The Star of Fate

By David T Myers

Lando Bailey has made many mistakes. Bankrupt and heavily in debt to some shady characters, he yearns to regain control of his life and redeem himself in the eyes of his ex-girlfriend. 

However, a chance encounter with a young woman finds him in possession of a mysterious crystal ball, the Star of Fate. It turns his world upside down, and a series of random incidents will sweep him into a secret and dangerous world full of religious cults, terrorists, bizarre computer games, shadow monsters, and forgotten gods.

Can he escape fate or are the events in his life no longer under his control?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Writeside Entertainment
• Release date: Jul 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393308553

Book preview

Prologue

Shilpy wanted to run, hide, or slip back into her bed where it was safe. At this time of night, most sixteen-year-old girls would be watching television, doing their homework, tweeting, or sneaking out of their houses to date boys. They wouldn’t be kneeling naked in the middle of a sweat tent with a nude woman three times their age.

Curfew was an hour ago, and Shilpy’s sisters were in their dorm rooms fast asleep. Tonight, it was her turn to complete the Ritual of Seers, which would determine her fate one way or another. If she failed, she’d join the ranks of her sisters, and might one day escape to find an ordinary life. If she succeeded? Shilpy didn’t want to think about that.

She brushed damp strands of dark hair from her lips. The sweat from her naked body dripped from her caramel skin onto the bamboo mat where she kneeled. The taste of smoke burned her tongue and throat even as numbness crept under her skin, dulling her thinking. She blinked several times at the strangeness of the feeling, unsure if she liked it or not.

The older woman sharing the tent with her, the woman Shilpy was required to call Mother, kneeled with her back erect and head held high. She made no effort to hide her naked flesh. It made Shilpy feel even more exposed. Self-consciously, she hunched over, protecting her modesty from the woman opposite.

This mother’s name was Angela Wick. Until tonight, Shilpy had received very little attention from Mother Angela, despite being in her care for the last five years. There were times when she’d spot Mother Angela watching her from a distance, but she couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken.

Mother reached for a small box resting on the left side of the tent. From the box, she removed a candle, and then lit a match. The flame illuminated her wrinkled face and dark eyes.

The sensation, Mother said, no doubt referring to the building numbness, differs from one sister to the next. A side effect of the vegetation within the brazier. Many of your sisters find the effect pleasant. However, should you wish to vomit, please warn me.

Pursing her lips in concentration, Mother Angela retrieved a small three-inch blade resting at the corner of the tatami. The smile on the older woman’s face bordered on demonic in the candlelight. Staring down the vicious knife, her eyes bore into Shilpy. She began cleaning the blade with a cloth.

Shilpy shifted uncomfortably. The silence building between them was only heightening her anxiety.

How did my mother react to the elixir when she completed the ritual? Shilpy asked. Did she throw up? She immediately regretted saying anything.

Mother Angela’s brows rose. I wasn’t present when Aanya completed the Ritual of Seers. She pursed her lips. Best not to dwell on memories of her.

Shilpy clenched her hands into fists. Best not to dwell? How could she forget her own flesh and blood? Mother Angela extinguished the heat of Shilpy’s anger with an icy glare, and the girl returned to protecting her nudity. Mother Angela nodded to herself and ran the blade along her finger. A bubble of blood swelled before falling onto the candle and staining the wax.

Your mother was our finest seer, but I am your mother now. I’m the one who cared for, fed, and educated you and your sister. I’m the one who provided a roof over your head, a place to belong, and a hundred sisters to protect, support, and fight beside you. Her eyes returned to Shilpy, who dropped her gaze to the mat between them. The night is with us always.

My sisters protect, support, and fight, but they don’t love, Shilpy said, again before she could stop herself.

Love? Mother Angela’s voice filled with scorn. It is time to put childish things like love behind you, daughter. Yours is a higher calling.

Shilpy didn’t want to answer to a higher calling, to be considered one of the blessed, revered above her sisters. She had no interest in serving Mother Angela’s family, Keres Ter Nyx, the Daughters of Nyx, to the end of her days. She’d always hated it here. Why couldn’t she leave with her real sister, Aaliyah?

Shilpy, you understand. Don’t you?

Yes, Mother. Shilpy continued looking at the mat.

Angela smiled and passed the knife to her. As she sliced the blade along her own skin, Shilpy bit her lip to avoid crying out. She positioned her hand over the candle, and her blood slid onto the wax, adding to the stain left by Angela.

Now, close your eyes and we shall see if you, like your birth mother, are one of the blessed.

