Bite Of The Past (The Black Fan Book 1)

by Laura Greenwood

  I'm saved from having to change the subject by Maddy's appearance in the door. I cover a smile at the way she's dressed herself. Her outer skirts have gone, leaving her in barely-there silky garments, and a bustier pushing up her breasts, all with a lace dressing gown over the top. And yet, it's nothing but a clever ruse. She likely wasn't wearing any of it when she got my message, and has only put it on in order to entice.

  "You called, Lady Catherine?" she says breathily. All part of the charade we play.

  "I did. Mr Mills here has come in search of a companion for the night," I say smoothly.

  The man in question looks as if he might protest for a moment, but I know he won't be able to resist Maddy, or else he wouldn't have come in the first place. I haven't aged in several centuries, and look as good as I ever have, but I can tell when a man hasn't come for me.

  Maddy saunters over, swaying her hips from side to side as she does. She takes Mills' hand in hers and pulls him out of his chair.

  "On the house, Maddy," I call after her.

  She giggles. Another part of the game. "Of course, Lady Catherine. Only the best for Mr Mills."

  I shake my head in bemusement. It's strange to think this is my life sometimes, but then I remember that it has been for longer than I care to remember.

  A loud sigh escapes me. From what I can tell, Mills seems like a decent sort. We shouldn't get too attached to him. There's only one thing that happens to decent vampires in the City. It's a shame. A good man could do a lot of good things for the people who live here.

  The City of Blood isn't for people like him, though. It's for the used, the jaded, and the cruel. It's for people like me.

  Chapter Three

  I tidy up the reception room, putting everything back in the place it's supposed to go. I appreciate everything my girls do, but sometimes they leave a huge mess behind when they're first meeting clients. Naturally, I don't blame them. They can't stop what they're doing simply to tidy away their used glasses.

  Technically, I can leave it to the human cleaner I have come in while everyone's asleep, but I always feel like it's distasteful to have her deal with goblets half-full of blood. It's not that she isn't aware of the vampires in her city. All of them know about us, it's impossible not to. But I have to draw the line somewhere.

  Just like I do when it comes to ethically sourcing the blood. I know all about the blood drives which go on in the city as a whole, and I have no desire to be part of the problem. They say it's voluntary, and I suppose it is. The humans who go and donate do so willingly, but I'm sure the city inflates the prices of certain things the humans need that we don't in order to encourage them to go and give more.

  I try to avoid my human staff having to do any of that by paying them more than I legally have to. I'm not sure if it helps or not. But I hope they feel like they can come to me if they have any problems.

  Laughter comes from the stairs, and I turn to find Shannon with her client coming down.

  "I'll see you next week," she says in a seductive tone."

  "You bet." He winks at her, then straightens his tie. Probably so he can lie to his wife about where he's been. While a lot of our clients are more reputable, he isn't one of them. "Lady Catherine," he acknowledges.

  He shuffles out of the room, and the front door slams shut behind him.

  Shannon sighs.

  "Everything okay?" I ask.

  She shrugs, then readjusts the sleeve of her dressing gown. "It's getting kind of boring with him," she admits.

  "I can assign him to one of the others next week?" I suggest, setting down an empty glass on the tray I'm filling up to take back to the kitchens.

  "No, that's all right. He tips well, and he isn't into anything weird," she says.

  "Other than preferring your company to that of his wife," I mutter.

  Shannon smothers a laugh. "That's hardly anything in times like this. Do you remember when men were faithful?"

  "I don't think it's just men who are the problem," I point out. We have several married female clients too. Though I suppose Shannon won't pay much attention to them, as she only works with men.

  "Maybe not. But it feels that way."

  If only she'd lived at court with me, then she'd feel differently. I've seen more than one woman stepping out of her marriage to have an affair in my time. My own mother even encouraged me to do it.

  Not that I'd listened. That's part of the reason I'm here. Ish.

