Dark Tomorrow (Bo Blackman Book 6) (4 page)

I angle my head so I’m looking directly at the rectangle. Is something supposed to happen? The little light momentarily flashes green, there’s a faint whoosh and, just like that, the wooden door slides open, revealing a small entrance area. Unlike the exterior of the warehouse, which is made of what looks like rotting timber, this is shiny chrome.

Maria squeaks. ‘I no want go.’

Her and me both. There’s another whooshing sound and another metal door glides open, this time revealing my grandfather. He has a walking stick in one hand and there’s no denying his frailty but the intelligence in his eyes is as sharp as ever.

‘How wonderful to see you all,’ he says.

I’m tempted to curse him for escaping from the hospital and forcing me to go through with this stupid charade but it would be pointless; he’d only make me feel bad about myself. It’s his special gift. Perhaps I’m also learning something about self-control.

Nah.

I step forward and kiss his cheek. It feels delicate and papery under my lips but when I draw back, concerned, he ignores me.

‘Devlin. Thank you for bringing Bo. I know she can be … difficult.’

‘Buthy baby! It was my pleasure!’

My grandfather’s lip curls and he nods at Rogu3. ‘And thank you for your collusion, Alistair.’

Rogu3 coughs and shuffles his feet. ‘Wasn’t much.’

Feeling put out, I fold my arms. ‘You could have told me,’ I say accusingly to them both.

My grandfather doesn’t let them speak. ‘If they had you wouldn’t have come.’

‘This all belongs to MI7, right?’

‘Naturally.’

I hiss. ‘Well, then. I’ve already had one bloody Member of Parliament trying to kill me. I don’t need to knock on the government’s door and present myself for the taking. Michael…’

‘Lord Montserrat is too weak to keep being moved,’ my grandfather interrupts. ‘And there is a world of difference between the elected officials at Westminster and MI7. They are temporary;
we
are not.’

‘You’re retired. One leak and…’

‘No one is going leak anything about you being here, Bo, because no one
knows
you’re here.’ His eyes gleam. ‘Besides, I didn’t yield all of my power, knowledge or abilities when I retired from MI7. Only a handful of people are aware of the existence of this facility. You have no need to worry.’

From the back of our small group, Maria spits. ‘Here,’ she says. ‘Take stretcher. I no stay here.’

‘Maria,’ my grandfather says gently, ‘you are in more danger than everyone else. As you well know.’ She stiffens and I narrow my gaze. They’ve never met each other before so what is going on? There’s always been more to the damaged girl than is visible to the world, and my grandfather has an uncanny knack for picking out triber elements in all manner of people.

Before I can say anything, he steps to the side. ‘Why don’t I show you around first? Then you can all make up your minds.’

I look at O’Shea and Rogu3. They both nod. Maria’s bottom lip juts out but she shrugs reluctantly. Kimchi’s tail wags. Michael doesn’t say anything. He’s dropped back into unconsciousness and it’s that alone which makes me decide. ‘Lead the way.’

‘You can leave the mutt outside.’

Aware that he’s suddenly the topic of conversation, Kimchi nudges his way forward before rising onto his back paws and angling upwards for a slobbery lick. I beam. ‘I can’t. He’s missed you too much.’

My grandfather scowls.

***

I expected the interior to be large and cavernous but it is remarkably compact. ‘The walls are three feet thick,’ my grandfather says. ‘They’re capable of withstanding almost any attack.’

I wonder whether any building, regardless of its high-tech equipment, is capable of holding off an attack by a Kakos daemon. For now, I hold my tongue.

We trail through numerous corridors. Leading off them are bedrooms, each one very simple but with real beds and real en-suite bathrooms. This will be better for Michael; he’ll have a real chance of recuperation here. But I’m still afraid.

‘You can leave Lord Montserrat in one of these rooms.’

‘He’s staying with us,’ I say firmly. I need to know the lay of the land first.

A trace of a smile crosses my grandfather’s lips but he doesn’t argue.

