The Sweet Scent of Blood

Chapter Twelve

I’m off to meet the vampire ... The words beat out the tune in my mind as I followed Fiona up the stairs, or rather, followed her shoes: red suede courts with four-inch heels, studded with more rubies. The ruby extravaganza made my spine crawl. Fiona had hit my radar as human, so why was she blinged up like a witch or a goblin queen?

I looked, checking her out for magic. There was nothing on her. But I did see the blue shimmer of a ward at the top of the stairs. I walked through it. It clung like a garden cobweb, sticky but insubstantial, but whatever it was supposed to stop, it wasn’t me.

‘This way, Ms Taylor.’ Fiona turned to the right.

Horseshoe-shaped booths, set at odd angles like a static fairground ride, lined the deep balcony. They were empty, though a faint candle-like glow rose over their high sides. As we passed them, the noise and light from the bar below receded as if a heavy curtain had dropped. Up here was full of peace and quiet and secrets.

Mesma. I bit the inside of my mouth and the sharp pain cleared my senses. So it was mesma working downstairs, manufacturing the relaxing ambience—but it had been so subtle, so insidious, so almost-normal, gliding quietly by me like a snake ... which was ironic, seeing as St Patrick was supposed to have cast that particular beastie from Ireland’s shores a long time ago.

What if I’d missed something else?

I looked at Fiona again. Still nothing. Except ... The little hairs on my nape stood to attention ... Had the jewels on her shoes winked? Or was it a trick of the light? Damn. There was something about rubies, something I couldn’t remember ...

Then I realised she’d stopped.

I stared up into laughing blue eyes full of warmth and welcome.

‘Well, Genevieve, me darlin’. It’s good to meet you at last.’

He looked to be in his mid-forties, so he’d accepted the Gift later than most. He was the archetypal handsome Irishman: straight nose, firm chin with just a hint of a cleft and a shadow of dark stubble. A slender gold hoop pierced one ear and more gold glinted at the neck of his collarless white-linen shirt, which fell loose and casual over his black moleskin jeans.

I smiled back at him before I could stop myself. He radiated happiness; it wrapped round me like the heat of a log fire, the steam rising from a hot toddy, the scent of bread baking in the oven, all the comforts of home.

Only my home had never had those sorts of comforts.

I dropped the smile. ‘How could I refuse the invitation when it brought back so many old memories?’

Declan gave a deep chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling attractively. ‘And memories can be of such significance in our lives.’ He reached out, took my hand in his.

I let him. I was stoked up on G-Zav, after all.

‘Céad míle fáilte.’ His fingers were cool. ‘That’s a hundred thousand welcomes to you, in case you’re not for understanding the Gaelic.’ Turning my palm upwards, he bent, touched his lips to my pulse and inhaled deeply. ‘Ah. Sugar and spice ...’

I wanted to pull my hand away, but my mind couldn’t work out why I should. He was like an old family friend, a favourite uncle and I gazed down affectionately at the silver-grey strands threading his hair...

My family wasn’t the friendly type.

And I’d had enough of his games.

I gave an impatient sigh. ‘C’mon, Declan, cut the crap,’

Fangs pressed against my skin.

My pulse skipped and distant need itched in my veins, muted by the G-Zav, but still there. Shit. Maybe he wasn’t playing after all. I suppressed the urge to smash my knee up into his face. ‘Draw blood,’ I warned, ‘and I’ll make sure your nose never sits straight again.’

Moist breath caressed my wrist.

‘Declan.’ The soft note of warning in Fiona’s voice sent a shiver down my spine.

He lifted his head. His eyes were black orbs, his skin stretched tight over the hard bones of his skull, all four fangs glittered needle-sharp in his open mouth.

My heart pounded. So not good. Fiona looked more pissed off than anything, but it wasn’t her neck on the block. She returned my gaze with an undecided expression, one that brought to mind a Roman emperor debating the merits of thumbs-up, or thumbs-down.

