Текст книги "The Sweet Scent of Blood"

Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод

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‘Genny?’ His tone was soft and low.

‘What?’ I murmured, fascinated by the way his mouth moulded my name.

‘How much magic can you call?’ He bent over me, warm berry-scented breath caressing my face. ‘More than this?’

I frowned, his questions confusing, unexpected. A thought pricked through the last haze of the power high: thishad been a lot of magic. But before I could pin my vague suspicion down, Finn scooped me into his arms, stood and held me tucked tight against him.

Adrenalin and need shot through me. ‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?’ I snarled, pushing my hand against his chest, feeling his heart thump beneath my palm.

‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, what d’you think I’m doing? That was a lot of juice you took.’ Hurt flickered on his face, then it was gone and he grinned. ‘I’m only trying to help you, my Lady.’

‘Fine. Well put me down. I can stand on my own, thank you.’ I glared at him. ‘And cut out the “my Lady” crap too.’

‘No problemo,’ he said cheerfully and placed me on my feet. I decided maybe I’d imagined his hurt look.

Ignoring him, I dusted myself down as best I could, trying to catch the odd thought I’d had, only it was quite gone.

A polite cough behind me made me turn. Agatha stood there, hands clasped primly in front of her, eyes staring somewhere past my knees. Holly hovered behind her, a green toothy grin spread across her face. At least someone was enjoying the show. Mr Manager had a slightly stunned expression on his face, but he must have been one of those humans who just take magic in their stride, or maybe blank it completely, as Finn cornered him easily enough with the paperwork.

‘Maself is glad thee came to our aid, Lady.’ Agatha twisted her fingers, but didn’t look up at me.

I crouched down. ‘I was pleased to aid you, Aggie.’ She looked up and I caught a glimpse of fear in her eyes. ‘Holly’s going to be fine.’ I patted her shoulder, but when she flinched, I realised I was the cause of her fear, not Holly.

Damn. Nothing like a magical exhibition to let you know your place in the world.

I told Finn I’d wait outside whilst he finished up with Mr Manager.

Standing on the hot pavement, staring at the clear blue of the sky, I let the heat of the day burn away the air-conditioned chill of the restaurant. The magic fizzed and churned restlessly inside me. I dug into my bag and pulled out three liquorice torpedoes, stuffed them into my mouth and crunched down hard, shuddering as the sugar hit my system. The magic ate it up—the sugar makes it easier to control—and I willed it into a sleepy calm.

The trees along the edge of the road rustled in the slight breeze as Finn strolled out and joined me. ‘Remind me not to take a brownie job again,’ he said, a hint of laughter in his voice.

‘If I remember right, youdidn’t.’ I teased, but my heart wasn’t in it. ‘This was myjob. Youjust came along for the fun of it.’

He stepped in front of me, close enough that I had to look up at him. ‘Not for fun, Gen.’ He traced a finger along my jaw, an intent, almost hopeful expression in his eyes. ‘To get to know you better.’

I dropped my gaze to the base of his neck, my mouth watered and I had to stifle the urge to place my lips on the smooth tanned skin that stretched over his pulse. Shit. The need was getting stronger, less easy to deny. And I didn’t know why. But why wasn’t the problem here. I took a step back, holding up my hands.

‘Not biting, Finn.’ Mentally I rolled my eyes at my own Freudian slip.

‘Speaking of biting, that was rather interesting, what you told the little faeling.’

‘What did I tell her?’

‘About how we fae taste to vampires.’ His eyes lit up. ‘Wonder what flavour you would be?’

‘I already told you, don’t wander. You’ll only get lost.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’ He looked at me speculatively. ‘Oranges, maybe,’ he mused.

‘Red hair? Oranges?’ I huffed, striding off. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Soooonot original.’

Finn matched his pace to mine. ‘You’re right; oranges are much too ordinary. Umm, what would ... Figs maybe? Now they’re supposed to be sexy.’ Shaking his head, he slid an arm round my waist and pulled me to a stop, smiling. ‘Ah, got it—sweet, exotic, hard knobbly shell—gotta be passion fruit.’

I gave him my hard knobbly elbow in his ribs. It connected with a satisfying thud.

‘Speaking of food,’ Finn gasped as he bent double, ‘how about dinner?’

