by Helen Harper
*
I pull up outside New Order, jump off the bike and dash inside. Yanking my phone out my pocket, I dial Matt. ‘Brownslow,’ I say, breathless. ‘Do you have him?’
‘No. I’m sorry, Bo. The police arrested him.’
I curse. It was inevitable after what I’d told Nicholls about Deutscher’s confession but I had hoped they’d wait until morning. After all, the crimes were committed over fifty years ago. Brownslow is an old man now; he’s not going anywhere.
‘His family?’ I ask as I run past Drechlin’s surgery and up the stairs to our offices.
‘Two sons and one daughter. We’ve got eyes on them all.’
‘Good. Keep it that way. I’ll be in touch soon.’
‘Bo, don’t hang up. Your grandfather called about an hour ago and…’
I run in through the door to New Order – come to a faltering stop when I see who’s there. I drop the phone.
‘It’s not even five o’clock in the morning,’ I say to my grandfather. He’s standing in the middle of the room with Michael, Lord Gully, Lord Bancroft and Lord Stuart sitting around him. The only Family Head not present is Medici.
The vampire Lords – and my grandfather – might look impassive but Arzo and Dahlia, who are standing awkwardly to the side, look worried. It’s not a natural expression for the hulking Sanguine: I didn’t see him look worried even when he was half dying on the blood-soaked floor of Dire Straits.
‘I’ve called everyone in,’ my grandfather tells me. ‘Although Matthew and Connor apparently have more important things to do than follow my orders.’
I start. ‘Matt didn’t…’
He looks at me warningly. ‘I only spoke to Connor.’ He picks up a cup of tea and sips.
I walk to my desk and place the painting face down on top of it. My grandfather didn’t only speak to Connor, he spoke to Matt too. And Matt always follows the last instruction he’s been given, whether it supersedes the previous one or not. The enhancement spell that’s warped his mind really is falling apart – but for some reason my grandfather doesn’t want anyone to know about it.
I absorb this information quietly. Matt’s not the reason that four of the most powerful tribers in the country are sitting in our little office. I look at Michael. His dark eyes rake over me as if he’s trying to work out where I’ve been. I smile at him but he doesn’t smile back.
‘Let me guess,’ I say grimly. ‘Medici.’ The answering silence is all I need. I grit my teeth. ‘What has he done?’
Michael stands up and moves to my side. The length of his body brushes against mine and, despite the solemnity of the situation, I still feel an involuntary flutter deep in my belly. He hands me a piece of paper. I scan it, horrified.
‘He released this at midnight,’ Michael tells me. ‘He’s breaking away from the other Families. He says he’s going to hold the entire Medici clan accountable to human law but…’
‘…but he’s also going to open up recruitment to anyone who wants in.’ I shake my head. ‘He can’t do this. Your law prevents him from it.’
‘Our law,’ Michael says quietly.
I gesture at him irritably. It was only a slip of the tongue. ‘The four of you combined are easily stronger than him. Bring him down. You can probably manage it before sunrise.’
‘That’s exactly what I said!’ Lord Gully splutters.
My grandfather holds up a grainy photograph. ‘And this is why it won’t work.’
I frown. ‘What is that?’
‘One of my old colleagues at MI7 sent it over. It was taken this evening.’
‘Are those people?’ I ask, squinting at the shapes.
He nods. ‘Vampires. And they’re all Medici.’
‘There’s more than five hundred of them!’
‘MI7 estimate about two thousand.’
I swallow hard. Each Family’s numbers are capped at five hundred. It’s been one of the immovable laws that’s been upheld for centuries. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Medici is a traditionalist; he doesn’t want to follow human law. He doesn’t want to change the way the vampires do things. That’s why he’s so pissed off with New Order because we’re trying to change things and he doesn’t like it.’
‘I can only imagine,’ Michael says, reaching for my hand and squeezing it, ‘that he’s changed his mind. Maybe he feels we’ve ganged up on him by each having representatives here.’
‘Or he’s tired of being one out of five and wants all the power for himself,’ Bancroft comments.
