Angel Falls (Cassandra Bick Chronicles Book 3)

by Sinclair, Tracey

  Cain hadn’t gone into any detail about what he and Jonesy were doing, or if his wife was playing any part in it, and I had been glad not to ask. While the reappearance of the two most important women – beings – from Cain’s past wasn’t exactly a chucklefest for either of us, it wasn’t sending me into the insecurity spiral I would have expected. In fact, it was having the opposite effect – it was obvious how important his wife still was to him, which made it all the more difficult to ignore his unwavering attention to me. We might fight, he might even feel for her things he’d never feel for me, but I couldn’t pretend I was just the convenient option any more, and with all the shit we had to worry about, even I couldn’t be so self-indulgent as to turn this into a crisis that was about me and my feelings. Plus, I couldn’t help recalling Katie’s stern words from a few months ago, when we’d been shopping for clothes and I’d been bemoaning the fact that every changing room mirror made me fear that any moment I’d be speared by Captain Ahab. With the no-nonsense tones of one who patches up head wounds for a living, she’d rolled her eyes at me and frowned: ‘I really think it’s time for the successful, home-owning businesswoman who has two of the hottest guys in London fighting over her to stop pretending she’s somehow being held back in life by the size of her arse,’ she’d muttered. This had earned her a reproving look from Medea and a hurt one from me, but though her reprimand had stung – and in my self-pity I’d brushed it off (at the time, neither guy was around so I wasn’t inclined to be consoled) – her words had come back to me since. I could huff about being surrounded once again by super-powered supermodels, or use my energy trying to get us all through the week alive.

  The upside of this philosophy, of course, was also that I got to eat cake. Medea had beaten me to the office and had coffee bubbling away as I arrived, but I’d stopped at the patisserie on the way in, figuring we deserved a treat. Katie was right – a pot belly and a bit of an arse wasn’t going to kill me (there were plenty of other things queuing up for that privilege) and since the only thing currently bothering me about my inner thighs was the chafe marks from the scruff of Cain’s beard, I was damned well going to have cake while I could.

  Medea smiled at me, gratefully, as I handed her a pastry, and kindly held off speaking until I had a mug of coffee in my hand.

  ‘So how are you holding up?’ I asked, sitting down to join her.

  She pulled a face.

  ‘I’m a Wiccan without magic, my fiancée is spending half of her time as a dog, and I’m having frankly filthy thoughts about your boyfriend’s wife, so not fantastic.’

  ‘Mey!’ I exclaimed, shocked, and she stuck her tongue out at me.

  ‘Oh, Goddess’ sake, Cass, I’m engaged, I’m not blind. And she has that whole Scandinavian complete lack of inhibitions thing going. She came down to breakfast this morning stark naked!’

  ‘Bloody hell.’

  ‘I know!’

  I hid my grin.

  ‘I thought as a Wiccan you’d be fine with all that natural nakedness, you know…dancing by moonlight in the nuddy, that sort of thing. And Katie spends a lot of her time with her kit off.’

  ‘Yeah, but I grew up in Glasgow. There’s a place for nudity, and that place is buried under 20 layers of vests and woolly jumpers. Except, of course, if you’re a bloke and the sun comes out or you’re a woman going drinking at the weekend, in which case near-public-nudity is the only acceptable option.’ She grinned and I smiled back: I’d grown up in a Northern town, I was familiar with the unperishable hardiness of the weekend partiers and their acres of exposed flesh.

  ‘Bet you’re glad she wasn’t staying at yours,’ she smirked.

  ‘You mean in case Cain was tempted by her beautiful soul?’

  She looked puzzled and I belatedly remembered she hadn’t been there for the shape-shifting angel show and subsequent ‘it’s what’s on the inside that matters!’ only partially-convincing explanation.

  ‘No… I’ve seen those tits. I’m pretty sure it’s not just the inner beauty that’s the attraction.’ She cast an exaggeratedly appraising look at my own cleavage. ‘Though I think you’ve probably got her beat in that department.’

  I laughed at that. It felt good to be just the two of us, sharing a joke, and I raised my mug in salute to absent, modesty-free Nordic goddesses and the distractions they offered.

