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

by Deanna Chase

  I gaze after his retreating back. I’ll need to do some more ego-stroking to get him to trust me. No matter; there’ll be plenty of time to work on that later.

  ‘Ladies?’ I say, glancing at the other two.

  They both grin.

  ‘Let’s do it,’ Nell says, taking my arm in hers.

  Nicky darts round to my other side and does the same. ‘Yes,’ she says, her eyes shining. ‘Let’s.’

  ***

  Both Nell and Nicky’s excitement buzzes until I feel almost the same as them. Almost. We wander around the enormous house, gawping at the artwork, stained glass and intricately carved mahogany woodwork. We’re careful to avoid the rooms with red ribbons tied around the doors, though I wonder how long it will be before I’m sneaking into those closed-off areas on my real quest. Still, I can feel a bond forming between us; we may have been thrown together by chance, but there’s a strong sense of kinship as we explore together.

  We venture down one long hallway, the walls of which are covered in portraits. I recognise several of the Montserrat Family Heads from years past. It’s apparent that the gender imbalance which affects the human corporate world is alive and kicking in the vampire world too. Apart from the Bancroft Family the other Heads are male and it appears there’s never been a female Montserrat Head.

  When we reach the end of the corridor, we come to Michael’s portrait. The artist has done a fine job of capturing his enigmatic dark eyes and strong jawline. There’s just the faintest suggestion of the dimple in his cheek. I look at it, trying to ignore the light shiver that runs deliciously down my spine.

  Nell comes up to my side. ‘He’s good-looking, isn’t he?’

  I turn away, embarrassed to be caught admiring his likeness. ‘If you like that sort of thing.’

  ‘Damn, I do,’ Nell says. ‘I doubt he’d be interested in little old me, though.’

  I force myself to smile. ‘Never say never.’

  ‘Guys! Over here!’ Nicky calls out.

  I breathe a silent sigh of relief at her intervention. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The garden.’ Her chest is moving rapidly up and down. ‘It’s been a long time since I’ve walked anywhere outside.’

  Sympathy fills me. ‘What happened?’

  ‘I was very young so I’m not entirely sure. I remember some things. My mother screaming. My father…’ her voice trails off.

  ‘You were attacked?’

  ‘Yes.’ She straightens her shoulders and stares out at the dark trees and bushes. ‘That part of my life is over now. I have a new family now.’

  I squeeze her arm. ‘And new legs.’

  She grins at me. ‘Then I’d damn well better make use of them, hadn’t I?’ She opens the door and steps outside, with both Nell and me following close behind.

  I suck in the fresh night air. It feels good to be outside. It reminds me that I’m not dead. I’m not a vampire – not quite and not yet. I watch Nicky dancing forward and smile. Perhaps there’s hope for us all.

  We follow the twisting paths. I can’t help marvelling at the size of the garden; considering we’re in central London, this is quite some space. It’s very well kept; patently there’s a Montserrat gardener or two in the mix. The three of us stop and breathe in the heady smell from a rosebush in full bloom.

  ‘I love roses.’ Nicky sighs, sinking down cross-legged.

  Nell joins her, stroking one of the petals. ‘Beauty and danger all at the same time,’ she agrees. ‘You’ve got to admire nature.’

  ‘Yup. Every rose has its thorn.’

  Nell and I glance at each other and burst into song. Nicky looks baffled. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘It’s an old rock song,’ Nell laughs. ‘You’re probably too young to know it.’

  ‘I’ll have to find it and listen to it.’ Suddenly she looks worried. ‘Do you think vampires listen to music?’

  ‘They must, surely.’

  ‘I dunno. For some reason I imagine them all sitting around listening to piano concertos.’

  We giggle like a bunch of school girls.

  ‘I still can’t believe it’s true,’ Nell says. ‘That I’ve been recruited. I hoped I would be, but you hear such stories. I thought all the recruits would be like Matt.’

  ‘There must be a reason why you were selected,’ I say.

  ‘I’m an artist,’ she replies, although an inexplicable shadow crosses her eyes. ‘Not a scientist or a soldier or anything useful at all.’

