Dire Straits (28 page)

‘Bo! Is everything okay?’

‘Fine,’ I mutter. ‘Can we go now?’

‘Absolutely not!’ interrupts Lars, looking alarmed. ‘Your nails haven’t dried. Besides, I’ve not shown you the video of the vampires fighting.’

Beth looks apologetic. I’m keen to get out of here before the bodyguard’s body is discovered and all hell breaks loose, but I sit down stiffly by her side.

‘Don’t you have that quick drying stuff?’ I ask.

Lars sniffs dismissively and turns back to Beth. He taps something into the computer and a video comes on. ‘Here,’ he says. ‘This is some dude from Gully getting it on with another from Stuart. You can tell which Families they’re from because of the colours they’re wearing,’ he adds helpfully.

‘Thanks,’ Beth murmurs. Clearly, Lars has not cottoned onto her recruit status yet.

I turn to the screen and watch what appears to be CCTV footage from some dive of a nightclub. A tall vampire bumps into another one, inadvertently spilling his drink. It takes less than three seconds before they descend into a spectacular fang-flashing, artery-spilling brawl.

‘The day after this, the Gully and Stuart heads met in broad daylight. In Hyde Park! They must have taken it seriously because they frown at each other and have all these bodyguards surrounding them.’ Lars leans in and whispers confidentially, ‘But, they met in public so everyone would understand that they weren’t allowing their Family members to go around and kill each other.’

He taps the keyboard again, while I shift in my chair. ‘We need to go, Beth.’

She nods and rises. ‘I’m sorry, Lars. We have another, um, appointment to keep.’

He looks disappointed. ‘You can see them drinking blood! At least it looks like blood. There’s a waiter bringing more over to them. The dude with the camera gets in his way and then they almost fight as well.’

‘Bye Lars,’ I say firmly, turning to the door.

‘Another time,’ Beth chirps out, far more enthusiastically.

I’ve just put one foot outside into the corridor when I hear a tinny voice shouting from the computer. I freeze then, ever so slowly, turn back. I know that voice.

‘Lars, can you just rewind that for a moment?’

‘I thought you had to go,’ he says sullenly.

I shove him out of the way and start the video again. He mutters something but I ignore him and focus on the screen. Sure enough, Lord Gully and Lord Stuart are seated at a linen-covered table in the midst of a clearing. They are some distance away but it’s still possible to make out the red liquid in their glasses. I swallow hard and focus on the tuxedoed man carrying the tray. His back is turned to the camera. Then the cameraman helpfully moves forward into the waiter’s path. They almost collide and, for a moment, all I can see is the black material of the tuxedo jacket as the camera gets caught up in it. Finally it points in the waiter’s face while he snarls obscenities. I reach forward and pause the video, then stare, sickened.

‘What is it, Bo?’

‘I was going to watch this video weeks ago,’ I murmur absently. ‘Except I got distracted.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Beth touches my sleeve, but I don’t respond. I’m too focused on the face filling the computer screen.

‘I know him.’

‘The waiter?’

I nod. I want to punch and kick and scream. Because the waiter glaring out at us with twisted malevolence isn’t a waiter at all. It’s Boris.

Chapter Twenty-five: Playing Possum

I rail against myself throughout the journey back to the Montserrat headquarters. Beth is increasingly alarmed, but I can’t reassure her. I’m simply too pissed off.

As soon as we cross the threshold of the mansion, I spot Montserrat in the foyer. He’s standing smack bang in the centre, arms folded, his expression brooding and tense. When he sees me, he relaxes slightly and moves forward with swift grace. I meet him halfway and look up at his chiselled face. Before he can open his mouth, I demand access to a phone.

A muscle throbs in his cheek. ‘Why, Bo?’

‘I need to speak to Arzo.’

‘Can’t you at least tell me what happened with Bancroft first?’

‘Nothing worth mentioning,’ I mutter. Bancroft was a waste of time. The trip to the spa wasn’t. Now I know who I really need to speak to.

‘Bo, you are under my jurisdiction yet you insist on keeping me in the dark. Perhaps you’re confused as to how the chain of vampire command works.’

I force myself to take a deep, calming breath. ‘I’ve screwed up a lot since arriving here. I’m not about to make any more assumptions until I can confirm something with Arzo. Then I’ll speak to you.’

His dark eyes rove over my face. For a moment I think he’s going to refuse and I’ll have to run back into the terrifying, sunlit street to find myself a sodding phone box – if any exist in this part of the world – but he jerks his head and leads me in the direction of his office. Even though I’m in a hurry to talk to Arzo and I move as quickly as I can, I find it hard to keep up with his long-legged stride.

‘I’m glad you’re okay,’ he says conversationally.

‘Mmm.’

‘We have an unspoken rule in the Families that no one is allowed to touch each other’s Family members without gaining permission first. But Lady Bancroft can be,’ he pauses, ‘volatile.’

I wonder what he’d think if he knew she thought she had him and all the other Family heads wrapped around her little finger.

‘As you can see,’ I say, ‘I’m fine.’

