Vowed

by Liz de Jager

  Colour flames into my cheeks and I feel ashamed that, yes, I did snoop on his life. But then, I argue to myself, he is a Spook and they have files on us too. Quid pro quo and all that.

  ‘And now?’ I ask after I nod briefly. ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘Still not sure. I’m leaning towards you being trustworthy but then you go and do silly reckless things like staying out all night, hanging around with a demon and his mates. I’ll be honest, Kit. Sometimes you feel as wild and unpredictable as the creatures you’re meant to send back for their sins.’

  ‘Wow.’ Wow, how do you come back from that? I stare at Dante and consider just walking away from the table, out of his life. Would it be possible just to ring Uncle Andrew and tell him I don’t want to work with Dante any more? To tell Suola that we will handle this ourselves? Force her to let us work the case with no Spook interference? My gut instinct tells me this is not likely to happen – I’ve taken the vow and it’s on me, there’s no way of going back now.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ‘I’m sorry you feel I can’t be trusted. But I am good at what I do. I know you’re worried that I’m young but I’d like to point out that you’re not an OAP either, so maybe less of the doubt and more support?’ I turn my coffee mug around between my hands. ‘I went to Miron last night, by myself, because I knew he’d play it straight with me. Even his lies are straight lies. With you there things could have become tricky. He doesn’t know you but he knows me and he knows my family. Maybe I should have told you what I was planning to do but I didn’t stop to think about it. I’m not used to talking to people about what I’m planning, because –’ and here I laugh wryly – ‘I act on impulse and mostly it works out okay.’

  Dante sits quietly for a few seconds, taking in what I’ve just said before speaking again. ‘Are you Fae?’

  ‘Do I look Fae?’ I finger the tips of my ears; they’re round rather than slightly pointy. ‘If I were Fae you’d never see me look tired, my hair would always be immaculate. I’d definitely not be doing this.’ I make a sweeping motion towards the cup of caffeine. ‘Besides, with no token from my liege, I’d become iron sick.’

  ‘Then why do you have magic? And why do you talk about humans as if you’re not one?’ Dante’s questions are putting me a little on edge; there’s a strange hunger in his voice that makes me uncomfortable.

  What is this? A hundred questions before lunch time? ‘I don’t know why I have magic. One of my ancestors had magic, but no one since then has had power. It turns out I’m a special snowflake and no one really knows what to do with me.’ I spread my hands on the table. ‘I suppose I tend to talk about other people who aren’t Blackharts in a way that pigeon-holes them. It makes it easier than referring to us and them, you know? Plus, it’s not so long ago that I was still one of them.’

  ‘So do you have magic because you have some Fae blood?’

  ‘No. Intermarriage and breeding between Fae and humans and other races is strictly forbidden. The offspring of those unions are usually freaks of nature. Like the cyclops or the minotaur in Crete.’ Before he can ask any further questions I hold up my hand. ‘Please, can I just finish my food? And drink my coffee? I need a few more minutes to pull myself together.’

  We sit in silence and finish our breakfast. As soon as I’m done, I pull out my credit card and do the universal sign for ‘bill please’ at our waitress. I realize, as she nods and rings up our order, that Dante and I have been on more food-eating dates than most people might go on before moving in together.

  I pay for our breakfast, disregarding Dante’s protests. The waitress ignores him too and I really quite like that but I don’t say anything.

  ‘We have to ring Professor Thorpe,’ Dante tells me as we leave the restaurant. ‘I thought that maybe we could get you cleaned up a bit before we do that. A shower will help.’

  I narrow my eyes at him. ‘Are you saying I smell?’

  He leans towards me, seriously close and takes a deep obvious sniff of me, his nose very close to the curve of my neck and shoulder.

  ‘No. You definitely don’t smell bad. You smell like you.’

  ‘That is not creepy at all,’ I tell him, my voice hitching. ‘Stop sniffing me. It’s weird.’

  ‘Come, my flat’s not too far.’ He holds open his car door for me and I hesitate. I really dislike being at the mercy of other people for my transport. ‘I promise not to ask any further questions. Or hassle you.’

