High Stakes

by Helen Harper

  My stomach turns. I suppose I should be grateful that X didn’t dispose of the entire body and force the police into a pointless manhunt. Then I wonder when I became so callous that I can shrug off an execution so easily.

  ‘You don’t seem surprised,’ Foxworthy comments. ‘Even though the mode of killing would suggest Kakos daemon, which makes no sense at all.’

  I’m saved from answering by Nicholls. ‘You’re going?’ she asks. ‘And you’re taking her with you?’

  ‘If you have a problem with that, just say.’

  ‘Nah.’ She gives me a hard look. ‘It’s about time you bloodguzzlers realised how much the relatives of vanished victims suffer.’

  Aware of what she’s referring to, I mirror her stance. ‘Anyone who chooses to turn does so of their own volition.’ I think of Dahlia and myself and realise that’s not entirely true. I’m also not sure why I’m suddenly defending the process.

  ‘Your motorbike’s there.’ Foxworthy points, looking for a way to avoid further conflict between Nicholls and me.

  There’s a long scratch down the bodywork which definitely wasn’t there before. If that’s the worst of it, I suppose I got lucky. ‘I’ll follow you,’ I tell him.

  He turns to Nicholls. Realising by his body language that he wants some privacy, I leave them to it and walk over to the bike. As I start the engine a few words drift over – ‘cooperation’ and ‘not as bad as you think’. That could be my tagline, I decide: ‘Bo Blackman – she’s not as bad as you think.’ It’s not very catchy, though.

  *

  The first family isn’t far away; in fact, they live less than a couple of miles from Miller’s house. I wonder with a shiver whether they may have bumped into one another at the supermarket or the local library.

  I park the bike behind Foxworthy’s car and we walk up the path to the front door. We’re barely halfway up when the door opens and a grey-haired woman appears. Her face is tear-streaked and drawn. I can see a small boy staring at us with wide eyes from behind her legs. She shoos him inside and steps out to meet us.

  ‘It’s her, isn’t it? At that house? It’s all over the news. It’s my Tammy.’ Her back is straight but her hands are trembling.

  Foxworthy nods. ‘We think so.’ A moan escapes her and she steps backwards. ‘We need to confirm the DNA matches but we are fairly certain it’s Tammy.’

  The woman gulps in air. I watch helplessly. Fury at Miller rises inside me again. It’s not just those girls’ lives that he destroyed – it’s the lives of all the people around them too.

  She looks at me. ‘They’re saying a vampire killed him. Was it you?’

  I can barely bring myself to look her in the eye. ‘No.’

  ‘Did he suffer? Tell me that bastard suffered. He deserves it after what he did to my baby.’

  I take a deep breath. ‘There’s nothing I could do that would make him suffer enough for what he did to your daughter. To those other women.’

  She chokes slightly but composes herself enough to speak. ‘Did he rape her?’ For a moment neither Foxworthy nor I speak. ‘Did he rape her?’ she repeats, her voice rising.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Lamb. He did.’

  A spasm crosses her face. ‘I hope he rots in hell.’ She folds her arms tightly across her chest. Her pain is obvious but it’s her stoicism that I find most heartbreaking. Even in the face of such soul-destroying news, she keeps it together. It occurs to me that women all over the world are like that; their strength and ability to absorb pain is far greater than someone like Miller could ever imagine. Through women like her, we’ve defeated him after all.

  ‘Is there someone we can call, Mrs Lamb?’

  She tilts up her chin. ‘No.’ She looks at me and Foxworthy in turn. ‘Thank you.’ Then she turns round, goes back into her house and closes the door. It doesn’t slam. There’s no shriek or wail or tearing of clothes. The ball of unshed tears expands in my chest and I push it down angrily. If she won’t cry then I have no right to.

  ‘Everyone’s different,’ Foxworthy says quietly. ‘Everyone takes the news differently.’

  I can’t trust myself to speak so I acknowledge his words then walk stiffly back down the path.

  The phone in my pocket starts ringing. I ignore it. I don’t want to speak to anyone right now. Whoever is calling is insistent though. It rings and rings and rings until I give in and answer. ‘This is Bo Blackman.’

