by Helen Harper
‘Why did you make them let that other witch go?’
I shrug. ‘I don’t know, to be honest. It just seemed the right thing to do.’ I stand up on my toes and spy a sign for the bathroom. ‘Wait here.’
‘Where are you going now?’
I grimace. ‘I really have to pee. And throw up.’ It’s unfortunately becoming a rather bad habit.
*
O’Shea still looks pale when, feeling slightly less nauseous, I return. ‘You know you’ve thrown down the gauntlet, right?’
I check my breath. It doesn’t seem too bad. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You’re a four-foot woman who’s apparently a superhero. There’s going to be a lot more of that. Everyone will want to see if they can best you.’
‘I’m five foot,’ I return in mock irritation. ‘And I hope that most people – tribers included – will be too scared to take me on. All I seem to get are starry-eyed autograph hunters, not black witches with decades-old vendettas. He was the exception to the rule.’
O’Shea rolls his eyes. ‘You don’t get it. Of course there will be a lot of people who think you’re the best thing since bottled spells. But you also present a challenge. If you’re famous, imagine how famous the person will be who takes you down.’
I swallow. He has a point. Yet another reason to stay out of the public eye. Bugger it.
‘By the way,’ O’Shea continues, ‘how did you kill that Kakos daemon?’
I offer a weak grunt as an answer and change the subject. ‘Dawn’s only a few hours away. Let’s search this place and be done with it.’ I look around and point at a nearby stall. ‘Look, she’s selling orbs.’
He clicks his teeth. ‘They’re snow globes. Good for enemies.’
‘What do you…’ I blink as I put two and two together. ‘You mean you can spell people into them?’
‘And make them freeze in swirling blizzards whenever you take the fancy,’ he adds cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry. They almost never work.’
All the same, I give the stall a wide berth. ‘Which way? Shall we try down here?’
‘No, Bo, darling. There’s only one person we need to see. Merlin.’
‘Merlin? You have to be kidding me.’
‘Obviously not the real one,’ O’Shea says. Then he scratches his cheek. ‘Well, probably not. But that’s what he likes to be called.’ He takes my hand. ‘This way.’
O’Shea leads me down claustrophobic winding pathways. I try not to gawk at the sights on offer but shrunken heads that blink and chameleons the colour of a tropical sky are hard to ignore. The only saving grace is that everyone around here is so weird, I’m left in peace as another unremarkable oddity.
We stop eventually at a small tent. From the outside it looks shabby and unappealing, not much larger than a child’s playhouse. O’Shea gestures at me to enter. Frowning, I do as I’m told.
One of things I’ve learnt over the years is not to judge people by their appearance. Obviously I should apply the same principle to places as well. Despite the tent’s exterior, inside is a vast opulent space with colourful Turkish carpets, ornate wooden chests and what appear to be several rooms leading off from the main entrance.
O’Shea, watching my expression, is delighted. ‘It’s like the Tardis, isn’t it?’ he asks gleefully.
‘And then some,’ I breathe.
An old man shuffles out from towards the back. His white bushy eyebrows snap together when he spots O’Shea. ‘Devlin! What a joy!’ His eyes flick to me. ‘Surely, you’re not switching teams?’
O’Shea doesn’t take umbrage. ‘Hardly, Merlin. You know me better than that. Anyway, if I were to change my nature, I doubt I’d go for someone like her. I’d probably end up murdered in my bed. Or worse.’
I throw him a nasty look but it slides off him. ‘I’m Bo,’ I say firmly, interjecting myself into the conversation.
‘Of course you are, my dear. I’ve heard a lot about you. I am Merlin.’ He dips his head.
‘Nice to meet you.’ I try to smile. Merlin looks as old as Methuselah, with pure white hair that reaches below his shoulders. If he weren’t dressed as a hippy with tie-dyed T-shirt and bell-bottom trousers, I’d be inclined to believe he really is the Merlin of yore. His bright blue eyes certainly look sharp enough. ‘I’m looking for…’
‘Some incense,’ O’Shea interrupts, elbowing me in the ribs.
Merlin’s eyes crinkle. ‘Something fruity or more floral?’
‘Surprise me.’
Merlin walks through a nearby door, closing it behind him. I turn to O’Shea. ‘What are you doing? I don’t want any bloody incense!’
