A flash of him smiling in just the same way, saying just the same words, with my father standing at his side, lit my mind, then it was snuffed out by the gut-churning fear any memory of that night brought me. I stared at him, a voice inside irrationally screaming, If he was family, why hadn’t he helped? Anger and disbelief that he hadn’t—and now he expected me to remember him—burned the fear away. I glared at him. ‘Are you trying to be funny or something?’
He frowned in what looked like genuine puzzlement. ‘Why would I try and make you laugh?’
‘Oh, well, let’s see: my wedding night, that was when I was paraded like a prize heifer in front of more than a hundred vampires I’d never met before, and then my only faeling friend was tortured and killed by the Autarch, all while he happily told me her death was a wedding gift to please me. While all of you watched!’ I spat the words out, trying to get rid of the foul taste of bile and terror in my mouth. ‘And you ask why I don’t remember meeting you!’
A loud growl came from the dog.
‘Shh, Max.’ Fyodor absently stroked its head, his smile dimming. ‘I can understand why you may not value the Autarch’s concern for you; these modern times are more lax when it comes to dealing with such insults. But the girl was an upstart.’ He waved a conciliatory hand. ‘She tried to usurp your place, and the Autarch’s authority, Genevieve. What else could he have done?’
‘Sack her, send her off with a flea in her ear, maybe? Anything but what he did do.’ I clenched my fists, gently swinging the backpack, wanting to smash it over his obtuse, old-fashioned head. The dog gave a warning bark. ‘Oh, and just so you know, Cousin, his was the insult, not hers: she was seventeen, only three years older than me, and he’s the prince, the god you all bow to. What was she supposed to do when he started giving her jewels and fucking her? Say no?’
The dog leapt, jaws opening wide, and Fyodor’s shout of denial was lost in its loud barking.
I threw myself backwards, jerking the backpack up to shield my throat. I hit the thick-carpeted floor with a thud that knocked the air from my lungs and the rage from my mind. Stupid, to let my anger get the better of me! Adrenalin flooded my muscles as the dog snarled, and rough hair brushed my hands as the backpack was wrenched from my grip. The dog gave a series of high-pitched yelps and I brought my knees up, tucked my chin down and rolled back and away, expecting to feel its teeth in my flesh at any moment.
Then Fyodor’s deep voice shouted in a language I didn’t understand as I rolled into something hard: a wall. My mind raced, trying to figure out a way to escape as I instinctively curled tighter into a defensive ball, bracing myself against the dog’s attack. Even if it didn’t try to tear me apart, having a hundred and fifty pounds of dog on top of me wasn’t going to be fun. The seconds ticked by, and my adrenalin-hyped senses finally caught up with the fact that I didn’t have a huge wolfhound trying to rip chunks out of me. I peered out warily from between my arms.
Fyodor had the dog up on its hind legs—the dog was taller than him—and had one arm locked around its chest while his other hand twisted the chain at its throat; choking it as its back paws scrabbled for grip on the carpet. Fyodor made manhandling the animal look easy, but even the newbie vampires can peel the roof off a car like opening a sardine can. The dog was losing. I shot a look towards the entrance. The rest of the dogs were still lying there, blocking my exit, but they appeared unconcerned about their pack mate’s plight. I turned back as Fyodor started crooning something in the dog’s ear, speaking too softly for me to hear.
Magic prickled against my skin and I shifted uncomfortably. The dog’s silver-white coat glowed brightly, as if each hair was a live fibre-optic wire, then its fur receded, pulling back into its flesh like it was being sucked in by a vacuum. The dog’s hairless body shone blindingly white for a brief second, and an explosion of magic shattered my sight. Then the light dissipated and Fyodor was holding the pale, naked body of a male against him. Long platinum-blond hair hid the male’s face. For a second both were silent, unmoving, then the male opened his mouth wide in an ear-splitting shriek, showing all four of his fangs. Fyodor jerked the choke chain, cutting off the vamp’s scream, then released him with a disappointed sigh.
Max the dog/vamp slid bonelessly to the floor in a limp tangle of arms and legs.
I sat up cautiously, keeping a wary eye on the other dogs, not sure if Fyodor had just saved me from being Max’s doggy dinner, or whether it was all some devious ploy to make me feel obligated. ‘So the rumours are true then,’ I said. ‘Your vamps can turn into dogs.’
