Dark Tomorrow (Bo Blackman Book 6) (3 page)

‘Yes, you did. It was on TV.’

I run a hand through my hair. ‘So it must be true? Because it was in glorious technicolour?’

He’s still confused. ‘But…’

‘Look. Half the reason the daemons are going to get away with this is because of reactions like yours. People are too scared of them, they’re too afraid to act. It’s a ridiculous way to behave.’

D’Argneau is momentarily silent then he angles his face stubbornly towards me. ‘Is it? Because that’s how the vampires have been behaving for centuries. They’ve used people’s fear to get what they want.’

I’d argue if I didn’t agree with him. ‘You’re right.’

Slightly mollified, he nods. ‘What is it you want me to do?’ Before I can tell him, he rushes in with, ‘Not that I’m promising I will, mind. I’ll need to consider all the ramifications.’

‘I need a detailed report of the legal status of the vampires now that the Families don’t exist.’

D’Argneau’s face clears immediately. ‘That’s it?’

‘You don’t get off that easily. I also require information about any legal proceedings during the last hundred years that have been brought against Kakos daemons. If any of them got so much as a fine for avoiding the congestion charge, I want to know about it. Also, dig around Streets of Fire.’

‘The internet company?’

‘Yep. Find out who really owns it and whether there have been any under-the-table deals.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s probably better that way.’

D’Argneau’s expression is troubled. ‘I can do those things, even though that’s three favours, not one. But Bo, what exactly are you planning here? Because if you’re thinking of taking on the Kakos daemons…’

I soften my tone. ‘Wouldn’t you?’

He grimaces. ‘No. I’d run away from this city as fast as I possibly could. As I think I’ve already made clear.’

‘You don’t give yourself enough credit, Harry,’ I tell him. ‘I think you’d probably stay and fight.’

‘I can’t fight a Kakos daemon.’

I smile, although there’s no humour in it. ‘Oh, you’d be surprised. There’s more than one way to skin a daemon.’

My words ring hollow, even to my own ears.

I wait at the back door. It’s difficult to put in security features when you’re dealing with a bunch of tribers who can read your mind; as a result, we have been forced to resort to the most basic identification techniques – I see you, I know you, there’s no daemon with you, you can enter. It’s hardly ideal but it’s the best we’ve got right now.

I think O’Shea is hoping that Kimchi will alert us if X shows up but Kimchi is no attack dog. Even if he weren’t chubby, with more drool than fang, he loves X. He’s more likely to roll over and beg for a belly scratch than to warn us that we’re all about to be murdered because X has changed his mind.

Maria lets me in. Of all of us, she’s managed to remain the most cheerful. Then again, she’s the one who has the least connection to all this. Part of me wonders, though, if her cheerfulness is a mask. I found her a few weeks ago in a seedy sex club where she was being trafficked and I can’t begin to imagine what she’s been through. Even so, her spirit has most definitely not been cowed. I keep trying to persuade her to move on. I can give her money, contacts, whatever she wants, and I know of at least two women’s shelters which would do her a damn sight more good than I can. She insists she’s staying. A teenager’s veneer is harder to break through than I’d expected – especially one who’s had such a godawful time of it up till now.

I raise my eyebrows at her.

‘Is okay,’ she tells me. ‘No change.’

I sigh; I suppose that’s the most I can hope for right now. I step across the threshold and head upstairs.

The house, which Rogu3 found for us, is in a small, well-kept street in Hounslow. It was lying vacant – a result of the many bank repossessions in the area. There’s no furniture or running water but there’s a roof and it’s relatively safe. Once upon a time we could have used virtually any property but my vampire status has made that considerably more difficult. If a person owns it, whether they’re on holiday or not, I need a damned invitation to enter. Even this place has time limitations because we’ve decided never to stay anywhere for more than two nights. We have to keep moving and we have to keep Michael safe. X has let us go for now but he might change his mind. He told me that he’s petty like that. Besides, the other Kakos daemons are an unknown quantity ‒ and there are others we need to worry about. I’m not going to take unnecessary risks, not with my friends and most definitely not with Michael.

O’Shea appears in the hallway. I pretend not to notice his relief that I’m back. ‘Good. I’ve just been up to see him. He woke up long enough to take a few mouthfuls of soup and now he’s back down again.’

‘Did he say anything?’

O’Shea shakes his head. I wait for the normally cheery Agathos daemon to comment on my absence but he remains silent. I can tell from the way he’s acting that he thinks I’m making a mistake by going after X and his buddies. Whether he’s not saying anything because he knows he won’t change my mind or because he’s afraid that I’ll do something scary to him for speaking up, I’m not sure.

