Bitter Seed of Magic (9781101553695)

by Mcleod, Suzanne

  Maxim stood in his place, white cloak draped around his shoulders, platinum hair drawn back from his widow’s peak in a ponytail, his eyes still disturbingly pale blue and hooded. ‘Dear Old Dad.’ He grinned, flashing all four of his fangs. ‘He really does nag on like an old woman at times.’

  My stomach clenched uneasily as I glanced at the staked Fyodor: he’d been right when he’d said there was friction between him and his son. I looked back at Mad Max, and decided I positively detested him now I knew he owed his Oath to the Autarch, and was of his psychotic blood, and was also standing in front of me looking way too pleased with himself.

  ‘Cat got your tongue, Cousin Sidhe?’ He laughed gleefully. ‘Now where shall we start—? Gareth, go and get some help and put Dear Old Dad in his coffin.’ He nudged Fyodor with his toe. ‘Oh, and leave the stake in, it’ll make a nice show for the members, and tomorrow we can charge extra for him. And now he’s out of the way, Cousin, you and I can have a nice chat’ – he made an exaggerated show of checking over his shoulder – ‘and look, we’re all alone, with no pesky Malik al-Khan around to spoil our fun.’

  Not for the first time, I had a fleeting wish for some sort of spellcasting ability, or at least a handy Stun spell. ‘What do you want?’ I asked, keeping my voice level.

  ‘As I told our esteemed Oligarch, I’ve got a little proposition for you.’ He rubbed his hands together. ‘But the Turk’s being his usual dog-in-the-manger self.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ I said drily. ‘You won’t kidnap any more of my friends if I go back to the Autarch quietly, so you can get a nice pat on the head?’

  ‘Good God, no!’ He gave a theatrical shudder. ‘We don’t want Him involved, do we? If He knew we were all pally, he’d just demand I hand you over, and I’d have to say Yes, Sire! and probably end up as part of the entertainment.’ He finger-shot himself in the head. ‘Duh! His Brattiness might be a total nutter, but I’m not. Why do you think I put up with Dear Old Dad all the time? It’s certainly not for the old man’s scintillating company. Malik, on the other hand, will agree to anything to keep you out of the Autarch’s clutches.’ He beamed, his face lighting up with manic glee, and spread his arms wide, flashing me with more than his fangs. ‘Oh, don’t you just love it when a plan comes together?’

  ‘It’s not my plan,’ I said, narrowing my eyes at him, not sure whether his ‘happy as Larry’ act was for real, ‘and I don’t appreciate being held hostage for ransom. So no, not loving it so far.’

  ‘Oh, you’re not a hostage, Cousin.’ He held his hands up in mock surrender. ‘Far from it! No, all I want is a quick family snap of us together, then you’re free to leave whenever you want.’

  I raised my brows. ‘Okay, now I’m confused. Letting the hostage go before you get the ransom – not that I’m complaining – is one of those cart-before-the-horse things. So: what’s the catch?’

  ‘Catch? There’s no catch, little cousin. All I want is the photo and that’s it. Good God, I’m not stupid, you know. The Autarch might have a few screws loose, but he’s easily distracted; it’s out of sight, out of mind with him. Malik, on the other hand, is like a bleeding elephant. He never forgets if you cross him, and he keeps coming after you until he’s managed to stamp you out completely. Look what he did to Elizabetta!’ He grabbed his head in both hands with a mock scream of horror. ‘Me, I’d prefer to keep my bonce on my shoulders where it belongs.’

  I blinked. Personally I’d take Malik over the Autarch any day, but hey, he had a point with the head thing . . . and if all Mad Max truly wanted was a picture—

  ‘Fine, where’s the camera then?’

  ‘I bet you’ve got one on your phone, haven’t you?’ He smiled winningly and fluffed out his velvet cloak. ‘I’m a bit short on pockets in this get-up.’

  Still suspicious about what he was up to, I pulled out my phone from my jacket pocket and warily held it out.

  He took it and examined it as if it were diamond-studded. ‘Nice bit of kit! I didn’t think this model was out yet.’ His thumb moved over the small keyboard, almost faster than I could see. ‘I’ve been waiting to get a shot at one of these from a reviewer I know; she says it doesn’t live up to the hype.’ His brows lowered in concentration at the phone. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘It’s a phone. It does what phones do,’ I said, trying to calculate if I could make it past the dogs, most of whom were stretched out sleeping now, and out the door before—

  ‘Mind if I take a test pic of Dear Old Dad first?’ He looked up enquiringly.

