Page 75 of Jinxed

There’s a light on in one of the housesa few metres away. There’s a red post box at the front with the letters CHAN written in gold along the side. A shiver runs down my spine. The house is the type almost no one can afford any more, unless you’re on Companioneers Crescent: wide-fronted, with two huge windows downstairs, and four on the upper level. It’s painted a warm, creamy white, with deep olive-green shutters.

Is this where MonicaChan lives?

On a fake street buried beneath Moncha HQ? Why would she choose to do that?

No. Something is not right. I need to go in and find out what’s going on, once and for all. A blinking red light catches my eye. I look up and I see cameras in the trees – and thick iron bars concealed amongst the greenery.

That’s when I realize: it’s not a home at all. It’s a prison.

I slowly walk downthe path, treading on each flagstone carefully as if each one might be booby-trapped. Who knows in a place like this? But I peer through the front window and spy a flash of Jinx’s tail, giving me the push I need to enter the house. The door is unlocked. I knock on it once, unable to shake the politeness from my system, but go in without waiting for a response.

‘Hello?’ I say, tentatively.

Thedoor swings open into a wide hallway, rich oriental carpets covering dark hardwood floors and vibrant paintings of countryside in oversized gilt frames on pale green walls. I feel like I’ve walked into a dream. None of it seems real. I wrap my arms around my waist, a deep sense ofwrongpervading all my senses.

A giggle from the front room catches my attention. I walk in without hesitating anylonger. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, stroking Jinx, is my idol and tech icon – Monica Chan – her signature jagged fringe grown out of shape. Jinx rolls on to his belly, allowing her to stroke him in his most vulnerable state, and a pang of jealousy spikes through my belly. Monica is talking to him, laughing – and, I realize as I get closer, crying too. Tears are rolling down her cheeks, drippingon to Jinx’s fur. ‘I thought I’d never see you again!’

She looks up as I walk in, and doesn’t even blink. It’s as if my presence is not a surprise to her. ‘Are you the one who did this? Are you the one who brought him back to life?’

‘His name is Jinx,’ I say, through my teeth.

‘Jinx. Oh, a perfect name. A perfect name for a perfect creature. My little trickster. He looks very different now,but I would recognize him anywhere.’

‘There wasn’t much to work with,’ I say, bristling at the implied insult at my handiwork. Then I soften. ‘You created him?’

‘Created him?’ She continues to brush Jinx’s fur with her fingers as she talks, as if she wants to touch every part of him. ‘I suppose you could say that. It would be more accurate to say that he created me. He showed me the light.’At that, her eyes seem to glaze over. ‘I... can’t think like that. It’s too difficult. I am happy now.’ Her fingers lift from Jinx’s fur, hovering just above him. She wants to touch him but something is stopping her.

Jinx rolls over on to his paws now. He nuzzles up to her, then hops into her arms, climbing on to her shoulder. Absent-mindedly – more habit than purposeful movement – she runsher fingers around Jinx’s tail, holding it up to the leash around her ear. ‘Do you mind?’ she asks, her eyes suddenly bright as if she’s woken from a trance. It’s as if the artificial light from the basement prison she lives in is replaced with inner light that shines from her face like moonlight. This is the woman I recognize from all the videos I’ve watched. The woman I’ve idolized for so long.

I hold my breath as she connects Jinx’s tail to her leash. And yet... nothing seems to happen. I breathe a sigh of relief, despite myself.

Monica closes her eyes. When she opens them again, she deflates. ‘I suppose things have moved on for both of us. Come on, let’s drink some tea. We won’t have much time – and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be this lucid – but I do know that acup of green tea can fix anything. Something my mom said once.’

‘My dad used to say something similar,’ I say, my voice sounding small.

‘He must have been a smart man, your father.’

I don’t elaborate – because I don’t want memories of my dad to ruin this moment. But Monica continues. ‘Is that who gave you that ring?’

My eyebrows raise in surprise, but then I realize that I’ve been playingwith it again – it must have caught her eye.

‘I had one of those once,’ she says.

‘I know,’ I say, sheepishly. ‘It’s another one of the reasons why I wear it. You’re like – my hero,’ I splutter out, before I can stop myself.

Monica blushes and it covers both her cheeks, travelling down her neck – reminding me of how I react when I blush. The fact that someone so powerful and confident can stillbe reduced to redness like me endears her to me even more. Does she have to be perfect in every way?

‘If you put him back together after what he endured, you must be a pretty incredible companioneer. Has Eric tried to offer you a job yet?’

‘I don’t think that’s likely. I think Eric hates me. At least, his son does.’

‘And why is that?’

I shrug. ‘Because I beat him at everything?’

Monica chuckles,then beckons at something behind my head. I turn around to see a sloth baku walking into the room, two teacups balanced on its back.

‘Take one,’ she says to me.

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