The Sweet Scent of Blood

by Suzanne McLeod

  Rules? I raised my eyebrows. The place was more civilised than I’d thought. A coaster materialised on the counter between us. It looked like a playing card, the King of Hearts, except the hearts were blue.

  She tapped it with her yellow-varnished claw. ‘Most of my vampire clientele belong to the Heart bloodline, but I don’t discriminate.’ Her chin wrinkled, the long thin cats’ whiskers curling and uncurling. ‘So long as there’s no trouble.’

  ‘Not what I’m looking for.’

  ‘Good to hear it, luv.’ An empty shot glass, frosted with condensation, appeared on the coaster. ‘Now, if you find yourself a compatible guest, alcoves are for wrists or necks only. We’ve a nice selection of private rooms underground if your taste runs elsewhere, rates are very reasonable. There’s a credit card deposit against any medical expenses and check-out time is one hour before dawn, otherwise we charge for a second night.’

  ‘I’ll remember.’

  The glass filled with clear liquid, then slid towards me. It was standard brownie magic, except that part of the whole ‘not being affected by magic but able to sense it’ usually meant that goblins couldn’t use magic themselves. I was curious enough to want to check it out, especially after my own brownie-magic problems. Maybe brownies sold their magic like the witches? Not that I’d heard anything like that. Only I couldn’t, not in this guise - the sidhe magic part of me shuts down. That’s probably why goblins never recognise me like this, or grant me the usual greeting.

  ‘First drink’s on the house, luv.’ Her lips parted in warning, letting me glimpse sharp silver-plated teeth studded with citrines. ‘Enjoy.’

  ‘Cheers.’ I touched my fingers to the chilled glass and nodded, but didn’t drink.

  An age-spotted mirror behind the bar offered a panoramic reflection that included the three vampires, as well as me. That old myth about vampires not reflecting in mirrors is just that: a myth. I didn’t even have to turn my head to watch them, or the rest of pub. Mr June looked like that fifties movie star, the Grant guy. His shorter pal had the round cheeks of a cherub. The last of the trio had zigzags shaved into his close-cropped hair and a gold dumbbell through one eyebrow. Something silver-coloured would’ve looked better against his black skin, but hey, maybe he couldn’t afford the platinum-plated stuff.

  Concentrating on listening, one of the vamp tricks I had managed to master, I cut through the noise in the pub and tuned into their conversation

  ‘Me, I like a young, tasty bit of totty,’ Zigzag said. ‘I mean, look at the knockers on that one, man: big enough to suffocate in if I still needed the air.’

  I checked out the object of his affections. Her black leather corset offered her full venom-flushed breasts on a plate. I could see why the vamp was impressed. Perched on the edge of her seat, hand grasped round an Alcopop bottle, her examination of the room would have put searchlights to shame. It wasn’t just the vamps that hunted in Sucker Town.

  Cherub Cheeks shook his head. ‘Know wot really gets on my wick nowadays? Science, innit. Sumfings jus’ ain’t right. Ended up back at this bird’s place las’ night, I tell you, mates, she was sumfing else, tits big as bleedin’ melons they was.’ He grinned, jiggling his hands in front of his chest. ‘You’d ’ave luvved ’em, mate.’

  Zigzag leaned in, fangs making small indents in his bottom lip.

  ‘So I tell you, I sunk me points right in one of them juicy tits.’ Cherub Cheeks paused for effect. ‘Sunk ’em right in, I did, ’spectin; a nice bit of the hot stuff.’ He clapped Zigzag on the shoulder. ‘And know wot I got? Bleedin’ silicone, that’s wot.’ His face screwed up in disgust. ‘Bleedin’ melons was nuffin’ but pumped-up bleedin’ boob balloons.’

  ‘Shit, man.’ Zigzag almost pierced his lips in shock.

  ‘I tell you,’ Cherub Cheeks patted his own flat chest, ‘I’m stickin’ to fried eggs from now on, ’cos that stuff tastes like a bleedin’ troll.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Bleedin’ science.’

  A tingle of awareness slid across my back. It reminded me of Gazza watching me earlier in the Rosy Lee. I glanced behind me, almost expecting to see his Cheap Goth persona, but it was Darius, leaning against the jukebox, leather coat slung over one shoulder. He pressed a button and ‘I Want You Now’ - Depeche Mode - blasted out. I ignored him. At least in the Rosy Lee my meals didn’t try to proposition me.

