New Order (Bo Blackman Book 2)

  New Order

  HELEN HARPER

  For Lizzy, Symond, Marcus, Leah and Boosh

  Copyright © 2014 Helen Harper

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One: Fingertips & Frolics

  The rain has made the cobbles slick and wet. They glisten in the faint moonlight, as if awash with blood. I could swear they’re tinged with red but it’s probably just my overactive imagination. I shiver, though not because of the cold. I’ve not felt cold since I gulped down a pint of O negative six weeks ago. I’m not sure if that makes me more warm blooded than when I was human or if it just serves as a reminder that I’m a freak of nature. A bloodguzzling monster surrounded by a family of bloodier criminals. I zip up my leather jacket anyway; the mundane act makes me feel more normal.

  Up ahead, the shadows at the doorway to Fingertips and Frolics elongate as the latest customer exits. I squint at the figure. He went in too quickly for me to get much of a read on him but now that he’s pausing outside I can tell, even from my concealed position, that he’s a white witch. The tattoo shimmering on his left cheek is a dead giveaway. I can’t make out the particular brand but white witches are inked on the left, black witches on the right. I feel slightly more relaxed now that I know he’s on the paler side of magic users. I’m not naïve enough to believe that makes him ‘good’ per se, but an establishment that deals with the whites is more likely to help me out. My old family name doesn’t endear me to black witches and even though I’ve theoretically abandoned the title of Blackman for Montserrat, I know they won’t register the difference.

  The press recently dredged up the old political correctness argument about witches. It’s clearly a series of planted articles, paid for by the magic lobbyists, but it’s of interest nonetheless. The ethnic human communities point out that to use the terms ‘white’ and ‘black’ to describe different forms of magic is racism by implication, especially when most of the population believe that black magic is inherently evil and white magic is pure and natural. Indeed, etymologically speaking, the word ‘necromancer’, which falls firmly in the category of black magic and sends a shiver down the spine of any tabloid-pages-swallowing human, derives from ‘nigromancer’, a term coined around the 1500s. That’s ‘niger’, the Latin for black, and ‘manteia’, the Greek for divination. White witches are more than happy to agree with the sentiment and suggest we use the terms ‘high’ and ‘low’ magic instead. Naturally, white magic would be ‘high’. This sets black magicians howling in self-righteous indignation. They argue that if the words are changed, they should be altered to ‘non-binding’ and ‘binding’. The white witches counter that those terms are too unwieldy and will never catch on. The rest of the country watches with interest, and continues to stick to the universally understood ‘black’ and ‘white’‒ at least for now.

  The truth of the matter is that the words and their respective witch factions have nothing to do with skin colour and nothing to do with either good or evil. They’re just different ways of doing things, I guess like Protestants and Catholics, although admittedly witches are given little choice in the matter. They’re born, not made. You’d think that with a name like Blackman, my human family would be viewed favourably by black witches, but the dealings my grandfather had with them in the sixties and seventies damned our name for ever among them. Whoever said that we should look forward and not back has never met a black witch. But it means that Fingertips and Frolics will be more likely to be amenable to my request. A white witch would never frequent a black magic shop.

  Satisfied that the store is empty, I emerge from my shadowy hiding place. O’Shea put me onto this place and, while I still don’t entirely trust the daemon’s motives, I’m willing to try anything. The window, backlit with a soft orange glow, contains an artful display of carefully arranged bottles of different colours and hues, as well as numerous pieces of magic paraphernalia. I’m pleased see that there’s nothing showily fake; as far as I can tell, all the contents are the real thing. My confidence is slightly buoyed. The last place I visited – again on O’Shea’s recommendation – was purely for tourists. I don’t think there was anything in that shop beyond daft tricks.

