by Helen Harper
He nodded. ‘Very well.’
I scarpered out of the prison without looking directly at anyone or anything. It seemed to take as long to get out as it had to get in. By the time I left through the main entrance, I was running for my car. As soon as I saw Tallulah, however, I realised that she wasn’t alone.
Lukas straightened up when he saw me. I made a beeline for him and allowed him to wrap his arms round me. I was shaking and I could feel my heart thumping in my chest, but Lukas’s presence calmed me. He was a vampire – and yet he made me feel safe.
‘I know you told me not to come,’ he murmured gently, as a stray jet-black curl of his hair tickled my cheek, ‘but I thought you might change your mind. Given that you spent less than ten minutes talking to Beswick and you tore out of that front door as if demons were on your tail, I suspect I was right.’
Maybe he knew me better than I knew myself. ‘Much as I don’t want to admit fallibility,’ I said, ‘I’m glad you came.’ I pulled back to gaze at him. ‘You were right.’
Lukas allowed himself a small smile. ‘One day, Emma,’ he said, ‘you’ll realise that I’m always right.’
Despite the circumstances, I snorted. Yeah, yeah. I punched his arm lightly, glad that his light humour gave me something else to focus on, and he grinned.
‘How did you know I didn’t speak to Beswick for long?’ I asked.
Lukas shrugged. ‘I know a few people who work here,’ he said with studied casualness. ‘I was kept informed.’
Translation: he bribed some of the prison guards to keep him in the loop. I wondered if it had been the friendly guy at the front desk or the rules-focused man outside the door. It didn’t really matter.
‘I wish you wouldn’t do that,’ I muttered, looking away.
He reached for my face again and gently tilted it towards himself. ‘I was worried. Considering your expression when you ran out of there, I was right to be.’ A fleeting look of anger crossed his eyes. ‘What did Samuel Beswick say to you? What did he do that made you so scared?’
I sighed. ‘It wasn’t him that scared me. It was me that scared me.’
Lukas understood in an instant. ‘You were afraid of what you might do to him.’
I managed a nod. ‘There was a screen separating us but I knew that I could break through it. I knew that I could get to him and…’ I couldn’t finish the sentence.
Lukas was silent for a moment. There was no censure in his gaze. He looked over my shoulder at the prison, a forbidding darkness flitting across his face. ‘That’s only natural.’
‘He admitted that he killed them, Lukas. He’s never done that before. I looked him in the eye and he admitted that he was guilty.’
Lukas pulled me into a hug again. ‘Come on,’ he said, holding me tight, ‘Let’s get you home.’
Chapter Two
Detective Superintendent Lucinda Barnes was waiting for me in the Supe Squad office when I arrived the next day. Liza was scowling darkly in the corner. As DSI Barnes was licking the last few crumbs from a plate that looked like it had recently contained one of Liza’s cakes, I had no trouble working out why Liza was annoyed. She took her baking seriously and wasn’t always comfortable with sharing the fruits of her floury labour.
‘DC Bellamy,’ Barnes said, with a perfunctory smile, ‘I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s the weekend but I dropped by because we need to catch up. What’s the situation with the Fairfax clan?’
So much for small talk. ‘Nothing new,’ I said. ‘A new alpha werewolf won’t be confirmed until the full moon when all the contenders fight it out in St James’s Park.’ Barnes already knew this; why she’d deemed it necessary to come and ask about it in person was beyond me.
‘And is this Toffee woman still the most likely candidate?’
I shrugged. ‘As far as I can tell.’
‘You should get close to her. Become her friend. It’ll make things easier later.’
‘Not if she doesn’t get the gig,’ I pointed out. ‘There are other Fairfax betas who might do better than her on the night. If someone else becomes the Fairfax alpha, they won’t take kindly to the fact that I’ve been buttering up Toffee. Not to mention,’ I added, ‘that she very publicly proved herself submissive to Devereau Webb when she presented him with her belly right outside this building. Openly submitting to a non-ranked werewolf who’s not even experienced his own first full moon won’t fill the others with confidence.’