The daemon sighs. ‘I’m playing the game, Bo. Just try to keep quiet.’
‘But…’ I splutter.
He places a finger against my lips. ‘Shhh.’
I subside. I don’t like this at all. I fold my arms and take a few steps forward. A pretty doll on top of a shelf catches my attention; I reach out to touch her but O’Shea pulls me back. ‘Don’t touch anything,’ he hisses. ‘I mean it.’
I glare at him but take his advice. I’m in the unknown here and I need to act more sensibly. Instead I look around. Merlin appears to be quite the collector; his tent is strewn with all manner of objects. Some are obviously magical while others, like a battered coffee pot, appear far more mundane. I gaze at a painting hanging from the canvas wall: there’s something not quite right about it. Several small figures stare out from beneath a smoky sky. It’s oddly reminiscent of Lowry. I peer more closely and one of the figures winks. I draw back with a hiss. ‘What the hell…?’
O’Shea joins me. ‘It’s like the snow globes we saw earlier,’ he tells me quietly.
I stare aghast at the artwork. ‘Those are real people? Every single one of them? Trapped in there?’
‘Yup.’
‘There are so many of them.’
O’Shea shrugs awkwardly. I look at him. ‘Why are there so many?’
There’s a creak and Merlin reappears behind us. ‘Because, my dear, it’s a very clever spell. Not one of mine, alas.’ He allows himself a tiny smile. ‘I do wish I’d thought of it, though. You see, whenever someone casts the spell to free one of the painting’s occupants, they fail. They end up inside the painting too.’
My stomach turns. ‘So they think they’re doing someone a favour and saving them from a life trapped in pain, and instead they ruin their own life?’
Merlin’s smile grows. ‘Genius, isn’t it?’
I look at O’Shea but he’s pointedly ignoring me. Where exactly has he brought me? This place is evil.
‘Your incense?’ Merlin asks. He’s holding a box. He beckons us and reluctantly I edge nearer. I don’t want to get too close to him, he makes my flesh creep. With a flourish, Merlin pulls off the lid.
Expecting to see some heavily scented candles, I’m astonished when I see a familiar orb containing blue swirling light, nestled in tissue paper. Momentarily I forget how creeped out I am. ‘How…’
O’Shea interrupts yet again. ‘What a fabulous smell,’ he murmurs.
‘Indeed.’ Merlin beams.
‘I take it the high quality is reflected in the price?’
‘It is. One thousand pounds.’
I stiffen. It’s a lot of money ‒ but a time bubble orb cost considerably more, even before most of them were seized by the government. Something else is going on here. I look again at the painting. I don’t trust Merlin one bit.
O’Shea lifts an eyebrow. He’s less concerned about the price than I am; neither does he appear bothered by the witch’s joy at other people’s misery. ‘I don’t suppose there’s any room for manoeuvre on that figure?’
Merlin doesn’t blink, he just smiles pleasantly. Apparently not then. I reach into my jacket for my wallet, deciding I want to get out of here as quickly as possible. Something tells me that annoying Merlin would not be a wise move. ‘Do you take plastic?’
‘I’ve got this,’ O’Shea says. He takes ou
t a grubby roll of notes and peels off ten. Suddenly I feel like I’ve walked onto a gangster film set. I’m tempted to look around for Al Pacino.
Merlin lowers his head again, performing some sleight of hand and magicking away the money. He passes over the box; it’s surprisingly light. ‘Do come again,’ he twinkles. ‘And don’t lose sight of that stone, Ms Blackman.’
I start. ‘Pardon?’
‘The human world may have decided that angels are a force for good,’ Merlin says, without repeating his freaky little aside about my white pebble. ‘But don’t forget that not every religion originally saw them that way. Some of the most powerful celestial beings were tools of vengeance. And there is nothing more bloody than that. You might be better off to sticking to the daemons.’ He jerks his head at O’Shea. ‘Even this one.’
I glance at O’Shea. He meets my eyes, trouble mirrored in both our expressions. When I turn back to Merlin for clarification, he’s already gone.
‘What did he mean by stone?’
I tug at my earlobe. ‘Who knows? Let’s get out of here.’ Merlin’s tent and its creepy interior are making me cold.