  I take a deep breath and push open the door. I’ve barely stepped over the threshold, however, when there’s the sound of a clanging siren. I curse: it must be a vampire alert. Businesses, unlike homes, don’t benefit from the triber-based laws of physics which state that, unless invited, a vampire can’t enter. As a result, many of the less bloodguzzler-friendly joints set up simple spells to alert them when a vampire crosses into their triber premises. Frankly, until recently humans have been more welcoming to vampires than the rest of the tribers put together. And if you think about it, that’s completely ridiculous because the only species that vampires feed off are humans. Triber blood just doesn’t taste nice. So I’m told.

  Rather than moving further inside, I wait to avoid causing more alarm to whoever is manning the store. The last thing I need is some anti-vampire spell thrown in my face. It won’t kill me, but it’ll damn well hurt. As a newly fledged bloodguzzler, I’m more vulnerable than most of my older Family members.

  ‘I come in peace!’ I yell, feeling faintly ridiculous as the words leave my mouth. I’m a run-of-the-mill bloodguzzler, not a goddamn alien. Still, it seems to work because a head bobs up from behind a stack of towering books and raises a speculative eyebrow in my direction.

  ‘You’re a vampire.’

  I avoid rolling my eyes at this less than profound statement. ‘Yes,’ I nod, holding my palms up as if in surrender.

  ‘Which Family?’

  ‘Montserrat.’ At least I have that on my side. The Montserrat Family is considered the least belligerent or dangerous of the five Families. They do, however, have far-reaching fingers in many pies so tribers tend to treat them with more respect than other vampires. Of course, I’m not here with Montserrat approval but the shopkeeper doesn’t need to know that.

  My interrogator’s eyes blink owlishly. ‘You’re new.’

  I’m impressed she can tell. ‘Yes,’ I agree. ‘Only six weeks.’

  She comes out from behind the stack, curiosity getting the better of her. ‘I thought they didn’t allow newbies out for years.’

  They don’t. I shrug and offer a faint grin. ‘I’m special.’

  ‘Hmm.’ The woman is in her late forties and impeccably dressed. Her face is blemish-free so she’s not a witch, but there’s still an aura of magic clinging to her that makes me pause. ‘Neo-druid?’ I guess. It’s a shot in the dark but I have a gut feeling that I’m right.

  Her lips purse. ‘A fledgling vampire who actually knows something. Interesting. What can I do for you?’

  I relax slightly. ‘It’s knowledge I’m after,’ I say softly. ‘Vampiric. I’ve been told you might be able to help.’

  A knowing expression crosses her face. ‘Let me guess. You’ve made a terrible mistake in being recruited and you’re looking for a way to reverse it.’

  It’s my turn to be surprised. None of the other people I quizzed worked that out before I told them. Then again, none of them realised that I was a new vampire. My thoughts must be obvious because she gives a knowing smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘Why else would such a young bloodguzzler be here?’

  ‘You’ve had others?’ I ask hopefully.

  She shakes her head, although her expression softens. ‘No.’

  My delight dissipates. I don’t bother with any further preamble. ‘Can it be done?’

  ‘I don’t expect so. But,’ she adds, holding up her index finger in the air as my shoulders sag, ‘it’s not something I’ve ever had to look into before.’

  I
regard her thoughtfully. ‘And if I asked you to look into it now?’

  The woman starts re-arranging some semi-precious stones on a shelf. She picks up an amethyst and frowns at it, before returning it carefully to its original place. I bite my tongue to avoid snapping impatiently at her.

  Finally, she looks at me. ‘Why would I want to do that?’

  ‘I’ll pay you. Whatever your price.’

  There’s a flash of greed on her face; sadly, however, her words don’t match her emotions. ‘Supposing there is something out there, some long-forgotten spell that can undo the transformation brought about by the recruitment process. If it exists, it’s buried deep. It could take months to locate and there’s no guarantee that‒even if such a spell exists‒ it would work.’

  ‘I can wait.’

  She exhales loudly. ‘You have all the time in the world. At least another two hundred years, assuming you don’t get knocked off by wandering around the streets asking stupid questions when you’re as weak as kitten. I don’t have so much time.’

  I grit my teeth. ‘I will compensate you for your time.’

  ‘My husband would have told you that money won’t help me when I’m six feet under. He was an idealist.’

