by Liz de Jager
‘Oh my God, don’t call it that.’
The horror on his face is classic and I start laughing.
‘Don’t make me come over there and hug you, Blackhart, because I will and you’ll regret it.’
Which only makes me laugh harder and it’s good to laugh and feel a tiny bit normal again.
Kyle sounds as taken aback as Dante still looks. ‘Okay, so are we saying we think Dante may have some siren genes?’
‘Yes.’ I’m sitting on the couch in Dante’s flat and he’s sitting opposite me on the other couch. Dante’s phone is on speaker on the coffee table between us. ‘Definitely. Or we could go for an incubus but I’m unclear if an incubus is Fae, or a sub-species of the Infernal.’
‘Come on, are they even real?’ Dante cuts in, looking miserable. ‘This sounds so . . .’ He shivers and pulls a face. ‘So like it’s from some medieval monk’s nightmare fantasy.’
‘Dante, these creatures are as real as you and me. There’s recorded proof.’ Kyle’s voice is huffy. ‘Listen, we’re not saying you are one, okay? We’re just trying to figure out what you are.’
‘But a siren?’ Dante says, looking unhappy. ‘It sounds so . . . I don’t know. Girly?’
‘He could possibly be a selkie.’ The next suggestion from Kyle has me rolling my eyes but I can hear him frantically paging through books. ‘Or anything, basically.’
‘Well, he’s definitely noble born, a Sidhe first and foremost,’ I say. ‘We think he may be Eadric’s son.’
There’s the sound of a bang and Kyle swearing. ‘Ha ha, that’s funny, Kit. I swear you just said he’s Eadric’s son.’
‘I’m sending you a picture of the ring. Can you check the database?’ I sigh and rub my eyes. ‘And here I was thinking all I’ll have to do today is teach you how to hide your horns.’
‘Horns!’ Kyle’s voice has risen to screeching level. ‘He has horns? Kit, you should have said so earlier.’
‘What difference does it make?’ Dante asks the phone. ‘Is that a bad thing?’
‘No, but it means it could help me figure out what you are.’
I have to hand it to my cousin. He’s handled this call pretty well, considering I’ve just told him we have a changeling in our midst. And that, oh, I tried to snog Dante’s face off because he has some sort of built-in Fae voodoo that makes me fancy him a lot.
‘Okay, maybe you can do that once we’ve rung off,’ I say to Kyle. ‘And we’re not mentioning this to your dad either, right?’
There’s a protracted silence from Kyle but he catches on fast enough. ‘Yes, of course not. Jamie neither, right?’
I bite my lip, not keen to reveal that Jamie already suspects something. I wonder why he’s not called to check on me, but maybe he figures it’s something I can handle myself.
‘Right.’
‘What have your searches shown?’ I ask Kyle instead. ‘Have you found any connection between the families and the music festival?’
‘It was easy enough putting the search parameters into the software,’ he says enthusiastically. ‘I now have a full database of their financials and social media updates and, no, they don’t have that music festival in common. Some of them, yes, but not all of them.’
‘You’re serious?’ I lean forward. ‘You’re sure?’
‘As sure as I’ve been of anything.’
I breathe out. ‘Holy smokes. I was counting on this being the thing that ties it up.’
‘I know. Now what?’ Kyle sounds miserable and I hear a keyboard being hit in frustration.
‘It could still mean something, you know. If only some of them go to the same music festival.’ Dante frowns at me. ‘Usually, if you go to a festival you go with friends, right?’
‘Or it’s a coincidence and means nothing at all,’ Kyle mutters under his breath. ‘Kit, this case completely sucks.’
‘Give me a few minutes, let me think. If they’ve got a website up and running I want to check it out.’
‘They do, they also have a Facebook account, Tumblr, Twitter – all of it. And a forum.’
Without a word, Dante moves his laptop towards me.
‘Some of these people actually worked at the festival, whereas others attended or had something to do with it in some semi-official capacity or other.’
‘How do you know?’ I ask Kyle.
