by Helen Harper
He holds up his palm. ‘There is one other thing, though.’ He smiles. ‘I also vow that if your Michael finds out who I really am, I will take revenge. There will be no more wheedling and no more bargains.’
The only other person who knows X’s true nature is Maria. I’m confident I can impress upon her how vital it is that she says nothing. She’ll understand. X’s smile broadens. ‘Very well,’ I snap, repeating his capitulation back at him.
He crooks his finger at me. ‘Lisa Johnson. Her, and her alone.’
I open my mouth but he shakes his head and starts to walk away. Fine. I trust Michael. Regardless of how idiotic the other Family Heads are, I know he’ll come up with a decent solution for Medici’s vile proposal. The rest I can manage.
I walk towards Rogu3’s familiar house and rap on the door. There’s a long wait and then his mother opens it, her pale face peering out at me. ‘Good evening, Ms Blackman.’ Her eyes dart across the street.
‘He’s gone,’ I say. ‘He won’t be back.’
Her hand flies to her throat. ‘Are you sure? Who is he?’
‘No one you need to worry about, I promise.’ I pause for a beat. ‘I apologise for involving Rogu3 – I mean, Alistair – in my business once again.’
‘It’s okay. He told me about it.’ She swallows nervously. ‘We decided not to tell his father.’
Then I suppose Rogu3 had some parental permission to come to me. It doesn’t make me feel better. ‘Can I speak to him? It won’t take long.’
She nods jerkily. ‘He’s in his room – it faces away from here. He doesn’t know what was going on outside. We thought it was best.’
I try to smile. ‘I’m sure it was.’
‘I’ll go and get him.’ She disappears for a minute.
Although I’ve been invited into their house on a previous occasion, it’s clear that this time I’m going to be left cooling my heels on the doorstep. I could barge my way inside but I don’t think that would be a wise move.
When Rogu3 appears, surprise lights his features. He asks me inside but I quickly decline. ‘You should have told your father you were working with me.’
He shrugs. ‘My mum knew.’
‘You told me both your parents were on board.’
‘So I lied. Don’t tell me you never have.’ His insouciance bothers me, probably because it’s too much like my own. ‘Anyway, how did it go today? Did the Tov V’ra show up?’
‘They did.’ I take out the card which Isaac gave me and show it to him. ‘I’m supposed to call the number on there, except I don’t see any number.’
Rogu3’s brows snap together. He turns it over in his fingers several times before his expression clears and he lets out a short laugh. I frown. I have yet to find anything amusing about any of this.
‘You need to look at it differently,’ he says. He holds it up between his thumb and forefinger. I squint. I still can’t see anything apart from the bloody tree.
‘Branches. Trunk. A few leaves.’ I shrug. ‘What am I missing?’
‘Don’t look at what’s there,’ Rogu3 says. ‘Look at what isn’t there.’
That doesn’t make any sense. I’m about to tell him so when suddenly everything slides into place and I see what he means. ‘The white space,’ I breathe. ‘It’s not the tree that’s important. It’s the space between the branches.’
He nods. ‘It’s difficult to spot unless you know what you’re looking for. The white space creates the shape of a number between each branch. There’s your phone number.’
‘Damn stupid way to communicate your details,’ I grumble. I check my watch. It’s already gone eight; Isaac will be wondering why I’ve not been in touch. I draw out my phone and quickly dial then I pass it to Rogu3. ‘You’ve got a cold,’ I whisper before the rings cease and someone picks up.
He nods. ‘Hello?’ He coughs and clears his throat, changing the phone to speaker. ‘This is Alistair.’
‘I’m glad you called.’ It’s Isaac. ‘What did you think of the show?’
Rogu3 frowns at me. I lean forward, keeping my voice low. ‘Politician. Vince Hale. At three o’clock, he…’
He bobs his head. I guess he saw it too. ‘Impressive,’ he murmurs into the receiver. ‘That was your doing?’
I hold my breath.
‘You could say that,’ Isaac answers. ‘I assume you’re calling because you realise we have more power than you thought. We really can bring the Families down.’ He laughs. ‘Either that, or you want to see more of Molly.’
