by Helen Harper
I stare at the back of his head. ‘Does that bother you?’
‘I’ve got no truck with bloodguzzlers. No offence,’ he adds hastily, ‘it’s just the blood thing. Gives me the heebie-jeebies.’ Him and me both. ‘But at least if you get to him first, he’ll get what he deserves. We should take a leaf out of your book – it’s better than our taxes paying for him to live in a comfy cell for the rest of his days. Satellite TV and three meals a day,’ he scoffs. ‘It’s not right.’
I think there’s probably more to being in prison than that, but I stay quiet on the matter. Instead, I ask, ‘Do you think a bloodguzzler could have done it?’
He speaks quietly as if he’s afraid of being overheard. ‘I’ve got a mate works at London General. Not a doctor or anything, he’s just a porter. But he sees things. He called me earlier. Said she’s got bite wounds on her neck. Not just one.’ He shudders. ‘There are lots.’
I feel sick. The only thing worse than Corinne’s attacker being a vampire would be Corinne’s attacker being several vampires. If it were true, it could be the nail in the Families’ coffin. The human government is adept at knee-jerk reactions. First, they’ll introduce legislation forcing the vampires to become subject to human law, then they’ll prevent recruitments from taking place. The five Families keep their numbers steady at about five hundred apiece but, contrary to myth, bloodguzzlers aren’t immortal. We enjoy extended life spans but within a few generations we could be all but wiped out of existence. Maybe that would be a good thing but, on the whole, the Families are better at keeping triber peace than the witches or the daemons. Unbalance the triber population and goodness knows what might happen.
The driver drops me off outside the darkened windows of Huggamug. I pass over several crumpled notes and a hefty tip. I wait until he drives off before I turn to the shop. If I need to break in, I’m going to have to make damned sure there aren’t any witnesses.
There are a couple of posters in the window. One refers to a petition to stop a large coffee chain from settling in down the street while the other is for an amateur historical society. There’s a photo on the front of a group of smiling people next to the Tower of London. The one in the centre is Corinne Matheson.
I press my face against the glass and peer inside the café. It’s a small place with only eight little tables inside. Each one has a white vase filled with dried flowers. There’s a strip of counter along the left-hand side and a large industrial-sized coffee maker. It looks completely deserted, although that’s hardly surprising at this time of night. I test the door and the lock rattles. Short of breaking the glass, I’m not going to get in from here. In the interior gloom, however, I spot a door at the back. Maybe I’ll find another way in if I skirt round the building.
Corinne Matheson is my only lead right now. Perhaps if I find out more about her, I’ll find out more about her attacker. Surprisingly few rapes are committed by strangers. Odds are the vampire – or vampires – who did this already knew her.
I glance down the street. This is a terrace of buildings so I’ll have to walk to the end of the road and double back to find a rear entrance. I only walk a few paces before I stop. Next to the coffee shop, there’s a door leading to three flats. There are three buzzers with names inscribed behind plastic panels – and the bottom one is Matheson. She’s probably the owner of Huggamug; living next to her business makes sense. And it makes my life considerably easier.
It’s very late. If Corinne is not lying in London General, then she’s fast asleep in her bed. The fact that there are no police anywhere near here suggests I’ve got the wrong woman but I have to be sure. If the worst I do is wake her up, then she’s lucky. I take a deep breath and press the buzzer with my thumb. I hold it there, feeling the tension in my shoulders, and start to count silently in my head. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Ni―
The door bursts open.
A furious man glares at me. He seems remarkably clear eyed so, although he’s wearing striped pyjamas, I don’t think I actually woke him up. ‘What?’
I stay calm. ‘I need to speak to Corinne.’
His expression darkens. ‘You’ve got the wrong fucking one! Don’t you people ever quit? She’s not a goddamn whore!’
Interesting. ‘Is she here?’
‘Where else would she be? It’s not enough that we’ve changed our phone number, is it? Does she need to change her name too?’
