Date: 2012-08-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Vampires; Paranormal Romance; Paranormal; Romance; Urban Fantasy
Description: Silence has never been so sinful… Welcome to Edinburgh's unique psychic investigation agency, Serafina's. Serafina MacBride is psychic - but not strictly honest. While staging a hilarious vampire attack at a client's party, Sera is stunned to encounter a real vampire - annoying, gorgeous and inaudible to everyone but her. When her client's son is found dead with puncture wounds in his neck, she tracks the silent vampire to his lair. But the amoral and seductive Blair is also on a mission - to find and kill a nest of young vampires who've invaded his territory. Soon Sera is drawn into the bizar
Rights: © 2012 by Marie Treanor

Serafina and the Silent Vampire

(Serafina’s, Book 1)

Marie Treanor

SERAFINA AND THE SILENT VAMPIRE

All Rights Reserved © 2012 by Marie Treanor

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

DEDICATION

To my husband,
with love and gratitude for his unfailing support and encouragement.

And to Edinburgh’s real psychics,
with apologies.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

About Marie Treanor

Other Books by Marie Treanor

Sample Chapter: Smoke and Mirrors

Connect with Marie Treanor online

Chapter One

Serafina was having a blast.

Not only had she strung smelly garlic bulbs all over Ferdinand Bell’s large, beautiful house on the outskirts of Edinburgh and defaced every single room with rough wooden crosses, she now got to swagger through his evening party guests like Buffy the Vampire Slayer on patrol and drink old Ferdy Bell’s vintage champagne while she was at it.

And she got paid.

Work didn’t get much better than this.

On the whole, Bell’s guests were taking the bizarre ornamentation in their stride. They were here to celebrate the promotion of his son Jason to a partnership in a major financial investment company and so were drawn from a wide age group. However, they were all, clearly, stinking rich, and whether they wore traditional evening dress, kilts, trews, formal gowns, or stylish designer outfits, they shrieked money from every pore. Well, money and manners, Serafina supposed, since no one had actually laughed in old Ferdy Bell’s face yet. Or in hers, unless you counted Jilly, whose eyes gleamed in answering delight whenever they encountered hers across the room.

The guests gave odd surreptitious glances at the garlic strung across the doorways and windows, and at the somewhat ugly wooden cross nailed to the wall above the fireplace and upstaging a hideous, abstract oil painting. Serafina guessed that most present were already aware of old Ferdy’s unique theory that a vampire was stalking his family. They might have considered him senile, though what they imagined her excuse was, she’d no idea. It wasn’t as if she’d tried to blend in: she wore jeans and a short, leather jacket with its pockets blatantly full of sharp sticks.

Realizing that one of the catering staff was passing her with a bottle in either hand, she stuck out her glass with alacrity and received a grudging refill. She toasted the back of the waiter’s head before knocking half the contents down her throat.

Jack, one of her three regular, underpaid employees, materialized in front of her. Although an actual guest at the party through his own and his family’s connections, he looked much as he always did: all wild curly brown hair and a harassed expression.

“That’s no way to treat champers of that quality,” he murmured in his English public school accent, twitching the glass from her hand.

“Oy!” she protested, snatching it back.

“Are you pissed?” Jack asked under his breath.

“I hope to be very soon.”

“Can we do the job first, Sera?”

“Spoilsport,” she grumbled, although she did start to walk toward the french doors, where Jilly, displaying a sexy expanse of thigh, was halfway up a ladder, rehanging a fallen string of garlic while guests squeezed past her to make the most of the surprisingly warm late summer evening in Ferdy Bell’s beautiful garden.

“Is this stuff meant to be on the outside or the inside?” Jilly demanded.

“Both,” Sera said vaguely. It was definitely dusk, and in another few minutes, there would probably be enough darkness to carry out her plan.

Jilly lifted one eyebrow. “Then you’d better give me a hand, hadn’t you?”

“Fair play,” Sera allowed. She turned to Jack, murmuring, “Make sure Tam’s all set. I’ll be along soon to give you the nod. And Jack,” she added, picking another string of garlic bulbs from the basket under Jilly’s ladder. “Try to look as if you’re having fun?”

Whatever retort he’d been about to make vanished into a smile as someone he knew paused to speak to him amid much back slapping.

“He’s in his element,” Jilly muttered, clambering back down the ladder. Sera shifted it through the doorway with her foot, politely excusing herself to Jack and his friend, who stood in the way.

“Good thing too,” Sera replied, arranging the ladder outside with one hand while the other held valiantly on to her glass of champagne. “Plan wouldn’t work, otherwise, would it?”

Jilly grunted, a sound spectacularly at odds with her angelically beautiful appearance. She was Sera’s best friend as well as her first employee, and fierce intelligence lurked behind her baby-blue eyes, stylish, golden-blonde bob, and perfect makeup. Brought up in one of Edinburgh’s roughest housing schemes, which she’d worked damned hard to escape, Jilly refused to forgive Jack his privileged background, even when having him here as a guest made their own job easier.

“What is all this?” Jack’s friend asked, riveting his gaze to Jilly’s long, slender leg halfway up the ladder as she stretched above the french door. “Seems an odd theme for a party.”

Jilly and Sera made brief, sparkling eye contact.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Jack said, turning his friend toward the garden before he could catch sight of the women’s inappropriate mirth. “It wouldn’t be the first time the term ‘bloodsucker’ has been applied to bankers.”

“Still the socialist, Jack?” his friend mocked.

“Nothing to do with politics,” Jack argued, moving farther away as Jilly came back down the ladder. Reluctantly, Sera placed her glass on the table just inside the french door.

“What’s this?” Jilly demanded. “Guilt?”

“No. Jack’s right.”

“Nah,” Jilly said with conviction.

“Unfortunately, yes. I’ve got to be capable of taking on the real stalker if he shows up.”

“You really expect him to, with all these people around?”

“Well, Ferdy clearly does.”

“He expects a vampire,” Jilly said dryly, “which is why we’re here.”

Sera sighed. “Ferdy, bless his old banker’s heart, is not telling us the whole truth.”

“That why we’re trashing his party?”

“Yup,” said Sera, hefting the ladder over one shoulder. “That and the fact it’s bloody funny.” She carried the ladder round the side of the house to the shed where they’d found it some hours before. Then, having stashed it, she dusted herself off and walked across the lawn at the back of the house, where little clumps of people stood and chatted, or walked, glasses in hand, around the well-kept grounds. Their features were growing fuzzy in the darkening evening, despite the atmospheric lighting shining down from the walls of the house.

Underneath the garlic hanging from the french doors, Jilly appeared to have been cornered by their attention-seeking host. All to the good. Sera raised her hand in what might have been misinterpreted as a wave. Jilly’s nod told her the true meaning was clear. Five minutes until she’d bring Ferdy.

Sera went in search of Jack and Tam, who should be ready now to play their parts. The Bells had a good, large garden surrounded by a high wall. There was a small, ornamental maze in the middle and a grove of apple and pear trees some yards to the side of it, running along the high boundary wall. Tam’s instructions were to skulk among the trees until it was time to come to the edge of the wood and “attack” Jack, after which, when Jilly brought Ferdy Bell, Sera would leap out of the trees and, with the aid of a neat bit of smoke kit acquired by Tam himself, turn Tam to apparent dust. Tam would then run off unseen back into the trees until they could either smuggle him out or inform him it was safe to leave, while Sera and Jilly would fuss over Jack, who would, unless he wimped out, have genuine if self-inflicted puncture wounds in his neck. He’d made a tiny set of clippers specially—they’d inflict shallow but bleeding wounds of the right shape. With luck, Sera would get another fee out of it.

Jack was propping up the hedge on the outside edge of the maze nearest to the trees, but as he saw Sera approach, he straightened and strolled toward her, his gaze darting to check for guests within earshot. A jerk of his head warned her there were unseen people inside the maze. There was no need; she could hear their voices from yards away.

“Where’s Tam?” Sera asked low as they met.

“Not here yet, or at least I can’t find him.”

“Oh, for the love of—” She broke off, adding impatiently, “He is here. Jilly spoke to him on the phone. Where did you look?”

“In there, of course.” Jack nodded at the arranged meeting place in the nearby grove, which was now satisfyingly dark.

“If you want something done properly… Wait here. Jilly’s bringing Ferdy in just a couple of minutes,” Sera muttered and strode off in the direction of the trees.

It was hardly a deep, dark forest, but the lights outside the house didn’t stretch this far, and Sera quickly felt enveloped in blackness. She delved in her jacket pocket for the pencil-thin flashlight and shone it in front of her feet as she walked, occasionally darting it around to search for Tam. It was ridiculous, losing him in a bunch of trees, but she didn’t want to phone him in case the ringing was heard elsewhere in the garden and ruined her carefully prepared spooky atmosphere. On the other hand, she couldn’t afford to take too long or Ferdy would be herding his guests inside from the late evening cool, and her moment would have passed.

She felt her way around two intertwining apple trees and found Tam.

She stopped dead with shock. His large frame was unmistakable in the flashlight beam, but she’d never before seen it slumped in the brutal hold of an attacker who seemed to be strangling him or squeezing him to death. Which would be quite an achievement considering the size of Tam’s muscular body. And the fact that his opponent, although about equal in height, was far lighter and leaner in weight. And wearing a kilt, as if he was, or was pretending to be, one of the Bells’ guests. Tam’s arms flailed as if trying feebly to fly free. That was terrifying in itself: Tam the Tank physically helpless.

Sera’s hand wavered, and the beam from her flashlight shifted over a shock of dark chestnut hair. There was a tiny instant when she imagined she’d steeped herself too deeply in this vampire nonsense, because it almost looked as if the stranger had his face buried in Tam’s throat. It sent a weird, almost sensual shiver down her spine before she yanked her brain back into line.

Who the hell was this? Ferdy’s stalker? Sera didn’t wait to find out. As he began to turn his head, granting her a glimpse of his shadowed face and gleaming eyes, she hurled herself at him feetfirst. Both her boots connected jarringly with hard flesh; her whole being jolted as if she’d been shot.

It took an instant to realize that she lay on the ground on her back, winded, while Tam’s attacker, and Tam himself, remained upright. Jesus, she couldn’t have lost her touch to that degree! She’d slammed into him. She should at least have knocked him off balance! But then, she should have landed on her feet, not her back, and been ready to jump him before he recovered.

As she struggled to rise, her blurred vision cleared enough to show her, by the crazily waving beam of the torch, that the kilted thug had released Tam, who leaned one massive shoulder against the tree, shaking his head as if to clear it. Thank God, at least the bastard hadn’t killed him. And now they were two against one, however strong this maniac was.

“Tam! Now!” she commanded in an urgent stage whisper and ran at the curiously still figure of the enemy.

Tam muttered something that might have been, “Don’t, Sera.”

Her quarry sidestepped her with a blur that surely spoke more for the intensity of her previous winding than for his genuine speed. Whatever the cause, it was enough to unbalance Sera. Fortunately, Tam leapt and caught her in his muscled arm—all that prevented her from falling over again.

She whirled around, poised to face a counterattack, snatching the only weaponry she carried in her pocket—one of the ridiculous pointy sticks—and for the first time looked into the shadowed face of her enemy. Remembering belatedly about her flashlight still clutched in her bruised left land, she shone it directly into his face. The eerie crisscrossing of shadows on his skin disappeared in the golden glow, but he made no effort to hide from the light. Two large, dark brown eyes stared at her from a lean, still face. There was no doubt he was good-looking enough to turn heads, with a high forehead, long, thin nose, and full, expressive lips, all framed by a shock of thick, dark hair streaked with auburn. The combination of high, broad cheekbones and leanness gave him a slightly cadaverous look that somehow didn’t detract in the slightest from his male beauty.

All these jumbled impressions Sera absorbed in an instant. But chiefly what caught and held her attention was the trickle of red blood running from the corner of his mouth and down the side of his chin.

“Oh for f…!” Sera hurled the pointy stick to the ground. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she raged. “This is our show.”

The trespassing bastard—no dangerous stalker after all, but another charlatan muscling in on Ferdy’s apparently much-publicized delusions—took a step nearer her, reminding her of a hunting cat. “Show? What are you showing?”

Sera frowned, caught off guard because his lips didn’t move as he spoke the words. Well, it made him one up on Tam, who couldn’t do ventriloquism, so far as Sera was aware. She glanced at Tam, frowning direly. She couldn’t believe she’d actually worried about the big, stupid lump. “Were you in on this? Because we’ve wasted enough time. Come on.”

She swung on the interloper. “And you, bugger off.”

The man’s brows rose as if in surprise, while his eyes continued to devour her face, dipping downward over her neck and breasts in a way that, in spite of everything, made her flush.

He said, “Oh no. You are much more beautiful.”

“Than Tam?” she retorted. “Excuse me, but that’s not exactly a compliment to die for.”

His gaze returned to her face. Deep, dark eyes alight with amusement and an excitement that was almost…hunger. For no reason that mattered, Sera’s stomach seemed to dive. His full, sensual lips quirked up at the corners. “I won’t let you die.”

Sera glared, mostly because of his seductive voice—low and soft and with only a hint of Scottish. It added butterflies to the plunging of her stomach and pleasant little tingles to her spine. “Will you stop doing that?”

His lips stretched farther. “Doing what?”

“Talking without moving your lips! It might be clever, but it’s bloody disconcerting.”

“Sera?” Tam interrupted, drawing her attention. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, dandy!” she responded with heavy sarcasm, spotting the stream of blood down the side of his throat and, worse, the two puncture wounds. “Shite, Tam, have you got Jack’s clipper things?” This was going to make life really difficult. Jack needed them to create believable-looking puncture wounds on his own neck… But hell, never mind; he’d probably get the chance after Tam “bit” him.

“No,” Tam said in apparent surprise, feeling his neck at the point of her frustrated gaze.

“That was me,” said the interloper helpfully. Without warning, he reached up to Tam’s neck, touching the wound with his fingertip before his hand fell back to his side.

Tam snapped at him, “I’m not gay, you know.”

Sera cast her eyes to heaven. “Did he tell you he was?” Couldn’t one actor spot another?

“He doesn’t say anything, in case you haven’t noticed,” Tam retorted.

Sera glanced at her henchman without affection as she picked up the dropped stick. “You know what, Tam? Your loyalty is becoming seriously suspect.”

Even in the darkness, Tam managed to look affronted. His acting had improved by leaps and bounds.

The other man said conversationally, “He can’t hear me.”

“Why, what did you stick in his ears?”

“Nothing. I’m not speaking.”

“Ah. I’m hearing voices in my head,” Sera said with blatant mockery.

“Aye,” Tam replied at the same time as the other man said, “My voice, at least.”

“And that would be because…?”

“You hit your head when you fell,” Tam answered.

“Because I’m a vampire,” said the stranger in the kilt.

Didn’t this idiot know when to quit? Sera took it upon herself to inform him. She stepped nearer and glared right into his handsome face. “So bite me, arsehole.”

This close, his dark eyes seemed to smolder. Every one of her nerve endings fizzed in confused warning. She wasn’t afraid of him, though; it was a long time since she’d been afraid of anyone. But neither was she stupid, and she gripped the sharp stick, ready to use in a flash, if necessary. She was prepared for anything he had to throw at her.

Except what he did.

He whispered, “I’d love to.” His lips curved into a predatory, devastating smile; his voice curled around her stomach, spreading heat where it had no business to be in this situation.

“Give it a rest, and go away,” she said crossly.

“Not a chance. I want to know what you’re up to.”

“I’ll call for help. Have you arrested or thrown out.”

The smile widened. “No, you won’t.” He didn’t trouble to elaborate. They both knew it was the truth.

Sera actually stamped her foot. “Christ, you’re annoying!”

“What do you expect? My supper’s been interrupted.” His gaze flickered to Tam, who was frowning uncertainly in their direction, and then returned to devour Sera in a way that would have been flattering had she not known he was playing a part. As it was, her treacherous body responded with a surge of blatant lust—which at least gave her one last, desperate idea.

She smiled at the stranger and leaned into him, stretching up on tiptoe so that her lips could reach his ear. He smelled of some elusive spice and sweet earth, and suddenly it wasn’t so difficult to act.

“I can tell you’re a man who likes excitement,” she murmured, letting her breath stir his ear, the soft, tiny hairs on his skin. His breath didn’t hitch, but at least he bent nearer her, betraying that he wasn’t unmoved. She smiled again, knowing she was so close he’d feel her lips almost touching his ear. “Wait here for me. I’ll be back in five minutes and we can…talk.”

On the last word, she let her breast brush against his chest. Whatever it did to him, her own body screamed awareness. Her nipples hardened, egging her on, while some intense, wicked excitement threatened to overwhelm her. Because she could win now, make him wait while she and her henchmen did what they’d come here for. And later, she could find out what the hell was going on, and if Ferdy had employed this guy too.

She leaned back, returning her feet flat to the ground. The stranger’s odd, dark eyes flamed with what she hoped was arousal. He said, “Why don’t we ‘talk’ first?” And bent over her.

She stepped smartly backward. “Tam,” she whispered. “I have to get rid of Tam.”

“I don’t mind Tam.” His gaze lifted from the rapid rise and fall of her breasts to her throat. His lips, full and sensual, parted as they smiled, revealing a glimpse of pointed canine teeth.

“Oh Jesus H. Ch—” she began in frustration, and broke off in mid-word as he lifted his hand to her neck, brushing her skin with one soft, blatantly sexual caress.

“It’s you I want,” he whispered. She felt no breath on her skin, no warmth from him to excite her, and yet his words thrilled from her mind to every nerve in her body. And then cold sliced through her like a shard of ice.

It blasted her. Yet there was no vision, only a profound, red-tinged blackness she couldn’t bear to look into. She caught a little fun and pleasure and humor from the mix, bleeding from the darkness, but the overwhelming sensation was of death and pulsating, unreachable memory, cold and black and terrifyingly profound. Although Sera was used to picking up emotions, even visions, from touch, it took her several disoriented moments to realize that this dreadful flood had grown out of the sensual caress of his fingertips, of the smell and feel that was uniquely him. Him, God help her.

She threw herself backward out of his awful reach, stifling the cry of agony that tried to burst from her lips. Christ, who are you? What have you done…?

Their eyes locked. Sera heard only her own panting breath. The smile still curving the stranger’s lips began to die. He took another step nearer her, and she raised one useless hand to ward him off.

And someone screamed, loud and insistent.

Instinct spun Sera around, dragging her gaze and her body away from the stranger. At least, as she bolted through the trees in the direction of the scream, she called it instinct. In truth, as her feet pounded across the rough ground and branches caught at her clothes and hair, it felt a lot like relief.

Someone was following. She hoped to God it was Tam and not—

Her phone broke into song. She didn’t slow down as she seized it and clamped it to her ear. But she’d reached the edge of the trees now, and she could see the panic of people milling around the garden. Most of them seemed to be squashing into the ornamental maze.

“Sera,” Jilly’s voice said from her phone. She sounded shaky, breathy, her pitch higher than usual. “You’d better get over here. The maze. It’s Jason, Ferdy’s son. I think he’s dead.”

Sera stopped in her tracks. “What?” Her ears were singing; her heart felt as if it had stopped beating. It had to be a sick wind-up, and yet Jilly’s silence on the phone said very loudly that she believed it. “Oh shite…” As Tam’s footsteps faltered behind her, she said, “It’s all gone tits up. You’d better get out of here fast.”

She didn’t look at him or wait to see if he obeyed. She began to run again toward the maze with an ominous feeling of the sky falling on her head. She was vaguely surprised when people made way for her to get into the maze. A woman in a strappy, black silk dress with a tear at the side, her face understandably white under her perfect makeup, even pointed out which way to go.

The body that was presumably Jason lay on the ground, with his distraught parents on one side. Mrs. Bell was tugging at her once beautifully sculpted hair and weeping. Jack seemed to be administering CPR, while Jilly stared down at his efforts, for once without a word of criticism.

Sera swallowed. “Ambulance?” she said to no one in particular.

“On its way,” said Jilly.

“What happened?”

“We just found him lying there,” Jilly said helplessly. “Me and Mr. Bell.”

Briefly, Sera met Ferdy’s gaze. There was genuine worry in his eyes, she’d swear. Yet behind it was the same gleam that had always bothered her. She’d no idea what it signified, beyond a lack of honesty, but it looked avid, obsessive.

Jack stopped pumping at the young man’s chest. “I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely. “I think he’s dead.”

With a wail, Mrs. Bell fell against her husband.

Please, no, please, no. Please don’t let him be dead… Sera shifted position to follow Ferdy’s attention and saw the two, bloody puncture wounds in Jason Bell’s throat.

She stared, almost numb with shock, before she realized her fingers were clutching in panic at her own neck. At the very same spot the kilted stranger had touched.

She whirled around with a muttered “Excuse me,” and pushed her way back out of the maze.

The rest of the garden was almost deserted. The shadow of the woman in the strappy dress disappeared round the side of the house. But the figure she actually sought was striding, almost gliding, across the lawn: a tall man in a kilt who moved with the grace of a panther. And all the danger, she suspected, of a murderer. She ran after him, reluctant to shout in case he took to his heels. But he walked damned fast, and she had to sprint flat out before, breathless, she finally caught at his sleeve and yanked him round to face her.

He turned with ease, as if he’d always known she was there and wasn’t remotely surprised by her violent tugging. In the glow of the garden lights, he gazed at her in silence. Her words dried up in her throat. All she could think of was the icy blackness of his touch, the blackness of a man capable of anything; and the weird attraction of his profound, unreadable eyes.

“Was it you?” she choked out at last. “Did you kill him?”

He didn’t answer. His lips quirked as if they might smile but didn’t. Then he simply turned and strode away. After three paces, he broke into a run and disappeared round the side of the house.

Was that his answer?

Sera pounded recklessly after him, anxious to see where he went at the very least.

Although the side garden was full of shadows, none of them were human. And at the front, there was no sign of anyone at all except a middle-aged couple who were waiting to direct the paramedics. Sera ran out to the street and scanned both directions. It was empty. Not even a car moved. Only a fine trail of mist or car exhaust hovered in the night air. She could almost imagine it formed the faded features of her quarry.

Chapter Two

In the circumstances, the paramedics carried Jason not to hospital but to his own bedroom. As everyone else moved inside to await the inevitable arrival of the police or toward home, Sera slumped against the maze hedge, flanked by a uniquely silent Jilly and Jack.

“Tell me those clippers are still in your pocket,” she said to Jack. He brought his hand from his pocket and showed her. The points were clean.

“I guess Ferdy really had a stalker,” Jilly said heavily.

Sera shook her head. Not unless the kilted stranger of the fast getaway was the stalker after all. “This must have been one of the guests. Jack heard people giggling and talking in the maze.” Which was when the stranger had been performing his little scene with Tam. None of this made sense.

She delved into her pocket for her phone. “Where’s Tam? He came out of the trees with me but did a bunk when he heard what happened. I need to know who that other actor is, and how the hell…” She broke off as Tam’s familiar grunt sounded over the phone. “Tam?”

“Sera, I’m out of this. Call me tomorrow,” Tam said. He sounded breathless, as if he was running.

“Wait! Are you clear of the house?”

“How stupid do you think I am? Of course, I’m clear of it. Well clear. Is that bloke dead right enough?”

“Very. Tam, who was that man with you? The guy in the kilt?”

“No idea. His name’s Blair, if that helps.”

“Is he with you?”

“No, I presume he’s still at the bloody party with you! Look, I’m getting in my car now—”

“What happened to your neck?” Sera interrupted, gripping the phone harder as if that could somehow keep Tam on the line. “What made those marks?”

“What marks?” Tam sounded bewildered. Over the phone came the distinctive sound of a closing car door. “There’s nothing wrong with my neck, unless it got scratched by brambles. Bye, Sera.”

He managed to break the connection in a particularly determined kind of way, and Sera gave up, dropping the phone back in her pocket.

Jilly said, “We fucked up, didn’t we?”

“Big style,” Sera agreed. Tragically big. The sound of police sirens screamed through the air. A man was dead. Dead. And she’d been too busy arsing around to prevent it. Again. History had a sick sense of humor to keep repeating itself like this. “It’s going to be a long night.”

One of many as she learned to live with this.

****

Blair could still smell his quarry on the wind. Although she drove, she’d left the car window open, and he was more than capable, once he’d reformed into corporeal state, of following across the city on foot. Fading was a useful un-life skill, but unfortunately it played havoc with the senses, and it was largely luck that had reformed him only feet from the vampiress’s car. This was the best lead he’d had, and he was damned if he’d lose it. Although he was conscious of a twinge of regret. It would have been good to stay a little longer with the beautiful psychic. He was hungry, since she’d interrupted his meal, and the scent of her blood had been extremely alluring. But he was too old, much, much too old to let even the most intriguing of women get in the way of his supreme goal. Which was, of course, personal comfort.

By the time his quarry reached the Roseburn area, Blair was running across the rooftops, keeping time with her car below. She parked in a residential street of Victorian houses and got out. She looked slim and sexy in her black silk dress. It didn’t seem to matter to her that it was torn and stained with human blood.

Blair thought quite seriously about jumping down and draining her dry. She’d just caused him a massive amount of trouble, present and future. But on the other hand, he needed to know more, and perhaps he owed her for leading him here. He’d see what he could learn first.

She went up a short garden path to a quiet, detached house. A bit of wood stuck out above the door, with two short chains dangling from it, as if it had once held a bed-and-breakfast or hotel sign. The building bore an air of neglect, and it seemed to be in darkness. Blair leapt across the street to the house’s roof, and the vampiress in the black dress glanced uneasily upward as if, at last, she’d sensed something. However, whether or not she saw him, she was distracted as soon as the front door opened.

Blair leaned right out from the roof at an impossible angle in order to see. A middle-aged man, attractively gray, had opened the door. The girl brushed past him, and he made to follow. Then he paused, hesitating, and slowly turned his face upward.

Interesting. Another human psychic who’d sensed his presence faster than the vampire. Perhaps that was why he reminded Blair of the scolding girl at the party.

“Uh… Good evening,” the man said, apparently unfazed by a vampire leaning at almost ninety degrees off his guttering.

Blair inclined his head. Even more interesting, although the girl in the black dress was the only vampire currently in the house, the whole building reeked of undead presence.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

Blair was disinclined to answer that. He considered going inside, killing the man and the vampiress by way of a territorial message to the others. It was one solution, and it might work. But he realized that alongside his irritation lurked a grain of curiosity which a murder spree would not satisfy.

“Can I help you?” the man asked. “Would you like to come in?”

Blair stepped off the guttering, and the man fell back in spontaneous alarm. As Blair landed, soft as a cat, his knees only slightly bent to absorb the force, the man reached for the door with one hand and shoved the other into his pocket as if for a weapon. Blair smiled.

“Not yet,” he said telepathically and walked away. He had the feeling the man understood. Blair waited until the man closed the door; then he walked up the first side street, jumped onto the nearest roof, and doubled back. Perhaps he’d just spy for a while. Besides, a rather juicy couple of young men were wandering up the road, and he rather fancied a midnight snack.

****

Being discovered in the dead man’s bedroom was not the introduction to the police that Sera would have chosen. She’d calculated it was worth the risk—erroneously, as it happened.

She’d snuck in while close family and friends looked after Jason’s parents downstairs, and sat on the edge of the bed to take Jason’s cold hand and will him to talk to her. With his eyes closed and all vitality gone, he looked unexpectedly young and unassuming. His straight, brown hair was mussed-up, almost like a schoolboy’s, and he had a faint scattering of freckles that brought a lump to her throat. She couldn’t bring him back, any more than she could have brought Mattie back, but she could at least discover what had happened to him. Who had happened to him.

With his hand in hers, she closed her eyes and reached out to him.

Blankness. She picked up nothing from the touch of his dead skin; no bewildered or angry spirit came anywhere near her. It almost felt like Jason had never been.

Maybe she was too wound-up. Maybe memories of Mattie were interfering. After all, the events surrounding Mattie’s death had been a major turning point in her life—the last time anyone had made a decision for her. Now Sera was in control; she made the decisions. Although they weren’t always good ones, or this young man wouldn’t be dead and silent on the bed beside her.

With an effort, Sera refocused her mind, trying to banish all the personal baggage. There was only Jason Bell, suddenly and mysteriously dead.

And still silent.

The bedroom door clicked open, jolting Sera back to her soundings. Her fingers scrabbled, searching for something, anything of Jason’s to keep for later. Encountering a cufflink, she twisted it free and palmed it, just as a uniformed police constable entered with Ferdy.

The policeman raised his ginger eyebrows at her in surprise. She stood at once, refusing to look as guilty as she felt as she surreptitiously dropped Jason’s purloined cufflink into her leather jacket pocket.

“Is this your daughter?” the policeman asked Ferdy.

“Oh no, this is Miss MacBride. I hired her in connection with the stalker we were telling you about.”

The policeman’s already suspicious eyes hardened. “You’re a private investigator?” he asked, not bothering to hide his distaste.

Sera looked him in the eye. “I’m a psychic investigator.” As she expected, that deprived the boy in blue of speech long enough for her to add, “I’m Sera MacBride, owner of Serafina’s Psychic Investigations.”

The constable’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing in here?”

Sera held his look; she was used to his kind of contempt. “Trying to reach his spirit.”

The policeman snorted. But he had to swallow whatever cutting remark he’d been about to make when Ferdy asked quickly, “Did you reach him? Did you reach my boy?”

Sera shook her head. “No. I’m sorry. Perhaps it’s too soon.” Or perhaps, like Mattie’s spirit, he’d never talk to her, because it was her fault he was dead.

“Aye. Perhaps,” said the copper disparagingly. “Did you touch the body at all?” Although he was busy writing in his notebook, his eyes tried to pierce her with quick darts over the top of it.

“No,” Sera lied.

“Come downstairs with me, please.” Despite the deliberate civility, it was not a request. Sera only shrugged and passed under his arm out of the door.

“Is that it?” Sera asked, heading for the stairs. “Aren’t you going to examine him, take photos and stuff?”

“My colleagues from CID will be here shortly.” The bedroom door shut with a definite click, and the constable followed her and Ferdy downstairs. But as Ferdy went to join his wife and closest friends among the guests, the policeman detained her in the spacious hall. “A few questions, Miss MacBride.”

“Sure.”

“What did Mr. Bell hire you to do, exactly?”

“Stop whoever—or whatever—was stalking him and his family.”

“Did you?”

“Not yet.”

“How much did you charge him for all the garlic and crosses?”

“It’s all part of the service,” Sera said brazenly.

“Aye? I bet you don’t give him a rebate either.”

“Why should I? It worked, didn’t it?”

“How do you come to that conclusion?”

Sera smiled. “Have you seen any vampires in the house?”

She turned away from him, meaning to go into the larger room where the rest of the guests were giving their names to another policeman before being allowed to leave. But at the last minute, he grabbed her jacket sleeve.

“How do you sleep at night?” he snarled. “Ripping folk off when they’re down, playing on their grief like a vulture. You people make me sick.”

An automatic retort sprang to Sera’s lips, but she never made it. She waited silently, staring at his name badge—PC Alex McGowan—until he released her, then walked away in search of her henchmen. Right now, she made herself sick.

****

It was as they were being allowed to leave at last that Sera finally found her moment to ask Ferdy about his mysterious guest. He came up to her as she made her way to the front door with Jilly and earnestly asked her to visit him tomorrow morning.

“Of course,” Sera said at once. “Mr. Bell… Did you invite anyone called Blair to your party?”

“Jane Blair? Our neighbor? Retired school teacher from Mary Erskine’s?”

“Definitely not! Tall young man, dark or auburn hair, wearing a kilt? Might be an actor or another investigator? Like us?”

Ferdy shook his head. “Doesn’t ring any bells. And I didn’t hire another investigator. Why?”

“I’ll explain tomorrow,” she said hurriedly. Plainclothes police were arriving, and this time they’d brought all the suited-up forensics people she expected. She didn’t watch Taggart and CSI for nothing. They were piling into the house with their equipment and climbing the stairs after PC McGowan, who didn’t like Sera, and everyone else was waiting to speak to Ferdy.

It was pandemonium, and yet as Sera muttered sympathy and farewell and reached for the door handle, the policeman’s exclamation cut through the din like an axe.

“What! Where the hell’s the body?”

****

Sera’s Citroën screeched to a halt outside Jack’s modern block of luxury flats overlooking Haymarket, just as Jack inserted his key in the door. He glanced over his shoulder without surprise as Sera unwound the window. “Get in,” she called.

He didn’t even attempt to remonstrate, just took his key out of the door, walked back down the steps, and climbed into the backseat of Sera’s car.

“Nice one, Doc,” Jilly flung at him from the front passenger seat. “Your dead man walked.”

Jack sighed. “I know. But be fair. He fooled an actual doctor too. What is it with these people? What are he and old Ferdy up to?”

“Fuck knows,” said Jilly baldly.

In the rearview mirror, Sera saw Jack blink. He still hadn’t got used to the shock of such foul language emanating from the angelic-looking Jilly, whose halo of shining golden hair and frail, perfect beauty belied her much earthier character.

“Where are we going?” Jack asked.

“Tam’s,” Sera said.

“He won’t be in,” said Jilly, who was Tam’s cousin and knew his habits pretty well. “He’ll be in Spier’s Bar.”

Sera nodded and kept driving.

“Have they found him?” Jack asked.

“Jason? No. Not yet.”

“Wouldn’t we be better looking for him than for Tam?”

“I need Tam to tell me who this Blair character is. I found him wrestling with Tam in the trees, as if they were playing out some vampire scene of their own. Tam was cagey about the whole thing.”

“Probably thought it was funny till you showed up, then crapped his pants,” Jilly offered. “Tam likes a laugh, but he’s always been scared shitless of you.”

“Not as scared as he’s going to be,” Sera promised.

Jilly glanced at her. “It wasn’t his fault, you know.”

“No,” Sera agreed. “It was mine.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Sera. At least Jason isn’t dead.”

“Thing is,” Sera said, gazing fixedly at the headlights in front, “I’m pretty sure he is.”

Jilly’s fair head swiveled to stare. “You mean someone stole the body? Who the hell could have done that with the house full of police? Dead bodies are heavy. You can’t just stuff them under your coat and swan off with them unnoticed!”

“There were only two policemen when the body disappeared, and they were both downstairs taking names. I’ll bet there’s another staircase in that house and a back way out.”

“Who would do it, though?” Jack demanded.

“And why?” Jilly added.

“Blair. I don’t know why.” She glanced at Jilly, then at the rearview mirror to meet Jack’s gaze. “I fucked up, and all we can do now is get Ferdy his dead boy back and find his killer. If Blair didn’t do it, I’ll bet he knows the guy who did.” For instance, that shadowy woman in the torn, strappy dress who’d headed round the side of the house just before Blair did. Had he been with her? Were they accomplices?

Just as Jilly had prophesied, Tam was discovered propping up the bar at Spier’s. A rather unlikely and frequently out-of-work actor, Thomas Allen, aka Tam the Tank, specialized in heavy gangster roles. But apart from a slight shiftiness around the eyes, he didn’t look terribly villainous tonight.

He straightened as he caught sight of Sera’s entourage easing their way through the tables toward him. A brief expression like a hunted deer flitted across his lived-in face before it was replaced by a shrug of resignation.

“What are you having?” he asked, turning back toward the bar.

“Truth, Tam,” Sera said. “No twist. Who is Blair? Where does he live?”

Tam sighed. “I don’t know who he is. I never laid eyes on him before tonight. He just—appeared. While I was waiting for you.”

“Whose idea was it to pull the bite-mark stunt?”

“Nobody’s!” Clearly harassed by the three glaring faces around him, Tam laid down his pint. “Look, I don’t know why you keep going on about biting—”

He broke off as Sera reached up and pulled down the collar of his jacket. There was nothing more interesting than stubble on the left side of his neck. Annoyed by her faulty recollection, Sera yanked at the other side of his jacket, then frowned as she let her hand fall.

“See?” Tam exclaimed. He didn’t even sound smug.

“There’s nothing,” Jack observed. “Certainly nothing like those marks on Jason.”

“Was it makeup?” Sera hazarded.

“Oh, for the love of— No makeup. No bite.”

“You’re saying I was seeing things that weren’t there?” Sera asked with blatant disbelief.

“And hearing things,” Tam retorted. “The guy never even spoke to you.”