Rogu3 glances at me, puzzled. I dismiss Isaac’s words with a quick wave and hiss at him, ‘Find out what happens next.’
‘What now?’ Rogu3 says. ‘I’m interested in what you have to offer, so what do I do now?’
‘Well, you’re satisfied as to our desirability,’ Isaac says. ‘Now we want to prove your worth.’
I knew it. I wait, curious to hear what he’s going to demand.
‘What do you want?’
‘Oh, it’s pretty straightforward. We want your friend.’
‘Eh?’
‘Bo Blackman. Give us Bo Blackman and we’ll give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.’
My mouth suddenly goes dry. Well, I wasn’t expecting that.
Chapter Nineteen: Who’s Bad?
The drop, if you can call it that, takes place at midnight, smack bang in the middle of Piccadilly Circus. I don’t think Tov V’ra have really thought this through. My face is well known and if anyone spots me being bundled into the back of a van then I’m pretty sure it’ll be headline news.
But Tov V’ra is slicker than I give them credit for.
Rogu3 has arranged to meet me here ostensibly to apologise for his little show in front of Medici. At least, that’s what Isaac thinks he’s arranged to do. Instead, Rogu3 is going to stay at home and I’m going to be ‘kidnapped’. Hopefully. If they decide they just want me dead, we’re going to have a bit of a problem.
The one good thing about the plan is that Rogu3 isn’t going to be present. I’ve made him promise to stay home, no matter what. With his father back on his case, I don’t think he’ll disobey me. In theory, Tov V’ra will contact him tomorrow when they’re convinced of his loyalty. By then it won’t matter.
Even at this hour of night, the street is busy. I wear my trusty leather jacket and make sure I’m not disguised in any way. I’m meeting someone I trust – why would I try to hide? I paste a bored expression on my face and scowl at pedestrians who consider approaching me. It doesn’t take much: a flash of my fangs and they’re quick enough to back off.
A few minutes before the magical witching hour, a scuffle breaks out directly in front of the statue of Anteros. A lot of people mistakenly think he’s Eros but Anteros is far nastier; he’s the god of requited love. In other words, he punishes those who refuse to accept everything that love has to offer. I watch the action for a moment or two. Anteros, were he to exist, wouldn’t have any beef with me, not now. I’ve told Michael that I love him; it’s only X’s stupid rules that keep getting in the way. Those, and the fact that I seem to be turning into a homicidal maniac.
I’m prepared to ignore the display of arrogant fisticuffs but when I see that one of the fighters is a witch – and a black and white witch at that – I change my mind. This is too good an opportunity to miss. It niggles me that X doesn’t like me focusing my energies on them but, in this scenario, the only person he’s likely to punish is me. And it’s not as if I went out looking for them, I reason. I’m here on his orders because this is about helping Lisa Johnson.
I ignore the traffic lights and dart across the road. A couple of cars beep their horns but when I turn and they see my face, their expressions go from irritated to comical horror. I snarl at them and keep going.
There’s already a crowd forming around the fight. If Tov V’ra are going to show up and do whatever dirty deeds they have in mind, this lot might put them off. I don’t want to have to cool my heels for yet another night.
Just as the witch raises her hands, a telltale gesture signifying she’s about to let loose a nasty spell, I leap into her path and smile.
‘Good evening.’
She blanches. I wink at her then lunge forward, grabbing a hank of her hair and pulling. She screeches in agony. I twist round to throw a questioning look at whoever she was fighting. The weedy human takes full advantage of my intervention and pushes through the watching crowd before disappearing into the distance. The crowd continues to capture all the action on their phones.
Keeping one hand on my new witchy companion, I swipe in the direction of the nearest voyeur, wrenching the phone out of his grasp. I throw it down and stomp on it hard then bare my fangs at the other spectators. They take the hint and, within seconds, all the filming ceases. It’s not the photographic evidence that bothers me – there are plenty of CCTV cameras around here to ‘protect’ the tourists – it’s the notion that I’m public property and will allow any passerby to upload my image to YouTube. I have a reputation to maintain. The meaner I appear to be, the easier the rest of my work becomes.