‘He’s a criminal, Devlin,’ I say flatly, when we’re several metres away. ‘That painting…’
‘Of course he’s a criminal, Bo. This is the Black Market. What did you expect?’
I hug my arms round myself; I’m just glad to be escaping while I still can. I don’t ever want to come back here again.
The only good thing is that the cluster of shady black witches outside the Black Market’s gates have scuttled back to whichever hole they sprang from. I wait until we’re some distance away, however, before I trust myself to speak again. I don’t want to talk about Merlin any more.
‘Mystery shopping must pay well,’ I say to O’Shea.
There’s a glimmer of a cheeky smile. ‘It’s not my only gig.’
I dread to think. ‘I’ll pay you back,’ I promise. ‘At least we have an orb now. I didn’t realise it would be so easy.’ O’Shea throws back his head and laughs. I stare at him. ‘What?’
He laughs harder, bending double and clutching his stomach. Growing irritated, I put my hands on my hips. ‘What?’ I repeat.
He straightens up and wipes away genuine tears. ‘Bo, you’re a funny girl. How did you ever survive before I came along?’
I’m slightly offended. ‘Hey, I’m the one who helped you to survive! You’d be dead without me!’
‘I guess we’ll never know if that’s true or not.’ He winks. ‘That’s not a time bubble orb.’
‘It looks like one.’
‘Because it’s a Trace. A semi-sentient object, Bo. It knows what you’re searching for so it’s taken on that aspect. For you.’
‘Oh.’ I feel stupid. O’Shea’s request for ‘incense’ makes more sense now. And I have heard of Traces. I knew some PIs who used them at Dire Straits. They are notoriously unreliable. Try using one to find a bunch of lost keys and it’ll direct you to whichever set of keys it deems closest. In a city the size of London, that’s like looking for a specific needle in a haystack filled with a million other needles. Besides which, even a semi-effective Trace would cost a damn sight more than a grand. ‘Is it going to work?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is Merlin really that good?’
O’Shea laughs again. ‘No, he’s an absolute charlatan. But we’re in the fortunate situation of knowing that almost all time bubble orbs are being held in the same place. Their combined signatures mean that this little thing,’ he gestures at the box, ‘will have no trouble locating them.’
I absorb this information. O’Shea is correct ‒ except I already know where all the damned orbs are being kept. So does anyone who reads a newspaper. Have I placed myself in debt to the most unreliable Agathos daemon in the city for nothing? Together with meeting the most unsavoury witch I’ve ever had the misfortune to come across? ‘I know where the orbs are.’
He nods. ‘Brigstone Army Base.’
I wait for the penny to drop. When it doesn’t, I throw up my hands in despair. ‘Why do we need a Trace to show us where the army base is? The internet will give us more reliable directions.’
O’Shea pats me on the shoulder patronisingly. ‘Have you ever been inside an army base?’
‘No.’
‘Anthony Davis.’ He rubs his thumb along his bottom lip and gazes dreamily off into the distance. ‘Lance Corporal Davis to you. A muscular hunk with enough sex appeal to drown a kitten in.’
‘Devlin,’ I begin warningly.
‘He used to sneak me onto his base,’ O’Shea explains. ‘Not because we couldn’t find an alternative spot for a tryst, of course. But the thrill of being interrupted by a group of soldiers was too delicious to pass up. In fact, one time…’
‘Get to the point.’
‘It’s a good story!’
I make a show of looking at my watch. O’Shea sighs. ‘If you insist. I learnt from those experiences that army bases aren’t exactly compact and bijou. It’s one thing to know that the time bubble orbs are kept at Brigstone, it’s another to find them. I assumed that you wouldn’t want to wander around the largest army base in the country asking for directions. I know you women like to do that but I’m not sure bloodguzzlers are welcome in the middle of the night with Her Majesty’s finest.’
‘I hate it when you’re smarter than I am,’ I mutter.
He laughs. ‘Don’t worry about it, little Bo.’
‘You’ve not asked me yet why I’m so keen to get hold of an orb.’
He taps his temple. ‘Smarter than you, remember?’
I growl. ‘Not all the time.’
