Daemons of London Boxset (Books 1-3) The Bleeders, The Human Herders, The Purebloods

by Michaela Haze

  Gina leant over when it got to ten. People tended to get rowdier after this time. Drinking more or arriving at the bar drunk ready to go clubbing later.

  “He’s over there,” Gina barked over the pulsating bass line. I scowled and looked over the bar. I frowned, looking over every person in the bar. No Henry.

  “I don’t see him!” I called back.

  “No!” she whispered, taking my shoulders and pointing me in the opposite direction. “There he is!”

  I blinked, frozen on the spot.

  “I’ll have a vodka and coke please,” the man smiled toothily. I swallowed the lump in my throat. The bottled-up hatred and the shame I felt. It wasn’t Henry, that was for sure.

  He was a short man, reddish hair slicked to one side in a wave and dull grey eyes. His face was a mask of confidence but his eyes were nervous.

  “What brings you here Detective Milligan?” I smiled politely.

  Detective Milligan was one of the police officers that found my sister’s corpse, luckily not one of Parr’s close colleagues.

  Vodka and Coke, the words sprung me into action when I remembered he had ordered a drink, I poured the bottle and used the on-tap hose to fill up the rest of the glass while I kept my back turned from him.

  “Hi Miss Taylor, is it alright if I call you Sophia?” Milligan asked over the roar of barked orders. I nodded and turned to my boss.

  “Gina?” I called, turning around. She was staring at the man and my uncomfortable positioning.

  “What is it honey?” my supervisor cooed.

  “I’m just going outside of a fag, okay?”

  “Go ahead,” she chuckled.

  I walked out behind the bar and into the staff room, opening my locker I pulled out my black zip jumper and a packet of cigarettes.

  I turned on my heel and marched out of the bar with a fag in my mouth, dangling from my lips. Instead of smoking out back, I walked past Milligan to the front of the bar and he followed me. The door swung shut behind me and the chatter of the bar ebbed to a minimum.

  “Do you have any information on Robert Parr or John Maylett?” I demanded as I crossed my arms over my chest. “Did they finally get put away?”

  Milligan shook his head, “Sorry, Sophia.”

  I blinked a few times to try and dislodge the angry tears that threatened to form.

  “Right. Whatever.” I muttered.

  “I just came to see if you were alright. There was some talk on the force of Parr getting married and I wondered if you heard,” Milligan murmured.

  My mouth popped open. “What?” I rasped.

  “He got married. He’s on his honeymoon in Paris.”

  “Well, I hadn’t heard,” my teeth were gritted, “but Detective Milligan I no longer care about my sister’s ex-fiancé.”

  I don’t care about her ex-fiancé, but I sure as hell care about her murderer. I thought.

  My teeth pulled into a grimacing smile as I stood there like a fucking doll.

  “It’s good to see doing so well, all things considered,” Milligan said.

  “Well. Life goes on,” I lied.

  “It does,” Milligan shifted uncomfortably and shoved his hands in his pockets. He looked right up at me. His eyes were an ugly shade of steel grey and dirty pond water.

  “The real reason I came, Sophia.” He was trying desperately to look calm, easy going. “I was wondering if you want to go out sometime…you know, I wanted to ask you out ages ago—but it was inappropriate.”

  My look of confusion must have been obvious.

  “Well…never mind…” the detective hedged.

  “You want to ask me out?” I clarified. “On a date?” He nodded and smiled.

  “Right,” I sighed, “but I’m not dating at the moment.”

  “If you need a friend?” Milligan handed me the card. I took it and put it in my back pocket. Milligan looked at me for a second, expecting me to say something or trying to say something himself, I couldn’t tell.

  I offered nothing and instead brought the cigarette to my lips and took a long drag, resisting the urge to roll my eyes in relief over the feeling it produced. All my springs unwound as the smoke went down my throat.

  The detective smiled weakly before waving his hands and muttering a ‘see you around’. I nodded, he left. I finished my cigarette and went back in.