  "I need to go take a shower," Shannon says.

  "I think the master bathroom is free at the moment." I know she likes the rain shower we have in that one.

  "Thanks." She waves, then disappears up the stairs.

  I turn my attention back to tidying while running through the rest of what I expect for the day. All of the clients that are booked have already turned up, some of them have left too. There's no ball for a week, and no new staff members who need training in what we do and how we do it. Unless someone comes in. Sonia is still new, and I promised her I'd be there with her when the next walk-in happens. I'm not sure how long she's going to stay. She's not ready for the kind of work most of us do here, which is fine by me, but that doesn't mean she won't ever be.

  The chances of us getting a walk in a few days after one of the big parties are slim.

  All in all, today's been a boring one. Which can only be a good thing. It means I can shut off early and enjoy some private time. Just me, a bath, and my e-reader.

  I pick up one of the empty goblets, only to set it back down again when the sound of the front door calls my attention.

  Before I even manage to make my way through to the reception, Sonia's bright and chirpy voice cuts through the silence. "Good evening, sir, how can I help you?"

  The man coughs, and I hear the shifting of cloth. He's uncomfortable, then. Perhaps it's his first time visiting an establishment like this. "I've come to make an appointment," he says.

  I freeze behind the thick velvet curtain which separates the two rooms, recognising the voice as one I never thought I'd hear again. And to some extent, one I hoped I wouldn't.

  "Do you have someone in mind?" Sonia asks. "If you want an appointment now, I believe Bindi is free, or else I can book you in for one of the other girls later."

  "I, er, I was hoping to make an appointment with Lady Catherine," he says.

  "I'm sorry, sir. Lady Catherine doesn't take appointments any longer." Sonia's voice is firm, unlike how mine would be if I tried to speak.

  "Oh."

  Silence stretches between the two of them, and I realise I need to act. I know this man, and he's not going to stop looking for me if Sonia turns him away now.

  I take a deep breath, though it does nothing to steady the nerves within me. I push the curtain to the side and step through the doorway. I spare a quick glance at the man, but don't look at him for more than a moment. I'm not ready yet. Luckily, his back is to me, and I have a few more seconds to compose myself.

  "It's okay, Sonia," I reassure my receptionist. "I'll see him."

  The man turns around, his gaze resting on my face. Recognition and relief flash through his expression. "Kitty," he says.

  "Benedict," I respond coolly, then wait until Sonia has left the room. It's not that I don't trust her. More that I don't trust anyone with the knowledge of this man.

  "It's been a long time," he says.

  "Hmm."

  "You're looking well."

  "Regular blood, a good living, decent clothes, I can't complain," I snap, trying not to be too hurt by how flippant he's being about our situation.

  "I didn't expect to find you here," he admits, a tinge of sadness in his voice. "I asked around, and everyone I talked to suggested you were, but I didn't want to believe it..."

  I snort. "You didn't want to believe that the innocent maiden Kitty Knoylls became the infamous Madam Catherine?" I laugh at the irony there. He's not the only one to have had a rude awakening over the matter.

  "Something like that
," he admits. "This doesn't seem like your kind of thing."

  "It's been over five hundred years, how would you know what my kind of thing was anymore?" I snap.

  Just then, the bell rings, and another potential client walks in. Surprising, given the timing, but I'll take it as a way to stop the awkward conversation no doubt about to happen.

  I plaster a winning smile on my face and turn to greet him. "Mr Mills, what a surprise. I'm not sure Madeline is free at the moment." That's a lie, but I want to give myself a chance to escape from Benedict's proving gaze, and checking on her will do that.

  "Oh, that's not a problem. Does she have a slot free?" he asks. "And it's a pleasure to see you again, Lady Catherine. I must apologise, I forget my manners."

  "It's not a problem," I assure him. Especially with how often he's showing up at the moment. I should have a conversation with Madeline about it to make sure he's treating her okay. And not falling in love with her. That always ends badly. I've seen it happen more often than I want to admit, and it usually ends with spilt blood.