‘Indeed.’ Barnes frowned. ‘What exactly is happening with Mr Webb? Has he made any approaches to the clans?’
‘Nope. He’s still living on the other side of the city. I’ll allow him a few weeks to adjust to being a werewolf then I’ll approach him.’
‘He’s supposed to be in Lisson Grove with the others. The law is very clear.’
I didn’t blink. ‘I know that, but he’s not someone I want to make an enemy of either. Right now, Devereau Webb and I have a cordial relationship. If he proves himself to be as powerful as he has the potential to be, I don’t want to piss him off. I’ll remind him of the supe laws in good time.’
Barnes sniffed. ‘Very well, I’ll trust that you know what you’re doing. But that does bring us to another matter.’
I already knew what she was going to say and so did Liza. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her stiffen. It was probably just as well that Fred was out on patrol; at least Liza could give a good show of pretending not to listen. Fred was hopeless at such things.
‘You need another detective,’ Barnes said. ‘Someone with more experience. You’ve done excellent work in improving relations between the police and the supernatural community, but recent events at the Talismanic Bank and beyond have proved that Supe Squad requires another pair of hands.’
I schooled my expression carefully. ‘I take it that you have a detective in mind?’
Barnes answered instantly. ‘Detective Sergeant Owen Grace. He’s keen, ambitious and he has a strong sense of right and wrong.’
‘I don’t know him,’ I answered.
‘There’s no reason why you would. He’s kept his nose clean and had an unremarkable career up to now. When I say that, I mean it as a good thing. And you’ll be pleased to learn that he is more than amenable to working with supes.’
Unlike some of the other Metropolitan police officers, who thought that anyone with supe blood was automatically scum. ‘Okay,’ I said. Until I met DS Grace, I was prepared to keep an open mind.
‘He’ll be your superior officer,’ Barnes said. ‘And you’ll be expected to answer to him. I expect there will be something of an adjustment period to begin with that might prove … awkward.’
‘I’m not planning on causing any problems,’ I said stiffly.
Barnes offered me a kind smile. ‘I know. Neither is DS Grace. But problems can arise when one detective is more knowledgeable than another. You are, after all, a supe yourself and that gives you an edge that DS Grace might find … difficult, given his seniority. Fortunately, I have an idea about how to ensure that he finds his feet.’
I was wary now. ‘Go on.’
‘You visited Samuel Beswick yesterday.’
It wasn’t a question. ‘I followed all the correct procedures,’ I said, instantly on the defensive.
DSI Barnes held up her hands. ‘I’m not suggesting otherwise, Emma. To be honest, I’m surprised that you didn’t visit him before now. Did he provide you with any answers about what happened to your parents?’
I looked down. ‘Other than finally admitting that he was responsible for their murders, not really.’
Barnes pursed her lips. ‘Hmm. It’s not just your parents that you must have questions about. You have extraordinary, unique powers that seem to have sprung from nowhere – you must wonder about those, too.’
‘Of course I do.’ I folded my arms. I wasn’t sure where DSI Barnes was going with this and I definitely wasn’t sure that I liked it.
‘I don’t know how much of a close eye you keep on the
news, but there was a rather nasty murder in Kent last night.’
I squinted. What did a new murder in Kent have to with anything? Unless…
‘In Barchapel to be precise,’ DSI Barnes continued.
I stiffened, icy fingers of dread trickling down my spine at the mention of the village where I’d spent the first five years of my life.
‘There has been a suggestion that rogue supes were involved. I very much doubt it, but once a rumour like that starts it’s difficult to stop it. Alas, the Metropolitan Police don’t have any jurisdiction so far away from London, even though I’m certain we could offer assistance.’ She paused, her silence heavy with meaning. ‘You could offer assistance.’
I swallowed.
Barnes waved a sheet of paper at me. ‘I’ve taken the liberty of booking your leave. I have the paperwork ready to go. You just need to sign it.’
