The Sweet Scent of Blood s-1

by Suzanne McLeod

  ‘If you don’t like photos being taken’—I indicated the posters of all the calendar vamps that lined the club’s foyer—‘then what’s with all the publicity?’

  ‘You are quite right. It does look rather contradictory.’ He led me towards the back of the foyer. ‘But it is a lucrative option in this day and age, and of course, like any species, we must evolve as the world around us changes if we are to survive.’

  As we walked, people moved aside as though orchestrated to let us pass. I guessed the Earl was using a vamp-trick to subtly clear our way.

  ‘Some among us have spent centuries forging new identities for ourselves as and when the situation required it,’ he continued. ‘The invention of the camera, and photographic records, made it increasingly difficult to avoid those humans who were intent on destroying us. So we learnt to evade, and like all habits, it is hard to change.’

  Monopolising the conversation appeared to be another of his habits ... and I wasn’t interested in the chat.

  I was more interested in why he’d invited me here.

  We stopped at the swing-doors that led into the interior part of the old cinema. To one side, a Monitor goblin perched on a chrome barstool, his navy boiler-suit decorated with five identical brooches—blue glass hearts—some sort of employee recognition, maybe? He dipped his gelled spike of blue hair towards the Earl, greeted me, then held up his hand, making a low chittering sound.

  ‘You will need to show him your invitation, my dear.’ The Earl’s voice was quiet. ‘And allow him to touch you.’ He released me so he wasn’t touching me himself. ‘It is a condition of our operating licence that all guests enter of their own free will.’

  I returned the goblin’s greeting, then held the silver invitation out towards him.

  The goblin peered at the silver oblong, then clutched at my fingers briefly. He kicked his foot against the leg of his barstool, making his trainers flash blue. ‘Okey-dokey, you’re cleared to party, miss.’ He reached out and pressed the call button for the private lift behind him. There was a ping and the lift door opened and the Earl’s hand on my back ushered me forward.

  It was a small lift—small enough that two bodies wouldn’t have much room between them. I hesitated: not that I’m claustrophobic or anything, but hey, we were adding a vampire into the equation and I didn’t like the odds.

  The Earl’s hand at my back increased its pressure. ‘I would like to show you our private members’ bar, my dear.’ He smiled. ‘The lift allows our more select clientele to avoid the crowds. It is more discreet.’

  Shit. I so hoped Katie was right about the reason for the invitations, that this was all about the murdered girl and nothing to do with me personally. I took a deep breath and stepped into the small metal box. The floor gave a slight dip, and my stomach went with it. I moved to one side, my back pressed against the wall.

  The Earl faced me, an impassive look in his azure eyes as the door slid shut, cutting off the noise from the foyer. The inside of the lift was a dark patterned metal, like an old, foxed mirror. All around us our reflections multiplied and watched us in the eerie quiet. Then I realised why the silence was so strange: the Earl wasn’t breathing; his heart wasn’t beating. It was almost as if he didn’t exist. My own heart sped faster. Did he need to feed? I shot a glance at the open neck of his shirt, but all I could see was pale skin and a shadow of darker blond hair.

  Almost as if he could tell what I was thinking, he smiled, amused again, letting me glimpse fang for the first time. ‘Alone at last, my dear Genevieve.’ He took out a small key, placed it into a hole in the lift’s panel and turned it. The power cut off, leaving us in the dim light of a small emergency bulb. ‘There, that should ensure we are not disturbed.’

  I gripped the silver invitation, tapped it against my chin, concentrating on the slight burn. ‘Any particular reason why?’ My pulse was kicking like a terrified rabbit, but at least my voice came out calm. ‘Or is that a stupid question?’

  ‘Please do not be alarmed. This—’ he held his hands open in a placatory gesture ‘—is just a precaution to ensure our discussion will remain private.’

  Narrowing my gaze, I turned his words over in my mind, willing my pulse to slow, or trying to, anyway. Damn G-Zav. ‘You don’t want anyone to know you’re interested in the dead girl, do you?’

  His eyes lit with approval. ‘Quite so—although my interest isn’t in the girl as such, but in the way she died.’

