‘Mum?’ I call out. ‘I’m home.’

  When there’s no reply, I set my bag down and pad into the kitchen. Through the window, I gaze out at the backyard where Britt and I used to play, running around and building snowmen. That was so long ago now, before she decided to tear it all down and hate me.

  The old treehouse is still nestled high in the sprawling tree. The wooden planks are weathered and grey, the paint long faded and peeling. I stare at it and remember all the times I would stand below, shouting up at Britt. She would fortify herself inside, refusing to come down and say sorry for whatever she’d done to me. How good she always was at pressing my buttons.

  ‘Junie, I didn’t hear you come in.’ I turn to see Mum coming toward me, arms open, her face a mix of love and relief. She pulls me into an embrace, her hand resting on the back of my head.

  ‘Hey, Mum,’ I manage as best I can, my face pressed into her neck. Her hair smells like a mix of shampoo and dust. ‘I called out, but you didn’t hear me.’

  ‘Oh,’ she begins, finally letting go. ‘I was up the back of the walk-in cupboard trying to find your grandmother’s old recipe book. You remember that shepherd’s pie you and Britt used to love? I was going to make it for dinner.’

  ‘Mum, I was twelve years old the last time we had that. I think Britt was five.’

  ‘I know, but I thought it might be a nice icebreaker.’ She clenches her jaw and looks away. A sign that things are not going well with my sister.

  ‘Is it really that bad with Britt?’ I ask. ‘Like, shepherd’s pie bad?’

  ‘She’s just… so angry, Junie. She wears this makeup that makes her look like Dracula.’

  Without meaning to, I laugh out loud, and it makes Mum smile.

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ she says, rubbing my arms with both hands. ‘Sit down and I’ll make us a coffee.’

  I pull out a chair at the same worn wooden table where we ate dinner every night. I have so many memories of meals at this table. Britt throwing mashed potato. Our old labrador, Sam, crouched at our feet, licking his lips and hoping for scraps. Debates with Dad as I got older about politics and who should be Prime Minister. Mum beaming at me for no reason other than I ate my vegetables. Britt throwing even more mashed potato.

  While Mum busies herself in the kitchen, she fills me in on all the drama that’s been going on around town since I left. Lilly’s death, Jason Thomas’ plan to build some kind of geothermal drilling rig in the mountains, and how Sarah Stanton says even though Bryce is dating the very respectable Charlotte Higgins, he never really got over the fact I moved away.

  ‘You and he could work things out if you decided to stay,’ Mum continues, ‘which, of course, your dad and I would love. But we know you have your glamorous life in Sydney. We read every one of your stories in the paper, Junie. We have a special order at the newsagent to make sure they save us a copy every day.’

  ‘Mum, you don’t have to do that. You can read it online.’

  ‘No, I cut them all out and save them in a scrapbook.’

  I imagine her down on the floor, scissors in hand, her tongue twisting from corner of her mouth as she concentrates, careful to only cut along the edges. ‘Mum, please tell me you’re joking.’

  ‘No, I do,’ she says, placing the mug down in front of me. ‘You want to see?’

  The Sydney Daily is one of the city’s most respected newspapers. It covers politics, crime, finance – actual news. I write filler stories that the real journos laugh about. Dog dress-up contests and who wore what to the ARIA awards.

  ‘No, that’s okay,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’

  ‘We’re so proud of you, Junie,’ she gushes. ‘If only Britt were more like you.’

  ‘Britt’s her own person, Mum,’ I tell her, sipping my coffee. ‘She doesn’t want to be like me.’

  But Mum waves her hand at me as though I’m crazy. ‘Of course she does. That’s part of the problem. She always wanted to be like you, Junie. And who wouldn’t? You’re perfect.’

  I bite my bottom lip, wondering for the first time if maybe Britt isn’t just rebellious and headstrong. Maybe she acts out because it’s the only way to make Mum notice her.

  ‘You don’t tell her that, do you?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That she should be like me.’

  ‘Of course. If she were more like you, she wouldn’t have dropped out of school and be spending her days working at the petrol station.’

  ‘You can’t say that to her, Mum.’

