by Helen Harper
‘And he was satisfied with that?’
She shrugged. ‘For now. Deep down, he knows he deserves better than the likes of me. He deserves a nice, normal, human woman.’
‘And me?’ Devereau asked, unable to help himself. ‘What do I deserve?’
A tiny smile curved her lips. ‘That remains to be seen.’
There was a sudden knock on the door, causing them to stiffen. Devereau frowned and flung open the door open to glare at the dark-haired vampire waiting on the doorstep. ‘A group of humans has just arrived,’ she said. ‘They say they’re friends of yours.’
Devereau’s eyebrows snapped together. He leaned out and saw a familiar-looking car at the end of the road. Three straight-backed vampires were barring its way. He watched for a moment or two then he stepped outside and walked over to them. As he approached, Gaz rolled down the window. ‘Hi, boss.’
‘What are you doing here?’
‘It was on the police radios.’ He waved an arm towards the house. ‘About the shooting.’
Devereau’s mouth tightened. He glanced at the three other people crammed into the car. None of them had approved of his decision to become a werewolf; they hadn’t dared say anything out loud but they’d shown it in their every tone and twitch. ‘So?’
‘So,’ Gaz said, avoiding looking at the vampires, ‘we thought we’d come and help out. Keep an eye on your new place for a bit. Just in case.’
‘We don’t work together any more.’ It was hard to keep the bitterness out of his voice.
Gaz shrugged. ‘That’s as may be, boss, but you made us who we are. We owe you.’ He lifted up his chin, displaying the faintest touch of defiance – and guilt. ‘We still owe you.’
Devereau looked into Gaz’s eyes. His old friend was scared but resolute. He nodded. ‘It’s better for you if you don’t go into the house. Dr Yara is there but the rest of you need to stay outside. Yara is … busy,’ he finished. ‘And one of the bastards who attacked the house is handcuffed to a radiator. It’s better if you don’t go near him.’
‘Okay.’ Gaz’s demeanour was unquestioning. ‘We won’t go in.’
Devereau wasn’t done yet. ‘And there are supes out here who are guarding both the house and the street. You’ll have to share the air with them.’
Gaz swallowed but didn’t step down. ‘No problem, boss.’
Devereau certainly hoped not.
There was a warm breath against his neck. ‘Happy now?’ Scarlett asked, her voice low.
‘I suppose so,’ Devereau said grudgingly. He lifted his head. ‘Thank you,’ he said, directing his words at the supes and the humans. ‘The people in every house on this street will sleep easier knowing you are all here. And your presence will free me up so I can go after the pricks who did this.’
‘I’ll help.’ Scarlett hooked her arm through his. ‘You might need the back-up.’
Gaz’s eyes were wide as saucers as he goggled at Scarlett then glanced at his former boss. The power of speech seemed to have momentarily left him. The vampires remained impassive, though Devereau thought he noticed a knowing smirk on the face of the three-foot-high gremlin on the pavement opposite.
All he could do was nod. ‘All right then,’ he said. ‘Let’s go.’
***
‘So what’s the plan?’ Scarlett asked. ‘Where are we heading to first?’
Devereau checked the time on the dashboard. It was already gone nine o’clock; other than night-shift workers, anyone sane would have left work by now. ‘Canary Wharf,’ he said. ‘One of the victims from Goodman’s Alley worked there – a financial law solicitor called David Bernard. If we’re lucky, the police won’t have investigated his workplace yet. We might find something useful there. There was no reason for a stuffed suit like Bernard to be hanging around Goodman’s Alley in the middle of the day.’
Scarlett’s brow creased thoughtfully. ‘Was he an unlucky victim in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or did sweet little Martina target him deliberately?’
Devereau gave her a long look. ‘If he was targeted, it’s hardly Martina’s fault.’
‘I appreciate that,’ Scarlett said, ‘and I believe you’re right. But you need to remember that the gun-toting idiot back there was right, too. Martina’s not a complete innocent and, regardless of her motives, she’s holding back a considerable amount of information.’
‘She’s terrified. And traumatised.’