  I grunt but get in the car. It’s early and the traffic in the City’s not too bad. Dante pulls up outside a Georgian town-house near Brick Lane. ‘This is it. I share this with two other agents. It’s paid for by HMDSDI.’

  He unlocks the front door and leads me through the hall, then up two flight of stairs. I see comfortably furnished rooms, a large TV and a pool table. There’s lots of open brick, wooden and stone floors. One room seems to be made entirely of glass, with floor-to-ceiling windows and even the roof seems to be made of glass. The place looks huge and completely not what I expected.

  ‘It’s pretty flash,’ I say, tossing my backpack onto the table in the large kitchen.

  Dante looks around and nods. ‘It is. My parents think this is part of my university bursary. The other agents are young too, in their early twenties, so they can double as students.’

  ‘Just look at you, lying to your parents.’ I say it jokingly but a flash of pain crosses his handsome features. ‘So, where’s this shower you promised me?’

  ‘Through here. My room is through that door.’ He opens a linen cupboard in the passage and hands me fluffy towels. ‘I’ll even let you borrow a clean T-shirt.’

  Biscuits and a pot of freshly brewed tea are waiting for me when I walk back into the kitchen wearing a supersoft long-sleeved Henley T-shirt I’m sure is too small for Dante over my jeans. Dante has a laptop open and a large notepad to the side where he’s making notes.

  He looks up when I come in and gives a nod of approval.

  ‘At least you look more awake now.’

  ‘I feel better, thanks.’ I smile to show him that I harbour no hard feelings. Really, power showers are the best. Although I love the house we have in North London, my en suite is tiny and the shower is more a suggestion of how a shower should work than the real thing.

  ‘Let’s give Professor Thorpe a call now. It’s past half-nine so she should be in the office already.’ He spins his mobile towards me and I dial, hitting the speaker button.

  ‘This is Imelda Thorpe. How may I help you?’

  ‘Prof? It’s Kit.’

  ‘And Dante, professor. I hope we’re not calling you too early?’

  Her laugh is light. ‘No, not at all. I have Kit’s number here and if she wasn’t going to ring me in the next half-hour I was going to ring her myself. I can email the info through to you too, it’s not much, but it is interesting.’ There’s the sound of her shuffling papers around and then she clears her throat. ‘So, this Lord Brixi, who gave our modern Brixton its name. He grew up in England in the eleventh century. He and his family had been on the up and up for some years. For his loyalty and steadfastness he was given various pieces of land in the south-east of England. He kept his nose clean and seemed well liked. Basically, he was pretty unremarkable. He fought when he was asked to, sent his men off to war and did all the things a lord was supposed to do for his liege lord.’

  ‘Sounds pretty average to me,’ Dante says, making notes.

  ‘It does, doesn’t it?’ She shuffles more papers. ‘But I checked back on who this Brixi chap and his family were before William the Conqueror invaded England. Then I came across something interesting. It seems that Brixi was the second youngest son of a noble lord. He had no prospects at all, with his older brother inheriting his father’s lands. Other titles were bestowed on his other much older siblings, due to the various battles they fought in, to reward their valour. No, what makes Brixi interesting is that there were rumours of him being a necromancer.’ She pauses for a few secon
ds, letting this sink in.

  ‘A necromancer? Like raising the dead and turning them into zombies?’ Dante’s voice rises incredulously. ‘No way. I mean, come on, that’s just . . .’

  She tuts at the interruption. ‘Wrong. You’re thinking of the Hollywood and Dungeons and Dragons version of what a necromancer is. No, it is said that our friend Brixi could speak to the dead.’

  ‘Why would he want to do that?’

  ‘To find out the future,’ I say, pleased that I can lend something to the conversation. ‘It’s said that the dead can foretell the future.’

  Dante’s expression veers between disbelief and the need to keep an open mind. He has seen me do magic, so he should be a bit prepared . . .

