by Helen Harper
He draws his hands together thoughtfully under his chin. ‘So they’re keeping their own members in the dark? Interesting.’
‘We’re not treated as full members until the lunar month is complete,’ I say, irked by his implied criticism of Montserrat policy. ‘What exactly are we being kept in the dark about?’
D’Argneau leans back, obviously pleased to be in possession of information which I need. ‘I’ve done a little digging since you contacted me. I don’t appreciate being threatened, even if it’s by short females in handcuffs.’
I bristle but hold my tongue. Right now, I need him much more than he needs me. ‘The Families are being hit and being hit badly,’ he says. ‘Everyone has suffered losses. I’m sure you heard about Tommy Glass.’
I shake my head. I’ve no idea who he’s talking about.
‘Sequestered from the real world,’ he half whispers to himself, as if making a mental note. ‘Tommy Glass is – or rather was – a button-nosed, blond cherub of a toddler who was ripped apart four days ago while playing in his garden. His unfortunate mother was there but she was no match against a triber.’
I feel sick. ‘You mean vampire.’
He nods.
‘A Montserrat vampire?’
D’Argneau nods again. I rub my forehead. A toddler? Damn O’Shea and his stupid spell.
‘As you can imagine,’ he continues, ‘there are many humans who are rather concerned by this turn of events.’
‘No shit,’ I murmur. Whoever is behind all this is clearly stepping up their campaign. Discrediting the Families and turning the humans against them is a smart move; it means the new ‘super Family’ can step in and take over. All they need to do is create a little spin about how they saved Britain from being terrorised by the five Families and no one will question them. Not until it’s too late.
‘The tabloids are all on board, of course, screaming for justice, demanding that human laws be put into force against the Families. I think your Lord Montserrat has done a lot to smooth things over but when you’re faced with photos on the internet of tiny Tommy’s mutilated limbs, and the grieving parents are on television every night… ’ He shrugs. ‘Well, he can’t work miracles.’
I feel a rush of sympathy for Michael. No wonder he thinks I’m involved, he must be desperate to find someone to blame. Then I remember the cold look in his eyes the last time I saw him.
D’Argneau watches me, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. I realise he’s not finished talking.
‘What is it?’ I ask him.
He runs his tongue over his lips. ‘Tommy Glass is public knowledge.’
I wait. He’s like an eager puppy straining at the leash and proud to show off what he knows. ‘What’s not public knowledge is something you may find more interesting.’ His eyes dance. ‘I didn’t mention the last time we met that a Family hired me to go after O’Shea. That same Family is reported to have someone in custody who has information about the perpetrators of the recent attacks.’
I grip the arms of my chair. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know who they have in custody.’
‘But you obviously know which Family,’ I growl. If it’s Montserrat, I’m going to be seriously pissed off. Like ‘ripping someone’s head from their shoulders’ pissed off.
D’Argneau leans back. ‘Naturally.’
My frustration is building. ‘Who?’ I snap again.
He cocks his head. ‘Tell me, Ms Blackman, what do I gain by passing on this little titbit? I can see what’s in it for you; you seem to be inextricably tied up in all this. But what’s in it for me?’
I’ve had enough of this. ‘You forget I’m a vampire now,’ I snarl.
He lifts up his index finger. ‘Actually, looking at you, I don’t think you are. Not yet. You’re different from before, certainly, but I don’t sense vampire.’ He smiles unpleasantly. ‘You’ve not drunk yet, have you?’
I glare at him malevolently.
‘And,’ he carries on, ‘that means you’re still as weak as a human. Probably weaker.’ He lowers his voice. ‘I’ve heard the cravings are enough to drive you insane.’
‘You don’t know enough about vampires to tell whether I’ve drunk yet or not.’ I’m taking an educated guess here.
‘Show me your fangs then.’
I scowl. The lawyer is more confident now. He grins. ‘As I thought.’
‘Harry. Please. Tell me which Family.’ I abandon my attempts to threaten him.
He throws back his head and laughs. ‘Or what? You’ll screw me outside on the pavement?’
I wince. I knew I was going to regret that little episode.
‘Look,’ he says. ‘You rub my back and I’ll rub yours. Quid pro quo. You’ll simply owe me a favour. It’ll be of my choosing and I’ll call it in when I see fit. I could benefit from a vampire on my side.’
