by Helen Harper
I lean my head to one side and drop my eyes, fixing them on his neck. He starts to tremble. ‘Are there private rooms?’
He squeaks.
‘Sorry,’ I murmur. ‘I didn’t catch that. You’ll have to speak up.’
‘Yes.’
‘Why this club?’ I inquire.
‘I … I … don’t know what you mean.’
He’s at least a foot taller than me but he seems to be diminishing in size by the second. I push myself up onto my tiptoes and force him to meet my gaze. ‘Why are you visiting this club? Why not another one?’
His eyes dart around. ‘It’s the nearest one to my house!’ he blurts out.
‘Really.’ I delve into his pocket and, before he can react, take out his wallet and flip it open. ‘But it says here that you live in Brighton. That’s almost fifty miles away.’
‘I meant hotel! It’s close to my hotel!’ A flush rises up from his neck. Lies, lies and more lies.
Growing bored, I grab his collar and slam him against the wall. He struggles against my grip but it’s a feeble effort. ‘I tell you what,’ I coo. ‘I’m willing to let you go, Mr…’ I glance down at his wallet ‘…Archer. I’ve already fed tonight, after all. But you need to start talking – otherwise I might decide I need a little dessert.’
He stares into my eyes, his body sagging as he acknowledges the truth of what’s written in them. ‘They’re young,’ he mutters eventually.
‘The girls?’
He nods.
My stomach tightens. ‘How young?’
‘S-sixteen. Maybe seventeen.’
Above the age of consent. How handy. I seriously doubt there’s much in the way of consent on the girls’ part, even if he’s telling the truth. I eye the unfortunate Mr Archer and wonder whether he’s fooled himself into believing the girls inside are happy to take on board what he’s offering. There’s no end to what people will make themselves believe in order to salve their consciences.
‘Who’s in charge?’
‘Of the club?’ He visibly relaxes when he realises I have bigger fish to fry than one dodgy punter. ‘The manager is called Malpeter. I’ve never spoken to him myself,’ he adds hastily.
‘Is he a triber?’ I ask. Considering X sent me here directly after his warning to stay away from the witches, I’m assured that Malpeter isn’t one of their ilk. It doesn’t mean that he’s not a bloodguzzler or a daemon, though.
Archer shakes his head. ‘Human.’
‘Bouncers?’
‘They’re human too.’
Interesting. I nod and release him. He staggers away from me in haste, almost tripping over his feet in a bid to get away. I watch his departure with detached curiosity and shrug to myself. Then I pivot round and head back to the front door of the club.
I push open the door and am immediately confronted by the thump of music. A burly guy in a monkey suit narrows his eyes at me, obviously surprised by my entrance. A beat later, recognition lights his expression. I launch a sharp, vicious punch to his solar plexus and he collapses, groaning.
‘I see my reputation precedes me,’ I tell his foetal-like shape. ‘It’s a shame your reaction time is so slow though.’ I bend over and reach inside his coat pocket, sliding out the poorly concealed gun. It’s scratched and battered; this is a weapon that’s seen some action. I eject the clip and throw the now-useless hunk of metal back down. It bounces off the back of his head and he grunts. Oops.
Stepping over his body, I walk down the narrow corridor. The walls are covered in lurid red paint and there are framed photos of smiling girls. Smiling girls with dead eyes. The distinct smell of marijuana fills the air. I have no doubt that I’ll find evidence of stronger stuff too. All the better to ensure pliability. I curl my nails into my palms until I draw blood.
The corridor opens out into a larger space. The music here is louder. To the front there’s a slightly elevated stage with a pole and a woman in a g-string, stilettos and nothing else gyrating slowly round it. She’s not even making an effort to sway to the beat. There are a few tables in front which are occupied by men whose eyes are almost as glazed as hers, and a brightly lit bar which seems to sell little more than vodka and Scotch. Behind it there’s an open door leading to yet another corridor. Red light glows from within.