“What did he say to you?”

“The same! Nothing!”

Sera eased her hip onto a barstool to point out the obvious flaw in Tam’s story. “Then how,” she asked, “did he tell you his name?”

Tam stared back at her, clearly at a loss.

“Did he write it down in the dark? Tap it out in Morse code?”

“No!” Tam exclaimed. “That is… I don’t know!”

“Whose idea was the wrestling match? His or yours?”

“Wrestling?”

“You appeared to be squeezing the life out of each other. He was winning. You called him gay. Why was that? Tam, I don’t care if it was a lovers’ clinch or some practical joke to teach me a lesson. A man’s dead, and I need to know the truth of what the hell this guy was doing there.”

“I don’t know, all right? I don’t know.” Tam turned away, picked up his beer, and drank.

Deliberately, Sera reached out and covered the hand he rested on his thigh. Tam’s whole body jerked. His glass rattled against his teeth and froze. Over it, his gaze locked with Sera’s in something akin to terror.

Right now, Sera knew how he felt. He was telling the truth, and that was scarier than anything. She let him go. “Sorry, Tam,” she muttered and swung round to leave, pushing straight for the door without even a good-bye.

****

Blair learned nothing by squatting on the roof of the vampiress’s shelter. She simply went to sleep. For a while, Blair amused himself by drinking from passersby until he felt full. After which, he settled back on the roof and smelled the blood of the human inside with a more detached interest. There was some connection between him and the psychic girl at the party, he’d swear it.

He mulled that over for a bit, getting somewhat lost in fantasies that involved drinking from the girl’s naked body while he made love to her. Nice idea, although he’d had the impression that she didn’t even believe in vampires, so he strongly doubted she was in league with any. Nor did she strike him as the sort of woman who would just stand there and let him drink her blood. Or fuck her. No doubt either would earn him a painful jab from one of her little pointy sticks.

So what was the connection between her and this other human? And what was the man in the house doing with vampires? Was he some kind of servant? He wished the vampiress would wake up and think, because all he’d got so far from either her or the human male was that they were pretty damned pleased with themselves. In fact, as the hours passed, he grew so bored that had it not been for the promise Ailis had forced from him forty years ago—to look out for the community in her absence—he’d have broken in and eaten them through sheer annoyance at having his time wasted.

He curled his lip at that thought. Time was something a vampire had in abundance. Overabundance. Although Ailis, damn her beautiful, manipulative soul, had prevented any curtailment of his. So now he equated his comfort with the good of the community and occasionally even managed to have fun doing it. Like encountering the psychic girl.

Which brought him back to the smug psychic man inside the house with the smug vampiress.

It was close to dawn before a possible reason for their self-satisfaction suggested itself.

Oh, fucking hell! I’ve been watching the wrong place. Springing to his feet, Blair began the race back to Davidson’s Mains and the Bells’ house.

He was in time to see Jason step out of the front door in the pale gray light of the predawn. Dressed in a smart three-piece suit, he climbed into the white sports car which was waiting only feet from the door and drove away at breakneck speed.

Blair scowled. Under my bloody nose, you bastards. This has got to stop.

Only he couldn’t afford the chase right now. The sun was on its way up, and he needed to be home.

****

When Jilly entered the welcoming front office of Serafina’s Psychic Investigations, she found Jack poring over telephone books, and Elspeth, the gray-haired receptionist, rummaging so dementedly through her desk drawers that she could spare no more than an inarticulate grunt in response to Jilly’s “Good morning.” She’d obviously lost her vodka again.

“Where’s Herself?” Jilly asked, throwing her jacket and laptop bag onto her own desk. She pointed at the door to the inner office, where clients could be private. “In there?”

“Haven’t seen her,” Jack said in a depressed tone of voice. “I don’t think she’s come down yet.”

Elspeth shut the drawer. “We need milk.”

Milk and vodka. Jilly had no idea why Sera insisted on employing Elspeth, unless it was so she could pinch her alcohol supply late at night.

“And then,” Elspeth said, struggling into her coat while Jilly set her laptop up on the desk, “I’ll make coffee.”

“Great. I could murder a cup.” Jilly slid into her chair and glanced at Jack. “You looking for Blairs?”

Jack shoved his phonebook across the desk. “Hundreds of them. And that’s only if Blair’s the surname. I’ve tried all the likely local agencies too—no actors or magicians or ventriloquists on their books matching our man’s description.”

“You want to try social networking sites.”

“No, I don’t. I don’t even know if he’s based in Scotland, let alone Edinburgh. Sera said he sounded Scottish, but that doesn’t mean anything. I don’t actually know the guy exists.”

“Oh, he exists,” Jilly argued. “Seems to be the one thing Sera and Tam agree on.”

Jack dragged one hand through his unruly, curly brown hair. “What is all this neck-biting stuff? Is someone taking the mick out of Ferdy?”

“You mean apart from us?”

Jack scratched his chin. “What if Jason was taking the mick out of us in retaliation? Because he didn’t like us making a fool of his father?”

Jilly raised one eyebrow at him. “You’re the one who gave him mouth-to-mouth and claimed he was dead.”

“Shit, Jilly, you saw him! All white and shrunken, exactly as if someone had let all the blood out of him.”

Jilly sat back in her chair, savoring the moment. “You’re suggesting a vampire really did bite him?”

To her surprise, Jack’s gaze didn’t falter. “I’m saying, what’s Sera’s problem with this? Why doesn’t she believe in vampires when…”

“When she believes in all the other mumbo jumbo?”

“Doesn’t she?”

Unsure what response to make, Jilly played for time. “Why ask me?”

“You’ve known her longer than I have. I realize she takes the piss, puts on shows, but sometimes…”

“What?”

“You know,” Jack said darkly.

Jilly, who’d been acquainted with Sera since they were outsiders together at school, had long ago accepted the strange gifts of her friend and respected absolutely Sera’s right to pretend charlatanism if she chose. It was Sera’s place, not Jilly’s, to tell Jack as little or as much as she saw fit. Besides, Sera’s real problem right now was not so much with the existence of vampires as with the possible death of Jason Bell under her nose, which was setting off all sorts of blame issues that Jilly really didn’t want her to go through again.

So she merely smirked at Jack as she stood up. “You believe in the powers of our glorious leader. I’m going to tell her.”

“No, you’re not,” Jack disputed as she crossed to the inner office.

“Actually,” said Jilly, opening the door and stepping inside, “I am.”

The office was indeed empty and the door in the side wall which led to Sera’s flat carelessly left unlocked. Jilly knocked and barged in.

“Sera, it’s me!” she called as she ran up the stairs.

Sera sat on her living room floor in the same jeans and T-shirt she’d worn last night, looking white and exhausted, her short, jet-black hair sticking up like spikes. The skin seemed to be stretched so tightly across the fine bones of her face that her skull looked in danger of bursting through. Dark shadows lurked around her startlingly bright blue eyes.

Although she was surrounded by the mess of life—books and coffee cups scattered across the floor and coffee table; a pair of boots in a heap in the corner where they’d obviously been flung; two jackets and a sweater over the back of the sofa, and a half-full vodka bottle on the chair—the space immediately in front of her was clear, apart from one lonely cufflink. A square of jet set in gold, it looked vaguely familiar.

“Is that Jason’s?”

Sera nodded.

“Does Ferdy know you’ve got it?”

“Nope. Nor do the police.”

Jilly picked up the vodka and sat in the chair, dangling the bottle between her legs. “Get much?” she asked casually.

“Not a bloody thing.”

“Maybe he’s just not dead.”

“Or maybe he hasn’t learned yet that he can talk to me. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

Jilly shrugged. “I’d say his choice of conversational partners in this life would be somewhat limited. If he was dead.”

“He’s dead,” Sera insisted. She glanced up, and Jilly felt a fresh stab of anxiety for her friend. “There was no life in him in the maze. I’d have sensed it.”

Sera’s pallor, the uncharacteristic tightness around her lips, could be explained by tiredness, but it didn’t account for the stricken, almost dead look behind her eyes. Jilly had seen that look only once before when Mattie, the only foster mother Sera had ever cared for, had died of a sudden, massive stroke. Sera, alone in the house with Mattie at the time, had found the body. At the age of fourteen, she already talked to the dead, but Mattie had never spoken to Sera. Sera had taken that as blame, and Jilly could see she was interpreting Jason’s silence in the same way.

Jilly’s throat closed up. Her heart ached for her friend, but it was a wound that was never prodded between them because it had already come close to ending their friendship. They’d known each other since childhood, two outsiders finding strength in alliance.

If Jilly’s problem had been too much family, Sera’s had been too little. Kicked from foster family to foster family via several stints in children’s homes, Sera had always come up fighting, physically and mentally. In all the years of Jilly’s acquaintance with her, despite the cruelty of other children, the abuse and neglect of adults, and the dreadful loneliness she must have suffered, Serafina had only ever shed tears for Mattie. And Jilly had seen, which had made her unbearable to Sera. Jilly had saved things at the time only by pretending not to notice and never, ever referring to it.

Although they were adults now, Jilly still shied away from the subject, even from disparaging whatever comparisons Sera had got into her head between Mattie’s death and Jason Bell’s. Pity and understanding would solve nothing for Sera.

So Jilly just said in a neutral tone of voice, “Maybe you’re right. Have you been to bed?”

“I fell asleep on the floor,” Sera said vaguely. “What time is it? Are you in early, or am I late?”

“Guess.”

To her relief, a faint smile curved Sera’s tired lips. “I’d better shower and change if I’m going to see Ferdy.”

“Want company?” Jilly asked casually. If they dared to blame Sera for this, she’d damn well be there to ram the accusation back down their rich, privileged throats, mourning or no mourning.

“No, thanks,” Sera answered. “I’d rather you tracked this Blair down.”

“Jack’s having no joy,” Jilly warned her. “But,” she added as Sera rose to somewhat weary feet, “he did, for once, have something sensible to say. Or at least imply.” She hesitated until Sera glanced back over her shoulder, and then gave an apologetic, lopsided smile. “I know it’s ridiculous, but what if vampires exist in this world, the same as spirits do?”

“The spirit is natural,” Sera said at once. “It’s what’s left and moves on when the body dies. And bodies do die. They don’t become zombies or vampires or anything else. Jack’s yanking your chain. Like someone’s trying to yank mine.”

“Okay.” Jilly stood. “In that case, he still hasn’t said anything sensible.” She held up the bottle. “Did you pinch this for yourself or just to keep it from Elspeth?”

“For me, but I forgot to drink any of it. I think. Is she looking for it?”

“Gone to buy more.”

“Better not give her it back, then, or she’ll think she’s going mad too.”

“You pay her too much.” Jilly dropped the bottle back onto the chair and left. It seemed to be all she could do.

Chapter Three

Old Ferdy himself opened the door to Sera. Looking as dapper as ever in smart slacks with a shirt and tie, he beamed at her.

“Ah, Miss MacBride! Come in, come in,” he said with unexpected joviality. People dealt with grief in many ways.

“Any news?” she asked, following him into his study.

“Of our stalker?”

“Of your son’s body,” Sera said as gently as she could.

“Oh, goodness, haven’t you heard? I asked him to let you know. He came home.”

Sera felt her jaw drop. There was nothing she could do to prevent it. She sank onto the nearest chair—fortunately the one Ferdy was indicating.

“Home?” she said stupidly. “When?”

“Early this morning. About two o’clock.”

Off the hook, by Christ… So why didn’t she feel more relieved? Sera tried to pull her thoughts together. “Did he say where he’d been, who he was with?”

“No, but then we didn’t ask. I’m afraid we just fell on him and hugged him like the silly old fools we are. I think the vampire stalker attacked him but was scared off before he could finish the job, either by Jason himself or by one of my guests approaching. Jack Urquhart, maybe. But I don’t think he remembers any of it. He seemed happy as a lark when he came home.”

“That’s one interpretation,” Sera said cautiously. “Um, could I speak to Jason now?”

“He’s not here, I’m afraid. He’s gone to work.”

Sera blinked. “Work?”

“Well, yes!” Ferdy laughed. “He has a very strong work ethic, you know. Illness never slows him down. He promised me he’d see the doctor today, but he’d still left for work before I woke up.”

Sera frowned. “You know he’s at work?”

“Oh yes. I called earlier to make sure—I told you I was a foolish old man—and his PA told me he was in his office, too busy to answer the phone.”

This is bizarre. She looked carefully at Ferdy, a distinguished banker who’d well earned his prosperous retirement. She suspected he missed the bustle, the attention, the publicity of making loads of money. Sera didn’t put it past him to have engineered this whole situation to convince her beyond doubt of the so-called vampire’s existence. She sensed very little truth at all in him. And yet Jason had been dead; she could have sworn he was dead.

Or had she been so pissed and so switched off to her deeper senses that she’d missed little things like life? Had she been so sure of herself, so overconfident of her own opinion that she’d forgotten even to open herself to the paranormal?

Abruptly, she got to her feet. There was no point in repeating last night’s spiral of recriminations and speculations all over again this morning. It was time to do her job properly. “Could I please look around your garden again?”

****

Since it was impossible to feel anything except tense irritation with Ferdy leaning over her shoulder, Sera was highly relieved when Mrs. Bell waved him inside to take a phone call after half an hour.

Sera walked back into the maze and crouched down between the hedges in the same place she’d seen Jason lying, being given CPR by Jack. It was gray and cloudy today, after yesterday’s sunshine; rain wasn’t far away. She dug both hands into the grass, clawing into the earth, and closed her eyes.

After several moments, she thought she felt something, an echo, perhaps, of a presence that might have been Jason. The trouble was, she hadn’t paid him much attention, and it was difficult to recognize. Unsatisfied, she grabbed a bit of hedge to pull herself to her feet—and finally felt something definite. Not Jason. The echo of a chill, dark spirit that reminded her of—

“Blair?” she whispered, holding on to the leaves as if to her one lifeline. And yet surely Blair had been in the grove with Sera and Tam when Jason had died. Something swirled in her mind, an unclear picture of blackness dissolving into misty red and deepening like blood. A surge of hunger swept over her, nauseating her. She had to force herself to stay, to try to part the mists. But the picture had vanished.

Slowly, she rose to her feet. She walked around the maze, running her hand along the hedge as she went, waiting for further images to hit her. None did, but she kept going, leaving her mind free and open, letting her feet take her where they would.

They took her toward the grove of fruit trees. But then, she’d always intended to come here, so she couldn’t blame it on visions, spirits, or anything else. She had to come. Because the only vision she’d had last night had come from touching Blair there. A blur of swirling red-tinged darkness, far more intense that what she’d just experienced in the maze and yet curiously similar. The same redness. But with Blair came a veil, beneath which she’d sensed a huge blackness, a jumble of wild and terrible emotions, memories, hungers…

Had he really spoken only to her? Only in her mind? There was no other explanation, but she didn’t want it to be true. Because she hadn’t recognized a fellow psychic? Because her pride didn’t want to acknowledge psychic powers stronger than her own? Because she hadn’t sensed anything different about him at all until he’d touched her, and yet he might, just might, be the stuff of legend.

The crackling of leaves and twigs under her boots seemed to grow louder. She trailed her hand across tree trunks, leaves, nettles, brambles, oblivious to the pain of stings and jags, absorbing everything into the memory, the feel of Blair.

Prepared this time, she didn’t throw it off immediately. Dark didn’t necessarily mean evil; red didn’t necessarily mean blood. She clutched the intertwined trunks of the apple trees, resting her cheek against the rough bark, her eyes closed. The swirling mist began to resolve into shadows.

She could see the intertwining trees, and two figures coming together. One was Tam, staring at the other man who wore a kilt and suddenly swept across her vision in a blur. Tam was held in his arms, just as she’d seen them last night. Only this time, she glimpsed long canine teeth, like something from a Dracula movie, before he bent and sank them into Tam’s throat. Tam moved at last, clutching his attacker, but it didn’t look like violence. It looked like an embrace. The air was thick with hunger, with some profound pleasure that felt a lot like sex.

Vision or imagination?

With the interfering thought, her mind picture vanished into blackness. She hung on grimly, keeping her eyes closed and pressing her whole body into the tree trunk. Physical desire washed through her, powerful, sweet, and distracting. Whether it was her own or someone else’s, she accepted it, forced her mind to keep thinking of Blair, and again the mists began to recede.

The blackness became dark cloth only slightly illuminated by pale sunshine beyond.

Curtains!

Black curtains across high, old-fashioned windows—three of them along one wall; not bays. Large, antique furniture, a faded carpet, bare, male knees, a flash of tartan. Despite the excitement, she hung on, looking for more. The room was large, with a big, high ceiling and intricate cornice. New Town, she guessed. She tried to concentrate again on the window to learn more, but the vision wouldn’t go that way. Already it was fading.

She came to herself, slumped against the tree, gazing upward at the gap in the gray clouds, through which a small patch of pale sunlight shone down on her cold, damp face.

“Got you,” she whispered.

****

Of course, she hadn’t got him. But it was a start. After calling in to give Jilly and Jack the hint to concentrate their efforts in the New Town area, she walked around the Bells’ house and street looking for any further visions or “feelings.” She got a couple of shivers in the street that might have been more memory than anything else; then, abandoning the older Bells’ property, she drove back into town and called into Jason Bell’s office around lunchtime. The doorman enquired if she had an appointment, and since he began to check his computer screen, she swallowed the lie and admitted she didn’t. Obligingly, he picked up the phone and, after a quick conversation, told her Jason was in a meeting. There was nothing to do but leave a message for him to call her when he had a moment.

Dissatisfied, she drove back to the office, where she spent a frustrating afternoon failing to find a trace of Blair or any connection between the Bells and prank or criminal behavior. Their reputations were apparently spotless. They even went to church. On the other hand, ten years ago, Mrs. Bell had publicly defended a disgraced medium whom she claimed had contacted her late mother; and Ferdy was a long-standing member of an online paranormal study group.

“I suppose it’s been brewing for a long time,” Jilly observed. “He probably does believe this stuff. Though how you make the leap from there to having a vampire stalking you…”

Elspeth, who was fussing about her drawers and bags while buttoning up her coat, said suddenly, “What in the world made him think it was a vampire?”

Jilly and Jack blinked at the unexpected interruption. Sera, who was always glad to see the older woman take an interest in anything other than her next drink, was happy to answer.

“He was sure they were only followed or watched after dark,” she explained. “Then there was apparently some incident of a dead cat found in the garden that Ferdy said had lost all its blood through a wound in its throat. No vet ever saw it, and no one but Mrs. B could back the story up.” She shut her laptop lid with a snap. “Oh, and Jason was apparently jostled outside a pub by a man with long canine teeth. Jason himself played down the teeth, but he claims he did feel threatened. The bloke did a runner when Jason’s friends came back to see if he was okay.”

“Tenuous,” Elspeth commented.

“Very,” Sera agreed.

“And you’re sure old Ferdy was lying about all this?” Elspeth said curiously.

In between trying to contact Jason, Sera had spent a lot of time analyzing and reanalyzing her feelings about this. Now, she dragged her hand through her short hair and groaned. “I don’t know! I thought I was sure. I sensed basic dishonesty in him, although he was quite the clean potato workwise—not the tiniest question mark beside him professionally. Beyond that, I’m sure he wasn’t being truthful with me. Which is why I thought we could have a bit of a laugh last night. And yet now, looking back, I won’t say he disbelieved what he told me. Does that make any sense?”

“Not much,” Jilly said.

“It might have been his reasons for employing us that he was lying about,” Sera said. “Or even why he wanted the stalker discovered.”

“If he wanted the stalker discovered?” Elspeth said shrewdly. “I mean, Mr. Bell is an older man—my generation, not yours. If his fit and healthy son is scared of this attacker, why would he pick a slip of a girl like you to go after him?”

Jilly and Jack cast amused glances at her. They knew Sera could take care of herself—she’d been the mouthy outsider in too many rough schools not to have learned the basics of self-defense. And later, for a time, she’d got free judo lessons from an expert because she’d provided a link to the man’s dead mother. She’d learned early never to show fear, and with the growth of her own physical confidence, she didn’t feel it much either.

However, pleased by her receptionist’s perception, Sera only nodded. “It crossed my mind. He liked being stalked. The police would have put his mind at rest too quickly. He misses the attention he got when he was working as the money-making wiz, and he needs something in its place. Maybe.”

Jack grinned. “And he didn’t know you’ve cracked a few skulls in your time.”

“I have never cracked anyone’s skull,” Sera disputed.

“You put a mugger in hospital,” Jilly reminded her.

“Only because he cut himself with his own knife, stupid bastard.” Sera pushed her chair back and stood up. “Okay, I’m going back to Jason’s office, catch him when—if—he leaves.”

“You think he’s got a double in there?” Jack asked. “Or somehow told his secretary in advance to lie for him?”

“I don’t know,” Sera said ruefully, reaching for her jacket and bag. “But there were some weird people and some weirder happenings at the Bells’ house last night. I’d say Jason and Blair are the keys.”

She swung the jacket on and added hopefully, “If you’ve nothing better to do this evening, you could follow up that actors’ bar in the old town. See if Blair shows.”

“I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t know Blair if he waved at us,” Jilly argued.

“Take Tam with you.”

“Tam,” said Jilly, “isn’t talking to you.”

“He doesn’t need to talk to me, does he?” Sera retorted, making for the door. She knew she’d blown it with Tam, but she was damned if she’d let anyone see that it bothered her. It wasn’t the first friendship she’d ruined through mistrust, and she doubted it would be the last.

“Are you going alone to meet this Jason?” Elspeth called after her.

Sera hesitated. She couldn’t imagine any danger occurring in the prosaic surroundings of the C & H car park, and it would do Elspeth good not to be home alone every night. “Want to be my driver?” she asked lightly while Jilly and Jack regarded her with amusement. “Just in case we need to leave in a hurry, you wait outside the car park while I go in and wait for Jason. Start the car if you see me running!”

****

Blair was pissed off. As soon as he opened the door of the Hard Knox pub, he could smell blood and death. Worse, he knew immediately that the vampire whose trail he’d picked up was no longer in there.

Glancing through the noisy throng, he saw the dead woman at once. Young, blonde, and presumably tasty, she sat more or less upright on one of the grubby, high-backed benches against the wall, her head lolling into the corner. She might have been asleep, except that if you looked closely through the lock of loose hair falling across her cheek, her eyes were wide open.

A couple sat near her, deep in animated conversation, totally ignoring her. However, it wouldn’t be long before someone spotted that she was dead, and then all hell would break loose. The ensuing panic all over the city would not be conducive to enticing solitary young women outside for a bite. Or even persuading them into a dark corner inside. He’d be reduced to whores and thugs in back alleys, and most of them tasted pretty disgusting.

Blair strolled on toward the central bar and ordered a malt whisky by the simple expedient of nodding casually at the bottle beside the barman. As he looked around, a rather pretty young lady in red caught his eye and smiled. Blair smiled back from habit, accepted his whisky, and reluctantly broke eye contact in order to stare out the barman instead. It usually worked. Believing he’d been paid, the barman turned to his next customer, and Blair sipped his whisky.

Right now, he had a choice. He could grab a quick bite of the interested girl across the bar before all hell broke loose over the corpse in the corner. Or he could remove the corpse before it was discovered, as if it was his pissed girlfriend, and thus hide the evidence and avoid the ensuing panic that would so fuck up his comfortable feeding habits. The latter might be more sensible, but it went against the grain to clean up some other bastard’s mess, and doing so wouldn’t prevent the next mess.

He glanced at the girl in red, who managed to watch him from under her lashes while talking to her friend. Yes, definitely interested. And God knew he was hungry. On the other hand, he couldn’t let this shit carry on. This was his city, and he was damned if he’d tolerate interlopers. It was dusk. Just the time a new vampire might risk the open.

He drained his glass, gave the girl a rueful wink, and strode out of the pub. He hadn’t gone far when he heard the cry go up. Someone had found the stiff.

Since there were a lot of people about and it wasn’t quite dark, Blair didn’t take the crow’s route over the rooftops. But walking fast through the streets and running down the steps and through Waverley Station, he made good time to the C & H building where Jason Bell worked. If the little shit wasn’t there, he’d try the father’s house again, risking the garlic and crosses plastered so liberally about the premises.

In spite of himself, Blair grinned at that. He liked the girl’s style, although he didn’t care for the idea of such a strong psychic poking around the hitherto hidden vampire world, whatever her connection with the strange vampire-cohabiting man in Roseburn.

The safety of the vampire community depended on secrecy, and in the centuries of his existence, Blair had encountered very few human intrusions, even less threatening ones. The most recent had been forty or so years ago, when a group of curious young men had set themselves up as vampire hunters. Having made a few kills in Vienna, Toulouse, and London, more from luck than skill, they’d discovered Blair in Edinburgh, at his lowest ebb. They’d had no idea what they were dealing with, but Blair, sensing a lazy way out of his own insufferable boredom, had let them follow him from the stone folly of Calton Hill to his home. He’d even left the door open for them.

Despite their ineptitude, they’d have killed him eventually. Only Ailis, his maker, had appeared from nowhere, and Blair had had to fight after all to protect her. Ailis had been pleased by that, so pleased that when three of the four men lay dead, she’d hit him with her demand. That he look after the vampires here while she traveled in the Pacific.

Like most things Ailis did, it had been part selfish and part caring. She’d forced a purpose on him while leaving herself free to do as she liked. And in time, sorting out the odd territorial dispute and instilling occasional discipline in vampires who threatened the community through indiscretion, he’d got back a modicum of peace and comfort.

Until this fiasco.

Ignoring the front of the big glass office building, Blair went around the back to the underground car park. He noticed a rather beaten-up old Citroën parked close to the barrier, facing the main road, as if the driver, a respectable middle-aged lady who looked plain wrong in such a vehicle, had just driven out of the car park and was waiting for someone.

Blatantly, Blair hopped over the barrier and strode inside. He smelled human. Despite the lateness of the hour there were still several people in the building. But, ignoring his rumbling stomach for now, he leapt high onto the steel rafters in the ceiling and made his way from there closer to the door that led to the office interior.

He spotted her right away. The psychic, Serafina. In dark jeans and the same leather jacket she’d worn last night, she was leaning her delectable rear on the bonnet of Jason’s white sports car and gazing toward the internal door. She’d obviously had the same idea as Blair.

Blair took one more silent leap across the rafters until he was as close above her as he could get while still being able to watch her and crouched down.

****

PC Alex McGowan was the first policeman on the scene at the Hard Knox pub. He knew the place, and it was generally crowded. Clearly, a large proportion of the clientele had done a runner when the body was found. While his partner spoke to the bar manager, McGowan approached the body.

There could be no doubt that the girl was dead. Her eyes were open and staring, and he’d rarely seen a fresh corpse that looked more the part. But he went through the motions, lifting her wrist to feel for a pulse.

“Did anyone see what happened?” he asked, dropping her dead hand. “Was anyone with her?”

After a moment, someone said reluctantly, “There was a man with her when she first came in. Her boyfriend. They were all over each other. I thought she was drunk. When she zonked, her boyfriend just buggered off as if he’d given up hope of getting his leg over this night and left her to find her own way home. Unless—”

Unless he’d killed her. Without any hope, McGowan searched for the pulse at the base of her neck. There wasn’t one, but as he gazed at his fingers, something else caught his eye. He shifted her head a fraction and saw two tiny holes in her neck. Just like those he’d seen on Jason Bell.

His breath caught. “Pat,” he called to his partner. “This body has to be watched the whole time until CID gets here.”

****

To Blair, Serafina MacBride looked bored and pissed off. But still sexy as hell. Leather had never looked so good on a woman. Her piquant, almost elfin beauty contrasted alluringly with her stark, ugly surroundings. The toughness of her expression and her short, no-nonsense haircut were belied by the enticing vulnerability of her soft, expressive lips. Her eyes, far too deep a blue for that dark hair coloring, looked watchful, intelligent, and secretive.

Blair stared at her long, enticing neck, listened to the steady beat of her heart, and imagined the pumping of her sweet, heady blood into his mouth. He gazed at her breasts, the outlines of which were only half hidden by the black leather of her jacket, as they rose and fell to the rhythm of her breathing.

His own stolen blood quickened, pounding through his body to the parts that, dead or undead, led a man astray. He inhaled her distant scent, like long-forgotten summer flowers, which made everything worse as he envisioned screwing her in a sun-soaked field of wild blooms…

Aye, right. So he’d settle for darkness and a bed. Or a hard floor. Or a wall…

Hastily, Blair reined in his wayward imagination once more, but he was torn. He meant to go inside and scour the mostly empty building for Jason Bell. But his more immediate urge was to jump down and seize Serafina’s strong, lithe, and adorably feminine person in his arms, press her close into him, and drink from her warm, alluring veins. He wanted to feel the fighting tension in her die away and be replaced with pliable submission, and then stir to excitement and passion…

Truth be told, he’d been aware last night that a quick drink and a grope with this woman wouldn’t be enough—although he’d have settled for that to begin with. Something about her reminded him how long it had been since he’d spent a whole night drinking and fucking. Couldn’t beat it.

On the other hand, he couldn’t actually imagine her buying that right now. Or ever. She glared at her watch, then slid her hips off the car as if she’d made a decision. Blair poised himself to jump. And Jason Bell walked through the door.

Serafina froze, presumably with surprise that her quarry had finally emerged just when she’d just given up on him. Blair paused and waited.

“Jason,” she called. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Jason Bell, in conventional suit and tie, raincoat over one arm and briefcase in hand, stared at her in what looked like bewilderment. As if he didn’t remember her—which he probably didn’t, just yet. On the other hand, he knew blood when he smelled it, and presumably he’d been smelling it without drinking any all day. Unexpectedly, Blair felt the stirrings of excitement. It had been years since he’d had to fight for his supper, but Serafina was well worth the wait and the effort. Not that it would be much of either now. A fledgling was not a tough opponent. Jason was toast.

However, before he could jump, every sense he had shrieked and held him still. Because he smelled other vampires—three more, one gliding through the internal door, the others striding through the car park. And because Jason spoke. Aloud. Using his lips.

“That’s funny,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you too.” He moved fast, probably too fast for most humans, and certainly too fast for Serafina to mistake it as anything other than a threat. She sprang into action and kicked out, much as she’d done at Blair last night, only this time, she made more of an impression. Jason fell on his arse, still looking bewildered.

Blair grinned. That’s my girl. Her head twisted round, her dark blue eyes wide and startled as they darted, searching, as if she’d heard him. She didn’t need the distraction, for in truth she was hardly out of the woods yet. The other vampires were closing in fast, and Jason was rising from his rear end for another shot. Serafina backed around the car, glancing toward the exit and clocking the vampires blocking it off. For the first time, Blair caught a flash of fear in her eyes. Tough she might be, but she knew she couldn’t take on four men and win. What she probably didn’t know was that she didn’t have a prayer against four vampires. Or even against one of these newcomers, who’d been around the block a few more times than Jason.

Blair relished the tougher fight for his supper. He jumped.

Grabbing Jason, he threw him at the vampire behind him, then leapt on the nearest approaching from the exit, slammed his chin upward, and bit straight into the jugular to get some nourishment before breaking the bastard’s neck with a satisfying snap. The vampire fizzed into dust, and Blair spun to face his friend, who was already running for the exit as if all the fiends of hell were after him. They would be, just as soon as Blair had dealt with the others.

Serafina was sidestepping and swiping at the attacking vampire, the one who was not Jason. Jason himself had flung himself into his white sports car, presumably to drive off. As Blair advanced, the vampire spun, growling, to face him instead. The blows were quick and furious—too fast, probably, for Serafina to see. Although Blair felt them, his own were more effective. He crashed his opponent into the nearest car and broke his neck for speed while the screeching of tires told him Jason was fleeing the scene. When he whirled in the dead vampire’s falling dust, he saw Serafina staring about her in shock, as if still looking for her attackers.

Then her gaze landed on him.

“Blair,” she whispered.

So she’d discovered his name. He smiled. “The very same.” But he’d no time to chat. Or, after fighting for it, to enjoy his supper. The scent from the fleeing vampire was vanishing fast, and if he was to have any hope of discovering their lair, he had to leave her. Again.

More tires screeched. A Citroën was backing erratically into the car park at high speed as the sports car drove out of it. At least the barrier had gone up. Blair understood. The middle-aged lady driver was Serafina’s not very effective minder.

“Your chariot has arrived,” he observed and winked. “Later.” And since the cat was well out of the bag, he leapt for the rafters and ran.

Chapter Four

Sera found that calming Elspeth down actually helped in dealing with her own shock. “Yes, I saw Jason,” she soothed as they drove down Leith Walk. “That was him speeding past you. I guess he didn’t want to chat.”

“But those other men? They looked so threatening!”

“Yes,” Sera admitted. “Threatening and weird…” And not men at all. Surely not men. Dead men… “And Blair was there,” she said hastily. Blair, as sexy in jeans as in a kilt, his haunting dark eyes suddenly hard, murderous, terrifying… She caught her breath. “Interestingly enough, he didn’t seem to like them either.”

“Where did they all go?” Elspeth asked, bewildered.

“Vanished into the night,” Sera said vaguely. “Don’t worry; we’re quite safe now.” Are we? Is anybody safe when such creatures exist? The image of Blair flashed into her head once more, jumping from high above to land as lightly as a cat before striking, seizing and gouging with monstrous callousness, drinking… Aloud, she added, “Glad you showed up when you did, though.”

Elspeth smiled, genuinely glad to have been useful.

“Come on,” Sera said. “Let’s go to your house, and then I’ll drive myself home.”

In the end, she stayed and had a bite to eat at Elspeth’s. The receptionist’s abode was surprisingly neat and tidy. Whatever Elspeth let go, it wasn’t her house. Glancing at the photograph on the mantelpiece of a younger and happier Elspeth with her smiling late husband, Sera understood the loneliness and boredom that had led her to drink. She couldn’t blame the older woman for letting it get out of hand. Ruefully, she acknowledged that Elspeth was more than a “good deed” to her; more even than a friend. She was a living warning.

Although at least Elspeth had the years of a happy marriage to look back on. Sera couldn’t imagine even having that. She despised most men as liars. And she freaked out the few who weren’t, as soon as they got close enough to discover her gifts. Even Tam, who fancied her rotten, ran a mile from her now. Until last night, he’d merely been wary.

Sighing, Sera thanked Elspeth for dinner and rose to leave. “You are going home?” Elspeth asked anxiously.

“Oh yes,” Sera said serenely.

Of course, she had no intention of going home. She drove back to the C & H building, climbed onto the car-park barrier, and touched the side of the wall that Blair’s foot had glanced off in his stunning, heart-stopping run. Feeling slammed into her, knocking her off her precarious perch. But she smiled as she landed on the ground.

****

Weirdly, it seemed to get easier as she went on, as if getting closer to him made his “scent” stronger—that feeling that was peculiarly Blair stood out like a fiery beacon among all the other peculiar stuff out there. She knew him now from the Bells’ garden and from the car park. This time, she’d get to him. There weren’t quite luminous footprints on the pavement along York Place to guide her, but it began to feel almost as easy. Although there were long gaps, as if he’d done one of his amazing jumps, or even, God help her, run along the rooftops, she always picked him up again. Her feet, her whole body tingled when she stepped where he had stepped, brushed against a railing or a lamppost that he had touched. Her pace quickened down Dublin Street, along with her heart rate. Triumph amounted to smugness.

Damn, I’m good.

Until she stood under a street lamp on the pavement of a cobbled New Town street, staring down between the railings outside a large, terraced building, at the window of a garden flat. There were no lights on, but he was in there; she could feel it so strongly it had to be truth.

Besides, the closed curtains appeared to be black, like the ones in her vision of him.

Now what the hell did she do?

Did she walk in there like the lone, too-stupid-to-live heroine of a bad horror film? Did she wait for backup? Like who? Even if he was prepared to help her, Tam hadn’t exactly been a lot of use against the bastard last night. Remembering the sickening thud of her own feet on Blair’s impervious body and the speed with which he’d seen off her attackers in the car park, she knew physical protection could not help her. What she hung on to, somewhat desperately, was that he alone of the creatures she’d encountered tonight had not attacked her. Right now, he was all she had to explain what the hell was going on.

In the end, she dragged her phone out of her bag and hastily texted Jilly and Jack, giving the address and her request to get down here and contact her when they arrived. There was no need to tell them what to do if she didn’t answer.

