by Helen Harper
‘Wet munter,’ O’Shea reads. ‘That’s not very polite. Do you think they knew you were coming, Bo?’ I punch him on the arm. He grins. ‘Makes me glad to be an Agathos daemon. At least we don’t have to go to schools run by this lot.’ He peers into a nearby office. ‘Those computers look like antiques.’
‘Cutbacks,’ I say. ‘The government is more interested in spending money on running down the last few remaining vampires than on education.’
‘I’m guessing not many people come up here.’ O’Shea glances into a battered cardboard box filled with bits of paper. ‘They’d be horrified if they did. This is supposed to be our tax money hard at work.’
I roll my eyes. ‘And when was the last time you paid tax?’
He doesn’t get the chance to answer. A ruffled-looking human, with a few crumbs from whatever sandwich he’s been eating still attached to his mouth, walks out and adjusts his tie. ‘Ms Blackman,’ he beams. ‘I’m Jonathan Tamworth. What can we do for you?’
I gaze at him suspiciously. Technically, this guy is a civil servant. Surely his first impulse should be to inform his superiors that I’m on the premises, then knock me out so he can drag me back off to Vince sodding Hale.
He notices my look and blusters in a bid to appease me. ‘You’ve been a hero of mine ever since you stopped that school from becoming a bloodbath.’ I nod in sudden understanding. He’s referring to the incident where I stopped Rogu3 from being gunned down. ‘We don’t expect snipers to show up at school dances and try to take out our students. I think you’ll find that many of us in education are sympathetic to your cause. What’s happened to the Families is a terrible business.’
I think he’s being genuinely sincere, despite his sycophantic tone. I test the water to see if I’m right. ‘I’m here because another of your students is in danger, Mr Tamworth.’
‘Oh my goodness.’ He knits his fingers together anxiously. ‘Who? We can let the police know and…’
‘We need to keep her identity secret,’ I tell him, making things up as I go along. ‘For her own safety.’
‘Of course, of course! What can I do to help?’
‘I’m very worried that innocent children are going to get hurt.’ Although I’m not lying, I still lay it on thick. ‘We are sending small teams to watch every school in the area to check that they’re safe. If you could phone ahead and alert the schools so that our people aren’t ... challenged, that would be extraordinarily helpful.’ Let’s face it, the last thing we need is a panic on our hands because the last of the country’s bloodguzzlers are hanging around schools as if they’re waiting to get their revenge on those who deserve it least.
‘Yes!’ He almost trips over himself, he’s so eager to help. ‘I can do that.’
‘And,’ I continue, ‘I’d like a list of all the children in Westminster who are being home-schooled.’
He nods vigorously. ‘Indeed. Come right this way.’
I exchange glances with Hope and O’Shea. This is going far more swimmingly than I expected so it automatically puts me on edge. It’s a shame that I’m forced to look for shadows at every turn, even when people are genuinely helpful.
Tamworth settles himself into a chair which squeals in distress when his arse lands on it. He grimaces. ‘Sorry.’ He pats his stomach. ‘The wife keeps telling me to lose some weight.’
‘I think it’s the cheap furniture rather than your trim self, Mr Tamworth.’ He’s not the only one who can play the sycophancy game.
It works. He beams at me and turns to his computer to tap on a few keys. ‘Now,’ he says, ‘would you like photos to go along with that list?’
I try to keep my mouth closed. Aside from the fact that he’s probably breaking about a million laws by giving me the list in the first place, having photos will enhance our investigation considerably. ‘That would be wonderful,’ I manage.
He lifts his chin and looks at me. ‘You know I’ll lose my job if anyone finds out I’ve done this.’ He takes a breath. ‘I might even be sent to jail.’
I meet his eyes and silently acknowledge the truth of his words. Apparently my sucking up isn’t the reason he’s helping us. I don’t think telling him he’s not fat is enough for him to risk getting locked up.
‘But,’ Tamworth continues, ‘I trust you. You’re a bloodguzzling fiend who probably should have died several times over by now, but you’re doing more for this country than anyone else I can think of.’
‘How do you figure that?’
‘You’re still here,’ he answers simply. ‘You’ve not given up on us.’
