by Helen Harper
Leaving a confused O’Shea to trail behind me, I approach the reception desk. ‘Good morning!’
A young man wearing a crisp white shirt, an old school tie and a professional smile glances up. I enjoy watching him go pale. ‘Bo Blackman,’ he bursts out, before he can stop himself.
I grin and check his name tag. ‘One and the same, David. One and the same.’
‘My friends and I were discussing you last night,’ he beams, almost immediately recovering from his shock. ‘What are you planning to do? Are you going to kill all those religious freaks? I said that you wouldn’t do that because you’re the Red Angel and you’re too good, but Barry…’
I don’t need to hear what Barry thinks. I interrupt him. ‘That’s kind of you to say that about me.’ I hold out my hand. ‘And it’s lovely to meet you.’
He’s almost overcome. He reaches across and vigorously pumps my hand. ‘The pleasure’s all mine.’
‘I’m here to see Bruckheimer and Berryhill,’ I tell him, once I’ve extricated myself.
He blinks rapidly. ‘Of course, of course. Do you have an appointment? You can’t see them otherwise. The rules are really strict.’ He sounds regretful, as if to emphasise that he’d change things if he could.
I shake my head sadly. ‘No appointment. I’m trying to keep my movements secret. It’s dangerous out there, you know.’ I point at the street.
‘Oh my goodness! It must be awful for you. I can’t let you in but if there’s anything else I can do to help, all you have to do is say the word. I’m a really big fan. It wasn’t right what happened to your friends. I know some people are saying that the blood guz— I mean vampires, deserved it but I don’t think that.’
I’m not sure I’ve ever met someone who talks this much. ‘You know, David, there is something you could do for me.’
His expression transforms into that of an eager puppy. ‘Anything,’ he breathes. ‘Anything for you.’
At least some people are still fans. I lick my lips and eye his jugular. ‘I’m really hungry.’
I don’t think he was expecting that. He swallows and stares at me. ‘You want my…’ his voice drops to a whisper ‘…my blood?’
‘I’ll only take a teeny bit,’ I promise.
He wants to say no, I can see it written all across his face. He’s not a wannabe vampette – which is hardly surprising as even the most voracious vampettes are keeping well out of the way at the moment for fear of reprisals – but he’s afraid of what I’ll do if he says no. He scans round the lobby, looking anxious. Unfortunately for him, my appearance hasn’t been enough to drag the others’ attention away from their phones. None of them have even noticed I’m here.
‘Er, I suppose it’s okay. But…’
I interrupt. ‘Fantastic!’ I give him a wide-mouthed smile and hop round the desk. Before he can say anything else, I let my fangs lengthen and I sink them into his neck. He lets out a tiny yip and there’s the unpleasant tang of aftershave on my lips but it’s quickly superseded by the salty deliciousness of his blood. I keep an eye on the phone zombies but they still don’t look up. Wow. This is how you take over the world, by doing it when no one’s watching because they’re too busy playing Candy Crush.
I drink quickly and deeply and it’s not long before David’s body sags. I release him gently onto the floor, where his limp form is hidden from view by the desk, and beckon to O’Shea.
He looks almost fearful. ‘Was that necessary, Bo?’ he whispers.
I shrug, trying to feel guilty. ‘He said he’d do anything for me. He said it was okay. He shouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.’
‘Yeah, but he’s passed out.’
‘He’ll be fine in an hour or two.’
‘You used to hate drinking from people, even vampettes. And I’ve never seen Michael treat someone like that. You had this look in your eye. Like a predator.’
‘Michael lived in a different world. And I’ve changed from the person I was.’ I sigh and try to explain. ‘I have a heart, O’Shea. It’s not the same as it was but it’s still there. I’m more ruthless because I need to be. And I am a predator. I’m a vampire. I’m also on a mission that could mean life or death for more than just me and X.’ O’Shea is patently unconvinced. ‘Look, just then my need was greater. You were right before – I had to get some blood. If it makes you happy, I won’t do it this way again. But at least David doesn’t get into trouble for letting a crazy vampire loose in the building because it’ll look like he was attacked. And he has a story to dine out on with Barry and the rest of his friends.’
