The Sweet Scent of Blood Page 2

  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 Bobby’s best interests at heart. The one I’ve hired hasn’t dealt with vamps before. Ms Taylor, we need as much help as we can get.’

  I didn’t disagree, but I didn’t want to get involved and so far I’d heard nothing that would make me. ‘That still doesn’t tell me why you think I can help you?’

  Alan dropped his gaze to the table. ‘My wife died six years ago of a rare blood disease.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ I offered inadequate sympathy.

  ‘Bobby was a teenager when she died, and he went through a rough patch afterwards.’ He looked up. ‘Now, Bobby is - was - training to be a doctor. He thought if he had enough time he could help find a cure, so he accepted the Gift three years ago.’ His fingers clamped around the pepper pot. ‘I might not agree with his lifestyle choice, Ms Taylor, but he is still my son. He’s the only family I have left.’

  I looked at him for a moment, then said softly, ‘Mr Hinkley - Alan - I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you. Even if another vamp did kill Melissa ... I find spells, then break or neutralise them. That’s all I do.’ I didn’t like to say but there is nothing magical about a vampire sucking you to death.

  He rolled the pepper pot on its edge. ‘That’s it, though: we want you to look at Melissa and check for magic. The coroner says that the evidence points to just one vampire partner, Bobby, but we think that the other vamp has covered up his bites with a spell.’

  Straws and grasping came to mind.

  He placed the pepper pot back next to the salt. ‘Not only that, you work for the Human, Other and Preternatural Ethics Society at their vampire clinic—’

  I interrupted him. ‘The clinic’s not just for vampire victims. HOPE treats all types of magical attacks.’

  ‘Yes, but you’re used to seeing vampire bites, more than the coroner.’

  Except the victims I saw were usually still alive.

  Alan twirled the vinegar bottle. ‘We thought that once you’ve uncovered the bite, you might be able to identify the other vampire.’

  My stomach tightened into a hard knot. ‘Mr Hinkley, even if there is another bite hidden by magic, and even if I managed to find it, there is no way I could pinpoint the biter. I doubt even the coroner could do it, not without an actual sample bite to compare it against. And even then, vamp DNA only points to the bloodline, not the individual vampire.’

  He looked straight at me. ‘But we thought you could do it with magic.’

  My pulse sped up. I didn’t like where he was heading: vampires thinking I could use magic to identify their bites? That along with everything else would not be beneficial for my health. ‘Then you thought wrong, Mr Hinkley. I can’t use magic like that, and I doubt that it’s even possible.’

  His face fell. Then he tapped his thumbnail against the vinegar bottle, making a tiny tinkling sound, and his mouth twisted into a hard line. ‘I can pay you whatever you want.’

  I sighed. Not that I couldn’t do with the money, but the answer was still no, even with his association to Stella. She might have pointed him in my direction, but Stella wasn’t about to let one of her employees work for a vampire, even once removed. The witches and vamps ‘live-and-let-live’ thing started in the fifteenth century - it was one of the more gruesome and sensational parts of history lessons, what with the witch hunts, the inquisition and everything - and anyone who’d been to school could’ve told Alan Hinkley I wasn’t about to say yes to his job. So why was he being so persistent? And why hadn’t Stella come with him? Something about that didn’t add up. Unless she was leaving it to me to turn him down just so she wasn’t made out to be the wicked witch in this sad little scenario. If that was the case, Stella was going to find out I didn’t appreciate being cast as the bad-tempered faerie, and soon.

  ‘It’s not about money,’ I said slowly. ‘I don’t want any involvement with the vampires. It’s one of the main reasons I work for Spellcrackers.com, so I don’t have to. Vamps don’t give the fae the same respect as they do humans.’

  ‘I’d heard that, but I wanted to talk to you anyway. I’m sure it wouldn’t cause you a problem just to look, Ms Taylor. It wouldn’t take long.’

  I kept my eyes on his, a suspicion forming in my mind. ‘What happens if I say no?’

  His forehead creased in puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘C’mon, Alan: you’ve waited all day so you can speak to me away from the office. You persuade my boss to let you talk to me, but you don’t want to put any pressure on me by having her here while we chat. We’ve been down the sympathy route.’ I leaned forward, took the vinegar bottle from his fingers and lowered my voice. ‘Your only son, a vampire, is accused of murder. If he’s found guilty, he’s not going to sit in jail for the next twenty-odd years. They’ll send him to the guillotine, burn his remains and scatter them over running water.’ I slammed the vinegar bottle down on the table. ‘Why don’t you tell me the real reason you think I’m going to help you?’

  He flinched and sat back, crossing his arms. ‘I’m not the bad guy here, Ms Taylor. I’m just trying to save my son.’

  I didn’t bother to say anything, just waited for the rest of it.

  ‘Okay,’ Alan’s shoulders hunched, ‘Bobby said to give you a message, but only if you said no. He wouldn’t tell me what it meant. He said it was better if I didn’t know.’ Desperation filled his eyes as he went through some internal struggle, then he spoke again, his voice hard and flat. ‘My son wouldn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Then you’d better give me the message, since I’m supposed to be the one that understands it.’