A sleepy voice calls down. ‘James? Who is it?’
‘Go back to bed, Corinne. I’ll deal with this.’
‘I’m sorry, James,’ I say softly. His eyes turn to me. ‘But there’s been a vicious attack on a woman called Corinne Matheson and I need to make sure it’s not related to your girlfriend.’
‘Wife,’ he snarls.
I bow my head. ‘My apologies. Your wife. I take it that she’s frequently mistaken for someone else?’
‘Ever since she changed her name and we got married. Dirty old men calling us up at all hours of the night. Bloodguzzlers like you,’ he sneers.
‘Do you happen to know where the other Corinne Matheson lives?’
‘No, I fucking don’t.’ He slams the door shut so hard that the frame shakes. I hear one final muffled, ‘Piss off!’ before he stomps upstairs to his flat.
I stay where I am. James Matheson has a lot of pent-up anger to deal with. Still, he’s given me some useful information. The Corinne Matheson who’s fighting for her life in hospital is a prostitute; that explains why she has the vampire bite marks of on her neck. As I discovered not too long ago, offering herself up for feeding can be an easy and lucrative sideline for women like her. Maybe she was the victim of a client who took things too far. Then I remember what Nicholls told me about the stakes. It’s unlikely. I’ve made some progress though.
Chapter Four: Date Night
By the time I finally get back to New Order, dawn is less than a couple of hours away. Other than the occasional distant siren, the streets are silent. Indoors, however, is an entirely different matter. Two vampires I’ve never seen before are sitting uncomfortably on the sofa in the waiting room. Kimchi is directly in front of them, a pool of slobber on the floor beside his paws. Both of them are remonstrating loudly with Matt.
‘You can’t keep us here!’
‘At the very least, you can provide us with some O neg while we wait!’
‘I can offer you Connor,’ Matt begins.
‘No way,’ the ginger-headed human complains. ‘I’m reserved for Bo.’
I wince. It makes him sound like he’s my own personal drinking bottle. ‘Fellows,’ I say, holding up my palms and doing my best to look benign. ‘I’m sure your Family Heads made it clear how important it is we talk to you.’
I receive curled lips in response. A matching pair, how sweet. ‘They told us to cooperate, not sit here cooling our heels for three hours,’ the one on the left snaps.
Matt looks at me helplessly. ‘Don’t worry,’ I reassure him. ‘You did exactly what I asked you to do.’ I look over the pair. The chattier one is wearing white, signifying his allegiance to the Bancroft Family, while his companion is dressed in silver, making him a Gully bloodguzzler. I wonder briefly how they manage to keep their clothes so clean. The colours aren’t exactly inconspicuous either.
‘Only two of you?’ I ask.
‘I spoke to all the Heads themselves.’ Matt swallows. ‘But Lord Medici, um, refused to cooperate. Mr Blackman told me to leave him alone.’
Unsurprising. At least Medici didn’t try to recruit Matt again.
‘So out of four Families, there are only two rapists?’
‘Hey!’ the Bancroft vampire protests, ‘ex-rapist.’
Acid curdles my stomach. I point to him and nod towards our tiny conference room. It’s really more like a cupboard but grandfather insists we give it a pro
per name. ‘You first.’
The vampire grumbles but gets stiffly to his feet. As he walks inside, I pull Matt over so the other bloodguzzler can’t hear me. ‘Do you think they were telling the truth? The Heads?’ Despite being forced to obey orders unquestioningly, Matt is often surprisingly sensitive to what’s going on around him.
‘As far as I can tell,’ he whispers.
I chew my bottom lip. Two out of two thousand: I’m not sure those statistics are credible. But then again, rape is one of the most under-reported crimes. Who knows how many other undeclared shitheads like these two lurk in the Family closets? Right now, I can only work with what I’ve got.
‘Bo?’ Connor asks quietly. ‘Would you like some company in there?’
