Banished (3 page)

The gravestone isn’t ostentatious. Above Nan’s birth date and the date that she died, the simple lines read:

I sit down next to the gravestone and lay the bright spray of yellow flowers on the ground. Someone’s been keeping a good eye on her grave and it looks neater and tidier
than some of the others.

I hug my knees to my chest and only find my voice after a few minutes.

‘First solo job, Nan. It went okay, I think. I sent the banshee back and I was tempted just to burn him and the whole building to the ground, but that would have been messy and I think
Uncle Jamie would have been really annoyed with me.’

I clear my throat and touch the petals of the flowers. ‘I brought you some sunny flowers. I thought they’d cheer you up a bit.’

The silence in the graveyard acts as a balm to my frayed nerves and I watch as something, a beetle of some sort, pushes its way along the grass on the far side of the grave.

‘Please tell me you’re not planning to turn into a creepy Goth and hang out in graveyards.’

I try not to show my fright and twist towards my uncle Jamie’s voice. How a six-foot-three guy weighing two hundred and fifty pounds can move as quietly as he does is a skill he’s
yet to share. The knife in my hand is a reassuring presence and I don’t slide it back into its sheath in the small of my back when he sits down on the ground opposite to me.

He leaves a single white rose on the ground next to my yellow flowers.

‘What are you doing here?’ I ask him. His features are difficult to make out in the darkness but his silhouette is something I’ll recognize anywhere.

‘Catching up with you before I head to Hawaii. I’m training some US government people down there.’

‘Nice. Do I get to come along?’

His chuckle is low and charming. ‘Oho, a good try, but no. You get to go home and sleep and eat. You look like you’re made from candyfloss, like you’ll drift away on the breeze
any second.’ He waves his hand in the air to show me exactly how wafty I look.

I scowl at him in the dim light. ‘I’m fine.’

‘You used a lot of magic. You need to rest. Do the paperwork to close the case and just relax. You’ll be off on more adventures pretty soon.’

‘I’m ready now,’ I say.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asks me, blatantly ignoring my comment.

‘Just wondering about stuff,’ I say. ‘How different my life would have been had she lived and the house not been burned to the ground.’

He sits quietly next to me for a bit before he drags out his dented pack of cigarettes and fiddles with it between his fingers.

‘Did you ever wonder why Mirabelle made you do boxing?’ he asks me. ‘Or why she insisted you learn karate?’

I look at him in confusion. ‘She never made me do anything,’ I reply. ‘I chose to do those things.’

‘Do you remember her prompting you?’

I hate to admit it, but I remember her showing me the karate pamphlets. It took a few weeks but I eventually told her I’d be interested in taking classes. The boxing happened later, when
we moved to the village and the local gym advertised classes after school. I liked the idea of learning how to defend myself, especially as the karate instructor I had in Germany had me compete in
my age group and I enjoyed the competition.

‘What are you saying, Jamie?’

‘Mirabelle’s been training you how to look after yourself all your life, Kit. You may not have realized that, but she knew a time would come when you would be drawn back into the
family. And she wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be at a disadvantage.’

I want to argue with him, but I can’t because I suspect he’s telling the truth.

‘Why did she run from the family? If she knew about my gift, about the magic, she should have stayed.’

‘Mirabelle wanted to give you a chance to grow up as yourself. She knew that your life as a Blackhart would mean one of constant training and learning about the Otherwhere. She saw your
parents’ death as a chance to give you the opportunity to have the normal childhood that none of us had. Then, when you were older, she would tell you about the family and you could make the
decision to join us or walk away. We thought we’d tell you on your eighteenth birthday. But things changed when she was threatened; when she called me.’

I grunt. ‘Too late.’

He sighs and shifts uncomfortably.

‘Are you going to sit here the whole night, feeling sorry for yourself?’ Jamie’s voice isn’t as harsh as it could be. ‘I’m heading to the airport and if I
don’t leave soon I’ll miss my flight.’

