I fold my arms. ‘Except I’m the one who will walk out of here. What’s your price, O’Connell? Stop beating around the bush.’
He looks at Foxworthy. ‘Inspector, I’m thirsty. Why don’t you fetch me a glass of water? Room temperature. And with a slice of lemon.’
The malevolence in Foxworthy’s expression is frightening. ‘Kitchen’s closed,’ he says sourly.
O’Connell shrugs and leans back. ‘So be it.’
I look at Foxworthy and his eyes meet mine. ‘Fine,’ he snaps, standing up and pushing back his chair. It scrapes against the floor, making a noise like fingernails on a blackboard. A shudder runs down my spine; I’m not sure whether it’s because of the noise or the prospect of being alone with O’Connell. Foxworthy stalks to the door and thumps it loudly. It’s barely three seconds before it swings open. Our escort must have been standing outside with a glass to his ear.
O’Connell wags his finger. ‘No listening in, mind. If I catch the slightest scent of your sour body odour, I’m not going to say another word.’
The guard’s head turns to the left and he sniffs. I roll my eyes.
‘Try anything,’ Foxworthy warns, ‘and I’ll make sure a few extra charges are added on to your warrant sheet.’ He slams the door shut with such force that the steel reverberates in the frame.
O’Connell knits his fingers together and smiles. ‘Pleasant chap, isn’t he?’
I lean forward. ‘I’m getting tired of your games. What do you want?’
‘I believe I may have told you this before, Ms Blackman, but knowledge is power. And you know something no one else does.’
I frown. I have absolutely no idea what he is referring to. I passed over all the information I uncovered about him when he was arrested. There’s nothing else to tell.
He tuts. ‘One thing I’ve discovered in my short time behind these walls is that you can learn a lot by watching people. It took me a while and I had to replay our conversations several times in my head to work it out, but I learnt something about you.’
‘Really,’ I say flatly. ‘Do enlighten me.’
‘You don’t want to be a vampire.’
I raise my eyebrows. ‘That’s it? That’s your big reveal? It’s hardly headline news.’
He seems amused. ‘No.’ He runs his tongue over his teeth. ‘I imagine it’s not. However, what I can tell that others might miss is that although you despise yourself, you’re not as upset about it as you should be.’
‘You’re talking in tongues. And I don’t despise myself. I just don’t want to be a bloodguzzler.’
‘There you go again,’ he whispers. ‘There’s no desperation in your words. There’s not even resignation.’ He tilts his head. ‘There’s hope. You, Ms Blackman, have a cure.’
I stare at him. The lie springs to my lips. ‘There’s no such thing as a cure.’
‘Now I know you’re lying.’ He sounds satisfied. ‘Who else knows about it?’
I look away. I’m under strict instructions from X not to reveal the truth to anyone. If I do, he’ll rip them apart. I have no idea whether he has the capabilities or reach to get inside a triber prison – but this might play into my hands after all.
I take a deep breath. ‘No one,’ I answer truthfully. ‘Only the person who gave it to me. And you should know that he made it clear he’d kill anyone else I told. Don’t think you’re safe just because you’re behind bars.’
‘I have a lot of friends. Even here. I think I’m safe.’
‘So that’s it?’ I ask. ‘I tell you about the cure and you’ll give me the name?’
‘That’s it. As easy as pie.’
‘What difference does it make to you?’
‘Imagine what we could do with such a thing! We could wipe out this country’s vampire problem in one fell swoop. I’ll be the hero that saved the world from the undead. They’ll give me a fucking parade instead of a sham trial.’
Now it’s my turn to laugh. ‘Vampires aren’t undead. And somehow I don’t think you’ll be able to manufacture – or find – enough to turn even one itty-bitty little vampire back into a human.’
‘Oh, you’d be surprised what the technicians at Magix are capable of. I might be behind bars but don’t think I’m not still in charge.’
‘Then give me the name and I’ll tell you what you want to know.’
