Sweet Scent of Blood (30 page)

Wood cracked, the sound loud behind me.

Heart jumping in my throat, I spun around.

A tall, scrawny figure stood under the tree wearing a dirty red T-shirt over stained jeans. He was holding a Beater goblin’s baseball bat on his shoulder. ‘Say, these things work a treat.’ He swung the bat round like he was hitting a home run and demolished another of the wooden crutches propping up the tree.

Fuck: Malik had been right. Tensing, I half-crouched, adrenalin whizzing round my body on overdrive.

Human male, late teens, bad case of acne and no muscle tone: I could take him - except for the bat. The bat sort of knocked my confidence. Only a dead goblin gives up his weapon.

‘Yep, a treat. No wonder the little creeps use ’em.’ He nodded his shaved head. ‘I’m gonna try it on you next, faerie freak. Have us a bit of fun.’ Large black letters across his T-shirt advised me to
Remember his name, because I’d be screaming it later.

I screamed Malik’s instead, as loud as I could.

The pizza-faced figure patted the logo. ‘That’s it, freakoid, get some practise in.’

Why wasn’t there a dangerous vampire rushing to my rescue?

I had a nasty thought, so I
looked.
The railings shimmered with green-tinged spells, as equally nasty as my thought - and green meant stun. Crap, no way could I get out, or Malik get in. Even if he’d heard my shout, which was doubtful, he was more than likely lying unconscious outside the gardens anyway. I could try
cracking
the spells, but that would turn the railings into so much shrapnel, so it wasn’t worth the risk, not for one scrawny human.

‘Freakoid, faerie freak,’ Pizza Face sang, swinging the foil-wrapped bat around his head.

And then the night got so much better -
not!
- as another, fatter figure lumbered from the shadows under the tree. His baggy jeans hung from his hips and I could see the flab wobbling under his T-shirt. Small round glasses were stuck like magnifying lenses on his podgy face. ‘Ye’th,’ he lisped, ‘we’re gonna show you, faiwy fweak.’ A picture of a distorted Dalek blowing a speech-bubble shouting
Exterminate, exterminate
, stretched over his chest and he brandished an arrow-headed pole.

I bit my lip and swallowed a hysterical snort. Exterminating these two felt like a great idea.

Pizza Face moved to the left, putting me between him and Fatboy.

Pulse racing, I back-tracked until I was off the gravel path and on the grass. My gaze flicked from one to the other and back again: who would attack first, Lanky or Lardy?

‘C’mon, freakoid, come to me,’ Pizza Face called.

Fatboy did a shambling run over to Pizza Face. ‘So what’re we gonna do, dude?’ He waved his pole.

‘Do it just do it like I told you, right?’ Pizza Face shoved him on the shoulder. ‘Now get back over there, y’know, we’re gonna be like a pincer action.’

‘Oh yeah, yeah,’ Fatboy giggled. ‘Ni’th.’

I took a breath, concentrated. Pizza Face leapt forward, swinging his bat two-handed. I ducked and it swished over my head. Fatboy swiped low on my other side and I jumped the pole like a skipping rope, my ankles jarring as I landed on the rain-starved grass.

‘Hey, thi’th ith fun, man,’ he giggled.

Shit. I needed my own weapon. Glamour? I had to get within touching distance for that to work, so it was a nonstarter. But a wooden staff would do, and thanks to Pizza Face, there were plenty lying under the old tree; I just needed to get to one.

Fatboy jabbed his pole at me like a spear and as I swivelled out the way Pizza Face’s bat caught me a thudding blow on my shoulder. Pain shot down my arm and I screamed, throwing myself back into a roll that took me away from them. I came up in a crouch, my left arm hanging uselessly at my side.

Fear clamped round my chest - the power behind that blow didn’t feel human - and he’d definitely broken something.

‘Get her other arm, dude,’ Pizza Face shouted.

Fatboy moved towards me, shockingly fast, and jabbed again. I jerked to the side, but too slow. His pole ripped through my sleeve and stabbed into my injured arm. I screamed again, then I almost cried in relief - Fatboy’s pole was one of the iron garden railings - and the pain in my arm started to mute as the touch of the iron numbed my flesh.

‘Not that one, man, the other one!’

Fatboy raised the iron pole, started to bring it down like an axe. I scrambled back, hoping the numb feeling would last - and the bar thumped the grass in front of me.

‘Watch her head,’ Pizza Face yelled. ‘I tole yer, it’s better when they’re screaming. Go for the arms and legs so the freak can’t run away!’

I staggered up, breath heaving.

