Dark Tomorrow

by Helen Harper

  ‘Yeah.’ I massage my shoulders. ‘And hope is really important.’ I pause. ‘But revenge runs a close second. Now tell me every damn thing you can about Maria.’

  Chapter Five: Itch

  I sit next to Michael, smoothing his hair with fluid strokes, while I mull over what I’ve learnt about Romany gypsies. It’s difficult to estimate how many there are in Europe; some say four million, some say nine million. Nomadic by nature, they’re scattered across the continent, divided and sub-divided into groups. They’re not witches, not in the true sense of the word, but their long heritage means that magic runs through their veins. In some of them it is stronger than in others and, according to my grandfather, Maria’s is some of the strongest he’s ever seen.

  Michael moans softly in his sleep. I run my fingers down his jaw, marvelling at the stubble there. Even the hair on his head seems longer than it did when he was a vampire, as if decades of stunted growth means that now it’s taking advantage of this new situation and sprouting at an incredible rate before things change again. I press my palm against his forehead, worrying at the heat of his skin. He subsides again.

  Maria can’t perform spells. She could buy ingredients from somewhere like Magix and do what O’Shea does from time to time, but she wouldn’t be particularly skilled at it. I’d probably do just as good a job. No, my grandfather insists that Maria’s speciality comes from within, that the power which sings through her blood is enough to recognise levels of magic in others. He told me a story of a man he once hired at MI7. They used him to infiltrate different triber groups and assess their potential for mayhem. It was only when MI7 got cocky because of the results they were seeing that they pushed him too far and sent him into the bowels of the Kakos daemon world. He was never seen again.

  So far it all fits. Maria knew immediately that X was a Kakos daemon and X did everything he could to meet her in person. If, as my grandfather states, her blood is stronger than any Romany he’s met before I can only wonder at her potential. She can recognise a Kakos daemon even in full glamour ‒ but can she withstand one? Can X read her mind like he can read mine, or is she somehow immune? I have no idea how to test the theory.

  Between the thought that Maria knows what happened to Alice Goldman and the idea that she might be the key to make X pay for what he’s done, I can feel desperation clawing beneath my skin. I remind myself of what I told Rogu3: she’s a victim. More than any of us, she deserves our support – she doesn’t need to be used again. She’s had enough of that. I sigh heavily. Maybe the temptation will be too great; maybe I should keep as far away from her as possible.

  Beneath my fingers, I feel Michael stir. His eyelids flutter open and fix on me. ‘Hey,’ he says weakly.

  I manage a smile. ‘Hey you.’

  ‘I feel like shit.’

  ‘You look like it,’ I tell him with a wink, trying to keep my tone light. He doesn’t need my anxiety to deal with on top of everything else. ‘Why don’t you try to eat something?’

  Michael grimaces as if he can’t possibly think of anything worse. ‘I’ve had enough bloody chicken soup.’

  I give him a considering look. ‘You’re right. You’ve spent several decades on a liquid diet. Perhaps it’s time to expand your taste buds.’

  ‘Bo, I didn’t just drink blood. You know that.’

  He’s right. Although blood provides vampires with the nutrients we need to survive, we can still eat solids. But they don’t taste the same; it’s not so long since I was human that I can’t remember what the difference was. I tap my finger thoughtfully on the side of my mouth. ‘Trust me. I have just the thing.’

  I pop my head out of the door and call down the corridor. O’Shea’s face appears immediately. ‘Is there a problem? What’s happened?’

  ‘Everything’s fine but I think we need to rev Michael’s diet up somewhat.’

  He wrinkles his nose. ‘He rarely keeps the soup down. What else can we try?’

  I grin. ‘Where’s the nearest fast-food restaurant?’

  He looks at me sceptically. ‘You don’t seriously think that’s going to help him, do you?’

  ‘At this stage, it’s unlikely to hurt.’

  He shrugs. ‘It’s been a while since I had a greasy burger. Connor had me on far too much organic veggie stuff.’ I don’t move a muscle. ‘It’s okay, Bo, I can say his name without spontaneously combusting or anything.’ He arches an eyebrow. ‘But I wonder how MI7’s fabulous facility would cope with that scenario. Maybe that can be a little project for later.’