‘Gareth,’ Fyodor ordered, ignoring me, ‘please bring Max his cloak.’
The blank-faced Gareth rushed out of his booth with a white velvet cloak which he tenderly tucked around Max, tying the cords in a neat bow around the vamp’s throat as if he’d done it a hundred times. He probably had, but was never allowed to remember.
‘Genevieve,’ Fyodor said, and pointed at the prone vamp, ‘this is Maxim Fyodor Zakharin, my son, and your cousin, thrice removed.’ He walked towards me and held out his hand. ‘May I extend an apology on his behalf and assure you we both regret our lack of hospitality. I am at a loss to explain his behaviour, other than that his hound state is not always easily controlled.’
Maxim? Malik had called the vamp who’d invaded his dreamscape on Tower Bridge Maxim. I glanced at the unconscious blond vamp. Yep, he was the same vamp. I hadn’t liked him then, or the previous time I’d come across him, when he’d kidnapped a friend of mine and tried to blackmail me into taking his blood-bond. I liked him much more now he was out for the count.
Ignoring Fyodor’s hand, I stood. ‘What about them?’ I indicated the other dogs.
‘Do not be concerned; they are what they appear.’ He brushed a couple of hairs from his white frockcoat. ‘They are well-trained guard dogs to deter undesirables, and also camouflage, if you will. But to answer your assumption, no, the rumours are not true; my form of the Gift cannot confer the ability to become a hound. Max is the son of my loins, but I did not give him the Gift, and neither did your father.’ His face was calm, but his voice held a shadow of regret. ‘That honour was bestowed on him by the Autarch himself, a rare occurrence, for he does not share his power lightly. It is his magic that flows through my son’s blood.’
I briefly wondered if the Autarch’s psychotic tendencies ran through Max’s blood too. ‘You don’t sound too happy about that,’ I said, keeping my back firmly against the wall.
‘My son owes the Autarch his Oath; it is a situation that causes friction between us. He can be very defensive of any criticism towards his master. It is the only reason I can think to explain his attack, for which I apologise once again; it is unforgivable when we have offered you our hospit—’
The sharp end of a stake appeared in the centre of Fyodor’s chest and blood spurted from the wood, splattering my face and clothes. I gave a shocked yelp before I could stop myself. Fyodor’s eyes widened with the same shocked surprise as he looked down. He blinked, then grasped the stake with both hands and started to pull it out. For a moment I thought he’d succeed, but then he shuddered, his hands slipped away and he crumpled to the floor, the blood ruining the sparkling whiteness of his outfit.
Maxim stood in his place, white cloak draped around his shoulders, platinum hair drawn back from his widow’s peak in a ponytail, his eyes still disturbingly pale blue and hooded. ‘Dear Old Dad.’ He grinned, flashing all four of his fangs. ‘He really does nag on like an old woman at times.’
My stomach clenched uneasily as I glanced at the staked Fyodor: he’d been right when he’d said there was friction between him and his son. I looked back at Mad Max, and decided I positively detested him now I knew he owed his Oath to the Autarch, and was of his psychotic blood, and was also standing in front of me looking way too pleased with himself.
‘Cat got your tongue, Cousin Sidhe?’ He laughed gleefully. ‘Now where shall we start—? Gareth, go and get some help and put Dear Old Dad in
his coffin.’ He nudged Fyodor with his toe. ‘Oh, and leave the stake in, it’ll make a nice show for the members, and tomorrow we can charge extra for him. And now he’s out of the way, Cousin, you and I can have a nice chat’—he made an exaggerated show of checking over his shoulder—‘and look, we’re all alone, with no pesky Malik al-Khan around to spoil our fun.’
Not for the first time, I had a fleeting wish for some sort of spellcasting ability, or at least a handy Stun spell. ‘What do you want?’ I asked, keeping my voice level.
‘As I told our esteemed Oligarch, I’ve got a little proposition for you.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘But the Turk’s being his usual dog-in-the-manger self.’
‘Let me guess,’ I said drily. ‘You won’t kidnap any more of my friends if I go back to the Autarch quietly, so you can get a nice pat on the head?’
