The Cold Kiss of Death

Chapter Thirteen

Vamps were always trouble, so okay, that was a stupid question. But Bobby, the vamp sitting in HOPE’s waiting area next to the soft drinks machine, was just a youngster; he’d only taken the Gift three years ago. And he was supposed to be on his best behaviour.

I stood opposite him, leaning against the wall, hands stuck in my pockets.

He lifted his head and looked me over, his lips quirked in a sulky, sexy way, his grey eyes shadowed and moody. The expression was one he’d perfected for the camera as Mr October, one of London’s hot celebrity calendar vamps. The hair in its French plait, the ankle-length leather coat, jeans and silk T-shirt, all of them black, completed the look—a look that had teenage girls and not-so-teenage woman swooning with desire and queuing out the door of the Blue Heart Vampire Club in a desperate effort to Get Fanged by the month’s star attraction. Of course, his recent arrest for the murder of his human girlfriend and the subsequent, very public clearing of all charges had done nothing to hurt his popularity. If I didn’t know better—having been instrumental in the ‘clearing’ bit—the words Publicity Stunt might have entered my mind.

The silver circlet encrusted with yellow citrines that banded his head and the silver handcuffs that shackled his hands together added a touch of the mediaeval to his übermodern Goth look, and enhanced his bad-boy persona. Luckily neither the media nor the vamp PR machine had yet caught onto that fact, otherwise they’d probably have had him posing for the camera with all that magical hardware.

Not that the cynic in me couldn’t see the attraction. Mr October, a.k.a. Bobby, made a very handsome picture. But unlike his devoted fang-fans, he wasn’t a picture I wanted hanging on my wall ... there’s nothing sexy about a frightened sixteen-year-old blood-pet on a frozen January dawn in the middle of Sucker Town, which is what Bobby was the first time I’d met him, on one of my rescue missions for Grianne. Of course, that was four years ago, and he’d accepted the Gift since then, which sort of changed things for him. But hey, maybe his chemistry just wasn’t right for me.

Although by the way he was giving my Glamour the glad-eye, his own chemistry was thinking something different.

His quirk widened into a smile and his nostrils flared as he sniffed. Then he took a longer, more noticeable sniff and consternation replaced the smile. ‘You told Hari your name was Debby,’ he said accusingly. ‘Debby-with-a-y.’

Vampire hearing, gotta love it. ‘Yes, I did.’

‘You’re her, aren’t you?’

‘You going to grass me up to Hari?’

He glanced at the glassed-in reception booth, where the troll’s bald yellow and brown head was bobbing in time to his iTrod, the overlarge iPod made for trolls. ‘No, of course not,’ he said, sounding aggrieved, ‘not after the way you helped me.’

I nodded as if it was the answer I’d expected, but inside the knot in my stomach loosened.

He made a show of studying the handcuffs round his wrists. ‘I’m here to see my dad, y’know,’ he said. ‘Or I will be as soon as the guard comes to take me up,’ he added, resignation dimming his face.

Bobby’s dad was a regular human, and was hospitalised in a regular human ward—albeit a private room—in the main part of the hospital, but Bobby being a vamp meant he had to be processed through HOPE before he could visit. The magical silverware was a precaution to stop him using his vampire tricks on any of the other patients, a compromise Bobby’s lawyer had won after he’d complained not allowing Bobby to visit his sick father was in breach of Bobby’s ‘human’ rights.

‘How is your dad?’ I asked. ‘Has there been any change recently?’

‘There’s been the odd brainwave fluctuation.’ The cuffs chinked as he clasped his hands, his knuckles turning white with tension. ‘But he’s not come out of the coma.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, and I was, and not just because I felt sort of responsible for his dad’s condition—part of the whole ‘clearing Bobby of murder’ thing had involved Bobby’s dad ending up in the way when a paranoid clairvoyant had tried to kill me. I’d met his dad, and the guy hadn’t deserved to end up as another victim.

‘Can’t Hari tell who you are?’ Bobby asked, curious.

‘Trolls can’t sense magic.’

‘So they’re not like the goblins then? They can’t tell if a vamp is using mesma, or putting a mind-lock on someone?’

‘They’re like goblins in that magic doesn’t affect them, but whereas goblins are super-sensitive to any magic, trolls are mostly impervious to it.’ I folded my arms. ‘But trolls have fantastic eyesight. They can see for miles.’

‘But Hari, he can’t see through’—he waved his joined hands at my body—‘what is it?’

