Red Angel

by Helen Harper

  When I stroll back out, Connor is nowhere to be seen. Kimchi has plonked himself on Matt’s lap and is vigorously lapping at his face. At least my bloodguzzling buddy doesn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Connor told me,’ Matt says between licks, ‘that he’s got vital work to do for your grandfather.’

  I half snort. ‘Anything to get out of a fashion parade.’

  Matt peers over Kimchi’s head. ‘That one’s really boring. Don’t wear it.’

  ‘This from a man who was wearing a paisley shirt with a velvet suit a few nights ago.’

  ‘You asked me for advice, remember?’

  I raise my eyebrows. ‘Are you feeling alright, Matt?’

  He seems surprised. ‘Yes, fine. Why do you ask?’

  ‘Because,’ I smile, ‘that response was almost sarky.’

  There’s a flicker of alarm. ‘I wasn’t trying to be rude!’

  ‘That’s not what I meant,’ I reassure him. ‘Maybe the effects from the spell are starting to wear off.’

  His eyes grow wide. ‘I’m not sure I want them to.’

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘I wasn’t a nice person back then.’

  I look at him sympathetically. I’d like to disagree but he’s right: pre-enhancement spell, Matt was a pain in the arse. ‘People change,’ I say softly.

  He still seems miserable. ‘Try,’ he tells me. ‘Try to tell me to do something and I’ll do what I can to resist.’

  I bite my lip. ‘OK. Um, lick Kimchi back.’

  He scrunches up his face in a bid to avoid mindlessly following my instruction. It doesn’t work. His tongue lolls out and he licks a delighted Kimchi across his muzzle. ‘You could have asked me to do something nice,’ he moans.

  ‘Sorry. It was kind of cute though.’

  Matt spits out a hair. ‘Yuck.’

  *

  After I let him off the hook and Matt leaves me in peace, I stare at Kimchi. ‘So,’ I say, wagging my finger, ‘this is how things will go. It’s important you pay attention.’ Kimchi’s tail thumps against the sofa. ‘When I give you the signal,’ I make a swiping motion with my right hand, ‘you are going to whine loudly and lie down. I’ll tell Michael you’re obviously sick and that I need to take you home. Got that?’

  He barks. I nod to myself. ‘Let’s try it. Whine now.’ Kimchi barks once more and starts panting. ‘No. Whine. Like this.’ I give him what I think is a good impression of an unhappy mutt. Kimchi leans his head to one side and looks at me as if I’m crazy. ‘Come on. Give it a shot.’

  He barks again. I shake my head. ‘No, like this.’ I whine again, combining the noise with my hand gesture.

  Kimchi still looks confused but he does give a tiny whine in response. ‘Well done!’ I scratch his ears. ‘Now lie down and look sick.’

  Unfortunately at that point the doorbell rings so naturally he ignores me in favour of rushing to the door and bouncing up and down next to it like some sort of demented yoyo.

  ‘Kimchi,’ Michael commands from the other side. ‘Sit!’

  My mouth drops open as Kimchi does exactly as he’s told. ‘Traitor,’ I hiss, and gently nudge him out of the way to open the door.

  Michael is looking damn good. He’s also far more casually dressed than I am, in dark jeans and a leather jacket in Montserrat midnight blue. If I’d known I could get away with denim, I’d have bloody well done so.

  The corner of his mouth crooks up. ‘A dress?’

  I frown at him. ‘I wear dresses but they’re not practical when I’m working.’ I emphasise the point. When I skip out early, the last thing I want him to think is that I have a job to do. He wouldn’t approve of breaking into an army base and, besides, this one is for me.

  ‘You look beautiful.’ His eyes, filled with serious intent, meet mine. I’m just not sure what the intent is.

  ‘Thanks,’ I mumble. ‘Can I bring Kimchi along?’

  He draws a thumb across the stubble on his jaw. ‘It’s not the kind of place that normally allows animals.’ His smile deepens. ‘But you are the Red Angel. I’m not sure many people will try to stop you.’

  ‘I really hate all that stuff,’ I whisper.