Somehow I couldn’t foresee a lasting friendship in our future.

Finally she gave a loud sigh. ‘Men and their egos, Ms Taylor. Not even a set of sharp teeth can rip them apart.’

Declan threw his head back and laughed. The sound exploded out into the air, a release of power that lifted my hair and demolished the quiet that had blanketed the gallery. My ears popped—or maybe it was just my nerves snapping as I wondered just how close I’d come to being Declan’s next bloody meal.

Bursts of his laughter bounced back from the bar below.

Declan gave me a wide grin, his eyes sparkling blue again, no longer doing his overly dramatic impression of a death’s-head. ‘Our guests will surely be enjoying the craic tonight!’

I swallowed in relief. His quick change from scary to just-your-friendly-neighbourhood-vamp told me more than I wanted to know about just how much juice he could pull. I was betting he could give the Earl or even Malik a run for their dinners. No need to let him know he’d got me rattled, though.

I clapped my hands together slowly. ‘Nice show, Declan. Maybe you should consider going on the stage. I hear you enjoy a memorable performance now and again.’

He released my hand and winked at Fiona. ‘There you see, me love, and didn’t I tell you she had a sense of humour?’

She pursed her perfectly outlined ruby lips. ‘And that’s a good thing, for both of you.’ She turned smartly on her ruby heels and said over her shoulder, ‘I’ll bring some refreshments.’

Looked like Fiona was the one with all the good ideas.

Declan blew a kiss at her departing back, then murmured, ‘The perfect hostess.’ Turning to me with a mischievous grin, he waved towards the semi-circular seat. ‘Why don’t you make yourself at home, me darlin’?’

The deep patch of darkness behind the high curved back of the bench made the hair on my neck stand up, but something told me the skirmishes were over, for now at least. I sat down at one end of the horseshoe, sinking into the plush green velvet decorated with its tiny red shamrocks.

Declan sat opposite, a half-smile on his mouth. ‘You’ll have been to see my boy then.’

‘Yes, I saw your boy.’ I tilted my head. ‘You could’ve used the phone, you know. It would have saved all the drama.’

He chuckled. ‘But all those shenanigans make it so much more interesting, me darlin’.’

I pressed my lips together. Maybe for him they did.

‘And you’ll not deny it’s an interesting situation we have,’ Declan carried on. ‘There’s my boy accused of killing Melissa, the poor wee bure.’ Sadness filled his face. ‘A pretty girl she was too, nearly twenty-one, getting ready to make some big changes in her life, if you take my meaning.’

Twenty-one. The legal age of consent for the Gift. I frowned. ‘And your point is?’

‘The boy knew those changes were planned, he and the wee girl were looking forward to them. He wasn’t about to try offering her the Gift himself. Why would he be taking that risk, when he knew there was no need?’

‘Declan, no one in the know believes the story the papers are touting,’ I said, then realised something. He didn’t seem to be ‘in the know’ about how Melissa had been killed, that her death was nothing to do with a botched Gift, otherwise why try and convince me. Did that mean he hadn’t searched Bobby’s memories for her death? Or did it mean Bobby had no memories for Declan to find because he hadn’t killed her?

‘But,’ I said slowly, fishing for answers, ‘that doesn’t mean your boy didn’t kill her. Maybe he just got greedy?’

‘Why would you be thinkin’ I wouldn’t know if he killed her, me darlin?’ He smiled. ‘He’s mine, after all.’

That told me, didn’t it?

‘So if the boy didn’t do it, someone else did,’ Declan carried on.

I narrowed my eyes as I considered him. ‘Whether your boy killed her or not, involving me in this situation isn’t part of our bargain, Declan.’

‘Now why would you be thinkin’ that?’

I leaned forward. ‘The agreement was you’d notify me when a fae or faeling needed help, and in case it’s slipped your mind, your boy isn’t fae: he has a nice shiny set of fangs. So you’ll have to find someone else to be your own personal private detective.’

