by Helen Harper
‘Yes, Bo.’
‘And don’t speak unless I give you permission.’
‘Yes, Bo.’
‘You’re here as back-up. That means I need you to watch my back in case anyone tries anything sneaky.’
He immediately scoots behind me. I twist round. Matt’s eyes are fixed on my spine. I sigh. Matt and I did not exactly gel when we first met but his total lack of self-awareness now is pathetic. I wonder whether I could find X again and ask him to do his freaky mind stuff to help Matt out. Then I dismiss the thought. If I never see another Kakos daemon again it will be too soon. Even if he purports to know something about a cure for vampirism.
We walk inside the open door to a tiled space that reeks of urine. There’s the frame of a wheel-less bicycle propped to one side and numerous black bags. One of them rustles and I shudder and move away. It’s probably just a cockroach or a rat but that doesn’t mean I want to get any closer. The dull grey walls are decorated with meaningless graffiti: Rab woz here and the like. This is the address for the last name on Templeton’s list – the leader of a small coven of white witches. In stark contrast to Cheung and X, this person’s bank accounts have clearly seen better days. It seems strange that someone who lives here would need an accountant but if they’re desperate for money then they have the motive to kidnap Dahlia.
The lifts are, unsurprisingly, out of order. Despite my enhanced vampire physicality, I don’t fancy climbing thirteen flights of stairs but we don’t have much choice.
Matt and I are barely past the second floor when we pass a youngish man heading in the opposite direction. I pause to let him pass; Matt, meanwhile, snarls. I’m disturbed to see a drop of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.
‘Have you drunk today?’ I ask, as soon as the man is out of sight.
He bobs his head. ‘Three times.’
I’m aghast. ‘Three times?’
‘I get hungry a lot.’
‘Are you hungry now?’
Matt frowns as he thinks about it. ‘No,’ he says finally, ‘I’m good.’
Thank goodness for small mercies. ‘Please don’t act aggressive towards everyone we meet. A lot of people don’t like vampires at the moment and it would be a good idea if we did something to stop that.’
‘Okay.’ A huge smile spreads across his face.
I eye him suspiciously. ‘What?’
‘You said please. Most people don’t. They just tell me what to do.’
I feel a wave of empathy. I guess Matt isn’t as brain dead as everyone thinks. I pat him on the shoulder and we continue upwards. We’re almost at the right floor when Matt nudges me. ‘Someone is following us,’ he whispers dramatically.
‘They’re probably on their way home to their own flat.’
He shakes his head. ‘No. When we stopped on the seventh floor, they stopped too. They’re copying what we’re doing.’
Interesting. I gesture to Matt to pick up speed. Instead of stopping on thirteen, we continue up one more flight, then curve round the corner so we’re out of sight. I flatten my body against the wall and listen. Matt copies me.
I realise he’s right. There are heavy footsteps behind us and I can hear panting. Someone is on our tail. I’m irked at myself for not noticing; maybe having Matt in tow will be a good thing. I give him a nod of approval and he beams.
‘I was in the army. It was important to know when someone was after you.’
I shush him and refrain from pointing out that I’m a PI who should know that. I’ll praise him later; right now I need to find out who is following us. I flex my muscles and wait. As soon as the footsteps pause and a head pokes out into the corridor, I send my fist flying in its direction. I just manage to change course at the last minute when I see who it is.
‘What are you doing?’ Stephen Templeton yells.
I wince. ‘Jeez, keep quiet. It’s already gone ten o’clock. Some of these people will be sleeping.’
His pale face is unhappy. ‘I guess you don’t believe in asking questions first.’
‘You were following us. Someone friendly would shout a cheery hello instead of lurking in the shadows.’
‘I came here to find out if the witches took Dahlia. When I saw you, I thought I’d check what you were doing.’ He folds his arms. ‘I’m paying you a lot of money and you won’t even return my calls.’
There’s a rumble of anger from Matt. I place a reassuring hand on his arm and he subsides, although he still glares malevolently at Templeton.
‘It’s all about money with you, isn’t it? My phone broke while I was busy getting myself almost killed on your behalf. I’ll call you when I have some concrete information about where your wife is. All I can do so far is tell you where she’s not.’
