Sweet Scent of Blood (16 page)

‘Fine!’ Suspicion fell into anger. ‘Let yourself out when you’ve finished admiring it.’ I splashed vodka in the glass and knocked it back, feeling the icy chill deep inside me. ‘I need to get some sleep.’

‘C’mon, Gen—’

I slammed the glass down. ‘No, you
c’mon
. You set me up today, Finn, and I don’t like it.’ I closed the distance between us. ‘If you wanted to know how much magic I could absorb, you only had to ask. But no, you decided to give me a little test instead.’ I thumped my hand against his chest. ‘The half-dozen spells in the restaurant I could understand: they were just a ruse on the brownie’s part to get me there. But I couldn’t work out why she’d blitzed the kitchen like that, why she would risk hurting her family’s business - only it wasn’t her, was it? It was you.’ I gave his chest another thump. ‘You set all those spells, didn’t you?’

‘Okay, okay, I admit it.’ He held his palms out, face full of remorse. ‘And I’m sorry, I was wrong. But it was only brownie magic, Gen, nothing drastic. A lot of people find it useful—’

I threw my arm out, indicating the room. ‘Does it look like I clean and tidy and bake, Finn? No! I don’t have any furniture; I don’t even have an
oven
. I eat all my meals at the Rosy Lee. And you know what else your
nothing drastic
brownie magic is doing? It’s leaking out at inconvenient moments, and it’s pulling my Glamour with it.’ I clenched my fists. ‘I nearly Glamoured a human - a
man
- just because I felt sorry for him. No way do I call that
nothing drastic
.’

‘Hell’s thorns, Gen.’ His eyes widened in shock. ‘Why’s it doing that?’

‘How the fuck should I know?’ I shouted. ‘I’ve never absorbed brownie magic before, and I can’t just let the stuff out, can I? I mean, the spells weren’t exactly user-friendly to begin with, and I’m sure my neighbours would be
so
impressed if I turned their kitchens into mini-war zones.’

Alarm flashed across his face. ‘Can’t you just re-shape the spells, tell the magic to tidy or polish or—?’

‘Finn!’ I threw up my hands in disgust. ‘How the hell am I supposed to do that? Stella must’ve told you I can’t cast spells, let alone re-shape them.’

‘Well, yes, she did, but this is brownie magic, Gen. I didn’t think—’

‘Well,
do
think!’ I snarled. ‘They’re still spells, Finn.’ I shoved him again and he stumbled back, looking at me in dismay. ‘Get it now, do you?’

‘Gods, Gen, I didn’t realise—’ He took a deep breath. ‘My apologies, my Lady. Please forgive me.’ The words were stiff and formal, and totally unlike Finn. ‘I would never aim to harm you.’

I stared at him in disbelief. I’d half-expected him to try and charm me, but not this strange apology. What the hell was he playing at? I raked my fingers through my hair in frustration; I’d had enough of games for one night. And it wasn’t really
all
Finn’s fault, was it? I knew absorbing spells came with a price and I’d neglected to mention the possibility of side-effects to him.

‘Fine! Apology accepted,’ I snapped and turned away to pour another drink, the oncoming blood-flush making my hand shake. Damn brownie magic. I’d have to get one of the witches to put up a circle tomorrow so I could defuse the spells - and that was going to be a fun way to spend the day, wasn’t it? Still, that’s what I got for being stupid.

Finn touched my shoulder, and I jumped, the drink sloshing. Grabbing a cloth, I gave him a cold stare. ‘I think you should leave.’

‘Gen, I really am sorry.’ A frown creased his forehead. ‘If there’s anything I can do to help?’

The tiredness rolled back over me, washing away my anger and leaving behind jagged grains of hurt. ‘Dammit, Finn, why would you
do
that? Why couldn’t you just ask?’

His face closed up and his eyes went blank and unreadable. ‘It was a mistake, Gen. It won’t happen again.’

‘Oh fine.’ I threw the cloth down. ‘If you don’t want to explain yourself, then you can just get out.’ I marched over the door and yanked it open.

He came and stood in front of me and I refused to meet his eyes. ‘I’m not leaving,’ he said, his stance determined. ‘Not yet, not until I’ve told you about the trees.’

‘Get on with it then,’ I snapped.

‘It’s not good, Gen.’ He lowered his voice. ‘There’s a vampire watching you.’

Not really a surprise, considering.
‘What’s the vamp look like?’ I asked, my voice flat.

‘They said he’s dark-haired, and a bit eastern-looking.’ He looked worried. ‘He’s been hanging around the market, between here and the office.’