  His banter is forced; despite his brave words and lopsided grins, Connor’s loss still affects him keenly. Grief isn’t some fleeting experience; it colours our lives forever.

  As if it’s clear that I’m thinking too deeply about it, he gives a business-like nod. ‘I’ll be back in a jiffy.’

  ‘You’ll be careful, won’t you?’

  ‘Natch.’

  We grin at each other. Unfortunately, the moment is lost when there’s a loud clatter and crash from Michael’s room. Alarmed, I rush in. He’s face down on the floor, his expression contorted.

  ‘What happened?’ I dash over and help him up, getting him back onto the bed and into a sitting position while I scan him for fresh injuries.

  He turns his head away from me. ‘I need the toilet,’ he says through gritted teeth.

  I curse. ‘That’s why I’m here!’ I hear a rustle in the doorway and look over my shoulder at O’Shea. The daemon raises his hand and nods before bowing out again. ‘That’s why we’re all here. All you need to do is say the word and we can…’

  ‘What? Hold my dick for me? Point it in the right direction? Wipe my arse afterwards?’

  Abruptly, I realise what the problem is. ‘There’s no shame in being ill, Michael,’ I say softly.

  He snorts. ‘I’m not just ill, am I?’ His voice is weak and I have to strain to hear him but he’s not about to give up. ‘I’m human. I was one of the most powerful vampires in the country and now I’m nothing. Nobody.’ His fingers curl round the sides of the bed and his knuckles turn white as his tension increases. ‘You should have left me to die.’

  I straighten my back. ‘Piss off. Stop feeling sorry for yourself.’ He jerks. ‘So you’re human. So what? Most of the damn world is human. I didn’t want to be a vampire but I am. You don’t want to be human but you are. We don’t always get what we want.’ I pause. ‘We get some of it, though. I want you. I love you. If that means wiping your hairy arse for the next fifty years then so be it.’

  He looks at me levelly. ‘I don’t love you. I said I did because I wanted to get into your pants. You mean nothing to me, Bo. I’ve had plenty of women who are more attractive than you ‒ and less psychotic. Whatever was between us has gone.’

  I ignore the searing stab of hurt in my chest and stare into his eyes. ‘Nice try,’ I say. ‘But psychotic or not, you don’t get rid of me that easily.’

  He sucks in a breath through his teeth and slumps down further. ‘Bitch.’

  ‘Yeah. But, you know what? I’m your bitch.’

  For the briefest of moments something flares in his eyes. I move round until I’m facing him then, as gently as I can, I lean forward and kiss him on the lips. I’m rewarded with another flare.

  ‘You need to let me go,’ he whispers.

  ‘No chance.’

  He gazes at me. ‘No, I’m serious. I’m going to wet myself if I don’t get to the damned bathroom.’

  Startled, I laugh aloud. ‘Come on. I’ll help.’ I hoist him to his feet.

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘Please, Bo. Not this. It’s bad enough that you are seeing me this weak. Don’t do this.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll go and get help.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  I place my hand against his rough cheek. He reaches up and covers it with his. ‘I hate that you see through me so easily.’

  I grin, awash with relief that I hadn’t read the situation wrongly. Put me up against a Kakos daem
on or a witch or a bastard like Hale and I’ll be the toughest son-of-a-gun in the room but I’ve realised that I don’t need to be like that all the time. Pit me against Michael – or anyone else I care for – and the truth is that I’m just mush. ‘You see through me too,’ I tell him. ‘So now we’re even.’

  ***

  I leave Michael to my grandfather’s brusque and unembarrassed ministrations and go through to check on Rogu3. There’s still no sign of Maria and the young teenager is glaring ferociously at the computer screen as if he can blame technology for all that’s wrong with the world. Judging from the set of his spine, he’s not yet made any progress with his new software, so I leave him where he is and head for the fridge to get some blood. It won’t be particularly tasty and it won’t do much to stave off my hunger but it’ll be better than nothing. I don’t need to drink as often I did when I was a newbie but, if I go for too long, strength saps out of me like water from a leaky bucket.

  I’m halfway there when my phone rings. I pull it out, a frisson of excitement zipping through me when I see that it’s Foxworthy. ‘This is Bo.’

  ‘Morning.’ The gruff inspector’s voice sounds hollow, as if he’s in a cave.

