Wicked Magic (7 Wicked Tales Featuring Witches, Demons, Vampires, Fae, and More)

by Deanna Chase

  I fumble inside my jacket to pull out the pepper spray which I returned to its usual pocket before leaving The Steam Team. Due to the stupid doctor’s coat I’m still wearing, it’s hard to extricate although I finally manage it.

  ‘Bo,’ Arzo begins.

  ‘Shut up,’ I hiss. I can’t believe I fell for his freaking lies.

  ‘It’s not what you think, Bo,’ he continues.

  I ignore him and keep my eyes trained on the vampire. He’s larger in person than he looks in the photos. His frame fits the entire doorway although it’s clear there’s not an ounce of fat on his body – if vampires can get fat, that is. No, this guy’s all muscle. He’s wearing a well-tailored suit in the Montserrat colour of midnight blue, but it defines the strength in his body rather than disguising it. Trust me to get on the wrong side of the one Family Head who’s capable of doing his own dirty work. It’ll be a miracle if I get out of this alive.

  He inclines his head. His hair is dark and close-cropped. He’s not the bloodguzzler who attacked Dire Straits but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of his minions. In fact, it’s looking increasingly likely. No wonder Arzo survived when everyone else was slaughtered – he must be working for them. I bet he’s pissed off about having to spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair as a result. I wonder for a moment if that was part of the plan to make his own story more believable. It’s a hell of a sacrifice if it’s true.

  ‘I’ve met your grandfather a few times, Ms Blackman. He’s an’ – the vampire licks his lips for a moment, displaying white, even teeth – ‘interesting person.’ At least he’s keeping his fangs hidden.

  ‘He’ll be an even more interesting person to know when he discovers you’ve murdered me,’ I snarl.

  He looks surprised then smiles. ‘Oh, I’m not here to hurt you.’

  ‘Bo,’ interrupts Arzo, ‘listen to him. He’s telling the truth.’

  ‘I thought I told you to shut up.’

  The vampire raises his eyebrows at Arzo. ‘She’s feisty.’

  I grip the pepper spray. Maybe if I can get a small dose in his eyes, then leap over the bed and kick him in the side to get out of the door…

  ‘Ms Blackman,’ he holds his palms up towards me, ‘please put that silly spray down.’

  I raise it an inch higher. If I’m going down, it’s not without a fight.

  ‘It’s not going to help you.’ The tone is his voice is slightly patronising. It’s amazing how often people speak to me like that because of my height. Normally it doesn’t bother me; right now I feel intensely annoyed.

  ‘Just tell me one thing, Arzo,’ I say, deciding to piss off the vampire by ignoring him. ‘How long have you been working for the fucking bloodguzzlers?’

  ‘I don’t work for them, Bo,’ Arzo begins.

  Before he can finish, I take advantage of the fact that the looming vampire flicks his eyes towards Arzo and press down on the canister, letting loose a jet of stinging spray. Then I bounce up, using one toe on the edge of the hospital bed to launch up and over. I’m not even back on the ground when I realise my attempt is futile. The spray hasn’t affected Montserrat and, even though I attempt to kick out and connect with his ribs to knock him to the side, he grabs me by the waist. Pulling me down, he twists my body round until he’s holding me against him but facing Arzo.

  ‘Dumb move,’ he whispers in my ear. He smells of dark masculine spice.

  I draw my elbow back to ram it into his stomach but his arm tightens until I can’t move. In fact, I can barely breathe.

  Arzo looks exasperated. ‘You’re good, Bo, but you’re not that good.’

  ‘It was worth a try,’ I mutter.

  ‘As I was saying,’ he says, ‘I don’t work for the vampires.’

  ‘That’s not what it looks like from here.’

  ‘I work with the vampires,’ he continues.

  I sneer. ‘Nobody works with the vampires, Arzo. They stick to their own. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.’

  Montserrat chuckles. ‘Oh, but he is our own, Ms Blackman.’

  I stop trying to resist his hold. ‘He’s no bloodguzzler.’

  ‘No,’ says Arzo. ‘I’m Sanguine.’