‘So,’ I coo, twisting the witch’s hair harder so she squeals. ‘You thought you could perform a magical attack in the middle of one of the city’s busiest areas, did you?’ I tut. ‘You should know better than that. Especially when you are so easy to bring down.’
She doesn’t answer. I’m debating whether to nick her flesh with my teeth or break her nose when I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. Bugger it. Two uniformed police officers are heading straight for us, no doubt alerted by the crowd. I should just let the witch go but then I might be forced to answer a bunch of daft questions in a cell instead of continuing my mission.
I drag her away from the police and the gawking people. All I need is a side street where I can knock her unconscious as quickly as possible, then I can circle round the back and return to my spot. The trouble with Piccadilly Circus is that it doesn’t have many shady alleyways.
‘Anyone follows me,’ I growl over my shoulder, ‘they can join her in her grave.’
The crowd flinches, like some strange amorphous whole. Good. I march the witch away from the people and into the quietest street I can find. She’s not putting up much of a struggle; I suppose she’s already given in to the Bo Blackman inevitable.
Aware that I have little time, I yank her up and spit into her face. ‘Why the fight?’ I demand. I shake her. ‘What exactly were you up to?’
She stares at me with her wide eyes. At first I think she’s merely scared but a second or two later, when she starts to laugh, I realise it’s something else.
‘You,’ she says simply. ‘I was paid fifty quid to fight you.’
Before I can say or do anything, and completely ignoring my hold on her hair, she reaches into her pocket and draws out a damn taser. Great. Rather than try to jerk away, I reluctantly let her zap me. At least that’s what I tell myself, as pain surges through every vein and artery in my body. This is what I came for.
***
I wake up in a cage. I have no way of knowing how long I’ve been out for because there don’t appear to be any windows and the room is completely dark. I have very little room to manoeuvre – and someone is hiding in the shadows and watching me. For now I pretend that I’m oblivious to their presence. There’s no point in giving away all of my secrets just yet.
I pick myself up and massage my aching neck then edge towards the bars. Gingerly, I reach out to touch one; the tip of my finger merely scrapes the metal but I’m still thrown backwards. Ouch. That hurt. No doubt it’s another Magix creation. I should have done more to bring down that corporation when I had the chance.
There’s a soft chuckle. I make a show of spinning round. ‘Who’s there?’
I’m not sure who I was expecting to see: Isaac perhaps, or some other fresh-faced Tov V’ra plonker. But it is Vince Hale. This time I don’t have to fake my look of surprise.
He offers his usual smooth, practised smile which I’ve already seen via a hundred different cameras. ‘I see you recognise me. Fame does make introductions far less complicated, doesn’t it? Although in your case it’s more infamy. You are a naughty girl.’ He clears his throat. ‘Forgive me. You’re no girl. You’re a bloodguzzling freak.’
I narrow my eyes into slits as Hale takes mincing steps towards the cage. Someone should give him lessons in deportment; he looks like a baby giraffe with a hot rod stuffed up its arse. ‘I don’t normally come to see any of the bloodguzzlers we capture,’ he muses. ‘But you’re a special case. In the end, you were disappointingly easy to get hold of. You might put on a good face but you’re still just a weak newbie.’ He leans forward. ‘Can you stand sunlight yet?’
I snarl. Rather than being intimidated, he simply laughs. ‘Oh, how the mighty have fallen.’
‘Why are you doing this?’
He twinkles at me like a benign dictator. ‘Isn’t it obvious? You’re an affront to God. You shouldn’t exist, your kind shouldn’t exist. I’m going to make sure that’s exactly what happens.’
I need him to tell me more. I get as close to the bars as I dare. ‘You’ll never succeed,’ I goad. ‘We’re too strong. Any plans you put in place might bring down one or two vampires, but you’ll never get us all.’
His eyes brim with amusement. ‘Do you think,’ he says softly, ‘that this is the part where I reveal all my plans to you and then you manage a daring escape? I don’t have the time and I don’t care enough about you to talk to you. I just wanted to see the look on your face when you realised it was all over. No one’s coming to rescue you. No one cares. Your little hacker buddy gave you up with barely a second thought. How does that feel, to be completely abandoned by someone whose life you saved?’