  ‘Reassuring to know,’ I nodded, all seriousness, then the two of us chinked our mugs and dissolved into giggles.

  ***

  Even without much vampire activity, there was plenty of work to keep us both going. My ‘B’ list – what I affectionately call the plastic fang brigade – always got plenty of interest, and I had belatedly got on board with The Walking Dead and acknowledged zombies weren’t going anywhere, and introduced a ‘zombie walk’ meet up. The appeal of this was totally lost on me, but I suppose if someone fancies you when you’re dressed in rags and decaying corpse make up, they probably do really like your personality, so maybe it makes sense in our increasingly shallow society. I’d also been approached by some LARPers (live action role play gamers) to set up a fake vampire hunt, which was fun to organise – mainly because I got to wheel out all my Supernatural jokes, whether they wanted them or not – but it was fiddly and involved a lot of organisation, not least in making sure that no real hunters or vampires ended up caught in the mix and got carried away. And, speaking of hunters, our work today was a couple of times interrupted by walk-ins who looked a little rougher round the edges than my usual clients, and who rifled through the leaflets, asked vague questions and then left, leaving the scent of cordite heavy on my Sense. Great: news of the bounty on Laclos had clearly spread, because it wasn’t like we had anything else to worry about.

  All of this at least meant I was distracted from the miasma of gloom that, despite her best efforts to be cheery, hung around Medea. Only a few weeks ago, her life had been perfect: newly engaged to a woman she adores, everything to look forward to. Now – in no small part due to my interference, no matter how well-meaning I had been – that was all in disarray. She’d never blamed me (at least to my face) but I wondered if that was because she genuinely didn’t think it was my fault, or just because she realised you should wait until the flames are out before you criticise someone for playing with matches, and my personal conflagration was still burning merrily. As if reading these thoughts, she glanced up from her laptop, her expression pensive.

  ‘You know, once this is all… settled, we should have a conversation about the business.’

  I froze. Oh, God. Was she quitting? She couldn’t quit! The very thought of it, of trying to do this without her, made me want to howl.

  ‘Um. OK.’

  But not OK. This – whatever ‘this’ was – might never be properly settled, and I had enough on my mind without worrying about Medea’s Serious Talk.

  ‘Look,’ I said, fretfully. ‘You know I’m rubbish at suspense. Can’t you tell me what it is now?’

  She looked taken off guard, but nodded, her expression serious. I felt tears prick in my eyes. She was going to quit!

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘I want to be a full partner in the business.’

  I stared at her, barely processing her words.

  ‘What?’ I gurgled, astonished.

  ‘Katie and I have talked it over, and we’d like to invest in the business. Which means co-ownership. Part-ownership, whatever. But something official…’

  ‘What?’ I repeated, uselessly. A few days ago my business was floundering, now people were queuing up to throw money at me? What was happening? But she misread my shock and hurried on, uncharacteristically nervous.

  ‘I’m sick of risking my life for a pay cheque, Cass. If this is going to be what it is – and I enjoy the job, and I think we’re genuinely doing something worthwhile in the community – then I want to be properly part of it.’ She took another breath, steeling herself. ‘And I love you dearly, Cass, but the more we’ve become friends, the less com
fortable I am with being your assistant.’ She held up her hand to stay my protests, despite the fact there weren’t any. ‘I know this company was your idea and I’m happy to let you have the majority share or over-ruling vote, but I want a say, and I want a cut of the profits.’

  I still hadn’t said anything, and she frowned at me.

  ‘Look, I’m really sorry if this upsets you or you think I’m being presumptuous, but…’

  And then I spoke. Or I tried to, but it was mainly crying. Medea stared at me as I dissolved into ugly, heaving sobs of relief that gave way to the stresses of the week, so I wasn’t sure what I was crying about, only that I couldn’t stop. Aghast, she rushed over and put her arms around me, albeit gingerly – she’s not much of a hugger, and I imagine she was also worried about her clothes.

  ‘I thought you were quitting!’ I bubbled, when the worst of the deeply attractive avalanche of snot and tears had subsided and I vaguely resembled a coherent being once more.