  ‘You said he wasn’t a vampire! You said you’d done the tests!’ His voice is barely audible over the loud, incessant barking.

  I frown. ‘Mr Brinkish?’

  ‘He’s going fucking nuts. I took him out for a walk and he tried to attack a daemon on the other side of the street for no damn reason. And now I’ve forced him to come inside the house, he’s throwing himself at the door and he won’t shut up. He’s foaming at the mouth. He’s crazy! The dog’s crazy!’

  There’s an odd splintering sound. ‘Mr Brinkish?’ I ask in alarm. ‘What’s that?’

  I hear a thud and then a scream. Kimchi is still barking and Brinkish is saying something in background. ‘No, no, no, no, no,’ over and over again.

  ‘Do you have a radio?’ I shout at Foxworthy.

  ‘Yes. What’s wrong?’

  I start running towards the bike, yelling Brinkish’s address behind me. ‘Get the police there now!’

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Get them there!’ I leap on the bike and rev the engine. Then I accelerate as quickly as I can.

  Chapter Eighteen: The Sky Is Falling

  The door to Brinkish’s house is hanging off its hinges. I ignore the huddle of worried neighbours on the opposite side of the street and stride towards it. Fresh blood hangs in the air. I can’t imagine that Kimchi caused this.

  I step over the threshold and immediately see the foot sticking out of the living-room door. I bend down. It’s Brinkish. His head is skewed at a terrible angle and his eyes stare glassily at me. I look up and see his wife, her blood staining the sofa barely visible against the garish pattern. There’s a ragged wound in her throat that looks like it was caused by a bullet.

  I sink to my knees. What in hell has happened? I thought I’d already seen more death today than I could ever imagine and now I’m confronted with yet another house of horrors.

  There’s a quiet whine behind me. I twist round and see Kimchi, lying on his side. His breathing is and shallow and his fur is matted with blood. There’s a gaping wound in his belly. Despite this, his tail wags feebly when I approach.

  ‘Good boy,’ I whisper. My voice is as shaky as my limbs. ‘Good dog.’

  I pat his head and he whines again. I can’t make sense of what I’m seeing. The only light in the room comes from the pictures flickering across the television screen. Whoever did this might still be here. I stand up. I should investigate the rest of the house silently but, right now, I don’t care. If the person who did this is still here, they’re going to regret the day they were born.

  I charge through the ground floor. Kitchen. Bathroom. I overturn a table and fling open cupboard doors. I run upstairs and into every bedroom. There’s nothing.

  Hearing the crackle of a radio and low voices, I start back down the stairs. Two uniformed officers stand there, staring at me.

  ‘Don’t move!’ the first one yells.

  Slowly, I put up my hands. ‘My name is Bo Blackman,’ I say, as clearly as I can. ‘I’m the one who alerted you. Call Inspector Foxworthy. He’ll tell you.’

  They glare at me suspiciously. ‘You’re a vampire. How did you get in here without an invitation?’

  His partner looks down at Brinkish’s body. ‘He’s dead. That’s how she got in. There are no living owners any more. What did you do?’

  I grit my teeth. Logic is not their strong suit. ‘Call F
oxworthy. And a damn vet.’ When they don’t move, I bare my teeth and let my fangs grow. ‘Now!’

  Keeping his eyes trained on me, the nearest police officer grabs his radio and mutters into it.

  ‘You need to get a vet,’ I say desperately. ‘The dog can still make it.’ I hear pounding feet and Foxworthy appears. ‘Tell these two I didn’t do this,’ I snarl.

  He looks around, taking in the situation in one swift glance. ‘She’s okay,’ he mutters.

  Both policemen seem uncertain but they step back in deference to Foxworthy’s rank. I rush back down the stairs to the dog and check on him. He’s still alive. ‘Come on, Kimchi. Hang on in there. Help is coming.’

  ‘What happened here?’ Foxworthy asks.

