The Cold Kiss of Death (3 page)
Feeling guilty relief at not having to rehash the next part of the conversation, I tucked the phone away and pursed my lips at the pile of invitations. I turned the top envelope over; the red wax seal on the back was impressed with the shape of a clover leaf. That told me it was from Declan, master vampire of the Red Shamrock blood, one of London’s four blood families. The conniving Irish bastard
so
didn’t know when to quit. Quickly I checked the seals on all the rest, but the one I was half-dreading, half-hoping for, the one from the vampire I wanted to ‘come to an arrangement’ with, still wasn’t there.
so
didn’t know when to quit. Quickly I checked the seals on all the rest, but the one I was half-dreading, half-hoping for, the one from the vampire I wanted to ‘come to an arrangement’ with, still wasn’t there.
Malik al-Khan.
Nearly a month since he’d last put in an appearance.
I was beginning to wonder if he ever would.
And if he didn’t, then all my ‘conversations’ with Grace about ‘arranging’ to solve my 3V problem the vampire way instead of the medical one would be for nothing. Malik was the only possibility; I didn’t trust any of the others. Not that I really trusted Malik, but ...
I ripped the envelopes in half, pulled open the junk mail bin under the mailboxes and shoved them in, then slammed the door shut.
My only wish was that I could dispose of the vamps themselves as easily.
I closed my eyes and massaged my temples, trying to ease my ever-present headache; popping G-Zav tablets like they were sweeties might be keeping a precarious lid on my venom cravings, but the side-effects were about as pleasant as being roasted alive over a dwarf’s furnace. Sighing, I put the towel in the carrier bag with my socks and shoes, then headed for the stairs, the pervasive smell of garlic increasing as I climbed.
The real puzzle was why some enterprising vamp hadn’t just gone straight for the caveman thing, knocking me over the head and dragging me off by my short sidhe hair. Of course, it’s illegal for a vamp to use any form of coercion - physical or psychological - without their
victim’s
consent (not that vamps have victims any more, now they’re called
customers
, a.k.a. fang-fans). And the vamps are good at playing the law-abiding game, so the last time one of them won a one-way trip to the guillotine for unlicensed feeding was back in the early eighties.
victim’s
consent (not that vamps have victims any more, now they’re called
customers
, a.k.a. fang-fans). And the vamps are good at playing the law-abiding game, so the last time one of them won a one-way trip to the guillotine for unlicensed feeding was back in the early eighties.
But the humans don’t think we fae need the same protection as humans, not when the vamps can’t mind-lock us or trick us with their
mesma
unless they’d infected us
,
and not when we’re often seen as more dangerous than the once-human vampires. Then there’s the fact that we fae are even more of a minority than the blood-suckers; a minority that’s not as politically aware and not always as pretty. So it’s not surprising we get a less-than-fair hearing when it comes to human justice.
mesma
unless they’d infected us
,
and not when we’re often seen as more dangerous than the once-human vampires. Then there’s the fact that we fae are even more of a minority than the blood-suckers; a minority that’s not as politically aware and not always as pretty. So it’s not surprising we get a less-than-fair hearing when it comes to human justice.
Or that we end up as fair game for the vamps.
What we really needed was a great public relations manager. Idly I wondered if the one that had kick-started the vamps’ Gold-Plated Coffin promotion was still around. Not that I had the money to pay for a no-expenses-spared PR campaign. I could only just afford my rent, and that was
with
the subsidy I got from working for a witch company.
with
the subsidy I got from working for a witch company.
I stepped onto the third-floor landing and the garlic stench almost overpowered me. I stopped to cough, glaring at Witch Wilcox’s door. Of course, I wouldn’t need the subsidy if she succeeded in getting me evicted.
‘Ow!’ Something stung my bare calf. I hopped and slapped at my leg, then
looked
at her door.
looked
at her door.
Crap. It wasn’t just the garlic she’d laid on a bit thick; she’d added to the Vamp Back-Off spell sprayed on her door and the magic now spread over the landing like an enormous sea anemone, its deep purple body fanning out into a multitude of paler violet-coloured fronds that rippled through the air and circled a dark hole that looked disturbingly like a gaping mouth.
‘That’s different,’ I muttered in amazement. The thing looked more like a trap than a vamp deterrent, and my calf was throbbing like someone had branded it with a red-hot poker. Whatever the spell was, no way did I want to tangle with it.
Carefully, I inched my way along the landing, keeping my back tight against the wall. As I moved, the fronds shifted, questing towards me as if they’d caught my scent. I breathed in sharply as one whipped past my stomach and ducked as another narrowly missed slashing across my cheek, the eye-watering smell of garlic and bleach trailing behind it. Then as three more of the lethal fronds flailed after me, I turned and bolted for the stairs, carrier bag clutched under my arm. I jumped, yelping, as the spell stung the back of my neck, then as I almost missed the steps, I managed to grab for the banister and safety.