‘Looking at the main website now. There are various picture galleries.’
I hang up and yawn. Keeping my armour in place is tiring and, after spending a few hours with Dante, coaching him on how to dampen down his magic and abilities, I feel as if I’ve run a bazillion miles. But he’s still keeping his distance and looks terrified every time I move.
I’m not sure if I should be amused or ashamed by his reaction. Was it that awful to be near me? I don’t grace magazine covers or movie screens but so far no one has run screaming down the road at my approach. Well, not counting the group of goblins I chased down a suburban street that one time, but that was different.
What did he say afterwards? I’m too young for him to think about me in that way? Did that mean he did think about me like that? I frown at the computer screen as I type in the festival’s name and find the website.
There are a lot of picture galleries. I slide down onto the floor in front of the coffee table and turn the computer sideways so that Dante can see the screen too.
‘What’s it looking like?’ he asks me, holding his hands up.
I narrow my eyes at him and scan him with magic. ‘You look safe, you sexy beast. Sit down over there and hope I don’t try and crawl across the table to snog your face off.’
He barks out a laugh but he relaxes visibly. He sits down cross-legged opposite me and spins the laptop around so he can see the screen. ‘You sure you don’t have a boyfriend? Your acerbic wit really builds up a guy.’
‘Shut up and look at the pretty pictures. Let’s see if we can recognize anyone.’
Chapter Forty-Two
‘There!’
I jerk with fright as Dante points to something on the screen.
‘It’s the same guy as before. Can you see him?’ I lean on the table so I can peer at the screen. We decided early on that he should take over looking through the photos. Every time I took the laptop the screen juddered or froze completely, yet it was perfectly fine when he used it.
The photo he’s pointing at shows a couple laughing together. They’re leaning close to one another and the camera’s caught them just as they’re pulling away from one another. In the background I see the dark figure I recognize from Tia’s room. It’s definitely the guy who stole into her room to take her away, or it looks as close as dammit. The shape and outline are the same but because the picture is a bit overexposed, focusing on the kissing couple, it makes the rest of it not as clear as I’d like.
‘Save it to the folder. Once we’ve got more pictures, we can decide what we need to do,’ I tell Dante.
While he has been checking the website, I’ve sketched the two figures I saw when I replayed Tia’s abduction. The guy in her room had a similar build to the guy I saw in the photos, but nothing conclusive. I shove my notebook aside and mutter in frustration.
We work silently side by side. I’m going through Diane’s auntie’s scrapbooks again. They contain a mixed bag of local news, focusing heavily on the people she obviously knows. Several pages are devoted to news of the kids who’ve gone missing over the past few years. They’re mostly drawn from the local newspaper and from a police website. Someone, possibly Diane, must have printed them off for her so she could paste them into the scrapbook.
My mind wanders as I read the newspaper accounts and I wonder about the bargain the missing children’s parents entered into. Was it for money, fame, fortune? True love? As much as I yearn to believe people wouldn’t be stupid enough to strike bargains with supernatural forces, some obviously have. Most likely, none of them, or almost none of them, had believed the bargain was real. Especially not if the bargain w
as presented in a low-key manner at a time when they were out there having fun, hanging out with their mates, not thinking about the future.
‘Here, have another drink. So, what if I say that five years from now you’ll dig up a load of Viking gold and you’ll get handsomely rewarded by the government. Would you give me anything I want if I make this come true?’
‘Ha ha, sure, of course. What would you like? My eldest son? My soul?’
‘No, no, nothing so ambitious. Your youngest child would do nicely. Deal?’
‘Yeah, deal.’
‘Here, sign this IOU. And you need to read the vow out loud too, to make it binding.’
‘Shit, is this for real?’
‘Ha ha, no, just a bit of fun, really, don’t you think? Helps with the atmosphere. Here, have another shot of this.’
‘I take this vow, before these witnesses to allow you to come into my house and steal away my youngest child.’
‘Perfect. Drink up.’
The thought of it makes me gag but then the likelihood of this type of scenario playing out feels maybe a bit too real.