‘I’m done,’ I say and stand up smoothly, keeping the knife by my side. It was night-time in a graveyard. You just never know what might lurk in the dark.

‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ he says to me and drops an arm around my shoulders, giving me a quick squeeze. ‘I’m proud of you. You did really well sorting out the
mess at that school.’

I beam a smile at that but pretend to watch my feet, not wanting him to see how much his compliment mattered to me.

‘And I’m being serious, Kit. Go back to the Manor, do your paperwork and just relax. Mrs Evans is away at her niece’s wedding so you’ll have the whole place to yourself.
Brownie weddings go on for at least a week, if not more if all the clan turns up.’

‘But I’m fine,’ I tell him. ‘A bit sore and bruised, but I’m okay.’ I hold my hand out and my magic shimmers around my skin. ‘See? If I was as tired as
you’re making out, I wouldn’t be able to do that. And are you sure I can’t come with you? I’ll be no bother, I promise.’

Jamie lets out a long-suffering sigh. ‘I pity the man you decide to marry one day,’ he tells me as he vaults over the fence. He waits for me to do the same. ‘You just
don’t know how to listen.’

I shrug, used to this. ‘It’s okay, we’ll be having so much sexy times there won’t be any listening.’

‘Oh, that is uncalled for,’ Jamie laughs, pushing me away. ‘You teenagers are just gross.’

I laugh as he climbs into his jeep.

‘I’m proud of you, Sparky. You’ve done well on this mission. Now, go home.’ He kisses my forehead before shutting the door.

I lift my hand in farewell as he spins the wheel and drives away into the night. I walk back to my own rental car, a small Fiat, and climb in. I’m soon back on the main motorway heading
for the Manor and at least a week of solitude.

It’s weird waking up in the Manor to find myself alone. I came in during the small hours of the morning, expecting at least one or two of my cousins to be around, but the
rambling old house is empty. I walk through the house, my footsteps echoing down the long passageways, through majestic rooms with high ceilings, wood panelling and chandeliers and furniture that
would give apoplexy to all the hosts of the
Antiques Roadshow
.

I make my way to the kitchen with some reluctance. The place is sparkling and nothing is out of place. I’m about to rummage in the cupboards when I spot a note addressed to me stuck to the
industrial-sized fridge, in a neat printed hand:

And it is signed by our house brownie with a rather elaborate and dramatic E.

I make myself a cup of tea and carry it through to the conservatory. It’s a Victorian affair with lots of plants and a big glass table in the centre; it makes me feel as if I’m
having breakfast in the jungle.

Mrs Evans is as good as her word. The elaborate breakfasts she plans when all the cousins and uncles and aunties are in town has been scaled down enough to feed a mere five of me. She’s
not subtle and clearly thinks I need fattening up. I agree with her. It’s easier than arguing with the Blackhart brownie who runs the domestic life of the Manor with an iron fist sheathed in
a Laura Ashley oven glove.

I dish myself bacon, eggs, toast, grilled tomatoes and a glass of ice-cold orange juice. This I carry to the table and fall to with gusto. It tastes as if it’s just been made and I
don’t know how brownie magic works, only that it does, and I love Mrs Evans with all my heart.

Using my magic tires me out; it makes me hungry and I can sleep for a week after completing a tough ritual. But I know that, if I push myself, I can go on for longer, and will just need extra
sleep and to nurse a bad head for a few days. Judging by Jamie’s mothering comments at the graveyard early last night, I must have looked really bad. I didn’t actually feel it then, and
the only real hint of how exhausted I was came later last night as I slept like the dead until hunger woke me. Although I feel more human now, all I can think about is food and feeding this
ravening maw that’s opened inside me. Yet another reason not to date: I can out-eat most competitive eaters any time of the day without blinking.

