The Sweet Scent of Blood

Chapter Thirty-Eight

The Rosy Lee’s kitchen took shape around me, the high-level grills and deep fat fryers coming into sharp focus. My feet touched tiled floor and Agatha’s small hand melted from mine. I gasped for breath as my stomach tumbled in freefall. I took another step and lurched forwards, landing on my hands and knees, staring down into a face I’d hoped never again to see this close.

Gazza, the Cheap Goth, sneered up at me. For a moment I half-thought I was back in the alley with him as blood and snot bubbled round the safety pin in his broken nose. He groaned, and revulsion made me scramble backwards. Then I stopped.

Thin black rope was wrapped tight round his body in neat, equally distanced circles. A precise line of knots ran from under his chin down to his ankles. He thrashed violently, groaning again, but the sound was muffled and I realised there was something stuffed in his mouth.

What the—? Someone had trussed him up like a side of beef ready for the oven. I poked him in stunned amazement.

He made more angry sounds and the bloody snot expanded, then splat against his skin.

A noise behind me had me jerking round to see Freddie rushing into the kitchen, one of his carving knives hefted in his right hand. He rushed towards me and I dived and tucked myself under the prep counter. He swerved to follow me.

‘Slow down, Freddie,’ I yelled, keeping my eye on the knife.

I was almost sure he wasn’t out to get me, but you don’t take chances when a twenty-stone chef is running at you brandishing over a foot of gleaming steel blade.

‘Genny, thank God you’re here,’ he wheezed. ‘I’ve been trying to call you.’ He bent, gasping, hands on his knees. ‘You weren’t answering your phone.’

‘I’m here now, Freddie,’ I said, keeping my voice calm, ‘so put the knife down, okay?’

He glanced down, obviously baffled to see the knife in his hand. It clattered to the floor. ‘Sorry Genny.’ He smacked his hand on his bald head. ‘God knows, but I just didn’t know what to do.’

I crawled out and grabbed his arm. ‘Freddie, what’s going on?’

‘Katie didn’t come in to work today. I phoned her mum, and she said Katie’d gone out with a friend last night, and rung to say she was staying over and not to worry.’

Dread twisted in my gut. ‘What’s Katie got to do with him?’

He took a deep breath and threw a disgusted look at Gazza by the fridge. ‘This piece of shite here came strolling in with a message.’ The muscles in Freddie’s arm bunched under my hand. ‘For you.’

‘What’s the message?’ I shouted over the pulse thundering in my ears.

‘He wouldn’t tell me, said he had to tell you and only you.’ Freddie’s face crunched up with disgust. ‘The little shite told me I could make him lunch while he waited!’ He kicked Gazza on his ankle and a muffled squeal of rage came from behind the gag. ‘Well, I made him lunch, just as he wanted.’

Freddie swung down and ripped the cloth from Gazza’s mouth. ‘Go on then, arsehole, give her the goddamned message. ’

‘Fuckinfaeriefreakansstupidbastoldman—’

Freddie slapped Gazza across the face. ‘Tell her, you piece of shite.’ He pointed to the carver on the floor. ‘Or I’ll start slicing bits off you.’

‘You don’t frighten me, you stupid old man! Nothing hurts any more—he told me it wouldn’t. Said he’d make it all better too, whatever you did,’ he sniggered. ‘So you can go fuck yourself.’ He stared up at me. ‘And you, faerie freak, he’s got big plans for you, and he said—’

I smacked my hand onto his forehead and slid into the tangled net of his thoughts. A rope of black twisted snake-like through them. Snagging it in a tendril of gold, I yanked on it and ordered, ‘Just give me the fucking message!’

‘The count sends his regards.’ I got a brief image of Red Poet on the stage at the Blue Heart. ‘He wants to offer you the staring role in his play.’ Gazza’s voice came out fast, excited. ‘Only this time it won’t be staged in the graveyard, but in the watering hole of the heart. If you’re not there by midnight, he says he’ll use your understudy. And it’s a private audience only, so don’t think about issuing any invitations.’

Shitshitshit.

Freddie thumped his hands on the counter. ‘He means Katie, doesn’t he? For God’s sake, Genny, what does the bastard want?’

Gazza spewed another stream of abuse and Freddie shoved the cloth back in his mouth.

Katie.

The count, aka Red Poet—the leader of the fang-gang—had got her at the Leech & Lettuce, and I had to get her out. My heart squeezed in my chest and for a moment I couldn’t think, didn’t know what to do.

Then I remembered Finn and the spell. I had to find him. Can’t do two things at once. I grabbed Freddie’s arm. ‘You have to phone Old Scotland Yard. You need to speak to Detective Sergeant Hugh Munro.’

He snatched up an order pad. ‘He’s the big red troll, isn’t he?’

‘Yeah, make sure you speak to him, or one of the other trolls. Lamber or Taegrin. They’ll know what to do!’ I shook Freddie. ‘Tell them that Katie is being held at the Leech & Lettuce in Sucker Town. It’s a blood house, they’ll know the one.’ I watched, impatient, as he started writing it down. ‘I have to find Finn first, he’s in trouble too, but tell Hugh I’ll meet him down there as soon as I can.’

Freddie glanced up from his careful writing. ‘I saw Finn go into the office about an hour ago. Don’t think he’s come out yet.’

‘Great! Thanks, Freddie,’ I shouted as I ran out into the empty café. I pushed the closed sign to one side to turn the lock, then raced across the street to Spellcrackers.