As she stuffed the phone back in her pocket, she walked down the dark steps with thundering heart. Horror film, here I come…

****

Blair sank his teeth into the girl’s throat and drew her blood into his mouth. It wasn’t uncontaminated, but it was good enough. And she was enough in thrall to enjoy it and to stay all night, as he wished.

Frustration at losing the vampire’s scent had added to his sexual frustration, and he’d been on his way to his favorite up-market brothel before he remembered they’d banned him because someone had finally remembered he never paid. And so he’d picked up this girl outside a bar, charmed her, and brought her home instead. Normally, he didn’t do such things, but the fantasy of having Serafina in his bed all night had stuck with him, and this girl, with her short, dark hair and slim body, looked enough like the psychic to attract his attention and his lust.

Perhaps his behavior was a trifle obsessive, but after the annoyances of the last few days, he felt inclined to indulge himself. He might have a superb night. And if it was merely mediocre, he might stop lusting so hard after Serafina.

The girl, whose name was Tess, gave a mewl of pleasure, twisting her head in ecstasy and pressing into him. Blair took one more draw and sealed the wound for now with the touch of his fingertips before he let his hands run all over the girl’s body. She was more than ready. And so was he. He drew her toward the bed and was assailed by another scent.

The scent of the girl he was thinking of while caressing this one. Imagination, surely. He caught Tess’s busy hands on the fastening of his jeans, holding them still while he sniffed the air.

Serafina. Without doubt. How the…?

Pushing Tess off, he strode to the window and peered through the crack in the black velvet curtains.

She stood in the dark street below, on the edge of a circle of pale light from the nearby lamppost. She was holding on to the railing, gazing downward at the entrance to the basement flat.

Bloody hell. How did she do that? Torn between admiration and annoyance, it took a moment before he realized exactly how much of a threat this made her. She’d tracked him across the city. Forget lust; the girl was trouble. And she was walking down the steps to his front door.

Hunger galloped, and yet he found himself laughing softly as he turned back to the bewildered Tess. “My dear,” he said, taking her hand. “Something else has come up.” But of course, she didn’t hear him, just saw his smile and rubbed herself against him like a cat.

Because it amused him, Blair used the power of his mind to open the door of the garden flat. It was a neat trick, and hopefully, it would upset Serafina’s nerves, if nothing else. Then he folded the eager Tess in his arms and bit her again, for strength as well as luck, taking enough this time to weaken her and make her more conducive to sleep. When she lost consciousness, he laid her out on the bed for later, and, with an intoxicating blend of anticipation and danger firing his blood, he walked downstairs to greet his nemesis.

****

Sera approached the flat warily, every sense screaming in alarm—especially when the door swung silently open without obvious reason. She’d have laughed at the cliché, except that, already steeped in the presence she’d been tracking, his sudden closeness overwhelmed her, and she had to stop and breathe deeply, forcing herself to focus on whatever dangers might lurk inside—or even leap out of—that ominously open door.

With relief, she remembered she could cope with powerful presences, however menacing, if she didn’t concentrate on them too hard. There was no need to track him now; he was definitely there, even if no one was visible in the dark hallway beyond the door. Nudging a loose stone with her toe, she edged it into the corner of the front doorframe in the hope it would stop the door closing completely. She might have to make a quick getaway.

He’d obviously seen her, so it seemed sensible to behave as normally as possible. She tapped on the door and called, “Hello?”

There was no response. Taking a deep breath, she stepped over the threshold and felt for a light switch. As a feeble illumination sputtered into life, she couldn’t resist a quick glance over her shoulder, half expecting the door to slam shut behind her. It didn’t.

The hall was wide and bare; she could just make out stairs at the end, disappearing upward into total darkness. Interesting… Did he have both floors or this whole section of the building? More importantly, where the hell was he?

His unseen presence oppressed her, causing every hair on her body to stand erect, every nerve to zing with alarm. Dust danced in the dim light. She peered at it, imagining it formed a looser, woollier version of Blair’s lithe shape.

Then, frightened that he’d catch her unaware, staring at nothing, she flicked her gaze around to the doorways on either side, and at the second, her heart gave a long, sickening lurch.

He stood just outside the farthest doorway, leaning one shoulder against the white, wooden frame. She blinked to clear her vision. She was sure he hadn’t been there on her first sweep, but he was certainly there now, wearing the same jeans and plain black T-shirt as earlier in the evening. Tall, lean, annoyingly good-looking. His dark eyes were steady, his face betrayed no expression, and yet his voice, though eerie and disembodied in her head, seemed to be amused.

“I feel I should say, ‘I’ve been expecting you,’ but the truth is, I haven’t.”

It shouldn’t have taken her breath away. “You’re psychic,” she blurted.

“Ah, no. You‘re psychic. I’m just dead.” Still, his lips didn’t move.

She scanned his eyes, one to the other, looking for something, anything, to support the denial that seemed impossible after tonight. “Not noticeably,” she managed.

He straightened, and she had to force herself not to leap backward in alarm. “Undead is such a stupid expression,” he observed. “Like ‘mostly dead.’”

He gestured with his hand for her to enter the room before him.

Sera hesitated. All her life she’d been dealing with things she didn’t understand. Of those, the paranormal things had never been the ones to hurt her. This being, however, whoever and whatever he was, gave off danger signals more powerful than she’d ever encountered in any environment. She had no idea how to defend herself against his kind of threat.

He said, “The little sticks work.”

“What?”

“Wood. Pure, natural wood through a heart that doesn’t beat.”

Nervously, inside her jacket pocket, she stroked the point of the stick she’d felt so foolish leaving there last night. “I can’t make up my mind whether you’re stupid or overconfident,” she managed, just a little feebly.

“Or lying?”

She sighed. The threat, whatever it was, surely wasn’t imminent. With the speed she’d witnessed in the car park, he could have grabbed her easily already if he’d wanted to. Under his unblinking gaze, she moved toward him, trying to squash the sense of walking to her doom, and passed him into the room. He didn’t move any farther aside to accommodate her, and her shoulder brushed against the hardness of his chest. He leaned forward, bending his head as if to catch her scent. Every tiny hair on her neck, on her whole body, sprang up in awareness. She gripped the sharp stick in her pocket, ready to do some kind of damage with it.

And then she was past him unharmed and into the room.

The thick, black curtains were indeed those she’d seen in her vision. The room was lit by electric lamps with what looked like genuine Victorian shades in faded purple and red and blue. An equally faded rug adorned the polished wooden floor. An old sea chest stood under the window, the only furniture in the room apart from one winged sofa, at which her host gestured with another elegant wave of his slender, long-fingered hand.

Sera wasn’t used to feeling unsure of herself these days. She didn’t like this sense of not being in control. So she flung herself onto the sofa to show she wasn’t afraid and went on the attack.

“How much did you hurt Tam?” she demanded.

He shrugged. “The big guy? Not much.”

“But you killed Jason Bell.”

His eyebrows rose. “On the contrary, I didn’t even touch him.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

He didn’t trouble to respond, just continued to gaze at her until she asked the question she was really there for. “He did die, didn’t he?”

“You know he did.”

She heard her breath shudder. And yet she’d known it already. He could be yanking her chain in some massive, pointless conspiracy with the Bells, but by now such an accusation didn’t even seem worth bringing up.

Instead, she focused on his still face. “Can you really not speak normally?”

He strolled toward her like some large, prowling cat. “After two hundred and fifty years, this feels perfectly normal. Although it’s a novelty conversing at all with someone who’s alive.”

He folded himself onto the sofa beside her, and her muscles tensed. She refused to follow her instinct and move farther away. Instead, with an effort, she observed, “You told me you couldn’t speak because you were a vampire.”

He inclined his head, patient but distracted. He was gazing at her throat.

“And now you want me to believe that Jason Bell is a vampire?”

“You know he is.”

She sat farther back, willing his menacing gaze away from her jugular. “And yet,” she pointed out, “he spoke. Quite audibly and visibly. Using his lips.”

At least it raised his eyes back to her face. “And yet,” he agreed, “he did. That is one of the many oddities of this situation. Until then, I’d never encountered a vampire who could speak.”

“How come?” she prompted when the voice in her head stopped.

Blair shrugged. “We believe oral speech wasn’t used by the Founder, the first of our kind, and so it’s never been available to the rest of us. Communication with humans is unnecessary, and all vampires can communicate with each other telepathically.”

“And you can communicate with me because I’m psychic? Even though I can’t hear humans’ thoughts? Not beyond spotting lies, anyway.”

A smile flickered across his lips. “I’m dead. You talk to the dead.”

She stared at him. Am I being had here?

“Come on, Serafina. You wrote the book on how to do the having. You know the difference between fake and real.”

“Do I?” Was he really reading her mind?

“Only the bits you project. For the rest, you can teach yourself not to leak.”

Leak? “Oh for…!” Refusing to be drawn, she broke off. “All right. Supposing I buy in to this. You’re a vampire. I can sense the presence of the dead, solid or not, so why didn’t I sense you last night?”

“You weren’t looking very hard. And besides, I was making sure I didn’t project.”

“Scared of me?” she taunted.

“On the contrary, I knew nothing about you. I was spying on the others.”

“What others?”

“The other vampires who killed Jason Bell and turned him.”

She wouldn’t know if he was lying. She was so full of his deep, terrifying chill there was no way she could sense anything so subtle as truth. Or was that just an excuse not to touch him?

She said hastily, “You’re asking me to believe this city is full of vampires, and yet I’ve never noticed one before last night?”

“Well, up until a few nights ago, there was only one. Two on occasion. Very rarely three. Quite frankly, I now consider Edinburgh overcrowded.”

Sera regarded him with a fascinated eye. “Overcrowded with vampires?”

“Exactly.” His gaze fell to her lips, lingering long enough for her to stumble into speech through discomfort.

“So where did they all come from?”

“From the south. Some of them. Two of those I killed, and the one who got away.” His gaze dropped lower, to the region of her throat. She was creeped out. At least she thought she was. There was no other reason for her stomach to spin or her skin to tingle as if he’d caressed it. Bitten it, more like.

“And the others?” she managed.

“Made here.”

“Made?”

“By the southern vampires,” he explained. Reluctantly, it seemed, his gaze lifted once more from her throat to her eyes. Sera, who always looked everyone straight in the eye, found it curiously difficult to withstand.

“Why?” she demanded. “I mean, is that normal vampire behavior?”

He shrugged. “No.” As if he couldn’t help it, he lifted one hand and, just like last night, touched the side of her throat.

Oh Jesus.

Staying quiet beneath his fingers was one of the hardest things she’d ever forced herself to do. And yet it wasn’t so bad—not like last night’s wild blast of infinite pain and icy darkness. This was controlled; she was seeing and feeling only what he wished to convey. There was solitude, at once lonely and necessary, corrosive and pleasurable. She had a glimpse of a beautiful woman with fangs like a wolf, saying farewell with a mixture of sadness and impatience as she vanished into the darkness. And some strong but equally ambiguous emotion relating to the being beside her.

“Freedom,” Sera gasped out. “You value freedom.”

The vision, along with the sense of solitude, was vanishing, but the fingers on her throat, gently kneading the skin around her jugular, were more, not less, insistent.

“And blood,” he said, his voice low and deep inside her mind. He bent his head closer. “Serafina… How apt. Fire and beauty…”

Sera swallowed. She knew what her name meant. It was all she had from her parents, and all she’d ever dared to find out about. They’d given her it, even though it sat oddly with MacBride and promptly died or buggered off in some other way. Right now, she didn’t care about that. She felt all fire and beauty inside, almost like a revelation granted by the vampire’s cool, stroking fingers on her skin, his seductive voice in her mind. She caught a faint scent of earth and spice, and for no reason at all, her stomach twisted and sent tingles dancing downward between her legs.

Oh fuck! Sera dragged the despised stick from her pocket and pushed it into his chest. “Don’t tempt me.”

To her surprise, his eyes gleamed with something that looked like laughter. But at least he straightened and let his hand fall back onto his denim-covered thigh. There was a bulge in his jeans that had to be… No. Just don’t go there.

He said, “We are, by nature, solitary, territorial creatures. Creating a new vampire is rare, since too many can only impede the safe supply of blood. I need to be rid of these interlopers.” He tapped one finger on his thigh as though in deep thought. “Do you know, I might let you help me.”

Sera curled her lip. “Might you? Why? Can’t you find them on your own?”

Something changed in his dark eyes before his thick lashes dropped down, covering whatever it was. When they rose, he looked merely amused, but Sera was triumphant.

“You can’t, can you?” she crowed.

He shrugged elegantly. “I can pick up their scent if I’m in the right place at the right time.”

“Like a dog at a lamppost?” Sera interpolated.

The vampire regarded her without overt pleasure. “Not exactly. But you, you can track by touch. I thought so last night when you ran from me, and today you proved it by following me here. I confess, I wasn’t best pleased initially, but now…”

From his jeans’ pocket, he took a piece of cloth, black silk. “I picked this off a bramble bush in the garden last night, close to where we met. It might belong to a human. But I doubt it.”

“Why?” Sera looked at the frayed, torn cloth without touching it. It could have been part of just about any dress she’d seen last night.

“It’s not the sort of place humans go in all their finery. Besides, there was a vampiress at the party with a torn black dress.”

With odd reluctance, Sera reached out and took the piece of cloth from him. For obvious reasons, she didn’t want to close her eyes in his company, so she merely stared hard at the silk.

The red, swirling mists were still there, but they lurked in the background almost like old friends. Resentment and intrigue seemed to ooze from the cloth in equal measure; a trace of laughter, a surge of lust, deep and patient, and a vague scent of earth and spice.

“You,” she gasped. “I’m just getting you.”

He smiled lazily, watching the flush suffuse her face and neck. He could probably smell the blood rushing with such embarrassment through her veins.

“Take it with you,” he offered. “I’m sure you’ll get more when you’re less…disturbed.”

Indignantly, she stared at him, floundering for words.

“Your friends are outside,” he said mildly. “I thought you’d want to leave.”

Her phone went off before he’d finished speaking, and, glad of the interruption, she grabbed it.

It was Jilly. “Sera?”

“Yes, I’m fine. Just coming,” she mumbled and broke the connection, shoving the phone into her pocket as she stood up. She glanced at Blair, who rose politely with her. He was too close, and the fire and the butterflies intensified; but again, she refused to admit her weakness by moving away from him. “Exactly what is it you expect me to do if I find any of these…creatures?”

“Tell me,” Blair said. “And I will come and kill them.” His sensual lips tugged upward. “You look shocked. Remember, these are the creatures who killed your friend Jason.”

“And you’re the good vampire?” she retorted with blatant mockery. “The one who doesn’t kill?”

“Not very often,” he amended.

“And yet you’re quite prepared to kill several of your fellow…fellows,” she finished weakly. She still felt foolish saying the word vampire with any seriousness. “Aren’t you afraid they’ll kill you first?”

“At the moment, they seem to be ignoring my existence. Which I find rather rude when they’re stealing my supper.”

“What if I don’t agree to anyone being killed?”

“Serafina. They’re already dead.” His sharp teeth gleamed, and terror and attraction tore through her in equal measure. “Like me.”

Jesus, how could he say those things, be those things when he stood there looking at her like that?

“There you are,” said a sultry female voice from nowhere. “Come back to bed, gorgeous.”

Startled, Sera stepped back, her gaze flying to the speaker, a rumpled brunette in a black minidress that hung slightly askew across her hips and breasts. She had the swollen lips and contented eyes of someone newly awake after a satisfying bout of good sex. The thought appalled Sera for all sorts of reasons, most of which she’d no intention of analyzing.

The woman sashayed up to Blair and almost fell against him, wrapping her arms around his neck. As she pressed her cheek contentedly into his chest, she appeared to catch sight of Sera for the first time.

“Oh,” she said, blinking. She lifted her head. “I didn’t know you had company. Shit, am I in the middle of something?” She sounded both accusing and uneasy, prepared for either anger or distress. Her sleepy eyes were suddenly watchful.

But Blair didn’t seem remotely put out. He simply put one arm around the woman’s waist and half turned her to face Sera properly. His voice in Sera’s head was merely polite. “This is Tess.”

Sera swallowed. “Hello. I’m Sera.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Tess said warily. “Tess Mason.”

Sera swung back to the blandly observing Blair. “Is she?”

“A vampire? No. She’s supper.” He smiled provokingly. “And breakfast.”

“No, she bloody isn’t.” She faced Tess with determination. She hadn’t needed to ask. There was no death about this girl, who looked merely randy. “Something’s come up,” Sera said firmly. “I’ll give you a lift home.”

She moved toward the girl, had even touched her arm, when she found Blair standing between them. Like a dog guarding his bone.

She stared defiantly up at him, clutching the stick in her pocket. Would it really work? His eyes were hard with something of the same look she’d glimpsed before he killed the vampires. She tensed, ready to strike and knowing she’d have to be fast. She’d only get one chance. If that.

For a moment, it hung in the balance. Then his lips quirked, and he stood aside. “You’re right,” he agreed. “Something has come up. And it’s getting increasingly hard to do anything about it.”

Uncertainly, Sera searched his face. In a human male, she’d have understood that as crude innuendo. In a vampire, what the hell did it mean?

While she speculated, he took Tess’s hand; but although Sera started forward in fresh alarm, he merely kissed the girl’s fingers like some gallant of old. It would have been a graceful gesture had his gaze not been on Sera the whole time. Tess, however, seemed enchanted, smiling mistily into the back of his head—besotted or mesmerized?

Sera pushed rudely past, seizing Tess’s arm and almost dragging her out of the room. Her neck, her whole back prickled all the way out and along the hall. He could still stop them if he chose. There was really nothing Sera could do.

But it seemed that, for whatever reason, he didn’t choose. Perhaps he really did want her help. At the front door, which was still ajar, she couldn’t resist glancing back. He stood in the hall, watching them, the gloomy light casting sinister shadows across his left eye and cheek. He looked mysterious and deadly. And so inappropriately sexy.

Chapter Five

As Sera emerged from her inner office the following morning to show her new client to the door, she found another, less welcome visitor waiting for her. PC McGowan, the red-haired policeman who’d taken such a dislike to her at the Bells’. Elspeth’s eyes were rolling frantically in his direction to warn her, but Sera had seen him at once, sitting in one of the comfortable waiting chairs.

“See you at five,” Moira Gordon, her client, said with a smile that didn’t touch the sadness in her eyes.

“I’ll be there,” Sera returned, uncomfortably aware of the constable’s glare as she opened the front door for Moira and closed it behind her. And in fact, before she’d even turned, he was in her face.

“What are you going to tell that poor woman? That her dead mother wants her to give you a load of money she doesn’t have?”

“Her mother isn’t dead. What do you want?”

The policeman dragged his bitter gaze away from the window where the tired, not so well-dressed figure of Moira Gordon crossed the road toward the bus stop.

“Nice premises you have here,” he said with unmistakable resentment. “Business must be going well.”

“It’s growing,” she said calmly, “but if you mean it pays the rent on this place, no it doesn’t. I paid five years rent in advance from a legacy.” Namely, Mattie and George’s house, which she’d sold because she couldn’t bear to live there without them.

This obviously wasn’t the answer McGowan expected, but he only grunted before smiling with rather more relish. “There’s been a complaint against you.”

Oops. Have I been careless? “By whom? For what?”

“By Mr. Jason Bell. For harassing him at his place of work.”

Sera grinned with blatant mockery. “Really?”

“There are more annoyances than physical threats,” the policeman said defensively. “We were sent video footage of you breaking into the C & H car park.”

Sera sat down on one of the other waiting chairs. “Goodness. Well, I climbed over the barrier and hung around waiting for him.”

“Why?”

“To be sure he was all right. At least you and I can agree the events at his father’s party were a trifle strange.”

He blinked at that, as though determined not to agree with her publicly about anything. “Well, Jason and his father seem to consider the matter closed. Why don’t you?”

“Ah, Constable”—although she remembered his name perfectly well, she peered at his name tag—“McGowan. If I told you that, you’d assume I was taking the piss. What else did that video show? Fighting?” Men leaping impossible heights and distances, vanishing into dust…?

“Hardly,” said Constable McGowan coldly. “If it had, you’d have been under arrest.” His tone left no doubt that he was sorry not to be able to deliver that particular outcome. Sera was more interested in the fact that Jason must have somehow doctored the tape before giving it to the police.

Or perhaps vampires didn’t show up on camera? Or mirrors? Was she becoming as gullible as the people she’d been known to part from their cash?

“So you’re not here in any official capacity?” she suggested.

He stood up. “Oh yes. Rest assured I’ll be making a full report. In which I’ll state that I’ve warned you to leave off harassing all of the Bell family.”

“I’ve never harassed anyone in my life,” Sera retorted. “And I doubt there are many policemen who can say the same. As for the Bells,” she continued inexorably as his face flushed an indignant if unbecoming rose color, “I’m still employed by Ferdinand Bell to locate his stalker. If Jason comes back to you, you might suggest he take things up with his father rather than the police. Good morning, Constable McGowan.”

She stood dismissively, but as she turned to march away, he reached out to detain her. His grip on her wrist wasn’t angry or rough, but it was firm enough to turn her back, and he immediately released her.

Too late. The vision was already in her mind. Some deep, corrosive grief, a young girl full of life struck down by a speeding car. A sickening thud, screeching tires; blood and tears. And money trickling through worn, old fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“What?” McGowan looked confused but recovered quickly. “Look, I know that woman, Mrs. Gordon. I know the family. The last thing they need is your sort. I’ll be watching.”

“Watching what?” Sera demanded.

“You know,” McGowan said darkly and made his exit.

“What’s he got against you?” Elspeth demanded indignantly.

“He thinks I’m a charlatan who preys on human tragedy.” Of course, he had his own tragedy. Who didn’t? She winked at Elspeth. “Got to make a living somehow. Five o’clock, I’ll be at Moira Gordon’s in Muirhouse.”

“You’ve got an appointment here too at nine,” Elspeth said doubtfully. “Couldn’t you make it earlier?”

Sera frowned. “The Seelie brothers? Damn, I’d forgotten about them.” She combed her fingers through her hair and shrugged. “No, nine it is. It needs to be dark and spooky. Can you remind Jilly and Jack I’ll need them tonight?”

“Do you want me to stay late?”

Sera didn’t miss the note of eagerness in Elspeth’s voice. She gave a slightly rueful smile. “To be honest, Elspeth, I don’t believe you’ll like what you see.”

“Playing tricks, are you?” Elspeth said disapprovingly.

“Told you.” Sera turned and walked over to pick her jacket off the coat hook.

“I’d better stay and make sure you don’t overstep the mark,” Elspeth said severely.

Sera laughed, shrugging on the jacket. “Oh, I will. I so want to rip the Seelies off. See you later—I’m off to visit Ferdy Bell!”

****

She found Ferdy in a somber mood, although he seemed pleased enough to see her.

“My wife’s gone round to check that Jason’s flat is fit to live in,” he said, ushering her into his study as usual, but he frowned as he spoke, as if his mind was on something else entirely.

“How is Jason?” Sera asked casually. “Seen much of him?”

“No, not really. He came round late last night to tell us he was moving back into his flat, even though the decoration still isn’t complete.” He sat at his desk and glanced at Sera. Ferdy wasn’t a tall man but she suspected few people in his life ever noticed that because he had such a big, confident personality. Although retired, he was only in his fifties, still slim, fit and dapper. His dark hair was neatly cut around his shining bald patch, and even in the midst of these troubles, to call them nothing worse, his smooth face radiated health and energy. “He was meant to be staying here until the flat was ready.”

“What made him change his mind?” The garlic and crucifixes all over the house? Did these things work after all? She must ask Blair…

“I don’t know,” Ferdy said slowly. “He seems restless, unlike himself.”

There was a reason for that, of course, but how the hell did you tell any father his only son was a vampire?

Might be a vampire. Let’s not get carried away here, Sera. Blair might still be the ultimate con man. Able to con me.

“And what of your stalker?” Sera asked. “Any signs?”

“No.” Ferdy picked up a pen, twisting it between his fingers. “Do you know, I think it might have been all about Jason?” He dropped the pen and met her gaze, and suddenly his ever-present confidence was gone. “I’m wondering if he…got Jason. The night of the party.”

Sera reached out and patted his hand. With the contact, her instinct to trust the sincerity in Ferdy’s face and voice was confirmed. Like the hour he’d believed his son was dead.

She said, “I feel I should tell you, Jason complained to the police about me harassing him. I did go to his office to speak to him, which he didn’t want. But in the circumstances, I have to ask you what you want to do next. If you’re satisfied your stalker, whoever or whatever he was, is no longer a threat, our agreement is complete.”

Ferdy gazed out of the window at his beautiful garden in the rain. For the first time since Sera had met him, he looked like an old man. Every line on his face seemed to have deepened into a wrinkle; every fold of skin appeared to sag.

At last, he brought his gaze back to Sera. “I may be a foolish old man. I may be senile. I’m sure there are many who think so and wonder how I did the job I did for so many years. But Jason is my life. And Emily’s life. We want our son back.”

After a moment, Sera said quietly, “You got him back.”

“Prove it,” Ferdy said. “Prove that he’s still my son. Or prove he isn’t. Can you do that?”

It was another job, another fee. She got paid whatever the result, which was a great deal for Serafina’s.

She swallowed. “I don’t know,” she admitted.

“Will you try?”

She searched his gaze. Something else was beginning to gleam in his eyes. Beyond the anxiety and the grief was excitement. Something else to do. She drew in her breath. “What if we find it isn’t Jason?” she asked. “What if we find he’s been somehow…altered?”

“If he’s a vampire?” Ferdy said. Oh yes, there was relish in the way he said the word. Ferdy was dealing with his crisis in the only way he could, and who the hell was she to judge honesty? “What would you recommend?” he asked. “Could he be changed back?”

Sera blinked. “I don’t know. But I think I can find out.”

****

Before she left Ferdy’s, she had another walk around the house and grounds, this time clutching the piece of black cloth that Blair had given her. But time and rain seemed to have washed away all lingering traces from the party. Even Blair’s powerful echo was barely noticeable. Besides, to get any kind of feel from the fabric, she really needed to unpeel Blair’s layer from it, and that seemed impossible. She went back home to her flat to try something else.

Pushing everything away from the middle of the living room floor, she vowed to clear up tomorrow and sat down in the center of the space she’d made. In her lap, she held the piece of black silk and Jason’s cufflink, each covered by either hand. She closed her eyes and concentrated.

She conjured the misty redness by thinking about it, but after a little, it seemed to take on a life of its own and swirled wildly until it gaped to let her glimpse a gloomy room and a desk at which sat two spirits. Spirits in the sense of dead. In the sense, in the feel, that was Blair. Only this was Jason. She could have spoken to him now, and he would have heard her. But that was no longer a good idea. He was at work, and he was asleep. So was his companion. And his companion, although dressed in a smart gray trouser suit, was the owner of the black silk. The woman who’d directed her through the maze to Jason’s body.

She gasped as the mists closed down, swamping her like a deluge of blood. With shaking hands, she pushed the cloth and the cufflink onto the floor and rubbed her forehead.

Who was the female? Someone who worked at C & H? Was Blair right that she had turned Jason? If so, she was hardly the stalker Ferdy had feared. She would have been recognized, surely, as a friend of Jason’s.

She never had much clue as to the time a vision portrayed. It could be years in the past, or it could be the present moment. In this case, since Jason hadn’t been dead for long, it had to be some time in the last couple of days. Or right now.

She threw her head back in distress because she needed to know more, and yet she didn’t want to go back. Those walking dead gave her the sort of creeps she’d never had from any spirit before, even the angry and disturbed who’d troubled her since childhood.

Slowly, she reached out again and picked up the piece of silk. This time, as if the link had strengthened, the female’s spirit swamped her. Blood and greed and fierce intelligence. And obedient adoration for someone or something. She had a glimpse of a house, a room, full of dead spirits. Full of vampires, waiting for the word.

What word?

On the question, she was flung out with such force that she let the silk fall to the floor and wondered in panic if the female vampire had felt her presence. Would she become a target of these creatures? Would alliance with Blair save her?

She rose to her feet, swept up the cloth and the cufflink, and stashed them back in the bureau before heading into the bathroom for a shower. “Drop it, Sera,” she whispered to herself as she stepped under the gently steaming jets of water. “Tell Ferdy to keep his money and move on. It isn’t worth it; Serafina’s doesn’t need this. I don’t need this.”

And yet she owed Ferdy for whatever had happened under her nose at that party. She owed him and Jason, for playing jokes instead of protecting them as she’d promised. She’d broken her word, and if there was one thing she despised above all others, it was that. It had happened to her too often in the past: a lonely, desperate child beginning to hope because an adult had promised something which never materialized—from little things like sweets or a trip to the play park or the cinema, to bigger ones like “You’re family now.” She never was, apart from with Mattie and George.

The old, familiar pain washed over her, and for once, she closed her eyes and let it come. They’d been the only real family she’d ever known. Of course, Sera had been a total cow when she’d first gone to them, a cheeky and unhelpful twelve-year-old, and, because underneath it all she’d liked them and wanted so much for them to like her, she’d been clutching very tight to the hard shell she’d learned was her only protection from real hurt—not hits and kicks, which she could dodge or give back, but the worst kind. Rejection.

But Mattie and George had never rejected her. Patiently, they’d waited and, with kindness and fun, broken through her protective layers. And she had the impression they were almost as surprised as she by the strength of the bond which grew so quickly between them then. She’d loved them fiercely and knew that any good in her had come from them. From them, she’d learned never to break her word, because they never had. Or at least not until Mattie died. Mattie had promised never to leave her, but neither of them had had any control over that. Sera had been upstairs listening to music while Mattie’s life expired only feet below her.

It must have been the shock of life departing that had suddenly alerted her, but by the time she’d bolted downstairs, Mattie was dead, and all the tears, pleading, and hugging in the world couldn’t bring her back. They’d told her it had been sudden, that there was nothing Sera could have done to save her, even if she’d been in the same room. Sera didn’t believe them, because the dead Mattie wouldn’t talk to her. It felt like Mattie blamed her, and from that she began to understand her mother’s silence too.

From a very young age, as soon as she’d understood that the unseen people she’d always “talked” to were spirits of the dead, she’d tried to reach her mother, but her mother never spoke either. And now Sera suspected why. Somehow, she’d been responsible for her mother’s death too.

And for George’s, because even before Mattie’s funeral, social services had come and taken her away again. As a widower, George was no longer a suitable foster parent. Despite all their talk, they wouldn’t allow Mattie and George to have been her real family after all. Reasoning, appeals to their compassion on her own or on George’s behalf, tantrums, rages, pleas, all fell on deaf ears.

At least, they’d let her go to the funeral. Foolishly, she’d imagined that they’d see the pale light of pleasure in George’s grief-stricken eyes when she stood beside him, perceive the strength they gave each other, and finally understand. But they didn’t. They couldn’t get that the only way she and George could survive this tragedy was together. Her instinct had been to cling to George, but she didn’t think he could bear the scene of her being pried off him and dragged away, and so she’d gone quietly.

It wasn’t the end, of course. Escaping the new, apparently more suitable foster parents—a mean-spirited, ignorant couple who had their own kids and regarded fostering as a means of getting easy money—she’d gone to see George whenever she could. She’d tried running away to him, but they’d always found her. They’d always known where she’d be, and yet even that told them nothing. Maybe it was stupid, but she’d always had this idea in her head that if she’d been there, if George could have leaned on her, he wouldn’t have died.

But he did. And she didn’t even try to reach him. She couldn’t bear the guilt of his rejection too.

Gasping, she shook her hair, throwing off the past with the spray. She could change nothing there, but she could still keep her word and do her best for Ferdy. She was aware many people, including PC Alex McGowan, would find this rigid point of honor somewhat incongruous in a con artist of her magnitude, but that was tough. Sera had stopped apologizing for who and what she was a long time ago.

Lifting her face into the water, she wished, briefly, for a normal life. A real job. A husband, and maybe even children one day when she’d grown up herself. Illusions. These things weren’t for her, and most of the time, she didn’t really want them. Except when she was lonely, late at night, usually, or when she was wakeful in the early hours of the morning, wishing for a companion to cuddle, to talk sleepily with and laugh with. Someone to share her morning coffee and indulge her passions a little. She laughed at herself, letting the water run into her mouth. Sera and happy families? Not bloody likely.

A man. She just wanted a man to hold and caress her, make her feel special for a night. And give her orgasms, of course. Sera’s body heated under the shower, from the inside out. In the words of an Irish friend, what she needed was a damn good feck.

Unbidden, the image of Blair swam into her mind, his eyes intense as he touched her throat with his long, sensitive fingers. Blair in his kilt, biting Tam with sensual relish. Blair flying through the air in that car park, oddly graceful, even beautiful, as he leapt and hit and bit… The heated tingling of her body drove straight between her legs, making her gasp. Her nipples felt hard and wanton under the caress of the shower. Oh yes, Blair was one sexy bastard. For a blood-sucking monster.

She slammed off the shower and stepped out, seizing the towel with unnecessary force. Blair was another reason to ditch this investigation.

But already, she knew she wouldn’t. And knew too that Blair was her only asset. She’d go and see him again tonight, after the Seelies, discover if he could shed any light on her visions of Jason and the female vampire. And if vampirism could be reversed.

****

It was difficult to go straight from Moira Gordon’s ghostly child to putting on a show for the Seelies. For a moment, Sera was tempted to tell the brothers just to fuck off and get a life. But the money was good, so she channeled her anger into creativity.

They were waiting for her when she arrived at the office—two large young men with decent jobs who’d just inherited and sold their late father’s plumbing business for a sizable fortune—seated in the waiting area, laughing at their private joke, although they sobered immediately they saw her.

Elspeth was scowling, her fingers walloping the computer keys with such force that they were likely to break if she didn’t calm down.

“Evening,” Sera said pleasantly. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

“You’re all right,” Derek Seelie, the elder brother, said. “We were early.”

Sera cast Elspeth a quick glance of apology. “Go through to the office,” she invited her clients. “I’ll just wash my hands and be with you.”

The brothers exchanged surreptitious glances at that. Clearly, they hadn’t expected to be allowed to poke about the séance room in advance. Nevertheless, a whisper, a snort, and a quickly muffled laugh accompanied them into the inner room.

Sera wiggled her eyebrows ruefully at Elspeth. “Sorry. Everything okay?”

Tight-lipped, Elspeth said, “They think because I’m old, I’m deaf, and they can discuss anything they like in front of me—however unsuitable.”

Sera mouthed the word arseholes. She was aware they’d be recording everything that went on but had no idea of the range of whatever device they were using.

An exchange of looks told her that Jilly and Jack were already in place, so Sera merely winked, went to the bathroom, where she completed her preparations for the séance, and walked through to the inner office.

The Seelies had left the door ajar, presumably to hear any conversation between Sera and her confederates, but it was far enough over to conceal their own activity in the room. Although they were lounging at the round table when Sera entered, she was sure they’d already examined the walls and the floor, tested the locked door that led into her flat, felt under the table, and looked behind the curtains and the picture on the wall. She didn’t mind. There was nothing for them to find.

They smiled at her as she crossed the room, their eyes as blatantly mocking as they could be without being openly rude. Now it was to begin, she saw that their gloves were off. With relish, Sera rolled up her metaphorical sleeves for the fight.

She sat between the brothers, who’d thoughtfully left that chair vacant. She had no objection to being directed there. After all, each place was visible through the keyhole of the flat door.

“Okay,” Sera began briskly. “Before we start, it’s important that you’re comfortable with arrangements here. Do you prefer the door to the main office to be locked or unlocked?”

“What difference does it make?” Derek Seelie asked, and his brother sniggered.

“To me, none,” Sera replied calmly. “But some of my first-time clients prefer to be sure there’s no interference from beyond this room. My receptionist will remain in the outer office until we’re finished here. If you’re uncomfortable with that, we can lock her out.”

“Sure,” said Derek. “Lock her out.”

“The key’s in the lock,” Sera pointed out. “Turn it yourself until you’re satisfied.”

As Frankie, the younger brother, rose to do the honors, Derek said, “Aren’t you bothered about locking yourself in here with two strange men?”

“Should I be?” Sera let amusement fill her voice. “When I have all their details and their cleared credit card payment?”

Derek’s gaze slid free. He nodded at the other door to her flat. “What’s through there?”

