Vowed (42 page)

This time the notes are clear and bright in the night air. They seem to hang there for a while, almost visible. The night’s become very quiet. Even the rats aren’t moving or
squeaking and instead have turned to watch Torsten with their gross little eyes.

‘Stop that,’ Dante says, his voice slurring as he holds out his hand. ‘Give me the flute.’

‘You look tired, Agent Alexander.’ Torsten brings his lips back to the flute. ‘I think you deserve a nap.’ The notes ring out true and crystalline and for a moment I see
Dante waver, his knees shaking, and then he drops like a sack of dirty washing.

Torsten’s grin is one of triumph. He lifts the flute briefly from his lips and the vermin swarm closer to him. I pack my magic around me, hoping it will protect me from
the flute’s power. He steps closer and I retreat slowly, my gaze shifting towards Dante where he lies on the ground, out for the count.

‘Blackhart, I have nothing against you, believe me.’ He lifts the flute once more and I press my hands over my ears and start belting out ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ by
Queen.

I can’t sing. I know that, but I like music and my nan was fond of Queen, so I have an impressive repertoire of their songs which I murder when I do karaoke with my cousins. Nothing gives
you the will to kick ass the way Queen does.

Torsten’s flute song falters as I yell out the lyrics at the top of my lungs. Perplexed, he brings it to his mouth again. I’m aware of the mice, rats and other vermin now crawling
along the walls and ground, gathering around me and swirling towards him. I try not to see the things scuttling all around me as I raise my sword.

‘Stop playing the goddamn flute, Torsten,’ I grind out.

In answer he strides away from me and his followers make way for him, flute music ringing in the air. My life is a farce, I decide. I glance at Dante and watch as he stirs and rolls onto his
back. I pause briefly to shake his shoulder.

‘Get up!’ I shout and run towards Torsten but I trip over the crawling things and only just manage not to face-plant at his feet.

Dante struggles up as I fling myself towards Torsten, the blade in my hand swiping towards his hands and flute. Stupidly, I haven’t waited to recover my balance from my previous stumble
and I go down hard on my knees and hands, my sword skittering off among the rodents.

Torsten lets out a shout of laughter and the song he’s playing is no longer alluring but frenzied. It’s the signal the rodents and vermin were waiting for and they swarm.

I jump upright, my hands flinging crawling things off me, feeling little teeth, paws and whiskers on my bare skin. My calm is lost, as is the grip on my coiled magic.

A scream of horror tears from my chest at the same time as a huge burst of magic. My terror of the rats is all consuming, even as I watch them sizzle and burn in the magical fire that’s
flared to dizzying life. It licks out all around me in a tight cone, preventing the rodents from rushing me again. A heavy wind fans the roiling flames across my skin and I lift my head to the dark
skies, feeling elated that I’m still alive amid the chaos I’m wreaking.

Torsten’s stopped playing the flute now but I can still hear the sound of it in the air. He’s watching me with something akin to awe and Dante looks dumbstruck as I stand in the
middle of the flames, their heat laying waste to any of the vermin that approach. Dante doesn’t come any closer but takes the opportunity to grab Torsten, who allows himself to be pushed up
against the wall of the club and frisked for weapons. Dante makes short work of tying his wrists together with a zip-tie handcuff and levers him away from the wall.

It seems about a hundred years until I can make out Dante’s voice above the pounding of my heart and the noise of my magic’s blue flames. ‘Kit? They’re all gone
now,’ he says, his voice low. ‘Come back to me.’

It takes another eternity, but the lick of flames eventually dies down around me, seeping back into my pores; the magic creeping back to the darkness inside that I hide from the normal world. I
sag slightly where I stand, breathing heavily and almost sobbing. My hands shake badly when I rub my face in an effort to get rid of the ashes on them.

My little display of hysteria cost me, and I feel tired, but nowhere near as much as I would have done in the past. I draw a deep breath and desperately try to unsee the rat and mice carcasses
strewn all around me.

I’m too close to the memory of when my magic manifested for the first time, when I tore down that hill, killing the Unseelie knight and all his redcaps. I stumble away and dry heave into
the shadows until my stomach aches.

Dante’s watching me with far too much concern; Torsten, damn his eyes, just looks thoughtful and maybe a bit sad. I gaze at the devastation around me, as the alleyway now looks as if
someone’s deployed a flame-thrower.

