They’ve been hibernating for a few weeks. Just now beginning to awaken, getting ready to mate.

But …?

Don’t know where they’ve come from. Or why here. You’re right, you never see them aggregating like this in Perth. Apparently not anywhere in the West. But they’ve been coming to Lucy’s loquat tree for three years now.

Has she told anyone about this? The museum?

Monarchs are an introduced species, Laura. The museum’s not as interested in them as you are. He grins. And now the novelty’s worn off, Lucy’s only mildly interested herself. Reckons she’s done her bit for science by telling me.

Laura feels the kinesis, the collective energy of all those tiny flutterings.

There’s a Mexican legend about the overwinterers, she remembers. They say they’re the spirits of dead children returning home.

She stretches out her palms towards the light, the warmth of that pulsing life.

And you have no idea why they come?

He shrugs. Absolutely baffled. But then, that’s biology for you. Another grin. Never underestimate the element of chance.

31

Avril

Two weeks later

Avril feels as though her muscles have turned to string and fibre, pulled taut, tight, out of tune. She can visualise the gnarling of trigger points, their build-up of lactic acid and toxins, up through her back and into the cervical spine. A sideways glance at Laura shows all her tension being held in the hunch of her shoulders. They are a pair. They are in a bad way.

Avril’s up on her feet, Laura just behind her, when Tony Hadley puts his head around the door of the lounge. Station Officer, Cooper’s boss.

Here you are, good.

He strides in, tosses a plastic file on the table, and takes command of the nearest chair, gesturing for them to sit opposite. He anticipates their anxiety. There’s minimal smalltalk.

Well, Cooper went in alone for the child—and without the required personal protective equipment—but you’ll be pleased to know he didn’t go in blind. He looks from Avril to Laura and back again. He knew the child was there, and he knew where she was.

How? Laura demands.

The mother told him.

But the mother died.

In the ambulance. He consults the file and shakes his head. Asthma attack, smoke inhalation, complications. But she regained consciousness briefly when Cooper brought her out. We knew that from the neighbour’s statement. He runs a finger down a page in the file. She was coughing and struggling. Turns out, she was trying to tell them about the daughter, urge them back inside. But by then the neighbour’s taken off to wait for the ambulance, run up to the road to guide them in. And that’s when Coop’s figured out the woman’s trying to give him a key. Turns out, the key to the laundry door.

Avril’s hardly breathing.