Only if he was on the menu. I shook my head. It wasn’t even a euphemism. I had a moment’s fantasy where I said yes: we went out, had fun, and I didn’tspend the evening wanting to rip into his throat. Then I sighed and came back to live in the real world. No way could I go out with him, or any other fae, not with 3V running riot through my veins. Being fae, Finn would feel its taint in me—if I let him get too close—then he’d run for the nearest faerie hill, not to mention I’d be out of a job.

He caught up with me. ‘C’mon Gen, you’ve got to stop torturing me like this.’ With a rueful smile he rubbed a hand over his stomach, then winked. ‘Or at least say yes, then you can do whatever you want with me.’

Way too enticing.‘Finn, you’re a nice guy, but ...’ I trailed off as disappointment darkened his eyes, echoing my own silent regret, then I made myself carry on. ‘I’m sorry, but getting personal is not—’

A stiff wind hurled itself along the road, snatching the words from my mouth and rushing up through the branches above us.

Finn placed a finger on my lips, silencing me.

I moved back. ‘Look, I’m really not—’

‘Genny, it’s okay.’ He half-smiled. ‘I get that you’ve said no, but it’s not that.’ He waved an anxious hand at the road. ‘It’s the trees. I think they’re talking about you.’

Another gust whipped past us and the canopy of autumn leaves rustled almost like they were laughing.

I frowned and looked at Finn. ‘What are they saying?’

‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, how should I know? I never learned the language.’

Chapter Four

Dusk coloured the sky like a purple bruise as I headed for my meeting with Alan Hinkley at Old Scotland Yard Police Station, the headquarters for the Metropolitan Police’s Magic and Murder Division. The bodies of vampire attacks, like Melissa’s, are contained in the specialised basement morgue ever since the mandatory fourteen-day waiting period came into force—just in case they spontaneously do the Lazarus thing. Old Scotland Yard is also the one-stop-cop-shop for vampires. Keeping a vamp incarcerated is difficult enough without adding humans into the mix. The only time it was tried—back in the eighties when the vamps were reclaimingtheir human rights—the riot lasted a week and a vampire ended up on an impromptu bonfire, together with a prison guard and three other inmates.

That the vampire was proved innocent, post-death—a tarnished silver lining or a kamikaze-inspired martyrdom, depending on your point of view—became the catalyst for all sorts of changes.

As I turned off Whitehall, leaving the noise of the traffic behind, a horse’s high-pitched whinny made me jump—Old Scotland Yard is also home to the Met’s horses—and I slowed, uneasy in the quiet. A tree rustled as I passed it. Was Finn right, were they talking about me? But why would they? Then the leaves of the next tree stirred and the air trembled in response. Goosebumps rose on my skin, even though the heat of the day hadn’t dissipated with the night and I looked up into the branches, but they were empty. I blew out a breath. Damn. I usually avoided being out after dark like this, trees or no trees. You never knew who you might bump into.

I lifted my bag over my head, settled the strap across my chest to free my hands and slowly walked under the archway that led to Old Scotland Yard. Alan Hinkley was waiting by the police station door. Along the pavement, the street lights created pockets of shadow. As I got closer, one shadow was darker, more solid than the others. My heart tripped and I stopped, staring into the blackness.

The vampire stepped out into the light and stared back.

His appearance was almost a relief.

I played statues, counting under my breath, using my own will to force my pulse to a slow steady thump. It was harder to pull off than I thought. Damn, I was so out of practice. Instinct shouted at me to flee. Bad idea. Never run from a vamp, gets them too excited, all that blood pumping faster and faster. Better to take the gamble that they won’t attack and wait until they’re gone. Of course, that attitude does have its minus points.

‘Genevieve Taylor.’ His chin lifted as he scented the air.

His accent carried a touch of something, not English. Black hair curled into his neck, even blacker eyes glinted, their almond shape hinting of the East. His face was the prettiest I’d ever seen, alive or undead, and a distant part of me wondered why it wasn’t plastered over every billboard in town. And why I’d never seen him before.

I shook my head even as I thought it. It didn’t matter who he was, not when I could feel his mesmabrushing against my mind. I looked past him to Alan, but the blank look he wore had ‘vampire mind-lock’ written all over it. No help there then, not that I had really expected any. In fact, he was going to be more a hindrance if there was going to be a fight.

‘Perhaps Mr Hinkley should wait inside?’ I said, keeping my voice steady.

Alan turned and disappeared through the door without the vampire so much as twitching. I was impressed despite myself, and had to concentrate even more to keep my pulse at its slowest beat.

‘How interesting.’ His voice rolled around me, as rich as sugar-dusted Turkish delight, making my mouth water.

