The Sweet Scent of Blood

by Suzanne McLeod

  Then my prince arrived and Sally thought she had snared her greatest prize. But when my prince heard she’d spilled all their bloody details to me, even though I told him I didn’t care, the outcome was inevitable.

  My prince took five days to kill her.

  He had me stand by and watch as he did.

  And I’d seen my future in his eyes.

  He’d tortured Sally because he could, and because he enjoyed it, but even with her stronger faeling blood, she’d been too fragile to survive for long. But Sally was just an appetiser; I was to be his never-ending feast, my sidhe blood never able to fade and die, no matter how much I might want it too - not after I’d willingly taken his Blood-Bond.

  My eyes snapped open at the sharp slash of pain in my hand. I’d broken the glass. The reek of blood and alcohol smothered the scent of gardenia. I threw the glass away and ran my hand under the tap, watching as the thin cut slowly closed itself and scabbed over. The wound would be gone by nightfall. Then, careful not to disturb its contents, I resealed the plastic box and tucked it safely back in the fridge and quietly closed the door.

  My skin was sticky with sweat and sugar from the exploding liquorice torpedoes, so I headed to the bathroom. As I stood under the shower, I tried to think about bargains and murder and vampires and what I was going to do next. Only the Pandora’s Box in my mind was open, and unlike the plastic one in my fridge, I couldn’t get it closed again.

  Was the dream right? Had my sleeping mind warped my memories of that long-ago time to remind me of my greatest fear? Had my running away meant the death of Tildy and my father? Tears pricked the back of my eyes and tipping my head back, I let the water stream down on me, trying to wash the dream-shadows away.

  Chapter Twenty

  I pushed open the door to Spellcrackers.com just after midday. The neutral décor - ivory paint, pale wood and chrome coupled with thick sand-coloured carpets - had been designed to make our human customers feel less uncomfortable, more able to cope with the stress that usually accompanied the magical problems they needed us to deal with. Professionalism and calm were Stella’s watchwords and the bland backdrop reinforced that. We even had brown twigs in vases, instead of flowers.

  Toni, our office manager, batted new pink and purple eyelashes at me from behind the reception desk. Her outfit matched her eye-catching lashes: a pink blouse under a dark-mauve suit, purple suede court-shoes and pink, mauve and purple streamers that curled through her long blonde hair. The streamers reminded me of fireworks at a trolls’ New Moon party.

  Her get-up wasn’t something I’d wear - I don’t need to draw any more attention to myself, my sidhe eyes do that all on their own - but it looked great on her. My own clothes were way more conservative; my usual black linen trousers and my favourite green linen jacket. The jacket was for the added confidence boost - the one I was going to need for my next inevitable meeting with Finn. Not that I had a clue what I was going to say to him.

  ‘Love the new look, Toni.’ I adjusted the twigs. ‘What’s that, sixth one this year?’

  ‘Seventh,’ she grinned. ‘I decided the Cool Blonde look was making me fade into the wallpaper.’

  Considering the Cool Blonde look had involved a beige silk shirt-dress, she wasn’t far wrong. ‘What did Stella have to say when she saw it?’

  ‘Oh you know.’ Toni’s grin got wider. ‘She said it’s still an improvement on my Celtic Country look.’

  I tried to keep a straight face. ‘Really?’

  ‘Nah. What she really said was that anything is better than me daubing myself with blue woad.’

  ‘Ah, thought so.’ I squinted at her hair. The streamers shone like polished glass. ‘You been down to see the goblins again?’

  ‘That Madam Methania is a wonder.’ She teased out a pink strand. ‘And she’s cheap. You should try her.’

  ‘Let a goblin near my hair?’ I shuddered. ‘No way, I’m not having that slug slime they use anywhere near me.’

  ‘I guess they’d have to use extensions on your hair anyway. You really should let it grow, y’know, it’d look fab.’ She looked at me a bit more closely. ‘You look a lot better, Honeybee. You’ve lost that peaky look. And that green jacket looks great with your skin tone.’ She waved away my thanks and changed the subject. ‘I tried to phone you earlier and it kicked me straight through to messages.’

  ‘Uh-huh, the protection-spell’s on the way out. Thought I’d try and save the crystal.’