‘A Glamour, it’s a spell that changes the surface appearance only.’

‘It’s a bit ...’ his voice trailed off as he ran his eyes down my body. ‘I mean, you look totally hot, but it’s the type of figure that’s going to get you noticed.’

I sniffed. ‘Yeah, well, the look wasn’t my choice.’ I pointed at his own outfit. ‘It’s not like you’re toning it down yourself, are you?’

‘I’ve got to go to work later. My shift starts at ten and it saves time if I come here dressed. And anyway, it’s the only coat I’ve got.’ He gave the leather coat an almost embarrassed look. ‘I haven’t got the hang of regulating my temperature yet.’

The lift dinged, and I looked up, hoping that it was Grace, or even Bobby’s guard come to take him visiting, but it was just a couple leaving. Doing small-talk with a vampire was making me itch, and itching is never a good sign around vampires, not when you’ve got 3V and it might be the early stages of a venom-flush.

‘I mean, I know I should’ve worked out how to do the temperature thing by now,’ Bobby carried on, getting up and staring morosely into the depths of the vending machine. ‘All the others had it down pat six months after they accepted the Gift.’

I did the mental maths: he’d accepted the Gift at seventeen, probably one of the last before the Parliamentary Bill changed the age of consent to twenty-one. Whatever vamps look like when they accept the Gift, that’s how they stay for the rest of their lives—a prospect that makes all the wannabes head straight to the gym. Looking too young had fast become a problem for some of the centuries-old vamps who wanted a slice of the celebrity cake but didn’t look old enough to buy a drink, and the market for toyboys, even ones with fangs, isn’t all that healthy. I briefly wondered if Bobby regretted taking the Gift when he did, or even taking it at all. Still, not my concern.

‘I shouldn’t worry,’ I said, and tucked my hands back in my pockets to stop myself scratching and stared at the lifts, willing Grace to put in an appearance.

‘I’m still working at the Blue Heart,’ Bobby said, breaking the silence and I turned to look at him as he carried on, ‘Albie, the new boss, lets me come and see Dad before work, then I come back for a couple of hours before dawn, once the club’s shut. Albie’s not bad; he’s not into all the power crap and fucking stupid memory games like He is.’

He was Declan, Bobby’s master and head of the Red Shamrock blood family. Declan had a nasty vamp trick of stealing memories, then giving the memories back piecemeal—something he did at random with his vamps for his own sadistic amusement. He’d made Bobby forget his girlfriend was dead at one point, not something that Bobby looked like he was going to be forgiving anytime soon.

Bobby gave me a defiant look. ‘I’ve moved out of the Bloody Shamrock.’

‘Oh, right.’ I wasn’t entirely sure what I was meant to say. ‘I couldn’t stand being there any more, not after what happened. ’ He started to pace along the visitor’s chairs. ‘Not when that bitch Fiona still thinks it’s okay to crawl all over me when Declan’s not around. It’s her fault Dad’s in here.’

Fiona was the paranoid clairvoyant who’d tried to kill me; she was also Declan’s human ‘business manager’ a.k.a. daytime flunky and girlfriend all rolled into one.

‘I’ve been thinking about asking to move to another blood family.’ He stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the hallway. ‘You know, petition the High Table for a different master. What do you think?’

I frowned, puzzled. Why was he asking me? ‘I don’t know, Bobby. I’ve heard you can do that, but I’m probably not the best person to ask.’

‘I’ve checked around, on the quiet.’ His expression turned anxious. ‘I don’t want Declan finding out; he’d make sure it never happened. I need to get another master to agree to take me before I petition the High Table—that way, if I’m accepted straight away, Declan can’t object—or at least, he can, and then he gets some sort of compensation, but he can’t stop me going.’

‘Sounds like you need to talk to the other master vamps, then,’ I said, checking the lifts again.

‘Of course, Albie would be my first choice,’ Bobby carried on, ‘but he’s already told everyone that he’s not interested in taking on anyone else’s vamps. He’s not even going to sponsor anyone for the Gift! He says he’s got too much on his plate already with taking over the Blue Heart.’

I suddenly realised I was scratching my neck; I forced myself to stop, wondering how long Grace was going to be. Maybe Hari would find me some G-Zav if I asked nicely ... or desperately ...

‘Thing is,’ Bobby brushed a hand over his hair, fingers hesitating at the silver circlet, ‘I never even get a chance to talk to any of the other masters. If I’m not here, I have to be at the Blue Heart. They sell tickets with fifteen-minute time slots, like I’m on a production line or something. I have to bite them one after the other, and the other vamps are all jealous, saying that I should be in vampire heaven or something, but I end up using so much energy making each bite feel great that half the time I don’t even get a decent meal and I’m still hungry at the end of the night.’