From one of the dark corners, a shadow pushes off and approaches. He swaggers past the lighted bar and his features become more distinct. Ugly bastard. There’s a jagged scar down one side of his face and his nose is squashed and bent as if it’s been broken one too many times.
I quicken my step, swiping a glass from a nearby table and smashing its rim against the edge. The music continues but the woman on the stage freezes and stares. All the other punters turn in my direction. A few stand up then seem to think better of it and sink back down again. One or two glance at the empty corridor behind me, already planning their escape. I ignore them and keep my focus on the advancing brute. His muscles bulge against his ill-fitting suit as he lunges for me. I spin to my left and strike out with the glass, drawing a beaded line of blood down his cheek. Now he’ll have a match for that scar. His hands automatically rise up to the wound while I kick upwards, aiming for his groin. He screams and falls forward.
I vault over the bar and wrench the nearest bottle out of its optic, then I arc out the vodka in a fine spray and casually pull a lighter from my inside pocket. I flick it open and light it. The seated customers start to panic and get to their feet, ready to bolt. I throw the lighter down and there’s a roar as the alcohol catches fire, effectively creating a barrier of flames between me and them. The cheap carpet underneath my feet adds fuel to the fire while they all back away towards the wall. I walk round the other side to the woman and offer her my hand. She stares at me with rigid, wide-eyed fear.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ I tell her.
I’m not sure if she can hear me over the music. She shakes her head and stumbles backwards, the heel on her left stiletto snapping. She kicks off both shoes and turns to run, flitting behind a dirty red curtain. I let her go, picking up the undamaged shoe.
The fire is licking at the tables and chairs. The alcohol may well have burnt out within seconds but these are cheap furnishings. One of the men on the other side of the flames has a mobile phone to his ear. If he’s calling the fire brigade, they might get here in time. Then again, they might not. I cast a look over the lot of them, registering all their faces just in case. To a man, they look terrified. Good.
I spin round and head for the other corridor which is lined with doors. At the far end, a fire exit swings open. The woman from the stage, with several others in tow, runs out into the night. Good for her. I leave them to it and focus on the door nearest to me, kicking it open. There’s a stained mattress and little else.
Above distant shouts, I hear an unmistakable click and duck just in the nick of time. The plaster in the far wall crumbles as a bullet smashes into it. Before my would-be assailant can try again, I turn on the balls of my feet. It’s a short, weedy guy wearing a grey suit.
‘You should pay attention to who you’re attempting to kill,’ I say conversationally, as I wrest the gun from his hand. ‘Guzzler reflexes are no match for humans.’
‘What do you want?’ he hisses.
I take a gamble. ‘Oh, Malpeter. There’s so much that I want.’
Judging by the expression on his face when I say his name, I’m right. This is the club’s manager. I give him a nasty smile and get behind him, then shove him inside the room. There’s a rusty bolt on the outside of the door so I slam it shut, locking him in. He yells loudly. I ignore the noise and examine the lock. Perfect. With one sharp, well-placed kick I manage to destroy it completely. Now no one’s getting in or out that room without a battering ram. By the time the fire-fighters get to him, the smoke will have destroyed his lungs. He’s toast.
I hear him yell again. I shrug, not bothering to answer, then head towards the other high-pitched shouts, which are all coming fr
om the far end and another locked door. I pull open the bolt and peer inside.
The shouting stops abruptly, as if someone has hit the mute button, and twelve pairs of unblinking eyes face me. I can see several of them wondering what fresh new hell is now coming their way. The room reeks of faeces and vomit and most of the girls are wearing nothing more than dirty underwear. One of them lets out a small whimper. I doubt any of them has seen their sixteenth year yet, despite Archer’s assertion to the contrary.
‘Don’t worry,’ I say softly. ‘Help is on the way.’
I leave the door open, allowing them free exit if they so desire. None of them makes a move; they’re already too conditioned by fear. I try the other rooms.