“Private property. It’s locked. Feel free to check again. No? All right, let’s begin. Before we put out the lights, I’d like you each to begin to make the connection by naming the spirit you want us to contact tonight.”

Both brothers looked at her intently. Derek smiled. “Edward Seelie.”

She’d been right. Just in case, she and Jilly had done their research on the entire family, but Sera had known when the brothers first approached her with the story of their father passing away that they were lying. Their father’s name was James. Edward had been their stillborn brother, dead a year before either of them was born. While it probably didn’t seem right even to them to get a cheap laugh at the expense of their recently dead father, they could have little real grief for a brother they’d never known. They were just smart-arsed wankers with too much money in their pockets who thought it would be a laugh to debunk the ridiculous female psychic.

Sera was way ahead of them. Or at least, she hoped she was.

She made no comment, merely inclined her head. “Do you have something of Edward’s that I can touch to boost the connection?”

Derek gave a deliberate, taunting smile. “No.”

Sera merely nodded. “Okay. It makes it easier sometimes, but it isn’t necessary. Do you wish to tell me more about Edward?”

“Nah. You tell us,” said Frankie, lounging back into his chair. “It’s what we’re paying you for.”

“Very well,” Sera said evenly. “I’m going to put the lights out now—not, as some people believe, in order to encourage the spirits, but rather to aid my concentration and yours. At the moment, you are my only connection to the spirit we seek. And I am your only conduit. We all need to focus on the late Edward Seelie.”

She rose as she spoke, switched the pale light off, and resumed her seat between the brothers in total darkness. “Close your eyes if you want, but keep your thoughts on Edward.”

“Aren’t we meant to hold hands?” Frankie sneered.

Your funeral. “If you wish.”

They’d been reading up. If they each held her hand, she had less opportunity for manipulating events. And since her hands were so much smaller than theirs, she couldn’t even fool them by getting them to hold each other’s hands instead. Fortunately, she didn’t need to.

She didn’t care for touching them. Physically, they gave her the creeps. On the other hand, she’d pick up their emotions—and their lies—so much more easily. She gave a hand to each and, after a few moments of silence, uttered, “Edward. Edward Seelie, we seek your spirit. Derek and Frankie need to reach you. Come to us; speak with us. I am willing to receive your spirit.”

In the ensuing silence, Sera felt a sweaty finger stroking her palm. She made allowances for possible nervousness, but when it happened again, she said clearly, “If you do that again, Frankie, I’ll break your arm.”

Derek sniggered. Of course, they doubted her ability to break his arm—wrongly, as it happened—but having paid up already, they certainly weren’t willing for her to end the séance at this point. Especially since it would be on tape.

“Was that our Edward talking?” Derek sneered.

“Oh no. That was me. Trust me, you’d know the difference. Shall we continue?”

Since no one said anything to that but sat perfectly still, she repeated her invitation to Edward to join them. After a few moments, she increased the speed of her breathing, let a little more excitement and pleading into her voice as she begged for Edward’s presence.

So quietly that no one could have been sure they were hearing anything at all, a faint tinkle of music passed through the room. The brothers’ fingers tensed. They knew something was happening and were preparing to expose it.

“Speak,” Sera breathed.

The music got a little louder as Jack, with Sera’s stereo speaker facedown in her living room above, kindly turned up the volume a notch. It was recognizable now as children’s toy music, the kind you got on cot mobiles or musical spinning tops.

“Fuck,” Frankie breathed. They were taken by surprise. They’d assumed she’d make the obvious mistake and pretend to summon the spirit of their father.

“Where’s it coming from?” Derek demanded.

“Sh-sh,” Sera whispered. “I don’t know. Listen…”

As the music continued, Sera could hear her own deliberately increased breath along with the brothers’ uneasy inhalations and exhalations. And then there seemed to be another breath, louder, echoing, almost filling the room. That would be Jilly, breathing through a child’s voice changer into the keyhole from Sera’s flat. She even made the kind of tiny sound that generally only comes from sleeping babies.

Nice touch.

“Edward. Edward, are you there? Will you speak to your family?”

The breathing stopped. The music got louder. Beside Sera, the men were tense as coiled springs, staring into the darkness. Frankie jumped.

“What?” Derek demanded. “What is it?”

“Something brushed against my face!”

“He’s coming,” Sera breathed. “He’s coming. Edward…”

She jerked forward over the table as if she’d been shot, thus activating the little smoke machine Tam had acquired for the Bells’ party, now taped inside Sera’s jeans. The effect, even in the darkness was fantastic. Although the white smoke belched outward as she threw herself back in her chair, when she breathed in as if she were absorbing it, it appeared that the smoke was entering her body rather than leaving it.

Sera breathed deeply several times. She smiled so that it would be heard in her voice. “The spirit that was once Edward Seelie will speak through me. What do you wish to ask him?”

With more than a hint of nervousness in his clowning, Frankie said, “How’s it going, son?”

Sera left a pause, then: “He says he’s not content.”

“Why not?” Derek asked, leaning forward as if he expected the spirit to ask for more money for Sera.

“He doesn’t wish to be summoned for frivolous reasons.”

“Frivolous?” Derek sneered. “That’s a big word for a baby.”

After another pause, Sera said, “Any word is big for a newborn in your world. To a spirit, words are merely an interface.”

The brothers seemed slightly flummoxed by this. As if they’d been so sure of catching her out over their father that they hadn’t bothered thinking of things to ask Edward himself. Eventually, Derek plucked a few questions out of the air, asking things he imagined only his family could possibly know. Sera answered but made no other move to lead the conversation. If they’d done their homework on fake mediums—as she presumed they had—they’d know all about the leading questions asked for purposes of fishing. In this day and age, especially with a computer wiz like Jilly on the staff, there was no need to fish from your clients. At least, not when you had a bit of warning.

She could tell the brothers were baffled because none of this was going how they’d imagined. It wasn’t any fun after all. Sera made it worse by bringing up Frankie’s police record—an assault charge when he was sixteen that she’d guessed he and Derek had covered up from their parents, since neither of the older Seelies had been present in court when he was fined.

“He was only a kid,” Derek defended him.

“Has he confessed?” Sera asked.

“We’re not Catholic!”

She let a pause go by. Then, shooting in the dark for once, she said: “The spirit says confession should be made to the one who pays him.”

“My employer?” said Frankie. “Oh aye. That’s done. Declared it. It’s finished.”

Lying little bastard. “The spirit is displeased.” Sera decided it was time to end it with a bit of genuine suffering. “The spirit is bored here and disappointed in the ones who would have been his brothers.” She let the silence grow, took some satisfaction in her clients’ obvious unease. “He is ashamed of your disrespect for his mother’s suffering. And his father’s. He bids you leave him in peace. He won’t come again.”

She folded herself up, squeezing the last of the smoke from the tiny machine as she exhaled, and again the white tendrils floated into the air and vanished. The brothers dropped her hands at last, as if they stung.

Sera laid her head on the table and breathed deeply.

“What’s happening now?” Frankie asked, his voice too high. “What’s she doing? Is it finished?”

“How the fuck should I know? I’ve had enough. Put the lights back on.”

Sera let herself stir with the light and straightened, shuddering slightly. Frankie already had the door unlocked, and, without troubling to see if she was all right, Derek followed him with alacrity.

Hiding a grin, Sera rose and walked after them into the outer office—and came face-to-face with Blair.

“Jesus Christ!”

Chapter Six

The exclamation sprang to her lips before she could stop it. Worse, it spilled with an obvious start, and she grabbed at her throat in a betraying gesture of fright. Blair’s lips curved in almost predatory amusement.

Sera, after a wild glance to make sure Elspeth was still upright at her desk, recovered quickly, saying with a laugh, “What are you doing here? Never creep up on a girl after a séance!”

But the damage was done. She’d betrayed just enough weakness for bullies like the Seelies to flex their muscles once more. Besides, in the bright, mundane office, away from the darkness and the carefully manufactured atmosphere of the séance, they needed to recover their skepticism in self-defense.

“That was a total rip-off,” Derek said. “We want our money back.”

“But why?” Sera asked innocently. “Didn’t you like what you heard?”

“No! What’s more, no way was that the spirit of my dead baby brother.”

“That’s not for me to say. We signed a contract, gentlemen. You agreed to pay, and I agreed to act as a medium for you this hour of this day. I can’t and didn’t guarantee any spirit would speak to you, let alone the one you wanted. You were lucky. You spoke to the dead.”

“Lucky? It was pure shite!”

“Look, Mr. Seelie, you didn’t pay for an evening of fun and frolics. Nor was that what I offered you. I’m sorry it wasn’t an enjoyable experience for you, but that doesn’t invalidate our contract. Good evening.”

Throughout the exchange, Elspeth had watched anxiously from her desk. Blair, still lounging outside the inner office, one shoulder against the wall, looked on in silence. In the one glance she spared him, she could read nothing in his closed face or his dark, unnatural eyes.

Frankie stepped closer, crowding her between his body and Derek’s. “You repeat a word of what you said in there, and I’ll—”

“Frankie!” said Derek sharply.

It was his gaze she chose to meet. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she said firmly. For a moment, it hung in the balance. Sera knew she’d won and was quite capable of coping if she was wrong. But Blair chose to stroll past the huddle and perch on Elspeth’s desk, well within both Seelies’ line of vision. Their eyes flickered to him, widened, and then they backed off. They were out the front door in three seconds flat, although Frankie flung over his shoulder, “This is shite!”

Sera glared at Blair. “What did you do?”

Blair shrugged. “They’d forgotten I was there. I merely reminded them.”

“Thank you so much,” Elspeth twittered. “Such uncivil young men! And threatening too!”

“Elspeth, they’re just wankers,” Sera said irritably. “We were in no danger whatsoever!” She swung on Blair, snapping, “What do you want?”

Blair eased his denim-clad hip off Elspeth’s desk and gestured toward the door. “Walk with me,” he suggested.

Walk with me, die with me… Oh no. Sera had opened her mouth to reply in blistering terms before it came to her that Elspeth would think she was talking to herself. It must already seem a rather one-sided conversation, but since Elspeth hadn’t clocked her visitor as the murderous vampire from the C & H car park, Sera had no intention of freaking her out by introducing him.

“All right,” she muttered. She threw her flat key to Elspeth. “Lock up after Jilly and Jack, will you? Jack’ll drive you home. Thanks for staying late.”

“Glad I did,” said Elspeth with a shudder. “Awful young men.”

Not half as awful as the one you’re so happy to leave me with now, Sera thought wryly, snatching her jacket off the coat hook.

“Where are we going?” she asked as soon as the door of Serafina’s closed behind them.

“You tell me.”

She glanced at him with amusement. “You think I’m going to lead you straight across the city to the vampires’ lair, don’t you?”

“You’ve had all day to touch and feel and track.”

“All day? This isn’t my only case, you know.”

He smiled, apparently at the memory of the case he’d interrupted. “I like your style. Simple and effective.”

“Self-absorbed, self-satisfied pricks,” Sera said with some relish.

“You like to punish people for messing with the dead, don’t you?”

Her gaze flew to his. The light from a car’s headlights flashed into his face and vanished, leaving it dark and shadowed. He walked on at her side, lithe, predatory, and silent.

“Sometimes I play God,” she confessed. “And the Lord bites me in the ass.”

“Like Jason?”

She said nothing, and he seemed content to walk in silence. Sera, one hand on the cufflink and the piece of black silk in her pocket, let her feet lead the way.

Abruptly, she said, “Can he change back?”

“Jason? Of course not. He’s dead.”

She closed her eyes for an instant, but if anything, she walked faster. “And if I stab him with my sharp little stick, will he turn to instant dust like those—creatures in the car park?”

Blair nodded.

“And his spirit?”

“Goes wherever it is spirits go.”

“Is he…?” She broke off, suddenly unable to speak the words aloud to whatever this being was. But it seemed he read her mind anyhow—or at least understood.

“Damned?” he suggested. “Why should he be? He isn’t Jason anymore, not really. He didn’t ask for this.”

“You mean being undead is a curse he’d welcome being released from?”

“Of course, he would,” Blair said bracingly, and in spite of the grim, bizarre nature of the conversation, she found herself smiling.

“You’re a liar. You wouldn’t, would you?”

Blair only shook his head.

“Then why would he?”

“Because I probably am damned. I’ve been a vampire for a very long time.”

“How long?” she asked curiously.

“Since 1751. Are you tracking or just enjoying the fresh air?”

“I don’t know,” Sera admitted with some relish. “I’ve had a tiring day.” She glanced at him. “I did try again with that piece of silk you gave me.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Not until I held Jason’s cufflink at the same time. The owner of the dress and Jason know each other; they’ve been together very recently at C & H. Heads on desk, asleep. And in a house with a bunch of other—creatures like them.”

“You seem to have difficulty with the word ‘vampire,’” Blair observed.

“Trust me, it’s not the word.”

“We might be quite lovable when you get to know us. For someone so at home with the dead, you’re very squeamish.”

“Spirits are natural,” she retorted.

Blair spread his arms wide, mocking her—and yet he wasn’t quite laughing. “And what am I? How do you suppose I came to be?”

“How should I know?”

“Well, it wasn’t in a factory or a mad geneticist’s laboratory. I’m as much a part of the natural world as you and the Siberian tiger and the dead people’s spirits that haunt you.”

“Hey, calm down,” Sera said, regarding him with some curiosity. He appeared to be genuinely offended, which hadn’t been her intention at all. You’d have to be pretty stupid to go around pissing off vampires without a damned good reason. Or a damned good defense. She went so far as to give him a friendly nudge. “I didn’t mean to make you angry.”

His lip curled. “Then what did you mean to do? Explain your own irrationality?”

“No. I meant to tell you about these vampires all together in the house, waiting for instruction.”

She had the satisfaction of finally halting him in his tracks. The half-challenging, half-annoyed glint vanished from his eyes, leaving them surprised and intensely curious. “Instruction?” he repeated.

She kept walking. “Instruction. Or something like that. I had the feeling they were in the middle of some plan or other.”

Blair caught up with her. “That’s bizarre. Vampires don’t make plans. Not with each other, at any rate. They weren’t fighting?”

“Nope. They seemed to be in accord.”

“That’s even weirder.”

“Is it? I don’t like to doubt you, you being the first undead I’ve conversed with, but how well do you actually know your own species?”

“As well as you know yours, I suppose,” he said with a trace of hauteur.

“Yes? Well, I have to go by the evidence.” Clearly, she was pissing him off again, but as they turned into Rose Street, she could only hope the number of people there, milling around and spilling out of the bars for a smoke, would protect her. In any case, it was something that had to be discussed.

She said, “You told me vampires can’t speak except telepathically. But Jason does, and I’m pretty sure that girl at the party must have done too. You say vampires don’t congregate or plan, and yet they’re all in that house together—”

“They came for Jason too,” Blair interrupted, frowning. He didn’t seem annoyed at all. “At the car park. They didn’t come to fight over human scraps. They came to meet Jason, however swiftly they deserted the sinking ship. That really isn’t natural. What do you suppose their plan is?”

“If I overhear them discussing it, I’ll let you know,” she said dryly.

A bunch of young men all but fell out the door of the pub just ahead, pushing and shoving. Some of it might have been good-natured horseplay, but a couple of them were clearly spoiling, in a drink-induced sort of a way, for a fight.

“Was there a human in this house with the vampires?” Blair asked, ignoring the commotion if he even noticed it.

Sera veered to the right. “Not that I could tell,” she said. “Why?” One man, violently shoved, hurtled toward her with enough speed to knock her over. She sidestepped that one easily enough, only his friend followed, hurtling into him and knocking him, inevitably, into Sera.

She saw it coming, with that flash of recognition that she could do nothing to avoid it. And yet, without warning, the men were not only pulled up short but suddenly staggered in the opposite direction.

Baffled, they turned with one bewildered gaze to watch Sera and Blair walk past.

She hadn’t seen Blair move. He hadn’t even seemed aware, and yet… “Did you do that?” she asked, low voiced.

Blair twitched his lips in response.

“Oy!” yelled one of the drunks. Inevitably, there was a scrape of hurried footsteps against the cobbled street. A few people scurried past or into another pub out of the way. Blair turned to face the two in front. Their pals were muscling up in support only a few feet behind. Sera tensed. Although she could take care of herself, this was quite a crowd. Besides, what the hell would Blair do to them?

“What’d you…?” the first man began aggressively and then broke off. He was little more than a boy with too much alcohol in his veins, but he was still ripe for causing damage to someone.

“Look,” Sera interrupted placatingly, catching hold of Blair’s arm. “We…” She stopped, for both men were staring at Blair.

“Fuck. Forget it,” the lad muttered to Sera’s amazement. He and his friend turned as one and walked back the way they’d come, dragging their mates with them.

Sera let her breath out. “Some time,” she said, “I’ve got to see how you do that.” Did he show his fangs, mesmerize them?

“I don’t care to brawl in public places,” Blair said, carrying on up Rose Street.

“Good for you,” Sera approved, following. “I’m sure, in many ways, you’re a great role model for today’s youth.”

But Blair didn’t appear to hear her. He had his nose in the air, as if he were sniffing. Coming alongside him, Sera felt a twinge of awareness; a hint of red mist flashed across her eyes.

“Vampire,” Blair said with satisfaction and strode around the corner. Sera, clutching the silk and the cufflink once more, tried to retrieve and hang on to the red mist. She bumped into Blair’s solid back.

He’d come to an abrupt halt. “It’s gone,” he said in clear frustration.

“No, it hasn’t,” Sera said triumphantly. “Come on.”

At first it wasn’t as clear as tracking Blair. The feeling was vague and sometimes vanished altogether, but she always found it again, and as they meandered into the west end, it grew stronger. Not one but several vampires had walked these streets recently, and one of them was the woman belonging to the black silk dress. A little later, she picked up Jason too. Excitement mounted. She could sense the same feeling in Blair, who might even have been picking up the trail with her, for after a while, he seemed to know which way to go without her lead.

“Here,” she said, coming to a halt. They’d walked as far as Roseburn. With Blair silently at her side, she gazed at the building in front of her. A Victorian house at the end of a terrace. It had a couple of empty chains swinging over the front door, as if they had once borne the sign for a hotel or something similar. It was in darkness and gave the impression of being unoccupied. Or perhaps just neglected.

“I can’t smell fresh vampire,” Blair observed.

“They may not be here. But they have been.” From habit, she fumbled for her phone to call Jilly and Jack for backup before it struck her that Blair, surely, was all the backup she needed.

If she could trust him.

She shrugged. “Nothing ventured,” she murmured, walking through the gate and up to the front door. She rang the bell, which inspired no helpful visions, and waited.

Blair, very still at her side, said, “I can smell only one human. And I think he’s asleep.”

“Damn.” Wondering if they could break in, Sera began to scan the building for signs of alarms.

Blair stepped back and lifted his foot as if intending to kick the door in.

“Blair!” she hissed in warning. “Other people live in this street!”

He placed his foot back on the ground, but she couldn’t flatter herself she’d had anything to do with it.

“Someone’s coming,” he said.

“Vampire?” She couldn’t sense anything among her sudden panic.

“No,” said Blair, just as a light came on and the door opened.

A middle-aged man stood there. He was tall and fit looking, a shock of mingling gray and black hair framing a still-firm and handsome face.

Sera rushed into speech. “Ah. Sorry to bother you so late. We’re looking for a friend and were given this address.”

“Really? Who are you looking for?” The man’s voice was deep and pleasant, his accent English, which meant nothing—there were a lot of English accents in Edinburgh.

“Jason Bell,” Sera said, looking straight into his eyes. She read no recognition there.

“No, I’m afraid there’s no one of that name here. Who gave you my address?”

“Tony,” Sera said, plucking a name out of the air. “Maybe I remembered it wrong. You’re not Malcolm, are you?”

“No, I’m not Malcolm.” The man’s gaze was piercing, and for a moment, she thought her ruse wasn’t going to work, that he wasn’t going to say any more—especially when she discerned a distinctly amused gleam in his gray eyes. Then, unexpectedly, he said, “I’m Nicholas. Nicholas Smith.”

Sera stuck her hand out. “Sera,” she said, modifying the vowel slightly so the name might have been heard as the more common “Sarah,” especially to an Englishman. The man blinked a little sleepily, but he didn’t refuse her hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” he said politely. And oddly, for so obvious a platitude, she got no sense of lying. He really was pleased to meet her. But she picked up very little else—perhaps because his attention had shifted to Blair, still and inevitably silent beside her. Nicholas Smith dropped her hand but not before she picked up a sudden wave of emotion from him, as intense as it was unexpected. It contained an element of surprise and fear and a lot of curiosity, overwhelmed by something she couldn’t analyze.

She cast a quick, surreptitious glance at the vampire, who, after all, was very good at inspiring both surprise and fear, but whatever he’d used on the Seelies or the drunks in Rose Street was completely absent from his face now. He looked as mild as it was possible for him to look.

“Would you care to use my telephone?” Nicholas Smith offered unexpectedly, and Sera realized his regard had switched back to her. His eyes were almost—concerned. Had he recognized Blair for what he was? Was he offering her a means of escape?

Alarm plunged through her stomach. Did he know something about Blair that she didn’t? Was she in more danger than she recognized?

Whatever, she’d no objection to looking round this house or conversing further with Mr. Nicholas Smith. She’d opened her mouth to accept, but then Blair waved a mobile phone in front of her while he nodded amiably to Mr. Smith and turned her away from the door.

She thought of resisting before discarding the idea as pointless. She knew the vampire’s strength.

“Thanks, Mr. Smith!” she said over her shoulder. And under her breath to Blair, “I could have learned a lot more in there.”

“It might have been the last thing you learned,” Blair said grimly.

Chapter Seven

“You shouldn’t trust him,” Blair said severely after several minutes of fast, silent walking. Again, Sera was following a mixture of “feel” and instinct to decide direction, and Blair seemed content to let her.

She retorted, “I get more trustworthy vibes from him than from you!”

“And why do you suppose that is?”

“Because you’re a vampire that drinks blood and kills people?” she suggested, walking even faster.

“And he’s—what?”

“Just a dude. Probably the wrong dude, since I’m still sensing vampires. I think Jason just walked past that house, probably en route to his own flat in Palmerston Place.”

“He’s just a dude who recognized me for what I am.”

Since the same thought had crossed her own mind, she spared him a glance. “Did he ‘hear’ you?” she asked uncertainly.

“I didn’t say anything. Offhand, I’d guess he sensed me, much as you do.”

“Then he’s psychic?”

“Almost certainly. Was his house the same place you saw the vampires congregated?”

“I don’t know,” she retorted. “You dragged me away before I could look.”

“Well, the girl in the black dress came here the night Jason died. He let her in like an old friend.”

Sera frowned in annoyance. “Then you knew about that house? Why didn’t you say?”

“I was hoping you’d find another place, where the vampires hang out the rest of the time.” He frowned. “A psychic who consorts with vampires,” he mused. “Interesting, isn’t it?”

“Or a psychic who was threatened by vampires,” Sera said defensively, though quite why she felt the need to defend the stranger, she had no idea.

Without warning, he grasped her wrist and swung her against the wall of the nearest building, closing her in with his tall body while he stared into her face. Before she had time to feel afraid, she felt a brush like a butterfly’s wing in her mind, much deeper and totally different from the surface sensation when he spoke to her.

“Get out,” she whispered, trying to push the butterfly away.

“Have you ever been hypnotized, Serafina?”

“No. Several have tried and failed,” she blustered. “My mind was always stronger than theirs.” They’d been therapists, recommended by doctors to one set of foster parents, to try to curb her unruly behavior. She’d laughed in their faces, much as she was trying and failing to do in Blair’s. But he was too close, his hips actually pushing her into the wall, while his eyes, so deep and terrible, glowed with some strange, almost golden fire. A trick of the streetlights, it had to be.

“Well, his is stronger than yours.” As Blair spoke, the butterfly merged into his voice, still present but not battering its wings anymore where it had no business to be. “And he’s a master of suggestion. Why did you suddenly trust him more than me?”

She shoved at his chest with no effect. “Can we go back to the drinking-blood-and-killing-people bit?” Worse than anything, her voice shook. “Get out of my head, you bastard,” she whispered.

A frown flickered across his brow. “You hate that, don’t you? Not being in control. Not doing the manipulating.”

She gazed at him, loathing him, failing to find the words. Although the scary glow didn’t vanish from his eyes, they seemed to soften. His body didn’t. It still pinned her helplessly to the wall. He lifted his hand and touched her cheek, trailing his fingertips down her jaw to her throat. She gasped.

“Serafina,” he murmured in her head. “Some things are just stronger than you. They don’t necessarily hurt you, and they won’t necessarily defeat you.”

Distracting her from his surprising words, the bulge in his jeans was hardening, both alarming and exciting her. After all, he had the kind of face and body to die for. Sera had no intention of dying.

“Okay, celebrate!” she spat. “You’re stronger than me.”

His lips twitched. “I was thinking of Nicholas Smith. But now you mention it, yes, I am.” His fingers lingered over her vein, stroking. She shivered, trying not to feel the spurt of physical pleasure that was in danger of drowning out her alarm, especially when he swayed his hips in a slow, sensual caress. His erection rubbed against her tummy, and she had an insane urge to stand on tiptoe to feel it grind between her legs. “And, you know, I like that too.”

“Why?” she got out, reaching wildly for the smart comment that somehow eluded her.

His fingers slid upward to her face once more, and he traced the outline of her lips. “Because I can kiss you without you feeling the need to stop me.”

She narrowed her eyes threateningly, although her heart seemed to plunge right through her stomach to her womb. “It won’t be the need that’s lacking,” she managed.

“But you like the way I look,” he pointed out, pressing gently on her lower lip to part it from the upper. “I’ve read it in your mind.”

“Doesn’t mean I want you slobbering all over me!” Oh Jesus, what would it feel like?

“I won’t slobber,” he promised and bent his head.

She couldn’t have avoided it. She refused to dent her dignity further by trying. So she glared into his face, daring him, while her heart thundered in treacherous anticipation. His lips hovered over hers for an instant, just long enough for her to panic that perhaps he was changing his mind and wouldn’t do it, after all. She felt an urge to close the distance herself—only to break the tension, of course. And then he did it, sliding his fingers away from her lips to cup her face and sinking his mouth into hers with blatant, wonderful, terrifying sensuality.

There was none of the buildup she was used to, the gentle brushing of lips, the soft, quick kisses that grew deeper and longer. It was an outright assault on her senses, and it was devastating. His lips were cool and firm as they moved on hers, savoring, almost as if he were drinking from her. Oh shit, don’t think drinking here! He opened her mouth wider for his tongue, which swept around her teeth and curled around her own, drawing it into his mouth. She tried to speak, but the attempt got lost in the shock of his long, sharp teeth under her tongue. Blood drummed in her head, a tattoo of fear all mixed up with wonder and sheer, unadulterated lust.

A weird sound came from her mouth, and he deepened the kiss, almost grinding his mouth into hers, demanding the response she found it impossible not to give. There had never been a kiss like this one, fierce and overwhelmingly sexual, driving all thought from her head but the gratification of desire. She melted into it, opening wide for him, winding her tongue around his, sucking and biting his lips, drawing him deeper in.

At some point, he’d begun to grind his hips too, rubbing himself against her, and she found herself moving with him, standing on tiptoe and pressing back to try to assuage the aching need between her thighs.

When she almost ran out of breath, he broke the kiss and smiled. “Oh yes,” he whispered in her mind. “All night with you. All night and day, and all night again…” His words drove her to fever pitch, eliciting a helpless mewl of desire as she reached for his mouth once more.

He gave it with enthusiasm. His hands were on her hips, stroking down to her thighs and dragging upward inside her jacket and over the sides of her breasts. She moaned into his mouth, felt his thumbs caress her desperate nipples over and over. She wanted them on her naked breasts. She wanted no clothes at all between them. She wanted him buried deep inside her, pounding her to the greatest, sweetest orgasm of her life. More than that, she yearned to blast his control to hell, to make him lose himself in the pleasure she could give him. She was sure no one had ever wanted her this much before.

She squirmed against him, dragging her arms free at last to loop them around his neck and comb her fingers through his soft hair. His hands cupped both her breasts, making her gasp, and swept downward to the fastening of her jeans.

She tore her mouth free to gasp, half laughing, “Oh stop! We can’t! This is a respectable street! People are bound to pass.”

“I don’t care. I want you now. Just for starters. I want to make you scream as you come the first time, see your face in the open air as you fall apart around me. Oh yes.”

She caught his head as he plunged back for her mouth, his fingers determinedly unfastening the buttons of her jeans. “Blair, no!”

He paused and raised his head, his eyes black and clouded with lust. “Admit it. You want me to fuck you.”

She caught the golden flash in his dark eyes, glimpsed the pointed fangs between his parted lips, and swallowed hard. “Does it come with blood drinking?”

“Oh yes,” said Blair again, fervently.

Oh bloody fuck and shite! “What am I doing?” she wailed, pushing him away. Rather to her surprise, he went. She didn’t imagine for a moment that the choice was not his.

Hastily, with fingers that trembled, she rebuttoned her jeans, straightened her top, and strode up Palmerston Place on legs that still shook. She’d no idea what to do except revert to Plan A—which was to go to Jason Bell’s flat. Appalled by the speed and intensity of the lust that had overwhelmed her in Blair’s arms, she was terrified he’d follow her in a frustration-induced rage and was equally afraid he’d go off and sulk.

What she didn’t expect was for him to stroll along beside her, watching her with a smile that was more predatory than angry.

“It’ll happen one day, you know,” he said softly.

“Vampires read the future now?”

“No, but they know what they want. And they can read desire.”

“You’re dead,” she retorted. “You’re not supposed to feel any desire.”

“On the contrary. Some human feelings are certainly not there anymore, but those that are left are intensified and much more—urgent.”

Her hot body flamed all over again, and as if he felt it—which he probably did—his smile grew. Wildly, she searched around in her mind for something to distract him. But it seemed he’d already moved on.

“Is this where Jason lives?” he asked casually.

Piqued by the speed with which he seemed able to throw off the shatteringly sexy interlude, she walked even faster. “I think it’s that block there. With the scaffolding round it. They’re working on it, which is why he’s meant to be staying with his parents.”

Jason’s was the main-door, ground-floor flat in a Georgian building. She hadn’t needed to track him there; his father had given her the address. But now she held on to the purloined cufflink and reached out for the growingly familiar sense of undead.

Or at least, she tried to. All her senses seemed to be wrapped up in the wrong vampire.

Oh, for Christ’s sake, get a grip! she raged at herself. What are you, some sniveling teenager with a crush? Grow up, and do your job!

With a quick glance at Blair to make sure he hadn’t overheard her thought—he didn’t appear to, since he was staring thoughtfully at the dark ground-floor window—she curled her fingers around the cufflink once more and focused on the being who had once been Jason Bell.

“I don’t think he’s there,” she said at last.

“He isn’t. He’s probably out hunting.”

She glanced at him uncertainly, a thousand questions clogging her lips and dying unspoken. Because right now, she couldn’t really handle the answers. The corner of his mouth quirked upward. “I pace myself,” he said, apparently by way of explanation. “A little here, a little there.”

“I hope you brush your teeth in between,” she retorted and was appalled with herself.

Blair, however, laughed inside her head. It was an extraordinary feeling that communicated mirth so much more effectively than ordinary laughter while his smile grew wide and amused. Sera had to fight down a responsive chuckle.

He said, “Our bodies don’t absorb or pass on toxins. Shall we go inside?”

Since a young couple were passing at the time, and coming the other way, a man was walking his dog, Sera said, “We’d be seen. I’m not that quick at picking locks.”

“That probably counts in your favor,” Blair observed, staring at the lock on the door. “In some circles, at any rate.”

A clear, clicking sound came from the region of the keyhole. Sera felt her eyes widen as she gazed from the door to Blair. “Did you do that? How did you do that?”

Blair stepped past her, pushed open the door, and bowed elaborately for her to precede him. “Vampires have an affinity with doors.”

Like metaphysical doors? Portals, gateways between the states of living and dead, which he seemed to straddle, a foot in either camp. Sera had always looked on her own gifts as a gateway. Perhaps she could do it with solid doors too—they were, after all, built for the same purpose of division as the barriers between the living and the dead. Note to self: try it in secret…

But another issue distracted her. “So how come you didn’t do this to Nicholas Smith’s door?” she demanded in some frustration.

“I wanted to see if you’d stop me.”

Sera gave up and closed her mouth. It was time to concentrate on the present.

Jason’s flat was a mess. There had clearly been some kind of major leak, because the whole place showed signs of water damage. Much of the wallpaper had been stripped off, and the wooden flooring was badly stained. However, signs of Mrs. Bell’s visit showed in the spotlessly clean and bare kitchen, and in the main bedroom, which had been cleaned and aired and the bed neatly made. It hadn’t been slept in.

Sera began a systematic search for information, rifling through drawers and desks for names, numbers, notes, anything that might lead them closer to who’d killed Jason and why. Soon, the absence of any personal papers at all—apart from an electricity bill—led her to sit back on her heels on the wooden floor and say flatly, “I think he’s taken everything away. Or someone has.”

“Then there is a connection to find.” Blair strolled toward the window and looked out into the darkness.

Sera frowned. “A connection between the vampires,” she said slowly. “C & H, for one. A vampire came out of the C & H building with Jason last night. Why would your southern vampires target C & H people?”

“I have absolutely no idea.”

“Someone with a grudge over a bad investment? Do vampires make investments?”

“No,” Blair said disparagingly, then, “Well, sometimes some do.”

Sera stood up. “More of an under-the-mattress type, are you?” she mocked.

He glanced over his shoulder, and the glow was back in his eyes. “Come and look,” he invited.

Blair’s mattress, Blair’s bed, and Sera falling onto it with him, naked, skin on skin, his hard body sliding against her as he pushed inside her. Oh yes, oh God… She held his gaze only from defiance.

They both heard it at the same time, the already familiar click of the front door as someone entered with a key. Jason? Silent and lithe as a cat, Blair sprang toward the door and switched off the light. Great. Now she couldn’t see either; but presumably, Blair felt the darkness gave him an advantage, which meant the newcomer at least wasn’t a vampire.

Didn’t it? Just to be on the safe side, Sera felt in her pocket for the sharp wooden stick and tried to focus.

Human breathing filled the silence—her own and someone else’s. Whoever this was must have seen the light on, must have guessed they were there. The living room door pushed open, widening the arc of dim light from the hall, and someone stepped inside. Blair grabbed him from behind and pushed his head on one side to reveal his throat.

“Blair, no!” Sera yelled through the man’s strangled gasp. “This is Mr. Bell.”

Blair glanced at her without noticeable interest. He was hungry, she saw with a shiver that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The hunger in his eyes, when he had her pressed up against the wall, had been weirdly enthralling. The memory still was, even now when she recognized it as blood lust rather than sex lust. Bastard.

“Mr. Ferdinand Bell,” she added severely. “Jason’s father.”

Reluctantly, Blair released old Ferdy, and when Sera continued to glare at him, he brushed the old man down with only a hint of mockery.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Bell,” Sera said. “We didn’t know it was you.”

Ferdy squared his shoulders and adjusted his tie. As nearly always, he wore a smart three-piece suit. “Miss MacBride? What are you doing here?” He sounded more bewildered than angry, although his eyes were wary as he glanced at Blair. “How did you get in? Is Jason here?”

“No. I found the door open,” Sera said with perfect literal truth. “What brings you here?”

“This,” said Ferdy, producing a bag from his pocket. He took out four bulbs of garlic and three roughly bound-together wooden crosses.

Sera looked at him carefully. “You’re protecting Jason?”

“I’m waiting for Jason,” Ferdy said grimly. From his other pocket, he took one of the wooden stakes Sera had made for him the day of the party,

Her throat closed up with shame. “Oh no,” she said, going to him in distress, “you can’t…”

He looked at her with genuine sadness but also with that trace of hamming it up that she’d sensed and misinterpreted so badly before. “You know what he is now. He isn’t my Jason.”

“Even if he isn’t, you shouldn’t be the one to do this.”

“Who better? I couldn’t let anyone else do it.”

“Fair enough,” Blair said cheerfully. “That solves one problem. Let’s go, Serafina.”

“No!” She glared at him while Ferdy’s eyes widened with startlement at her vehemence.

“I’m afraid this isn’t up to you, Miss MacBride.”