  His amusement vanishes. ‘I know. I know you don’t want to go out with me either. You’ve been dealt a shitty hand, Bo, and I’m sorry.’

  I tug at my ponytail, suddenly feeling both awkward and vulnerable. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to go out with you, but you and me would be so … complicated.’

  ‘Would we?’

  ‘We’re supposed to be friends, remember?’

  ‘I think we agreed on friends with benefits.’ For a moment, his eyes spark again.

  I swallow. Sensing the banter is making me uncomfortable, he holds out his hand. I eye it warily then take it, grab Kimchi’s lead with my other hand and step into the hallway to join him.

  ‘Wait.’ He snaps his fingers. ‘I almost forgot. It’s a shame you’re wearing black because it won’t really show up against that colour.’ He hands me a dark blue rose. ‘It’s been genetically engineered to match our House colours.’

  ‘I’m not technically Montserrat…’ I begin.

  ‘No,’ he interrupts me softly. ‘But I am. By giving you this, it’ll imply that you belong with me.’

  I frown. ‘I don’t belong to anyone.’

  He watches me carefully. ‘I said belong with, not belong to. Bad choice of words either way though.’

  Looking at his expression, I’m not sure he really thinks that. I tuck the flower carefully into my hair. It scratches my scalp and feels unnatural but it makes sense to put it somewhere the press will notice it. That is what this is all about, after all.

  *

  Someone, I’m guessing either my grandfather or Michael himself, has tipped off one of the big tabloids. Not only are we snapped getting into the Montserrat limo outside my building but there’s also a healthy bustle of paparazzi outside the restaurant. Kimchi takes umbrage at their presence, growling and snapping at several of them who get too close. I glance at the dog with newfound respect.

  ‘Bo! Is this a business meeting?’

  I smile prettily and wave, smoothing down my skirt to draw attention to its lack of material. ‘Yes,’ I say firmly. ‘We are discussing important vampire business.’

  Michael looks down at me, a tender expression on his face. ‘Very important,’ he adds softly.

  Several cameras flash in an excited explosion of light. Michael and I enter the restaurant without another word.

  ‘Do you think that worked?’ I ask him in an undertone.

  ‘From the pound signs I saw in every damn photographer’s eyes, I’d say so,’ he grunts. He sounds annoyed.

  We’re led to a prominently positioned table in front of the window. Every patron in the place watches us take our seats. Kimchi, behaving for once, settles himself at my feet.

  ‘Ms Blackman?’ A well-dressed woman appears. ‘I’m Deborah, the manager of La Maison. I’m thrilled that you decided to join us tonight.’ She glances down at Kimchi. It’s clear what she wants to add but she’s too nervous to say it. ‘Lord Montserrat,’ she murmurs. ‘It is, of course, a pleasure to have you here with us again. If there’s anything I can do to make your night more enjoyable, please let me know.’

  She melts away. I raise my eyebrows. ‘You come here often? With dates?’

  ‘A few times. I’m normally the one who’s acknowledged first,’ he jokes. ‘Being around you will be good for my ego.’

  ‘Is that a good idea?’ I ask tightly. ‘To come somewhere you’ve already been seen with other women?’

  A tiny smile plays around his mouth. ‘You’re not jealous, are you?’

  ‘No,’ I snap. ‘This is make-believe, remember?’

  ‘So what’s your point?’

  ‘If you want people to believe this … relationship is special, then we should go somewhere new. Not where you take any old flame.’

  ‘Bo,’ he says with conviction, ‘this r
elationship is very special.’

  A heartbeat later there’s another camera flash, making me blink and look away. ‘Good work,’ I mutter. ‘At least that photo will make it look like we were staring into each other’s eyes.’

  His voice is low. ‘We were.’

  I’m rescued from having to say anything by a waiter who smoothly offers us a bottle of wine – ‘compliments of the manager’. I accept graciously and take a sip. It’s hard not to wince at its tartness.

  ‘You can send it back if you don’t like it,’ Michael says, amused.

  ‘I’m sure it’s lovely. It’s just not what I normally drink.’ I pat my mouth with my napkin to hide my expression of distaste.