I play along. ‘Rogu3 wouldn’t do that.’
‘He would and he did.’ Hale draws his fingertip along the edge of the cage. ‘You’re not getting out of here. We’ve tested it on numerous subjects and most of them far stronger than you. You, Ms Blackman, are well and truly screwed.’
Before I can say anything else, he turns on his heel and disappears. This time, he doesn’t hide in the corner, he actually leaves. I’m left alone in pure darkness. Fortunately, that’s the best kind.
I look around. I’ve been a vampire for long enough that my night sight is fairly good. I can’t quite pierce the far corners of the room, of which Hale was no doubt aware, but I can see enough to tell that I’m in a smallish space. There’s one door and whitewashed walls. There are even a few blood splatters dotted around but they’re probably there for effect. They want me scared and quaking in my boots. It’s probably part of the fun.
I can’t see any cameras but that doesn’t mean I’m not being watched. I take a deep breath and fling myself at the bars, just in case. It’s agony. When I fall back onto the stone floor, I let my hand fall to my ear. When I feel the small nub still there, I relax. They must have searched me but they weren’t looking hard enough. Embedded close to my skull is a tiny tracking device that Maria helped me insert earlier. It helps that I have unbelievable healing powers; a few hours after its insertion there’s barely a scar. Sometimes, I reflect, technology can be far more useful than magic.
I stay where I am, groaning occasionally. I’m not putting that part on for effect, I really am in considerable pain. I might be rather incapacitated but I enjoy the repeated shudders and spasms: they keep my mind clear. Between each one, I try to recoup my strength. I’m probably going to need it.
Despite the aftershocks of pain from my collision with the cage, I’m surprised Tov V’ra haven’t done more to hurt me. I don’t think it’s because of any high-minded ideals; Hale is drawing this out for maximum effect. There can’t be any other reason for keeping me alive. That was one of O’Shea’s concerns: we could put as many plans and back-up plans into effect as we wished, but if I were dead then none of them would work.
I hope he’s not going to take too long. Once the pain starts wearing off, this
is going to become rather dull.
I’m not sure how much time has passed when the door re-opens. If I was expecting Hale to reappear, I’m disappointed. When I see who is there, I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself smiling.
I lift up my head . ‘Hello, Lisa.’
She flinches, her eyes widening. She looks over her shoulder as if she’s seeking reassurance from someone behind her. When it doesn’t come, she turns back at me helplessly and stands there, her shoulders dropping. Gone are the pretty clothes and make-up; she’s wearing a white shift and looks rather … sacrificial. Oh dear.
‘How do you know my name?’ she whispers.
‘I know your parents.’
She continues to stare at me like a rabbit caught in headlights. ‘You gave my dad your autograph.’
I nod. ‘I did.’
‘I didn’t think you’d remember him. Or know who I am.’
‘They’re very worried about you, Lisa. They hired me to find you.’ I watch her carefully for a reaction. Her eyes aren’t glazed like Molly’s were – I don’t suppose there’s any need to drug your followers when you can keep them inside your compound and completely under your thumb – but there is a dullness to her irises which wasn’t in any of her photos. ‘You didn’t even tell them you were leaving.’
‘I…’ she licks her lips nervously. ‘I wasn’t allowed to.’
This isn’t the same fierce young woman who marched for a hundred causes or who caught Adrian Leeman’s heart. ‘It’s not all you thought it was going to be, is it? Joining the Tov V’ra, I mean. You thought you were going to save the world from the vampires and instead you’re just a servant, passed around for sexual favours.’
Her mouth tightens. ‘It’s not like that. We’re going to heal the world.’
You know when someone starts spouting Michael Jackson lyrics that they’re done for. ‘Not everything is black and white though, is it? Or the thriller that you were hoping for.’ I stand up, ignoring the flare of pain that shoots down my legs. ‘I’m bad but you really want to beat it out of here.’ It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask her if Billie Jean is also her lover but that might be taking things a step too far.