She indicated a tray of wide-mouthed glasses. ‘Would you like a complimentary Blue Heart cocktail? It’s a mixture of blood oranges, raspberries and blueberries.’
The glasses contained a dark red liquid that looked like tired old blood. I picked one up and gave it a tentative sniff, managing not to poke my eye out on the blue paper umbrella. ‘No alcohol?’
She shook her head. ‘We don’t serve alcohol at the Blue Heart. It’s part of our healthy living policy to prepare ourselves and our bodies for the Gift.’
‘Sounds great,’ I said, eyeing the neat punctures on her neck as I handed her the glass back, ‘but I think I’ll pass.’
The trombone blasted itself into an ending. There was enthusiastic clapping, and the musicians started what even I recognised as a lively waltz.
She gave me an apologetic smile. ‘A lot of the regulars don’t like it.’ She leaned in, whispered, ‘Some of them bring their own, y’know, like the old biddy over there next to the pillar.’
The old biddy, her hair rinsed a bright shade of lilac, sat behind her voluminous handbag, topping up her glass from a small silver hip flask. As she carefully screwed the top back, the Blue Heart stamp looked like a dark wound on the back of her hand.
‘It’s probably gin, or vodka. The cloakroom staff pretend not to notice,’ Debbie confided in a low voice. ‘I mean, it’s not like they’re going to get the Gift at their age, is it?’ She gave a low laugh. ‘Who’d want to spend immortality looking old and decrepit? Not that any of the Masters would sponsor them anyway.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘So why d’they bother coming?
She held up her own stamped hand. ‘See, the stamp says you’re willing, so it’s just a bit of a thrill for most of the old ones, and they get the extra points, along with the health benefits. There’s more than enough customers that most of them never get fanged anyway. The last thing the management wants is one of the tea-cosy brigade pegging it from a heart attack or something.’
Looked like I owed Katie one. Debbie was just the person to ask about Melissa . . . if I could just bring the conversation around to asking about her.
‘Y’know, if you’re planning on becoming a regular’—she took a sip of the drink I’d handed her back—‘you ought to get yourself a Blue Heart membership card.’
The music headed for a crescendo. A vamp in a white sailor-suit lifted his elderly partner’s feet right off the floor, and got a kick in the shins for his consideration.
‘It’s not just for the points, you get a discount on the entrance fee and in the shop too.’ Debbie’s face lit with eagerness. ‘And if you save up enough points, you get to pick which vamp you want for a date. I’ve got my eye on this new French vamp. He looks really cool, wears his hair tied back with a bow, and has these really hot velvet jackets and—’
‘Great, but I was wonder—’ I tried interrupting her.
Debbie was on a roll. ‘I could join you up if you wanted,’ she gabbled on with the zealous look of someone ready to clinch a deal. ‘You get like a plastic pass card. It’s only a few questions and you get to—’
More to shut her up than anything, I produced the Earl’s silver invitation and held it up.
Her mouth stopped working, but not for long. ‘Oh, wow, oh look! It’s a silver one, and it’s got a jewel in it!’ She peered at the card. ‘I’ve never seen that one before. Whose is it?’
I looked myself, saw the black gem. Not the Earl’s, then.
‘Malik al-Khan.’ As I said his name, a sensation like silk brushed over my skin, making my pulse jump. Damn. Maybe speaking his name aloud hadn’t been such a great idea.
‘Oh, I’ve seen him, yum, he’s totally cute, but terrifying, if you know what I mean.’ She finished her drink with a gulp.
Movement caught my eye. Lilac Hair was doing the finger waggle at someone.
Debbie seemed lost in some inner thought, so I grabbed the opportunity. ‘You worked here long, Debbie?’
‘’Bout four months.’
‘So you’ll know everyone that works—’
‘Oh my God, you’re really her aren’t you?’ She clutched her hands together in excitement. ‘Oh my God, this is amazing. Your eyes are real, not lenses—I thought you were just one of the fakers.’ Her scarlet lips twitched in derision. ‘They think it’ll get them noticed, but, of course, they can tell the difference. But your eyes are really real, aren’t they?’