  Nothing happened for most of the evening, I poured drinks, gave change. I snapped out of my reverie when I realised the cleaners were scrubbing the laminate wood flooring and we were closing. I blinked a few times and turned to Gina. She looked worried, but then again—I always worried her.

  I looked over at the clock and it was two in the morning. Sighing heavily, I took a step back from the bar, pulled a twenty-pound note out of my pocket and rang it up for a bottle of Vodka. When I didn’t open it behind the bar and start pouring shots, Gina’s worried voice caught me.

  “You’re not drinking here tonight?” she asked.

  “Nah,” I hedged, “I’m going to save it till I get home.”

  She smiled gently at me. “So? The guy that turned up tonight wasn’t the one you wanted?”

  “I don’t want any guys. None in particular anyway—are you implying that I was hoping it was someone else?” I asked.

  “Yes, someone with brown hair…blue eyes…pale?”

  “What?”

  “You mentioned those traits earlier,” she shrugged.

  I lifted the bottle of vodka up to my face and planted a kiss on the side of the glass.

  “The traits I look for are actually, clear, alcoholic and strong,” I laughed.

  Gina bit her lip and her eyebrows knitted together. The cleaners turned off the music right then and all I could hear was the sound of the floor buffer. Gina and I walked into the staff room and all the other staff members I didn’t usually talk to seemed to have left already.

  “Have you seen Chris?” Gina asked me. “I haven’t seen him today.”

  “Saw him a few days ago, he’s okay.” I took a deep breath and slumped into the plastic chair.

  “I think I made him feel awkward,” I admitted.

  “What, did you kiss him?”

  I almost laughed out loud at that idea. “We had an argument,” I said slowly. Realisation dawned on Gina’s face.

  “…about Melanie,” I continued.

  She nodded slowly and bit her lip. “So you’re not staying tonight?” Gina asked me.

  I shook my head. “I’m going to go home. Early night.”

  Both of our eyes drifted to the vodka bottle that poked out of my bag.

  I smile forcefully and so did she.

  “With Mr Strong, clear and alcoholic?” Gina broached the subject carefully.

  “Thank you for bringing up the giant elephant in the room Gina, but yes, exactly.”

  The night air was cold, bitter and went right to my bones as it whipped my hair around my face. I hated the beginning of winter. Winter meant Christmas. It meant time with the family. The only true family I had was buried six feet under densely packed soil.

  My mother was in Australia, or some other hot country with my step-bastard. I had never met him but he had money. A fortune made from something stupid. Patented cups, I remembered.

  I was deep in thought, my feet slapped against the wet pavement. A familiar feeling went down the back of my spine like someone was following me.

  I kept walking and took a deep breath, resisting the urge to turn around. I did see someone I would just end up freaking myself out and that couldn’t end well.

  The street was silent other than my fevered breathing and footsteps. All I had to hold onto was this odd feeling running down my spine. It screamed at me to run far away. Around the corner from my house, I had another five minutes of concentrated walking left. The streets were empty which was unusual and my white hands shook, bathed in the bright light of the street lamp overhead.

  My eyes watered and I decided to duck down against a brick wall. My phone was
at the bottom of my bag. I thought about calling the police.

  What would I say? “Hello officer, someone is following me…well, no. I haven’t actually seen them yet.”

  Detective Milligan’s number was on the card in my pocket. Was I actually considering that? I put my back against the wall and waited for whoever was following me to walk past. The street was still empty.

  I tried to collect my thoughts. Taking deep breaths was difficult with my heart pounding against my ribs like a drunk dancer grinding against a conquest.

  Someone grabbed my wrist. Cold and hard like a vice. A scream raked itself out of my chest and out of my coarse throat. I shrieked, loud, blood curdling and straight to the bone. A hand came down on my mouth and muffled it. So scared. So alone.

  My legs buckled and my head swam as energy left my body. My life flashed before my eyes.

  “Sophia!” Henry hissed in my ear. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t scream.”

