Vowed Read online

  Morika’s head comes up and I see her nostrils flare as she catches my scent. The three Fae behind her stop in confusion when they see me, but the human just keeps on walking, his head bent while his thumbs work the keypad of his mobile phone, oblivious to any threat.

  I stand quietly, just watching them, trying to figure out what they will do. I think Morika will fight, but I don’t know whether the human will or what the three Fae will decide to do.

  The human notices his Fae friends staring at something and looks up from texting. His jaw drops open in surprise.

  ‘Hey,’ he says. ‘This is private property. You can’t be here.’

  I shrug. ‘You don’t own this property. You’re not allowed to be here either.’

  He blusters and looks at his friends but Morika steps forward. She has a tall shepherd’s crook in one hand. It completes her Swiss farm-maid look. She taps the staff on the floor and it grows by another four foot, becoming a lance, bearing her house crest on the blade. She tosses her cap off into the shadows and a pair of ram’s horns sprout from her brow. Her thick auburn hair cascades down her back and her eyes glint in the dark as she faces me, her gaze dropping to the softly glowing piece of antler hanging around my neck.

  ‘Blackhart,’ she says, sounding annoyed. ‘You are interrupting a serious business transaction.’

  ‘What I’m interrupting is a drug deal,’ I reply. ‘I’m stopping you from selling more Glow to this stupid man. Dealing drugs is illegal in both worlds, Morika. Did you think no one would notice human teenagers dying in clubs? And from drugs rumoured to come from fairies themselves?’

  Her answer is to leap forward and swing the lance at me. I don’t move and the lance slams to a halt inches away from my face as it shudders into the wall of magic that surrounds her. She’s walked into the circle I’d drawn earlier, into which I’d then spent most of the day pouring my magic. A bolt of energy sizzles along the haft of the lance and she lets out a yelp of frustration as it burns her hands; it drops to the floor with a clatter.

  It’s not necessary, because she can’t go anywhere, but I still point my sword at her. Behind her, Strach and the rest of our team have surrounded her small group of cronies. Aiden has a giant wolf paw resting on the chest of the human – he tried to run the moment Morika grew a full set of ram’s horns before his eyes.

  ‘Morika, Lady of the House of the Ram, by the authority of the High King of Alba and by the trust placed in the House of Blackhart, you are sentenced to return to the Seelie Court. There you will face punishment in accordance to the treaties signed by the Summer King. Your crimes are numerous and show a disregard for the lives of those who inhabit both the mortal world and Alba. The creation and selling of hallucinogenic substances is a major offence in both worlds and for this alone you are sentenced to be taken back to face a jury of your peers. You will have a chance to plead your case, but we will submit the consequences of your deeds in this world to the judge. Your trial is set to start in seven days’ time.’

  Morika’s beautiful face twists with anger. ‘Your time will come, Blackhart.’ She swears loudly, slamming her hands into the wall of magic keeping her trapped. ‘Do you hear me, girl? I will hurt you so badly the next time we meet; your precious family won’t even recognize you.’

  I watch her rage for a few seconds, wondering if I’ll ever get over the shock of being disliked by the Fae I send back to the Otherwhere. My cousins shrug it off, wearing the threats against them like badges of honour. Me? I keep an eye on the shadows all the time. It makes for uneasy trips to the shops.

  Once Morika’s threats peter out and she’s glowering at me venomously, I spin on my heel, sheathe my sword and nod to Strach. He takes out the token from the Seelie King’s chamberlain, Zane, and snaps it between his fingers. I walk out into the night and breathe the night air. Behind me I hear the team secure the three Fae and prepare to transport them back to Alba. The small token will open a portal for long enough to send them all into the arms of Counsellor Zane and his guards, ready for sentencing. The human is stripped of his wallet and the Fae hit him with a memory spell, making sure he won’t remember anything that went down in the warehouse.