I have a bad taste in my mouth. There’s no telling what he could ask for. Initially I thought that he was a good guy; now I’m not so sure. Of course, Michael Montserrat currently wants my head. And even if he doesn’t take it, whoever wants to supplant all five Families seems likely to achieve their goal. If that happens, it’s unlikely I’ll hang on to my life. If I’m dead, D’Argneau can’t collect. I’m not completely stupid though.
‘You realise I won’t be able to go against the Montserrat Family, no matter what happens? As a full vampire, my loyalty to them will be absolute.’ I neglect to mention the Sanguine part. I think Mr D’Argneau already knows more than is good for him.
‘I understand that,’ he says. ‘And I’ll be kind and include your own blood family in that.’
I think about all the other people he could make me hurt. ‘I won’t physically harm anyone. Not unless there’s a very, very good reason.’
‘Favours come in all shapes and sizes, Ms Blackman. I’m sure I can come up with something that will keep your conscience clear.’
I stare at him. He’s trying to play hardball and there’s a part of me that likes him for it. ‘Fine. Tell me which Family.’
‘Give me your word.’
‘You have it.’
‘Very well.’ He leans forward, picks up his glass and drains it. He swirls the remaining ice cubes. ‘Bancroft.’
‘You’re sure?’ It would make sense if they were involved. Bancroft has the only female Head. She has a good reputation and she’s immune to O’Shea’s spell, regardless of what form it takes. Maybe she’s had enough of playing in a male-dominated world. I can’t help wondering whether Montserrat has thought of this; surely it’s crossed his mind.
‘Thanks.’ I stand up. D’Argneau does the same, as if in some old-fashioned show of gallantry. It seems so unfitting for the occasion that I smile.
‘What’s going on here?’ says Nicky, appearing at my shoulder.
Her presence is so unexpected that I jump. That’s not as bad as D’Argneau, however, who drops his glass onto the floor where it shatters. He lets out a muffled curse and crouches down to pick up the larger shards.
I wink at Nicky. ‘Just getting to know this gentleman a little better,’ I murmur, before I bend down to help D’Argneau.
I’ve barely reached his level when I smell it. I don’t need to see him sucking on his finger to know that he’s cut himself; there’s a cloud of iron-rich air circling round him. A deep animalistic rumble that I’m barely aware of begins in my throat and my eyes fix on the thin trail of blood rolling down his skin. It looks so good. Behind me, half-smothered by the music and the loud drumming of my own heartbeat, I hear Beth snarl. I don’t care. D’Argneau has ceased to be a person; now he’s just food.
He glances up at me, eyes widening as he registers my reaction. Immediately, the scent of his fear mingles with that of his blood. If anything, it makes it more alluring. He’s prey and I am predator.
I leap forward, my mouth wide open like a cavernous killing machine. Nicky’s presence annoys me. I want this flesh all to myself. I knock her out of the way as I fly, landing on D
’Argneau’s chest and making him fall backwards with a heavy thump. He tries to push me out of the way but his hands are weak, flailing. I slap them aside and curve my head down. I may not have fangs yet, but I can still taste.
Then something is pulling me off the lawyer’s body. I howl in frustration and kick. Whatever is holding me tightens its grasp. I shove my elbows back and my captor gasps but still doesn’t let go.
‘Get him out of here,’ a voice says.
Beth: the knowledge flickers in the recesses of my brain. I don’t like Beth. I don’t trust Beth. She’s stopping me from getting what I want. I kick back harder.
‘Bo.’ She sounds calm. Bitch. ‘Bo Blackman. Remember who you are and stop this now.’
I snarl. Nell picks up D’Argneau and drags him out of my line of vision. I lunge forward but I can’t break Beth’s hold.
‘Bo,’ she soothes, ‘he’s gone. You need to calm down and relax.’
I twist to my left and then my right. The bartender is staring at me with wide, frightened eyes. I jerk in his direction and he takes an involuntary step backwards. Then I sniff the air. The reek of blood remains but it’s dissipating fast. My heart pounds painfully against my ribcage and I squeeze my eyes shut.
