Vowed

by Liz de Jager

  ‘They’ve been sent to hunt you down. You know so much already. You are in awful danger, Kit.’

  ‘I am always facing some kind of trouble, Thorn.’ My words draw a growl from him and he shifts against me.

  ‘No time for games, Blackhart. Listen.’

  His tone is angry and intense; it startles me. Only one person has ever spoken to me in that way – Uncle Jamie, the night he told me about being a Blackhart.

  I nod and for a moment there’s hesitation in his face, then he presses a finger to my lips and tilts his head to the side. I realize that he actually meant me to listen.

  For several heartbeats I hear nothing. And then I hear it, the sound I heard in my dream of the ruined palace. A great mass shifting ponderously in a too-tight place; it sounds like metal chains and pain. It’s heavy and unhealthy, somehow.

  ‘What is that?’

  Thorn opens his mouth and a look of confusion comes over his face. He shakes his head, his hand moving to his throat in alarm. He tries to speak again but there’s no sound. Then he’s moving a few paces away, his shoulders tense as he tries to take deep breaths. Panic rises in my chest when he turns to look at me. His face is pale and his eyes show fear.

  ‘Can’t . . .’ He points to his throat. ‘Talk to you about, uh . . .’ He starts coughing, doubling over with the violence of it.

  Geas. The thought whispers through my mind. Not so long ago Thorn and I watched his friend struggle to tell us crucial information. But a spell had been placed on him, and this geas left him unable to speak the words.

  ‘I miss you,’ I tell him, staggering myself by just blurting it out while he’s having his episode. Never let it be said I can’t be appropriate or timely, but if I could distract him, maybe the geas could be bypassed. It was a long shot but in any case, these were things I needed to say. ‘I think about you every day.’

  ‘Kit.’ My name is a sigh from his lips and he sounds wretched. I can’t help the stupid grin on my face, not caring that I have actual tears in my eyes.

  ‘Tell me quickly. We need to figure out how to do this. You must give me a hint about what’s going on because I can’t guess.’

  He tries to smile at my efforts to work this out and makes another attempt. ‘Her?’ He reaches for me and I move towards him. ‘Her . . .’ His voice is a growl and he starts shaking. ‘Sweet Gaia, what is going on with me?’

  ‘You mentioned this mysterious her before – the last time we met,’ I say, holding his hands and twining my fingers in his. ‘Come on, Thorn. Talk to me. See if you can move past this. It has to be a geas. You must be able to break it.’

  He bends his head over mine and tilts my face up so that he can look down at me.

  ‘Kit Blackhart, as I live and breathe.’ His hand cups my face and he kisses me softly, tentatively. ‘Your lips are as soft as I remember.’ He traces a finger over my cheek, touches my temple and runs a hand through my hair. ‘And you really missed me?’

  I laugh and lean into him, locking my arms behind his neck and pressing my lips against his.

  ‘Yes.’

  His kiss melts my bones and I cling to him like some Thirties starlet embracing her leading man, drowning in him. He mutters something against my lips and I feel the muscles in his shoulders flex as he brings me closer still so I am held tightly against him. I peer at him through my lashes and I’m happy to see how drunk he looks from the kiss, his eyes unfocused and his handsome face unguarded. He sees my expression and gives a sly grin, seeming to like this game of distraction we’re playing, trying to get past the geas.

  ‘She’s the one you . . .’ And then he starts coughing so violently and gasping for breath that I have to brace him otherwise he’d topple over. As I get my shoulder under his, I catch movement in the corner of my eye and gasp in shock.

  The pack of dogs and their handlers are hurtling towards us. Whatever protection we had is now gone, leaving us exposed in the middle of the open clearing with Thorn’s weight dragging me down.

  ‘Thorn, come on. Get going. They’re coming for us.’

  I push him upright and when he dizzily tries to focus on my face, I feel both concerned and panicky at his sudden frailty. I’m not sure if he wore a glamour earlier or if he’s glamoured now, because he looks genuinely ill, with heavy dark circles under his eyes as if he hasn’t slept in weeks.

  ‘Thorn, we have to run. Can you run?’