Shilpy nodded, and did as she’d been told.

Good, now tell me what you see, Mother Angela whispered into her ear.

A familiar moment of disorientation followed. In truth, Shilpy didn’t need the smoke to encourage a vision. She’d always known she could see things others couldn’t.

But still, her curse was stimulated by the smoke. It wrapped itself around her mind like a wet cloth. The numbness on her skin was replaced with a sense of freedom, as if she were flying and could go anywhere or any when. She floated, not quite in control of where she was going, but not wishing to control it. Easier to surrender to the bliss.

The feeling of clay tiles under the balls of her feet brought her back from the void. The stale air tasted faintly of minerals, provoking her tastebuds. Howling wind and a strange cracking of rock on rock echoed around her.

Tell me what you see, Mother Angela repeated.

Other than her birth mother, no one else knew of her curse. A secret she’d carried all her life. Now, all thoughts of protecting this from Mother Angela had been washed away. She remembered her concern, but it seemed unimportant now. The vision had her, and she was its voice.

There are buildings surrounding me. I can see cafés and restaurants inside them. On my right, steps lead down to an outdoor theatre. It has a large screen like a cinema. I think this is Melbourne CBD. I’m at Federation Square, and I’m alone. She lifted her head upwards. I see—

She screamed, and a sudden coldness struck her core. Impossible. What she saw was impossible.

Tell me, Angela said, her tone both excited and concerned.

The sky is gone. There is a rock ceiling miles above me. It’s everywhere. It stretches from one horizon to the next. Her instinct to curl into a ball overrode any further thought, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the rock canopy above her.

Countless stalactites hung from the roof. Many were the size of mountains, with the largest dangling above the tallest buildings in the city. They reached down towards Melbourne like epic swords of Damocles. Between these were smaller formations of soda straws, thin clusters of mineral tubes and curtains of rock. Some of these tubes were so small they oscillated in the wind. Shilpy shivered. It’s like someone took the whole world and put it inside a giant cave.

What else do you see? Angela asked. She seemed to be struggling to remain calm. Can you see the sun?

No. I told you. The whole city is inside a cave!

Then where is the light coming from?

Shilpy frowned. She twirled around in a circle, but the cave ceiling stretched in every direction. The light illuminating the city and indeed the cave had a green tint to it.

There is something above me. I can only see it if I look at it from the right angle. It shimmers like sun on water. Shilpy reached up and brushed her fingers against the surface. It’s like cloth, but transparent. It covers everything.

The substance pulsed with an inner glow where her fingers had touched. The pulse became a ripple and then turned into a wave of light travelling along the translucent canopy, deeper into the centre of Melbourne.

A second pulse appeared, and this one darted over the tram tracks in the same direction. It paused, and seemed to beckon her to follow.

Unsure what to do, Shilpy stood in the middle of the paved square. The roof above her mocked gravity but seemed stable. Her initial horror subsided. Shilpy swallowed and allowed her eyes to return to the light. She took another step forward. The light darted from side to side excitedly. Another step. The light leaped forward. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she followed it down Swanston Street.

A light is leading me somewhere, she told Mother Angela. The streets are empty. I can’t see any people. The trams and taxis are empty. The signs on the shopfronts and billboards are all blank.

Walking through empty streets and past deserted buildings, which ordinarily would have bustled with people, gave her the jitters. She half expected to catch sight of someone, anyone. But her only companion was silence and the small light ahead. The light picked up speed, and Shilpy had to break into a jog to keep up. I see something. People. I see three people standing in the middle of the road a block away. I don’t think they see me.

Describe them to me, Angela said. Shilpy crept closer.

They’re women—one is young and slender with pale skin and brown hair. She is very pretty. The second is maybe forty or fifty. Her hair is flecked with grey and her face is lined with wrinkles. The last is old. No, old doesn’t describe her. She’s ancient. Everything about her looks ready to wither away.

What are they doing?

They’re working on the cloth above me. They’re making it. Each has a task: the young woman spins the thread; the mature woman is using a needle to weave the thread into the cloth; the crone has scissors. She’s cutting the thread. Shilpy squinted, watching the three labouring together. The pattern shimmered and danced with lights every time a new strand was woven into the material.

The Moirai! Angela cried. You see the goddesses of fate themselves!

