The Sweet Scent of Blood

Chapter Five

‘There’s a bit of a hitch here,’ Alan said anxiously. ‘I’m not sure you’re going to be able to see Melissa’s body tonight.’

‘Why not?’ I asked, then frowned. Was the vamp still playing with Alan’s mind? I reached out, laid my hand over his and sent a tendril of magic into him.

Alan started. ‘What are you doing, Ms Taylor?’

‘Checking,’ I muttered.

His hand was warm, the skin a little rough under my palm, his pulse was faster than normal, but the tangled net of his thoughts told me he was free of the mind-lock. Whatever commands the vampire had given him were done.

I flashed him a relieved smile and gave his hand a quick squeeze. ‘Why don’t we go inside and you can tell me what the trouble is.’

Alan wrapped his fingers round mine, as if seeking reassurance. ‘You will help, won’t you?’

I eased out of his hold and patted his arm. ‘Yes, as much as I can.’ An odd need to hug him and tell him everything would be all right came over me.

He stepped closer. ‘Bobby’s my son.’ Desperation flooded into his face. ‘He’s all I’ve got left. I don’t know what I’d do—’

‘Shhh.’ My heart ached for him and I reached up and cupped his face. Golden light spread from between my fingers, pulses of pink and orange flashing through it. The night air filled with the scent of honeysuckle.

Pinpricks of gold sparked in Alan’s pupils, his expression smoothed out and a soft smile curved his mouth. ‘So beautiful ... glowing ... like sunshine—’ Sliding his hands into my hair, he bent towards me, lips parted.

I raised myself on tip-toe to meet his kiss.

Aye, that’s right, comfort the poor man.

The words in my head jerked me back.

Shit. What the hell was I doing?

I yanked free, pulling the magic back inside me and backed off a couple of steps. I dug in my bag and came up with a handful of liquorice torpedoes and stuffed them as quickly as I could into my mouth. I crunched down, willing the sugar to quell the brownie’s magic.

A brownie’s touch goes to them that needs it. Agatha’s voice sounded in my mind again.

I swallowed the sweets. Alan’s need for comfort might have awakened the magic, but he wasn’t a child. Mixing brownie magic with my own was so not a good idea: the last thing either of us needed was Alan to be caught in my Glamour. Damn Finn and his quick fix; now I was going to have to deal with the side-effects.

Alan swayed slightly, then frowned. ‘I’m sorry. What was I saying?’

I huffed a relieved sigh. ‘You were going to tell me why we can’t see Melissa’s body.’

‘Oh, yes. The Soulers have got an injunction stopping anyone from looking at her body, even the pathologist.’ Alan held the door open for me, the worry back in his grey eyes. ‘They’re petitioning for a pre-emptive staking, claiming that Melissa can’t have agreed to the Gift because she was under age. My solicitor’s contacting a judge he knows to see what he can do.’ He tapped his jacket pocket. ‘I’m expecting his call.’

The Soulers—Protectors of the Soul—are a right-wing religious organisation who, supposedly, could trace their lineage back to Cromwell’s times. They believe humans who become vampires are selling their souls to the devil, albeit at some distant point in the future. Melissa was already dead, and even with the fourteen-day period to allow for a spontaneous change, the circumstances meant it was doubtful the Gift was going to work, so from Melissa’s perspective, it really didn’t make much odds—except that after the pre-emptive staking, the body was immediately cremated. If the Soulers had their way, I wouldn’t get the chance to look for magic.

Was it just a coincidence, or something else?

I angled past Alan into the police station, careful not to touch him again. ‘Melissa worked for the vampires. Don’t they normally sign some sort of pre-death wish thing for just this sort of situation?’

‘She did.’ He ran a hand over his head, leaving a few hairs standing on end. ‘But Fran, Melissa’s mother, claims it’s not valid because of her age. She can be a bit eccentric at times, but I never thought she was religious. I tried to talk to her, but the doctor’s got her sedated up to the eyeballs.’ A chirping sound cut him off and he fumbled for his phone. He gave me a relieved smile. ‘It’s the solicitor.’