  I frown at him. That was Rogu3’s word of the week a couple of years ago so I know exactly what it means. ‘Optimistic and buoyant in the face of adversity?’ I ask sarcastically.

  ‘He was recruited,’ says Montserrat. ‘But it didn’t take.’

  ‘What in hell do you mean?’

  Arzo sighs. ‘What do you know about the Families’ recruitment?’

  I try to shrug but my movement is limited thanks to my captor. ‘Every ten years or so they recruit enough new members to keep their numbers steady at around five hundred. The process is kept secret but not everyone makes it. That’s it, that’s all I know.’

  ‘In order to turn you,’ Montserrat says silkily into my ear, ‘I would inject you with blood from of one of our higher-order vampires. It takes a full moon cycle to change completely.’

  ‘So? So what?’

  ‘Your body only accepts the change when you drink.’

  ‘When I guzzle blood, you mean.’

  His grip tightens until it’s painful. ‘We don’t like the term bloodguzzler, Ms Blackman. And as I was saying, you need to drink blood to fully turn. It’s a show of strength to last the full term. Most only hold out a couple of days but some make it right up to the end.’

  ‘And some,’ Arzo adds, ‘never drink.’

  I look at him. ‘You were turned? But you didn’t drink blood?’

  He nods.

  ‘So are you a vampire or not?’

  ‘I’m not. I’m Sanguine. I have traces of vampire blood in my system so I heal quickly and I’m stronger than most.’ He glances up at Montserrat. ‘I’m also loyal to my Family. But I’m still human.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  ‘The Families aren’t evil, Bo.’

  ‘Try telling Tam that.’

  ‘He wasn’t a sanctioned hit,’ Montserrat says.

  ‘Bullshit. No vampire makes a move unless the Head says so. Even I know that.’

  ‘That used to be the case. But there have been several unexplained deaths and disappearances across all five Families. And in each case, we’ve tracked their movements. They’ve all met with the daemon.’

  ‘O’Shea?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So you ordered someone to take him down and sent me to take the fall?’

  ‘We don’t want him dead, Ms Blackman. We want to talk to him. We had nothing to do with what happened to him.’

  ‘It was a vampire. There and at Dire Straits.’

  ‘We know. That’s why we need to find the culprits and deal with them before this becomes a bloodbath.’

  ‘It’s already a bloodbath,’ I retort. ‘Besides, I don’t know where O’Shea is. I’ve not seen him since yesterday.’

  Montserrat finally releases me. I spin round and take several steps backwards. He watches me with cool, dark eyes.

  ‘You’re not a very good liar.’

  I’m a damn good liar. I scowl at him.

  ‘We have O’Shea.’ He folds his arms across his chest. ‘I’m not sure your employer would be pleased to know that your target is also your lover.’

  I stare at him blankly.

  ‘Water bed?’ His eyes dance.

  I feel sick to my stomach. ‘My employer’s dead.’ I look into his eyes. ‘Is O’Shea?’

  ‘I told you. We only want to talk to him.’

  If O’Shea refuses to answer their questions, I can only imagine what the consequences will be. Montserrat must sense what I’m thinking because he adds quickly, ‘We’re not going to hurt him. We’re not monsters.’

  I snort.

  ‘You’ve proven yourself resourceful, Ms Blackman. You got this far and you’re still alive. You’re also out of options.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ I’m betting he doesn’t know about Rogu3.


  ‘The police are after you because of the daemon. And you don’t even have him any more. It’s just a matter of time before one of the other Families catches up with you and drains you of every drop of blood in your system.’

  I sense there’s something else he wants to say so I wait.

  ‘I’ll recruit you.’

  Whatever I’m expecting, it isn’t that. ‘It’s not even recruiting season. And I don’t want to be a damn vampire.’

  He takes a step towards me. I hold my ground. ‘The recent deaths allow me to set a precedent and open up the ranks early. I can include you on the list.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I need someone with investigative skills who can find out what is going on with my vampires.’ There’s a note of frustration in his voice that his vampires might be turning traitor but I can’t shake the feeling that none of this fits.

  I jerk my head at Arzo. ‘Use him.’

  ‘He’s already known. You’re not.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a vampire,’ I repeat.