The description fit the Armani-suited vamp outside the police station - Malik al-Khan. I glanced at the bruises on my wrist, fear fluttering inside me. Why had he been watching me? Was it just the Mr October business, or was something else going on?

Finn gripped the edge of the door, his hand almost touching mine, and out of the corner of my eye I saw gold light spark between us. ‘Gen, I know you’re under witch protection,’ he said carefully, almost hesitantly, ‘but maybe you should be a bit more cautious than usual.’

‘Thanks for the heads-up, Finn.’ I took my hand off the door and crossed my arms. ‘But it’s probably nothing more than some vamp getting a bit curious.’ I shrugged dismissively. ‘It happens sometimes.’

‘I care for you, Gen—’ He paused as I snorted. ‘I know that’s hard for you to believe, after ...’ Anxiety threaded his voice. ‘But I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.’ The scent of blackberries sharpened with his fear curled through the air and I felt the brownie’s magic soothing the hurt that he’d tricked me. I sighed and looked up at him as the urge to ease away his fear rose within me. Suddenly, too tired to resist, I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek. ‘Don’t worry, okay? I’ll be fine.’

He gazed solemnly down at me, moss-green of his eyes darkening as his own magic responded to mine and he gently clasped my shoulders. I gave into need and traced the arch of his brows and stroked my fingertips along the sharp angle of his cheeks. Brighter gold light shot through with green danced from beneath my skin and I held his face in my palms.

And wanted him.

I blew out a breath, and closed my eyes, dragging the magic back. He was fae - my Glamour couldn’t hurt him like a human - but the 3V tainting my blood could harm us both.

‘You need to go, Finn,’ I whispered as I slid my hands from him.

He caught my arms, gentle fingers circling my wrists, and his thumbs smoothed over the sensitive pulse points, making my breath hitch. ‘Gen, don’t send me away—’

I shook my head.

‘Gen.’ He sounded insistent.

Something clutched inside me.

‘Feel that,’ he murmured. ‘Feel the connection.’

Desire spiked, so fierce it almost made me scream. I gasped and opened my eyes wide. ‘The magic is just trying to push us together, Finn. Yours, mine, the brownie’s, it doesn’t
mean
anything.’

‘Of course it does! You think this happens between every fae?’ He rested his forehead against mine. ‘If you do, you’re wrong. I’ve never felt anything this strong before.’ His warm scent twisted through me, heat flooding into my very centre. ‘Just think how we could take the magic ...’

I looked up at him. Emerald chips, and something more, glinted in the dark-green of his eyes. Drawing him down, I lifted my lips to his. He brushed his mouth over mine, light, teasing, then pressing harder, using teeth and tongue, burning into fierce demand, his unspoken question searing through my body.

I ached to say yes—

Then my heart shuddered and the coming blood-flush, stronger than before, itched through my veins. I had my answer.

I pushed him away. ‘I can’t. I’m sorry.’

His chest rose and fell, breathing hard. He threw his head back, horns looking darker, longer than before. I stared transfixed at the rapid pulse jumping in his throat. Then he stepped back, the need in his face smoothing out. Skimming his fingers down the vee of my top, he slipped open the first button, then the next. Want shivered through me again. He touched his fingertip to the heated skin over my heart. ‘In here, you can. Think on that, my Lady.’ Then he turned and left.

Tears pricking my eyes, I closed the door slowly behind him and slid down to huddle against it, listening as the sound of his footsteps—

—was lost, swallowed by pain and anguish as the blood-flush raged through my body.

Chapter Fourteen

I
headed for Sucker Town, or Greenwich as it’s known by daylight, the heart of the mean times. I’d left my flat using the back way: over the roof and down the fire escape ladder into the garden of St Paul’s Church. A rush of hot air at Waterloo Station signalled the arrival of the tube train. Dropping into a seat, I rubbed the back of my neck, heart labouring in my chest. My body felt like I’d climbed Hugh’s mountain with a bad attack of the flu; I was weak, itchy and craving. I’d have been making the trip anyway, even if I hadn’t wanted to hear the gossip.

I gazed, exhausted, at the train’s tunnel-darkened windows and, stifling my regrets over Finn, made a promise to myself that that was an end of it. No more wishing for something that couldn’t be. I slumped in the seat and checked out my reflection: black baseball cap hiding the telltale amber of my hair, tinted glasses over my eyes, loose black T-shirt, charity shop jeans, heavy motorbike boots and a knee-length black jacket that had me sweating in the stuffy heat. My only accessory was the pearl-handled flick-knife that nestled against my spine: six inches of silver-plated steel.

