by Helen Harper
The amusement in his face is terrifying. I watch him leave, then sink back onto the sofa. I don’t know why he’s acting so out of character for a Kakos daemon. Rescuing damsels in distress is hardly their gig. Equally, I have no idea what possessed me to trace that damned symbol. Vampirism must be making me soft in the head. It occurs to me that unless he searched my burnt mess of a jacket, he didn’t wait around for me to return his book. I shiver at the thought that it is still in my possession.
When I’m sure that he’s gone and isn’t coming back, I stand up and check myself over. As far as I can tell, X hasn’t touched me. He’s right about my skin healing quickly. I stare at myself in one of the many mirrors dotted around the room. Without my eyebrows, my forehead is bizarrely elongated, like one of those aliens you see in comic strips. My eyes appear impossibly wide, enhancing the tell-tale vampire red in the centre of each pupil.
I edge to the heavy curtains draped over the bay windows and lift one up an inch. The light outside is already dimming but I’m afraid of pulling the material apart any further to find out where I am. That’ll have to wait. Instead, I stalk round the large room. There are several doors but they’re all locked apart from one which opens into a large kitchen, replete with every modern device a cook could want, and another leads to the front door and the outside world.
I’ll never have another opportunity like this again. I’m inside the den of a sodding Kakos daemon. Despite X’s remarks about being too polite to search through my things, he’s nuts if he thinks I’m going to pay him the same respect. He could kill me with a single touch. I need to know my enemy, even if he’s not appeared aggressive towards me yet. I walk into the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the fridge and X’s ‘gifts’, and nosy around, picking up a blender and sniffing inside it cautiously. I wonder if he brews up intestine smoothies with it, but the smell gives me no clue other than the fact that he uses lemon-scented washing-up liquid. I open a few drawers and peer inside. All in all, the room is unremarkable. There are plenty of plates and utensils but nothing to suggest I’m in the abode of a heart-eating, soulless daemon.
I pad back to the living room and place my ear against each locked door. There might be victims inside, people I should rescue from X’s clutches. I knock on each one and call out, but there’s not even the faintest whisper of a sound. I’m not brave enough to break the doors down to check they are unoccupied.
Eventually satisfied that I’ve covered every square inch, I sit down on the sofa. Other than the eighties’ theme and the well-prepped kitchen, nothing gives me a clue about X’s personality. There’s a glass-topped coffee table in front of me, so smudge free that I can’t stop myself from pressing my thumb in the middle to ruin its perfection. On one side of it sits a state of the art phone. I pick it up and frown. I’ll hardly be giving away my secrets if I call the Montserrat mansion.
Taking a deep breath, I jab out the number. It rings three times before the dulcet tones of Iona, the vampire responsible for manning the mansion’s communications system, answers me. ‘Good evening. You have reached the Montserrat Family.’ She may sound brisk and efficient, but there’s a note of underlying tension in her voice.
‘Hi Iona,’ I begin.
‘Bo? Thank goodness. I thought you were another crank caller. I’ll put you right through.’
The phone clicks before I can ask her what she means. Michael’s faintly accented voice fills the line. ‘Are you deliberately trying to test me?’
I lick my lips. ‘Er…’
‘Goddamnit, Bo! When you said you’d be back in thirty minutes, I expected you to be back. The sun was rising. What the hell did you think you were doing?’
I feel a tiny thrill that, despite our last conversation, he’s still worried about me. ‘I’m fine. It was … nothing.’
That’s not strictly true and O’Connell can be damned sure I’ll pay him a visit very, very soon. It’s not going to be a friendly one, either. But right now his goons probably think I’m a frazzled pile of dust blowing around Hyde Park, so I reckon I have some time to spare before I need to confront him. The only positive he has on his side is that I believe the wanker who said O’Connell didn’t want me dead. I’m taking my almost-murder a lot better than I took the security guard’s assault. I guess my expectations are shifting now I’m a vampire.
‘Where are you now?’
‘Honestly, I have no idea.’
‘Bo…’
‘I’m telling the truth. Look, Michael, can we meet? Face to face?’
‘How do I know you won’t stand me up again?’
