Vowed (17 page)

He didn’t lie, then. He has done freerunning, and some images showing similar stunts are more recent too.

The martial arts training came from William Burke, the file tells me. He’s ex-army and set up a martial arts studio in his local area with the help of some loans. Dante joined shortly
after he was adopted and excelled at karate, ju-jitsu and capoeira. Even Jamie would be impressed by the mix of styles.

Dante kept having brushes with the law, but never anything serious. It usually had to do with fighting or loitering and getting into scuffles but never went any further. Until he turned fifteen,
when everything changed. His grades plummeted. He was charged with assaulting someone while drunk and put this person – a boy from his school – in hospital. I flick around
Andrew’s notes and suck in my breath. His little sister Emily went missing from a local park. Someone had taken her. It coincided with Dante going off the rails. There were no charges brought
against him but he received a caution and he had to do community work.

I flip through the rest of the file, speed-reading. Emily was found in a field a month later, in a grave. The file shows me some follow-up articles about her disappearance, her subsequent
discovery and how the police had made no arrests as there were no further leads.

Dante’s grades climbed with time, and his community service was to help kids younger than him find ways to keep themselves entertained. He took them to William’s dojo and introduced
them to martial arts. There is a photo of a group of kids, boys and girls ranging between ten and fourteen, all striking insane martial arts and superhero poses for the camera. The photo was
clipped from a newspaper and the title mentions William Burke’s dojo and his son Dante’s work in the community.

He finished his school career with good grades, but not good enough to get a bursary or scholarship to his chosen university. This was when he was approached by a company called Lawton Limited,
which I know is a front for the Spook Squad.

The other photos Uncle Andrew added to the file are of Dante hanging out with some friends, more pictures of him with his family, and especially Emily. Emily looks cute and obviously adored her
big brother. It looks as if he doted on her. And although I know they’re not blood relatives, they look enough alike to have been taken for brother and sister.

There are photos of Emily opening presents at Christmas and Dante holding her on his lap, laughing, while Angela beams at them both.

There are few photos of Angela and William after Emily’s death. In those that do exist, they’ve lost a bit of their sparkle and Dante looks hollow eyed and sad.

‘Has he told you about his baby sister?’ Kyle shimmies his chair to the side so he can look at me. ‘Well, has he? Do you think that is why he is so interested in this
case?’

‘He didn’t say anything to me about his baby sister being taken. I knew he was adopted. And that he joined the Spooks after leaving school, but really, we’ve not had much of a
heart-to-heart about our personal lives as such.’

‘Do you think he’ll tell you? Do you think it has anything to do with the case?’

I sit back in my chair and watch Kyle for a few seconds, trying to make up my mind. ‘No. I mean, yes. I think he was keen to take on the case to find these missing kids. But no, I
don’t know if the whole thing with his sister has anything to do with him taking the case. I mean, it might.’

Kyle looks at me as if I’m crazy. ‘Imagine if your sister was taken and killed by some psychopath, Kit. You’d want to help out others in the same situation. Right?’

I’m remembering the Unseelie Fae burning down my house and killing my Nan. Yes, I think to myself, I would definitely want to figure out how to get payback. Instead of saying that out loud
and making myself sound insane, I grimace and toss a napkin at him. ‘I know, Kyle. Why would you think the kids were taken by faeries?’

‘Well, it’s kinda obvious, isn’t it?’ He returns my frown with one of his own. ‘Isn’t it? I mean, it has to be related.’

‘Right.’ I snap my fingers and do finger-guns at him. ‘Now you’re going to do some research. Google or sabotage databases you have access to and see what you can find
about children going missing under mysterious circumstances. . . in, say, the past five years. Also if any of them have been found subsequent to their disappearance. Let’s start with England,
Wales, Scotland and Ireland. All of Ireland. See what you can find.’

‘That’s a big order. It will take me longer than a day to compile all the info.’

I tap an imaginary watch and smile at him. ‘Better get a move on, then, hadn’t you?’

‘And what are you going to be doing?’

‘I’m going dancing.’

He puffs an ‘of course you are’ at me as I head upstairs to find a jacket.