  I feel an absurd sense of warmth towards the Montserrat Family for recognising art as meritorious. ‘Art feeds our souls,’ I tell her. ‘I guess even vampires appreciate that.’

  ‘What about you, Bo?’

  I have to tell the truth here. ‘I’m a private investigator.’ I pick at the grass. ‘I’ve only been doing it for a couple of years and I’m not particularly good. Maybe with a bit of direction from the Montserrat investigators, I can get better.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re better than you think,’ Nicky says loyally. ‘Otherwise they wouldn’t have recruited you.’

  They recruited me because I have too much invested in this whole mess, I think, not because I’m particularly skilled at my job. Aloud I ask, ‘And you?’

  ‘I fix things. Clocks, music boxes, toys, that kind of thing. I’m not much good with modern things, but if it’s old-fashioned and has been around for a few decades then I’m a dab hand.’

  ‘I guess we’re all going to serve a purpose,’ I say slowly. I think about the vampires who were killed because they went to see O’Shea. Perhaps their purpose in serving the Montserrat Family would be a good place to start. I lean back, knotting my hands behind my head, and gaze up at the sliver of moon. I have limited time to do all this and I’m itching to get started.

  ‘I’m pretty exhausted,’ I tell the others. ‘I might head in and get some kip.’

  ‘You were the first of us to turn, Bo. You’ve been up for longer.’

  ‘Either that or I’m getting old,’ I joke, then stand up and dust off my jumpsuit. ‘I’ll see you two tomorrow.’

  They grin at me and wave. Feeling like I’ve achieved something, even if it’s only getting a couple of the other new recruits to trust me, I head back inside, hoping I don’t get lost along the way. Navigating the streets of London seems easier than finding my way around the vast maze of the Montserrat house.

  I get lucky and find the staircase we descended with Ria. I go up, thinking I’ll catch an hour’s sleep before looking for Michael to give me some useful intelligence on the Montserrat vampires. I pause, however, at the door to the small living room area where we’d congregated and push it open. The four crystal goblets still stand where Ria left them. One is empty.

  I pick it up. There’s not a single drop of blood left in it, not even at the very bottom. Matt’s self-control clearly isn’t as good as he thought it was. I place it carefully back down and pick up another one by the stem, raising it up to my nose. I’d have thought that after all the blood I’ve been subjected to recently, the smell would make me retch. But the vampire is taking root inside me because my stomach actually grumbles. I return the glass hastily to the tray and leave.

  Chapter Seventeen: Showers and Heels

  As soon as I get back to my room, I know that something is different. I can’t tell whether it’s a smell in the air or just a spooky sixth sense that I’ve now gained from the turning, but I know that things are not the way I left them. It doesn’t take long to work out what. Underneath the pillow there’s a laptop. Since I’m fairly certain that even in my weakened state I’d have noticed if I’d been sleeping on its hard shell, I assume that Michael left it very recently.

  I open it up, waiting for it to whirr into action. The cursor blinks at me and I’m asked for a password. I lean back, frowning. Whoever left it, whether it was Michael or someone else, expected that I would know what to put in. I think for a minute, then type sanguine. Satisfyingly, the computer immediately accepts it and I’m through to t
he main desktop.

  ‘Take that, computer,’ I tell it, with just the slightest tinge of gloating.

  There’s almost nothing there, not even wifi access so that I can sneak a look at what’s happening in the world. All that I can see is a folder marked Personnel and a desktop of picture of O’Shea grinning out at me. I roll my eyes at the virtual daemon and click on the folder.

  Scanning through the contents, it’s clear that Michael Montserrat has come good. There are 497 names, accounting for all the members of the Montserrat Family, and one section marked with an X which I take to be those vampires who are no longer with us. I scroll down and, although I don’t recognise most of the names, I can’t stop myself from halting at Michael’s to open his file. It reveals a single sentence.

  Naughty, naughty, Bo. I don’t think you’ll find your traitor here. M x

  I smile. Clearly, I’m just too predictable. I close down his file and move on, deciding to start with the people I’ve already met. It’s easier to think about those I know than those I don’t. I find Ria’s name and open up the file.

