Текст книги "The Bitter Seed of Magic"
Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод
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Chapter Nine
The over-large double doors in front of me were Victorian style, the six panels painted white, the frames a bright sky-blue. The paint looked fresh enough that I gingerly touched it to check it wasn’t still wet; and that the doors weren’t some magical construct. The paint was dry, and the doors felt as mundane as any other. There were no locks or handles, just steel push-plates. Curious about whether this place was as real as the doors felt, I glanced around. I was on a small, boxy landing. Behind me, a large green arrow pointed down a dimly lit concrete stairwell (which thankfully didn’t have the sulphurous nose-wrinkling smell of most such places) but otherwise there was nothing to indicate where I was … except I was now in jeans and, oddly, one of the lime-green hi-vis T-shirts sporting the Spellcrackers.com logo that we wore whenever we worked in a public place. And my feet were bare and half-frozen: the concrete floor was cold.
The knowledge in my mind told me Malik’s ring was a way to contact him. I’d sort of expected to get the magical equivalent of a telephone call, to hear his voice with its not-quite-English accent in my head. But as soon as I’d put the ring on, I was just standing here in front of the blue and white doors.
I eyed them speculatively. ‘Right, enough of cold feet, let’s find out where you lead.’
I pushed the right door open. It swung back easily, if slowly, and without the spooky sound effects I was half-expecting, and left me staring into a long shadowed corridor about ten feet wide. The corridor was made from steel beams, the ones on the walls criss-crossing each other to leave large diamond-shaped gaps that had been fitted with glass. The diamond windows framed a spectacular view of the dying sun searing the cloud-laden sky with golden fire. It reminded me of one of Tavish’s Turneresque paintings. I frowned; the corridor was familiar too … then it clicked: it was one of the high walkways of Tower Bridge.
I’d chased gremlins along every single frustrating step of both the two-hundred-foot-long corridors, five—or was it six?—times, in the last month alone. The little machine-hexing monsters kept getting down and dirty in the bridge’s engine rooms, and Spellcrackers had won the contract to evict them … which was proving to be so much easier said than done. But now, as I scanned the gloomy walkway, it was empty of all life apart from the lone figure about halfway along gazing out over the Thames.
Malik al-Khan.
I headed towards him, bare feet silent (but warming up) on the rough blue carpet. As I came closer, he turned to me, his expression enigmatic. I stopped, stunned at the sight of his pale, perfect face, his dark almond-shaped eyes that showed his part-Asian heritage, the black silk of his hair where it slipped just below the sculptured line of his jaw … Damn. I’d almost forgotten how beautiful he was. A memory surfaced of him lying still and defenceless during the demon attack, and my heart lurched wildly at the thought that I might have lost him too. Shocked at my reaction, I clutched Grace’s pentacle at my throat and scowled, my steps slowing.
Sure, he was eye-candy, and I’d have to be more than dead not to have the hots for him, andhe’d come to help me when I’d asked, putting himself in danger for me, which gave him not just my unending gratitude, but also a place in my heart. But no way was I going to fallfor the beautiful, arrogant, infuriating, over-protective vampire. He might be a good guy for a vamp; but vamps don’t do partnerships; they go for that whole ‘master and slave’ type of deal. And while I was sort of okay with all the other vamps thinking I was Malik’s ‘property’, I wasn’t interested in being the trophy sidhe/arm-candy for real … however hot his arms—and the rest of him—might be.
I relaxed my grip on the pentacle and speeded up over the last twenty-odd feet. I stopped just out of touching distance, and ignoring the splinter of regret lodged beneath my ribs, I held up my left hand with his ring on my third finger and waggled it. ‘So does this make me a Bride of Dracula? ’Cause if it does, you’ve got the clothes wrong.’