  ‘That was new only three days ago, and the one before only lasted a week.’ She frowned, thoughtful. ‘You really are having an iffy time with the magic, aren’t you?’

  She was right, I realised. The magic had been a bit more off-kilter than usual around me - just one of my occasional blips, or something else?

  ‘Let me have your phone,’ she carried on, ‘and I’ll see what I can do.’

  ‘No probs.’ I handed her the phone, wishing not for the first time I could’ve sorted it myself. Toni had tried to teach me the spell - and I understood the theory, but, as usual with me and magic, the actual casting part just hadn’t clicked.

  Toni popped a square of vanilla fudge in her mouth to give her magic a boost, and peered at the crystal. ‘Yep, it’s cracked all right - and completely black.’

  I leaned against her desk. ‘Did Finn say anything to you about the new eBay supplier?’

  ‘Yes, he’s left one for you. Just as well!’ She rummaged through her desk, took out a wad of small wax paper bags, a pink perfume bottle, her white spell bowl and a black chopstick. She prised the spell-crystal off my phone and dropped it into the jar of salt water she kept under her desk.

  I looked down the corridor at the door to Finn’s office. Time to beard the satyr in his den. ‘Is he in?’

  Toni shook her head. ‘Nope. Out on a job.’ Relief seeped into me.

  She poured a drop of clear liquid from the pink bottle into her bowl. ‘So, any news to report, hon?’ She pointed an accusing finger at me. ‘And don’t tell me you haven’t, because I have it on good authority that a certain horny satyr was clocked exiting a certain sidhe’s place of residence earlier this very morning.’

  Oh yeah. The bet! ‘You should be a detective,’ I half-smiled.

  ‘Hah! I knew it! I knew you’d succumb sooner or later.’ She waved the pink bottle at me eagerly. ‘C’mon, let me in on all the little - or not-so-little - details!’

  ‘Nothing happened, Toni,’ I sighed.

  ‘Hmmm.’ She pursed her lips, disappointed. ‘Well, I can’t say you look too happy about it.’ She added a pungent sprinkling of dried sage to the bowl. ‘Want me to mix you up a nice little lurrrve potion? I could always add it to his tea.’

  ‘C’mon Toni, that stuff doesn’t really work.’ At least not without nasty little additions like a compulsion-spell.

  ‘You haven’t tried my special patented recipe for lust yet, have you? I could let you have it cheap, Hon.’ A sly look crossed her face. ‘It’d only cost you a tiny little snippet of info—’

  ‘Toni, I know you want me to ask Finn about his tail, but ... well, let’s just say he’s not too happy with me just now and leave it at that, okay?’

  ‘Ah’ - she looked round conspiratorially - ‘I take it he’s found out about your visit to the police and a certain Mr October last night.’

  I blinked in surprise. ‘Didn’t take long for that little news item to surface, did it?’

  ‘Well, you know me and gossip. I’ve got a nose for it.’ She grinned and tapped her nose with a long purple fingernail. ‘Not that it took much working out, not after all those phone calls Stella got yesterday from his dad.’ She shook a crystal into the white bowl and stirred the spell with the chopstick. ‘First things first, is Mr October as hot as his calendar pics?’

  I flashed back to the memory of Bobby with his paper suit and his lank hair. ‘He’s a vampire,’ I shrugged, ‘so of course he’s hot. It goes with the job description.’

  She gave me an arch look
. ‘My nose also told me you had a run-in with the Earl and a couple of his vamps too. Bet that was scary.’

  ‘You don’t need me to tell you the goss, Toni,’ I said with a faint smile, ‘not when your “nose” is keeping you so well-informed. ’

  ‘Ah, what I’m really after is a full blow-by-blow eye-witness action account straight from the sidhe’s mouth.’ She waved another wax bag at me. ‘C’mon, Genny, pretty please? I’ll do your phone with my extra-strong patented buffer spell if you do. I always used to get gold stars for them,’ she finished smugly.

  Laughing, I said, ‘There’s not all that much—’

  I stopped as the main door opened behind me and Toni stood up, offering a wide welcoming smile.