We continue to a larger room. There are camera displays at the front, each one showing a different angle of the warehouse’s exterior. Something flashes in the corner of one of the screens and I immediately stiffen before realising it is heat-sensing imagery picking up the bloody cat.

‘This is so cool,’ Rogu3 breathes.

I glance at him. ‘Maybe you’ll be able to get that software you need here.’

He looks excited and darts over to a desk with a computer. He runs a worshipping hand over it. ‘I’d be surprised if even Streets of Fire has this model.’ He sits down on the swivel chair and beckons to Maria. She and O’Shea lay Michael’s stretcher down on a long leather sofa and she joins Rogu3.

My grandfather raises his eyebrows at me. I shrug and look away.

‘This place was designed for visiting dignitaries,’ he says. ‘In case of attack upon their person.’

‘Oooh, I like having my person attacked,’ O’Shea remarks.

My mouth quirks up slightly. I appreciate his attempt to keep the atmosphere light but we need to know more about this place before we break out the champagne. ‘What if someone gets inside with a bomb?’ I ask.

My grandfather smiles sympathetically. ‘The attacks on the Families weren’t your fault.’

‘I know,’ I snap, before regretting it.

He pats my arm. ‘Each door can be sealed off with the press of a button.’ He points towards a console. ‘Every eventuality has been thought of.’

‘Magic attacks?’

‘There are spells and wards across every access point. Even the most concerted attack would be foiled. There are also mechanisms in place to ward off any squatters or hapless passers-by. Perhaps you noticed the smell?’

I wrinkle my nose but I’m not yielding just yet. ‘Supplies?’

‘Enough for three months. Electricity runs from a separate generator. Water is recycled and completely bypasses the London mains system.’ He points to the left. ‘Take that door and you’ll find a lift going underground to a bunker built to withstand nuclear attacks.’ He points to the right. ‘Go in that direction and you’ll reach a viral decontamination area. Everything has been considered.’ He pauses and looks at Michael. ‘Straight ahead, there is a fully equipped medical facility with every drug and medicine you can think of. He’ll have what he needs, Bo.’

‘I don’t know what he needs,’ I whisper. Then I straighten my back. ‘This place seems too good to be true. How long before one of your MI7 buddies comes wandering by?’

‘It’s highly unlikely that they will. And I’m sure your boy there can do something to lock them out beforehand.’

Rogu3 looks at me. ‘I can manage that,’ he allows.

I sigh and go back to Michael. I brush my fingers against his forehead. His skin is clammy and he seems even paler than before. ‘We’ll stay,’ I say softly. ‘For now.’ My grandfather nods as if he always knew I’d agree.

‘What did you mean about Maria?’ I ask. She bites her lip and stares at me. ‘Why is she in more danger?’ I meet her eyes and address her directly. ‘It was you he wanted to meet,’ I say, referring to our recent joint encounter with X before my world exploded. ‘At La Boheme. X wanted to have dinner with us not because of Rogu3 but because of you.’

‘He wanted to confirm what she really is,’ my grandfather answers for her.

‘Which is?’

‘It’s up to her to tell you.’

I draw in a breath. ‘I’m getting a little tired of all these secrets and evasions.’

Maria stands up. ‘I am Romany.’ She glares at me, challenge lighting up her face as if she expects me to throw her out on her ear.

Er… ‘So?’

‘Honestly, Bo,’ my grandfather says scornfully. ‘This is why I wanted you to have a decent education. Your understanding and knowledge is severely lacking in so many areas that it’s a wonder you can even add up.’

‘Look,’ I say, with a flash of anger, ‘I…’

‘Guys,’ Rogu3 interrupts, ‘take a look at this.’

The tone in his voice makes us all turn. Maria takes in the computer screen and blanches.

I hurry over. ‘What is it?’ Then my stomach drops. ‘Oh.’

It’s a live feed from Covent Garden, barely a stone’s throw away from the New Order offices. A figure is pressed up against the wall and he’s surrounded by a group of witches, many of them with twin black and white tattoos on their cheeks. Something flies towards him and, as he ducks, the flash of his fangs is suddenly visible. It’s a vampire – one of the few still alive and in the city. And there are at least a dozen hybrid witches after his blood.

