High Stakes (32 page)

He blinks at me, struggling to keep his face above the water. ‘What of it?’

I grab the balaclava and pull. He twists from side to side but I yank it off. Then I look at him. ‘Hello, James,’ I say. ‘How’s the wife?’

‘Don’t you dare…’

I snatch a hank of his hair and thrust his head underwater, holding it there. I pull it back up and he gasps and splutters. ‘You went after Corinne because you didn’t like the fact that people mistook your wife for her. Isn’t that right?’

He doesn’t answer. I plunge his head underwater again. I feel oddly calm. I yank his head up again. ‘Isn’t that right?’ I hiss in his face.

‘Do it,’ he says. ‘Kill me. Just like you killed Terence.’

‘I didn’t kill Terence,’ I tell him. ‘But you’ve made it personal so I may change my mind about you.’

I slam his head down. The water is creeping up and up. I feel a hand on my shoulder. ‘Don’t, Bo.’ Michael’s voice is measured and steady. ‘He’s not worth it.’

‘He fucking deserves it.’

‘Yes,’ he says, ‘he does. But you don’t. If you do this, there’s no coming back. Believe me.’

I grit my teeth. I can already feel James Matheson’s limbs starting to weaken. He’s not fighting as much as he was. I curse, then stand up, pulling him to his feet. My hands are trembling. I could have killed Matheson easily right here and now and, despite Michael’s words, I’m not sure I would have had bad dreams about it.

‘Stairs,’ I mutter.

Michael nods, taking Matheson’s body and pushing him up. The water reaches my waist as I force my way through behind them. It’s bitterly cold but my vampire blood protects me. My vampire blood made me strong enough to take this prick down. I push down my feelings of guilt at what I almost did and my pulse sings. This is good.

The force of water against the door at the top makes it difficult to open so Michael hands Matheson to me. His teeth are chattering and his lips are turning blue.

‘You’re not going to die,’ I tell him. ‘You’re going to have your day in court. You’re going to face Corinne and let her look you in the eyes. Then you’re going to face the other Corinne – your wife – so she can see what a monster you really are.’

He doesn’t respond. Michael slams his shoulder against the door, forcing it open. I hand over Matheson then turn round to take one last look. There’s barely any breathing space left; I estimate there’s less than a minute before the entire place vanishes in the murky depths. Good riddance, I decide. I join the other two on the surface.

We cross the room, heading out into the dark night and onto the verdant green of Oliver’s Island, and collapse on the shore. The wooden tollbooth creaks and starts to crumble. The planks of wood don’t crash into the water, they simply vanish. The noise is tremendous. A flock of nesting birds, disturbed by the sound, fly up into the sky, cawing their disapproval. I blink twice and then it’s gone. There’s a faint breeze, rippling across the river. And absolutely nothing else.

I pull myself to my feet, glancing back at Matheson who is sprawled on the rocky beach. ‘How did you do it?’ I ask softly. ‘How did you commit all those crimes in public without anyone noticing?’

It’s Michael who answers. ‘The time bubble – it was portable. He could move it to wherever he wanted. I bet if you go back through old newspaper reports, you’ll read about women screaming for their lives, screaming as they’re raped.’ A muscle moves in his cheek. ‘As they’re killed. And when people go to investigate, there’s nothing there. All he and Trevor had to do was keep shifting through the years and they’d never get caught.’

I nod. ‘That’s why Fiona Lane was left in a quarry instead of somewhere more public. You already had this place set up for Corinne. You needed the bubble here.’ I bend down. ‘You only had the one.’

Matheson looks away. I give up, standing up straight and thrusting my hands in my pockets. I look out across the glittering banks of the Thames as the water laps softly at my feet. Michael joins me. ‘What are you thinking?’

‘That if I were an eccentric billionaire who was about to charged with murder, I might find a time bubble device rather useful.’

‘Tobias Renfrew.’ I nod. ‘It’s an interesting theory,’ Michael murmurs. His dark eyes turn to me. ‘How are you, Bo? Are you alright?’

I think it over and I smile. ‘I’m a vampire.’ I meet his eyes. For a moment he seems anxious then he relaxes and smiles back.

There’s a crunch from behind us. I spin round, just in time to see Matheson pulling out a wooden stake. He raises it up, ready to fling in my direction. Michael snaps out his hand, catching Matheson round the throat with such force that his face turns purple. Then Michael throws him backwards against the nearest tree. Matheson slumps down, his head at an odd angle.

I stare. Michael has an oddly satisfied look on his face. ‘You knew,’ I say slowly. ‘You knew he had a stake with him. You knew he was going to try something.’