  ‘We have some good vintages back at the mansion. There are some even better ones at my apartment. I’m sure I can find one that you’d enjoy.’

  I draw in a deep breath. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  He raises his glass and chinks it against mine.

  A shadow falls across the table. ‘What are we drinking to?’

  Both Michael and I look up at the unwelcome interruption. ‘What do you want, Medici?’

  ‘Last time I checked, I was still Lord.’

  ‘Not mine,’ I spit.

  Kimchi, sensing my antagonism, jumps to his feet, hackles visibly raised. Several people at nearby tables recoil and there’s a further flurry of camera flashes from outside.

  ‘Now, now, Ms Blackman, there’s no need to be rude. Although perhaps that’s what comes from being the media’s darling.’ Medici’s cold eyes sneer at me. ‘It won’t last, you know. The more they love you now, the more they’ll hate you later when it all goes tits up. And it will go tits up. You’re far too reckless to stay on the straight and narrow for long.’

  ‘You know nothing about me.’

  ‘I know enough.’ He pulls over an empty chair and sits down next to us.

  ‘Lord Medici,’ Michael says, the venom in his voice clearly audible, ‘this is a private dinner. If you wish to speak with either of us, please make an appointment for a later date.’

  Medici looks like he’s enjoying himself far too much to consider leaving. I grab Kimchi’s collar and bring him round to the other side of the table so that he’s further away from the vampire Lord. The last thing I need is for him to bite and snap in full view of all these people. Medici would start crowing about the Dangerous Dogs Act before I could do a thing.

  ‘Come, come,’ he drawls. ‘We’re all friends now, aren’t we? Especially now that New Order includes all our representatives.’

  I forget to breathe. Is he admitting that he sent Dahlia to us?

  ‘You’ve changed your tune,’ Michael interjects.

  Medici reaches over to Michael’s place setting and takes his napkin, carefully unfolding it and tucking it into his collar to form a bib. ‘I didn’t have much choice. Damn female fledgling ran away to join you, didn’t she? I should have known recruiting her would be a bad idea.’

  ‘You didn’t recruit her,’ I say through gritted teeth. ‘You forced her.’

  He looks up as if trying to remember. ‘Oh yes. I’d forgotten that part.’ He gives me what is meant to be a charming smile. ‘Oh well.’

  ‘Her defection reflects badly on you. Why haven’t you tried to bring her back?’

  Medici’s gaze turns unpleasant again. ‘I will. I’m just waiting for the right moment.’

  My eyes narrow. Either he wants to force Dahlia back into the Medici fold at the point where it’ll cause Arzo the most pain – or all this is a bluff to make us think she’s not still working for him. A ball of frustrated anger rises up inside me. He knows every single button to push to piss me off. The only way I can win this is by staying calm and playing him at his own game.

  I gently kick Michael under the table to give him as much prior warning as I dare. His eyes meet mine as if he’s afraid about what I’ll do. He really shouldn’t worry so much.

  I raise my hand to the waiter and indicate that he should set an extra place for Medici. He rushes over while I carefully extract the Montserrat engineered flower from my hair and pass it over. ‘Here,’ I say. ‘Isn’t it pretty? You should wear it in your lapel. It would look fantastic against that Medici red.’

  The only hint I have that he’s affected by my actions is the faint tightening around his mouth. ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ he demurs. ‘It’s so becoming in your hair.’

  ‘Oh, but I insist. After all,’ I smile, ‘we’re all friends now.’

  Left with little choice, he takes the little bloom from me, pinching it in between his thumb and forefinger as if he’s afraid it’ll bite. He shoves it into his buttonhole and forces a smile. I cross my fingers, exulting when another of the pavement paparazzi nabs a shot. That’ll look good in the morning papers – Medici wearing Montserrat colours.

  Unfortunately for me, Medici hasn’t finished playing either. He leans across the table, taking my hands in his. For propriety’s sake I resist recoiling, although his touch makes me shudder. My mind flashes to the white pebble in my clutch bag on the table. I hold it in my mind’s eye while Medici goes in for the kill, planting his own mouth firmly on mine. There are delighted shouts and a strobe-light effect as yet more cameras go off.

