Текст книги "The Sweet Scent of Blood"
Автор книги: Сьюзан Маклеод
сообщить о нарушении
Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
Chapter Ten
Dust was getting up my nose. I fought the urge to sneeze, and shivered: catching the backlash of a stun-spell twice in quick succession is so not something I would recommend. I tried to snuggle into the warmth surrounding me, but the dust kept choking me, making me cough.
‘Genny,’ Hugh’s voice rumbled through me, ‘Genny, are you awake?’
Opening my eyes didn’t feel like a good idea.
‘Is she coming round?’ A woman’s voice, impatient.
‘I think so.’ Heat breathed over the top of my head as Hugh spoke.
‘Perhaps you could put her down then, Sergeant Munro.’
‘In a minute, ma’am.’
Ma’am? Oh yes, the new DI.
Hugh gently patted my arm. ‘Genny, you have to wake up now.’
I didn’t want to; I wanted to stay where I was. I buried my face in Hugh’s shoulder, feeling the warmth rising off him like sun-baked stone. If I could just go back to sleep ... But there was something I had to know first.
‘Neil Banner—the Souler,’ I mumbled. ‘Is he all right?’
‘Yes, the stun-spell missed him,’ Hugh said quietly, ‘but they’re taking him off to HOPE to make sure.’
I sighed and snuggled back up to Hugh, then remembered something else. ‘What about Alan Hinkley?’
‘He hit his head on a chair when Banner pushed him.’ Hugh patted my back this time. ‘The ambulance crew are just waiting to make sure you’re okay.’
Frowning, I opened my eyes.
We were on the floor in the Hall, a forest of legs around us. I looked up, half-smiling as I recognised two of the crew from HOPE. Next to them stood Constable Lamber, jagged age cracks marring his speckled troll face. Then I followed the smartest pair of black-trousered legs upwards until I found DI Crane. Her expression made me wish I could just close my eyes again.
‘What exactly did you think you were doing, Ms Taylor?’ She didn’t wait for an answer. ‘I appreciate the backlash from a stun-spell isn’t pleasant, but I am sure it’s better than the alternative.’ Her hands clenched, and her expensive knuckleduster rings glinted as they caught the overhead lights.
‘Your—’ Another of Hugh’s mini dust clouds drifted over me and I realised that’s what had been getting up my nose and in my throat. I blew it away. ‘You’d have hit Neil Banner with your spell too: automatic vamp defence.’ I rubbed my nose, sneezed and Constable Lamber handed me a troll-sized tissue.
‘Ms Taylor is correct.’ I twisted my head towards the Earl’s voice. He sat on one of the plastic chairs, a bone-china cup and saucer balanced in his hand, looking calm and relaxed. ‘If your spell had hit Westman, my dear Inspector, Mr Banner would most certainly have suffered along with him, and being human, it is quite possible the damage would have been fatal.’
DI Crane’s lips thinned. ‘Thank you,’ she snapped. ‘Ms Taylor, I understand you were concerned about Mr Banner, but perhaps next time you could cast a simple barrier-spell?’ She twisted a turquoise-stoned ring. ‘Catching a vampire in a Glamour seems extreme to me.’
I gritted my teeth. I’d like to see her put up a ‘simple barrier-spell’ when she was inches away from a vamp lost in blood-lust, with Psycho vamp Louis holding his leash—not to mention my other little handicap: not being able to actually cast anyspell, let alone a barrier one. Not everyone got the opportunity to go to witch school. Never mind she should probably thank me, as it was her that Psycho vamp Louis had the hots for.
I opened my mouth and Hugh gave me a gentle warning squeeze. ‘I’ll try and remember that,’ I muttered.
‘Inspector Crane?’ Constable Curly-hair hurried into view. Her expression when she caught sight of me in Hugh’s lap made me glad I was in a police station and she wasn’t holding a sharp implement or six.
‘Yes, what is it, Constable Sims?’
Her gaze flicked round the hall, then back to the DI. ‘The goblin’s dead, ma’am,’ she said in a hushed voice. ‘He landed on the iron railings.’