‘The final decision was his. He knew he’d never win against two vampires, Bo. He committed suicide.’

‘But he wanted to take me down with him first.’ Michael doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. ‘I thought there was no coming back from this kind of thing.’

He meets my eyes. ‘There’s not.’

‘But it’s not your first time, is it?’

‘No.’ He squeezes my hand. ‘He made his decision, Bo.’

I don’t pull away. Instead, I look back out over the water. A small boat is chugging in our direction and I can make out Foxworthy’s familiar figure, silhouetted against the crescent moon. There’s a loud bark and I realise Kimchi is with him, vigorously wagging his tail. Michael releases my hand and I fold my arms and watch them approach. And I don’t say another word.

Chapter Twenty-Five: A Quiet Life

‘You’ve had a busy week,’ Dr Love comments, eyeing me with a practised look of professional solicitude.

I let out a short laugh, although there’s little humour in it. ‘I guess you could say that.’

‘How are you coping with being the centre of attention?’

I shrug awkwardly. ‘The protestors outside New Order have given up. Apparently they’ve decided we’re on their side now. Whatever that means. The rest of the Red Angel thing is a pain in my sodding arse.’

‘You’re getting a lot of calls?’

I sniff. ‘Every man and his dog want an interview.’

‘And you’re declining them all?’

‘My grandfather thinks I should do a couple. He says it’ll be good for the cause.’ I know I’ll cave in eventually. It’s not worth the hassle to keep arguing with him.

Dr Love nods sagely. ‘You don’t think your heroic status is justified?’

I snort. ‘Hardly. I’m no hero.’ I look away, no longer able to meet his eyes. ‘I’m no bloody angel either.’

He leans forward. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘Look, Doc, I’m doing well. I took blood from someone different this week, just like you asked. And,’ I say, crossing my heart with index finger to indicate my sincerity, ‘I’m starting to enjoy being a vampire. Being a vampire meant I could save my friends and stop Matheson and Miller from their saga of evil.’

‘They were indeed evil,’ he agrees.

‘The police traced them back. They’d known each other years.’ I think about the strange carving on the tree next to where Matt and I uncovered the animal skeletons. It wasn’t two Ws at all, it was two interconnected Ms. It wasn’t Miller who grew up in that area, it was James Matheson.

‘Matheson met Miller in foster care. He was only there for a month or two when his mother was briefly in prison. But a month or two was all it took for them to recognise kindred spirits.’ It’s hard to keep the disgust out of my voice.

‘So you should be pleased neither of them is around to continue their killing spree.’

I take a deep breath, wondering if I can really trust the good doctor. ‘That’s the trouble,’ I say in a small voice.

‘That you’re pleased?’

‘I’m thrilled. I didn’t want Medici’s goons to kill Miller because deep down I think I wanted to kill him myself.’ It feels strange to say it aloud. ‘I thought I wanted to hand him over to the police, to do things properly. That’s what I told myself.’

‘But it’s not true?’

I shake my head. ‘No. I wanted to see him suffer. And when Michael – I mean, Lord Montserrat – stopped me from killing Matheson, I knew he was right. But when he ended up dead anyway…’ My voice trails off.

‘You were pleased?’ Dr Love prompts.

‘I was.’ I pick at a hangnail. ‘The ex-CEO of Magix is dead. Not at my hands but as a result of what I did. I knew it was going to happen and I did it anyway.’

He frowns. ‘I don’t follow. He was behind bars. I thought all the signs pointed to a Kakos daemon.’

‘I can’t go into details,’ I mutter. ‘But he’s dead because of me.’ I can feel the weight of his gaze. ‘I know the world’s not black and white. I’m not that naïve. But…’

‘But?’

I look up. ‘But I’ve always known the difference between right and wrong. I’ve always known which path is the moral one. Don’t get me wrong,’ I say, ‘I’m not perfect and I’m not pretending that I have been. But someone once told me I shouldn’t lie to myself and now I think I’m facing up to the truth. My own truth.’ I swallow. ‘I’m not a good person. I wanted them to die. All of them. There’s a group of daemons hiding out in Venezuela and, as soon as I can work out how to find them, I’m going to go there and make them pay for what they tried to do to my friends.’

‘Some might call that justice,’ Dr Love interjects mildly.

‘No, it’s not justice. Justice is cool-headed, impartial and logical. What I want to do to them is nothing like that. What I feel about the deaths of O’Connell and Matheson and Miller is nothing like that.’ I bite my bottom lip so hard that I draw blood. ‘Maybe that makes me evil too. Right and wrong are not so clear any more.’