  ‘Where are you?’ I ask.

  ‘Hiding in a damn cell so no one hears me talking to you,’ he answers. ‘It appears that there’s a new initiative in place.’

  Something about the way he says it sets me on edge. ‘Go on.’

  ‘Orders from on top. We are to seek out any surviving bloodguzzlers and place them into custody for their own safety.’

  ‘So because giving ourselves up voluntarily didn’t work, we’re going to be treated as criminals? What happens once we’ve been taken in?’

  He inhales heavily. ‘There’s a special squad that will take you to an unknown location. All the better to keep you safe, of course.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Bo,’ he says, ‘I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s unprecedented. And it’s bloody dangerous.’

  It’s good to know that he’s seeing things the same way I am. ‘You say that this has come from on top. How far up are we talking?’

  ‘Government level.’

  I purse my lips. It doesn’t take a genius to work out which damned politician put it into place. ‘Wanker,’ I mutter.

  ‘It’s not my fault,’ Foxworthy says, put out.

  ‘Not you.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it. Now, listen. I can find a way for you to get out of the city. I’ve been assigned across the river this evening. If I come and pick you up then…’

  ‘Whoa. Who said anything about leaving?’

  Rogu3 looks up from the computer, his expression suddenly intent. I gesture to him to get back to what he’s doing. He doesn’t move.

  ‘Bo,’ Foxworthy continues, ‘this is getting serious. I understand you are stubborn and you don’t want to leave with your tail between your legs but you can come back when things calm down. This is not the time for a vampire to be strolling around the streets!’

  ‘I didn’t know you cared.’

  ‘There’s been enough damned blood on my streets as it is.’

  I don’t comment on his use of the personal pronoun because I feel like that about London too. It’s the kind of place that gets under your skin, whether you were born here or not, and it stays there like an itch that’s annoying but so very, very satisfying to scratch.

  ‘Thank you for the offer,’ I tell him. I mean it sincerely; it’s nice to know the gruff old policeman cares. ‘But I’m fine. Tell me you have other news.’

  He sighs. ‘I don’t suppose I can change your mind.’

  ‘Nope.’ I try again. ‘Do you have anything else to tell me?’

  ‘Going up against the Kakos daemons is lunacy.’

  ‘Foxworthy…’

  ‘Alright, alright. I’ve found several addresses for your daemon. The most recent one seems to be 12 Brightside Avenue.’

  ‘That’s next to Canary Wharf.’ The poshest-of-posh, over-priced scraps of land in the country. It figures.

  ‘It is.’ He pauses. ‘Am I going to be scraping you off the pavement and into a body bag?’

  I feel my fangs lengthen and my heart rate pick up. ‘Not if I do this properly. Cheers, Foxworthy.’ I end the call.

  Rogu3 is still watching me. ‘You have an address for X.’

  I nod. ‘I do.’

  ‘Is this the best thing to do, Bo?’

  I consider his words. ‘Probably not. But it is the right thing.’ I meet his eyes. ‘If I don’t come back, you know what to do.’

  He swallows. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Good.’

  O’Shea appears holding a greasy brown paper bag. Despite the overpowering smell of cooked meat and limp cabbage, my stomach growls. I really need to eat.

  ‘I got a kebab,’ he trills. ‘Yum yum.’ From out of nowhere, Kimchi bounds towards him, almost smacking into his legs. The dog whines and starts to slobber, a line of drool landing on O’Shea’s shoe. ‘These are handmade leather,’ the daemon yells, lifting his foot to shake away the spittle. Kimchi’s tongue lolls as he tries to decide whether to attack the shoe or leap towards the kebab. O’Shea hisses in disgust then looks from Rogu3 to me and back again. His expression clears abruptly. ‘Ah. I see we’ve made some progress. Let me drop this off with Michael then I’m coming with you.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bo, we’re partners. Buddies. Where you go, I go.’

  ‘It’s too dangerous, Devlin.’

  He winces. ‘I really hate it when you call me that.’ He tilts up his chin. ‘You can’t stop me, Bo. If you’re going to do this, then so am I. I’m more than an errand boy. If you get all your vital organs ripped out of your body then someone’s going to need to break the news to Michael.’