  He nods and then we’re running. I’m yelling at him to keep up and then he falls and . . .

  Lilith is a demon, a relic from biblical times. There are many stories about her – mostly about how evil she was and how she stole human children when her own demon children were hunted down and killed on the instructions of a bunch of angels. Just thinking about it gives me severe creeps and I really hope I never have the opportunity of going up against her – because, really, how do you go up against a creature like her? She would be Mama-Bear-tough and insane. I doubt that my sword and bit of magic would be enough to hold out against her for even two minutes.

  I think about what Aunt Letty said: that we would know if it was Lilith. The world would know. It puts my mind at ease that whatever we’re dealing with here is not Lilith related. It’s too quiet, too small, too below the radar.

  It’s just before dawn and I’m sitting at the desk in my tiny room at the top of the house. As I look out over the rooftops of Camden, I wonder exactly what we’re dealing with.

  My dream of Thorn had me sitting up in bed, gasping, a scream hovering on my lips, my heart pounding. Unable to get back to sleep, I’m worrying at the edges of my research like an angry but tired terrier. The cup of coffee next to my paperwork has gone cold and I lean back in my chair, stretching and yawning, hearing my shoulders click.

  My phone buzzes next to me and I look down to see a text from Dante.

  Can’t sleep. Worried about you.

  Aw, isn’t that nice? I text back: I’m okay. It was a long day yesterday. Go back to bed.

  Why aren’t you asleep? He sends back, super fast.

  Bad dreams. Also, this Spook called Dante keeps texting me. I think he fancies me or something. I grin as I type it out, knowing it will embarrass him.

  Ha, funny girl. I’ll pick you up at 7.

  Are you going to feed me?

  It seems it’s all we do. Talk and eat.

  I’m not a complicated girl. :-D

  There is more to life than . . . no, you’re right. I need food. See you at 7.

  I put my phone on charge and flick through Andrew Lang’s Red Fairy Book and reread the Ratcatcher’s story. The story of the Pied Piper of Hamelin is so well known: a group of elders reneged on a deal they made with the piper to rid their town of rats; he took his revenge by leading the town’s children away, into a mountain, never to be seen again. There were rumours, about a hundred years after the tragic events in Hamelin, that travellers came across German-speaking people living in Transylvania. There was no clear history to explain how they actually came to be living there, and rumours circulated that they were descendants of Hamelin’s stolen children.

  How that translates into the here and now, I’m not sure.

  I set the books aside and stretch again. I need a run and some exercise, I decide. I feel slow and ungainly and I can’t remember the last time I had a decent workout. Running from a pack of slavering dogs in your dreams doesn’t count.

  I pull on my jogging shorts, hoodie and trainers and slink out of the house, after strapping my baton to my forearm.

  The streets are deserted, with only the occasional car driving by. The bakery on the corner has its lights off but I can see Carmel and her husband Tony in the back, shaping loaves. They wave as they recognize me and I wave back. There are delivery men dropping off newspapers and milk and some of them banter words back and forth with one another as I run by.

  As I run, calmed by the rhythmic slap of my feet on the pavement, my thoughts turn back to the dreams I’ve been waking from in a tangle of damp shee
ts. I’ve never really had vivid dreams before. Or, rather, been someone who remembers them after waking. I have the occasional nightmare that leaves me feeling weird and uncomfortable afterwards. And even, once, a devastatingly sexy dream about my friend Karina’s brother, Udo, where my cheeks flamed just remembering it.

  But last night’s dream felt real, even in the cold light of day, as they say. It had been so vivid, the details so intense. I can still feel the air in the Otherwhere rush against my skin, and hear the sound of dogs racing behind me. I remember the hesitant way Thorn reached out to me at first.

  Him kissing me. I close my eyes for a second, relishing how it felt. The taste of him, the feel of him as he pressed me against him. Oh my God, I am becoming insane and falling for a guy in my dreams. He is real – somewhere – but so far out of my reach physically and emotionally. I’d have more luck falling in love with a Hollywood movie star. I open my eyes and see a homeless guy watching me from his warm nook in a shop doorway. He gives me a shaky smile and a thumbs-up and I return the gesture before running past him into the morning.

