by Helen Harper
‘I demand that my trial goes ahead today!’ he shrieks. ‘I’ve been waiting six months! You can’t expect me to wait longer just because a bunch of guzzlers have corked it. It’s completely unreasonable!’ With each word, his voice gets higher and higher. I wince. Extra reinforcement or not, if he manages much more of this then all that pretty new glass will be shattered again.
Meg, the stern receptionist with eyebrows that have a life of their own and a personality as charming as a python’s, glares at him icily. ‘Do you see my badge?’ she enquires. ‘Are you literate? What does it say?’
‘I don’t give a rat’s arse what it says! I…’
She reaches over and slaps him round the face with considerable force. I’m impressed. The daemon is stunned into silence. ‘I am a receptionist.’ She points again. ‘See? Re-cep-tion-ist.’ She enunciates each syllable as if the daemon in front of her is stupid. Which he probably is. ‘I am not a lawyer. I am not a judge, although you can bet your soul that I’m judging you right now and finding you wanting. I cannot affect court dates. I cannot run trials.’ She leans across her desk again and the hapless daemon shrinks backwards. ‘Now get the hell out of here before I decide to stop being so nice.’
He doesn’t need telling twice. Spinning round and almost colliding with me, he hurtles off, skidding on the floor before slamming open the door so that it judders. He’s not completely cowed, however; he glances over his shoulder and throws Meg such a look of hatred that lesser mortals would flinch from. Not her. She reaches calmly under the desk as if she’s about to draw out a weapon. The daemon drops his gaze and departs abruptly.
I clap. Meg’s eyes snap to me. ‘What do you want?’
‘What? Are you going to be mean to me too? I saved your life, Margaret.’
The expression on her face is one that a sullen teenager would be proud of. ‘I don’t care.’
My eyebrows fly up. ‘You don’t care that you’re alive?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t care that you saved me. I’m not going to bend the rules just because once upon a time you hauled me out of a burning building.’
I stand my ground. ‘This burning building.’
She shrugs. ‘You can’t corrupt me. I’m sorry all your pointy-fanged friends are dead.’ She doesn’t look sorry at all and I like that she’s not changing her tune. She’s a woman of conviction, if nothing else. ‘But there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. If you had any sense, you’d have left London by now.’
‘I’m here for Harry D’Argneau,’ I explain.
‘He’s in court,’ she snaps. ‘It’s an important case and can’t be interrupted. It’s one of only three still going ahead today.’
I remain patient. ‘I know. I’ll wait quietly at the back of the room until he’s done.’
Her malevolence increases. She actually hates me more now for having saved her life. Then I consider the daemon who just skedaddled out of here; maybe she hates just about everyone. She’s an equal opportunities kinda person.
‘I’ll be good. Scout’s promise.’
She regards me silently before heaving a sigh as if all this is a great imposition. ‘Fine,’ she says. ‘Sign in here.’
I scribble my name, making sure it’s illegible so that it could belong to just about anyone. There’s no point in making life easy for anyone who might be tracking me. Then I bow my head respectfully and stroll off in the direction of courtroom number two.
There’s a single guard stationed outside. Without glancing at my face, he gestures at me to wait so I rock back on my heels and try to be good. After a couple of minutes, at some invisible signal, he steps aside and lets me to enter. Frankly, I think he just wants to look important. Pleased that part is over, I head inside. There are plenty of empty seats; most people are choosing to stay home this week and even the usual court tourists are absent. I sit towards the back and then I wait.
Back in my PI days, I spent a fair bit of time in courtrooms. It’s not as exciting as it sounds; usually there’s just a lot of hanging around. Plus the legalese, which I’m sure is designed to be incomprehensible, makes the proceedings seem far longer than they need to be. I have a reasonable respect for the legal system – both Agathos and human ‒ but surely they could spice things up sometimes? A Few Good Men this is not.