Apart from the knife, my venom-junkie outfit fitted in right along with the other occupant of the carriage.

The goth leaned against the doors, arms folded loosely across his chest. Only he wasn’t the real deal, just a cheap copy. His ankle-length coat was PVC instead of leather, his dye job was patchy and safety pins featured heavily in his attempt at low-cost adornment. Heavy-handed eyeliner gave him the naïve panda look, and the black, round-necked T-shirt shouted out his inexperience. A true sucker wannabe would’ve worn a muscle vest. Or nothing. As I’d stumbled past him onto the train, his lip had curled, showing crooked teeth, and I’d recognised him. Cheap Goth was Gazza, the dirty-mouthed pot-washer from the Rosy Lee Café. No prizes for guessing why he was off to Sucker Town.

Ignoring him, I closed my eyes, tucking my hands under my arms to stop from scratching.

The goblin woke me.

I opened my eyes to the blank stare of his dark wraparounds and was reminded of Jeremiah, the goblin who’d died at the police station. But this one was smaller, with his pale grey head-fur crimped into artificial waves and fanned out like a miniature peacock’s tail. His white translucent ears flicked like a rat’s and he clutched a gold lamé satchel tight to his chest, almost obscuring the London Underground badge on his navy boiler-suit - a gold embroidered ‘G’ that marked him as a Gatherer.

He slid a thin grey finger down his twitching nose. ‘Rubbish, miss.’

My disguise wasn’t good enough to trick a goblin, or even a vamp - not that it mattered. It was only the witches I was trying to fool.

I shook my head at the goblin, then touched my own nose in reply.

He patted the flap of his satchel. ‘Thankee, miss.’

The goblin clomped along to Gazza, his trainers flashed green with every step. ‘Rubbish, mister.’

Gazza sneered again. ‘Bugger off, you little creep.’

The goblin grinned up at him, baring black serrated teeth, three of them studded with square-cut garnets. He opened his mouth wide, leaned forward and snapped his teeth together with a loud crack, right next to Gazza’s cheap PVC-covered groin. ‘Rubbish, mister,’ he demanded.

Huddling against the door, his eyes wide, Gazza fumbled in his coat pocket, found something and offered it warily to the goblin. A stick of chewing gum, still wrapped.

Thin fingers plucked at it, then tucked it away inside the gold lamé satchel. ‘Thankee, mister.’ The goblin stamped his feet, leapt onto a seat and curled up in a ball, his arms hugging tight around his bag.

Gazza subsided like a pricked balloon.

I tucked my chin down, hiding a smirk.

Two stops later, the doors hissed open at Sucker Town North and Gazza jumped out and raced along the platform, coat flapping behind him like the Night Hunt was nipping at his heels.

Following at a slower pace, I shambled onto the escalator, closing my eyes briefly against the headache pounding behind them. I stuck my hand in my pocket and smoothed my fingers over Jeremiah’s Union Jack badge I’d found outside the police station, then touched my fingertips to the other two just like it that I’d picked up from home.

My lucky charms.

Reaching ground level, I fed change into the turnstile and pushed through into the ladies. A miasma of bleach, ammonia and sickly-sweet weed clung to the white brick-laid tiles and my stomach roiled. I shuffled along the row of cubicles, gave each door a push, checking for the cleanest.

Two girls, one with dirty blonde hair, the other a more brassy yellow, sat on the counter facing each other, bare feet in one of the washbasins. Giggling, they took it in turns hitting the tap and splashing water over their toes. Brassy threw me a quick furtive glance, decided I wasn’t anyone to be bothered about and took a long drag of her spliff.

Dirty gave me the finger. ‘Piss off, cow,’ she hissed.

Ignoring her, I choose a so-so cubicle at the end and locked myself in. It wasn’t the nicest place to change, but it was the most convenient available. The poster on the door advertised HOPE, and warned against 3V and the perils of Sucker Town.

I hung my jacket over it.

My heart started palpitating and I braced my hands on my knees, and panted shallow breaths until it calmed down. I wiped the sweat from my face and neck, pulled off my boots and then stripped down to my underwear: Lycra black crop-top and hipster shorts. Once I’d donned my jacket and boots again, I’d be good to go as Gazza the Cheap Goth’s twin.

Easing down the shorts, I stared at the spell-tattoo on my left hip. Its hard black ridges stood proud against the honey-colour of my skin. Licking my lips, I traced the knotted Celtic shape, and a shudder of power echoed through me.