Suzanne McLeod - The Sweet Scent of Blood

It was the traditional mark of respect between goblins. And every goblin I’d ever met offered me, a sidhe fae, the same salutation, whether I knew them or not ... although the mouth-hiding bit is considered old-fashioned by most goblins who work in London.

I returned the greeting. He might not be able to see me do it under the harsh lighting, goblin eyes being better suited to dark underground caverns, but he’d nonetheless sense that I had done so.

Then I sighed and dug my fingers into the annoying throb at my neck. It was getting worse, and I knew I was going to have to deal with it sometime soon. How long was this all going to take? Alan’s half-heard conversation murmured through the quiet of the hall, the tone of his voice telling me he was getting nowhere fast with his solicitor. My initial vision of breezing in the police station, checking out the body and getting out fast was floundering like a beached water-dragon.

As my gaze passed over the Souler rep he caught my eye. His hand flew to adjust the knot in his tie, while his face lit up with the eagerness of a zealot. Damn! That was all I needed. Still, at least he had a goblin with him. That should curb his urge for conversion.

But the Souler sprang up and came towards me, a big bright smile on his face. ‘Ms Taylor, isn’t it?’ he gushed. ‘I’m Neil Banner.’

The goblin leapt after him.

Shit. I took an involuntary step back as they both advanced. It looked like Neil Banner hadn’t read the handbook that came with his goblin.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Ms Taylor.’ His enthusiasm was almost tangible.

I took another swift step back. ‘Er, you too.’

The constable stuck her head up over the counter and smiled gleefully at the scene before ducking back out of sight.

Really nice attitude.

I held my hand up to try and stop him. ‘You might want to sit down again, Mr Banner. You’re upsetting your goblin.’

He was so intent on sticking his arm out in greeting that he didn’t seem to hear me. ‘I heard you were coming. I hoped you wouldn’t mind talking to me,’ he said.

Dammit. He really was going to try and shake my hand. I back-peddled again—

But before he managed to grab hold, the goblin snagged him by the wrist and pulled him to a stop.

I stood with my back braced against the door. Keeping a cautious eye on the goblin and his foil-covered bat, I held my hands out at my sides, palms displayed.

The goblin’s grin stretched wider. The sharp tips of his black teeth had been filed blunt and the shiny green sequins stuck to each one glinted in the overhead lights. A goblin grinning is like a dog curling its lips: a warning. It’s got nothing to do with showing off their bling, despite what most humans think. The boiler-suit and badge meant the goblin belonged to Beatrice, the goblin queen. They were usually well trained.

Only the sequins worried me.

‘No touch.’ The goblin’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Banner blinked in surprise, his eyes flicking between the goblin and me. ‘No touch? Why not?’

‘He’s protecting you, Mr Banner.’ I kept my hands where the goblin could see them. ‘Goblin workers are very literal beings. You hired him to do a job and that’s what he’s doing.’

‘But that’s against the vampires and magic, not you.’

The goblin, his grin fading a tooth or two, put himself in front of Banner. He nodded his head, ringlets bouncing frantically, and twisted the bat in his grip.

‘Why’s he doing that?’ Banner frowned down at the goblin.

‘I come under the heading of magic.’ I smiled ruefully, careful to keep my lips closed—I didn’t want to spook the goblin. ‘He won’t let anyone capable of magic touch you, or allow you to touch them. Spells are easier to cast with skin contact.’

He tugged at his neat beard. ‘Really? I didn’t know that. I thought spells all came in little bottles or crystals, like those at the Market.’

‘That’s witch magic.’ I sighed. Didn’t the Soulers teach their acolytes anything? ‘When you’re dealing with the fae or vampires, you need to be more careful. Don’t shake hands, and try not to let them get too near you.’ I glanced over at Alan, still clutching his phone to his ear, remembering how easily the pretty Armani-suited vamp outside had controlled him without being anywhere near. ‘Although that’s not going to work with the more powerful vampires; they only need to be in the vicinity to be able to catch you in a mind-lock. But you needn’t worry too much, the goblin will watch out for you. They’re very good at sensing magic of any kind, and even better, they’re immune to it.’ That was, after all, the main reason they’d become so popular in negotiations involving vampires—and the goblins were minting it, selling peace-of-mind-guarantees to the humans that they were acting of their own free will and not being ripped off via vampire mind-locks.

‘Wow!’ Banner’s amazed grin made him look younger. ‘This is all so fascinating. Meeting you, chatting with Jeremiah here.’ He gave the goblin’s head a soft pat. The goblin flinched, only Banner didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’ve only ever seen the goblins on the Underground before today. Jeremiah’s an interesting chap. He’s only recently moved to London from somewhere in the north, I think he said.’ He rubbed his palms together, then squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other, as if that would contain his excitement. ‘His English isn’t too good yet.’

The goblin was a recent import? Maybe that explained the sequins.

‘I’ll have to make sure I introduce myself without the handshake from now on, Ms Taylor,’ he added. ‘Thanks for the tip. I’ve only recently found my salvation, but I’m keen to spread the word.’

I groaned inwardly.

Oblivious, he carried on, ‘Perhaps we could—’

The door next to the counter swung back and hit the wall with a soft thud. I jerked round at the noise, stomach somersaulting with nerves as I recognised the figure that ducked under the doorjamb and strode into the reception hall.

Damn. I’d been so hoping he wouldn’t be on duty.

Now I was for it.

You need all the front you can muster when facing seven foot of solid granite troll, especially when the troll is Detective Sergeant Hugh Munro. Never mind that he was as soft as faerie moss, he was not going to be happy I was there.

‘Genny, good to see you again.’ Hugh’s voice was a deep bass. He lifted one large hand in greeting and smiled, pink granite teeth gleaming: his bite was way worse than his bark. His shock of black hair grew straight up, two inches above his scalp ridge, contrasting nicely with the deep red of his skin—not sunburn, just his natural colour. Hugh came from the Cairngorms, from the largest tribe in Scotland, and his grand-mother was the matriarch.

I straightened my shoulders and returned his smile.

Hugh scanned the room until his gaze landed on Alan. ‘Mr Hinkley, Detective Inspector Crane would like to speak to you.’ He stepped aside, revealing the plump, curly-haired policewoman. ‘If you’d like to go with the constable, please.’

Alan glanced at me, his face etched with worry, then headed off with the curly-haired constable.

Hugh came towards Banner, the goblin and me. ‘Mr Banner, I am sorry, but the inspector insists you wait here, not in the morgue.’ A firm expression crossed Hugh’s face. ‘You have her full assurance that the injunction will be complied with fully.’

The goblin broke in with a high chittering sound. An answering rumble came from Hugh’s throat. The goblin tapped his bat three times on the floor, finger smoothing quickly down his nose to cover his mouth. Hugh, lips pressed tight together, touched his own nose, nodding with a slightly self-conscious air.