The Cold Kiss of Death Read online

  ‘Gen, I’m your boss, and I wouldn’t be a very good one if I let you walk into a situation where I knew you’d be at risk.’ He leaned towards me, forearms resting on his thighs, earnest. ‘All it needs is one human to get angry at being disappointed and then complain to the police that you tried to Glamour him. You’d end up being arrested and maybe even convicted. Is that what you want?’

  Not when conviction meant the guillotine, fuck no! But—‘That’s not what I mean, Finn. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the back-up, or the thought. But if I know a job’s iffy, I can deal with it. It’s you keeping me in the dark that gets me all annoyed.’

  He snorted. ‘Well that’s the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it?’

  ‘And what the hell is that supposed to mean?’ I snapped.

  ‘C’mon, Gen, the suckers are sending you sackloads of mail, one of your neighbours is trying to evict you. And now I’ve heard you’ve got a ghost a-haunting you. But whenever I ask you if everything is okay, you nod and say yes, everything’s fine.’

  ‘That’s because they’re not work problems, Finn, they’re my personal life.’

  ‘Hell’s thorns! What, so now I’m your boss I’m not supposed to care about what goes on in your life?’ Angry emerald chips glinted in his eyes. ‘I want to help you, only you won’t let me!’

  ‘Why, Finn?’ I said, confused at his anger. ‘Why do you want to help me?’

  ‘Because we’re friends, Gen, and that’s what friends do.’

  I dropped my pencil and slapped my hands round his; sparks exploded again as the magic reacted. ‘If we’re friends, Finn, why are you ignoring this, why are you pretending there’s nothing going on between us? Until everything happened you were keen enough to explore it—’

  ‘This isn’t about that, Gen.’ He pulled his hands away, frustration and some other emotion I didn’t recognise darkening his eyes. ‘You need to stay away from the suckers, and the invitations need to stop. At least that way, there’ll be less for the witches to complain about and the Council won’t agree to the eviction request’ - he paused, a muscle twitching along his jaw - ‘or anything else.’

  Ignoring the shiver of hurt that he’d brushed aside my questions, I said slowly, ‘Anything else means my job, doesn’t it?’

  ‘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 unobt
rusive 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 surprise. Air was moving in a constant stream around her - where I imagined her aura would be if I could actually see peoples’ auras - and it flowed out from her to the vamp and then back again in a swirling figure-of-eight. Then I realised it wasn’t air. It was power; turbo-charged power that almost obliterated the small spells stored in the ruby eyes of the earrings she wore. Somehow she was using it to blank the vamp’s presence in my flat, despite the fact she hit my radar as just plain human with no magical abilities. But then I’d always suspected she had a source of power from somewhere ... and power this strong meant Hannah was a sorcerer.

  She’d done a deal with a demon.

  Demons outrank vamps in the bad news stakes. Although one good thing about demons, they only ever turn up this side of hell when invited, and not even the stupidest sorcerer would issue an invitation without taking the necessary precautions. Hannah Ashby didn’t strike me as stupid, and a Consecrated Circle is kind of hard to miss.

  Of course, some people’s demons are other people’s gods; it just depends on the religion, so that didn’t necessarily make her bad. But a demon’s power is like any tool, it’s what you do with it - and how you pay for it - that matters. Demons, like necromancers, don’t come cheap. And it’s the currency a sorcerer chooses that makes them either grey, black, or just plain old evil.

  And since my good luck was in short supply lately, I was betting Hannah was the evil type.

  Suppressing another spike of fear, I walked over to the kitchen, pulled out the vodka from the fridge’s icebox and a glass from the cupboard, placed them on the counter, and faced my unwanted visitors.

  ‘If we were all friends’ - I unscrewed the bottle - ‘I’d offer you a drink. But we’re not friends, so please, tell me whatever it is you’ve come to tell me, then take a not-so-subtle hint and vacate the premises. I’d appreciate it.’

  ‘I’m sure we can offer you something you’d appreciate more, Genevieve.’ Hannah executed an MC’s flourish towards the vampire, the light catching the silver death’s head ring with its emerald eyes on her ring finger. ‘Can’t we, Darius?’

