Vowed (4 page)

He answers with a grunt.

‘Thisbetterbegood.’

‘Geez, you sound charming.’

‘Uch, don’t ask. After you dropped me off I had to run errands for my dad. I got home like an hour ago.’

‘Oh.’ I almost feel guilty. ‘So you don’t want to go for a run, then.’

‘I don’t know. It depends. How short will your shorts be?’

‘Oh gods, Aiden, shut up.’

He chuckles. ‘Give me forty minutes.’

I hang up and run back upstairs to my room to get changed into my running gear. Contrary to what my cousins may think, Aiden and I have become really good mates over the past few months. I back
him up on the occasional job and he does the same for me. There is no romantic interest. I think Aiden’s a good guy and we’ve got the whole banter thing going on, which is fun because
Kyle is rubbish at being social, and I hardly see Megan and Marc any more. Besides, Aiden likes dancing and so do I. No better way to come down after a job than flinging yourself around on a dance
floor like a crazy person and forgetting about monsters.

Aiden is sweet and sexy but he is maddening and I’m not his type. Firstly, I’m not a tall, leggy, well-endowed blonde or a male model who’s graced music videos or the cover of
fashion magazines. I have zero sexytimes experience and from the state I’ve seen him in after a heavy weekend, he likes his girls, and occasionally his boys, older and, well, how to put this
delicately –
wild.

To be fair, I’m not sure I have a type. And even as I think it, I know I’m lying. My traitorous eyes slide to the sketchpad propped up next to my wardrobe. I know that if I flick
through a few pages I’ll find Thorn’s face there.

I did the sketches after I recovered enough from everything that went down on the island. It was a way for me to make sense of what happened and to figure it all out. Sketching things also
helped when I couldn’t sleep. It was like exorcising some of the worst bits. Let me tell you how it screws with your head, having vivid dreams like that all the time and little to no sleep
for weeks on end.

I’d been a wreck for a long time after I came back from the Otherwhere. My cousins tiptoed around me, their eyes dark with worry. In an attempt to tire me out, Jamie made sure I exercised
and ran obstacle courses until I couldn’t move. I did paperwork and helped Kyle research whatever needed researching for the others. And, slowly but surely, things started going back to
normal again. I could fall asleep for longer than half an hour and not wake up screaming or crying. Mostly there was crying, and ugly crying at that, but it started getting better, eventually. But
it took a long time.

I still feel a bit strung out, a bit weird, not all quite there. On the days I feel peculiar like that, I make sure to put on my extra sparkly Kit face and I have discovered that by pretending
I’m okay, most of the time I
am
okay.

My thoughts wander back to Thorn and the waking-dream I’ve had. I sit on the bed and grip my sword as if it is a talisman of some sort. If I was honest, I’d say that I don’t
know quite how I feel about Thorn, mostly because we never had the chance to figure it out.

We spent a lot of time together and things just kept happening and we kept fighting and running and trying to stay ahead of the game, so our relationship started off strange and it stayed
strange. Even so, I can’t stop thinking about him, or the way he would casually touch my arm or hand and I’d feel as if I was on fire.

I fall back against my bed and groan loudly. I’m definitely in danger of winning the prize for most navel-gazing monster-fighting teenage girl in the world of monster-fighting teenage
girls. But I can’t deny that I miss him like crazy.

I’ll be out and about, going to the shops with Megan or hanging out with Aiden at a nightclub and I’ll see a tall blond guy and my heart stutters and my stomach flips. Of course it
isn’t Thorn, but just for that very brief
second
it could be.

Another thing I know is that I’ve never thought about a guy this much before in my life. We shared one incredible kiss and I’m pretty sure it’s spoiled me for all others. This
definitely sucks because he’s not even remotely close by to lock my lips on and I’m not sure if I’ll see him again, ever. Possibly never, if the prophecy his father’s so
fond of is to be believed.

The doorbell jerks me out of my reverie. I grab my phone – still the same battered one with its broken screen that seems not to be affected by my weird magic – and pocket it.
I’ve got a small punching knife that fits between my fore and middle fingers and I slide that into my shorts pocket. I’m not as armed as I’d like, but running with a fighting
knife and my sword in a public park will probably get me locked up.

