Vigilante Vampire (Bo Blackman Book 5)

by Helen Harper

  I stiffen. He laughs at my expression and melts away, taking the champagne with him. I stay where I am, trying not to swing around my head in too obvious a fashion. I should have known I wasn’t alone.

  ‘Hello, Bo.’

  I curse myself twice for a fool as my heart rate quickens. This meeting was inevitable; I had just hoped I’d have more time to prepare for it, that’s all. I glance over and try to relax. ‘Lord Montserrat.’

  A muscle jerks in Michael’s jaw. He’s pissed off and not doing a very good job of hiding it. I take note of the shadows underneath his eyes. He might still be dressed as smartly as ever, in the midnight-blue colours of his Family, and his dark hair might be as perfectly coiffed as it’s possible to get, but he’s been suffering. I push down my twinge of worry. He can look after himself.

  ‘Lord Montserrat?’ he asks, his tone cool. ‘Since when have you reverted to such formality? And where the hell have you been? I’ve been searching the fucking city for you.’

  I’m well aware of that. Unfortunately for him, the resources of a Kakos daemon like X are no match even for an entire Family of bloodguzzlers. I gesture towards the Medici stronghold in what I know is a flippant action. ‘I’m here every night.’

  ‘So I’ve heard,’ he grinds out.

  I shrug. ‘What’s it to you?’

  In one swift – although not entirely unexpected – action, he grabs hold of my shoulders and yanks me towards him. ‘What’s it to me? You ask that? After everything we’ve been through?’ His face looms towards mine.

  I pull away. ‘Too much has happened. I have my own agenda now and you’re only going to get in my way.’

  His face twists in barely controllable rage. ‘I’ve been worried about you. You’ve abandoned everything and everyone.’

  ‘Really? What about you? Because it looks to me like you’re abandoning your responsibilities. What are you doing about Medici? Are you going to continue to let him get away with all this?’

  ‘Medici is my concern, not yours. What about O’Shea? Your grandfather? New Order?’

  ‘New Order has got four vampire Families behind it. Not to mention people like Arzo. My grandfather is in a coma. Crying over his bedside isn’t going to help him.’

  ‘And O’Shea?’

  My expression closes off. I fold my arms and look away. I’m not prepared to go there. Not yet.

  ‘Bo, talk to me!’

  ‘I don’t have time for this.’ He lunges for me again. This time I manage to stay out of his grasp. I take a step back and eye him. ‘I know you mean well. I know you’re worried but I’m fine.’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  I sigh. ‘Then I’m sorry. I’m doing what I need to do and I don’t need your help. I’ve got resources and I’m coping perfectly well. Stop seeking me out.’

  His gaze sweeps over me. ‘Your name is constantly in the paper. You’re no longer the Red Angel, you’re an avenging angel.’ His mouth turns down. ‘Or devil.’

  ‘What of it?’

  ‘Who gave you carte blanche to be judge and jury?’

  ‘I haven’t heard many complaints.’ I shrug. ‘Although there was a smack dealer last week who whined quite a lot.’

  He shakes his head in bitter resignation. ‘You’re going to get yourself killed if you keep this up.’

  ‘If that happens then it’s on my head. It’s not very likely though.’ I lower my voice. ‘I’m getting stronger by the day,’ I say in all seriousness. ‘And I’m doing good.’ I look back over the road. ‘Can you say the same?’

  He runs a hand through his hair. ‘We’re dealing with Medici.’

  ‘Really?’ This time I keep my tone soft rather than accusatory. ‘There’s not been much evidence of it so far.’

  ‘Trust me.’

  I meet his eyes. ‘Trust works both ways. You have to trust me too.’

  For a long moment we simply look at each other. Silence draws out between us, an unfathomable chasm of things left unsaid. ‘What happened to us?’ he asks eventually.

  ‘Life’s a bitch.’ A small, sad smile crosses my lips. ‘Speaking of bitches, how is Arzo?’ The big Sanguine man helped me out a lot in the past and I miss his counsel but that doesn’t change the fact that he was blind when it came to double agents who’d been recruited by Medici to destroy us all.