‘Truly dead?’ Hugh’s shoulders hunched.
Damn. The goblin had been one of Hugh’s flock. I drew a frustrated breath, sad for both of them.
She nodded. ‘One of the spikes went straight through his heart.’
Hugh let out a deep roar and the noise rolled round the hall, bouncing off the walls. Constable Curly-hair, Inspector Crane and I all clapped our hands over our ears as the other trolls joined in. The sound exploded outwards, signalling their grief, then it stopped abruptly. I shuddered in the sudden silence. Then a distant cacophony of howls echoed in the darkness, breaking the silence and raising the hairs all over my body.
‘My condolences.’ The Earl’s sympathy brushed over me like soothing hands and a soft sigh left Hugh’s lips. I looked at the Earl. He was staring at Hugh, intent, power giving his skin a translucent blue sheen like fine porcelain. I frowned. Mesmawasn’t supposed to work on trolls. Of course I knew the Earl was powerful, that was a given, particularly after the time stunts he’d pulled. But enough juice to affect a troll?
The blue tinge faded from the Earl’s face. I glanced round. No one else had noticed; their heads were still bowed in respect. Then Inspector Crane rubbed her hands together, rings chinking, ending the moment. She looked down at me and sniffed in annoyance. ‘Do you think you might let Ms Taylor get up now, Sergeant?’
‘You feeling better, Genny?’
I nodded. Cuddling up next to Hugh had dispelled the shivers I’d awakened with. He pushed me carefully onto my feet.
I gave the Earl a sideways look, then scanned the hall, looking for the other vampires. I didn’t have far to look: Westman lay curled up about ten feet away, his entranced gaze fixed on me.
Well that answered that question: not only could I Glamour a vamp but the magic appeared to work the same way as if I’d Glamoured a human.
Constable Curly-hair stepped forward in slow-motion. ‘Inspector Crane ... can I arrest ... Ms Taylor—?’
‘Very impressive, Ms Taylor.’ The Earl lifted his teacup in salute. His face was tinged blue again.
‘Thanks.’ I tilted my head towards him. ‘I think playing with time might be even more so.’ I waved a hand at the others. ‘Are you slowing them down, or speeding us up, or do you just press some sort of metaphysical pause button?’
‘Which would you say?’ He replaced the cup on the saucer.
I shrugged. ‘Where’s your other pal?’
‘I believe Louis is having a rest, courtesy of Inspector Crane.’ He inclined his head towards the broken window.
Psycho vamp Louis was lying face-down on the floor. A circlet of silver, studded with gemstones, banded his head. It made him look like a mediaeval prince. Matching bands clamped his upper arms and wrists and shackled his ankles, and they were all fastened together with a silver chain. Constable Taegrin, a heavyset troll with skin of polished black granite, stood watch over him. Louis was still unconscious, so all the bespelled hardware seemed a bit excessive.
‘And why ... would we want to arrest ... her?’ DI Crane’s stuttering words made me jump.
‘For ... casting a ... Glamour, ma’am.’
The Earl smiled. ‘Are you planning on enlightening the Inspector about our little conversation, my dear?’
Was I? Probably, but—
I brushed at the dust on my trousers, then wondered why I was bothering. I seemed to be spending more than my fair share of time on the floor lately. Why had psycho Louis taken such a fancy to the Inspector anyway? Somehow I just couldn’t see him as the love-at-first-sight type, and I didn’t need a calculator to tell me things didn’t add up. But the Inspector wasn’t the friendliest witch around, and I wasn’t entirely sure she’d want to believe me. Maybe I’d run it all past Hugh first, let him decide.
The Earl touched the teacup to his lips again, watching me thoughtfully over the rim.
‘What’s in the cup?’ I asked.
His brows arched in mild surprise. ‘Tea, of course. I find it helps to calm the nerves.’
Yeah, right.Vamps might sip the occasional alcoholic drink—neat spirits only—but I’d never heard of one drinking tea before.