The damned van is determined to not go above sixty. My foot is pressed right down and I’m gunning the engine for all its worth. No matter what I do, it’s not going to go any faster. It swerves round the corners, almost coming onto two wheels. I knew I should have taken the time to go back for my bike but, after all the explosions at the Family mansions, it seemed too much of a risk.

I’m certain that by the time I get to the vampire, he’ll be dead. I park illegally, getting as close as I can, and then sprint towards him. The sound of jeers fires my blood. I realise the witches are stretching out this moment, enjoying taking down the hapless bloodguzzler as slowly as possible. There’s no fear of retaliation; there are no Families left to go after them. I smile grimly as I push myself faster. They’ve forgotten about me.

Since I left the warehouse, the group of witches has grown. Where there were only around a dozen, now there seem to be about thirty. The night sky is lit up by their flashes of foul magic. Cameras held by quivering journalists are recording the action. I’m not going to get into an ethical debate about whether the press is there merely to record events, but damn those parasitical vultures for not lifting a finger to help.

Ignoring them, I reach into the crowd and grab the nearest two witches by the scruffs of their necks then haul them backwards and smack their heads together. They collapse onto the ground with a heavy thud. The others are so intent on their victim that they don’t even notice. They’re all taller than me and they’re crowded too closely together for me to peek through them, so I can’t see what state the vampire is in. I’m betting it’s not good. I can’t take on this many witches at once and, sooner or later, they’re going to notice I’m here. I need to be smarter.

When you think about it, fear really is the ultimate weapon. The Kakos daemons have had to do very little for generations because everyone’s so bloody scared of them. With their actions against the Families, they’ve just cemented their reputation for the next century. It can be tricky, though; there’s a fine balance between intimidating someone and riling them to the point where they come at you like a rabid dog. Or in this case, a pack of rabid dogs with black magic at their fingertips and blood already on their hands.

I reach down inside myself for the iciness I know lingers there. It’s dangerous but it’s going to be worth it. Then I select my target: the younger and more vulnerable the better.

I quickly find who I need. Towards the far end of the scrum, there’s a scrawny kid with a sickeningly proud smile pasted across his thin face. My mouth flattens into a grim line. He should be at home. No doubt his parents have decided that he can get a better education by beating a bloodguzzler to death at the witching hour than by going to school in the daylight like someone normal. Sucks to be him. I crick my neck from one side to the other as a light from one of the watching cameras swings in my direction. I guess the paps have spotted me, at least.

Wasting no further time, I spring round and curl an arm round the kid’s chest. He yells loudly in surprise as I drag him backwards. It’s enough to draw the attention of the other witches. One by one they elbow each other, spinning round and falling into silence when they see me. I keep the kid close, his thrumming heartbeat singing to mine. This could almost be fun.

One of the mob – who surprises me by his human appearance – steps forward. His features are ugly and twisted, despite the sudden panic in his face, which suggests he feels kinship with the kid. I guess he’s here with the witches because a shared antipathy for vampires proves that the enemy of your enemy is a friend. So much for sympathy for what’s happened to us, then.

‘Let him go.’

I smile disarmingly. ‘Sure. I’ll do that right now.’ I pause. ‘No, wait. Maybe I won’t.’

‘Might have known she’d survive,’ someone spits from the crowd. ‘She’s like a bleedin’ cockroach.’

‘Got that right,’ I coo. ‘There’s no getting rid of me.’ Using my free hand, I trail my index finger down the kid’s cheek. He flinches and tries to jerk away but I hold him fast. ‘Now, what do cockroaches eat, I wonder?’ I cock my head as if trying to think while I deliberately let my fangs grow. ‘They probably like their meat young and succulent.’

‘Get your filthy hands off him!’

I allow my teeth to scrape the skin of the boy’s neck. Right now, he’s nothing more than a plain, normal-looking kid; he doesn’t even have a faint tattoo of either white or black magic across his cheek. If he is a witch, the tattoo won’t reach prominence until he comes of age when, no doubt, he’ll undergo the same procedure as the others in order to become a hybrid. I’m starting to think, however, that he’s human. Even without the human man jumping in to attempt a rescue, the faint scent emanating from the kid’s skin suggests it.

