The Sweet Scent of Blood

Smiling, she took a white business card from her handbag and laid it on the desk. The sunlight lit her features as she bent forward, smoothing out the angles her make-up had created, and I realised where I’d met her before. ‘Should you have any questions,’ she said, ‘please feel free to call me.’

I glanced at her card. She had a stack of letters after her name. The address was in the heart of the City: one of the top accountancy firms in London. ‘You’re an accountant?’ I didn’t try to hide my surprise.

Her mouth twitched. ‘At present, I’m wearing my Girl Friday hat.’

I wondered how many other hats she had hidden up her sleeve.

‘I’ll show myself out.’ She stood, looped her bag over the crook of her arm.

I waited until she opened the door. ‘Ms Ashby. You haven’t told me the name of your Master.’

She turned back, the amused expression back on her face. The movement disturbed her hair, confirming my suspicions. Her voice was different, and without the goth makeup, or the blue streaks and the obvious display of breast I hadn’t immediately recognised her as Corset Girl, the vamp groupie who’d tried so hard to entice me at the Leech & Lettuce. But the bite was there, high on her neck, where I’d tasted her the night before.

‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Not Malik al-Khan or the Earl, then?’

‘I look forward to seeing you again, Genevieve.’ She stepped into the corridor. ‘It should be interesting.’

The door closed with a gentle snick behind her.

Looked like there was another player in the game ... only I still wasn’t sure exactly what the game was.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Who was Hannah Ashby—or rather, what was she? I swivelled in my chair and stared out the window. Everything about her suggested she was some vampire’s daytime flunky— the current PC title was Business Manager. Maybe I would have believed that, if I hadn’t seen her last night in her fancy-dress get-up. No way would a flunky be caught slumming as a groupie, not when it meant the kiss of death to their cushy elevated status.

Curiouser and curiouser.

A knock interrupted my thoughts and I nudged my pad over the silver invitations. Katie stuck her head round the door and grinned. ‘Hi Genny, thought you might be hungry.’ She bounced into the room, blonde ponytail swinging, and plonked a Rosy Lee butty box on my desk along with a large Styrofoam cup. ‘BLT, bacon extra crispy, tomatoes thinly sliced, iceberg lettuce and tons of mayo.’ She beamed at me. ‘Wholegrain brown. Butter. Everything just how you like it. And orange juice, of course.’

‘Let me guess,’ I grinned, ‘you couldn’t wait to hear about Mr October, right?’

Katie pulled a shock-horror face. ‘Would I be that shallow?’ She dropped a wad of napkins next to the cup.

‘In a heartbeat.’ I pulled the box towards me.

Smirking, Katie kicked off her flip-flops, folded one leg under her and sat. ‘So, did you see him, Gen?’

I nodded as I bit into my sandwich, crunching down on the extra-crispy bacon.

‘What was he like? What did he say? Did he have his leather coat on? Was he really sad? What are the police doing? Was Mr Hinkley okay?’ Katie was almost breathless with excitement.

Holding up my hand for silence, I swallowed. ‘Fine, not much, no, yes, nothing interesting, I think so.’

‘Gennnnny,’ she wailed, ‘c’mon, tell me!’

I licked mayonnaise off my finger. ‘Katie, Mr October’s a vampire. Remember? They are not nice people.’

‘But you are going to help him, aren’t you?’ She leaned on the desk. ‘His dad says he didn’t do it. What if he really didn’t do it? What if the police have got the wrong man? Poor Melissa’s murderer would still be out there, wouldn’t he? And you’d be the only one looking for him. You’ve got to find him.’

Mouth full, I waved my sandwich at her.

She lowered her voice. ‘Did you see the body? Was—’

The door opening interrupted her. Toni came in, notepad in hand. ‘I’ve fixed your phone, Honeybee.’ She placed it on the desk ‘And a job’s come in.’ She grinned as she tore a sheet from her pad. ‘Gremlins at Tower Bridge.’

I groaned. Gremlins would take all afternoon. Still at least they weren’t as bad as pixies. ‘Thanks Toni,’ I mumbled.

Toni leaned forward, her forehead creasing. ‘Is that bacon? You can’t eat bacon—there’s way too much salt in it.’ Her voice went up an octave. ‘What if you have to crack a spell?’ She made a grab for the sandwich.

‘Hey!’ I snatched it out the way. ‘That’s my lunch—a little bit of bacon’s not going to give me any trouble, Toni. I eat it all the time.’

She stopped, hand still outstretched. ‘You do?’

‘Toasted in a sandwich for breakfast,’ Katie chimed in. ‘BLT’s for lunch, ’cos the salad stuff is green and good for you.’ She ticked it off on her fingers. ‘And for dinner, bacon, poached egg, medium-soft to dunk the chips in, and grilled tomato,’ she giggled, ’cos it’s healthier that way.’ She pointed my pen at me. ‘Never varies, although you don’t always eat the healthy stuff, do you?’

‘You’d never know you worked in catering, would you?’

‘My God, Hon.’ Toni’s voice was horrified. ‘I knew you ate in the café, but don’t you ever eat anything else but bacon? Does Stella know? She’s madder than a cornered cat if she catches us eating even so much as a crisp.’

I put the sandwich down and picked up the phone. ‘Toni, really, don’t worry. It’s not a problem for me.’ I turned on the phone and thumbed through to check my messages.

Toni shook her head doubtfully. ‘You really eat the stuff all the time?’

‘That and liquorice torpedoes—’ and, oh yeah, vodka, venom and blood, but I wasn’t going to mention that out loud.

I had a message from Alan Hinkley: he wanted to meet at midnight in Victoria Embankment Gardens before going to Old Scotland Yard, he’d found an informer, another fae, who would only talk to me. Um. I wasn’t sure if that was good news, bad news, or some sort of trap ... well, looked like I’d find out come midnight. Pursing my lips, I texted him back.

‘Maybe that’s why ...’ Toni paused and tapped her pad.

I looked up. ‘Why what?’

‘Why you can’t do witch-magic.’ She waved her fingers. ‘I’d better get back to the desk.’

I looked after her thoughtfully. Maybe Toni had a point. I’d have to try a few experiments.

Katie picked up my pad and grinned. ‘And what would Madame—Oh, way cool!’ She grabbed the two silver invitations and waved them in my face. ‘Wow, Genny, where’d you get them? What—’

‘Katie—’

Katie’s face lit up even more. ‘These are so you can find the killer, aren’t they? Who gave them to you? No, wait, don’t tell me’—she held the silver oblongs up to the light and squinted at them—‘let me work it out.’

I gave up, prised the lid of the orange and took a sip. It tasted better than it had the previous day—but then, nothing tasted good when the venom cravings were at their worst. I stifled a shudder as I remembered Gazza: hopefully Katie would be able to put my mind at rest about what had happened to him.

‘So what happened to that new pot-washer?’ I asked. ‘Did Freddie sack him yet?’

‘Nah, the creep pulled a sickie.’ She turned one of the silver invitations over, studying it minutely. ‘Got his mum to phone in for him. Claimed he got beat up or something.’

Relief filtered through me. He’d run home, just as I’d told him to.

‘This one’—Katie flicked one of the invitations—‘is from the Earl. It’s got his name stamped on the back. And you can tell by the size of the sapphire. Did you know they’re made by dwarves in Iceland? And the sapphire’s from