Vowed

by Liz de Jager

  I’ve never had a panic attack before. I’ve been frightened and shaky before and felt trapped, but not this. This is something else.

  I feel my knees buckle after a few steps and only the strength in Dante’s arms holds me upright.

  ‘Kit, what’s going on? You’re okay. We’re okay.’ Dante lets me sit down on a low wall and crouches in front of me, his warm hands wrapped tightly around my ice-cold shaking ones. I open my mouth to tell him that something’s wrong with me, that I feel weird in my head and that I’d come so close to pressing the knife into the guy, but I can’t. My throat locks up and suddenly I’m crying. Huge, ugly fat tears and, God, there are wracking sobs and I can’t stop shaking.

  Dante pulls me against him and just holds me. I’m aware of people walking by, of someone stopping to ask if everything is okay and of Dante answering them in a low but dismissive voice. I dig my nails into my palms, the pain helping me to focus until my breathing evens out and I don’t feel as if I’ve been scattered throughout the multiverse any more.

  Slowly I move away from Dante, and wipe my face. ‘I’m fine now,’ I say after some time, when I can speak again. I hate that my voice sounds so small, and I clear my throat, trying to find my usual tone. But I know it will take some time before can talk properly again.

  He doesn’t let go of my elbows. He just keeps watching me for a few minutes longer before nodding and leaning back a little to look at me.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’ I press my hand to my ribs and grimace. The ache across my back tells me I’m also going to have a lovely bruise across my shoulders in a few hours. ‘It’s going to ache like crazy in the morning, but I’m going to be okay.’

  He looks sceptical but I have a bad-ass reputation to uphold, so I try to brazen it out.

  ‘I’m a tough girl. I promise.’ I draw another deep breath. ‘I just really need to shower. I can smell that guy all over me.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘What was the Spider-Man stunt you pulled back there?’ I ask Dante loudly over the bikes’ engines as we idle at a traffic light. ‘You could have been seriously hurt.’

  He looks at me in surprise. ‘I told you I did freerunning, didn’t I? Besides, I never fall.’

  ‘What? Freerunning, like parkour? And, no, you’ve never mentioned it. But that’s beside the point. You could have fallen and been killed.’

  His eyes crinkle at me. ‘I’m fine plus I got the samples you wanted.’

  ‘And what? You always carry baggies with you?’ Even in the muted red light of the traffic lights I see a flash of embarrassment across his features. ‘That’s a bit Boy Scouts, isn’t it?’

  ‘Turns out my Spook training was good for something, right?’

  ‘I’m almost impressed.’

  The lights are taking a long time to change. I unzip my jacket and ruck my shirt up to check the damage. A bruise is already forming across my ribs and as I press experimentally against them with cool fingers, I hiss at the pain.

  ‘You want to go to hospital?’ Dante’s watching me curiously as my fingers walk up my ribs. ‘It looks sore.’

  ‘No, I’ll be fine. I just need sleep.’ That almost makes me laugh. Sleep is more rare to me than the fabled golden eggs laid by a fairytale goose. Ideally, I need to be in the Otherwhere, or somewhere here in the Frontier where the leylines are strong. The power coursing through them would help me to heal.

  ‘You need bandaging up. You could have a cracked rib.’

  ‘I’ve had cracked ribs before,’ I assure him. ‘This is fine, just bruising.’

  The lights change. We move on to the next set, and idle there, waiting for them to change in turn. Two girls stroll past, arm in arm and laughing. They look so terrifically normal; I feel a pang that I’m missing out on something important.

  ‘How long will this last? Seeing all the magic?’ Dante asks.

  ‘Until the kiss wears off. Or when you wash your face.’

  ‘And if I don’t wash my face?’

  I pull my face at him. ‘Euch, that’s a bit gross.’

  ‘Seriously.’

  ‘It will still go. What I shared with you is a tiny bit of magic, designed – if you can call it that – to let you see magic tonight.’

