Red Angel (2 page)

‘Kakos daemon!’ someone yells.

I spring to my feet. Well, it’s one way to get out of an awkward interview but I’m not sure I’d have wished for a Kakos daemon to appear. Of all the tribers in the world, they’re the most dangerous and the most unpredictable. Most people don’t survive encounters with them. Fortunately, I’m not most people. I may not have the strength to match one but I do have a fairly good idea of what to expect. Though it makes no sense for one to show randomly up on early morning breakfast television.

I lunge forward, grabbing Jim with one hand and Joyce with the other and push them behind me. ‘Get out of here,’ I snarl. ‘Get everyone out of here!’

For a second no one reacts. Then a door to the far right of the studio slams open and a huge shadowy figure appears. People scatter. I empty my mind of every coherent thought and start counting. As I discovered not long ago, Kakos daemons possess the unpleasant ability to mind-read. As long as I can keep my counting at the forefront of my thoughts, the daemon won’t know what I’m going to do next.

I search around for a weapon. This is daytime television though – the set is hardly teeming with useful items. In the end, I snatch a boom mike from above the sofas.

The daemon glides into the room. I can’t see its face, which is obscured by a samurai-style helmet, but its head twists from side to side as if it’s searching for something. From its size, it’s definitely Kakos. When its gaze lands on me, ice slides through my veins – but it’s still less scary than Joyce and Jim.

There’s a squeak from the opposite side of the room. The daemon turns to look. I don’t bother; my attention is focused on it. If I can keep it occupied long enough for everyone to get out of the building, I’ll deem this a success. I’ll probably get my heart eaten in the process. With any luck, the cameras won’t still be rolling.

Even though I’m the only one not hiding, the damn thing decides to leave me alone for now and focus on whoever is in the corner. It marches forward as two pale faces bob up from behind some fragile wooden crates. I recognise Lanscombe and my Samaritan smoker. Bugger it.

Gripping the boom in my hands, I race forward to intercept the daemon. Before I can take a swing, however, it casually thrusts out one arm. Its large hand slams into my chest, knocking me backwards. Winded, although oddly not in pain, I leap to my feet but it’s too late. The daemon has already kicked away the crates and is lifting Lanscombe up by his throat. It drags him over to the nearest sofa; I catch a glimpse of its black, glittering eyes.

‘Let me go!’ Lanscombe stutters. ‘I’ll give you money! Girls! Anything!’

The daemon throws back its head and laughs. Then it thrusts its free hand into his chest. Blood spurts everywhere, decorating the cream sofa with vivid splashes of red. Lanscombe’s body slumps forward. Still counting, I rush at the daemon again.

I know I need to keep well out of the way of those powerful hands. My palms are sweaty and it’s difficult to maintain my grip on the mike but I swing it as hard as I can. This time I catch the daemon on the side of its head.

It roars in pain and spins round in my direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I spy the smoker scrambling to his feet. He looks anxiously in my direction as if he wants to help. I shake my head. Thankfully, he takes my advice and decides to run for the nearest door instead. It clangs shut behind him.

Now it’s just me and the daemon. Sirens are screaming outside as the emergency services arrive, but it’ll all be over by the time they get up to this floor.

I swallow hard. ‘Come on then.’

It rushes me, head down and body barrelling into mine. We both fall backwards and I’m forced to drop the mike. The daemon curls one steel arm round my waist and lifts me up into the air like I’m nothing more than a rag doll. Its grip is so tight that I have no room to manoeuvre. All it needs to do is fling me against the wall and I’ll be out for the count.

Instead, the daemon adjusts its hold slightly and throws me in the opposite direction so that I land on the cushioned sofa. It could have killed me by now. The damn thing is playing with me, like a cat would with a mouse. It’s galling but it might give me enough wiggle room to get away.

