“They won’t follow you without me,” Enzo says. I expected him to be angry, but he sounds beaten more than anything.
“Maybe.” Gio shrugs. “But that’s a risk I’ll have to take. That way, there’s no fallback on you if things go sideways.”
Enzo considers this for a moment, looking for another angle or a different solution. He seems to relax, relieved to be given such an easy solution, while being reluctant to take what’s been offered to him. In the end he nods. I’m not the only one in the room who was holding my breath, and there’s a collective sigh of relief.
“But if anything looks too dangerous, you pull out immediately,” he warns.
“I’ll use the bunker, as usual, if that’s okay?”
“Certo,” Enzo replies in Italian. “You have the numbers?”
“I do.” Gio pulls out his phone in response and waggles it between his fingers.
“And you’ll show me what you saw before you go?”
Giovanni hesitates but eventually nods.
“Leave us.” Enzo’s command brooks no argument, and it’s obvious he’s talking to the rest of us. Reluctantly, I turn to go.
“The key, Enzo. Give Giovanni the key,” Agnes says faintly. Enzo nods and leaves her side to retrieve something from his desk drawer, handing it to Gio without another word.
“I’ll meet you all downstairs in five,” Gio says to us, opening the door for us to leave.
“Thank you for putting yourself on the line, mate,” I say, holding out a hand for him to shake as I step out of the office. He glances down at it and hesitates.
“I’m not doing this for you,” he replies. “This is for my city and for Augurs. And for Ella,” he sneers, before turning away and closing the door on me.
CHAPTER 11
The club seems to be doing well. In the last quarter of an hour that I’ve sat at the bar with my friends, the stream of clients has been constant, some patrons coming just to sit and drink while others are happy enough to join the crowd on the central dance floor.
It’s some kind of day-rave starting in the early afternoon hours, where they sell juices and light drinks to patrons, but it converts into a proper, licensed bar and nightclub after dinner time. Enzo certainly knows how to maximise profits.
I nurse my half-drunk orange juice and stare around the cavernous basement, amazed at how much fits under the derelict apartment building. There’s a DJ booth somewhere to the right of the dance floor, and above the flailing bodies, I can just about make out a blue-haired woman with headphones almost as big as her head, providing the soundtrack.
“Ignore my brother,” Marco says, slapping me on the shoulder and pulling up the nearest stool. “He knows how to hold a grudge.”
I sigh, although I don’t think he can hear it over the din. “I don’t even know why I care.” I shake my head and push my glass away, the orange tasting too bitter in my mouth.
“You look like you need something stronger,” the bartender says, walking over and eyeing my discarded drink.
“If only,” I mutter, turning to see Lou and Jer, heads together at the other end of the bar. A little bit of the anger melts when I see them together, two people perfectly matched. Jer is as calm and cheery as Lou is rough and feisty, but they complement each other in a way that makes me think there would be no better person for either of them. My thoughts instantly turn to Ella, and I grimace, looking away.
“Stop doing that.”
“What?”
“Torturing yourself,” Marco says. “It won’t help anyone.”
I open my mouth to thank him, mainly for calling me out on it, but I’m interrupted by a man siding up to the bar.
“Marco! Long time no see!” The scrawny Londoner gives Marco an enthusiastic handshake and offers to buy him a drink.
“Hey, Frankie. It’s been a while,” Marco replies, refusing the preferred beer.
“Listen, mate. I ’eard you was off doing secret government stuff with friends of Dark-Knife. Is that true?” Frankie asks excitedly.
“Who the hell is this Dark-Knife I keep hearing about?” Marco asks.
“You know, the Normal that hangs around with Augurs? They say he single-handedly took down Munday back in December and stopped an ’ospital from falling down.”
“You mean Curtis?” Marco laughs, slapping me on the back. Frankie looks from Marco to me, as if suddenly noticing I’m there.
“Y-you’re Dark-Knife?” he says in awe.