‘Well, don’t start looking at me,’ I said, feeling vaguely sorry for him, but a little worried that all his chat was the equivalent of him inviting me out to dinner—vampire style.

‘I can’t, can I?’ He moved to stand in front of me and a sullen look settled on his face. ‘The bastard ordered me not to, remember?’

Oh yeah, Declan did have his plus points at times. Forbidding all the vamps under his control from sinking their fangs in me was one of them. Of course, that still left Declan and a lot of other suckers out there who had no such inhibitions.

‘Good, just so we’re clear on that,’ I said, my voice calmer than I felt.

‘But there is something I wanted to ask you.’ His expression turned hopeful. ‘I was wondering if you could speak to your master for me, y’know, put in a good word, see if she’d consider having me.’

‘I don’t have a master,’ I said, baffled.

He frowned. ‘But everyone’s talking about you and Rosa.’

Rosa: the vamp whose body I’d been magically borrowing whenever I used my Disguise spell. Damn. Malik had mentioned something about that; the vamps all considered me her property now. ‘Rosa isn’t my master,’ I said slowly. ‘She’s something else—and don’t ask me to explain, it’s way too complicated.’

‘Okay,’ he agreed, obviously not interested in an explanation anyway. ‘But if you could tell her I’ll do anything, whatever she wants—I mean, I’ve heard the sort of things she’s into, and I’m fine with whatever.’ He lifted his cuffed hands and grinned, flashing fangs as he leaned closer. ‘See, I’m getting a bit of practise in already! But seriously, I’d do anything to get away from that bitch Fiona.’

I held my hands up, needing him to back off a bit. ‘Look, I can’t—’

‘No!’ He grabbed my hands, lifting them to his mouth. ‘Please. I know I can’t influence your mind, but whatever you want, whatever you and Rosa want, I’ll do.’ His lips chilled my knuckles and the handcuffs chinked like heavy chains in my ears. I stared transfixed at where our hands joined. Around me the peach-coloured waiting area disappeared and in its place was a large square room lit by hundreds of thick creamy church candles, walls hung with rich burgundy drapes and stone-flagged floor sloping down to a grate in one corner, a river of blood streaming ...

For a stunned moment I wondered where I was, then the memory crashed into me.

... I grasped the chain joined to his manacled wrists tighter and jerked my arm back. The force yanked him off his knees and his body crashed onto the hard floor. I pulled the chain, dragging him screaming and spitting across the blood-slicked stone flags until he lay shaking at my feet. I smiled down at him, seeing only the youth of his body, cusped on that edge between adolescence and adulthood, ignoring the centuries that lurked in the darkness of his eyes.

‘What did you call me, cara?’ I asked, my voice full of silk and seduction.

‘Bitch, you’re a fucking sadistic bitch,’ he sneered up at me, lips curled back, his fangs stained red with my blood.

I threw back my head and laughed, delighted. ‘Such sweet words, my lover.’ I flicked my wrist and a gun-shot crack sliced through my laughter as the metal-tipped whip flayed another blood-thin line across his naked stomach.

He screamed again, high-pitched, his spine arching with the edge of pleasure the pain brought him. Then grabbing the chain that joined us, he pulled me down, forcing me onto my knees next to him. ‘I promise you, on my honour,’ he snarled, ‘I will break the bones in your body, bitch. And then I will fuck you senseless.’

Eagerness and lust tightened my body, liquid heat flooded between my legs and I touched my tongue to my own fangs, tasting the sweet liquorice of my venom. ‘Yes, do all of that, cara,’ I breathed, my own excitement mounting as I lowered my mouth to kiss his. ‘But first it is my turn to feed.’

‘Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was that?’ Bobby’s voice brought me back to the here and now.

I stared into his shocked grey eyes, too shaken to speak. ‘It’s a memory, isn’t it?’ Bobby’s grey eyes went from shocked to amazed. ‘I shared one of your memories—yours and Rosa’s.’

Shit, I’d felt it, lived it, as though it was my own. And I knew the boy, or rather the vampire, I knew his name—Bastien—and I knew he’d taken as much pleasure from the game as Rosa had ... and I knew he had been true to the promise he had made to her. Bastien was the Autarch; not only that, he had been my betrothed—

Sweat broke out over my body, my stomach lurched with nausea and I pressed my lips together, willing myself not to vomit. Bastien wasn’t here. He couldn’t hurt me. And it wasn’t my memory; it hadn’t happened to me. I swallowed back the taste of bile. The memory belonged to Rosa. So what the fuck was it doing in my mind?