Without thinking, I reach out, grab his hand and squeeze it. It’s a strange moment, grasping the flesh of someone who’s a stranger and sharing genuine gratitude and understanding. Most people aren’t bastards, I remind myself. Most are just trying to get along with their lives as best as they can.
O’Shea clears his throat. ‘As much as I hate to break up this little tête-à-tête…’
I nod and pull back. ‘He’s right. We need to get a move on.’
Tamworth’s expression transforms into business mode and he returns to the screen. ‘There are fewer than two hundred children being home-schooled in this borough,’ he says. ‘Would you like printouts of all their names?’
‘Addresses would be very helpful,’ I say, pushing my luck.
‘I can do that,’ he agrees. ‘But we’ll need to move fast before everyone else comes back from lunch.’ His nose twitches. ‘Now about the photos. Of course, some are a bit dated…’
Eagerness overtakes me. ‘Can I see them?’
Tamworth shrugs and angles the screen so I can see it. ‘I’m just going to check on reception,’ he says, ‘to see if any messages have been left for me.’ He stands up and shoves his hands in his pockets. ‘Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.’ He taps the top of the computer and wanders off.
Hope, O’Shea and I glance at each other then we all lunge forward.
It doesn’t take long to scroll through the pictures. We can discount all the boys and we know the age of the child we’re looking for. I flick through the photos of girls around Alice’s age. She’s not there. I scowl to myself. Bugger it.
‘I guess she’s not being home-schooled then,’ I say, irritated. ‘She must be in one of the schools – if she’s being educated at all. We need to hear back from the others.’
Hope taps her mouth thoughtfully. ‘I’m new to all this investigation stuff.’
‘Perhaps you should keep quiet then,’ O’Shea suggests brightly.
She ignores him. ‘But if I wanted to avoid anyone looking for a kid, I’d alter their age.’
I nibble at my bottom lip and shrug. ‘It’s easier to make someone look older rather than younger.’ I start to scroll down to the older children. ‘No. No. That one?’ I squint. ‘No.’ I keep going until I hit the last photo. ‘There’s no one that looks remotely like Alice Goldman.’
‘Go back up again,’ O’Shea says. ‘Slowly.’
I do as he asks. Images of gap-toothed, freckled, chubby, pretty, bespectacled children flash up. None of them are her.
‘Stop.’ He jabs at the screen. ‘There.’
It’s a professional-looking picture. A winsome girl smiles out at the camera. I touch my hair self-consciously. How does a kid get theirs to be so shiny and bouncy? I shake my head. ‘That’s not Alice. Her face is too long.’
‘Yeah,’ he agrees, ‘it’s not her. But if the bitch … sorry, Freudian slip … if the witch here is right about her age being altered, then why wouldn’t her photo be altered too? Look at how perfect that kid is. In this photo she has to be … what? Ten years old? Yet she’s got straight white teeth, a model’s pose, barely a hair out of place… She’s too good to be true. Kids are messy. If girls that age wear make-up then they wear too much. They don’t look like that.’
I stare at the photo. She does look rather airbrushed but it seems too much of a stretch. ‘If Alice has been brainwashed so she doesn’t rem
ember who she is,’ I say, ‘and if whoever did that to her registered her with the council to avoid questions and they changed her age and her photo, then it could be her. That’s a hell of a lot of ifs though.’
‘It still begs the question why,’ Hope muses.
O’Shea throws up his hands. ‘Look, until you hear back from all your little guzzling buddies who are staking out the schools, we might as well follow this up. I’m telling you there’s something not right about this photo.’
‘Some children are more photogenic than others. They grow up with selfies and Instagram and goodness knows what else.’
‘Bo…’
‘Alright, alright. We’ll look into her.’ I read her details. ‘Millicent Beatty. She might be younger in the photo but she’s actually fourteen years old now. British citizen born in Dubai, only returned here three years ago. She doesn’t live far from here.’ I lift up my shoulders in resignation. ‘Let’s go say hello.’