He sighed obviously realising he wasn’t getting an answer from me and the blue colour disappeared from his face. I rubbed the back of my head, trying to ease the same odd release of pressure I’d felt before.
‘Constable Sims, casting a Glamour on a vampire is not a criminal offence. Casting a Glamour on a human is.’ Inspector Crane sent me a condemnatory look. ‘Should Ms Taylor be guilty of that, then I will arrest her myself.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’ Disappointment crossed her face.
Well, that was me warned. Either I was being paranoid, or the Inspector liked me just about as much as Constable Curly-hair did.
I beamed at them both. Nice to know I had friends.
The Inspector curled her hand protectively around her sapphire pendant. ‘Ms Taylor, please remove your Glamour as soon as possible. I do not want a lovesick vampire in my police station.’ She turned on her heel. ‘Sergeant Munro, Constable Sims, I’d like you both outside with me now, please.’
I crossed my arms and studied the lovesick vampire in question.
Westman’s brown eyes were no longer clouded with bloodlust; I could see the Glamour as a golden pinprick of light deep in his pupils. Lovesick was right: he was a vampire, so he probably wouldn’t die if I left him, like a human could, but he might wander about like a lost soul trying to find me. Sonot what I needed.
But to release the Glamour, I had to touch him. And he was still injured.
‘You seem to be in a bit of a dilemma.’ The Earl smiled. ‘Perhaps I can offer some assistance?’
I snorted. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘No strings, as they say, my dear.’ The Earl stood. ‘It would be my pleasure.’
He walked over to Louis, bent down and grasped the back of his velvet jacket, picking up the unconscious vampire as if he were nothing more than a pile of rags. I watched suspiciously as the Earl dropped Louis’ body next to Westman with a soft thud. Westman didn’t so much as flinch. The Earl crouched down, lifted Louis’ chin with his forefinger and raked his thumbnail down Louis’ neck. A sluggish trail of blood seeped out and the Earl wrinkled his nose. Maybe the other vamp smelled bad to him; all I caught was the faint tang of liquorice and copper.
He motioned at Westman and said, ‘You need to bring his head down so he can feed, my dear. Then wait for my word and take your magic back.’
I hesitated.
‘On my honour, Ms Taylor. No tricks or foul play.’
He was centuries old; no way would he break his oath.
Gingerly, I put my hand on Westman’s head—his hair felt thin, greasy—and guided his face towards the crimson trickle at Louis’ throat. Westman’s nostrils flared as he scented the blood, and he licked his lips then struck, sinking all four fangs into the soft flesh. Louis jerked beneath him, his own lips parting on a quiet groan, and one of the yellow stones in his silver headband glowed for an instant before he subsided. Wet sucking noises filled the air...
‘Now,’ commanded the Earl, jolting me from my brief reverie.
I calledthe magic and it returned, spreading heat through my body like in a slow-moving tide.
‘Well done, Ms Taylor.’ The Earl smiled at me. He bent down and pushed his finger into the side of Westman’s mouth, separating the vampires with a muted pop. Westman flopped onto his back, blood dribbling out between his lips. The Earl grabbed Louis with both hands and flung him back towards the window, almost bouncing him off the wall. Maybe Louis smelled really, really bad.
‘Thanks,’ I said, frowning. His help might not have strings, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have an ulterior motive.
‘Absolutely no need, Ms Taylor.’ He dusted his blazer sleeve. ‘Mr Hinkley is very concerned about his son.’ He pulled a cream handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his hands. ‘Do you still plan to help him?’
It was the same question he’d asked earlier. ‘Again, why?’
‘I would be interested in whatever you might discover.’
‘Are you saying there’s something to find?’
‘It is a possibility, my dear.’ He briefly smiled and turned to face the Hall’s main entrance.
The pretty Armani-suited vampire was standing over Louis’ prone body, his face enigmatic.
‘Malik al-Khan.’ The Earl flourished his handkerchief. ‘I neglected to see you there.’ His choice of words suggested the other vampire had been there all along, watching.
My heartbeat sped up. Where had he appeared from? There were no shadows to hide in, not here inside the police station.