  He glanced round the café, but it was still empty. Even Katie hadn’t returned with his coffee yet.

  ‘Siobhan’s brother sends his regards,’ he said quietly.

  Adrenalin rushed through me. The hairs on my arms lifted.

  Siobhan’s brother.

  Fuck, I should’ve known. What was the bastard playing at this time? Alan was watching me, a horrified expression on his face. ‘It is blackmail,’ he murmured, almost to himself. ‘Bloody hell, what a mess—’

  I swallowed, trying to ease the tension in my jaw. ‘No, it’s not blackmail. Not exactly.’

  It might not be blackmail, but I still didn’t have a choice. I’d made a bargain, and the fae don’t make or break bargains lightly; the magic demands too great a price. But it had never entered my mind that this particular debt w
ould be called in for a vampire, rather than one of their victims.

  Chapter Two

  It was a stubborn, sticky spell, though wrapped around the fridge handle it looked as innocent as a tuft of candyfloss. Except candyfloss doesn’t pulse virulent green - spun sugar is much more wholesome. I grasped a flimsy strand between my thumb and forefinger and gently pulled. The stench of rotten eggs hit the back of my throat, making me gag. I dropped the magic, watching it curl and twist back into the spell.

  ‘Bad, bad brownie,’ I muttered. I tried again, upping my concentration. This time the magic stretched and separated and I let it drift back into the ether.

  The job at the swish Kensington bistro was supposed to be an easy one, but thanks to Alan Hinkley’s request for help, my mind kept asking questions I didn’t have the answers for - like what the fuck was Siobhan’s brother up to? And was the request really from him? Or had Bobby, aka Roberto, aka Mr October, discovered a secret he shouldn’t and decided to use the knowledge for himself? I looked towards my phone, but it wasn’t coming up with any answers either. I’d left it near the front door, a safe distance away from the magic, and despite all the messages I’d sent it was disappointingly silent. So failing any sort of reprieve, I was meeting Alan later, at the morgue.

  I turned back to the restaurant and made my way through the tables. The air-conditioning hummed like an anxious bee, and gave the place a chilled, cave-like feel. I suppressed a shiver. Low level light makes the spells easier to see, and Finn, my co-worker - and future boss, if the rumours were true - had shut the blinds before I’d arrived. I’d have preferred the sunshine.

  Gripping the edge of a marble table, I crouched, checking for any tell-tell glows along the floor. Nothing. The black and white tiles were clear. No more magic-induced slips or spell-trapped mice running backwards in frantic circles.

  A quick scan of the ornate plastered ceiling revealed no magic lurking in the shadows. I sighed, relieved. The glass-fronted counter running the length of one wall was empty too, no elaborate cream-filled cakes, no hip-expanding pastries, and no lingering nasty leftovers. Hexed or otherwise.

  The door to the kitchen swung open, breaking my concentration again, and Finn sauntered through. ‘Hell’s thorns, that kitchen’s a mess.’ He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Manager reckons it’s a grouchy customer dropping a spell instead of a tip, at least that’s what the brownie’s told him.’ He shook his head. ‘And he believes her.’

  I ignored the stupid little leap of pleasure inside me at the sight of him - so not going there, not when there’s no point - and said, ‘Why not? The restaurant’s a family business; the brownie’s probably been with them for decades... although it’s odd she’d cause this much trouble.’ I tapped my fingers against the table. ‘Unless it’s the manager who’s got her all miffed and just doesn’t want to admit it.’

  Finn shrugged, then lifted his arms above his head and stretched gracefully.

  Every time I see Finn, I try hard not to imagine him with his trousers off. I blame his horns, the office gossip, and my rebellious libido. Finn is a lesser fae, a satyr; his great-greatwhatevers were worshipped by the Greeks as one of their gods, Pan, the half-goat, half-man one. Finn’s butt looks normal when he’s dressed, with not even a hint of a tail or furry thighs, and there’s never been a single confirmed rumour to the contrary in all of the three months he’d been with Spellcrackers. Even so, my mind just keeps on—

  ‘How’re you doing in here, Gen?’ He rubbed one of his horns. They’re the colour of dried bracken, sharp and stand a good inch above his wavy blond hair. Add in his poster-boy good looks and Finn should’ve been an ad-man’s wet dream - only the horns mean he doesn’t look human enough to sell products to the masses. He had to be wearing a glamour-spell to alter his appearance, but so far I hadn’t managed to see past it.

  ‘Cracked everything except the coffee machine,’ I said.

  ‘I could do with a hand in the kitchen when you’ve finished,’ he said with a suggestive grin, ‘if you’re willing?’

  In answer I gave him the look I’d been giving him for the last few weeks, ever since he’d started hitting on me - a half-amused, half-tolerant smile that told him no way did I take his flirting seriously - and then turned my back on him smothering a sigh.

