Vowed (3 page)

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 on 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.

I push upright, my hands shaking and my heart thundering in my ears. I blindly reach for my alarm, turning it off. The sun is high. I’m in my room, in my bed, and there is no sign of
Thorn, the dogs or whatever was hiding in the corners of that dark room.

It takes some time for my breathing to return to normal and when I slide out of bed my knees are shaking. I toss my bedding aside and let out a yelp as my sword tumbles out from where it had
become tangled in my duvet, narrowly missing my unprotected toes.

The house is quiet when I go downstairs. Kyle’s not at his bank of computers and I find a little note from him telling me he’s gone out, but it doesn’t say
where.

Lunch is a grilled cheese toastie and a cup of super-strong filter coffee. I only allow myself to think about the dream and its implication when I sit down on the couch.

My dreams about Thorn are always framed by snapshots from the island or the Manor. They are usually more like remembering-what-happened dreams than anything new.

Today’s dream felt hyper-real. As if, if I had been hurt in that dream, I would have woken up with that wound in real life, in my bed. I lean forward and touch the small of my back where
Thorn’s hand propelled me away from him and the dogs. I can still feel the warmth of the contact right there.

I finish my lunch and do a quick wash-up of the dishes and pack them away before I sit down on the stairs and reach for the landline plugged in there. I dial Uncle Andrew’s number and it
rings after a few seconds of making the transatlantic connection.

‘Kit?’ he answers. The sound of his voice in my ear makes me smile.

‘Hey, Uncle Andrew,’ I say. ‘How are you?’

He barks a laugh. His voice sounds exactly the way he looks. Big and gruff, Uncle Andrew has the craggy good looks of an action movie star. The first time we ever met, after my nan’s
death, he pulled me into the longest hug imaginable and told me that I was back where I belonged, with all the family.

‘Oh, you know how things always are, Kit. On the brink of something or other.’

I sit up, alarm bells ringing. ‘Do you need help?’

‘No, no. Not at all. We’ve got it handled here.’ There’s the sound of movement in the background and I picture him at his desk in his brownstone in Brooklyn. I’ve
only visited once but I fell in love with its quirky charm. ‘Now, Kyle tells me Suola wants to see you personally. Do you have any idea why?’

‘No, sir.’ Calling him ‘sir’ started as a joke; now I can’t seem to stop and I don’t really mind. It occasionally annoys him but he’ll get over it,
I’m sure. ‘It’s come as a surprise to me too.’

‘Huh.’ More noises that sound like a mug being stirred. ‘Well, just be careful. Don’t promise anything, don’t sign anything, accept the job if you think you can
handle it. Don’t eat anything she gives you unless she revokes whatever spells have been placed on it. Remember your lessons in etiquette. Then call me and tell me what the job is.’

‘Okay.’ I nod even though he can’t see me.

‘Before you go, Kit. The Sun King’s been in touch to pass on his thanks for taking care of the Glow issue.’

‘Yeah, about that, Uncle Andrew. We blew up the warehouse and we sent everyone back to the Otherwhere to be dealt with, but I don’t think it’s the last we’ll see of Glow
on the streets.’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘Think about it. If I were making illegal drugs I wouldn’t
just
set it up in one location. Or have one set of distributors either. It makes no sense.’

‘I’m not comfortable with you sounding quite this knowledgeable about drugs,’ Andrew rumbles in my ear. ‘But I take your point. You think there are others out there
selling the stuff?’

Now I’m glad he can’t see me because I’ve adopted Megan’s favourite gesture of rolling her eyes. ‘Yes, for sure.’

‘Huh. Okay then, well, I’ll get Kyle on it and let’s see what we can turn up by putting our feelers out. In the meantime, find out what Suola wants and then call me.’

‘Will do.’

We hang up and I stay sitting on the stairs for a few seconds longer, wondering what to do next. It looks to be an amazing sunny autumn day outside and I feel stuffy and closed up. I’ve
not had a decent workout for some time, mostly because the local gym caters more to teeny tiny people in skimpy outfits who are out to pull rather than actually working up a sweat. I reach for the
phone again and ring Aiden’s mobile number.