‘I promise that unless I drop down dead or I’m indisposed thanks to some ravaging hordes, I’ll be there.’
‘You can’t come here.’
I close my eyes briefly. ‘Yeah. You already made it clear I wasn’t welcome.’ Before he can interrupt, I move on, naming a popular vampette restaurant. I’ve never been inside ‒ I never had any call to enter such a place when I was human ‒ but I’ve heard about it.
‘When?’ he snaps.
I’m assuming – hoping –I’m still London. ‘Um, say in two hours?’ Hopefully that will give me enough time to get there.
‘Fine.’ He hangs up.
I lean back and sigh. He may be concerned about my well-being but he’s still bloody angry. I decide to tell him whatever he wants to know, even about Arzo’s ex-fiancée. I owe him that much.
Picking up my leather jacket from the back of a chair, I examine the burnt hole in the breast. I suppose I was lucky that Frolic’s files acted as an extra barrier, otherwise not only would the witch’s shuriken have penetrated it, but I’d be nursing charred skin as well as charred leather. I’m still pissed off about the jacket though. I need to find a way to get it fixed.
I shrug it on and re-check the window. Thankfully, the sky is dark enough for me to venture out without frying. I glance towards the kitchen, then pull my shoulders back and stride towards the front door instead. My hand is on the door handle when I curse. I don’t want to see what X’s gifts are, I really don’t. I shake my head, turn round and go into the kitchen. I stand in front of the gleaming fridge, biting my lip. I reach out, my fingers curling round its cold steel edge. It’s going to be gruesome, whatever it is, or why would he bother keeping it chilled?
‘Curiosity killed the cat, Bo,’ I whisper. I squeeze my eyes shut. ‘And satisfaction brought it back.’ I pull the door open, feeling a blast of cool air in my face. I open one eye and then the other.
The fridge is empty of food or drink. Nor is there a head on a platter, severed organs or a beating heart. There’s simply a small vial and a transparent baggie. I reach for the baggie first and hold it up. It’s a shuriken, covered in congealed blood. I stare at it for a second, then make a decision and take it, shoving into a side pocket.
I look at the vial. The liquid inside is unmistakably blood. It has to be from X himself. I steel myself then gingerly pick it up, as if it might bite me. It’s cool to the touch. I drop it again and close the fridge door. Even if it is X’s blood, it’s probably poisoned; goodness only knows what drinking it will do to me. I have no reason to trust either Frolic’s parting words or the daemon himself.
I spin round, take three steps, stop and growl. Damn it. I glance around, afraid someone is watching me, before returning to the fridge and opening it again. Sighing, I grab the vial and leave.
* * *
Fortunately, as soon as I step outside I know where I am. It’s less than an hour’s stroll to the restaurant where I arranged to meet Michael. As I walk, I rehearse in my head what I’ll say to him.
The streets are busy but no one pays me any attention. They don’t look closely enough to register that I’m a vampire. When I’m waiting for one set of traffic lights to change, however, the headline outside a nearby newsagents gives me pause: GUZZLER PETITION DELIVERED TO PARLIAMENT. I feel a squirming sensation in my stomach and turn away.
At least the restaurant is welcoming and there are no prote
stors nearby. The windows are darkened to create a spooky atmosphere so that will spare me from any gawkers on the pavement.
I request a table by the window. A smiling waitress comes over to take my order. ‘It’s good of you to frequent our establishment,’ she says. ‘We’ve not had many vampires in lately.’
I smile back at her but I’m pretty sure my smile doesn’t meet my eyes. She senses my discomfort, passes me two menus and leaves me in peace. With time to kill, I open one. There’s a typical array of burgers, sandwiches and platters. Assuming the second menu is for drinks, I open it ‒ then gape in horror. Happy faces beam out at me, with little bios next to each one. Adam is twenty-four years old, healthy and energetic. He’s O negative and his blood has a spicy tinge thanks to his penchant for curries. Zoe is twenty-nine. She’s more expensive because she’s the rarerAB‒. She drinks a glass of red wine every day to enhance her ‘flavour’. Jeez. I don’t know what I expected in a vampette establishment but it certainly wasn’t this.