  ‘Can you do it again?’ He gestures to his eyes. ‘Can you make it permanent?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ The lights change back to green. ‘We can talk more later.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Dante and I decide to call it an early night; both of us have had a tough evening. We’re to reconvene over breakfast in Covent Garden, which will give me a chance to read the file on him that Uncle Andrew sent over. It will also give me time to go through the papers I have at home and even, shockingly, get some sleep, I hope.

  Kyle’s watching a Bruce Lee movie when I get in and he looks surprised to see the state I’m in.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He shoves the bowl of popcorn to the side and follows me into the kitchen.

  ‘If you tell me I look bad I’m going to hurt you,’ I tell him.

  ‘Okay.’ He fills the kettle and moves around me as I throw together the makings of a large cheese, tomato and salad sandwich. ‘How was your day?’

  Before I can answer, there’s a knock on the door. We trade looks. I reach for the large carving knife and follow Kyle to the door. He lifts the cricket bat out of the umbrella stand and lets it casually lean against his leg. We may be the most paranoid set of cousins in the family, but we are also alive and relatively scar free.

  He swings the front door open to reveal Dante standing on the front step, helmet under his arm and a baggie in his other hand.

  ‘Hi,’ he says to Kyle. ‘I’m Dante. You must be Kyle, I think?’ He bends down and leaves his helmet on the step so that he can shake hands. ‘Sorry about stopping by unexpectedly. I forgot to give this to Kit.’ He hands me the baggie with the scrapings off the window.

  I hold it up and peer at it, but honestly, it doesn’t look like much. It’s just clear stuff of some sort.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’ Kyle asks, painfully polite, the way his parents raised him, just as I say: ‘Thanks for this, I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Dante laughs, looking between us. ‘Thanks, but I think I’d better get home. It was nice meeting you, and I’ll see you tomorrow, Kit.’

  I nod and walk back into the kitchen, tossing the baggie onto the table in the dining room.

  ‘You are such a cow sometimes,’ Kyle tells me. ‘He might be a Spook but he came all the way here to give you that.’

  ‘He did it on purpose. I don’t know what that purpose was, but yeah, he did it on . . .’

  ‘Purpose, you said. Why are you suddenly wary of him?’

  ‘Because he’s asked me if my magic can let him See permanently.’

  ‘Eh?’

  So while Kyle brews us some strong tea and I munch my way through my sandwich and a packet of crisps, I update him with everything that’s happened today. One thing about Kyle: he’s a superb listener.

  ‘I thought you said Dante joined the Spook Squad after he saw one of their agents fight a monster in an alley. He didn’t see the guy fight another guy: he saw the monster with teeth and talons.’ When I nod he goes on. ‘He also saw the banshee last night, but tonight he couldn’t see the magic coming out of the little boy’s room.’

  ‘Until I kissed his eyes.’

  ‘Okay, that’s weird.’

  ‘Maybe his Sight isn’t as strong as I assumed it was.’

  ‘Yeah, it could be. Also, he ran up the wall.’ Just to be clear that I meant an actual wall, Kyle patted the surface next to him. ‘A wall like this?’

  ‘No, it was a brick wall and it was six storeys high. And he was fast, gecko fast.’

  ‘You think there’s something off about Mr Charisma?’

  I chuckle at Kyle’s nickname, ignoring my twingeing muscles. ‘I think there’s something going on. Uncle Andrew sent me a file with the info
he found on Dante. It may be worthwhile checking it out.’

  ‘Your normal email?’ Kyle asks, already heading to his bank of computer screens. ‘You can access it through here. The tech on this one isn’t as new as the others so you shouldn’t be able to fry it so easily.’

  He’s right and I don’t manage to blow the hard drive up as I download the pdf file. I’m not sure what sites Uncle Andrew hacked to get the info on Dante but it looks pretty comprehensive, and there are even photos of Dante and his family.

  Dante grew up in an orphanage before going into foster care. He was moved from one family to another for the next couple of years, until his ninth birthday, when he was adopted by a couple: Angela and William Burke.

  I examine the pictures. Angela and William Burke look like good people. Both of them are tanned and attractive and look outdoorsy. William has his arm draped around Angela’s shoulders and they’re both laughing into the camera. Behind them is somewhere with lots of trees and maybe even mountains in the distance. They are both dressed in hiking gear.

