I pick the jug up again and inspect the base. As soon as I register the slim white packet stuck underneath, I stop breathing. I sniff it and can detect no trace of anything peculiar. But if there is nothing peculiar about it, then Beth wouldn’t have hidden it. I’m desperate to peel it off and check its contents. Whatever is inside has got to be tiny. I poke it and feel a grainy substance, almost like sand.
I debate my options. I could take it to Montserrat as proof of Beth’s underhandedness. Surely this is some physical version of O’Shea’s spell. She has to be in league with the traitors. The trouble is, if I take it away she’ll know that I’m on to her and I’ll scare her off. Or whoever gave it to her in the first place. Right now, without any lab work, it’s not much proof of anything – but if I leave it where it is and she uses it to hurt someone else...
I return the jug to its original place. At least I have a better idea about where to focus my efforts and I’m glad that my instincts about her were right, regardless of the way she helped me ‘save’ Matt. It’s impossible that she’s the mastermind; she’s not even a full vampire yet. But I’d bet all my meagre savings that she is wrapped up in all this. I need to act fast and find Michael.
I double check the room to make sure nothing appears disturbed, then leave. I’m barely three feet away from her door when she suddenly appears.
‘You didn’t find what you needed then, Bo?’
I freeze. Damn. Yes, I did find what I needed and now I’m bloody scared about what you’re going to do, I think.
‘Your notes?’ she prompts.
The relief is overwhelming. ‘Er, my handwriting is so messy, I can barely decipher what I’ve written,’ I stammer. ‘I decided to leave them.’
Beth laughs, although I sense an edge to the sound. She leans her head to one side and regards me steadily. I try to read her expression and fail.
I try a different tactic. ‘Actually, the truth is that I got distracted,’ I admit. ‘I passed Matt’s empty room and it completely threw me. It’s as if he’s never going to return and everyone’s already accepted it.’
Her eyes narrow. ‘Yes,’ she agrees, ‘it’s smegging unnerving.’
Not as unnerving as finding the physical form of O’Shea’s spell hidden under your water jug.
‘Do you think he’s dead?’ I ask.
She shrugs and looks uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know. He was alive the last time either of us saw him. As recruits, we’re not exactly in the loop. Did you talk about him much to the counsellor?’
I suddenly see a way out. ‘No,’ I say slowly, ‘I didn’t. It was too soon, I guess. But maybe I should talk about it some more. All I can think about is the way his eyes…’ I let my voice drift off. I don’t need to fake the horror in my tone at the way Matt looked hanging from that showerhead.
She nods her head. ‘I think she’s free now actually. Alan came out from talking to her while you were gone.’
‘I’ll do that.’ I hadn’t realised there was a real counsellor hovering around and that it wasn’t just a ruse so I could meet with Arzo. I try not to feel too hurt that I was never offered the option to speak to someone. Maybe Michael or Arzo were too afraid I’d end up blabbing.
I force a smile in Beth’s direction then walk past her, trying not to pick up speed and start running. I begin to panic about her room. Was the jumpsuit crumpled into the same shape as when I entered? I curse. I need to find sodding Michael and talk to him as soon as I can, whether he’s trying to avoid me or not.
I jog quickly down the stairs, just in time to see the man himself stalking past. He’s surrounded by a group of vampires, most of whom now look familiar. Unlike my fellow recruits, however, they’ve all resisted my efforts to become their friend. I guess it doesn’t matter whether you’re human or vampire, newbies the world over are treated with the same distance and suspicion.
When Michael catches sight of me, his face shutters and he looks away quickly. What in the hell is his problem? I decide I’ve had enough. Vampire propriety be damned; I need to speak to him.
‘My Lord!’ I call.
Several of his hangers-on look in my direction. Bloody Michael Montserrat ignores me and carries on. I persist.
‘Lord Montserrat!’ I pick up speed, landing with a heavy thump at the foot of the staircase and trotting up to the group. When he continues to ignore me, I skirt round them and block his path so he has to stop. I ignore the other vampires’ affronted expressions. ‘Lord Montserrat, it’s imperative that I talk to you.’