I note the worried furrow across his brow and feel an odd rush of tenderness. ‘I’m a vampire too, Connor,’ I remind him gently.
‘Yes, but…’
‘It’s okay,’ I tell him. The Gully bloodguzzler eyes the pair of us. I narrow my gaze in his direction, daring him to say something. Fortunately for him, he keeps his mouth firmly buttoned. ‘This won’t take long,’ I say grimly, then march into the conference room and close the door behind me.
The Bancroft bloodguzzler has made himself comfortable, leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on the table and his hands knotted casually behind his head. I don’t bother to hide my dislike of him. ‘What’s your name?’
He blinks at me lazily. ‘Show me yours, darling, and I’ll show you mine.’
I’m not in the mood for this. I kick upwards, connecting with his legs and forcing them down to the floor. Then I stand over him, hands planted on my hips.
‘I like a woman with attitude,’ he grunts.
‘Your name,’ I repeat.
He sighs dramatically. ‘Nick. And I’ve got a great big…’
I smack him hard across his face with the back of my hand. He rocks backwards. ‘That was unnecessary.’
‘What did you do, Nick? When you were human?’
‘You’re frightened of me.’
I ignore him. ‘How many did you rape?’
He glares at me. ‘It wasn’t technically rape. They didn’t say no. And besides, I’m reformed now. This is all a waste of time.’
‘If it wasn’t rape then why did Lord Bancroft send you here?’
He lifts his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I may have had sexual relations with some women who were drunk. Six or seven.’
I force my emotions down. It’s not easy. ‘When you say drunk…’
‘Unconscious. They were unconscious, alright? It’s not like I forced them to drink or anything. They shouldn’t have gotten themselves in that state in the first place.’
I step towards him. ‘So you’re saying that it was all their fault?’
He starts to nod then registers my expression. ‘No. It was my doing. I shouldn’t have done it and I regret my actions. I have learnt the error of my ways.’
He sounds like he’s repeating someone else’s words verbatim. Without realising it, I’ve balled my fists tightly. I slowly release my fingers. ‘When was the last one?’
‘Eight months before I turned.’ He forestalls my next question by adding, ‘And I was turned nine years ago.’
That makes him very young by vampire standards. Young enough to not be fully assimilated into the Family – and willing to break rank by raping again?
‘Look, lady,’ he sneers. ‘I know what you’re thinking.’
I’m thinking you’re a disgusting, perverted excuse for a vampire. ‘What?’ I ask him, playing along.
‘You’re thinking I might have had something to do with that woman who was attacked. It wasn’t me.’
‘Really.’ My tone is dry. ‘Do you have an alibi?’
The corners of his mouth lift and he bares his teeth. ‘I don’t need one.’ He stands up suddenly, kicking the chair backwards. I tense, ready for a fight. Nine years isn’t so much, I can take a bloodguzzler of that age. He starts undoing his belt buckle. No sodding way. For a moment I feel sheer, unadulterated terror. Except I’m learning to be a fight-rather-than-flight kind of girl. I pick up the chair behind me to smash over his head while he drops his trousers.
‘Look,’ he says.
‘I know what a tiny penis looks like.’ I prepare to swing.
‘Not like this you don’t.’
My eyes move downwards of their own accord. Then I gape. Nick has no penis and no testicles; his groin looks more like that of a woman than a man. There’s not even any pubic hair. I blink several times then look up at his face.
‘Happy now?’ he asks me.
‘What…?’
‘Castration and total penectomy. It was a condition of my recruitment. Lady Bancroft demanded it.’ A muscle twitches in his cheek. There’s a challenge in his eyes but also a lot of shame.
I draw in a deep breath. ‘You may get dressed. You’re free to go.’
‘What? You don’t want a piece of this? You don’t think I’m sexy?’
I walk out. I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Lady Bancroft executed one of her own bloodguzzlers in front of me simply because I took him unawares. She wasn’t someone who’s afraid of stamping her authority.