‘Leave?’
‘You’re due a holiday. Given all that has occurred recently, this would be a good time for you to take it. You can have two weeks’ break to recuperate. I hear that Kent is very nice at this time of year.’ Barnes smiled blandly. ‘At the same time, it will allow DS Grace to settle in to Supe Squad under his own terms. It will make things easier for both of you in the long run if he can find his own way. Not that I think you would interfere, but because everyone needs the opportunity to develop their own ways of doing things.’
‘I’m not sure that I need a holiday in Kent,’ I said carefully.
‘You want to find out more about what happened to your parents, and we all want to find out why you are what you are. A visit to Barchapel might answer those questions. I’ve contacted the local police and suggested that you might pop by. They might take advantage of the opportunity to pick your brains about supe activity to help them with their ongoing murder investigation. It’s a win-win situation for everyone.’
Barnes hesitated and I realised that was actually quite unsure of herself. ‘You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. It isn’t an order, Emma – it’s not even a request. But the opportunity is there if you’d like it. Barchapel might not have any answers for you, but it could be a good place to start. You can head there first thing tomorrow morning.’
I dropped my hands by my sides but otherwise didn’t move for a long moment, then I saw Liza give me a small nod of encouragement. She was right: I’d already set the ball rolling. I’d spoken to my uncle and read everything he had relating to my parents. I’d been to see Samuel Beswick. Perhaps now was the time to step things up a gear and find out more about my past.
Why was I, of all people, the phoenix? Did my parents’ deaths have anything to do with my inability to stay dead? And would Barchapel offer any clues? I swallowed, then I walked up to Barnes, took the sheet of paper and scrawled my name on the dotted line.
‘If you wait a couple of days, I can come with you,’ Lukas said. He gave the grimy train a dubious look. ‘I can drive.’
‘I can drive too,’ I said lightly. ‘But Tallulah doesn’t do well on country roads and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with the train. I like trains,’ I added firmly. ‘When you finish your business here, you can join me. A country break might be fun. I bet the people of Barchapel have never even seen a vampire before. You’ll give them a thrill.’
‘I’m not sure I’m the sort of thrill they’ll be after,’ he muttered. He ran a hand through his ink-dark hair. ‘But very well,’ he said grudgingly. ‘They’ll be more likely to open up to you if I’m not around to begin with, I suppose.’
I smiled. ‘Be kind to Detective Sergeant Grace.’
Lukas snorted. ‘I plan to stay well away from Supe Squad. You’re the only police officer I like.’ He handed me a bag. ‘Here.’
I blinked. ‘What’s this?’
‘Sandwich. Flask of coffee. A few snacks.’
‘I’m going to Kent, not Australia.’
Lukas gave me a long look. ‘I want to look after you. If the only way you’ll let me do that is by making sure you have lunch, that’s the way it’ll be.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered. It might only be a packed lunch but the gesture spoke volumes.
Lukas dipped his head and his mouth descended on mine. He pressed my body to his, holding me so tightly I wasn’t sure he’d let me go. I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. His rough stubble grazed my cheek but the heady taste of him and the searing heat as he touched me meant that I didn’t care. My senses swam.
‘You can still change your mind,’ he murmured.
I closed my eyes. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I have to do this.’ I drew a breath and stepped back. ‘I’d better go. The train’s about to leave.’
‘Take care, Emma. I’ll see you in a few days.’ He gave me a dark glower. ‘Don’t die in the meantime.’
I smiled confidently. ‘Right back atcha, buster.’ Then I heaved both myself and my suitcase onto the train.
After squeezing my bag onto one of the higher shelves in the luggage compartment, I walked down the aisle to find my seat. Lukas was still on the platform, watching my every move through the window. I gave him an awkward wave just as the whistle sounded and the train doors closed. Lukas mouthed something. I squinted. Wait. Did he just say…?
‘He loves you,’ said the elderly man opposite me. The train began to pull away. ‘That’s sweet.’