Coincidence or not, it certainly wasn’t looking good for Mr October.

I moved far enough away to give Alan some privacy. I’d been to Old Scotland Yard—the ‘Back Hall’—a couple of times before. Cheerful was not the adjective that immediately sprang to mind: bare bulbs under steel coolie shades hung on the end of long chains from the high ceiling, the floor was a dull expanse of scarred grey linoleum, and uncomfortable plastic chairs for visitors, two of them currently occupied, sat opposite the reception hatch. In fact, the only welcoming thing was the air-conditioning.

Standing under the vent, I let the chill air flow over me. A uniformed police constable—not one I knew—stuck her head up from behind the reception counter, brown curls bobbing and an enquiring look pasted on her plump face. I smiled briefly and pointed at Alan. She stared at me for a moment, then her expression turned less than friendly. She gave me a curt nod and returned to whatever she was doing.

Nice attitude. I mentally shrugged it off and looked over at the occupied chairs.

The man in the sharp suit had a red and black cross pinned to his lapel; obviously the Soulers’ representative. He was in his early twenties and sported a well-trimmed Van Dyke that was a slightly darker blond than the tips of his highlighted hair. He perched on the edge of his chair, his fingers tapping the buckle of the briefcase resting on his lap while his alert gaze darted from me to Alan and back again.

Next to him was a goblin. He sat like a muscle-bound child, his feet dangling six inches above the floor, kicking his heels slowly, making the lights in his trainers flash red. Fat ringlets of dyed black hair bounced gently round his liver-spotted face. Wraparound shades protected his eyes. But no one would ever mistake this goblin for a child: his back was straight as a poker and his huge shoulders strained the seams of his navy boiler-suit. A flashing Union Jack badge was pinned to his left chest pocket, under his own black and red cross, while on the right, shiny gold embroidery proclaimed him an employee of Goblin Guard Security. As did the baseball bat, neatly covered in shiny silver tin foil, that he held across his knees.

I felt my own shoulders tighten in apprehension: a Beater goblin. I’d forgotten the Soulers hired Beaters, rather than the Monitor goblins most humans use when business combined with magic or vampires. Normally the only place where Beaters are employed is Sucker Town.

I rolled my shoulders, attempting to ease away the tightness in the muscles. As I did, the goblin turned his blank eyes slowly in my direction, his cat-like ears twitching. He shifted his bat and grasped it in his right hand. He smoothed a long finger down the ski-slope incline of his nose, then covered his mouth with his palm for a brief heartbeat.

It was the traditional mark of respect between goblins. And every goblin I’d ever met offered me, a sidhe fae, the same salutation, whether I knew them or not ... although the mouth-hiding bit is considered old-fashioned by most goblins who work in London.

I returned the greeting. He might not be able to see me do it under the harsh lighting, goblin eyes being better suited to dark underground caverns, but he’d nonetheless sense that I had done so.

Then I sighed and dug my fingers into the annoying throb at my neck. It was getting worse, and I knew I was going to have to deal with it sometime soon. How long was this all going to take? Alan’s half-heard conversation murmured through the quiet of the hall, the tone of his voice telling me he was getting nowhere fast with his solicitor. My initial vision of breezing in the police station, checking out the body and getting out fast was floundering like a beached water-dragon.

As my gaze passed over the Souler rep he caught my eye. His hand flew to adjust the knot in his tie, while his face lit up with the eagerness of a zealot. Damn! That was all I needed. Still, at least he had a goblin with him. That should curb his urge for conversion.

But the Souler sprang up and came towards me, a big bright smile on his face. ‘Ms Taylor, isn’t it?’ he gushed. ‘I’m Neil Banner.’

The goblin leapt after him.

Shit. I took an involuntary step back as they both advanced. It looked like Neil Banner hadn’t read the handbook that came with his goblin.

‘I’m so pleased to meet you, Ms Taylor.’ His enthusiasm was almost tangible.