  I make my way over to the desk and start tapping on the tablet, sending her a message. "Ah, it appears she's free. Would you like to take a seat in the other room? I can bring you a refreshment if you want one?"

  "No, thank you, Lady Catherine. It appears you have your own guest. I'll be perfectly fine on my own." He dips his head, then disappears into the other room, leaving me alone with Benedict once more.

  "What was that?" he asks once Mills has disappeared from sight.

  I sigh. This is exactly what I want to avoid.

  "It's my job," I point out. "He's come to see one of the girls, I tell her about it, she comes and takes him upstairs where they do whatever the two of them want to."

  "And you're all right with that?" A horrified look crosses his face, though I'm not sure what part it's in response to.

  I shrug. "Who am I to judge? They've chosen this as their profession, I make sure they're in a safe environment with all the comforts they can desire."

  "I know what these places are like, Kitty..."

  "Don't call me Kitty," I snap. "No one calls me that any more."

  "I thought your friends called you it?"

  "Then maybe you're not my friend any more." Anger seethes inside me. More than I expect. I always thought I'd be overjoyed when I saw him again, but that doesn't seem to be the case.

  "We were so much more than that," he points out.

  A bitter laugh escapes me. "We were. But that didn't stop you from throwing it all away, did it?" I counter.

  He stares at me, a thousand questions in his eyes.

  "What happened to you, Kitty?"

  "I told you not to call me that." I cross my arms, trying to keep my voice level. The last thing I want is to cause a scene, especially when there are clients still in the building.

  "I'm sorry, old habits die hard..."

  "Yes. I'm sure they did. Five hundred years ago." Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I need to get rid of him. Now. "Get out, Benedict."

  His eyes widen as the shock sets in. "What?"

  "You heard me. Get out. I don't want to see you again." Each word lances through my heart in a way that couldn't be expected.

  He isn't the man I fell in love with. If I remember that, then I may get out of this without shattering myself into thousands of pieces again.

  "Get out," I repeat.

  He opens his mouth to say something, but decides better of it and turns to leave. The front door slams behind him as silent sobs wrack through my whole body.

  I hate him, but I love him.

  And I don't know which is worse.

  Chapter Four

  "I've got another one for you," the postman says, dropping a box onto my counter with an annoying thud.

  I scowl at it, trying not to let my feelings about the sender get in the way of the postman's day. It's not his fault he has to deliver an unwanted present to a grumpy vampire.

  "And return to sender isn't an option?" I check.

  He shakes his head. "There's no return address."

  Oh right, yes. We're not required to put them here. Sometimes I think other countries and regions have the right idea. And then I remember where I live. For all I know, the country does require return addresses. But living inside the City Of Blood makes things different. Probably because I live within the same walls as anyone who is even allowed to send me anything.

  Surely Benedict has run out of places to buy me presents from anyway?

  "Do I need to sign for it?" I ask with a dramatic sigh. I want this over with, even if all it will do is lead to another present tomorrow.

  "Yes." The postman hands me the machine

  I take it and squiggle my name in the box with his fake plastic pen. It doesn't look anything like my proper signature, it never does. But he doesn't seem to care. I suppose he gets paid either way. Sometimes, technology amazes me. Others, it leaves me perplexed. This is one of the latter times.

  I give the man back the machine, and he leaves the reception area. I need to remember not to take things out on him. It isn't his fault I'm getting presents and letters from Benedict every day. I wish he'd stop. I'm not doing anything to encourage him sending them.

  "Another one, Lady Catherine?" Sonia asks as she walks back in and sets a mug of tea down on the desk. She doesn't try very hard to keep the amusement out of her voice, and I can't blame her. If this was happening to anyone else, I'd be finding it amusing too.

  "Six so far this week," I grumble.