‘You’ve been to Cheung?’
‘And Streets of Fire.’
Templeton’s eyes widen and his voice drops to a whisper. ‘Did you meet the daemon?’
‘I can’t talk about it. Suffice to say, neither are responsible for what’s happened to Dahlia.’ I give him a hard look. ‘Is this your first port of call? Because if you think these people are the most likely ones to have nabbed her, you should have mentioned that before.’
He looks away. ‘I didn’t think that.’
I laugh. ‘Right. You’ve come here because they’re the least dangerous, not the prime suspects. You don’t want to get hurt.’
‘I’m paying you for that!’ He realises what he’s just said and tries to backtrack. ‘I mean, I’m not paying you to get hurt. I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’ He subsides into a mumble. ‘I’m just worried about her.’
Sympathy and irritation war inside me. Sympathy wins, but only just. ‘I understand but I don’t think you’re doing any good by being here. You’re better off letting me do the job you keep reminding me you’re paying for.’ He still looks troubled. ‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Well, you’re a vampire.’
I stare at him. ‘Congratulations. Yes I am.’
He shuffles his feet. ‘There’s been some stuff on the television lately. About vampires. How they can’t be trusted. They’re evil.’ He starts to stammer. ‘I don’t mean that you’re evil. I trust you. I do. But maybe you’re only doing this because you know that Arzo took her after all. Not anyone else. Maybe it’s a smokescreen.’
‘You came to me. Besides, I’m here, aren’t I? I wouldn’t be following your list if I knew where she was.’ I chew the inside of my cheek, thinking about what he said. ‘Don’t you trust your wife, Mr Templeton?’
‘Of course I do,’ he answers stiffly. ‘Maybe I just don’t trust vampires.’
I shrug. ‘Okay. I’ve spent several days on this so far and, by my tally, you owe me about another hundred quid for the hours I’ve put in. But I’m prepared to call it quits. The witches and the search for the lovely Mrs Templeton are all yours.’ I nod to Matt who's hovering anxiously next to me and the pair of us start to leave.
‘W-wait!’
I ignore him. Frankly, I’m thrilled to be shot of this entire mess.
‘Ms Blackman! Please! If you’re going to leave me stranded like this then at least give me Arzo’s phone number so I can contact him.’
Arse. I stop in my tracks and turn around. ‘I told you. Arzo isn’t around.’
He digs into his pocket, pulls out a wallet and thrusts some notes in my direction. ‘Here, I’ll pay you more.’
I look down at the money then back up at him. With the new agency being set up, some cash would come in handy but something about Templeton’s sweaty offering and constant financial references turn my stomach.
‘I don’t want your money.’
‘Please! You have to help me.’
I give him my death stare. For once it works and he takes a half step backwards. ‘I have been helping.’ I move towards him and am immensely satisfied when he tries to sidle away. ‘I will continue to help if you promise to stop getting in my way. I don’t want any more
of your not-very-hard-earned money. In return for my work, you will promise to remain in whatever hole it is you’re currently staying in. You will not call the Montserrat Family again. You will not try to take matters into your own hands again. This is not Vigilantes-R-Us, Mr Templeton. I will contact you when I either reach a dead end or find out where your wife is.’ I think about it a little more. ‘Or you can call the police and let them deal with this. I’m okay with that too.’
His eyelids flutter rapidly. ‘No! No police! I’ll stay out of your way, Ms Blackman, I promise. Please.’ He takes my hands. I struggle not to flinch. ‘Just find her.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I growl at him. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘Holiday Inn near Marble Arch.’
‘Wonderful.’ I wait then, when he doesn’t move, snarl as viciously as I can. ‘Go on then – get out of here!’
He stumbles away. Once I’m sure he’s gone, I relax my shoulders and sigh.
Matt looks at me curiously. ‘You don’t like that human. He’s annoying, I get that, but you really don’t like him.’
‘A long time ago he was very shitty to Arzo.’
‘We’ve all done things we regret, Bo. Some mistakes might be more conscious than others but we should be allowed to make amends.’
I lapse into silence.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘I just can’t believe Beth called you bird-brain.’