Yes, this felt right. Shilpy frowned, trying to remember what her mother had taught her about the goddesses, the children of Nyx. Nyx was the goddess of night and mother of all other gods. The young woman was Clotho the Spinner, who decided the time of birth for each man and woman; the mature woman was Lachesis the Weaver, who determined every person’s fate and the events that would happen in their lives; and the ancient woman was Atropos the Severer, who chose the moment one must die.

Shilpy looked from one to the next. Then a flicker of light from the tapestry made her look up.

Something is wrong with the tapestry. I see a strange bead. No, a glass ball, tangled inside the mist. It’s ruining the pattern of lights. Shilpy watched the light dance across the cloth until it reached the bead. Then it pulsed out in all directions from that spot, like ripples on a pond.

What is it? Angela asked. But before Shilpy could answer, the three goddesses stopped working. Their gazes lifted until they concentrated on the bead.

The Star of Fate, Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos said in unison.

It’s the Star of Fate, Shilpy said.

Impossible, Angela said. How can you even see this?

The three goddesses spoke in harmony again. They come! The three for whom we have waited have come. Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice, for they are near.

What’s happening? Angela seized her by the arm. The moment Angela touched Shilpy, the three goddesses twisted on the spot and fixed her with a sharp stare. Even in its drugged haze, Shilpy’s blood went cold.

One watches. Lachesis the Weaver lifted her arm and pointed at Shilpy. One sees what she should not.

They see me. Shilpy half said, half moaned.

Atropos the Severer leaned up and with bony fingers picked a thread from the tapestry. I have her. She raised her scissors and placed the thread between the blades.

No, please no, Shilpy whimpered.

Come back to me. Angela’s voice sounded so far away. Shilpy willed herself to open her eyes, but the crone’s withered hand squeezed tighter around the thread. Shilpy couldn’t breathe.

A sharp pain across her cheek forced her eyes to snap open. Angela was holding her naked body down on the tatami. Hot steam and foul-tasting smoke flooded her lungs.

The look of concern on Angela’s face transformed to one of relief, and she laughed. Oh, my blessed child. My true daughter of Nyx. You had me worried.

I’m going to die. She grabbed my thread. The crone, she, she . . .

Shhh, Angela said soothingly, covering Shilpy’s forehead with kisses. She cannot hurt you here. The gods blessed you. This changes everything.

Shilpy pulled away. You don’t understand, she said, her voice rising to a shriek. They are the goddesses of fate. They can do whatever they want. Keres Ter Nyx, me, you—we mean nothing to them.

Daughter. Angela’s voice became hard. You mustn’t talk like that. The night is with us always.

No, it’s not! We’re not blessed, we’re ants. Our whole family, everything we believe in is a lie. The tapestry is all they care about.

Angela shook her head. You mustn’t talk like that, she repeated.

They choose the path we walk. They’re horrible. The most evil things I’ve ever seen.

Shilpy didn’t see the knife plunge into her soft flesh. It was too dark. But that darkness had saved her life. Angela had missed her stomach. Shilpy screamed and clutched her hip. Blood oozed between her fingers. Her eyes widened, and she looked up at the head of her order.

I’m sorry, dear. Whether you’re blessed or not, I can’t afford to have the others lose faith. The night is with us always.

Angela leaped on her, pushing her backwards. Shilpy’s shoulder brushed the brazier, and hot metal burned the skin from her shoulder. Again she screamed. Together they fell onto the tatami. Angela tried pinning her, but Shilpy managed to trap the older woman’s wrist, preventing her from plunging the knife through her chest. With her other hand she grabbed her guardian by the hair.

She pulled, and Angela cried out, but it wasn’t enough to shake her off. Shilpy changed tack and pushed the side of Angela’s face. The sudden change in direction sent Angela off balance, and she crashed face first into the brazier.

The flames licked the side of her head and devoured her long hair. The knife fell to the mat, and Angela rolled back and forth howling and clutching her face. Ignoring the pain in her hip, Shilpy rolled into a sitting position and beat at the flames with her hands. Her palms blistered, but she managed to put the fire out. Angela lay on her back, weeping and moaning.

Shilpy hooked her burned hands under Angela’s shoulders and dragged her out of the tent. A fresh jolt of pain from her hip left her gritting her teeth. Coughing and hacking, she swallowed the cold night air with grateful gulps. She hauled her adopted mother onto the freshly mowed grass in the back garden of the unit Angela called home. Moments later the tent lit up—ignited no doubt by the hot coals, which had spilled out of the brazier.

Heretic . . . kill . . . you, Angela murmured, but she didn’t get up. The side of her face, neck, and shoulder were blistering.

