TheSmallPrint (10 page)

Foster took another look at the file. “Dorling and Hynd. Nottingham.”

“The telephone numbers?”

Turner ignored the furrowed brow, suspicion written all over the man’s face. He wasn’t leaving without a way to contact the lawyers on both sides. Turner stared hard at Foster. “You want to give me the numbers,” he said in a firm voice.

“Let me write them down for you.”

Good to know Turner’s thrall still worked. Just not on Matty. Piece of paper clutched in his hand, Turner nodded his head in thanks. He’d reached the door before Foster spoke again.

“I have heard of a Matilda Hobsbawn.”

Turner looked back. “And?”

“Well, I doubt it’s her living in your attic.”

Turner begged to differ. “Why’s that?”

“She’s dead.”

“If only that were true,” he muttered, and walked out.

Turner unlocked his car and got in. His fingers were about to press the ignition button when he paused. His little uninvited house guest must have stolen Matty Hobsbawn’s identity. Was she a criminal? That made sense. Hiding from the police in someone else’s property. Or perhaps she was on the run from an abusive relationship. Turner bristled at the thought of anyone hurting her. He set off back to the hall.

Whatever the truth of the situation, one thing was certain. The woman in his house was most definitely not dead, and despite his parting quip, Turner was glad about that.

Now he had a way to get rid of her. He called Dorling and Hynd and left a message on their answering machine. Turner didn’t try to hide the annoyance in his voice. They were idiots for putting those clauses in the contract. He wanted an eviction notice issued immediately.

The moment Turner walked into the hall he saw a parcel and a letter lying on the bottom stair. Was that what she’d been holding before? He picked the items up. A gift? Bribery now? Turner lifted his head, sniffed and followed his nose to the kitchen.

Matty stood with her back to the sink. Between them on the table sat a lopsided chocolate cake. On top were a large number of candles and the model of a dark-haired guy lying snug in bed.
Oh fuck.

“Happy birthday,” Matty blurted.

“Birthday?” He felt like he’d swallowed a stone. He eyed the table. “You made me a cake.” Turner put down the card and present.

“Let me light the candles,” she said.

She launched into the
Happy Birthday
song, her voice trailing away as Turner stared at her. He couldn’t think when he’d been more shocked in his life. Well, yes he could. It hadn’t been that long ago.

“You have to blow them out,” she said. “Better hurry before the smoke alarm goes off.”

Turner took a deep breath, exhaled and all the candles went out.

“Now make a wish,” Matty said.

“I wish you—”

“Not out loud or it won’t come true,” she blurted, and then chewed her lip.

Turner hadn’t been going to wish her gone, though he could see that was what she expected. He’d intended to say he’d wished she hadn’t bothered.
Oh, and that would be better, moron?
He was an absolute idiot. How old was he?

He counted the candles. Thirty-six.

“How—?” he began.

“I saw your birth certificate when I found the contract for the house. Do you want a slice of cake?”

God no.
“Yes please.” Turner frowned. “You went through my papers?”

“Only a little bit.”

He opened his mouth and then closed it again. She took off the candles, put them to one side and grabbed a knife. The slice she gave him had his head perched on top. Matty had neatly decapitated him. She cut a very thin sliver for herself and then appeared to only play with it.

“Are you going to open your present?” she asked.

Turner picked up the card and slid his finger under the flap of the envelope. The paper sliced into him and a red bead blossomed on his skin. He licked the blood away and his fangs dropped.
Oh fuck.
He should have eaten before he went out. Turner dropped the card and forked a piece of cake into his mouth. It wouldn’t kill him to eat it and with a bit of luck it might disgust his fangs into a tactical retreat.

He forced the mouthful down and sure enough, his fangs retracted. “Delicious,” he said, fighting off the urge to vomit.

The smile on Matty’s face was so radiant he could have sworn the room lightened. Had anyone ever made him a cake? After he’d been turned there had been no point. Matty’s cake tasted—
Oh crap.
He swallowed his heave. Turner wished it tasted great but it didn’t.

He picked up the card. The picture on the front was of a boy’s head perched on a couch. Next to the head was a cowboy hat and scrunched up wrapping paper. Parents stood nervously in front of their bodiless child. The caption was
Another hat? Fred wished he had more imaginative parents
. Turner laughed. Inside she’d written
Happy Birthday, love Matty
.

Love.
Turner’s mind drifted and Matty pushed the gift into his hands. “Wait until I switch off the light.”

Turner raised his eyebrows but waited until the room was dark. Inside the wrapping he found a small glass cube that shone a bright yellowy-orange.

“It’s a piece of the sun,” Matty blurted. “Solar-powered. You spend all day sleeping and don’t see much of it.”

Turner’s miserable, shriveled, pathetic excuse for a heart felt as if it were going to break in two.

“It’s beautiful,” he said. “The perfect gift.” She had no idea how perfect.

* * * * *

Dava couldn’t wait any longer for Gabriel to get in touch. She’d decided if he
did
blame her for his incarceration, he
would
have been in touch, so it was more likely he didn’t know how to find her. It had taken Dava awhile to track him down and cover up what she’d done by overwriting files, her computer expertise gained thanks to a pizza delivery guy getting an address wrong. Several nights ago, Pete had turned up at her door with his last delivery, and every evening since, he’d continued to provide food she didn’t want and food she did.

A
rat-a-tat-tat
on the door was the cue to strip. Dava pulled the door open and smiled. Pete wasn’t a patch on the blond VRB vamp, but of far more use to her. The mortal was thin with greasy hair and sallow skin, though the lust in his eyes almost made him handsome. His big cock
was
handsome.