I tilted my head to one side. ‘Not from where I’m standing. ’

The vampire had obviously been young when he’d accepted the Gift, near my own age. His suit was ubiquitous vampire-black, but he must have pulled the darkness around him to hide his pale face and hands. Even without the evidence of Alan’s departure, that trick alone told me he was old, over five hundred, at least. And he looked like he belonged to the classic Armani style rather than the excess of black leather that the younger vamps preferred—not that I could be sure without checking the designer labels, but I wasn’t planning on getting that close.

‘Your eyes are truly remarkable.’ Smooth silk slipped along my skin as his gaze swept over me.

Damn vampire mesma. I gritted my teeth and tried to block it.

‘Your website picture does you an injustice. You are so much more in the flesh and ... blood.’

‘Sorry I can’t return the sentiment.’

He gently shook his head. ‘Tut tut, Genevieve.’ He took a step towards me. ‘You really don’t mean that. Not when I have been waiting especially for you.’

I hardened my voice. ‘Then you’ve wasted your time. My visit’s with the police, not you.’

He took another step, fast, calculated to spook me. I swallowed hard, but held my ground. He stopped within touching distance. Long slim fingers brushed a lock of hair from his forehead while he studied me. ‘Intriguing.’ Half-closed eyes gave him a sleepy, enigmatic look. ‘Why would you involve yourself in something not your affair?’

‘It’s really none of your business.’

‘But that’s where you’re wrong, Genevieve.’ The words drifted lazy and sweet through the air. ‘You see, this really is my business. I am tasked with bringing this little episode to a satisfactory conclusion for all concerned. I will do better without your ... help.’

When what he had said sank in, rather than the dream of his voice, surprise tumbled through me, banishing the feeling of languor that had seeped into my bones. ‘Who says your conclusion would be satisfactory for everyone?’

He grinned, letting me glimpse fang, a push of mesmainviting me to go along with the joke. ‘Why, I do, of course.’

‘Uh-huh.’ I nodded slowly. ‘Sounds good.’ I gave him a smile. A wide happy beam of a smile.

Satisfaction lit his face, but before he could speak, I dropped the smile. ‘Only it doesn’t sound quitegood enough.’ I winked. ‘But hey. Nice try.’

He laughed, and the sound bubbled through me like champagne. I shivered even as sweat trickled down my spine. I gripped the strap of my bag with both hands, holding it like a life-line, concentrating on keeping him out of my mind. The longer he talked, the more the back of my neck throbbed, reminding me I was more vulnerable than usual.

‘Genevieve.’ He shrugged an elegant shoulder. ‘What are we to do now?’

I stared at him, surprised. ‘You’re asking me?’

He indicated the police station. ‘Once you walk through that door, you make yourself defenceless.’

For a moment part of me actually felt he cared. I bit the inside of my mouth, hard, to banish the feeling.

‘You dispense with all that wonderful witch protection you have carefully cultivated.’ He spread his hands wide. ‘You are fair game.’

‘Tell me something I don’tknow.’

‘Are you so eager to offer your blood?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Such bravado.’ He glanced at the door again, a vague anxiety in the action. ‘But even your sidhe magic will not shield you from some amongst us.’

‘Are you done yet? Because so far I’m not hearing anything new.’

He sighed, the sound coating me with remorse. ‘Go home, Genevieve, while you still can.’

‘What? Just leave?’ I stopped strangling the strap of my bag and clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms, determined to resist the impulse he’d given me to go home. ‘When you haven’t even threatened me yet?’

Something dark and sad appeared in his eyes, then it was gone, hidden by the same enigmatic look as before.

‘Threats ... Coercion ... Violence.’ The words hung like blades in the still air. ‘Is that what you would want?’

I froze, pulse speeding up, unable to move or speak, gazing into his eyes. A voice screamed in my mind, yelling at me to break his mesma, but another part of me wanted, desperately needed, whatever he was offering.

Cool fingers circled my left wrist and lifted my still clenched fist between us. My hand moved, seemingly of its own volition, opening like a flower before the sun. Blood welled in the half-moon marks across my palm, bright against my skin.

‘May I?’ His eyes echoed the silken seduction in his voice.

My lips parted in a sigh as my head bowed in submission.

Anger flashed across his face and his fingers squeezed, the bones in my wrist grating with the pain. ‘Say. It.’

‘Yes,’ I breathed.