‘Last time I looked, yeah.’ At last I sensed a way in. I frowned. ‘Hey, what about that Mr October’s girlfriend? I heard she was a faker.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Melissa? No, she—’ She stopped, her face closing up. ‘Oh, we’re not supposed to talk about that, just to say how tragic it was. But’—she glanced behind her—‘there’s something funny about all that. I mean, they were an item, her and Mr O, and don’t get me wrong, he’s really cute, but he’s only been a vamp for a couple of years and Mel was aiming a bit higher. She was always lording it, only just lately she’d gone all secretive, kept getting this look, y’know, like the cat that’s found the double cream.’
‘So you don’t think Mr O killed her?’
‘Oh yes,’ Debbie nodded, ‘everyone says he did, ’cause he was jealous. I mean, they all fancied her.’ Her expression turned envious. ‘The Earl, those Irish brothers, Louis, that’s the new French vamp I like, Malik, he’s the scary one—’ She ticked the names off on her fingers. ‘Even Albie hung around her, that’s him over there, and he’s gay.’
A vampire dressed in the male version of Debbie’s green uniform was holding Lilac Hair’s hand. Albie had obviously been the recipient of the finger waggle. Lilac Hair looked like she was just as much a chatterbox as Debbie—good thing really, because Albie didn’t look the talkative type. Unsurprisingly, he did look familiar though—Albie was Mr June—and another fully paid-up member of the fang-gang from Sucker Town.
I wondered briefly whether his uniform still itched.
One of the trumpet players stood and blew a loud blast of notes.
‘And there was something else about Mel,’ Debbie whispered into the ensuing silence. ‘She kept disappearing, like, nobody could find her, then she’d pretend she’d been there all along. She freaked me out once.’ She crossed her arms. ‘She actually told me something I’d done that I’d thought no one had seen.’
Before I could ask what she meant, more enthusiastic clapping erupted, then the pensioners turned as one, heading straight towards us like stampeding goblins.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Albie drop Lilac Hair’s hand, stand up and stare straight at Debbie. My pulse jumped and I looked back just in time to catch the mind-lock falling over her face.
Shit.
She grabbed my arm, flashed her fake fangs in a grin. ‘Break time.’ I didn’t want to hurt her, so I let her drag me behind the drinks table. ‘Better move quick or you’ll get run down in the rush.’ She pushed me towards the fire-exit. ‘Go that way, it’s a shortcut.’
Shortcut to where? I looked back at Albie, whose face was pale with strain.
Debbie’s grin stretched so wide it looked painful. She gave me another impatient shove. ‘Go on. Go.’
Damn. He might push her mind too hard if I didn’t do as I was ordered. Taking a deep breath, I wrapped my hand round the steel bar marked ‘only for use in emergency’ and pushed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The fire-exit door slammed shut behind me. The shortcut was an empty corridor lit by fluorescent tubes. That and lack of luxurious carpeting on the easy-clean floor, the bare painted walls, unoccupied office, another fire-exit and a cleaning cupboard told me this wasn’t one of the public areas.
There was only one other place left to go.
Ornate blue and silver lettering above the double doors read Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol. The twin masks of Comedy and Tragedy looked like the fossilised faces of long-extinct giants. They were thickly coated with silver leaf. One cried a single ruby teardrop the size of a hen’
s egg, the other laughed wide, showcasing a set of fangs too large to belong to any vampire. There was nothing beguiling about either of the faces, but they left no doubt as to the entertainment on offer.
The Blue Heart’s website had listed the Théâtre as open for VIP members only on Saturdays—looked like I’d just been upgraded—but it was odd that someone had spent a lot of money decorating an entrance that no one, other than the club’s staff, seemed likely to use.
My gut twisting with unease, I pulled open the doors.
Soft, spine-chilling music floated out of the dark interior, along with the faint copper scent of recently spilled blood. Five or six rows of tables in expanding semi-circles faced a raised stage. All the tables were occupied, but no one looked round as I entered. Every member of the audience was staring in wrapt anticipation at the stage. The set scenery was that of a derelict graveyard. Whatever the play was—and something told me I wasn’t going to need more than three guesses—it owed more to the star-struck movie legends than to the less romantic realities of vampiric existence.