I sat down heavily on the stair, breathing shakily as I checked the welt on my calf; the skin wasn’t broken, it was just swollen, red and painful. Gingerly, I touched the back of my neck. It felt the same. What the hell was the daft old witch doing,
casting
... whatever that anemone thing was? It seemed excessive, even with her paranoia about her beloved granddaughter - never mind the fact that even if a vamp managed to bypass the Ward on the building’s main door, none of them could pass over her threshold; unless of course she was stupid enough to invite them in. I glowered down at the spell. The fronds were undulating lazily now, but I got the impression they were just watching and waiting.
casting
... whatever that anemone thing was? It seemed excessive, even with her paranoia about her beloved granddaughter - never mind the fact that even if a vamp managed to bypass the Ward on the building’s main door, none of them could pass over her threshold; unless of course she was stupid enough to invite them in. I glowered down at the spell. The fronds were undulating lazily now, but I got the impression they were just watching and waiting.
‘It would serve the old witch right if I
cracked
her spell,’ I grumbled, rubbing my sore leg. Trouble was, true
spellcracking
blasted the magic back into the ether, which made for a quick clear-up - except the
cracking
also blasted apart whatever the spell happened to be attached to. Somehow I didn’t think I’d get away with turning the witch’s door into a pile of jagged splinters. I could always tease it apart, the safer, if more laborious, way of dismantling spells, but that would take more time than I was willing to spare. And she’d just replace it anyway.
cracked
her spell,’ I grumbled, rubbing my sore leg. Trouble was, true
spellcracking
blasted the magic back into the ether, which made for a quick clear-up - except the
cracking
also blasted apart whatever the spell happened to be attached to. Somehow I didn’t think I’d get away with turning the witch’s door into a pile of jagged splinters. I could always tease it apart, the safer, if more laborious, way of dismantling spells, but that would take more time than I was willing to spare. And she’d just replace it anyway.
Damn. I thought about saying something to Mr Travers, but the garlic meant the spell was somehow tagged for vampires - not that eating garlic will stop a vamp from getting the munchies; some of them actually like the added flavour. Mind you, smearing a bulb or two over the pulse points might make them think seriously about dining elsewhere, as would chilli: red swollen lips are bad for the image, never mind the pain. Of course, the garlic smearing only works if the vamp’s brain is still engaged and they’re not lost in bloodlust. Not much stops a vamp then.
I had no idea why the bleach was in there - maybe it just made a handy, albeit nasty base. But whatever the reason, the old witch’s Anemone spell was the business.
And then there was my problem with actually complaining: how was I supposed to explain why magic aimed squarely at blood-suckers was taking its ire out on me? Somehow I doubted that my 3V condition would be enough, never mind it was easy to disprove. And letting everyone in on the real reason - my last secret - would mean not just eviction, but losing my job too. No, there was no way I could complain, not when it meant admitting my father was a three-hundred-year-old vampire.
My phone broke into my musings with something that sounded suspiciously like the theme from
A Nightmare on Elm Street
. Damn gremlins! I checked the display to see a message from Grace; she was coming round after her shift ended. I texted her back to say I was working and to let herself in, then as I caught sight of the time, everything, gremlins, ghosts, witches and blood-sucking vampires, went out of my mind. I had a job to go to; my ‘hot date with a satyr’ or rather, my boss, Finn, and if I didn’t hurry up I was going to be late.
A Nightmare on Elm Street
. Damn gremlins! I checked the display to see a message from Grace; she was coming round after her shift ended. I texted her back to say I was working and to let herself in, then as I caught sight of the time, everything, gremlins, ghosts, witches and blood-sucking vampires, went out of my mind. I had a job to go to; my ‘hot date with a satyr’ or rather, my boss, Finn, and if I didn’t hurry up I was going to be late.
Then my ‘date’ would be ‘hot’ for all the wrong reasons.
Chapter Two
M
y ‘date’
was
hot; nothing to do with Finn, my boss, but entirely thanks to the gas-fired heaters in the underground tunnel. The air they blasted out was enough to raise the temperature to a level that only a fire-dragon would appreciate. But I could cope with the heat; it was the ghost part of the job that had sweat slicking down my spine.
y ‘date’
was
hot; nothing to do with Finn, my boss, but entirely thanks to the gas-fired heaters in the underground tunnel. The air they blasted out was enough to raise the temperature to a level that only a fire-dragon would appreciate. But I could cope with the heat; it was the ghost part of the job that had sweat slicking down my spine.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose as another ghost shuffled into view, his bloated, blackened feet scuffing along the dirt floor, sending little puffs of dust into the still air. A deep cut marred his left cheek; the bone it revealed was white and glistening. His eyes stared blankly out of sunken sockets and the end of his nose was eaten away by a huge black sore. He headed straight towards us and I counted the seconds down -
three, two, one
- then winced, half in sympathy, half in teeth-gritted anxiety, as he hit the wall of the protective circle in which Finn and I sat. The ghost’s lipless mouth flattened against the magic while his skeletal hands scrabbled for purchase not more than four feet in front of me. I suppressed a shudder, shifting nervously in my deckchair as he slid his way round the circle until he was back on route and shambling off on his way.
three, two, one
- then winced, half in sympathy, half in teeth-gritted anxiety, as he hit the wall of the protective circle in which Finn and I sat. The ghost’s lipless mouth flattened against the magic while his skeletal hands scrabbled for purchase not more than four feet in front of me. I suppressed a shudder, shifting nervously in my deckchair as he slid his way round the circle until he was back on route and shambling off on his way.
