Suzanne McLeod - The Sweet Scent of Blood

Well, that was me warned. Either I was being paranoid, or the Inspector liked me just about as much as Constable Curly-hair did.

I beamed at them both. Nice to know I had friends.

The Inspector curled her hand protectively around her sapphire pendant. ‘Ms Taylor, please remove your Glamour as soon as possible. I do not want a lovesick vampire in my police station.’ She turned on her heel. ‘Sergeant Munro, Constable Sims, I’d like you both outside with me now, please.’

I crossed my arms and studied the lovesick vampire in question.

Westman’s brown eyes were no longer clouded with bloodlust; I could see the Glamour as a golden pinprick of light deep in his pupils. Lovesick was right: he was a vampire, so he probably wouldn’t die if I left him, like a human could, but he might wander about like a lost soul trying to find me. So not what I needed.

But to release the Glamour, I had to touch him. And he was still injured.

‘You seem to be in a bit of a dilemma.’ The Earl smiled. ‘Perhaps I can offer some assistance?’

I snorted. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘No strings, as they say, my dear.’ The Earl stood. ‘It would be my pleasure.’

He walked over to Louis, bent down and grasped the back of his velvet jacket, picking up the unconscious vampire as if he were nothing more than a pile of rags. I watched suspiciously as the Earl dropped Louis’ body next to Westman with a soft thud. Westman didn’t so much as flinch. The Earl crouched down, lifted Louis’ chin with his forefinger and raked his thumbnail down Louis’ neck. A sluggish trail of blood seeped out and the Earl wrinkled his nose. Maybe the other vamp smelled bad to him; all I caught was the faint tang of liquorice and copper.

He motioned at Westman and said, ‘You need to bring his head down so he can feed, my dear. Then wait for my word and take your magic back.’

I hesitated.

‘On my honour, Ms Taylor. No tricks or foul play.’

He was centuries old; no way would he break his oath.

Gingerly, I put my hand on Westman’s head—his hair felt thin, greasy—and guided his face towards the crimson trickle at Louis’ throat. Westman’s nostrils flared as he scented the blood, and he licked his lips then struck, sinking all four fangs into the soft flesh. Louis jerked beneath him, his own lips parting on a quiet groan, and one of the yellow stones in his silver headband glowed for an instant before he subsided. Wet sucking noises filled the air...

‘Now,’ commanded the Earl, jolting me from my brief reverie.

I called the magic and it returned, spreading heat through my body like in a slow-moving tide.

‘Well done, Ms Taylor.’ The Earl smiled at me. He bent down and pushed his finger into the side of Westman’s mouth, separating the vampires with a muted pop. Westman flopped onto his back, blood dribbling out between his lips. The Earl grabbed Louis with both hands and flung him back towards the window, almost bouncing him off the wall. Maybe Louis smelled really, really bad.

‘Thanks,’ I said, frowning. His help might not have strings, but that didn’t mean it didn’t have an ulterior motive.

‘Absolutely no need, Ms Taylor.’ He dusted his blazer sleeve. ‘Mr Hinkley is very concerned about his son.’ He pulled a cream handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his hands. ‘Do you still plan to help him?’

It was the same question he’d asked earlier. ‘Again, why?’

‘I would be interested in whatever you might discover.’

‘Are you saying there’s something to find?’

‘It is a possibility, my dear.’ He briefly smiled and turned to face the Hall’s main entrance.

The pretty Armani-suited vampire was standing over Louis’ prone body, his face enigmatic.

‘Malik al-Khan.’ The Earl flourished his handkerchief. ‘I neglected to see you there.’ His choice of words suggested the other vampire had been there all along, watching.

My heartbeat sped up. Where had he appeared from? There were no shadows to hide in, not here inside the police station.

‘Forgive me.’ The Earl gripped my arm before I could evade him. ‘I would introduce you, but I believe you and Ms Taylor have already met.’

Damn. I either had to struggle, or stand there like an errant child while the Earl held me.

I struggled.

‘Be still,’ hissed the Earl.

Then Malik moved, his movements elegant, almost preternaturally effortless, and I forgot all about the Earl and his fingers digging in my arm.

‘You play a dangerous game, Oligarch, ’ he said to the Earl. The menace in his voice scorched like hot flames over my bare skin. I swallowed hard, fear fluttering in my stomach like a flight of frantic dragonflies.

The Earl smiled, power staining his skin blue. ‘It seems I am not the only one.’

Malik halted, uncomfortably close. ‘Be careful it does not bring an end to you.’

I thought he’d been angry outside, but that had been a storm in the Earl’s teacup compared to the tempest now raging in his eyes. I held my breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice me. Then the heat shifted, teasing around me like a warm summer’s breeze, and spice fragranced the air.

The Earl touched his handkerchief to his nose. ‘I see you are ever the faithful servant, still playing the voyeur for your Master. It is not a game I would find palatable.’ He jerked on my arm, extending it like an accusation between them. ‘But then, I do not share your somewhat eclectic tastes, and nor do I feel the need to mark my prey, like a brutish animal.’

What the fuck?

I looked down in shock. The bruises ringing my wrist had bloomed red under my skin and blood was seeping out, encircling my arm: a bracelet of bright scarlet beads. As my pulse beat faster, so the blood trickle increased.

A pale hand closed over my wrist. ‘My apologies, Genevieve.’ Malik’s cool voice invaded me and calm flooded through my body. ‘I had no wish to cause you harm.’

I gazed up at him, saw sorrow in his black eyes, tasted his desire to take my blood again ...

But he turned away.

As he walked from me, the harsh light from the ceiling bulbs dimmed. Shadows that couldn’t exist leached from the black of his suit, coalesced into darkness around him, and he vanished into nothingness.

Something banged behind me and I swivelled round, startled.

Constable Lamber ducked through the door. ‘You still here, miss? Constable Sims said you’d left with all the others.’

Confused, I looked around me.

The Hall was empty.

Damn . ‘What happened to all the vamps?’

He shrugged. ‘Like I said, miss, they all left—’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Must be half an hour ago now. That was quite a tussle you were caught up in.’ Dust shimmered above his speckled bald head. ‘Proper shame about the little goblin fella. The Sarge is real upset about that. He went off-duty ten minutes ago.’ His forehead creased into deep cracks. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, miss?’

No, I wasn’t: there were too many questions jumping around in my mind, and no one left here to give me the answers I needed.

But, lucky me, I knew a vampire that could.

The Tir na n’Og, or to give it its colloquial name, the Bloody Shamrock, is tucked away down a narrow side street off Shaftesbury Avenue. It’s one of the oldest Irish bars in London, and it’s been a favourite hangout for those of the fanged persuasion for a couple of centuries or more.

Of course, it’s only in the last few years that it’s actively advertised the presence of the vampires.

I turned the corner and ran straight into the queue of people waiting to get in: about fifty of them standing patiently, corralled behind red velvet rope hung from brass poles. Apart from a couple of leather-clad goths, the dress code was smart casual, mixed with the occasional sparkle of party wear—marking the obvious tourists. At least my black trousers and cream waistcoat wouldn’t look too out of place, even if it felt like I’d been wearing the same clothes for a week.