‘He’s gone, Bo,’ Beth repeats, loosening her grip slightly and reaching up to smooth my hair. The part of my consciousness that is really me returns.
‘Sure?’ I croak.
‘Sure.’
I start to tremble. ‘I almost…’
‘Shhh,’ she says. ‘It’s okay.’
Wrenching myself from her hold, I turn to face her. ‘No. Beth, it’s not fucking okay. It’s never going to be okay. I…’ I can’t finish the sentence.
A large figure comes and stands beside us. ‘You need to leave.’ The bouncer’s expression is grim and his arms are folded across his chest. ‘Tribers aren’t welcome.’
Beth grabs my arm. ‘We’re going.’ She searches my face. ‘Are you good?’
I’m still shivery and shaking, but I know what she means. I nod and we walk out of the door. ‘Is he definitely…?’
‘He’s gone.’
Nicky, Nell and Peter are outside, huddled across the street and watching us wide-eyed. We cross over and Peter impulsively draws me into a hug. ‘You didn’t do it, Bo. You didn’t drink,’ he whispers.
But only because of Beth. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have ripped out Harry D’Argneau’s throat.
I look at the other three. ‘Why was it just me?’ My words are quiet but I can hear the heartfelt plea in them. ‘Why was I the only one who went for him?’
‘As soon as I smelled the blood, I got Peter out,’ Nell tells me. ‘When I came back in for the rest of you, Nicky seemed okay and Beth was wrestling you like it was a prize-winning fight.’
My eyes flick from Beth to Nicky and back again. Beth looks uncomfortable although Nicky seems unconcerned. I’m glad this hasn’t upset her too much. All I can really focus on, however, is that I lost control and they didn’t. My chances of lasting to the end of the month are slipping away in front of my eyes.
‘Dawn’s not far away,’ Nell says, her eyes scanning the lightening sky. ‘We need to get back.’
Peter releases me and we stand on the pavement in an awkward circle. The laughter and joy of the night have completely vanished and it’s all my fault.
***
It takes much longer to find a taxi this time. I’m too numb after my attack on D’Argneau to worry about it but it keeps running through my mind. The scent of his fresh blood had been so overwhelming. The mammoth task of getting to the end of the month seems impossible. I knew it was going to be tough but I didn’t understand it would probably be easier to strike a match on jelly.
Beth takes charge. She ushers us to a main road where we’ll have a better chance of finding transport home. Faint streaks of purple are appearing in the sky and Nicky, in particular, is getting twitchy. I’d like to calm her down but selfishly all I can think about is myself. Everything is such a mess. I briefly consider whether to make a run for it and find shelter away from the Family and everyone else. The flat that Rogu3 found for me will now be out of commission, but as long as I find somewhere out of the sun, I’ll be fine. But there is a part of me that thinks perhaps I’ll be better off letting the dawn do its worst. There seems to be little point in struggling on when my own nature is my enemy.
By the time we flag down a taxi, I’ve been sucked into a vortex of misery. I huddle into a corner of the back seat. Beth is giving me worried glances but I can barely muster up the energy to care. The cab trundles past the grey buildings and the shortening shadows. When we arrive back at the Montserrat headquarters, it’s obvious we won’t have time to sneak back inside before dawn strikes. We’re going to have walk in through the front door and hope no one notices. It’s a stupid plan. I consider pointing this out to the others and then decide I don’t care. Rushing inside to avoid something as simple and beautiful as the sun’s first rays is bad enough.
Nicky pays the driver and we step out. I can already feel my skin starting to burn. Nell, Nicky and Peter sprint to the main door. I stay where I am, on the pavement, sniffing curiously at the slight smell of burnt hair from my bare arms.
Beth grabs me and shakes me. She gets right up into my face. ‘Do you have a bloody death wish?’ she hisses.
I shrug back helplessly. Maybe I do.
She mutters something then pulls me towards the entrance. The others have discovered that it’s locked. Oops.
Nell pushes against the door with her shoulder. ‘Why in the hell is it locked? Vampires are creatures of the night! This door should never be freaking locked.’
It’s locked, I think, to keep us monsters in and the rightfully vengeful humans out. Because one of our so-called Family members slaughtered an innocent two-year-old child. One of our brothers.