I jump to my feet and elongate my fangs. Most tribers would see this as a sign of aggression and flee. Unfortunately, this is a Kakos daemon. I can’t see its expression but I have the feeling that it’s grinning at me. Leaping upwards, I throw a scissor kick. It’s only meant as a feint to put me in a better position but, much to my surprise, my feet smash into its chest and it staggers back. I take advantage of the situation and launch a series of fast punches at its exposed neck. It moves further back until we’re beyond the now useless cameras. There’s a faint snarl from underneath the helmet and it abruptly vaults upwards, landing behind me and between the two couches. It doesn’t so much as look at Lanscombe’s corpse.

I glance fleetingly to my left. The light on one of the cameras is blinking green. That means it’s still broadcasting live – and for some reason the daemon wants this to be filmed. I grit my teeth. It’s not merely playing with me, it’s playing for the millions of people watching. I’m not in the mood for that kind of show.

I shuffle back, swiftly yanking up a length of electrical cord. It will serve two purposes. I sprint forward before the daemon can stop me, using the edge of the nearest sofa as a step so I can fling my body upwards. Then I loop the cord round the daemon’s neck and twist it hard. I kick it in the stomach, forcing it to stumble backwards so that the cord is pulled tight.

It’s not enough. I launch myself at its body as it makes a choking noise. Its fingers claw at its neck but it’s too late – the plug behind us pulls out of the socket, the sudden movement making the daemon crash down. I reach down and wind the loose cord round my hands.

‘You’re not being filmed now, you bastard!’ I sneer, as I pull it upwards to try and choke it to death.

The daemon’s deep black eyes regard me steadily then it simply yanks the cord apart, freeing itself from the binds. My stomach drops. I toss the useless wire to one side and back away as it gets to its feet. It shakes its head then, with both hands, grabs its helmet and slides it off.

‘Not bad,’ X says mildly. ‘Although I think we could have dragged it out for longer.’

I gape. ‘What…?’

He laughs. ‘Come on, Bo. You didn’t really think you’d be able to fight a Kakos daemon, did you? Even with all that ridiculous counting, I still knew what you were going to do before you did.’

‘But you … you...’

‘Me.’ He smiles lazily.

‘Why?’ I gasp. ‘Why would you do this? I thought we had an understanding.’

‘But we do.’ He throws the helmet to one side and takes a moment or two to adjust his hair. ‘I hate hat hair, don’t you?’ he murmurs. He registers my open-mouthed horror and sighs as if I’m an idiot. ‘I am trying to help,’ he says calmly.

‘Help?’ I shriek. ‘Help how? I might not have wanted to be on television but bringing the place down around our ears and killing someone is hardly helping!’

‘The camera was recording,’ he says mildly. ‘Now the whole world will have even more reason to believe that you’re a national hero. What’s the term I should use?’ He frowns. ‘Kickass?’

‘You’re crazy,’ I whisper.

X looks at me with derision. ‘I have plans for you. I need you to be a hero, Bo. I need the world to believe you’re a hero. And what better way to achieve it than by having you beat up a Kakos daemon live on TV?’

I drop my head and look into Lanscombe’s dead, staring eyes. ‘You killed someone. You actually killed someone for a bit of fucking PR!’

X shrugs. ‘He deserved it. Check his dressing room.’

I back further away. ‘You’re nuts.’

‘No I’m not.’ He half smiles. ‘You’ll understand later when I ask you for that favour you still owe me.’

‘Stay away from me, you freak!’

He tuts. ‘And to think you were once so terrified in my presence that you could barely speak.’ Before I can react, he steps over and chucks me under the chin. ‘Now you’re nearly all grown up.’

I jerk away, folding my arms across my chest. X leans his head to one side as if listening. ‘Interesting,’ he murmurs. He raises his eyebrows in my direction. ‘I should go. Tell them that you stabbed me in the chest and I disintegrated.’

‘Huh?’ I stare at him stupidly.

He reaches into his inside pocket and takes out a baggie filled with what looks like ash. He tips it onto the floor and points down. ‘Me.’