  My eyes were wide but he didn’t release my mouth from his cold hand until he was certain I had calmed down. The skin contact made me feel sick; fragile. The addictive feeling of weakness and electricity ran from where our skin connected.

  I grabbed his hand. It was ice cold and a trail of saliva from my lips glistened on the palm. Ordinary people had sweaty palms, moisture, but his were pure alabaster, the life lines like a carved sculpture. I blinked, suddenly remembering that I was furious with him.

  “Get off me!” I barked and slammed my palms into his chest.

  I could feel his skin, frozen underneath the white material of his shirt.

  Deep breaths that clouded in front of me but there was no breath in front of Henry. He didn’t look well rested, though he was, as always, perfect. When he didn’t say anything, I continued.

  “You don’t get to leave me in the hospital alone, and expect to come and talk to me and everything is all sunshine and roses. God Henry! You can’t just do that. You may be a—” I hissed the word, “Daemon, but that doesn’t mean that you can ignore human etiquette all together!”

  “I didn’t…I couldn’t…” Henry thrust his pale fingers into his deep brown locks and tugged, he rocked backwards and forwards on his heel, “I could only get you through the door. The death, the energy…it was a fucking hospital, Sophia!”

  “You. Left. Me.” I enunciated each word. “Why the fuck are you even here?”

  “I can’t stay away from you.”

  I dipped my head down so I couldn’t look at his face. I couldn’t deal with this. I needed a buffer to deal with him at that moment. The vodka in my bag seemed to grow ten times heavier. I was worried, for a brief second, that my anger would push him away completely.

  “I saw you talking to that man…” Henry started.

  “He didn’t say anything concerning you,” I muttered, “He’s a police officer. He was on Mel’s case.”

  “I heard most of it.” He admitted. I looked down to his fists, clenched by his side. They were shaking.

  “Oh,” I murmured.

  “He is attracted to you.”

  I took a step forward and stood directly in front of the daemon. “I’m not attracted to him.”

  I stared at Henry; I could see his long eyelashes shadowed on his cheeks, so long, like feathers.

  ““Parr got married again, huh?” Henry frowned. “Does that affect our agreement?”

  “No. It doesn’t,” I said. “You’re still doing this.”

  “Okay.”

  “Just because he found someone that could love him doesn’t erase his crimes. He’ll fucking pay,” I thought briefly of asking Henry to stick a load of needles in Parr’s drained corpse, but again saved those words for another occasion.

  “He is in Paris on his honeymoon,” I murmured bitterly. “That was where he was taking Mel.”

  Henry leant down; he was about a head taller than me. His face was near my cheek, his crisp flesh almost touching mine. He wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer.

  “You will not see that man again. Milligan,” he hissed through his teeth. “He couldn’t protect you when you needed it. He doesn’t get to talk to you the way he did, I can protect you.”

  “Like the idea of being a knight in shining armour, Henry?” I replied smoothly.

  “I will make those men pay. I will protect you.”

  “I believe you,” I shifted to put myself closer to him, we were so close that our body heat mixed with the cold air.

  “You don’t need anyone else,” he said. “You are strong.”

  Regardless of what I needed and what was available to me, I needed to be free. To have the heavy weight inside me gone. I needed Parr and Maylett dead.

  “You took my book,” I whispered, “Melanie’s book.”

  Henry took a step back. I leant forward and had to catch myself and he was pulled out from under my feet.

  “I did,” he said. I bit my bottom lip, reluctant to let my anger show.

  Henry reached into his back pocket and produced the small light green paperback. On the front was a woman looking up, the text was printed in beautiful calligraphy which contrasted the green in a pale pink. I took it slowly with shaking hands and eased open the cover.

  There it was. Staring in front of me, just under the words; The Bell Jar, A novel by Sylvia Plath, were the words, property of Melanie Taylor. Mel’s handwriting.

  “Why did you take it? You went into her room and disturbed her things…why? What is it about this book that made you want to take it?” I whispered, my voice though meant to sound angry just sounded resigned.