  Join the queue! I felt like saying.

  ‘As I mentioned, I believe in honesty.’ He looked me straight in the eyes. ‘The girl’s death was caused by magic, some sort of spell. The incident is an outright attempt to blacken our public image.’

  ‘Going by the punters still queuing to get in, it doesn’t appear to have had much effect so far.’

  ‘One death can be labelled a tragic accident, a domestic, I understand it is called.’ He gestured, dismissive. ‘But I have every reason to believe there could be more.’

  ‘What’s that to do with me?’

  ‘You have an appointment with Mr Hinkley at the police station later. All being well, you should be able to see the girl’s body. I would like you to identify the spell used and, if possible, remove it. And I would appreciate if you would apprise me of your findings.’ He adjusted his cuffs. ‘In the meantime, I would also like you to carry out some investigations around the club, using your expertise in the area of magic, to see if there is anything else that might shed some light on the matter.’

  I didn’t bother telling him I wasn’t a detective. No one wanted to believe me anyway. ‘Is this your way of hiring me?’

  He nodded. ‘I would have preferred to contact you openly at Spellcrackers, of course, but allowing for the sometimes distrustful relations between vampires and witches, this seemed to be the most expedient way of dealing with the matter. I have obviously informed Inspector Crane about my concerns,’ He brushed at a speck on his sleeve. ‘But sadly, the good Inspector is new and untried, and is possibly more interested in clearing up a potentially inflammatory situation than finding the truth.’

  Talking about inflammatory ...

  ‘So what was with the French Looney-Toon you brought with you last night?’

  ‘A miscalculation on my part.’ He adjusted his cuffs again; turning one heart-shaped cufflink the right way up. ‘Westman is an excellent lawyer, but sadly, since Louis and he have become enamoured of each other, his mind is not always on his work. As for our foreign guest, I was as surprised as any at his interest in the inspector.’ He gave me a rueful smile. ‘I do hope it won’t influence you against me in this matter.’

  I shifted my feet, trying to ease the stretched muscles in my calves. Six-inch heels are not meant for standing still in. ‘You do know that the police found no magic on the girl’s body, don’t you?’

  ‘So Inspector Crane was kind enough to inform me. But she is not only a member of the police, but a witch too.’

  Yeah right: so back to the trust thing.

  ‘Even if I find this spell,’ I said, ‘it’s not like I’ll be able to tell who cast it, so how are you going to stop it from happening again?’

  ‘The important thing is to find the spell, my dear. Any ramifications can be dealt with later.’

  I studied him, then narrowed my eyes. ‘Did you know Melissa?’

  ‘She worked here.’ His impassive look was back. ‘I am sure that we must have spoken at some point.’

  ‘Did you know she was fae?’

  ‘As I said, we might have spoken, but I didn’t know her.’

  ‘Did you kill her?’

  ‘Not that I am aware.’

  I blinked at that. ‘Either you did or you didn’t.’

  ‘Sadly, it is always possible that an inadvertent word or gesture of mine at the wrong time may have contributed to her death.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘I have always found it pays to be honest.’

  I wondered just how honest he was really being—he wasn’t a
ctively lying; vampires as old as him didn’t. They had that whole ‘my word is my honour’ thing going on. But even I could manage to twist words into the shape I wanted when necessary, and the Earl had a good eight centuries or so on me. So I doubted his honesty was the whole-and-nothing-but sort. Never mind that my bullshit antenna was twitching like a vamp junkie heading for a venom-seizure.

  I pursed my lips. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me that might help?’

  He shook his head. ‘I believe not.’

  I leaned forward and locked eyes with him. In my six-inch platforms I was the same height as him. ‘Not even which vampire you suspect?’

  He smiled. ‘I never said that I suspected anyone, my dear.’

  ‘You didn’t need to.’ I leaned back, hands braced either side of me. ‘It’s no secret that Mr Hinkley thinks that Melissa was killed by another vampire using magic. Or that he’s hired me. You’ve just confirmed that you agree with him.’

  As had Declan when I’d visited the Bloody Shamrock. Obviously no one—other than the police—believed Melissa had died of anything other than some sort of magic.