  ‘I’m just telling the truth.’

  I nod, knowing there’s no point arguing. ‘You’re just trying to help her. I get that.’

  ‘Of course you do,’ she says with a smile. ‘That’s why everyone here loves you, Junie. You never make things difficult.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’M in the far west corner of the national park when Mimi’s name lights up my phone screen. My full-time job is as a park ranger. Koda and I can only carry out search and rescue operations when we’re needed by the police, so in between, we spend our time out here taking care of the land.

  I press answer on my phone, then gaze out across the park, counting my blessings that I don’t have to work at a job in town.

  ‘Mimi, what’s up?’

  ‘Kiddo, I need your help,’ she begins. ‘Well, Koda’s really. Can you come over?’

  I can’t remember a time Mimi has ever needed help from anyone, and the real reason she’s calling probably has nothing at all to do with Koda.

  ‘What do you need him to do?’

  ‘It’s easier if I just show you. I’ll see you later at my place.’

  Before I can respond, the phone goes silent, and I realise she’s already hung up.

  ‘Sure, okay, Mimi,’ I mutter into the silent phone. ‘No problem.’

  JUST after 3 pm, I pull up at Mimi’s and let Koda jump out wearing just his collar. I have no idea what she wants him to do, but I can’t imagine there’s any scenario where he’ll be tracking or need his work gear.

  ‘You came,’ Mimi says, stepping onto the veranda. She's wearing another brightly coloured dress, her hair wild and feet still bare.

  ‘Aren’t your toes cold?’ I ask, peering up at her. ‘There’s snow on the mountain.’

  She glances down at her feet and shakes her head. ‘The original custodians of this land walked barefoot in the snow.’

  ‘Doesn’t make it any less cold now.’

  ‘What’s that?’ she asks, cocking her head.

  ‘Nothing, Mimi,’ I tell her, knowing full well she heard every word. ‘Well, we’re here. How can we help?’

  ‘Come on inside.’

  I hesitate and kick at a loose rock on the gravel driveway.

  ‘Oh, come on now, kiddo,’ she says. ‘You ain’t a child no more. What you so scared of?’

  The truth is, I have no idea what I’m so scared of. When I was little, Mimi’s house was strange and completely different from Mum’s place. She had weird rugs on the floor, and unusual smells drifted out of pots bubbling away on the cooktop. Dried herbs dangled from the rafters like sleeping bats, and her shelves were cluttered with feathers, rocks, and jars of things I never wanted to touch. The town whispered that she was a witch. That she cast spells and was to blame every time the crops succumbed to drought, flood, or vermin.

  ‘Got a kangaroo joey inside,’ she says with a smile. ‘Lost its mamma on the road. You too grown up to like those?’

  ‘No,’ I manage, ‘I still like them.’

  ‘Wanna come in and see?’

  ‘Why does this feel like Hansel and Gretel?’

  ‘You think I’m gonna try and put you and Koda in the oven?’ she asks with a throaty laugh.

  I shake my head and look away, embarrassed. ‘No, I just…’

  ‘Come on inside. I ain’t gonna bite you. Promise.’

  I glance at Koda, and he looks back at me, head tilted as if to ask, what are you waiting for?

  ‘Fine, but we can’t stay long,’ I say, as we start up the stairs. ‘We have to get home.’

  ‘Can’t be late with Will’s dinner.’

  I don’t miss the sarcasm in her voice. ‘It’s not like that, Mimi.’

  ‘‘Course not, kiddo. You want tea?’

  Inside, I perch myself on a stool at the breakfast bar and let my gaze wander. The kitchen feels smaller than it did when I was a child, yet somehow more alive. The stained-glass window above the sink filters light into soft pools of amber and green that drift across the counter. Wooden shelves bow beneath the weight of mismatched crockery, chipped mugs, and jars of spices with labels written in Latin. A kettle hums softly on the stovetop, steam curling into the air, carrying the scent of chamomile and something I can’t place. From where I'm sitting, I can see the old timber dresser in the adjoining room, its surface cluttered with framed photographs, trinkets, and candles that have melted into crooked rivers of wax. Everywhere I look, there are signs of a life stitched together, as though the house carries her memories in its bones.