Light-headed, Shilpy snatched up her neatly folded clothes and staggered to the gate. She clasped the wounded hip to stem the bleeding. Her cell phone fell from a pocket, but she didn’t stop. Still naked, she staggered down the shared driveway. No one came out of the neighbouring units. No one saw her.

She started pulling on her pants before she reached the road but misjudged and fell forward. Fresh pain swept through her. For a fraction of a second she closed her eyes, and the vision returned.

The Moirai were watching her. The Weaver placed her hand on the Severer’s wrist. Wait, she said in a soft voice. She removed the thread from between the crone’s scissors and weaved it around the threads tangled about the bead. We may make use of this one yet.

Very well. But soon after that.

Very well, said all three, in unison. Soon after that.

Shilpy opened her eyes, and the women disappeared. Despite her injury, she ran. She wondered if she would ever stop.

Chapter 1

Four people huddled around the dimly lit table in the backroom of the Ace’s High. The sign on the door said Private Function. Muffled music drifted in from the main room, but the pub was already closed. The tables and chairs had been packed away.

Three of the four players alternated intense stares between the cards in their hands and each other. But Lando Bailey’s eyes were fixed on the small pile of chips on the table in front of him. He glanced up at the much larger stack in the pot and sighed.

No one spoke. Other than the soft music coming from the other room, the only sound was the clock against the wall, ticking rhythmically. The hour hand pointed between the twelve and the one. The minute hand stood at the seven.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Full house, Mark Golley said. His face remained neutral until the two players on either side of him—Sylvia, a pixie-faced redhead wearing too much green eye shadow, and Todd, a grumpy, hawk-nosed businessman—folded. A cold, slow smile spread from Mark’s thin lips to his plump cheeks. He leaned forward, his eyes blazing like a Disney villain’s, and pulled the sizeable pot with both meaty hands to join the rest of his chips.

Dammit, Bailey, when are you going to play a hand? Todd said, snapping his head around until his nose was inches from Lando’s.

Lando shrugged. I’m waiting for my moment.

Todd sneered at him before passing his cards to Mark, who shuffled with deft hands.

Lando is big blind this hand, Mark said with a chuckle. He has to play.

Lando glanced from Mark to Todd and back again. Todd’s irritation could work in Lando’s favour if he got the right cards. For the last hour and a half, Lando had picked up nothing but junk. His Texas hold ’em strategy was simple: if he didn’t have good cards, he folded early. Otherwise, his opponents could draw him into losing hands. Though it felt like the right play, he couldn’t ignore the effect on his stack of chips. He would bleed out at this rate. Lando ran his hand through uncombed brown hair.

He had enough chips for a final bluff, which would intimidate the other players, but it meant going all in regardless of what landed in front of him. Or he could just go home. Pay Dan back whatever he had left. The thought left a sick feeling in his stomach.

It’s getting quite late, Sylvia said, yawning. Don’t you have a business to run, Orlando?

The hair on the back of his neck stiffened. Don’t overreact. Breathe.

Pretty young to be running a business, Todd said. How old are you? Twenty-five?

Twenty-three.

Didn’t you hear? Mark said. Bailey’s cycling business went under months ago. He failed to hide the malicious glee in his voice.

Sylvia jerked her head back. No! When did this happen?

Before Lando could get a word in, Mark interrupted. That partner of his—what was his name, Bailey?

Backstabbing piece of shit, Lando replied.

Yeah, that was it. ‘Backstabbing piece of shit’ ran off with a whole bunch of money, leaving our boy here to deal with a truckload of angry creditors. How’d that work out for you, Bailey?

I’m out of work and bankrupt. Thanks for asking.

Ouch, Mark said, playfully.

Your sympathy, Mark, as ever, is overwhelming. Lando wished he had something long, hard, and wooden with which to wipe the smile off Mark’s face.

Sylvia frowned. If you’re bankrupt, where did you get the money for tonight?

Lando pulled at the collar of his blue shirt. Fortunately, Todd jumped in.

Are we playing poker or not?

Yeah, we’re playing poker. Keep your pants on. Mark’s chubby hands shuffled and dealt two cards onto the table in front of each player. He then placed three cards face down onto the green felt.

Lando wiped sweat from his forehead and glanced at his chips. Only four hundred bucks left. Should he go for it?

Wait. Lando, this is idiotic, Sylvia said. Why are you doing this? If you don’t have the money, you should go home.

If only it were that simple. He’d let so many people down. People he’d borrowed money from—family, friends, his girlfriend—all left with nothing.