  ‘So…’ she said, cautiously.

  ‘I think it’s a great idea! I love it!’ I managed, and she sank back into her chair, relieved. ‘You know I don’t make a lot of profit though, right?’

  ‘I know. But it’s still your business.’

  I smiled wobbily and raised my mug to her.

  ‘Our business.’

  She beamed and raised her mug to me, her eyes moist.

  ‘Ours,’ she agreed, smiling. ‘But you get to handle Laclos the silent partner, mind.’

  ‘Deal.’

  I looked around the office, as if seeing it anew. There wasn’t much urgent to do now, and it wasn’t long till dark.

  ‘Sod this. Let’s toast it with a proper drink.’

  ***

  OK, so when you’re in the middle of a supernatural crisis, getting tanked in the afternoon probably isn’t the best idea in the world, but I have to say a hastily-necked bottle of champagne did make both of us feel cheerier (even if, as it was a bottle Laclos had bought me, I couldn’t help worrying I was drinking away my mortgage). Unfortunately, this also meant we were still drinking when daylight faded, and as we hastily locked up, I Sensed movement in the shadows and only barely managed to avoid jumping out of my skin when Leon emerged, though Medea let out an undignified squeak of shock.

  ‘Laclos has asked for you,’ he said, graciously ignoring how easily he’d crept up on us. Damn you, booze!

  ‘Sure. Can we walk Medea to the Tube first?’

  He nodded, and as the three of us headed towards Farringdon station, I took out my phone and texted Cain. It felt weird to do something as normal as letting him know I’d be late – this was almost a relationship. Except I was off to see the hot vampire I’d only recently shagged, of course.

  ‘So how is everyone?’ I asked, keen not to follow that particular train of thought.

  ‘They killed half a dozen of our people. I know you don’t necessarily approve of vampire arrangements, but can you imagine how that feels?’

  Both Medea and I bristled slightly at that – neither of us were overly clear on how vampire society structured itself, but nor had we ever offered a disapproving opinion on it. But he was clearly angry and upset, so I saw no mileage in arguing the point. So I just hugged Medea goodbye at the station and followed him to where he’d parked the car.

  ***

  ‘So if Laclos wants to see me, I’m guessing you’ve resisted the urge to kill him?’ I asked, trying to lighten the mood as he opened the door for me and I got in the passenger seat (no being in the back seat chauffeuring for me, thanks). Leon’s stony expression cracked slightly as he fought a smile.

  ‘Night’s young.’

  He hesitated, turning to me before he started the engine.

  ‘I know you think he’s a prick – and, God knows, you’re not wrong – but he does have a point. Get too pally with your bodyguards – especially ones who are actually, technically, an awful lot weaker than you are – and it’s easy to forget who’s supposed to be protecting who. The whole reason he hired us was because we’re not his concubines, we’re not his friends, and I don’t blame him for wanting to keep that professional distance. After all, trying things the other way didn’t work out so well for him, did it?’

  I nodded, reluctantly, and he started the car. He had a point, but he was also wrong: part of the problem Laclos had had with previous bodyguards wasn’t (just) that they were too close for him to see what was happening, but that this whole Dowager Duchess of Downton attitude alienated them. But I also wondered why Laclos had this time chosen bodyguards so much younger and weaker than he was. In peacetime, it was a show of arrogance and a flaunting of beauty, since both Mariko and Leon were pretty easy on the eye. But I wondered if that was all: having been burned so badly by older, stronger vampires, maybe Laclos thought the only way to keep his throne was to make sure he was surrounded by those too weak to pose a threat to it.

  ‘Do we know any more about the attack?’ I asked. ‘Why do you think Josephine steered clear of it?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘You’ve heard of her though, right? Do you know her?’ I pressed.

  He cast me a wry glance.

  ‘You mean because we’re both black? Do you think there’s a club?’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant,’ I protested, though in a way, I suppose, it was. I’d heard that vampires in London were more racially diverse than elsewhere, reflecting the make-up of the city itself, but the circles I moved in were still predominantly white. So I couldn’t believe a young, ambitious black vampire like Leon didn’t at least have Josephine on his radar. ‘But you did say part of the reason you worked for Laclos was because plenty of the other clans were racist.’

