Suzanne McLeod - The Sweet Scent of Blood

‘Did you know she was fae?’

‘As I said, we might have spoken, but I didn’t know her.’

‘Did you kill her?’

‘Not that I am aware.’

I blinked at that. ‘Either you did or you didn’t.’

‘Sadly, it is always possible that an inadvertent word or gesture of mine at the wrong time may have contributed to her death.’ He gave a slight shrug. ‘I have always found it pays to be honest.’

I wondered just how honest he was really being—he wasn’t actively lying; vampires as old as him didn’t. They had that whole ‘my word is my honour’ thing going on. But even I could manage to twist words into the shape I wanted when necessary, and the Earl had a good eight centuries or so on me. So I doubted his honesty was the whole-and-nothing-but sort. Never mind that my bullshit antenna was twitching like a vamp junkie heading for a venom-seizure.

I pursed my lips. ‘Is there anything else you can tell me that might help?’

He shook his head. ‘I believe not.’

I leaned forward and locked eyes with him. In my six-inch platforms I was the same height as him. ‘Not even which vampire you suspect?’

He smiled. ‘I never said that I suspected anyone, my dear.’

‘You didn’t need to.’ I leaned back, hands braced either side of me. ‘It’s no secret that Mr Hinkley thinks that Melissa was killed by another vampire using magic. Or that he’s hired me. You’ve just confirmed that you agree with him.’

As had Declan when I’d visited the Bloody Shamrock. Obviously no one—other than the police—believed Melissa had died of anything other than some sort of magic.

I tapped my foot and carried on, ‘The only reason for this little tête-à-tête is just that. No room for anyone to hide and overhear what you’ve got to say to me. And if all you want is for me to find this so-called spell, you must have a pretty good idea who is responsible for it.’ I pursed my lips. ‘An invitation, ostensibly to visit your collection of bronzes, isn’t going to fool anyone.’

‘Although my collection is truly outstanding.’ He gave me an appreciative look. ‘As are you.’

‘So, either you’re going to tell me who it is, or you want them to think you have.’ I took a breath, wanting to slap the patronising approval off his face. ‘Which is it?’

‘But there is the rub, my dear.’ He sighed, turned the key in the lift panel. ‘I may have my suspicions, but without the spell, I have absolutely no proof.’

The lights came on and the lift lurched into life. I staggered a little, reaching out to steady myself ...

The air shifted and I felt the same disorientation as before.

The lift had stopped. The door was open.

I looked out into the room beyond. It was a crowded lounge bar, and every face had turned to stare my way.

‘My dear.’ The Earl placed his hand at the small of my back and ushered me from the lift. I stepped out and the lift door pinged closed behind me.

Why had he shifted time again?

Frowning, I turned back, ready to demand an explanation...

But the Earl was gone, and I was on my own.

The private members’ bar was crowded with vampires and humans. The vamps gazed with such intensity through the dim light that my heartbeat thudded up a notch. The humans looked on with curiosity. Then they whispered. Then they talked. And glasses clinked and someone laughed a highpitched laugh and the tension that had filled the air slipped away like a wave flowing back into the sea.

Damn. The manipulative bastard was going fishing, with me on the metaphorical hook. I sighed: so I was bait for a murdering vampire—again! Nothing new about that.

And Katie had already pointed out that I needed to find Melissa’s killer—before he found me. Maybe I should be thankful the Earl just wanted to hire me. At least it meant he wasn’t the murderer—although he was a manipulative bastard so I wasn’t totally ruling that idea out—and at best I had a chance at getting paid for something I had to do anyway, thanks to my bargain with Declan. Never mind the fact that whatever Declan and the Earl claimed their reasons were for wanting me to look for the spell, those reasons were only the oil-slick obscuring whatever ulterior motives lurked below.

So I looked, and looked .

The private bar stretched across the front of the club, along a crescent-shaped balcony. The décor was, unsurprisingly, blue and silver: thick navy carpet woven with silver hearts, pale blue-panelled walls and capacious blue sofas that looked like they could swallow their occupants whole. The vamps had found a theme, and they were sticking to it. Lounging on the sofas were plenty of faces I recognised—not that I actually knew any of them; I wasn’t generally on chatting terms with London’s glitterati, but it looked as if the local vamp population were, and then some.

And none of them had any spells, not even a glimmer of one—not that I’d expected any; that would’ve been way too easy. So now it was time to put Katie’s investigative tactics into operation and find a talkative tea-boy.

I headed towards the central bar, resisting the urge to tiptoe as I made my way through the sofa obstacle course. The place had an almost crypt-like feel, thanks to the low thrum of conversation and an artificial floral sweetness that filtered out with the air-conditioning.

Something odd pricked up my spine like a half-remembered memory and I frowned, trying to place what it was. Then I realised, the vamps were shut down, like the Earl had been in the lift. I shivered, knowing it stopped them being sent a little crazy by all the pounding pulses and the siren scents of blood. It was what my Alter Vamp did, but it felt weird being on the other side.

As I passed one sofa, a stick-thin model I’d last seen staring out at me from one of the glossies threw her head back, exposing her slender throat. The vamp with her touched a finger to her pulse and she leaned into him, gasping. He winked when he caught me looking.

I gave him a so-what? expression back. The menu might be richer, and better dressed, but in reality this place was no different to any of the pubs in Sucker Town.

When I reached the bar I realised my plan was a non-starter. There was no way the human barman, who was flashing his fake fangs like they were a badge of honour, was going to be up for the cosy chat I wanted.

I needed to find someone, somewhere quieter.

I followed the wall of glass that enclosed the balcony-bar, then movement caught in the corner of my eye and I stared down at the bodies dancing in the tightly packed nightclub below. I could just hear the music through the glass, echoing like a faint heartbeat. Then I stopped watching the dancers and focused on the reflections I could see instead.

He stood about ten feet away, arms clasped behind him, doing a really bad job of pretending not to watch me. For a moment I couldn’t place him, then his broad shoulders and chest snagged in my memory: the real goth with the romance model’s looks from the Leech & Lettuce, the one who’d propositioned my Alter Vamp. Only now his chest, complete with its trail of fang marks, was hidden under a Blue Heart staff uniform.

Darius. Rio’s main blood-pet.

Now wasn’t that interesting.

Of course, he was an ideal candidate to tag me. I shouldn’t have known who he was—and he was human, and staff, so why worry about him when the place was full of big scary vamps?

I started walking again, and saw his reflection following along behind me.

A low cry made me turn and I looked straight into a pair of familiar blue eyes. Declan, from the Bloody Shamrock. My heart thudded faster as he smiled up at me from one of the sofas, his arm draped over the bare shoulders of a blonde in a red-sequinned boob tube. Then I realised it wasn’t Declan, but his brother, Seamus. And it wasn’t Seamus who was making the girl moan.