I lick my lips and fill the void. ‘You shouldn’t have left him alone.’

‘Rogu3 is there.’

I curse. ‘He’s supposed to be investigating Vince Hale.’ X might have tightened his security but Hale is another matter. An adept hacker like Rogu3 should find it easy to break into his systems ‒
should
being the operative word, of course.

O’Shea steps back. ‘I’ll let him explain.’ I nod tersely then start up the stairs. ‘Bo?’

‘Yeah?’

‘We need to leave as soon as night falls. You’ve got an hour or two at best.’

I nod in acknowledgment. ‘Okay.’

The room where Michael is sleeping is dark. The first thing we did when we got here was block the windows with cardboard. He seems to find light painful, together with moving, talking, breathing and anything else involved in staying alive. I check his chest; it’s rising and falling with his shallow, ragged breaths and there’s a wheezing sound. That’s my man, fighting to the last.

Kimchi, who is curled up at Michael’s feet, wags his tail. I scratch his ears and eye Rogu3. The teenager has had to do a lot of growing up recently. He gives me a crooked smile. ‘He’s doing okay,’ he tells me quietly.

Another okay. I don’t like okay, in fact I’m starting to bloody well hate okay, but I force a smile in return. ‘Have you got through to Hale?’ I ask.

He grimaces. ‘I don’t have the right equipment, Bo. He’s a Member of Parliament and the firewalls surrounding those systems are stringent. If I can get home, I have some software that…’

‘It’s too dangerous. Tell me what you need and I’ll go out and buy it.’

He rolls his eyes in exasperation. ‘This isn’t the sort of stuff you can buy off the high street. It took months to build those programmes.’

‘Can’t you access them remotely?’

‘My parents made me uninstall it all after…’ His voice trails off. Bugger it. He runs a hand through his hair. ‘I kept copies but they’re hidden away. Only I can access them. I splashed out on some biometric protection, thinking I was being clever.’ His shoulders slump. ‘I have to go home.’

I’m adamant. ‘No way.’

He draws himself up. ‘So it’s alright for you to go waltzing out on the streets but not for me? You’re the famous one. You’re the one people are likely to recognise.’

‘They’ll recognise you too.’

‘Not if I…’

Michael groans and we both freeze. He coughs weakly. ‘Go and get some rest,’ I whisper to Rogu3. ‘We have to move soon and we’ll need to be alert.’

He blinks in affirmation. I pat him on the shoulder and turn my attention to the former Lord of the Montserrat Family. His face remains pale, as if all the colour has been leached out of it. Even when he’s asleep there’s evidence of pain around his eyes and his mouth and his dark hair hang limply. His visible wounds are superficial but what’s going on internally is anyone’s guess. We have little information to go by.

Rogu3 was turned before returning to human using the same blood from X that has affected Michael, but Rogu3’s stint as a bloodguzzler was only momentary. Michael is recovering from decades of being a vampire. If I thought a hospital could help, I’d take him there and stand guard over him for every minute of every day until he recovered. But not only will that mean the whole world knows what’s happened to him, it could place him in greater danger. And there’s only one of me.

Trying to be gentle, I wipe away spittle from his chin. He stirs, his eyes fluttering open. Every time it’s the same: there’s a cloud of confusion, followed by pain. And fear.

‘Hey,’ I soothe. ‘It’s alright. You’re safe.’

‘Bo,’ he whispers.

‘I’m here.’ I find his hand and grip it. He tries to squeeze my fingers but the pressure is barely noticeable. He’s as weak as a damned kitten.

‘Turn me,’ he begs. ‘You can turn me.’

I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek and shake my head. ‘I can’t. I don’t know how. And even if it was possible to be turned twice, you’re too weak. You’ll die.’

His lips move but I can’t hear what he’s saying. I dip my head to listen. ‘Anything’s better than this.’

I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘You’ll recover.’

He stares at me, the unspoken question hanging between us. What if he doesn’t? I press my cheek against his and lie down beside him, taking care not to hurt him any further.

‘We’ll get through this,’ I say. ‘
You’ll
get through this. Just wait and see.’

***

Moving him is not easy. We have a stretcher, helpfully purloined by O’Shea. Twenty minutes before we go, he also boosts a van from a window cleaner living nearby. We hustle out with Michael between us. While Maria and Rogu3 stay with him in the back, O’Shea and I sit upfront, ready for any evasive – or retaliatory ‒ action.

We travel less than five miles before switching to a pre-booked rental car from a small outfit that is too cheap to buy CCTV or to check IDs. Then we set off again, doubling back several times and looking for any tails. Only when we’re absolutely sure that we’re in the clear do we head for the next safe house. It might seem like over-kill but no one’s complaining. Our biggest concern is that the constant upheaval is merely delaying the inevitable and damaging Michael’s health further.