There are scorch marks on the ground and walls, and someone’s graffiti looks like it’s seen better days. I don’t think my family would be impressed with my mini-meltdown and
public display of magic. It’s one thing using it to impress kids or frighten suspects, but it’s another thing going Terminator in an alleyway.

No, your honour, that was just me. I got really scared of those rats and my magic kinda got out of control.

Dante touches my shoulder but withdraws his hand pretty quickly when I jump with fright. ‘How’re you doing?’

‘I’m okay.’ I am so, so not okay, but maybe saying the words will make them true. ‘What are we doing with him?’ I jerk my head at Torsten. He’s still just
staring impassively at us, which is weird. But then, he’s just called a bunch of rats to attack us, which maybe downgrades the strangeness of his staring.

I find the flute where he’s dropped it and pick it up. It feels cold and smooth in my hands and potentially dangerous. It is very much a weapon. Lastly, I collect my sword and slide it
into the scabbard between my shoulder blades.

‘There’s a place we sometimes use. We can take him there.’ Dante shrugs out of his jacket and drops it over Torsten’s bound hands. He wraps an arm around Torsten’s
shoulders and walks him back onto the main road and towards the car. ‘When we have answers, we can call the Beast. Tell Rorke we’re taking their DJ so he can inform Miron.’

I run to the front of the club to speak to the hulking doorman. Rorke looks annoyed that we’re taking their DJ for questioning on a case and mutters that Miron will have words. But he lets
me go, so I jog back to get on with the main event.

Dante gives me directions and I drive blindly, not paying attention to signs or road names. About forty minutes later, I pull up in front of an abandoned warehouse. I think
it’s near Greenwich because I can see Canary Wharf’s tall buildings.

Torsten’s been very quiet during the journey. Whenever my gaze moves to the rear-view mirror, I find him watching me, his strange eyes inscrutable. His silence is unnerving, as is his
complete compliance when Dante manhandles him out of the car and makes him walk ahead of us towards the warehouse.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I check it. A text message from Aiden:
Back in town. Where are you?

My fingers fly over the keypad as I reply:
Not sure. Near Greenwich. Get Kyle to track me. Please come.

I slide the phone into my hip pocket and follow the guys into the warehouse.

The place echoes as we rattle the main door open. There are deep pools of darkness, although some light comes from the roof that is part glass and part whatever it is that roofs are made of.
There’s a soft insistent drip somewhere towards the back and the whole place just seems melancholy and a bit oppressive.

‘Sit.’

Dante’s produced a chair from out of the shadows and prods Torsten into it.

‘Now, tell us. Where are those kids?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You know. I can tell you’re lying. Your heart’s just given a little upbeat. There it is again.’

Dante’s smile is a razor’s edge. How did I never notice that he has the ability to look quite dangerous? He prowls around Torsten before casually grabbing hold of his hair and
pulling his head back. The movement is so unexpected that I start a little in surprise, and Dante sends me an icy look.

‘Don’t look at her. Watch me. I’m the bad guy here.’

There’s a sudden wariness in Torsten’s eyes. He dutifully focuses on Dante.

‘I don’t know where the children are taken once I hand them over.’ He shifts slightly on the chair.

‘I still think you’re lying.’ Dante lays a gentle hand on Torsten’s neck, but as he leans closer his grip under Torsten’s jaw tightens cruelly. ‘Do you
remember now?’

There’s a startlingly fast pulse of magic in the air and I feel the jolt of it hum against me. There’s a compulsion to yield to Dante, to answer the question myself, even though
I’m not his target and have no answers.

Torsten’s gaze widens in alarm and he lets out a painful gasp, sucking in a breath of air. A bright red mark shows vividly against his neck, like a brand, when Dante straightens and drops
his hand with a low curse.

The air in the warehouse smells of something cloying and sweet: nutmeg, cinnamon and burned sugar. I realize this is the scent of Dante working his magic. And there’s something else, a
metallic tang that I don’t like, which slices sharply through the air. Torsten’s eyes follow Dante as he walks towards me, where I stand frozen in a pool of light.

‘What are you doing?’ I hiss at Dante, grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer. ‘I didn’t sign up for torture.’

