Dire Straits (20 page)

My old colleague nods in agreement. ‘I’ll let him know.’

I stand up to go. ‘Is there anything that’ll help me beat the cravings?’

His face is curiously bland. ‘I found masturbation helped.’

I blink, nonplussed. ‘Er … okay.’

He grins. ‘You’ll be fine.’

I wrap my arms round my body and hug myself. ‘Mmm.’

Chapter Nineteen: Betrayal

The following nights pass very slowly. I continue with project Be Nice to Everyone In Case They Tell You They Are Part Of A New Vampire Conspiracy. I’ve brought Beth into our little girlie fold since Matt’s ‘suicide attempt’ and she, Nell, Nicky and I often spend our precious free time together. Keep your friends close and all that. It doesn’t really get me anywhere, though. I just feel more and more tired and Beth rarely seems to open up.

The day after my request for a phone and the internet, I receive a terse note in Montserrat’s now-familiar script. It informs me that I can tell him who to contact and what leads I want to follow outside the Family and he will see to them. As I’m not about to give Rogu3 up to anyone, no matter who they are, and I don’t want to subject the potentially innocent D’Argneau to a vampire-induced interrogation, I scribble a message back asking him to find out exactly how O’Shea’s spell breaks down and how women are affected by it. I expect another message in return, implying that if that’s all I have to go on then I’m a fairly useless private investigator. Oddly, however, I hear nothing.

I’m fairly certain I didn’t imagine the teasing, light-hearted turn our relationship had taken so the current silence between us troubles me. I still feel annoyed on Arzo’s behalf and, as the hours and days pass, that emotion grows. I’ve scarcely seen Michael except when he’s swept by on his way to goodness knows where, and that encourages the antipathy. This is his sodding Family – what is he doing exactly to keep it intact and safe? There’s not even any information about what’s happening with Matt, although I assume he’s still alive or we’d have heard otherwise. I try to catch Montserrat’s eye when he passes by, indicating that I need to talk to him, but he either doesn’t notice or ignores me.

The lack of action disturbs me so, by the third night when I’m confident that the others are tied up in a debate over Edgar Allen Poe and why he saw fit to hide his vampiric self from the world when his writing made it so patently obvious, I try to be more proactive. At least Tam would approve. All this skulking around and ingratiating myself is getting me nowhere.

On the pretext that I need some study notes, I head back to the recruits’ bedrooms. Matt’s door is wide open and the room is clearly unoccupied; his bed has been stripped of its sheets. The sight makes me shiver. I guess they’re not expecting him to return any time soon. I go past my own room then down to Beth’s. Like most of us, old human habits die hard and her door is firmly closed. Theoretically, there’s no reason for it; none of us have any personal possessions or things to hide. We’re all one big happy Family. Of course, I’ve got Montserrat’s laptop – much good it’s doing me – but neither Beth nor anyone else should have any contraband. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that’s not actually true.

I pause outside, one ear cocked just in case one of the others has decided to follow me. When I’m positive there’s nothing but silence, I twist the doorknob. The door creaks slightly and I wince at the sound. I nudge it open and peer inside.

Her room is identical to mine in size and layout. Beth is apparently a bit of a slob. A discarded jumpsuit lies crumpled at the foot of the bed and her sheets are twisted. Not that I’m a neat freak or anything – the state of my car attests to that – but I’ve never been able to leave my room in the morning unless my bed is made up. I guess everyone has their little foibles.

I make a mental snapshot of what the room looks like. Normally I’d use a camera to avoid making silly mistakes when I carry out a search but I don’t have that option any more. Once I’m satisfied that I have memorised the details, I start with the bed. There’s nothing under the pillow or inside the pillowcase; the mess of sheets hides nothing more than the off-putting smell of stale sweat and body odour. It’s good to know that Beth’s sleep is being disturbed in the same way as mine: I’m waking up several times a night covered in clammy sweat while the pit of my stomach whispers to me that it needs just one tiny drop of blood to settle it down.

I lift up her mattress. There’s nothing there. The walls are bare and, other than some clean underwear shoved into the drawer in the bedside table and the standard-issue recruit shoes that she refuses to wear, I can’t see anything suspicious. I pick up her jumpsuit and pat it down, then stick my hand into each pocket. Again I come up empty. Either Beth is cleverer than most blondes get credit for or there’s simply nothing here.

