Vowed (8 page)

‘Can either of your parents See?’

The look Dante levels at me tells me he knows I’m fishing. ‘I don’t know who my real parents are. I’m adopted.’

‘Wow.’ I grimace. ‘Sorry, that must have been hard for you.’

Dante’s expression is frosty, and he looks me over as if I’ve just suggested his family might be cannibals. ‘No, not really. The family that adopted me is the only family I
need. My mum and dad are decent people and my sister . . . anyway, they were fine and are a great family. I couldn’t have been happier.’

His expression warms as he talks of his loved ones and, just like that, Dante becomes human and likeable. I suspect it’s what he planned all along because he sits back a bit and smirks at
me as if he just stole all the cream.

‘Can I point out that we’ve been having an actual conversation for five minutes at least and you’ve not told me you dislike me once?’ he says after a few seconds,
finishing his tea.

‘It’s still early,’ I tell him. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself.’

I grab my file and open it up. ‘They’re all from the same estate. That’s unusual by itself.’

‘You want to go there now?’ Dante asks, digging in his pocket for his wallet. ‘It’s not far. The traffic shouldn’t be an issue.’

‘Yeah. Let’s go see what we can See.’

Dante pays up and I leave the tip for Hilary. She waves us off and clears our plates as we head into the night.

‘I’ve got my bike here,’ I tell him as we near where he’s parked his Lexus. ‘Wait for me.’

I walk the short distance between my bike and his car and undo the light glamour I threw over it, concealing my leather jacket and helmet. I shrug my jacket on and adjust my fringe before
sliding the helmet on.

I gun the bike’s engine; it answers a deep wuff beneath me and a thrill crawls up my spine the way it usually does when I get on it. Dante’s in the driver’s seat when I pull up
next to him.

‘Nice bike,’ he tells me. ‘Those pipes definitely aren’t legal.’

‘Loud pipes save lives,’ I answer by rote and smile at him. ‘Let’s go.’

I slam my visor down and pull out into the minimal traffic, keeping to the speed limit and riding sensibly for a change so that he can keep up with me in his Lexus.

It’s one of my favourite things, riding at night. There’s something primitive about it that I like. Just me and the darkness out on the road. Even in the cities you can sometimes
feel it. That you’re being watched and whatever’s watching you isn’t benign or human.

Dante overtakes me as we near Brixton and gestures out of the window, indicating that I should follow him. I tuck myself behind him at a safe distance and cruise along until we pull off the main
roads and take a series of side roads. Small businesses are shuttered and there’s an air of melancholy about the place. Graffiti tags are thrown up but none of them looks familiar.

We eventually come to a halt in front of a large seventies-built concrete block, flanked by two more blocks slightly lower than the main one. Even the occasional bit of lighting makes the place
look tired and in desperate need of a lot of money to tidy it up or, failing that, complete demolition to enable a fresh start. The three buildings form a horseshoe shape and in the middle is a
patch of miserable-looking grass, with a sign that reads ‘NO BALL GAMES’ leaning crankily to the side.

I still the engine and get off the bike, pulling my helmet off.

‘This is it,’ Dante says as he gets out of his car and folds his arms on the roof, looking at the three blocks of flats. ‘It doesn’t look like much.’

This, if I didn’t know better, is the trigger for the screaming to start.

As we speed towards the noise, I’m gratified to notice that although we are the same height, I’m the faster runner. Dante is only a step behind me when we round the
corner of the central block. We are suddenly facing the banshee as she lifts her head from her hands and lets out another ear-achingly loud wail. She’s in the process of floating upwards when
she sees us but holds out her hand to us to stop us from interrupting her mid-wail. Dante makes as if to run at her but I grip his wrist and shake my head.

The banshee’s doing her job; interrupting her would mean she would lose track of her passenger, and that could be potentially disastrous for them both.

‘What is that?’ Dante asks, shifting uneasily. He’s wearing silver knuckledusters engraved with sigils that look like angelic script. My magic pings unhappily and I take a step
back. Using angelic script on a banshee is like using a nuclear bomb to stop a peaceful sit-in demonstration by unarmed elderly hippies.

‘A banshee. She’s a portent of death.’

‘No shit,’ he says, sounding shocked. ‘What’s it doing here?’