There are ten in total. These ones are obviously kitted out for business, with actual beds and real sheets. Two are occupied. The first has an obese sweaty man who’s so involved in his sordid fantasy that he’s not heard any of the commotion from outside and is continuing to lick the pale, half-formed breasts of a dark-haired girl. I glance at the stiletto shoe in my hand. From underneath him, her eyes meet mine with a flicker of dull hope. I throw the shoe and it embeds itself in his neck. With nothing more than a groan, he collapses. She pushes his dead weight off her and gets to her feet, then she kicks him. He doesn’t move. She kicks him again, absorbed in her actions. I leave her to it. We’re far enough away from the fire here.
The other occupied room only contains a girl. She’s shackled to the bedpost and there’s an ugly welt down the side of her face. Her face is streaked with mascara. From underneath the caked-on make-up, the eyes of a teenager gaze out at me. I suck in a breath and stride over, unpicking the lock and freeing her swollen wrist just as sirens start to filter in from outside.
‘You’re safe now. The police will take care of you.’
She starts to tremble. I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder as her shaking grows more violent. ‘No,’ she moans.
‘Don’t worry. Everything will be alright now.’ My words fall empty. Both of us know that everything will never be alright. I turn to go.
She gasps. ‘No.’ Her accent is strong. It’s unlikely she knows much English. She’s probably been trafficked here with the promise of a better life. A hard knot forms in my chest. The things we let happen on our own doorstep.
‘They’ll help you,’ I reiterate, my voice strong.
Her hand shoots out, curling round my wrist. ‘No polis.’
‘They’re the good guys.’ I have no way of knowing whether she understands me or not.
Her grip tightens. ‘No polis.’ Her voice drops to a plaintive whisper. ‘Please.’
I don’t have the wherewithal to deal with a broken girl; I can barely deal with myself. I look from her face to the handcuffs and back again. A memory tugs at me of another room and another captive, drenched in blood. I helped him. I shake my head to clear the vision. The police have trauma specialists, they have people who care. I open my mouth to tell her again that they’ll look after her.
‘Come with me then,’ I end up saying, without really knowing why.
She stumbles to her feet. I unzip my jacket, drape it over her shoulders and help her out into the corridor. It’s filled with smoke now but I can already hear calm orders being given as the fire brigade take control out in the bar. The girl and I lurch out to the right and the fire exit.
The others are still huddled together in the last room, too afraid to move. I flash them a reassuring smile as we pass. Then there’s the sound of booted feet running towards us as I push open the last door and burst out with the girl by my side. She gulps in the cool night air.
‘Wait here,’ I say. I head back in to the others and throw Archer’s wallet to the nearest one. ‘Give that to the police,’ I tell her.
She bites her lip. ‘Thank you,’ she whispers.
I meet her eyes. ‘Don’t thank me. I’m a monster too.’ And then I leave them to the real rescuers.
Chapter Two: Shadows of a Former Life
I take the girl to my place. Her arms cling to me on the bike and her tiny frame is apparent even through the bulk of my leather jacket. When I unlock my own door and she blinks at the impersonal rooms, I wonder what she’s thinking. It screams of money, with polished marble floors and gleaming mirrored surfaces. I have no idea what it actually costs. X pays those bills. Frankly, I hate it. I use it for little more than sleeping. I won’t let myself miss my small flat above the New Order offices though. This is my new life. Regret isn’t going to help anyone, neither will pointless yearning for the past.
I point out the spare room and shove a bundle of towels at her with a mutter about the bathroom. She clutches the towels to her chest. I can see the questions in her eyes. Why am I helping her? What am I going to want in return?
‘You’re going to need something to wear,’ I mutter. I’m barely five foot. This girl might be far younger than me but she’s also far taller. Anything I own will look simply ridiculous on her. I pass her my bathrobe for the time being. The rest will have to wait.
‘Is there someone I can call?’ I ask. ‘Parents? Mother, father…’
Her face whitens. She shakes her head in mute denial.
‘Are you sure?’ I prod. There has to be someone. She can’t be completely alone.
‘No.’ She tilts her chin upwards in a surprising show of stubbornness. ‘Is no one.’