Why did he look worried?

“Hello, gorgeous,” she purred.

“Still want the pizza?”

He just needed reassurance. “Have you brought me a deep pan, fourteen-inch pepperoni pizza with extra cheese and a stiff cock?”

He held out the box and finally offered up a grin. Dava closed the door behind him. The idiot never seemed to notice she never ate a morsel. She followed him to the kitchen and he put the pizza on the counter.

“I’m starving,” she said, and leapt at him.

Dava flipped his pants’ button open, pulled the zipper down and the stiff cock promised jumped out. She lifted her leg, grabbed his shoulders and impaled herself with a long hiss.

He was enthusiastic and O positive. A delightful combination. He was also lucky. If he’d arrived that first night before she’d drunk the crap that masqueraded as blood, she’d have drained him, unable to help herself. She’d relearned control though hadn’t yet mastered the balancing act of not sucking too hard when he was on the verge of orgasm.

Unexpectedly, Pete reached for her clit, rubbed, and Dava came with a shudder as he flooded her with his cum. He was learning. How impressive. She licked the wounds on his neck and nuzzled into him as he lowered her leg to the floor.

“You are so hot,” Pete whispered.

Yes, I am.

“You’re the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

So true
. “Would you do something for me?”

“Anything.”

Of course he would.

“Drive me to the train station?”

“Now?” Pete asked, his voice pained.

“Please.”

She’d bought a first-class train ticket to Nottingham, the cost horrifying even though she wasn’t using her money. Twenty years ago she could have purchased a fur coat for the same amount. She’d not seen anyone wearing fur except a few dogs. Perhaps Gabriel would buy her a little mink jacket.

After Pete had gotten over his sulk at not getting another fuck, he’d been pacified by her promise to call him. He wouldn’t remember giving her the money out of his wallet, though Dava didn’t remove his memory of her. She had a feeling he’d come in useful. He was saving for college and those who needed money were always vulnerable.

By the time she’d walked from the train station to Gabriel’s apartment building, she was almost vibrating with excitement. Even the realization that Gabriel had been housed in a dump above a fish and chip shop didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. Twenty years ago Dava’s life had been perfect, and she wanted that life back.

Gabriel was wonderful. A strong leader with a clear vision for the world vampires should have—the world they deserved. He was a mesmerizing speaker, able to convince every vampire in a vast crowd that he talked just to them. Gabriel inspired avid loyalty and generously rewarded those who worked for him, but wasn’t afraid to deal harshly with those who disappointed. Dava had never breathed a word about the fifty who went missing just before the authorities arrived. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made.

Oh, and Gabriel fucked like an angel. Not that Dava had ever fucked an angel, but she could imagine.

She wasn’t stupid. Trotting up to Gabriel’s door and ringing the bell wasn’t sensible. Apart from the fact he might rip her head off, she had no idea of the level of VRB surveillance. He had to warrant more than her one visit a week, but even if that was all he got, she didn’t know when that visit was due to take place.

What Dava really wanted was to knock on Gabriel’s door and for his eyes to light up when he saw her. Maybe that would happen just before he ripped her head off. She winced. The other slight problem with surprising him was that when Dava had unearthed his address—30 Landseer Gardens—she hadn’t realized that referred to the whole building. She had no idea which flat was Gabriel’s.

She stared at the bank of numbers and buzzers. Work through systematically? But that would draw unwanted attention. Get inside and knock on doors? Face-to-face, she could use her thrall to ensure the occupant didn’t remember her visit. She waited for someone to emerge.

Dava ignored the pair who came out of the building together. No point making life difficult for herself. One elderly woman walking a dog was the perfect target, and Dava had a change of plan. She followed her to a local shop and watched as she tied the pooch outside. By the time she emerged with a carton of milk, Dava crouched in tears next to the slavering beast, trying to bring herself to pet it.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked.

I’m crying, you moron.
“I’ve lost my dog. I thought yours… Mine slipped his lead and ran after a cat.”

“Oh dear. How long ago?”

“Only a few minutes. He must be around here somewhere.”

“Where’s your lead? If I rattle Winnie’s, he’s there like a shot.”

Shit.
“My husband took it. He’s checking a few streets away.”

“What’s the dog called?” the woman asked.

“Er… Fluffy.” Dava summoned up a fresh flood of tears.

“I’ll help you look. What sort of dog is it?”

Bloody hell.
“A fluffy one.”

Well, that obviously wasn’t the right thing to say, but it got them both down a quiet alley and gave Dava the opportunity to use her persuasive talents to ensure the keys to the building were handed over without argument. Dava even had an uncharacteristic moment of kindness in that she didn’t keep sucking after she’d had enough. Or might it have been that she was full of Pete? She propped the woman behind a large trash container and the dog sat next to his owner, wagging his stubby tail.

Dava almost danced back to the building. The stupid woman had been carrying two hundred and fifty pounds in cash in her purse. Enough for designer shoes. It was only when she reached the door that Dava saw the flaw in her plan. She still needed someone to invite her inside.
Damn.
She kept walking until she found a place to stand unseen—the doorway of a baker’s. She’d have to wait until someone else entered and then join them.

She didn’t have to wait long. The moment Dava was sure of the man’s destination, she rushed after him, keys in hand.

“Thanks so much,” she said, and insinuated herself between him and the door.

He pushed it open. “After you.”

When his eyes opened wide, Dava realized she’d made a mistake.
Vampire.

Chapter Eight

Turner put the cube on the countertop and smiled. It had been a long while since he’d seen the sun. Fortunately.

“Wow, you smiled,” she said.

“Sorry, I won’t let it happen again.”