‘Look,’ Bobby broke into my thoughts, ‘seeing that doesn’t put me off, okay? I still want you to talk to Rosa—’

‘I told you, I can’t speak to Rosa for you,’ I said, frowning. How could I when I didn’t know where she was, or even if she, as opposed to her body, was still alive? I hadn’t even used the Disguise spell in the last month—Was that why I’d had the memory? Was something wrong with the spell, or with me?

‘Please,’ he pleaded, squeezing my hands. ‘I don’t know what else to do. If there’s anything you want—I can’t bite you, but I’m good-looking, I’m great in bed, I’ll do any type of sex you want, or anything else ... ’

I shook my head, feeling frustrated sympathy at his desperation. ‘Bobby—’

‘I’ve got to get away,’ he interrupted, ‘but if I just put myself out there and none of the other masters want me, then He’s got the right to take the Gift back, and then I’d be truly dead and that would leave Dad with no one to look after him. Please. I’m begging you.’ He jerked my hands up to his lips again—

His fangs caught my knuckle, splitting the skin and the jagged pain so soon after the full-on sensory memory sent lust and panic spiralling through my body. Without thinking, I tried to pull my hands away.

He groaned, his pupils dilating with need, his hands convulsing around mine. His lips drew back, all four fangs glistening sharp as he licked the blood welling from the cut. The liquorice scent of venom curled around me, heat flushed my skin and I froze. He shoved me back against the wall and raised his head back to strike—

The gems in his silver circlet glowed, the yellow stones shining like cats’ eyes in the dark, and Bobby’s face crumpled with pain. The jade chips embedded in the silver cuffs flashed green and bright, and his fingers spasmed open, releasing me. He thudded to the floor, whimpering, pink-tinged tears rolling down his cheeks as he curled into a foetal ball.

I gazed at him, wanting to help him, but knowing there was nothing I could do. I let my head fall back against the wall and took a deep breath, feeling guilt and remorse as well as frustration at his plight. Even without the restraints he was wearing, Bobby wouldn’t have been able to actually bite me, so I’d never been in any danger. I looked at the bloody scratch on my knuckles, then closed my eyes; it had been stupid to pull my hands away from him. I’d been taught better than that. Matilde, my stepmother, had drummed into me that struggling and running only got a vamp more excited. Of course, freezing wasn’t going to stop a vamp biting you if they were lost in bloodlust, but submitting might keep the vamp from killing you. But Bobby hadn’t been lost in bloodlust, he was just young, hungry and desperate, even before you threw in the ‘memory’ we’d just shared. I shuddered and slammed that thought away in a locked corner of my mind. So I should’ve remembered to stay calm and freeze.

‘Ms Taylor, are you all right?’ asked a male voice, soft and concerned.

My eyes snapped open and I blinked at the man in the smart grey suit hovering a few feet away, a worried look on his twentysomething face. His well-trimmed van Dyke and gelled highlighted hair looked familiar. Then I noticed the red Souler cross pinned to his lapel and I came up with a name: Neil Banner.

A Beater goblin, a nearly five-foot monster, was standing next to him.

‘Would you like Thaddeus here to assist you with the vampire, Ms Taylor?’ he asked.

Thaddeus the goblin hoisted his shiny aluminium baseball bat and bared his black serrated teeth in a warning grin; they glinted red where small cross-shaped rubies had been embedded. His long grey-and-red-streaked hair was bandaged like a horse’s tail so it stood a good eight inches straight up from his head, then cascaded down over his massive shoulders. His own red cross was pinned in pride of place above a dozen other badges, right in the centre of his chest. And over the usual Goblin Guard Security uniform, his navy-blue boilersuit, he wore one of the Soulers’ grey tabards, again marked with a large red Crusader cross.

‘Just say the word, miss,’ Thaddeus growled in a voice deep enough to be a troll’s, ‘and I’ll make mincemeat of the sucker.’