  ‘What Kit says is correct.’ Imelda’s voice holds a hint of approval I can pick up even over the phone. ‘The phenomenon is well documented across a range of ancient, medieval and modern scholarly writings. It’s even mentioned in the Bible. The Christian bible, that is. Anyway, Brixi is careful in all his dealings with the Crown and manages to retain the lands he won even after William turns up. He goes on to become a moderately successful landholder. But it’s his several times great-grandson who interests us, really. That young man, a fine upstanding lad, went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, throwing in his lot with a bunch of holy knights. But fate had other ideas for young Oswald de Brixi who disappears for years and years and then, one day, reappears back at his family’s manor with a crazy story.’

  There’s the rustling of paper and she mutters to herself. It gives me the chance to take in much of her story. ‘Prof, did you even sleep last night?’ I ask her, having an inkling how many texts and books she must have read to get even a smidge of this info. Doing research really is long and tiring.

  ‘I caught a nap for a bit. Why? Anyway, this is the really interesting bit. The young lordling said he had been captured during battle and sold to a Bedouin magician and had learned much from the old man during their wanderings around the desert. His own talent for speaking with the dead had saved him from certain death at the hand of the magician’s tribe when the old man passed away.’

  I bite back a yawn and ignore Dante rolling his eyes at me.

  ‘That’s really interesting,’ he says, clearly wondering where this is going.

  ‘Isn’t it just? I had such fun looking all of this up.’

  ‘So what happens then, to Oswald?’ I coax her.

  ‘Oh, he gets married and has some kids. Becomes very staid, buys a position at Court. You know, the usual thing.’

  ‘What does that have to do with our kids disappearing?’

  ‘Ah, so this is the part where we hit the real folklore bit.’ She chuckles to herself. ‘Legend states that Oswald never grew old. That he never died. There’s proof of the village laying a charge against him and his family when the village children started disappearing. Words like witchcraft, necromancy and vile magics are used in the tract. The Crown sent an investigator but he found no basis for these accusations, explaining that Oswald’s continued good health had to do with his Bedouin learning.’

  ‘Creepy.’

  ‘Very Elizabeth Bathory,’ I say. ‘Do you think he stole the children and . . . I don’t know, performed some kind of magic ritual to steal their youth?’ This really was a possibility. And everyone thought that the story of the evil queen in Snow White was just a story.

  Professor Thorpe sighs heavily. ‘Who knows the truth, Kit? It could be that he had some magical ability. It could be that Brixi had some Fae heritage no one knew about.’ At my indrawn breath, she hurries on. ‘I know we’ve been told the Fae do not procreate with other races, because it’s so horrifically taboo for them, but this was a long time ago. I doubt humans or Fae really abided by the laws as much as we do at present.’

  ‘So what happened to Brixi and his family?’

  ‘There are records of them all moving across to Europe, but that’s it for now.’

  ‘Professor, if I give you my email, can you forward your research to us?’ Dante asks, watching me with narrowed eyes as I stand and stretch, trying to ease my muscles. Also mostly to wake up.

  Dante gives her his Spook email address and I can hear her type it in.

  ‘Professor, do we know if the Brixi family is still around?’

  ‘The surname is no longer in much use. I’ve found a few in America, but there is one in Germany and another in Poland.’

  ‘Is that unusual? I mean, a surname no longer being used?’

  ‘Not really. A lot of older surnames disappear. I found evidence of another Brixi called Brixi Wolfspear. Can you imagine going around in the modern day and being called Wolfspear?’ She laughs. ‘I need to head off soon, you two. I have another appointment in a few minutes. I’ve sent the document I’ve compiled on to you, Dante, and a copy to you, too, Kit. If you kids need anything else, call me.’

  We chorus goodbye to her and she rings off.

  ‘My head hurts with all this stuff,’ Dante tells me, pulling his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. ‘How do you keep track of everything?’

  ‘Usually my cases are easier than this,’ I reluctantly admit. ‘I’m told about a Fae transgressing by being here too long or whatever. I follow them around for a few days, then I catch them and send them back.’

  ‘This is definitely not one of those.’

  I shake my head. ‘No, definitely not. What do you want to do?’

  ‘Not sure. What is Kyle doing with the baggie of creature spit I gave you?’