  I pocket the wallet and join up with Aiden, who’s waiting for me by the gates, still in wolf form. He falls in beside me as we walk through the gates into the night surrounding the quiet suburb.

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I need sleep.’

  In answer he nudges my hand with his head and I curl my fingers into the ruff around his neck for a moment, taking strength from his presence. Aiden lopes off and I take my time walking back to the van. By the time I get there he’s back in human form and dressed in jeans and a hoodie, his concession to the colder weather.

  He wordlessly hands me a mug of coffee from the thermos in the back of the van and I wrap myself around the black stuff, drinking it in.

  ‘You sure you want to finish up as planned?’ Aiden asks as he sits next to me in the open door of the van.

  ‘The instructions were clear,’ I tell him. ‘We signed the contract.’

  ‘The Spooks are gonna have a fit when they realize what went down here and they weren’t involved.’

  I shrug and push my own doubts aside. Her Majesty’s Department of Supernatural Defence and Investigation, or the HMDSDI, more popularly known to us as the Spook Squad, have been unable to make head or tail of the Glow case. I think I know more about the supernatural world than they do, and that’s not saying much.

  ‘Strach and his team know what they’re doing. We’re dropping the human in the West End. None of this will bounce back on us.’

  Aiden grumbles under his breath but I take comfort that I’m following Uncle Andrew’s orders to a T. We all know what happens when I go off script.

  We don’t have long to wait. Strach and two of his team turn up with the unconscious glamoured human, the others escorting Morika and her cronies back to the Otherwhere. They take a moment to each give me a slightly formal nod and an odd little half-bow of the head before leaving the human on the floor between them. I’m dropping them near Hyde Park, where they’ve arranged for the forester Crow to wait and take them back to the Citadel.

  As we drive off, the sky behind us is lit by an explosion that rocks the quiet neighbourhood. Destroying the warehouse is symbolic and messy but necessary. It sends a message to whoever is running Glow in the Frontier that the Blackharts don’t play around. I watch the flames reach for the sky in the van’s wing mirror before I point its nose north, back towards the ramshackle house I share with my cousins while Blackhart Manor is being rebuilt.

  Fire at Disused Warehouse in Catford Brought Under Control

  About forty fire-fighters have tackled a fire that has destroyed the roof and part of two warehouses in the London suburb of Catford last night.

  Emergency teams were called to the warehouses, near the bus garage, just after 3:30 GMT.

  London Fire and Rescue Service said the roof of the two-storey derelict warehouses had been completely destroyed. There are no reported injuries.

  Six fire engines, two height vehicles and a command support unit were at the incident.

  News report extract from an ongoing investigation into suspected GLOW raid by the Blackharts, filed in HMDSDI HQ, November 2016

  Chapter Three

  I walk into the house just before dawn and find Kyle waiting up for me. I notice, not for the first time, that his shoulders have widened in the last few months, pulling tightly at his T-shirt. He’s in desperate need of a haircut too and in danger of looking like a hipster with it falling into his eyes all the time. I resist the urge to tuck it away and instead watch him curiously as he goes about making me breakfast.

  We make light conversation but I get the impression that something else is going on with him. I tell him how the job went down and he points to my paperwork waiting on the table in the dining room. I go in and sit down as he busies himself in the kitchen.

  This is how I know something
is up.

  Kyle’s not the food-making type. With our brownie Mrs Evans in Devon while the Manor is being rebuilt, holding court and looking after the builders who are living on the site, we are left to our own devices in North London. Kyle tends to order food in and is very bad at making anything apart from toast, but even then you have to lie and say you like it burned. I eye the scrambled eggs and toast he puts in front of me with suspicion but sit down to dig in anyway.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I ask him after my first cautious bite. I watch him with narrowed eyes as he moves his computer screens around so he can look at me. The dining room is the operational heart of the Blackharts at the moment. It’s a bit cramped but then the house is a fraction of the size of the Manor in Devon, and until it’s rebuilt, we’re living here, on top of one another in a narrow tall house with weird little nooks and crannies. ‘You’re making me nervous.’