‘You’re a homicidal maniac! You need to be stopped!’ There’s an edge of hysteria in my tone.

‘Suggesting that I’m still alive will serve no purpose, Bo. Even if you want it to happen, I can’t be caught.’

‘You’re a visible face. You work for Streets of Fire. And you’ve been seen at the Agathos Court.’

‘Not me, my alter ego.’ He smiles. ‘Tell the public who I really am and all you’ll do is create a panic. They’ll imagine Kakos daemons hiding round every corner. If you want more blood in the streets, then go for it. But do nothing and I will stay out of the way – for now.’ He takes my hands and I can’t suppress a shudder. ‘Do the smart thing.’ He leans over and pecks me on the cheek. Then he’s gone.

It’s pointless but I still crouch down and check on Lanscombe. I’m closing his eyes when the door bursts open and Michael’s familiar figure appears. He runs forward and envelops me in a hug, squeezing me so tightly that it feels as if my ribs are about to crack.

‘Uh, Michael? Can you let me go?’ I squeak.

He releases me and pulls away. ‘I was watching. I thought…’ His voice trails away and he scans my face. ‘Are you alright? Where’s the daemon?’

‘Gone,’ I mutter.

‘Where?’

I desperately want to tell him the truth but I meet his anxious eyes and know I can’t. If I do, he’ll launch into a full-blown daemon hunt. Even with every Family behind him, X still might win. Kakos daemons are too damn strong. I swallow hard, inwardly praying for forgiveness for the lie. Then I point down at the tiny mountain of ash.

Michael follows my finger and pales. ‘You killed him?’

I shrug uneasily. Fortunately, he doesn’t notice as he bends down to inspect the ash. ‘No one’s ever done that,’ he mutters. ‘Not on their own.’

‘I got lucky,’ I say. Bile rises in my throat and I realise I’m about to retch. I rush out of the studio and down the empty corridor, flinging myself into the nearest bathroom. I only just reach the toilet in time.

When I’m done, I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand. Michael, who was enough a gentleman to keep back until I’d recovered, puts an arm round my shoulder and gently brushes away the tendrils of sweat-dampened hair. ‘You’re a hero, Bo,’ he whispers.

I squeeze my eyes shut. No, I’m not. I’m just a fucking liar.

There’s a sudden thud from nearby and my eyes fly open. I stare at Michael. ‘Stay here,’ he says grimly, turning on his heel.

There’s no way I’m about to do that. I follow him as he edges down the corridor. When he reaches a door with a paper sign proclaiming ‘Marcus Lanscombe’, he puts his ear against it. He looks at me and nods. I bite my lip.

Michael steps back and I tense my muscles. When he kicks open the door, I’m right by his side. Rather than leaping in, however, his body relaxes. I peer round his muscular frame. Hiding behind a clothes rack is a young girl.

I gently nudge Michael out of the way. ‘Hello,’ I say softly. ‘It’s OK. You’re safe now.’

For a moment I don’t think she’s going to move, then she stands up shakily. I realise she’s painfully young – probably not much older than Rogu3. There’s a purple bruise across her cheek. Marcus fucking Lanscombe. X was right. I experience a brief flicker of satisfaction at the fact that he won’t hurt her – or anyone like her – again before my fingers fumble in my pocket and I squeeze my little white pebble. I tell myself that Lanscombe deserved to be put in prison, not killed.

As I reach for her, there’s the sound of heavy footsteps and hushed voices outside. The girl flinches.

‘Cavalry’s arrived,’ Michael says softly.

I had initially planned to make my way home via London’s underground network. In the end, I spend so long going over my story with the police and Special Branch officers, not to mention being thanked a million times by every damn person in the building from Joyce and Jim to the tea lady, that there’s no need to bother – it’s already dark again by the time I leave. Michael vanished hours earlier, his dark eyes glittering in my direction as he gestured goodbye.

