High Stakes

by Helen Harper

  I glance down at my feet, realising in panic that the vial is lying on the floor. Attempting to look natural, I sidle towards it and kick it under the sofa. ‘I helped him,’ I say. ‘He’s alive. That’s what counts, right?’

  Michael glowers. ‘Tell me.’

  I stop dancing round the truth. ‘I can’t. I’d like to but I really, really can’t. Suffice it to say it won’t happen again.’ That vial was my one and only shot. X made it very clear there would be no more.

  Michael leans forward. ‘You told me you don’t trust me so I answered your questions, Bo. I told you the truth about who I was. Now it seems that you’re the one who’s not trustworthy.’

  I gaze at him helplessly. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t tell you.’ If I do, I add to myself, X will rip out your heart. I think worriedly about how much Rogu3 and Connor know. X may still take umbrage at my actions.

  Michael’s face shutters. ‘So be it,’ he growls. He stalks out. For a moment, I’m tempted to call him back, to do or say anything to make him understand. He wouldn’t understand, though. And I have no idea what I’d say.

  I sit on the arm of the sofa, away from the damp bloodstains, and rub my forehead. I thought I’d had some bad days in the past but this night puts them in the shade. It’s a miracle there weren’t more deaths. And in that respect, I guess it’s been a success.

  I check my watch. To ensure my friends’ safety, there’s one more thing I have to do. I have time.

  *

  I park outside X’s plush apartment building. The windows are dark and it’s impossible to tell whether anyone is inside. I don’t even know if X really lives here – it didn’t look lived in when I came here before. I run my hands nervously through my hair, get off the bike and walk up to the gleaming red door. The paintwork is so shiny, it looks like it’s still wet. I can’t see a doorbell or knocker so I raise my fist to knock. The door opens before my knuckles scrape the surface. I peer inside. There’s no one there.

  Pulling back my shoulders, I step inside and walk up the stairs. When I round the corner to X’s living quarters, I wonder whether I’ve made a mistake. The room was sparse before, but at least it had some furniture. Now I’m confronted with a vast empty space. If it weren’t for the large leather chair in the centre, and the pair of feet poking out from underneath, I’d turn round again and leave.

  I hear X’s deep, unmistakable voice. ‘Ms Blackman. I’ve been expecting you.’

  He sounds like a Bond villain. That’s disturbing, considering I’d pegged Medici as a wannabe Bond. When the chair swivels round, I’m half-expecting to see a fluffy white cat in X’s lap. It is just him, however. He’s in daemon form and his tattoos swirl and shift across his skin. He’s doing nothing more than sitting in a chair but he still exudes absolute danger. His black eyes don’t help.

  ‘Mr X.’ I feel like I should curtsey or something.

  ‘It’s just X.’ His mouth curves into the semblance of a smile. ‘Although it’s not hard to understand why you feel the need to be polite.’

  ‘How are you?’ I ask unnecessarily.

  His smile broadens. ‘Fabulous.’

  I twist my fingers together. ‘Thank you for the information about Miller’s other victims.’

  ‘Miller?’

  ‘Terence Miller. The serial killer-slash-rapist.’

  ‘Ah.’ He seems amused. I can’t for the life of me think why.

  I cut to the chase. ‘You killed O’Connell.’

  ‘I rather think you wanted me to.’

  ‘No,’ I say hastily.

  He laughs. ‘And now you’re here to beg for clemency for your little friends.’

  ‘I didn’t tell them!’ I burst out. ‘They don’t know about your blood.’

  ‘The boy knows you turned him yet he remains human. The one you drink from knows that also. As for Michael Montserrat, well,’ X purrs, ‘he suspects.’ He holds up three fingers. ‘One, two, three, little Bo. I made it very clear what would happen if you let the truth slip. You knew it with O’Connell. You know it now.’

  ‘But I didn’t let the truth slip! They don’t actually know anything. They don’t know about the vial. They don’t know about you. I’ve not mentioned Kakos daemons to anyone.’ I’m desperate. ‘I’ve not broken the terms of our agreement.’