  The woman was in her early thirties. Her blue silk dress and jacket were simple, but expensive. Glossy dark hair framed her face in a perfect bob and understated but effective makeup subtly enlarged her coffee-coloured eyes, sculpted her cheeks and outlined her full mouth. Everything about her shouted well-groomed class. She smiled as she walked towards us over the thick carpet, each step in her high-heeled summer sandals as precise as if she still had the finishing school book balanced on her head.

  Her look included us both, but she addressed herself to me. ‘Genevieve Taylor?’ Her voice matched her appearance: quiet, elegant, with a hint of plum to the vowels.

  I nodded, puzzled. She looked vaguely familiar.

  ‘Hannah Ashby.’ She looped her handbag over her left arm. ‘I am sorry to call without an appointment, but I was hoping you might be able to spare me a few minutes. I have a private matter I would like to discuss with you.’

  It wasn’t unusual for clients to just walk in. It was unusual for humans to ask for me specifically. And Hannah Ashby hit my radar as human.

  ‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’ I glanced at Toni. ‘I’ve nothing booked?’

  Toni shook her head.

  I offered Hannah my hand. Hers was warm, and definitely human - no surprises there then. ‘My office is along here. Would you like tea or coffee, or water?’

  She gave me an odd, amused smile. ‘No. Thank you.’

  Chapter Twenty-One

  My office was a carbon copy of Reception: more sand-coloured carpet, more neutral shades, more pale wood furniture. Holding the door open, I ushered Hannah Ashby in. As she walked past me, I caught her perfume, something sweet. Like her, it was familiar.

  She looked briefly around the room then sat down, knees together, at ease despite her ramrod-straight back.

  I sat behind my desk, took out a pad and pen. ‘How can I help you, Ms Ashby?’

  She looked me up and down, her expression pleasant, but with enough concentration in her dark brown eyes that I began to think of bugs, microscopes and pins.

  I tapped my pen against the pad, irritated. ‘Ms Ashby?’

  ‘Forgive me; you have such an arresting face.’ She laughed, a low warm sound. ‘Actually, I’m here to help you, Ms Taylor. Or may I call you Genevieve?’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘I deal with magical problems, Ms Ashby. You’re not a witch, or some sort of fae, so I’m not sure how you can help me, or with what, exactly.’

  ‘I’m sure you don’t.’ She gave me a wide smile. ‘But I am here to help you, nonetheless. I am offering you an invitation, in fact.’

  ‘An invitation to what?’

  ‘Let me show you.’ She unclipped her bag and took out a small black velvet pouch. She upended it just above the desk and a silver oblong the size of a playing card slid out, landing with a soft metallic slap. Using one French-manicured finger, she pushed it gently towards me. ‘Your invitation, Genevieve.’

  The ‘invitation’ gleamed in the sunlight that shone through the window behind me. I’d never seen one before, but I knew what it was, of course.

  A VIP pass to the Blue Heart.

  And the Blue Heart belonged to the Earl.

  I leaned back in my chair. ‘Thanks, but I’m not interested.’

  Hannah inclined her head. ‘The invitation conveys the issuer’s full protection, along with their hospitality.’ Her voice was businesslike. ‘And should you not be fully aware of exactly what that means, then I will be happy to tell you.’

  I shook my head. ‘No need.’ It meant I’d be guaranteed my safety, like my visit to the Bloody Shamrock. But it didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be any grandstanding. And a lot more vamps called the Blue Heart home, than at the Shamrock.

  As if reading my mind, she said, ‘During your visit, should you be concerned for your wellbeing’ - she laid the velvet pouch next to the silver oblong - ‘show the invitation to any vampire and they will be ... deterred.’

  I snorted, casting a judicious eye over the invitation. There was a single black gem in the centre. ‘It’s not going to deter them much if they’re too far gone in bloodlust to notice.’

  ‘In that case’ - she smoothed her hand down her skirt - ‘the invitation has a rather ingenious side to it. It is solid silver, so should one be caught in that unfortunate state of affairs, all one need do is touch it to bare skin. That usually gets a vampire’s full attention.’

  I laughed, unable to help it. ‘I bet.’

  Hannah joined me, chuckling huskily herself.