Tamworth appears in the doorway. There’s a troubled look on his face. ‘Someone’s tipped off the police,’ he says. ‘They’re on their way up here. I can stall them but…’
I mutter a curse. I guess D’Argneau hasn’t managed to get very far with that injunction. ‘It’s okay. We’re leaving. Is there a back way out of here?’
Tamworth points towards a fire door. ‘You can go that way.’ He presses his lips together. ‘I really hope you found what you needed. If there’s anything else you need, don’t hesitate to get in touch.’ He passes me a card. ‘That’s my personal number.’ He hesitates as if he wants to say something more.
‘Go on.’
‘Just,’ he expels a rush of air. ‘Don’t go. Don’t leave London. I know a lot of people don’t like vampires, and I know you have a lot of reasons to leave, but you’ve done a lot of good here. I’d like you to stay. And I’m not the only one who thinks that way.’
I manage a smile. Then I join O’Shea and Hope and we run down the stairs and dash for the exit.
Chapter Seventeen: Millie
We keep to the back streets as I get a message out to everyone else to keep a low profile while they stake out the Westminster schools. Even with Tamworth’s help in getting the schools on board, the last thing we need is for one of us to end up back in Hale’s clutches. I doubt it’ll be so easy to escape a second time. He probably won’t give us the chance: it’ll be a swift execution in a deserted room. He really does want to get rid of all the vampires that much. Hope is right, though – even if he does achieve his current mission, he’ll just move onto another target. It’s as if he wants the country to be a homogenized, human-only place. He doesn’t see that tribers do a lot of good. I rub the back of my neck. We need some better PR.
Fortunately, it doesn’t take long to reach Millicent’s address and we avoid trouble along the way. I can’t stop scanning every street corner and, if I’m honest, it’s because I’m more worried about Kakos daemons than about Vince Hale. But our progress is unimpeded and there’s no sign that anyone is watching us. All the same, when I see the liveried doorman in front of the swanky block of flats, I’m not in the mood to hang around until we can sneak in. I walk straight up to him. ‘I’m here to see Millicent Beatty,’ I announce.
He pales, obviously recognising me. He’s no Jonathan Tamworth. I’m pretty certain when he starts to reach round the side of the door that he’s going for a panic button. I dart forward and knee him in the groin. He groans and collapses.
O’Shea winces. ‘Was that necessary?’
I shrug. ‘I didn’t eat him.’ The doorman flicks a pained look at me from the ground. ‘There’s still time, though. Stay here and find out what he knows.’
O’Shea salutes. ‘Yes, boss.’
Hope and I take the lift to the penthouse. Whoever Millicent is, her family certainly has a lot of money at their disposal. Not only do they live in the heart of London with an address that a lot of people would kill for, but it’s all gleaming gilt and polished floors. I wave at the CCTV camera and smile, posing first one way then another. When Hope looks at me strangely, I grin. ‘It’s not like we can hide,’ I point out. ‘There’s too much security for that.’
‘You’re an odd person,’ she comments. ‘One minute you’re attacking a doorman because he’s in your way and the next you’re acting like a bad comedian.’
I consider her words. ‘I have my vampire half,’ I say finally. ‘The part that’s dark and nasty and wants to destroy things. And I have my human half that wants the world to be a happier place. I’m still finding a balance between the two. I have the capacity to do some very bad things but, if I temper those desires with the better part of me, I can be a better person.’
Hope snorts. ‘Everyone has the capacity to do bad things. Nothing’s ever black and white, not even witches.’
I think of the hybrid witch whose magic Hope sucked away but, before I can say anything, the lift pings open. ‘Let’s see if Millicent is the same girl as her photo,’ I murmur and knock sharply on the shiny lacquered door.
When it swings open, and a girl peers out, disappointment engulfs me. She looks a few years older but in every other way she perfectly matches the photo in Tamworth’s database. It really was too much to ask that this would be Alice. She takes in both Hope and me then blinks rapidly. A beat later, she slams the door shut in our faces. Uh, okay then.
Neither of us moves. ‘She was wearing a twin set and pearls,’ Hope says. ‘What kind of teenager dresses like that?’
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. O’Shea. ‘Yep?’