I sidle out of the back exit to avoid facing the gauntlet of flashing cameras and shouting journalists. Connor is already there, seated on my motorbike. He holds out his wrist. ‘I know you’re drinking from others these days but I thought you might be hungry.’

I beam at him in gratitude. ‘Thank you, Connor. You’re amazing.’

The tips of his ears turn pink. ‘I’m glad you’re alright, Bo. Taking down a Kakos daemon like that…’ He whistles.

I try to smile then take his proffered hand and sink my teeth into his vein to avoid responding further. The familiar taste of his blood helps to soothe me. When we’re done, we switch positions on the bike and drive to the office in Covent Garden. There is a line of journalists here too. My heart sinks.

‘I can take you back to my place,’ Connor offers.

I sigh and push back my hair. ‘No. I’m going to have to face them. If I give them what they want now, they’ll leave me alone later.’

Connor doesn’t question this but I see the doubt in his eyes. ‘OK. Shall I park the bike round the corner?’

‘Yes. There’s no need for you to be eaten alive by them too.’ He looks so relieved that I almost laugh. ‘Go home, Connor. It’s late and I’m in the mood for nothing more than having a few drinks and collapsing. You deserve some time off.’

He smiles at me, gunning the engine. A few of the journalists’ heads turn in our direction. It takes them less time to react than it would for Kimchi if he caught sight of a squirrel. Somehow I feel even more like prey than I did when I was fighting X.

It’s a good thirty minutes before I extricate myself from the hordes. When I finally escape into the building, all I’m craving is some peace and quiet. At least Drechlin, the dentist with whom we share the building, has apparently gone home. It’s a good thing too – I’ve barely put my foot on the first step up to the New Order offices when I hear Kimchi’s exuberant barking. Unless he acts this happy when everyone arrives at the door of New Order, I can only wonder how on earth he knows it’s me. He almost bowls me over when I open the door, leaping up and placing his paws on my chest. He tries to lick my nose but I pull back so he can’t quite reach it.

‘Down!’ I order.

He licks my neck instead. I sigh in mock exasperation and fondle his ears. That’s when I realise that the office is packed and everyone is staring at me.

Even when we first moved into these premises, there wasn’t a great deal of space to go around. Now that New Order includes two representatives from the Gully, Bancroft and Stuart Families, it’s definitely a tight squeeze. I lift my hand up awkwardly in greeting. They all continue to stare.

Unfortunately it’s Dahlia who breaks the silence. ‘Bo!’ She picks her way over to me in a manner designed to remind us how delicate and fragile she is. ‘I’m so glad you’re alright!’

I bite back my sarcastic response and force a smile. ‘I’m glad to be back. How are things here?’

Arzo raises his eyebrows. ‘Not as busy as you’ve been. Although part of that might be because we’ve had to leave the phone off the hook.’

‘Journalists?’

‘And then some,’ he agrees. He looks up at me from the confines of his wheelchair. ‘How did you do it?’

I deliberately misunderstand his question. ‘I answered some of their questions to keep them happy for now. Hopefully they’ll stop calling quite so much. We do have other business to attend to.’ I give them a pointed look. The only reason they’re here rather than at home or out helping clients is because they want to gawk at me.

Arzo frowns but doesn’t comment. Since Dahlia’s first uninvited appearance, he’s been much more relaxed and content. I wish I could be happy about it. Dahlia is his ex-fiancée who betrayed him in every way possible; personally I think she should be hung, drawn and quartered. Her history with Arzo isn’t the most troubling part; I’d be more likely to trust bloody Lord Medici himself than I would Dahlia. Interestingly, her vampire Lord hasn’t once made inquiries about her whereabouts. He’s the only Family Head who thinks that New Order, set up to build bridges between the human and vampire communities, is an abhorrence. He also believes that newbies like Matt and me who have been allowed ‘out’ to participate in the venture should be kept under lock and key.

Dahlia is an even younger vampire than me. Medici’s lack of contact can only mean that she is here with his full blessing, which suggests he’s not finished trying to screw us all. I just can’t get anyone else to believe me.