A broad smile widened his mouth and he flashed his own sharp set of pearly-whites, looking entirely too pleased with himself. Damn. There was something else, some catch. I sighed inwardly. Telling him I wasn’t going to do the job because it didn’t meet the terms of our bargain had been a long shot, but at least I could console myself with the thought that I’d tried.

‘But what about the wee bure?’ he said softly. ‘Surely you wouldn’t deny her your assistance, not when she’s got the blood of the fae in her?’

Melissa was faeling? Why hadn’t Hugh mentioned that? Still— ‘Even if she was,’ I said, ‘I think she’s past helping, seeing as she’s dead.’

‘Is she now?’ he said, the smile still on his handsome face.

‘The police and the pathologist seem to think so,’ I said. ‘Are you saying she might not be?’

His smile disappeared, replaced by a puzzled frown. ‘Did you not see her body?’

‘No, her mother’s got the Soulers involved.’

His frown deepened. ‘Now why would she do that?’ he said, more to himself than me.

‘Who knows?’ Fiona joined in the conversation as she slid a heavily laden tray onto the table. ‘Maybe she got one of their silly mailshots.’ She twisted the cap off the bottle of vodka and poured a generous amount into a heavy-based crystal glass which she placed in front of me. ‘The woman is a flake at best. She probably believes all that rubbish they spout.’

Beyond Fiona I could see the Asian witch-waitress, standing at the top of the stairs. She wove her fingers in a complicated dance and the ward shimmered back into being. The noise from the bar fell silent again. For a moment, I felt a pang of envy at her effortless spell-casting.

Fiona splashed whiskey into another glass and offered it to Declan. He swirled the toffee-coloured liquid, nostrils flaring as he sniffed. ‘Jameson’s in Waterford crystal: two of Ireland’s finest.’ He saluted me. ‘Slàinte, Genevieve,’ then with a sly expression he added, ‘that’ll be me, wishing you your continued good health in the Gaelic.’

I picked up my own drink and acknowledged the implied threat. ‘Likewise.’ Draining the glass, I savoured the cold burn. Pleasantries over, I asked, ‘So is Melissa alive, or not?’

‘The wee girl was ready to accept the Gift. There’s always a possibility I could still perform the ritual ...’ He paused, then continued after a moment, ‘If the boy and his father have the right of it, and there’s some sort of spell involved, without knowing what the magic is, the ritual would be too risky.’

‘The police say there’s no magic involved,’ I said.

‘Me darlin’ Genevieve, as to whether there is magic or not, it’s your word I’ll be trusting over that of the police.’

I put down my glass. ‘What about Roberto? Our bargain doesn’t extend to him.’

‘Well, if you find the wee bure died from magic, then he’ll be innocent, and it’ll be a joyful time for everyone,’ Declan pointed out. ‘But the sooner the ritual’s done the better for the wee girl.’ He stared into his drink. ‘We’ve maybe a night, two at the most.’

So, no pressure then. A question popped into my head. ‘What was Melissa doing working at the Blue Heart anyway?’

Fiona smoothed her dress with one crimson-tipped hand. ‘Melissa was working temporarily at the Blue Heart whilst Roberto was making appearances there.’ Her nail polish matched the large princess-cut ruby ring she wore. She’d taken off her long evening gloves. I frowned, uneasy. ‘Melissa was to have returned here after accepting the Gift. Declan was to be her sponsor, weren’t you?’ Her tone was so neutral that it almost disappeared into the background.

‘So I was, me love.’ His voice matched hers and upped the stakes.

I looked at them with interest. Was I sensing an undercurrent here?

‘So once you get to see the poor wee bure’s body, you’ll come back and tell me all about it, won’t you, me darlin’? And in the meantime—’He leaned forward, a sly expression on his face, ‘Maybe you’ll be telling me how you do it?’