D’Argneau is at the front, head bowed as he pretends to take copious notes. The barrister for the prosecution appears equally bored. I’m not surprised; there’s a witchy witness with astonishingly frizzy hair droning on about accounts up at the front. Less than a minute in and I already want to shoot myself in the head.
The defendant seems to be a youngish daemon wearing a sharp suit. It’s difficult to tell for sure, as I can only see the back of his head. I recognise the tailoring, however; I’ve not spent years hanging around my grandfather for nothing. Whoever this character is, he has a fair bit of money. He’s wearing Savile Row’s finest but, despite his apparent wealth and his proud posture, the tips of his pointed ears are flushed red. He’s as guilty as sin.
My own ears prickle and I realise that the judge’s attention has been diverted from the proceedings. He’s noticed me sitting quietly and is gaping at me as if he’s never seen a vampire before. He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, then he starts to tug at his collar and twitch. I give him a little wave in return. It does just what I hope and makes him even more uncomfortable.
‘So, as you can tell from the dividends arrived at through calculation of Mr Aaron’s assets, the taxation requirements are substantially…’
The judge coughs. ‘Let’s take a break.’
Everyone jerks in surprise. D’Argneau’s head turns, his eyes suspicious, but comprehension dawns when he catches sight of me. He immediately stands. ‘Excellent idea, Your Honour.’
The guilt-ridden Mr Aaron isn’t particularly thrilled. He tugs at D’Argneau’s sleeve. The lawyer soothes him expertly. I slip back out again.
When D’Argneau emerges, he jerks his head to the right. I nod imperceptibly and follow. For once, he’s being discreet; who knew he was capable of such a thing? I suppose it’s testament to just how dire the situation is. I run my tongue across my teeth, pausing at each fang. The feeling is strangely comforting.
D’Argneau opens a door and gestures inside but I wait for him to enter first. I want him in front of me and visible at all times. As soon as the door closes behind us, he stretches out his arms and envelops me in a hug. He squeezes tightly. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’
I wait until he’s done and then step back. ‘I thought only important trials were running today,’ I say, to avoid hearing any more sympathy. Platitudes don’t make me feel any better.
He frowns. ‘Oh, you mean the Aaron thing?’ He waves a hand dismissively. ‘There’s not much the government takes more seriously than tax evasion.’
‘Unless,’ I say expressionlessly, ‘they’re the ones evading tax.’
He looks blank for a moment then laughs. It sounds forced. ‘Oh, they take avoiding their own tax quite seriously, too.’ He pauses. ‘Has Michael’s body been found yet?’
I tell a version of the truth. ‘No.’
D’Argneau’s lips tighten; I can almost imagine he cares. I examine him more closely. There are heavy shadows under his eyes and his hair isn’t as perfectly coiffured as usual. He looks almost as haggard as Foxworthy. I have a sudden flash of insight. ‘You’ve lost a lot of clients, haven’t you?’
He winces. ‘Yes.’ His nose wrinkles and he balls up his fists. ‘Just as I was getting somewhere. No human lawyer had ever got so close to a Family as I did. I was earning respect and. I was gaining their trust. And now,’ he exhales heavily, ‘now all that’s gone to shit.’ He glares at me. ‘Before you castigate me for thinking only of myself and money, a lot of people at my firm are going to lose their jobs because of what’s happened.’
‘It’s early days. The Families might regroup yet.’
D’Argneau snort
s. ‘You and I both know it’s too late for that.’ He lifts his chin. ‘They’re saying it’s this religious group. Tov V’ra?’
‘They were just the puppets.’
He leans towards me. ‘Then tell me. Who were the masters? Because I swear to God, Bo, I will hunt them down and…’
‘Kakos daemons.’
D’Argneau shrinks. ‘Oh.’
‘You’re going to hunt them down and what?’
He sits down heavily on the nearest chair. ‘Shit.’
I don’t pretend to be surprised by his sudden volte-face. ‘Listen, this isn’t a social call. If you want to help bring down the people who did this, I need a favour.’
His shoulders slump. ‘I didn’t think it was the Kakos daemons. They stay hidden. They stay out of things.’