  My gaze comes to rest on a canvas hanging on the far wall. It’s at least a metre high and painted with a mix of earthy tones, and brightly coloured green and yellow strokes that together form the shape of a frog.

  ‘One of yours?’ I ask, as memories of Mimi painting, her fingers covered in lashings of red and brown, flash through my mind.

  ‘You like it?’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ I answer honestly.

  ‘Inspired by Tiddalik,’ she tells me, placing the mug down. ‘You know about Tiddalik?’

  I shake my head and sip the tea. It’s so bitter that I shudder, and Mimi laughs.

  ‘Some First Nations people tell a story about Tiddalik the greedy frog who drank up all the water in the land. It wasn’t until the other animals found a way to make him laugh that all the water came rushing back out forming waterways and billabongs. That sound like anyone you know?

  ‘The frog?’

  Mimi nods and sits down on the stool beside me.

  ‘A greedy frog that gets too big for its boots. Well, yeah, someone comes to mind.’

  Without warning, she grabs my hand and holds it between both of hers. ‘You and him gonna have a problem soon, kiddo,’ she tells me, her tone changing. ‘Trust me, he’s not someone you want as an enemy.’

  ‘Jack?’

  She nods again and pulls me in. ‘He’s too big for you to take down on your own.’

  ‘Jason came to see you, didn’t he?’

  ‘Didn’t need to.’ She closes her eyes and breathes in and out, slow and deep. ‘The spirits are warning me. Telling me you’re in trouble.’

  ‘I’m not in trouble, Mimi.’

  ‘Not yet.’ She opens her eyes and stares at me, a piercing gaze that makes me squirm in my seat. ‘But it’s coming, Mia. Looming, larger and larger, just like Tiddalik.’

  I pull my hand away and get up from the seat, suddenly remembering why I never liked it here.

  ‘The animals made Tiddalik laugh because they worked together,’ she says. ‘You need to do the same.’

  ‘You’re saying I need to make Jack laugh?’ I shake my head and motion to Koda to fall in beside me. ‘That makes no sense.’

  ‘No, kiddo. I’m saying you and the other two need to work together. It’s the only way.’

  I freeze where I am and look back at her. ‘Mimi, what are you talking about? What other two?’

  ‘He’ll say you walked where you weren’t invited, but it’s not his land, Mia. You had every right to follow your instincts.’

  She must have spoken to Jason. How else could she know I was on Jack’s property? ‘Well, unfortunately, the law might say otherwise. Willow’s Crossing is private property.’

  ‘It’s stolen property.’

  ‘That was a long time ago, Mimi. It’s Jack’s land now.’

  ‘When the third arrow is drawn, it will begin.’

  I search her face. Her mouth has pulled into a grim line, and there's genuine concern in her eyes. ‘Mimi, what are you talking about?’

  ‘Remember,’ she says, getting to her feet. ‘Work together.’

  I rub my forehead, my fingers moving in small, circular motions over my temples. There’s a throbbing pain just above my eyebrows that, by the time I get home, will have become a headache. ‘There was never any joey in here, was there?’ I ask Mimi. ‘Or any job for Koda.’

  ‘You need my help, kiddo, and I know you’re too proud to ask for it. Figured best thing was to get you over here and give it to you anyway.’

  I nod and head toward the front door, Koda in step beside me. ‘All right, Mimi. Well, good to see you,’ I manage in a tone that I hope conveys my frustration.

  ‘That’s a good dog you got there,’ she calls after me. ‘He’ll show you what you need to do.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Juniper

  AT around lunchtime, Mum found the shepherd’s pie recipe and now she’s over at the kitchen bench, doing her best to prepare dinner. Cooking has never been her strong point, but even so, she’s launched a full-scale kitchen offensive. Saucepans, spatulas, herbs flying, like dinner is a siege she’s determined to win. I’m sure she thinks that feeding the troops will inevitably result in a ceasefire and we’ll all just surrender and agree to get along, but I have my doubts.