  Michael sighs. ‘Bitch or not, he misses Dahlia.’

  ‘I didn’t kill her.’ Medici had claimed that everyone would believe I had.

  ‘I know.’

  I scan his face for the truth. ‘I didn’t kill Connor either.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, Bo, I know that too!’

  I tug at my ponytail. ‘Does everyone else know that?’

  His expression is stony. ‘Go and see O’Shea. He needs you.’

  ‘I can’t,’ I whisper. ‘Not yet.’

  O’Shea had been falling head over heels in love with the carrot-headed human. I put a stop to that when I allowed Connor’s neck to be snapped by a damned witch. I ruined my friend’s life and there are no words in the world to make up for my failings. I can’t see O’Shea. Not now and maybe not ever. I do need something to stop Michael from worrying about me, though, otherwise I’ll never get any peace. To distract him as much as anything else, I take a step forward and curl my arms round his back, pressing myself against him.

  He wraps himself around me and rests his chin on my head. ‘I miss you.’

  I don’t answer. I remain where I am, inhaling his scent. I’m allowed a moment of weakness, I decide. When I finally pull away, however, my jaw is set. ‘I’m fine. Stop worrying about me and focus on Medici instead. You have to take him down.’

  ‘I will.’

  I reach up and gently brush my fingers against the rough stubble on his cheek. ‘Good.’ Because, I add silently, if you don’t do something soon, I’ll have to, whether or not I’m strong enough to take on Medici.

  Then I step away and melt back into the night.

  ***

  I sit in the shadows, scant inches from the shaft of sunlight hitting the balcony in front of me. Taking a deep breath, I inch out my finger. The light scalds my skin, instantly turning it flame red. I draw back with a hiss. I’m determined to keep trying; sooner or later I’ll be strong enough to face daytime.

  It takes newbie vampires a long time to adjust. I’m simply not there yet and it’s starting to eat away at me like a cancer. Stalking through the streets at night is all well and good but it’s not just my hankering for golden sunshine that has me desperate to withstand the day. Bringing down small covens of necromantic witches and dens of despicable humans is one thing; possessing the strength to do more would make a huge difference. Not to mention that the pain helps clear my thoughts of Michael’s face as well.

  There’s a tap on my shoulder. I spring up in an immediate attack position. The girl leaps away, her eyes wide and her skin pale but I have to give her credit – she doesn’t run. She points to her neck and then to my stomach. I immediately understand and shake my head. It wouldn’t matter how hungry I felt, I wouldn’t drink from a kid who’s already been through more in one short life than most people manage in decades.

  She gestures once more. I set my mouth. ‘No.’

  She looks upset and mutters something incomprehensible under her breath. I can’t tell what language it is.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I ask, enunciating every word as clearly as I can manage. She just stares at me. I gesture to myself. ‘I’m Bo.’

  She blinks rapidly. ‘Maria.’

  ‘Where are you from, Maria?’

  She doesn’t answer. Instead she draws the bathrobe closer around her in an unconscious movement. She’s still scared. I sigh to myself. This is no place for her. Now, with her face scrubbed clean of make-up and only the mark on her cheek marring her skin, she looks even younger, probably only fourteen or fifteen. A vampire’s lair – and a rogue vampire’s lair at that – is no place for a kid. Bringing her here was a stupid idea.r />
  ‘Do you have family?’ I try. It’s worth a second shot.

  She doesn’t respond. She just bites her lip and turns away, heading back to the spare bedroom and closing the door behind her. I look at it for a moment and make a decision. Taking my phone, I walk over and knock on the door. The second she opens it, I snap a photo of her. She cries out and slams the door shut again.

  ‘Suck it up,’ I tell the door. ‘It’s for the best.’

  I tap out a cursory message to Rogu3, asking him to search for her real identity if he’s back up and running in the hacker world. His parents confiscated all his equipment after he almost died but I have the feeling they won’t have been able to stop him for long. I would rather not involve him in anything I’m doing but it’s either that or introduce her to X so he can read her mind and there’s no way I’m about to trust the Kakos daemon to that extent. Not to mention that he’s made it patently clear on many occasions that I’m not to breathe a word about him to anyone.

