Thunderbolt Springs

Crunch. 

The seatbelt locked over my chest, hard. My rearview mirror was filled with a black SUV that definitely wasn’t there a minute ago.

I killed the engine and sent a quick plea to the Universe. With a rent hike and Dad’s sixtieth birthday, it had not been a cheap month.

The other guy was already standing by his car, looking down at the scene with a frown. His tall frame was encased in a sleek charcoal suit, his dark hair just long enough to sweep the side of his temples.

Not your usual type of opal-seeking tourist. They arrived in tour buses, or vans packed with fossicking gear. This shiny black 4x4 had a luxe badge and… zero damage.

On the other hand, Betsy, my third-hand Corolla was done for. I’m not an expert, but the back bumper was hanging off in a very unroadworthy way.

The stranger’s flint-black eyes flickered over me, unimpressed. Damn, of course he had to be gorgeous. The Universe just didn’t care.

Owen’s SUV was firmly back on the road when his thoughts returned from autopilot. He’d cursed at the jolt when the cars collided, but the choice insults he’d lined up died on his lips when the other driver got out of his car.

His slim frame was clad in a pair of well-worn jeans and a loose t-shirt. When he leaned over to inspect the damage, it pulled tight over his well-defined shoulder blades. Owen tried to focus on the sizeable dent that his own towbar had made in the little old car, but forgot about it completely when the young man stood up and looked at him.

His blue-grey eyes held embarrassment rather than anger, and between his eyebrows only a small furrow betrayed exasperation.

“Looks like the bumper bar’s done for,” he sighed, before giving Owen a wry smile, “You came off alright though.”

“You should look where you’re going.” Owen blurted.

The young man’s brown furrowed a little more. “You backed into me, mate,” his easygoing manner cracked for a moment. But he quickly gave a little shrug and pasted his smile back in place. “let’s just exchange details.”

“You want my details?” Owen’s ears suddenly warmed up. Was this guy flirting?

“Yeah, for insurance? I hate to break it to you, but this is a one-way lane.” The young man pointed to the gravelly asphalt, where a faded white arrow bore mute witness to their meeting.

“Oh, for damages.” Owen patted his pockets in panic. He’d only come without a chauffeur because Gregory had made a snide comment about his driving. Did the company even have human insurance?

He pulled out a couple of opals, samples from the mine he’d been visiting. They were small, but high quality. “Will this cover it?”

The young man took a step back. “This is Thunderbolt Springs. That much opal isn’t worth spit here.”

Of course, he should have known. This tiny town’s economy was built around shiny stones like the ones he was holding, but an air of desolation hung about the cluster of buildings. The tiny carpark they were standing in had seen better decades.

Owen’s watch buzzed. It was Gregory. They’d carefully planned this outing when Chloe was at a conference, but time was getting tight. Soon she’d be back in the office, and she’d notice him missing straight off the bat.

“Look, I don’t have a lot of time.” He looked again at the man’s youthful face, and something inside him bumped unexpectedly. Without thinking, his hand had reached inside his lapel and pulled a small, enamelled case from the inner pocket.

“Here’s my details,” he swallowed. It was true, the company’s address was definitely on there, “you can look me up.”

He bolted back to the SUV and slammed the door.

Now, he passed a faded sign bidding him ’Farewell from ’Bolt Springs!’ and pulled off the road. His hand went to his lapel.

The empty pocket made his face heat up. What had possessed him to give that young man his token?

Had it been the shoulder blades? Or the narrow waist below them, maybe.

He shook his head mechanically. That token had been burning a hole in his pocket since Mother had insisted he take it from the Dark Palace, the Prince of Demons’ main residence down in Tenebralis. It was time, she said firmly, that he settled down. It didn’t even have to be a demon.

He could have healed the guy’s car instantly, of course. But mindful of the Prince’s strict instructions, he was extra careful around Thunderbolt Springs. A human businessman would have known what to do, would understand things like insurance. For the first time, he missed the complicated machinations of Tenebralian court politics. It might be bloodthirsty, but at least he was good at it.

Humans. They held such power in their hands, yet they couldn’t sense it. In the Underworld, each opal pulsed with vast energy. Mounted onto great, strategically placed altars, they powered everything from streetlights to the Portal itself. Yet humans just polished them up and stuck them on ugly jewellery. When he arrived at the Upper Bureau, he’d been astonished to find the humans didn’t even like opals anymore. They were dated. Daggy.

Whatever. He braced his hands on the wheel and turned back onto the road. Either the token found its way back to him, or it didn’t. He had bigger things to focus on.

“It’s a weird way to exchange insurance details.” I passed the small, smooth box to my best friend Shelby, who was closing the till at ’Bolt Springs’ only supermarket. It was more of a roadhouse really, but she ran it like it was a downtown department store. The shelves sparkled, not a can of tuna was out of place.

“It’s like one of those fancy business card wallets.” She took it and thumbed the latch. It flipped open smoothly, like it had done for me as the black SUV had slid out of the parking lot.

I’d been expecting a card, maybe a scrap of folded paper. But nestled on a black velvet lining was a small, pale rectangle. Heavy for its size, in the daylight it shone a translucent, celadon green. When I’d tilted it, a line of engraving flashed across the polished surface.

1 CASTLE PLACE, SYDNEY.

Shelby gave a low whistle and tipped it back into my hand. “This is so swank. He must have a whole bag of these things.”

“Yeah,” I ran my finger over the lettering. A dollop of disappointment plopped into my chest, “he probably does.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“Keep it, I guess.” I answered absently.

She rapped me gently on the forehead. “About your car, dufus.”

Ah, crap. My crumpled Corolla.

A little while later, she stood on the curb while I started the engine. Immediately, a loud clanking came from behind me.

“I think you’ve bent the exhaust pipe.”

“Can I drive it?” I turned off the ignition and bit my lip.

“I guess we could rip off the rest of the bumper bar,” she gave it a prod with her toe, “or I can just give you a lift home. You can call the mechanic tomorrow, right?”

Purple shadows were gathering, and ’Bolt Springs’ solitary streetlight had lit up. I gave up.

“Thanks.”

Shelby started work later in the morning than I did. She was picking me up, so I couldn’t complain. Besides, customers weren’t exactly lining up to buy souvenirs. Barry wouldn’t care if I was late.

But my usually laid-back employer was standing in the doorway, parting the bead curtain anxiously as I got out of Shelby’s Ute.

“You’re late.”

“I texted you,” In fairness, it was unlikely Barry would have checked his phone, he still used a cheque book. “I had an accident.”

“Oh, right.” He followed me inside. I put my backpack down behind the counter.

“Look, son,” he sat down and fiddled with his polishing wheel, “business hasn’t been great lately.”

My heart began to sink. I knew where this was headed. But when had business ever been good?

I saw out my last shift in a fog of misery. Barry, once he’d delivered the killing blow, retreated into the workshop and clamped on his earmuffs. He was furiously cutting opals as though there was a chance of them selling out. I snorted. Not this decade.

What the fuck was I going to do? Dad’s pension barely covered himself. There were no jobs going in town. It was a couple of hours drive to Gordonvale, the nearest big town. I could probably get a job there.

If only I had Betsy.