  ‘Knock yourself out.’

  He resumed fiddling with the phone, and I started slowly edging away from him and the staked vamp at my feet.

  His hand shot out and clamped round my wrist. ‘Picture first, Cousin.’ He smiled; this time there was nothing winning about it.

  ‘Hurry up and take it then.’ I jerked my arm away, surprised when he let me go.

  ‘Come and cuddle up here.’ He patted his side, his bonhomie back, and indicated I should pose next to him, then held up the phone, camera lens pointed back at himself.

  Feeling a bit like I had fallen down the rabbit hole, or was maybe climbing onto the hangman’s scaffold, I stepped over the body and angled in next to him.

  He clapped his arm round my shoulders with a cheery laugh. I gritted my teeth.

  ‘Okay, now hold your hand up next to your face, the one with the member’s diamond on it.’ He looked up at the lights and moved us back fractionally. ‘Now look at the camera, and—One, two, big cheesy grin, smile!’ The phone clicked, and the flash blinded me.

  I squeezed my eyes tight shut . . .

  And when I opened them, the scene in the club’s foyer had changed.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Mad Max, his dear-old-and-bloodily-staked Dad, and even the dogs were gone. The Coffin Club’s foyer was empty except for the sleeping goblin in the ticket booth. For a moment I wondered if I’d imagined it all, but my T-shirt was still damp with Fyodor’s blood, although someone had creepily cleaned my face and hands. Damn vamp tricks. Looked like the bastard had mind-locked me, something he shouldn’t have been able to do. And what the hell game was the mad vamp playing?

  Not that I couldn’t hazard a guess: he wanted something from me, and while he was leery enough of Malik’s retribution not to want to hold me hostage, he wasn’t above using my possessions as a negotiating tool, since my backpack with its cargo of blood and my phone were also gone. Not to mention there was Darius, my pet-vamp himself, to worry about.

  But before I could flush the mad-dog vamp out of wherever he’d disappeared to, a loud Big Ben – type chime rang, the club’s front doors swung open, and a crowd of people – humans – were laughing, whooping and racing through them.

  Suddenly three of them split off and headed for me, their pale grey costumes streaking behind them like delicate wings blown by the wind. I recognised their black-and-white Pierrot faces: they were some of the Moth-girls from the blood-house where Darius used to live. I had a moment to brace myself before all three threw themselves at me, flattening me against the wall, thin arms wrapping around my neck and waist, hands clutching mine, and I was enveloped in a soft mass of rustling silk, satin and lace.

  I breathed in the smell of rice-powder mixed with greasepaint as Viola smeared a waxy kiss on my cheek, caught the faint scent of liquorice-scented blood as Rissa’s long white hair trailed across my face, and felt the heat of the 3V infection pouring off Lucy’s arms around my neck. I laughed, squeezing hands and hugging them all, joining in their enthusiastic greeting—

  The present disappeared as a memory speared into my heart.

  She looked numbly down at her son where he lay cradled in her arms. The midwife had wrapped him in the blue blanket appli-quéd with the red and white train. She’d bought it only two days ago, sure then that her superstitions were unfounded and nothing would go wrong. She touched his tiny, perfect hand . . . but unlike all those excited daydreams she’d had, his
little fingers didn’t curl round her own, but stayed limp and lifeless. That’s when she knew he wasn’t there, that he was gone.

  I clutched Grace’s gold pentacle, and looked at the three Moth-girls. They were fanned round me in a semi-circle, almost like they were afraid I’d run away if they let me go. Behind them the crowd of excited, over-eager humans were snaking their way through the white zigzag ropes towards the coffin-shaped ticket booth. A large raven perched on top of the booth watching me. As I looked, it gave a loud caw, then flapped its wings and flew over the oblivious queue and out through the club’s open doors, disappearing into the night sky.

  I turned back to the Moths.

  I knew the heart-wrenching memory of the stillborn baby belonged to one of them, just as I knew it was the Morrígan’s bitter-tasting magic that had drawn the memory out for me to see. But I didn’t know which of the girls had lost their child, and none of the three appeared to know she’d shared the painful memory with me. I also didn’t know what, if anything, I was supposed to do about it.

  ‘You’re crying,’ Viola whispered as she slipped her thin arms back round my waist and squeezed. ‘Are you all right?’