I take a taxi to Milton’s and Rorke waves me through the barrier – and I’m allowed to enter the fine establishment, but only after Cindy makes sure I’m
not carrying anything bigger than my usual concealed knife. She doesn’t look happy and I promise her I won’t be the one throwing the first punch and she grunts at me, implying she knows
better. Cindy stamps my wrist and I head straight upstairs past the twin bodyguards, who nod at me in such a synchronized way that they give me the creeps.

I pause in front of Miron’s office and within a few minutes the door swings open and Lisa steps out. She’s Miron’s bodyguard and a full-blown demon. Lisa looks strangely
fragile and fey, yet she is capable of tearing threats to Miron apart with her dainty, bare hands.

‘He’s expecting you,
cherie
,’ she says and steps aside. ‘Go on in.’ Her accent has a French burr to it, as if she’s from New Orleans or somewhere
like that, though for all I know she is just a fan of Anne Rice novels.

Miron’s office is the business. Spartan with a metal and steel desk the size of a small planet, it is set in front of the one-way glass that shows the heaving dance floor. There’s
nothing else in his office to distract him from his business. A wafer-thin laptop is discreetly shut on the far side of his desk, next to a yellow legal notepad.

Miron is not very much taller than me. He’s of average height and build and looks utterly mundane and normal, until you get closer and look into his eyes. They’re fathomless and
engaging but it’s his voice that’s the kicker. It’s warm and deep; you just know the majority of people making deals with him are seduced by the sound of it.

At the moment those dark eyes are sweeping over my leather jacket and jeans and he shakes his head.

‘Oh Kit, darling child, when will I see you in a dress? I know you have the legs for it.’

‘Uncalled for,’ I point out to him, accepting butterfly kisses on both my cheeks. ‘But appreciated.’

He chuckles and casually draws me forward so I can take a seat at his desk.

‘What can Uncle Miron do for you?’

I roll my eyes and sprawl in the chair.

‘Not refer to yourself as Uncle Miron? It’s just weird.’ I push at my fringe and wince when my ribs protest. ‘I’ve got to know something, Miron, and well,
you’re the baddest guy I know so I thought I’d come talk to you.’

Miron shucks his shirt cuffs from beneath his jacket as he seats himself again. His pleasant features seem even more benign, if that’s possible, as he gestures for me to continue.

‘You know I’m not immune to flattery, Kit. What are you after?’

‘Do you know of anyone stealing children in London?’

‘I almost thought you were asking me if I knew about anyone stealing children.’ He watches my face and then blinks slowly. ‘Okay, that was not what I was expecting to hear from
you.’

‘Do you?’

‘No, oddly enough.’

So I tell him and while I tell him I watch his face. The thing about Miron is that he’s a terrible liar for a demon, so I’d know if he wasn’t telling the truth. This time his
shock’s real, so I give him an abbreviated version of what we know.

‘You must understand why I’m asking, Miron. Are any of your Infernal –’ I take a breath – ‘stealing kids?’

‘Honestly, one of the strangest things I’ve been asked in my long life. Not quite the weirdest thing, but close.’

He taps his fingers absently on the desk, and I watch, wondering if I’ve managed to annoy him or overstepped my bounds, or both. Possibly both; for sure, both. I try not to flinch when he
moves, and if he notices he pretends not to.

‘I would like to say that the Infernal have been playing by the rules, Kit, but I can’t truthfully say.’

‘What? Why not? Aren’t you the boss of them?’

An arched brow quirks. ‘You are very amusing, Kit.’ His chuckle is dry and winsome, making me want to smile. But I think he’s actually laughing at me, and I don’t
appreciate that at all. ‘No, I am not the boss of them. I’m what you’d call middle management.’

‘So there’s someone else I should be talking to?’

He considers this for a very brief second before shaking his head. ‘No, I’m the one you need to talk to about this.’

‘Can you help me, then? Do you know of any of your demons stealing human children?’

‘I will have to ask, but to be quite honest, Kit, I have a feeling that this is not Infernal related.’

‘Would you even tell me if it was?’

‘I would. Of course.’

As I said, he is a bad liar.

‘Oh, Miron. I’m serious.’

‘As am I. Look, traditionally speaking, some bad people would sacrifice something precious to them, like a child, in order to bring a demon to this world. The demon would then do his or
her summoner a favour, or complete a task. The demon in turn would then be released to go about his or her merry way, as before.’