If I thought that he would swing his allegiance towards them, always in pursuit of the next big thing or next quick buck, I was mistaken. Harry D’Argneau is well and truly terrified. ‘They’re not interested in you,’ I tell him.
He raises his head. ‘You don’t know that! I worked for one of the Families!’ He gets to his feet. ‘I need to leave. If I can get out of the city, out of the country, then…’
‘Harry, they got what they wanted. They wanted the Families destroyed. You’re small fry.’
There’s enough of his arrogance left for him to manage another glare. ‘No, I’m bloody not! I’m well respected! I’m…’
I hold up my hand. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. ‘You know what I mean. If they wanted you dead, you already would be.’
He’s only slightly comforted. ‘I should still leave. Maybe I could come back in a few years when things have quietened down.’
I shrug. ‘If you want to leave, then leave. You can still do me that favour from abroad.’
He shakes his head violently. ‘I’m not going near any Kakos daemons. I’m just not.’
‘You don’t have to. I only need some information.’
‘No! Didn’t you hear me? I’m not touching them!’
I gaze up to the heavens. There’s an odd damp spot on the ceiling in the shape of Italy. Huh. ‘I’m not asking you to.’
‘It’s alright for you,’ he complains. ‘You’ve already killed one. They’re probably terrified of you. That’s why you’re still alive.’
‘I didn’t kill one.’ It seems like I’ll be repeating this story for a bloody long time.
‘Yes, you did. It was on TV.’
I run a hand through my hair. ‘So it must be true? Because it was in glorious technicolour?’
He’s still confused. ‘But…’
‘Look. Half the reason the daemons are going to get away with this is because of reactions like yours. People are too scared of them, they’re too afraid to act. It’s a ridiculous way to behave.’
D’Argneau is momentarily silent then he angles his face stubbornly towards me. ‘Is it? Because that’s how the vampires have been behaving for centuries. They’ve used people’s fear to get what they want.’
I’d argue if I didn’t agree with him. ‘You’re right.’
Slightly mollified, he nods. ‘What is it you want me to do?’ Before I can tell him, he rushes in with, ‘Not that I’m promising I will, mind. I’ll need to consider all the ramifications.’
‘I need a detailed report of the legal status of the vampires now that the Families don’t exist.’
D’Argneau’s face clears immediately. ‘That’s it?’
‘You don’t get off that easily. I also require information about any legal proceedings during the last hundred years that have been brought against Kakos daemons. If any of them got so much as a fine for avoiding the congestion charge, I want to know about it. Also, dig around Streets of Fire.’
‘The internet company?’
‘Yep. Find out who really owns it and whether there have been any under-the-table deals.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘It’s probably better that way.’
D’Argneau’s expression is troubled. ‘I can do those things, even though that’s three favours, not one. But Bo, what exactly are you planning here? Because if you’re thinking of taking on the Kakos daemons…’
I soften my tone. ‘Wouldn’t you?’
He grimaces. ‘No. I’d run away from this city as fast as I possibly could. As I think I’ve already made clear.’
‘You don’t give yourself enough credit, Harry,’ I tell him. ‘I think you’d probably stay and fight.’
‘I can’t fight a Kakos daemon.’
I smile, although there’s no humour in it. ‘Oh, you’d be surprised. There’s more than one way to skin a daemon.’
My words ring hollow, even to my own ears.
Chapter Two: Safe House
I wait at the back door. It’s difficult to put in security features when you’re dealing with a bunch of tribers who can read your mind; as a result, we have been forced to resort to the most basic identification techniques – I see you, I know you, there’s no daemon with you, you can enter. It’s hardly ideal but it’s the best we’ve got right now.
I think O’Shea is hoping that Kimchi will alert us if X shows up but Kimchi is no attack dog. Even if he weren’t chubby, with more drool than fang, he loves X. He’s more likely to roll over and beg for a belly scratch than to warn us that we’re all about to be murdered because X has changed his mind.