‘How are the others taking it? The government? The other humans? The other tribers? They can’t be pleased.’
‘It was only announced five hours ago,’ my grandfather says. ‘Most humans are asleep and the wheels of the government do not run that quickly.’ I roll my eyes. ‘They have, however, sent some high-ranking Members of Parliament to talk to him.’
‘And Medici’s agreed to meet with them?’ I’m incredulous. His disdain for humans is only matched by my disgust for him.
‘They’re in conference right now.’
‘And there’s a rumour that the white witches want to parley with him too.’
I gape. ‘You have to be kidding me.’
Lord Stuart looks unhappy. ‘They feel side-lined by the black witches and the hybrids.’
I draw in a shaky breath. ‘There’s going to be a queue all the way to the Eiffel Tower once the rest of the world hears about the change in recruitment. We need to move fast and move now. Either we get Medici to see sense or we’ll have to take him out. We can’t let him continue.’
‘You can’t get involved, Bo.’
I look at Michael, astonished. ‘Why the hell not? It makes sense for me to get involved, I’m the bloody Red Angel! People will listen if I make a statement. I can come out against him. It might help our cause.’
‘This has to be dealt with by us.’ He points to the other three Family Heads who nod in agreement. ‘It’s the only way it’s going to work. A statement, even from you, isn’t going to change his mind. We’re the only ones who can reach him. He’ll respect us.’
‘He’s not respected you very much by doing this, has he?’ I feel my anger growing.
‘Bo,’ my grandfather interjects quietly, ‘Lord Montserrat is correct. You’ve already said that Medici is a traditionalist. If anyone is likely to succeed, it’ll be the four of them. There must be five Families for there to be balance. They can remind Lord Medici of that.’
‘Cooler heads need to prevail,’ Michael agrees.
I stare at him. ‘Are you suggesting I’m hot-headed?’
He looks pained. ‘No, but sometimes you act rashly. We can appeal to Medici if we know exactly what we’re going to say and how we’re going to say it.’
‘So why did you come here?’ I ask quietly. Michael glances at my grandfather. ‘Oh, I see,’ I say sarcastically. ‘You wanted to talk to him.’
‘And meet together. This is neutral ground. We all have a stake in New Order.’
I look at the other three Lords. ‘Yeah, now you do,’ I scoff, pointing out that it took them a long time to get involved.
Arzo picks the worst possible time to get involved. ‘Bo, this isn’t helping.’
‘Indeed. What you can do to help out is go on another of those fake dates,’ Lord Gully suggests, with a cold look in his eyes. ‘It’ll help Montserrat look as if he’s in the right.’ He laughs. ‘Hell, why don’t you go on dates with all of us?’
I keep my eyes fixed on Michael. ‘You told him about that?’
My grandfather clears his throat. ‘This isn’t getting us anywhere. I asked them all to come here because there’s an easy solution to all this that involves all four of them.’
I tear my eyes away from Michael. ‘What solution?’ He opens his mouth to speak but an odd expression comes into his eyes. ‘Grandfather?’ I prod.
He starts to choke, a small sound as if it’s simply a frog caught in his throat. Then it gets louder and his face turns a s
trange shade of purple. I rush towards him. ‘What is it?’ I ask. ‘What’s wrong?’
His hands claw at his chest. I stare into his eyes – the pupils are wide and dilated. ‘Something’s wrong!’ I yell. ‘He’s having some kind of attack! Call an ambulance!’
Arzo is already on the phone. Michael takes my grandfather’s other arm and together we lower him to the floor, angling his body into the recovery position. I don’t understand, he was fine only a moment ago. It must be the stress of the situation. I shouldn’t have gotten involved.
‘Water,’ I say. ‘Water will help.’ I fumble for the tea cup he was drinking from. I pause. I look from the cup to my grandfather and back again. Then I look at Dahlia.
‘The ambulance will be here in five minutes,’ Arzo says.