A tiny line creases his smooth forehead. ‘Who are you?’ he asks.
‘Bo,’ I say, keeping up the pretence. ‘We met a few days ago. I’m one of the new recruits.’
‘Ah, yes. What can I do for you, Bo?’ His voice is controlled but I sense a lot of deeper emotion – and none of it very positive – rippling under the surface.
‘I wish to make a complaint.’
The vampire directly behind him, an impeccably coiffed woman, steps forward. ‘Then you need to take it up with the programme director. Lord Montserrat doesn’t have time.’
Montserrat lifts his right hand and the woman stills. I try not to gloat. ‘No, it’s fine, Suzanne. I can spare a few minutes.’ Despite his mild expression, a cloud of darkness rolls across his eyes. ‘I will meet you in my office in half an hour,’ he tells me. ‘I trust you can find the way?’
I bob my head and mutter a thank you. Then I think of my grandfather and follow it with a curtsey. Montserrat eyes me as if he’s not sure whether I’m taking the piss or being serious. Before he can call me on it, I move to the side and let him and his entourage pass by.
Forty minutes later, I’m still cooling my heels outside his office. Irritation is gradually developing into full-blown anger. Just as I’m about to go looking for him, he shows up. He’s alone this time but his face remains a mask. I know why I’m annoyed with him, but I have no idea why he’s being so standoffish with me. He opens the door and steps aside to let me go in first. The back of my neck prickles and I wonder if I’m about to feel a knife slamming into my shoulder blades. No attack comes though. I sit down in one of the chairs opposite the large desk and wait for him to settle himself.
‘So what is it, Bo?’
I stare at him disbelievingly. ‘You’re kidding me, right?’
He rewards me with a blank expression. I stand up, kicking away the chair and glare at him, my hands on my hips. ‘What’s the point in going to all the trouble of getting yourself a spy if you’re going to ignore me? I’ve been trying to get your attention for days! You seem to have forgotten that I even exist! I gave up my life for this shit!’ My voice is high pitched and perilously close to a scream. I don’t care.
He leans back and regards me mildly; if I’m a spitting, hissing cat, then he’s an impassive lion idly watching one of his pride go berserk.
‘Have you found anything out?’ he enquires.
I fold my arms. ‘Yes, I bloody well have. Beth has got some strange powder hidden under the jug in her room. It’s obviously contraband and probably a physical version of O’Shea’s stupid spell. You need to get hold of her straightaway and find out exactly what is going on and who she’s answering to.’
He’s annoyingly unfazed by my revelation. ‘Which one’s Beth?’
‘Blonde. High heels.’
‘Ah.’ A quick grin flashes across his face, making me even more irate. ‘We’ll check it out,’ he tells me. ‘You can go now.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I asked for a phone and internet access days ago. I need to them to continue investigating.’ I hold out my hand as if I’m expecting him to magically drop a mobile into it. I know it’s ridiculous but I’m beyond caring. His apathy is making me so angry I can’t even see straight.
He shrugs. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Why do I get the impression you won’t bother?’ I demand. ‘What exactly is going on here?’
‘You tell me, Bo,’ he says. ‘What is going on?’
br />
‘What do you mean?’
‘I trust Arzo implicitly,’ he says. ‘And when he suggested that you would have a better chance of infiltrating whatever group is forming, I agreed because of that trust.’
The knowledge that my recruitment was Arzo’s idea stings but I try not to let it show. ‘So?’
‘Matthew regained consciousness.’
‘He is alive, then?’
Montserrat doesn’t blink. ‘Does that bother you?’
I’m beyond confused. ‘I tried to save his life, remember?’
‘Yes, that was convenient, wasn’t it?’
I don’t like his tone. ‘What exactly are you implying?’
‘Matthew said one word before lapsing back into a coma. Bo.’
‘What was the word?’
‘I just told you.’
‘Eh?’ I rub my forehead and comprehension dawns. ‘Bo. He said Bo?’
Montserrat doesn’t reply.