‘Good God, no!’ He gave a theatrical shudder. ‘We don’t want Him involved, do we? If He knew we were all pally, he’d just demand I hand you over, and I’d have to say Yes, Sire! and probably end up as part of the entertainment.’ He finger-shot himself in the head. ‘Duh! His Brattiness might be a total nutter, but I’m not. Why do you think I put up with Dear Old Dad all the time? It’s certainly not for the old man’s scintillating company. Malik, on the other hand, will agree to anything to keep you out of the Autarch’s clutches.’ He beamed, his face lighting up with manic glee, and spread his arms wide, flashing me with more than his fangs. ‘Oh, don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?’
‘It’s not my plan,’ I said, narrowing my eyes at him, not sure whether his ‘happy as Larry’ act was for real, ‘and I don’t appreciate being held hostage for ransom. So no, not loving it so far.’
‘Oh, you’re not a hostage, Cousin.’ He held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Far from it! No, all I want is a quick family snap of us together, then you’re free to leave whenever you want.’
I raised my brows. ‘Okay, now I’m confused. Letting the hostage go before you get the ransom—not that I’m complaining—is one of those cart-before-the-horse things. So: what’s the catch?’
‘Catch? There’s no catch, little cousin. All I want is the photo and that’s it. Good God, I’m not stupid, you know. The Autarch might have a few screws loose, but he’s easily distracted; it’s out of sight, out of mind with him. Malik, on the other hand, is like a bleeding elephant. He never forgets if you cross him, and he keeps coming after you until he’s managed to stamp you out completely. Look what he did to Elizabetta!’ He grabbed his head in both hands with a mock scream of horror. ‘Me, I’d prefer to keep my bonce on my shoulders where it belongs.’
I blinked. Personally I’d take Malik over the Autarch any day, but hey, he had a point with the head thing … and if all Mad Max truly wanted was a picture—
‘Fine, where’s the camera then?’
‘I bet you’ve got one on your phone, haven’t you?’ He smiled winningly and fluffed out his velvet cloak. ‘I’m a bit short on pockets in this get-up.’
Still suspicious about what he was up to, I pulled out my phone from my jacket pocket and warily held it out.
He took it and examined it as if it were diamond-studded. ‘Nice bit of kit! I didn’t think this model was out yet.’ His thumb moved over the small keyboard, almost faster than I could see. ‘I’ve been waiting to get a shot at one of these from a reviewer I know; she says it doesn’t live up to the hype.’ His brows lowered in concentration at the phone. ‘What do you think?’
‘It’s a phone. It does what phones do,’ I said, trying to calculate if I could make it past the dogs, most of whom were stretched out sleeping now, and out the door before—
‘Mind if I take a test pic of Dear Old Dad first?’ He looked up enquiringly.
‘Knock yourself out.’
He resumed fiddling with the phone, and I started slowly edging away from him and the staked vamp at my feet.
His hand shot out and clamped round my wrist. ‘Picture first, Cousin.’ He smiled; this time there was nothing winning about it.
‘Hurry up and take it then.’ I jerked my arm away, surprised when he let me go.
‘Come and cuddle up here.’ He patted his side, his bonhomie back, and indicated I should pose next to him, then held up the phone, camera lens pointed back at himself.
Feeling a bit like I had fallen down the rabbit hole, or was maybe climbing onto the hangman’s scaffold, I stepped over the body and angled in next to him.
He clapped his arm round my shoulders with a cheery laugh. I gritted my teeth.
‘Okay, now hold your hand up next to your face, the one with the member’s diamond on it.’ He looked up at the lights and moved us back fractionally. ‘Now look at the camera, and— One, two, big cheesy grin, smile!’ The phone clicked, and the flash blinded me.
I squeezed my eyes tight shut …
And when I opened them, the scene in the club’s foyer had changed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mad Max, his dear-old-and-bloodily-staked Dad, and even the dogs were gone. The Coffin Club’s foyer was empty except for the sleeping goblin in the ticket booth. For a moment I wondered if I’d imagined it all, but my T-shirt was still damp with Fyodor’s blood, although someone had creepily cleaned my face and hands. Damn vamp tricks. Looked like the bastard had mind-locked me, something he shouldn’t have been able to do. And what the hell game was the mad vamp playing?