I took another swift step back. ‘Er, you too.’

The constable stuck her head up over the counter and smiled gleefully at the scene before ducking back out of sight.

Really nice attitude.

I held my hand up to try and stop him. ‘You might want to sit down again, Mr Banner. You’re upsetting your goblin.’

He was so intent on sticking his arm out in greeting that he didn’t seem to hear me. ‘I heard you were coming. I hoped you wouldn’t mind talking to me,’ he said.

Dammit. He really was going to try and shake my hand. I back-peddled again—

But before he managed to grab hold, the goblin snagged him by the wrist and pulled him to a stop.

I stood with my back braced against the door. Keeping a cautious eye on the goblin and his foil-covered bat, I held my hands out at my sides, palms displayed.

The goblin’s grin stretched wider. The sharp tips of his black teeth had been filed blunt and the shiny green sequins stuck to each one glinted in the overhead lights. A goblin grinning is like a dog curling its lips: a warning. It’s got nothing to do with showing off their bling, despite what most humans think. The boiler-suit and badge meant the goblin belonged to Beatrice, the goblin queen. They were usually well trained.

Only the sequins worried me.

‘No touch.’ The goblin’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Banner blinked in surprise, his eyes flicking between the goblin and me. ‘No touch? Why not?’

‘He’s protecting you, Mr Banner.’ I kept my hands where the goblin could see them. ‘Goblin workers are very literal beings. You hired him to do a job and that’s what he’s doing.’

‘But that’s against the vampires and magic, not you.’

The goblin, his grin fading a tooth or two, put himself in front of Banner. He nodded his head, ringlets bouncing frantically, and twisted the bat in his grip.

‘Why’s he doing that?’ Banner frowned down at the goblin.

‘I come under the heading of magic.’ I smiled ruefully, careful to keep my lips closed—I didn’t want to spook the goblin. ‘He won’t let anyone capable of magic touch you, or allow you to touch them. Spells are easier to cast with skin contact.’

He tugged at his neat beard. ‘Really? I didn’t know that. I thought spells all came in little bottles or crystals, like those at the Market.’

‘That’s witch magic.’ I sighed. Didn’t the Soulers teach their acolytes anything? ‘When you’re dealing with the fae or vampires, you need to be more careful. Don’t shake hands, and try not to let them get too near you.’ I glanced over at Alan, still clutching his phone to his ear, remembering how easily the pretty Armani-suited vamp outside had controlled him without being anywhere near. ‘Although that’s not going to work with the more powerful vampires; they only need to be in the vicinity to be able to catch you in a mind-lock. But you needn’t worry too much, the goblin will watch out for you. They’re very good at sensing magic of any kind, and even better, they’re immune to it.’ That was, after all, the main reason they’d become so popular in negotiations involving vampires—and the goblins were minting it, selling peace-of-mind-guarantees to the humans that they were acting of their own free will and not being ripped off via vampire mind-locks.

‘Wow!’ Banner’s amazed grin made him look younger. ‘This is all so fascinating. Meeting you, chatting with Jeremiah here.’ He gave the goblin’s head a soft pat. The goblin flinched, only Banner didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’ve only ever seen the goblins on the Underground before today. Jeremiah’s an interesting chap. He’s only recently moved to London from somewhere in the north, I think he said.’ He rubbed his palms together, then squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other, as if that would contain his excitement. ‘His English isn’t too good yet.’

The goblin was a recent import? Maybe that explained the sequins.

‘I’ll have to make sure I introduce myself without the handshake from now on, Ms Taylor,’ he added. ‘Thanks for the tip. I’ve only recently found my salvation, but I’m keen to spread the word.’

I groaned inwardly.

Oblivious, he carried on, ‘Perhaps we could—’

The door next to the counter swung back and hit the wall with a soft thud. I jerked round at the noise, stomach somersaulting with nerves as I recognised the figure that ducked under the doorjamb and strode into the reception hall.

Damn. I’d been so hoping he wouldn’t be on duty.

Now I was for it.