“Well, I didn’t do anything single-handedly, but I was there, and I guess I’m the only Normal nuts enough to hang around with this lot,” I say, noticing that Jer and Lou have joined us. “Why’d you keep calling me that?” I ask curiously, smiling despite my mood.
“Because of the weapon. You know, your good luck charm.” Frankie seems to be willing me to agree with him, nodding expectantly at my pocket.
“You mean this?” I pull out the switchblade, and he practically faints.
“Oh my days! Tommy!” he shouts across the din and into the crowd. “Tommy, Dark-Knife is here!”
“No way,” a voice calls back from somewhere on the dance floor.
“Wow,” the bartender says, coming over at the sound of the commotion. “You should have told me. I would have given you a free round.”
“What the hell is everyone talking about?” Lou says as a group of people begin to gather.
“I think someone told them Curtis is some kind of hero,” Marco murmurs, giving me a confused smile.
“Is it true that Munday broke your back, but you got up and carried on fighting him?”
“How about that you infiltrated a government facility to break your best friend out?”
“Ooh, ooh, did you stop the Magic Circle from killing loads of people in that hospital and then vanish into thin air?”
The questions are incessant, and I have to hold up my hands to silence the stream of interrogation.
“Can we see the knife you used on Munday?” a girl in her late teens asks, blushing when I look at her. I’m completely befuddled.
“Who do you think started all these rumours about me and gave me a nickname like that?” I mutter to Jer.
“I think I have a pretty good idea,” he says, nodding towards the glass office above.
“Enzo?”
“Nope. Agnes.”
Although it seems bizarre, it actually makes sense. If anyone wanted me to be accepted into the world of Augurs, it would be Agnes. If she made me out to be some sort of superhero, then I’d easily be allowed into the club and welcomed with open arms. Maybe she knew we were coming.
“Guys, guys, listen. I was there at all those events, but they weren’t just me. I have a team of incredible friends and healers. I’m surrounded by Augurs. Otherwise, none of that stuff would have even been possible.”
“Wow, he’s so modest, too,” a girl says to her friend. Lou snorts and rolls her eyes.
“Tell us about what happened when you stopped Munday,” a chap with more piercings than face asks me.
“Well, as I said, it wasn’t just me, but sure,” I reply, launching into the story of how Ella, Jer, Lou, and I managed to take him down.
I’m just about to start enjoying myself as I’m bombarded with another round of questions, when Gio barges his way through and whispers something in Marco’s ear.
“Sorry folks, Mr. Dark-Knife here is needed on an important job, but I’ll be sure to bring him back some time,” Marco announces, pulling me up and dragging me away. A chorus of disappointed cries break out, and I give everyone a little wave as I go, but not before I catch Lou shaking her head at me.
“You’re such a pillock,” she laughs, pulling Jer behind her.
“We need to move,” Gio shouts over the music. “No one has answered my messages, so if things are as urgent as you say they are, we need to go and get the team together ourselves,” he says, beckoning us all towards the door.
We find Beryl having a good time, chatting to one of the local
s, before managing to pry her from him.
“It turns out you’ve got quite a reputation, Curtis,” Beryl says amiably, giving me a gentle pat on the shoulder. I grin back at her, but it’s quickly wiped away when I spot Giovanni scowling at me as we exit the club.
As soon as we’re out of the door and it’s sealed behind us, I feel like I can hear normally again, all sounds from within cut off when we reach the street.
Gio marches ahead, barely waiting for us to catch up, and I’m left to trail behind the group as if none of that just happened.
I want to ask about Agnes and her vision, but he’s made it pretty clear that he won’t talk to me unless absolutely necessary, so I hang back and trudge alongside Beryl as we make our way down the alleyway in silence.
Leaving the club on foot, we walk for ten minutes before we reach our first stop, which is a pet shop in a nicer part of the high street. Not exactly what I was expecting.
It’s dinnertime, so anything that doesn’t have to be open is already closing, but through the darkened windows, we can make out people cleaning up in the back.