‘Good evening, Genevieve.’ Pinpoints of red– anger? Or just power?—flared in his pupils, then were gone. A warm, calming breeze sprung from nowhere and slipped over me like the barest touch of silk. Power then, since he was using mesmato play with my senses .I relaxed despite myself at the small vamp trick. ‘The ring is merely a conduit, while your outfit is one I am aware you have recently worn. Wearing clothes that you own and are familiar with assists in grounding your consciousness in the dreamscape.’
Ri-ight. So this was a dream and not a gaol-break, then. Figured.
His own outfit was familiar enough too: a plain black T-shirt and black jeans. The casual clothes showed the lean, hard muscles honed to peak perfection before he had taken the Gift. Of course, physical strength wasn’t an issue for him now, not with his vamp powers, and he wasn’t going to grow old or lose any of that muscle tone, whatever he did or didn’t do—the reason why so many vamp wannabes hit the gym. But all that lean, hard strength made me curious about his past. Having been on the receiving end of his compulsive neat-freak skills a couple of times, I was almost ready to bet he’d been some sort of soldier. I looked down. His feet were bare too.
‘What’s with the no shoes thing?’ I said.
His enigmatic expression didn’t change. ‘I decided it was easier than choosing an unacceptable option from your own footwear collection.’
Footwear collection? I had about two dozen pairs of shoes, and half again as many boots and trainers; that was a long way off Imelda Marcos territory. And he’d said it with a straight face, so I couldn’t tell if his tongue was in his cheek or not, nor did it explain why he wasn’t wearing any. And when the hell had he checked out my footwear anyway?
‘I take it that “familiarity” also explains why we’re here enjoying the view then?’ I indicated the walkway, and the bird’s-eye panorama it gave over London. The wind-rippled waters of the Thames reflected the blazing clouds, giving the river a metallic sheen, and in the distance the Ferris-wheel silhouette of the London Eye was a dark, nobbly circle against the bright sky. Nearer was the Tower of London, its two outer stone walls guarding the massive castle compound with the mediaeval White Tower dominating the centre. Dusk seemed to swathe the Tower’s regimented battlements and the lead-capped turrets in ever-shifting shadows. As I looked the shadows coalesced into a huge amorphous shape that rose high into the heavens, the sound of wings buffeted my ears, and the bridge beneath me turned insubstantial and swayed. Vertigo hit. I shot my arms out for balance—
‘Genevieve! Look at me!’
I blinked at the sharp order, and fixed my gaze back on Malik. The bridge solidified. I blew out a relieved breath and lowered my arms.
‘The more recognisable the landscape is to you,’ he said, ‘the less likelihood there is of your subconscious invading the dream. It allows for a continuing illusion of reality.’
Right. No more staring at the view. Unless … ‘So, there’s no other reason for being here other than it’s somewhere I know?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘The faeling who died this morning was found in Dead Man’s Hole.’ I waved in the direction of the Tower, careful not to look. ‘She had corvid blood, possibly raven.’
‘Ah. I did not know the faeling’s heritage. No, I am sorry, Genevieve. I chose here because it is one of two public places that you frequent on a regular basis, and where you wear your eye-catching outfit.’
I plucked at the T-shirt. ‘Trafalgar Square being the other?’
‘Yes, but it is normally too populated a place to use as a dreamscape. The lack of people would make your subconscious uneasy, and it would try to compensate. I have no desire for our conversation to be held while you attempt to corral pixies, entertaining as that might be.’
Entertaining for him and everyone else, maybe. And he was right, I chased enough of the mischievous little fiends in my real life job without adding them to my dreams. I sighed and gave Malik a resigned look. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t really be surprised you’ve been spying on me.’ After all, everyone else was. Maybe I could charge a fee?
‘Then you will be surprised.’ Amusement glinted in his eyes. ‘There were thirty-four videos of your energetic interactions with the pixies on YouTube, last I looked. There are fewer of you dealing with the problems here, but the bridge management are particularly vigilant at updating their blog when it comes to any interruption in service.’ He smiled fully, and I caught a glimpse of fang. ‘I have no need to spy on you when the general public are happy to do the task for me.’