  Lifting the counter-top, I focused on the machine. The industrial-sized contraption glowed bright enough to cast a sickly orange glare up the wall. The levers were the worst. Of course, it would take only a second to crack it rather than tease it apart, but true spellcracking involved blasting the magic - and that also blasted apart whatever the magic was attached to. Collateral damage isn’t an option - customers tend to object - so instead I pinched the spell and started to unravel it. Hot steam jetted over my hands and along my arms. Shit. Suppressing a whimper, I shook my hands to get rid of the sensation. The pain was real but the steam wasn’t, so there’d be no burns, just the nasty release of power.

  ‘Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.’ Finn’s tone was sympathetic. ‘But that’s what happens when you take it too fast.’

  I snorted. ‘Like I don’t know that.’

  He grinned. ‘’Course you do, but hey, this is one seriously cranky brownie. Glad it’s not me she’s pissed off with.’

  Gingerly, I poked at the spell. ‘Sounds like you’re talking from experience.’

  ‘Oh yeah, a whole month’s worth.’ He winced at the memory. ‘Whenever I opened a honey jar, a bee flew out and stung me. Everything I ate tasted burnt, and she hid every single one of my left socks.’

  ‘There’s no such thing as a left sock,’ I pointed out, delicately unpicking more of the spell. ‘They’re all the same.’

  He laughed. ‘’Course there is! It’s obvious, you always put your right sock on first, so the missing one’s got to be the left one.’

  ‘Ha ha.’ The magic shredded into tiny filaments under my fingers and finally dissipated. ‘So, were you just your usual self or did you do something in particular to annoy her?’

  His shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. ‘Can’t remember now; think it was probably her witch more than the brownie I actually upset.’

  Of course, there had to be a witch involved, didn’t there? The witches at Spellcrackers had descended on Finn like excited kids playing pass-the-parcel, each of them grabbing to be the next one to unwrap the present when the music stopped. And Finn seemed to be enjoying the party, amazingly keeping everyone happy with his equal-opportunity flirting. I’d been invited to play, but it wasn’t an invitation I felt able to accept.

  Not that I wasn’t attracted. I was, and then some. And there was the whole fae thing going on, which meant the magic was always trying to nudge us together, just to add to the complications. No, my problem was that Finn was almost too appealing. More and more I just wanted to sink my teeth into him, and that was so not a good idea. So I swallowed down the disappointment instead and tried hard to keep him at a distance.

  He gently touched my hand where the spell had phantom-burnt me. ‘Want to talk about what’s bothering you?’

  I looked up, surprised at the concern in his eyes. ‘It’s nothing. ’

  ‘Yeah? You’re usually much more careful with the magic.’

  He was right. I was. ‘Bad morning,’ I said, ‘y’know - pixies, and then I managed to crack the crystal on my phone.’

  ‘Ah.’ He gave me a thoughtful look for a moment and then smiled. ‘Problem solved then. I just found a new crystal supplier on eBay. The initial quality’s good and the prices are reasonable. I’ll tell Toni to sort you one out as a trial.’

  A pretty gift-horse yawned in front of me, but I ignored it in favour of having my distraction work. ‘That’s great,’ I said, ‘thanks.’

  Finn dropped a casual arm round my shoulders. ‘Heard the latest gossip? Stella left early, supposedly for the Council meeting, but Toni thinks she’s got a fancy man.’ His breath warmed my hair. ‘Apparently he’s been on the phone three times this morning
and wouldn’t give his name, just said Stella’d know who he was.’ The faint scent of blackberries curled around me. ‘But Toni says she’s sure she recognises his voice.’

  I slid out from under his arm before I let myself get too comfortable. If Stella was at a Witches’ Council meeting, that explained why she was ignoring my messages, and it didn’t take much for me to guess who Toni, our office manager, had been talking about.

  Finn lent against the counter and winked at me. ‘She’s certain it’s that journalist chap who interviewed Stella. Tall, dark, good-looking. Don’t suppose you saw him, did you?’

  I gave him a teasing look. ‘Worried about competition in your little witch harem, are you?’

  He chuckled. ‘Hell’s thorns, Gen, he’s human. Where’s the competition?’ His face turned sly. ‘Just wondering whether Tall, Dark and Handsome is your type as well as Stella’s.’

  ‘Don’t wander, it doesn’t lead anywhere.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I know to stay on the path.’ He reached for my hand and traced a finger across my palm. ‘C’mon, Gen, can’t blame me for being curious. I’m a fertility fae.’ His thumb stroked gently over my wrist, causing my pulse to throb. ‘And you’re sidhe fae, your heart beats for passion. Imagine what music we could make: the very birds and bees would sing along with joy.’ He lowered his voice. ‘It would be a grand opera, rich enough to rival Mozart.’

  Laughing, I twisted my hand free, stuck two fingers in my mouth and accked. ‘Pleeeease! Don’t tell me that works? That is soooo bad!’

  He grinned, teeth white and even against his tan. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘No, that’s just too awful to contemplate.’ I shook my head. ‘All those witch groupies you’ve got hanging around, they actually fell for that?’

  He spread his arms wide. ‘What can I say, I’m a sex god.’

  ‘Ha!’ I poked him in the chest. ‘In your dreams.’

  His face turned serious. ‘Just one question, though?’

  I narrowed my eyes. ‘What?’