The Cold Kiss of Death (12 page)
‘I didn’t, not exactly.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘You didn’t look like you were ready for a long explanation. I do a lot of work in Sucker Town - I’m part of the Health Department’s monitoring group - and I’ve seen the effects of 3V and I didn’t want to be infected.’ He indicated my arm dripping blood into the bucket. ‘Malik and I are friends; he would no more go against my wishes than fly to the moon.’
Friends? Wounded vamps don’t have friends, they have automatic survival responses. In other words, they mind-lock the nearest blood supply, sink fangs into it and the venom overdose turbo-charges the red blood cell production while making sure the victim doesn’t get the chance to run away, usually because they’re unconscious and paralysed by a stroke caused by the venom-induced hypertension. Great for the vamp, not much fun for any of his
friends
.
friends
.
I looked at the bandages on Joseph’s arms, assessing him. ‘Malik can’t be too hurt, not if you’ve been feeding him.’ I pulled and squeezed my arm again. ‘If he’d gone into bloodlust, you’d be just another blood-slave by now.’ Or dead.
‘Yes, Malik’s explained all that to me.’ He sighed. ‘We’ve worked out a failsafe plan: a tranquilliser gun. If he’s hurt in any way, I shoot first, then ask questions later, once he comes round. The tranquilliser is the same one they use on big cats, like lions and tigers. I’ve been keeping him under the last few days so he’s safe enough to look after.’
Ri-ight!
Well, that was certainly one way to deal with an injured vamp. I gave my arm another squeeze. It hurt, no ripples of anticipated pleasure this time. I checked my colour out in the mirror. The red splotches had gone, my skin was its usual warm honey - with the added pink and shiny bits - and my heart thudded a calm tattoo in my chest.
Well, that was certainly one way to deal with an injured vamp. I gave my arm another squeeze. It hurt, no ripples of anticipated pleasure this time. I checked my colour out in the mirror. The red splotches had gone, my skin was its usual warm honey - with the added pink and shiny bits - and my heart thudded a calm tattoo in my chest.
‘I’m about done here,’ I said. ‘You got a spare bandage I can use?’
He didn’t seem to hear, just stared thoughtfully at my blood plopping into the bucket.
‘Joseph?’
His head shot up. ‘There’s just over a pint there.’ Speculation lit his eyes. ‘Do you think you could manage some more? I wouldn’t ask but I’ve already transfused two pints of my own and Malik still needs more.’ His hands trembled where he clutched the rim of the bucket. ‘I didn’t trust anyone else to help, not with your problems with the police.’
When he put it like that, how could I refuse?
‘Sure.’ I clenched, then unclenched my hand, having to pump the blood out now.
Two pints would probably take Joseph’s body about six weeks to make the red cells up. 3V halved that timescale for a human. With 3V turbo-charging my own fae metabolism, I’d make the red cells up in around a week - yet another reason the vamps are so hot for a fae to snack on. Fae really are their ultimate fast food.
I looked into the bucket. That should do it. ‘I’m done here, Joe,’ I said, and gave him a quick smile. Now to find out how much of a jailer he intended to be. ‘So how are you fixed for lending me some clothes and letting me use the phone?’
‘You’re leaving?’ His expression behind the mask turned worried. ‘But what about Malik?’
‘I’m sure you can look after him better if I’m not here.’ As I stood I saw the wound on my arm was already scabbing over. ‘And anyway,’ I gave him a rueful smile, ‘I’m not the nursemaid type.’
‘Okay.’ He pursed his lips. ‘Clothes should be no problem, but I’m afraid I can’t let you use the phone.’ His face creased up in awkward embarrassment. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help, but you’d be phoning your friends, and I don’t want any calls to get traced back to me or here. This is one of Malik’s safe houses.’
I frowned. ‘Aren’t you being just a tiny bit paranoid?’
‘Maybe,’ he shrugged, ‘but you’re wanted for murder, and they can monitor phones, especially mobiles, if they know the numbers. I saw it on that film, the one where the spy who’s lost his memory is on the run.’ He gave me a sheepish look. ‘Of course, it could just be dramatic licence, but I’d rather be paranoid than find out I’m right when the police are knocking on my door.’
Fine, no point wasting my time arguing with him, not when I’d been lying around comatose for three days. I had enough other things I wanted: a shower, some food, scissors to sort out my hair - and it was about time I started looking for Tomas’ murderer.
And I knew just where to start.
With the kelpie that lived in the River Thames.