  He stands up. ‘Actually, you have. The blood was for you but you gave it to another. Some might say it was a selfless act.’ He bares his teeth. ‘But it’ll all be for naught if I kill the boy now.’

  ‘You’re stronger than I am,’ I begin.

  ‘I’m stronger than everyone.’

  I ignore him. ‘You’re flexing your muscles. You enjoy playing with me like I’m some kind of toy. So if you want to punish someone, then punish me. They don’t suspect a Kakos daemon is involved. Leave them alone.’

  His twisting tattoos coalesce, their hard edges blurring. ‘You forget I can read your mind,’ he says. ‘You might sound tough but I can feel your terror.’

  ‘Do you get off on it?’ I snarl.

  X laughs again. ‘I’m not a monster. Besides, I have treated you more than fairly. You’re here because you know I have cause to visit them.’ The way he purrs over the word ‘visit’ makes my stomach twist. ‘Visit,’ he repeats. ‘It’s not a scary word.’ His eyes gleam.

  ‘Please, X,’ I whisper.

  ‘Pretty please with a cherry on top?’ He licks his lips slowly. ‘And whipped cream?’

  I stare at him mutely. He walks towards me, reaching out with one long index finger and trailing it down my cheek. I try not to flinch but my skin tingles from his touch.

  ‘I wonder what it would take…’ he murmurs, not finishing his sentence. He gives himself a little shake. ‘Very well then. As your friends do not know the truth, I shall give them a pass. In return for a small favour.’

  I’m too wary to feel relief. ‘What?’

  X shrugs. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll have to think it over.’

  ‘You can’t do that,’ I assert. ‘You can’t demand some unnamed favour. It could be anything.’ How stupid does he think I am?

  ‘Ms Blackman, you’re stupid enough to try and negotiate for mercy with a Kakos daemon.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘It’s not something we’re generally known for.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell me you were turning over a new leaf? Joining normal society?’

  ‘Normal society? You mean where women are abducted in broad daylight, brutally raped and then killed? Or where daemons try to shoot children because of hacked-off ears? That kind of normal society?’ I can’t answer him. He folds his arms. ‘Those are my terms. A favour. To be fulfilled in the time and manner of my choosing. Take it or leave it.’

  He knows I have no choice. Without bothering to speak, I think the words, enunciating them in my mind. Fine. You prick.

  He winces. ‘There’s no need to shout. And I think I preferred Mr X.’ He gestures at the door. ‘You may leave,’ he says. Then, in an appallingly bad Russian accent, ‘Goodbye, Mr Bond.’

  You got what you came for, Bo, I tell myself. Get out while you still can. I turn and leave, ignoring X’s laughter echoing behind me.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Two

  Connor holds out his wrist. I look at it then at his face. ‘Would you mind if I tried your neck?’ I ask.

  There’s a flash of obvious delight. ‘Really? You think you can manage it?’

  ‘Sure,’ I say, mustering as much confidence as I can. Until now, I’ve had the promise of a cure to hang onto. I may not have been sure I was going to take it but its potential supported everything I did. I knew that there was a way out from vampirism and I could go back to being normal. But I’ve given that exit strategy away to Rogu3 and I’m not going to feel regret about it. What’s done is done. I need to work harder on self-ac
ceptance.

  Connor stretches his head to one side to provide me with easier access to his jugular. By now, I know that drinking blood is more a case of mind over matter. When I drank from Rogu3 I didn’t hesitate because he would have died if I’d been squeamish. So I let my fangs grow, move over and do what needs to be done. I wipe my mouth when I’m finished.

  ‘Same time tomorrow?’ Connor asks.

  ‘Actually,’ I demur, ‘I’m going to try someone different.’ Even with the hatred towards vampires that’s swirling around the country at the moment, there are still plenty of willing vampettes around.

  An expression of hurt crosses his face. ‘You don’t need me any more?’

  ‘Connor, I’ll always need you,’ I reassure him. ‘But you need your strength. I’m told the phone has been ringing off the hook at New Order.’