  I tell myself that is a simple task which Rogu3 can do standing on his head and keep my message as professional and distant as I can manage, informing him that I’ll pay his full fee but that he has right of refusal. He’s only to contact me by text or email. I take a deep breath before I send the message, wondering if there’s another way. If there is, I can’t think of it. I press down my thumb. Done.

  When the phone rings a few seconds later, however, I almost throw the damn thing away.

  ‘Good afternoon, Bo,’ X purrs. ‘I want to congratulate you. After the debacle with the witches, you did some good work last night.’

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that what happened with the witches was actually a roaring success but I think better of it and bite back the words. He probably knows what I’m thinking anyway.

  ‘Actually,’ he drawls, ‘I don’t know your thoughts right now. You have to be next to me for me to read your mind.’ He pauses. ‘But I’m not stupid either. It’s not difficult to guess.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Well then, I’m going to guess that you’re not just phoning to give me a pat on the back and a shiny gold star.’ He’s not really the type.

  ‘No. I would have called round in person but it appears you have company.’ He clicks his tongue. ‘That wasn’t wise.’

  ‘It won’t be for long.’

  His voice remains inappropriately cheery. ‘See that it’s not.’

  I wait. When he doesn’t say anything else, I sigh. ‘So?’

  ‘So what?’

  ‘So what do you want, X?’

  He laughs, a melodic sound that still manages to send a shiver rippling down my spine. ‘You realise I have you eating out of my palm, don’t you? How far are you prepared to go to please me?’

  He’s taking our relationship a little too far. ‘Watch it,’ I growl.

  ‘Or what? You’ll hurt me?’ He laughs again. ‘Cut out my heart and eat it?’

  That’s it. I might be currently working for him but there are limits. I pull the phone away from my ear and hang up. Enough already. A second later it rings again. I scowl at it, tempted to ignore it then I give up and answer.

  ‘That wasn’t very polite, Bo.’

  ‘So stop toying with me.’

  ‘Very well.’ His tone changes, becoming brisk and businesslike. ‘Someone tried to contact you on your old number. I think it might be worth following up.’

  I’m wary now. ‘Who?’

  ‘A human with a rather peculiar name. Jonesy, I believe.’

  I frown. ‘I don’t know anyone called Jonesy.’ Something twitches in the back of my mind. It sounds familiar though.

  ‘He has a daughter called Lisa and he’s a big fan of yours. That ought to jog your memory enough.’

  Before I can say anything else, he hangs up. I wrinkle my nose. Jonesy? Lisa? Then, in a sudden flash, I remember. He’s one of the Tube workers. In fact, he’s the caretaker at the station nearest the Montserrat mansion. He helped me sneak in after hours so I could use the tunnels to move around. I did actually tell him he could contact me if he ever needed a favour.

  It was only a couple of months ago but it feels like it happened in a different lifetime, to a different person. Still, if X thinks it’s worth my time then it’s bound to be interesting. It beats wandering randomly around the streets, I guess.

  I cast a long look at the closed bedroom door before picking up my phone to make another quick call. Everyone likes pizza, right? I throw down some money on the table so Maria can pay for it and waltz out.

  X might have a penchant for all things fine and luxurious but there’s another reason why he installed me in this flat. It has a direct line from the basement to the London Underground – and only I have the key. I think he likes the symmetry, as if I’m Batman and this is my Batcave. I don’t feel much like a superhero, though.

  I weave through the darkened pillars to the door, jiggling the key in the lock and slipping through. It might be brilliant spring sunshine outside but here it’s dark and dingy enough to fulfil every vampire’s dreams. I ignore the skittering of distant rats and toss a coin to decide which station I’ll use. I try to keep my movements random. It wouldn’t do to be predictable. Once I know where I’m going, I jog down the old, twisting tunnels until I finally emerge near the station platform I require. I’ve timed it correctly and have plenty of time to follow the tracks and hop onto the platform before the next train arrives.