Chapter Eight
T
he wind rippled the surface of the River Thames, pushing it into choppy grey ridges. I traipsed along Victoria Embankment, keeping close to the low stone wall that overlooked the river. Russet and brown hand-shaped leaves from the sycamore trees blew along the pavement, a smattering of cold raindrops hit my face and the river scent freshened the ever-present traffic fumes clogging the late-afternoon air. The constant line of cars, taxis and buses rumbled along, stopping and starting again with each quick change of the lights. I shuffled my way past camera-toting tourists, chattering school kids and an overweight jogger who was puffing and stopping as often as the traffic.
he wind rippled the surface of the River Thames, pushing it into choppy grey ridges. I traipsed along Victoria Embankment, keeping close to the low stone wall that overlooked the river. Russet and brown hand-shaped leaves from the sycamore trees blew along the pavement, a smattering of cold raindrops hit my face and the river scent freshened the ever-present traffic fumes clogging the late-afternoon air. The constant line of cars, taxis and buses rumbled along, stopping and starting again with each quick change of the lights. I shuffled my way past camera-toting tourists, chattering school kids and an overweight jogger who was puffing and stopping as often as the traffic.
No one paid me any attention - but with the too-large parka I was wearing almost reaching my calves and the baseball cap hiding my tell-tale amber hair, I looked like any other homeless youngster wandering around aimlessly, even without the rolled-up jeans and old trainers stuffed with newspaper. Oddly enough, although Joseph’s mirrored wardrobes had been full of women’s outfits, it had all looked more appropriate for a night out at an S&M club than for wandering the streets of London incognito. Joseph had mumbled something about a friend and blushed red to the tips of his ears, then offered me some of his own clothes, but he still wouldn’t let me use his phone. I’d phoned Grace from a public box and told her everything; it hadn’t been an easy conversation, but in the end she’d agreed with my plans.
I slowed as I neared the RAF Monument. At the top of its granite column, the golden eagle gleamed in the grey afternoon light as it stared out across the river towards the slowly revolving Ferris-wheel of the London Eye. The waist-height gates on either side of the base were padlocked shut; behind them steps led down to a landing platform jutting into the river, then the steps turned and disappeared beneath the brownish murk of the water. It’s not an obvious entrance to someone’s home, but then, London’s fae rarely advertise their presence, nor do they welcome unlooked-for visitors, let alone inquisitive humans. So most tourists stop, read the inscription about the Air Force’s departed servicemen, cast an incurious look over the gates and then move on, none of them conscious of the subtle spell that gently urges them on their way.
I halted in front of the inscription and traced my fingers over the letters, wondering if Tavish, the kelpie I’d come to see, was home. Tavish is a techno-geek for hire - he’s rumoured to freelance for the Ministry of Defence, one of the reasons he keeps his entrance at the Whitehall steps. (Of course, the other reason his home is here is that the River Thames from Lambeth Bridge and down to the sea is his feeding ground.)
Hacking into the news services or even the police files to get me a copy of the full CCTV footage of the bakery that was currently splashed across the country’s TV screens would be as easy as diving for pennies on the riverbed - something else Tavish could do with his eyes closed. And if there were any clues in the recording, deciphering them wouldn’t be much more difficult for him.
Nerves fluttered in my stomach as if I’d swallowed a flight of dragonflies.
Now I was here, I wasn’t sure it was such a great idea ...
Trouble was, Tavish and I had history - if you could call half-a-dozen casual dates history - but the possibility for more had always been there. Not that I’d wanted to end the fledgling relationship, but at the time my secrets were still just that -
secret
- and I’d been keeping my distance from other fae. I tapped my fingers indecisively on the top of the gate. I’d probably suffered more in the way of futile regrets and disappointment over the break-up than Tavish ever had, but dump any male - or female, for that matter - without a good explanation and their ego isn’t going to be happy. Dump a centuries-old kelpie, one of the wylde fae, and it wasn’t just his ego I needed to worry about.
secret
- and I’d been keeping my distance from other fae. I tapped my fingers indecisively on the top of the gate. I’d probably suffered more in the way of futile regrets and disappointment over the break-up than Tavish ever had, but dump any male - or female, for that matter - without a good explanation and their ego isn’t going to be happy. Dump a centuries-old kelpie, one of the wylde fae, and it wasn’t just his ego I needed to worry about.
But I had more important things to concern me than my past personal life, and the CCTV footage wasn’t the only reason I’d come to see Tavish.
London has three gates that join it to the Fair Lands, and Tavish is one of the gates’ guardians. If there was another sidhe in London, Tavish should know ... which meant he should know something about Tomas’ murderer. Even as I thought it, a shiver of awareness prickled my skin with goosebumps. He was home, and he knew I was here.