I have a second course (warm fresh pastries) and coffee before I get up and wander back through the empty house to the library, where I sit down with a sigh and start on the paperwork the
closure of the case necessitates. There are seven forms to fill in. In triplicate. The wording has to be in Latin and, in some rare instances, Greek.

Up until a year ago I was a normal sixteen-year-old girl, doing average everyday things, going to a normal school, enjoying art and dreaming about becoming a prop designer in Hollywood. I
didn’t have to know Latin or Greek or Arabic. Yet now, here I am, a Blackhart claimed and trained, and I’m expected to be able to know stuff no sane person in modern times should know.
Aunt Letitia (She Who Must Be Obeyed, according to, well, all my cousins) has, however, given me some leeway as I was brought up as a norm. So instead of expecting the forms turned around within
twenty-four hours of completing a case, I have forty-eight. Thanks, Aunt Letty, you’re my hero.

I’ve done the first set of papers by lunchtime and decide to check my emails and go for a swim. It is a gloriously sunny day and I stretch out on a lounger next to the outside pool for a
few minutes, letting the sun warm me, shaking off the chill from the dark library.

I swim a few laps and clamber back out again, feeling better for the exercise and getting rid of some of the stiffness from yesterday’s fight. I choose not to notice the bruises along my
side: a side-effect from my brush with the violent banshee. I move a bit slower than I’d like, but a few days of rest and I should be up to running the obstacle course Jamie’s set up
behind the house.

The sense of isolation is distracting. It doesn’t bother me, not really, but I’m a bit put out by my cousins not even bothering to ring or text me to congratulate me on the
successful completion of my first solo mission. It’s maybe not a big thing for them, but for me it feels as if I’ve graduated, as if I’ve got my wings. And where are they? I check
my phone. No text messages, no notes, no phone calls. I sigh and mutter to myself. Woe is me.

I move my sword to the side, so it can rest next to my lounger, and I pull my laptop towards me. My emails are very few. There is one from Karina in Germany and she’s sent photos of her
new boyfriend – he’s not as hot as she seems to think he is – and tells me they’re planning to backpack around Greece for the summer holidays. She sends me a photo of her
brother Udo, whom I’ve had a crush on since I was seven. He’s looking at the camera in an angry way and his scowl makes him look badass. He’s dark haired, like Karina, and has the
same dark melty eyes as his sister. I kiss my laptop screen and send her an email back. I tell her about school, about a random boy I like, about how different things are now that Nan’s gone.
I keep it light and it’s all lies and I feel so bad about it. Telling Karina about any of the real Blackhart stuff isn’t something I can even consider. Apart from it being dangerous to
her, she’d think I’ve gone nuts, believing in faeries and ogres. She’s the most sober and logical person I know and would never understand about monsters lurking in the darkness
trying to eat your face off.

As I press ‘send’ on my email filled with lies and deceit, my email pings again. It’s from my cousin, Megan.

The subject line says: Find it, and it’s yours.

And that’s it. No further message.

I grin. It’s a challenge and one Megan sets for us occasionally, sending us on various quests around the estate. The victor always comes away with either a new techy gadget she’s
designed or, as the younger lot call it: Meganized. Jamie got his flashy new Ducati Monster that way. My cousin Marc still sulks about that, saying that Jamie cheated and that the bike was meant
for him, but Megan sets the rules: finders keepers, losers weepers.

I check and notice that I’m the only recipient. This challenge is for me only.

Okay. I’m up for a bit of questing.

I pull a pair of surf shorts and a T-shirt on over my bathing suit and start my hunt. An hour of wandering around the house finding little notes hidden in obvious and not-so-obvious places, and
I’m directed to the basement garage.

A cherry-red Mini Cooper sits proudly in the middle of a strategically placed spotlight, keeping the rest of the garage in darkness. An envelope’s trapped beneath the windscreen wiper with
my full name written on it. Katherine Gabrielle Blackhart. It’s in Megan’s handwriting.

It holds two pieces of paper. The first is a note that simply reads: