by Helen Harper
Medici speaks before Joseph can breathe a word. ‘Don’t give it to them. I will deal with this Miller myself. He will learn what it means to cross the Medici Family.’
Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m not going to let that happen. Miller might not even be the perp; right now, he’s only a suspect. I step back, angling myself appropriately. Just as it dawns on Joseph what I’m about to do and he tries to move away, I snatch the piece of paper he’s holding. 23 Arton Road. I rip off the address and stuff it into my mouth, chewing until I can swallow the damn thing. Let him find it now.
Medici gives me an exasperated look. ‘Joseph, print out another copy of that, will you?’ My heart drops. I’m a total idiot. ‘It’s daylight, Ms Blackman, and you’re barely three months old. How do you think you’ll reach Miller before I do?’
I close my eyes briefly. The bloody vampire Lord has a point. ‘23 Arton Road,’ I tell Michael. ‘Phone Inspector Foxworthy.’
Michael watches me with hooded eyes. ‘I will. What are you going to do?’
I reach up onto my tiptoes and peck him on the cheek. ‘Run, of course,’ I say. Then I push Joseph out of the way and sprint.
*
I know where I’m going this time but, alerted to my presence either by the noise or Joseph and Miss Moneypenny, the corridors are now full of Medici bloodguzzlers. The first ones I reach are so surprised that I get past them without incident but when Medici roars, the others spring into action. One female vamp grabs hold of my sleeve. I pull away from her and run. A large, burly bloodguzzler steps into my path so I dive and slide through the gap between his legs. I curve my ankle round his leg once I’m through and catch him off balance; he crashes to the floor.
‘The bigger they are, the harder they fall,’ I mutter.
There’s a stampede of feet as the others charge after me. I twist right, making it to the staircase. Instead of running down the stairs, I leap up, angle my toes forward and slide down the banister on my feet. Before I reach the end I jump off, gaining an extra couple of metres on my pursuers. I’ll need them if I’m going to get the trapdoor open again.
I pick up speed as I hurtle down the corridor. I yank the small table and vase down behind me to make another barrier and fling myself into the last room, slamming the door shut behind me. There’s no lock, but I grab one of the boxes and push it against the door. It won’t hold more than a few seconds.
Ripping up the rug, I open the trapdoor, drop down and land next to my improvised ladder. Then I run to the hole in the wall. It’s a good thing I’m petite; the hole won’t be large enough for most of the Medici vampires to get through. I dive forward, hands outstretched so I can wriggle through as quickly as possible.
I’ve almost made it when I feel an iron grip around my boot. I pull frantically, trying to free myself, but my captor is too sodding strong. I’m still tugging, aware that I’m losing the tussle, when I feel the boot loosen. I reach back and unfasten the side zip. My foot is free. With one sock flapping, I run unevenly down the tunnel and back to the train line. I can hear shouts and curses behind me, together with falling plaster as the Medici vampires smash their way through the wall.
I crash into the door at the end, my palms sweaty as I twist the doorknob to pull it open. There’s a rush of air as a train whizzes past. I brace myself then, the second the last carriage is upon me, I jump. I grab hold of the train’s door in the nick of time, clinging on with all my might. The pale face of a commuter stares out at me in shock but I ignore him, twisting round as a horde of Medici vampires burst out of the door I just exited. Several of them run in the direction of the train, but they won’t catch up with me now. I give them a wave, grinning as they’re swallowed up by the darkness. Then I reach down and pull off my other boot. I’ll run faster without it.
And if I’m going to get to Arton Road before Medici and his goons, I’m going to have to run fast.
Chapter Sixteen: Burn
The train screeches to a halt as it arrives at the next station. I’m on the wrong line for Arton Road but I can change here. I can travel quickly using the underground network but it’s rush hour and I’ve got hundreds of commuters against me. And I’ve no idea what on earth I’ll do when I reach my destination. It’s a good two or three hundred metres from the station entrance to Miller’s house. In theory I can cover that distance in seconds but the sun is out and I’ll self-combust almost immediately.
Concentrating on getting as close as I can, I vault onto the platform. It’s densely packed with people and, while the majority wait patiently for other passengers to disembark before they push onto the train, many are none too impressed as I squeeze past them, banging into elbows and warm bodies. It doesn’t take long for someone to spot that I’m not human and shout out; immediately others jump to the side and clear a path. They might be moving out of my way for the wrong reasons but it’s damn helpful.
I abandon the escalator in favour of the stairs, taking the steps four at a time. I swerve round a woman who has her nose buried in her Kindle as she ambles slowly towards me and I reach the top quickly. Unfortunately, my timing is awful: another trainload of passengers is coming down the corridor and out into the waiting world. I have to fight another tidal surge of humanity to cross the station and get to the platform I require.
As I round the corner, more people flood in my direction. I curse loudly, ignoring the startled – then fearful – looks I receive in return. ‘I’m a fucking bloodguzzler!’ I yell. ‘Get out of the way!’
This time it doesn’t work. Instead, everyone who hears me freezes. Those with earphones don’t and start colliding with others in a bizarre rendition of fairground dodgems. There are just too many damn people. I glance up, noting the fluorescent strip lights bolted to the ceiling. It’ll slow me down and I may well end up arse over tit, but anything will be faster than continuing to push against the crowds. I take a deep breath and launch upwards, grabbing the long bulb with my hands. I shimmy along, ignoring the searing burn in my palms. When I reach the end of the first one, I swing my legs to gain enough momentum to leap to the next. My socks scuff heads and several people shriek; I’m not sure if it’s because I’m ruining their city hairdos or because they’re worried about what damage a vampire’s feet will do to them.
I drop down as the crowds start to thin. The next staircase down to the platform is a few feet away. I hear the rumble of another train pulling in and I know I only have seconds. I pull my limbs back and fling my body forward. The second my toes touch the top step, I sail into the air and clear the first flight of stairs in one jump. I spring forward and do the same to the next, before pelting round the corner just as the train doors begin to close. I make it just in time, knocking down one poor man as I smash into his. The doors shut and the train slides off.
I help the man to his feet, apologising profusely. He blinks at me. ‘You’re a vampire.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I note the people around me flinch away. ‘Yes,’ I pant, trying to catch my breath. ‘I am.’
He squints. ‘You’re Bo Blackman. The one who left her Family.’
Shit. ‘That’s me. A lone wolf. But,’ I add hastily, ‘I can still call on plenty of back up if I need it. In case you were thinking of trying anything.’
He laughs. ‘No. But could you give me your autograph?’
I start. ‘What?’
‘Your autograph. You’ll be on the cover of Time before you know it and I want to prove I met you in person.’
‘Er…’ I’m completely nonplussed. Unable to dredge up a good reason to refuse, I agree. ‘Okay.’
He takes a pen out of his briefcase and hands it to me.
‘Do you have some paper?’ I ask.
He shakes his head and starts undoing his top button. ‘No. I’d like you to sign here.’ He points to his jugular.
‘You’re kidding, right?’
He winks at me. ‘I’ll never wash that spot again.’
Incredulous, I stretch up to scribble my signature onto his skin. He’s quite tall and it’s awkward to make it legible. In fact, my scrawl looks like a child has ham-fistedly attacked him with a felt-tip. I suppose it’s a good thing he can’t actually see it.
‘Thanks!’ He beams at me and moves towards the train door as the next station approaches. ‘Would you like to meet up for a drink some time?’
I stare at him. ‘Probably not a good idea,’ I say finally.
‘You’re right. I’m not sure my company would be too keen if they knew they had a vampette working for them. Nice to meet you anyway, Bo.’ The doors open and he exits. I watch him go, my mouth open. That’s the first time a human has recognised me and I’m not sure I like it.
I hitch up my socks, glad that these aren’t the ones with the holes in the toes. Nevertheless, a few passengers look at my feet, then away, then back again, as if they’re not quite sure what they’re seeing. I suppose it isn’t every day you travel to work with a shoe-less, Z-list vampire celebrity. I ignore the stares and prepare myself. There are two more stops and only eight minutes to go. It’s time to work out how in hell I’m going to get to number twenty-three without getting baked.
I grab my phone from my pocket, thinking I could call Rogu3 and see if he can pull up a sun-free route for me, but there’s no signal and I don’t have time to wait for one. I know that most umbrellas will block out a three-quarters of ultra-violet light from the sun so that could be an answer. Unfortunately, everyone on the train is apparently prepared for a beautiful sunny day and I can’t see a soul with a brolly. A man towards the far end has a flat cap on but it would only cast a shadow over half my face. Hardly appropriate.
I’m well aware how ridiculous my situation is. I’m preparing to risk my own life for someone who may be a bloody serial killer. It’s not going to help a soul if Medici slaughters him, though. What I need – what everyone needs – is to see him carted away in handcuffs. There’s no place for vigilantes in the current climate. As long as I keep telling myself that, I may start to believe it.
I’m still out of ideas when the train arrives at my station. I know some shops line the road outside and they may have awnings I can duck under. It’s a slim shot, but I have to try. I position myself at the doors, ready to spring out. The second they start to open, I force my way through and run again.
Obviously I entered the station without an Oyster card and now I don’t have time to make explanations or to queue up and pay my way. Given how rich the vampires supposedly are, it won’t look good if I jump over the turnstiles and do a runner but there’s not really a choice between having a corpse on my hands or a bit more bad PR. I bounce over the barrier and don’t look back when a guard shouts.
It’s less than fifty steps to the station entrance and I can already see the sunshine. I rush forward, halting at the edge of the shadows where sunshine meets safety and gaze out, frustrated. I’m right about the shops but only one has an awning and it’s some distance away. I’ll never make it.
I howl. This can’t be where the race ends. I cast around in desperation. There’s a row of parked cars across the pavement – maybe I could slide under them. It’d be slow going though and they only continue halfway up the street. After that, I’m screwed.
There are some free newspapers in a display to my right. I could unfold one and hold it over me but if one inch of my skin catches the sun, the newspaper would go up in flames faster than I would. I clench my teeth. There has to be something.
A woman pushing a buggy is coming in my direction. The buggy has a handy sun shade covering her sleeping baby. I’m petite – but not the size of a child. Just then, the pram’s wheels clunk as they hit something. I look down: a drain with a manhole cover. It’s about the most distasteful thing I can imagine but it might work.
‘I’m calling the police!’ a grim voice calls from behind. ‘You didn’t pay!’
I waste no more time. I crouch down and curve my fingers under the rim of the metal cover. With one swift movement I flip it up, already aware of the blisters appearing on my hands and the back of my neck from the sun. The stench of burning hair reaches my nostrils. I jump down and land in stinking water. Then I roll out of the way of the shaft of sunlight that’s still beaming down on me.
My body feels like it’s seizing up. My skin is searing hot but my insides are frozen and nausea roils in my stomach. I was in the open air for barely two seconds and I feel like I’m dying. If I thought it’d do any good, I’d duck down into the water but not only is it dark brown and reeking of sewage, it’s also unpleasantly warm. I’ll get no relief from that quarter. I grit my teeth, doing what I can to ignore the pain then I start running again.
Water splashes up around my feet and several times I slip on the slime underfoot. The socks are a hindrance so I pull them off, battening down my disgust as my bare skin wades through raw sewage, old rainwater and polluted rubbish. I don’t have time to be prissy. I throw myself forward, praying that my bearings are correct. I can bloody well do this. I force my legs to keep moving until I think I’ve gone far enough.