I wassurprised—not by the YouTube vids; that was old news—but by Malik being web-savvy. For some reason his enthusiastic acceptance of modern technology hit me as out of character. Then I remembered he and Tavish were friends and co-conspirators. And Tavish is a top geek for hire; rumour has it he even contracts for the Ministry of Defence. Maybe Tavish’s geekery was catching, along with his magical expertise.
‘And of course, there’s this other little surprise.’ I held my left arm up again, rattling the charms on my newest accessory. ‘I can guess what four of the spells are for; care to enlighten me about the sword, the cross and the egg? Oh, and the beads?’
He inclined his head, an elegant acknowledgement. ‘The beads are time, they span a month each. The egg is to contain the sorcerer’s soul. The cross is protection from the demon.’
I frowned: twelve beads meant twelve months, which made sense, what with Clíona’s year-and-a-day time limit and the fact that five of the beads were clear of magic. The egg had to be why the sorcerer’s soul hadn’t caused me any problems so far—and now Angel/The Mother had removed the soul, it no longer would, thank the goddess. And that explained why the egg was crackled, like old china. A cross as a shield symbol was pretty standard, although it would have to have been infused with the faith of someone who believedfor it to work. Not that that was too difficult, as most churches would provide one, for a suitable donation.
‘And the sword is to sever your tie with Rosa,’ Malik continued, all trace of amusement gone now, ‘should she attempt to reactivate the spell you share.’
Shit.I rocked back on my heels at this mini-bombshell. Rosa was a vampire, and the spell we shared linked us together magically. It had allowed me to unwittingly borrow her body whenever I’d used it– unwittingly, because I’d thought the spell was a bespoke Glamour spell, one I’d used as a disguise on my ‘faeling rescue missions’. It had turned out to be much more. Vamps’ souls are magically bound to their bodies as part of the Gift—hence their near-immortality—and it usually takes the removal of the heart or head, or total destruction of the body (usually by fire or daylight, or a combination, depending on how old the vamp is) to kill them and release the soul (which then goes straight to Hell, or its equivalent, according to most human religions; personally, I wouldn’t want to guess). But the spell had trapped Rosa’s soul, leaving her body functioning but vacant. When I’d found out the truth, I’d resolved never to use the spell again. And then Rosa had been lost in the Thames at Hallowe’en, and the spell tattoo on my body had gradually faded until it was now almost gone. I’d assumed she was too.
Worry tied a knot in my gut. ‘Are you saying she could come back?’
‘No, not after this length of time,’ he said. ‘The sword is a precaution only, in case she was found and her soul somehow restored.’ He studied the water a hundred and forty-odd feet below us, and a tendril of his grief, twisted with guilt and anger, soured my own euphoric relief. The emotions felt like mesma, but he didn’t seem to be projecting them intentionally; it was more as if I was picking up an echo. It wasn’t something I’d experienced before. I shivered and hugged myself, uneasy. Was it part of the whole conscious dream thing? But I didn’t ask, not wanting to intrude.
Finally, the emotional echo died and I moved to him and touched his arm gently. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said. And I was, for him, not for her. He’d loved Rosa; he’d been the one to give her the Gift. But Rosa was better off gone. I’d inadvertently lived some of her thoughts, her memories and desires, both as a human and a vamp—it wasn’t an experience I ever wanted to repeat.
He turned and looked at my hand, staring at it, apparently uncomprehendingly, for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet mine. They were opaque and unreadable. ‘Rosa truly died a long time ago,’ he said with no inflection in his voice. ‘Now her soul will be at peace.’
‘Losing someone you love is—’ My throat closed. I lifted my hand to Grace’s pentacle, but in a movement almost too fast to see, he caught my hand and held it. ‘Thank you …’ He paused, then continued, ‘Thank you for your sympathy, Genevieve.’
I nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’
He raised my hand and pressed a kiss to my fingers. A spark of magic ignited, like a golden ember from a smouldering fire, as his lips graced my skin. My pulse leapt and my grief disappeared as my body flooded with anticipation and desire. I swallowed, tasting the sweetness of Turkish Delight, and heat curled inside me. His pale fingers gripped mine, the crushing pain muting to pleasure as his eyes darkened and filled with predatory speculation, and something else I couldn’t name. My clothes felt too hot and too tight, my breasts heavy, my nipples aching as they pushed against the thin T-shirt. An insistent need throbbed between my legs, and at the curve of my neck where he’d once bitten me.
He lifted his head, scenting me, his pupils incandescent with fiery hunger, and fear slid adrenalin into my veins, hyping the lust already lacing my blood. I froze, willing my errant pulse to slow, and concentrated on not wresting my hand from his hold. It might be a dream, but it felt real enough, and he was still a vamp. You don’t struggle with vamps, it gets them too excited. And right now I was excited enough for both of us.
We stood like statues on the high walkway, the rays of the dying sun turning us golden, and the silence and tension coiled between us until I wanted to scream, to lash out at him– To offer him my body and my throat.
Instead I fell back on my childhood training and counted: one elephant, two elephants—
His lips drew back and I stared, transfixed, at his sharp canine fangs. His two needle-like venom incisors were still retracted, which was good, wasn’t it? Donating blood was one thing, getting a venom hit at the same time? Well, if that happened I’d be falling a long, long, lo-ooong way off the wagon. And the last thing I’d want to do was struggle.
Five elephants …
Sweat trickled down my spine.
Seven ele …
I wanted desperately to drag my eyes from his fangs, to stop imagining the bliss as they pierced my flesh, the delicate pull of his mouth at my throat spiralling pure, dazzling ecstasy into my body …
Ten …
A tremor shuddered through him. He leaned closer, his dark spice scent eddying round me, his silky hair brushing my cheek. I angled my head, yielding. His lips pressed against the vulnerable spot under my jaw and my pulse jumped eagerly.
Thirteen …
He sighed and the tension slipped away like fast-melting ice, leaving me somehow desolate and bereft. His thumb brushed over his ring on my finger. ‘Why did you use this, Genevieve?’ The words were a bare whisper against my skin.
Really,really not for the reason you’re thinking.I shrugged, an infinitesimal movement of my shoulders. ‘I was getting bored with the entertainment provided by the police.’
Seventeen …
‘You were concerned that your phone call to Sanguine Lifestyles had not reached me?’ he asked softly, an odd, indecipherable note in his voice.
‘Yeah, that too.’
He pulled back, black eyes opaque as he studied me for a long moment. ‘No other reason?’
Like maybe I wanted to lose myself in your power? Feel your body join with mine? Not then.‘No.’
He released my hand.
Chapter Ten
I waited until I was sure my knees were going to hold me, then tucked my hands into my jeans pockets, out of temptation’s way. His or mine, I wasn’t sure. Talking with him was one thing; touching him looked like it blew my self-imposed ‘hands off’ policy into orbit. And what the hell had caused me to react like that to a simple kiss? It certainly hadn’t been anything he’d done—at least, I didn’t think so. I moved to lean against the criss-crossed steel-beam wall of the walkway, putting more space between us.
A deep frown lined his brow and he turned to stare out at the Thames. The sun had disappeared below the horizon and a parade of bright lights had sprung up along the river’s banks, reflecting oranges, reds and blues down into the water. I knew the walkway had its own lights, but here in Malik’s dreamscape it remained dark, shadows obscuring both its ends.
‘You have no need to worry, Genevieve,’ he said finally, speaking calmly, as if nothing had happened. ‘Your solicitor is at this moment speaking to a judge to facilitate your release.’
Back to business.I relaxed and took a breath. ‘Thank you,’ I said.
