The Cold Kiss of Death

‘It took a lot to get the Witches’ Council to let you come back and work for Spellcrackers, Gen, but your job’s still under probation. If they think the vamp connection is getting too untenable, they’ll go back to their original decision.’ He rubbed his hands over his face. ‘Gods, Gen, if it was just me, I wouldn’t care, but I can’t go against the Council, not if it means losing the franchise. The whole herd’s got their money invested in Spellcrackers.’

A sick feeling settled in my stomach. Crap. That wasn’t good. ‘You should’ve told me,’ I said quietly.

‘Yeah, maybe,’ he said tiredly. ‘But it’s been difficult with everything. It just wasn’t the right time.’

I looked down, not sure what to say next, then, deciding things couldn’t get any worse, I opened my mouth to—What? Ask what I could do to help him? That was a no brainer really; if I could make my problems go away, then most of Finn’s would too. Maybe I should ask how he could help me?

The hairs on my body sprang to attention and my head jerked up.

Scarface the ghost had bumped into the circle again. He stood there, arms outstretched, and for a second I thought I saw something in his sunken-eyed stare, then he started his usual slither around the outside of the circle. A whisper made me glance towards the pile of bones. There was nothing there. When I looked back the ghost was gone.

‘Did you see that?’ I said, pointing at where I’d last seen Scarface.

Finn gave me a puzzled look. ‘See what?’

‘Scarface, he bumped into the circle again, then disappeared. ’

‘Gen, he didn’t disappear, look’—he pointed—‘he’s shuffling on his way just as he usually does.’

I turned. Sure enough, the ghost was slowly making his way down the tunnel.

‘You’ve been staring blankly at that corner over there for ages,’ Finn added, his withdrawn boss expression back on his face. He stood, stretching his arms above his head. ‘I think it’s time we called it a night anyway; we’ve more than enough info on the ghosts. I don’t trust the developer not to decide to visit us. You’ve got enough problems without that.’

Frowning, I entered Scarface’s details into the laptop and closed it down. I glanced up at Finn. Should I try resurrecting our earlier conversation? Or maybe leave the talking until I’d had a chance to think everything through. I decided on the cop-out; it was late, or early, depending on which way you looked at it. I folded up my chair, clumsily catching my finger as I realised what I’d seen in Scarface’s eyes. Anger. Only how could a ghost, one that was nowhere near sentient, suddenly become angry? It didn’t make sense. Still, as Finn correctly pointed out, I had problems enough to deal with already, without adding another to my to-solve list. Then I remembered that Grace should’ve finished her shift by now and would be back at my flat. A heart-to-heart chat with her was just what I needed.

Chapter Three

There was a vampire in my flat. I stood on the landing outside my door, mouth dry, tension coiling in my stomach. I didn’t have a spy hole—not that looking through a spy hole the wrong way would do me much good, but I didn’t need one. The vamp’s presence hit my inner radar like a cold slap in the face.

There was only one vamp who could cross my threshold ... Malik al-Khan. Looked like he’d finally decided to do the bad penny act and turn up.

Taking a calming breath, and thankful that Grace had got caught up in an emergency at HOPE and wasn’t here yet, I raised my key—

The door swung open, making me start. A girl—rather, a woman—stood there. Thick black eyeliner shaped her amused brown eyes, her dark hair was pushed into an artfully messy topknot, tiny ruby-eyed silver skulls hung from her ears and her full breasts were almost bursting out of the deep pumpkin-coloured bustier she wore over a black net skirt. Ignoring her, I looked over her shoulder at the vampire standing a few feet behind her.

He wasn’t Malik.

My pulse leapt in my throat as fear slammed into me. How the hell had the vamp got in?

‘Genevieve,’ the woman said, standing back to usher me in.

To my own flat!

What the fuck were the pair of them doing here? Anger rolled over my fear, but anger wasn’t going to help, or get my questions answered. I shoved it and the remnants of my fear far enough away that I hoped the vampire couldn’t taste them—didn’t want to get him excited—then eyed the woman with wary suspicion.

She arched one perfectly drawn-in black brow. ‘Don’t you think it might be better to come in instead of loitering out on the landing?’

I frowned again at her breasts and realised I recognised her: Hannah Ashby, human, top City accountant and self-certified vamp-flunky, a.k.a. business manager.

Except the master vamp she flunkied for was dead.

And I had no idea who she was working for now, but I did know it wasn’t the vamp behind her. He was too young to be anything more than sharp-fanged muscle.

I walked past her and stopped just inside the door, quickly scanning the large room that doubled as my lounge and kitchen.

My computer was on the floor in the corner—its usual place—but its standby light glowed red. I always left it switched off. The huge amber and gold rug that covered most of the wooden floor hadn’t been moved, but the pile of floor cushions and throws in the same bronzy colours were closer to the wall. The stack of glossies and newspapers on the low, wide windowsill had been tidied, and on the kitchen counter, the goldfish bowl—home to my new pets—was next to the sweet shop-sized jar of liquorice torpedoes as I’d left them—except both were on the wrong side of the sink. Whatever the pair had been looking for, they hadn’t found it, otherwise they wouldn’t still be here. And unless conducting an unobtrusive search wasn’t one of Hannah’s strengths—something I doubted—she wanted me to know she’d clawed her sharp, orange-painted fingernails through my belongings.

But why? It only served to make me angrier, as if invading my flat with a muscle-vamp wasn’t enough ... an answer came in a memory, my father’s calm, precise voice cautioning me: those that cannot control their anger are subject to mistakes. But controlling my anger didn’t mean I had to be polite, not when being rude might gain me the upper hand.

‘Trick or treat’s not until the end of the week, Ms Ashby,’ I said, eyeing her outfit with disdain. ‘And aren’t you supposed to be the one knocking on the door, instead of entering uninvited? ’

‘Please, call me Hannah.’ Her black-lipsticked lips lifted in a gracious smile. ‘As for uninvited—well, we have broken blood together, you and I, after all. Not wanting to embarrass you with your neighbours, we used the back way.’ She gestured at the open bedroom door—I’d left it closed. The window in the bedroom led out onto a small, flat, gravelled roof I used as a mini-garden in summer ... and to an old fire-escape ladder to the church’s grounds below—the ladder I used as an alternative exit route all year round.

‘How considerate of you,’ I said sarcastically.

A chill draught barrelled through the open door and rattled the gold, copper and amber glass beads of my chandelier—my one extravagance when I’d moved in a year ago—and I looked at the vamp standing beneath them. Of course, Hannah, being human, would’ve had no problem using the window as an entry point; it’s the only part of the building not protected by wards, something I was going to have to rectify. But the six-foot-plus vamp posing in the middle of my living room like he was expecting someone to take his picture would have needed an invitation—from someone whom the threshold recognised.

‘I’m curious.’ I flicked a hand in the vamp’s direction, wishing the gesture would just make him disappear. ‘How exactly did he get in uninvited?’

‘Blood, of course. I offered you mine without constraint, and you accepted it in the same vein.’ Her amused smile widened. ‘It gives us a connection, and allows for some leeway in the usual proscriptions. So I invited him in on your behalf.’

Momentary panic flashed through the banked anger inside me. Crap! Did the fact I’d drunk her blood (in a desperate, weird moment of need I wasn’t too keen on remembering) mean that she could invite any of her fang- pals into my home? But then, she wasn’t the type to worry about technicalities; if she thought she’d found a magical loophole, she’d use it. I looked, and only just managed to stop from gasping in