by Deanna Chase
‘And they all met with you?’ I ask O’Shea.
He nods.
‘You didn’t think there was anything odd about having so many vampires interested in your spell?’
He looks slightly embarrassed. ‘I was making a lot of money. How was I to know what it was really about?’
I exhale in irritation, then pull my knees up to my chest and hug them tightly. My nose is still throbbing, although the hurt is somewhat diminished after Montserrat’s ministrations. I gaze out of the window at the passing streets. It must have rained recently because there are puddles reflecting the street lights as we zip by. Most of the shops are closed now but, from time to time, I see an off-license or take-away restaurant which remains open. I gulp down the remainder of the whisky. Imagining a world where the vampires don’t self-limit their own power is terrifying.
‘Stop the car,’ I say suddenly.
‘Bo…’
I growl, ‘I said stop the goddamn car.’
For a moment, Montserrat doesn’t respond, then he taps on the window separating us from the driver and slides it open, muttering something into the front seat. The car glides to a halt.
‘I wish you’d take a bit more time,’ he begins.
‘Wait here,’ I say, opening the door and stepping out. Then I duck my head back in. ‘Do you have any loose change?’
He looks confused but digs into his pocket and hands over a few coins.
‘Thanks.’ I slam the door shut and jog over to a payphone. I grab the receiver, dropping in the coins as I dial. Rogu3 picks up straightaway.
‘Hello?’ His voice is cautious.
‘It’s me,’ I say.
‘Where the fuck have you been, Bo? I’ve been trying to track you for hours! I got you to the police station near Piccadilly, but then you were released…’
‘I’m fine. Honest.’ And then, more because it’s automatic than for any other reason, ‘Don’t swear.’
‘Where are you? What’s going on?’
I lick my lips. ‘Let’s just say the investigation is taking a new turn.’
‘Fine, well thanks for keeping me in the loop.’ He says it sarcastically and I can tell he’s hurt that I’ve not been in touch.
‘I’m sorry, Rogu3, but it’s better for you if you don’t know too much.’
He sniffs. ‘I know a lot about your Lucy character. Her real name is Charity Weathers. She works as a dental nurse out of some surgery in Brixton. Looks like she’s got a real habit for ice.’
I bite my lip. Being a drug addict would make her an easy target. All these bloody vamps would have to do is promise her some ice – or withhold it from her – and she’d be theirs to command. Poor bitch.
‘Can you tell who else she’s been in contact with?’
‘You mean other than your daemon buddy? Nah. She kept a pretty low online presence. No Facebook or Twitter or anything like that.’ He snorts. ‘You can tell by the way she writes online. All properly punctuated and with Standard English spelling. Not so much as a single emoticon.’
I remember what O’Shea said about being sure she was a woman because of her writing style. Not just a woman, but a woman who had no need for the internet. I wonder how she got herself wrapped up with the vampires in the first place. Via some scabby dealer, no doubt.
‘Thanks, Rogu3. That’s really useful.’ I don’t bother telling him I already know her name – I don’t want to hurt his feelings. ‘Look,’ I continue, ‘I’m going black for a while so I won’t be in touch. I might not ever be in touch again.’ I cross my fingers against this thought.
‘What?’ he screeches. ‘Why?’
I smile into the phone. ‘I didn’t know you cared.’
‘We’re not best buds or anything, but I thought we had an understanding.’
‘We do. That’s why I’ve got one last job for you. There’s no rush because, like I said, I don’t know if I’ll be in touch again but…’
‘I get it, I get it. What do you need?’
I give him Harry D’Argneau’s details. As honest as the barrister seems in person, he’s still a lead. I’m tempted to ask Rogu3 to hack into the Montserrat intranet for me as well. But for all his posturing, he’s still just a kid; the vampires are too big and too damn scary and I need him to stay safe.
‘I’ll make sure you get paid, no matter what.’
‘I don’t need the money,’ he says grumpily. ‘For what it’s worth, Bo, take care of yourself.’
I’m touched. ‘Thanks. Right back at you, kiddo.’
