Set in Australia, Mia’s Magic Wand takes us on a fugitive journey from Sydney Harbour to the Kimberley. A mother, a father and a monk all want to fix what’s f****d with the world. Each loves to gamble. The mother gambles with politicians, the father gambles with weapons and the monk gambles with God. 

The plot revolves around an archive of blackmailing videos—The Magic Wand—owned by billionaire philanthropist, Tate Wolsey. Tate can have anything he wants, except for Mia, so he assaults her. But he underestimates his wife, Claudia. Outraged, she steals the Magic Wand and gives it to Mia. All hell breaks loose and Mia ends up with the last surviving copy of the Wand.

A federal election looms, news of the theft of the Wand leaks out and prominent politicians begin to worry. One of them, the Federal Police Minister, makes a deal with a jailed murderer, Dog, who holds a grudge against Mia. In quick succession, Dog is released from jail, Tate’s wife is murdered and Mia’s daughter is kidnapped.

Late one night, Mia arranges to hand over the Wand in exchange for her daughter but the deal goes sideways and a gun battle erupts. In the chaos, Mia and Red rescue their daughter and flee to the mountains—still in possession of the Wand.

Trekking to a highway, they hitch a ride with a truck driver and travel to the Kimberley. But Dog is still at large and a bloody struggle plays out. 


This is a multiple point of view story: each of the three characters taking their chapter by turn.

Mia's Magic Wand

‘Daddy, you’re snoring,’ Oksy says, her voice breaking into Red’s sleeping brain. ‘Daddy, can you hear the kookaburra?’ 


 Red opens his eyes to a silhouette of curtains. Shit! His neck hurts, it’s been resting on the arm of his chair. If he straightens it too fast, it’ll cramp up. He must have been asleep for hours. Can’t even get guard duty right. They could have all been killed. 


 Keeping his head still, Red feels around for the Kriss. It’s fallen down between him and the chair, the magazine pressing against his hip. Tensing his neck muscles a little, he lifts it out. 


 A red LED clock on the dresser says 8.58 am. According to the weather chart on his phone, sunrise was 5.40. A Fight Club proverb comes to mind: ‘Today is the sort of day where the sun only comes up to humiliate you.’ A kookaburra laughs, the noise slamming into his head. 


 ‘They’re happy,’ Oksy pipes up, crawling out of bed and turning on the TV. 


 ‘They are,’ he says, lifting his head a notch. 


Chapter 11 — Red