His eyes are throbbing with hatred. I sniff once more and glance down. The boy’s knuckles are bruised and bleeding. He’s not all that innocent. Despite the situation, I feel hunger stirring inside me. It’s not been easy to feed myself the last few days and this boy does smell good.

One of the witches lunges towards me. I pull back just in time. ‘Now, now, now,’ I tut. ‘That’s just not polite.’ I dip my head further and nick the boy’s skin, just above his jugular. As blood trickles down, I use the tip of my tongue to lap it up. ‘Mmm. AB. I don’t get that very often. How yummy.’

A tall woman strides out from the back of the crowd. She’s dressed from head to toe in black. It’s almost like we’re matching. ‘What do you want?’

I meet her cold gaze. ‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

‘You’d kill a child for this?’

I smile sympathetically. ‘Children are the future, aren’t they? And this child has been involved in beating a vampire to death.’ I gesture at the dazzled journalists. ‘Look at his hands. Is this boy an innocent? Is thirty against one a fair fight?’ My smile grows. ‘Is a bunch of cameras filming the action ‒ and therefore silently condoning it ‒ something this country should be proud of?’

I’m pleased to note that several of them flinch. Good: it means I’m being scary enough. Bring on the fear, ladies and gentlemen. Bring. It. On.

‘He’s a Medici bloodguzzler. You hate them as much as we do.’

‘You might have missed it,’ I say softly, ‘but Medici are no more. The guzzler is mine.’ I stroke the boy’s cheek. ‘Or this boy is mine. You choose.’

Several of them mutter amongst themselves. Another man extricates himself, walks up to the self-appointed leader and whispers in her ear. I watch his mouth and the anger inside me solidifies. I was pissed off before; now I’m incandescent. I don’t let it show, though. Screw what my grandfather says; I can keep my emotions hidden when I need to.

Indecision crosses the woman’s face. ‘A life for a life,’ I remind her. ‘It’s up to you.’

‘Scarlet,’ the man, who is probably the boy’s father, begins.

‘Scarlet?’ I beam. ‘And I’m the Red Angel. It’s like we could be sisters.’ I look down at the boy and let my pupils dilate. ‘Blood is scarlet too,’ I purr.

Scarlet pushes the man away. ‘Fine,’ she snarls. ‘Release the boy and you can have the vampire.’

‘I think not. Vampire first. Then I will give you the boy.’

She hisses and spits but she does what I ask. She snaps her fingers at two of her henchmen who growl and retrieve the beaten body, dragging him forward through the crowd. They drop him at my feet. His face is a bloody pulp.

I tilt my head and listen. He’s close enough for me to ascertain the truth. Fuck. ‘He’s dying.’ I say it calmly and without inflection.

‘You don’t know that.’

I sigh. ‘I do. And I did say a life for a life.’ Still holding the boy, I reach down and grab the vampire’s limp body, tossing him over my shoulder in a fireman’s lift. Then I start backing up. Between the vampire and the boy, movement is awkward. The kid starts writhing and jerking; he’s going to try almost anything to save his sorry skin. He opens his mouth and bites down hard on my arm. In response I cuff him hard on the side of his head and it lolls to the side. Huh. I’d have thought a teenager would have a harder skull than that.

‘Let him go!’ the father shrieks. ‘Let him go!’

Any second now, the crowd will decide enough is enough and come after me like some amorphous angry monster. I take in a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy with my two burdens but I’ll do my best.

I spin round and start running. Admittedly it’s more like a lopsided shuffle than a run but I do what I can. There’s a sudden roar from behind. I’ve probably only got a three-second head-start. Damn it, that’s not enough time to get back to the van.

I drop the kid. I’d hoped to use him as collateral to get further but his weight is holding me back. Of course, now that he’s no longer with me, the witches have no reason to hold back. I zigzag, trying to avoid the bursts of magic streaming towards me but there’s a limit to what I can do. I’m struck at least three times and my right arm goes completely limp.

