Dire Straits (27 page)

I freeze. My heart beat ratchets up a notch and I strain to hear more but the walls are well insulated. I tiptoe carefully towards the door, grabbing one of the candles as I go. It’s encased in a tubular glass container so I scoop out the candle then press the container against the wood, with my ear at the other end. There are two voices although I only understand a few words, which seem to be something to do with the effect of natural papaya enzymes. I relax, realising they must be spa staff. With any luck, they’ve just left Bancroft alone in her plastic tub.

I take the glass away from the door and notice the peephole set into the middle of it. I curse myself for not noticing it before. It’s a nice touch for a private spa that wants to reassure its guests – and particularly helpful for me. I rise back on tiptoe to peer out and confirm that the two people outside are human. Both of them are wearing white coats as if to suggest that they are serious medical practitioners. They wander off.

I sink back down and lean against the door. Perhaps this won’t be so difficult to manage after all. I return the glass to the shelf and lift up one of the chopsticks. Despite its decorative purpose, it feels sturdy. It won’t serve as a stake to slam through Bancroft’s black heart but nevertheless it might do some effective damage.

I have only one shot at this and if there’s more than one other Bancroft Family vampire in the room, my goose is well and truly cooked. But I feel a surge of confidence. I can do this. The adrenaline coursing through my veins will provide me with the momentum I need. I straighten my shoulders. I can do this, I tell myself again.

I open the door and poke out my head. The corridor is empty. The CCTV camera at the far end is blinking in my direction so I pull down some hair to cover my face and step out. My stomach churns, more as a result of excitement than nerves. It’s been a damn long month in the life of Bo Blackman and it’s finally about to end.

I look through the peephole in Bancroft’s door. There’s a gleam of light but I can’t make out much else. I lean forward to listen but it all seems quiet, so I take a deep breath and knock twice. Then I wait, gripping the chopstick until my knuckles whiten.

It feels like an eternity – although it’s probably less than ten seconds – before a shadow crosses in front of the peephole. I draw back my fist and slam the narrow point of the chopstick through it, shattering the glass and ramming it into something soft on the other side. As soon as I feel it connect, I kick open the door, knocking down the vampire inside. He’s clutching at his face, scrabbling at the chopstick protruding from his red, bulging eyeball and screaming like a pig at a slaughterhouse. No one is leaping to his aid but, from deeper inside the room, I can hear the plastic lid of the tank being pushed up. I waste no time in pushing the massage table against the door as a temporary barricade and jumping over one-eyed Jack to get to Bancroft before she gets to me. Her lightning vampire speed serves her well, though; by the time I leap through the arch she’s already standing there, dripping wet and with a mask of fury etched on her face.

Chapter Twenty-four: Nancy Drew

I feint right, then leap backwards and yank the chopstick out of the bodyguard’s eye. It makes a soft sucking sound that turns my stomach. I don’t have time to do anything other than wave it threateningly in Lady Bancroft’s direction before she lunges at me and slams my body against the wall.

‘Your little spell won’t work on me,’ she hisses.

I blink. Spell? She registers my confusion and her eyes narrow. ‘Who are you?’

Her hand grips my throat so tightly that I can’t breathe, let alone speak. Perhaps this wasn’t the most well-thought-out plan after all. She releases her hold slightly and repeats, ‘Who are you?’

‘Bo,’ I manage to croak. ‘Bo Blackman.’

Surprised, she takes her hand away and frowns. ‘The Montserrat recruit? You’re the traitor after all?’

This isn’t going as I expected. ‘No.
You’re
the traitor. I can’t be the traitor, I’m only a recruit.’

The bodyguard moans and, without missing a beat, she glides over, bends down and snaps his neck, pulling his head away from his body at the same time to ensure there’ll be no return for this particular triber. I stare, open-mouthed.

Lady Bancroft shrugs. ‘If he’s not much use as a bodyguard, he’s not much use as anything.’

I’m horrified by her casual violence until I remember that I’m the one who rammed a chopstick into his bloody eye. I twist so that I’m facing away from his corpse.

‘Now,’ she continues, ‘tell me why you think I’m the traitor and why, as a recruit, you can’t be.’

‘Er…’ Her clear green eyes fix me with such vivid intensity that I find it hard to concentrate.

She flicks back her sopping wet hair. ‘Sorry. Force of habit.’ Then, as if a switch has been turned, her gaze softens and something inside me relaxes.

‘You mean you were…’

‘Controlling you?’ she asks impatiently. ‘Yes. Now answer my questions.’

I’m stunned by the power she can yield and more than a little terrified. I’m also starting to appreciate that I’ve made a terrible mistake. Not in coming here to confront her – although clearly that was an error when I don’t have anything beyond a fragile eating utensil with which to subdue her – but because it’s obvious she’s not behind the plot to destroy the Families.

‘Speak, girl!’ she snaps.