‘So now you think that it was me who gave him the spell? It was in the blood he drank! It had to be.’
‘There aren’t many people who had access to that blood.’
‘It was left unattended in the recruits’ social room. Anyone could have got to it.’
‘Were you alone in that room at any point?’
I gape at him. I was, of course, but to believe that I had anything to do with it is crazy.
Montserrat continues. ‘O’Shea never saw his attacker. Then you magically showed up right afterwards. You were present at the massacre at Dire Straits and yet you didn’t intervene.’
‘Because Arzo told me not to!’
‘Arzo was half dead. How could he have told you anything?’
‘His eyes…’ my voice falters. This is ridiculous. ‘I saved O’Shea.’
‘You’re barely five foot. How could you save a thirteen-stone daemon?’
I shake my head. ‘You’re nuts. I had a good life. Why would I mess with it?’
‘Bo, even the police think you’re involved. I was blinded by Arzo’s faith in you. I won’t make that mistake again.’
‘Michael, this is all circumstantial…’
His face closes. ‘You will address me as Lord Montserrat. And you’re right. So far this is all circumstantial. But I won’t tolerate anyone threatening my Family. The second I find a shred of evidence,’ he smiles at me grimly, ‘and, believe me, Bo, I will find that evidence, then you will feel the might of Montserrat justice.’
‘Beth…’ I begin.
He silences me with a wave of his hand and picks up the phone on his desk. ‘Ursus, I’ve had a complaint that one of the recruits is hiding some illicit material. Beth, I think her name is.’ He listens for a moment. ‘Yes. Apparently it’s underneath her water jug. Can you check it out for me?’
He hangs up and raises his eyebrows. I sit back down, shoving my hands underneath my legs to avoid curling them into tight fists.
‘I’m not involved in this. I have no motive. You’re jumping to conclusions based on one word from a semi-conscious guy. I was the last person he saw before he tried to hang himself. That’s probably why he said my name.’
Montserrat doesn’t respond. I lapse into silence. Beth’s little white envelope is the best thing I have to prove my innocence right now. I’m going to have Lord bloody Montserrat begging at my feet for forgiveness in about two minutes’ time.
It takes less than that for the telephone to ring. Montserrat answers it. ‘Yes.’ I watch him smugly. He is going to be so damn sorry. ‘I see. You’re sure?’ He listens for another moment then replaces the receiver. ‘There’s nothing there.’
‘What? They didn’t look hard enough then! It’s right underneath the jug. It was there less than an hour ago. Have them look again.’
A muscle throbs in his cheek. ‘You can go now, Bo.’
‘I had nothing to do with this!’
His gaze is implacable. I feel numb, as if I’ve wandered into some bizarre episode of The Twilight Zone. ‘If you’re so sure I’m involved in this, why are you waiting?’ I ask him quietly. ‘Why not execute me and be done with it?’
‘I owe it to Arzo to find the proof first. And losing another recruit at this stage without the evidence of your betrayal will merely unnerve the others.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’
His eyes are hard. ‘Pray.’
Chapter Twenty: Vodka
I feel empty inside and more alone than ever. I’ve given up everything and now I’m trapped in the Montserrat House with vampire blood running through my veins and not a single friend. Beth could be about to unleash hell upon every single Montserrat vampire any minute now and there’s nothing I can do about it.
To add to my woes, I seem to be suffering from permanent nausea, although whether it’s from my growing bloodlust or despair at my situation, I have no idea. I’m incredulous that Michael Montserrat believes I’m involved. Time is ticking away on the real mastermind’s invisible deadline and he’s wasting his days thinking I’m one of the culprits. Jeez, maybe he even thinks I’m the one who started it all, who wants to create a new Family. Considering how little I want to be part of the bloodguzzler world, how could he entertain such a thought?