He puts on a goofy smile. ‘Beth’s pretty. And she has big breasts.’
I shake my head. ‘And you were doing so well.’
‘What?’ I start walking back down the stairs. ‘What, Bo? What did I say?’
I place my finger on my lips, encouraging him into silence. At least I know he’ll do what he’s told.
* * *
I locate the head witch’s door fairly easily as it’s one of the few that has a number on it. Admittedly, the grubby plastic 4 is upside down and about to fall off but the fact it’s still there should be applauded, considering the state of the rest of these flats. I knock loudly. After my previous epic failures at sneaking around, it makes more sense to try the direct approach.
There’s a lot of shuffling inside, then the sound of several locks being undone. Finally the door opens fractionally and an eye blinks out at me.
‘Whaddayawant?’
It takes a moment to decipher the words. ‘Uh, I’m Bo Blackman. I’m here to ask you a few questions about your accountant.’
The eye narrows. ‘Polis?’
I’m struck by the fact that the witch can’t tell I’m a vampire until I realise how dingy the corridor is. I move out of the darkest shadows.
‘No,’ I say, calmly, keeping my fingers crossed that, as a triber, this white witch is not one of the many who have taken against vampires.
‘Ain’t no Family called Blackman.’
‘There’s not,’ I agree cheerfully. ‘I was Montserrat. I left.’
‘Bloodguzzlers don’t leave.’
‘I did.’
The eye stares at me suspiciously. ‘Yougonnagetmadoshback?’
‘Pardon?’
‘She asked if you’re going to retrieve her money for her,’ Matt whispers helpfully.
‘Who that?’
I step aside so she can see Matt. ‘He’s my colleague.’
‘Traitor too?’
I sigh. ‘I’m not a traitor. I just left. He’s still with them.’
‘Mon’serrat?’
‘Yes.’
‘Better’an Medici.’
I can’t argue with that. Further down the corridor, a door opens and a curious face pokes out to stare at me. I guess there aren’t many house callers in this neck of the woods. ‘Look, you obviously know that Stephen Templeton was skimming money from your account, Mrs Jackson. It is Mrs Jackson, right? Could we talk about what he did inside?’
The eye blinks, then there’s a rattle as Mrs Jackson undoes the chain. She opens the door; she’s a rake-thin woman wearing a nondescript black dress. Her white witch tattoo on her cheek is the brightest thing about her. She smiles, baring a row of yellowing teeth.
‘Try, vampire. Try an’ enter.’
‘If you prefer discussing your finances in the hallway, that’s fine with me.’
She scowls. ‘Yer invited.’
I incline my head and indicate to Matt that he should wait outside to keep an eye out for anyone else arriving, then I step in. The door slams shut behind me, making me jump. Mrs Jackson hacks out a laugh, lights a cigarette and stumbles to a grubby sofa that may once have been covered in a floral fabric. To be honest, it’s difficult to tell. I sit gingerly beside her.
‘Can you tell me how you got involved with Mr Templeton?’ I ask, trying to sound as if I’m investigating him rather than her.
‘Yello’ pages.’
‘Why?’
‘Lots of accountants in there.’ She roots around in the cushions then pulls out a copy of the directory, throwing it in my lap. ‘See for yersel’.’
‘I mean, why did you need an accountant?’
She snorts. ‘Think I dunno ̓at’s what ye meant? Jes’ cos I live ̓ere now doesna’ mean I always did.’ She hawks up some phlegm in her throat then rolls it around her mouth as if chewing. ‘’Ard times.’
‘What happened?’
She spits out a greenish glob onto the carpet. I try to avoid looking at it. ‘Magix ̓appened.’
I blink. ‘The company?’
‘Nah,’ she says sarcastically, ‘the cuddly toy. Course the bleedin’ company. Moneygrabbingbastards.’ She scratches at a scab on her chin. ‘Vampires don’ know wha’s like. Ye’ve all got dosh. Loads o’dosh. Livin’ in lap o’ luxury in yer mansions.’ She shakes her head. ‘S’no like ̓at fer witches.’
I can feel my atoms firing. I lean forward. ‘What did Magix do?’