For an instant his pupils glowed red and my heart fluttered with sudden terror, then he dipped his head. I gazed at the line of his jaw, the long dark lashes, the sleek silk of his hair where it curled round the intricate whorl of his ear, its lobe pierced through, a single gem black against his pale skin. His lips caressed my palm, a shudder rippled through his body and I felt an answering shimmer resonate through my own. My eyes closed as he licked hot lines along my hand. Sharp fangs scraped my wrist and chill air kissed my bare skin.

Leaves rustled in the stillness and a horse whinnied from the nearby stables, startling me out of my reverie.

I opened my eyes to an empty street.

The vampire was gone.

I stared down at my palm. The cuts from my nails had disappeared, healed over as though they’d never been. A bracelet of bruises around my wrist was the only evidence of his presence.

‘Genevieve.’ My name whispered through the breeze.

I swung round fast, searching, then stopped, muscles trembling as the terror hit me again.

Fuck.

I hugged myself, breathing in the scent of spice and liquorice that fragranced the air, trying to ignore the sharp, craving ache inside me. Why had he gone? And why had he been angry when I’d offered him my blood? It didn’t make sense.

‘Ms Taylor?’

I jerked again, spinning towards the voice.

Alan stood holding the door to the police station open. He said something, but I couldn’t hear past the pulse thundering in my ears.

Damn vampire.If he thought he’d scared me enough to stop me ...

I took a deep breath, rubbed my hands along my arms to smooth the goosebumps, and walked up the steps into the police station.

Chapter Five

‘ There’s a bit of a hitch here,’ Alan said anxiously. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to be able to see Melissa’s body tonight.’

‘Why not?’ I asked, then frowned. Was the vamp still playing with Alan’s mind? I reached out, laid my hand over his and sent a tendril of magic into him.

Alan started. ‘What are you doing, Ms Taylor?’

‘Checking,’ I muttered.

His hand was warm, the skin a little rough under my palm, his pulse was faster than normal, but the tangled net of his thoughts told me he was free of the mind-lock. Whatever commands the vampire had given him were done.

I flashed him a relieved smile and gave his hand a quick squeeze. ‘Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me what the trouble is.’

Alan wrapped his fingers round mine, as if seeking reassurance. ‘You will help, won’t you?’

I eased out of his hold and patted his arm. ‘Yes, as much as I can.’ An odd need to hug him and tell him everything would be all right came over me.

He stepped closer. ‘Bobby’s my son.’ Desperation flooded into his face. ‘He’s all I’ve got left. I don’t know what I’d do—’

‘Shhh.’ My heart ached for him and I reached up and cupped his face. Golden light spread from between my fingers, pulses of pink and orange flashing through it. The night air filled with the scent of honeysuckle.

Pinpricks of gold sparked in Alan’s pupils, his expression smoothed out and a soft smile curved his mouth. ‘So beautiful ... glowing ... like sunshine—’ Sliding his hands into my hair, he bent towards me, lips parted.

I raised myself on tip-toe to meet his kiss.

Aye, that’s right, comfort the poor man.

The words in my head jerked me back.

Shit.What the hell was I doing?

I yanked free, pulling the magic back inside me and backed off a couple of steps. I dug in my bag and came up with a handful of liquorice torpedoes and stuffed them as quickly as I could into my mouth. I crunched down, willing the sugar to quell the brownie’s magic.

A brownie’s touch goes to them that needs it. Agatha’s voice sounded in my mind again.

I swallowed the sweets. Alan’s need for comfort might have awakened the magic, but he wasn’t a child. Mixing brownie magic with my own was sonot a good idea: the last thing either of us needed was Alan to be caught in my Glamour. Damn Finn and his quick fix; now I was going to have to deal with the side-effects.

Alan swayed slightly, then frowned. ‘I’m sorry. What was I saying?’

I huffed a relieved sigh. ‘You were going to tell me why we can’t see Melissa’s body.’

‘Oh, yes. The Soulers have got an injunction stopping anyone from looking at her body, even the pathologist.’ Alan held the door open for me, the worry back in his grey eyes. ‘They’re petitioning for a pre-emptive staking, claiming that Melissa can’t have agreed to the Gift because she was under age. My solicitor’s contacting a judge he knows to see what he can do.’ He tapped his jacket pocket. ‘I’m expecting his call.’