  ‘It’s because I’m nervous. Suola’s been in touch.’

  I almost choke on my bit of unburned toast and rubbery egg. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. She sent one of her messenger hobs along with a message. She wants to see you. In person.’

  I open my mouth to say something but my mind is completely blank. I shut it again and chew on the bite of food. Suola is the Queen of the Fae Unseelie Court and I’ve been in her presence peripherally on one or two occasions. I’ve even done work for her, returning Unseelie faeries who’ve transgressed either human or Fae law, here in what the Fae call the Frontier. I’ve never actually had a face-to-face meeting with her. She always uses intermediaries and usually those go straight to Kyle’s dad, my uncle Andrew.

  ‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s about?’

  ‘It’s a job – that much the hob messenger confirmed. But other than that, I have no idea.’

  ‘When is the meeting?’

  ‘Tonight. Midnight. At Milton’s.’

  I try not to think that it sounds like a bad noir movie title. ‘Does your dad know she wants to talk to me?’

  Kyle nods, adjusting his chair slightly to compensate for moving the row of computer screens. His wide eyes watch me warily.

  ‘Yes, he knows. He wants to talk to you later, daytime.’

  What Kyle means is that, with his dad in New York seven hours behind us, I must wait till later today to call him.

  ‘Okay. Should I be worried?’

  ‘I don’t think so. The hob didn’t look more nervous than usual. He delivered his message, I fed him some cake and off he went again.’

  ‘As easy as that.’ Nothing is ever as easy as that.

  Kyle nods and I shovel the last bit of egg into my mouth. ‘Thanks for breakfast. I’m going to try and get some sleep.’

  He waves at me as I head upstairs to the top floor of the house. My room’s not big but it’s cosy and has a great view out over the rooftops. I strip down and have a quick shower before crawling into bed. I set my alarm to wake me up at midday, which should give me around six hours’ sleep. That will leave me time to chat to Uncle Andrew and get my paperwork underway for Aunt Letitia, the family’s record keeper.

  The paperwork used to be the bane of my existence but my Latin and Greek are coming along quite well, thank you very much, and I no longer have to rely so heavily on Kyle to help me write them up.

  I make sure my sword’s leaned up against the wall next to the bed before I pull my covers over my head, blocking out the rising sun, and I drift off into a light slumber as people outside in the mundane world wake up to go to work.

  I’m in an unfamiliar place, walking along a damp corridor. The roof above my head is broken and torn away, allowing me glimpses of a midnight-blue sky. The building feels old, with crumbling stone walls in some places that are overgrown with ivy and lichen.

  It’s also far warmer than London, where I know my body is lying asleep.

  I look down at myself and I’m relieved to see that even in my dreams I’m armed with my sword. I jiggle it loose from its scabbard to make sure it will slide out when I need it. I’m dressed in a pair of denim shorts, socks and hiking boots. My tank-top is damp with sweat and I’ve got a khaki scarf around my neck.

  I look like a cross between Lara Croft and the guy from Uncharted. I’m even wearing a hat, which is so wrong it makes me itch even more. I toss it aside. Dream-me can’t dress, I decide.

  There’s nothing about the scenery here that’s remotely familiar. I can’t tell where I am, only that I feel compelled to keep on moving. I stalk the passages, going from one abandoned and crumbling room to the next, catching glimpses of high ceilings, faded tapestries that fall to dust under my touch onto broken tiled floors.

  I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched or rather that someone is aware of my presence here, in this dream place. They’re not happy with me being here, but at the same time, they are very curious about me.

  I ghost along wide passages, ducking cobwebs, my feet lifting motes of dust to swirl in the heavy silence. The whole place makes me feel sad, oppressed, but I keep moving, working my way further into the enormous building. The arched windows show me views of a ruined city lying at the base of the palace I’m exploring. The city, too, seems derelict and empty of people, with long winding roads and whitewashed buildings with red roofs. It almost looks as if it could be Tuscany, except that I’ve never seen a forest that stretches from one horizon to the next in Tuscany.