‘Forgive me.’ The Earl gripped my arm before I could evade him. ‘I would introduce you, but I believe you and Ms Taylor have already met.’
Damn. I either had to struggle, or stand there like an errant child while the Earl held me.
I struggled.
‘Be still,’ hissed the Earl.
Then Malik moved, his movements elegant, almost preternaturally effortless, and I forgot all about the Earl and his fingers digging in my arm.
‘You play a dangerous game, Oligarch,’ he said to the Earl. The menace in his voice scorched like hot flames over my bare skin. I swallowed hard, fear fluttering in my stomach like a flight of frantic dragonflies.
The Earl smiled, power staining his skin blue. ‘It seems I am not the only one.’
Malik halted, uncomfortably close. ‘Be careful it does not bring an end to you.’
I thought he’d been angry outside, but that had been a storm in the Earl’s teacup compared to the tempest now raging in his eyes. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. Then the heat shifted, teasing around me like a warm summer’s breeze, and spice fragranced the air.
The Earl touched his handkerchief to his nose. ‘I see you are ever the faithful servant, still playing the voyeur for your Master. It is not a game Iwould find palatable.’ He jerked on my arm, extending it like an accusation between them. ‘But then, I do not share your somewhat eclectic tastes, and nor do I feel the need to mark my prey, like a brutish animal.’
What the fuck?
I looked down in shock. The bruises ringing my wrist had bloomed red under my skin and blood was seeping out, encircling my arm: a bracelet of bright scarlet beads. As my pulse beat faster, so the blood trickle increased.
A pale hand closed over my wrist. ‘My apologies, Genevieve.’ Malik’s cool voice invaded me and calm flooded through my body. ‘I had no wish to cause you harm.’
I gazed up at him, saw sorrow in his black eyes, tasted his desire to take my blood again ...
But he turned away.
As he walked from me, the harsh light from the ceiling bulbs dimmed. Shadows that couldn’t exist leached from the black of his suit, coalesced into darkness around him, and he vanished into nothingness.
Something banged behind me and I swivelled round, startled.
Constable Lamber ducked through the door. ‘You still here, miss? Constable Sims said you’d left with all the others.’
Confused, I looked around me.
The Hall was empty.
Damn. ‘What happened to all the vamps?’
He shrugged. ‘Like I said, miss, they all left—’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Must be half an hour ago now. That was quite a tussle you were caught up in.’ Dust shimmered above his speckled bald head. ‘Proper shame about the little goblin fella. The Sarge is real upset about that. He went off-duty ten minutes ago.’ His forehead creased into deep cracks. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, miss?’
No, I wasn’t: there were too many questions jumping around in my mind, and no one left here to give me the answers I needed.
But, lucky me, I knew a vampire that could.
Chapter Eleven
The Tir na n’Og,or to give it its colloquial name, the Bloody Shamrock,is tucked away down a narrow side street off Shaftesbury Avenue. It’s one of the oldest Irish bars in London, and it’s been a favourite hangout for those of the fanged persuasion for a couple of centuries or more.
Of course, it’s only in the last few years that it’s actively advertised the presence of the vampires.
I turned the corner and ran straight into the queue of people waiting to get in: about fifty of them standing patiently, corralled behind red velvet rope hung from brass poles. Apart from a couple of leather-clad goths, the dress code was smart casual, mixed with the occasional sparkle of party wear—marking the obvious tourists. At least my black trousers and cream waistcoat wouldn’t look too out of place, even if it felt like I’d been wearing the same clothes for a week.
The queue shifted forward as I moved past it to the front. A high, nervous laugh, quickly stifled, punctuated the low hum of voices. My pulse sped faster, but with the G-Zav in my system, there was no way I could slow it. Still, there’d be plenty of other hearts beating fast right alongside mine, so it shouldn’t matter.
And Iwas invited. The invitation offered a guarantee of safety, that old ‘Death before Dishonour’ thing.