  ‘Just don’t drink,’ Arzo interjects. ‘Hold out for next full moon and you’ll remain human.’

  I throw him a look. From what he’s already intimated, that might be easier said than done.

  ‘It’s hard, Bo,’ he says softly. ‘It’s not impossible.’

  ‘No.’ My response is flat.

  ‘You’ll be protected from the police.’

  ‘I can protect myself.’

  ‘The other Families want to talk to you. They know you’re involved. I doubt they’ll be as reasonable as I’m being,’ Montserrat says

  ‘Except I’m not involved,’ I point out. ‘I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.’

  ‘Involved by default.’ He looks at me seriously. ‘Do this and you’ll find out who set you up. Who killed your boss and your friends.’

  ‘I don’t need to be a fucking vampire to do that.’

  ‘Yes, Ms Blackman, you do. You’ll gain access to everyone who might have something to do with this. You already know it was a vampire. Sign up and you’ll find out which one.’

  ‘I won’t do it. Every Family wants to talk to me. That means the mastermind behind all this knows I was at Wiltshore and that I worked for Dire Straits. Let’s face it,’ I scoff, ‘my picture’s been all over the news. As I soon as I show up as a newly-minted vampire recruit, I’ll be mincemeat.’

  His eyes gleam. ‘But that’s where the genius of this lies. You can be so angry that your life has been taken away from you that you’ll do anything to screw up the Families.’

  ‘I am angry that my life has been taken away.’

  ‘So do something about it,’ he challenges.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Bo, take a day or two to think about it,’ Arzo says. ‘It’s not the new moon until Saturday. You’ve got time.’

  I stare at them both defiantly. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

  Montserrat remains impassive although Arzo visibly sags.

  ‘Are you going to let me leave?’ I ask. ‘Or are you going to kill me because I won’t accept your desirable offer?’

  A muscle throbs in the vampire’s cheek. For a moment, I’m genuinely not sure what he’s going to do then he steps aside and gestures to the door. ‘You’re free to go.’

  ‘Bo, don’t do this. Don’t walk away,’ pleads Arzo.

  I straighten the lapels of my doctor’s coat and start to walk out. I’m almost at the door when Montserrat catches my arm. I stop and look at him. His face is inches from mine. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a card. It’s midnight blue, like his suit.

  ‘I’ve already got one of those,’ I say, thinking about the ones Rebecca gave me earlier.

  ‘This is a direct line.’ He holds it up. ‘In case you change your mind.’

  I look at the card then at him. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’

  ‘Take it anyway.’

  I sigh and, for the sake of getting out alive, I take it.

  ‘I’ll see you around, Ms Blackman.’

  I give him an evil look. ‘Not if I see you first.’ And without a backward glance at Arzo, I stalk out.

  Chapter Eleven: The Tail

  It’s not until I’m back in the car park, with the surgical mask firmly in place, that I finally allow myself to relax. In fact, I stagger round the side of the hospital out of sight from any curious eyes and double over. Nausea surges through me and I yank up the mask to be sick but nothing comes up. Becoming a member of one of the Families is obviously not the most appealing prospect.

  When I finally straighten up, I think about what just happened. I’m still not convinced that Tam wasn’t involved in framing me but I’m prepared to acknowledge that Arzo is innocent. As innocent as someone in league with the vampires can be. No wonder he survived the attack at Dire Straits. Being Sanguine clearly offers a lot in terms of physical strength. I can’t believe I’d not heard of them before. It also occurs to me there are hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people out there who would be thrilled to be given a direct pass like this into the Montserrat Family.

  I smile slightly at the thought of what my grandfather would say were he to find out I’d joined forces with the vampires, then I get with the programme. I feel bad about O’Shea and I hope they don’t kill him. He may have his faults but I don’t think he’s a bad sort. I don’t care about him enough to stage a rescue, however. He’s on his own – much like I feel now.

  I could walk away. Whatever is going on, the Families are going to deal with it. I could give myself up to the police and let the cards fall where they may. But I still find it hard to believe any vampire would turn on their Family Head, regardless of what Montserrat has told me. Equally, there’s the burning need for revenge for all that’s happened. I also like the idea of solving this case and getting one over on the vampires. And I still have two leads: O’Shea’s mysterious client Lucy, and now the lawyer, D’Argneau. I ain’t giving up just yet.