‘Details of your arrest have not been notified to the press,’ he continued. ‘You are apparently helping the police as an outside consultant with the investigation into the faeling found dead this morning.’
Interesting.‘If they’re covering up the arrest, then why’s it taking so long to spring me?
‘Detective Inspector Helen Crane is insisting that you know more than you are revealing to her. It has caused complications.’
‘Figured she’d use that against me,’ I muttered.
‘Do you know more, Genevieve?’
‘Yep, and I’d be overjoyed to tell her everything—except I can’t.’
‘Can’t, or won’t?’ he asked. Finn wasn’t the only one who caught on quickly.
‘Can’t,’ I said. ‘The info came with a gag clause—a magical one.’
‘I see.’ He turned to me, his usual impassive expression back in place. ‘Perhaps you should tell me all you are able.’
I started talking, beginning with Hugh’s early morning phone call, the dead faeling wearing a Glamour spell, the argument with Witch-bitch Helen, right up to the silver-in-the-circle débâcle. He stopped me now and again to ask a quiet clarifying question, then resumed pacing—well, not exactly pacing, but his movements were enough to make me think ‘agitated’. But as he kept shooting glances into the shadows gathering around the far-away doorway, I didn’t think it was my story making him edgy.
‘Now this is where it gets tricky,’ I said, shifting in my perch in the V of one of the diamond-shaped windows to a more comfortable position. I started to tell him about my visit to Disney Heaven, expecting the goddess’ strangling hands to cut me off any second. To my surprise the gag clause turned positively garrulous, and the words came streaming out in one long, breath-stealing rush: ‘—and the goddess wants me to answer someone’s prayers and stop whoever is killing the faelings because of the curse and ultimately break the damn thing.’
I stopped suddenly, as if released from whatever magical compulsion had kept me talking, and sank to my knees on the rough carpet, gulping for air. I stayed there, relearning how to breathe, awash with relief that I’d finally managed to tell someone about my heavenly trip.
Malik crouched in front of me, his elegant fingers clasped together. ‘And you have not been able to speak about this to anyone but me?’
‘Not so far.’
‘Which would suggest that those you have not been able to talk to are connected to these deaths in some way?’
He’d reached the same conclusion I had about the Goddess’ horned god photofit.
‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘Finn’s got nothing to do with this.’
‘Genevieve.’ Malik tipped my chin up, his expression gentle. ‘We all have the capacity to justify unimaginable actions when desperation and a belief in a greater good persuades us that they are the lesser evil.’
I ducked my head and contemplated his bare feet; they were long and elegant too. ‘Unimaginable actions’ added up to when he’d attacked and left me for dead when I was fourteen. And then there was the other time– or times? Did the last one count, seeing as I was already dead?—that he’d killed me. He’d had good reasons, and I’d forgiven him. Hell, I’d askedhim to kill me that last time, though to judge by the sorrow haunting his words, he hadn’t forgiven himself.
I reached out, touched his clasped hands briefly. ‘This isn’t you we’re talking about,’ I said quietly.
Regret flickered in his eyes. ‘The satyr is no different to any other, Genevieve. And he has shown he has both the will and capability to kill.’
‘Finn hasn’t killed anyone …’ but even as I said it I remembered he hadonce set a trap to kill Malik, and he’d staked a vamp on his horns (the vamp had later vanished, so I didn’t think Finn had actually killed him). Both incidents had been to defend me. ‘Finn wouldn’t kill an innocent, whatever the end result.’
‘But you admit the satyr could kill if he thought the death deserved,’ Malik said.
There was no hint of accusation in his mild tone, but I didn’t like where he was going. I narrowed my eyes. ‘Why are you so hot to blame Finn?’
‘I am trying to divine the goddess’ intentions, this is all. Do you believe She means that you should bear a child to break the curse?’
‘Fine, side-step the issue then,’ I muttered, not caring if I sounded like a sulky child. Whatever I’d expected him to do after I’d told him about my heavenly trip, this wasn’t it.