Gio takes the lead as the group’s spokesperson, knocking on the window, grabbing the attention of a woman in her forties, who is busy cleaning fish tanks at the back.
“Hi, Gloria,” he says, waiting for her to open the door and let us in.
“Hello, Giovanni. I’d say it’s nice to see you, but from the look on your face, this isn’t a social call,” she replies, removing a pair of rubber gloves and glancing at the rest of us.
“Neighbourhood watch,” he replies, without further explanation. She frowns but nods, taking off her apron and stowing her cleaning supplies in a cabinet.
“Let me tell the boys in the back to lock up for me.” Gloria disappears into a back office and comes back a few moments later with her jacket.
“Gloria is a telepath. She can read your thoughts if you touch her, but she can also give you one bitch of a migraine,” Gio explains to the rest of us when we step outside. I make a mental note to stay on her good side and give her a wary nod. She has a kind but nervous face that creases into a smile when she sees my hesitation.
“I don’t tend to hurt people if I can help it,” she explains timidly.
I’m not sure how that’s going to help us defeat a couple of maniacal Augurs, but I’ll take any help we can get at the moment.
A block down the road is a gym, and the couple Gio asks for at reception desk looks as though they just stepped out from the pages of a sports equipment magazine.
“This is Maisie and Michael Anderson: personal trainers, black belts with three dan each in Brazilian jiu-jitsu, and total badasses.” Gio allows himself a grin, introducing us as the newest members of the neighbourhood watch.
“What do you guys do?” Lou asks as we’re introduced.
“I’m strong,” Maisie says, proving the point by inadvertently crushing my hand when she shakes it.
“And you?” Jer asks Michael as they shake hands. “Something to do with electricity,” he adds, his own ability picking up on the other Augur when they touch. I didn’t really realise how nuanced Jer’s ability is, but apart from being able to sense magic himself and remember previous Augur signatures, he does have a pretty good knack for working out what people can do.
“Got it in one,” Michael replies, impressed. He clicks his finger at one of the lights in the ceiling, and it goes out with a pop, making the receptionist jump.
“Mike, I really wish you wouldn’t do that,” she complains from behind her desk. He smiles and shakes his head, opening his palm so that we can all see. I crane over the other heads to catch sight of electricity dancing around his fingers, in tiny ripples and waves.
“Whoa. Cool,” I say, just has he throws his hand up in the air and the light above goes back on.
Both of their skills are going to come in handy for taking down the Duke, I’m sure.
“What’s this all about, Gio?” Maisie asks.
“I’ll explain at the bunker. Can you guys clock off early?”
“I’ll have to get someone to cover my seven o’clock session, but sure. Meet you at the bunker in half an hour?”
Gio nods. “That’ll give me time to grab the others, and then we only have to go over everything once.”
I’m impressed that these people are willing to pretty much drop everything without notice, but maybe this is what they’ve been prepared for. This neighbourhood watch thing is becoming more interesting by the minute.
“Last stop before we head back,” I overhear Gio telling Marco. “Down here,” he says, turning down a dingy alleyway off the main road. Although it’s only early evening, the cramped street doesn’t get any light. A neon sign flickers above a black door, blinking “SOUL DRAGON Tattoo & Piercing” in an attempt to beckon prospective clients. Gio pushes the door, and a bell rings, tinkling over the buzz of a tattoo machine. The shop is cozy but much bigger on the inside than it looks from the street, with a long, black leather couch that runs along the left wall and a glass counter on the right. Heavy-metal music plays from a speaker somewhere above, and a voice calls out over the cacophony: “Bubs, can you get that?”
A robust woman with black hair and olive skin bounces through a beaded curtain at the back and gives us all a wide grin, showing off enough piercings in her face to upset a metal detector.
“Wow, a party! What can I get you guys, a group tattoo?” She beams until Giovanni nudges his way to the front. “Oh, Gio,” she says, her enthusiasm dropping slightly. “This is business, is it?”
She gives the rest of us a wary look and gestures for us to sit, although there’s only enough room for four of the six of us to perch on the long couch. Gio and I lean on the counter, but I keep my distance from him.