Sera dragged her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t mean that,” she said hastily. “But think about it, Mr. Bell. Our only hope of catching whoever did this to Jason is by Jason leading us to him.”

“No, it isn’t,” Blair said irritably. “You’re doing just fine.”

Sera ignored him. “To him or her,” she added. “Jason can’t lead us anywhere if he’s dust.”

Ferdy tapped the stick on his open palm, looking thoughtful. “That is a fair point,” he allowed at last.

Sera exhaled. “I think you should go home,” she advised. “And let us follow Jason.”

Ferdy lowered himself onto the dust-covered sofa. “There is one other point to consider,” he said with obvious pain. “I have to protect my wife.”

“You think Mrs. Bell’s in danger? From Jason?” In a surge of fresh pity, Sera crouched down opposite him, gazing into his face.

“Isn’t it true that vampires go after the people they’ve loved most in life?”

“I don’t know.” Helplessly, Sera looked up at Blair.

“No,” he said. “It’s not true.”

“It’s not true,” Sera repeated in relief.

Blair stirred. “At least, not generally. Depends whether the vampire in question has unresolved issues with his supposed loved ones. I knew a vampire once who did in his entire family because they laughed at his choice of trousers when he was fifteen.”

Sera cast him a glance of dislike. “Was your relationship with Jason good?” she asked Ferdy. “Was Mrs. Bell’s?”

“Oh yes.”

“He didn’t resent you for anything? Even when he was at school? Did you ever have to stop him from doing the sort of unsuitable stuff teenagers always want to do?”

“Not that I can recall.” Ferdy dropped his head into his hands. “To be honest, he wasn’t that sort of a teenager. He was always very—motivated. Brilliant and hard working.”

“Poor bastard,” said Blair.

Sera looked around for something to throw at him before she realized the futility as well as the stupidity. Rising to her feet, she said, “I’m sure you were always very supportive. And I’m pretty sure you and Mrs. Bell are safe from Jason. He deliberately moved out of your house, after all. And he had opportunity to attack you before then.”

Ferdy lifted his head with a sad smile. “You’re right, of course. I’ll take comfort in that.”

“Okay, I’ll be in touch soon. Maybe the best you can do right now is keep out of Jason’s way.”

“Good night,” Ferdy sighed, rising as if he too planned to leave.

There was nothing for Sera to do but take Blair and vacate the flat. At the living room door, she paused and glanced back at Ferdy, who had his back to her as he gazed out the window.

“I don’t suppose,” she said, “that you know a man called Nicholas Smith? Did Jason ever mention the name?”

Ferdy appeared to think about it. “Not that I can recall,” he said at last.

“Okay. Good night.”

“Do you know,” Blair said in the hall, “that’s another odd thing. A newly turned vampire is hungry. I mean very hungry. He’s unlikely to go after particular people; he’d just focus on the feeding. And yet Jason went to his parents’ house the same night and didn’t feed.”

Sera frowned, opening the door and stepping out into the night. “Unless he did feed from them but left them alive? Only they don’t remember. Like Tam didn’t remember what you did.”

“Possible.” Blair descended the front four steps in one stride. “But unlikely. It takes time to develop that kind of skill.”

“I peered at Ferdy’s neck for wounds the next day,” Sera confessed. “Just in case. He didn’t have any. But then again, neither did Tam.”

“They heal very fast if you do it properly. I would expect Jason to leave some kind of mark, at least at first.” He strode off along the street, and Sera scurried to catch up with him—which wasn’t really necessary in order to hear what he was saying in her head, but old habits died hard. “The point is,” Blair went on, “Jason seemed determined to get on with his life. Not his—er—unlife.”

Struck, Sera thought hard about that. “Maybe he didn’t know what else to do. Maybe he was so motivated to work in life that he carried it into death.”

“Maybe.” Blair didn’t sound convinced. “But then there’s the girl belonging to the black dress. From what you say, she’s also carried on working. No one’s supposed to know these guys are dead. How important is she in at C & H? Do you have a name for her?”

“Not yet. But I can probably get one from Ferdy tomorrow. And I’ll see what we can dig up about Nicholas Smith too. Just in case he’s involved.”

Blair glanced at her, not quite smiling. “This sounds like a parting conversation.”

“It is,” Sera said firmly.

“I can’t entice you to my lair after all?”

“Absolutely not. I don’t know what I was thinking of.”

“Sex,” Blair said helpfully. “Lots of it. With me.”

It seemed pointless to deny it after her behavior, so, although her body flushed hot with memory as well as at the current hot gleam in his eyes, she said, “I’ve thought better of it. Much better.”

“Why?”

“Loads of reasons!” she exclaimed. “I’ll stick with the three at the top: you drink blood and will probably kill me; I’m tired after walking around the city for hours and need to sleep; and I do not want the embarrassment of running into Tess again!”

“Who’s Tess?” He sounded genuinely curious.

She stared at him. “The girl at your flat last night. I took her away.”

“She was my dinner,” Blair chided. “I had to go and get more.”

“You can’t talk about—you can’t treat—human beings like that!”

“She was having a good time. Anyway, we weren’t talking about her. We were talking about you.”

“Yes, well, I’m not some floozy you can pick up in a bar for a cheap fuck and a bite and then erase my memory.”

“Lots of reasons there,” Blair commented after a moment. “But none of them say what you want.”

There was no mockery or humor of any kind in his dark eyes now or in the voice in her mind. There was only six foot plus of gorgeous male whose attention, however temporarily, was entirely focused on her. Her body began to heat all over again. Those butterflies in her stomach ran wild and dived. Again, she imagined falling together onto Blair’s mattress… To have his attention all night, to drown in his eyes while they fucked…

She drew in a sharp breath. Was he mesmerizing her?

“In this case,” she said, just a shade too harshly, “what counts is what I don’t want.”

He smiled. She could make out the texture of his pale, sensual lips. “Not even a good-night kiss?”

Although he’d made no move to get closer, she flung up both hands to ward him off. If he kissed her again, she’d be lost. “Absolutely not!” she exclaimed.

And that was when a figure fell suddenly from the sky and landed in front of them. He held a bottle in one hand, and his ferocious smile revealed sharp, pointed fangs.

Chapter Eight

Sera had just about had enough of vampires. Falling back a step, she snatched the sharpened stick from her pocket and stood poised to strike.

The newcomer’s smile broadened. “How very Buffy-esque,” he observed in apparent delight. Without so much as glancing at Blair, he held out the bottle to him. It looked like whisky. “Care to swap?”

Two things struck Sera at the same time. Firstly, Blair hadn’t moved except to stuff his hands in his pockets; and secondly, the newcomer, like Blair, spoke in her mind without moving his lips.

“Fabulous,” Sera said bitterly. “Another bloody ventriloquist. What the hell do you want?”

The newcomer’s eyes widened. “She can hear us, Blair!”

“Yes, she can,” Blair agreed. “And if you’ve had as much of that bottle as I think you have, you’d better back off, because she’s also quite fast for a human. Serafina—Phil. And no, I have no intention of swapping her for that gut rot.”

“Why not?” Phil asked, his gaze riveted to Sera’s neck. “It grows back. The gut, I mean.”

Blair stirred at last, removing one hand from his pocket to clap it to Phil’s shoulder and drag him back from Sera. Rather to her surprise, Phil didn’t put up a fight.

“No,” Blair said mildly, and yet when she glanced at him, his eyes were like flint under the streetlight.

Phil met his gaze and laughed. He lifted the bottle to his lips. “Oh, very well. Have it your way.”

Hearing his voice while he drank seemed weirder than anything else that night. Sera glanced at Blair for enlightenment.

“Phil won’t harm you. Now,” he added, obviously in the interests of strict truth.

“Not me she should be worrying about, though, is it?” Phil interjected and lowered the bottle again. In apparently friendly spirit, he offered it to Sera.

“No, thanks,” she said, baffled.

“You don’t drink?”

“It interferes with my powers of vampire detection. So you don’t talk either? With your vocal cords, I mean.”

“Of course, I don’t. I’m dead.”

Despite the bizarre, not to say chilling, nature of Phil’s words, there was a spark of laughter in his intense blue eyes that was curiously beguiling. Sera almost smiled back, then glanced rather wildly at Blair for guidance. Blair, however, appeared to be watching the other vampire very closely.

“So what’s happening in Edinburgh?” Phil inquired. “Any more vampires?”

“Lots,” Blair said bitterly.

“Really? How very peculiar! What in the world are they up to?”

“Talking, for one thing. With their vocal cords.”

“They don’t do that,” Phil said positively. “You must—”

“Yes, they do, and I can’t really see what the big deal is,” Sera interrupted. “You walk and drink and wave your arms around. I can’t really see why your vocal cords shouldn’t work either.”

“She has a point,” Phil allowed. “Perhaps it’s because we don’t need them? Whatever, it doesn’t happen. Even Ailis doesn’t talk.”

“Who’s Ailis?” She had a feeling she didn’t want to know, but the answer made her jaw drop.

“The oldest vampire we know. She was made by the Founder.” Phil jerked the end of the bottle toward Blair. “And she’s his mother.”

“His mother?” she blurted, staring at Blair. “Your mother is a vampire too?”

“Not his birth mother,” Phil chortled—and that was weird too, for he really did laugh while he was talking. The two sounds were quite separate and yet occurred simultaneously, almost in harmony. “His maker. The vampire who turned him.”

Phil’s attention wavered to a couple of young women who crossed the street to avoid passing them. “I’m torn,” he complained. “I’m hungry, and yet I want to hear more about those talking vampires.” His gaze fell back to Sera, and his eyes gleamed. “I know. Let’s go to Blair’s, and perhaps I could prevail upon—”

“No, you bloody couldn’t!” Sera interrupted, since his meaning was blatant. “I’m going home, and if either of you comes within a hundred yards of me—”

“Phil knows who Nicholas Smith is,” Blair said mildly, halting her mid-flow.

She closed her mouth and glanced from one to the other. It was Blair who held her gaze. “How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

“I asked him.”

“I didn’t hear you,” she challenged.

Blair smiled, and in spite of fear and loathing and everything else, her stomach did a not unpleasant summersault. “I can be silent,” he observed. “And I can be very silent.”

“Apparently, so can he,” she said dryly with a jerk of her head toward the other vampire currently swigging from his bottle. “So who is Nicholas Smith?”

“Sorcerer,” Phil said apologetically.

****

Sera was sure that when she thought about it later—if she ever had the chance to think about it later—she’d be appalled at her own stupidity. But at the time, it seemed less scary to go to Blair’s house with two vampires than with Blair alone. Besides, she’d worked out that Blair at least needed her tracking skills and seemed prepared to protect her from other vampires, whatever his own designs. His strength was such that if he’d really wished to, he could have drunk from her, or killed her outright, at any point in the evening. That he’d chosen not to must mean something.

And she wanted to hear about Nicholas Smith the sorcerer.

So she found herself reclining on a pile of cushions in the room of her vision of Blair—the elegantly proportioned room with the three Georgian windows and the same long, black velvet curtains she’d already seen in the downstairs room, now open to the night. As Blair had led them inside through the garden flat and up the dark staircase, Sera was sure she felt cobwebs.

But Blair’s sitting room was surprisingly civilized, with tall bookcases lining the walls, a chaise longue and a sofa, and an artful pile of silk-covered cushions, which Sera immediately took possession of to avoid sitting beside either of the vampires.

Now, somewhat relaxed by their unthreatening manners, Sera began to feel a little too comfortable. The tired ache in her feet was fading. In her hands, she nursed a glass of single malt whisky. The feel of the glass in her fingers gave her a pleasant little buzz of “oldness,” of continuity and things that never changed. But there was no revelation, no vision. When she wondered if he’d ever drunk blood from it, like in Interview with the Vampire, she was sure he hadn’t and was glad. Even relaxed as she was, she’d have thrown up if she’d imagined she was drinking from a glass that had once held a victim’s blood. Was that trusting of her? Or hypocritical? Right now, it didn’t seem important.

The vampires lounged close by, Phil on the chaise longue, Blair on the sofa, both with glasses, since Blair had made Phil pour from his bottle in a more civilized manner.

“Nicholas Smith,” Sera prompted, since they seemed inclined to forget why she was here. She’d almost forgotten herself.

“I haven’t met the man,” Phil admitted with something like apology. “But in my travels, I have heard rumors of him from other vampires.”

“What rumors?” Sera asked.

“That he’s a genuine psychic with genuine powers of sorcery.”

“But what does that mean?” Sera demanded.

Blair stirred and stretched out on the sofa. “That he can harness occult powers for his own ends.”

“Magic…” Witchcraft, like her friend Melanie? Sera wrinkled her nose and took a sip of the gorgeous whisky. It burned, smooth and smoky, as it slid down her throat. “What ends could he possibly have with a bunch of undead?” As the thought struck her, she leaned forward excitedly. “Wait, though! What if he’s serving their ends? What if he’s somehow cast some spell for them that lets them talk and mingle with human society?”

“Why would they want to do that?” Phil asked, raising both eyebrows in wonder. “Vampire don’t mingle. We move in silence and prey in secret.” He lifted his glass to her. “Present company excepted.”

“More to the point, why would Smith do that?” Blair said lazily, drinking his whisky as he watched her. She had a sudden vision of him sipping not from the glass but from her neck and looked immediately at Phil instead.

“Because they compelled him. He has something they need—magic. Blair won’t believe me, but I think he was trying to help me when he saw me in Blair’s company.”

“He was certainly trying to detach you from my company,” Blair allowed. “But there’s no evidence as to motive.”

“He was anxious,” Sera insisted.

“I have that effect on a lot of people.”

“At least admit you don’t know that he isn’t being compelled.”

“He didn’t look very compelled when he let the vampiress into his house the night before last. Besides, what’s so kind about inviting you into a house full of vampires?”

“You were the only vampire within spitting distance,” Sera retorted.

Phil stood up. “You two should be married or something,” he observed, weaving across the room to slosh some more whisky into his glass. “Seems to me the only thing we know is that there is a connection. Any more connections?”

“C & H. I’m going to look into that tomorrow,” Sera said reluctantly, leaning back against the cushions. Her wrist brushed against the silk, picking up an unexpected aura of peace. As if he never killed or was even angered in this room. Am I being manipulated? She took a last sip of whisky and set the glass down on the floor with determination. “Now I’m going home.”

She expected some opposition from Blair, at least, but, jumping to her feet, she was ridiculously piqued to discover that neither vampire was paying her the slightest attention. They were in fact, gazing at each other, as if in some tense yet silent communication. Without a word, Blair got up and left the room.

“Bye,” Sera said dryly to the closed door, torn between amusement and annoyance.

Phil rose to his feet with surprising elegance. For the first time since she’d met him, he held neither bottle nor glass. “Blair has unexpected company,” he said politely inside her mind. “He’s hoping you’ll wait until he returns before you leave.”

Sera scowled. “If he’s brought that girl back for his ‘supper’—”

Phil turned his head on one side to regard her. “What is it with you and Blair?”

She stared at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of those few feverish moments in Blair’s arms. “Nothing! There is absolutely nothing between me and Blair. Two nights ago I didn’t know he or his kind existed.” She paused. “Now, it seems, we both have an interest in finding out what the hell is going on.”

Then, since Phil merely nodded sagely and she was insatiably curious, she asked, “You and Blair are old friends?”

Phil smiled amiably. “We’ve shared the odd meal over the centuries.”

Ignoring that, she asked, “How come you can ‘talk’ to each other without me hearing?”

“Practice. Like a different level, a different path.” His eyes, suddenly, were extremely focused and cold enough to remind her exactly what he was. “I’ve never encountered a human telepath as strong as you.”

“I’m not a telepath,” she argued. “Or at least, I don’t think I am. I can talk to the dead, that’s all.”

“Who were your parents?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Your parents. Gifts and disabilities are often passed through blood. I know ours are.”

“Mine aren’t. My parents were drug addicts who left me at the local clinic.” Although it was suddenly difficult, she managed to hold his gaze until a massive thud in the room below caused both their heads to snap downward as if they could see through the floor. “What the hell was that? Are his visitors—hostile?”

“Sounds like it,” Phil said without apparent interest as another bump and a swishing sound was heard beneath.

Instinct propelled Sera across the room to the door, but by the time she got there, Phil was before her. “Don’t worry,” he said, amused. “He doesn’t need us.”

Two odd thoughts crashed into her mind: that she shouldn’t be this worried about a vampire’s safety; and that she was, to all intents and purposes, a prisoner.

****

It was the discourtesy that irritated Blair. Fighting a vampire for territory was one thing; breaking into his home with a party of allies was just plain rude. As he made his silent way downstairs, he sensed four of them in close proximity, and more outside. It was hard for a vampire to surprise other vampires, so he knew he’d need to rely on speed.

His skin tingled; his fingers flexed and closed around the stake in his pocket. There were two lurking at the foot of the stairs, ready to jump him from either side. He could smell their aggression, their eagerness for blood, but no trace of fear. It was a pity they wouldn’t have time to learn about that one.

As soon as his foot touched the bottom step, they leapt on him from the shadows. The first impaled himself on Blair’s stake, an expression of ludicrous surprise on his face at encountering such a thing at such a moment. But Blair didn’t have time to laugh. Even as he seized the other vampire to break his neck, someone else dropped on him from above, another from straight ahead, and he could sense those outside coming closer.

As he fell to the floor under their combined weight, Blair’s teeth found flesh, buried themselves, and with two powerful sucks, the flesh’s owner disintegrated. Clutching one attacker’s neck, he heaved himself to his feet, shaking another loose like a dog dislodging rain water from its fur. A backward thrust of the stake and an upward twist, and a third vampire was dispatched.

The fourth, he grabbed and threw across the hallway just in time to strike the vampires pouring out of the room in which he’d first entertained Serafina. Several of them fell back in. Blair followed, bent over the thrashing pile, and stabbed the top vampire in the back. He was plunging with cool efficiency for the next in line when the light blazed on and a strange woman’s voice said in horror, “Stop, for God’s sake!”

It might have been curiosity that gave him pause, made him haul the vampire upright instead and hold him in front of his body like a shield. He wasn’t used to a vampire invoking the Almighty, audibly or otherwise. So he sidestepped the rising heap of vampires, stake at the ready, and faced the vampiress who’d spoken.

The woman from the Bells’ party, she of the black dress, wore a smart black trouser suit today, and there was panic all over her pretty face.

“You’re killing them all,” she said worriedly. “There won’t be any left.”

It was bizarre. She was undoubtedly dead, like him, and yet the sound definitely came from her mouth, her throat. It made her annoyingly superior. Because she could speak to him, but he couldn’t reply. She wouldn’t understand him. He battered his way into her mind; she didn’t seem to notice. It was as if her pathways to receive were blocked with rubbish. He thought of shoveling his way through for ease of communication. But for the moment, it seemed more important to hang on to any tenuous advantage. And if these vampires could only communicate verbally with each other, surely that was in his favor.

Blair let himself shrug, then placed the stake against his captive’s heart. His question was clear, even to the non-telepathic vampiress.

“Why shouldn’t you?” she said quickly. “Because we have a proposition for you.”

Blair curled his lip and exerted a little pressure on the stake. His captive screamed while the other bewildered vampires got to their feet, waiting, it seemed, for orders.

“All right, all right, listen,” the woman said urgently. “We don’t know who you are, but we get that you’re strong and much older than us. We’d like you on our side.”

Blair lifted his eyebrows. It wasn’t so hard after all. Centuries of silent if basic communication with humans made questioning her simple.

“Why? Because we don’t think you want to hide, feeding off human flotsam and leftovers. There are riches out there that could so easily be ours, that would reverse human-vampire positions and put us in control.”

Although she was still afraid of him, she spoke with increasing confidence, knowing she’d caught his interest.

“We don’t need to fight,” she said persuasively. “There’s enough for all of us—enough blood and enough wealth,” she added as he stirred. It might not have been telepathy as such, but she understood him quickly enough.

Slowly, Blair smiled and released his captive to wave the lady politely to a sofa. He was listening.

****

Phil, Sera knew, was well aware of his own superiority. He was stronger, faster, and far more deadly than she. So she moved away from the door again, went back to pick up her glass. As she’d known he would, Phil followed her, relaxing as she did, although he didn’t retrieve his own glass. She did her best to radiate submission.

“Vampires,” she said, lifting the glass to her mouth. The whisky sloshed against her lips as she began to pace around the room. “I can feel other vampires in the house.”

Phil inclined his head.

“Not friends of yours,” she hazarded, lowering the glass with no whisky swallowed. “Or of his. So why aren’t you down there helping him?”

“He doesn’t need my help,” Phil said carelessly.

“What did he say to you that I couldn’t hear?” Pausing for an instant at the dark window, she paced restlessly on.

“He wanted me to stay here with you.”

She kicked off her shoes to further allay his suspicions and glanced over her shoulder as she took another step toward the door. “Why?”

Sensation shot through her foot from the cold floorboard, up through her leg and spine to her brain, blasting her with vision.

A man. A young man, little more than a boy, a university student. His fear and horror tore through her before she realized what was happening to him.

She’d been wrong before, so wrong. Blair had taken life in this room, right here where she stood, in an orgy of bloodletting and death. Part of her tried desperately to move away, to stop the awfulness of the young man’s suffering, while her cool, thinking self wanted to know more. But it seemed she had no choice, for suddenly she was swamped with far more than the young man’s pain. She felt the sensual pleasure mixed up in it, his confused jumble of emotions that somehow included pity for the being killing him.

Rooted to the spot, Sera saw it all through the eyes of the long-dead youth.

His name was Jamie, but his new, sophisticated London friends called him Jay. Bright and bored in an age of experimentation that belonged to the young—the sixties—he’d been fascinated by these new people, Tony, Chris, and Mark, and their bizarre tales of killing vampires across Europe. They’d used his knowledge of Edinburgh to follow this vampire to his lair, where they’d told him they could kill the vampire while he slept. It was how they’d killed the others. But this one hadn’t been asleep. When they burst into the room, he sat on a worn, red-velvet-covered sofa and regarded them without obvious interest.

“Shit,” Tony said with the first hint of panic he’d revealed to Jamie. “Why aren’t you asleep?” As if it was a weapon, he shone his flashlight full in the vampire’s face.

The vampire had luxurious long and wild chestnut hair, streaked with auburn. A thick lock of it fell forward across his high brow. Under it, the vampire glanced around his visitors but said nothing. The only sounds in Jamie’s ears were the creaking of the odd floorboard, the erratic breathing of his friends, and the drumming of his own heart. The vampire’s silence was curiously, reasonlessly terrifying. The light in his face didn’t seem to bother him in the slightest.

“Surround him,” Jamie said, his voice too high with the fear he wished so badly not to reveal. But at least he hadn’t gone numb as appeared to have happened to the others. Obediently if hesitantly, they began to fan out, moving slowly to surround the velvet sofa. They all held sharpened wooden sticks, long and wicked looking. For the first time, a gleam of something that might have been amusement flashed in the vampire’s dark, almost black eyes, but he didn’t trouble to watch. This fact bothered Jamie. Was the vampire so powerful that he didn’t even feel threatened?

“Can you really not speak?” Tony asked, and the panic had gone from his voice, as if comforted by the vampire’s lack of obvious aggression. “Plead for your life, vampire.”

The spark of amusement was so faint this time that Jamie barely caught it, for behind it, the vampire’s eyes were dead. Weirdly, it came to Jamie that it was the deadness not of death itself but of utter misery.

“He wants us to kill him,” Jamie blurted. “He knew we were there all along. He let me follow him, left the door open deliberately.”

The vampire’s gaze focused on him, a faint almost-smile curling one side of his mouth. The black, dead eyes challenged, taunted, chilled. But Jamie had lost his stomach for killing.

Not so Tony, who used the vampire’s distraction to leap at him from behind and stab the vampire in the middle of his back. Blood oozed from around the stake, spreading over the vampire’s white shirt. He didn’t even scream. Tony leapt back, leaving the stick embedded in the creature’s flesh while Chris and Mark stabbed him from either side.

The vampire didn’t trouble to stand up. There was a glimmer of pain, perhaps, but he looked more resigned than angry.

“No, wait,” Jamie said urgently. “Maybe he’s sorry…”

The vampire threw back his head, dislodging the stake in his right shoulder. Blood gushed over his arm, and splashed onto his hand, shockingly red against the paleness of his skin. He was laughing.

Okay. Not sorry, then.

“Jay, now!” Tony commanded, reaching for the fallen stake. “He’s not fighting back. Finish him!”

A flash of movement from the door caught Jamie’s eye. “More!” he yelled in warning, just as the flash resolved into two more figures, a man and a woman, skidding into the room with fangs fully bared.

Tony, stake in hand, ran at them, and suddenly faced not the newcomers but their original quarry, who’d leapt so fast Jamie hadn’t even seen him. With an impossible contortion, he tore the stake from his back and hurled it on the floor. And before Tony could even have registered the danger, the vampire had seized him and bitten into his neck.

The female vampire smiled and strolled with monstrous casualness toward Mark. He stabbed at her, but she knocked the stake from his hand and reached for him. The third vampire leaned his shoulder against the wall and appeared to pick his teeth, watching Tony slither to the floor, undoubtedly dead. His sightless, terrified eyes stared at nothing.

Screaming, Chris charged at the first vampire who’d killed their friend and leader, and Jamie forced himself to help. It was no longer murder. They were fighting for their remaining lives.

Too late for Mark, who was thrown across the room by the vampiress who’d just drained him.

The first vampire backhanded Chris so that he flew through the air and hit the wall beside the third vampire, who stopped picking his teeth to snatch him up and bite into him. By then, the first vampire, their original quarry, had Jamie in his impossibly powerful grasp.

Jamie stabbed wildly at the vampire’s arm and shoulder. Blood dripped onto the floor, but the vampire’s grip didn’t even loosen. Jamie might have been a midge for all the good he was doing.

In a blur of motion, the vampire’s head swooped, and Jamie screamed as teeth pierced his throat. The useless stake fell from his suddenly numb fingers as he felt the strange pull of his own blood into the vampire’s mouth. It was gross; it was utterly, lethally terrifying, and yet somewhere, the sensation intrigued him. He imagined the blood rushing through his body, desperate to escape him and to feed instead the beautiful creature who was killing him. It wasn’t an unpleasant death after all. It was strangely pleasurable. Sexually pleasurable. His blood, his life was being taken, he was being taken, and God help him, he liked it. At least he’d die on a sexual high. Better than drugs, unbelievably better than drugs.

Abruptly, the pull stopped. There was more pain as the teeth detached from his skin, and he slid from the vampire’s viselike grip to the floor. Disappointment warred with desperate relief, because he was still alive after all.

As if it were a fuzzy dream, he watched the vampiress touch the vampire’s arm—his vampire’s arm—gazing up at him with serious, liquid eyes. She was the most beautiful woman Jamie had ever seen.

The vampire stared back at her. Their lips didn’t move; there was no sound; but Jamie realized that some kind of silent communication was passing between them. And whatever it was, the auburn vampire didn’t like it.

He spun away from her, and the third vampire was there too, waving his hand negligently from the vampiress to the carnage of Jamie’s friends’ bodies to the curtained window, as if indicating the broader world outside.

Some deep, powerful, emotion passed across the first vampire’s face. There was fury there and frustration, a sorrow so profound that Jamie couldn’t bear it and started to cry. No one paid him any attention. The vampires continued to gaze at each other. The woman touched the first vampire’s cheek, reached up and kissed him. She smiled with something that might have been affection. It was hard to tell. But Jamie thought she’d just asked for something unpalatable.

The first vampire walked away to the middle of the room. For a second, the other two looked at him, still communicating, Jamie was sure. Then they turned and walked out of the room.

The remaining vampire stood perfectly still for several minutes, his back to Jamie. Then, the vampire kicked a chair against the wall. The wood shattered. After the long, eerie silence, the sounds of the vampire’s fury shocked Jamie. A table swiftly followed the chair. The sofa flew back against the wall, landing broken upon Chris’s drained body. Jamie could only watch helplessly as the vampire indulged his orgy of destruction and finally came to notice his last breathing victim.

The vampire’s lips curled, his eyes flashed, no longer remotely dead but gleaming with blood lust as he snatched Jamie back up into his tender, unyielding arms and bit once more into his throat.

Jamie cried out, but he had the feeling his voice was now as silent as the vampire’s. There was pain and rushing pleasure and Jamie reached for both, knowing they were his death…

Sera gasped as the vision vanished. Shaken, she took a moment to remember where she was, to refocus.

Phil still stood in the middle of the room, watching her. He said, “Blair had this idea that I should protect you. If necessary. Is something wrong?”

As the present reformed in a rush, something fizzed inside her. A warning, because despite Phil’s laid-back approach, both he and Blair acknowledged danger from the visitors; determination, because it meant he deserved help. A strange, oddly triumphant warmth closed around her heart, because he was trying to look after her.

And yet she couldn’t ignore what she’d just seen of his past. He’d killed humans—admittedly, humans who’d been trying to end his existence, but nevertheless, the knowledge chilled her. Why? He’s a fucking vampire!

She’d worry about it later. Right now, the vision changed nothing, so she thrust it aside, kept her mind deliberately on Phil in case he could read her leaking thoughts, while she again paced closer to the door. Despite the rapid events of the vision, she couldn’t have been “out” for more than a few seconds.

She thought quickly. She could use her moment of distraction. “I’m not sure… Who are these visitors? What do they want with him?”

Phil shrugged. “I suspect he got in their way once too often, and they want to kill him. A stronger vampire is too much of a threat.”

Sera kept pacing, kept her mind on her own personal fear and revulsion as she said slowly, “I don’t feel well. Maybe I should sit down…”

Phil’s distraction—concern seemed too strong a term—gave her the extra instant she needed. She’d already grasped the door handle and tugged before she finished speaking. Phil flew at her so fast he looked some monstrous, terrifying bat, but it was too late; she was out the door and dashing for the stairs. Every hair on her body stood up because she’d no idea if he would grab her and haul her back or just kill her for disobedience. She was depending on his own desire to help Blair and on his recognition that the three of them were on the same side—in this, at least.

Jamie had seen some good, some compassion or regret or something in Blair. Although it had done him no good when it really counted. Again, Sera banished the vision. She needed her mind focused on the present

“Clever,” Phil acknowledged in her mind as he ran down the stairs beside her now. “Think one thing, do another. You’re going to lead Blair a fine dance.”

With the immediate danger from Phil apparently averted, she caught on to the other important point—that there were no sounds of fighting from downstairs anymore, only a female voice. Sera exchanged frowning, interrogative glances with Phil as she crossed the hall to the sitting room. He inclined his head and stayed where he was, propping his shoulder against the wall opposite the door.

The room was full of vampires. Several of them turned toward Sera, staring at her with enough inhuman hunger to freeze her bones. Yet she stood paralyzed by the vision of Blair seated close beside a young woman—the vampire of the black silk dress, the one from her vision, who’d been asleep beside Jason Bell at C & H.

Neither Blair nor the female vampire paid her a blind bit of notice. Blair sat close to the vampiress, his arm stretched behind her along the back of the sofa. She wasn’t immune to his proximity. Her undead eyelashes were fluttering; one of her fingers toyed with a lock of her hair.

Jesus Christ, Sera thought, suddenly stricken. Is that how I looked to him too?

“No,” Blair said in her mind. “Never.”

What the hell did he mean by that? That she was less attractive than the vampire or more? And why the hell should she care? Before she could work any of this out, Phil stepped in front of her, and the vampires advancing on her halted uncertainly. One of them said, “Ella.”

The female vampire glanced round impatiently, her gaze glancing off Sera to Phil. She rose gracefully from the sofa saying, “You see how wonderful it could be for us? You’ll come?”

“Oh, I’ll come,” Blair murmured, but the vampire didn’t seem to hear him. Sera, listening to Blair in her mind and the others in her ears, began to think her brain would melt. Ella went on gazing at Blair, eyebrows raised in expectation. He inclined his head and stood up. Apparently satisfied, she called to the others that they were leaving. As one, they made for the window, but Blair moved unexpectedly, blocking the way. They stopped at once, clearly wary of him. With mocking politeness, he gestured them out of the room to the front door and herded them out like a sheepdog for Phil to oversee their departure.

Baffled, yet with slow-dawning understanding, Sera gazed after them. She felt betrayed; she felt stupid; and she knew she should feel far more afraid than she did. Not for the first time, sheer anger made her brave.

“What the hell was that all about?” she exploded as soon as the door was closed behind the vampires. “Have you done a deal with them?”

“Not yet,” Blair said. “Except for the one that they enter my house again uninvited and I kill them all.” He indicated the stairs, but Sera spun on her heel and stalked back into the bare sitting room.

For a moment, she thought her gesture had backfired, because no one followed her. She drew a breath of frustration, started back toward the door just as Blair strolled in with her shoes in one hand. Brought up short—and much too close—she glared at him and went on the attack.

“Did they kill Jason Bell?”

Blair dropped her shoes on the floor and inclined his head. “Ella did that. And turned him. An older, English vampire called Arthur met him when he woke and took him away to explain things to him. Then he was sent to work before it got light.”

“Then he’s one of them,” she said flatly, cramming her feet back into the shoes. Although she’d known it already, the confirmation hurt with unexpected sharpness.

“Undoubtedly. And I have to say they have an interesting plan. Why do you look so sad?” He brushed her cheek with the back of one finger, and she knocked his hand away.

“What plan?” she demanded.

“To take over the banks and siphon off unlimited wealth. In time, they can also control the Scottish Parliament and spread their influence into England. After that, who knows? World vampire domination via banking.”

“That’s stupid! How can they take over the banks? They only come out at night!”

“Yes, but they can stay in their offices all day. They don’t need to sleep all the time, and as they get older, they’ll need less. Plus, winter’s coming up—gives them longer hours. They already have three key staff at C & H, four at the Bank of Scotland, five at the Royal Bank, a scattering through building societies and insurance companies based in the city—”

“She told you all that?”

“Oh yes.”

Sera narrowed her eyes, ignoring the pain clawing at her stomach. “You like the idea. You’re going to join them.”

“Well, think about it. I could have a much more comfortable house, and easier meals, since discretion won’t matter for much longer.”

“And that’s all you care about?” she raged.

“I’m a vampire. What else is there?”

Her hand flew without permission, all her strength behind it in a forceful, ringing slap. She didn’t see him move, knew even then through her anger and disappointment and reasonless hurt that he allowed the blow but immediately trapped her stinging hand, holding it against his cheek.

“Why are you so angry? Isn’t that what you do with your fake séances and vampire hunts? Make money.”

“I don’t kill people!” Didn’t she? Wasn’t Jason at least her fault? And George and Mattie and my mother… Gasping, she tugged at her hand, and he lowered it from his face without releasing it.

“You’re not a vampire,” he observed, turning her palm upward and gazing at the veins in her wrist. His thumb brushed over them, sending shivers of fear up her arm to her spine. At least she called it fear, although behind it was the same insidious desire that had swamped her earlier in the evening.

“You can’t allow this!” She yanked her hand again, hard, and this time, he released it so that she staggered backward, raging, “Humans would become no more than food!”

Blair shrugged, closing the distance between them once more. “What makes you think you’re more than that now? To a vampire?”

Oh Jesus Christ. “Vanity,” she said bitterly. “Stupidity.” She only just bit back the eternal cry of the too-stupid-to-live: I trusted you. Why the hell had she trusted him? She who never trusted anyone outside the tiny circle of her friends. Because he flirted? Kissed her? Even now, when he took hold of her shoulders, part of her treacherous body melted. The other, fortunately, was waiting for the right moment to knee him in the groin.

“You would make a delicious meal, Serafina.” His low, insidious voice murmured inside her head; monstrous words spoken in almost loving, tragic tones. As if she were already dead. Like Jamie.

One of his hands lay heavily on her shoulder; the other slid up to her throat, stroking. A breeze from the window left open by the invading vampires stirred the hairs on her neck. He must have been able to feel the trembling of her body; he might even have been able to hear the treacherous thought that slid through her mind: What would it be like for me?

Somehow, she managed to use the question, to keep it echoing, while her fingers gripped the sharpened stick in her jacket pocket. She whipped it out, swept it around behind him and plunged down hard, aiming for the center of his back. If it didn’t kill him, it would surely slow him up.

