by Liz de Jager
I recoil involuntarily and grimace as I see another three or four of them make an appearance at his feet. I’m happy to face an army of redcaps and hunt down an ogre gone rogue feasting on decomposing cattle carcasses. But rats – man, rats freak me the hell out. It’s about how they move, with those god-awful fat tails of theirs, which seem to live as separate entities from the rest of their bodies.
‘I would like to nominate you both for Oscars for that outstanding emotional display of true angst,’ he says, smiling the smile that I found so pretty just the other day. ‘But, you know? I don’t really care. I gather you’ve figured out who I am.’
‘You’re the child thief,’ I say, walking towards him. My hand itches to hold my sword but I resist the urge. Something tells me that Torsten isn’t much of a fighter or rather, not a physical I-attack-you-with-my-sword type of fighter.
Torsten’s smile fades and his expression is very serious.
‘I have been called far worse.’ He nods and there’s a trace of arrogance in his stance which suggests that he believes he’s done nothing wrong. ‘You call me a thief, Blackhart, but think on this: if their parents have already signed contracts surrendering their progeny to my kind, am I really stealing them? Whether they thought it unlikely when they signed or whether they were high at a festival. How am I to blame when deals have been struck, sacrifices made and oaths sworn under a full moon? Or has life and time moved on so much for humanity that they are no longer to be taken at their sworn word?’ His expression becomes patronizing. ‘Well done for figuring it out, though. What gave it away? No! Don’t tell me, I don’t actually care.’ He does a little dance step and moves closer to us; it is such a creepy little move, as if he’s showing off, that I step away.
My phone starts buzzing in my pocket right then and I swear under my breath at the distraction, but Dante smoothly takes over with Torsten.
It’s Kyle so I answer it without preamble. ‘Not a good time.’
‘Whatever, listen to me. That phrase you repeated? I got it translated. Say thanks to my Beowulf and Anglo-Saxon obsession, and a misspent year teaching myself the language.’
‘Kyle.’
‘Okay, bad time? Well, the thing you kept repeating is this: The goddess will have her tithe; I, Brixi, do make this vow.’
So the bearded warrior I saw at the estate was Brixi himself . . . it was good to have my hunch confirmed.
‘Okay, that makes no sense.’ Unless Brixi thought I was sent by this goddess when I gatecrashed his bonfire party. But what goddess and what tithe? Did he swear allegiance to a Fae thinking that she was a goddess?
‘I’ll see what else I can find, but, yeah, it’s weird. I’ll see what I can dig up about goddesses. It’s going to be a nightmare because, well, the bloody Fae have been interfering and pretending to be deities for millennia.’
‘I’ve gotta go, Kyle. We’ve got someone we think is involved in all of this. Text me if you get something. Also, do me a favour? This is a bit of a long shot, but can you check the land registry? Find the land where that festival is held up north and see who owns it. Also, do the same and check who owns the land where the kids have been going missing. I think we’ve been focusing on the who and why too much, and not enough on the where.’ I listen to him grumble and say goodbye before I pocket my phone and turn back to Dante and Torsten. They are having some kind of little chat and Torsten’s probably being mean to Dante, as it looks as if he wants to punch him.
Torsten grins at me as I approach. ‘So, what’re you going to do next?’ He points a finger at Dante. ‘You’re going to tie me up and take me to jail? Or you, Blackhart, will you summon the Beast and have me dragged off to the Otherwhere?’ He holds up both hands and waves them overdramatically. ‘What will it be?’
‘Where are the children?’ I ask him, my voice leaden. I am so tired and just want this to end. Now. And, I’d like the bad guy not to posture, for once. Do they have to turn into Bond villains when cornered?
‘Where are the children?’ He mimics my voice perfectly but spins a bit of spite into it. ‘Serious question though: why would you even care, Blackhart? You’ve found me now, and they are nothing to you.’ He nods at Dante. ‘And especially not to you, changeling.’ He enjoys the effect of his words. ‘Oh yes, I know. I could smell the stink of your pheromones and confusion all the way in the club. I’m surprised Rorke didn’t just send you packing. What are you? A siren or something? Can you hear the voices in the club just calling to you? Your kind tend to cause riots, so people like Rorke are trained to deal with you.’ Torsten laughs bitterly to himself. ‘What is my life worth if a mere human child and bastard Sidhe Fae can hunt me down after all these years of service?’