Pizza Face tossed the bat in the air, caught it. ‘Come to me, pussy, pussy,’ he crooned, then he punched Fatboy on the arm, almost knocking him over. ‘Get it, dude? The freak’s got eyes like a cat, so I called her a pussy!’

Fatboy giggled again. ‘Yeah, man, good one! The fweak’th like a little puthy cat!’

They were high or hyped up on something, and it was making them faster and stronger - the odds weren’t looking good and I needed to even them up, and for that I needed blood, and enough time to activate my Alter Vamp spell. Blood was no problem; it was dripping down my arm from where Fatboy had stabbed me with the railing. So that just left the time part then.

They were young. They were male.

I held up my good hand, palm out, ‘Hold it,’ I shouted, standing straighter, ‘I surrender, okay?’

Fatboy giggled. ‘Yeah, thurrender!
Ok
ay!’

‘Shut up dude,’ Pizza Face growled, ‘we don’t want the freak to surrender, no way. We want to fuck her.’

‘And that’s just what I’m interested in, boys.’ I tried a seductive smile, only it felt more like a pain-filled grimace. ‘You’ve heard about us faeries and sex, haven’t you? Like how hot we are? How much we want it, like all the time?’

Fatboy was nodding, his eyes wide behind his glasses.

Pizza Face slapped the bat into his hand. ‘Keep talking, freak.’

I lowered my hand, slipped the button on my jacket and pulled it open. ‘See we can all have a good time,’ I shucked the jacket off my shoulder, quickly snatching my good arm out of it, leaving me naked from the waist up. ‘No need to beat me up first.’

Fatboy’s mouth hung open, his eyes fixed on my chest.

Pizza Face licked his lips. ‘This a trick or something?’

‘Trick?’ I dragged the jacket off my injured arm, trying not to wince. ‘Why would I trick you when we all want the same thing?’ Taking a deep breath, I expanded my chest, did a little shimmy. ‘Anyway, big boy.’ I jiggled my foot at him, showing off my heels, then stood legs further apart, bracing myself. ‘I mean, it’s not like I’m going to get very far if I run away from you, is it?’

Pizza Face nodded. ‘You ain’t wrong there, freak.’ He beckoned with his finger. ‘Come ’ere, then, if you want it so much.’

‘Nuh-uh.’ I stroked my fingers down my cleavage, let my hand fall on the ties that kept my skirt on. ‘Don’t be so impatient. ’ The blood trickling down my injured arm had reached my elbow. ‘Don’t you want to see the rest?’

‘Ye’th, more!’ Fatboy grinned, dropping his railing.

I tugged at the ties and let the wrap-around skirt drop to the floor. The blood was meandering down my forearm and I was down to black briefs and my shoes. Damn. I should’ve worn more clothes. They were running out as fast as my time was. I shook my arm, trying to get the blood to run faster.

‘Cool tattoo, freak. Got any more?’ Pizza Face took a step towards me.

The blood trailed another few of inches.
C’mon, just a couple more
.

‘Hang on in there, big boy.’ I forced a grin. ‘You haven’t seen the best bit yet.’

‘Looks good enough to me,’ Pizza Boy said, breathing fast.

‘Me too,’ squeaked Fatboy.

Glamour would distract them, gain me a few more seconds, even if I wasn’t going to sic them with it. I breathed in,
focused
, and my skin glowed, misting golden light around me.

‘Magic,’ Fatboy yelled, waving his arms, ‘the fweak’th doing magic!’

The blood snaked over my wrist.

‘No magic tricks, freak,’ Pizza Face ordered. He lifted his bat.

Honeysuckle scented the air. Blood trickled into my palm.

‘Stoppit!’ Pizza Face leapt at me.

I threw myself to the side and landed hard on my knees, frantically rubbing the blood across my hip into the spell-tattoo. An arm clamped round my waist and yanked me down onto my back. I screamed as the pain exploded in my shoulder breaking my hold on the Glamour. Why wasn’t the spell working?

Pizza Face stared down at me, his pupils tiny pinpricks in his muddy brown eyes, and desperation flooded through me as I ground my hand into the tattoo. Where was my Alter Vamp? Pizza Face grinned, flashing sharp fangs. Shock froze me. What the fuck
was
he? He sniggered open-mouthed, curry-breath hitting in my face. I jack-knifed my legs up—

His fist connected with my jaw, and I fell into the dark.

Chapter Thirty

I
t was safe in the dark, still and quiet and calm ...
curry, and the coppery taste of blood in my mouth ...
no one could find me ...
hands tugging at my hair ...
nothing hurt in the dark, only the hunger ...
pain sharp at my throat ...
and I wasn’t hungry, not yet, not now ...
pain pricking at my breasts ...
the darkness was safe.