The Soulers—Protectors of the Soul—are a right-wing religious organisation who, supposedly, could trace their lineage back to Cromwell’s times. They believe humans who become vampires are selling their souls to the devil, albeit at some distant point in the future. Melissa was already dead, and even with the fourteen-day period to allow for a spontaneous change, the circumstances meant it was doubtful the Gift was going to work, so from Melissa’s perspective, it really didn’t make much odds—except that after the pre-emptive staking, the body was immediately cremated. If the Soulers had their way, I wouldn’t get the chance to lookfor magic.

Was it just a coincidence, or something else?

I angled past Alan into the police station, careful not to touch him again. ‘Melissa worked for the vampires. Don’t they normally sign some sort of pre-death wish thing for just this sort of situation?’

‘She did.’ He ran a hand over his head, leaving a few hairs standing on end. ‘But Fran, Melissa’s mother, claims it’s not valid because of her age. She can be a bit eccentric at times, but I never thought she was religious. I tried to talk to her, but the doctor’s got her sedated up to the eyeballs.’ A chirping sound cut him off and he fumbled for his phone. He gave me a relieved smile. ‘It’s the solicitor.’

Coincidence or not, it certainly wasn’t looking good for Mr October.

I moved far enough away to give Alan some privacy. I’d been to Old Scotland Yard—the ‘Back Hall’—a couple of times before. Cheerful was not the adjective that immediately sprang to mind: bare bulbs under steel coolie shades hung on the end of long chains from the high ceiling, the floor was a dull expanse of scarred grey linoleum, and uncomfortable plastic chairs for visitors, two of them currently occupied, sat opposite the reception hatch. In fact, the only welcoming thing was the air-conditioning.

Standing under the vent, I let the chill air flow over me. A uniformed police constable—not one I knew—stuck her head up from behind the reception counter, brown curls bobbing and an enquiring look pasted on her plump face. I smiled briefly and pointed at Alan. She stared at me for a moment, then her expression turned less than friendly. She gave me a curt nod and returned to whatever she was doing.

Nice attitude.I mentally shrugged it off and looked over at the occupied chairs.

The man in the sharp suit had a red and black cross pinned to his lapel; obviously the Soulers’ representative. He was in his early twenties and sported a well-trimmed Van Dyke that was a slightly darker blond than the tips of his highlighted hair. He perched on the edge of his chair, his fingers tapping the buckle of the briefcase resting on his lap while his alert gaze darted from me to Alan and back again.

Next to him was a goblin. He sat like a muscle-bound child, his feet dangling six inches above the floor, kicking his heels slowly, making the lights in his trainers flash red. Fat ringlets of dyed black hair bounced gently round his liver-spotted face. Wraparound shades protected his eyes. But no one would ever mistake this goblin for a child: his back was straight as a poker and his huge shoulders strained the seams of his navy boiler-suit. A flashing Union Jack badge was pinned to his left chest pocket, under his own black and red cross, while on the right, shiny gold embroidery proclaimed him an employee of Goblin Guard Security.As did the baseball bat, neatly covered in shiny silver tin foil, that he held across his knees.

I felt my own shoulders tighten in apprehension: a Beater goblin. I’d forgotten the Soulers hired Beaters, rather than the Monitor goblins most humans use when business combined with magic or vampires. Normally the only place where Beaters are employed is Sucker Town.

I rolled my shoulders, attempting to ease away the tightness in the muscles. As I did, the goblin turned his blank eyes slowly in my direction, his cat-like ears twitching. He shifted his bat and grasped it in his right hand. He smoothed a long finger down the ski-slope incline of his nose, then covered his mouth with his palm for a brief heartbeat.

It was the traditional mark of respect between goblins. And every goblin I’d ever met offered me, a sidhe fae, the same salutation, whether I knew them or not ... although the mouth-hiding bit is considered old-fashioned by most goblins who work in London.

I returned the greeting. He might not be able to see me do it under the harsh lighting, goblin eyes being better suited to dark underground caverns, but he’d nonetheless sense that I had done so.

Then I sighed and dug my fingers into the annoying throb at my neck. It was getting worse, and I knew I was going to have to deal with it sometime soon. How long was this all going to take? Alan’s half-heard conversation murmured through the quiet of the hall, the tone of his voice telling me he was getting nowhere fast with his solicitor. My initial vision of breezing in the police station, checking out the body and getting out fast was floundering like a beached water-dragon.

As my gaze passed over the Souler rep he caught my eye. His hand flew to adjust the knot in his tie, while his face lit up with the eagerness of a zealot. Damn!That was all I needed. Still, at least he had a goblin with him. That should curb his urge for conversion.