‘And as I said, I’m glad.’

‘However,’ I continue, ‘didn’t you tell me that she’d think of me as little more than a human? If I’m still a recruit and haven’t drunk blood yet, does that make me a Montserrat Family member?’

He smiles. ‘A distant cousin, perhaps. I made it clear to her that you weren’t to be harmed.’

My eyes narrow. ‘She knew I was coming?’

‘No. We had already spoken of you, though.’

I glare at him suspiciously. I’d surmised as much from Lady Bancroft but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it. He gives me a grin which I don’t bother returning.

Once we reach his office, he follows me in and closes the door. He points towards his desk where a shiny, old-fashioned, phone sits.

‘Don’t you have a mobile?’

‘I prefer this.’

I look at him. ‘Just how old are you?’

His eyes dance. ‘It’s rude to ask the age of your elders, Bo.’

I grunt. ‘Are you going to leave?’

‘It’s my office.’ He sits down in a leather-backed chair and leans back, propping up his feet on top of the desk.

I roll my eyes at him then pick up the phone. ‘Do you have his number?’

He reels it off from memory. My surprise must have shown on my face, because he comments, ‘I can chew gum and walk at the same time too.’

‘Whatever.’ I dial the number and wait.

Arzo answers almost immediately. ‘My Lord.’ Caller display, I figure.

‘Er, no. It’s Bo.’

‘Bo! Are you alright? What happened with Lady Bancroft?’

‘Not much. There’s a hell of a lot of people suddenly concerned with my welfare though.’ Montserrat grins at this but doesn’t speak.

‘Arzo, who knew about my assignment at Wiltshore Avenue?’

‘Myself and Tam. Why?’

‘Anyone else?’

He doesn’t hesitate. ‘No. We kept who was responsible for which assignment quiet, Bo. Loose lips sink ships. Besides, it caused less rivalry between you lot that way.’

‘Tansy didn’t know?’

‘No.’

‘What about Boris?’

‘How would he have known?’ He sounds baffled.

A wrench hammers into my heart. ‘When I was in the ceiling, right before you were attacked, Boris came in to see Tam. He told him I was wanted for questioning because of what happened at Wiltshore Avenue. Some contact of his had been in touch. Or perhaps it was the police scanners he’d been listening to.’ I’m irked that I can’t remember this salient detail.

‘Right. Boris spent a lot of time listening to the radio call-outs and cultivating police snitches.’ He sniffs disdainfully. ‘They rarely came up with the goods though.’

‘Arzo, he knew the assignment was to do with a daemon. He said as much to Tam. Then he left, Tam called you in and the vampire attacked.’

I can feel Montserrat’s eyes on me but I stare down at the desk. Arzo sucks in a breath. ‘He couldn’t have known. The only people who know O’Shea is a daemon were you, Tam and myself. Even the police wouldn’t have worked it out that quickly. They’d have had to send his blood to their labs first.’

‘The police would have known if whoever tipped them off told them.’ My voice is quiet while I wait for Arzo to connect the dots.

‘Boris wouldn’t have known unless the tip-off told him too.’

‘Or he was the tip-off.’

Arzo is silent.

‘Tam called you in to the office because Boris couldn’t have known that detail about O’Shea and me unless he was involved in some way that he shouldn’t have been.’

I picture Arzo nodding to himself and stroking his chin. ‘He was a canny man, our boss. He knew something was wrong.’

I close my eyes for a moment. I’d taken that overheard conversation as proof that Tam was involved in my set-up. It was actually the opposite. There’s a loud noise from the other end of the line. ‘I’m going to kill that bastard myself.’

I take a deep breath; it’s about to get worse. I tell him about the YouTube video. Arzo is confused. ‘I don’t get it.’

‘As a waiter, he’d be in a perfect position to drop a little something into their glasses.’

‘But Gully and Stuart are fine. Some of their lower-level vampires have been involved, of course, but not the Heads.’

‘He must be biding his time. Waiting for something. He’s not the one in charge, Arzo. We know that’s a woman. But he’s got himself into a position where he can do what he needs to when he needs to. A trusted Family servant.’

Montserrat has pulled his feet off the desk and is no longer leaning back. His whole body is tense. He takes the phone from me. ‘I need a photo of this Boris now. We need to circulate it to all the Families, especially Gully and Stuart.’

I look at him. ‘You can’t kill him, Michael. We need him alive.’

He nods sharply. Arzo says something else then hangs up. I look at Montserrat with anguished eyes.

‘It’s Boris. It’s all Boris. He’s the reason I was framed for O’Shea. He’s the one who sent that crazy vampire after everyone at Dire Straits too. I can’t believe I didn’t think about him conveniently leaving before that vampire showed up. Or that I didn’t talk to Arzo about what he’d said to Tam.’ Tears spring unbidden. I’ve wasted all this time running round in circles chasing my tail when the answer was right in front of me all along.

‘He’s not the person in charge of all this, Bo,’ Montserrat says quietly. ‘Even if you’d worked out earlier that he was involved, it might not have changed anything.’