  ‘Do you know what I hate?’ Mr June combed his hand through his thick dark hair. ‘Those awful Blue Heart cocktails! I mean, fruit juice and no alcohol? Give me a gin drinker any day.’ He let out a soulful sigh. ‘I used to hunt this district back in the eighteen eighties. It was full of dockworkers in those days. You could stroll down any street after sunset and pretty much take your pick, no need to even mind-lock them to forget. They were all pickled by the gin.’

  ‘And what’s with all that fizzy pop they drink now?’ Zigzag joined in. ‘Shit, man, it gives me the hiccoughs.’

  ‘You know another aspect of the Blue Heart that I hate?’ Mr June brushed a hand down his black silk shirt. ‘That bloody awful uniform they make me wear. Authentic Second World War it might be, but the material scratches like the devil. You’d think Rio would let me have it lined in silk, but “Oh no,” the bitch says, “The customers would take exception.” As if they would know?’

  ‘Man, stop grumbling.’ Zigzag sniffed his brandy glass. ‘You’re one of the star attractions, you get well-paid for wearing itchy finery and you get your ugly mug stuck up all over the shop.’

  I took a sip of Stoli, then caught movement in the mirror as the girl in the corset stood up, revealing a satin and net skirt. She fluffed it up, then, extending one slender leg, she smoothed her hands from her ankle to her thigh, adjusting her fishnet stockings. Looking up under her lashes, her eyes met mine and a slow smile spread across her face.

  ‘I suppose it has its compensations.’ Mr June’s words were faint in my ear. ‘I just wish Rio would serve alcohol. At least that would improve the blood on offer.’

  Corset Girl straightened, gathered her long dark hair in her hands and clipped it in a loose bundle on top of her head.

  ‘Wot abaht that bleedin’ Mr October then, mate?’ Cherub Cheeks said. ‘Fink ’e did it?’

  My ears pricked up and I dragged my attention away from the girl.

  ‘Bit of a rum do, I must say.’ Mr June lowered his voice. ‘I heard he had a bit of trouble with the girlfriend. She took a fancy to the Frenchie, and he to her. Ah, the Eternal Triangle causes yet another crime of passion.’ He chucked Zigzag under the chin. ‘You would have liked her: she was a real looker, and generous with it.’

  ‘I saw her.’ Zigzag grinned, fangs white against his skin. ‘She worked in the private bar, one of Rio’s specials. Very sweet, mate, verrry sweet indeed.’

  The pub door opened and the mirror reflected another familiar face: Gazza, the Cheap Goth, only he wasn’t alone. As he headed straight for the alcoves I glanced at the vampire with him, but something made my eyes slide away. I frowned, tried to look again, and the same thing happened. Then I was staring at Corset Girl and Gazza slipped from my mind.

  She smiled, fingers tracing the blue ribbon lacing her leather corset, then she tossed her head and started walking towards me.

  ‘Didn’t the girlfriend work at the Bloody Shamrock? Declan’s always got an eye fer the good stuff. That weird bird, ’er as belongs to Declan, weren’t there sum sorta scrap between ’em? Maybe she got jealous an’ she bleedin’ done ’er in.’

  The voice grew fainter as the girl distracted me. She sidled in next to me. ‘I saw you looking,’ she murmured. Blue streaks layered the brown of her hair. ‘Thought I’d come over.’

  ‘Shit, that’s all old news, man,’ Zigzag said scornfully. ‘You know who else was sniffing round the girlfriend? Old Red Eyes himself, Malik al-Khan. Maybe he killed her.’

  I tipped back the vodka, letting the alcohol sear my throat.

  Corset Girl pulled a length of hair from her loosely piled topknot
and draped it down her cleavage. ‘You’re not one of the Blue Heart vamps, are you?’

  ‘No.’ I gazed at her. She glowed rosy with heat, the blood flowing fast beneath her skin.

  ‘... Malik and the Earl were arguing about it, loud enough that I could hear ...’

  ‘I saw you talking to Darius earlier.’ She gave a sideways glance towards the jukebox where Darius was still standing, forehead creased in a deep frown. ‘Good job you blew him out. He’s a nice guy, but he’s Rio’s latest toy.’ Her leg nudged against mine. ‘None of the regular vamps’ll touch him.’

  I took a couple of non-breaths, tried to ignore her.

  ‘... and the Earl told him to get lost, well not exactly, but he said he didn’t need him here ...’