Gully, Stuart and Bancroft exchange glances. ‘We should go,’ Stuart says. ‘If word gets out that we’ve been holding crisis talks, it won’t help things.’ The three of them start to leave. Michael says something to them but I don’t hear what it is. My attention is still fixed on Dahlia.
‘You normally make him tea, don’t you?’
‘I have done once or twice. When I’m having a cup myself,’ she says, frowning.
‘Did you make him that?’ I point to the cup, slowly standing up.
‘I did, actually. It’s the same tea he normally drinks though. He couldn’t be having a bad reaction to it.’ Her lips purse. ‘Unless the milk is off.’
I sniff the dregs. It only smells of tea. ‘What did you put in it?’
Arzo steps in front of Dahlia. ‘Bo, I love you and emotions are running high, but you need to shut your mouth before I do something I regret.’
I sidestep so I can still see her. ‘It’s perfect timing, isn’t it? The second that Medici makes his move, you throw us into disarray.’
She flutters her eyelashes and her face grows pale. ‘Bo, I would never hurt your grandfather.’
Michael growls. I glance down. My grandfather is still breathing. His face remains purple but I can see the throb of a pulse in his throat. He’s not getting any better but neither is he getting any worse.
‘Tell me what it is, Dahlia. Tell me what you gave him and I’ll let you live.’
Her hand goes to her mouth and she stares at me in horror.
‘That’s enough, Bo!’ Arzo shouts.
‘You can’t go round accusing people,’ Michael interjects. ‘He’s an old man. It’s probably a heart attack.’
I shake my head. ‘No. He might be an ornery bastard but he’s as fit as a fiddle.’ I take another step towards Dahlia. ‘You did something.’
Arzo’s fist flies towards me. I duck in the nick of time and glare at him. The damage, however, is already done.
There’s a strangled caterwaul from my grandfather’s office. Michael points at me and Arzo, his meaning clear, before he frowns, stands up and cautiously opens the door. My grandfather’s ginger monstrosity flies out, spitting and hissing. She stands guard over the old man, screeching in the spine-chilling way that only cats can.
The door downstairs bangs open and we hear the thud of paramedics’ footsteps. My grandfather makes an ominous rattle and the rest of us stare at each other in silence.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Hospital Beds and Baby Cribs
I sit slumped in a chair. The beeps from the myriad of machines surrounding my grandfather’s prone body are reassuring but this is the intensive care ward; there are flurries of activity outside as teams of doctors and nurses rush from emergency to emergency. Every time that happens, my stomach lurches.
I take my grandfather’s hand and squeeze it. He doesn’t respond.
‘Ms Blackman?’
I glance up to see a white-coated doctor standing in the doorway. He gives a professional smile. ‘We’ve had the preliminary lab tests back. We’re not quite sure what’s wrong with your grandfather. It’s not a heart attack or a stroke and there’s no evidence of internal haemorrhaging.’
‘Poison,’ I croak. ‘You need to test for poison.’
He is taken aback. ‘There’s nothing so far to indicate…’
‘Please.’
He nods. ‘There are a lot of poisons out there. It might take some time.’
I look back at my grandfather. ‘He’s not going anywhere.’ The tightness in my chest grows. ‘Is he going to recover?’
‘It’s too early to say. He’s certainly fighting. A lot of people his age would have succumbed by now.’
I smile faintly. ‘He’s a tough old coot.’
‘From what I’ve heard, that’s certainly true.’ He meets my eyes. ‘And from what I’ve heard of you, that’s true for you as well.’
I don’t respond. Fat lot of good being the Red Angel is doing me now.
‘You should go home and get some rest. He’s comfortable for now and he’s not going to wake up any time soon. You won’t do him any good if you make yourself ill.’
I don’t move a muscle. Despite his words, the doctor seems unsurprised. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or so to check on him.’
He leaves me in peace. I stare down at my grandfather’s lined face and smooth a lock of hair away from his forehead. The horrid purple hue has vanished from his skin but now he seems pale and wax-like. A tear rolls down my cheek. ‘How did we get to this?’ I whisper. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
There’s a light knock on the door. Michael comes in and holds out a cup. ‘I decanted it from a vampette outside less than ten minutes ago,’ he says. ‘It’s not as good as drinking from the vein but at least it’ll give you some nourishment.’