  ‘But…’

  ‘Look. You seem nice, but look at it from my perspective. I spend time and energy finding this spell, which is so elusive no-one has ever heard of it. If I find it and use it to turn you back into whatever manner of human you were, what do you think happens next?’ I frown. ‘I’ll tell you what happens. I have the five Families after my head. I would probably last about five minutes. So think about it. Why would I want to jeopardise my short, mortal lifespan getting on the wrong side of just about every vampire in the country?’

  ‘They might be happy about a reversion spell,’ I protest weakly.

  She shoots me a droll look. ‘Really? How do they benefit from such a spell?’

  ‘People make mistakes! They should be able to change their minds.’

  ‘What happens if the Families start using it as a weapon against each other? Medici decides he doesn’t like Lord Gully so he returns him to a human state in order to be able to kill him with a flick of his wrist. How do you think that would play out?’

  ‘They wouldn’t do that. There are laws…’

  ‘Vampire laws to protect vampires.’ She cocks her head. ‘It would be a different story if they were human.’

  ‘I understand your argument,’ I say, attempting to reason with her. ‘But the government would go nuts if the Families started killing humans whenever they wanted to.’

  She throws back her head and laughs. ‘Do you really think anyone outside of the Families would care if an ex-bloodguzzler ended up dead?’

  I stare at her dumbly.

  ‘Besides, even if that wasn’t a problem, do you honestly think you’re the first new vampire to have regrets? It probably happens all the time. I doubt anyone would be happy to see a bunch of criminals abruptly returned to the streets. And I don’t think any of the Family seniors, not even the Montserrats, want a headache like that to deal with. All that effort during recruitment for it to suddenly vanish?’ She clicks her fingers and a puff of white smoke rises up to the ceiling. ‘No. If I came across a reversion spell, they’d kill me without a second thought.’

  I step forward, then realise that might be considered threatening, so I move back again. The fact that this woman knows the Families have a strong criminal element means she’s not just blowing smoke up my arse. Literally or figuratively. Sensing any sliver of opportunity I might have is slipping away, I make a last-ditch effort. ‘We wouldn’t have to tell anyone.’

  She looks at me steadily. I bow my head, unwilling to acknowledge defeat. ‘Do you know anyone else who might be prepared to look for a reversion spell?’

  ‘I hope that you’re not encouraging me to put any of my acquaintances in danger.’

  ‘Please. There has to be something…’ My desperation is obvious.

  She is stone-faced: utterly, implacably immoveable. ‘There’s not.’

  Dead-ended, I turn to go. ‘Thanks for your time,’ I murmur.

  ‘Whoa!’ She grabs my arm. Reflexively, I throw her off and send her spinning backwards. Her body slams into the nearest wall then crumples to the floor. I wince. Damn it. I keep forgetting I’m a lot stronger than I used to be. I rush to help her up but she scowls at me and struggles to her feet on her own.

  ‘I was going to tell you,’ she says rubbing her arm where it had banged into the wall, ‘that if you don’t want me repeating this conversation to anyone such as a senior Family member, you will compensate me for the time I’ve just wasted and buy something from the shop. After that little act, you can buy two things.’

  ‘What?’ I blink at her. ‘That’s mercenary. You can’t do that!’

  ‘You just attacked me,’ she points out calmly. ‘Imagine if word got out that the Montserrat Family is allowing dangerous new vampires onto the street where they are harming innocent bystanders. After the murders a couple of months ago, there’s enough concern about your lot as it is.’

  Unbelievable. I shake my head and curse then, without looking, scoop up two random objects from the display to my left. ‘Fine,’ I mutter. ‘I’ll take these.’

  ‘Too cheap,’ she scoffs. ‘Someone of your calibre can surely afford to spend a little more.’

  I’m tempted to smack her hard on the head and walk out. Instead I grit my teeth. ‘Can you make any recommendations?’

  She smiles. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’ She picks up the amethyst she was frowning at earlier and passes it over. ‘This. And…’ pursing her lips she examines the shelves then hands me a bright green feather ‘…this.’