It’s lighter than I expected down here in the sewers, probably because they are only just underground, unlike some of the deep tunnels I traversed beside the train lines. I locate another manhole cover that leads to the surface but it’s well out of reach. I hunker down while my skin screams in agony, then use all the power I can garner from my legs to launch myself upwards. I punch a closed fist at the cover and it shoots up several inches before falling back down again. I fall too and land in a sprawled heap in the rank water.
I try again, this time scraping my knuckles forward so that the cover doesn’t fall back into place. It works. I have a little gap to work with so, if I can jump up one more time and squeeze my fingers through, I should be able to haul myself up. But the gap is letting in more sunlight. I know my limitations: I’m not going to have the energy to leap up more than once. I stare at the murky water. This is going to be nasty.
Gingerly, I lie down and roll until I’m covered from head to foot in foul-smelling slime, retching all the while. Then I get back into position.
I swallow hard. I hope there’s no one out for a stroll when I emerge. I look – and smell – like the swamp thing. I can also barely stand. But now this is about more than Terence Miller: it feels like a personal battle between me and Medici. One that I’m determined to win.
I brace myself, bouncing on my toes until I can wait no longer. Then I push off. Only one hand connects and I’m left swinging. Tears leak from the corner of my eyes and I grit my teeth. Muscles straining and fingertips bleeding, I just make it. I shove the cover off and pull my body through. Dripping wet and burning again in the sun’s glare, I twist left into the shade of a large tree. It’s not enough and I glance around in panic. Then I see it; the next house along is number twenty-three. At last.
I gather my last ounce of energy. The sun is so bright, my eyeballs feel like they’re on fire. For all I know they actually are. I squeeze my eyelids shut and run, then I’m on Miller’s porch, finally shaded from the sun and hammering on his door.
It takes an eternity to open. When it does, there’s no mistaking the man standing there. Corinne Matheson did a good job describing her attacker’s features to the police. This guy has a gold tooth and cold eyes and I know I’m looking at the face of the person responsible for all those deaths.
‘Terence Miller,’ I croak. It’s a statement, not a question.
‘What the hell are you?’
‘I’m the creature from the black sodding lagoon and if you don’t invite me in right now, you’re a dead man.’
He takes a step backwards. ‘Bloodguzzler.’
‘That’s right.’
‘I’m not inviting you in.’ He starts to clos
e the door in my face.
‘I know what you’ve done. I know what you are,’ I shout. He pauses. ‘Others are coming. If you don’t let me in right now, I can’t help you. There’s nowhere to hide. Make a choice, Miller. Your freedom or your life. You can only have one.’
He looks at me disdainfully. ‘Piss off, bitch.’
Suddenly there’s a crack and something whizzes past my ear. A blossom of red appears in Miller’s chest. For a moment he stares down at it, as if confused, then he slowly starts to fall forward. His hands flail and pull at my shirt. I watch as the light in his eyes flares and dies. I only just manage to step away before he lands headfirst at my feet. Slowly, I turn round.
Two Medici vampires wearing the tell-tale red of their Family grin at me. The one on the right lowers a gun. ‘You can go in now if you want, Ms Blackman. You look like you could do with a bath.’ They climb into a car, close the doors and ramp up the music. I can’t be sure because of the dull thud in my ears that seems to mute everything around me but it sounds like ‘Bat Out of Hell’.
I stare after them dumbly as they accelerate down the street before I stumble into Miller’s house and head for the kitchen and the large chest freezer in the corner. Flipping up the lid, I clamber inside and close my eyes.
*
When I finally come to, two anxious faces are peering down at me. It takes me a moment to register who they are.
‘Bo, you’re turning blue. What happened? What did that bastard do?’
I blink at Michael. ‘Sun,’ I mumble.
A fleeting of look of horror crosses his face and he reaches down, putting his hands under my back.
‘Don’t!’ He ignores me, scooping me up as if I weigh nothing. ‘I smell bad,’ I say pitifully.
‘Shhh,’ he replies, ‘it’s alright.’
I squint up at Foxworthy whose expression is grim. ‘Sorry. I contaminated your crime scene again.’