She raises her eyebrows at the Yellow Pages. ‘Open it.’
There is a crumpled letter inside the cover. I glance at her and she nods. Carefully unfolding it, I read.
‘Dear Mrs Jackson, It has come to our attention that the series of spells called Tracker that you claim to have developed, and which you are using to help owners locate missing objects, infringes on our own patent. You will cease and desist all activities involving this spell immediately or face prosecution.’ I look up. ‘Tracker? That’s your spell?’ I don’t mean to sound so surprised but I’m genuinely astonished. At Dire Straits we did steady business in finding lost items until Tracker came on the market. All that business disappeared virtually overnight. These days, advertisements for it run on a nightly basis. The jingle is particularly annoying.
‘Yeah. Tracker was mine. They took it. Tried to fight ̓em,’ she mumbles. ‘Too damn big. Too damn powerful. Fuckin’ Magix.’ She spits again. ‘Offered me a job afterwards, they did. Like I’d work for those feckers.’
Stephen Templeton is clearly not the only prick with sticky fingers in several pots. All roads are starting to lead to Magix.
‘Do you know Frolic?’ I ask, doing my best to keep the excitement out of my voice. ‘From the shop‒ Fingertips and Frolics?’
‘Fingertip’s deid. They killed ̓im.’
‘I thought he died of a heart attack. Natural causes.’
‘Yeah, ̓at’s what they wan’ye ta believe.’
‘The shop’s closed,’ I say softly.
Mrs Jackson nods distractedly.
‘Do you know where she’s gone? Do you know where Frolic is?’
A knowing look crosses her face she licks her lips. ‘Mebbe.’ She rubs her finger and thumb together.
I curse myself for not taking more of Templeton’s money. I reach into my pocket and pull out what remains ‒ less than fifty quid. I hope it’s enough. When I hold it out, the witch grabs it. As soon as she touches the notes they disappear, magicked into wherever she keeps her valuables.
‘Where is she, Mrs Jackson?’
‘’Yde Park.’
She has to be kidding me. Hyd
e Park is directly opposite the Montserrat mansion. ‘Are you sure?’ I demand.
‘I ain’t a liar.’
My mind races. Why there of all places? It’s too sodding close and too sodding pat for it to be a coincidence. I stand up. ‘Thank you, Mrs Jackson. You’ve been a great help.’
‘Wha’ ’bout accountant?’
I realise I’d forgotten why I was here in the first place. Abruptly I sit back down.
‘Magix tole me ̓bout him,’ she confides.
I hold my breath. Is it possible that somehow Magix is responsible for the disappearance of Dahlia Templeton?
‘Sent someone roun’. Tole me I was stupid. Tole me I couldn’t be trusted if I can’t look after me own money.’ Her face takes on a sour expression. ‘Wanted ta rub it in.’
‘Who did they send? What was his name?’
‘Dunno. They all look the same.’
‘Black or white?’
‘Huh?’
‘Was it a black or a white witch?’
She laughs humourlessly. ‘’Uman. They’re all ’uman.’
I try to look like I’m not surprised. ‘Do you feel angry towards Mr Templeton for what he did?’ I watch her reaction carefully just to be sure.
‘’E ain’t the reason I’m ̓ere. Why?’ she asks. ‘Is ̓e in trouble fer nicking?’
‘No,’ I say. I stand up and reach out to shake her hand. She looks at my palm for a second then shrugs and clasps it. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Jackson.’
‘Thank ye for yer money,’ she returns.
I walk to the door then pause and turn back as if I’ve forgotten something. ‘Did you ever meet Mr Templeton’s wife?’
She looks at me like I’m crazy. ‘Who’d wanna marry that bugger?’
I smile at her. ‘Indeed,’ I reply. ‘Who would?’
I open the door and walk out.
Chapter Fourteen: Playing Dirty
‘It’s Magix,’ I tell Matt, when we pull up outside Hyde Park. I leave the bike outside the Montserrat mansion, noting that the burnt skeleton of the cross has already been removed. ‘It’s got to be. Magix killed Fingertip and put Frolic and Mrs Jackson out of business – and goodness knows how many others.’