  I shake my head. ‘I have no idea.’ I gesture at Brinkish’s fallen body. ‘He called me when we were outside Mrs Lamb’s house. He said Kimchi, the dog, had gone crazy and attacked a man and when he brought him home, he got even worse.’

  I can hear the question in Foxworthy’s voice. ‘He attacked a man? A human?’

  I stroke Kimchi then freeze. ‘Wait,’ I say slowly. ‘Not a human. A daemon. This dog spent three days with me. He growled a few times but he never tried to attack anyone – not unless he had a good reason.’ And I may know what that reason was.

  ‘Talk to me, Blackman.’

  The Agathos daemons, the ones who threatened us in the street. They had a gun. My eyes drift to the bullet wound in Mrs Brinkish’s throat. If one of them was outside and Kimchi recognised him, the dog would attack him. He’d consider it self-defence. But why would the daemons come here? How would they know to come here?

  I replay our encounter on the pavement outside the supermarket. The male daemon fell on top of Kimchi before we fled. I grab hold of his collar and unclip it.

  ‘Blackman! What is going on?’ Foxworthy demands.

  I don’t reply. Instead I turn over the collar and stare at it. It’s covered in blood but is there anything else? I lift it up and sniff. Magic. Whatever fucking tracking spell they had on O’Shea, they used it on Kimchi too. I know it in my bones. They must have thought that they’d find O’Shea and me by following the dog. I look at the dead couple. This is my fault: I led those daemons here. The Brinkishes just got caught up in the middle.

  I show the collar to Foxworthy. ‘A spell,’ I say dully. ‘A fucking spell.’

  ‘Shit,’ one of the policeman exclaims.

  I look up at him, expecting his reaction to be a result of the bloodbath or my discovery about the use of magic, but he’s not looking at the Brinkishes. He’s staring at the television screen. Whatever programme was on has just been interrupted by a news broadcast. It’s the Agathos Court building – and there’s been an explosion.

  I stare at the images. Fire licks the stone walls and the glass frontage has been smashed. There’s a cloud of thick black smoke rolling heavily from the back of the building, right where Nisha Patel’s office is.

  ‘There are no coincidences,’ I whisper into Kimchi’s fur. Then I get to my feet.

  Jabbing my finger at the horrified policeman who can’t tear his eyes away from the television screen, I snarl, ‘If the dog dies, then you’ll regret it.’

  His blue eyes dart to me, confusion and fear reflected in their watery depths.

  ‘You know what this is about,’ Foxworthy says quietly.

  ‘I have a pretty damn good idea.’

  ‘Blackman…’

  I ignore him and stride out of the room. The policeman leaps out of my way, almost tripping over Brinkish’s corpse.

  Foxworthy tries again. ‘Bo, help me out here.’

  I turn and meet his gaze. ‘I don’t have time. I need to get to the courthouse. Stay here and sort out this mess. I meant what I said about the dog.’ I realise belatedly that I’m giving him orders. I soften slightly. ‘Please.’

  He scans my face. ‘Are these attacks linked? Is there going to be another one?’

  O’Shea. I have no idea where he is right now. ‘Possibly,’ I grunt. ‘And that’s why I need to go.’

  I whirl away, yanking my phone out of my pocket to call O’Shea. It doesn’t even ring; it goes straight to voicemail. Cursing, I try D’Argneau and get the same response. I chew my lip and try Michael. He answers on the second ring. ‘Bo, are you alright? Have you seen the news?’

  ‘Just now. It’s linked to O’Shea.’

  Michael exhales loudly. ‘That damn daemon. Why is he involved in everything?’

  ‘Just sheer blind luck, I guess.’ I climb onto my bike. ‘I’m going to the courthouse. I don’t know if O’Shea is there or not but I left him with D’Argneau.’

  There’s a moment of silence. ‘The lawyer?’ he asks finally.

  I don’t have time to play office politics. ‘Yes,’ I answer shortly. ‘They both might be in trouble. I know it’s a lot to ask but can you…’

  ‘I’ll get my people out looking for them now.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Bo, how are you? When I left yesterday…’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  I turn on the engine. ‘I’m a bit sore and tender but I’m fine. Find O’Shea.’ I hang up and take one last look back at the Brinkish’s house. The lone sock that was hanging on the washing line the first time I visited is still there. I watch it flap in the breeze. And then I’m gone.