‘Our friend downstairs is suddenly very chatty,’ he says. ‘And apparently Miss Millicent Beatty has been living on her own for years. She’s supposed to be with her aunt, a rather stern lady of older years. Andrew here hasn’t seen the aunt for quite some time. Millicent has told him that the aunt’s not been well and she’s convalescing indoors. But…’
‘But that sounds remarkably like that other kid you knew,’ I finish.
‘Benjy has a rich uncle who no one’s seen for years. Millicent has a rich aunt. Maybe it’s not the adults we need to worry about, Bo. Maybe it’s the children.’
I run my tongue over my fangs and wish I had some chocolate to nibble on. Then I knock on the door again.
‘Go away!’ a muffled voice calls out. ‘Or I’ll call the police!’
‘Why hasn’t she called the police already?’ I murmur to Hope. I cup my hand to my ear and press it against the door. I can’t hear a thing. I pull back. ‘I can’t enter without an invitation.’
Hope smiles. ‘Don’t worry,’ she says sunnily. ‘I’ve got this.’ Her brows draw together and her eyes fix on the door. Ever so slowly, the knob turns then the door swings open once more.
I whistle. ‘Neat trick.’
‘We all have the capacity to do bad things,’ she answers with a droll wink. ‘Let’s hope that Millicent Beatty really is more than an oddly dressed, home-schooled teenager or I’m going to be in trouble.’ She cracks her knuckles and steps inside.
‘Get out!’ Millicent shrieks. ‘Get out!’
I hear a thump. A moment later, Hope appears, dragging the unfortunate girl by her ear. ‘Invite my friend in.’
‘No way.’
‘Let’s try that again, shall we? Invite her in or I’ll take you outside to her.’ She bends down to Millicent’s ear. ‘That’ll be much worse. Trust me.’
Millicent’s eyes swing wildly from side to side.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ I say, holding up my palms. ‘I don’t hurt children.’
‘Really? What about…’ Her voice falters and her shoulders sag. There’s no mistaking the flare of panic in her eyes though.
‘Go on,’ I urge.
She swallows, seeming even more nervous and scared than she was before. ‘The … the … other night. There was a … boy. You attacked him and knocked him out. It was all over the wireless.’
I wince slightly. ‘Alright,’ I admit. ‘I hurt him a bit
but he deserved it. You’ve not done anything, Millie.’ Wireless is a strange word for a kid to use to describe a radio. I continue to watch her carefully. Oddly, she seems to relax infinitesimally enough to throw me a glare.
‘It’s Millicent. And you’re right, I’ve not done anything. You’re trespassing. You’ll pay for this, I promise you that.’
Hope sniffs. ‘You’ve been drinking.’
I flare my nostrils and inhale. ‘Gin and tonic? Sophisticated tastes for a teenager.’
‘We’re not all uncultured louts from backwater suburbs,’ Millicent retorts.
‘It’s not even two o’clock,’ I point out. I look her up and down. ‘Bring her closer, Hope,’ I instruct.
The witch does as I ask. Millicent fights every step of the way but she’s too small to do much against Hope’s strength. When only a few inches of threshold separate us, I gaze into her eyes. Millicent flinches but I keep looking. I think about the intelligence that shines out of Rogu3 and the haunted fear that’s reflected in Maria. Millicent possesses both but there’s something else there too. I’m sure of it.
‘Where’s Alice Goldman?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know who you’re talking about.’ Her eyebrow twitches almost imperceptibly.
‘You’re lying.’ I look past her into the immaculate apartment. ‘Where’s your aunt? She’s your guardian, right?’
‘She’s out.’
I paste on an expression of dramatic surprise. ‘But I thought she was ill.’
‘Convalescing,’ Hope agrees.
Millicent’s anger only grows. ‘What is it to you where she is?’
‘You’re under age. There must be someone looking after you. Who were you calling just now?’
She draws herself up, an imperious light in her eyes. ‘You have no right to do this to me,’ she says. ‘It’s no business of yours who my guardian is. In any case, I am more than capable of looking after myself.’
A kernel of an idea unfurls in my brain. ‘Millicent,’ I say gently. ‘Who’s in One Direction?’
She screws up her face. ‘What?’
‘Tell me the name of one member.’