I take it from him and gulp the blood. It’s still warm and slides easily down my throat. Michael watches me carefully. When I’m finished, I squint up at him. ‘Why did you tell Lord Gully about the fake dates?’
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. ‘It wasn’t intended as some kind of betrayal, Bo, although I can see why you’d think that. At our last meeting Gully and I were batting around ideas to overcome our bad press. He wanted me to force you to return to the Montserrat Family. He kept pushing it and I got angry and blurted it out.’
My eyes narrow. ‘You mean you were rash? Well, I guess that makes two of us, then.’ I don’t bother concealing the hurt in my tone.
‘I’m sorry about that.’ When I look away, he persists. ‘I really am but you have to remember that I’m responsible for the lives of five hundred vampires. I have to work with the other Heads and ensure that Medici is taken care of. I can’t afford to screw this up. It’s not about you, it’s about what will ensure peace.’
I bite my lip and gesture down at my grandfather. ‘Is this what you call peace?’
‘You have no proof your grandfather’s collapse has anything to do with Medici or Dahlia. I don’t particularly like her either but she deserves the benefit of the doubt.’
‘You know what she’s done in the past! What she did to Arzo and the way her and her damn husband behaved! She’s more than capable of this.’
‘Perhaps. But I think her forced recruitment made her turn over a new leaf.’
‘And you’re all about second chances, aren’t you?’ I spit. ‘You and your band of de-criminalised vampires.’
‘Arzo trusts her.’
‘Arzo is blinded by his dick.’ It’s harsh and not entirely true but I don’t take it back. I tilt up my chin. ‘I want to talk to her.’
Michael shakes his head. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea.’
‘I don’t care what you think. I want to talk to her alone.’
‘Arzo won’t permit it.’
‘Sodding hell! Since when was he in charge?’
‘Bo…’
I stand up. ‘No. Don’t you dare “Bo” me. Since the moment I came into the office tonight you’ve treated me like a bloody teenager. You really think you can sort the Medici mess out without me? Fine. Go ahead. But you can’t stop me from finding out who has hurt my fucking grandfather. If he dies…’ I draw in a shaky breath. ‘If he dies th
en I won’t be responsible for my actions. Once I’m done, you and Arzo can forgive me and give me a second chance. You both clearly like that kind of thing.’
He gazes at me impassively. ‘I’m not the enemy.’
Another tear escapes but I dash it away furiously. ‘I know that!’
He reaches out and pulls me into a tight hug. For a moment, I don’t respond but then I’m unable to help myself. My arms clutch at him.
‘It’ll be alright, Bo,’ he whispers.
‘You don’t know that,’ I mumble back. ‘You really don’t.’
*
I stay by my grandfather’s bedside until darkness falls once more. His condition is stable and the doctor has assured me he will be unconscious for at least twelve more hours. I make it clear that they must not let anyone in to see him without my approval. If it’s an unusual request, the doctor doesn’t comment. I guess my reputation as someone who deals in danger helps me out.
I give my phone number to virtually every medical professional I see, telling them that they’re to call me if there’s the slightest change in my grandfather’s condition. Michael left hours ago. Gully, Bancroft, Stuart and he still have to work out the best way to approach Medici. I tell myself to keep an open mind; perhaps they’ll manage to win him round. Considering how far Medici has taken things – and how publicly – I’m not convinced. There’ll be a lot of vampiric blood shed if it doesn’t work out though, so I’m keeping my fingers tightly crossed.
It doesn’t help when I overhear a conversation between two distraught family members who are arguing about whether to take their loved one to the Medici complex to have him turned. Tempted as I am to get involved, I bite my tongue. With my grandfather at death’s door, part of me can understand the sentiment even if it twists my stomach. I wonder if Medici has any clue about the can of worms he’s opened by offering blanket recruitment. Probably. I can imagine him rubbing his palms together in unadulterated glee.