I’m just about to edge my way back out again when my gaze falls on the jug next to the bed. It’s exactly the same as mine. I glance inside, swirling the dregs of the water that remains at the bottom. It’s just water. Disappointed, I put it down, making sure it’s in exactly the same position. That’s when I realise that something feels wrong.

I pick the jug up again and inspect the base. As soon as I register the slim white packet stuck underneath, I stop breathing. I sniff it and can detect no trace of anything peculiar. But if there is nothing peculiar about it, then Beth wouldn’t have hidden it. I’m desperate to peel it off and check its contents. Whatever is inside has got to be tiny. I poke it and feel a grainy substance, almost like sand.

I debate my options. I could take it to Montserrat as proof of Beth’s underhandedness. Surely this is some physical version of O’Shea’s spell. She has to be in league with the traitors. The trouble is, if I take it away she’ll know that I’m on to her and I’ll scare her off. Or whoever gave it to her in the first place. Right now, without any lab work, it’s not much proof of anything – but if I leave it where it is and she uses it to hurt someone else...

I return the jug to its original place. At least I have a better idea about where to focus my efforts and I’m glad that my instincts about her were right, regardless of the way she helped me ‘save’ Matt. It’s impossible that she’s the mastermind; she’s not even a full vampire yet. But I’d bet all my meagre savings that she is wrapped up in all this. I need to act fast and find Michael.

I double check the room to make sure nothing appears disturbed, then leave. I’m barely three feet away from her door when she suddenly appears.

‘You didn’t find what you needed then, Bo?’

I freeze. Damn. Yes, I did find what I needed and now I’m bloody scared about what you’re going to do, I think.

‘Your notes?’ she prompts.

The relief is overwhelming. ‘Er, my handwriting is so messy, I can barely decipher what I’ve written,’ I stammer. ‘I decided to leave them.’

Beth laughs, although I sense an edge to the sound. She leans her head to one side and regards me steadily. I try to read her expression and fail.

              I try a different tactic. ‘Actually, the truth is that I got distracted,’ I admit. ‘I passed Matt’s empty room and it completely threw me. It’s as if he’s never going to return and everyone’s already accepted it.’

Her eyes narrow. ‘Yes,’ she agrees, ‘it’s smegging unnerving.’

Not as unnerving as finding the physical form of O’Shea’s spell hidden under your water jug.

‘Do you think he’s dead?’ I ask.

She shrugs and looks uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. He was alive the last time either of us saw him. As recruits, we’re not exactly in the loop. Did you talk about him much to the counsellor?’

I suddenly see a way out. ‘No,’ I say slowly, ‘I didn’t. It was too soon, I guess. But maybe I should talk about it some more. All I can think about is the way his eyes…’ I let my voice drift off. I don’t need to fake the horror in my tone at the way Matt looked hanging from that showerhead.

She nods her head. ‘I think she’s free now actually. Alan came out from talking to her while you were gone.’

‘I’ll do that.’ I hadn’t realised there was a real counsellor hovering around and that it wasn’t just a ruse so I could meet with Arzo. I try not to feel too hurt that I was never offered the option to speak to someone. Maybe Michael or Arzo were too afraid I’d end up blabbing.

I force a smile in Beth’s direction then walk past her, trying not to pick up speed and start running. I begin to panic about her room. Was the jumpsuit crumpled into the same shape as when I entered? I curse. I need to find sodding Michael and talk to him as soon as I can, whether he’s trying to avoid me or not.

I jog quickly down the stairs, just in time to see the man himself stalking past. He’s surrounded by a group of vampires, most of whom now look familiar. Unlike my fellow recruits, however, they’ve all resisted my efforts to become their friend. I guess it doesn’t matter whether you’re human or vampire, newbies the world over are treated with the same distance and suspicion.

When Michael catches sight of me, his face shutters and he looks away quickly. What in the hell is his problem? I decide I’ve had enough. Vampire propriety be damned; I need to speak to him.

‘My Lord!’ I call.