  ‘So why am I not working for her, you mean?’

  ‘Surely you considered her as a… corporate sponsor?’

  He paused, and I was pleased he didn’t seem offended by the question.

  ‘Yeah. I know of her, of course. She’s powerful enough – been around nearly as long as Laclos, apparently.’ That was an interesting rumour: my Sense had put her a good three or four hundred years younger. ‘In fact, I heard they used to knock around together back in France, before the Revolution.’

  Well, even more interesting that Laclos hadn’t chosen to share that bit of gossip.

  ‘She has quite an extensive power base back in Africa, too, which is where she’s from originally. She’s well-connected in London, and has the same instincts for making powerful friends he does.’

  ‘So is that what this is? A power grab? She wasn’t the oldest of the vampires who came to see me.’

  He paused, and I could feel him weighing up what to tell me. I was realising that not only did I know little about how vampire society operated beyond the reaches of my business, but also that that opacity was, to some degree, deliberate.

  ‘Age isn’t the only defining factor, though it’s often a key one. You want strength, there’s more ways than age to get it – which we’ve just seen.’ He grimaced, and I wondered if he was angry at me as well as Laclos for not explaining just how Cain’s blood had turbocharged his boss. ‘But you also need the will to rule. A lot of old vampires simply can’t be bothered with the hassle, or they find the modern world too complicated or confusing. What I hear, Josephine loves it. I can imagine her moving in on Laclos for herself, can’t really see her as anyone’s mouthpiece.’

  ‘Unless it suits her purpose.’

  ‘I’m pretty sure Josephine would do anything that suits her purpose.’

  There was something loaded about the way he said that.

  ‘Is that why you don’t work for her? She’s got a bad rep?’

  ‘Well, I did hear she offed one of her people – recently, so well after the accords outlawing the casual killing of Others were set up in the city – just because they spilled blood on her new boots. That’s not the kind of employer we want.’

  ‘Blimey.’ I said, though that ‘we’ hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  He shrugge
d, looking irritated at my shock, even though he had told me it to shock me. I suspected he was more conflicted over Josephine than he was letting on.

  ‘She’s a black African woman in a culture where the ideal is pale, male and European. She didn’t get where she is by holding bake sales.’

  ‘Vampires are hardly unique in that bias,’ I pointed out. ‘Doesn’t mean we should all start killing people.’

  Now he looked properly annoyed – or more exasperated, really; wanting me to understand.

  ‘That’s true. But people – human people – change. You know how progress is made, Cassandra? Bigots die. Their kids turn out to be gay, or trans, or they marry people from a different race or religion or country and suddenly the horrible old racist has a grandkid they adore who’s three or four shades darker than they are. And with people, biology always wins. At the minute, at least, a few Nazi experiments aside, it doesn’t matter if your fantasy race is tall, blonde and Aryan, you’re stuck with what your genes give you, with what comes out of the DNA soup. But imagine that isn’t true. Imagine being in a society that doesn’t have those limitations. You’re a sexist who doesn’t need women to reproduce, so they’re disposable to you – you think it’s a coincidence there are about ten male vampires to every female? The old beliefs don’t die out, because the people who hold them don’t die out – they get more powerful, not less. They decide what the species looks like, because they’re choosing its members when they’re grown up and fully formed. You only want hot white guys, that’s who you turn. So you get a bunch of old European blokes fantasising about the Old Country – even if they never set foot in it – wanting to create some Bram Stoker ideal that probably never existed, and anyone who doesn’t fit in has a hard time of it. Even in breeding your own clan. A guy who looks like Laclos can make ten vamps who look like him without anyone blinking an eye.’ He caught the twitch of my lips and gave me a concessionary smile. ‘OK,’ he admitted. ‘Nobody looks quite like Laclos, but you understand what I mean. He can do that, and it’s just more vampires. Josephine goes out and turns ten people who look like her, that’s a political statement.’