I stand up and stretch, climbing over Dante’s legs to head into the kitchen to make myself a coffee and him some tea.
‘Am I no longer allowed to drink coffee?’ he asks me when I put the mug down in front of him.
‘Did you drink a lot of coffee in the past?’
He looks confused for a second but then shakes his head. ‘No, not really. Not that I remember, actually. Mostly tea. Proper strong stuff. Lots of milk and sugar.’
I look at him as I sip my coffee. ‘I don’t know if I should tell you what happens to the Fae who do imbibe coffee.’
‘I don’t want to know, do I?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. It might be interesting.’ I can’t help the grin as it spreads across my face. ‘Coffee is illegal in the Otherwhere and only a few places are allowed to sell it. It’s a controlled substance.’
‘Does it kill them?’
‘No, it makes them . . .’ I flap my hand from side to side. ‘Amorous.’
‘You are kidding me.’ How many more times will this poor guy look horrified today, I ask myself as I burst out laughing. ‘You’re not serious, right? God, you’re serious!’
‘It’s okay, you’re safe with tea, I think. Thorn only ever drank the herbal stuff.’
‘There’s caffeine in tea too, Kit.’
I shrug and drink my coffee, saluting him with my mug. ‘I don’t make the science,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t know how it works, but that’s what I’ve been told.’
He pushes his mug to the side with a grimace. ‘Urgh. I feel sick now. But, on the other hand, I’ve got a decent set of pictures of our mysterious man in his weird tattered outfit. In a few he’s with some other people in the background, but there’s never a clear photo of him.’
‘That is still great news.’ I push myself forward. ‘Show me.’
He opens the folder and a range of picture show up, all with our raggedy man on the edges.
‘Worst photo-bombing ever,’ I say, tapping the screen before hastily drawing my finger back when the laptop makes a weird urk sound. ‘Put those in the shared folder and I’ll call Kyle now.’
I ring Kyle on my mobile. ‘Hey, cousin of mine. We’ve got photos of the man I recognize from Tia’s room. Can you see if you can do any magic tricks with photo software and enhance the pictures?’
‘I’m on it. Have Dante drop them in the, oh, never mind, they’ve just showed up. Okay, give me a few, I’ll call you back.’
‘Cheers,’ I say. ‘Have you heard from Aiden today?’
‘He rang maybe an hour ago to say he’s going to some meetings with his dad. And if you wanted him you just needed to call.’
I smile a wide smile. Things were almost back to normal between us. ‘Thanks, Kyle, you’re a real pal.’
‘Whatever. Must your life be this complicated, Kit?’
‘Work,’ I tell him. ‘Work your little fingers to the bone, Kyle Blackhart, so we can track this bugger and his pal and find those kids and steal them back.’
‘You think they’re still alive?’
‘Think about it – why would you strike a bargain with some stranger so you can take their child . . . and then kill him or her? Seems a bit wasteful, right?’
‘Oh, I think I know who you mean.’ The voice on the phone belongs to Neville Clarke, one of the main organizers for the Folk and Indie Harvest Festival. ‘Don’t bother sending the photos through, I’m looking at the site now. The “staff” gallery, right?’
Neville Clarke sounds exactly the way he looks from his photo on the site’s website: a large robust man in his sixties, with massive forearms and the kind of craggy face you only get to see on people who spend most of their time outdoors.
‘That’s the German boy. He comes every year. Stella, what is his name?’
I look at Dante and we share a smile. Stella is the one who answered the phone when we called the number on the website. From the sound of it she’s overrun with questions from a lot of children’s voices demanding her attention. When Neville answered he excused himself for a few moments to send his granddaughter off to go and play with her siblings.
‘Sorry, just bear with me.’ Neville’s voice becomes muffled as he presses the handset against his chest, no doubt. There’s a dog barking somewhere in the background and it sounds like utter madness. ‘Hello? Yes, Stella thinks his name is Theodore Pfeiffer. Like I said, he comes every year with his father. His father is Ulrich.’
