Suzanne McLeod - The Bitter Seed of Magic

Ignoring him, his threat, and my blood, for now, I reached for the phone and called Malik, or rather, Sanguine Lifestyles, his 24/7 answering service. A woman’s voice answered with a tentative, ‘Ms Taylor?’

‘Yes, it’s me, and I’m fine,’ I reassured her before she could ask, keeping my gaze fixed on Mad Max who was still beaming his hundred-watt smile my way. ‘Could you repeat the last message you were given, please?’

‘Certainly, Ms Taylor,’ she replied efficiently. ‘Mr Maxim Andrei Zakharin called, and his message was: “ Genevieve Zakharinova has honoured us by becoming a VIP member of our club. Sadly, the excitement was too much for Dear Old Dad, and I think it might take him three days to recover. Genevieve kindly consented to having a family portrait taken to celebrate our reunion. ”’ The woman paused. ‘We received the photo of the gentleman and yourself, Ms Taylor, plus the one—’

A beep sounded, and I stopped listening to the woman as Max’s beaming smile cut out and was replaced by an almost panicked expression. He produced a remote, pointed it at the flat-screen and the picture of the cloakroom girl switched to one of strange, amorphous red and blue shapes shifting around a dark interior. Two red figures were huddled together in one area, and another red figure was merged with the only blue figure. I frowned, puzzled, until it clicked: I was looking at the new state-of-the-art CCTV monitoring system the vamps were touting on all their websites, supposedly designed to keep the humans safe. It showed a computer overlay of enhanced heat signatures, so basically, the red figures were humans, and the vampires, having a lower core body temperature, showed up as blue.

Max jumped up and rushed out of the office, leaving the door swinging.

‘… give Mr al-Khan your message along with the others when he checks in,’ the woman’s voice was saying in my ear.

Worry tied a knot in my gut. ‘Thought you said he checked in at sunset?’

‘Normally, yes. Not tonight. Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms Taylor?’

‘Thanks, not just now.’ I cut her off, and stared at the screen.

Now I knew what I was looking at, the figures looked more like people and less like blobs. The red figures were two upright humans huddled together. The other human was on the ground, with the vamp on top, and the blue vamp was slowly turning red— It didn’t take a genius to work out something was badly wrong. Then I saw the flashing number in the screen’s corner.

Room Eleven: Darius’ room.

I looked in horror at my blood on the desk.

Surely Mad Max couldn’t be stupid enough to take it all? Hadn’t he heard what had happened at Christmas, when Darius had gone rabid and fallen into bloodlust?

Fuck! I grabbed the two unopened bags of blood, knocking the tankard over in my haste, but it didn’t spill. Oddly, the bag was still unbroken. I grabbed that one too, and stuffed them all back into the padded compartment of my backpack. Then I ran after Mad Max.

The security guard was rattling away into his radio, and either Mad Max’s original mind-lock was still in force or he was too busy to worry about me. I grabbed the keycard off the cloakroom girl in passing, vaulted over the counter again and strode towards the vamp who was standing guard in front of doors 1–15. She was dressed in a wide grey crinoline and starched nurse’s cap, vaguely circa the Crimean War.

Her eyes widened as she saw me coming.

‘Move, or I’ll make you,’ I warned, knowing I had the unfair advantage. No way was she going to fight back—or even touch me—not with Malik’s decapitation threat standing behind me like a looming shadow.

‘Sorry, can’t do that,’ she said. ‘Orders.’

I swung the backpack, letting its own momentum carry it and it hit her square on the shoulder. I’m nowhere near as strong as a vamp, but compared to a human of the same weight, I’m a superwoman. Add in the bricks—

The vamp stumbled far enough away from the door for me to swipe the keycard down the lock and lunge through it before she had recovered.

My heart pounding, I raced along the carpeted corridor, past grey steel doors with curious faces peering out from their diamond-shaped windows, towards the group of three figures I could see at the end.

Mad Max held his hands up to stop me as I got closer. ‘Cousin, Genevieve,’ he called, ‘we’ve sealed the door. There’s nothing to be done until morning now. I suggest you go back—’

Bastard! He wasn’t supposed to seal the room if there were still humans inside.

This time I didn’t give any warning. I hoisted the backpack in front of me and, praying to any gods that might be listening, I launched myself at him, aiming for his chest with the brick-heavy backpack. I caught a glimpse of his eyes rounding with disbelief just before I barrelled into him, knocking him on his back. I landed on top of him and, yelling, I heaved the backpack up and smashed it down on his head, again and again, like a pile-driver. He shifted beneath me, his hands gripping my thighs, the muscles of his stomach bunching, getting ready to buck me off. Desperate now, I slammed the bag down again, wishing I had something sharper, like a stake, knowing I had to damage him enough that he wasn’t going to be getting up anytime soon—

Someone grabbed the back of my jacket and threw me back along the corridor.

I tried to tuck and roll, but the backpack dragged awkwardly on my arm and instead I landed in an inelegant heap. I scrambled back up to my feet, clutching the backpack, raging with determination and anger. I wasn’t going to let—

I stopped, stunned. Mad Max was still lying on the floor, but now a small figure straddled him—a female, if the long curls of black hair were any indication. The other two vamps were rapidly backing up the corridor away from her and Max, their faces contorted with fear. They reached the end and one banged on the steel door, while the other, his brain obviously slightly less panicked, produced a keycard, swiped it and they both fell into the room beyond the moment the door slid open.

As the door closed, the female figure shook herself then, in one fast, sinuous movement, she leapt to her feet and twisted to land perfectly on her red leather six-inch-heeled boots without so much as a wobble. A knife protruded from Mad Max’s chest, its bronze handle sticking up like a shiny exclamation point. She put her hands on her curvy hips, took a deep breath she didn’t need, and her waist very obviously cinched in even tighter and her breasts mounded even higher above her red leather corset. Then she cocked her head to one side and stared at me, her eyes reflecting yellow like a cat’s in the blackness of her face.

I grimaced. Vamps can never resist a flashy entrance.

I recognised her, of course: Yana’s new sponsor, Francine, the vampire from Darius’ old blood-house. Up close she looked younger than I remembered, more late teens than early twenties, although vamp-wise she had to be at least a couple of hundred years old if she was capable of taking Mad Max. And with her knife sticking out of him, she was either an opportunist, or an ally. I was hoping for the latter.

My hand tightened on the backpack just in case. ‘So why did they run?’ I jerked my head towards the door the terrified vamps had gone through.

The air wavered round her and for a second a pretty good likeness of Malik stood in her place. Then she was back to being herself again.

‘Impressive illusion,’ I said, and it was. ‘So, are you the new Head of Golden Blade blood?’

‘Not yet,’ she said, her sultry voice matching her sex-on-legs kick-ass red leather outfit.

Ah, so the position was still up for grabs, which probably meant she needed Malik’s backing. Maybe she’d decided assisting me was the best way to get it? I waved towards her and Mad Max. ‘You know, the show’s wasted if you’re not going to help?’ I raised my voice in question.