  I nodded, swiped at the tears and the sorrow from the memory dispelled.

  ‘Good,’ she said, then pouted prettily. ‘Wow, we haven’t seen you in ages and ages and ages. We’ve missed you so much, Genny.’

  ‘Yes, we’re so pleased to see you again,’ Lucy said, twining her fingers through mine.

  ‘’ave you come to see our Darius?’ Rissa swiped a tissue along my cheek. ‘Lipstick.’ She puckered up her own purple-painted mouth, then said, ‘It ’ain’t bin the same since ’e went and got the job ’ere and you not come any more.’

  I smiled apologetically, realising I’d missed them too. ‘Sorry, girls. I’ve been coming here, and without Darius, well, you know . . .’ I trailed off, and we all stood and looked at each other awkwardly. I hadn’t really thought they’d want me visiting – after all, they’d been Darius’ little volunteer harem, as well as his breakfast, lunch and dinner most nights. And while we’d all had fun when I was there, I’d sort of thought it was more because they’d put up with me as Darius’ blood benefactor than anything more.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not the same without him there, but you still could’ve come, you know.’ Viola squeezed my waist again. ‘We really, really do miss you.’

  ‘Right,’ I managed to say past the tightness in my throat. Tears pricked my eyes and I blinked them away. ‘Well, I really miss you all too.’ I smiled. ‘So I’ll come and see you on your next night off, okay?’

  ‘Yay!’ Lucy waved her arms in the air.

  ‘Good.’ Rissa sniffed as she smiled. ‘Then you will pay up for your poker debt.’

  ‘Ah, now I see it.’ I laughed. ‘You just want me back ’cos I’m crap at cards.’

  ‘Well, that is another reason,’ Lucy teased. ‘Oh, it is wonderful to see you again.’

  ‘Hey, you too, girls.’ I looked around, suddenly aware that someone was missing. Dread constricted my chest. ‘Where’s Yana? She’s okay, isn’t she?’

  ‘She’s fine.’ Lucy clapped her hands. ‘She’s got herself a sponsor.’

  ‘Really?’ I said, surprised.

  Lucy nodded. ‘It’s true. Francine. She’s Golden Blade blood. They’ve been sweet on each other for a while, but the old hag Elizabetta didn’t approve. Francine was there when you visited; she used to wait in the rec room at the end of the hallway – long black hair, real sexy-like.’

  ‘Oh yeah, I remember.’ Francine was a petite black vamp with a liking for red leather. She’d always hung back, watching from the doorway, but she’d never approached me, for obvious reasons; she wanted to keep her head on her shoulders. ‘She okay, this Francine?’ I frowned, still concerned about Yana. The vamps who usually frequented the blood-houses were mostly the ones addicted to necking – the dangerous and highly illegal pastime of biting straight into the carotid artery.

  ‘She’s a real pussycat,’ Lucy shrieked, ‘and hot,’ she added fanning herself. ‘But Yana’s all right with her, she’s one of the house standbys.’

  The house standbys were powerful vamps who were experts at controlling a human’s heart rate. Without the standbys, the Moths would die the first time anyone necked them, as the blood gushes like a soda fountain, and the standbys make sure the Moths never lose more blood than their bodies can cope with. But even with the standbys a lot of Moths only survive a couple of years at most; their bodies just can’t take the abuse.

  If Yana had got herself a sponsor, she might still make it to immortality.

  ‘Yana will come later,’ Rissa piped up. ‘She and Francine are doing, y’know.’ She crooked her fingers, and mimed fangs next to the half-dozen bite marks down the left side of her neck.

  ‘Ah.’

  ‘Francine doesn’t do necks though, does she?’ Viola laughed, and crooked her own fingers down Rissa’s cleavage.

  ‘Genny doesn’t want to know that!’ Lucy squealed, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment.

  ‘Nah, Genny doesn’t mind, do you?’ Viola smiled with sly invitation.

  ‘Save it for Darius,’ I said with a laugh. ‘He’ll appreciate you more than I will.’

  She pouted just as Lucy shouted, ‘Hey the booth’s opening.’ She grabbed my hand, and pulled us into the zigzag of white ropes, cheerfully shoving past everyone until we ended up near the front of the queue, about five back from the ticket booth. Our place had been saved by two couples who were evidently Coffin Club devotees, since they were dressed in undertakers’ suits, complete with top hats and funeral wreaths of white roses in their grey-gloved hands. The flowers looked oddly luminous under the UV lights.