  ‘An expensive invitation.’ I picked it up by its edges, ignoring the slight burning in my fingers caused by my sensitivity to the silver. ‘So why’s the Earl so interested in me visiting the Blue Heart?’

  ‘The invitation isn’t from the Earl.’ There was a slight derisive edge to her voice.

  ‘It’s not?’

  She opened her bag, and took out another black velvet pouch. I had a brief moment of déjà vu as she slipped a second silver oblong onto my desk. ‘You seem to be in demand, Genevieve.’ Her perfectly lipsticked mouth smiled, but her eyes didn’t.

  Must be my lucky day.

  She pointed at the invitation on the table. ‘This one is from the Earl.’ She tapped her fingernail on the heart-shaped sapphire mounted in the centre. ‘The stones are their markers. The one you hold is from Malik al-Khan.’

  My stomach knotted as I rubbed my thumb over the black gem. My mind could come up with at least half-a dozen reasons why Malik would want to see me again - none of them good - but ... why invite me to a vampire club? It didn’t make any sense. Or any difference, really. An injured vampire - always presuming I hadn’t actually killed him - wasn’t going to be offering much in the way of protection, was he?

  I looked up to find Hannah Ashby watching me with the same intent expression as before.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why the Earl thought I might accept, are you?’

  Her eyes flashed in amusement. ‘The Earl thinks a visit to the club might help in your investigation into the death of Melissa Banks.’

  ‘I’m not investigating her death. The police are doing that.’

  ‘He also mentioned his bronzes. Apparently you showed an interest in seeing them?’ She raised her voice in question.

  I smiled, slightly in disbelief. ‘Are his bronzes a euphemism? ’

  She arched one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘He does have a beautiful and extensive collection, and he certainly enjoys exhibiting his works of art, but then again, you are an extremely attractive person, Genevieve.’

  ‘Is that a warning?’

  Smiling, she took a white business card from her handbag and laid it on the desk. The sunlight lit her features as she bent forward, smoothing out the angles her make-up had created, and I realised where I’d met her before. ‘Should you have any questions,’ she said, ‘please feel free to call me.’

  I glanced at her card. She had a stack of letters after her name. The address was in the heart of the City: one of the top accountancy firms in London. ‘You’re an accountant?’ I didn’t try to hide my surprise.

  Her mouth twitched. ‘At present, I’m wearing my Girl Friday hat.’

  I wondered how many other hats she had hidden up her sleeve.

 
; ‘I’ll show myself out.’ She stood, looped her bag over the crook of her arm.

  I waited until she opened the door. ‘Ms Ashby. You haven’t told me the name of your Master.’

  She turned back, the amused expression back on her face. The movement disturbed her hair, confirming my suspicions. Her voice was different, and without the goth makeup, or the blue streaks and the obvious display of breast I hadn’t immediately recognised her as Corset Girl, the vamp groupie who’d tried so hard to entice me at the Leech & Lettuce. But the bite was there, high on her neck, where I’d tasted her the night before.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I haven’t.’

  ‘Not Malik al-Khan or the Earl, then?’

  ‘I look forward to seeing you again, Genevieve.’ She stepped into the corridor. ‘It should be interesting.’

  The door closed with a gentle snick behind her.

  Looked like there was another player in the game ... only I still wasn’t sure exactly what the game was.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Who was Hannah Ashby - or rather, what was she? I swivelled in my chair and stared out the window. Everything about her suggested she was some vampire’s daytime flunky - the current PC title was Business Manager. Maybe I would have believed that, if I hadn’t seen her last night in her fancy-dress get-up. No way would a flunky be caught slumming as a groupie, not when it meant the kiss of death to their cushy elevated status.

  Curiouser and curiouser.

  A knock interrupted my thoughts and I nudged my pad over the silver invitations. Katie stuck her head round the door and grinned. ‘Hi Genny, thought you might be hungry.’ She bounced into the room, blonde ponytail swinging, and plonked a Rosy Lee butty box on my desk along with a large Styrofoam cup. ‘BLT, bacon extra crispy, tomatoes thinly sliced, iceberg lettuce and tons of mayo.’ She beamed at me. ‘Wholegrain brown. Butter. Everything just how you like it. And orange juice, of course.’