  The path along the canal is deserted. A soft mist rises from above the water and tangles around my feet. It feels great being able to run and being on the move. I pass a few other joggers and we nod at one another. An elderly gentleman is walking his tiny Jack Russell, which clearly is under the impression it’s a Great Dane because it bristles at me as I step off the path to make way for them. The sky above me remains grey with no sign of the sun raising its head, apart from a slight lightening in the east. As I near the top of Regent’s Park, the traffic’s increased enough to make jogging unpleasant. I turn and head back home the way I came, this time on the other side of the canal.

  I’m about halfway when I sense movement behind me. Instinct and Jamie’s training makes me duck and swerve just in time and someone careers into me. Since my centre of gravity is lower than theirs, I am only knocked a few paces sideways. A muttered curse is followed by a whopping splash, as whoever it is lands in the canal with little grace.

  ‘Idiot!’ I hear someone snarl just as a punch takes me in the ribs, close to where the drug dealer’s bruise is slowly trying to heal.

  I stagger back in shock and spin to face my attacker. He’s a big guy, dressed in a tracksuit and sneakers. I passed him and his partner, the guy now swimming in the canal, on the other bank. They’d even smiled at me.

  The utter bastards. If they thought I was some kind of victim, they had another thing coming. I flick my wrist and the baton slaps into my palm.

  ‘What the hell?’ I say, talking to the big guy. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘To smash your pretty little face, love,’ he replies, lunging for me again. ‘You’re sticking your nose in where it don’t belong.’

  I sway out of his way and bring the baton down against the side of his knee. He lets out a yelp and I spin out of reach, keeping an eye on the other guy, who’s trying to climb out of the canal. There’s movement in the water behind him as a smooth dark back crests out of the water and I hurriedly move away from the edge, not liking where this is going.

  A black shape rises from the canal, water sliding off its steaming flanks. It moves swiftly through the water towards the guy, who must sense something behind him because he turns to look over his shoulder. His mouth opens in shock but no scream comes.

  The pookah lunges at him, long white teeth distending from a large strong jaw, clamping firmly down on his shoulder and lifting him away from the edge of the canal where he was trying to clamber back onto the walkway. The man lets out a shriek – cut short as the pookah tosses its head, jerking him up and down like a ragdoll, or as a crocodile would treat its catch. It then sinks beneath the surface, taking the thrashing man with it.

  ‘What the hell?’ My guy stares at me in horror, then at the restless water of the canal. ‘What—? Did you see?’ He runs to stand at the edge, his hands going up to the sides of his head, the universal WTF gesture people display when confronted with the impossible. ‘What is a pookah doing here?’ He swings back to me. ‘All of this is your fault, you stupid girl. Look what you just did!’

  ‘Who sent you?’ I ask him warily, keeping my distance.

  He is completely distracted by the disappearance of his friend. I would be too. That pookah is one of the largest I’ve ever seen and it looked quite pissed off. Also, hungry.

  ‘I’m talking to you, mate. Who sent you?’

  ‘How do you command a pookah?’ The guy demands of me. ‘I have never seen one come to the defence of a human. What did you do? Who did you swear fealty to, Blackhart?’

  The way he pronounces ‘Blackhart’ makes me laugh openly. It sounds like a swear word, and I like it. I’m as shocked as he is by the turn of events but, really, he is just bleating now. And if he thinks I have some kind of control over what that pookah in the canal did, well, that’s okay by me.

  ‘I’m running out of time.’ I take a step closer and swipe at him with the baton again and he yelps, jumping out of the way. ‘Who sent you?’

  ‘No one you’d know, but listen closely. You’re being warned to stay away from the children and the estate. This has nothing to do with you, regardless of what she made you promise. This is older than even Suola.’

  Interesting. So he knows I’ve been employed by Suola to find the missing kids. That means he has to be working for the person who stole them.

  ‘Why are you even coming to me?’ I counter, pursuing him as he keeps backing up. ‘If Suola tells me to stop investigating the case, I’ll stop. All you need to do is convince her.’