He shakes his head. ‘You first. Time is ticking, Ms Blackman. The next victim may already be in danger.’
No way. He’ll realise his mistake when I tell him what the cure really is then he’ll clam up and I’ll get nothing. This is my only chance. ‘No deal, O’Connell. You go first or I’ll find another patsy. It’ll take a bit longer to shake down your other Magix employees but I’ll get there in the end.’
He realises that I’m not bluffing and snarls, ‘Give me your word.’
‘The word of a mere bloodguzzler?’ I ask.
‘Give it.’
I meet his eyes. ‘You have my word.’
‘Terence Miller. You won’t find him under that surname any more though.’
‘Why not?’
‘He told me he was leaving to join the Medici Family. He didn’t return so I’m assuming he succeeded.’
I hiss involuntarily. ‘You’re lying. Or wrong. The man I’m looking for is human.’
‘Don’t be so naïve. Do you really think it would be hard for a bloodguzzler to pass themselves off as something different? Especially a bloodguzzler who used to work for me?’
I have the sinking feeling that he’s telling the truth. But Corinne was also telling the truth in that hospital room: she thought her attacker was human. He may have tried to fool her but it made no sense for him to bother because he was planning to kill her. Why would he care what she thought he was? I mull it over. The perp may still be linked with O’Connell’s bloodguzzler. It would make sense, given that all the victims are from the Medici Family. Perhaps it’s a bit of quid pro quo: in return for help in dispatching some more victims, the ex-Magix employee gets to name who will be next. It’s a theory. A very shitty one if it’s true, of course. It had been nice to think that the vampires were in the clear.
‘The wheels are turning, I see,’ O’Connell says, tapping his forehead. ‘Now give me what I asked for.’
‘I meant what I said. If I tell you this, you’ll be dead.’
‘I’ll take my chances. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.’
‘It’s your funeral.’ He can’t say I didn’t warn him. ‘The cure is simple. No chemistry. No magic. No sacrificial lambs.’
‘The suspense is killing me. Spit it out.’
‘You need the blood of a Kakos daemon. Not much. A mouthful will suffice. And,’ I add casually, ‘the Kakos daemon who gave me that information promised he’d kill anyone I told.’ I watch as the colour drains from O’Connell’s face. ‘Do you still think those tricks will help you now?’ I ask softly.
‘I was right about one thing, Ms Blackman,’ O’Connell says quietly, obviously struggling with the news.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘What’s that?’
‘You really do lust for blood, whether you make the killer-blow or someone else does.’
I shake my head. ‘You’re mistaking my apathy about your future for something entirely different.’
I stand up and walk to the door, banging loudly to be let out. I’m grateful that this time it takes longer to swing open; this would not have been a good time for eavesdropping. Then, without another word, I leave the ex-CEO slumped in his chair.
Chapter Fourteen: The Lion’s Den
‘So now you’re telling me that this fucking bastard is a bloodguzzler after all?’ Foxworthy says as we pull away from the prison.
‘No. O’Connell may have been lying. Or the man he’s
thinking of – this Terence Miller – may have nothing to do with it.’
‘There’s another possibility,’ he says grimly. ‘That this Miller is helping the attacker.’
I nod. I’m glad he’s arrived at the same theory as I did. ‘That crossed my mind too,’ I admit.
‘Regardless of anything, we know that the Medici Family is involved. Whether it’s because some of their number are victims or it’s something more sinister, it’s clear where we need to go next.’
I’d been afraid of this. I shake my head. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘You can’t.’
His eyes narrow. ‘Why the hell not?’
‘Because,’ I remind him patiently, ‘Lord Medici isn’t particularly impressed at the other Families’ newfound openness. He doesn’t want anything to do with it. As far he’s concerned the old ways are the only ways. There’s no way he’ll talk to a human.’
Foxworthy’s knuckles whiten around the steering wheel. I can’t say I blame him. ‘I thought you bloodguzzlers were changing.’