Not that I couldn’t hazard a guess: he wanted something from me, and while he was leery enough of Malik’s retribution not to want to hold me hostage, he wasn’t above using my possessions as a negotiating tool, since my backpack with its cargo of blood and my phone were also gone. Not to mention there was Darius, my pet-vamp himself, to worry about.
But before I could flush the mad-dog vamp out of wherever he’d disappeared to, a loud Big Ben-type chime rang, the club’s front doors swung open, and a crowd of people—humans—were laughing, whooping and racing through them.
Suddenly three of them split off and headed for me, their pale grey costumes streaking behind them like delicate wings blown by the wind. I recognised their black-and-white Pierrot faces: they were some of the Moth-girls from the blood-house where Darius used to live. I had a moment to brace myself before all three threw themselves at me, flattening me against the wall, thin arms wrapping around my neck and waist, hands clutching mine, and I was enveloped in a soft mass of rustling silk, satin and lace.
I breathed in the smell of rice-powder mixed with greasepaint as Viola smeared a waxy kiss on my cheek, caught the faint scent of liquorice-scented blood as Rissa’s long white hair trailed across my face, and felt the heat of the 3V infection pouring off Lucy’s arms around my neck. I laughed, squeezing hands and hugging them all, joining in their enthusiastic greeting—
The present disappeared as a memory speared into my heart.
She looked numbly down at her son where he lay cradled in her arms. The midwife had wrapped him in the blue blanket appliquéd with the red and white train. She’d bought it only two days ago, sure then that her superstitions were unfounded and nothing would go wrong. She touched his tiny, perfect hand … but unlike all those excited day-dreams she’d had, his little fingers didn’t curl round her own, but stayed limp and lifeless. That’s when she knew he wasn’t there, that he was gone.
I clutched Grace’s gold pentacle, and looked at the three Moth-girls. They were fanned round me in a semi-circle, almost like they were afraid I’d run away if they let me go. Behind them the crowd of excited, over-eager humans were snaking their way through the white zigzag ropes towards the coffin-shaped ticket booth. A large raven perched on top of the booth watching me. As I looked, it gave a loud caw, then flapped its wings and flew over the oblivious queue and out through the club’s open doors, disappearing into the night sky.
I turned back to the Moths.
I knew the heart-wrenching memory of the stillborn baby belonged to one of them, just as I knew it was the Morrígan’s
bitter-tasting magic that had drawn the memory out for me to see. But I didn’t know which of the girls had lost their child, and none of the three appeared to know she’d shared the painful memory with me. I also didn’t know what, if anything, I was supposed to do about it.
‘You’re crying,’ Viola whispered as she slipped her thin arms back round my waist and squeezed. ‘Are you all right?’
I nodded, swiped at the tears and the sorrow from the memory dispelled.
‘Good,’ she said, then pouted prettily. ‘Wow, we haven’t seen you in ages and ages and ages. We’ve missed you so much, Genny.’
‘Yes, we’re so pleased to see you again,’ Lucy said, twining her fingers through mine.
‘’ave you come to see our Darius?’ Rissa swiped a tissue along my cheek. ‘Lipstick.’ She puckered up her own purple-painted mouth, then said, ‘It ’ain’t bin the same since ’e went and got the job ’ere and you not come any more.’
I smiled apologetically, realising I’d missed them too. ‘Sorry, girls. I’ve been coming here, and without Darius, well, you know …’ I trailed off, and we all stood and looked at each other awkwardly. I hadn’t really thought they’d want me visiting—after all, they’d been Darius’ little volunteer harem, as well as his breakfast, lunch and dinner most nights. And while we’d all had fun when I was there, I’d sort-of thought it was more because they’d put up with me as Darius’ blood benefactor than anything more.
‘Yeah, well, it’s not the same without him there, but you still could’ve come, you know.’ Viola squeezed my waist again. ‘We really, really do miss you.’
‘Right,’ I managed to say past the tightness in my throat. Tears pricked my eyes and I blinked them away. ‘Well, I really miss you all too.’ I smiled. ‘So I’ll come and see you on your next night off, okay?’
‘Yay!’ Lucy waved her arms in the air.
‘Good.’ Rissa sniffed as she smiled. ‘Then you will pay up for your poker debt.’
The Bitter Seed of Magic s-3 Page 15