Several of his hangers-on look in my direction. Bloody Michael Montserrat ignores me and carries on. I persist.

‘Lord Montserrat!’ I pick up speed, landing with a heavy thump at the foot of the staircase and trotting up to the group. When he continues to ignore me, I skirt round them and block his path so he has to stop. I ignore the other vampires’ affronted expressions. ‘Lord Montserrat, it’s imperative that I talk to you.’

A tiny line creases his smooth forehead. ‘Who are you?’ he asks.

‘Bo,’ I say, keeping up the pretence. ‘We met a few days ago. I’m one of the new recruits.’

‘Ah, yes. What can I do for you, Bo?’ His voice is controlled but I sense a lot of deeper emotion – and none of it very positive – rippling under the surface.

‘I wish to make a complaint.’

The vampire directly behind him, an impeccably coiffed woman, steps forward. ‘Then you need to take it up with the programme director. Lord Montserrat doesn’t have time.’

Montserrat lifts his right hand and the woman stills. I try not to gloat. ‘No, it’s fine, Suzanne. I can spare a few minutes.’ Despite his mild expression, a cloud of darkness rolls across his eyes. ‘I will meet you in my office in half an hour,’ he tells me. ‘I trust you can find the way?’

I bob my head and mutter a thank you. Then I think of my grandfather and follow it with a curtsey. Montserrat eyes me as if he’s not sure whether I’m taking the piss or being serious. Before he can call me on it, I move to the side and let him and his entourage pass by.

Forty minutes later, I’m still cooling my heels outside his office. Irritation is gradually developing into full-blown anger. Just as I’m about to go looking for him, he shows up. He’s alone this time but his face remains a mask. I know why I’m annoyed with him, but I have no idea why he’s being so standoffish with me. He opens the door and steps aside to let me go in first. The back of my neck prickles and I wonder if I’m about to feel a knife slamming into my shoulder blades. No attack comes though. I sit down in one of the chairs opposite the large desk and wait for him to settle himself.

‘So what is it, Bo?’

I stare at him disbelievingly. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’

He rewards me with a blank expression. I stand up, kicking away the chair and glare at him, my hands on my hips. ‘What’s the point in going to all the trouble of getting yourself a spy if you’re going to ignore me? I’ve been trying to get your attention for days! You seem to have forgotten that I even exist! I gave up my life for this shit!’ My voice is high pitched and perilously close to a scream. I don’t care.

He leans back and regards me mildly; if I’m a spitting, hissing cat, then he’s an impassive lion idly watching one of his pride go berserk.

‘Have you found anything out?’ he enquires.

I fold my arms. ‘Yes, I bloody well have. Beth has got some strange powder hidden under the jug in her room. It’s obviously contraband and probably a physical version of O’Shea’s stupid spell. You need to get hold of her straightaway and find out exactly what is going on and who she’s answering to.’

He’s annoyingly unfazed by my revelation. ‘Which one’s Beth?’

‘Blonde. High heels.’

‘Ah.’ A quick grin flashes across his face, making me even more irate. ‘We’ll check it out,’ he tells me. ‘You can go now.’

‘I’m not going anywhere. I asked for a phone and internet access days ago. I need to them to continue investigating.’ I hold out my hand as if I’m expecting him to magically drop a mobile into it. I know it’s ridiculous but I’m beyond caring. His apathy is making me so angry I can’t even see straight.

He shrugs. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘Why do I get the impression you won’t bother?’ I demand. ‘What exactly is going on here?’

‘You tell me, Bo,’ he says. ‘What
is
going on?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I trust Arzo implicitly,’ he says. ‘And when he suggested that you would have a better chance of infiltrating whatever group is forming, I agreed because of that trust.’

The knowledge that my recruitment was Arzo’s idea stings but I try not to let it show. ‘So?’

‘Matthew regained consciousness.’

‘He is alive, then?’

Montserrat doesn’t blink. ‘Does that bother you?’

I’m beyond confused. ‘I tried to save his life, remember?’

‘Yes, that was convenient, wasn’t it?’

I don’t like his tone. ‘What exactly are you implying?’

‘Matthew said one word before lapsing back into a coma. Bo.’