  Ria, who was originally known as Maria Temple, has been with the Montserrat Family for almost forty years. She was recruited back in the seventies after suffering a horrific car crash. I feel a brief shiver as I read that she’d been drink driving. What was not widely revealed at the time was that she was the then Prime Minister’s secretary. I think of her clipboard and brisk efficiency. Yeah, it fits. She had a son who was told she had passed away and who, by all accounts, is now close to retirement himself. She seems to have risen through the Montserrat ranks remarkably quickly but I can’t find anything to suggest that she would be involved in all this. Lucy – or Charity, as I keep reminding myself to think of her – made it very clear that this new Family Head was female. It fits with what I know of O’Shea’s enhancement spell as it only works on males. However, despite her apparent wariness towards me, I can’t find any shred of evidence or a gut feeling that points towards Ria. I create a new folder and mark it ‘Unlikely’ before dropping in her file.

  I pull out all of the other files pertaining to Montserrat’s female vampires and place them in a separate folder too. Other than Nicky and Nell, I’ve not met any other female vampires, so at this point I have nothing more to go on than the hard facts detailed by the Montserrat record keepers. There are fewer than two hundred and I wonder why fewer women than men choose to turn bloodguzzler. I’ll have to ask Michael next time I get the chance.

  I pick a new file at random and start reading. Alison Jones, recruited in 1892, lives off site in the Lake District. Goodness only knows what use she is there. She apparently killed her husband after years of domestic abuse. I try another: Ursula Hauptman, 1921, works for a famous celebrity publicist. She was a suffragette who used arson to draw attention to her cause. Good grief. Linda Tomkinson, 1753, journalist. Back in her day, she worked as a back-street abortionist and many of her patients died as a result of her ministrations. I shudder. An inordinate number of these vampires seem to have done bad things in their former lives. I guess the human race has more capacity for, if not black evil, then at least several shades of grey. After skimming through eighteen files, I massage my temples. Even if I knew what I was looking for, I doubt whether I’ll find it.

  I give up on the women and switch to the X files. The ache in my shoulders and the persistent throb in my forehead stop me smiling at the name. I open the most recent additions; these have to be related to O’Shea and his spell, which means they have to be linked somehow to the mysterious killer queen.

  Five of the vampires are missing, presumed but not confirmed dead. Either that or they’re holed up somewhere plotting against the other Families. The other eight have been discovered. The first few bodies were mutilated to avoid identification but the Montserrat labs are top-notch and it didn’t take the boffins long to find out who they really were – even the first two, who were virtually cremated. Whoever was involved in their deaths must have realised this, because the more recent ones have simply been dumped at random locations around the city. No one has, as yet, discovered a pattern to the drops. All of the victims were male and several showed signs of increased libido in the weeks before their deaths. I smile grimly to myself. O’Shea’s spell. But did they take it voluntarily or was it forced upon them?

  I think that Michael must have been remarkably restrained in his dealings with the daemon to allow the deaths of several of his flock to go unpunished. Whether O’Shea intended it or not, it’s his spell that links them together. I’m no forensic investigator but I’d love to be able to pull apart his enhancement potion to find out how it really works.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a loud thump. I hastily return the laptop to its hiding place and go out to investigate. On the floor, in a tangled pile of limbs, are Peter Allen and the blonde.

  ‘Smegging Jesus,’ she hisses, ‘get off me!’

  He mutters something from underneath her, which I think is an admonition about taking the Lord’s name in vain. It’s difficult to be sure.

  I’m tempted to reach down and help them extricate themselves but it’s far more entertaining to watch. The zipper of the blonde’s jumpsuit seems to be caught up in Peter’s clothes. He’s not yet changed so he must be on his way to the shower room. They roll around, banging against the walls, and several other doors open. I realise from the number of heads peering out that most of my fellow recruits have now turned. Like Peter, they look drawn and tired. The blonde, irritatingly, appears fresh faced and well rested. I’m amused to note that instead of the standard issue slip-on shoes, she’s still wearing her stilettos. She digs one into Peter’s calf and he yells.

  Ursus appears from nowhere. He growls at all of us – the curious onlookers as well as Blondie and Peter. Something in his manner terrifies me, so I crouch down and help the flailing pair to separate. As soon as they’re free, they leap up. Peter looks embarrassed.