  ‘Rio gets really possessive about her toys.’ Corset Girl picked up my glass, sniffed. ‘Is this the new blueberry one?’

  I shook my head.

  She sipped at the dregs anyway. ‘The last toy, before Darius, got something going with this other vamp, y’know?’

  I tried to concentrate on Zigzag’s voice.

  ‘... told him to stop playing at Machiavelli ...’

  ‘... then Rio issued a Challenge to the other vamp, and killed him.’ Corset Girl leaned in, slid her hand under my jacket. ‘Said she was making a promise to anyone else who even thought about touching her property.’

  ‘... then he said, death happens all the time. That the traditions we live by were more important ...’

  Hot fingers slid round my waist. ‘Your skin’s really pale, y’know, like cream.’ Tilting her head, she offered her throat. A half-moon of four tiny fang marks, the bite swollen hot with venom, marked her neck.

  ‘... that the status quo had to be maintained ...’

  Hunger cramped my stomach. Her heated, sweet scent pulled me in and I licked over the hot bite, scraped my fangs over her flesh. Liquorice taste and copper filled my mouth.

  She shivered under my lips.

  Swallowing hard, I recalled the bartender’s rules and looked up, searching for an empty booth.

  Gazza strolled past, arm wrapped around—

  I blinked. My eyes refused to focus, skating onto Darius instead, now lounging on one of the fake leather benches.

  ‘’eads up, mates.’ Cherub Cheeks’ words intruded. ‘Bleedin’ take-away time, innit.’

  Corset Girl’s hand stroked up my spine. ‘We could get a room.’ Pressing closer, she murmured, ‘I’ve never been with a female vamp before.’

  My head thundered with her pulse, the ache in my jaw intensified and frustration burned in my chest.

  Mr June followed the others out of the pub.

  Fuck it.

  Gazza had found himself a fang-gang.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I found the fang-gang in a narrow passage way behind The Leech. Standing in the shadows, I peered down the alley. There was just enough moonlight to boost my vampire sight. Cherub Cheeks, Zigzag and Mr June were gathered in a semi-circle facing Gazza and another vamp with long platinum-blond hair wearing a red poet’s shirt. He had his arm slung over Gazza’s shoulder. He’d been the one my eyes kept sliding away from in the pub. Was it just a neat vampire trick I hadn’t come across before, or some sort of magic?

  They’d picked their site well: escape routes at either end, no windows above to shed any light and the half dozen large bottle-skips parked along the alley’s brick wall to give them some privacy. Only another vamp might notice them, and depending on their inclination, they’d either ignore what was happening or join in. It was the Beater goblins and their silver-foil covered bats the fang-gang wanted to avoid.

  I clenched my fists. I knew what was coming next, and I couldn’t stop it, not yet - four against one meant the odds were definitely not in my favour. I could alert the Beaters myself, but Gazza didn’t have that much time on his side and all it would gain him would be months of treatment at HOPE and a lifetime popping G-Zav pills.

  If he even survived.

  So I watched, frustration and hunger eating away like acid at my insides.

  Red Poet vamp wrapped his forearm round Gazza’s neck. ‘Party time,’ he crooned.

  ‘What—?’ Gazza’s startled cry fizzled out as his windpipe and vocal chords were almost crushed.

  ‘Shhh.’ Red Poet stroked Gazza’s cheek, then shoved his head back at an awkward angle. ‘C’mon boys,’ he said to the other vamps, ‘time to play.’

  Gazza’s arms flailed, fingers clutching at the empty air.

  ‘My turn now, man.’ Zigzag grabbed the edges of Gazza’s PVC coat and wrenched it down, trapping his arms against his body.

  Gazza’s boots scuffed along the gravel.

  I dug in my pocket, removed the Union Jack badges.

  ‘Gotta bleedin’ luv it, mates.’ Cherub Cheeks gave a low whooping laugh as he yanked Gazza’s PVC trousers to his knees, effectively hog-tying his legs.

  Gazza’s lower body jerked, hip bones sticking out like chicken wings above tiny red satin briefs.

  I shrugged out of my own jacket and spread it out on the cobbles at the end of the alley. Hiding the badges under it, I flicked on their switches.

  Mr June fisted his hands in Gazza’s T-shirt and hissed as he tore it apart, exposing Gazza’s thin, safety-pin-decorated chest. He ripped a pin out of Gazza’s left nipple, held it up to check it, then tossed it over his shoulder. ‘We’re okay, chaps, its stainless steel.’

