The Sweet Scent of Blood

kitchen doorway, watching. I stared back. He jerked as if I’d burnt him before ducking out of sight.

I shrugged. It’s my eyes that do it: amber-coloured, with oval pupils, rather like a cat’s. And my hair doesn’t help—it’s the same odd shade. London has its fair share of fae—and others—living in the city, but even so, my eyes still freak people out. They’re the only part of me that doesn’t look human.

‘Who’s the new guy?’ I asked.

‘Gazza, he’s the pot-washer the agency sent. He started yesterday.’ She lowered the paper. ‘He’s a bit of a drip, really. Keeps asking me what sort of stuff I like, y’know, movies, tunes ...’

‘I wonder why?’ I opened my eyes wide in mock surprise.

‘Ha. Ha. Anyway, like I’d so go out with him.’ She wrinkled her nose.

‘Course you wouldn’t,’ I agreed, matter of fact. ‘He’s not old, hasn’t got pointy teeth, and isn’t interested in your blood. He’s ... nice.’

‘Well, I don’t think he’s nice.’ She bent closer. ‘He said he’s never seen a faerie before. ‘Course, I told him you were sidhe fae, not a faerie.’ She threw a baleful look behind her, then carried on, ‘And Freddie doesn’t think he’s nice either, I heard him telling Gazza he’d wash his mouth out with soap, it was so dirty. So he’s not gonna be here long, anyway.’

I didn’t need to ask what else Gazza had been saying. Witches are human, vampires had been human once. But the fae are a different species, like the trolls and the goblins. The humans just lump us together as ‘Other’. The less polite call us Freaks or Subs, a nice little abbreviation for sub-human. And we fae are a minority, we’re not always pretty, and we’re often dangerous. I say we, but even amongst the city’s fae community, I’m in a minority of one: the only sidhe living in the whole of London.

And if Gazza’s mouth wasn’t polluted with prejudice, there was always the other option. The fae are rumoured for their Glamour—or in more prurient terms, faerie sex.

Either way, Gazza wasn’t worth the energy it took to notice him. Freddie would sort him out soon enough and Katie wasn’t a pushover; I’d seen her dump hot coffee in more than one idiot’s lap when he didn’t take the hint.

Katie pointed at the newspaper on the top of the pile. A picture of a pretty, smiling brunette covered half the front page. The headline read VAMPIRE ROBERTO KILLS HIS ‘JULIET’.

‘What does that one say about him?’

I unfolded the broadsheet and read snippets from the text. ‘It’s got some quotes from the undead Lord, the Earl: “crime of passion, regrets the dreadful waste of two such young and promising lives ... wants to reassure the public that becoming a vampire is safe ... condolences to both their families ... full support for the police—”’ I looked up at her. ‘That sort of thing. Same as all the rest.’

‘It’s so romantic, isn’t it?’ she sighed. ‘They loved each other so much, y’know, they wanted to be together forever. Only the Gift didn’t work and now he’s probably gonna die too.’

I snorted. ‘Don’t be daft, Katie. She probably wasn’t his girlfriend at all. He just lost control and then tried to give her the Gift as a cover-up. It’s just a PR pitch to make sure the other vamps don’t catch any grief over it.’ I tapped my finger on the paper. ‘Look, she only died yesterday. Last night is too quick for the police to have caught him. I expect the other vamps had him all trussed up ready to go.’

‘He didn’t try to run. Roberto didn’t even know she was dead, Ms Taylor.’

Katie and I both looked up in surprise. A man was standing between us and the entrance. The afternoon sunshine slanting behind him threw him into shadow and for a moment his face appeared a twin for the vampire staring out of the newspaper.

My heart skipped a beat and fear prickled down my spine. Katie gasped, her hand fluttering to my shoulder. Then sense kicked in. No vamps until after sunset.

I relaxed slightly as the man stepped forward, his hands clenched at his sides. The navy suit he wore was rumpled, his shirt collar undone and his tie loosened. Grey salted his short dark hair and the lines fanning from his eyes and mouth etched deep into his skin, making him look older than the forty-eight years the papers claimed. Even so, it was obvious where Mr October had inherited his good looks from.