O’Shea smirks. ‘It’s pretty obvious. I’ve been waiting for you to get around to it. You’re going to find Tobias Renfrew. And I’m going to help you. Solving the biggest mystery the Agathos daemons have ever experienced by finding a reclusive billionaire who may or may not be a serial killer will be a piece of cake for my brains and your…’ he looks me up and down ‘…um, your … your…’
I thump him on the arm. ‘Idiot.’
He sweeps a bow. ‘I aim to please.’
‘Even though that wasn’t his ear, he has to have something to do with those attacks. If we investigate Renfrew, we might find the pricks who hurt Rogu3.’
‘I’m with you all the way, Bo. That kid didn’t deserve that. In fact, he’s lucky to be alive.’
I refrain from mentioning that I turned Rogu3 into a vampire to save his life and then used X’s daemon blood to turn him back to human. I know several people have their suspicions about what I did but to mention X’s existence would be to seal their fate.
O’Shea flicks a glance up at the sky. ‘Dawn isn’t far off. Shall we reconvene tomorrow evening?’
I start to agree before remembering I have a prior engagement. Bugger. ‘As long it’s after eleven.’ I’ll need to come up with a good excuse to finish my date with Michael early. Telling him the truth won’t work; he’ll only get pissed off if he knows I’m planning on breaking the law and doing something this daft. But he’s only the Head of the most powerful vampire Family in the country. It’ll be easy to tell him that I’m far busier than he is and have to leave. No problemo.
CHAPTER FIVE: Cause Célèbre
Matt and Connor perch uncomfortably on my little sofa. I’m not sure whether their awkward position is because they’re unhappy with the job I’ve tasked them with or whether it’s because they’re too afraid to move Kimchi out of the way. The dog is sprawled out behind them, giving every impression of being fast asleep. From the way he keeps opening one eye to peek at the action, I know better.
‘What do you think of this one?’ I give them a twirl.
‘It’s lovely, Bo,’ Connor answers, deadpan.
‘You said that about the last dress.’
‘It was lovely too but they both kind of look the same to me.’
‘It was long! This one is short.’ I frown. ‘Too much cleavage?’
Matt stares thoughtfully at my breasts. ‘Definitely not enough.’
I roll my eyes.
‘Bo,’ Connor interjects, ‘you’d be better off getting a woman to do this. Dahlia is downstairs. She can…’
‘I’m going on a date with a man, not a woman,’ I say firmly. The last thing I want is her inside my flat. ‘I need a male perspective. Let me try one more.’
He groans. ‘Please no.’ Holding out both his wrists, he pleads with me. ‘Drink me dry, Bo. Take every drop of blood I have. Just don’t subject me to any more.’
I point at him. ‘Stay.’
Connor looks desperately at Matt who shrugs. ‘I can only do what I’m told.’
‘This is for the good of all vampires,’ I tell them both sternly.
‘And it’s about time you had some sex,’ Matt agrees.
‘There will be no sex!’ My voice is shrill. ‘It’s for show.’
‘Of course, Bo. You’re always right.’
‘Damn right I am,’ I grumble. I turn towards the bedroom. ‘I saw that!’ I call, looking back to see Matt nudge Connor. The pair of them stare at me, guilt written across their faces.
Back at my wardrobe, I flip through the remainder of my clothes in frustration. In one regard, Matt is correct: it’s been a long time since I’ve been on any kind of date. These days I’m so used to wearing jeans and a T-shirt – not forgetting my leather jacket, of course – that I’ve almost forgotten what it’s like to dress up.
I pull out a tight sheath dress. I know I look good in it. The problem is that I need something I can move around in if I’m going to meet O’Shea later and breach the army base. I hang it back up and sigh, telling myself that I only care about what I’m going to wear because I need the press to believe I’m on a date. It’s got nothing to do with caring what Michael thinks.
In the end I pull on a little black dress and decide not to subject Matt and Connor to my indecision any longer. It might be boring but it’ll suit a date and it’s short enough not to hamper my movements when I need to spring into action-hero mode. And the colour will help with camouflage. I don’t want to waste a single precious moment of darkness doing something as mundane as getting changed. I’m tempted to put on a pair of flat shoes but Michael is canny enough to note them and realise I’m up to something. The last thing I need tonight is either him or his Montserrat sidekicks following me to Brigstone. I’ll go barefoot later when I need to – and the addition of some heels at dinner will make me feel less like a midget.