I react before Dante can get past me. My magic hits Torsten full in the chest, sending him staggering a few paces back. I’m not good at projecting energy in solid bursts like this, but I’m good enough to make a bit of a show. The blow pushes him back into the shadows and, as he straightens, it’s a cue for more rats to pour out from the shadows behind him. I don’t know where they’re coming from but there must easily be thirty of them. They’re all around him – one even climbs onto his shoulder and sits there wiggling its nose in my direction.
‘Nice trick with the rats, by the way, but we still need your answer. What have you done to the kids? Where are they?’
‘If I choose not to tell you, then what?’ Torsten’s smirk at Dante sets my blood boiling but before I can do anything, Dante’s past me.
I’d completely forgotten about Dante’s taser, but suddenly he has it, black and ugly. There’s a soft thwap sound and I watch as Torsten staggers, but he doesn’t drop as expected when the electrodes hit him in the chest.
The rodents chitter anxiously as I draw my sword, and let out a little sigh of relief at the feel of it in my hand. With a flick of the blade I slice clean through the rat that leaps from Torsten’s shoulder at Dante. As it drops to the ground I shudder and fling it away from me, ignoring the squelching noise it makes as it hits the wall.
More rats are running towards us now and I have a horrible time dancing between them, impaling and flicking them away. Dante seems less squeamish, enjoying just kicking them away from him. One makes it onto his leg and clings on for dear life. He grabs it just behind its neck then tosses it like a cricket ball, sending it flying straight towards Torsten.
Torsten easily sidesteps the flying rodent and produces a slender flute from somewhere with the flourish of a stage magician.
Dante swears under his breath and sprints past me. I follow close behind, jumping over the rats and swiping at them as I go.
The first notes from the flute are discordant and jar through me. Torsten lifts the flute from his lips, shakes his head and tries again. I throw a bolt of energy towards him and he staggers but he doesn’t go down. What’s with this guy?
Dante reaches him first and grabs for the flute. Torsten moves like water, easily dodging Dante’s grabbing hands, and comes up a few feet away from us both, the flute back up at his lips.
This time the notes are clear and bright in the night air. They seem to hang there for a while, almost visible. The night’s become very quiet. Even the rats aren’t moving or squeaking and instead have turned to watch Torsten with their gross little eyes.
‘Stop that,’ Dante says, his voice slurring as he holds out his hand. ‘Give me the flute.’
‘You look tired, Agent Alexander.’ Torsten brings his lips back to the flute. ‘I think you deserve a nap.’ The notes ring out true and crystalline and for a moment I see Dante waver, his knees shaking, and then he drops like a sack of dirty washing.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Torsten’s grin is one of triumph. He lifts the flute briefly from his lips and the vermin swarm closer to him. I pack my magic around me, hoping it will protect me from the flute’s power. He steps closer and I retreat slowly, my gaze shifting towards Dante where he lies on the ground, out for the count.
‘Blackhart, I
have nothing against you, believe me.’ He lifts the flute once more and I press my hands over my ears and start belting out ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ by Queen.
I can’t sing. I know that, but I like music and my nan was fond of Queen, so I have an impressive repertoire of their songs which I murder when I do karaoke with my cousins. Nothing gives you the will to kick ass the way Queen does.
Torsten’s flute song falters as I yell out the lyrics at the top of my lungs. Perplexed, he brings it to his mouth again. I’m aware of the mice, rats and other vermin now crawling along the walls and ground, gathering around me and swirling towards him. I try not to see the things scuttling all around me as I raise my sword.
‘Stop playing the goddamn flute, Torsten,’ I grind out.
In answer he strides away from me and his followers make way for him, flute music ringing in the air. My life is a farce, I decide. I glance at Dante and watch as he stirs and rolls onto his back. I pause briefly to shake his shoulder.