His eyes are untroubled. ‘This might be the first time you’ve been honest with me.’

‘I’m scared.’ My hands are trembling so I shove them beneath my thighs. ‘There’s a line and I’m almost at it. Once I cross it, I’m not sure I can ever come back. It’s why I’ve been avoiding Michael. There’s a darkness in me and it feels like it’s growing. I’m afraid it’s going to come out and I’ll never be able to put it back.’

‘Bo,’ the doctor says softly, ‘you’re not evil. These feelings are natural. Anyone who’s been a victim of crime wants vengeance.’

‘But not everyone can get it.’

He watches me for a moment, his face impassive. Then he reaches down, opens a drawer and takes out something. It’s a small, round, white pebble. ‘Take it,’ he urges.

I pluck it out of his palm. It’s cool to the touch and very smooth but there’s no hint of magic. It’s just a pebble. I look at him, confused.

‘It’s a symbol,’ Dr Love explains. ‘A placebo, if you like. If you feel like this in the future, if you feel this darkness you speak of is growing and you don’t know what’s right and what’s wrong, hold the stone. Use it to ground you.’

I heft it from hand to hand. ‘I don’t see how it will work.’

He smiles. ‘Trust me. I’m a doctor.’ His gaze is so benevolent I’m tempted to ask him for a hug. ‘So,’ he says lightly, ‘other than the Venezuelan daemons, what’s next for the Red Angel?’

‘I don’t know.’ I massage my neck. ‘There’s always Tobias Renfrew. He’s wrapped up with those sodding daemons somehow.’

Dr Love throws me a sceptical glance. ‘He’s been missing for decades. Dozens of people have searched for him. How will you find him?’

I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’ I close my fingers round the pebble and squeeze it tight. ‘Maybe I should just let sleeping dogs lie.’

Kimchi, curled up at my feet, opens his eyes and lets out a small bark. I reach down to scratch the soft fur behind his ears.

‘You should take a rest,’ Dr Love suggests.

I put the pebble into my pocket and feel my old self surge to the fore. ‘Actually, it’s funny you should say that. As soon as we’re done here, I’m heading off for a nice relaxing drink at a little bar I know.’

‘Really.’ His voice is dry.

I manage to smile. ‘Really.’

*

I’m forced to go through the same rigmarole as before – knocking on the door and waiting to be allowed entry – but this time the vampire gazes out at me with a less hostile expression. ‘If you’re the Red Angel,’ he says, ‘you should be with us. Medici is red.’ He grins, baring his fangs which are a disturbing shade of yellow. ‘Blood is red.’

‘I just want a drink.’ I hold up my palms in submission. ‘Nothing else.’

He waggles one bushy eyebrow. ‘If you want more, let me know.’ Although I can’t see it from this side of the door, I’m fairly certain that he’s cupping his groin suggestively towards me.

I push down nausea and reach inside my pocket, my fingers brushing lightly against Love’s pebble. ‘Are you going to let me in?’ I inquire, as if I don’t really care either way.

He grins, opens the door and bows. ‘It’s not every day we get celebrities gracing us with their presence.’

I keep my lips tightly buttoned, walk up to the now-familiar bar and sit on my usual stool.

‘Bloody Mary?’ the bartender asks, polishing a glass.

‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘And make it a real one.’

If she’s surprised, she doesn’t show it. She beckons over one of waiting vampettes. ‘Sure.’

‘Mary’ wanders over with a wide smile. Her pupils are dilated. I don’t smile back, I simply reach over and curve my head down. She tastes both alcoholic and spicy and I realise she’s been drinking vodka and Tabasco to enhance the flavour of her blood. It should disturb me but it doesn’t.

When I’ve had my fill, Mary leaves me in peace. The bar is quieter than I expected. I recognise a few faces. One woman, seated with a friend in the far corner, is sending me sidelong glances. There’s a pleasing lack of hostility. Considering my illegal incursion into the Medici stronghold just days before, I expected to suffer some setbacks in my bid to cultivate a Medici contact. Instead I feel a zing of excitement that increases when I check out the table in front of her and realise that she smokes.

I pull out the same crumpled pack of cigarettes from my pocket and lay it carefully on the bar top. The door outside bangs to admit a new customer but, before I can see who it is, the bartender passes me my drink. I thank her and tap out a cigarette. Making a show of searching my pockets, I look frustrated at my inability to locate my lighter. I’m careful to keep my eyes down; I don’t want to be too obvious. When I feel someone brush against me, however, my stomach flips in delight.