Maria lets me in. Of all of us, she’s managed to remain the most cheerful. Then again, she’s the one who has the least connection to all this. Part of me wonders, though, if her cheerfulness is a mask. I found her a few weeks ago in a seedy sex club where she was being trafficked and I can’t begin to imagine what she’s been through. Even so, her spirit has most definitely not been cowed. I keep trying to persuade her to move on. I can give her money, contacts, whatever she wants, and I know of at least two women’s shelters which would do her a damn sight more good than I can. She insists she’s staying. A teenager’s veneer is harder to break through than I’d expected – especially one who’s had such a godawful time of it up till now.
I raise my eyebrows at her.
‘Is okay,’ she tells me. ‘No change.’
I sigh; I suppose that’s the most I can hope for right now. I step across the threshold and head upstairs.
The house, which Rogu3 found for us, is in a small, well-kept street in Hounslow. It was lying vacant – a result of the many bank repossessions in the area. There’s no furniture or running water but there’s a roof and it’s relatively safe. Once upon a time we could have used virtually any property but my vampire status has made that considerably more difficult. If a person owns it, whether they’re on holiday or not, I need a damned invitation to enter. Even this place has time limitations because we’ve decided never to stay anywhere for more than two nights. We have to keep moving and we have to keep Michael safe. X has let us go for now but he might change his mind. He told me that he’s petty like that. Besides, the other Kakos daemons are an unknown quantity ‒ and there are others we need to worry about. I’m not going to take unnecessary risks, not with my friends and most definitely not with Michael.
O’Shea appears in the hallway. I pretend not to notice his relief that I’m back. ‘Good. I’ve just been up to see him. He woke up long enough to take a few mouthfuls of soup and now he’s back down again.’
‘Did he say anything?’
O’Shea shakes his head. I wait for the normally cheery Agathos daemon to comment on my absence but he remains silent. I can tell from the way he’s acting that he thinks I’m making a mistake by going after X and his buddies. Whether he’s not saying anything because he knows he won’t change my mind or because he’s afraid that I’ll do something scary to him for speaking up, I’m not sure.
I lick my lips and fill the void. ‘You shouldn’t have left him alone.’
‘Rogu3 is there.’
I curse. ‘He’s supposed to be investigating Vince Hale.’ X might have tigh
tened his security but Hale is another matter. An adept hacker like Rogu3 should find it easy to break into his systems ‒ should being the operative word, of course.
O’Shea steps back. ‘I’ll let him explain.’ I nod tersely then start up the stairs. ‘Bo?’
‘Yeah?’
‘We need to leave as soon as night falls. You’ve got an hour or two at best.’
I nod in acknowledgment. ‘Okay.’
The room where Michael is sleeping is dark. The first thing we did when we got here was block the windows with cardboard. He seems to find light painful, together with moving, talking, breathing and anything else involved in staying alive. I check his chest; it’s rising and falling with his shallow, ragged breaths and there’s a wheezing sound. That’s my man, fighting to the last.
Kimchi, who is curled up at Michael’s feet, wags his tail. I scratch his ears and eye Rogu3. The teenager has had to do a lot of growing up recently. He gives me a crooked smile. ‘He’s doing okay,’ he tells me quietly.
Another okay. I don’t like okay, in fact I’m starting to bloody well hate okay, but I force a smile in return. ‘Have you got through to Hale?’ I ask.
He grimaces. ‘I don’t have the right equipment, Bo. He’s a Member of Parliament and the firewalls surrounding those systems are stringent. If I can get home, I have some software that…’
‘It’s too dangerous. Tell me what you need and I’ll go out and buy it.’
He rolls his eyes in exasperation. ‘This isn’t the sort of stuff you can buy off the high street. It took months to build those programmes.’
‘Can’t you access them remotely?’
‘My parents made me uninstall it all after…’ His voice trails off. Bugger it. He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I kept copies but they’re hidden away. Only I can access them. I splashed out on some biometric protection, thinking I was being clever.’ His shoulders slump. ‘I have to go home.’