I shut both menus quickly. There are a few tables occupied by humans nearby and I sense them sending me sidelong glances, although every time I look in their direction they avert their eyes. No doubt they’re waiting for me to drink. I feel ill. I order a glass of water, ignoring the waitress’s disappointment, then stare into space and mull over everything that happened the previous evening.
‘Have you ordered?’ Michael is standing over me, arms folded, glowering. He’s wearing another of his sharp, midnight-blue suits and there’s a shadow of dark stubble across his jaw.
‘Er, no.’
He frowns then gestures for the waitress and points to one of the vampettes on offer before sitting opposite me. ‘Order,’ he snaps.
I shake my head.
‘Order now, Bo, so help me God.’ He scowls at me. ‘If you drink properly then I won’t waste time asking what the hell happened to your face.’
I don’t need another lecture on my vulnerability, so I nod randomly at one of the pictures. The waitress scribbles down our order, then turns to Michael. She’s put on a pout to make her lips plumper and her chest is jutting out more prominently. My eyes narrow but Michael doesn’t even notice. He gives her a distant smile and hands back the menus. Frowning, she stalks away.
‘I think you’ve made a conquest there,’ I say lightly.
‘What?’
There’s something in his expression that stops me. ‘Nothing,’ I mutter.
I look down, noting his fingers gripping the edge of the table. Swallowing, I move my eyes to a point behind his shoulder.
‘We agreed that you would take Matt with you if you went out,’ he says stiffly.
‘If I’d taken him with me last night, he’d be dead,’ I answer. ‘Besides, I thought you weren’t going to ask me about what happened to my face.’
‘I’m not. I’m talking about today.’
‘Oh.’
He glances over his shoulder then back at me. ‘Bo, what the hell are you looking at?’
‘Nothing.’ I twist my fingers in the tablecloth. ‘I’m sorry,’ I burst out. ‘I shouldn’t have gone through your things. But I had to get the feather and return it by dawn. I didn’t have time to wait around for you to finish whatever meeting you were in.’
‘So did you?’
‘Return the feather? Um, sort of.’
‘And your wonderful cure? The one that’ll make all this awful bloodguzzler nightmare vanish in a second?’ He snaps his fingers and I jump.
I can’t tell him about X, I won’t put him in that kind of danger, but there’s no harm in repeating what Frolic said. I desperately want to be honest with him. I wet my lips. Michael’s eyes follow my tongue and butterflies attack my insides.
‘Kakos blood,’ I whisper.
He throws back his head and laughs. The other diners turn towards him, startled. ‘So there is a cure. But you’ll never know if it works because you’ll never get close to a Kakos daemon to find out.’
I don’t reply immediately. I can’t work out whether he’s happy, relieved or just damn amused. ‘Have you ever met one?’ I ask finally.
‘A Kakos daemon? Nobody meets one and lives to tell the tale. I thought you’d know that.’ His eyes scan my face. ‘For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.’
‘Are you?’ I snap. ‘You don’t seem very fucking sorry.’
He glares at me. ‘I knew it wouldn’t work. So did you but you needed to accept it. I am sorry for you, Bo. I know how hard this has been.’
‘No,’ I say softly, ‘you don’t. You’ve been more supportive than I expected and I appreciate how far out on a limb you’ve gone for me. But you don’t know what this is like for me. You can’t know.’
A muscle jerks in his cheek. ‘I know you’re afraid of me. I know there’s a part of you that’s disgusted not only by your own vampirism but mine.’
I start to shake my head. ‘No, I’m not…’
‘I saw the look in your eyes, Bo. You’re fooling yourself if you think otherwise.’
The waitress appears with our orders in tow. I flinch, then damn myself for the action. ‘This is Anna,’ she says to Michael with a flirty grin. Her smile dims slightly when she turns to me. ‘And this is Jack.’
‘Thank you,’ Michael murmurs, although he doesn’t take his eyes off me. ‘Go on then, Bo. Prove you’re not repelled. Drink your fill.’
Damn him. My stomach rumbles and my fangs lengthen but I can’t stop myself from wanting to vomit. Anna pulls up a chair and holds back her hair, exposing her jugular. Michael licks his lips, baring his brilliant white teeth. Still watching me, he slowly sinks his fangs into her skin. Bile rises in my throat. The vampette closes her eyes and moans slightly. Michael pulls away for a moment. His mouth is smeared with blood. ‘Come on, Bo,’ he urges. ‘Drink.’