  Darius the vampire grinned at me, flashing all four of his fangs, and leisurely stripped out of the ankle-length black leather coat he wore. He swung it over his broad shoulder, leaving him standing there in nothing but his black calf-high boots and snug black Calvin Kleins. His grin widening, he rubbed his hand over his smooth-muscled pecs like he was adding more oil to his already glistening skin and then slowly walked his fingers down his six-pack, finally hitching his thumb into the low-slung waistband of his shorts. Decorating them was a wide-open diamanté mouth complete with red-beaded fangs that showcased his bulging package as it glittered provocatively in the overhead light. He tossed back his highlighted tawny-coloured hair as if to an unheard drum roll, then did a slow thrust and grind with his hips, finishing off by blowing me a kiss.

  I sighed and gave him a so what? look. I’d seen it all before - there were plenty of acts like his down in Sucker Town in the blood-houses, performed by desperate, eager blood-pets. I’d also seen him before, when he’d still been human. Yep, the vamp doing his own version of a sucker lap-dance in my living room had not long graduated from being a blood-pet himself; he’d only had his fangs for just over a month. No wonder Hannah was able to lead him round like a bloodhound on a leash.

  I pursed my lips at Hannah. ‘If he’s supposed to be auditioning for the Chippenfangs, you’ve come to the wrong place.’

  She trailed her fingers over his well-defined bicep, her orange nails bright against his pale skin. ‘The Chippenfangs don’t even come close to Darius here.’ She gave me a conspiratorial smirk. ‘Believe me, I know.’

  ‘Great! Well, I’m sure we could swap sexual conquest stories all night, Hannah, but to be honest, I find it all a bit uninspiring. ’ I looked pointedly at the grinning vampire, who was now flexing the burgeoning part of his anatomy so the diamanté mouth just covering it was yawning its own wide grin. ‘So forget the show and get on with it.’

  She chuckled, the sound low and husky. ‘Uninspiring is not a word I would use for Darius - satisfying, inventive, enduring, maybe, but—’ She opened her eyes wide as if an idea had just popped into her head. ‘Why don’t I give you a taster? The proof is in the eating - or in Darius’ case, in the drinking.’

  Apprehension twisted like a sharp hook inside me. A drink sounded like exactly what I needed. Trouble was, alcohol wasn’t going to slake that need, or going to be much help with what was coming next. I wanted to physically shove them out of my home, maybe even do something impossible, like stun the pair of them, or magic them far, far away. But my total lack of ability at casting spells meant it so wasn’t going to happen. Instead, I carefully poured the vodka into the glass and, willing my hand not to shake, I lifted it in salute. ‘Knock yourselves out, why don’t you,’ I said, and took a composed sip, the icy alcohol a welcome burn down my throat.

  Hannah smiled like a sweet shop owner who knows the kid’s got her nose pressed against the window and all she has to do is open the door. She stepped in front of Darius, then slowly shimmied back against him, sliding her hands behind to caress his hips. He dropped his coat, excitement dilating his pupils. Wrapping his arm round her waist he moulded her body to his, then pushed her head back to expose the length of her throat. I stared transfixed, my own cravings rising inside me, knowing they were deliberately tauntin
g me, but unable to force myself to look away. They smiled, twin expressions of triumph. The vamp kept his eyes on mine as he licked a wet line along her bare shoulder and up the side of her neck to the lobe of her ear. He set her skull earring swinging with his tongue, then sucked it into his mouth. She sighed deeply and dug her nails into his thighs. His nostrils flared as he scented her and his eyes turned opaque with greed. With a quiet growl that had heat pooling in my own belly, he lowered his mouth to her pulse.

  I held my breath, lust curdling like acid in my stomach, my grip on the bottle dissipating the chill, watching, waiting, for him to bite.

  He struck, his fangs piercing her flesh, and she moaned and went limp in his arms. A trickle of blood leaked from between his lips where he fed. Mesmerised, I followed its course as it trailed over the ridge of her collar bone and snaked down between the mounds of her corseted breasts, which bloomed red with the heat of a venom-induced blood flush. He lifted her up and held her dangling, fast little pants coming between her parted lips as his bite brought her trembling and shaking to orgasm.