‘Get up!’ I shout and run towards Torsten but I trip over the crawling things and only just manage not to face-plant at his feet.
Dante struggles up as I fling myself towards Torsten, the blade in my hand swiping towards his hands and flute. Stupidly, I haven’t waited to recover my balance from my previous stumble and I go down hard on my knees and hands, my sword skittering off among the rodents.
Torsten lets out a shout of laughter and the song he’s playing is no longer alluring but frenzied. It’s the signal the rodents and vermin were waiting for and they swarm.
I jump upright, my hands flinging crawling things off me, feeling little teeth, paws and whiskers on my bare skin. My calm is lost, as is the grip on my coiled magic.
A scream of horror tears from my chest at the same time as a huge burst of magic. My terror of the rats is all consuming, even as I watch them sizzle and burn in the magical fire that’s flared to dizzying life. It licks out all around me in a tight cone, preventing the rodents from rushing me again. A heavy wind fans the roiling flames across my skin and I lift my head to the dark skies, feeling elated that I’m still alive amid the chaos I’m wreaking.
Torsten’s stopped playing the flute now but I can still hear the sound of it in the air. He’s watching me with something akin to awe and Dante looks dumbstruck as I stand in the middle of the flames, their heat laying waste to any of the vermin that approach. Dante doesn’t come any closer but takes the opportunity to grab Torsten, who allows himself to be pushed up against the wall of the club and frisked for weapons. Dante makes short work of tying his wrists together with a zip-tie handcuff and levers him away from the wall.
It seems about a hundred years until I can make out Dante’s voice above the pounding of my heart and the noise of my magic’s blue flames. ‘Kit? They’re all gone now,’ he says, his voice low. ‘Come back to me.’
It takes another eternity, but the lick of flames eventually dies down around me, seeping back into my pores; the magic creeping back to the darkness inside that I hide from the normal world. I sag slightly where I stand, breathing heavily and almost sobbing. My hands shake badly when I rub my face in an effort to get rid of the ashes on them.
My little display of hysteria cost me, and I feel tired, but nowhere near as much as I would have done in the past. I draw a deep breath and desperately try to unsee the rat and mice carcasses strewn all around me.
I’m too close to the memory of when my magic manifested for the first time, when I tore down that hill, killing the Unseelie knight and all his redcaps. I stumble away and dry heave into the shadows until my stomach aches.
Dante’s watching me with far too much concern; Torsten, damn his eyes, just looks thoughtful and maybe a bit sad. I gaze at the devastation around me, as the alleyway now looks as if someone’s deployed a flame-thrower.
There are scorch marks on the ground and walls, and someone’s graffiti looks like it’s seen better days. I don’t think my family would be impressed with my mini-meltdown and public display of magic. It’s one thing using it to impress kids or frighten suspects, but it’s another thing going Terminator in an alleyway.
No, your honour, that was just me. I got really scared of those rats and my magic kinda got out of control.
Dante touches my shoulder but withdraws his hand pretty quickly when I jump with fright. ‘How’re you doing?’
‘I’m okay.’ I am so, so not okay, but maybe saying the words will make them true. ‘What are we doing with him?’ I jerk my head at Torsten. He’s still just staring impassively at us, which is weird. But then, he’s just called a bunch of rats to attack us, which maybe downgrades the strangeness of his staring.
I find the flute where he’s dropped it and pick it up. It feels cold and smooth in my hands and potentially dangerous. It is very much a weapon. Lastly, I collect my sword and slide it into the scabbard between my shoulder blades.
‘There’s a place we sometimes use. We can take him there.’ Dante shrugs out of his jacket and drops it over Torsten’s bound hands. He wraps an arm around Torsten’s shoulders and walks him back onto the main road and towards the car. ‘When we have answers, we can call the Beast. Tell Rorke we’re taking their DJ so he can inform Miron.’
I run to the front of the club to speak to the hulking doorman. Rorke looks annoyed that we’re taking their DJ for questioning on a case and mutters that Miron will have words. But he lets me go, so I jog back to get on with the main event.