I look her over. I have no idea whether she’s telling the truth or not. Hell, for all I know it was her parents that got her into this mess in the first place. I could force it out of her or I could just respect her wishes. I purse my lips. ‘You can stay here.’ I turn and head for the door again.
‘Where…?’ she swallows, her voice faltering.
‘Out,’ I say shortly. ‘I’m going out.’ I don’t look at her.
I’m running out of time. Dawn is still a few hours away but I wanted to achieve more tonight. I speed across the sleeping city, pull up across the street from the Medici headquarters and gaze at the shadowed building. It looks quiet but I know better. Inside it will be a hive of activity. That’s what happens when you fling open your doors and recruit a bunch of newbie vampires.
For a very long time, each of the five vampire Families held to the rule of five hundred: five hundred vampires each. They would only recruit when those numbers dwindled. It kept the different Families stable and equal so that no one Family rose above the others. It also kept the human population’s worries at bay. As long as the bloodguzzlers were obviously in the minority, they wouldn’t be considered too much of a threat. Considering vampires possess superior strength, longer life spans and are above human law, it was an important rule to accede to. Nobody wanted a war. Unfortunately for all of us, times change.
Thanks to the machinations of Nicky, a Montserrat Family recruit, there were some brutal deaths at the hands of various vampires. Opinions began to change. The Families went from being glamourised figures to objects of fear and hatred. Protests grew and anti-vampire sentiment spread. The other four Families worked together to combat the growing antipathy but bull-headed Medici wasn’t prepared to compromise like they were. Instead of making concessions and breaking tradition to maintain peace, he broke tradition to grow his own power. He smashed through the Families’ own rules by recruiting at least one person against their will. He encouraged violence. And then he opened the floodgates by changing the centuries’ old recruitment laws.
The latest Medici numbers stand at well over three thousand. For the other Families to challenge Medici would lead to a bloodbath – one they’re so far unwilling to engage in, even if older vampires possess far more strength than newbies. The human government has been equally slow to react. Medici is growing stronger by the day and everyone else is standing around and wringing their hands. It doesn’t help that the noisiest human protestors have begun to ‘mysteriously’ vanish. Everyone is running scared.
I’ve been inside the Medici fortress once before, sneaking through London’s underground tr
ain network. That way is now blocked. Equally, if I tried to gain entrance through the front door, I’d be cut down before I could take three steps. My face – and my opinions – are far too well known. Instead I come here whenever I can, waiting for Medici to leave his stronghold. He can’t stay inside forever. Even alone, he’s stronger than I am – but I am very, very motivated. If the opportunity presents itself, I’ll do whatever I can to bring him down. I owe it to my grandfather and all my friends. Hell, I owe it to myself.
I don’t have to wait long tonight. Less than ten minutes after I arrive, the Medici gates open and a solitary figure strolls out, making a beeline for me. Tonight he’s holding a silver platter with a single glass of champagne. From the condensation clinging to the rim, it’s even chilled. How thoughtful.
‘Ms Blackman,’ the bloodguzzler says. ‘How are you this evening?’
‘Fabulous. Where is your Lord?’
I receive a cold smile in response. ‘He is unavailable.’
‘He’s always unavailable.’
‘He’s a busy and important person.’ His tone makes it clear that he believes I am neither of those things. He bows his head towards the glass. ‘With our compliments.’
‘No, thank you.’ I was brought up to be polite, even to a goddamned Medici vampire.
‘It’s not poisoned, I assure you.’
I sneer at him and my efforts at politeness flee. ‘The day I take anything from Medici is the day I grow two heads and start enjoying broccoli.’
‘Such vehemence. We’re not doing anything wrong. We are merely reacting to events outside our control in order to maintain our position.’
Yeah, right. ‘Tell Lord Medici to react to my presence and stop cowering inside.’
He throws back his head and laughs. ‘He’s not afraid of you. You’re simply too insignificant for him to bother with.’
If that were the case, he wouldn’t keep sending out gifts. He may not be afraid of me but he doesn’t think I’m insignificant either. Before I can say this, however, the bloodguzzler flicks a glance to the side. ‘You have company tonight.’