But the force of her thrust sent her staggering forward, for he was no longer there to hold her. The stake whooshed through air, and she found herself staring at Blair on the other side of the room. For the space of a heartbeat, she gazed into his cruel, profound eyes, and then she spun around and ran for the open window.

There was no triumph in escaping through it. He let her. As he’d let her live.

Chapter Nine

“Smooth-tongued devil,” Phil drawled when Blair walked into the upstairs sitting room. Blair threw the nearest whisky bottle at him with enough force to break a human head. Inevitably, Phil caught it and raised it to his lips. Blair made do with pouring himself some whisky from the other bottle.

“Nice girl,” Phil remarked as Blair threw himself into the nearest chair. “Scary girl, but nice. Good, strong, sweet-smelling blood. If you didn’t want her after all, you might have passed her on to me.”

Blair took a sizable gulp of his whisky.

“I thought you wanted her to track those vampires?” Phil said.

“Don’t need her to now, do I? I have an invitation to meet with them and discuss my role in their Big Plan.”

“Do I have a role too?”

“They might get you a nice job in a distillery.”

“Sounds dull.”

Blair curled his lip.

“You scared her off,” Phil said.

Blair took another sip, rested his head on the back of his chair, and closed his eyes.

“Pity,” Phil went on.

Why couldn’t the bastard shut up for five minutes?

“Seems to me she’s lots more fun than your banking vampires.”

Serafina with her smart mouth and eager lips and long, lithe legs… “Lots,” Blair agreed.

“Then why get rid of her without so much as a bite?”

“She had—expectations,” Blair said impatiently. “Too many for someone so cynical. I’m not her ally or her crusading partner. I’m a fucking vampire!”

“Don’t seem to be doing too much of that either, if you ask me,” Phil remarked, taking another, audible swig from the bottle.

Blair opened his eyes to find Phil watching him with far too much perception. To say nothing of the mockery.

“I love it when you have an attack of conscience,” Phil crowed. “You scared her off to save her from yourself. What will you do now? Single-handedly defeat the new vampires for her? Or join them and get stinking rich in human wealth and blood? Manage an investment bank, perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” said Blair. “Or perhaps I’ll kill you while I decide.”

Phil belched.

“You’re an uncivilized bastard. Get out of my house.”

Phil smiled amiably, for all the world like a sleepy, human drunk. “Sure,” he said, stretching his legs out on the sofa.

They both knew Blair was glad of his presence. It kept the bleakness at bay. But Blair would never tell him. He let the silence enfold them, tried to focus on the vampires’ plan without thinking of Serafina.

“It’s not natural, is it?” he said at last.

“The creation of the new vampires? Or their plan?”

“Both. They’re ignorant of their gifts. And their doom.”

Phil paused, the bottle hovering over his lips. “You believe that? That the further the descent from the Founder, the more corrupt the vampire body?”

“Don’t you?”

Phil shrugged. “Maybe. On the other hand, you’re third generation, I’m fourth, but my body’s at least as fit as yours.”

“One generation’s difference is nothing. Neither is a decade or two in terms of immortality. But these new vampires, even the ones that came from the south, weren’t so old. I’d say seventh or eighth generation at least, and it’s their creations who’re making more. Maybe the Founder’s qualities have been too diluted, and that’s why they’ve no telepathy. And why they can talk.”

“Then all we have to do is wait for them to die out? Wait until they sicken or commit suicide?”

“If you’re prepared to wait a decade or two. Maybe three. They could do a lot of damage in that time.”

As if he’d finally remembered it was there, Phil put the bottle to his lips and drank. “Poor sods. They think they’re immortal.”

“Maybe they’ll reach the stage where the turning just doesn’t work anymore. I don’t know. But there’s a reason so few vampires are made, and they don’t even know what it is. Apart from the blood drinking, they’re not even living like vampires.”

Phil pursed his lips thoughtfully while stroking the rim of his bottle. “It’s not the way we’ve ever lived before,” he admitted. “Banks, money, government: traditionally, they’re human concerns and nothing to do with us.”

“We exist in silence among them, not of them,” Blair said intensely. For once, the thoughts poured out of him, and he made no effort to stem the turbulent flow. “We drift past them like shadows, legends they’re too frightened to believe in. For decades, centuries on end, we stay in their houses, stalk them in dark streets, prey off their blood, and they never even hear us. They mustn’t, or they’d know we were there. Alien worlds, frightened of each other, totally separate in any way that matters. We don’t speak to them because there’s nothing to say. The Founder was right about that.”

“Was he? I found it quite fun talking to her.”

Blair rubbed the bridge of his nose, then abruptly dropped his hand and glared at Phil. He didn’t even know why he was angry, except that it was something to do with Serafina and impossible desires. With being old and jaded. “Where is it written that nothing can change? That nothing should?”

Phil shrugged. “I never knew we wrote anything down.” Once again, his eyes were too piercing, too perceptive. And it annoyed Blair further to glimpse the cloud of concern that lurked behind. It wasn’t the first time in his long existence that Blair had thought such things, but the blackness of forty years ago was past, and Phil should know it.

Phil’s lips curved upward into a rueful smile. “My rebel friend, we could turn the world upside down, if it would amuse you; let the humans live off the scraps we can spare instead of the other way around. We could drink them dry for fun, steal their money, enslave them. But we’d still never be able to speak to them. Not to the vast majority, anyhow.”

“Does that matter?”

“It never has before,” Phil acknowledged.

It didn’t matter to Serafina. They could converse as easily as two vampires or two humans. She was a rare find.

Phil said, “A little expectation can be good for a bored vampire.”

Something unpleasant passed through Blair’s body to his head, where it lingered, throbbing. It took him several moments to recognize it as pain.

****

“Hey,” Jilly said, sticking her head around the door of the inner office where Sera was composing a speech for a spirit that didn’t exist. She’d spout it next week for a wealthy but harmless client who wanted to believe the ghost of her husband was still around. Sera was happy enough to help the woman’s imagination along a bit.

She threw down her pen with something akin to relief. “What’s on your mind?”

Jilly came right in and closed the door. “Who’s the handsome stranger you went out with last night?”

Sera blinked. “Handsome str…? Oh.”

“Elspeth blabbed. Very taken with him—on your behalf, of course.”

“Of course,” Sera said dryly. “Well, she needn’t be. That was none other than the elusive Blair.”

Jill stared and sank onto the nearest chair. “Blair? Bloody hell, Sera, you shouldn’t have gone off on your own with him! Jack and I were only feet away.”

“He wasn’t in dangerous mode, and if he was, to be honest, there’s nothing any of us could do to stop him. He just wanted my help to track the vampires who turned Jason. He was with me when we found Nicholas Smith’s house.”

“Ah yes,” Jilly said, fortunately distracted by the name, as Sera had hoped she’d be. “Nicholas Smith.”

Sera sat back in her seat. “Found anything?”

“Yes, actually. If it’s the same guy. I’ve got a picture of him on the laptop.”

Sera rose with alacrity and followed Jilly into the outer office. She didn’t even need to get close to the computer. She could see at once it was the same man—brushed-back, graying hair, handsome, distinguished face. The only difference was the pencil moustache in the picture.

“That’s my man,” Sera said. “Hit me.”

“Stage magician. Uses the name Nick Black for his act.”

“Never heard of him,” Sera observed. “Is he any good? Is he big?”

“He has a cult following, apparently. Never been on television, but constantly on stage in smaller theatres, and he does private shows.”

“What, like mediums do? Mind reading, stuff like that?”

“No mention of spiritualism. Mind reading’s a big part of his draw, though. Apparently, he’s really good at it.” Jilly, long familiar with the tricks of that particular trade, snorted in derision.

“Actually, he probably is,” Sera said. “He’s telepathic and can probably hypnotize too. Now what the hell do you suppose he’s doing with a bunch of vampires?”

“Maybe they help him with his act,” Jilly sneered.

The phone rang, and Elspeth answered it while Sera read quickly through the article on Jilly’s laptop.

“One moment,” Elspeth said and covered the phone with her hand. “Eddie Gordon,” she said quietly. “Are you available?”

Sera straightened. “I’ll take it in the office,” she said.

Her heart sank even farther as she walked through to take the call. Eddie, Moira’s husband, was not as receptive as his wife to the spirit of their dead daughter. He thought Moira needed a shrink rather than a psychic and made no secret of his disapproval of Sera. Sera didn’t mind that; it was the couple’s combined pain which flattened her.

She picked up the phone. “Hello, Sera here. How are you?”

“I’m all right,” Eddie said, adding after a pause, “Thanks. Moira’s not so good. Last night upset her.”

“I know. It’s very hard for both of you. If you—”

Eddie interrupted. “Moira thinks you can really help Anna move on.”

Sera swallowed. “I think I can.”

The phone was silent for several moments, so long, in fact, that Sera thought he’d broken the connection. Then he said abruptly, “Look, I don’t believe in any of this stuff. I can’t believe you talk to the dead or have any contact whatever with my daughter, but if you can make my wife feel any better, I want you to come back.”

“Okay. I can come this evening. It’s probably better for Moira if you’re there too, unless you’d rather not be.”

“No, I’ll be there.” There was another pause; then, “How much will it be?”

“No more,” Sera mumbled. “The original fee covers it. I’ll see you round about seven.”

“Thanks,” Eddie muttered and hung up.

Sera put down the phone and dragged her fingers through her hair. She was going to have to clear her head for tonight, get rid of all this jumble of emotion that surrounded every thought of Blair. She’d always liked to live a little on the edge, but she was well aware she’d nearly fallen off altogether last night. Blair could have killed her. God knew why he didn’t, but she certainly wouldn’t take the same chance again. He might be charming in his own way, and definitely sexy as hell—with the emphasis on the hell—but he was a vampire. The one who’d killed two of the four young men in her vision last night. She might have forgiven the first as self-defense—after all, they were trying to kill him—but Jamie had stuck up for him. He’d killed Jamie from pure rage because of whatever the other vampires had asked of him.

Unwillingly, she remembered the black, dreadful deadness of his eyes in the vision, the sorrow that had made Jamie weep. What the hell had that been about, anyway? And why had he let them attack him before the other vampires arrived? Had he just been playing with them? Leading them on to think they could win against him?

It didn’t matter. He was a vampire. One of the same creatures who’d killed and turned Jason Bell, whom she’d promised to protect, however indirectly.

Time to check in with Ferdy, she supposed, and reached for the phone once more before she decided she’d rather go round there, get some air, and check on the vibes. See if Jason or any of his cronies were lurking there.

****

Although she deliberately touched the front door and trailed her fingers along walls and furniture, she got no sense of recent vampire visits from the Bells’ house. Her old crosses and strings of garlic bulbs still hung in every room, a reminder of her own guilt and inappropriate smugness. When Mrs. Bell showed her into the study, Ferdy was sharpening a wooden stick. A little row of them lay on the desk in front of him. The sight gave her pause, but only for an instant.

“Preparing for battle?” she said lightly.

“Just in case.”

She nodded. There didn’t seem to be much more to say on that score. “Do you know anyone called Ella? I think she might have worked with Jason at C & H.”

“Ella Cameron?”

“Young woman, still in her thirties. Dark, pretty. She was at your party, wearing a black silk dress.”

“Sounds like her. She’s an investor, excellent at her job. Going places, according to Jason.”

Sera took a deep breath. “Well, if you see her, I think you should be wary. Your wife too. I believe Ella’s a vampire. I think she killed Jason and turned him.” Christ, did I just say that? Why don’t I just section myself?

Ferdy stared at her. For an instant, he looked old and defeated. Then he rubbed his forehead, and when he looked at her again, the light of battle was back in his eyes. “Then we have to finish both of them.”

“Yes, but you mustn’t do it on your own,” Sera said urgently. “I think there are lots of them, nearly all with important positions in financial institutions. You won’t necessarily be able to tell them apart from normal humans of your acquaintance. Leave it to me. I have a team of people I can call on.” Jilly, Jack, Elspeth, and Tam, if she groveled a lot. But not Blair, who would have been their only real asset.

Dragging her thoughts back from that direction, she realized Ferdy was frowning, tapping his penknife on the semi-sharpened stake in front of him. “Financial institutions,” he repeated. “Is that deliberate? Or luck?”

“Deliberate. I think. They have some plan to take over the banks and lord it over humans.”

“Oh no,” Ferdy said, jumping to his feet. “I can’t allow that!”

Of course, he couldn’t. The financial world was sacrosanct to him. “No, no, we can’t,” she agreed hastily. “Leave it to me. I’ll keep you posted.” She stood up to go, glancing rather ruefully at the balding top of his head as he bent back over the stake. “Don’t worry,” she said awkwardly. “I will sort this out.”

And how the hell am I going to do that?

****

Eddie Gordon’s eyes were nearly as wild as his hair when he showed her to the door of his flat that evening. “I almost believe you did something there,” he blurted. “I almost believe she was here and moved on to heaven to be happy.”

Sera couldn’t stand much more. But she had to turn and face him and couldn’t blot out the image of Moira through the open door in the living room, weeping and smiling through her tears.

“Moira saw her. Anna was clinging to the parents she had such little chance to know and who needed her so much. Moira was keeping her here without realizing it. You both were. But Anna understands now. And she’s moved on. It’s right for her. And for you.”

A reluctant half smile curled one side of Eddie’s mouth. “See you?” he said in the local vernacular. “You talk a right load of shite.” And he stuck out his hand.

Choking on a laugh that would turn to tears in seconds, Sera seized his hand. “Good luck,” she muttered and bolted out the front door. She clattered down the stairs and broke into the fresh air with a gasp.

At last, striding toward her beaten-up old car, she could let the tears course down her face, for Moira and Eddie and their lost daughter. She had to believe things would get better for them now, but just for this moment, their grief, their pain all raked to the surface to free their daughter, crushed Sera to pieces.

“I didn’t expect you to miss me this much.” The only too familiar voice brought her up short. In the darkness and her own distress, she hadn’t even seen the blurry figure negligently leaning his elbow on her car roof.

She halted, her broken heart lurching back together, reminding her it was her own survival that counted now. She shoved her hand in her pocket, clutching the stake, and blinked hard in an attempt to clear the tears from her vision. It didn’t help.

“Miss you?” she retorted. “I can’t turn round without bumping into you. What do you want now?”

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” she said fiercely. She still couldn’t see him properly, though he’d closed the distance between them. Another rising sob was closing up her throat, aching. A tear trickled down her chin and splashed onto her shoe. “Parental grief. Someone else’s. Why don’t you fuck off?”

He touched her face, brushing moisture with his thumb. She gasped, closing her eyes tight. Even then she knew it was hardly the best way to fight off a vampire, but it seemed infinitely more necessary to hide the shame of her tears.

Something—his lips, incredibly, irrefutably his lips—pressed briefly to her mouth. Her eyes flew open in astonishment, but he’d already released her and was climbing into her car.

“Take me to meet the banking vampires.”

Sera closed her mouth, which seemed to have fallen open. It didn’t even seem worth asking him how he’d got into her locked vehicle. He had an affinity with doors. Or to inquire if they were now working together again. Surreptitiously, she wiped her face with a tissue and climbed into the driver’s seat. Blair seemed huge, folded into the passenger seat beside her.

“Where is sir’s appointment?” she asked.

“Roseburn. Nicholas Smith’s house.”

She fastened her belt and started the car. “And why am I in attendance?”

“It struck me that you have another valuable asset. You know when people are lying.”

“True, but I generally have to touch them, and I might blow your cover if I roam among them doing the touchy-feely thing.” She pulled onto the road and glanced at him. “This is a cover, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Blair said. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Sera smiled at the windscreen. Sometimes touch wasn’t necessary. Not with the dead or, it seemed, the undead. Stupidly, her heart felt warm and fuzzy. She didn’t even mind that she could be repeating the same mistakes as yesterday. Surely the important thing was that he hadn’t killed her yesterday and he showed no signs of killing her today.

“What about the dead?” Blair asked.

“What?”

“The dead. Spirits. How do you know when they’re lying?”

She frowned. “Generally, spirits don’t bother lying, though I suppose I’ve encountered the odd mischievous one who wasn’t above porky pies.” She glanced at him. “Lies,” she translated.

“I got that.”

“I just know when they’re doing it. Why? Do you think it would work that way with vampires?”

“You tell me.”

She thought it through, felt the fuzziness drop away to ice. “You did want to drink my blood. Last night. You’ve never lied to me, have you?”

Although she couldn’t look at him, she felt his gaze on her face. “No.” There was a pause, then, “I still want to drink your blood. I want it very badly. But I don’t want to kill you.”

“So what was last night? A temper tantrum?”

She knew he was smiling. “Perhaps. And I suppose I was giving you the chance to get out while you could. Phil persuaded me that we needed you.”

“For what? Lie detecting and tracking?”

“And sex.”

She swerved, and an oncoming car hooted in outrage. “I will not,” she said breathlessly, “have sex with Phil.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?” she demanded, risking a glance at him.

He winked. “Not ruling me out.”

****

PC Alex McGowan saw the MacBride woman emerge from the building and walk rather erratically toward her car, where the man waited for her. Tall and fit and unnaturally still, he moved like McGowan’s idea of a secret, well-paid assassin. He might have been a bodyguard. Well, it was a rough neighborhood, and a rip-off artist like Serafina MacBride would probably need one around here.

McGowan hesitated. He’d been working overtime—trawling the Hard Knox and the other pubs where people had died recently in bizarre circumstances that weren’t being made generally known to the public—and he was on his way home when he’d spotted Sera MacBride’s distinctive car on Ferry Road. On impulse, he’d followed her, growing increasingly angry as he realized she was heading to the Gordons’ house for the second time in as many days.

How much was she robbing from these people who’d already suffered so much? McGowan had been first on the scene when the Gordons had first discovered their little daughter dead in her cot one morning. He’d never managed to harden himself to the many tragedies encountered in the job, and he couldn’t help feeling personally responsible for the Gordons’ welfare.

And, of course, he hated MacBride and all her kind.

She’d spent a long time up there, and he needed to be sure the Gordons were all right. He needed to know what damage the bloody woman had done and, if possible, put a stop to her business.

Except he wasn’t on duty.

Who cares? Decision made, he left his unmarked car and walked into the building and up the depressing but clean stairs. Most of the graffiti had been washed off the walls. When he rang the bell, there was a long pause. Then Eddie Gordon, looking a bit wild but not angry or beaten down, opened the door.

“Mr. Gordon,” McGowan said, flashing his ID card. “Sorry to bother you so late. I just wanted to make sure everything’s okay with you and Mrs. Gordon.”

“Of course, it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I’ve been looking into complaints against a spiritualist who I believe just visited you.”

“Sera MacBride? What sort of complaints?”

“Can I come in and ask you a few questions? I won’t take long.”

Eddie glanced over his shoulder. “It’s not a good time,” he said uneasily. “Maybe you can come back in the morning?”

“Eddie? Who is it?” Moira Gordon came out of the living room. Her face was blotched with crying, and McGowan felt his simmering fury rise toward boiling point.

“Police,” said Eddie. “But it’s nothing to worry about.”

However, Moira seemed to recognize him this time, as she hadn’t at Serafina’s the other day. She came closer, hugging her cardigan around her. “You’re PC McGowan, aren’t you? You came when Anna died.”

“Yes, I did. That’s why I was concerned to see Sera MacBride here.”

“She’s been a great help to us,” Moira said warmly. “I think she’s finally laid Anna to rest in peace.”

For once, McGowan couldn’t think of anything to say to that. He glanced for guidance to Eddie, who shrugged—not embarrassed, precisely, but certainly baffled.

“We do feel a bit—lighter this evening.”

It wasn’t what he expected. “When’s your next appointment with her?” he asked.

“We haven’t made one,” Moira answered. “She didn’t think it’d be necessary.”

Got all the money she could out of them already, McGowan thought savagely. Well, it wouldn’t have taken long; they didn’t exactly have much. Swallowing his anger down, he said, “Do you mind if I ask you how much she charged you?”

“For tonight? It was included in the original fee,” Moira said. “Why?”

Bitch. Making them believe they’d got a freebie so they’d come back for more. “And how much,” McGowan asked, struggling to keep a lid on his anger, “was the original fee?”

Eddie shrugged, looking at his wife for the answer. She gave him a slightly guilty smile. “Ten pounds, but I’d saved it from Christmas.”

“Ten pounds?” McGowan stared at her in disbelief. “Ten pounds is all you’ve ever paid her?”

Moira glanced at him in confusion. “Is that not the going rate?”

Considering the amount of time she’d spent here this evening alone, it wasn’t even minimum wage.

****

On Blair’s advice, Sera parked a street away from Nicholas Smith’s house. “Give me five minutes,” Blair said, opening his door. “And then follow.”

“Slight problem,” Sera pointed out. “I’m happy to spy on them and detect their lies, but how the hell do I get in unseen?”

“I’ll leave a window open for you.”

She stared at him as he glanced back over his shoulder. “You really mean that, don’t you?”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. I’ll tell you which one. Telepathically,” he added. “In fact, you can probably send to me the same way, if you try and articulate it beyond the normal jumble you usually project.”

“I do not project jumble!” He didn’t trouble to answer that, merely closed the door. She lunged over and shoved it open again. “Wait! Won’t they smell my blood and come after me?”

“I can cover you,” Blair said, as casually as someone else might have said I can pick that up from the shops, and strolled down the road and around the corner. Sera let the door close again and straightened. She took an emery board from her shoulder bag, filed a broken nail, and tried to imagine what was happening in the next street.

When he spoke, she nearly jumped out of her skin. “Sera. All the vampires are in a ground-floor room at the front of the house.”

It was as if her mind had always hung on to the idea that his telepathic speech really was ventriloquism, for now that he was nowhere near her, the disembodied voice in her head freaked her out.

She’d only just recovered herself enough to breathe evenly when he spoke again. “I’ve unlocked the larger window at the back on the ground floor. Just push it open, and leave the same way as soon as I give you the word.”

Sera put the nail file back in her bag and got out of the car. As she walked smartly along the road, Blair’s voice said briefly, “I’m in.” And this time, it was curiously comforting to be told what was going on without the annoyance of a mobile phone.

Approaching Nicholas Smith’s house, she began to tense. Her skin prickled with warning. No wonder; the place was full of vampires. The first time, she walked straight past it, checking for any signs that she might be observed. The curtains were closed in the front room where Blair said the vampires were meeting. They didn’t twitch. Nor, so far as she could see, was there any activity at the others. She turned at the next lamppost, walked back the way she’d come, and swerved into Nicholas Smith’s garden. Keeping every sense on high alert, she moved as swiftly and silently as she could up the side of the house to the back garden, where a cat sitting on the windowsill nearly gave her a heart attack just by staring at her with its luminous eyes.

Life was getting so weird she wouldn’t have been surprised if it had been some kind of witch’s familiar. But clinging to some semblance of normal behavior, she stretched out a hand to stroke the animal. It tolerated the attention for a moment, then jumped down from the windowsill and crept off into the night.

Sera took its place on the sill, resting her hip and touching the glass with her fingertips to get some sense of who or what was beyond it. Blair. Undoubtedly Blair. And behind his unmistakable “feel,” that of many other undead who hadn’t necessarily touched the window but were certainly in the house. She tried to think of the human, Nicholas Smith, aka stage magician Nick Black, but nothing came to her. She hoped he was still alive.

As soon as she eased the window up, she parted the closed curtains to make sure the room was empty. Blank darkness greeted her. She climbed in and closed the window.

She stood still for an instant, waiting, every nerve ready to fight back if necessary. She held the stake in her right hand. When nothing happened, she released her breath and switched on her flashlight.

Lit by its narrow glow, a dark male figure with a pale face and amber eyes stared at her. He smiled, revealing long canine teeth.

Sera grasped tighter the stake she’d been about to return to her pocket, but the figure didn’t move.

“Evening,” the vampire said in her head.

“Phil?” she hissed. What the hell did this mean?

“Please, don’t shine the light in my face.”

“Sorry.” She lowered the light but didn’t release the stake. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching his back.”

“I thought he didn’t need his back watched?”

“That was last night. In his own house. Who knows what traps have been set in this one?”

“What’s going on?” she asked, still in a whisper as she found the door with her flashlight beam and walked toward it.

“Nothing. A lot of talk.”

“I can’t hear it. I have to go closer.” She opened the door a crack. The light was on in the hall beyond, and she could hear a vague rumble of indistinguishable voices, as if there was a closed door or a lot of space between them and her. She hoped it was the latter, since there wasn’t a lot she could do discreetly with a closed door.

Phil watched her silently as she slipped out of the back room and ran lightly along the hall. It was an L-shape, and she slid around the corner warily, knowing she was coming closer to a large concentration of vampires. The door to the front room was closed. Which was particularly annoying since the nearest door to it lay open. At least she could use that to hide if necessary.

Creeping closer, she pressed her ear to the door.

“Nice to have you with us,” Blair murmured in her head.

At the same time, she heard another voice she was sure belonged to Nicholas Smith, speaking aloud inside the room.

“…be hard for you to get into a position of influence very quickly. The method they’ve used so far—of simply turning humans already in powerful positions—is working very well for us.”

Crouching down until her eye was level with the keyhole, Sera pushed aside the cover and peered through. As she’d hoped, the cover on the other side of the keyhole was missing or pushed aside. The room was full of people—vampires—sitting and standing, perching on the arms of chairs, as if they were attending a busy but dull party.

She saw Blair at once, lounging in an armchair by the fireplace, one foot crossed over his knee. In jeans and T-shirt, he looked perfectly comfortable and at ease.

Without moving his lips, he said, “I can imagine few things more boring than running a bank.”

Nicholas Smith, standing with his back to the fireplace, looked distinguished and relaxed in slacks and polo shirt as he spoke to the room at large. “He doesn’t want a bank role.”

Of course, the other vampires couldn’t hear Blair. Only the psychic Smith heard him. It was weird—Blair and Phil were like a completely different species from the other vampires. Jason and the vampiress Ella sat side by side on a sofa, staring at Blair.

Another vampire, out of her line of vision, said in an English accent, “It wouldn’t work anyway. He has no experience and would be useless for anything except a smash-and-grab.”

“Which brings me to another point,” Blair said. “What’s wrong with smash-and-grab?”

Nicholas rapidly repeated his words for the benefit of the vampires, then added almost immediately, “It’s not sustainable. This way, they keep all the infrastructure intact and take what they need without fight or fuss.”

“While vastly increasing the vampire population. Human numbers will dwindle.”

“They believe there’ll be enough to go round.”

“Humans will always be useful to us as more than blood supply,” the other vampire said. Sera altered position to try to get him in the picture. She thought she could see one side of his face and concentrated on him, hard. Arthur. His name is Arthur.

“Then you’ve some way of controlling the vampires you’ve made?”

Again, Smith repeated the question, but before he’d finished, Blair was speaking again. “Already there’ve been enough vampire murders in the city to have sparked off a human police hunt for a serial killer. It’s instinctive for new vampires to go on the rampage unless they’re under some kind of control. My only surprise, given your numbers, is that there haven’t been more murders.”

“They are under control,” said Arthur, the English vampire. “I control them.”

Sera’s breath caught. He’s lying!

“Well done,” Blair said in her mind, and she realized the thought had been so loud and so instinctively hurled at Blair that she’d projected it right to him. “Keep it down, though, or Smith will hear too.”

She glanced apprehensively at the human who, fortunately, was showing no sign of having overheard her private conversation with Blair.

“Then yours is the master plan?” Blair said, looking across at the English vampire Arthur.

Smith said smoothly, “Of course, the plan is his.” Sera caught something from him—not unease, not uncertainty, but something basically untruthful.

It’s all a lie; they’re all lying, she threw silently to Blair.

Blair said, “Then where does he see me fitting in?”

Arthur stood up and moved thoughtfully into Sera’s line of vision. He was a tall, strong man with smooth cheeks and an unsmiling mouth. He stood in front of Sera, blocking her view of Blair.

“You’re a strong vampire,” he observed. “Stronger than any we’ve encountered. Are there more like you?”

Blair inclined his head. “A few.”

“Any even stronger than you?”

Blair smiled. She could hear it in his telepathic voice. “One or two.”

While Smith translated, Arthur walked closer to Blair, who remained apparently unmoved by the implicit threat of the other vampire.

“At the very least,” Arthur said, “we need your cooperation and are prepared to pay handsomely for it. At best, we’d value you in a more positive role, as an enforcer against other vampires who might try to muscle in or oppose us, or against any human opposition that might arise.”

That, Sera thought, was truthful.

Blair said, “I’ll think about it.” And that was truthful too. He really was thinking about it, the bastard. How could he even consider a situation that would endanger, if not kill, thousands—millions!—of humans?

Easy. He wasn’t human.

In spite of herself, she shivered and tried to pull her concentration back to the scene inside.

Arthur spun around and seemed to stare right at her. In spite of herself, she fell backward in case he’d seen her.

“Humans!” Arthur barked. “There are humans in the house! I can smell them!”

“Run,” Blair said in her head. There was no need. She was already bolting back along the hallway. But as the front-room door wrenched open, she knew she’d have no time to reach the room she’d left Phil in. She leapt into the nearest and dived toward the window. Wrenching aside the curtain, she tugged futilely at the window—locked.

Then she realized the drumming in her ears was the clatter of feet running upstairs. They weren’t chasing her. She turned and slipped back out of the room, running on to the room she’d entered by. Phil’s silhouette sat on the windowsill.

“There are other humans here,” Sera hissed at him.

“I know. They’re on a ladder outside.”

“A ladder?” Sera closed her mouth and strode to the window. Obligingly, Phil climbed the rest of the way over the sill to let her out too.

A long ladder ran from the ground up the back of the house to one of the top-floor windows. Two figures were scuttling down it while someone, some vampire, wrenched open the upstairs window.

“Jump!” Sera yelled. “They’ll reach the ground before you!”

A vampire was already scrambling out the window. The two human figures wasted no more time but flopped to the ground in a winded heap. Sera ran to them. With one hand, she snatched the stake from her pocket. With the other, she grabbed the nearest man by the elbow, hauling him to his feet. It was Ferdy Bell.

“Run,” she begged. “Run like hell.” A vampire leaping from the upper window landed right beside her. As quick as thought, she plunged the stake into his chest. It was like slicing through butter, then crunching into bone. The vampire disintegrated.

As Ferdy and his companion ran for it, limping and lumbering across the lawn to the back fence, Sera kicked another landing vampire in the groin and spun around, stake at the ready, to face the next threat.

Instead, she faced Nicholas Smith.

She paused, the stake poised to attack.

“You can’t,” he said in a slightly strange voice. “Can you?”

It seemed she couldn’t. At least not while he stood still and made no move to attack her. Instead, she stood there, letting the other vampires jump from the windows and surround her.

“Who were the others?” Nicholas said, as a couple of vampires broke ranks and moved toward the back of the garden.

“No idea. They weren’t with me.”

“It was my dad,” said Jason Bell without emotion.

Bugger. Would they go after the Bells now? It was possible, but she had a more immediate problem. A circle of vampires was closing in on her. Nearly all their fangs showed; some were actually drooling, like slavering dogs.

Arthur, the chief vampire, reached for her. From instinct, she hurled herself out of the way, toward the only other human present.

“You can’t let them! You can’t!” she said incoherently, clutching at Nicholas Smith’s arm. And if he didn’t help her, she could use him, maybe, as some kind of human shield. She still had a very sharp stake to compel him with.

But again, he took her by surprise. He patted her shoulder, and she realized his hands were shaking. “My dear, I don’t control them,” he said sadly.

Sera froze. Slowly, she lifted her eyes to his face. Yes, you do. Oh yes, you fucking do. He wasn’t some kind of slave. He was the master.

Chapter Ten

Nicholas Smith’s face changed. He let go of her as if she’d burned him, and Arthur yanked her backward. Sera whipped up her stake for the plunge and found it snatched from her hand by Arthur.

Which was when Blair dropped down opposite her as if he’d just stepped off a bus. “Mine,” he said mildly and twitched her out of the other vampire’s arms.

“You know what worries me?” Nicholas Smith said conversationally. “How often I see you in the company of this vampire.”

Sera opened her mouth to retort, but Blair was before her. “What worries me,” he said, “is why she smells like you.”

“Human?” Smith taunted. “Do you miss that? Or do you want to turn her?”

“Neither,” Blair said. And there it was, his first lie.

“Let her go,” Smith said. “Please, I’ll look after her.” It was almost a plea; even stranger, it sounded genuine.

“You’ve just said you can’t control them. I can.”

“No, you can’t,” Smith said, taking a step nearer. “You can kill them—maybe. Until there are too many, and they take her from you. That isn’t control. Blair. We’re all friends here. Allies. Give me the girl and join us.”

“Is one dependent on the other?” Blair asked with apparent interest. There was silence in the garden, apart from a quiet car engine in the distance.

A funny little smile flickered across Smith’s face. “Do you know, I think it might be.”

“Sorry,” Blair said. “I could never do coercion.”

Abruptly, the quiet car engine got louder, much louder, and a car actually crashed through the wall at the back of the garden. It careered across the grass, scattering vampires. Staring stupidly, Sera glimpsed Phil at the wheel. He looked drunk. The car skidded to a halt beside her and Blair, and the passenger door sprang open.

Sera and Blair all but fell through it. The car was moving again almost immediately, bouncing and crashing its way around the garden and back the way it had come. Sera, half on Blair’s knee, clung to him for safety. There was a loud bump as a vampire landed on the roof, but Phil kept driving, and at the next bounce, the vampire fell off. Phil put his foot down.

Under Sera’s hand, Blair’s shoulder was shaking. Silently but joyously, he was laughing.

****

As she entered her flat, Sera called up Ferdy Bell’s number on her phone and pressed Call. He answered almost immediately.

“Are you all right?” Sera demanded.

“I’m fine,” Ferdy said. “Tom’s got a bit of a sprained ankle, but we’re okay.”

“Who’s Tom?” she asked, turning to close the front door. Blair swung past into the house, causing a little frisson to run up her spine. It was probably fear—there was a vampire in her house—but it felt a lot like excitement. She shut the door behind him.

“Tom’s our gardener,” Ferdy said sheepishly.

“Oh dear… What in the world were you doing there?”

Ferdy sighed down the phone. “We followed Jason to the house. Then we went back to get a ladder and decided to break in and—er—kill any vampires who were there.”

“Mr. Bell,” Sera said. “Do you not trust me?”

Unflatteringly, he hesitated. Then: “I trust you to try and do the right thing. I do. But to be honest, this thing seems beyond you. It’s too big, too horrible, too brutal.”

“Yes? Well, I still killed one more vampire than you did tonight,” she retorted. “I’ll call you in the morning. Bastard,” she added, tossing the phone on to the living room table. “Didn’t even ask how I was.”

“And how are you?” Blair asked, settling onto the sofa with his feet up. “Apart from pissed off?”

Sera blinked. The large vampire looked quite at home in her sanctuary, and she didn’t even mind. She sighed and sank down on the sofa next to his feet. “Confused. Nicholas Smith is controlling, ordering the banking vampires. Why?”

“To get rich, of course. The ‘how’ is a bit more difficult. I never met many vampires who could organize or control other vampires. I’ve never encountered any humans who could. Or even wanted to.”

Sera frowned. “Hypnosis, like you said? Can vampires be hypnotized?”

He shrugged. “I doubt it.”

“But Smith’s a magician, a sorcerer,” she said slowly. She turned her head to look at him. “What do you know about magic, Blair? Real magic?”

“Nothing.”

“But that’s not true. You open doors with your mind. You can jump so high it’s like flying. Isn’t that magic?”

He shrugged. “It’s just something vampires can do. I’ve never thought about it as magical, just natural. It comes with the change of state, which we inherit with the Founder’s blood.”

She kept hearing about the Founder. Something to investigate later. For now, there was a more important point to pursue. “But people do learn about magic, don’t they? According to a friend of mine who’s a witch, it’s a gift that can be nurtured, just like talking to the dead and sensing by touch.”

“Maybe. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that’s how Smith keeps control of the vampires.”

Blair’s eyebrow twitched. “Maybe it’s even how they can talk and can’t hear telepathically. He managed to shut down that side of their existence by magic? Is it possible?”

“Don’t ask me. Until three nights ago, I didn’t think vampires were possible.”

He gave her a lazy smile, one that seemed to shoot straight through her tingling stomach to her core. She stood up quickly before he could notice. “Do vampires drink coffee or just blood and whisky?”