Forces beyond his control had taken it away from him. It didn’t matter what he did to make it right. Things only got worse. Most of his friends and family wouldn’t talk to him anymore. He needed to do right by those who were left. No matter the cost.

Lando sipped from the cold water on the table beside him to ease his dry throat, and dropped two precious chips on the table. One fell off the other. Lando reached into the pot, rearranging them back into a small tower.

Sylvia lowered her head before tossing the small blind, one chip, onto the table.

Lando peeked at his cards. Ace of hearts and ace of spades. At last—a hand.

All in! Lando said, a hint of desperation finding its way into his voice. He pushed his remaining chips into the centre of the table.

A strong hand at the start of the game didn’t mean a winning hand at the end. He knew he needed to intimidate one or two of the other players out. The odds of beating one player were better than the odds of defeating two, or three.

Mark’s dark eyes met Lando’s ocean blues with an impressive bouncer-stare. Lando held eye contact, wishing time would speed up. Are you sure you want to do that? Mark’s eyes said. Can you make good if this play goes south?

Lando sat back, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. Butterflies in his stomach flapped their wings, and a drought formed in his mouth.

Mark pushed his chips into the pot. One by one the other players raised him.

Dammit!

Nothing he could do but wait. The chips were arranged into a side pot, and the other three players continued the round of betting. Lando drank from his water, his eyes never leaving his opponents.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The side pot continued to grow. No one seemed interested in folding.

Ignoring the three face down cards on the table, he had the best hand. No telling what cards might turn up. His position was strong. He could still win this. But if they were all still in, at least two of his opponents had something. Maybe one of them was bluffing, but surely he or she would have folded by now.

He needed to win. God, what if he didn’t? If only he had more chips, he could do some serious intimidating.

Mark turned the three cards in the middle over: five of clubs, king of diamonds, and king of clubs. Two pair—aces and kings. A stronger hand, but if one of the others had a king, then he or she had three of a kind and he was beaten.

A thin smile formed on Mark’s lips, and he not-so-subtly cracked several knuckles. Lando leaned back, unsure what to make of that.

Betting resumed, and Mark dropped a huge pile of chips into the pot. This proved to be too much for Todd, but Sylvia checked him.

Next card was the seven of hearts.

Mark came in strong again, but Sylvia would not be intimidated.

Damn, what did they have?

Mark dealt and turned over the final card, the river. Lando held his breath. Ace of clubs. He nearly punched the roof. Full house! He was back in the game. Or at the very least he could go home with something to show for it. He could give something back. Make it right.

Sylvia checked, and Mark went all in. She smiled and checked his bet.

Let’s see them, she said.

Full house, aces over kings, Lando said, turning his over.

Mark whistled. That’s got me beat. But the real money depends on what you have, baby. I’ve got a club flush.

Sylvia glanced at Lando sadly. His heart dropped.

Sorry, handsome. She turned her cards over, one at a time. King of hearts, king of spades—four of a kind.

A wave of nausea rose from his stomach. Game over.

Kid? Todd nudged him.

Lando stared at the table open-mouthed for a good moment. Then he stood on shaky legs.

Gentlemen, sweet lady, I . . . Shit.

Thank you for the game. Sylvia extended her hand. He took it and nodded at Mark and Todd.

Todd gave him a brief smile, but Mark said nothing. He had a strange expression on his face, a hard look—an I-warned-you stare.

Roger will let you out, he said, before returning to the cards.

Lando left and walked through the main bar, which stank of beer and liquor. The pub walls were decorated with posters of various AFL stars, past and present, wearing St Kilda jerseys.

The soles of his shoes squeaked on the sticky floor. A stooped cadaverous figure stood in the middle of the bar scowling at a wet mop. Each of his movements was slow and pained.

Lando couldn’t remember a time when Roger hadn’t been in the bar. The man never had a bad word to say about anyone, except for the Pies. If you were a Collingwood supporter, God help you.

Well over seventy, Roger should have retired long ago. But he’d grown tired of eating baked beans on toast and living off what little was left of his pension, so he’d resumed working.

I need to get me drinks in before they put me away! Roger told him one night. Which seemed fair enough at the time.

Roger placed the mop in a metal bucket, glared at the floor for a long time, exhaled a long-suffering sigh, and returned to work.

Lando watched him. Would this be him in fifty years?

Roger gave a start when Lando approached.

No luck tonight? Roger asked. Lando could hear something in his voice. Sympathy?

Unfortunately not, mate, Lando said. Did you see who won the game?