The first opportunity I have, I sneak back into Beth’s room. There are no longer any traces of whatever it was she was hiding. My only hope is to find the real traitors but I’m getting no joy from the recruits and now I have nothing substantial on Beth, even though I try to keep her in my sights at all times. Besides, all the Families are involved in this, not just Montserrat, so I can hardly pin things on her and hope for the best. I have to find the root but I have no idea how. Tempting as it is to sneak up on Beth and force her to spill her guts, it doesn’t seem particularly realistic. Torture is hardly my thing. I got lucky before in that O’Shea genuinely wanted to share his problems with me and gave in when I pressed him; somehow I don’t get the same feeling about Beth. Besides, given my current situation, I’d probably have less than five minutes alone with her before Montserrat’s goons descended. I’m certain I’m being watched constantly although I never catch anyone following me.
Ursus continues with his nightly themed PowerPoints. Fortunately, there are some breaks and we have the pleasure of other vampires as trainers. Alongside the best ways to drink blood directly from a human (which has the few of us who still haven’t partaken of O negative squirming in our seats), there’s some basic combat and fitness drilling. I imagine Lord Montserrat’s face on a punch bag. When that stops working, I switch to the blond vampire who so callously killed Charity Weathers, and the dark-haired beast responsible for slaughtering everyone at Dire Straits. Imagining whipping their arses is, however, no substitute for the real thing.
My physical strength and vampiric abilities may be developing, but I’m feeling more and more strung out and less and less in control of my destiny. I don’t like it at all and, by the end of the seventh night, one full week after I officially turned, I’ve just about had enough.
‘Maybe you should drink,’ Nell says. ‘It’ll make you feel better and help you to sleep more.’
‘No.’ Beth’s answer is sharp.
‘It’s not as bad as you think,’ Nell informs us. She’d succumbed the previous evening, ravenously downing three glasses of thick gloopy blood in a row.
‘The longer you avoid drinking,’ Beth says with a nasty look at Nell, ‘the more powerful you’ll eventually become. It’s about time the Montserrat Family had some powerful women to deal with.’
I perk up at her words. This is the kind of thing I’ve been waiting for. I’ll have witnesses this time too.
‘Yup,’ agrees Nicky, stretching out her legs. She’s still not used to being able to move her limbs. ‘They are a bit testosterone heavy.’
‘But some of that testosterone is so tasty,’ Nell interjects with a wink.
I try to steer the conversation back to where I want it. ‘It’s a shame that only the Bancroft Family has a female H
ead.’
‘Yeah, apparently she’s a bitch, though.’
I sigh inwardly at Nell’s words. You can’t beat women for cattiness against their own sex.
‘Imagine if it was the other way around,’ I say casually. ‘If it was four female Heads and only one man.’
‘There’d be a lot of wine and chocolate,’ grins Nicky.
‘And episodes of Sex and the City.’
‘It’s not fair though, is it?’ I push, looking at Beth as I speak. ‘Out there, the fact that women hold fewer top jobs than men is explained away by them spending nine months out of the workplace pregnant and then staying at home to look after their kids. That’s not the case here.’ We’d already made much of the fact that we no longer had to worry about our periods. I’d wondered, albeit to myself, whether that would be the same if I made it to Sanguine. I wasn’t sure whether it would upset me or please me.
‘Women are weaker than men,’ Nell asserts.
‘Bullshit! No man could walk in these all smegging day long.’ Beth points to the stilettos she continues to wear. I try to chuckle.
‘When my family was attacked,’ Nicky says softly, ‘my mother tried to protect me while my father tried to fight back.’ A dark shadow crosses her face. ‘They broke in at exactly two o’clock in the morning and were there until almost five. I remember because I had a huge red digital clock on my bedside table. They went into my parents’ room and I woke up and heard them so I followed them in. My father fought as hard as he could while my mother threw her body between them and me. That’s the difference between men and women.’
I don’t agree with her but I’m not in a position to say so. The others obviously feel the same and we lapse into an uncomfortable silence while Ria walks in with today’s tray of blood offerings. Nell has been drinking all day and ignores her. Beth, Nicky and I look away.
‘You know what we should do?’ Nell says to no one in particular.
‘What?’
Her eyes gleam with mischief. ‘We should sneak out. Hit the town. Have a little fun.’