‘You make it sound so simple. Surely people wouldn’t have sacrificed their children?’

‘Humans have been doing far worse for as long as they’ve been on this earth.’

It’s not my imagination at all. I can hear an inflection of distaste in his voice.

‘So what’s changed now?’ I ask him. ‘What’s changed since the glory days when demons would be summoned by infant blood?’

‘Why, we’re right here, Kit. Waiting, watching. All the time. We no longer have to be summoned from the pits of Hell. If you know where to look, all you have to do is ask the right
guy for the right favour.’

The way he says it, strangely content, a bit matter of fact, with a bit of underlying menace, makes me feel very young and not at all up to the task of questioning him further.

‘How about you just ask around, then? Someone might know something.’

For the longest time he watches me, his gaze inscrutable, but then he nods slowly. ‘I will ask.’

‘Thank you.’ I stand up and catch my breath as my body protests and starts aching all over again.

‘Be careful, Kit,’ Miron says as he comes away from behind his desk. ‘You are stirring up things that you know very little about.’

I pull open the door as I turn to look at him. Our eyes are level but even so, Miron towers over me, bringing his
otherness
to bear. He allows me to see him for one brief gloriously
shining second and I want to open my mouth and scream and never stop. Then his hand cups my elbow, steadying me, and once more he’s sweet faced and concerned.

‘Make sure you get some rest, girl. You look very tired.’

I nod numbly and walk away, back down the long passage with its dark carpet and many closed doors. I turn deaf walking past those doors, not hearing the deals being made, the soft murmurs of
prayers and incantations, and I practically run down the stairs into the nightclub proper. I’m only halfway down them when the lights go out unexpectedly.

I have been in some dark places in the past but here, in Milton’s, there is no outside light, no stars to light my way, no secret half-moon to give a hazy glow. A hand in the darkness
steadies me, preventing me from stepping forward and falling down the rest of the stairs.

Everyone in the club’s gone quiet, the hush anticipatory. An expectant shiver crawls down my spine and I wonder what’s going on. A part of me knows that this could be an Unseelie
attack, that any second now a starving sluagh could come through the walls or drop from the ceiling above me, tearing everyone in this place apart, but I don’t feel fear, just a breathless
excitement.

‘Watch.’ I recognize the voice of one of the twin security guards in my ear and somehow I’m turned so I can see the small stage where the DJ has his kit set up. The single
figure is lit by a spotlight’s soft glow. He’s dressed in black, wearing a black top hat, a black T-shirt and over that a black dinner jacket. The light only illuminates him from the
waist up, creating interesting shadows on his face, which is bowed forward as if in contemplation.

He moves, brings a silver flute to his lips and blows a soft breathy note. The note seems to echo for ever through Milton’s, now transformed into a cavern in the darkness. A slight breeze
from the air-con stirs my fringe and I breathe it in, super aware of the loudness of my heart.

Someone in the audience lets out a low whistle. The DJ raises a hand from the flute and everything stills. He blows another note, and this one stretches out for longer still. It’s even
more luxurious, inviting listeners forward, beckoning them closer.

The song is something sad, a little bit lonely and intricate. The sound lifts high into the air of the nightclub and, although the strange medieval tone of the flute should feel weird in this
modern building more used to techno and dubstep, it doesn’t feel out of place. The song he plays meanders gently, its tone pure and silvery. Unbidden, a memory comes, of me sitting with my
feet in the little stream behind the Manor. I was chatting to my cousins in the late summer, shortly after I joined them, enjoying a picnic. The sun was hot and the forest seemed so peaceful and
still all around us. Everything felt green and vibrant that day. It was one of the few perfect days of my life.

Standing in the darkness, I become aware of another sound. Large drums – forming a heavy ominous counter to the DJ’s swift pure notes. Out of the darkness behind him two drummers
walk out onto the stage. They are dressed far more colourfully and each carries an instrument I recognize as a bhangra drum. The tone shifts, the flute falls away and the new musicians’
compulsive beats elicit a cry from several club-goers. I can actually feel the wave of the crowd’s energy pushing back against the drummers as they pound out a sound that reverberates in our
very bones. The DJ melts back to his decks and soon the music’s back, the bhangra drums giving the rhythm a harder and more percussive presence.