  Gazza’s ribs heaved with each frightened breath.

  Red Poet reared back, all four fangs glistening in the moonlight.

  I hugged myself, pressed my lips hard together, trying to ignore the excitement frothing through my own veins.

  A high, thin squeal, like a pig having its throat cut, pierced the night, sharp scents of blood and venom tainted the air and harsh wet sucking noises permeated the darkness.

  I scrunched my eyes tight and leaned back against the brick wall, listening ...

  Muffled whimpers, the low hum one of the vamps made as he fed, the rapid beat of Gazza’s heart as fear and venom-induced adrenalin pumped his virgin blood faster and faster ...

  I wanted to blank out the sounds of the attack, but that was too dangerous. If I was to save Gazza, I had to get it right. Shit. This part of Sucker Town was supposed to be safer. I was going to have to extend my own hunting territory in future. After a while I opened my eyes and stared up at the stars blinking wearily through London’s light pollution, waiting.

  ‘Bleedin’ fantastic, mates.’

  The voice made me jump. I took a cautious look down the alley.

  ‘Takes the taste of troll tits right outta yer mouth.’ Cherub Cheeks smacked his lips.

  Showtime.

  I snatched up my jacket, shoved it on. The three badges were still bravely flashing their little batteries out.

  ‘Beaters,’ I called in a loud whisper, keeping to the shadows. ‘Beaters are coming!’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ Zigzag’s head shot up and he looked towards me.

  Cherub Cheeks slapped Mr June and Red Poet on their shoulders. ‘Oi, up, mates, git a bleedin’ move-on. I can see their bleedin’ trainers!’

  All four rose as one and almost silently sprinted away in a rush of disturbed air, disappearing out the other end of the alley.

  I scooped up my badges, flicked off their lights and walked over to Gazza. He was lying as the vampires had left him, eyes wide and unfocused, held prisoner by his own clothes. Shivers racked his body and dark blood streamed from the bites, four of them in total. I’d only given the vamps enough time for one bite each, but I still counted them, to be sure.

  My mouth watered. Shit. I turned away and kicked one of the large skips full of empty bottles, then punched it several times, denting the steel. As I slowly licked the blood from my knuckles I felt the craving recede.

  I knelt and checked the pulse in his neck. It battered away, fast and shallow, like the heart of a terrified rabbit.

  ‘Not what you were expecting,
was it, Gazza?’ I murmured.

  The four vamps had taken him out to dinner, and then some. He was lucky his heart was young and healthy - but he was still losing blood, and if the bites weren’t closed, he’d bleed out. And be just as dead.

  I gave him a mocking smile. ‘And we wouldn’t want that, would we?’

  Bending over him, I licked at the bite in the crook of his arm. The metallic taste of his blood burst over my tongue. The adrenalin made it sweet and frothy, like a fizzy drink. The stream slowed then stopped as my vamp saliva speeded up the clotting process. I took a non-breath and forced myself to spit out his blood, rather than do what I really wanted to - roll it round my mouth... and swallow.

  I tore a strip off his ruined T-shirt and bandaged it round his arm. He let out a quiet whimper as I carefully pulled his coat up and over his shoulders. I turned to the bites on his legs next. He had one on the inside of each thigh, high up, close to the groin. His red briefs were wet with his own blood.

  I sighed. ‘Shame they couldn’t have picked a less awkward spot, Gazza,’ I muttered, though of course I knew the answer to that one: fang-gangs went in for veins in a big way. I closed the first bite and wrapped more material around his skinny thigh. The other was higher, half-covered by the soft bulges in his briefs. Gingerly, I pushed the red fabric lumps out of the way and started on the bite.

  Something stirred under my fingers. I rolled my eyes. Males were all the same. What with all that adrenalin and blood pumping round his body, it hadn’t taken much for his hormones to spring to life - even if he was halfway to dying.

  The blood clotted under my tongue. I sat up and spat it out, then started shredding more T-shirt. His briefs hadn’t managed to contain his excitement and he poked out, twitching almost as much as he was shivering.

  ‘C’mon, Gaz, give it a rest, will you,’ I muttered. ‘Try using that blood somewhere more sensible, like your pea-sized brain.’

  In answer, his shivers changed to full-blown tremors. Damn. He was going into seizure. Red Poet must’ve shot him up with more venom than I’d thought.