I bang on the partition when we arrive to let Maria and Rogu3 know, then I glance up at our new home – an abandoned warehouse by the look of things.

‘I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,’ O’Shea tells me. His eyes crinkle suddenly. ‘I don’t know about you, darling, but all this cloak-and-dagger crap is playing havoc with my complexion.’

I frown at him, not understanding what’s so wonderful about our latest digs. The location is good: we’re central enough to make it easy to get out and about if need be. There’s also excellent visibility and only one road leading in, so there’s no worry about getting surrounded without realising. It’s just a shed, though. There are probably rats.

We hop out. This is our fourth move and we’re starting to get into a rhythm. Kimchi and I check out the perimeter, skulking around to satisfy ourselves that we’ve not been followed before moving in on the property itself. The others stay with Michael until I give them the all clear.

Rounding the first corner, I’m assailed by a reek of rotting food so powerful that I almost gag. Kimchi, who will eat pretty much anything whether it’s green and furry or not, whines. The back of my neck twitches. I don’t like this. Something doesn’t feel right. The path round the warehouse is covered with weeds, sprinkled with the odd crushed fizzy drinks can or discarded crisps wrapper. It doesn’t look as if anyone has been here in months. Possibly years. And yet…

All of a sudden, Kimchi jerks at the lead. For all his rounded stomach and gentle, soulful eyes, he can exert power when he wants to. It doesn’t help that I wasn’t expecting the sharp tug. I’m yanked forward, more from surprise than anything else. His paws skitter cartoon-like along the ground and he yelps loudly. I feel my fangs lengthen in preparation. This place is a mistake. But Kimchi is determined to pelt forward.

I take out my phone, ready to send my SOS text. It’s not that I’ll need saving, of course; it’s the signal for O’Shea and the others to get Michael out of here. My thumb hovers over the button as I yank Kimchi backwards and make a vain attempt to calm him down while keeping my voice low.

Without warning, Kimchi’s tail drops between his legs and he wheels round, now trying to bolt in the opposite direction away from whatever is waiting for us up ahead. I let go of his lead and he careens away at a gallop as I hunker down and snarl softly. Come on, then.

A tiny shape appears from out of the darkness. It hisses, its eyes flashing at me in disgust. My shoulders drop as a voice booms. ‘For pity’s sake, Bo. Aren’t you training that vile creature?’

I curse under my breath and straighten up. The voice is coming from above my head. I crane upwards, scanning until I spot a small speaker nestled next to the drain, almost obscured from vision by a lump of ancient moss. As I grit my teeth, the cat saunters towards me, stopping less than a foot away. It starts to wash its face but one slitted eye remains on me at all times. Bloody creature.

‘Everything alright?’ O’Shea enquires from behind.

‘You could have told me the old man was out of hospital.’

He shrugs amiably. ‘He was released on his own cognisance.’

The ornery idiot. The voice booms once more. ‘And that, my dear, is why I didn’t tell you first. Your thoughts are written all over your face. You really should learn to maintain more of a façade, you know. You’ll never make a spy.’

I ignore the words and remain fixed on O’Shea. ‘I take it he’s inside?’

He grins at me. ‘Yep.’

‘What is this place?’

O’Shea holds out his hand. ‘Let’s find out.’

‘Don’t use the front entrance,’ my grandfather’s voice says cheerfully. ‘It’s booby-trapped. There’s a hidden door round the other corner.’

Of course there is. I roll my eyes. Secretly I’m beyond relieved. The pressure of trying to keep everyone safe has been bearing down on me; at least now there will be someone to help, even if that someone spends hours telling me off for not speaking properly or for wearing form-fitting leather clothes.

O’Shea and I return to the others, who have managed to grab hold of Kimchi after his escape from my grandfather’s cat. We haul the stretcher with Michael’s prone body towards the small door concealed round the side. There’s no doorknob and no apparent way to gain entry. I wait half a beat but, when it doesn’t open from the inside, I exhale in irritation. I fumble round until I spot a small knot of wood. When I touch it, it slides open revealing a smooth rectangle of black plastic with a blinking light on the bottom.

‘No way,’ Rogu3 breathes. ‘That’s a state-of-the-art optical scanner. I read about them last month. They cost the earth because, unlike previous versions, they can’t be fooled. You can’t just rip out someone’s eyeball and hold it up. It’s a work of art. And the technology is supposed to be limited to the…’

‘Government?’ I ask.

Rogu3 nods, awe still reflected in his expression. I tighten my mouth. My grandfather is one thing; MI7 is quite another.