  *

  There are roadblocks around the Agathos Court. Daemons and humans are everywhere, some dazed because they were close to the explosion and others merely gawking at the spectacle. Acknowledging that I’m not going to get any closer with the bike, I park it and start running. I don’t have time to waste explaining myself to the officials manning the roadblocks so I use a fire escape to clamber up a nearby building. Running lightly, I vault from roof to roof.

  The fire brigade is already in attendance. There’s a helicopter overhead but the sound of its rotor blades is drowned out by the screams and yells of the people below. Despite the firemen’s best efforts – or perhaps because of them – I’m enveloped in a billowing cloud of smoke. My eyes stream, reducing my vision to virtually nil. With no choice, I drop back down to the street and sprint towards the front doors of the courthouse. Someone catches my arm and I rip it away, spinning around.

  ‘I’m a vampire,’ I yell at the daemon who grabbed me. She’s wearing the uniform of an Agathos security guard. ‘I can help. Are people still trapped inside?’

  Her pupils are narrow slits, indicating her shock that someone dared to do this to the heart of the Agathos’ justice system. ‘I think so.’

  ‘I can help them,’ I repeat.

  She nods uneasily and I sprint up the steps and inside. I know exactly where I’m going. I’m barely past the Wall and its hideous posters of misery, however, when I hear a cough. I look over and spy Meg, the Agathos gatekeeper, on all fours. She’s almost obscured by the heavy front desk. Her leg is broken, her shin bone protruding from her ripped tights and pale skin. No wonder she can’t stand up.

  I hook her arm round my shoulders. ‘Come on,’ I tell her, ‘I’m getting you out of here.’

  ‘No,’ she moans. ‘There are still people inside. It’s my job to get everyone out.’

  ‘Right now, it isn’t.’

  She’s easy to carry despite her heavy frame; another thing to thank my vampire blood for, I suppose. To speed up matters, I pick her up in a fireman’s lift and place her carefully over my shoulder, then move outside as quickly as I can. As soon as the air hits me, hands reach out to help. I pass her over to a soldier wearing army fatigues and run back inside, skidding on the marble floor.

  Away from the main lobby, the corridors are filled with smoke. I use the cuff of my jacket to cover my nose and mouth and duck down to stay low and r
etain as much visibility as I can. Pausing at every door, I listen for the sounds of anyone who is trapped but it seems as if everyone except Meg got out. I push forward. I need to get to Nisha’s office.

  From somewhere ahead, there’s another booming explosion and the sound of breaking glass. The building trembles with the force and something hard and heavy lands on my head. I roll to the side, realising it’s a gilt-framed painting. I shove it away from me, revealing in the process that it’s a print of that bloody painting I used to hide myself in Medici’s lair. Perhaps it’s some kind of bizarre, inanimate revenge.

  By this point my lungs are burning. The smoke is so thick that I’m forced to shut my eyes and grope my way forwards. When I feel a light breeze to my right, I change direction and head into a room at the side. I won’t make it unless I can find something to protect myself with first. The room is smoky but it’s clear enough for me to open my eyes and look around. Closing the door behind me, I search around the small office. The windows have been blown out and the curtains ripple in the light wind drifting in from outside. I spy a glass of water on the paper-strewn desk. That’ll do.

  I take a gulp to cool my insides then I move over to the curtains and yank the first set down, ripping off a foot of fabric. I douse it in water but, just as I’m about to wrap it around my head, the other set of curtains moves and I freeze. Someone’s on the other side.

  Keeping low, I step backwards, watching the window carefully. There’s a flash of fabric and a leg appears. Whoever it is, they’re not wearing a fireman’s livery. The fingers of my right hand curl around a heavy bust on a shelf above me. The second I see a torso join the legs, I let the bust fly. It connects with the body and I hear a startled ooomph.

  Sodding hell.

  ‘Why didn’t you say it was you?’ I stride over and help Michael to his feet.