  I have one burner phone left. I’m tempted to call Rogu3 to find out what he’s discovered but he’ll be in school now and won’t thank me for interrupting. He may be a hacker but he takes his education seriously. That leaves the lawyer.

  With nothing more to go on than his name, I need to do some research. I’m fairly certain there’s a public library less than twenty minutes away so, ignoring the car, I jog off to find it, shoving the doctor’s coat into a nearby bin as I go. I keep the surgical mask on. Maybe I can get away with looking like someone who’s trying to avoid picking up a seasonal cold.

  It works. Even though I pass a police station with my own badly-posed photo staring out at me, no one bats an eyelid. How on earth do the police catch anyone when the public walk around in their own little worlds, never registering the people around them? Good for me; bad for the world.

  It doesn’t take long to get to the library. It’s an old building, its grimy bricks testifying to years of pollution, but it has a certain elegance. I slow to a walk as I reach the front entrance and pass under an impressive colonnade. There’s a warm and welcoming atmosphere inside. Brightly coloured posters tell of forthcoming readings and new books. A young guy pushing a loaded trolley smiles at me. I ask him where the computers are and he directs me towards a sunny area at the back of the building.

  As it’s still early, most of the computers are free. There’s a tired looking woman at one of the desks scanning through job advertisements, and someone who looks like a student writing an assignment. Other than that, I’ve got the space to myself. I pull up a chair and start typing.

  Thanks to the fact that D’Argneau is an unusual name, it doesn’t take long to find what I’m looking for. There are only two barristers with that surname and one deals only with the human family courts. I click on the second one and am taken immediately to D’Argneau & Associates. That’s interesting. He’s not just a lawyer – he leads his own firm, and a large one by the looks of it. It seems strange that he wouldn’t use his own
investigative facilities or that he’d waste his time dealing in what initially appeared to be such a small matter.

  I scan through the different pages on the site until I find the bouncily titled ‘Our Team’. When the photos and biographies appear, however, I’m absolutely floored. I stare at D’Argneau’s picture, trying to make sense of it. There’s no doubt – same horn-rimmed glasses, same snappy suit and same hair. The lawyer D’Argneau is none other than Mr Tortoiseshell whom I almost shagged in the middle of the street. I try to ignore the return of rising nausea.

  I clench and unclench my fists, reading his history. He graduated from Cambridge, opening D’Argneau & Associates when he was only twenty-five years old. Since then the practice has gone from strength to strength. He’s worked with both triber and human clients, although there’s no mention of any of the Families. There’s nothing about his personal life. I search some more, hoping that the less corporate websites will offer more information. All I find are news articles about different cases he’s fought. He seems to have a high success rate. Many of them involve the Agathos court; one includes a high-profile case that I remember reading about. Something to do with a daemon deciding to launch an attack on Buckingham Palace, of all places. The daemon was banged up for five years, although he’s likely to be freed sooner than that. The legal community seemed to be of the opinion that D’Argneau did a sterling job of defending him and, were he to have had any other lawyer, he’d be in prison for a good deal longer.

  I make a note of the firm’s address, quelling the tremble in my hand and trying to remain unemotional. It’s pretty fucking difficult. They have swanky offices smack bang in the centre of the city. D’Argneau is clearly doing very well for himself, although not so well that he doesn’t feel the need to hang around lousy nightclubs in the middle of the night. Unless that’s part of the plan – whatever it may be.

  I move to YouTube to find the video of Gully and Stuart’s public meeting. I’m not about to take Montserrat’s word that the Family Heads are not involved. The library’s internet isn’t particularly fast and the video takes a long time to buffer. I lean back in my chair and glance around. The student is fast asleep, his head buried in his arms, while the jobseeker is looking more optimistic, tapping enthusiastically at her keyboard. Another person is sitting in front of the computer next to her. I casually crane my neck around and freeze. It’s a woman whom I’ve definitely seen before: she was the driver putting on her make-up in the car in front of me when I was on my way to the hospital. I realise she couldn’t have been doing her lippy at all – she was observing me.