‘We are but it’s going to take the Medici Family a little longer than everyone else.’
‘If what you’re telling me is true, he’ll be no more likely to talk to you than to me. You represent the new guard.’
‘If I can get face to face with him, I think I can persuade him.’
‘And how exactly are you going to manage that? Considering it will be dawn in less than an hour and you’re in for barbecue time.’
‘I have an idea.’
Foxworthy accelerates to beat a red light. He’s getting more and more upset. I suddenly appreciate how frustrating it is for the human police to be left on the sidelines whenever the Families are involved in criminal activity. The Families have been above human law for so long that I never really questioned it, even before I turned. Medici aside, they are trying to open up and be more honest about their dealings; now I wonder whether it might be time to change more than just a willingness to tell the truth. Adapting their legal position could do the world a whole lot of good. I doubt I’d have much chance of persuading any vampires of that, however. At least any who can make a difference anyway.
‘What did you give him?’
‘Mmm?’ I’m so lost in my own thoughts that I almost miss the question.
‘O’Connell. What did you give him to make him talk?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Then I look at him anxiously. ‘You didn’t hear anything, did you?’
Foxworthy snorts. ‘You tribers may not have much honour but I do. Besides, I thought that as we’re working together, you’d tell me later. I guess I was wrong. It didn’t take you long to stop cooperating.’
I sigh heavily. ‘What I told him had nothing to do with you and nothing to do with this case. And O’Connell’s regretting it now,’ I add under my breath.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Nothing. Look,’ I say, in a bid to appease him, ‘I told you what he said, that a vampire might be involved. I wouldn’t have done that if I wasn’t trying to cooperate.’ Foxworthy doesn’t reply but I can tell he realises I’m speaking the truth. ‘The only way Medici will talk is if another bloodguzzler faces him. I’ll do what I can and call you as soon as I’m done. I promise.’
Foxworthy is silent for a moment then he says, ‘I’ve never heard another bloodguzzler refer to themselves that way.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Bloodguzzler. Your lot always just use “vampire”.’
‘Yeah, well, perhaps everything’s not as clear-cut as you think,’ I inform him. ‘And why didn’t you put the damn cuffs on me? I know you had them with you.’
‘That woman winds me up.’
‘The warden?’
‘Yeah. And I was starting to think you maybe weren’t so bad.’ He says it quickly as if he’s hoping I won’t hear.
‘Was?’
‘I’ll reserve judgment until you tell me what Lord fucking Medici has to say.’
Fair enough. ‘Drop me here,’ I tell him.
He glances out the window at the darkened underground station. ‘The trains won’t be running yet. It’s not far back to your place.’
‘I’m going straight to Medici. I’m just not travelling conventionally, that’s all.’ I wink at the inspector and grin to myself. My little adventure in the tunnels with O’Shea has opened up a whole new world of possibilities.
*
I watch Foxworthy drive away. I know he’s still pissed off that I’m not letting him join me but he’s smart enough to recognise it’s the only way we can approach Medici.
I’m not completely stupid: I’m not about to broach the lion’s den without a back-up plan. Normally, I’d text O’Shea or even D’Argneau, but they probably still have their hands full with the Tobias Renfrew mess. Matt, unfortunately, is too vulnerable. I only know one person who can gain admittance to the Medici headquarters without a prior invitation. It’s time to test that friends’ theory. I type the words in quickly and press send before I can change my mind. At least he can’t text back; there won’t be any signal where I’m going.
The station entrance is barred. I tug the steel gate to test it but it’s shut firmly. As a vampire I probably have enough brute strength to break it open but the law-abiding part of me doesn’t want to cause more damage than I need to. Besides, I remember O’Shea’s eagerness to use a lock pick rather than leave a trail. If I want to use these tunnels regularly as a way to cross the city during daylight hours, I need to be circumspect or the council will get wise and start putting bloodguzzler inhibiting spells on the night-time security gates.
