by Alexis Hall
Unfortunately, I’m not expert in this stuff, and vampire bloodlines aren’t templates. You inherit stuff from the vampire who turned you, but basically it’s like a human family. A lot of stuff in common, a lot of stuff not. As clues went, look for something mysterious was pretty close to being useless, but a lead’s a lead.
I said a polite good-bye to Tony the nurse, remembering Rhona’s warnings about harassing her staff. On my way to the exit I saw another body being wheeled out of Nightingale ward. My every instinct was telling me there was something shady going on there, but it probably wasn’t going to help me find Hugh Shawcross, and getting in the way of public sector professionals in the middle of a crisis is just kind of shitty. Especially when you’ve got nothing to go on except curiosity and paranoia. But Nightingale was the respiratory unit, and the early stages of vampirism basically look like TB. So if they had an epidemic on their hands, there was a good chance it would turn into an epidemic of bloodthirsty undead killing machines. Unfortunately, even if I was right, there was nothing I could do about it short of breaking in and hammering a stake through the chest of every patient, which is the kind of thing that loses your PI licence.
My jaunt to Highgate had taken up most of the morning, and I grabbed a Ginsters peppered steak slice from the nearest corner shop. Okay, so it wasn’t the healthiest lifestyle choice, but six months ago I’d have been pouring lunch out of a bottle. Julian was a crazy-making, narcissistic haemovore but it turned out she was weirdly good for me. Although she’d fed me a lot of puddings, which I was probably going to pay for when I hit forty.
Back in the office, I touched base with Elise.
“Miss Kane,” she said, glancing up from her computer. “I have had some difficulty narrowing the search parameters.”
I threw myself into my chair and grabbed a packet of pickled onion crisps out of my desk drawer. “What parameters have you been using?”
“Unprovoked violent attacks with heavy blood loss.”
“When you say unprovoked?”
“I ruled out muggings, robberies, and gang-related incidents.”
“How many have you got?”
“Twelve so far, all in the last week, all reported in local newspapers.”
She spun her screen to show me a spreadsheet of incidents, times, locations, and references. I munched on my crisps as I made my way down the list. There’d been a body found mostly drained on Hackney Marsh, someone flipping out on a bus in Muswell Hill (that was uncomfortably close to home), somebody else going berserk on the platform at Archway, a patient savaging one of the nurses at the Highgate Mental Health Centre, a ten-year-old kid left for dead in Upper Holloway, and variations on a similar theme in Kentish Town, Friern Barnet, Golders Green, Cricklewood, Neasden, Camden Town, and East Finchley.
Either Hugh had been a very busy boy, or there was something else seriously wrong.
Normally the princes kept a very tight lid on this sort of thing, but Aeglica was dead and Julian was distracted with the trial, and as a result, the other two were kind of busy. Of course, for all I knew, it could have been a perfectly natural sequence of unexplained public freak-outs with no supernatural influence whatsoever, but from where I was standing, it looked a lot like somebody was raising a vampire army. If they were, it was way above my pay grade and technically not my problem. Then again, I didn’t think Tash would be very happy if I let her brother get used as cannon fodder in a shadowy undead power struggle.
I told myself I should probably let the Council know as soon as possible, but I had a nagging suspicion that if I did, they’d launch a purge, and that would make Hugh’s chances even worse than they already were. It’s ironic, since they’re supposed to be immortal, but vampires are kind of like small businesses; half of them go down within their first year.
Elise and I were in the middle of thrashing out what we were going to do next when my phone rang. I picked up without thinking. “Kane and Archer, Kane speaking.”
“Kate.”
Shit, it was Lucy. It was so much harder to avoid people when they were actively trying to contact you. “I was just going to call you,” I lied.
“I’ve been trying to get hold of you for more than a fortnight.”
“Sorry, I’ve been busy.” Uncharacteristically, this was actually true.
“I’ve got some bad news. You might want to be sitting down for this.”
“Hit me.”
“There was a jailbreak last month. She’s out.”
Lucy didn’t have to tell me who she was. She was Corin Black. Of the women I’d broken up with last year, Eve had messed with my head the most, but Corin had murdered more of my friends, which put her right at the top of my people never to see again list. She was fragile, beautiful, and manipulative as fuck. It hadn’t taken me and Archer long to work out she was no good, but somehow, it hadn’t seemed to matter.
She’d got us tangled up in this god-awful clusterfuck over this plaster bust of Napoleon that every collector, crook, and conjurer in London seemed to want a piece of. Archer had come off worse; she’d stuck a bullet through his lung in an effort to fit up some rival con man who’d been hard on her tail. Me, she’d just taken for a ride, and I’d liked the view so much, I’d damn near let her get away with it. She was five feet four inches of trouble wrapped in a little black dress. And she was loose in my city.
“Kate, are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said. “Thanks.” And hung up.
“Has something happened, Miss Kane?” Elise’s voice seemed to be coming from a thousand miles away.
“I’m going out for a bit.”
“That is not what I asked, Miss Kane.”