I try to compose myself then look at the Gully suspect. In my absence, Kimchi has drifted closer towards him. From the expression on the man’s face, he’s not much of a dog lover.
‘Have you been…?’ I pause and attempt to rephrase. ‘Does everything still work?’
He looks confused but, when Nick comes out of the conference room, still tucking in his shirt and winking at me as if he’d just got his leg over, his face clears. ‘Yes.’ He scratches his neck and looks away. ‘Yes, it does.’
‘Come on then.’ I turn on my heel, forcing him to follow. Sensing less aggression from him than Nick, I sit down this time. He picks up the fallen chair and places it carefully upright before doing the same.
‘You were getting quite lippy in there,’ I comment.
He shifts uncomfortably. ‘Sorry. I’m hungry.’
I take a softer approach. ‘Do you know why you’re here?’
‘You think I’m the sort of guy who goes around raping women.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘You’re not?’
‘I wouldn’t be, er, intact if I was.’
‘So why did Lord Gully send you here then?’
He looks away. ‘It’s on my record. Rape, I mean. But it’s not what you think.’
‘Apparently it never is. Why don’t you enlighten me?’
He twitches. He’s baby faced: I reckon he must have been very young when he was turned. His cheeks are round and slightly chubby but there are high points of colour on his cheekbones. ‘I had sex with my girlfriend,’ he mutters. ‘I was seventeen and she was fifteen.’
I manage to avoid cursing aloud. Statutory rape. ‘Did she agree? Was it consensual?’
‘Of course! We’d been going out for two years. We were in love.’ He drops his head. ‘Then her father found out and…’
‘Where is she now?’
‘Married to an investment banker. Twin girls. Big house in the country.’
‘Love’s young dream turned sour, then?’ He nods. ‘Where were you yesterday between eight and nine pm?’
‘Work. I’m responsible for the upkeep and maintenance of the Gully properties.’
‘Can anyone verify you were there?’
‘Lord Gully can. He was checking I’d done a good enough job repairing the perimeter wall. It was damaged recently when some humans drove a car into it. We think they were trying to, you know, get inside and do some mischief.’
I grit my teeth. If Lord sodding Gully knew all along that this vampire was innocent, why the hell did he send him
here? I could say the same about the new Lord Bancroft. The pair of them were simply wasting my time.
‘Fine,’ I snap. ‘Do you have a phone number where I can reach you if I need to ask more questions?’
He reels off a number. I make a note of it and stand up.
‘That’s it?’
‘Well, you did say you were hungry.’
He stumbles over his own feet in his haste to get to the door. I watch him leave and drop my head into my hands. I’d wanted cooperation, not mindless suspicion.
Connor appears in the doorway. ‘Bo?’
‘Mm.’
‘You’re meeting Lord Montserrat in twenty minutes.’
I roll my eyes up to the heavens. Just brilliant. A shitty end to a shitty night.
*
The bar is almost deserted. I can’t understand how twenty-four hour establishments like this justify staying open all night. There are only five other people in the place, lined up on bar stools and staring at themselves in the fingerprint-smudged mirror opposite. Or perhaps they’re not gazing at their own reflections but the long line of multi-coloured bottles. Either way, it’s a miracle the place stays afloat.
I order a martini while Kimchi settles at my feet. Michael Montserrat had better bloody well be on time. I don’t fancy spending the whole day here because I strayed past sunrise.
The television on the far wall is on mute. For some unfathomable reason, it’s broadcasting aerobics. For an equally unfathomable reason I watch it, my eyes tracking the lycra-clad gym bunnies as they glow their way through the routine. The brunette in front needs to invest in a better sports bra.
The door opens but I avoid looking towards it. I don’t want to see the sexy five o’clock shadow tracing Michael’s jawline or the way his perfectly tailored suit fits his well-toned body. Instead, I keep my gaze fixed on the brilliant white smiles of the aerobics extras.
‘You made it,’ he says, settling onto the stool nearest to me.