I sank back down, into the cold depths.

‘Hey. man,’ a voice whined, ‘I can’t do it like thi’th.’

My eyes snapped open and I froze. Fatboy was kneeling almost astride my head, gripping my scalp. I clamped my mouth shut to stop from screaming.

‘Fucking wait then, dude,’ Pizza Face snarled. ‘I told you, I’m not sticking my nose up your shitty arse.’

I couldn’t move my head, but I could just make out Pizza Face crouching between my thighs. Instinct made me clamp my legs together, but his body got in the way.

‘Hello, freakoid.’ Pizza Face leered up at me. ‘We started without you. You can start screaming now if you want.’ He grinned, showing bloodstained fangs, and swiped his tongue over his lips. ‘Think I’m gonna like this blood-suckin’ business. You taste great, y’know, sorta sweet, like honey. I told yer we was gonna have some fun, didn’t I?’

Fatboy giggled above me. ‘Ye’th, man!’

Bastards. I’d show them fun.

They’d left my arms free. My left shoulder was a mass of hurt - the numbness from the iron had worn off - but my right arm still worked okay. I punched Pizza Face in the mouth and his head jerked back, his fangs scraping my knuckles. Yanking my head from Fatboy’s grip, I reared back and jammed my skull into his groin and he squealed, short and high. Pain shot through my shoulder, but I blocked it. Pizza Face swayed unnaturally upright and I brought my knees up tight to my chest as he lunged over me, sniggering. I screamed and kicked out, stamping both metal-heeled shoes into his stomach and shoving him up and away. He was still sniggering as he thudded to the ground, one shoe still impaled in the soft flesh just under his ribs.

Rolling over, I got my legs under me, pushed up onto my feet. The gardens blurred as a moment of dizziness made me sway.

Fatboy was clutching himself, mouth gaping, tears streaming from his wide-open eyes.

I stepped towards him and kicked out, aiming at his temple. With a soft thud, he crumpled to the ground.

I turned back to Pizza Face. He was lying on his back, pink spittle foaming out of his mouth as he gasped for air. There was a dark, wet stain on his T-shirt where blood bubbled out around my shoe. It looked like I’d stomped on him -
oh wait, I had!
But had I hit his heart or just his lungs? As I watched him, Pizza Face frowned down at my shoe, then wrapped his fingers round it and pulled. It came out with a wet popping sound.

He gave another sniggering laugh and threw it at me.

I ducked, and it sailed over my head.

He sat up, grinning like a maniac and pulled up his T-shirt to show me his fast-healing wound.

I took half-a-dozen steps back. Another moment of vertigo made me stumble and agonising pain shot through my injured shoulder. The dizzy thing had to be blood loss, or concussion, or maybe even both. I swallowed, anxiety speeding my pulse. No way did I want to pass out, not while Pizza Face was still alive and kicking.

‘C’mon, faerie pussy pussy.’ Pizza Face staggered to his feet and grabbed his crotch. ‘It’s my turn to stick something in you.’

I kicked off my remaining shoe - it wasn’t going to help me now - and took another step back. My foot came down on something hard: Fatboy’s iron railing. I crouched and picked it up, wedging it between my waist and my good arm like a jousting lance and hoping like crazy I’d get a chance to use it before the spreading numbness from the iron made me drop the damn thing.

Pizza Face giggled as he lurched towards me.

I ran at him yelling at the top of my voice. Pizza Face lurched faster, gaining speed, and the pole dipped, starting to slip. My gut clenched with fear. Three feet, then two, then one, and I shoved the pole at him. The metal arrow-head glanced off his ribs and pierced his side, and I followed through with my good shoulder, knocking him down. The pole jammed into the dry earth, staking him to the ground.

‘Fuckin’ faerie bitch,’ he gasped, struggling to pull it out.

It wasn’t going to take him long to free himself. The garden blurred again, this time because of tears. Angry with myself, I swiped them away.
Free.
That’s it: I had to get free and get help. I had to
crack
the spell on the railings. I started towards the gate and tripped over something. I looked down: the goblin’s bat. I shook my arm to relieve some of the numbness and snatched it up. Weapons were always handy things to have around.

A shuffling noise behind me raised the hairs on my body, and I swung round.

Ten feet away, Fatboy shambled over the grass, slack-faced, his glasses reflecting red. His mouth gaped open over his fangs. It was like a B-movie, the kind of horror flick where the monster just keeps getting right back up. Hysterical laughter threatened to choke my throat.