‘How I do what?’

‘Why, how you’ve been rescuing all these poor fae and there’s never been even so much a whisper about you. I was hoping you’d be regaling me with your secret.’ He waved his glass towards Fiona and the bottles. ‘And we could be toasting your continued success.’

I gave him a happy smile. ‘I’d be delighted to toast my future success, but sadly, I can’t divulge my secret.’

‘And why’s that, me darlin’?’

I leaned forward, and said in a low voice, ‘Because then it wouldn’t be a secret any more, would it now?’

His eyes lost their warmth for a moment, then he threw his head back and laughed. ‘Fiona, me love, another drink for the sidhe, if you please.’

She hesitated, then held out her hand for my glass. Whatever she was feeling was buried deep beneath a smile of pure courtesy. ‘Ms Taylor?’

As I gave her the glass, our fingers touched.

She shuddered, eyes going wide and unfocused, hand spasming, dropping the expensive crystal—

In one quick move Declan caught the glass and placed both it and his own back on the table with a soft thud.

My throat tightened. I’d felt nothing other than the heat of her skin.

‘Me love?’ There was a thread of something like command riding beneath his quiet concern.

Fiona sank onto the seat next to him, her face pale as rice-paper. Another shudder racked her body and she gasped, drawing in a deep breath.

He took her hand in his. ‘Show me.’

She hesitated, shooting me a fearful look from under her lashes, then she leaned in towards him and kissed him full on the mouth.

I got the feeling it was way more than just your standard kiss.

I stared at my glass, sitting unbroken and empty on the table, and finally remembered what it was about rubies. Witches use gems to store their spells, but some humans use them to enhance and control other talents. Rubies were for intuition, empathy, clairvoyance: with a touch Fiona might see the past, or pluck a memory from a mind, or—more rarely—perceive the future. And right now I was betting Fiona was one of the rare ones. And Declan would be able to taste her ability in her blood. Add that to Declan’s handy knack for stealing memories and the old adage You are what you eat had to be working overtime between the two of them. The look she’d given me had held fear and horror, but underneath there had been a gloating satisfaction.

Fuck. What had she seen?

‘Blood—’ Fiona’s voice was a harsh whisper. ‘So much of it...’ She trailed off with a quiet whimper.

Declan stroked Fiona’s face with a gentle hand. ‘Forget, me love. Sleep and forget,’ he said quietly, insistently.

She relaxed against him, her head dropping to rest in his lap, her eyes fluttering closed with a soft sigh.

This was not good. Picking up the vodka, I poured myself another drink and knocked it back.

‘Well, this was nice.’ Shame I’d have to drink at least another full bottle before the alcohol had any effect on me. Damn sidhe metabolism. I slid the glass onto the table. ‘Sorry to break up our little tête-à-tête, Declan, but it’s time I was going.’

He looked up at me, the blue of his eyes as chilled as the vodka. ‘A warning for you, Genevieve.’ He trailed a finger down Fiona’s neck, hooked it under the ruby choker she wore. ‘Your bargain is with me.’ He twisted the necklace. The stones dug into Fiona’s pale flesh. ‘So you’ll be staying away from the Earl and Malik al-Khan.’

My heart thudded in my chest. I got his message loud and clear—Fiona might be important to him, but after all, he considered her his property and he’d hurt, or even kill her if he felt the need—and he’d try and do the same to me.

‘Let’s get one thing straight, Declan.’ I clenched my fists. ‘We may have a deal going on here, but that’s all we have. It doesn’t give you any rights. I belong to no one but myself. Is that crystal-clear enough for you?’

He smiled and gave another sharp twist to the ruby choker.

Fiona whimpered in her sleep, one arm half-lifting in supplication.

I stood up. ‘Thanks for the drink, Declan.’

‘Slàinte, Genevieve. You’ll be sure and let me know as soon as you discover anything.’

The band played ‘Danny Boy’ as I left.