Kimchi settles at my feet and slobbers over my shoelaces. I’m saved from enduring that indignity for long, however, because the door to my grandfather’s office opens and he beckons me inside.

I ignore the others’ curious glances and do as I’m told. ‘Good evening, grandfather,’ I say, when I close the door behind me. ‘How are you?’

‘Very well, thank you.’ He looks me up and down. ‘Why did that Kakos daemon throw the fight?’

I stiffen. ‘What? You’re not going to ask me how I am?’ He’s normally fastidious about manners. Considering his question, though, I guess recent events have over-ridden his natural instincts.

‘I’ve had reports every hour on the hour from one of my contacts. And I can see how you are for myself. Not that it matters; you were clearly never in any danger.’

I try not to fidget. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Everyone else might have been fooled, Bo, but I know what I saw. Are you in cahoots with this daemon?’

‘Cahoots? We’re not in the nineteenth century, you know.’ His astuteness is putting me on edge.

His bushy white eyebrows lower and he seems to be studying the blank space on his desk. ‘Are you in trouble?’

I wonder if he’s avoiding my eyes because he doesn’t want to see a lie there. I walk over to him, forcing him to look up. ‘No. Everything is fine. I didn’t plan this and I didn’t want it to happen. You know how desperate I was to get out of the damn interview in the first place.’ I take a deep breath. ‘I can’t tell you the truth about the Kakos daemon because he’s a bloody Kakos daemon. But it’s not as bad as it looks. I promise.’

He regards me steadily. ‘He killed a man.’

‘The man might have deserved it.’

My grandfather’s shoulders slump slightly. ‘What happened to your vehement disapproval of capital punishment?’

‘I didn’t murder Marcus Lanscombe,’ I remind him gently.

‘All the same,’ he grunts.

I rub my forehead. ‘How many other people noticed?’

‘That you won an unwinnable fight? No one. I’ve even been in touch with MI7.’ There’s a hint of disgust in his tone. ‘Clearly their standards have dropped. In my day there would have been a full-scale investigation.’

I shouldn’t feel relieved but I do. ‘Well,’ I say briskly, ‘I’m sure all this will blow over soon enough.’

*

In the end, it takes three days – and considerable effort on my part in answering inane questions – before the paparazzi leaves the street outside New Order. Drechlin spends the time making almost hourly complaints. He’s sent us a bill for loss of income from all the customers who are suddenly avoiding getting their root canal ops done. I offer to pay although I’m hoping it won’t come to that. Keeping a dog who’ll eat almost anything is costing me more money than I thought possible.

It’s with some relief that I finally make it outside with a real assignment to complete. I’m paired with Matt and it feels almost like old times. It’s unfortunate that he took my instructions to ‘dress for a night on the town’ so seriously. He’s wearing a mauve velvet suit complete with skinny tie and paisley shirt. He looks more like a walking nineteenth-century drawing room than a sexy twenty-first-century vampire. Before he was affected by O’Shea’s warped spell, he had a vast, trendy wardrobe. Where this outfit has come from, I have no idea.

Choosing not to get involved in a long discussion about the merits of velvet, I don’t comment on his attire. Instead, I take his arm when we park round the corner from the exclusive night club we’re targeting and point him in the direction of the queue. ‘You need to get inside,’ I instruct.

‘Why can’t you come with me?’

‘I can’t afford to be recognised. I’ll wait here on the off-chance that Bergman comes out. We need to cover all our bases.’

‘OK, Bo.’ He nods vigorously. ‘Are you sure they’ll let a vampire in?’

‘They let Bergman in.’ I toss Matt a small camera. ‘If you see anything suspicious, take some shots of him with this. We’ll need proof that he’s dealing for Stuart before we can act.’

I nudge him gently and watch him amble to the back of the line. He immediately engages a pretty blonde girl in conversation. Despite his weird get-up, she seems amenable to his advances. I smile in grim satisfaction then cross the road and make my way up to the top of the building opposite.