Dante gives me directions and I drive blindly, not paying attention to signs or road names. About forty minutes later, I pull up in front of an abandoned warehouse. I think it’s near Greenwich because I can see Canary Wharf’s tall buildings.
Torsten’s been very quiet during the journey. Whenever my gaze moves to the rear-view mirror, I find him watching me, his strange eyes inscrutable. His silence is unnerving, as is his complete compliance when Dante manhandles him out of the car and makes him walk ahead of us towards the warehouse.
My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it. A text message from Aiden: Back in town. Where are you?
My fingers fly over the keypad as I reply: Not sure. Near Greenwich. Get Kyle to track me. Please come.
I slide the phone into my hip pocket and follow the guys into the warehouse.
The place echoes as we rattle the main door open. There are deep pools of darkness, although some light comes from the roof that is part glass and part whatever it is that roofs are made of. There’s a soft insistent drip somewhere towards the back and the whole place just seems melancholy and a bit oppressive.
‘Sit.’
Dante’s produced a chair from out of the shadows and prods Torsten into it.
‘Now, tell us. Where are those kids?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You know. I can tell you’re lying. Your heart’s just given a little upbeat. There it is again.’
Dante’s smile is a razor’s edge. How did I never notice that he has the ability to look quite dangerous? He prowls around Torsten before casually grabbing hold of his hair and pulling his head back. The movement is so unexpected that I start a little in surprise, and Dante sends me an icy look.
‘Don’t look at her. Watch me. I’m the bad guy here.’
There’s a sudden wariness in Torsten’s eyes. He dutifully focuses on Dante.
‘I don’t know where the children are taken once I hand them over.’ He shifts slightly on the chair.
‘I still think you’re lying.’ Dante lays a gentle hand on Torsten’s neck, but as he leans closer his grip under Torsten’s jaw tightens cruelly. ‘Do you remember now?’
There’s a startlingly fast pulse of magic in the air and I feel the jolt of it hum against me. There’s a compulsion to yield to Dante, to answer the question myself, even though I’m not his target and have no answers.
Torsten’s gaze widens in alarm and he lets out a painful gasp, sucking in a breath of air. A bright red mark shows vividly against his neck, like a brand, when Dante straightens
and drops his hand with a low curse.
The air in the warehouse smells of something cloying and sweet: nutmeg, cinnamon and burned sugar. I realize this is the scent of Dante working his magic. And there’s something else, a metallic tang that I don’t like, which slices sharply through the air. Torsten’s eyes follow Dante as he walks towards me, where I stand frozen in a pool of light.
‘What are you doing?’ I hiss at Dante, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. ‘I didn’t sign up for torture.’
‘I’m using the weapon you used against me,’ he says, showing me an iron nail resting in the palm of his hand. His own hand looks sore and burned but his eyes are cold, impassive. ‘Fae creatures really do not like iron.’
I try to take the nail from him but he slides it into his pocket. I lift my chin and scowl at him. ‘Seriously a dick move, dude. We need answers from him, not for him to die from Iron Sickness.’
Dante shrugs. ‘He really doesn’t look like he’s keen to tell us all that much.’
I hate to admit it but Dante’s right. I grimace and push him out of my way. ‘Torsten? How about you tell us some things before we summon Suola’s Beast? We have questions we feel you should be able to answer.’
Torsten’s gaze flickers to me but returns to Dante.
‘I could try and answer them,’ he says cautiously.
‘Please, just tell us where the kids are. You must have an idea.’
‘I know they’re in the Otherwhere,’ he says after a few long moments of silence when his heavy breathing is the only sound in the warehouse. ‘They’re definitely not here in the Frontier.’
‘How are you linked to Brixi?’
A sudden fierce grin and a slow nod. ‘Ah. You know about him then? Brixi’s been one of our employers for a very long time. The contract for the job gets passed on every few years. This year it’s my turn.’
Dante drags two more chairs from somewhere and we sit down. Torsten can’t stop watching him – it’s as if he’s drinking in the sight of him; it’s disturbing.