Her imperious tone snaps me out of my daze. ‘We’re not in the nineteenth century. I’m not some bloody scullery maid you can order around.’

Lady Bancroft’s lips twitch. ‘Montserrat was right. You do have some fire about you.’ I scowl. ‘I suppose you imagined you could attack me and win.’

‘I didn’t need to beat you. I just needed you to confirm that you were the traitor.’

‘How would that help if I tore your head off before you could pass the information to someone else?’ Her tone is mild but the threat is still there. Especially with the fallen body of her bodyguard lying just a few feet away.

I look at her steadily. She cocks her head then smiles. Her hand swipes at me in one flashing movement, ripping my jumpsuit and revealing the tiny microphone and wire underneath. Her body stills when she sees it.

‘So,’ she hisses in a dangerous undertone, ‘Montserrat thinks I’m the one.’

I find my voice. ‘Actually no, he doesn’t. This is broadcasting somewhere else.’ In fact just down the hall to Beth: the transmitter is too weak to signal anywhere further. That’s another reason why Beth had to come with me. She couldn’t listen in but everything is being sent to a miniature black box recorder hidden in her clothes. In the event of my death or dismemberment, all she has to do is take it back to Montserrat who’ll de-encrypt it to discover the truth.

‘All very well,’ she says with a sniff, ‘but it suggests a rather careless disregard for your own well-being.’

‘Whoever’s behind this has already destroyed my life. Finding them and putting them down is my
raison d’être
.’

She laughs, a high musical sound. ‘Really?’

I’m offended. ‘Really.’

‘We have our own investigators, you know. We did look into you.’ She taps the corner of her mouth thoughtfully. ‘Let me think, what was it? The bottom rung of a two-bit private detective firm? A one-bedroomed flat in a seedier part of London? A few friends, no love life, no family?’

‘I’ve got family,’ I tell her stiffly.

‘Your mother is on the other side of the world and relations with your grandfather are stilted.’

‘Perhaps my definition of a good life and yours are different.’

She laughs again. ‘I doubt that. Besides, you have five hundred members of a brand new Family. Why would you want to throw all that away?’

‘I don’t want to be a damned vampire,’ I say through gritted teeth.

She’s surprised. ‘Why ever not?’

‘I have no desire to be beholden to blood or to live an unnaturally long life. Human suits me just fine.’

Her hand shoots out again, grabbing my throat. She pushes me into the air while my legs kick involuntarily and my fingers scrabble at her hand.

‘Can a human do this?’ she enquires.

My eyes bulge and she sighs and lets me go. I fall into a puddle at her feet.

‘Humans can’t be hit by a stupid daemon-created passivity spell,’ I croak.

She bends down. ‘No, but you know they’ll be destroyed by its results in the end.’

I stand up unsteadily. ‘So why is someone doing it?’

She shrugs. ‘Power.’

I think back to my earliest musings about O’Shea’s spell. Tam always believed in sex and money as motives, but the allure of power is equally strong. I acknowledge her words with a nod. ‘Why not you?’ My voice is soft and non-threatening.

‘You mean, why am I not initiating this Family takeover? Why am I not the traitor? Because, darling, I’ve got it good. I might be a woman in a man’s world but I know how to play those boys.’

I find it hard to think of Michael Montserrat as a boy, but wisely I stay mute.

‘At least you have one thing correct,’ she says. ‘Whoever is behind all this has to be a woman.’

‘Because the spell only affects males?’

‘Indeed. There would be far too much danger of leakage or contamination for it to be wielded by a man. Although the silly girl who is pulling the strings has no idea that you don’t need magic to make men dance to your tune.’

Something about her tone makes me shiver. ‘One of the witnesses said it was a woman.’

‘Charity Weathers.’

I nod then glance at her, askance. ‘You said you thought a recruit could be the perpetrator.’

‘No. What I
asked
is why
you
think a recruit can’t be.’

‘It doesn’t make sense. A recruit or a human wouldn’t have access to the Families to involve so many vampires in the first place. As far as I understand, this has been going on for a couple of months.’

‘The first death was February 15
th
.’

‘Well then,’ I say. ‘It couldn’t be a recruit. It has to be a Family member.’

She’s amused. ‘We don’t live cloistered away like monks and nuns. Plenty of vampires have regular access to humans. Anyone could have given them the solidified spell.’

‘You expect me to believe that a bunch of vampires, who’ve lived longer than anyone else, are stupid enough to fall for a trap and take a dodgy spell from a dodgy human?’

‘Humans are craftier than you give them credit for,’ she snorts.

‘Are vampires stupider than you give them credit for?’

‘There’s a vast difference between stupidity and naivety.’ She sighs. ‘Perhaps that’s been our downfall. We’ve been lulled into a false sense of security after decades of peace and power.’