  I come to a room, far larger than the rest, with a cavalcade of high ornate columns decorated with hand-sculpted vines and leaves. I hesitate, taking in the once grand room that’s fallen into decay. There is debris on the floor, bits of rock and concrete that have fallen from the roof. I look up and notice the remains of the beautifully painted ceiling, where a flock of sheep graze in a meadow. A revel of Fae creatures take up the rest of the domed expanse. The room is so large the corners are hidden in thick shadow.

  A heavy sound draws me forward – something is shifting in that Stygian darkness, darkness that should be lit by the sun streaming through the windows.

  ‘Hello?’ I call, my voice surprisingly loud. It’s thrown back at me, echoing around the room and columns. I listen to the echo go on for an age; it sounds like a hundred voices whispering ‘hello’. It fades to soft whispers before it comes hurtling back at me. My own voice, louder still than before, like a steam-engine screaming before it hits a tunnel. The sound is so awful that I press my hands to my ears and spin around the room but there is no one else here. Nothing else.

  Just me and the dust motes and a blanketing quiet.

  The feeling that someone’s watching me is heavier now. My sight’s kicked in without my conscious thought and my magic hums happily within me, telling me it’ll be easy enough to call on it. It can jump to my fingers or rise through my skin to burn anything that comes too close. I take a cautious step towards the shadows and rear back when I hear something move.

  It sounds heavy, metal scraping against stone, and it comes from somewhere in the far darkness.

  Curious now, and scared, I creep forward, slowly drawing my sword free of its scabbard. I haven’t gone five metres when there’s the sound of running footsteps to my left and they’re coming closer, fast.

  I draw myself up, positioning my sword into a high guard: that way I can either strike or defend against whoever is coming towards me, keeping the point steady.

  A young man dressed in leather armour, carrying a battered sword, stumbles into the room. Shoulder-length dusty blond hair spills over his face, obscuring his features. He doesn’t notice me but throws a wild look over his shoulder at his pursuers. Now I can hear them too. Heavy feet and the sound of a pack of dogs baying.

  The young man comes to a halt a few feet in front of me. He brushes his hair out of his face. When he turns his head, he sees me, and his dark grey-blue eyes widen in shocked surprise.

  ‘Kit?’ he gasps, reaching for me with a hand that’s covered in cuts and bruises.

  ‘Thorn.’ I move towards him o
n instinct but the people hunting him burst through the doorway behind him and there’s no chance to talk.

  He grabs my wrist and we turn to run towards the darkness that seems to be receding even as we approach it. I throw a wild look over my shoulder and confused images of a pack of lean, muscular dogs crowd my mind. They are flooding the room, and I catch glimpses of long muzzles and flashing teeth. Behind them come their handlers, a group of wild men in furs and patched leather, their faces as feral as the dogs they handle.

  We near the line in the floor where the shadows start and I spin around, hating that I’m running away from a fight. Thorn curses but turns next to me and brings his sword up in a two-handed ready stance.

  I grin fiercely at him and I’m rewarded with a wry look. The two of us against the hounds and their handlers? No contest. I almost laugh at this because this is a dream, but my heart is pounding and adrenalin courses through my body – getting ready to fight by Thorn’s side again.

  The wild Fae seem surprised to see me standing beside Thorn, our backs to the shadows, our weapons drawn. There’s only a moment’s hesitation before they charge towards us, the dogs’ claws scrabbling to find purchase on the tiled floor beneath their feet.

  ‘Run,’ Thorn shouts at me, pushing me backwards, into the shadows. ‘You have to help her.’

  I try to argue and demand who I should help, but he stands his ground as the dogs race closer.

  I open my mouth to protest, to tell him I can fight and that him fighting all of them is a really bad idea when my alarm buzzes in my ear and my eyes blink open.