I gave Bobby a sympathetic look where he was still curled on the floor. ‘I think he’d probably appreciate it more if we left him alone to recover, gentlemen.’ I slid my finger down my nose, offering Thaddeus the respectful goblin greeting along with a closed-lip smile; no way did I want him to think I was challenging him. ‘But thank you,’ I added politely. ‘If I ever need to make mincemeat out of a vampire, I’ll know who to call.’ I wasn’t joking either, and not just because Thaddeus stood head and shoulders—literally—over any other Beater goblin I’d seen. The standard-sized ones were ruthless enough; I imagined dealing with a pesky vamp would probably be like swatting an irritating fly for Thaddeus.

‘No problem, miss.’ Thaddeus’ grey wrinkled skin fell into sombre lines as he lowered his bat. He slid his own finger down his nose, returning my greeting.

Neil Banner smiled eagerly. ‘Ms Taylor, I wonder if I might have a word?’

I held my hands out, indicating my Glamoured appearance. ‘Only if you call me Debby,’ I said drily. ‘Debby-with-a-y, that is.’

‘Oh, of course.’ His smile widened. ‘I was forgetting you were incognito.’ He fished in his jacket pocket and produced a neatly folded handkerchief. He held it out to me. ‘Er, you’re still bleeding ...’

I took it from him. ‘Thanks.’ I dabbed at my hand, frowning. He’d obviously had his Crusaders and their pet Gatherer goblins out looking for me—the poodle-perm Souler who’d taken my picture with her phone on the Underground was evidence of that—but just to be sure, I asked the question anyway. ‘I’m curious, how did you recognise me?’

He pulled out his phone, thumbed the keyboard and held it out to me. The screen showed a picture of my Glamoured self. ‘I had a little help.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘And I apologise for the cloak-and-dagger antics, but it’s important that I speak with you, and with the situation as it is, I assumed, rightly as it turned out, that sooner or later you’d use the Underground, or come here. And quite possibly be in disguise. And of course, there’s not much magic that can fool a goblin’s nose.’

Why was he babbling? ‘I take it you’re not going to inform the police of my whereabouts?’

‘Er, not at this moment, no.’ His smile wilted a bit round the edges.

Which made whatever he wanted vaguely threatening. ‘What is it you want to talk about that’s so important, Mr Banner?’ I said calmly.

‘It’s a rather delicate, Ms—’ He clasped his hands together nervously. ‘Um ... I think you might have something in your possession that belongs to our Order. As we’ve met previously, my superiors decided it might be easier if I approached you instead of a stranger.’

‘So what’s the item?’

‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you,’ he said apologetically. ‘All I can say is that the item was a bequest to the Order from someone recently deceased. The solicitor dealing with the will maintains that it is in your safekeeping.’

I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Why all the mystery, Mr Banner?’

‘The item is important, apparently, so you’ll know if you have it or not.’ He was practically wringing his hands. ‘But my superiors don’t want any information about the item becoming public knowledge.’

‘In other words they don’t trust me.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he rushed on, ‘I advocated being straight with you, I told them that you saved my life at risk of your own when that vampire attacked me, that you deserved to be told everything, but—’

‘I’m a suspected murderer on the run. Don’t worry, I get it. It hardly makes me trustworthy material, does it?’

His cheeks coloured hot with embarrassment.

‘Thought so.’ I checked my hand where Bobby’s fangs had caught it. The skin had scabbed over already.

I gave Thaddeus an appraising look. Beater goblins were usually employed in Sucker Town, a private police force paid for out of the vampires’ pockets to keep the night-time streets safe for human visitors. It’s not such a contradiction as the idea suggests, since goblins are all about the job, right down to the last full stop on the contract. Although the Soulers are the only humans that use Beaters instead of the smaller, more acceptable Monitor goblins for any business dealings involving vampires or magic, since turning up with a baseball-bat-toting bodyguard is not the way to engender trustful relations. So Neil Banner searching for me with a monster Beater goblin at his side wasn’t that surprising ... but then he’d mentioned our first meeting. That time he’d only warranted an inexperienced, imported goblin as a minder, even though he’d been mixing with the Earl and a couple of his fang-pals. Either his standing within the Order had gone up in the last month, or his errand was of prime importance. And once I started thinking of the Earl, it didn’t take much to put it all together. He was the only one I knew who had died recently and who had given me something of value.

The Fabergé egg.

My bullshit antenna twitched. Why would a vampire leave a religious organisation such a legacy—especially when said organisation believed that vampirism was evil and anyone who accepted the Gift was destined for Hell? And apart from anything else, the Earl had been around for eight hundred-odd centuries, so I doubt he’d expected to die when he did.

But before I could ask, loud shouting erupted at the clinic’s entrance and I heard someone cry, ‘Where’s the sidhe?’