Sighing with relief, I touched my laptop keypad and entered the time against the ghost’s name - Scarface - on the spreadsheet, then duplicated the info on my pad, just in case. The laptop might have an extra-strength Buffer spell in the crystal stuck to its case, but I wasn’t taking any chances. All it needed was a stray bit of magic and I’d end up with one
cracked
crystal, one dead hard drive and an irretrievable ghost survey.
cracked
crystal, one dead hard drive and an irretrievable ghost survey.
I tapped my pencil on my pad and wondered for about the hundredth time what I’d done to deserve a night sitting under London Bridge counting ghosts, especially after my frustrating run-in with Cosette. And not just any ghosts, but the ghosts of fourteenth-century plague victims. My phobia’s bad enough when the dead look relatively normal, without adding in all the stomach-roiling stuff. Not to mention we were camped out deep in the bridge’s foundations in the area known as the tombs - right on top of the plague victims’ burial pits.
Could my night get any worse?
‘That’s the fifth time he’s done that,’ I said, drawing a little Edvard Munch face, mouth wide open in a scream. ‘I was sort of hoping he’d catch on that there was something in his way by now.’
Finn looked up absently from the book he was reading - a history of London Bridge - and my heart did its usual stupid leap inside my chest. I gave it my standard lecture. Sure, Finn looked great; his handsome, clean-cut features always had plenty of females - and not a few males - drooling, never mind the broad shoulders and honed muscles that stretched his old navy T-shirt. Even his bracken-coloured horns that stood an inch or so above his hair and marked him as a satyr just added to him being a gorgeous hunk of male. But it was just a look. He was wearing his usual Glamour, one that made him appear more human, so even in his snug, washed-out jeans there was no hint of his sleek furred thighs, or the tail I knew he had.
It’s just a look, nothing to get worked up about.
Yeah, and I didn’t believe myself either. Not that his true form was any less gorgeous, just different - wilder, more feral. But his Glamour made things easier when dealing with humans. A bit of Otherness is tolerable, even sought after, but show too many differences between our species and monsters like prejudice and bigotry raise their ugly heads and the humans start reaching for their not-so-metaphorical pitchforks.
It’s just a look, nothing to get worked up about.
Yeah, and I didn’t believe myself either. Not that his true form was any less gorgeous, just different - wilder, more feral. But his Glamour made things easier when dealing with humans. A bit of Otherness is tolerable, even sought after, but show too many differences between our species and monsters like prejudice and bigotry raise their ugly heads and the humans start reaching for their not-so-metaphorical pitchforks.
Damn, running into bitchy witches’ daughters and tangling with paranoid neighbours was turning me into a pessimist.
‘Who’s done what?’ Finn asked, a faint line creasing between his brows.
I sighed. Or maybe it was spending time with a hot satyr who didn’t seem to notice me any more. Previously he’d asked me out often enough that I’d wished he’d stop. Oh, not that I hadn’t wanted to say yes - maybe not for Happy Ever After, but I’d definitely wanted a chance at Happy for Now with him - but keeping my secrets meant I’d always said no. Then the Mr October thing happened. Finn had been determined to play the white knight, and in a desperate attempt to scare him off and end his sacrificial tendencies, I’d told him that saving me from the vamps was really a moot point seeing as my father was one, and my ending up back with the suckers was probably inevitable. He’d gone quiet at my confession, an expected but still painful rejection, then in the end we’d both sort of saved each other and ourselves. But afterwards, when I’d been sure I’d lose everything now he knew - my job, my home and most of my friends - he’d kept my secret, and done some smart talking for me with the Witches’ Council. But as for any sort of relationship other than work, knowing about
that
half of my parentage seemed to have been the kiss of death. Not that I didn’t understand why.
that
half of my parentage seemed to have been the kiss of death. Not that I didn’t understand why.
The old adage of being careful what you
wish
for was never so true.
wish
for was never so true.
Or so disheartening.
‘Gen, who’s done what?’ Finn repeated the question, his moss-green eyes losing their vagueness.
‘Scarface just passed by.’ I pointed my pencil at the ghost disappearing into the distance down the tunnel nearest to Finn, one of a row that led off at right angles from the one we were in, areas between the foundation supports once used for storage, until they’d started to dig the place up and turn it into a tourist exhibition. We sat at one of the T-junctions facing each other, watching for ghosts from all directions. ‘He bumped into the circle again,’ I added, pleased my voice came out steady.
Finn cast a professional eye over the eight-foot circle. He’d
drawn
it - literally and magically - in the clearest part of the site, using salt for binding, shredded yew to keep out the dead and sage for clarity and protection. When I
looked
I could see it enclosing us like a huge bubble - not a comforting thought when bony fingers kept poking at it.
drawn
it - literally and magically - in the clearest part of the site, using salt for binding, shredded yew to keep out the dead and sage for clarity and protection. When I
looked
I could see it enclosing us like a huge bubble - not a comforting thought when bony fingers kept poking at it.
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