I look at my willing victim and think about the Soho prostitute I ran away from. This situation doesn’t seem any different; it’s just more expensive. I take a deep breath. I’ve been doing okay with Connor; I can do this too. I grab Jack’s wrist but Michael shakes his head. ‘Not there.’
I snarl softly. Jack gives me a nervous smile. I drop his wrist. ‘It’s fine,’ I say, not sure whether I’m attempting to reassure the vampette or myself.
Jack sits down and stretches out his neck. I stare at the tiny throbbing pulse. Michael’s still watching me. I grit my teeth and lean over, my teeth nipping into Jack’s skin. Warm blood fills my mouth and I gag. I force myself to swallow but I barely manage a few slugs before I’m pushing him away.
‘Go,’ I whisper, ‘just go.’
Jack backs away, the chair falling with a loud crash as he stands up. Anna, Michael’s vampette, looks at him questioningly and he nods. ‘Go.’
He folds his arms and leans back. ‘Of course you’re not disgusted,’ he says sarcastically.
The waitress starts to come over, seemingly worried. Michael holds up a hand, forcing her back.
‘I’m disgusted by blood,’ I protest. ‘By drinking blood. I’m not disgusted by myself or by you.’
‘You can pretend to yourself all you like. It’s not going to change the truth.’ He looks away. ‘Your PTSD is probably as much a result of being a vampire as because of what happened with Nicky.’
‘I don’t have PTSD!’
‘You see?’ he says quietly. ‘You’re lying to yourself.’ Frustrated, I ball my fists. He holds my gaze and sighs. ‘I should be the one apologising. I shouldn’t have got so angry yesterday. You’ve got no idea what you do to me. You’re under my skin, Bo. You’re in my dreams.’ His eyes don’t waver. ‘I think we might have something here and I know you feel the same. I’ve seen the way you look at me. But if we do this now, you’ll end up hating me and despising yourself. You need to come to terms with what you are first.’
‘I…’ I shake my head to clear away my turbulent emotions. ‘I…’
‘You don’t need to say anything.’ He passes me a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it. ‘Arzo th
inks he’s found some suitable offices. There’s a flat above where you can stay. Work with him. Set up this business. Goodness knows, we need it. Then, when you’re ready, we’ll talk again.’
He gestures to the waitress for the bill and she almost sprints to our table. He signs the check without looking at it and glances back at me. His mouth twists. ‘Just do me a favour and don’t get hurt. And don’t lie to yourself. It’ll make things harder.’ A ghost of a smile crosses his face. ‘Ursus came across his rather mangled bike this morning so I’ve taken the liberty of getting you one of your own. It’s a gift, not payment.’
He tosses a set of keys towards me and stands up, then moves round the table and bends down, his lips brushing lightly against mine. ‘I’ll be seeing you, Bo.’
He walks out. I touch my lips with my fingers. ‘Count on it,’ I whisper.
My hands drop to the table. I realise I’ve still not confronted him about the photo. I don’t think that the person who spoke with such honesty and displayed such altruism could be the monster the picture suggests. I’ll get rid of the thing as soon as I can.
What I’ll do about the vial of X’s blood is another matter. I’ll make up my mind later.
* * *
When I stumble out of the restaurant, every pair of eyes in the place follows me. I’m in such a rush to depart that don’t give Michael’s present the attention it deserves. I simply climb on and quickly head to the address he gave me. Although it’s on a busy thoroughfare close to Covent Garden, the building itself is nondescript; it could definitely do with a coat of paint. There’s a dentist on the ground floor but the offices higher up seem to be unoccupied. Thus far, I’m not impressed.
I climb a set of winding stone stairs to the first floor and peer round the corner. Arzo is in the middle of the room, directing a sweating Connor to move a desk further back; Matt is scrubbing a grimy window as if his life depended on it. Not wanting to be drafted into the relocation process, I’m tempted to tiptoe back down and return later but Arzo is far too canny not to notice me.