  ‘See them?’ Lucy whispered as she nudged me, following my gaze. ‘Plastic flowers. They paint them with this stuff to make them glow; I seen them do it last week in the loos.’

  ‘Yeah, we’re thinking of getting some of that stuff for our faces so they glow like our hands,’ Viola said, angling her palm under the lights so her member’s diamond glowed white. ‘Then we’d stand out more.’ She fluffed out her handkerchief-hemmed skirt and pushed up her small breasts under her top. Her skimpy patchwork of grey lace, silk and satin shone in the gloomy interior. ‘We look a bit dingy under these lights, don’t you think, Genny?’ She eyed me slyly.

  ‘Yep.’ I grinned. ‘Definitely dingy.’

  Lucy jumped up and down with excited impatience. ‘Hurry up, hurry up,’ she muttered. ‘We’ve been too late to see Darius the last three weeks; someone’s always got in before us and booked him up for a private party. That’s why we wanted to be first tonight.’

  We reached the ticket booth. Abraham the mini-Monitor goblin was still there, his highchair drawn up to the window. He looked perkier now his earlier methane hit was wearing off, but Gareth was gone, replaced by a tall, thin vamp. The hollows under his cut-glass cheekbones gave him a cadaverous appearance that went with his tailed undertaker’s suit.

  ‘Hands,’ he intoned in a bored voice, waving a UV torch at the Monitor goblin.

  I hung back as the Moths all crowded forward and stuck their hands out towards Abraham.

  The vamp sighed. ‘One at a time, girls.’

  The three giggled and shuffled, cooing at Abraham as they got their palms checked, until the vamp waved them past.

  I stepped up to the booth and stuck my own hand out. Abraham touched his nose, then my fingers. ‘S’okay to enter, Miss,’ he said in a soft sing-song.

  The vamp waved the torch beam over my palm, lighting up the diamond mark, then stopped and sniffed. He sniffed again, then bent down so he was eye-level with me. ‘Oh,’ he murmured, his mouth dropping open to show his two sharp canines, ‘oh, you’re her,’ he whispered, his nostrils flaring as he sniffed again. ‘Sweet.’ His pupils dilated, spreading blackness over his iris and sclera, his top lip curled back and his two needle-thin venom fangs sprang down below his front teeth. A glistening
drop of clear venom seeped from the left fang. His mind-lock brushed weak as mist against my mind, which told me he was probably no more than fifty vamp-years old. And that he was a total idiot if he thought he could catch me in a mind-lock, not to mention the fact that he didn’t appear to have got the memo about my protection. I sniffed myself, exasperated. He might be an idiot, but I didn’t want his true death on my conscience because he got over-excited and stupidly forgot himself.

  I shot my fist out, punching the vamp on the chin, shutting his mouth with a snap. ‘Hey, fang-boy, listen up!’ I growled. ‘Either you stop with the sniffing and go off-line, or your body’s going to end up without a head soon.’

  Comprehension and fear crossed his face and he scrambled back and grabbed for a plastic sandwich box sitting on the shelf next to the goldfish bowl full of wristbands. He jerked the lid off and buried his face in the box. A faint reek of garlic drifted towards me. Seconds later he came up coughing and spluttering, pink-tinged tears streaking his cheeks.

  ‘Sorry, Ms Taylor,’ he whispered; still huddled at the back of the booth. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all. I didn’t mean anything.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘Apology accepted. Now, can I go in?’

  He nodded vigorously and I strode through the double doors and into the club’s interior. The circular space was empty of Moths – and anyone else, other than the usual human girl sitting stoically at the cloakroom counter next to the door marked ‘Office’. As for where the Moths had got to, well, I had a choice of the restrooms, the private rooms behind two doors marked 1 – 15 and 16 – 30; the gift shop – DVDs of the vamps lying in their coffins were on special offer! – or the glass double doors opposite me.

  The doors led into the Room of Remembrance. The room was set up like a church nave with about twenty glass coffins on top of ornate marble plinths, arranged either side of a wide aisle instead of pews. And a raised stage at the end where the chancel would be. A few vamps, dressed in a variety of military or heroic outfits, were up and milling about among the first few members, so the coffins were empty, but on the stage was another coffin, the blood that smeared its sides glittering in the spotlights. It had to be where the staked Fyodor was stashed. Nobody appeared to be taking much notice, so maybe he wasn’t going to be the draw Mad Max hoped.