‘I’m using the weapon you used against me,’ he says, showing me an iron nail resting in the palm of his hand. His own hand looks sore and burned but his eyes are cold,
impassive. ‘Fae creatures really do not like iron.’

I try to take the nail from him but he slides it into his pocket. I lift my chin and scowl at him. ‘Seriously a dick move, dude. We need answers from him, not for him to die from Iron
Sickness.’

Dante shrugs. ‘He really doesn’t look like he’s keen to tell us all that much.’

I hate to admit it but Dante’s right. I grimace and push him out of my way. ‘Torsten? How about you tell us some things before we summon Suola’s Beast? We have questions we
feel you should be able to answer.’

Torsten’s gaze flickers to me but returns to Dante.

‘I could try and answer them,’ he says cautiously.

‘Please, just tell us where the kids are. You must have an idea.’

‘I know they’re in the Otherwhere,’ he says after a few long moments of silence when his heavy breathing is the only sound in the warehouse. ‘They’re definitely not
here in the Frontier.’

‘How are you linked to Brixi?’

A sudden fierce grin and a slow nod. ‘Ah. You know about him then? Brixi’s been one of our employers for a very long time. The contract for the job gets passed on every few years.
This year it’s my turn.’

Dante drags two more chairs from somewhere and we sit down. Torsten can’t stop watching him – it’s as if he’s drinking in the sight of him; it’s disturbing.

‘So Brixi, who must have been around for a damn long time, by the way, employed you . . . ?’

‘Not me personally, but yes, there’s a contract.’ He stops, looking as if he’s said all he was prepared to say. But Dante just leans forward, his fingers toying
suggestively with the iron nail, ignoring the way it blisters his own skin. He drops his glamour a little and wafts some more pheromones Torsten’s way, and Torsten suddenly seems eager to
please.

‘We get paid to find these children and hand them over to someone who can move across to the Otherwhere.’

There’s something that doesn’t make sense here but before I can ask another question, Dante moves again and Torsten inhales sharply, his eyelids fluttering. Dante pretends not to
notice and takes a few seconds to compose his question.

‘Are you working with Ulrich Pfeiffer?’

‘No. Mr Pfeiffer is a musician and a kind man who thought his son lost to drugs. It wasn’t difficult to take over Torsten’s life, not when his father wanted his son
back.’

‘I don’t understand.’

A look of surprise crosses Torsten’s face. ‘You caught me, you know I’m Fae but you don’t know
what
I am?’ A smile tugs at his mouth. ‘So if I were
to do this, you’d be surprised.’

The change is subtle and gradual but Torsten shifts into an exact replica of me. He sends me the grin I know drives Jamie nuts, the one he told me would get me beaten up more if I used it
outside family meetings. It’s not just my face and body he’s replicated, but how I’m sitting in my chair and the way I’m blinking at him in confusion.

‘That is freaky,’ I say.

‘That is freaky,’ Torsten-me says. ‘Mimicry is one of my particular Fae talents, allowing me to take on Theodore Pfeiffer’s shape. I took over his life, because his
father’s connections made it easy to gain access to the music festival.’

‘But what exactly did you do at the festival?’

The slow grin that stretches Torsten-me’s face gives me the creeps and I look away in discomfort.

‘It is not as sordid as you may think, Blackhart.’ He flexes, rolling his shoulders forward and cricking his neck before changing back into Torsten. ‘Excuse me as I change
back. I’ve never quite felt comfortable being of the female persuasion, although that too can hold some . . .’

Dante leans unbelievably quickly into Torsten’s personal space and actually jabs the iron into the exposed skin of his arm. He sits back before I can even react, the offending nail once
more between his fingers, the iron singeing his skin.

Torsten hisses in pain and his eyes flash a dangerous black colour. For a moment, so briefly I can almost convince myself I’ve not seen it, I see the face Adam Scott drew for me –
the split face, the sharp teeth. Then it’s gone, and he’s once more just a fairly ordinary-looking human, tied to a chair in a dodgy London warehouse.

‘Can you cut the crap and just tell us what we need to know? Unless, of course, you prefer me using this on you again?’ Dante holds up the bit of iron between his fingers and shows
it to Torsten. ‘Unless you like the pain just a little too much? I find myself intrigued by it. I like how your pain makes me a little
hungry
.’ There’s a bit too much
timbre in his voice as it echoes strangely around the warehouse, making me shiver.