‘I’m not disagreeing with you, Devereau. I’m just saying that you shouldn’t be blinkered where Martina is concerned.’
For several seconds neither of them spoke then Scarlett put the car into gear. ‘Canary Wharf?’
He clipped in his seatbelt. ‘Yeah.’
She revved the engine and took off.
For the first few minutes, the silence between them was awkward. Devereau stared out of the window and Scarlett fiddled with the radio, trying station after station and eventually giving up when she couldn’t find any music that she liked.
Rather than let the silence continue, Devereau turned away from the scenery and examined her. No matter what happened, she never seemed to have a single hair out of place. ‘How long have you been a vampire?’ he asked.
Scarlett gasped in mock horror. ‘A gentleman should never ask a lady’s age.’ He gave her an exasperated look and she chuckled. ‘About fifty years,’ she told him. ‘I was turned back in 1972 when I was twenty-four years old.’
She could pass for about thirty. He tried to imagine what it would be like to experience time differently and enjoy a longer life. It wasn’t easy. ‘Do you mind me asking why you chose this life?’
‘No,’ she answered easily. ‘Plenty of people do. There’s no simple answer. Don’t get me wrong – nobody pushed me into it. I wanted to become a vampire and I have no regrets, but I didn’t choose to change because I hated my family or I suffered a traumatic experience or I thought it would be cool to drink blood and spend the rest of my life partying. Neither did it solve all my problems. Before I was turned, it felt like something was missing from my life and sometimes I think that’s not changed. There’s still a hole inside of me.’ A fleeting expression of melancholy flashed across her face.
‘I get that,’ Devereau said quietly. ‘Sometimes I feel that way too.’
‘Is that why you turned to a life of crime?’
He hesitated. ‘Believe it or not, when I was a kid I wanted to be a farmer.’
‘With a snarl, snarl here and a snarl, snarl there?’
‘E-I-E-I-O.’ Devereau smiled. ‘Not quite what I had in mind. No, I liked the idea of doing something useful. Growing things. Feeding people. Providing a proper service.’
Scarlett leaned across until her shoulder brushed his. ‘Good for you,’ she murmured. ‘When I was a kid, my burning desire was to be a queen.’
‘With a shiny tiara and a pretty dress?’
‘Less Cinderella,’ she said, ‘and more Boudicca.’
‘Fair enough.’ Devereau nodded. ‘Play your cards right, Boudicca, and one day I’ll show you my sword.’ He winked and Scarlett burst out laughing.
‘Oh, Devereau. It’s only a matter of time.’
***
As expected, Canary Wharf was quiet. There were lights on in some of the office buildings but they were few and far between. That didn’t mean there weren’t security systems to deal with, but Devereau felt reasonably confident that they’d gain entrance to David Bernard’s office without being noticed.
Scarlett had other ideas, however. After parking in an empty carpark nearby, they walked to the foot of the shiny building where Bernard had worked. She took one look at the bored-looking security guard behind the desk and strolled straight through the main doors. Devereau faltered briefly before following her.
‘We’re closed,’ the guard said in an almost robotic voice. Then he looked up and his mouth fell open when he saw Scarlett. ‘Hello.’
‘Hellooo,’ she purred in response. She sauntered up to him, her
hips swaying exaggeratedly. She glanced at his name tag, reached across the counter and took his hand. ‘Jonathan Lee. My friend and I need access to the fifteenth floor. We’re going to look around for a little while and you’re going to let us.’
‘I…’ The security guard swallowed. Devereau looked on, fascinated. ‘I can’t do that.’
‘Of course you can.’ Scarlett reached out and drew the tip of her finger down the side of his face. ‘But you’re not going to tell anyone we were here. We’re like ghosts.’
‘I…’ He swallowed again. ‘Okay.’ He opened a drawer and fumbled inside. ‘Here,’ he handed over a key card, ‘you’ll need this for the lift but I can’t help you with opening up any office doors. I don’t have access to them.’
‘Thank you so much. You’re a darling. We’ll worry about the doors.’ Scarlett pulled back and, without a backward glance, walked towards the bank of lifts, before pressing the keycard against the black box set into the wall.