  I tapped my foot and carried on, ‘The only reason for this little tête-à-tête is just that. No room for anyone to hide and overhear what you’ve got to say to me. And if all you want is for me to find this so-called spell, you must have a pretty good idea who is responsible for it.’ I pursed my lips. ‘An invitation, ostensibly to visit your collection of bronzes, isn’t going to fool anyone.’

  ‘Although my collection is truly outstanding.’ He gave me an appreciative look. ‘As are you.’

  ‘So, either you’re going to tell me who it is, or you want them to think you have.’ I took a breath, wanting to slap the patronising approval off his face. ‘Which is it?’

  ‘But there is the rub, my dear.’ He sighed, turned the key in the lift panel. ‘I may have my suspicions, but without the spell, I have absolutely no proof.’

  The lights came on and the lift lurched into life. I staggered a little, reaching out to steady myself ...

  The air shifted and I felt the same disorientation as before.

  The lift had stopped. The door was open.

  I looked out into the room beyond. It was a crowded lounge bar, and every face had turned to stare my way.

  ‘My dear.’ The Earl placed his hand at the small of my back and ushered me from the lift. I stepped out and the lift door pinged closed behind me.

  Why had he shifted time again?

  Frowning, I turned back, ready to demand an explanation...

  But the Earl was gone, and I was on my own.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The private members’ bar was crowded with vampires and humans. The vamps gazed with such intensity through the dim light that my heartbeat thudded up a notch. The humans looked on with curiosity. Then they whispered. Then they talked. And glasses clinked and someone laughed a highpitched laugh and the tension that had filled the air slipped away like a wave flowing back into the sea.

  Damn. The manipulative bastard was going fishing, with me on the metaphorical hook. I sighed: so I was bait for a murdering vampire—again! Nothing new about that.

  And Katie had already pointed out that I needed to find Melissa’s killer—before he found me. Maybe I should be thankful the Earl just wanted to hire me. At least it meant he wasn’t the murderer—although he was a manipulative bastard so I wasn’t totally ruling that idea out—and at best I had a chance at getting paid for something I had to do anyway, thanks to my bargain with Declan. Never mind the fact that whatever Declan and the Earl claimed their reasons were for wanting me to look for the spell, those reasons were only the oil-slick obscuring whatever ulterior motives lurked below.

  So I looked, and looked.

  The private bar stretched across the front of the club, along a crescent-shaped balcony. The décor was, unsurprisingly, blue and silver: thick navy carpet woven with silver hearts, pale blue-panelled walls and capacious blue sofas that looked like they could swallow their occupants whole. The vamps had found a theme, and they were sticking to it. Lounging on the sofas were plenty of faces I recognised—not that I actually knew any of them; I wasn’t generally on chatting terms with London’s glitterati, but it looked as if the local vamp population were, and then some.

  And none of them had any spells, not even a glimmer of one—not that I’d expected any; that would’ve been way too easy. So now it was time to put Katie’s investigative tactics into operation and find a talkative tea-boy.

  I headed towards the central bar, resisting the urge to tiptoe as I made my way through the sofa obstacle course. The place had an almost crypt-like feel, thanks to the low thrum of conversation and an artificial floral sweetness that filtered out with the air-conditioning.

  Something odd pricked up my spine like a half-remembered memory and I frowned, trying to place what it was. Then I realised, the vamps were shut down, like the Earl had been in the lift. I shivered, knowing it stopped them being sent a little crazy by all the pounding pulses and the siren scents of blood. It was what my Alter Vamp did, but it felt weird being on the other side.

  As I passed one sofa, a stick-thin model I’d last seen staring out at me from one of the glossies threw her head back, exposing her slender throat. The vamp with her touched a finger to her pulse and she leaned into him, gasping. He winked when he caught me looking.

  I gave him a so-what? expression back. The menu might be richer, and better dressed, but in reality this place was no different to any of the pubs in Sucker Town.

  When I reached the bar I realised my plan was a non-starter. There was no way the human barman, who was flashing his fake fangs like they were a badge of honour, was going to be up for the cosy chat I wanted.