I thunder down the stairs, yelling at Aiden to stop ringing the doorbell. I pull the door open and stand back in surprise when it’s not Aiden standing there, but someone I don’t
recognize at all.

I have an impression of an immaculate suit, wide shoulders, long legs and a pair of shiny shoes, but what draws my attention most is the arresting dark eyes behind frameless
glasses that survey me as if I’m an interesting science experiment. Framed by silky long lashes, the eyes are set in a ridiculously attractive face with hints of a mix of Asian and Western
descent. This manboy’s genetics do him all the favours because he is a piece of art.

‘Yes? Can I help?’ I ask, drawing myself up to my full height, squaring my shoulders and lifting my chin. Ready to do battle.

‘Are you Kit Blackhart?’ His voice is deep and my traitorous knees tremble just a tiny bit. A voice to match the face and build. Megan, if she was here, would be excited; she likes
tall, dark and mysterious.

‘Who’s asking?’ I counter, not to be coy, but to make sure I have time to check him for anything magical, including glamour, but he comes up clean and I’m a little
disappointed.

‘I’m from HMDSDI.’ There is a tiny pause as he lets that sink in. ‘My name is Dante Alexander.’

I have a real-life member of the government’s Spook Squad loitering on my doorstep. I school my face into a cool mask.

‘Then you know who I am,’ I tell him. ‘I hear you have files upon files about the Blackharts.’

He doesn’t look awkward or embarrassed by my words; instead he just nods.

‘You’re right, of course. I was just trying to be friendly, not start off on the wrong foot.’

‘I don’t think we’ve got much to say to one another,’ I tell him, my hand reaching behind me for the doorknob. ‘The Blackharts never consult with your agency and we
never ever talk to you.’

He sighs lightly and squints at me and, I admit, it’s cute. But I’ve seen cuter.

‘I thought you might be the exception.’ He dips a hand into his pocket and my own hand goes into my shorts pocket, the small punching blade slipping between my fingers, but all he
brings out is a small white card the size of a bankcard. ‘My contact information,’ he says, holding it out towards me.

I don’t take the business card from him and his hand hangs in the air between us in no-man’s-land for a fraction longer than necessary. He’s making a point that I’m being
rude and I’m making one back that I really don’t care.

‘I’ll leave it right here then, shall I?’ he says, placing it carefully on the top step where I’m standing, right next to my trainers. He has to bend down to do it and
I’m aware that he takes his time to straighten again, getting an eyeful of my legs in my running shorts.

If he thinks he’s embarrassing me, he’s failing miserably. I’m comfortable with my build, having been in training in martial arts, boxing and ballet dancing all my life. You
pretty much learn to disregard people checking you out, because within minutes of meeting a new instructor or team mate their hands will be all over your body. It doesn’t mean anything unless
you let it.

By the time he’s upright I’ve lost all goodwill towards him and my gaze is colder than the icy tundra in winter. He doesn’t seem phased by it and offers me an attractive smile,
showing neat white teeth. His perfectness is starting to annoy me and my allergies towards neat and tidy rise up in my chest.

‘I think you should go now,’ I tell him.

Over his shoulder I recognize Aiden’s lean form heading my way along the pavement. He misses a beat in his stride when he sees me in the doorway talking to someone wearing a suit. Alarm
crosses his face, he lengthens his stride, but I wave at him and smile to show it’s okay.

Mr Spook turns his head and spots Aiden jogging towards us.

‘A friend of yours?’ he asks me.

‘You know he is,’ I counter. ‘You should go now.’

He watches me implacably for a few seconds longer, his eyes resting on my face. ‘We’ll see one another again,’ he says.

‘I look forward to it.’ The false tone in my voice makes him laugh before he turns around and exits through the gate. He passes Aiden who gives him the stink eye and an obvious sniff
that’s very wolf-like. To give the Spook his due, his walk remains easy and unconcerned but I notice how there’s a slight tightening of his shoulders, just in case of an attack. He
gives Aiden a brief smile and nod before moving along and getting into a black Lexus.

Aiden pauses by the gate and watches the car pull out and drive smoothly along the road before indicating to join the main road again.