Nicky swears loudly. She thumps on the door to get someone’s attention. ‘We’re going to burn out here!’ she yells. Nell joins her, their fists creating a rhythmic drumming on the worn wood.
I turn away and gaze out at the location of the old Tyburn gallows. And I start to giggle. It begins as a hiccup in my guts, and then escapes through my nose and mouth. My shoulders shake as the giggle transforms into a laugh and I clutch my stomach, then sit down cross-legged, facing away from the door towards the trail of crimson red sky above Hyde Park.
‘Red sky at night, shepherd’s delight,’ I half-sing to myself, ‘red sky in morning, shepherd’s warning.’
‘Bo, will you get a fucking grip?’
I laugh harder.
There’s a creaking sound from behind. The thunderous face of Michael Montserrat stares at us from the threshold. I raise my arms and cackle, then turn back to the sky, lifting up my face while my cheeks and forehead prickle, burn and blister.
Arms encircle me from behind and drag me upwards. I protest but they merely tighten their grip. ‘Lemme go,’ I moan. ‘I’m enjoying the sunrise.’
The arms scoop me up. Montserrat is holding me against his chest like a child. ‘You should let me go,’ I tell him matter-of-factly. ‘This way you don’t have to wait for proof to execute me. I’ll just be dead.’
His expression is granite stern. He shifts my helpless weight and then stalks inside.
Chapter Twenty-two: Truth
The dreams that follow are dark, terrible and steeped in blood. I have brief moments of lucidity, soon destroyed by bouts of dizziness and vomiting. I’m aware of people hovering over me, murmuring. I shut them all out and concentrate on the pain in my stomach and the ever-increasing desire for blood. At one point, someone changes my sheets because they’re soaked in clammy sweat, and I allow myself to be moved to a chair like a doll. When I sleep again, I have disturbing nightmares of the one-eyed doll’s head from Wiltshore Avenue. It talks to me in a little girl’s voice but its words are so awful that I scream in agitation.
I hallucinate. O’Shea’s body, bleeding out in that smal
l grubby room. Me, down on all fours like an animal, lapping greedily at his blood. Then I’m in the office at Dire Straits, and the vampire who murdered Tam isn’t the indistinct form of the dark-haired man. It’s me, sinking my teeth into his neck and ripping out the soft, tasty flesh.
The images flit from one to another, as if I’m being forced to endure a never-ending reel of grotesque film. Someone tries to make me drink some water and I lash out, pushing them away until I’m left alone in the darkness. Arzo speaks to me, then Michael Monserrat. Sometimes Peter is there, sometimes Beth and Nicky.
‘Bo.’ The voice penetrates through my thick, throbbing skull.
‘Bo, I’m sorry. It took longer than I thought.’
Yet another glass is placed at my lips. I moan and shake my head. I already know it’s not blood and it’s blood that I desire above all things. I push it away.
‘Bo. The guard will only be gone for a few moments. You need to drink this now.’
I can’t make sense of the words. The glass tips and my lips are wet. I tentatively taste the liquid and start to choke. It’s poison. Panic writhes through me like a twisting snake. They’re feeding me O’Shea’s spell and there’s nothing I can do about it.
‘Smegging hell, Bo! Stop it and bloody drink!’
Hands tip back my head. I close my mouth firmly to avoid more of the foul-tasting liquid but sharp fingers pinch my nose and I can’t breathe. I try for as long as I can, but eventually I have no choice but to open my mouth and gasp for oxygen. As soon as I do, the liquid is poured in while I gag and splutter.
‘Everything will be fine now,’ the voice says, as the welcoming darkness returns yet again.
***
When I wake up, for a heart-pounding moment I think I’ve gone blind. It takes me a few seconds to realise that my eyes are glued together with such a build-up of gunk that I can’t open them. I fumble with one hand, searching for the jug that’s always on my right and scoop some water into my palm then rub it onto my eyes so I can pry open my eyelashes and finally see again.
I blink several times, clearing my vision. I’m still in my room and in my own bed. My arms and legs are covered in welts and scratches and I trace the marks with the tips of my fingers, wondering where they came from. I feel light-headed, but alive. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out for; it has to be at least a day but my memories are so foggy, I can’t be sure.