I looked, but there was no magic to find. Not that I cared that much, but I was beginning to think the Earl was going to be disappointed with my investigations.
‘Come in, little sidhe,’ Rio’s voice whispered. As she spoke, a mist of dry ice rolled out from behind the ivy-strangled headstones and off the stage to swirl around the audience’s legs like a malevolent gathering of abandoned ghosts.
I let the doors swing closed behind me and turned towards where Rio’s cap of pale blue curls shone in the dim light. She’d gone to enough trouble to get me in here. I hoped it was because of Melissa, and not just because she was hungry, or that she was snapping at the Earl’s bait.
‘Welcome to the House of Hammer, where terror stalks even the stoutest of hearts.’ She cast me a quick sideways glance, before her gaze returned to the stage.
My own heart banged against my ribs. Comedy time, not!
‘Looks like a popular place,’ I said flatly. ‘Business must be good.’
Rio put her finger to her lips. ‘Shh, the next act is about to start.’
And lucky me, I’d arrived just in time.
I stuck a hand in my jacket pocket and fingered the silver invitations as I scanned the room. It was full of vampires, with an odd scattering of humans. As my eyes adjusted, I recognised most of them from my Sucker Town outings. They were all of them Golden Blade blood, and last I heard, they were still refusing to jump on the celebrity bandwagon, so what the hell were they doing here?
The music struck a chord and a young woman entered stage right, her eyes wide and frightened, the front of her diaphanous white nightgown clutched tight in her hands, loose curls of long dark hair snaking down to her hips. The audience leaned forward almost as one as she stood trembling in the manufactured fog, pinned in place by the beam of a bright spotlight.
I gave a long-suffering sigh, but kept my voice low. ‘Isn’t this all a little old hat? The graveyard scene’s been done to death. I’d have thought you’d have more imagination.’
‘Who needs imagination?’ Rio’s fangs glinted white with her smile.
Suspicion edged into my mind and I studied the human girl on the stage. Sweat glistened on her terrified face as she stumbled to the centre of the stage and thudded to her knees next to a fake stone coffin. She curled up, shaking. She appeared to be completely unaware of the audience who were drinking down her every quiver.
Damn. She was living the scene for real.
‘You’ve got her in a mind-lock, haven’t you?’ I clenched my fists. ‘I thought you weren’t supposed to do this type of shit here. Willing victims only.’
Rio chuckled, and the sound crawled over my skin.
Onstage the girl had been joined by a vampire. His classic black opera cape flapped about him in a nonexistent wind—had to be a vamp-party-trick—and his red silk shirt shone under the spotlights. He’d scraped his long platinum hair into a sleek pony-tail, complete with the requisite widow’s peak, and with his hooded eyes and thin, cruel lips he was perfect for the part, in more ways than one. The vamp acting the Big Bad Count was none other than Red Poet, leader of the Sucker Town fang-gang.
I felt my pulse speed up a notch.
Red Poet opened his jaw wide, letting the light spark off all four of his fangs, and the audience joined him in a series of loud pantomime hisses.
‘Such sweet blood runs through your veins.’ Rio held out a hand to me. ‘Come closer, little sidhe, for I will enjoy this all the more with your delicious scent teasing me.’
I ignored her. Rio was entirely too happy, which could only mean one thing: the girl had agreed to—well, whatever was going to happen. She’d probably even signed the deal in her own blood. I looked around for confirmation and found it in the small Monitor goblin sitting in the front row, tapping the red light of his radio earpiece.
I hoped the girl understood what she’d got into, but I was willing to bet she hadn’t. Vampires could be as tricky as the fae to bargain with when it suited them.
Red Poet stalked through the mock-graveyard, peering over every headstone, hamming it up big-time. The music crescendoed as his intended victim huddled in full view, tremors racking her plump body.
‘Audience participation is such a wonderful thing, don’t you think?’ Rio’s eyes never left the stage. ‘What could be more exciting, more thrilling, than to watch, and to feel, real fear?’ Excitement laced her voice. ‘To actually feel the heart beating faster and faster, the blood rushing through your body in a pounding torrent...’ She took a deep breath. ‘What better way is there, when you feel so alive in those moments just before you die?’ She let out a gusty sigh. ‘True terror is such a rare and precious commodity in these over-enlightened days.’ She sent me a sly smile. ‘And like any commodity’—she spread her arms wide, encompassing the whole room—‘it can be bought and sold.’