  He grins. ‘Have you seen the internet and what they’re saying about you?’

  I shake my head, puzzled. He gestures at the computer in the corner. ‘Look.’

  THE RED ANGEL OF MERCY

  The country watched aghast last night as shocking events unfolded at the Agathos Court. Terrorists stormed the building because, it’s been reported by sources close to the scene, they were attempting to retrieve a severed ear belonging to Tobias Renfrew, the eccentric billionaire who has been missing for over fifty years.

  What the daemon terrorists hadn’t counted on was Bo Blackman, a vampire who bravely abandoned the Montserrat Family to strike out on her own. Video footage has emerged of Blackman saving one woman before plunging back into the fiery depths to help others.

  Her heroic actions weren’t confined to the Agathos Court. She hightailed it next to Banbury School, where she confronted the daemons again, dispatching two of the killers.

  Not only is Blackman brave enough to abandon the might of a Family, but she is also a true heroine for saving the lives of innocent victims. ‘She’s an angel,’ stated Margaret Morrison, the receptionist at the Agathos Court.

  I feel faintly nauseous – and it’s not from Connor’s blood. There’s even a picture to go with the article: I’m silhouetted against the glow of the fire and the red lights of the emergency vehicles. Most of my face is in shadow but there’s a grim set to my mouth. I look less like an angel and more like a rampaging idiot.

  ‘I didn’t kill those daemons,’ I protest. ‘Michael did. And I have serious doubts that Meg called me a sodding angel.’ I shake my head. ‘They’ve got it all wrong.’

  ‘The phone’s been ringing because people want to talk to you,’ Connor says. ‘We wanted to make vampires look better and you’ve done that. The video of you coming out of the courthouse with that woman is everywhere.’

  ‘But,’ I point out, ‘they’re making too much of the fact that I left the Montserrat Family. Like I don’t agree with other vampires.’ I screw up my face. ‘No, I don’t think this is good at all.’

  ‘I am pleased you spotted that,’ my grandfather says, appearing in the doorway. ‘We need to be very careful how we handle this. The last thing we need is for you to become the poster child for vampires striking out on their own because the Families are evil.’

  ‘I don’t want to be any kind of bloody poster child,’ I grimace.

  ‘You’ll need to agree to a few interviews,’ my grandfather continues, as if he hasn’t heard me. ‘I’m thinking breakfast television. Maybe one of the better broadsheets as well.’

  ‘I’m not doing that!’ I protest.

  ‘You have to, my dear. Good press can turn on a penny. We need to make this as positive as we possibly can, especially when it comes to the Families.’ I grit my teeth. This is ridiculous. Sensing my thoughts, my grandfather looks at me sternly. ‘New Order is all about better PR. This is the perfect opportunity. Besides, if nothing else, the statement from that despicable man Miller has been completely buried. It may emerge at a later date so we need to be on guard but, if we handle this correctly, we might just turn the tide of public opinion.’

  I pull out the sheet of crumpled paper which O’Shea gave to me and wave it around. ‘These daemons are still on the loose! Michael might have killed a few of them but we still don’t know who’s behind this or if they’re going to strike again.’

  ‘The police are convinced that the perpetrators have fled the country. Negotiations are under way with the Venezuelan government but I don’t hold out much hope.’

  I shake my head. ‘They have too many resources at their disposal. I find it hard to believe the ringleaders have simply gone.’

  ‘They attacked the heart of the Agathos justice system. And they failed. They won’t want to be anywhere near here for a very long time. Terrorists are not taken lightly.’

  ‘But I don’t think they are terrorists. Why would terrorists be so interested in some fake ear? And who the hell does the ear belong to, if not Tobias Renfrew?’

  ‘Not every mystery can be solved, Bo.’

  I ball my fists in frustration. ‘I promised Nicholls I’d meet her to make a statement and answer her questions. I’ve got a few sodding questions of my own. Maybe she can answer them.’

  ‘You’re going to be chasing your tail.’

  I sniff. ‘At least I’ll be chasing something.’