Devereau snapped his mouth shut and strode after her. ‘You just did something to that guy.’
‘Mmm.’
‘Did you compel him? Like werewolves do?’
‘Sort of. It’s little more than a trick, to be honest. We can use touch to encourage certain humans to do our will. It’s not an exact science and it doesn’t always work, but when it does,’ she smiled in satisfaction, ‘it’s very useful.’
Devereau stared at her. ‘Can I do that?’ He considered the possibilities. ‘Can I compel humans?’
‘No. Your powers only work on werewolves. And only on werewolves who are weaker than you.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t be too disappointed. I suspect most werewolves are weaker than you, despite your lack of experience.’
There was a cough from behind them and they turned to see the security guard. He was holding out a scrap of paper to Scarlett and he had a hopeful look in his eyes. ‘Would you like my phone number?’
Scarlett rolled her eyes and turned away. ‘No.’
Devereau snatched the paper out of his hands. ‘Thank you.’ You never knew what might come in useful in the future.
Scarlett gave him a strange look but he simply smiled. Then there was a ding and they stepped into the lift.
Chapter Thirteen
The fifteenth floor of David Bernard’s office block was as silent as the grave. It must cost a pretty penny to rent even a square foot of space in this place, Devereau mused as he looked at the plush grey carpet and pristine blank walls. He could almost smell the money that had been sunk into those walls. Even so, it was little more than a featureless, characterless office; he’d take a life of crime any day over spending time in the prison that this office space provided.
He and Scarlett moved down the hallway until they came to a closed oak door with David Bernard’s gold-embossed name plate.
‘Whoever he was,’ Scarlett murmured, ‘he was clearly as dodgy as they come.’
‘What makes you say that?’ Devereau asked, kneeling down to examine the door lock.
‘A well-heeled solicitor who specialises in finance but doesn’t have the backing of a large firm? This sort of operation deals with clients who don’t want to draw attention to themselves.’
He suspected that she was right. He reached into his pocket and located the tiny lockpick on his key ring. ‘This won’t take long.’
‘We could just break the door down.’
Devereau inserted the pick into the keyhole and twisted deftly. ‘We could,’ he answered, ‘but we don’t want to advertise that we’ve been here.’ He stood up as the door swung smoothly open. ‘And my method is just as fast as a sharp kick.’
‘Something tells me this isn’t your first time breaking and entering,’ she said drily.
‘Funnily enough, it’s not.’ He offered her an arch smile before crossing the threshold into Bernard’s office. The lights flicked on automatically.
The first room was small, with a single desk in front of the doorway. There was another door to the right. ‘He has his own secretary,’ Devereau murmured. ‘I wonder if she knows that he’s dead.’
Scarlett examined the desk. ‘What makes you think the secretary’s female?’
‘The smell,’ he said. He reached across and opened one of the drawers to reveal a small glass bottle of perfume. ‘Chanel’s finest. Whoever lives at 12 Goodman’s Alley also wears this scent. It might be a coincidence – or it might not be.’
Scarlett acknowledged his discovery with a nod, then she frowned. ‘Other than that bottle, the office is remarkably impersonal.’
Devereau took a pad of Post-it notes from the drawer and flicked through them. Several contained doodles of smiley faces but there were no helpful notes to tell them where the secretary might be or what involved David Bernard with a child wolf.
He showed the doodles to Scarlett and she shrugged. ‘A few random doodles aren’t much to go on. There are no photo frames, no identifying features.’ She glanced at the stationery holder. ‘Even the pens are generic. There’s nothing branded.’
Devereau felt his left eyebrow spasm. ‘Because when your clients are dangerous,’ he said, ‘you don’t want them to know any more about you than is absolutely necessary.’
They exchanged a grim look then Scarlett swivelled towards the second door. It opened into a far larger room. It had the same grey carpet and similar office furniture but it was much grander. Various certificates lined the walls and Devereau peered at them; they included a university degree from Cambridge and an embossed document from the Solicitors’ Regulation Authority. There were other showy pieces of paper that Bernard had felt the need to display, either because he’d wanted to prove that he was qualified or he enjoyed showing off.