I took a guarded look round, checking no one was watching me too closely, and then clambered quickly over the gate on one side of the column. Magic clung to me as if I’d walked through a heavy mist. I jogged down the steps to the landing platform, then gripped the iron railing with one hand and crouched, peering into the water swirling a few inches below me. I could just see the top of the old archway, which had been bricked up in the late eighteen hundreds, when the Victoria Embankment had been built to hold back the river. Taking a deep breath, I reached down to touch the tail of the carved stone fish statue mounted on the centre of the arch, but before my fingers connected, I felt the hair rise on my body and I hesitated.
I stood up and turned to look back up at the road. Cosette the ghost was standing on the pavement, watching me from the other side of the gate, an odd, considering look on her childish face. Indecision wavered inside me; should I go up to see her? Then common sense took over; we still couldn’t communicate, so the best thing I could do was sort this mess out first. I gave her a nod and a wave, then turned back to face the river.
I reached down again and wrapped my fingers around the fish statue’s tail. The railing stayed hard beneath my other palm, but as the magic pressed solidly against me the traffic noise, the chill autumn wind and the ozone scent of the Thames disappeared. The world
shifted
around me, not as movement that could be felt, but something deeper, as if space itself was being reshaped. The magic took me out of the humans’ world.
shifted
around me, not as movement that could be felt, but something deeper, as if space itself was being reshaped. The magic took me out of the humans’ world.
And into
Between.
Between.
Below me, the river was gone, replaced by an abyss so deep and dark my head spun with vertigo. Slowly I straightened, still staring down, unwilling - almost unable - to take my gaze from the chasm. There was something seductive about it; I felt as if I could launch myself into it and find what I sought ...
I forced myself to turn, to put my back to the emptiness.
Between
is the gap that links the humans’ world and the Fair Lands. It’s a dangerous place, the magic that fuels it is fierce and untamed, and persuasive enough that the legends about those who stray from the paths are full of wonder or terror or death.
Between
is the gap that links the humans’ world and the Fair Lands. It’s a dangerous place, the magic that fuels it is fierce and untamed, and persuasive enough that the legends about those who stray from the paths are full of wonder or terror or death.
Or nothing at all.
The sky, deepest blue and curved like a huge bowl overhead, brightened. A hot yellow sun blazed like a furnace and in seconds sweat slicked between my breasts and down my spine. Inside me, the Knock-back Wards I’d absorbed at the bakery flared, the magic lifting its nose like a dog snuffling around this new place. I dug inside the jacket pocket for a couple of liquorice torpedoes and stuffed them in my mouth. As soon as the sugar hit my system, I used the extra boost and willed the Knock-back Wards into quiet sleepiness. Mixing spells with the magic here, even those as basic as the Wards, could be a hit-and-miss affair: sometimes it worked, sometimes it was like putting a match to a touchpaper.
I scanned the area. Before me was a beach of golden sand that stretched further than I could see. On one side was a white cliff with a sand-coloured camouflage tent pitched at its base, shadowed by the overhang: Tavish’s home, or at least its current façade. On the other side of the beach was a glittering, mirror-dark sea, but the water was still and silent, and probably as deep as the abyss.
Tavish was in the water - in his human shape - but still in the water.
Damn, that
so
wasn’t a good start.
so
wasn’t a good start.
He was sitting at the water’s edge, half-submerged, with his back to me. I could see his long legs stretched out in the shallows, his arms braced behind him on the sand as he raised his face to the sun. The bottle-green dreads that streamed down his back looked like seaweed hung out to dry, the silver-beaded tips glinting in the sunlight. He didn’t acknowledge me. Ignoring the nerves still twisting in my stomach, I shrugged out of the jacket and sighed in relief as a cool breeze teased around me. I almost ditched the jeans too - the T-shirt Joseph had given me was long enough to pass as a baggy dress - but instead I just removed the baseball cap and ran my fingers through my shorter hair. I kicked off the old trainers and walked down the dozen steps to the beach. The sand was pleasantly warm beneath my feet, not as burning-hot as the fiery sun would suggest ... but this was
Between
. And expecting
Between
to follow the rules of the humans’ world was a recipe for disaster.
Between
. And expecting
Between
to follow the rules of the humans’ world was a recipe for disaster.
When I was close enough to see Tavish’s delicate gills flare like black lace fans either side of his neck, but far enough away - from him and the water - that I almost felt safe, I stopped.
‘Hello, Tavish.’
‘Long time nae see, doll.’ He turned to look at me over his shoulder, his face breaking into a welcoming smile, his sharp-pointed teeth white against the darkness of his skin - not black, but the deepest green found where the sunlight just penetrates the depths of the sea. ‘But you took your ain sweet time getting here. I’ve been expecting you this last two days.’
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