  *

  I march into the police station. I don’t care where in the world they are, I’m not ready to let the people who almost killed Rogu3 get away with it. I’ve barely given my name to the desk sergeant when Foxworthy appears. If anything, he looks worse than the last time I saw him. Given his case with Miller should have been wrapped up, I’m surprised at his pallor.

  ‘Hey,’ I say. ‘I’m here to see Nicholls. Are you looking for the daemons too?’

  ‘No. They’ve gone to Venezuela; there’s nothing we can do. It’s up to the government to sort it out.’

  I stare at him. ‘After what they did? Foxworthy, we can’t just let crooks get on a plane! We need to go after them!’

  ‘It’s not my call. Not everything is conducted at our level, Blackman. Sometimes you need to let the experts take charge.’

  ‘It’s been less than twenty-four hours. I’m not dropping this. Where’s Nicholls anyway?’

  ‘She said you can come in another time. There’s no rush for the statement now we know for sure that they’ve absconded.’

  ‘That’s sodding ridiculous! I came all this way to talk to her.’ My eyes narrow. ‘I thought we were getting along better now. Instead you have me running around the city pointlessly.’

  He looks at me. There’s something dark behind his eyes that makes me pause. ‘The dog’s going to be okay,’ he says. ‘The vet called earlier.’

  ‘Kimchi?’ Finally there’s some good news. ‘That’s fantastic!’

  ‘Once he’s well enough, he’ll be transferred to Battersea Dogs’ Home.’

  I frown. I may have something to say about that. I realise the darkness is still there in Foxworthy’s eyes. ‘It’s not Kimchi that’s bothering you, is it?’

  Foxworthy raises his eyes to the ceiling and presses his lips together. ‘Nicholls has agreed to question you later because I thought you’d want to come with me.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ I’m starting to get a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. ‘Come with you where?’ He sighs. ‘Foxworthy, what is it?’

  ‘We’ve found another body,’ he says.

  I scan his face. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘A woman aged twenty-one. She’s been identified as Fiona Lane, a magic arts student at St. Martin’s. She’s been raped and killed. Her body is at a disused quarry on the edge of the city.’

  Blood drains from my face. ‘No. It can’t be…’

  Foxworthy’s eyes are haunted. ‘Two wooden stakes were driven through the palms of her hands.’

  *

&nb
sp; We stand several feet away from the spread-eagled corpse. Eventually I tear my eyes away, turning so I don’t have to look at her any more. ‘The bodies were in Miller’s garden. Plus, Miller fit Corinne’s description. This has to be a copycat.’

  ‘That would make sense,’ Foxworthy agrees in a defeated tone, ‘except we didn’t release the part about the stakes.’

  I search around desperately for an answer. ‘I’m sure there are plenty of people who know about that detail. Lots of people were involved in the initial investigation.’

  ‘I hope you’re not suggesting a law enforcement officer is responsible for this.’

  My shoulders slump. ‘Was Miller the wrong man? Did he have a friend who borrowed his garden? Was he innocent after all?’ It sounds beyond implausible. At this stage, however, confronted with the horror of what was once Fiona Lane, I’m prepared to believe anything.

  ‘I don’t think that can be true.’ The inspector looks at me patiently.

  I realise he’s waiting for me to connect the dots. I glance around, trying to clear my mind and focus my thoughts. ‘Corinne said that when she first regained consciousness her attacker was wearing a balaclava. Later he wasn’t. Maybe that’s because there were two of them and one – obviously not Miller – was concerned about not revealing his identity. Plus, we’re now in a quarry in the middle of sodding nowhere. All the other victims, even the early ones, were abducted or attacked in busy public places.’

  Foxworthy nods. ‘We’ve established that Fiona Lane was visiting her boyfriend. He lives in a house not far from here. She was supposed to arrive this morning on the early bus. It’s a fifteen-minute walk from the bus stop to his house, I’ll show you the route later. It’s pretty much deserted; there are some houses scattered around but very few people passing. When she didn’t show, he assumed she got caught up with friends or slept in. It’s only because the foreman made a routine visit to check the safety barriers around the quarry that she was discovered at all.’