I reached the start of the line. A neon sign in the shape of a cloverleaf cast a deep red glow over the entrance. A gaggle of girls surrounded the doorman; one, a blonde in a red leather mini-skirt and matching sequinned boob tube, had her hand on his shoulder. As she stretched up, balancing on tiptoe in her red wedges, the criss-crossed straps bit into her calves. She murmured in the doorman’s ear. He moved aside and waved her in. She turned to her friends, bright red lips smiling in triumph, and caught me watching her. For a moment she hesitated, then she tossed her long hair over her shoulder and followed her friends through into the bar, leaving me to face the doorman.
The top of his black hair was cut flat as a table. He wore a black dinner suit, complete with shamrock-green silk cummerbund and matching bowtie. But underneath the smarts he was all sumo wrestler. I stepped in front of the rope holding back the waiting punters and saw my own face mirrored in his dark glasses. I smiled nice and wide.
He looked down at me, nostrils flaring as he took a good long sniff.
‘Hey, there’s a queue here,’ someone grumbled.
Sumo slowly turned his head in the direction of the voice. He glared at the sandy-haired guy who’d grumbled, then leaned forward and hissed into his startled face.
The guy swallowed with an audible gulp. ‘Sorry, man... was just saying, y’know—’
Sumo’s mouth split open, his fangs gleaming. The neon sign started strobing above us, plunging the doorway into darkness, then light, then dark again. Now you see him. Now you don’t. It was a nice touch. Gasps and shivers of jumpy excitement rippled through the waiting humans but I was just disappointed his dickie-bow didn’t spin.
I sighed and gave Sumo a sharp poke, just above his cummerbund. ‘Cut the dramatics, fang-boy.’
His head did that same slow-turn thing back to me.
Ignoring my leaping pulse, I treated him to my best so-not-impressed look. ‘I’m here to see Declan. Tell him Genevieve Taylor got his invitation.’
The sign stopped flashing, leaving us in a pool of red light.
I made a twirling motion with my hand. ‘Hurry it up. Night’s not getting any younger.’
Sumo’s lips twitched, then he produced a miniature phone and spoke, staccato-fast, in some Asian language. He listened a bit and snapped the phone shut. Then he ushered me towards the entrance, saying in a surprisingly soft voice, ‘All right, luv, you can go in. Mr Declan will be seeing you.’
The tight feeling in my stomach went up a notch. I ignored it and gave Sumo a wink as he held open the door for me.
I heard the music first: a lilting Irish melody, background to the conversational buzz that filled the room. The smells, heavy on the Guinness and the Thai snacks the place served, hit me next—odd for an Irish bar, but hey. I walked up three wooden steps and looked around, letting my eyes adjust to the muted light.
The place looked pretty much like any other pub on a Friday night: lots of tables, a long bar down one side of the room, and with the added extra of a central staircase leading up to a dimly lit galleried area. People were chatting and laughing, all of them looking like they were having a great night out. In fact, the relaxed ambience was at odds with the nervous jitters I’d felt outside. I frowned. Maybe it was the music, or some sort of vamp mesma? But if it was, I couldn’t sense it.
I also couldn’t sense any vampires.
What I could see was a lot of green, interspersed with tiny crimson shamrocks. It was everywhere: green glass lights, emerald-green walls and, when I glanced down, yep, the carpet was green too, complete with its random splattering of blood-red clovers, just great for hiding those pesky drips or spills.
Now that wasa nice touch.
I hadn’t immediately noticed the waitress making straight for me. She was dressed in an oriental-style uniform, green of course, with a fist-sized red shamrock embroidered over her heart. She placed her hands together in the prayer position and bowed. ‘Please.’ It sounded more like plisin her clipped accent. ‘Mr Declan, he has business. You wait few minute. You like drink, yes?’
Surprise pricked at me as I followed her. She hit my internal radar as a witch, but I hadn’t heard any gossip about him having one on the payroll. She deposited me at the quiet end of the bar, next to a tray of empty glasses.
I hoped it wasn’t symbolic.
Banging her hand on the counter, she shouted, ‘Mick, house drink.’