‘Genevieve, it is not I who is side-stepping the issue.’
No, it was me. Not that I knew what I’d expected him to do or say differently. I picked at a snag in the blue carpet as I tried to work out what I wanted.
‘Genevieve?’
‘Yes!’ I ground out, yanking out the thread. ‘I think that’s what She means.’
‘And what would happen if you told the fae about your goddess’ command?’
I threw my hands up. ‘They’d do what they’ve been doing all along, of course: try and convince me to have a child.’
He cast a quick look past my shoulder, making my back crawl, then focused back on me. ‘Until now you have refused to bear a child because the outcome—breaking the curse—was not a certainty,’ he said. ‘But if the goddess has provided that certainty, then there is no reason for you to refuse any longer.’
I scowled. ‘Got it in one.’
‘So why do you not have a child as the fae wish, then this will all be over?’ he asked in a perfectly rational and totally aggravating tone.
I jerked my head up. ‘And what if I’ve misread the goddess’ commands because I’m so fixated on what the fae want?’ Yep, there it was: I wanted him to come up with a different explanation for what She’d told me, one that didn’t involve me getting pregnant. ‘Or what if the reason I can’t tell anyone else is because they’d all jump right into the curse-breaking side of things and no one would look for whoever is murdering the faelings?’ There, side-step that!‘And even if I did have a kid and break the curse, who’s to say the killer wouldn’t kill again?’
‘The police are already looking for this killer, and they will continue to do so, regardless of the curse.’ He studied me, his expression thoughtful. ‘Genevieve, do you not want a child?’
Fuck, no!‘I’m only just twenty-five, Malik—I’m too young to be tied up with a kid.’
‘Yes, you are young, but the child would be an adult in a few years, and you will still be young. You are sidhe, a near-immortal; you will be young for centuries yet. It is but a small portion of your life to devote to a child, if the end result is one you desire?’
I jumped up, frustration, fury and fear raging through me. ‘Listen!’ I jabbed a finger at him. ‘One: if I were ever to have a child, then there’s no way I’d let it fend for itself, just because it was a so-called adult. The child would be my kid for life.’ I jabbed at him again, my voice rising. ‘Two: do you really think I haven’t thought all this out for myself? And three: what the hell do you think you’re doing? This has nothing to do with you—you’re not fae. And if Tavish has put you up to persuade me, then you can tell him from me: it won’t fucking work. I do notwant a kid, and unless I get something more significant than some iffy photofit and some cryptic clues, then I’m not going to, not now, and not ever. I willfind another way to break the curse, even if it kills me.’
He rose in one graceful, effortless movement, concern and bewilderment on his face. ‘I understood that this situation was not one you wanted, Genevieve, or were comfortable with, but I did not realise that having a child engendered such fear in you.’ He reached out, but I twisted away before he could touch me. ‘Why is that?’
‘You’re asking me?’ I clenched my fists, trying to keep from shouting at him. ‘When you know what happened between my mother and father? What he did to her? Talk about a bad start in life!’ I snorted. ‘And it didn’t get any better, did it? Hell, my own father married me off to a psychotic, sadistic sucker, then I spent the next ten years being a pawn in some shitty Prohibition game cooked up between the lot of you, a game Ididn’t even know I was playing. Oh, and let’s not forget, I’ve died three– No, wait, that might even be fourtimes now. Four times, Malik! I might be sidhe and nearly immortal, but that’s pushing it for anyone. Next time my death might stick, my body might actually fade, and there will be nothing for me to come back to. No wayam I bringing a kid into a world like this, not with all the bad luck and tainted blood in my heritage, even if there wasn’t the damn fertility curse to deal with.’
He frowned, perplexed. ‘I never met your mother, but from what I heard, your father was besotted with her, and Nataliya with him. I do not know that he ever did anything untoward to her—’
‘C’mon, Malik—that story about my father finding her at a fertility rite and the pair of them falling head-over-heels and then her tragically dying in childbirth? It’s just that: a story. One I stopped believing in a long time ago.’