  ‘Aha, good thinking. He will have dropped it off with his little friend at the lab.’ I reach for my phone. ‘I’ll give him a call while you make me another caffeine-related drink.’

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  I’m standing in the lounge area looking up at the skylight, watching the rain thunder down, when my phone buzzes. ‘Where have you been?’ Aiden’s voice roars in my ear as I answer on the second ring. I hold the phone a few centimetres away from my head. No need for speakerphone here! ‘I’ve left messages at home and Kyle just kept saying you were out. Are you avoiding me?’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Aiden. Why would I be avoiding you?’

  ‘How would I know? Guilt? Because you’re running around with a Spook and Andrew told you to keep me close?’

  I’m tempted to tut at him but I know it enrages him stratospherically. Tutting and sucking your teeth at him is like waving a red flag.

  ‘I’ve really not had much time, Aiden, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘At Dante’s house. We’re going over our notes.’

  He makes a noise that’s not at all polite. ‘Going over notes? Do you fancy this guy, Kit?’

  I’ve been wondering that myself. I like Dante, but do I like him, like him? When we accidentally brush against one another or when we talk, why do I find myself thinking of Thorn? How Thorn would always find my hand to give my fingers a quick squeeze or manage a smile for me even when things were going completely pear-shaped. The thought made me grin and I realize that I’ve just been standing there, with Aiden’s question still hanging unanswered.

  ‘Kit? Oh my God. You can’t seriously like this guy! What about Thorn?’

  ‘Aiden, don’t shout, please. Dante is cute but that’s it and Thorn . . .’ My voice hitches on his name. ‘Thorn isn’t here, and besides, it’s none of your business. I’ll probably never see him again.’ I end and almost curse myself for the way I have to talk past the heaviness in my heart.

  There are some choice words Aiden learned from his mum during her stay in Russia which aren’t easy to translate. He uses those now as I hear something crash. ‘Shit, I dropped this bloody canopic jar.’

  ‘Canopic jar? What are you doing?’ I have to yell to be heard over the sound of screeching in the background. ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Unclean spirit running amok in a British Museum storeroom.’

  Never let it be said Aiden can’t be concise.

  ‘Do you need
help?’

  ‘No, no. I’ve got it.’ The noise level increases. ‘Shit, Kit, I’ve got to go. The thing is trying to drag Shaun into a sarcophagus. I’ll call you later.’

  Before I can answer he hangs up, but just as he does I can hear him bellowing at whatever he faced and that bellow held a lot of wolf snarl.

  I pocket my phone and head back to the large lounge area where Dante’s spread the notes out on the low coffee table.

  ‘You okay?’ he asks me as I sit down on the floor opposite him.

  I nod and give him a tight smile. ‘Kyle’s with his friend at the lab today. They’re making headway with the baggie of spittle you gave us. So far it looks acidic and has low levels of toxin, but we can’t work out if it contains a soporific or not.’

  ‘You don’t look surprised.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering about that thing, let’s call it Bob, for now. I’ve been puzzling over how Bob’s been able to get into these kids’ rooms, overpower them and drag them out. Without a sound.’

  ‘Magic?’

  ‘I am rolling my eyes at you, in case you can’t see,’ I tell him, doing just that. ‘I’m thinking there must two people involved. So, we say Bob is the guy who does the getting into the kids’ rooms because he can somehow get through walls, like a ghost or apparition.’ I look up at Dante where he’s sprawled on the couch and he nods, waving a hand at me to continue. ‘So Bob then somehow be-spells the kids, or –’ I hold up a finger dramatically – ‘he uses his venom on them to make them drowsy and easy to handle. It stops the kids from raising the alarm.’

  ‘Okay.’ He does the hand-twirling thing again and I sigh. Obviously I’m doing all the hard work in this partnership.

  ‘After this, he still has to get the children back out again without any alarm being raised. However, I’ve never come across a creature that can dematerialize a human to drag them through walls. Bob can’t have taken them out the same way he came.’

  ‘But we already know none of the CCTV cameras captured anything in the stairwells.’