  It’s not yet time for the evening rush home from the office to the myriad of leatherette sofas which dot the dwellings of the city but there are still a few people hanging around and waiting for the next train. The station guard catches sight of me and blows his whistle, directing everyone else to the far end of the platform. His nervy action is rooted in reality rather than fantasy. Not long after I moved to this area, some dick in a shiny suit approached me for a date. It didn’t go well for him. Now all the Underground personnel are under orders to keep the public away from me. I know because I saw the order on a shabby wall in a station across the city when I was killing time a couple of weeks ago. It’d probably be more sensible for them to ban me entirely but they’re all too scared. Once that would have troubled me; now it suits my purpose.

  There’s a loud roar as the train approaches, the brakes whining as it pulls to a halt. The doors swish open but the carriages are too busy for my taste. I wait until the train is pulling away again and leap onto the back instead, clinging on with my fingertips. It’s not the most comfortable position but it beats awkward glances from the commuters and tourists inside the train. I’ve given up on wearing disguises, I’m damned if I’m going to hide who I am any more, but that doesn’t mean I like the stares or surreptitious snapping of camera phones. I don’t want anyone following me either. Anyone who tried would only end up getting hurt.

  I switch trains three times. At the last change, a small child holding her father’s hand catches sight of me, although he’s far too engrossed in whatever delights his phone has to offer to notice. She gives me a wide-eyed stare and then smiles. I bare my fangs. Her bottom lip trembles but she manages to hang on to her emotions. I contort my face into a snarl and the girl finally begins to wail. It’s for the best: vampires aren’t cuddly creatures. She’ll do well to learn that at an early age.

  It’s irritatingly busy by the time I make it to the station where Jonesy works. From the platform onwards, most of the people I pass have the glazed look of office workers in their own little world so I manage to wend my way to safety without incident. With all hands on deck for the approaching rush hour, the staffroom is empty. I settle down in a vaguely comfortable chair, propping my feet up on the coffee table next to an old newspaper with wrinkled pages. I pick it up and scan through, looking for articles which might provide me with more little tasks to undertake.

  I skim past the sections that feature my name. The paper is more than a week out of date, so there’s not much to pique my interest. I settle on an interview with a stereotypically sm
army politician called Vince Hale. Unlike many of his more cautious compatriots, who are wary of drawing the ire of the Families, he is openly anti-vampire. I blow air through my cheeks in disgust. He’s only pandering to current public opinion. I long for the day when people – especially politicians – have thoughts of their own rather than merely following the tide. Whatever happened to the road less travelled?

  Evening is drawing in by the time the door opens to admit a tired-looking woman. At first she barely registers my presence and walks over to the corner to make herself a cup of tea. It’s not until she turns to sit down that she finally sees me for who I am. Her cup freezes in midair and her hands start to shake. The cup slides out of her grip and smashes on the floor, hot liquid splattering everywhere. I give her a big grin and she darts out as if hell is on her heels. I start counting to twenty in my head.

  I’ve only just reached sixteen when the guy I’m here to see makes an appearance, putting his head around the door to confirm what the freaked-out woman must have told him once she finally managed to find the words. Unlike her, he doesn’t betray so much as a trace of fear.

  ‘You came,’ he says quietly, closing the door behind him. ‘I wasn’t sure you would.’

  I shrug. ‘I promised you a favour so here I am.’ I knit my hands behind my head. ‘What do you need?’

  ‘It’s all over the news,’ he says. ‘The stuff you’ve been doing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t believe everything you see on TV.’

  He sits down opposite me. ‘You killed two witches in the East End.’

  I bob my head in reluctant acknowledgment. ‘That part is true.’ I lick my lips. ‘But they were up to no good.’

  ‘You found those arsonists out on Bell Street.’

  ‘They were kids. It didn’t seem fair to slit their throats when there was the chance of redemption.’ I let my mouth curve into a smile. ‘It doesn’t mean I’m not keeping an eye on them though. Especially as they’re out on bail.’

  He looks me directly in the eyes. This isn’t the twinkly station caretaker I remember; something has happened to change his demeanour. Not that I can comment; my demeanour has altered somewhat since our previous meeting too. ‘You think you’re above the law.’