“They can drink anything they like. Coffee is good.”

In the mess that was her kitchen, at least the coffeemaker and a couple of cups were clean. She cleared a space, vowing to tidy up properly tomorrow. She made that vow most days.

“Where will Phil ditch the car?” she called. Apparently, he’d stolen it from the curbside on Smith’s street.

“Who knows? He might even take it back where he got it.”

After this evening, she’d got used to hearing his voice at the same volume in her mind, however far away from her he was. So when she turned and found him in the kitchen doorway, leaning negligently against the lintel, she was taken by surprise.

“Milk?” she asked with odd breathlessness.

He shook his head, watching as she grabbed the milk from the fridge and sloshed some into her own cup.

“There’s something very odd about Nicholas Smith,” she said, because he was on her mind. “Very—ambiguous. I almost believe he wouldn’t have let the vampires have me. Only what the hell did he want me for? Why would he need a lie detector or even a tracker when he has an army of vampires to do his bidding?”

Blair didn’t respond. Frowning, she looked at him. “I don’t believe he felt any malice toward me. He was more upset by the idea of me being with you.”

“Perhaps he felt the similarities between you.”

What worries me is why she smells like you. What had he meant by that?

He said, “Were your parents really drug addicts who abandoned you?”

So he’d heard her tell Phil that. He must have ears like a dog. She turned away. “No idea. They gave me my name, but I don’t remember them. I was brought up in children’s homes and foster families.” Pouring the percolated coffee into the cups, she wondered if she really could be related to Nicholas Smith. Once, as a lonely, unhappy child, she’d longed for real family. Even criminals like most of Jilly’s folks—up to and including her nefarious brother Andy—would have been an improvement on none. Now she didn’t like the idea at all, and yet wouldn’t it make sense? Both she and Smith were psychic to a high degree, and she knew that didn’t happen very often.

“Why should it be in the blood?” she demanded.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then: “Many things are.” He stood close behind her. She felt his touch, butterfly light on the side of her neck. “Yours, for example, is most desirable.”

She shivered, closing her eyes against the build-up of lust. “I must be insane. I let a vampire into my home. Although, admittedly, there isn’t a lot I could do to keep you out.”

“You’re not afraid of me.” She heard the smile in his voice, felt the faintest brush of his lips near her skin as he inhaled her. “I like that.”

“Oh, you’re wrong,” she said with the ghost of a laugh. “I’m scared shitless by what you are. But when I’m with you, I feel ridiculously—comfortable. Sometimes, I even think I understand you, although obviously I don’t.”

“Comfortable,” he murmured. “I’m not sure I like that.” His lips brushed her neck again, lingered in a kiss. She felt the tip of his tongue on her skin and couldn’t help moving her head in voluptuous pleasure. “Aren’t you just a little—excited?”

“No,” she whispered, half twisting around to see his face. It was a mistake, for although his mouth left her neck, it took her lips instead.

Oh God, the vampire could kiss, deep and sensual and deliberately arousing. His hands crept up over her shoulders and neck to cup her face. She could feel his terrifying teeth, long and sharp against her tongue as he drew it into his mouth. She didn’t want to give in as she’d done in the street last night; but nor could she bring herself to resist. So she hung helpless in his hold, battered by his overwhelming kiss and by her own rising passion.

His hands slid down her throat once more, stroking her neck and lower until they cupped her breasts. And Jesus, that felt good too. For a moment he just held them while he stroked her lips with his fangs and sank back into her mouth, and then his thumbs flicked over her pebbled nipples, repeatedly, making them ache with pleasure. With one finger, he circled around an eager peak, then palmed it and closed once more while his other hand slid down over her stomach to the hot, anxious place between her legs.

“Coffee,” she gasped against his lips.

“Sex,” he whispered in her mind.

“What if I say no?”

He smiled against her lips, parting them wide before he left them. “Then I’ll try and change your mind.”

“Like this?” she said, covering his hand on her breast.

“I’d definitely try some more of that.” His hand moved between her legs in a long, devastating caress that made her gasp. “And this.”

She pulled his hand off her breast; was vaguely surprised that he let her. “Coffee first,” she said firmly.

“And then?” Reluctantly, it seemed, he released her.

“Hopefully, I’ll have my head back together enough to throw you out.” Her hand shook as she picked up his mug of coffee and thrust it in his direction. He grabbed it quickly to avoid spillages, no doubt, and waited politely for her to precede him back to the living room.

Since there were clothes and books piled on the armchair, Sera reluctantly sat down on the sofa. Inevitably, Blair sat beside her, close but not touching, which at least gave her time to draw breath and think what the hell she was doing—or considering doing—and with whom. Oh, bloody hell, what would it be like with him?
He’d be so beautiful and strong, and if he screws anything like as well as he kisses…

Hastily, she squashed the wayward meanderings of her mind before she melted into an even more obvious glob of lust and took a gulp of coffee to calm her nerves. It was too hot, but she thought the pain would do her good.

“So how come you live here all alone, Serafina MacBride?”

“There’s only room for one.”

“There are no men desperate to live with you? Marry you?”

“They’re not breaking my door down. Why?” She risked a glance at him, largely to dare him to suggest frigid or even lesbian inclinations behind her solitude.

But Blair, it seemed, never did the expected. His dark eyes were steady, hot, and predatory as they caught and held her gaze. Her stomach flipped and dived. He said, “In my experience, beautiful women like you are rarely left alone. They are besieged by lovers, the good, the bad, the Casanovas, and the desperate.”

Her smile was slightly twisted. “I guess nobody’s desperate enough.”

He ignored that. “But then,” he observed, “you are a very rare, beautiful woman. I’d guess that you scare human men.”

“I do,” she admitted. “I’m not very comfortable to be around. They think the psychic thing is madness, and somehow it always comes out. Well, it would have to in any meaningful relationship, wouldn’t it?”

She glanced away to take another sip of coffee. “And then men don’t as a rule like to be spotted as liars. Worse, I can’t bear to be lied to. They say more than they mean, or less. Or just try lines that they really expect me to believe.”

Abruptly, she slid onto the floor in a futile effort to avoid his gaze. But again, he surprised her. “What’s the most outrageous lie you’ve ever been told?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” She struck a hand-on-heart pose. “‘I’d die happy for one night in your arms.’ I kid you not—someone actually said that to me. Or ‘My God, Sera, you could be the one. I’ve never been in a serious relationship before.’”

“He had?”

“He was married with two kids. Or that old favorite: ‘You’re the best sex I’ve ever had. I’ll call you..’”

“He didn’t?”

“Of course, he didn’t. But then, unless he was standing on the other side of the room when he said it, I wouldn’t expect him to. To be fair, it’s rare I get to that point, because the lies generally come earlier on in the evening.”

“It’s probably only the emphasis that’s untruthful. Humans have difficulty with words, with admitting feelings. For example, your lover could well have meant you were the best sex he’d ever had and was desperate to see you again, but he was too afraid to call you because you were staring at him with such derision.”

“Who’s side are you on?”

“Yours, of course.”

“Well, I don’t mind them lying to get into my knickers, to be honest. Even that can be flattering if looked on in the right way. It’s imagining that I’m stupid enough and gullible enough to fall for it that pisses me off.” She glanced over her shoulder. “What about you, Blair? Do you lie your way into sex?”

“I don’t usually say anything at all. No point when she can’t hear me.”

She smiled. “You just give them that look, don’t you? And they melt into your arms like ice cream in the sun. Like Tess.”

“I never had sex with Tess. You took her away.”

“Sorry.”

“No need. I only picked her because she looked like you, and when you showed up in person, the desire for her vanished.”

She twisted around to see him better. Half smiling, he held out his hand. She took it in her fingers and sensed no lie. She didn’t need to touch the undead to spot their lies, of course, but neither of them mentioned the fact. She liked to touch him, now she’d got used to the cool skin and the black, terrifying depth of memory that came with it.

“Mind you,” he added, presumably in the interests of truth, “I was still damned hungry, and I could have done with a drink.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “Is that why you were so narked when I took her away?”

“That and the fact I couldn’t drink from you either. Or at least not in a civilized manner.”

“You say the most disgusting things in such a reasonable way.”

He leaned forward to touch her hair with his free hand. “It isn’t disgusting,” he said softly. “It’s sensual and powerful and deeply satisfying. The blood drink intensifies orgasm for both lovers, and for you, a psychic… We could set the whole world alight and keep it there.”

“Oh, be quiet,” she said shakily as his hand dropped to the back of her neck, caressing. “I haven’t even agreed to the orgasm yet.”

“Yes, you have. In your mind.” He slid onto the floor beside her, setting his own mug and hers to one side. He placed his hands on her shoulders, yet made sure some of his fingers brushed her bare skin. “I want you, Serafina. More than I’ve wanted any woman in a very long time.”

Again, truth hit her, warming her, lifting her, and yet he was… He was a vampire. “You move too fast for me,” she whispered. “I can’t even adjust to what you are. I don’t know what relationships you have with other women.”

“Other lovers? None, right now. I’m an opportunist. I did have an arrangement at the local brothel—nice girl, knew her business, was happy enough to be bitten—but trust me, it was business.”

“You’re telling me you’ve never had a relationship?” she said in disbelief.

“Alive, I had one or two I can barely remember now. Since then, a very few with humans. If you think being psychic freaks them out, you should try undead.”

“And female vampires?”

“A couple.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing much. Eternity is a long time to stay in love. We parted.”

She smiled. “Thank you for not insulting me with eternal love.”

“Would present love bother you?”

“Do you mean love or sex?”

He slid his palms under her T-shirt. “Right now, I’m having difficulty telling the difference.” One tug and her top was over her head. His avid gaze swept over her before he reached behind her to unclip her bra.

“Blair…Blair this is so the wrong thing to do.”

“How can it be when we both want it so much?”

“I wish you didn’t read my mind.”

“You’ll be glad I do, in just a little.”

With trembling hands, she reached up to his chest, leaned closer until she could make out every tiny texture of his sensual lips. Then she kissed them. His hands lay flat on her back, caressing, moving down inside her jeans. She tugged his T-shirt until, obligingly, he tore it off. Muscles rippled up his chest and arms.

He pushed her backward until she lay on the rug, then deliberately set about unfastening her jeans. When they were removed, together with her underwear, she smiled like a cat with the cream while he undid his own jeans and pushed them off.

He was beautiful, as she’d known he would be. Lean hips and long, strong legs. And jutting between, the cock she yearned to have buried inside her. Desperate to touch, she sat up, but he knelt, folding his arms around her and pushing her gently back so that he could kiss her breasts. He lay between her legs, letting her feel his delicious weight and his smooth, cool skin on hers, the arousing hardness of his erection against her pubic bone. He shifted position so that it slid between her thighs, and, gasping, she wriggled to give him better access.

But it seemed he was in no hurry. He spent a long time kissing her breasts, teasing her nipples with his clever, arousing tongue, and then he found her mouth once more, and she felt him pushing against her moist, eager entrance. This was it. She’d given herself into the power of the vampire.

“Blair,” he whispered, sliding his teeth along her lips to her jaw and her throat. “My name is Blair. I just happen to be a vampire. As you happen to be psychic. Open your mind and your body to me, Serafina. I’m coming in.”

He pushed inside her, and she cried out with pleasure. Perhaps it was surprise that ripped open her mind, but suddenly he was there, and she saw every ounce of his overwhelming lust, the blissful effect of her every caress and his. She knew he could see her pleasure too, and didn’t mind in the slightest. For the first time ever, she gloried in her desire, in her arousal, in the absolute pleasure of sex. She wanted him to see. It made her powerful, it made her sexy, and she loved it. She loved what he was doing to her body and what she was doing to his.

She arched her hips wildly to take him deeper, ran her hands all over his cool back, feeling crossed lines of raised tissue.

“What are those?” she murmured breathlessly. He lifted his head to gaze into her face as he moved inside her.

“Scars from my human existence. Do they disgust you?”

“Nothing about you disgusts me right now.” She clung to him, moving with him, twisting on him as he changed his angle and found the special place she loved best. “Oh Jesus,” she whispered.

He smiled, his eyes alight with triumph, and kissed her mouth while she came. He continued to thrust inside her all through the orgasm, holding her there, spreading the joy through to every nerve in her body. And when she was calmer, he rose up to a sitting position between her legs, took hold of her hips and increased the tempo. He seemed to be even deeper inside her, holding her on the edge of another tide of pleasure as he rode her. He didn’t even look out of breath, just overcome with lust. His eyes were excitingly dark and clouded, his parted lips curving and moving with every spark of bliss he took from her body. He looked like some golden, beautiful god, all powerful. And Sera, who had never voluntarily given up any control to anyone since she was eleven years old, surrendered utterly to Blair.

As if he felt it, he smiled and laid one hand deliberately on the junction of her legs, his finger slipping over her clitoris. Pleasure exploded like dynamite in her head, her whole body, twisting her into a writhing, gasping, moaning animal. He fell forward into her, his discipline finally vanishing into his own climax. His groans were music in her mind, feeding her orgasm and her happiness.

His kiss was huge and sensual, his mouth trembling with pleasure as it ravished hers and slid across her jaw. He buried his face in her throat, thrusting hard into her once more, and as she gasped at the fresh waves of pleasure opening from the last, she felt his teeth graze her neck. There was pain, sharp enough to make her cry out and yet not bad enough to halt the pleasure still tearing her apart.

Somewhere, she knew he’d bitten her; knew that he was sucking the blood from her veins into his own body. But what she felt was only an incredible stream of wild, new ecstasy as the blood whizzed through her veins and into his greedy mouth.

“Oh Jesus Christ, you taste amazing,” he whispered in her mind. “Strong and sweet and—oh fuck, I’ll never have enough of you.”

His body still contorted in the throes of orgasm, he seemed to gather strength for a mighty effort before he dragged his teeth from her flesh. His tongue, sweet and soothing, licked her throat, and it felt exactly right with the profound satisfaction of fading orgasm.

She held on to him tightly, lost in the moment, as was only right. Hovering at the edge of consciousness was the knowledge that something huge had happened to her, was still happening, and that she didn’t want it to stop.

He said, “There. I told you you’d like it.”

She smiled into his shoulder. “The biting? I never realized I was so kinky. It seemed hard for you to stop.” Later, she thought, she would worry about that.

“It is hard to stop,” he admitted. “Which is why young vampires often drain their prey without meaning to. In conjunction with sex, it’s even harder. There was never a harder moment for me.”

She wriggled and took his face between her hands to look at him. “Then how do you do it? What made you stop there?”

“The knowledge that I’d kill you if I didn’t.” His lips quirked. “And then there’d be no more blood or sex.”

Sera laughed and pushed at him. He rolled, swinging her up onto his body until she straddled him. She gazed down at him. “You really are devastatingly honest, aren’t you?”

“Just devastating,” he said modestly. He ran his hands up her hips until they covered the sides of her breasts and he could play with them. “So are you.”

It sounded genuine. For some reason, she wanted to cry. Instead, she smiled. “I’m just a mixed-up psychic with an unhealthy penchant for bad guys.” She reached across him for her old coffee mug, setting off a whole new set of pleasure sparks, since he was still inside her, and wrinkled her nose. “Cold.”

“It’s the wrong time for coffee, anyhow. Don’t you have any booze?”

“No,” she said regretfully. Then, remembering, “Although there’s bound to be a bottle of vodka downstairs in Elspeth’s desk drawer.”

He took her by the waist and slowly lifted her off him. “I’ll be back there in just a moment,” he promised, standing with her in his arms to kiss her breast and then her mouth before he let her slide slowly to the floor.

It felt deliciously decadent watching him pad off naked to the office—presumably using his affinity with doors to unlock them—and then, quite nude herself, collecting glasses and an old bottle of tonic and taking them into the bedroom to wait for him.

This is me, Sera MacBride, she thought with awe. I’ve just had astoundingly good sex with a man—well, a male being—and now I’m going to lounge around in bed with him drinking someone else’s vodka. I don’t want to kick him out, and he doesn’t seem to want to leave. Wow.

Chapter Eleven

Blair swaggered into the bedroom still mouth wateringly naked, his semi-erection swinging as jauntily as the nearly full bottle he carried in his hand.

“Why does she keep vodka in her desk?” he asked, climbing onto the bed. “To revive your overcome clients?”

“No,” Sera sighed. “For herself. I suppose she’s an alcoholic.”

“Does that make for a good employee?”

“Well, it doesn’t make her a bad one,” Sera said defensively. “She did turn up late for work a couple of times in the early days, and just occasionally, she does slur on the phone after lunch.”

“Can’t you sack her?” Blair asked, pouring a generous measure of vodka into each glass on the bedside table.

Sera passed him the tonic. “No. I knew what she was like when I took her on. If anything, she’s got better. Look, there’s hardly anything out of that bottle.”

“Couldn’t you find anyone else?”

“I wanted Elspeth,” she said uncomfortably. “I owed her.”

“For what?” Blair passed her one of the glasses, and they clinked cordially.

“She stood up for me in court when I assaulted my last foster father.”

“Good for her. In fact, give her a raise. Er—why did you assault your foster father?”

“He hit me first. I may have riled him,” she admitted. “I was a pretty obnoxious teenager. Whatever, by that stage, I didn’t allow anyone to hit me, so I floored him, and he charged me with assault. This was in the garden, and Elspeth, being our neighbor, saw it all over the wall.”

Sera took a drink. “Funny, really, because she’d never spoken to me before. I didn’t think she liked me. Anyway, that was before her husband died. I had a load of applicants for that job, but hers was the name I recognized. She turned up pissed for her interview and was completely stunned that she got it.” Sera smiled reminiscently and took another sip. “I don’t think she even knows I’m the teenager she got out of trouble.”

She became aware that he was gazing at her without blinking. “What?” she demanded. “You’d better not tell her, Blair. If she thinks she got the job by favor, God knows what it’ll do her self-esteem. And her drinking.”

Blair’s lips quirked. “You’re amazing.”

“Not that amazing,” Sera said, raising her glass over her blush. “I nick her vodka. Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Blair said, knocking back the remainder of his drink. Over the rim of his glass, his gaze locked with hers. She could have sworn sparks flew from his eyes as he lowered the glass and set it deliberately on the bedside table. Her heart thundered. “A little more sex, Miss MacBride, would be acceptable at this stage.”

“Would it?” She set down her own glass and spanned her right hand across his broad, smooth chest. “I was thinking a lot more teasing might be in order.”

“First?” he asked, with just enough anxiety to make her smile.

She lowered her head to his nipple and licked it. “Probably.”

****

“How did you become a vampire?”

He’d thought she was finally asleep. He’d watched in fascination as her long, tangled eyelashes had flickered and fallen over her flushed cheek and she’d drifted into unconsciousness. He’d meant to watch her until she awoke, because this night of drinking and fucking that he’d finally achieved with her had done nothing to end his obsession. On the contrary, she fascinated him all the more: the brash, look-after-number-one and make-a-fast-buck attitude, which, of course, he thoroughly approved of, hid a far deeper, compassionate and touchingly vulnerable soul. She’d been hurt in her young life, physically and emotionally, but from sheer strength of character had dragged herself through it without losing who she was. And the fun and tragedy inextricably bound in her personality drew him like a moth to a flame.

Aside from which, she was a rather wonderful fuck. All that beauty and all that passion, excitingly eager and inventive—after they’d passed the first delectably straight bout on the living room floor—inflamed him with an intensity he couldn’t recall ever before. Or at least not for a very long time. She wasn’t the most experienced lover he’d ever had, but she’d been happy to try whatever he threw at her, and he’d made sure she knew exactly how much pleasure she gave him.

She’d even let him drink from her again, not once but twice. The first time, she’d been half hesitant, half eager as he’d asked silent permission, but the second time, there’d been no inhibitions at all. In the throes of orgasm, she’d simply turned her head to expose her throat to him, gasping out incoherently something that sounded very like “Please.”

He was a vampire. Of course, he’d taken what was offered, even though he knew it was too much, that she’d feel a trifle weak the following day. He’d taught her to love it, to associate it with the ecstasy of sexual climax. And that, he thought, was a damned good night’s work.

After so much enthusiastic sex and bloodletting, it wasn’t really surprising that she’d fallen asleep. And despite his vow to watch her and learn from her dreams, he’d begun to drift off into the semiconscious state that passed for sleep in a vampire of his age. Until she asked her question: “How did you become a vampire?”

She was looking straight into his eyes, her own exhausted, happy, but insatiably curious.

He said, “A beautiful vampiress bit me and made me.”

She touched his cheek, ran her hand slowly down his face to his shoulder and arm, as if trying to learn who he was from touch. Under her sensitive fingers, his body stirred yet again. “Ailis,” she remembered. “Who were you?”

“When I was alive? Nobody important. My father was a poor Highland farmer, fought and died with the Jacobite army in 1745. Afterward, in the oppression, my mother and I came south to Glasgow to get work. It was a rich city in those days—the height of the tobacco trade with America.”

Her eyes laughed, half admiring, half teasing. “You were a ‘tobacco lord’?”

He hesitated. He’d played the part so often over the centuries that sometimes he almost believed he’d been a rich merchant or a wronged aristocrat. He certainly never went out of his way to prove that he hadn’t been either of those things. He could look haughty and superior with the best, and she was already inclined to be impressed.

He said, “No, I was a low-paid factory hand until I discovered I could supplement my income by stealing from the tobacco lords. I was a pickpocket when I died.”

Her eyes widened at his stark words, but she looked more intrigued than disappointed. “What happened?”

He shifted restlessly, and she followed, fitting her body into his, and somehow his hand was full of her breast. “I was ill and too slow for the job that day, but I wanted the money, and some bastard stabbed me for my pains. I lay there dying in the darkness for what seemed like hours. Then Ailis came.” He smiled. “I thought she was an angel, wondered how come I was going to get to heaven rather than hell. And then she bit me and gave me back—not life, but existence.”

“Were you happy with that? Did you like being a vampire?”

“Sure. My mother was dead by that time, but I used to go and keep company—hang out, you would say—with my disreputable old friends.”

“Is that how you met Phil?”

“Oh no. I met Phil in Edinburgh later. Because, of course, my old acquaintances grew old and died and naturally wondered why I didn’t. I began to understand the difficulties of this existence and traveled for a long time. Europe, America, Africa, Asia, even Australia. I did them all over the centuries, but I always ended up coming back to Scotland. Never where I used to live. I avoid Lochiel and Glasgow, but Edinburgh suits me very well.”

Her eyes were steady on his, uncomfortably perceptive. For the first time, he began to wonder if she’d managed to learn anything about him by touching something in his home last night. She was appallingly sensitive. He’d spoken quite naturally, and of course, she’d sense any untruth, but there were certain things he was not willing to think about, let alone discuss.

Distracting her, he said, “Phil was a philosophy student at Edinburgh University when he died of tuberculosis. Can’t even remember what his real name is.”

A soft light of amusement crept into her eyes. “‘Phil’ is short for ‘philosopher’?”

“Afraid so.”

“Weird that you’ve lived so long… Do you still like being a vampire? Do you never get bored?”

This was the conversation he didn’t want to have. Not yet.

“Boredom is the curse of the vampire,” he said lightly, and to distract her, he rolled her under him and pushed inside her once more. She gasped, and rather to his surprise gave a weary but instinctive wriggle to welcome him. “And you are the best cure I’ve found in decades. So much so that I find it hard to leave you alone. Tell me to stop, tell me to leave you now, or I’ll make love to you again and be trapped here with the dawn.”

A frown twitched at her brow—impossible to tell if it was desire or irritation, but her deep blue eyes were serious, almost luminous as they gazed up into his. He held her helpless, captive, and gloried in it. He wanted to take her, absorb her whole body, sex and blood, and he could do it so very easily with so much pleasure. She’d die happy in the throes of the best orgasm of her short life.

But she would die.

He couldn’t remember the ambiguity of vampire sex ever being this strong before. He stroked her hair, smiling ruefully as he began to ease out of her.

Unexpectedly, she clung to him, holding on to him with her arms around his back and her legs around his hips. “You wouldn’t go now, would you?” she whispered. She sounded almost frightened. “Stay with me. Make love to me again; sleep with me.”

With her words, her body began to move, undulating on his shaft, and of course, he moved with her. She smiled, spurring him on with her blatant triumph. “I think I’ve had more sex with you tonight than I’ve had in the rest of my life put together.”

“It’s about the quality as well as the quantity, you know.”

She bit his shoulder, caressing his skin with her lips, as her hands slid down to his buttocks, drawing him closer into her. “The quality seems just fine to me. I suppose you would get pretty good at sex after three hundred years.”

“You learn a lot,” he admitted, holding the pace, keeping it slow and gentle. “You learn that there’s more to good sex than technique. Although,” he added, giving her the slower version of the little twist she loved, “that’s bound to help. Have you ever been fucked to sleep before, Serafina?”

Something like a strangled laugh escaped her. She was exhausted and yet craving more of him. He was almost scared by how much he liked that knowledge.

“No,” she managed. “And I can’t imagine I ever will be. Unless it’s really boring sex.”

“Am I boring you?”

“Oh no,” she said fervently. “I can’t believe how often we’ve done this. I should be dead of sex.”

“No, you should just be asleep. Close your eyes; let me do the work. I’m told the happiest sleeps come when you drift off in orgasm.”

“That isn’t possible.”

“Believe,” he said, watching her eyes close. He kissed her eyelids and her lips, softly, gently rocking her toward orgasm. It must have been like a dream to her by the time she came. He felt her convulse around him, was smugly pleased by the smile on her lips as the last fringes of sleep fell over her.

A good man, he supposed, a gentleman, would civilly leave her body at this point to enjoy its sleep in peace. But Blair was a vampire, and, worse, a vampire damnably aroused by what he’d just done to her. Close as he was, he took all his weight on his elbows and helped himself to few more gentle thrusts, until he too fell into delicious climax. Since she was already used to the motion, it didn’t wake her, and afterward, it felt good to lie between her legs, still inside her body, and watch her sleep.

****

There was a new sort of pleasure too in observing the muted sun rise through the filter of her bedroom curtains, while she slept on, curled against his shoulder. But Blair was not a being who wallowed in either happiness or pain. Since her closeness seemed to numb his brain, he got up from the bed to think.

Pacing through the flat, he encountered his clothes in the living room and put them on while he bent his mind to the problem of Nicholas Smith and the banking vampires. He rather admired their bold plan, and the results would certainly make for a different world—no mean outcome for a bored, three-hundred-year-old vampire.

On the other hand, he didn’t care to share or to bow to the wishes of weaker vampires. And there was the promise he’d once made to Ailis. What was best for the community? The question made him uneasy, even though it was all that had kept him alive in recent years.

Hell, exactly how bored had he been since the banking vampires had come on the scene? They’d intrigued and annoyed him and led him to a strange, sweet psychic lover, a woman with whom he could communicate just as if she were a vampire.

Oh no, mind off Serafina. She’d only lead him back to sex and brain numbness. He wandered through to the messy kitchen and set about making coffee. While he waited for it, he thought and absently tidied a bit; then, when the coffee was ready, he paced through the flat, still thinking. Outside, the city had come to life. Car engines mingled with people’s voices and thousands of footsteps as humanity began its working day. Such everyday sounds had always been part of his life, and yet he was isolated from them, as all his kind were.

Except the new vampires like Jason, already at work in his office. Unnatural.

He heard people enter Serafina’s office below and supposed Sera herself should be down there with them. However, he preferred her where she was. She needed sleep, and plenty good food and drink to replace the blood he’d taken from her last night. No biting today, he thought regretfully, although another fuck would be nice…

A loud but perfunctory knock sounded at the door between the flat and the office. An instant later, the door opened, and someone ran lightly upstairs. A woman. Blair stopped pacing and glanced over his shoulder at the living room door. A rather pretty blonde head appeared round it, followed by a vaguely familiar girl. She’d been with Sera at the Bells’ party.

“Sera? Are you…?” She caught sight of Blair and stopped dead. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I’m Blair. Who the fuck are you?” he returned pointlessly, because obviously she couldn’t hear him.

“Where’s Sera?” she asked in panic, perhaps because he hadn’t answered her and she was wondering whether he was a robber or an axe murderer.

Blair took pity on her and jerked his head toward the bedroom. Watching him all the time, the blond girl circled warily around him, then bolted past him into the bedroom.

“Sera? Sera, wake up! Are you okay?”

Some sort of sleepy, leave-me-alone noises came from Sera, followed by more urgent commands from the other girl. Blair strolled toward the bedroom and leaned in the doorframe to watch.

Sera’s friend sat on the bed, tugging and shoving at Sera’s shoulder. Sera herself had managed to lift her head from the pillow to say comfortably, “More sleep.”

“No more sleep, Sera,” the girl said sternly. “It’s after nine. Who’s the dude?”

“What dude?” Sera yawned, struggling into a sitting position. “Oops,” she added, discovering she was naked, and hauled the quilt up for modesty.

“There’s a strange man in your flat. Did you know?”

To Blair’s delight, Sera looked over her friend’s shoulder and smiled at him. “Oh yes. It’s Blair.”

Blair could only see the back of the other woman’s head, but he could imagine her shocked expression, if it matched the sudden rigidity of her back or the sudden increase in anxiety that radiated from her like an explosion.

“Blair?” she repeated, clearly appalled. Her head moved, and Blair knew she was taking in the rumpled state of the bed, adding it to her observation that Blair hadn’t been wearing shoes when they’d met and multiplying the whole by Sera’s sleepiness. “Sera, you bloody idiot, you didn’t, did you?”

The smile faded into something like guilt. The other girl pushed Sera’s head ungently from side to side as if looking for puncture marks. Blair curled his lips. Any wounds created by him would have healed long since.

“Get off, Jilly,” Sera muttered. “I’m getting up. I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

The girl—Jilly—stood up. “What about him?” she asked aggressively, jerking her head in Blair’s direction. “Shouldn’t he go away?”

“He can’t, can he? It’s daylight.” At least she didn’t sound disappointed.

With quite obvious bravery, Jilly stormed up to him, her eyes narrowed and spitting with anger. “If you’ve hurt one hair on her head,” she began.

“For God’s sake, Jilly, he hasn’t,” Sera fumed. “Stop the mother-hen act! I can take care of myself!”

She couldn’t, of course. Not against him. And neither could Jilly, although he suspected that together they presented a pretty formidable opposition to the rest of the world. But at least Sera recognized that he was not, at this moment, a threat to either of them. Jilly barged past him.

He glanced over at Sera, twitching his eyebrows, and she gave him a slightly shy, rueful smile. “I need to shower and dress,” she said.

“I think you should eat first. You’ll be dizzy.”

“Don’t be daft,” she scoffed, swinging her legs out of the bed and wriggling forward. “Woo.” She held on to the bed to steady herself. “Shit. What’s the matter with me?”

“Blood loss. I took too much.”

She touched her forehead, rubbing it gently. “Bastard,” she said without heat.

He walked over and lifted the fruit juice from the bedside table where he’d left it earlier. “Drink that. I’ll get you some sweet tea and breakfast. You’ll be okay then, if you take it easy for a couple of days.”

Obediently, she took the glass from his hand and drank half of it down without drawing breath. Then, lowering the glass, she glanced up at him. “You don’t seem very apologetic,” she observed.

In truth, he wasn’t. But the implication of her own regret hurt far more than it should. “Should I be saying sorry?” he asked lightly.

She stared at him, then slowly shook her head. Something like a laugh spilled from her throat. “No. Just don’t do it again.” She lifted the glass to her lips once more and drained it.

Blair left the room to make tea, but he discovered Jilly was before him, banging about in Sera’s kitchen. He watched for a few moments. When he came right in, she shrank away from him and frowned in obvious incomprehension as he spooned sugar into one of the cups.

By this time, the sounds of the shower could be heard from the bathroom. Blair politely handed Jilly the cup for Sera. She seemed almost mesmerized as she took it and scuttled out of the kitchen.

Blair rummaged for a suitable breakfast.

****

Some of it was probably blood loss, but Sera felt oddly numb as she showered and dressed. Somewhere, although her body ached from all the sex it had enjoyed last night, a warm, cozy glow burned, but she was too tired to analyze it. What she’d done last night, what Blair had done to her, almost felt like someone else’s story. But he was still here, in her flat. It had still been dark when she’d fallen asleep. It wasn’t far to his own place, and at the speed he moved, he could easily have made it home before dawn. He’d chosen not to, and she liked that. She liked it too much, considering he was a powerful, murderous being who’d drunk her blood without compunction and to whom one night of sex among centuries was a mere drop in the ocean.

Oh, but it had been good sex. And he’d liked it. He’d kept coming back for more. Was that why he was still here?

Her body flushed all over at the possibility, and she had to sit down on the edge of the bath to finish drying. Overcome with a shyness that was ridiculous after last night’s uninhibited debauchery, she’d taken a pair of jeans and a shirt into the bathroom with her.

“Sera, there’s a cup of tea on the table,” Jilly called to her. “Do you want me to stay? He‘s still here!”

“No, you’re fine. I’ll be down in ten minutes,” she called back.

Emerging, fully dressed apart from socks and shoes, she found a plate of bacon, egg, toast, and tomato on the table. Beside it was another glass of orange juice, a cup of tea, and a large chunk of melon.

Her stomach rumbled. “Tea indeed!” she murmured, smiling, before she realized Blair was standing at the window—the curtains were still shut—watching her. Her stomach flipped. He was one sexy devil, even dressed and barefoot. She swallowed. “How fab is Jilly?” she said lightly and sat down to tuck in.

Blair walked to the table and sat in the chair beside her. His knee didn’t touch hers, but she had the sudden urge to close the distance.

He said, “I declared against Smith’s vampires last night. They may consider it negotiation, which gives us time. But it may, by association, have put you in danger from them. I’ll be around at night, but in daytime, you have to remember that Smith doesn’t need the dark to operate.”

Sera waved her fork and swallowed. “I don’t believe he’ll hurt me. Can his vampires hurt you?”

“If there are enough of them, yes. And they’re creating more every day. I need more information before I can decide what to do.”

She frowned, reaching for the teacup. “We have to oppose them. We can’t allow them to dominate humans like that, use us as animals for feeding purposes and slaves while they hog all the wealth.”

“You speak like a human,” he mocked.

She took a sizeable swallow and laid down the cup. “Funnily enough, I am human.”

“I’m not.”

Her fork hovered over the final piece of bacon. She stared at him. “You wouldn’t go along with it, would you? Not now…” She bit her lip as if she’d said too much.

She had. She could see the implication register in his dark, fathomless eyes. Not now that we’ve had such fantastic sex. Would he imagine she’d done it to bribe him? Had she? Certainly she’d been very conscious of a desire to have him on her side. Because without him, they didn’t stand a chance against the other vampires. But the sex, the surrender, had been about pure lust. And this strange warmth still clinging to the region of her heart.

How the hell could she tell him that?

In any case, did it matter if he wouldn’t be on her side after all? Would she have to fight him too? How did she do that?

Grabbing the last piece of toast from her plate, she stood up, muttering, “I have to go.”

She couldn’t look at him, just walked swiftly to the door, a working girl late for work. It was good to have a role. She didn’t hear or see him move, but he was there at the door before her.

“Be careful,” he warned.

She nodded, raising her eyes from her chest to his face.

His lips quirked. “I’ll make inquiries.”

“So will I.”

He touched her face, tilted it up for his kiss. Her stomach melted, even before his lips touched hers. Sweet, and definitely too short. Then she was clattering downstairs to the office. She felt human again.

Chapter Twelve

While Elspeth bolted across to the shop to replace the bottle of vodka currently residing beside Sera’s bed, Jilly glared at Jack until he looked up from whatever it was he was reading.

“She’s been with Blair again,” Jilly said abruptly. “Last night. He’s still upstairs.”

Jack glanced upward as if he could see through the ceiling for proof. “Is that—safe?” he asked,

“Of course, it’s not bloody safe!” Jilly exploded. “The question is, what the hell do we do about it?”

“I don’t really see that there’s anything we can do, except keep an eye on them both. From what she’s said, whatever his reasons, Blair appears to be on our side.” He hesitated, even removed his spectacles for an unnecessary polish. He obviously knew he was on thorny ground and about to step on territory sacrosanct to Sera and Jilly, from which he was normally and quite rightly excluded. “Is she having some kind of relationship with him?”

Jilly nodded curtly. “Think so.”