I hang up before I get too emotional. Then I take a deep breath and call the next number.
‘Arbuthnot Blackman.’
‘Hey, grandfather,’ I say softly.
‘Bo! Where are you? I was told you were arrested.’
I don’t want to get into that now. ‘I’m going away,’ I tell him. ‘I might not be back.’
He’s immediately suspicious. ‘Where?’
I think about all those families I investigated when I was working for the insurance company and how desperate they were to know what had really happened to their loved ones. I take the plunge and tell the truth. ‘I’m being recruited.’
The silence stretches out for so long that I’m starting to wonder if he’s still there.
‘Grandfather?’
His voice is strained. ‘Why?’
‘It’s just something I have to do. I’m going to try to come back though.’
‘You mean Sanguine.’
I’m surprised. ‘You’ve heard of them?’
‘Please.’ He sighs. ‘Very few people make it that far, you know. We tried with someone once. Sent them into the Bancroft fold. Never heard from them again.’
‘There are always exceptions,’ I say, attempting to keep my tone light.
‘If anyone can be an exception, you can. I’ve always been proud of you, you know.’
I’m taken aback by the softness in his voice. ‘Uh, thanks.’
‘Is there another way? Is there something I can do to help?’
‘No. I need to do this on my own. Don’t try to…’ I swallow. ‘Don’t try to send anyone after me or anything like that. I’ll either make it or I won’t. Either way, this is best course of action.’
‘Then I trust your judgment. But don’t trust the guzzlers, Bo. There’s more to them than you realise.’
I wonder if I’ve gotten the old man wrong all these years. The last thing I’d been expecting was his implicit blessing. ‘Thank you,’ I say again. ‘There is one thing I need you to do, though.’
‘Name it.’
I give him Rogu3’s bank details. ‘I’ll pay you back, one way or another. There’s money in my account which I can…’
‘I’ll sort it out. Can’t have the hoi polloi going destitute because a Blackman hasn’t paid their bills, can we? Bo, have you told your mother about this vampire business?’
‘I don’t know where she is.’
‘Gallivanting somewhere, no doubt. When she gets in touch, I’ll let her know.’
‘Tell her I love her.’ My voice shakes. ‘I love you too.’ Blood is thicker than water after all.
‘Goodbye, Bo.’ He hangs up.
I stand there for a moment, still holding the receiver. Then I replace it and walk back to the limousine. The driver gets out this time and opens the door for me. I smile at him briefly and get in.
‘I have a phone,’ Montserrat says stiffly.
‘Just because I’m going to work for you doesn’t mean I trust you. It was a private call.’
Something flashes in his eyes but it’s gone before I can work out what it means. ‘You made two calls.’
‘They were both private,’ I say shortly. He can mind his own damn business. Allowing myself to be recruited into the Montserrat Family doesn’t mean I’m going to be their property.
A muscle throbs in Montserrat’s cheek. He taps the driver’s window and the car glides off. ‘You’re going to stay?’
‘Y
es. I’m also going to be Sanguine. I can stick out a month of bloodlust,’ I say, with far more confidence than I feel.
He merely nods and we lapse into an uncomfortable silence.
Chapter Fourteen: Fear
I’m expecting us to head straight for the Montserrat headquarters on the edge of Hyde Park but, instead of going in that direction, the car turns left and we pull up outside an old building. It’s a majestic piece of architecture, built out of sandstone; it looks as if it’s been here for hundreds of years.
‘Nice place,’ I comment.
‘Recruitment doesn’t start until tomorrow so you can stay here. It’ll be safe.’
‘And where is here, exactly?’
‘My apartment,’ Montserrat answers shortly.
O’Shea clambers out and whistles. ‘I like a man with style.’
‘If you want to stay alive,’ Montserrat tells the daemon, ‘then you’ll stay here and out of sight.’
O’Shea purses his lips. ‘Do you have satellite TV?’ Montserrat looks at him. ‘Okay, okay. I’ll stay here and hide away. It’s nice of you to be so concerned for my safety.’