I look at him angrily. ‘Stop trying to make me feel better! If only I’d…’

He holds my hands and forces me to be still. ‘Bo. Every single one of the five Families, who are more powerful and far-reaching than you could ever imagine, have been trying to find out who is responsible for this. This isn’t about you. It’s about all of us.’

A single tear escapes and tracks a slow path down my cheek. Montserrat brushes it away with his thumb while I grit my teeth and nod. ‘We need to find him and we need to find him now.’

He gives a small smile. ‘We will, Bo. So help me God, we will.’

He bends down and kisses me chastely on the lips. I’m so surprised that I don’t have time to react. Then he picks up the phone and galvanises the entire Montserrat Family into achieving one goal – finding Boris.

***

It takes less than sixty minutes for teams from each of the Families to break into Boris’s apartment and ransack the place. It’s obvious that he’s long gone. Apparently the food in the fridge, what little of it there is, is mouldy and rotten and it was difficult to open the door because of the pile of junk mail, bills and letters behind it. But there’s no clue as to where Boris has run to.

Although he’s not seen hide nor hair of the burly prick for almost a fortnight, Lord Gully confirms that Boris has worked for them on and off for the past two years. All of us are horrified at that. This operation has been planned for a very long time; no wonder we’re constantly on the back foot and always playing catch up.

Montserrat gives me detailed files with photos taken from every angle of Boris’s flat, as well as photocopies of everything they could scan. The results are chilling. There are notes on every one of the Families, including lists speculating which Family will be the most likely to start early recruitment. It brings me back to Lady Bancroft’s words that a recruit or a human could be behind everything that’s happened. The thought that one of my fellow wannabe bloodguzzlers could be the perpetrator makes my stomach churn. And that’s nothing compared to the file on me. Boris knows everything: details about my grandfather and my parents; my vulnerabilities, including my apparent naivety; he even questions how I managed to rescue O’Shea when I lack the, in his words, ‘gut instinct to sense when there’s trouble’. I search desperately for a clue that might lead us to him or his mistress. Other than a constant tone of enmity and bitterness in everything he’s written, there’s nothing I can use. The Families’ own investigators have come to the same conclusion. After the rush of adrenaline caused by having a suspect who might know something worthwhile, the soul-sucking desperation at our inability to locate him casts a pall over everyone.

***

Thirty-six hours later, there’s still no sign of him. Whatever the vampire equivalent of an all-points bulletin is, it’s certainly in force. But Boris has gone to ground and the frustration of being unable to find him is overwhelming. I hold Beth’s hand while she finally – sadly – drinks three pints of gloopy blood and makes the eventual slide into full-blown vampirism. I try to look engaged during various training sessions with Ursus, Ria and a whole host of others, before giving up and going back to re-read the files on Boris for the umpteenth time. I pace up and down the corridors of the Montserrat mansion on more occasions than I care to mention.

Even with the mysterious powder which is keeping the worst of my bloodlust at bay, I feel the desperate cravings. With only two days to go until the end of the lunar month and the full moon, I’m sure I can make it. It’s not easy, though. One moment I break into cold sweats, then hot flushes the next. More alarmingly, my hands have developed an almost permanent tremor which makes holding anything, even a glass of water, incredibly difficult. I’ve not slept for what seems like weeks. I have no idea whether that’s down to guilt for not identifying Boris’s role sooner, or whether it’s a result of the cravings. Either way, I’m getting weaker by the day.

I’ve been to see Michael several times, both to check on the progress of the hunt for Boris and to plead with him to let me go outside to join it. He appears sympathetic but remains adamant that I need to be kept inside for my own good. One look at my shaking hands is enough to remind me of that. It occurs to me that by joining the ranks of the Montserrat Family I’ve become much more emasculated than I ever was under my grandfather’s thumb or working for Tam.

The lack of progress becomes more terrifying when I go to visit Matt. After almost two weeks of slipping in and out of consciousness, he finally seems to be recovering. Recovering from his hanging, though not from the twisted version of O’Shea’s spell. When I see him, he’s sitting on an infirmary bed flicking through what appears to be a children’s book.

‘Hey, Matt,’ I say softly.

He looks up and gives me a huge grin. ‘Bo! It’s so good to see you!’

I’m taken aback by his genuine happiness. ‘You look … pleased,’ I tell him cautiously.

‘Lord Montserrat told me I should be less grumpy.’ His grin stretches wider. ‘So now I’m not grumpy at all.’

‘What else did he tell you?’

Matt shrugs. ‘Not much. He wanted to know why I’d said your name when I woke up.’ His grin turns beatific. ‘You were singing the Bee Gees and I wanted to hear more. I wanted you to come and sing more.’

I have an appalling singing voice. Sympathy for the large, muscled ex-soldier builds inside me. ‘Matt?’

‘Yes?’

‘If I asked you to do twenty push-ups right now, what would you do?’

It is a rhetorical question but Matt doesn’t treat it that way. He springs off the bed and drops to the floor to start pumping out push-ups. He’s reached three before, horrified, I stop him.