With that in mind, I skirt round to the back of the station. It’s a low-lying building so it’s easy to wing myself up to the roof. There’s an access door at the top. It’s locked, of course, but I’m skilled enough to pick it and I pry it open in record time. Once inside, I dart down the stairs and emerge in a small staffroom. The health and safety posters pinned to the wall blare warnings at me in the gloom. As the last thing I need to worry about is what to do in the event of platform overcrowding, I ignore them and slip out to the main passenger area.
Little in the world is more eerie than a train station in the dead of night. The closed booth that sells newspapers, chocolate and fizzy drinks, together with the silent turnstiles and dark corridors, give the place a ghostly feel. For some reason the station is spookier than the abandoned tunnels O’Shea and I ventured down a couple of days ago. Despite my sense of unease, I make my way to the platform and jump down next to the rails. At least there are no trains to dodge this time. I glance up and down the tunnel to get my bearings and then start jogging. I hope this is going to work.
I duck inside the first service door I come across. I know I’m close to the Medici den; I just need to find the right exit. Ignoring all the tunnels that branch off, I count my footsteps. Once I’ve gone about eighty metres, I stop and look around.
There’s a door to my right. I hold my breath and carefully turn the doorknob, easing it open. I wrinkle my nose at the stale air. As quietly as I can, I tiptoe down another corridor. Unlike the previous one, the walls here are tiled only three-quarters of the way up. I knock gently along the old tiles, listening for the right note. When I finally I hear a dull thud, suggesting some sort of hollow chamber, I stop.
Even though I can see a long way through the darkness, I can’t detect any other entrance. I chew my lip. I’d been afraid it would come to this. So much for tiptoeing.
I take off my jacket and wrap it around my right fist. I’m glad I’m not wearing my trusty leather jacket, it’s been damaged enough in the name of vampire escapades. I tighten my fingers, clenching hard, leap forward and smash my fist into the wall. I succeed in knocking off several tiles. They fall to the ground with a loud clatter and I freeze, listening hard. When I’m sure I’m still al
one, I use my other hand to pull away more tiles so I have a bigger gap to work with. I step backwards and try again. Chunks of plaster break off and I start coughing as I’m assailed by a cloud of dust. I wave at the air to clear it. Satisfyingly, I can see several cracks. Perhaps this won’t be so hard after all.
I back away to the opposite wall and focus on the largest crack. Steeling myself, I inhale and jump, feet flying out in front of me like a kung-fu master. The wall is thin and my strike is powerful enough that my foot goes straight through it. Rather embarrassingly, however, it also sticks fast. I tug at my leg, trying to pull it free. More plaster comes away. It takes several twists and one difficult shimmy to extricate my foot. Still, I reckon I can now knock off enough plaster around the small hole with my fingers.
Most of the plaster around the foot-shaped hole is old and crumbling. To be fair, I got lucky. If this entrance had been bricked up as well, I’d have had no chance without a few tools to help me. When I’ve done enough, I step back and eye my handiwork. It’ll have to do. I pick up a small chunk of plaster and shove it into my pocket before squeezing through to the other side.
Dusting myself off, I look around. I’m in a large room full of empty crates and shelves. I spot a barrel date-stamped 1772. I hope I got my bearings right and I’m in the right place; it’d piss me off to find that I’m in some ancient smugglers’ den rather than where I want to be. I edge forward, old cobwebs brushing past my skin. To my left I hear a sudden scuttling, followed by a squeak. I grimace. Bloody rats get everywhere.
I think I’ve reached a dead end, when it suddenly occurs to me to look up. As soon as I do, I smile. I was right. A small trapdoor has been placed into the ceiling.
I roll a barrel underneath it. Being this short really is a pain in the arse sometimes. Even the barrel isn’t tall enough so I grab a box and put it on top. The effect is like an upside-down wedding cake. I clamber up, praying to the powers that be that it will be high enough. Fortunately, I can place my palms flat against the rough wood of the trapdoor.