  She refused any offer of help, so instead I’m sitting at the dining table, scrolling and reading story after story about Hazel Smith and keeping an eye on her progress as best I can.

  As she scoops the meat out of the pan, I hear the front door and brace myself. Britt is home from work. I have no idea what kind of reception to expect from her. After my conversation with Mum, I can’t imagine she’ll be happy to see me, especially in the emotional state she’s in. She was acting out even before Lilly died.

  Mum stops what she’s doing, the ladle frozen mid-air, meat sauce on her cheek. I sit up a little straighter, and we exchange a glance. Any minute now.

  ‘Mum, I need to—’ When Britt sees me, she stops short and stares.

  The first thing I notice is how much she’s grown up. How much she looks like Dad, with her thick dark hair and tall athletic frame. The second is the ghoulish eye makeup Mum warned me about. Never mind Dracula, she looks like the Bride of Frankenstein.

  ‘Hey, Britt,’ I begin. ‘How are you?’ As soon as I say the words, I realise how stupid it sounds. Her best friend just died.

  She studies my face, taking in every nervous twitch, every tell. It’s like she’s cataloguing every weak point I have and creating a mental checklist in case she needs it later.

  ‘How do you think?’ she says eventually, without a hint of warmth in her voice.

  ‘Right. Sorry.’ Are you all right? Can I do anything? Do you need something? I search my mind for the right thing to say but come up empty. ‘I’m sorry about Lilly,’ I try. ‘I know she meant a lot to you.’

  She holds my gaze for a moment and then nods. I can see the sadness in her eyes, but there’s also something else. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  ‘Don’t even think about writing some story about her while you’re here,’ she warns. ‘There's enough vultures circling the town already.’

  ‘That’s not why I came back, Britt. I came because I wanted to make sure you’re all right.’

  ‘I don’t need a babysitter.’

  I exchange a glance with Mum, and she gives me a nod of encouragement. ‘I know that. I just wanted to see how you are.’

  To my surprise, she laughs. The sound is sharp and hollow and hangs between us. I can’t figure out whether she thinks what I said is funny or if she just doesn’t believe I’d want to help her.

  ‘You’re joking, right?’

  Clearly, the latter. ‘You’re my sister, Britt. I want to try and make this better somehow.’

  But she shakes her head and stares at the ground.

  ‘What? I do.’

  ‘Bullshit,’ she hisses, glaring back at me. ‘You want to write a story. You want to come here and play on the fact that everyone in Wildling loves Juniper Davis. You think that will get you info the other vultures don’t have access to. Do you think I’m stupid?’

  The accusation stings, mostly because she’s right. She always was smarter than me. ‘Britt…’

  ‘How long are you staying?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘You’re not staying, staying, though, right?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good.’

  Her words are acid, but I swallow them down, determined not to let her corrode my good intentions. She’s right about the story, but I also want to help her.

  Before I can respond, Mum interjects. A bid to defuse the tension. ‘Everything will work itself out,’ she says with a smile. ‘It’s just so nice to see you both together here at home.’

  Britt holds my gaze a moment longer, and then we both look over at Mum. I nod and give her the best smile I can manage before Britt shakes her head and says, ‘Christ, Mum, that meat sauce looks like someone took a shit on your face.’

  Chapter Twenty

  I PULL up at home and am surprised to see Will’s silver Lexus parked in the driveway. He said he wouldn’t be back until 8 pm. I glance at my watch. It’s not even 5 pm.

  ‘He’s home early,’ I say to Koda as he jumps out of the back and onto the driveway.

  I remind myself to stay calm as we make our way toward the house. Koda trots beside me, his nails ticking on the pavers. Just because Will said we need to talk, doesn’t mean something bad is about to happen. This will be okay.

  Knee-high rows of lavender line the path. At this time of year, their summer brilliance has faded. The silver-green leaves are beaded with frost, and only a few papery purple heads still cling to the stalks. I breathe in deep, and get the faintest whisper of scent, enough to stir the memory of warmer days even as the cold air needles my skin.

  As we step onto the porch, Koda begins to bark. It’s playful. The one he usually does when…