But the Souler sprang up and came towards me, a big bright smile on his face. ‘Ms Taylor, isn’t it?’ he gushed. ‘I’m Neil Banner.’

The goblin leapt after him.

Shit.I took an involuntary step back as they both advanced. It looked like Neil Banner hadn’t read the handbook that came with his goblin.

‘I’m sopleased to meet you, Ms Taylor.’ His enthusiasm was almost tangible.

I took another swift step back. ‘Er, you too.’

The constable stuck her head up over the counter and smiled gleefully at the scene before ducking back out of sight.

Really nice attitude.

I held my hand up to try and stop him. ‘You might want to sit down again, Mr Banner. You’re upsetting your goblin.’

He was so intent on sticking his arm out in greeting that he didn’t seem to hear me. ‘I heard you were coming. I hoped you wouldn’t mind talking to me,’ he said.

Dammit.He really was going to try and shake my hand. I back-peddled again—

But before he managed to grab hold, the goblin snagged him by the wrist and pulled him to a stop.

I stood with my back braced against the door. Keeping a cautious eye on the goblin and his foil-covered bat, I held my hands out at my sides, palms displayed.

The goblin’s grin stretched wider. The sharp tips of his black teeth had been filed blunt and the shiny green sequins stuck to each one glinted in the overhead lights. A goblin grinning is like a dog curling its lips: a warning. It’s got nothing to do with showing off their bling, despite what most humans think. The boiler-suit and badge meant the goblin belonged to Beatrice, the goblin queen. They were usually well trained.

Only the sequins worried me.

‘No touch.’ The goblin’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Banner blinked in surprise, his eyes flicking between the goblin and me. ‘No touch? Why not?’

‘He’s protecting you, Mr Banner.’ I kept my hands where the goblin could see them. ‘Goblin workers are very literal beings. You hired him to do a job and that’s what he’s doing.’

‘But that’s against the vampires and magic, not you.’

The goblin, his grin fading a tooth or two, put himself in front of Banner. He nodded his head, ringlets bouncing frantically, and twisted the bat in his grip.

‘Why’s he doing that?’ Banner frowned down at the goblin.

‘I come under the heading of magic.’ I smiled ruefully, careful to keep my lips closed—I didn’t want to spook the goblin. ‘He won’t let anyone capable of magic touch you, or allow you to touch them. Spells are easier to cast with skin contact.’

He tugged at his neat beard. ‘Really? I didn’t know that. I thought spells all came in little bottles or crystals, like those at the Market.’

‘That’s witch magic.’ I sighed. Didn’t the Soulers teach their acolytes anything? ‘When you’re dealing with the fae or vampires, you need to be more careful. Don’t shake hands, and try not to let them get too near you.’ I glanced over at Alan, still clutching his phone to his ear, remembering how easily the pretty Armani-suited vamp outside had controlled him without being anywhere near. ‘Although that’s not going to work with the more powerful vampires; they only need to be in the vicinity to be able to catch you in a mind-lock. But you needn’t worry too much, the goblin will watch out for you. They’re very good at sensing magic of any kind, and even better, they’re immune to it.’ That was, after all, the main reason they’d become so popular in negotiations involving vampires—and the goblins were minting it, selling peace-of-mind-guarantees to the humans that they were acting of their own free will and not being ripped off via vampire mind-locks.

‘Wow!’ Banner’s amazed grin made him look younger. ‘This is all so fascinating. Meeting you, chatting with Jeremiah here.’ He gave the goblin’s head a soft pat. The goblin flinched, only Banner didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’ve only ever seen the goblins on the Underground before today. Jeremiah’s an interesting chap. He’s only recently moved to London from somewhere in the north, I think he said.’ He rubbed his palms together, then squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other, as if that would contain his excitement. ‘His English isn’t too good yet.’

The goblin was a recent import? Maybe that explained the sequins.

‘I’ll have to make sure I introduce myself without the handshake from now on, Ms Taylor,’ he added. ‘Thanks for the tip. I’ve only recently found my salvation, but I’m keen to spread the word.’

I groaned inwardly.

Oblivious, he carried on, ‘Perhaps we could—’

The door next to the counter swung back and hit the wall with a soft thud. I jerked round at the noise, stomach somersaulting with nerves as I recognised the figure that ducked under the doorjamb and strode into the reception hall.

Damn. I’d been so hoping he wouldn’t be on duty.

Now I was for it.