“I’m fine. Something’s come up. I’ve got some things to think about.” In the pub. With a drink. On my own.
I grabbed my hat and my coat and made for the door.
“Miss Kane,” Elise called after me. “Kate.”
I left. I almost headed for the Coach and Horses round the corner, but I used to go there with Archer so I couldn’t face it right now. Besides, Elise would know to look for me there. I circled Holborn a while looking for somewhere to go and finally wound up at the bottom of Shaftesbury Avenue in a place called the Bloomsbury. It was the sort of pub that called itself a tavern, all leaded glass and cask ales. Archer would have loved it if he hadn’t been dead.
This was the last thing I needed right now. I was dating a vampire, on trial for murder, looking for the missing brother of a girl I’d pulled in the Candy Bar, and having weird dreams about haunted graveyards. Sending Corin down was the one uncomplicatedly right thing I’d done in as long as I could remember, and it turned out it didn’t mean shit. I should have just carried on fucking her. Then at least I’d have got something out of the deal.
I ordered another drink.
All right, get it together, Kane. You’re a detective. Fucking well detect.
I ordered another drink.
Corin was a thief and a con artist and pretty near the top of her game, but she wasn’t a wizard. If she was out, it was because someone had got her out, and that probably meant they wanted something and they wanted her to get it. If I found the something, I’d find her, but the kinds of things Corin usually stole didn’t make it into the papers, unless you count the Weekly World News.
I ordered another drink and called Patrick.
It rang for a while and then went dead.
I tried again, and he finally picked up. “Thank fuck. Look, I need you. It’s really important.”
“Why won’t you leave us alone?” cried Sofia. “It’s over. You have to move on.”
“Crap, no, I mean I need Patrick’s police contacts to help me find someone.”
She’d already hung up.
Fuck fuck.
I ordered another drink.
Later, as the sun was setting, I realised I w
as supposed to be meeting two members of the Council to cut some kind of dodgy backroom deal that might save my life. It was pretty much the last thing I wanted to be doing right now, but breathing was a habit I wasn’t ready to kick yet. I had one for the road and called a taxi since navigating the Tube during rush hour is bad enough when you’re sober.
When I crawled out of the cab at Aeglica’s old house, I was met by Hephaistion. I guess despite having arranged the whole thing, the Prince of Wands couldn’t be bothered to show up in person.
“It is unwise to keep your betters waiting,” he said, as he led me inside.
I fumbled out my phone. Oh yeah, I was late.
“The Seat of Death waits for you through there.” Hephaistion indicated a set of double doors, probably leading to another of Aeglica’s disused function rooms. “And you will find the Seat of the Emperor upstairs.”
Maybe I was too drunk for this. “Sorry, who are they?”
“Father Diego and al-Rashid respectively. If you will permit me, it is also unwise to approach the Council intoxicated.”
“Thanks for the advice, but there’s not much I can do about it now, unless there’s a really heavy-duty coffee machine around here somewhere.”
“Sebastian will not be happy if this goes badly.”
“I think I’m going to be pretty fucking narked myself. Come on, then. Show me Death.”
Hephaistion took me through the double doors into an abandoned drawing room. Whatever had covered the floor had long since rotted away, leaving bare boards to match the panelling on the walls. The usual assortment of cobwebs and tattered drapes hung from the ceiling. There were a few bits and pieces of furniture, all of them covered in dust sheets. Diego de Flores was reclining in a wingback chair, watching me over steepled fingers. Hephaistion faded away discreetly.
“You’re late,” said Death.
“Something came up.”
“You’re also drunk.”
“Something came up.”
“It is no matter.” He leaned forwards in his chair. “We can help each other, Miss Kane.”
At least he got straight to the point. “What do you want?”
“Julian Saint-Germain.”
Oh, this wasn’t good. “What do you mean?” I asked.
“I do not care what happens to you, but Julian Saint-Germain is a traitor, a harlot, and an apostate. Somebody must pay for the death of Aeglica Thrice-Risen, and I would rather it be her.”
I leaned heavily against the wall. In my current state, it was a miracle I didn’t miss. “I’d rather it wasn’t.”
“She neglected her duty and allowed herself to be captured. She took a mortal lover who was a known consort of the Witch Queen of London. Her actions and her negligence led directly to the death of the Prince of Swords. Make no mistake, there is a good chance she will fall with or without you.”
“Then why am I here?”
“I prefer certainty, as should you.”
“I’m not going to sell out my girlfriend.”
“Commendable.” He tapped the tips of his fingers together thoughtfully. “I doubt she would show such loyalty in your place.”
He might even have been right, but I’d had enough of getting people killed. “Not going to happen.”
“Then we are done. You seem an honourable woman, Miss Kane. You are wasted on the likes of Julian of Colchester.”
I felt like I should leap to Julian’s defence, but I couldn’t really think of anything. She wasn’t exactly bending over backwards to get me out of this, and she talked like I was supposed to feel grateful she hadn’t completely screwed me over.
“Maybe I am,” I said. “But I’ve always enjoyed being wasted.”
