael.”
Letha’s expression grew neutral, her eyes wide.
“The Angel of Death,” she commented quietly.
His brows rose, “That’s right. I had particularly religious parents, are yours also?”
Letha opened her mouth, but took a breath before replying, “Something like that. My Uncle eats the groups when they come knocking.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, “My father isn’t particularly fond of them either.”
Letha didn’t think it right to comment that she was being literal. She turned back to the computer.
“What name?”
Mickey’s head, popped down beside hers, eyes focused on the screen, “Robert Rowan.”
Letha chuckled before she could help herself. Bob was the most irritating spirit she had ever encountered. He had been a convict, dying not long after arriving in Australia, and still carried his cockney accent.
“What’s so funny?” Mickey said, and Letha could hear the smile in his voice.
Her hands flew across the keys, “nothing.”
He grumbled, chewing his lip. Prodding the enter key, ‘Robert Rowan’ was highlighted on the screen, plot 97A. Letha smirked, exiting the window and standing up. She turned to Mickey.
“Let’s go.”
Brushing through the group, Letha jumped out of the building, kicking up a puff of dust.
“A woman of few words,” Azrael commented, slinging an arm around Mickey’s shoulder, “Your friend is a woman of very few, very curt words.”
Letha’s call came from outside, “I’m not his friend.”
The older man grinned, taking the lead and jumping from the room. They all strode after Letha, arriving at the old grave in seconds. A grizzled head poke out from the ground, shimmering.
“Whaddaya want, devil-child?” Bob’s lip was drawn up into a sneer, his bushy brows squashing down on his glowing eyes.
Letha ignored him, leaning against a tree over to the side. Mickey’s family gathered around the headstone, Azrael squatting to analyse the engravings.
“Whadda they want, devil-child?” Bob streamed out from the earth, towering over the party.
“So, who is Robert Rowan?” she asked instead, poking her tongue at the ghost.
Mickey shrugged, smiling at her curiously.
“I’m a historian,” Azrael explained, “I’m particularly interested in this area at the moment; local deaths, local births, that sort of thing.”
Letha raised a brow, “So that constitutes a family outing?”
The girl, Cassie, raised her head, scowling, “You can go now.”
In response, Letha crossed her arms and stayed. A thin ghost, tall and pale, swept around the tree, teetering and singing under her breath.
“Insey Wincey Spider, crawled way up inside her. Seven dwarves pulled him out, long beards, all stout.”
Letha nodded at her by way of greeting, but the girl just waltzed by.
“Princes, love struck. Witches, bad luck. Evil Queen, why so mean? Cinders and snow, where did they go?”
Mickey wandered over to her, leaning with one hand against the trunk. He smiled.
“Cassie told me what happened on the road,” he chuckled, “she really doesn’t like you.”
“Little red hood, lost in the wood. Bonnie asleep on the floor, young pair eating the door.”
“The feeling is mutual.”
“Gold locks, fall past her waist. Goldilocks, eating paste.”
The Willow-woman was really starting to annoy Letha, as she twirled around the tree, encompassing them in her circle. Mickey didn’t notice, but she didn’t expect him to.
“Souls here, quite near,” the woman disappeared, leaving only her voice to finish the rhyme, “all here, how queer.”