Suzanne McLeod - The Sweet Scent of Blood

Or wasn’t about to tell me, more like! I tapped my finger on the photo. Psycho Louis was the first vamp to ask me to find a witch and not the spell—none of the other vamps had mentioned a witch. Did that mean they didn’t know about her? Or— Of course! How stupid could I get? She was a witch, and even if they did know who or where she was, they had no way of reaching her other than through the Witches’ Council—so they’d gone for the next best thing. Me.

What was it the Earl had wanted? He’d wanted me to find the spell and absorb it. And I was betting that whatever the spell did, it wasn’t something cute like producing fluffy bunnies from top hats. Maybe he thought I could regurgitate it in one piece ... although thinking about it, he wasn’t far wrong—which made me wonder just exactly where the Earl had got his information about me. I shoved that thought aside for later.

But if Psycho Louis was here for the spell, then why was he wasting his time playing kissy-face with Holly? Okay, she was a faeling with a powerful mother, and she probably tasted good, but ... Something nagged me, just at the edge of my memory.

I picked up the photo—maybe I could use it to get me into Inspector Crane’s good books—and pasted on a fake smile. ‘Can I have this?’

Louis nodded with enthusiasm.

I tucked it into my waistcoat pocket and stood up. ‘Holly, tell him the answer’s no. In fact’—I picked up the cheque, tore it in two—‘that will save you the translation.’

Louis’ brows knitted together and he glared up at me. ‘Meestake. You make bad meestake.’

Leaning down, I placed my hands flat on the table. ‘Not in my book, mate.’ I looked at Holly, clinging open-mouthed to his arm. ‘I hope your mother knows what she’s doing.’

I left them and strode back into the kitchen. ‘Time to go, Agatha.’

‘She’ll be back in a couple of mins.’ Mick was slouched in a heap on the floor. His red hair hung wet and dripping down his neck, and something I decided not to look too closely at was smeared across one cheek and down one side of his long coat.

‘What the hell are you doing here, Mick?’

‘I’m following you, of course,’ he sniffed. ‘Aggie’s gone to sort out one of her kitchens. I messed it up when I came through.’ He wrapped his coat tighter round him. ‘Jeeesus, I hate the brownies’ trail, it always makes me want to puke.’

I crouched down, frowning. ‘Why are you following me?’

He looked sideways at me. ‘Y’know you asked Fiona about the spell?’

‘Don’t tell me,’ I said flatly, ‘she’s remembered all about it now.’

‘Okay, I won’t.’ His bottom lip stuck out and he said petulantly, ‘You should’ve asked me, Genny.’

‘So why didn’t you say something back there?’

He gave a sulky shrug. ‘You weren’t very nice about Seamus.’

Rolling my eyes, I said, ‘Fine. Mick, I’m sorry I was nasty to you and Seamus. Now, what about the damn spell?’

He sniffed again. ‘It does something to turn fae into a sort of battery pack for a vampire. The vamp gets a big boost from it; he doesn’t need to touch or even feed, apparently. Specially if it’s someone powerful, like you.’ He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his skinny neck. ‘Only it’s got some hitches. It doesn’t always work on faelings, or else some of them die. And the vamps still can’t get us in a mind-lock.’

Fuck. I’d been right: the spell was definitely not fluffy bunny rabbits.

Then the nagging memory about Holly caught up with me.

I glanced around. It was here, in the kitchen. I’d been getting ready to call the brownie spells, the ones cast by Aggie and Finn. Holly had stood in the doorway, the light misting behind her. Only it hadn’t been light, it had been the spell.

Holly had had the spell in her—Louis must have tasted it when he’d fed on her—the spell the vamps were looking for.

And I’d called it from her.

I almost laughed; I hadn’t needed to find the spell. I’d had it all the time.

Holly flung herself through the swing doors. ‘Louis says he’ll double his offer to one million.’

Then another memory hit me. I’d seen the spell again, earlier today, in fact, when it had been misting round Finn.

The Rosy Lee’s kitchen took shape around me, the high-level grills and deep fat fryers coming into sharp focus. My feet touched tiled floor and Agatha’s small hand melted from mine. I gasped for breath as my stomach tumbled in freefall. I took another step and lurched forwards, landing on my hands and knees, staring down into a face I’d hoped never again to see this close.

Gazza, the Cheap Goth, sneered up at me. For a moment I half-thought I was back in the alley with him as blood and snot bubbled round the safety pin in his broken nose. He groaned, and revulsion made me scramble backwards. Then I stopped.

Thin black rope was wrapped tight round his body in neat, equally distanced circles. A precise line of knots ran from under his chin down to his ankles. He thrashed violently, groaning again, but the sound was muffled and I realised there was something stuffed in his mouth.

What the—? Someone had trussed him up like a side of beef ready for the oven. I poked him in stunned amazement.

He made more angry sounds and the bloody snot expanded, then splat against his skin.

A noise behind me had me jerking round to see Freddie rushing into the kitchen, one of his carving knives hefted in his right hand. He rushed towards me and I dived and tucked myself under the prep counter. He swerved to follow me.

‘Slow down, Freddie,’ I yelled, keeping my eye on the knife.

I was almost sure he wasn’t out to get me, but you don’t take chances when a twenty-stone chef is running at you brandishing over a foot of gleaming steel blade.

‘Genny, thank God you’re here,’ he wheezed. ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’ He bent, gasping, hands on his knees. ‘You weren’t answering your phone.’

‘I’m here now, Freddie,’ I said, keeping my voice calm, ‘so put the knife down, okay?’

He glanced down, obviously baffled to see the knife in his hand. It clattered to the floor. ‘Sorry Genny.’ He smacked his hand on his bald head. ‘God knows, but I just didn’t know what to do.’

I crawled out and grabbed his arm. ‘Freddie, what’s going on?’

‘Katie didn’t come in to work today. I phoned her mum, and she said Katie’d gone out with a friend last night, and rung to say she was staying over and not to worry.’

Dread twisted in my gut. ‘What’s Katie got to do with him?’

He took a deep breath and threw a disgusted look at Gazza by the fridge. ‘This piece of shite here came strolling in with a message.’ The muscles in Freddie’s arm bunched under my hand. ‘For you.’

‘What’s the message?’ I shouted over the pulse thundering in my ears.

‘He wouldn’t tell me, said he had to tell you and only you.’ Freddie’s face crunched up with disgust. ‘The little shite told me I could make him lunch while he waited!’ He kicked Gazza on his ankle and a muffled squeal of rage came from behind the gag. ‘Well, I made him lunch, just as he wanted.’

Freddie swung down and ripped the cloth from Gazza’s mouth. ‘Go on then, arsehole, give her the goddamned message. ’

‘Fuckinfaeriefreakansstupidbastoldman—’

Freddie slapped Gazza across the face. ‘Tell her, you piece of shite.’ He pointed to the carver on the floor. ‘Or I’ll start slicing bits off you.’

‘You don’t frighten me, you stupid old man! Nothing hurts any more—he told me it wouldn’t. Said he’d make it all better too, whatever you did,’ he sniggered. ‘So you can go fuck yourself.’ He stared up at me. ‘And you, faerie freak, he’s got big plans for you, and he said—’