“I’m having to call an emergency neighbourhood watch meeting, Bubble. Is he around?”
Bubble nods and tries to give us another polite smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s with a client. I’ll see how long he’s got left.” She exits through the back, leaving us to study the curious surroundings. Tattoo designs in obscure picture frames adorn the walls, everything from flowers and dolphins to wolf heads and snakes. Strange paraphernalia and photos of piercings in uncomfortable places sit on the shelves around us. Vases of dried flowers sit alongside models of dragons and ornately painted skulls. A children’s doll in Victorian clothing hangs upside down from a bookshelf, its glass eyes staring blankly at me. I shiver and look away, only to catch Beryl’s eye, who looks as uncomfortable as I do. Lou, on the other hand, is examining a large file of designs on a coffee table and making appreciative noises.
“Ooh, babe, look at this one. How cool would it be to have a purple viper coiling up my left arm?” she says to Jer, who rolls his eyes.
“Great, love, if it makes you happy.” He looks at me and gives me a subtle shake of his head. I stifle a laugh, pretending to cough to cover it up.
The subtle buzz of the tattoo machine from the other room stops abruptly, and I can hear snatches of a conversation between the thrashes of electric guitars and screaming vocals playing.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, guys,” says a burly man, removing his surgical gloves as he steps through the door. All the hair on his head seems to have migrated down to his chin, where a long red beard reaches his chest. Every inch of his arms and hands are covered with tattoos, stretching right up to his neck and bare scalp. If I met him on a cold, dark night, I’d probably make a run for it, but like his bubbly coworker, he has kind eyes and a gentle expression which take the edge off now that he’s close up.
“How long do you need with your client?” Gio asks quietly, giving him a meaningful look.
“That urgent, is it?” he replies in surprise, to which Gio nods. “I’m pretty much done, if you can give me a few minutes.”
We hang around while he and Bubble show the freshly inked lady out, before he shuts the door and locks it behind him.
“What’s this all about, Giovan
ni? Is someone in trouble?”
“More than just someone, Plague. I know that Lorenzo said we’d only call a meeting if a resident was urgently in need, but this is next level.
The man who calls himself Plague gives us all a worried look.
“Can I explain at the bunker? The Andersons will be there shortly, as will Gus and Prunella,” Gio asks wearily. “It would save me repeating myself.”
“Sure. I think we’re done for the day anyway, aren’t we, Bubs?” Plague asks Bubble. She nods, turning off the music and lights and grabbing her jacket somewhat resignedly.
“He calls himself that by choice?” I whisper to Marco as we’re ushered out the door.
“My real name’s Paul,” Plague says, overhearing me, “but don’t tell anyone.”
I’m not sure why anyone would call themselves Plague over Paul, and as if sensing my curiosity, Gio turns around and looks at me thoughtfully.
“Why don’t you very briefly demonstrate what you can do, Plague?” Gio suggests.
I catch a worrying glint in his eye as the huge tattooed Augur hesitates and glances at me.
“You sure?” he asks Gio.
Nope. I shake my head fervently, but Gio nods. “Absolutely. Dark-Knife here is absolutely obsessed with Augurs, aren’t you?”
“Wha—” I protest, but Gio is already nudging me in Plague’s direction.
“The Dark-Knife that everyone keeps talking about?” Plague looks at me with a wary expression. “So, the kid’s a Normal. Yikes.” He gives me a look that appears almost as worried the one I’m giving him. Giovanni seems hellbent on me seeing Plague’s powers firsthand, and I’ve run out of room to back away. “Might want to sit down,” Plague says to me, putting a hand on the nape of my neck.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, an impulse tells me to run, but I’m pushed towards the sofa and sat firmly in it just as my stomach does a somersault, and its contents empty out into a bucket that someone has thrown at my feet. My eyes sting, my head pounds, and my entire body shakes. To go from feeling completely fine to feeling like I’m going to die in less than two seconds is not pleasant.
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