  "You could send him one back?" She settles into the seat behind the reception desk, looking surprisingly at home for someone I thought might bail on us. I shouldn't be so quick to judge. I've never asked her what brought her to us, and it's unfair to make an assumption based on the little I know.

  "I think a gift might encourage him." I place my hands on top of the box, both wanting to open it, and not at the same time.

  "What about returning it unopened?"

  I shake my head. There's no point trying that. I did it earlier in the week, and it just arrived back the next day. I glance down at the box, knowing I'm going to give in and open it, even if I hate myself a little for doing it.

  With a sigh, I tear open the box and gasp at the contents. A tear threatens to form in the corner of my eye. What has he been doing?

  Sonia gets up from her seat and peers over the edge, no doubt wanting to know what's created the reaction in me.

  "It's a box of spoons," she muses.

  "Yes." And if I count them, which I'm not going to, I suspect there'll be close to five hundred spoons.

  "But...why?"

  I chuckle. "How old are you, Sonia?" I ask. I could have required her to fill out that information when she applied for the job. Some vampire employers do. Personally, I find it rude, so don't ask.

  "Seventy-five," she answers instantly.

  "Well, I'm nearly five hundred," I tell her, though I'm not sure of the exact number. It's hard to keep track of what year it is sometimes. "And this was something a lot of people did back when I was younger."

  "When you met the man who was in here the other day?" she asks.

  "Yes." A sense of nostalgia washes over me at the memories. "When we were courting, these were the gifts everyone was giving one another. They're love spoons."

  "Love spoons?" she echoes.

  "It's a Welsh human tradition that somehow travelled into vampire society. I suspect from someone who had a human sweetheart. A lot of the women would thread them through ribbons and tie them to their belts. I never actually got one..."

  A piece of paper attached to one of the spoons catches my attention. I lean forward and pull it out so I can read what it says.

  At that moment, the door opens, and I spin around, my skirts moving with me. The sun has only just set, so I'm not expecting any of our clients to be here yet.

  "Good evening," I say on reflex.

  "Lady Catherine, looking as beautiful as always."


  "Mr Mills, what a pleasure. I didn't realise you had an appointment," I say sweetly, trying to cover my surprise at him being here. That's most of the nights this week. I'm not sure when he's getting any of his work for the city done, but it certainly isn't while he's here visiting Madeline.

  "Your appointment starts in ten minutes, Mr Mills," Sonia says from behind her desk. She must have been checking it while I struggle for words to express my surprise.

  "Excellent." He smiles at both of us in a very genuine way. Despite the fact he's been visiting a brothel, there's nothing sleazy about him. After years in this job, it's easy to pick out who are the good men and the bad ones.

  "Would you like me to make you a drink?" I offer. He's turning into one of our best clients. I need to make sure he gets the best treatment.

  "No, thank you, Lady Catherine. I'm sure Maddy and I will have one together." His eyes light up as he says her name, and it doesn't escape my notice that his whole face softens as he says her name.

  They need to be careful. Both of them, or they're going to end up with broken hearts.

  "I think you can call me Catherine, now," I assure him.

  "Then I'd be honoured if you called me Dominic," he responds, then disappears through the curtain and into the waiting room.

  Sonia taps on the tablet screen, no doubt alerting Maddy that her client is here. Somehow, I won't be surprised to find her in the room with him within minutes.

  "What does your note say?" Sonia's voice breaks through my thoughts from Maddy and Mills.

  "Hmm?"

  "The note. With the spoons. You're still holding it." She nods to my hands.

  "Oh." Somehow, it's slipped my mind that I'm touching it, even though I'm turning it over and over, trying to make sense of what it all means.

  I tug the paper clear, and take a proper look at the spoon. To say the carving is bad would be an understatement. It's uneven, but each of the tiny carved notches is oddly charming. No noble lady I've ever met would want to wear this proudly. And yet, a part of me wants to.