Suzanne McLeod - The Sweet Scent of Blood

Declan sat opposite, a half-smile on his mouth. ‘You’ll have been to see my boy then.’

‘Yes, I saw your boy.’ I tilted my head. ‘You could’ve used the phone, you know. It would have saved all the drama.’

He chuckled. ‘But all those shenanigans make it so much more interesting, me darlin’.’

I pressed my lips together. Maybe for him they did.

‘And you’ll not deny it’s an interesting situation we have,’ Declan carried on. ‘There’s my boy accused of killing Melissa, the poor wee bure.’ Sadness filled his face. ‘A pretty girl she was too, nearly twenty-one, getting ready to make some big changes in her life, if you take my meaning.’

Twenty-one. The legal age of consent for the Gift. I frowned. ‘And your point is?’

‘The boy knew those changes were planned, he and the wee girl were looking forward to them. He wasn’t about to try offering her the Gift himself. Why would he be taking that risk, when he knew there was no need?’

‘Declan, no one in the know believes the story the papers are touting,’ I said, then realised something. He didn’t seem to be ‘in the know’ about how Melissa had been killed, that her death was nothing to do with a botched Gift, otherwise why try and convince me. Did that mean he hadn’t searched Bobby’s memories for her death? Or did it mean Bobby had no memories for Declan to find because he hadn’t killed her?

‘But,’ I said slowly, fishing for answers, ‘that doesn’t mean your boy didn’t kill her. Maybe he just got greedy?’

‘Why would you be thinkin’ I wouldn’t know if he killed her, me darlin?’ He smiled. ‘He’s mine, after all.’

That told me, didn’t it?

‘So if the boy didn’t do it, someone else did,’ Declan carried on.

I narrowed my eyes as I considered him. ‘Whether your boy killed her or not, involving me in this situation isn’t part of our bargain, Declan.’

‘Now why would you be thinkin’ that?’

I leaned forward. ‘The agreement was you’d notify me when a fae or faeling needed help, and in case it’s slipped your mind, your boy isn’t fae: he has a nice shiny set of fangs. So you’ll have to find someone else to be your own personal private detective.’

A broad smile widened his mouth and he flashed his own sharp set of pearly-whites, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Damn. There was something else, some catch. I sighed inwardly. Telling him I wasn’t going to do the job because it didn’t meet the terms of our bargain had been a long shot, but at least I could console myself with the thought that I’d tried.

‘But what about the wee bure?’ he said softly. ‘Surely you wouldn’t deny her your assistance, not when she’s got the blood of the fae in her?’

Melissa was faeling? Why hadn’t Hugh mentioned that? Still— ‘Even if she was,’ I said, ‘I think she’s past helping, seeing as she’s dead.’

‘Is she now?’ he said, the smile still on his handsome face.

‘The police and the pathologist seem to think so,’ I said. ‘Are you saying she might not be?’

His smile disappeared, replaced by a puzzled frown. ‘Did you not see her body?’

‘No, her mother’s got the Soulers involved.’

His frown deepened. ‘Now why would she do that?’ he said, more to himself than me.

‘Who knows?’ Fiona joined in the conversation as she slid a heavily laden tray onto the table. ‘Maybe she got one of their silly mailshots.’ She twisted the cap off the bottle of vodka and poured a generous amount into a heavy-based crystal glass which she placed in front of me. ‘The woman is a flake at best. She probably believes all that rubbish they spout.’

Beyond Fiona I could see the Asian witch-waitress, standing at the top of the stairs. She wove her fingers in a complicated dance and the ward shimmered back into being. The noise from the bar fell silent again. For a moment, I felt a pang of envy at her effortless spell-casting.

Fiona splashed whiskey into another glass and offered it to Declan. He swirled the toffee-coloured liquid, nostrils flaring as he sniffed. ‘Jameson’s in Waterford crystal: two of Ireland’s finest.’ He saluted me. ‘Slàinte , Genevieve,’ then with a sly expression he added, ‘that’ll be me, wishing you your continued good health in the Gaelic.’

I picked up my own drink and acknowledged the implied threat. ‘Likewise.’ Draining the glass, I savoured the cold burn. Pleasantries over, I asked, ‘So is Melissa alive, or not?’

‘The wee girl was ready to accept the Gift. There’s always a possibility I could still perform the ritual ...’ He paused, then continued after a moment, ‘If the boy and his father have the right of it, and there’s some sort of spell involved, without knowing what the magic is, the ritual would be too risky.’

‘The police say there’s no magic involved,’ I said.

‘Me darlin’ Genevieve, as to whether there is magic or not, it’s your word I’ll be trusting over that of the police.’

I put down my glass. ‘What about Roberto? Our bargain doesn’t extend to him.’

‘Well, if you find the wee bure died from magic, then he’ll be innocent, and it’ll be a joyful time for everyone,’ Declan pointed out. ‘But the sooner the ritual’s done the better for the wee girl.’ He stared into his drink. ‘We’ve maybe a night, two at the most.’

So, no pressure then. A question popped into my head. ‘What was Melissa doing working at the Blue Heart anyway?’

Fiona smoothed her dress with one crimson-tipped hand. ‘Melissa was working temporarily at the Blue Heart whilst Roberto was making appearances there.’ Her nail polish matched the large princess-cut ruby ring she wore. She’d taken off her long evening gloves. I frowned, uneasy. ‘Melissa was to have returned here after accepting the Gift. Declan was to be her sponsor, weren’t you?’ Her tone was so neutral that it almost disappeared into the background.

‘So I was, me love.’ His voice matched hers and upped the stakes.

I looked at them with interest. Was I sensing an undercurrent here?

‘So once you get to see the poor wee bure’s body, you’ll come back and tell me all about it, won’t you, me darlin’? And in the meantime—’He leaned forward, a sly expression on his face, ‘Maybe you’ll be telling me how you do it?’

‘How I do what?’

‘Why, how you’ve been rescuing all these poor fae and there’s never been even so much a whisper about you. I was hoping you’d be regaling me with your secret.’ He waved his glass towards Fiona and the bottles. ‘And we could be toasting your continued success.’

I gave him a happy smile. ‘I’d be delighted to toast my future success, but sadly, I can’t divulge my secret.’

‘And why’s that, me darlin’?’

I leaned forward, and said in a low voice, ‘Because then it wouldn’t be a secret any more, would it now?’

His eyes lost their warmth for a moment, then he threw his head back and laughed. ‘Fiona, me love, another drink for the sidhe, if you please.’

She hesitated, then held out her hand for my glass. Whatever she was feeling was buried deep beneath a smile of pure courtesy. ‘Ms Taylor?’

As I gave her the glass, our fingers touched.

She shuddered, eyes going wide and unfocused, hand spasming, dropping the expensive crystal—

In one quick move Declan caught the glass and placed both it and his own back on the table with a soft thud.

My throat tightened. I’d felt nothing other than the heat of her skin.

‘Me love?’ There was a thread of something like command riding beneath his quiet concern.

Fiona sank onto the seat next to him, her face pale as rice-paper. Another shudder racked her body and she gasped, drawing in a deep breath.