  I raise an eyebrow. ‘You’re volunteering to tell him I’m dead?’

  ‘That’s what friends are for, darling.’

  I look at him. Despite his teasing words, steely determination is etched into his brow. ‘Okay.’ I sigh. ‘Okay.’ God save me from my own people.

  Kimchi whines, sensing the sombre atmosphere. O’Shea reaches inside the bag, picks out a scrap of brown meat and offers it to him. For once, the dog doesn’t go for it. Instead, he lies down and gives both of us a long-suffering look with his large, soulful eyes.

  ‘Dogs don’t have special senses, do they?’ O’Shea asks nervously. ‘Like being able to tell when someone’s about to die?’

  ‘Nah. I think that’s cats.’

  My grandfather’s moggy takes that moment to leap down from the desk and wander up to me, rubbing its head against my shins. O’Shea and I stare at each other. Eventually, I shrug. ‘Last one to get their heart eaten is a rotten egg.’

  Chapter Six: Life Insurance

  The irksome thing about this part of London is that it’s all wide streets and glossy facades. You won’t a find a dark alley to hide in anywhere near here. However, there are lots of tall buildings. Given that I have no idea how close I have to be to X for him to read my mind, it’s important to stay well away in terms of yardage but close enough to spot him. O’Shea and I find his building while keeping our distance, then venture to the corner opposite.

  ‘We need the roof,’ I say decisively, looking upwards.

  O’Shea cranes his neck. ‘It shouldn’t be hard to get up there. But it won’t be easy to follow Mr X once he’s on the move.’

  ‘Don’t call him mister,’ I say. That bastard doesn’t deserve the respect. ‘And I don’t want to follow him. Right now, I just want to get a handle on him. What he’s doing, how he’s travelling around and where his vulnerable spots are.’

  ‘He’s a Kakos daemon, Bo,’ O’Shea says, sounding falsely cheerful. ‘He doesn’t have any vulnerable spots.’

  ‘No one is invincible, not even him.’

  O’Shea gives me a long look. ‘Well,’ he says finally, ‘now I’m wishing I’d bought another kebab. We c
ould be here for some time.’

  ‘Yeah.’ I feel a wave of faintness and pinch the bridge of my nose. Damn it.

  ‘You need to eat as well.’ O’Shea bites his lip and offers me his wrist.

  I frown. ‘Ick.’

  ‘You don’t like daemon blood? I’ll have you know I can be pretty damn tasty.’

  ‘It’s human blood I crave. You know that.’

  ‘I’m only a quarter daemon.’

  I shrug. ‘Doesn’t make a difference.’

  ‘Racist,’ he mutters.

  ‘Come on. Let’s get inside and make our way up. I’ll find someone along the way to snack on.’

  The doors whoosh open and we’re immediately greeted by a blast of cool air. There are a few people milling around inside; the marbled floor shows their blurred reflections as they stare at their phones like zombies. O’Shea lets out a coo of delight.

  ‘We need to be discreet,’ I warn. ‘The slightest disturbance and X might find out we’re here.’

  ‘He can’t see us in here, he doesn’t have X-ray vision.’ O’Shea pauses, his eyes widening. ‘Unless that’s why he’s called X.’

  I scoff, although the truth is that I have very little idea of what X is capable of. I damn myself for not doing more when I had the chance to discover his abilities. I seriously doubt X-ray vision is one of them; all the same, I feel a nervous swirl in the pit of my stomach. I really don’t want him to know I’m here.

  I scan the list of names on the information board, looking for something that will work. I’m thinking that the lawyer on the sixteenth floor could be a good bet until I see who’s right above him. My heart suddenly sings in delight. Well, well, well. ‘There.’ I jab my finger. ‘And we can kill two birds with one stone. It’s about time something went our way.’

  O’Shea leans in. ‘Bruckheimer and Berryhill Insurance.’ He purses his lips. ‘Life insurance? Bo, I hate to say it but I doubt you’ll be able to afford the premiums.’

  I clap him on the shoulder. ‘There’s more method to my madness than you realise.’ Bruckheimer and Berryhill are my old employers; it’s the company I was working for when Alice went missing. ‘This is the perfect cover. We don’t even need to hide any longer because we have a reason for being here that doesn’t involve X.’