Free Vowed by Liz de Jager

be an issue.’
    ‘Yeah. Let’s go see what we can See.’
    Dante pays up and I leave the tip for Hilary. She waves us off and clears our plates as we head into the night.
    ‘I’ve got my bike here,’ I tell him as we near where he’s parked his Lexus. ‘Wait for me.’
    I walk the short distance between my bike and his car and undo the light glamour I threw over it, concealing my leather jacket and helmet. I shrug my jacket on and adjust my fringe before
sliding the helmet on.
    I gun the bike’s engine; it answers a deep wuff beneath me and a thrill crawls up my spine the way it usually does when I get on it. Dante’s in the driver’s seat when I pull up
next to him.
    ‘Nice bike,’ he tells me. ‘Those pipes definitely aren’t legal.’
    ‘Loud pipes save lives,’ I answer by rote and smile at him. ‘Let’s go.’
    I slam my visor down and pull out into the minimal traffic, keeping to the speed limit and riding sensibly for a change so that he can keep up with me in his Lexus.
    It’s one of my favourite things, riding at night. There’s something primitive about it that I like. Just me and the darkness out on the road. Even in the cities you can sometimes
feel it. That you’re being watched and whatever’s watching you isn’t benign or human.
    Dante overtakes me as we near Brixton and gestures out of the window, indicating that I should follow him. I tuck myself behind him at a safe distance and cruise along until we pull off the main
roads and take a series of side roads. Small businesses are shuttered and there’s an air of melancholy about the place. Graffiti tags are thrown up but none of them looks familiar.
    We eventually come to a halt in front of a large seventies-built concrete block, flanked by two more blocks slightly lower than the main one. Even the occasional bit of lighting makes the place
look tired and in desperate need of a lot of money to tidy it up or, failing that, complete demolition to enable a fresh start. The three buildings form a horseshoe shape and in the middle is a
patch of miserable-looking grass, with a sign that reads ‘NO BALL GAMES’ leaning crankily to the side.
    I still the engine and get off the bike, pulling my helmet off.
    ‘This is it,’ Dante says as he gets out of his car and folds his arms on the roof, looking at the three blocks of flats. ‘It doesn’t look like much.’
    This, if I didn’t know better, is the trigger for the screaming to start.

Chapter Nine
    As we speed towards the noise, I’m gratified to notice that although we are the same height, I’m the faster runner. Dante is only a step behind me when we round the
corner of the central block. We are suddenly facing the banshee as she lifts her head from her hands and lets out another ear-achingly loud wail. She’s in the process of floating upwards when
she sees us but holds out her hand to us to stop us from interrupting her mid-wail. Dante makes as if to run at her but I grip his wrist and shake my head.
    The banshee’s doing her job; interrupting her would mean she would lose track of her passenger, and that could be potentially disastrous for them both.
    ‘What is that?’ Dante asks, shifting uneasily. He’s wearing silver knuckledusters engraved with sigils that look like angelic script. My magic pings unhappily and I take a step
back. Using angelic script on a banshee is like using a nuclear bomb to stop a peaceful sit-in demonstration by unarmed elderly hippies.
    ‘A banshee. She’s a portent of death.’
    ‘No shit,’ he says, sounding shocked. ‘What’s it doing here?’
    ‘When she’s done, we can talk to her. Ask her. Maybe she knows something about the kids who’ve gone missing.’
    ‘How is no one awake with her howling like that?’
    ‘Whoever she’s here for can hear her. The average human can’t. The frequencies the banshees operate on aren’t usually audible to them.’ I watch him thoughtfully for
a second. ‘And if you’re wondering, I’m