‘When she’s done, we can talk to her. Ask her. Maybe she knows something about the kids who’ve gone missing.’

‘How is no one awake with her howling like that?’

‘Whoever she’s here for can hear her. The average human can’t. The frequencies the banshees operate on aren’t usually audible to them.’ I watch him thoughtfully for
a second. ‘And if you’re wondering, I’m not counting you as an average human.’

‘Huh. Thanks, I think.’ He nods. ‘You explain stuff well.’

‘Thank you.’

I turn to watch the banshee just as she drops her arms to her sides and floats back down to the ground. At the same time she transforms from ethereal frightening wailing woman to a pretty
twenty-something brunette with large eyes and a smiling mouth.

‘Ah, an actual Blackhart. And you’ve brought a friend?’ She’s suddenly very close to Dante, really in his face, but he stands his ground and doesn’t flinch when she
takes a deep whiff of him. ‘He doesn’t smell of your blood, Kit. Who is he?’

‘He’s a Spook,’ I say and watch her recoil as if she’s just stepped in fox droppings. She’s at my side in a flash.

‘And you’re
talking
to it?’ Her voice rose incredulously. ‘Does Andrew know?’

‘He knows.’

‘Oh.’ She deflates a little and I grin, knowing she was hoping to get some gossip to hold over me so that I had to do her favours. ‘That sucks.’

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask her. Female banshees just love talking about their jobs.

‘There’s a descendant of the MacDougal clan that lives here. I’m tied to their family so I’ve come to sing him home.’

‘Is he dead, now?’ Dante asks, unable to keep out of the conversation.

‘No. I have three more visits to do before he dies.’ She frowns at him and then at me. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Have you seen anyone here that doesn’t belong?’ I counter. ‘Children have gone missing from this estate in the past and we’re thinking of investigating.’

She crosses her arms over her chest. ‘And what’s in it for me, if I answer questions?’

My hand slips into my jeans pocket and I draw out a single white pearl, not too large, maybe the size of my little fingernail.

‘I’m happy to part with this
if
what you tell us is worthwhile.’

The banshee flutters. I see her real form overlay her corporeal body and I try not to flinch. Next to me Dante mutters under his breath but he stands his ground and, to my surprise, he moves
closer to me, as if he’s actually thinking of backing me up in case things go south.

‘There is something here,’ she says, her voice low. ‘I’ve sensed it in the past when I’ve come to check on my charge, and each time I felt that it had grown
stronger.’ She sighs dramatically. ‘I’d like to call it a ghost, but it isn’t that. It is something different. Something that is pretty old. Older than me,
certainly.’

I frown and look around, taking in the derelict little garden and play area. ‘Has it ever tried to make a move against you?’ I ask her.

‘No. It watches and seethes. It feels angry sometimes too. As if it’s annoyed I’m in its territory perhaps.’ She reaches out a hand to me. ‘Give me the
pearl.’

‘I’m not done yet,’ I say vehemently.

‘How often have you been here?’ Dante asks her.

The banshee stares off into the night, gathering her thoughts before answering.

‘I have come here for the past six years, in human time, at least twice a year, if not more, to check on him. Then I go away because nothing in his immediate future showed me that he would
die.’

‘And you saw the
creature
each time?’

She nods mutely, her attention focused on my hand holding the pearl.

‘Have you ever spoken to it?’ I ask her and her gaze meets mine reluctantly.

‘I am not in the habit of hanging around conversing with things that are likely to do me harm, Blackhart.’ Her tone and gaze as she flicks a look over Dante is rather pointed.

‘Is it male or female?’ Dante seems unfazed by her regard and I can’t help but feel a little impressed by his attitude.

She shrugs elegantly. ‘I don’t know. Look, Blackhart, I have places to be and litanies to sing. I don’t know who or what this thing is that you’re seeking on the estate.
But I know it’s here often and I know it makes things unpleasant for me and
others
who have to work in the area. I suggest you look to the history of this place.’ She shows me
her teeth in a small sharp smile. ‘I wish I knew more, Blackhart, but I do not. Now keep your word and give me my reward.’

I open my hand and turn my palm upwards so that she can grab the pearl without touching my skin, but even so the coldness that makes up her presence sends shivers down my spine and I sag a
little as a bit of my life force is taken in the exchange.