I watch her carefully. I can’t sense any dissembling. She might be right. I may have spent weeks making silly assumptions – but I still can’t understand why a human would want to take down the five Families in order to set up a new Family in their place. It would disrupt years of the delicate power balance. Look at what happened in France during the Revolution when there was only one Family around. No one would want to see a return to those times, and humans and vampires co-exist quite happily these days. There’s no need to change that. If you want to become a vampire, then just apply.

‘What about disgruntled applicants who’ve not been recruited?’ I ask suddenly.

Lady Bancroft looks at me like I’m a particularly disgusting form of fungus. ’We’ve done that. We investigated them all.’

‘But…’

‘Look, Montserrat might admire you but if you think you’ve got all the answers and that we’ve not already exhausted these possibilities, then you’re even more stupid than I realised.’

I bristle. ‘Hey, I’ve made some mistakes…’

‘Some? You’ve wasted time and energy coming after me. This spell has the potential to destroy us all and we have no idea when or where it’s going to happen. Meanwhile, you’ve been running around like Nancy Drew, uncovering nothing of note.’

‘Nancy Drew is a good detective,’ I mumble, although I’m gallingly aware that she’s right. Since I entered the Montserrat Family, I’ve achieved a big fat zero.
Nul points
to Bo Blackman. Between wasting my time over Beth as a potential minion and Bancroft as the potential evil lady, I’ve discovered squat. There are only five more days until the end of the lunar month when I’ll either become Sanguine or be a bloodguzzler. Unless I – or someone with more wits – find out who wants to make a new super Family, my days are numbered. Not to mention everyone else’s.

The lack of sympathy on Lady Bancroft’s face isn’t helping. ‘Why did you kill the blond vampire?’

‘Who?’

‘The one who killed Charity Weathers. It wasn’t his fault.’

She nudges her dead bodyguard with her toe. ‘It wasn’t his fault you barged in here and disturbed me. I don’t see you crying over his corpse.’

I stay on topic. ‘You didn’t let anyone else speak to him.’

‘He had nothing to say. He’d been stripped of who he was and become a suggestible, pliable moron.’

‘He couldn’t tell you where he got the spell from?’

‘He had no idea. Even as a vampire he dabbled in drugs. We assume his heroin was switched for the spell.’

I try to imagine what a Class A drug does to a vampire and fail. Then I remember the syringe I found back at the house on Wiltshore Avenue. I should have followed that up earlier. Charity had clearly been involved in drugs too to force her involvement. If Tam had been around to offer some guidance, I would probably have done more to follow that particular line of enquiry. Instead all I’ve done is let his memory down. My shoulders sink in defeat.

‘Dire Straits,’ I say.

‘Indeed,’ agrees Lady Bancroft.

‘No, Dire Straits. My firm. Why did you hire D’Argneau to look for O’Shea? You’ve got your own investigators. You don’t need a bunch of humans. You hired D’Argneau who hired us.’

‘The lawyer? We tried our own methods and failed. He came highly recommended.’

‘By whom?’

‘Lots of people. What does it matter? We inadvertently discovered the daemon was the spell’s originator thanks to a Valentine’s Day card he sent to one of our first victims. He’d written it in code but a child could have cracked it.’ She sniffs. ‘So we went after him with D’Argneau’s help to serve a summons for something else to cover our tracks.’

I pinch the bridge of my nose. I wonder if their sudden action to find O’Shea precipitated his attempted murder – and my framing for it.

‘You need to leave now,’ Lady Bancroft says without further preamble. She walks back to the sensory tank.

‘You’re going back in?’

‘Why wouldn’t I? If our world is going to end any day now, then I want to enjoy myself before it does.’

I struggle to see how shutting yourself into a tiny space equals enjoyment.

‘Look,’ she says more kindly, ‘you’ve bitten off more than you can chew. Montserrat placed too much faith in you and it wasn’t fair. You’re too inexperienced and too damn human. It’s not your fault. If we manage to get past this, come and see me when you’ve finished turning. You might be Montserrat now but I can always use a plucky vampire whose heart is in the right place.’ Her condescension, even if it is well meant, is overpowering.

‘I’m not going to be a vampire,’ I snap. ‘I only have five more days then I’ll be Sanguine.’

She laughs, lifts up the roof of the tank and climbs back in. ‘Sure.’

I throw her a dirty look but she’s already disappeared from view. I run my hands through my hair. She’s right. I arrogantly assumed that I’d be able to solve what the might of the five Families couldn’t. Super Bo to the rescue! To quote D’Argneau, I’m an idiot.

***

I find Beth in a room at the other end of the corridor. Her fingers are splayed while a youngish looking man – Lars, I imagine – delicately re-paints them pillar-box red. The pair of them are watching a computer screen and giggling. I feel slightly miffed that she’s having such a good time while I’ve been facing the dragon, until I spot the tension in her neck and the relief in her eyes when she sees me.