I smile involuntarily and Montserrat glares at me. ‘You can stay here tonight too.’
‘Great. Thanks,’ I mutter.
There’s no doorman at the front but the security is still impressive. Montserrat enters by pressing his thumb to an electronic sensor. ‘If you leave, you won’t be able to get back in,’ he warns.
O’Shea and I nod dutifully. The door clicks open and we wander into the grand lobby. It’s a darn sight better than the last place I stayed at.
Montserrat leads us to the lift. The walls are mirrored and I wince at my reflection. There are dark bruises under my eyes and my nose is an interesting shade of purple. I touch it gingerly and hiss with pain. Both of them look at me.
‘It hurts, alright?’
‘So don’t touch it,’ Montserrat says. He turns away while I stick my tongue out childishly at him. Unfortunately, he catches me in the mirror.
‘You’re not going to get away with that when you’re recruited.’
‘I didn’t ask to join your Family,’ I point out.
‘You’ve agreed now.’
I sigh. I suppose I have. Never one to let a moment pass, however, I say, ‘I can still back out.’
‘Yes. You can.’ Then, without warning, he leaps towards me.
Alarmed, I lash out with my fists, but he reaches for my nose and, with one swift movement, jerks it hard to the side. There’s a loud cracking sound and I scream.
He inspects his handiwork. ‘There,’ he says. ‘That’s better.’
I slap him. O’Shea stares at us with wide eyes.
‘Um, Bo?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Maybe don’t piss off the bloodsucking powerhouse.’
I shoot the daemon a nasty look. ‘He started it.’
Montserrat smirks. It’s just as well the lift stops at that moment or I might not be responsible for my actions. My nose is smarting like hell but I stride past the vampire as if I’ve never felt better and gaze around.
‘Wow,’ O’Shea says. ‘This is a serious pad.’
He’s right. Montserrat’s place is as sharp as his suits. The floor is wooden, a burnished amber that warms the room, and is covered in expensive looking rugs. A vast sofa faces a fireplace and there’s a modern kitchen towards the back. The wall to my left is covered from floor to ceiling with books; to the right, great bay windows look out over the London skyline.
‘It’ll do.’ I hope I don’t sound over-awed. I’m still pissed off with him for the nose thing.
‘Not as nice as the love hotel?’ Montserrat asks.
‘How did you know we were there?’
He puts on a mock accent. ‘Vee have vays.’
I stare at him. The vampire Head has a sense of humour. Who knew?
He smiles. ‘Come on. I’ll show you the bedroom. The daemon can sleep on the sofa for tonight. I’ll take the floor.’
He opens a huge wooden door and I gape. The bed is king size and then some. It’s covered in black satin sheets and looks like it’s been designed for the set of a porn movie. I guess Montserrat is currently single.
‘I think the bed is big enough for both us,’ I say, grinning. ‘I won’t bite if you don’t.’ As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I realise they sound like an invitation and I start to blush. Montserrat doesn’t seem to notice.
‘Whatever you’re comfortable with.’ He points to another door to the left. ‘The bathroom’s in there if you want to clean up. I can get you a clean t-shirt or something to wear.’
Feeling awkward now, I mumble thank you. He stands in front of me and gazes down, his dark eyes glinting. ‘Thank you, Bo. I know what you’re giving up by doing this. I won’t forget it.’
‘I’m not giving up anything,’ I answer. And it’s the truth. ‘I no longer have a job. I’ve got a bunch of traitor vampires out for my blood. And it’s only until the full moon. I’ll be Sanguine.’
His eyes fill with unexpected warmth. ‘Good.’
We both remain standing like that until O’Shea calls out from the main room. ‘Do you have any snacks?’
Montserrat shakes himself. ‘I’ll get you that t-shirt.’
‘Cheers.’ I walk into the bathroom and take a very deep breath.