  In the first photo with Dante, he looks a bit awkward, a bit sulky, and stands to the side of them a little, not quite part of the small family as yet.

  Growing up, Dante got into a bit of trouble with some mates – casual vandalism and fighting, nothing too alarming. His grades were good and he excelled at maths and science. He was also a successful athlete. There are pictures of him taking part in martial arts tournaments, with both Angela and William in the audience. There are also photos of a young Dante on a skateboard, cap backwards, smirking at the camera, with his arm around two other boys. Other shots, maybe mobile phone pictures, show Dante and his mate leaping down stairs, doing handstands on railings and the edges of buildings.

  He didn’t lie, then. He has done freerunning, and some images showing similar stunts are more recent too.

  The martial arts training came from William Burke, the file tells me. He’s ex-army and set up a martial arts studio in his local area with the help of some loans. Dante joined shortly after he was adopted and excelled at karate, ju-jitsu and capoeira. Even Jamie would be impressed by the mix of styles.

  Dante kept having brushes with the law, but never anything serious. It usually had to do with fighting or loitering and getting into scuffles but never went any further. Until he turned fifteen, when everything changed. His grades plummeted. He was charged with assaulting someone while drunk and put this person – a boy from his school – in hospital. I flick around Andrew’s notes and suck in my breath. His little sister Emily went missing from a local park. Someone had taken her. It coincided with Dante going off the rails. There were no charges brought against him but he received a caution and he had to do community work.

  I flip through the rest of the file, speed-reading. Emily was found in a field a month later, in a grave. The file shows me some follow-up articles about her disappearance, her subsequent discovery and how the police had made no arrests as there were no further leads.

  Dante’s grades climbed with time, and his community service was to help kids younger than him find ways to keep themselves entertained. He took them to William’s dojo and introduced them to martial arts. There is a photo of a group of kids, boys and girls ranging between ten and fourteen, all striking insane martial arts and superhero poses for the camera. The photo was clipped from a newspaper and the title mentions William Burke’s dojo and his son Dante’s work in the community.

  He finished his school career with good grades, but not good enough to get a bursary or scholarship to his chosen university. This was when he was approached by a company called Lawton Limited, which I know is a front for the Spook Squad.

  The other photos Uncle Andrew added to the file are of Dante hanging out with some friends, more pictures of him with his family, and especially Emily. Emily looks cute and obviously adored her big brother. It looks as if he doted on her. And although I know they’re not blood relatives, they look enough alike to have been taken for brother and sister.

  There are photos of Emily opening presents at Christmas and Dante holding her on his lap, laughing, while Angela beams at them both.

  There are few photos of Angela and William after Emily’s death. In those that do exist, they’ve lost a bit of their sparkle and Dante looks hollow eyed and sad.

  ‘Has he told you about his baby sister?’ Kyle shimmies his chair to the side so he can look at me. ‘Well, has he? Do you think that is why he is so interested in this case?’

  ‘He didn’t say anything to me about his baby sister being taken. I knew he was adopted. And that he joined the Spooks after leaving school, but really, we’ve not had much of a heart-to-heart about our personal lives as such.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll tell you? Do you think it has anything to do with the case?’

  I sit back in my chair and watch Kyle for a few seconds, trying to make up my mind. ‘No. I mean, yes. I think he was keen to take on the case to find these missing kids. But no, I don’t know if the whole thing with his sister has anything to do with him taking the case. I mean, it might.’

  Kyle looks at me as if I’m crazy. ‘Imagine if your sister was taken and killed by some psychopath, Kit. You’d want to help out others in the same situation. Right?’

  I’m remembering the Unseelie Fae burning down my house and killing my Nan. Yes, I think to myself, I would definitely want to figure out how to get payback. Instead of saying that out loud and making myself sound insane, I grimace and toss a napkin at him. ‘I know, Kyle. Why would you think the kids were taken by faeries?’

  ‘Well, it’s kinda obvious, isn’t it?’ He returns my frown with one of his own. ‘Isn’t it? I mean, it has to be related.’