O’Shea still doesn’t look pleased. ‘I thought we were trying to keep a low profile.’
‘This way is better. If X comes across us, I’ve got a ready-made excuse.’ I say the words confidently, as if I really believe them.
‘Eating a receptionist?’
‘Nope. Visiting some old friends.’ I grin and wipe away the last of David’s blood from my mouth. I’m just in time because one of the humans finally gives up on her phone and wanders over.
‘Hi,’ she says in a perfunctory manner. ‘I’m here for Charcoal and Sons.’
‘Do you have an appointment, ma’am?’ I ask in my most proper accent.
‘Yes.’ She checks her watch. ‘In about five minutes.’
‘I’ll buzz you right up.’
I search the desk and find the right button. The woman nods and heads for the lift.
‘She didn’t even notice who you were,’ O’Shea marvels.
‘All she saw was a worker bee,’ I say. ‘I wasn’t a real person, just a cipher doing a faceless job.’ I glance down at David. The colour is already leaking back into his cheeks but I suddenly feel sorry for him. Whether I’m an infamous bloodguzzler or not, it’s no wonder he was so happy to talk to me. I noticed him as an individual, a living being. Alright, I amend, an individual, a living being and lunch. I’ll put up my hands and admit that I’m not a good person but I could be worse. It’s not much of an epitaph but I reckon it means there’s hope for me yet.
I tell O’Shea to stay in David’s place and watch over him. He bobs his head dutifully and buzzes me up to the insurance company. When I left the warehouse, the last thing I expected from this expedition was some fun. Now I’m actually feeling rather excited.
***
The offices for Bruckheimer and Berryhill are a testament to how swimmingly the insurance industry is going. Years ago, when I worked for them, head office was a rather dilapidated affair on an industrial estate on the outskirts of the city. Now they’re in the heart of London, with plush carpets, gleaming glass and a whole host of glossy leaflets. I pick one up at random and scan it. Yeah, maybe they are looking better-heeled than they used to but they’re still performing the same tricks. This particular leaflet offers life insurance against acts of witchery – but from the very, very small print, they won’t pay out if that act results from your own actions. Fair enough ‒ until you realise that this policy is aimed at witches. Screw up a spell, end up dead and your family gets nothing. Alternatively, do something to goad a fellow witch into attacking you and you’ll still end up with nothing. I wonder whether they’ve actually had to make any payments for this product.
A young woman appears. ‘May I help you?’ she asks politely.
I bare my fangs. Recognition flares in her eyes and she lets out a yelp. Her eyes snap to a wall behind me. Curious, I turn to see several rows of professionally taken photographs of their board members. Underneath are several other photos, including one of yours truly. A half smirk crosses my lips and I take a closer look. Underneath, on a neatly printed card, are the words: ‘Bo Blackman, a former operative who helped many of our clients get everything they deserve.’ I almost laugh.
‘Do you often display images of old investigators?’ I ask. ‘Or is it just the famous ones?’
‘Ms Blackman, let me find Mr Berryhill for you.’ She legs it.
I focus on the picture. It’s amazing that I coul
d ever have been this young. It’s not only that I look barely out of school, it’s the naïve optimism shining out of my eyes. I don’t need a mirror to know that these days what you see is hard calculation and bitter disappointment. But maybe if you look closely enough, you’ll see a flicker of love too.
‘Bo!’ A warm voice greets me from behind.
I turn and spot Berryhill. His arms are open wide as if he’s expecting me to rush in for a hug. Considering I never qualified to meet the man when I worked here, he’s got high expectations. I highlight the fact that I used to be nothing more than a faceless minion to him by saying, ‘It’s Ms Blackman. Who are you?’
The slight flicker in his eyes tells me that I’ve made a dent in his over-sized ego. ‘Mark Berryhill. We met at the end-of-year celebration when you were one of our employees.’