***
Montserrat comes to bed far later than me. I’m not sure what he’s doing, whether he’s telling O’Shea where he can find the cornflakes and how to work the remote control, or he’s off doing some mysterious ‘Head of Bloodguzzling Family’ work. Hell, for all I know, he has a willing victim tied up in a cupboard somewhere and he was off for a snack. Regardless, when he finally clambers in to the far side of the huge bed, I’m still wide awake. I don’t pretend to be asleep; he’s a vampire, after all, I’m sure he’d know if I were faking it. But I’m not in the mood for night-time chit-chat and my glib remark about not minding sharing a bed with him now seems rash. I don’t turn around but I sense him keeping a fair distance away and doing his best not to disturb me. I lie there, listening to his steady breathing, and gaze across the room.
I’m worried about whether I’m making the right choice. I think part of me had hoped that my grandfather would put his foot down and refuse to let me to take this step. Of course, I’d have ranted and railed and gone ahead regardless. Except … despite being a grown woman, sometimes a tiny part of me hankers for the simplicity of being a child again and having big decisions taken out of my hands. With only three Sanguines in the entire bloody world, my chances of making it through the moon’s cycle are miniscule. That’s not to mention the dangers of trying to turn vampire in the first place, and the fact that the group of traitorous bloodguzzlers may want to continue their efforts to slit my throat rather than welcome me into the fold. Whatever does happen when I turn tomorrow, I’m going to have to tread carefully.
I flip onto my back, annoyed with myself for still being awake. This is probably the last time I’ll have the opportunity for safe, uninterrupted sleep. Montserrat doesn’t stir. I glance over at him, registering his bare skin and taut, clearly delineated muscles. The dark twisting shape of a tattoo is etched across his upper back and curves round his arms, although the light is too dim to work out what it actually is.
Something in me tenses. It’s not that I expected him to be wearing stripy pyjamas but he looks as if he’s completely naked. It’s difficult to tell because the satin sheet is pulled up to his waist. Without thinking, I turn fully in his direction to check. Maybe it’s de rigeur for vampires to sleep in the buff. Despite my snarky comments to Angelique about not sleeping in coffins, I actually have no idea how vampires sleep. Or eat. Or do anything. I smile grimly to myself. I suppose I’m about to find out.
Curiosity gets the better of me so very, very carefully, I tug at the sheet. It falls half an inch, displaying well-toned dimples on either side of his spine. I’m convinced now that he’s naked. The ma
n has no sense of propriety. Apparently neither do I because I tug the sheet down a little bit more.
‘Bo.’
My hearts leaps in my chest. Oops.
‘What are you doing?’
I can’t think of any answer that makes sense. ‘I can’t sleep,’ I mutter eventually, sitting up.
He turns over, resting his head on one elbow. Despite the darkness, I can make out the wicked dance in his eyes as if he is perfectly aware of what I was trying to do. I look down and see that the tattoo travels all the way from his tanned back to his broad chest. I realise it’s an intricately drawn set of wings that wraps around his skin from his shoulder blades to his collar bone, the lower edges just millimetres away from his dark nipples.
‘I can help you with that,’ he murmurs.
I feel tense and suspicious. ‘What do you mean?’
He rubs the stubble around his jawline. ‘I can help you sleep.’
A tiny, terrified part of me wonders if he means permanently. ‘Oh?’ I squeak.
He sits up, swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up. He’s wearing white drawstring trousers. Oh well.
He grins, as if he knows what I’m thinking. ‘Wait here.’
He pads out of the bedroom. Avoiding thinking about how I just made myself look a total idiot, I also get up. Instead of following him, I walk to the window and draw back the heavy curtains to stare out at the night. I can’t see the moon from here, which is just as well because it would only remind me of what is to come. There are, however, several visible stars. I stay where I am, even when I hear Montserrat return. I can’t help wondering if this will be the last time I look out on the night sky with human eyes.
He comes up next to me, his bare footsteps as light as a cat’s, and hands me a mug. I stare at it stupidly.
‘It’s hot cocoa,’ he tells me.
He’ll be offering me a pair of fluffy slippers and a dressing gown next. I take the mug and sip it cautiously. It scalds the inside of my mouth but it tastes good.