Something tightens around my shin. I glance down as I run and realise it’s a bloody snake. Now it’s my turn to experience fear. The snake opens its jaws, ready to sink its fangs into my skin. I don’t have time to reach down and shake it off. Stabbing pain shoots upwards. I’ll just have to hope that MI7 includes snakebite antidote in its medical room otherwise I’m going to be seriously sick. I limp a few more metres, fling open the van door, toss in the Medici vamp and extricate myself from the snake, throwing it onto the road. Then I put the pedal to the metal.

***

‘He’s dead,’ my grandfather informs me.

I push back my hair and sit up. My leg is still throbbing painfully. Apparently, I’m now strong enough as a vampire to avoid death from even the nastiest of snakes, with or without an antidote. Yippee – but it still bloody hurts. And vampiric strength isn’t enough to keep you alive when there are thirty magically endowed people beating you up at the same time.

‘They murdered him. Sodding witches.’ To survive the bombs, only to be ripped apart by a baying crowd of idiots who are being dangled on a string by someone far, far smarter than them, makes the now-dead Medici vampire’s situation seem even shittier than it already is.

My grandfather sits on the edge of my bed. ‘Most people are on your side, Bo. Yes, there are factions taking advantage of the situation but, by and large, there’s been a lot of sympathy for the vampires since the attacks. We British don’t like to think of ourselves as homicidal maniacs.’

‘Even if we are.’

‘Yes,’ he agrees quietly. ‘Even if we are.’ He waits a beat before continuing. ‘You have to be careful. You looked like you were going to kill that child. That kind of action is not going to endear you to anybody.’

‘I wouldn’t have really hurt him. Not much.’ I might have taken a good long drink from him to make sure he spent the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the next pair of fangs but I wouldn’t have killed him.

‘I know.’

I look up at his careworn face. ‘Do you? I’ve done some pretty bad things. I
have
killed.’

He sighs. ‘The vampire part of you has taken root. It’s in your soul. There will be bloodlust, Bo. There will be less … conscience inside you. It doesn’t mean you’re not you, though. It doesn’t mean you can’t still make right and moral decisions.’

‘Moral?’ I scoff. ‘Is there any part of this world where morality still exists?’

He brushes away a lock of hair from my cheek in a familiar gesture that I remember from when I was a child. ‘You know there is.’ He looks away. ‘And if you are going to stay in this country and not get yourself killed, you need to present a better image to the world. You’re the public face of the vampires now, whether there are five of you, or fifty, or five thousand.’

I reach up and turn his head, forcing him to look at me. ‘What if there’s only one?’ He doesn’t answer. I shake my head and swing my legs round. ‘How’s Michael doing?’

‘His pulse is weak and thready. He’s running a temperature. There’s no internal bleeding that I’m aware of but I’ve started him on intravenous antibiotics to beat any internal infection.’

That’s a better answer than ‘okay’. ‘Should I have taken him to a hospital?’

‘I don’t think it would make a difference and it would have been incredibly dangerous. There will be others besides the Kakos daemons who want to see him dead now that he’s so vulnerable. However, we can still try that if you…’

I hold up a hand. ‘No. He’s safer here.’

My grandfather regards me steadily. ‘It’s not going to work, you know.’

‘What?’

‘If he makes it. If Michael pulls through.’

I notice that he’s stopped calling him Lord Montserrat. I ignore the chill. ‘He’s going to make it,’ I say through gritted teeth.

‘Maybe he will. But you and him? A vampire and a human?’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

I stand up. ‘Let’s just concentrate on getting him better first.’

Rogu3 appears in the doorway, saving me from further conversation. ‘I’ve got the clip you wanted.’

‘Perfect.’ I don’t smile.

‘What’s this about?’ my grandfather enquires.

I tighten my jaw. ‘Come and see.’

We troop through to the main room. O’Shea is lying on the sofa and covering his face with his hands as Kimchi tries to find a spot he can lick. I have to give it to the dog, he’s certainly determined.