A short man, ginger hair gelled into a quiff, appeared through an open door behind the bar. His black muscle vest left the freckled skin of his arms bare and was tight enough over his skinny frame to outline his ribs. A leather bandolier stuffed with corks crossed his chest and a belt studded with bottle tops hung low on his hips. He looked even thinner than the last time I’d seen him, but at least he was alive and well—even if he was a gutless bastard.
I smiled, showing lots of teeth. Being a cluricaun, a relative of the leprechauns and the Irish goblins, Mick would, of course, appreciate my toothsome grin. ‘Make it a vodka, Mick, Cristall if you’ve got it.’
His green eyes bugged and he clutched the edge of the counter, the suckers on his fingertips flushing pink and flattening out against the wood. ‘What are you doing here?’ he whispered.
The music changed to a lively jig.
I looked at him, my eyes wide, innocent. ‘Let me see now ... having a drink? Visiting old friends? Maybe wondering why you haven’t been returning my messages?’
His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. ‘I couldn’t. He wouldn’t let me. Now go away. Leave me alone.’
‘How isSiobhan, Mick?’ I asked sweetly. ‘Still back in Ireland? Still well?’
He nodded, opened his mouth to speak—
The band played a fanfare, a hushed gasp rippled through the room behind me, and Mick stopped looking at me and stared at something up over my shoulder.
I turned round. Up in the gallery, one of the Shamrock’s vampires was leaning over the handrail, staring down at the crowd. For a moment I thought it was Declan, but then I realised it was one of his brothers, Seamus or Patrick. All three shared the same dark Irish looks, but Declan was the Master. Together they were the Shamrock’s main attraction.
There was another gasp as the vampire moved, seeming to suddenly appear at the top of the stairs. It wasn’t a vamp trick; he’d just moved too fast for the humans to see. His black hair curled around his handsome head and a moody look on his face put me in mind of Heathcliff, only he’d got the costume all wrong. He wore a red muscle vest like Mick’s, tucked into tight black denims. Still, it matched the red outfit of the blonde now walking up the stairs towards him, the girl I’d seen at the entrance. He held his hand out to her and as she took it, her expression reverential, her knees dipped in an unconscious curtsey.
He bowed with a flourish and kissed the pulse point on her wrist.
A dozen people stood up, clapping their hands together over their heads and Mick made a strangled noise in his throat.
I turned back to him. I knew which brother it was now. ‘Seamus is busy tonight.’ Pasting a frown on my face, I added, ‘Only I’d heard he wasn’t into the ladies, just a certain red-headed barman. Something you’velong neglected to mention. ’
His face closed up. ‘I was told not to.’
I laughed, but there was no mirth in it. ‘Like I couldn’t work that one out for myself, Mick.’
Another waitress slid a tray of empties onto the bar. ‘Refill, plis,’ she said, ignoring me.
Mick threw her a nasty look and muttered, ‘Bugger off, Chen.’ He scowled as she scurried away.
I glanced upwards, but Seamus and the blonde girl had disappeared into the dark shadows on the balcony. ‘’Spect that’ll put a bit of a crimp in your love life.’
Mick’s mouth turned sulky. ‘We don’t do sex here.’
‘Bet that disappoints a few punters.’
‘Not at all, Ms Taylor. I can assure you that all of our customers are very satisfied.’ I swivelled towards the woman’s voice and saw luminous grey eyes, short white-blonde hair and salon-perfect makeup. ‘I am Fiona, the proprietor of Tir na n’Og.’ Her dress was spectacular, form-fitting black silk with what looked like very expensive ruby and diamond catches holding it together. There were more rubies sewn onto her elbow-length evening gloves. ‘If you’d like to follow me, Declan is waiting.’
I beamed. ‘Let’s not keep him any longer then. Lead on.’
As she turned and headed for the stairs, Mick grabbed my arm, his suckers pulsing against my skin. ‘Be careful up there,’ he whispered. ‘Declan doesn’t take too kindly to the Gentry.’
It was an apology. Of sorts.