Collingwood by three goals, Roger said with a scowl and faint note of accusation, as if the result were somehow Lando’s fault.

Lando shook his fist. We will have our revenge.

Maybe, Roger said with a shrug, and turned back to the mop. Lando trudged to the door, but before he could open it, Roger turned. Orlando, Drew wanted a chat about the money you owe him.

Lando froze. He could feel his stomach turning to stone, and he licked dry lips.

I thought the bank spoke to him already.

The fellah from the bank doesn’t owe Drew six thousand dollars. You do.

Michael Drew had been one of the less-reputable creditors for CycleMe, Lando’s bike hire business. It had, of course, been Thomas’s idea to approach Mr Drew for a loan.

The boss wants it by next week. Of course he did.

I’m good for it, Lando lied.

Roger nodded and returned to his mop.

Lando pulled his jacket in tighter against the cold Melbourne night air and walked out onto Sydney Road. He looked at his watch. At 12:45 am, a few clubs and bars would be open, but the trams and trains had stopped running. And he had to work tomorrow.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

With his head bowed and his gaze fixed on the path in front of him, it took him an hour to ride home on his bike. He replayed the game in his head, trying to think of something he could have done differently. Nothing sprang to mind. His strategy should have worked. He’d bet big when he needed to, and held back when the cards were against him.

Maybe if he’d gone in with more than seven hundred dollars he could have turned it around. Then again, it was just as likely he’d have thrown good money after bad with no change to his luck.

Bad luck—it was like a dark cloud that followed him. He’d made mistakes. He was first to admit that. Trusting the wrong people had cost him his business, and after that went down, the rest of his life followed like a house of cards. His job, his relationships, his dreams: one by one they fell apart. All because of bad luck. Some debts didn’t let go so easily.

Instead of going to bed when he arrived home, as he knew he should, he picked up the phone.

Hello? Suzie’s sleepy voice answered.

Hey, it’s me.

What’s wrong?

I just . . . I needed to hear your voice.

Lando, it’s after two. She sounded irritated. You can’t call me like this anymore. We talked about this.

I know. I just—

Whatever it is, it can wait until tomorrow. Don’t call me at this time again. I need to work and so do you.

I know. Sorry.

Okay.

I love you, he said, but she’d already hung up.

Chapter 2

Were you drunk? Dan asked, a devilish smirk spreading across his face. Of course she hung up on you.

Lando hadn’t been avoiding Dan, exactly, but he hadn’t gone looking for him either. His cleaning roster didn’t allow them to be in the same place at the same time. Now, he found himself sitting next to his long-time friend on hard plastic chairs outside the office of Rod Jacobs, the Southern Cross railway station’s general manager of operations.

In the seven months they’d been working at the station, neither Dan nor Lando had had much to do with Jacobs, which suited them. So they were surprised to have received a summons to his office.

I just thought she would—

Be lying awake in the middle of the night thinking about you? Dan interrupted. When did you guys break up again?

Lando couldn’t meet Dan’s eyes. He stared at a poster for CGCOz, the computer game convention being held down the road that weekend.

A couple of months ago.

Time to move on, Lando, Dan said with a tired smile. Lando said nothing. Dan nodded towards the door and changed the subject. How long until his lordship calls us in, do you think?

Lando glanced at his watch. They’d been waiting for about twenty minutes. Pretty soon. The way I see it, he’s either trying to intimidate us or he’s busy.

Or he’s forgotten we’re here. This reminds me of the time when I picked this girl up for a date and she had me wait downstairs for ages. Dan smirked again.

Women put in a bit more effort than men when it comes to dating.

She had me waiting over an hour.

That is long, Lando admitted.

The family kept apologising. ‘She’ll be down in a minute. It’s all good.’ Dan sighed. It turns out she’d been on the phone to her friend and forgot me. She’d gone to bed when her dad finally checked in on her.

Lando laughed. That is a lousy date.

You’re not the only one with troubles in his love life. It’s typical of my luck with women. Well, typical of my luck, full stop. Thing is, you have to move on.

You’re talking about a single lousy date. Suzie and I were together for seven years. We had plans. I’m not ready to give up on them. Or her.

It was Dan’s turn to fall silent. The space between the two men filled with awkward tension.

It needed to be said. Even if Dan already knew, it needed to be said.

So, about the $3600 question . . . Dan said.

I’m sorry.

Dan sighed. His eyes glazed over and became intent on a piece of lint he’d picked off his trousers. That he didn’t respond straight away said more than any recrimination could.

"I did what