  “The book looked well loved,” Henry explained. “I deduced that if a book is so thoroughly loved then it would give me an insight into your sister and most possibly you,” Henry pulled his lips into a half smile. “It was not my intention to disturb her room.”

  I squeezed the book to my chest, closing my eyes and scrunching my eyes shut.

  “You are not angry,” Henry said; it was a statement, not a question. I shook my head slowly.

  “Why is that?” he cocked his head to one side and his eyebrows knitted together as he watched me. His eyes were like pools pulled you under and refused to let go of you.

  “How can you tell I am not angry?” I noted.

  Henry let out a light chuckle, he casually put his hand on his neck and ruffled his beautiful mahogany hair. His eyes were back to the colour of lapis lazuli.

  “Heartbeat,” he informed me. “I can hear it so clearly, like a constant beating over everything, that and every other sound in about a mile radius. Sounds…smells…daemons remember and see everything much more clearly. My memory is vast. Whereas yours; as a human is technically an ineffectual net.” He smiled teasingly at me.

  I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from reacting to his comment. Keeping quiet meant I could learn more. I felt like a miser hoarding over every drop of information like water in the desert.

  “You’re quite calm right now I have noticed.” Then he winked at me.

  That was my undoing.

  “But not now,” he chuckled pointing to my chest. “You sound like you have been hit with the electric paddles.”

  “Shut up,” I muttered. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes for a second.

  “And we’re back to calm,” Henry continued fluidly. The wind blew again and ruffled us both. My hair whipped around my face and rested back in the exact same position it always lay in; middle parting, slightly wavy, flat and lifeless as hell.

  “How does your hair do that?” Henry wondered out loud, staring at my forehead as if trying to ask my hair for the information directly from the source. I rolled my eyes, of course, Henry’s hair was a force to be reckoned with, it curled in on itself, stuck up different directions and looked tousled, I couldn’t find a description that fit other than ‘sex hair’ or ‘hair that you get because of vigorous—’

  “It just falls that way. Indestructible,” I joked.

  “I wish my hair did that.” He sig
hed wistfully.

  I sighed and wedged a lock of hair behind my ear. “You sound like a teenager,” I put my hand on my hip and raised an eyebrow mockingly.

  He put his hand on his heart, “you wound me.”

  “How old are you?” I asked.

  Henry paused for a second and looked down to the buttons on his white shirt. He fiddled with his cuffs for a second. “Twenty-Nine,” he said in a dead voice.

  “Just a year from the big three O?” I tried to smile.

  “Yes…then…it happened,” he swallowed before looking to the sky as if breaking out of a trance. I opened my mouth to say something, but he didn’t let me.

  “I’ll walk you home,” he said. And that was that.

  8.

  Henry had dropped me off on my doorstep, the walk home was short and neither of us talked much. I didn’t want to ruin the spell that we seemed to have over each other. I wanted to know as much as possible but I was scared. Everyone in life left me, they had to. Death was inevitable.

  With this, I was faced with a conundrum.

  Henry Blaire was a daemon. He wouldn’t die. He looked at me like I needed to be saved, was I just his project, something to make him feel better about his never-ending life?

  The insecurities I had tried to downplay, kept my mind at work.

  Henry wasn’t selfish, I knew he wasn’t. Even though Robert Parr was an ex-policeman, he had agreed to my case and surely that meant something. The fact that Henry kept coming to see me, even though he didn’t usually socialise with clients, meant something too.

  We were putting one another in danger, the risk of incarceration. It could easily be traced back; he was putting himself needlessly out there by being around me—after his job was done and their corpses were cold it could be traced back to him and with that me. I had already accepted the consequences in my mind.

  When he said goodbye to me, he never said that he would see me later—he never said anything other than goodbye. My bottle of Vodka was propped on my bedside cabinet next to my mobile phone. Through the clear liquid in the bottle, I could see my dense blood red velvet curtains, which turned my room a crimson hue.