  ‘What in hell is going on?’

  ‘He wasn’t watching where he was going!’

  ‘If you’d not been lurking around the corridor,’ Peter grunts, with more vehemence than I’d have thought he was capable of, ‘then I wouldn’t have banged into you.’

  Ursus snarls, ‘Beth, you’re supposed to be on the tour. Why are you still here?’

  I watch her carefully. Yes, Beth, why are you still here? Peter’s words suggest she was hanging around outside my door.

  ‘I’m tired,’ she sniffs, ‘I was going back to bed.’

  She doesn’t look in the slightest bit tired. There’s definitely something going on – and that means it’s time for me to put on my best friend-making face.

  ‘You too?’ I exclaim. ‘My head hurts, my muscles ache and all I want to do is sleep.’

  She turns to me with a look that’s more wary than grateful. After staring at me for a long moment, she finally mutters, ‘See? I’m not the only one who’s feeling crap after this turning nonsense.’

  Ursus’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Turning nonsense? You volunteered.’

  I’m hoping to hear her response, but he launches into a tirade about her shoes. I let him continue while Beth does her best to stand up to him about her choice of footwear and sidle over to Peter instead. ‘How are you doing?’ I whisper.

  ‘Okay.’ He gives me a wan look, raising one hand to his neck then suddenly dropping it again.

  ‘I’m glad you made it,’ I tell him, and I mean it. I rather like the quiet man.

  His mouth turns up at the edges but it’s a forced smile.

  ‘What actually happened?’

  He shrugs. ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going. But she,’ he jerks his head at Beth, ‘couldn’t have been moving or I’d have noticed her. She must have just been standing here.’

  Right outside my door, I think. Stilettoed Beth is definitely my new pet project. I interrupt Ursus’s lambasting. ‘I think Beth’s shoes are lovely,’ I say. ‘Who cares what we wear?’

  ‘It’s not about wha
t you wear,’ he growls, ‘it’s about doing what you’re damned well told.’

  ‘Come on, Ursus,’ I coax. ‘A pair of shoes is hardly going to bring the Montserrat Family crashing down upon our heads.’

  A shadow crosses his face and he opens his mouth to say something but thinks better of it. I take Beth’s arm and smile. I can feel her tense under my touch but she doesn’t pull away.

  ‘Fine,’ he snaps eventually. ‘But the whole lot of you need to get to bed. You’ve got a long night ahead of you tomorrow.’ There’s a threat in his tone. I continue to smile. Smiley, happy Bo, that’s me.

  Ursus turns on his heel and stalks off.

  ‘Thank you,’ Beth says once he’s gone. ‘I appreciate the help.’

  ‘Hey, it’s all in the name female solidarity, right?’ I hope I’m striking the right note. It doesn’t make sense for a recruit to be the new Family Head but I’m more and more certain that blonde Beth is involved somehow. I spot Nicky’s face peeking out from behind her door, her dark eyes a striking contrast to her pale skin. I give her a reassuring grin.

  ‘We should do what he says and get some rest,’ I tell them all. ‘This turning stuff is bloody hard.’

  ‘Speaking of blood,’ Beth murmurs giving me an arch glance, ‘have you drunk yet?’

  I scan her face. It’s obvious that I’ve not, so I’m curious why she’s asked the question.

  ‘No, not yet. I want to hold out a few more days. I’ve heard that the longer you last without drinking, the more powerful you eventually become.’ I pat my stomach. ‘I can cope with a few hunger pangs.’ As if in immediate response, my tummy growls and I flinch slightly. I can’t tell whether Beth is displeased or not at my comment.

  ‘Well, thanks again, Bo,’ she says, and glides off down the corridor to her room. I watch her go. She just made the same mistake that I did with Ursus: I hadn’t told her my name.

  I smile at Nicky and Peter, say goodnight, then slip back into my room. I take the jug and glass off the bedside table, place them on the floor and move the table to the door. It’s not particularly heavy and won’t stop someone who is trying to get in. One hard kick of a stiletto and it’ll open, but it’ll give me enough warning if I’m asleep. Then I pull out the laptop again and search for Beth’s file.