  ‘Right.’ I snap my fingers and do finger-guns at him. ‘Now you’re going to do some research. Google or sabotage databases you have access to and see what you can find about children going missing under mysterious circumstances. . . in, say, the past five years. Also if any of them have been found subsequent to their disappearance. Let’s start with England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. All of Ireland. See what you can find.’

  ‘That’s a big order. It will take me longer than a day to compile all the info.’

  I tap an imaginary watch and smile at him. ‘Better get a move on, then, hadn’t you?’

  ‘And what are you going to be doing?’

  ‘I’m going dancing.’

  He puffs an ‘of course you are’ at me as I head upstairs to find a jacket.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I take a taxi to Milton’s and Rorke waves me through the barrier – and I’m allowed to enter the fine establishment, but only after Cindy makes sure I’m not carrying anything bigger than my usual concealed knife. She doesn’t look happy and I promise her I won’t be the one throwing the first punch and she grunts at me, implying she knows better. Cindy stamps my wrist and I head straight upstairs past the twin bodyguards, who nod at me in such a synchronized way that they give me the creeps.

  I pause in front of Miron’s office and within a few minutes the door swings open and Lisa steps out. She’s Miron’s bodyguard and a full-blown demon. Lisa looks strangely fragile and fey, yet she is capable of tearing threats to Miron apart with her dainty, bare hands.

  ‘He’s expecting you, cherie,’ she says and steps aside. ‘Go on in.’ Her accent has a French burr to it, as if she’s from New Orleans or somewhere like that, though for all I know she is just a fan of Anne Rice novels.

  Miron’s office is the business. Spartan with a metal and steel desk the size of a small planet, it is set in front of the one-way glass that shows the heaving dance floor. There’s nothing else in his office to distract him from his business. A wafer-thin laptop is discreetly shut on the far side of his desk, next to a yellow legal notepad.

  Miron is not very much taller than me. He’s of average height and build and looks utterly mundane and normal, until you get closer and look into his eyes. They’re fathomless and engaging but it’s his voice that’s
the kicker. It’s warm and deep; you just know the majority of people making deals with him are seduced by the sound of it.

  At the moment those dark eyes are sweeping over my leather jacket and jeans and he shakes his head.

  ‘Oh Kit, darling child, when will I see you in a dress? I know you have the legs for it.’

  ‘Uncalled for,’ I point out to him, accepting butterfly kisses on both my cheeks. ‘But appreciated.’

  He chuckles and casually draws me forward so I can take a seat at his desk.

  ‘What can Uncle Miron do for you?’

  I roll my eyes and sprawl in the chair.

  ‘Not refer to yourself as Uncle Miron? It’s just weird.’ I push at my fringe and wince when my ribs protest. ‘I’ve got to know something, Miron, and well, you’re the baddest guy I know so I thought I’d come talk to you.’

  Miron shucks his shirt cuffs from beneath his jacket as he seats himself again. His pleasant features seem even more benign, if that’s possible, as he gestures for me to continue.

  ‘You know I’m not immune to flattery, Kit. What are you after?’

  ‘Do you know of anyone stealing children in London?’

  ‘I almost thought you were asking me if I knew about anyone stealing children.’ He watches my face and then blinks slowly. ‘Okay, that was not what I was expecting to hear from you.’

  ‘Do you?’

  ‘No, oddly enough.’

  So I tell him and while I tell him I watch his face. The thing about Miron is that he’s a terrible liar for a demon, so I’d know if he wasn’t telling the truth. This time his shock’s real, so I give him an abbreviated version of what we know.

  ‘You must understand why I’m asking, Miron. Are any of your Infernal –’ I take a breath – ‘stealing kids?’

  ‘Honestly, one of the strangest things I’ve been asked in my long life. Not quite the weirdest thing, but close.’

  He taps his fingers absently on the desk, and I watch, wondering if I’ve managed to annoy him or overstepped my bounds, or both. Possibly both; for sure, both. I try not to flinch when he moves, and if he notices he pretends not to.