The Sweet Scent of Blood

lucky? It was only his favourite.

Westman stared back, his expression mirroring Banner’s. Damn. Westman had hit him with a mind-lock, and not the careful, controlled mind-lock the Armani-suited vamp had used on Alan Hinkley earlier, but a full-out melding, as dangerous for the vamp as for his victim.

This was so not good.

Westman licked his lips, took another shuffling step towards Neil Banner.

Shit. Had anyone else noticed what was happening? I looked at Hugh, but he was still glowering at Lacy Louis, and DI Crane was still clutching her sapphire—it was almost as if someone had pressed pause on them.

I looked back at the Earl. He watched me with interest, his charming smile full of calculation.

‘What are you doing?’ I snapped.

‘I? Why, nothing, my dear.’ He gestured at Westman and Banner. ‘But it looks as if they are of like mind, and far be it for me to come between them.’

Banner took a step towards Westman.

The goblin let out a high-pitched howl.

Banner and Westman ignored him.

The DI and Hugh stayed frozen like statues.

Hoisting his bat, Jeremiah the goblin bounced on his feet, trainers flashing red, and charged at Westman. Trapped in his own mind-lock, Westman didn’t even see the goblin coming. The goblin’s bat slammed into the back of the vamp’s legs with a loud snap, bringing him to his knees. The goblin pirouetted with the up-swing, ringlets fanning out in a circle, and swung the weapon round, smacking Westman solidly in the stomach. He doubled over, head thudding against the floor with a sickening crack. Another elegant pirouette, the bat raised high above him, and the goblin was ready for the third and final blow, the one that would smash Westman’s skull like an overripe melon.

I have to end this. ‘Jeremiah, stop!’ I shouted, hoping desperately that he’d heed me.

The goblin hesitated, then froze.

Screams of pain echoed round the hall.

Westman lay crumpled, silent.

The screams came from Banner, who writhed on the floor, fingers scrabbling at the lino, trying to pull himself to Westman.

I grabbed hold of Alan’s hand and he started, looking down at me in shock. I pushed him at Banner. ‘Keep him away from the vampire,’ I cried as I shoved the command into his mind and pointed at Westman. Alan looked dazed, but nodded, and I raced towards the fight.

I slid onto my knees between the goblin and Westman and threw my hands up. The goblin’s black plastic lenses stared down at me as the silver-foiled club glinted in the overhead lights. His ski-slope nose twitched once, acknowledging that he saw me.

‘Magic not gone.’ His soft voice held confusion.

‘It’s joined together.’ I brought my palms together and entwined my fingers, ‘Like this.’

He flexed his arms, lifting the bat higher. ‘I break it.’

‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘You can’t break it. You’ll hurt the human you protect.’ I banged my hands on the floor, keeping one fist inside the other. ‘See.’

A ringlet fell across his face as his head dipped. ‘Job bad.’

‘No. I can stop the magic.’

His nose twitched again.

‘Like this.’ I extended my fisted hands and slowly eased them apart until I held them out to either side of me, palms facing up.

He studied my hands for a moment, then whispered, ‘Job good?’

I blew out a relieved breath, the tension in my shoulders easing. ‘Job good,’ I agreed.

The goblin started to lower his bat ...

... a dark blur hit my back, knocking me on my side ...

... hands lifted the goblin up like a garden faerie snatching a dragonfly, swung him round and launched him hard through the tall window into the darkness outside ...

A stunned silence filled the hall.

Louis walked over to the window, placed a finger on a jagged piece of glass and pushed it out of the frame. A faint tinkling noise echoed through the open gap. Turning to survey the hall, he smoothed pale hands over his velvet jacket, a satisfied expression on his face.

‘Jesus effing Christ!’ A voice I didn’t recognise broke the silence and as I swivelled towards it I saw a uniformed constable crouching over Alan Hinkley’s body, staring at the broken window. Damn. Where was Banner? Two more uniforms, one human, the other a large troll I recognised, Constable Lamber, had their backs towards me; they had someone barricaded in the corner. Constable Lamber held his hands out in a placatory manner as he backed away. And I saw Banner. The Earl was using his limp body as a shield.

Footsteps sounded behind me and I turned to see Constable Curly-hair running towards the front door.

Louis loomed over me and I glared up at him. It was he who’d thrown the goblin out of the window. ‘What the fuck did you do that for?’ I sat up. ‘He’d stopped.’

Louis dropped into a crouch, forearms resting on his velvet clad thighs. ‘Fuck. I like zis word.’ He smiled, but his eyes stayed blank, like a dead fish. ‘Fuck. Fuckfuck. Fuckfuck.’

‘Stand up.’ Hugh’s booming voice echoed throughout the hall. ‘Move away from her. Now.’

‘Trolls.’ Louis spat inelegantly on the floor. ‘Not good for fuckfuck.’

I slid along the floor, edging away from Louis, happy to put some distance between us.

‘Ms Taylor,’ DI Crane’s words held a thread of panic. ‘Be careful.’

I bumped into something. Something soft. Louis smiled his dead fish smile.

‘Genny,’ Hugh’s tone was urgent, ‘move. Now. He’s coming round.’

I started to push myself to my feet—

Too late.

Steel fingers manacled my wrist, pulling me down onto my side, and I stared into Westman’s eyes. They were brown, clouded, like an old man’s and full of pain and need. Soon the hunger would take over, stripping him of whatever humanity he had left and plunging him into blood-lust. No way did I want to be this close when he fell. I punched up, catching him under the jaw. His head rocked back. I punched again. He blocked me, grabbing my arm. Jack-knifing my legs, I kicked both feet into his stomach. Stale blood-tainted air puffed out of his mouth, making me gag as he slid away from me, hands still clamped around my wrists.

‘Ms Taylor,’ DI Crane sounded in control at last, ‘I’m going to stun him. You might get a backlash from the spell.’

‘NO!’ I shouted, frantic, ‘you can’t! He’s mind-locked on Neil Banner!’

Westman started pulling me slowly towards him as though I was something large and heavy—he had to be weak from the goblin’s attack. I wriggled backwards, but he tugged, and I lost the couple of inches I’d gained. My heart pounded. Had DI Crane understood what I’d told her? Another pull and I slid closer, my shoulders protesting. Surely she had to realise that stunning Westman might kill Banner? Why didn’t she just order Hugh and the other trolls to sit on him?

The vamp yanked at me again and I slid faster towards him. Shit, it felt like he was getting stronger. I tried to shout, but my throat wouldn’t work. I twisted onto my front and tried to dig in my toes, my elbows, anything, just to get some traction. Snatches of voices stopped and started over me but I couldn’t make sense of the words.

Then Westman started coming at me, using my arms to drag himself nearer, his broken legs trailing behind him like a giant leech. Blood swirled over the whites of his eyes. His mouth opened in a snarl; saliva dripped from one pointed canine, his tiny venom fangs glistening needle-sharp below his front teeth—

He’d fallen into bloodlust.