Like I stopped believing in a whole lot of other things, like my father had my best interests at heart, and vamps were just people with pointy teeth, all thanks to the psychotic vamp my father betrothed me to: a.k.a. the Autarch, Britain’s Top Dog vamp—and Malik’s erstwhile master. I ignored the terrified, sick feeling in my stomach that always accompanied thoughts about my betrothed and glared at Malik.
‘It just doesn’t stack up.’ I smacked one of the steel beams. ‘I mean, how the hell did a vamp gatecrash a sidhe fertility rite in the first place, let alone survive long enough to get one pregnant? And then he actually kidnaps her when he escapes? Oh, and not to mention managing to keep her hidden from her queen and court long enough for a child to be born?’
‘Ah.’ He brushed his hair back where it had fallen forward. ‘I understand now. You think your father forced your mother in some way—’
‘I know he did!’ I yelled. ‘No sidhe would willingly have a child with a vamp—it just doesn’t happen!’
He stilled. Hot flames flared in his pupils, then snuffed out. The temperature on the walkway dropped about twenty degrees and I shivered in the sudden icy air as my horrified mind caught up with the stupid, thoughtless words my mouth had uttered.
‘And you know this how?’ he asked, his voice as chilly as the air.
I grimaced, my anger fleeing in the face of an insulted vamp—a powerful, dangerous, insulted vamp … a vamp I cared something for, and truly hadn’t meant to hurt. Way to go, Gen!‘Look, Malik, I’m sorry, that didn’t come out—’
‘Quiet, Genevieve.’
His order snapped into my mind, and my mouth stopped talking. Shock tripped through me, but before I could protest, he added, ‘Sit down and do not speak to anyone but me until you leave here.’
I half collapsed, half sat on the walkway, disbelief coursing through me that he’d sicced me with his mind-mojo.
‘Falling at your feet, is she? Lucky you, old chap.’
The loud, jovial voice came from behind me, and snapped me out of my shock. I twisted round to see its owner strolling along the walkway, his long platinum hair blowing out behind him like he was the star in a shampoo ad. The blousy red poet’s shirt and tight black trousers he was wearing added a pseudo-romantic flair, as did his dark, hooded eyes. But the manic grin, wide enough that I had no trouble seeing his fangs, spoiled the whole Byronic throwback look.
Tentative relief settled in me as I realised that Malik’s chilly rage might not be all about me.
‘You are not welcome here,’ Malik said, his voice soft with threat. ‘I suggest you leave now.’
Blondie threw his arms as wide as his grin. ‘Give it your best shot, old boy,’ he called, speeding up to a jog. Smoke-like shadows coalesced around us, drawing into spear-like lines of darkness that shot along the walkway to strike the now-sprinting vamp chest-on. He screeched, a high yipping sound, and the shadow spears vanished as he blurred forward and skidded to a halt a few feet away.
‘Dreamscapes are such fun,’ he chuckled, leaping up to hang from the steel rafters like a spider, ‘although I did expect the sidhe to be a tad more graceful.’ He leered down at me. ‘Still, I’m sure the blood makes up for any clumsiness.’
‘The sidhe is not your concern.’ Malik’s tone was back to being icy.
Great, let’s all talk about me like I’m some sort of pet.
I narrowed my gaze to peer at the vamp hanging above me. I recognised him. Blondie was the vamp Finn had once ‘staked’ with his horns, who’d later vanished. He’d kidnapped a human friend of mine to blackmail me into taking his blood-bond. I’d considered him pretty much a low-life opportunist at the time, so I hadn’t been too worried when he’d disappeared. Now I wasn’t sure quite what he was, but Malik’s spike in tension (which, oddly, I was picking up again, like I was some sort of radio receiver) suggested Blondie was definitely dangerous.