That had sounded way better in my head.
I left.
I guess this meant I’d officially lost Diego’s vote. I wasn’t seeing so straight right now, but I could definitely read the writing on the wall. The only way I was getting out of this was if I fed someone else to the Council. As the man once said, I’m no good at being noble, but there were some lines I just didn’t want to cross. If your partner gets killed, you do something about it, you don’t fuck other women unless your girlfriend’s okay with it, and you definitely don’t sell people out to crazy vampires. Because the truth is, it isn’t even hard. It’s the most natural thing in the world to kill a man who’s trying to kill you, to cheat on someone who loves you, and to do whatever it takes to save your own scrawny neck.
It looked like me and politics went about as well as Baileys and orange juice.
I went upstairs to see who al-Rashid wanted to buy.
He was in the room where I’d gone to find Aeglica three months ago, shortly before I’d killed him. There was still an enormous picture of a naked historical chick on the wall. Al-Rashid was sitting underneath it, tapping away on an iPad.
“Good evening, Miss Kane.” He glanced up. “It’s a fascinating picture, isn’t it?”
“It’s a portrait of the most beautiful woman in Venice painted by a great master.” At least that’s what I’d been told.
“And what do you think it tells us about the late Prince of Swords?”
I really didn’t know where this was going. “He said he admired her.”
Al-Rashid was silent a moment. “You liked him, didn’t you?”
“He was a thousand-year-old bulletproof psychopath.”
“That’s not an answer.”
I shrugged. “That’s all the answer you’re getting. This is the point where you tell me you can help me.”
He put his iPad down on a dusty side table and watched me steadily. “This is the point where you tell me why I should.”
I thought very hard about what to say next. I had no idea how vampire titles worked but they called this guy the Emperor, so that had to mean something. This was make-or-break time.
I took a deep breath.
“Y’know what,” I said. “Fuck it.”
He didn’t blink. He didn’t even raise an eyebrow. “Miss Kane?”
“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I know basically nothing about you except that however you got where you are, it wasn’t by being nice to people like me. I’ve had a really long, really shitty day, and if there’s anything you want from me, I know I’ll regret giving it to you. So, seriously, thanks but no thanks, I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re playing a dangerous game, Miss Kane.”
“I know, and I fold. I quit. Deal me out. I’m done.”
I walked out of there with what was left of my dignity.
And then I ran like fuck.
Chapter Seven
Fighting & Fucking
I stopped at a corner on the outskirts of Holland Park and tried to light a cigarette, but my hands were shaking too much. Then I flagged down a cab and told the driver to take me to Brewer Street. It was still early and the Velvet wouldn’t be open but I wasn’t going there for the clubbing.
The front door was locked, so I sloped into the side alley and made for the fire doors. They technically should have been closed, but nightclub floor staff aren’t exactly sticklers for health and safety. Sure enough, someone had propped them open with a crate of Beck’s, and I slipped inside.
A guy I didn’t recognise was lining up martini glasses in the mirrored hollows behind the bar.
“Oi,” he said. “We’re closed.”
Ashriel, the reformed incubus who acted as Julian’s enforcer, house manager, and general go-to guy, appeared in a shimmer of sex and damnation. “It’s all right.” The effortless seduction of his voice snuck up on me like a well-mixed Sazerac. “It’s the boss’s girl.”
Well, I suppose it was better than the boss’s pet mortal.
“I prefer ‘the boss’s fuck-muffin.’” I was glaring more than I’d meant to.
Ashriel rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’re that Kate tonight.”
“Where’s Julian?”
“Office.”
I pushed past him and headed up the stairs behind the bar.
“Nice to see you too,” he called after me.
Julian’s office was behind an unassuming door which read Julian Saint-Germain—Manager. It did not read Julian Saint-Germain—Motherfucking Vampire Prince, but it would have if she thought she could get away with it. As it was, she’d just settled on installing an actual honest-to-God throne in there. There were usually a couple of admin staff hanging around, but they’d gone home for the evening.
I went in without knocking.
She was standing in front of the window with a phone cradled against her ear. London was a smear of glitter and shadow, the rooftops of Soho rising from the gloom like battlements. Framed by the wooden ceiling beams and dressed in a frock coat of midnight-blue velvet, she looked like a cursed prince in a fairy tale.
Her head turned slightly in my direction as I came in.
“—lie to me, Sebastian,” she was saying. “I know full well what goes on in my domain.”
I snatched the phone out of her hand.
“She’s busy,” I said into it. Then I hung up and threw it into a corner of the room. It made the sort of noise you don’t want electronic equipment to make.
Julian blinked. “Well, that was rude.”
“You’d have stopped me if you wanted to.”
“You know I like it when you get all mean and reckless.” She smiled up at me, but there was a wariness in it, and her eyes were cold.
I grabbed her by the wrists and forced them behind her back. “How will you like me when I’m dead?”
“Now, now sweeting. I heard about your little meeting with Diego.”
“What was I supposed to do? You hung me out to dry.”
Julian bared her teeth. “You have no idea, do you?”