No, we didn’t. I curve my lips into a smile. ‘Oh.’
He drops his arms, realising that I’m not going to embrace him like we’re old friends. ‘What can I do for you? Are you seeking re-employment now that the Families have been reduced to dust?’
Score one for the sleaze in the suit. ‘The Families might be gone,’ I tell him, flicking at an invisible piece of lint on my sleeve, ‘but we vampires are hardly dead and buried.’ I lick my lips, providing him with a faint glimpse of my teeth. ‘I’m actually here to request some old files.’
He blinks, taken aback. ‘Oh yes?’
‘The Alice Goldman case.’
His expression clears. ‘Ah. Such a tragic situation, that one.’
Mm. All the more tragic because Bruckheimer and Berryhill had to pay out a large wad of cash. ‘I worked on it for a while,’ I say. I’m sure he’s well aware of my role; I cost him a pretty penny as a result. ‘I’d like to see the file.’
‘Why?’
Playing the ‘ignorance is bliss’ card, I don’t drop my gaze. ‘It’s probably better for you if you don’t know.’
He links his fingers. ‘Those files are confidential.’
‘As I said, my work is included in those papers so I don’t think confidentiality is an issue here.’
‘Yes, but you are a former employee. And that case is closed.’
My smile widens. ‘You have my photo on the wall.’ I pause. ‘Without my permission. If you’re taking advantage of me, Mr Berryhill, I feel I should get something in return.’
His gaze is flat. ‘I don’t appreciate intimidation or threat tactics, Ms Blackman.’
I’m the very picture of innocence. ‘Really? I worked for you. I know exactly what tactics you appreciate.’
Berryhill’s bonhomie is almost gone. ‘And bloodguzzlers are so perfect,’ he says sarcastically. ‘We help people through tragic circumstances beyond their control. You put them in those circumstances. The difference now is that you’re on your own.’ He shrugs. ‘Sure, you might be able to kill me but I have friends in high places. They’ll come after you. You don’t have the Families to hide behind any longer.’
‘I removed myself from the Families long ago,’ I tell him calmly. ‘I don’t need to hide behind anyone.’ I don’t take my eyes from his. ‘But I fear we’re getting off on the wrong foot. I don’t want to bother you and I don’t want to create a stink because you’re using my name to drum up more business. All I want is to see the files on Alice Goldman and then I’ll be out of your way.’ What I don’t state is the obvious: if he continues to block me, I’ll do a lot more than just grin at him. I display my fangs once more to make sure he gets the message.
He stares at me for a long moment. There’s considerable animosity here. ‘Fine,’ he snaps. ‘I need something from you in return.’
I raise my eyebrows. Interesting. And brave. ‘What?’
‘A few well-placed attacks. You don’t have to kill anyone but it would be good if you could bring them to the brink, so to speak.’
My lip curls. ‘Good grief. You’re worried about your bottom line, aren’t you? How many people have cashed in their policies in the last week? With no vampires to worry about, there’s no need for anti-vampire life insurance, is there?’ I shake my head in mock dismay. ‘Tut tut.’
Berryhill glares but ignores my goading. ‘Children would be best.’
The man has no shame. I inspect my fingernails. ‘There’s an unconscious body downstairs.’ I curtsey. ‘You’re welcome.’
If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. ‘That’s not enough.’
‘You need headlines.’ I eye him with distaste. ‘You could just create a new policy, one to guard against attacks by crazed religious groups.’ Berryhill doesn’t answer. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘You already have. Silly me.’
He sniffs. ‘That’s the deal.’
I consider his terms. ‘Very well. I will ensure that tomorrow’s front page has details of a vamp attack. That will have to do for now.’
‘Accepted. Come back tomorrow and I’ll get you what you need.’
I step back and look him over. His teeth have been whitened to within an inch of their life and, judging by his lack of facial expression, there’s definitely been some Botox action. I allow the silence to draw out. It’s not words that give people power – it’s control. I’ve got a damned sight more than Berryhill has. For one thing, I’m not worried about ageing. Not for a long time yet.