Scarlett sat down at Bernard’s desk. There was no computer so presumably he used a laptop, which he carried to and from the office. She rifled through the tray of papers on his desk then started opening the drawers.
Devereau went to the large bookcase and examined the array of legal titles lined up in alphabetical order. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a single John Grisham novel in sight. ‘I’m beginning to think coming here was a waste of time,’ he remarked.
‘Not entirely.’ He glanced round. Scarlett was holding a small golden object between her thumb and forefinger. Devereau squinted; the symbol on it looked familiar. He took Dr Yara’s drawing of Martina’s brand from his pocket and compared the two. ‘They’re exactly the same,’ he bit out. ‘David Bernard was no random victim.’
Scarlett’s mouth thinned. ‘Looks like an evil conspiracy.’ She tossed him the object. ‘Feels like an evil conspiracy.’
Devereau turned it over in his hands. It was definitely made of gold and appeared to be some sort of pin, judging by the catch on it. ‘Must be an evil conspiracy,’ he murmured. And something icy cold and very angry crystallised deep inside him.
***
They searched the rest of David Bernard’s office but there was nothing incriminating in it. The man had clearly taken pains to hide any important files.
‘We could find his address and pay his home a visit,’ Scarlett mused. ‘Who knows what we might uncover? But the police will already have been there. Whether or not they consider Bernard to be nothing more than a victim, they’ll have still done a search and taken his laptop. And if he didn’t live alone, we’re liable to run into his family – and they definitely won’t take kindly to a vampire and a werewolf knocking on their door asking questions.’
‘Agreed,’ Devereau said. ‘We don’t want to draw any more attention to ourselves than we have to, not when we have Martina’s safety to consider.’ He tapped his mouth thoughtfully. ‘The secretary is the key. Whoever she is, she’s bound to know where all the dirty secrets are kept.’ He glanced at Scarlett. ‘Your new friend Jonathan downstairs might be able to help. He must have a list of everyone who uses this building.’
‘Then let’s go and ask him a few more questions.’
As they went back into the corridor, Dev
ereau took care to lock the office door behind him before following Scarlett to the lifts.
‘The more time I spend with you, Devereau,’ she said, ‘the more I realise you’re nothing like I expected.’
‘What did you expect?’ he enquired.
‘Someone more brash, I suppose. More cocky. Less … thoughtful.’
He watched her for a moment. ‘You’re the first vampire I’ve ever spent time with,’ he said finally. ‘And you’re not what I expected, either.’
‘Oh yes?’ She smiled. ‘In what way?’
‘Well, for one thing you’ve not tried to drink my blood.’
Scarlett rolled her eyes. ‘You should have learned by now that vampires have far greater self-control than werewolves. It’s practically Supe 101.’
‘I’m not so sure about that.’
She smirked and reached across to the press the call button.
Devereau grabbed her wrist. ‘Don’t,’ he ordered.
‘What is it?’
He pointed to the LED display above their heads. One of the lifts was already moving up towards them. Third floor. Fourth. Fifth.
‘Do you think—?’
‘At this time of night?’ He nodded. ‘Yes, I do.’
Without another word, they spun round and moved swiftly back down the corridor towards Bernard’s office.
‘There,’ Scarlett said. ‘Janitor’s closet.’
Three seconds later they were crammed inside it, surrounded by cleaning equipment and the strong smell of bleach. Devereau pulled the door closed just as the lift pinged onto their floor. He left an inch-wide crack so he could peer out. Scarlett shimmied in front of him, ducking slightly so she could do the same.
A solitary figure stepped out of the lift and walked down the hallway towards them with silent but purposeful steps. Devereau didn’t catch a glimpse of his face until the man was in front of David Bernard’s door. White skin, pale watery blue eyes and a thick neck – he’d lay money that he was ex-military. It wasn’t the guy’s muscular build that gave him away, it was the self-possessed way that he moved.