‘Are they an act?’ Dante’s doing his cop impression and it seems to work fine.
‘Yes, they travel with some of the professional Renaissance performers and do odd jobs around the place as required. They are also the core of the musician group. Sorry, who did you say this was?’
‘My name is Dante Alexander, sir. I’m with the SDI in London. Would you like the number to ring my superior?’
‘You’re a policeman?’
‘My department is an investigative department within the police.’
‘Interesting. Yes, give me your superior’s contact information while you’re at it. What else do you need to know?’
‘Do you know where we can get hold of this Ulrich and Theodore Pfeiffer?’ Dante asks him after rattling off his office number and his superior’s name.
‘One moment.’ There is more yelling for Stella in the background. ‘I’m giving you to Stella. She’ll be able to locate the files.’
‘Thank you for your assistance, sir.’
‘You’re welcome. Can you tell me what this is about?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t, sir, not until we’ve completed our investigation.’
‘Are they in trouble?’
‘I can’t say anything about that either, I’m sorry.’
Neville Clarke mutters something and hands the phone over to his out-of-breath wife, Stella, who is all business but as friendly as her husband.
‘Theo and his dad travel around the UK and Europe for part of the year. They gave us this address.’ She reads it out and I scribble it down on the notepad. ‘I know they stay with a relative in Dulwich for some of the time, but I don’t have their contact details there. I have Ulrich’s mobile number, though.’ She gives that to us too.
‘Mrs Clarke, you’ve been very helpful.’
Stella’s voice drops and I have the impression she’s walked some distance from her husband because the background noise of young voices sounds further away. ‘If they’ve done anything wrong, you will let us know immediately? We can’t afford to have any negativity connected with the festival. It would mean the death of us.’
‘We’ll let you know within the month, Mrs Clarke. I’m really sorry to have bothered you about this.’
‘You’re more than welcome. Anything else we can do for you, do let us know.’
Dante hangs up and we stare at one another for a few seconds. I’ve looked up the address on my phone and it’s somewhere in the mi
ddle of the Black Forest in Germany.
‘What do you think?’
‘That, unless the Pfeiffers are in Dulwich, we’ll have to travel to Germany.’ I stifle a yawn and peer at Dante. His magic seems contained and I cautiously let mine drop to see how I react to being around him. He seems pretty stable and I’m impressed that he’s not dropped the glamour on his horns the whole day we’ve been together.
‘I really hope they’re in Dulwich,’ he says, logging into the SDI’s database. ‘I’ve never enjoyed flying. I get air-sick.’
I grin at him. ‘I really don’t want to go to Germany either.’ I pick up the phone and ring Kyle and ask him to check if he can find out anything about the two Pfeiffers from our own database. He promises to get right on it.
‘Who do you think they’re working for?’
I shrug as I stand up and stretch again. I feel achy and cold, sitting on the floor. Why I’ve been sitting on the floor for most of the afternoon I’m not sure, especially as Dante’s couches are so comfortable.
‘I don’t know, we’ll have to figure it out.’ I feel my back unkink and turn to find Dante watching me from shadowed eyes. ‘What?’
‘Just thinking something.’
‘Is it bad thinking or good thinking?’
His smile is slow. ‘Well, that totally depends on your point of view of good or bad.’
‘Are you flirting?’
‘Maybe, just a bit.’
I laugh at his jokey evasive tone of voice. ‘Okay, well. Just know that, if you try something, I’ll be able to take you down.’
‘Huh. And that’s supposed to not be a challenge?’
My breath hitches when he stands up unexpectedly. He’s faster than he was before, I realize. My magic shield slams closed around me but I stand my ground, refusing to give way even if I’m feeling a little scared. I know I can fight Dante if I have to, but I tend not to like beating up my friends. Also, I don’t know what his magic abilities are and how they’ll manifest here in the Frontier. I’ve seen a Fae who was pretty average in the Otherwhere lift up a truck, and throw it at a friend when they got into an argument about turning up at a party in the same outfit.