  I needed to find someone, somewhere quieter.

  I followed the wall of glass that enclosed the balcony-bar, then movement caught in the corner of my eye and I stared down at the bodies dancing in the tightly packed nightclub below. I could just hear the music through the glass, echoing like a faint heartbeat. Then I stopped watching the dancers and focused on the reflections I could see instead.

  He stood about ten feet away, arms clasped behind him, doing a really bad job of pretending not to watch me. For a moment I couldn’t place him, then his broad shoulders and chest snagged in my memory: the real goth with the romance model’s looks from the Leech & Lettuce, the one who’d propositioned my Alter Vamp. Only now his chest, complete with its trail of fang marks, was hidden under a Blue Heart staff uniform.

  Darius. Rio’s main blood-pet.

  Now wasn’t that interesting.

  Of course, he was an ideal candidate to tag me. I shouldn’t have known who he was—and he was human, and staff, so why worry about him when the place was full of big scary vamps?

  I started walking again, and saw his reflection following along behind me.

  A low cry made me turn and I looked straight into a pair of familiar blue eyes. Declan, from the Bloody Shamrock. My heart thudded faster as he smiled up at me from one of the sofas, his arm draped over the bare shoulders of a blonde in a red-sequinned boob tube. Then I realised it wasn’t Declan, but his brother, Seamus. And it wasn’t Seamus who was making the girl moan.

  Another vampire knelt by her, his head bent over her arm. He was humming quietly as he fed. The sound made me wince with memory. The vamp raised his head and grinned, and I recognised another familiar face: Cherub Cheeks, one of the fang-gang that attacked Gazza.

  I filed the scene away and pushed through the exit, then hurried down to the ground floor. Darius’s footsteps followed me. Another door led out into the main corridor of the club, where I had a choice of the old cinema’s screens one, two or three. A couple of girls ran giggling past me and pulled open door number two, flooding the quiet corridor with loud heart-thudding music.

  Glancing behind me I caught Darius coming out of the stairwell. He ducked out of sight and I chose number one—the nearest door—and struck go
ld, or rather, a pretty girl with a bored expression, standing next to a long, cloth-covered table.

  ‘Hi, I’m Debbie,’ she greeted me. ‘Welcome to Fangs for the Memory.’ She smiled, showing off her fake porcelain fangs. ‘Tonight we’re proud to have the famous Gordon Rackman as our musical director and conductor.’ Debbie indicated the stage. The famous Gordon Rackman’s pale face glowed under the spotlights as he energetically conducted both the small orchestra in front of him and the dancers behind. The music was guaranteed to make you want to trip around the dance floor . . . if you were over sixty. And a good proportion of the room’s occupants were, and not because they were vampires.

  Right! The tea-dance as advertised on the Blue Heart’s website—the club’s newest attraction, and apparently popular and therefore lucrative—but then, pensioners have both disposable time and income. I just hoped not too many of them had disposable lives.

  Under the rainbow sparkles of a huge crystal chandelier, the geriatrics wove and dipped like faded flowers swaying in the breeze. They were mostly female, partnering each other, but a few lucky ones were being swung round in the arms of vampires masquerading as soldiers, sailors and airmen from the Second World War, all looking authentic right up to their slicked-back, Brylcreemed hair—so long as you ignored the fangs. As I watched, the tempo of the music changed and the dancers stopped weaving and instead they rushed past each other across the floor, feet blurring as they executed fast, jumping steps.

  ‘Looks complicated.’ I smiled at Debbie.

  ‘It’s a foxtrot, I think.’ Her nose wrinkled prettily. ‘But seeing as I’ve got two left feet, I might be wrong. that’s why I’m stuck here.’

  ‘Right. Get into many collisions, do they?’

  ‘Nah, most of them are old hands.’ The permanent wave of Debbie’s brown hair bounced as she laughed. With her bright red lippy matching the hot venom-induced blush in her cheeks, she looked like a throwback to the nineteen forties. Even her heavy green wool uniform with its brass buttons and the sensible laced-up brogues looked like the real McCoy.