‘Good luck,’ she says, turning on her heel and walking off towards the back of the estate where a row of trees separates the grounds from another set of low buildings. As we watch
she fades slowly away until there is no sign of her at all.

‘That,’ Dante says, with a half-laugh that has a touch of nerves to it, ‘was both creepy and cool.’

‘That cost me a very expensive pearl,’ I point out, grimacing. ‘Dammit.’

‘I think that the only way to make sure you get paid for it is to take on the job, don’t you think?’

I narrow my eyes at Dante as I start moving back towards the front of the buildings where we’ve left our transport parked.

‘Don’t push it,’ I tell him. ‘Let’s see what else we can find first.’

The group of teens hanging around my bike look as if they are up to no good. I leave Dante behind as I stride towards them, pulling myself to my full height, shoulders back and
chin raised.

‘If you don’t get off my bike,’ I tell them conversationally, ‘I’ll have to make you.’

A tall boy with short dreads looks over at me, his mouth open and smiling. ‘We’re just looking, right? This is a smooth ride.’

I look at the Ducati and think that maybe I should have come here in Dante’s Lexus instead. But then it would have meant I was reliant on him for a ride home or to the nearest Tube station
at least and I’m not keen on that either.

‘She’s a bit of a handful,’ I say to him and walk closer. A girl’s straddling the bike but her feet don’t even touch the ground. She shoots me a venomous look as I
near. ‘Off my bike, please.’ I keep my voice cool and measured because I don’t really know how to deal with them. There are five of them, and the way they are aware of one
another, spatially and physically, tells me they’re a tight group of friends. Dread Boy is fast and he pulls the girl off the seat with one arm around her waist. He swings her to the side and
holds a finger out to her when she opens her mouth to protest.

‘No. Not a word.’ He turns to his friends, who look awkward as they’re not sure what to do now that they’ve been caught tampering with my bike. Their indecision comes as
a surprise, but I wear my most stoic and unimpressed face as I watch them watch me and Dante.

‘There, all yours.’ He waves a hand. ‘No harm done.’

For a second I think that’s going to be that, but two of them surge towards me and I react instinctively, reaching down whip-fast for the knife in my boot. The sight of the blade reversed
against the black of my jacket as I drop into a ready stance shocks them enough that they stop their advance.

Then one boy holds out his hand and shows me he’s got my helmet.

‘I just wanted to give this back, innit?’ he says, his voice annoyed, rather than scared. ‘Geez, woman. You need to chill.’

I point the knife at him. ‘Put it on the seat. Then step back.’

I feel like a complete idiot. Aiden, had he been here, would be laughing his ass off and joking about how I can handle a banshee and all kinds of monsters from the Otherwhere – but a group
of South London youths had me on edge, making bad decisions and acting like a crazy person.

‘What are you and Captain Tattoo doing here, on our block?’ Dread Boy asks me.

For a moment I think about lying but then I decide that it’s not necessary. These are the kids Suola wants us to speak to. I look over my shoulder at Dante and motion him forward.

‘This is Dante. I’m Kit. We’re investigating the little kids going missing from the estate.’

If I had grown another head and done the can-can, I don’t think they could’ve looked more surprised.

Dread Boy frowns a bit but it’s the boy who had hold of my helmet who speaks up. He’s got strange hazel-coloured eyes that are easy to see in the dim light. Not an unattractive face
either; he just maybe needed to eat a bit more.

‘So you guys’re cops then?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Marvin, how can they be cops? She’s like our age, right?’

‘The dude, though, he looks old enough and uptight enough to be a copper.’

‘Have you ever seen cops who look like this?’

‘Could be undercover, right? Like in
Jump Street
.’

Everyone turns to look at the last one who spoke. Even in the bad lighting I can see the boy, no older than fourteen, flush.

‘You watch too many old TV shows, bruv. Seriously.’

‘Shut up. It was a movie, man.’

There’s some shoving and pushing and I try not to grin because this is what it felt like dealing with my younger cousins.

‘Just because we’re young doesn’t mean we don’t know what we’re doing,’ Dante puts in. ‘I work for a government agency and Kit is, well – how do I
put this? Freelance? She’s used to dealing with monsters and things.’