  His face twists in a grimace of distaste. ‘I don’t speak to her kind. But know this, Blackhart, we know where you live, who your friends are.’

  My chin lifts. ‘You’re threatening my friends and my family now? You utter snivelling coward. Tell this to whoever sent you. I vow to do unimaginable damage to anyone who lays a finger on any of my friends or family – because of a job I have been legally employed to do.’

  The sound of sirens had never been this welcome and I try not to show relief. Maybe someone saw us fighting on the towpath, maybe not, but it makes my attacker less likely to stick around.

  The guy’s face, already rather red, turns florid and he scowls at me. ‘They said you had a mouth on you. Asking too many questions, interfering.’ He’s focused on me again. ‘They want you to stop. This isn’t going away and nothing you or your family does will make it go away.’

  I keep my arms wide in invitation as I take a few steps back. ‘Come on. Teach me a lesson.’

  He’s fast for a big guy and has obviously had some boxing training. He lands another blow that glances off as I turn at the last minute. It still hurts and I exhale sharply as pain flares through me but it passes quickly and I land my own punch to his throat. Not a move of which Jamie would be proud, because it’s not exactly sporting, but this guy is far bigger than me. If he gets hold of me properly, I will land in hospital with broken bones.

  He staggers back and I follow him closely, laying in with my baton. The folds of his tracksuit catch many of the blows, as it hangs loosely off him, but enough of them land and hurt. He howls in annoyance, grabbing me around the throat, then starts squeezing.

  I’m a strong girl, but even I can’t go one on one against an adult man trying to choke the life out of me. I lift my hand and concentrate hard on my magic, forming a small intense white ball of light in my palm. It takes longer than I would like but as soon as I feel the light against my skin I thrust my hand into the guy’s face. He screams in shock at the bright light and drops me. As he lets go, I drop to my knees and punch him hard on the inside of the leg and he goes down onto his knees, his hands protectively cupping his eyes where my magic’s clinging to his face, blinding him. I jump up and deliver a satisfying knee to his jaw, my breath coming fast.

  The sirens are closer now, startling me into running, and I leave my injured attacker behind.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I’m
shaking so much that I spill my coffee down my front when I turn away from the counter. Kyle frowns at me over his bowl of Cheerios.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks through a mouthful.

  ‘Just angry,’ I say, joining him at the table, ‘and annoyed. It’s the second time now someone’s sent people to pounce on me, and this time round I’ve not even done anything.’

  ‘And you’re not hurt? Cut or bleeding?’

  I shake my head and lift up my shirt to examine my ribs. Why do people keep punching me in the ribs? I suppose it’s better than the face, but still, my poor ribs are a kaleidoscope of sore muscles and bruises. ‘Just a bit bruised. Won’t be wearing my bikini any time soon.’

  Kyle sucks in the air between his teeth when he sees my ribs. ‘Jesus, Kit. How big was this guy?’

  ‘Not that big, maybe a bit smaller than Jamie.’ I wave my hand. ‘I’m okay. Nothing’s broken, I swear. I just haven’t recovered from the other beating I had, oh, the other night.’

  ‘And it’s definitely about the disappearances and not Glow?’

  ‘Warned me to stay away from the estate and the missing kids investigation, and I was told to stop sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Definitely about the disappearances.’

  ‘And they were human?’

  I shrug. ‘They looked human. One was dragged into the canal by a pookah so, you know, things could have gone worse for me.’

  ‘We have to tell my dad,’ he says looking worried. ‘He might have to talk to Suola about what happened.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘And what will he say? Please spread the word that whoever it is stealing the kids can’t pick on Kit Blackhart, cos she’ll cry you a river?’

  ‘Did you cry?’

  ‘Shut up, Kyle.’

  He smirks at me and drinks his tea. I lift my cup and grimace at the pull against my ribs. I spot Kyle watching me. ‘What?’

  ‘Why are you ignoring Aiden?’

  I pull a face. ‘Not you too! I spoke to him yesterday. I’m not ignoring him. He’s just not been around.’