As I expected, he can’t stop himself filling the silence. ‘I can’t give you the files now,’ he says. ‘I’ve got no guarantee that you’ll do what you promise.’
‘Unless the Queen drops dead, you’ll get your front page. You have my word.’ I glance over his shoulder. The door behind him is open and there is a cluster of wide-eyed office bees staring through. ‘Otherwise, I’ll decimate your pretty little outfit here.’
Berryhill’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. There’s been enough stuff written about me recently that he believes I’m capable of it. There are some advantages to being psychotic. He mulls over his options and comes to a quick decision. ‘Very well,’ he snaps. ‘Follow me.’
He spins on his heel and heads back through the door. I shake my head at his stupidity. You should never turn your back on a dangerous animal. For now, however, I follow him meekly. The secretaries and insurance agents duck their heads as if to hide from me. It’s hard not to laugh.
Berryhill stalks through and points to a nearby office. ‘You can wait in there,’ he says stiffly.
‘Nope,’ I say cheerfully. ‘Not there.’ I look around then spot the room I need. ‘That one will do.’
His expression sours even further. ‘That’s my office.’
I beam. ‘Fabulous.’
He mutters something under his breath, obviously tempted to refuse. Eventually, however, he chooses the wiser of two options and nods stiffly. ‘As you wish.’ His breathing is barely controlled. ‘I shall retrieve the files.’
I clap him on the shoulder. ‘Thank you.’
Chapter Seven: Threats and Promises
I have no idea what Bruckheimer’s office looks like but Berryhill has certainly gone all out on his. The desk looks antique, even if the large chair behind it is ergonomically designed, and there’s a slim, expensive-looking laptop on top of it. On one wall there’s a huge flat screen displaying the day’s news. Yet again, the destruction of the five Families is leading the way. Irritated, I turn it off. I open a couple of desk drawers and peer inside, noting the various cards for escort services next to the tidy array of stationery. Then I wander over to the window. I have a perfect view all the way down to X’s place. Nobody is coming in or out. I cross my arms and study the darkened windows. Are you in there, X? Do you know I’m coming for you?
I remain where I am for a moment or two, then wheel round and grab Berryhill’s chair. I push it out from behind the desk and place it in front of the window just as the man himself returns.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Rearranging your furniture,’ I say, without looking round. ‘The energy in this space is all wrong.’
If I was expectin
g him to complain, I’m disappointed. He huffs slightly and walks up beside me, holding out the files as if he’s cradling a bomb. I take them then shoo him away dismissively. Berryhill’s jaw works as if he wants to say something. In the end, he gives in and leaves me to it.
‘I’ll come and find you when I’m done,’ I call out after him. Then I smile.
Keeping one eye on X’s building, I open up the first of the files. I’m confronted with a gap-toothed, smiling photo of Alice – the one that was broadcast on so many news programmes. Her eyes sparkle with mischief and she grins with so much childish optimism that I feel my heart ache. I quickly flip over to the first report.
The initial pages detail little more than what happened to Alice, although the language is cold. The insured subject was last pinpointed at location blah blah blah. That kind of thing. I understand that an insurance or a police report or anything of that ilk has to be dispassionate but there’s something very disheartening about reading it. This was a child – not a ‘subject’. I suppose I should congratulate myself on proving that I’m not completely heartless after all. When confronted with the stark facts of Alice’s abduction, though, there’s little congratulating to be done. I suppose things could be worse; I could still be working for these bastards.
Due to the high-profile nature of the case, Bruckheimer and Berryhill used several different investigators to ensure no stone was left unturned. I conjure up a vague sense of professional detachment as I examine their separate reports. It’s clear which investigators were trying to do their job as the insurance company saw it – namely finding any way possible to duck out of paying out on the policy. All they needed were a few suggestions that bloodguzzlers were responsible. However, as I read I realise I wasn’t the only one who did everything I could to force the company into paying up. I was just more successful because I had Rogu3 to hack into the Families’ systems and prove that vampires weren’t involved.