I stared at Lukas on the platform as we moved further and further away. In fact, I kept staring until he was nothing more than a dot in the distance then I drew a shaky breath. We’d only been sleeping together for a week and neither of us had made any sort of commitment. He must have been saying something else. Or he was simply making sure that I wouldn’t forget about him. After all, he was the vampire Lord and he liked to be in control. Whatever, the one thing that I knew for certain was that I wouldn’t forget Lord Lukas Horvath, no matter what else this little trip threw at me.
Chapter Three
It was barely an hour from London’s St Pancras station to Appledore in Kent, where I had to change onto a bus. Strangely, despite the hollow sensation in my chest at leaving Lukas behind, it felt like I was embarking on a mysterious adventure.
I was certainly leaving behind any sense of familiarity. I had lived in the deepest, darkest Kentish countryside for the first five years of my life but I had only brief flashes of memories from that time. As the train left London and trundled through more open landscapes, I felt like I was travelling to a foreign country.
I reached for my laptop and flipped it open, then absent-mindedly pulled out the flask of coffee from Lukas’s bag. I unscrewed the lid and inhaled the rich aroma before pouring myself a cup while I waited for the train’s WiFi to connect.
Watch enough television and you’d be forgiven for thinking that most murders are committed for complicated reasons and as a result of careful planning. The reality couldn’t be further from the truth: the vast majority of unlawful killings are committed for the most mundane of reasons, with little or no forethought. The vile and violent husband who beats his wife so hard that the impact finally kills her; the drunken brawl down the pub that starts over a minor disagreement and ends in tragedy; the drug deal gone wrong… Murder is rarely complex and never glamorous.
Still, six hundred and fifty souls had been lost to murder in the previous year in the United Kingdom, and almost a quarter of those crimes remain unsolved. Usually that was down to lack of actionable evidence rather than lack of suspects, not to mention that police officers can spend weeks tracking down threads that end up having nothing to do with someone’s death. Murder is messy – but so are people’s lives.
Contrary to public belief, it was rare that such murders were attributable to supes. Supernatural crimes hit the headlines and sold newspapers, however, so they were widely publicised. Follow the tabloid press in Britain and you’d be forgiven for believing that supe crimes involving human victims occurred on an almost daily basis.
I was also aware that certain police squads would allow whispers of supe invo
lvement to filter through communities in order to be granted greater resources to solve crimes. It was all about politics and money, neither of which helped improve the public perception of supernatural citizens. Despite what DSI Barnes had said, I doubted that the recent Barchapel murder actually had anything to do with supes.
I wasn’t with the Kent police and I wasn’t an official part of the investigation, so I didn’t have any police files relating to the killing, but there was plenty on the local news and on social media. Two days earlier, a forty-six-year-old man had been killed on his way home from a night out. His body was discovered the following morning by a dog walker; reportedly, his jugular had been ripped out. No doubt that was what had been given rise to the speculation about supes because, in theory, either a vamp or a werewolf could have been responsible for that sort of injury. But so could a human.
Although the press weren’t releasing his name, a quick search on Twitter revealed that the unfortunate victim was called Patrick Lacey. He’d worked as a local handyman doing minor home repairs for the people of Barchapel. No doubt his job meant that he was well known but I couldn’t find many people who openly admitted to feeling sad about his death. Quite the contrary, in fact. I read various posts online from people who thought that his volatile nature meant he was always going to end up in an early grave. There was one comment in particular that gave me pause. Underneath one of the first news articles posted online by the Kent Chronicle, Mick239 had written, ‘That’s what you get for being friends with a sick killer.’
A sick killer. There was only one sick killer from the Barchapel area that I was aware of, and I’d been talking to him through a glass screen the previous day. I stared at the comment, re-reading it several times.
My reverie was broken by a loud tut from the elderly gentleman seated opposite. I glanced across, wondering if he was irritated that I was reading articles about a brutal murder, but his attention was focused on something going on in the next carriage.