I threw Rio a disgusted look. ‘You’re all going along for the ride, aren’t you?’
She held out her hand again. ‘Would you like to join us?’
‘Thanks, I’ll pass.’ I backed off; this wasn’t getting me anywhere and I had better places to be. I went to push against the door, but instead of wood, found my hand meeting cool flesh. Rio had moved too fast for me to see and now she stood between me and the exit, arms braced to either side of the door, blocking my way.
‘Stay with me, little sidhe,’ she murmured.
I stared at my hand flat against her chest, the deep V of her sheer blouse brushing against my wrist, my own honey-coloured hand looking pale against her darker skin. Her heart thumped under my palm sending little shockwaves along my arm. Mesma. I wanted to take my hand away, but I couldn’t. The little shocks felt too irresistible.
My throat tightened with fear: she was way more powerful than I’d thought.
Rio pushed closer. Instinct screamed at me to step back. Instead I let my body do what she wanted. I bent my elbow, bringing us nearer, and looked up into her eyes. The whites were as blue as her hair. Her scent, musk, mint and liquorice, clouded my mind and I leaned into her, wrapping my other hand around the back of her neck.
‘Well, this is a surprise, little sidhe.’ She lowered her head, her mouth parted in anticipation. ‘Who’d have thought?’
Our lips met, soft at first, then I pressed mine hard against hers, taking the kiss even deeper. I could feel her heart fluttering fast and frantic under the palm of my hand. I slid my tongue across her cool lips. Hers darted out, eager. The tang of copper mixed with the bitter mint caught in my throat. I dragged my mouth from hers, my hand still against her flesh.
‘Is this what you want, Rio?’ I breathed the words into her face.
She swayed towards me, arms still outstretched, her hands on the door frame holding her upright.
I trailed my hand lower, touching the trembling skin of her stomach. ‘Is this why you rushed out to greet me?’
A small, inarticulate sound issued from her parted lips.
>
I slid my fingers into the top of her leather hotpants. ‘Why you’ve been so eager for me to join you?’
She shuddered, her breath coming in excited little huffs.
I stepped sharply to the side, stuck my leg out and jerked hard on her shorts. Off-balance, she stumbled forward, her eyes flashing open, her arms windmilling. I thumped my hand between her shoulders and pushed her down. She landed on her front, her chin cracking hard against the wooden floor. Her breath gasped out as I dropped down to sit astride her and I slapped my hands on her arms and leaned my weight on her, pinning her to the floor.
‘Or was there something you wanted to tell me?’ I leaned down and whispered into her ear.
Then the screaming started.
Onstage, Red Poet had caught the girl and was holding her from behind, trapping her body tightly against his. The audience were transfixed, revelling in her terror. Tears coursed down her face as her struggles grew weaker. He gently wiped the tears away, then lifted her chin, stretching her neck so the large pulse jumped under the skin.
Beneath me, Rio laughed.
He reared back his head.
Shit! Rio was controlling him—
‘Make him stop,’ I shouted in her ear.
Red Poet froze, fangs poised to strike.
Rio turned so our faces were almost touching. ‘Shh, little sidhe,’ she purred, ‘you wouldn’t want him to hurt her now, would you? Just a slight miscalculation on his part, and there would be a tragic accident. And of course, she signed the disclaimer of her own free will, all our special guests do ... the Monitor goblin will vouch for that.’
Was she bluffing?
As if she’d read my mind, she whispered, ‘Unlike some, our plump little starlet doesn’t have the protection of the Earl, or a religious mother, or a celebrity boyfriend—no one would even remember her, if her performance tonight should be her swan song.’
Not bluffing then.
The girl could disappear tonight, and unless the contract called for the Monitor to register her death, no one would ever know. Humans really didn’t understand just how literal goblins were sometimes.
The Sweet Scent of Blood s-1 Page 20