Katie let out a soft breath next to my ear and straightened up.

I looked up at the man, considering—he might be a human but his son was a vampire—it made me want to tell him to go away, to leave me alone, but my father taught me that threats are better dealt with in more practical ways. So instead I asked, ‘What do you want, Mr Hinkley?’

His lips thinned briefly, then he took a deep breath. ‘I want to hire you, Ms Taylor.’

‘Because of this?’ I laid my palm on the pile of newspapers.

He nodded.

‘You’re wasting your time. I work for Spellcrackers.com. It’s a witch company. Witch Council rules are clear about jobs involving vampires. We don’t accept them.’

‘I know,’ he said, voice quiet and controlled. ‘I’ve already spoken with Stella Raynham. Your boss told me you would be here.’

‘I’m surprised she told you where I was?’ I made it a question.

‘Stella and I know each other,’ he said, then paused, letting that statement hang in the air. ‘Can I talk to you? Please?’

I shrugged and pushed the newspapers to one side. ‘Take a seat. Stella’s name means I’ll listen, nothing else.’

Katie hovered behind me. ‘Tea or coffee?’

He sat down. ‘Coffee. Black. Please,’ he added belatedly.

She bustled away but not before widening her eyes and silently mouthing an excited ooh! behind the man’s back.

‘You’re not a witch, Ms Taylor.’

That’s obvious. ‘No. I’m not.’

‘I know you’ve worked for Spellcrackers for just over a year, Stella employed you, even though you’ve never had any known affiliation with the Covens.’ He reached out and pushed the salt cellar neatly in line with the pepper pot. ‘You’re not bound by Witch Council rules.’

‘Did Stella tell you that?’

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Why don’t you tell me exactly what Stella did say to you, Mr Hinkley?’

‘Alan. Please.’ He fished in his jacket pocket as he spoke. ‘I’m a financial journalist. I did an article on Spellcrackers a couple of months ago, about the proposal to franchise the business.’ He laid a newspaper cutting on the table with his by-line under the headline SPELLCRACKERS.COM CRACK THE MAGIC MARKET.

The penny dropped, plugging a large deficit in Stella’s publicity budget.

‘Okay, I begin to see the picture now. I’m amazed Stella didn’t come with you.’

‘I asked her not to. I didn’t want to put any pressure on you.’

Yeah, right. ‘So, Alan, what is it you want me to do?’

He indicated the newspaper picture of the smiling victim. ‘I want you to come and see Melissa.’

I frowned, surprised. ‘I’m not clear how that’s going to help.’ Not when Melissa was already dead.

‘Roberto and Melissa ...’ He shook his head and spoke quietly, almost to himself. ‘No, I won’t call him that. My son’s name is Bobby. Roberto isn’t even his given name, it’s just the one he took with the Gift.’ Moisture glistened in his bloodshot eyes and he blinked it away. ‘Bobby and Melissa were going to be married.’

So maybe Katie’s romantic notions weren’t so far off the mark.

‘That’s one of the reasons why we want to hire you,’ he rushed on. ‘Bobby didn’t kill Melissa, he couldn’t, he loved her, she ... She was a great girl.’ He tapped the pepper pot. ‘Someone else killed her. We think it’s another vampire, but we can’t prove it.’

‘Who is “we”?’

‘Bobby and me.’ He grimaced. ‘Everyone else is sticking to this ridiculous “doomed lovers” story.’

‘What about Bobby’s blood family? What do they think?’

The vinegar sloshed as he almost knocked it over. The acrid smell rose between us. ‘You’re right about that, Ms Taylor. The only aspect of Bobby’s current predicament that concerns the vampires is the PR angle.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘Doesn’t Bobby have a solicitor looking out for him?’

Alan’s lips thinned again. ‘I didn’t feel confident in the first solicitor. He’s a vampire, and I’m not sure he has