It was one of the bartenders who clued us into Bergman Stuart’s activities. It was a brave thing to do considering the vampire frequents this club on an almost daily basis – and is treated by the management as a favoured guest. But spiking humans’ drinks and selling illegal drugs is not a matter to be taken lightly, not in these troubled times. All Matt and I have to do is get proof.

From my vantage point, I have a clear view of the club’s entrance and the alleyway to the left where the deals apparently take place. I set up a camera with a long-range lens to get the best possible angles and take a few test shots. Once I’m happy, I sit back and wait.

It’s not long before Matt and his new companion are ushered inside the club. It’ll take him some time to locate Bergman and get back to me so I hunker down and scan the line of waiting people. Some look impatient while others seem bored. It’s still early to be hitting a club but this place is apparently popular with both tribers and humans. To pass the time, I gaze at each person in turn, trying to decide whether their main motives for coming here are to dance, drink or pull. It’s not until my eyes land on a stiffly upright young woman that I see anything out of the ordinary.

She seems to be alone. That in itself isn’t unusual: I’ve picked out several other single women that I’ve dropped into my ‘pulling’ category. She’s dressed in typical night-club camouflage of short skirt, high heels and pretty top but she’s carrying no purse or bag and I’d be amazed if there are any pockets in her skin-tight clothes. Also, despite her straight back, her right hand is braced against the wall as if she’s already got so much alcohol in her system that she’s afraid she’ll topple over.

When the line moves forward, she takes tiny shuffling steps. Her head sways and, while I can’t tell for sure from this distance, I’m betting that her pupils are dilated. I make a quick decision and swing the camera from its fixed position so that I can focus on her. Before I can snap her face, however, one of the bouncers wanders down the queue and nods at her.

My eyes narrow. Someone in her state should be put in a taxi and sent home, not given preferential access. The burly doorman seems well aware of her condition. Without saying a word, he takes her arm to help her walk to the front. When I crane my neck back to get a better view, I can see that he’s virtually dragging her. Interesting.

I press my comms button. ‘Matt, where are you?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Where are you?’

‘Pardon?’

I roll my eyes in exasperation and try again. ‘Where. Are. You?’ I enunciate as loudly as I dare.

‘Oh, sorry, it’s kind of loud in here. I’m watching Bergman. He’s sitting at a table with a few others.’

‘Vampires?’

‘No, humans. Should I start taking some photos?’

It would be good to know who Bergman’s companions are but I can’t get rid of my gut instinct that there’s something up with the girl. ‘Actually, can you head out towards the front? There’s a young woman coming in wearing a black mini skirt and a pink top. Brunette. Find out where she goes.’

‘Pardon?’

I grit my teeth. ‘I said, there’s a…’

‘Wait,’ Matt interrupts. ‘There’s a woman walking up to Bergman. Brown hair, pink top. She seems a bit unsteady on her feet.’

I hiss softly. ‘Watch her.’

‘Pardon?’

I curl my fingernails into my palms. It’s not Matt’s fault that it’s so loud in the club. Neither is it his fault that, thanks to my minor celebrity status, this will be easier if I stay outside. It’s sodding frustrating though.

‘Watch the woman,’ I repeat.

My earpiece crackles. I hope that Matt got the message. I readjust the camera and anxiously scan both the entrance and the alleyway. Unfortunately – or fortunately, I suppose – there’s nothing untoward happening in either. I stretch out my muscles and try to keep focused.

There’s another crackle. ‘Hey!’ I hear Matt yell. ‘Let go of me! I didn’t do anything!’

Shit. Whatever he’s done or whoever’s noticed him, at least he’s had the foresight to tune me into the communications. Barely five seconds later there’s a kerfuffle in the doorway and Matt’s thrown out unceremoniously on his arse. The line of people stare at him wide-eyed. He blinks up in my direction.