‘And that?’ he asks me, his voice holding a lot of growl.

‘That was a friendly Spook who decided to come and introduce himself to me.’ I step back indoors and hold the door open. ‘Come on, I just need to leave a note for Kyle, then we
can go.’

‘Why was he here?’ Aiden asks, bending down to pick up the business card before following me into the kitchen. ‘Dante Alexander. Huh, Junior Agent with Her Majesty’s
Department of Supernatural Defence and Intervention.’

‘Doesn’t trip off the tongue, does it?’ I look up from the notepad on the fridge. ‘What?’

‘Did he threaten you or anything?’ Aiden’s eyes are very dark, the irises blown wide, and his expression seems more tense than it should be.

‘No, why do you ask?’

He shrugs. ‘You smell weird. You look . . . off.’

Do I? I’m not a vain girl but being told by a friend that you smell funny and look crappy does tend to put a dampener on your spirits.

‘I’m okay, just tired. Had weird dreams. Are we going running or are we talking?’

‘Will you buy me lunch afterwards?’ he counters, dropping the business card on the counter.

‘It’s not a date, Aiden. You can buy yourself lunch.’

He grimaces and points a finger at me accusingly. ‘You have a bad attitude, Kit Blackhart. Has anyone ever told you that?’

‘Never from where they’re lying on their backs after I’ve punched them,’ I reply. ‘Less procrastination, more running.’ I walk past him to the front door.
‘After you.’

Thorn relished the complete absence of sound as he continued his descent into the chambers below the tower. The silence was a balm, settling over his frayed nerves, focusing his
mind for his training ahead.

His destination lay at the end of an ornate stone passageway with tall curved ceilings and elegant arches. The chamber he was heading for was unremarkable, except that it was carved from
crystal. It was also old, perhaps even older than the Sundering itself. But it still wasn’t very impressive, not compared to the large tower stretched above ground.

As before, a deep sense of homecoming surrounded Thorn within moments of arriving in the crystal room. He leaned into the warmth of the space, letting himself be pulled deeper into the room by
the unseen winds that greeted him within. As usual, they guided him to the middle of the chamber.

A now familiar presence appeared just behind his right shoulder, a steadying influence. There was a brief touch against the nape of his neck and he tilted his head up to stare into the reflected
colours of the crystals above him.

He stilled his breathing, steadied his heart and listened intently to the silence. The sound, when it came, was soft and clear, a small sharp sound as if from a brass tuning fork.

The room dissolved around him and he became part of the hurricane of sound that rippled from that single bell-like note. His magic surged inside him in answer to the sound, and he was wrapped in
the resonance. Thorn relished the way the reverberations affected him, propelling his senses higher, heightening them until it was almost painful. The onslaught of sound allowed his consciousness
to soar free from the chamber and the tower, even though breaching the tower’s protective barriers wasn’t without pain.

He lost track of time, sunk within the harmony of sound and a thousand visions until he found a discordant note that jostled him from his contemplative reverie. When he pursued the note that
jarred against his attuned senses, he was unsurprised to find Aelfric was the source.

Thorn hesitated only briefly before pushing the vision into clearer focus, aware that time was fluid in this room. One of his hardest tasks was figuring out what time his visions were set in:
whether past, future or now.

Thorn’s father Aelfric was talking to someone via the ornately embellished mirror in his study. He was dressed in formal court clothes, his leonine hair swept back from his chiselled
features, the embroidered collar of his coat tucked high, emphasizing the firm line of his jaw. The colours he wore were dark, which meant it was winter. Aelfric was always conscious of which Court
held sway in the Otherwhere, dressing to acknowledge each in turn.

There was an initial reluctance to spy on his father but Thorn let it pass as he tightened his concentration.

‘. . . be ready, Odalis?’

‘He is stubborn, your majesty. It is taking longer than expected to win him over.’ The woman’s features in the mirror weren’t clear but her self-important tone was
unmistakable.

‘I’m starting to think I chose the wrong tutor.’

‘Feel free to replace me, your majesty. I will of course bow to your superior choice.’

Aelfric huffed at that. ‘Odalis, all I am asking from you is a report on how my son’s abilities are progressing.’