  I stare down at the price tags. ‘You have got to be kidding me.’

  ‘They’re very good value.’

  ‘Fifty quid? For a feather?’

  Her eyes sparkle. ‘It’s a very special feather.’

  Gods above. I dig into one of my pockets and pull out some crumpled notes. Thank goodness I tapped Arzo for some cash the last time I saw him. He wasn’t happy about it but given the mess his machinations got me into, I didn’t give him much choice.

  I thrust the notes at her. ‘Here.’

  ‘It’s been a pleasure doing business with you. Wait here while I ring it up.’

  ‘Don’t bother.’

  ‘Oh, you must have a receipt. Rules are rules.’

  I give her a dirty look. ‘Does that mean I can return the items later?’

  Her smile is more patronising than friendly. I mutter a curse under my breath that would have my grandfather gasping in horror at my unladylike language. Then I leave, stupid feather, sparkly stone and bloody receipt clutched in my hand. She didn’t even give me a bag.

  I shove the amethyst into a side pocket. With nothing better to do with the feather, I stick it behind my ear. Then I pull out my phone. I shouldn’t have it; fledgling vampires are meant to stay well away from the real world to ease their transition into their new life. This, however, is another helpful ‘gift’ from Arzo.

  ‘That was a total bust,’ I say as soon as O’Shea answers.

  ‘Really?’ I don’t believe he’s as surprised as he sounds. ‘I’d heard she might be amenable if the price was right. I guess my sources were wrong.’

  ‘It’s a legit shop, O’Shea, and the owner is far from stupid. She’s not going to go against the Families.’ I’m trying not to sound accusatory because he got my hopes up - but it’s not easy.

  ‘It’s not for the Families. It’s for you,’ he answers pragmatically.

  I sigh. ‘You know and I know‒ and she most definitely knows‒ that they wouldn’t like it.’

  O’Shea takes a deep breath. ‘You could always leave.’

  ‘Leave?’

  ‘Leave the Family. Strike out on your own. Be independent.’

  I snort. ‘Yeah, right. Like that’ll work out well. What I really need is for you to
speak to your shadier contacts and see if there’s anyone with a grudge against the vampires who might be willing to help.’

  There’s a moment of silence before he speaks. ‘Sure. Except…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ve already spoken to everyone I can think of, Bo. Nobody wants to get involved.’

  ‘Try harder,’ I growl, walking back down the cobbled alleyway. ‘It’s not like you’re doing much of anything else right now.’ One positive side effect of the recent events that saw me transformed into a vampire is that O’Shea is now being kept on a short leash. He takes almost every opportunity to complain about it but, secretly, I think he likes the attention.

  ‘That’s mean,’ he whines. ‘I’m doing my best.’

  My fingers curl into fists. The trouble is that I believe him. ‘There’s got to be something else you can do,’ I tell him briskly.

  ‘Bo…’

  A well-dressed man suddenly appears at the end of the street, silhouetted against the street lights. Bugger it.

  ‘I have to go.’ Without waiting for a response, I hang up and stuff the phone into my pocket. It’s probably too late to hope that the man’s not seen it yet, but maybe I’ll get lucky. I straighten my shoulders defiantly.

  ‘My Lord,’ I say, when I reach him. ‘Out for a stroll?’

  Michael Montserrat glares at me. ‘This is the third time in a week.’ His tone conveys his mood. ‘Don’t you think I’ve got better things to do than run around after one bloody recruit?’

  ‘Technically,’ I tell him coolly, ‘I’m not a recruit, I’m a fully-fledged vampire.’ Although I have to admit I’m surprised that he’s out here. It’s usually great, hulking Ursus who deals with newbie issues. I may not have been with the Montserrat Family for long but even I know that Lord Montserrat rarely bothers his arse with fledglings’ problems.

  He rubs his hand across his close-cropped hair. ‘Like I don’t know it. Bo,’ he sighs. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I needed some air. I was tired of feeling cooped up.’