  I pull away, using every part of my being to resist slapping him round the face – or breaking his slimy neck. Michael’s body is rigid, his fists clenched. He starts to rise from the table and I know that he’s about to punch Medici in the face. It will be a PR nightmare. I stand up hastily and position myself between them.

  ‘That wine has gone right to my head,’ I exclaim loudly. ‘I really don’t feel very well at all. Michael, darling, take me home, will you?’

  I can tell that my words are falling on deaf ears. I know what it’s like to be filled with burning rage; the last time it almost overtook me, Michael brought me back from the brink. It’s time for me to return the favour. I coil my arm round his neck and reach up on my tiptoes to kiss him deeply. He doesn’t immediately respond but I don’t give in. A few seconds later, I feel his body relax against mine. His hands move to my waist and he deepens the kiss. He tastes not only of the wine but something deeper and more masculine.

  I forget about Medici until one of the paparazzi, who somehow managed to sneak inside the restaurant while everyone was preoccupied, takes a photo from inches away. I pull away from Michael, telling myself that my rapid heartbeat is because of the tense situation with Medici, not the kiss.

  ‘That was lovely, darling. It even got rid of the bad taste in my mouth. I still think I should go home though.’ I pat my stomach. ‘I don’t feel quite right.’

  Medici turns to the photographer and bares his fangs. I could swear he’s about to bite the man and I almost hope he does. Vampires are above human law but no one would be able to ignore such a blatant act of aggression. It’s a shame he manages to restrain himself and the hapless journalist escapes. ‘She does look rather pale,’ he comments, as if nothing untoward has happened.

  Michael takes my shoulder, gently pushing me to one side. My stomach drops when he steps up to Medici, nose to nose. ‘Try that again and I will kill you.’

  Medici throws back his head and laughs. I silently plead with Michael to let it go. For a moment I think it’s still touch and go, then he turns back to me, folds my arm under his and we stroll out of the restaurant.

  *

  Michael drops me back at home. He was virtually silent the entire journey, his expression a brooding maelstrom of emotions. I can’t tell if he’s angry at me for what happened with Medici but, when I get out of the car with Kimchi, he gets out too and kisses me gently on the cheek.

  ‘I’m sorry for tonight,’ he says. ‘I’ll make it up to you.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault. We need to do something about Medici. He’s sailing too close to the wind.’

  ‘I know,’ he answers grimly.

  I wait until he drives away before I spin on my heel and open the main entrance door, le
tting Kimchi inside. He immediately starts sniffing at Drechlin’s door as if he’s expecting some doggie treats to appear. I leave him to it and head back out and down the street, rather than following the dog in. I’m home much earlier than I’d anticipated but I still don’t want to waste a second of what’s left of the night, even to change my shoes.

  I’m relieved to see O’Shea leaning against the wall, waiting for me. ‘Hey,’ I call out. ‘It’s time.’ It may feel like I’ve already had an epic evening but I’m only getting started.

  CHAPTER SIX: Tracking and Tracing

  We park the bike some distance away from the army base, concealing it in a copse of trees. I double check the paths, imprinting them firmly in my mind. If we need to make a fast exit, I need to know our options. I kick off my high heels.

  ‘You should wear shoes like that more often,’ O’Shea tells me.

  ‘Because they make me look taller?’ I ask distractedly, peering across the expanse of darkness for any sign of activity.

  ‘No,’ he grins, ‘because it means I get to drive the bike.’ He flips back his hair. ‘I think it makes me look rather James Dean.’

  ‘You’re certainly a rebel without a cause,’ I mutter.

  O’Shea laughs and puts an arm round my shoulders. ‘Darling,’ he whispers, ‘you’re my cause.’

  I snort and push him away. ‘You don’t have to get involved in this, you know. There’s no guarantee it’ll work or I’ll find out anything about Toby Renfrew. It is entirely freelance. You might not get paid…’

  ‘I’m not completely mercenary, Bo. Does anyone else know what you’re up to?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Not even Michael?’ I shake my head. ‘Well then, I need to stick around. If something happened to you while I knew you were up to no good, he’d have my head. I can protect you.’