“Phew.” Jack let out his breath in a rush. “Heavy. Makes any interference counterproductive.”

Jilly widened her eyes at such unexpected common sense. She always thought of Jack as an upper-class oddity, avoiding the reality of his own wealthy, high-achieving world by playing in one he didn’t really understand.

Jack put his glasses back on, and for once, Jilly let him speak. “I think we just have to be there for her. And warn the bastard that she’s not alone and that if he does her any harm whatsoever, somehow we’ll manage to stake him to hell.”

Jilly stared at him, but he didn’t back down. She grinned. “That’s the first time you’ve ever spoken like a sensible man.”

“Stop, Jilly,” Sera said, coming through from the inner office. “Such exaggerated praise is liable to go to his head. What’s happening?”

“Nothing much,” Jilly said. She decided not to care whether or not Sera had overheard her and Jack. In fact it would be good if she had—might wake her up to her own idiocy. “Elspeth’s gone for vodka, I mean milk, and as you asked, we’ve been researching a bit deeper into your Nicholas Smith. His name crops up in the membership of several groups and societies—what would you call them, Jack?”

“Esoteric,” Jack supplied mildly.

“Aye, what he said. Anyway, they’re to do with pretty heavy magic, witchcraft, Satanism, that kind of thing.”

“Yes?” Sera eased her hip onto Jilly’s desk. She looked better than she had in the flat—well, who looked good when they first woke up? “That fits with what I heard, that he’s a ‘real’ sorcerer.”

“Does any of that stuff work?” Jack asked, almost apologetically. “Or is it just a symptom of the way he thinks, the power he’s looking for and found with the vampires?”

“Oh, some of it works. Some of it definitely works. Trust me, a friend of mine is a witch.”

“Mel,” Jilly remembered. Melanie Merrow had flickered erratically in and out of Sera’s life since childhood. Jilly had once wondered if, young as she was, Mel was Sera’s real mother, but Sera had laughed so hard at this speculation that Jilly had been forced reluctantly to drop the dream. Mel would have been a good mother to have. Or at least better than a drug addict who abandoned her baby at a clinic or whatever other wild or pathetic stories Sera produced for the entertainment of others. “Scary woman,” she observed.

“Very knowledgeable woman.” Sera frowned, staring at Jilly without really seeing her. “Why does he smell like me?” she said inexplicably. She stood up, reaching for the phone in her pocket. “I think I need to see Mel about many things.”

****

Although she was still pissed off at Ferdy, she’d be driving so close by his house on her way to visit Melanie that she decided to call in. There were more important things bothering her, personal things, like what she’d done with Blair last night and which way Blair would jump. And how she was going to feel about both of those things when he did.

Before she left, she ran back up to the flat to fetch the Christmas present she’d bought for Mel last year. And although it was only half an hour since she’d seen him last, her heart beat like a teenager’s on a first date with her long-time crush.

Silence rang in her ears. There was no sign of him in the living room. She could almost imagine he’d gone, had somehow found a way to leave in daylight, except the whole flat resonated with his personality. No echo of presence but the real thing. Slowly, she followed her instinct to the bedroom and found him lying stretched out on her bed, still clothed, staring at the ceiling. He looked dead.

“Blair?” She rushed over to him, wondering wildly if some ray of daylight had seeped through the curtain and zapped him. Though, of course, his body would have disintegrated, wouldn’t it? She grabbed his arm. “Blair!”

And suddenly he wasn’t on the bed but in the doorway, both hands raised in self-defense. His eyes were steely, murderous, just as she’d seen him in the car park, a timely reminder—or was it too late?—of the nature of the being she’d welcomed to her bed. And yet in the time she took to register this, he was already lowering his arms to his sides. The vicious glare faded from his eyes.

“Serafina.”

“Were you asleep?” she asked in disbelief.

His lips quirked. “I had a busy night.”

Her face, her entire body flushed, and yet beyond her own memory and embarrassment, she recognized that she’d found his vulnerability, that he knew it and didn’t like it. “Normally, I’m aware while I rest.”

“But you didn’t even hear me come in.”

“No, I didn’t,” he acknowledged, his voice very carefully even. “It seems I don’t register you as a threat.”

“Not sure that’s a compliment,” she said ruefully. His eyes lightened, seemed to smile, and her breath caught. She wanted to walk into his arms and hug him. She wanted to fall onto the bed with him and repeat all the things they’d done last night. Instead, she spun the other way, opening the wardrobe door to rummage for the wrapped Christmas gift. It was a small parcel—a ring—so it was difficult to locate. “I’m going to see my witch friend. She lives near Loch Lomond, so I’ll be gone most of the day.”

Finally retrieving the ring box, she shoved the fallen things back in and closed the door. “Nicholas Smith is into magic—real magic, like Phil said, not conjuring. Jilly found stuff on the Internet.”

He hadn’t moved, just continued to watch her. She drew in her breath and walked toward him. “I can trust you, can’t I, not to touch my friends?” She brushed his hand lightly. It might have been casual, almost accidental, but Blair would know better.

His mouth tugged upward on one side. He said nothing. His mind was as silent as his lips.

“Can’t I?” she repeated with a shade of desperation. “Blair, please!”

“What do you take me for? A trained animal?”

Uncomprehending, she frowned.

He leaned closer. She could smell him, earth and spice and sex on legs. “Don’t make that mistake,” he whispered. “I’m not trained at all.”

She snatched her hand away from his as if it burned her, but he moved faster, grasping her wrist and yanking her close into his body. Remembering and yearning, she found her gaze riveted on his lips, so close to hers they were almost touching. Her nipples, pressed into his chest, ached for attention. Between her legs pooled the moist warmth of sexual arousal, made all the more intense by the feel of his erection growing against her stomach.

“I have no interest in drinking your friends.” His words seemed to echo around her mind with contempt. “I am quite capable of finding my own supper.”

Only pride stopped her struggling in his hold. As if he felt it, he smiled and ran one finger down the artery in her neck. She gasped without meaning to. And he released her, walking past her to flop back down on the bed. This time, he closed his eyes.

Sera felt like a disciplined child. And she had never taken well to discipline. It didn’t help that he spoke the truth.

“Sleep well,” she said nastily and marched out of the room without looking back. It was tempting to slam the doors as she left, but she refused to give him the satisfaction.

****

Dropping in on the Bells, she was surprised to be ushered into their sitting room by Ferdy. Under the stark wooden cross on the wall sat Mrs. Bell, a tired, worried smile on her pale lips. Shit, who was she to get angry with people suffering like these two?

“I thought you were running away with us last night,” Ferdy said as she sat down. “How did you get away?”

“I had friends there with—er—a getaway vehicle.”

Mrs. Bell stood abruptly. “Cup of tea, Miss MacBride?”

“No thanks. I can’t stay long.”

“We need to know which vampire you killed last night,” Ferdy said in a rush.

Mrs. Bell sat back down. “Was it Jason?” she blurted.

“No, it wasn’t Jason,” Sera said quietly, and Mrs. Bell dropped her head into her hands.

“It would be so much better if it had been Jason,” she wept. “And yet I’m glad; I’m glad.”

Sera stared at her, frozen by the conflict suddenly tearing her apart. The Bells needed closure, to grieve for the death of their son and begin to move on, to cope with life without him. And yet Jason wasn’t just dead; he was undead. Like Blair.

She was right—she was sure she was right—to fight the takeover bid of the banking vampires. But was it right to kill them? Would it be right to kill Blair? “I’m not trained at all… I’m quite capable of finding my own supper.”

Somehow, murmuring soothing inanities, she managed to get out of the house and back into her car to begin the drive across to Loch Lomond. She hoped Melanie had some answers for her, but because right now, she was struggling to know anything at all.

****

Blair was no knight in shining armor.

He’d never wanted to be. Or had he? He had some vague recollection, hundreds of years old, of a boy desperate to save his mother the killing drudgery of work in the factory by obtaining food and clothes for her, some luxury to make her happy again. If the memory was true, he’d failed utterly, because the poor woman had died of exhaustion within two years of coming to Glasgow. Knights in shining armor didn’t pick pockets or suck blood from strangers. They didn’t cheat bartenders and prostitutes or consider betraying the trust of girls they seduced. In fact, he was pretty sure they didn’t go in for seduction at all.

But then, they weren’t real. They’d never existed in that sense and never would. He’d found that out even before his mother died, so exactly why he wanted to be Serafina MacBride’s knight in shining armor, he really had no idea.

It wasn’t as if she trusted him or expected anything of him.

Did she?

He shifted restlessly on the bed. Why the hell did she? She knew what he was.

No, she doesn’t. She didn’t realize vampires existed until three nights ago, and she knows nothing about me except she likes me to fuck her. No damsel in distress. No knights. Just sort it out, and stop being an arse.

One way or another, it was probably going to come to a fight, in which case, he might well need support. He could summon them all, every vampire in the United Kingdom, including those who’d never crossed his path. It was within his power and, in Ailis’s absence, his right. However, with at least one older vampire still left in the banking camp, he preferred not to risk a general call being picked up. Besides, quality not quantity was what counted here.

To start with, he reached out with his mind to Scotland’s largest city, to the old, silent building which, only a few hours before, would have been vibrating to the blare of human music. As always when he contacted Davie, he could almost smell the stale alcohol, feel the human pleasure and slightly squalid excitement of the nightclub where he’d chosen to hang out lately. He was, officially, the caretaker. He had a tiny flat at the top of the building and even received a pittance of a paycheck, which was quite an achievement for a vampire. It certainly amused Davie no end. He wasn’t there for the money but for the easy nighttime access to human blood.

“Blair?” Davie acknowledged in some surprise. He didn’t trouble hiding his location or his occupation. He rarely did. He lay naked in his own bed between the legs of an equally naked young woman. Her improbably red hair was wildly rumpled and her makeup smudged. A narrow trickle of blood ran down her neck, which wasn’t surprising, since Davie was drinking from her semiconscious body. He saw no reason to stop in order to talk to Blair. “What d’you want?”

“I’m giving you warning. I might need you to come to Edinburgh at short notice.”

“What for?” Davie asked with a spark of interest, though not enough to detach him from the girl’s vein.

Blair said, “To fight.”

Davie stopped sucking. He even sat up while the girl fell back into a deeper sleep. “Now that’s funny, since the last time I saw you, you were beating the crap out of me for—oh aye, fighting.”

“That was different,” Blair said serenely. “You were drawing human attention to yourself and therefore to the rest of us.”

“And your fight won’t?”

“It might,” Blair admitted. “But there may be no other option. This threatens all of us. You have to be ready to drop everything as soon as I give the word.”

“That right?” Davie sneered.

“Yes. That’s right.”

Davie shrugged, mentally and physically. “Better get my energy levels up then,” he said and bent over the sleeping girl once more. She moaned as Davie sank his fangs back into her throat.

Vaguely, as he left Davie to his breakfast, Blair wondered how long she’d been there, but he wasn’t particularly worried. This was what passed as a relationship in Davie’s world. A girl he preyed upon first in the club, now in thrall to him, supplying him with regular blood and sex. She probably never left his room. When he was done, or she was, he would feed her up a bit and send her home with little memory of anything except a few nights of debauchery.

It was a simple life for a vampire. Blair had done similar things on several occasions. And for all the girl slept in his bed, Davie was preserving vampire isolation far more efficiently than Blair was right now.

Sera in his bed for days on end, in thrall to him. He couldn’t deny its appeal, and yet he couldn’t quite imagine it. While one part of him wanted it quite fiercely, another part rebelled because he couldn’t bear the idea of Sera in thrall. She was too rare. He wanted her willing, passionate, desperate, as she’d been last night.

“You wouldn’t go now, would you?” she’d whispered. “Stay with me.”

What the hell was he getting into here? Abruptly, he rose from the bed, away from her insidious, intoxicating scent, and paced through to the living room. It was more than time for a dose of sanity.

“Phil.”

“Ah, Blair. I thought you’d burned up with the dawn.”

“No, you didn’t. What’s happening?”

“Nothing. I’m contemplating my navel. Good night?”

“Perfect, thank you,” Blair said impatiently. “Did our friends make any further moves last night?”

“Well, some of them went out hunting. One killed someone, stupid bastard. A couple broke into New Register House in Prince’s Street—”

“They what?”

“Bizarre, isn’t it?”

“Serafina,” Blair said. “They’re looking for some record of Serafina.”

“It’s a bit of a jump, assumption-wise,” Phil pointed out. “Besides, can’t you do all that sort of thing online these days?”

“Not all.” He thought for a moment. He’d begun to think that Sera was right, that the new vampires’ mutations weren’t down to too distant descent from the Founder after all. “Magic, Phil,” he said abruptly. “Who among your acquaintances practices magic?”

“No one,” Phil said in surprise. “That’s one thing the Founder never passed on to us.”

****

Melanie had recently renovated and united two old cottages by the side of a small loch a few miles from Loch Lomond. Being Mel, she’d chosen a place well off the beaten track, on the end of a bumpy, single-track road.

As Sera pulled off the road and got out of her car, she saw that Melanie had also chosen a place of spectacular beauty, even under gray skies. There were woods and hills on two sides, and on the third, across the smooth, glinting water you got a glimpse of the much larger Loch Lomond and more hills beyond.

She heard the door of the cottage open and felt the warmth that was Melanie. She smiled without turning.

“You like my spot?” Melanie asked.

“It’s beautiful.” She turned at last to face her friend. Mel looked good, as she always did, all dark red hair and luminous green eyes. Bone structure to die for. She looked relaxed and content and pleased to see her. “How in the world did you find it?”

Mel wiggled her eyebrows. “Magic.”

“Really?”

“Nah. It was in the Glasgow Solicitors’ Property paper. Come in before the rain starts again.” Mel took her arm, gave it a little hug as they walked together toward the cottage. She wasn’t a demonstrative person, and Sera always valued her outward signs of affection. “How’s the world of psychic research?”

“Crazy,” Sera said ruefully.

Mel cast her a sardonic glance. “Get away.”

Sera laughed. “Seriously. Way beyond cranks and ghosts and poltergeists and people who want to prove I’m scamming them.”

“Do they do much of that?”

“I’ve had a few. I’ve even had a cop accuse me of preying on the grieving and the vulnerable.”

“I have to assume you’re not.”

Sera sighed. “I suppose it depends on your definition of grieving, vulnerable, and preying.”

“Finding it’s not all black and white?”

What Sera liked about Mel was that she never accused.

“It’s more complicated than I wanted it to be,” Sera confessed. “But that’s not my real problem.”

They entered the house, and with obvious pleasure, Melanie showed Sera around. Sera admired the original features and praised her friend’s tasteful and yet very Mel décor. After which, sitting at the dining table by a window overlooking the loch, they ate a rather delicious lunch that Mel claimed to have just thrown together.

“I’m going to leave Edinburgh and move out to the country,” Sera said, raising her glass in a toast. It was only orange juice, much to Melanie’s disappointment, but Sera was wary of the effect of wine on her after her blood loss. She used having to drive home as an excuse. “To your new house.”

“So,” Melanie asked after a little, “what is your real problem?”

It was what she’d come for, and yet now that the moment had arrived, she found herself curiously reluctant to go into it. The threat of the banking vampires, the mystery of Nicholas Smith, all faded into insignificance beside the one huge event of Blair, which she wasn’t yet ready to discuss with anybody. She doubted she ever would be.

“Vampires,” she said abruptly. “Do you know they actually exist?”

Prepared for several responses, including horror, ridicule, and pity, Sera was relieved when Melanie merely raised one intrigued eyebrow and murmured, “I have heard the odd whisper, though I’ve never encountered one myself.”

“What have you heard?” Sera asked curiously, helping herself to another of Melanie’s delicious cheese-and-spinach pies.

Melanie shrugged and reached for the bottle to top up her wine. “Nothing much. Rather mysterious, elusive beings, few in number, appallingly strong and absolutely deadly when riled. For the most part, they seem to prey secretly on the humans they live among, and rarely kill.”

Sera swallowed the last of her pie and, under Mel’s amused gaze, reached for yet another. “Did you ever hear whether or not they could talk? How they communicate among themselves or with humans?”

“I believe they’re telepathic. They don’t talk at all, at least not as we do.”

Sera nodded slowly, absently heaping two kinds of salad onto her plate. “That’s what I heard,” she agreed. “But recently, a new breed of vampire has appeared in Edinburgh—in alarming numbers, actually—and they can talk, just like we do. How do you suppose that could happen?”

Mel set down her glass, frowning. “I haven’t the foggiest idea, but I don’t like the sound of alarming numbers. Are they dangerous? And are you sure they’re vampires?”

“Yes to both. A couple of murders have been in the news. I think they’ve covered up a couple more. But they seem to be creating new creatures like themselves all the time—all from the financial industry. And they’re going back to work. They want to take over the running of all the country’s finances, siphon off wealth for themselves, and eventually reduce the role of humans to little more than slavery.”

Mel closed her mouth. “Yes, that is a real problem.”

“The other curious thing is—apparently, vamps don’t normally take to discipline. They’re free spirits, if you like. But these guys aren’t. They answer to a human.”

“What human?”

“Bloke called Nicholas Smith. Ever heard of him?”

Melanie closed her eyes tight, perhaps dredging her memory. “Not sure,” she said uncertainly.

“He does stage magic—mixture of conjuring and mind reading—under the name of Nick Black.”

Mel opened her eyes. “Ah. Now I know who you mean. I’ve even met him. He’s a member of WASA.”

“WASA,” Sera repeated, unable to stop herself from grinning.

“WASA,” Mel repeated sternly. “Witches’ and Sorcerers’ Association.”

It wasn’t really funny. Sera sobered and cleared out the salad bowl. “What can he actually do? I know he’s telepathic to some degree, but does he have other gifts? Like you? Can he—er—‘do’ magic?”

“I believe he’s quite strong.”

Sera glanced at her. “Stronger than you?”

“He’s older than me, been practicing for longer.”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Sera laid her knife and fork together and sat back.

“Coffee and walnut cake?” Mel offered.

“Ooh yes, please.”

While Mel took the used plates away, Sera tidied the leftovers and watched her surreptitiously. She sensed an unusual tension in her friend, a discomfort that wasn’t usually present between them. And if she had to put her finger on when this discomfort arose, she rather thought it was when she spoke the name Nicholas Smith. He worried Mel.

Over coffee and Mel’s mouth-wateringly gorgeous cake, Sera said, “Is there some kind of spell Smith could have put on these new vampires? To enable them to speak, to dominate them?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. There are spells for most things. It’s just a matter of finding out what they are and gathering the power to use them properly.” Mel cut another two slices of cake and placed one on each of their plates. “Nicholas Smith always had an eye for the main chance. Always looking for ways to make the power work for him. So, I can imagine he might well have expended a lot of energy to track down such a spell. Or simply to see its uses if he came across it by accident.”

Sera, still savoring cake and coffee on some level, set down her cup and asked, “Do you have any idea what such a spell might be?”

“No, and I wouldn’t want to either.”

“Then I don’t suppose there’s a simple counter-spell to break it either? Not even an all-purpose, any-spell breaker?”

“You’re talking complicated magic here, Sera. Nothing will be simple. And even if the spell could be broken, you’d still be left with all those indiscreet vampires without even a leader to control them. I really don’t like the sound of any of this. Why don’t you come and live here while we figure out what to do?”

“I’ve got clients in Edinburgh. And besides, I couldn’t leave the others at Serafina’s.”

“How are Jack and Jill?” Mel asked with a quick grin.

“Fine. They’re excellent researchers, but we need a prod in the right direction.”

“Leave it with me,” Mel said. “I’ll do some research of my own. How did you get involved with all this in the first place?”

So Sera told Melanie all about Ferdy Bell, making her smile over the garlic and crucifixes before she unfolded the tragedy of Jason and the investigation that followed. Although she kept mention of Blair to a minimum, she couldn’t tell the story without him, and Melanie seemed to be intrigued by him and Phil.

“I think they might be your answer,” she said. “Whatever their motives, their aim is the same as yours. Since they’re so much stronger than the new vampires, couldn’t they just kill them for us? Leave Smith with no army?”

“I thought of that, but as long as there’s still one of them, more can always be created. In any case, by now there are so many of them that together they’re actually stronger than Blair and Phil.” She paused, lifting her orange juice and rubbing her thumb over an invisible mark on the glass. “The other things is…I know they’re dead already, but once you meet them, they’re people. I’m not sure I could kill them. I’m not even sure it’d be right to kill them.”

She cast Mel an apologetic smile and put down her glass again. “The other other thing is, what’s to stop Smith repeating the same process somewhere else? We need to defeat him. Curtail his ability.”

Mel glanced at her sideways. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Oh yes. I just don’t know to accomplish it.”

“Let me look around my books and call on a few friends. It’ll take me a couple days at best, and there are no guarantees, but we should find something that would at least slow them down. Are you sure you won’t stay? You could help me.”

The anxiety in her voice warmed Sera. There had never been many people who actually cared what happened to her; it was one of the reasons she’d always valued Mel.

“The rain’s off,” Sera observed. “Shall we go for a walk? You can show me round the policies.”

Mel grinned and stood up.

Later, in the isolated peace of a nearby wood, Sera said, “How did you come into my life, Mel?”

Mel changed direction so that they could glimpse the rippling loch between the trees. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can’t actually remember when I first met you, or what the connection is between us. I just remember you showing up at odd moments of my childhood, bearing gifts or fun, sometimes at the home or at foster homes, and once you just appeared in the street. But we’ve never even talked about how we know each other. You’re not a secret social worker are you?”

Mel smiled. “No. No, I’m not.”

Sera brushed against a damp branch that spattered rainwater over them both. “Did you know my real family, Mel?”

“I knew some of them,” Mel said uncomfortably.

Sera paused and looked at her. “Is Nicholas Smith related to me?”

Mel’s eyes dropped, then lifted again. She was the one person Sera trusted without touch. Well, maybe her and Jilly. To check on either seemed like a betrayal.

Mel said, “Not to my knowledge.”

There was relief in that, although she didn’t quite understand why. She pushed it aside.

“Why do you ask that?” Mel wanted to know.

Sera shrugged. “He’s telepathic. Apparently, he smells like me. Perhaps all psychic people smell like that to a vampire. Melanie…did you know my parents?”

Melanie took a few moments to answer. They were walking clear of the woods now, and the view across the loch and the hills was spectacular. “I knew your mother,” she said at last. “I was very fond of her. Owed her, if you like. But I was only fourteen when she died. I couldn’t look after a newborn baby.”

There was no reason for Sera’s throat to close up. None at all, unless it was in appreciation of Mel’s implied wish to adopt her. “She really died when I was born?” she managed.

Without looking at her, Mel reached out and took her hand. “Yes, she did. Massive blood clot, and she wasn’t at the hospital, so no one could save her in time.”

“Were you there?”

Mel shook her head.

My mother died alone with a tiny baby… And Sera’s birth must have caused the blood clot. She’d been right about that. Convulsively, without meaning to, she squeezed Melanie’s hand, and Mel returned the grip.

She already knew without telling that whoever the rest of her family were, they’d rejected her. There was no other reason for her to have been flung onto the mercy of the social care system. “And my father?”

“Your mother never told me who he was.” Releasing her hand, Mel bent and picked up a stone and hurled it into the loch. It seemed symbolic.

Chapter Thirteen

Blair wasn’t entirely surprised when he sensed the two people entering Sera’s flat through the office door. It was as good an excuse as any other to break off his frustrating telepathic conversation with his annoying “brother” Sebastian.

“I have to go,” he told him.

“Well, enjoy the mass slaughter.” Even telepathically, Sebastian could drawl in a way that made Blair want to smack him one. “Call me if you need a hand.”

“I won’t.” Ending the connection, Blair stood up to face his visitors.

It was the young man—Jack—who entered first, one hand in his pocket like a gangster letting everyone know he was armed. Close on his heels came Jilly, and, judging by the frown between her aggressively glaring eyes, her mood hadn’t softened any since the morning.

Blair stood perfectly still and inclined his head in polite greeting. Jilly ignored him, although Jack’s brows shot together in surprise. As if thrown, he nodded curtly.

“We want you to know that Sera is important to us,” he said sternly. “And we won’t allow you to cause her any harm. We’re watching, and believe me, there will be consequences.”

The girl nudged him with what looked like annoyance, and he added hastily, “Severe consequences.”

“We’ll stab you through the heart and cut your fucking head off,” Jilly explained.

Blair bowed ironically.

“Okay,” Jack said, as if that settled the matter. “Are you really on our side? Against Smith’s vampires?”

Again, Blair inclined his head. He left it to them to work out how ironic or not that was.

“I wish you could talk,” Jilly muttered.

“Oh, I doubt you do,” Blair thought as he met her gaze. Anger—semi-permanent anger—emanated from her in waves. Right now, much of it was of the mother-hen variety. She was genuinely scared for Sera, and Blair could sense the powerful ties that bound the two women. They’d stood together, looking after each other, since childhood, and behind her focus on himself, Blair picked up a load of images that explained it.

It was a bond from which the young man, Jack, was excluded. Jilly resented him as an interloper and yet valued his alliance now. And interestingly, her mother-hen blanket of angry protection extended over him too.

Blair felt her sudden blast of fear. She dragged her gaze free, gasping. “Are you reading my mind, you bastard?”

Blair didn’t move. She and Jack exchanged surreptitious glances. Perhaps even the human read the desperation in Jilly’s eyes, for he spoke with a stern dignity that wasn’t entirely laughable.

“Just so long as you know. She’s not alone. And we won’t stand by if you so much as look as if you’re going to hurt her.”

They glared at him some more as if they expected him to argue the point. Blair thought of advancing on them, just for purposes of entertainment, but scaring Sera’s friends was not really part of his plan at this stage, so he simply stood still and gazed from one face to the other until Jilly swung around and walked out of the room. Jack followed with a curt nod.

The trouble with humans was, they came with a lot of other humans by way of baggage. Which was one reason relationships with them rarely worked. A vampire needed solitude, freedom. The idea of being hemmed in not just by a lover’s expectations but by the expectations of all her family and friends was, frankly, appalling.

And yet she still intrigued him. He was impatient for her to come back. There were more things he wanted to do to her delectable body. And she smelled so good…

He was growing hard just thinking about her. He began to pace the room once more, feeling like a large, restless animal in a cage that was too small. He wanted blood, and he wanted Sera. He could do something about the former, at least, if he could just find a safe way out of here.

****

It was heading toward eight by the time Sera pushed open the door of Serafina’s, but Jilly, Jack, and Elspeth were all still there.

“I thought you’d have gone home,” she said in surprise. “You didn’t need to wait for me.”

Jilly gave her a significant look and jerked her head at the ceiling. The meaning was clear. They weren’t leaving the place while Blair was in residence upstairs. Sera, who’d had to force herself not to go to the flat first, could have told them he wasn’t there anymore, anyway. Or at least she could sense no more than an echo.

“How did it go with Melanie?” Jack asked. “Did you learn anything?”

“Not really. She knows who Smith is, and she seemed to think it might be possible he was controlling the vampires through magic. But she’s going to do research of her own and get back to us. She seemed hopeful. Anything happening here?”

“A couple of new clients,” Elspeth said. “I’ve booked initial appointments. And Dianne Thomson invited you to her dinner party and wants you to conduct a séance afterward.”

Dianne Thomson was a local celebrity and news reader. She paid good money. “We’ll do it,” Sera said.

“Oh, and that policeman was back looking for you. PC McGowan.”

Sera frowned. “What did he want?”

“He didn’t say. Actually, he looked relieved when I said you were out of town for the day.”

“I’m sure he’ll catch up with me eventually. Nothing else? Good, let’s all go home. I’ll lock up.”

She shooed them all toward the door, pretending to be oblivious to Jilly’s frowns and Jack’s hisses, although in the end, they only gave in when Elspeth had left, and Sera said, “He’s gone, okay?”

“Gone where?” Jack demanded.

“He can’t have,” Jilly said. “It’s not dark yet.”

Sera shrugged. “I’m sure he has ways of getting around.

Jilly gave her a skeptical glance. “What, through ancient sewer systems?”

“For all I know, yes. Though he seems more a smoking-blanket type to me. Shove off, and I’ll see you both in the morning.” She was about to close the door on their reluctantly retreating backs when she remembered. “Jilly?”

Jilly glanced back.

“Thanks for breakfast.”

Jilly smiled sourly. “I’d like to say you’re welcome, but actually, it wasn’t me.”

Blair? Sera thought, stunned as she finally let the door shut. Blair made me breakfast? It almost made up for him not being there now.

She spent five minutes pottering around the office, signing a couple of checks Elspeth had left out for her and taking a note of the new clients for research purposes. What she really wanted to do was go up to the flat and soak in the bath for an hour. After which she’d make herself sexy and beautiful, just in case Blair came back.

“Sad old bat,” she told herself crossly. But the bath still sounded appealing. She grabbed her jacket and bag off the desk just as the outer door opened.

“Sorry, we’re closed for the day,” she said politely but firmly as she turned to face the man in the doorway.

Nicholas Smith stepped inside and closed the door. “It isn’t a professional call.”

Sera listened to the beat of her own heart. Every sense was on high alert as she scanned for any sign of vampire presence. But, of course, as Jilly had pointed out, it was too early for vampires.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Smith said. “I’m quite alone.” And strangely enough, she felt no sense of threat from him; she never had. Blair had said he was hypnotizing or mind controlling her in some way, and he was probably right. She had to be on her guard every instant, be aware of herself as well as of everything around her.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

“May we talk?”

“Sure.” She leaned her hip against the desk behind her but didn’t invite him to sit.

He didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he looked around the office, glancing through the open door into the inner office as he remarked, “Nice premises. I’ve been making enquiries about you, Sera—may I call you Sera?”

“Sure,” she said again. She smiled. “Nick.”

“I see. We’ve both been researching. I find you interesting on many levels, but since we barely know each other, I’d like to concentrate on the business angle.” He grinned openly. “My dear girl, you have a fine scam going here, with just enough genuine stuff in the mix to promote your reputation above the norm. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I think.”

“Oh yes, it is a compliment. Which is why I’ve come to talk to you today. You don’t object to making a little money, do you, Sera?”

“Who does?”

“Exactly. I don’t know how much you’ve worked out for yourself, but you should be aware I am in the process of acquiring a little money myself.” He smiled. “But why be modest? I’m in the process of acquiring a huge amount of money. A lifetime’s inexhaustible supply, in fact.”

Steeling herself, she gazed directly and deeply into Smith’s eyes. “Wouldn’t that get boring for a man like you?” she asked lightly.

“Oh no. A redistribution of so much wealth must change society and government, and I plan to have rather more influence on those things than I do now. That too comes with wealth and could never be boring.”

“Let’s be clear here, Nick,” she said carefully. “Are you planning on governing vampires or humans? And if the latter, do you really imagine there will be many humans left to govern while your vampires are running riot through the country?”

“The balance will be altered,” he confessed. “But I don’t foresee the extinction of humanity or anything like it.”

“Don’t you?” she said, fascinated in spite of herself.

“The killings are accidental,” he said sadly. “They’ll learn in time. They do understand they’re not meant to kill unless I say.”

Thoughtfully, Sera swung her foot, brushing it against the leg of the desk. “Aren’t you at all afraid they’ll turn on you? You must know they’re not famed for obedience or disciplined living.”

His lips twitched with genuine amusement. “No, I’m not afraid. I’m in control, you see.”

“But for how much longer?” It was a shot in the dark, but she pushed it home anyway. “Isn’t there some limit to numbers or distances you can influence?”

He didn’t quite like that. She could sense that much. In fact, without touching him, she was pretty sure he planned to lie. Then he said reluctantly, “There may be a limit. If so, it won’t matter. I still have the nucleus of my own vampires to protect me.”

She held his gaze. “And who will protect everyone else?”

“That isn’t our problem.”

“Our?” she pounced. “Whose is ‘our’?”

“Yours and mine,” he said steadily. “That’s my offer, Sera. I’ll cut you in.”

She stared at him. He lifted his hand, offering it to her. She didn’t know if she was meant to shake on the deal or confirm the truth of his offer through touch. Did he really know that much about her? She reached out and grasped not his fingers but his wrist.

“I’ll cut you in,” he repeated.

It was no lie. He meant it. But her head felt suddenly heavy. She was getting lost in his eyes. Until she worked out what was happening and threw him out.

“Just testing,” he said, unabashed as she let his hand drop back to his side. “I didn’t think I could influence you, and I can’t. But my offer stands.”

“Why?” she demanded. “You’ve got it made, apparently. What good could I do you?” Enlightenment dawned, and she laughed. “You think I’ll bring Blair. You want Blair on your side because he can kill your vampires as easily as you or I breathe.”

“I’d welcome Blair,” he admitted. “He has power and influence among the older vampires. His compliance, or at least nonaggression, would be a distinct advantage. And I certainly can’t compel him.”

“Well, neither can I,” Sera said dryly.

“I think you underestimate yourself. You were the deciding factor last night. But in any case, Blair is purely secondary, a fringe benefit, if you like, to my offer.”

“Why?” she asked again. And this time let him come up with his own answers.

He said, “I find I want you to be safe. If you’re with me, I can keep you safe.”

She blinked. “Why?” she asked for the third time. “What the hell’s so special about me? You obviously don’t give a shite about all those other people you’re feeding to your tame vampires.”

“You know,” Smith said.

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“Sera, you’re my daughter.”

Once, long ago, when she’d been very young, she’d lain awake at night imagining scenarios like this, when some kind, handsome man radiating security and happiness would come and claim her as his daughter. She’d dreamed of his sweeping her away from the institutionalized dullness of the home and from the hidden dislikes and cruelties of various foster homes. He’d even looked a little like Nicholas Smith. That was dreams for you.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not.”

“You are. I found your birth certificate.” He shoved some document in front of her eyes. The letters danced illegibly. She snatched it from him, blinking until she could take in the words. Serafina MacBride. Her date of birth. Mother: Rebecca Frances MacBride.

Rebecca.

She swallowed and dropped the paper on the desk. “Father conveniently blank. Insert as required. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why would I make it up?”

It was a good question, but she was in no mood to play. “Because you’re insane? How should I know?”

He leaned forward, all but peering at her. “You’ve never seen that before, have you? You didn’t even know her name.”

“Why should I? I’ve never needed it.”

“Weren’t you the least bit curious?”

“Why? The only thing they ever told me about her was that she was dead.”

“But you can talk to the dead.”

She didn’t mean to laugh, but it escaped anyway, short and strident and derisive. “Only those I don’t—” She broke off and straightened, brushing past him, but he wouldn’t make it easy for her.

“Only those you don’t love?”

Not Mattie. Not George. And certainly not her mother.

“I have no interest in my ancestry,” she said coldly. “I’ve made my own life.”

“Then choose to throw in your lot with me. Please, Sera. We have a lot to catch up on.”

Somewhere, she registered the genuine pleading in his voice, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough.

“Oh, you’re right there. Two children’s homes and five sets of crappy awful foster parents. So great catching up with you, Dad. Run along and play with your vampires.”

There was silence. Then he said uncertainly, “They can’t all have been crappy awful.”

“No,” she admitted. “I just didn’t like most of them, and the feeling was pretty much mutual. And of course, there was Mattie and George. They were great. But Mattie went and died, and they wouldn’t let me stay with George anymore because he was a lone male.” She wouldn’t, couldn’t, go into what this separation had done to the already devastated George, but she couldn’t prevent the images flashing into her mind of his slow deterioration, so obvious to her every time she ran away to him. And yet they wouldn’t let her look after him, comfort him.

She kept the cynical twist to her lips and moved on. “So they gave me into the care of some other bastard who hit me and then charged me with assault. Happy days. So yes, thanks for bringing up the family connections, Nick, but frankly, I’d be more inclined to ally with Jack the fucking Ripper than my old dad.”

It was more than she’d meant to say and far more than she usually let slip, but somehow, she felt bloody good spitting out the venom.

“You hate me for not being there,” he said. “It wasn’t my fault, Sera. Rebecca dumped me, said she didn’t want me to have anything to do with the baby.”

“Not surprised,” said Sera nastily.

He sighed. “Look. I know I should have taken my responsibilities a bit more seriously. I was young. But we can start afresh now. I knew as soon as I saw you at my door that night. You must have felt it too. I recognized you, wanted to look after you. It’s not too late for me to be a father to you.”

She almost laughed again. Instead, she turned and looked him in the eye. “My father’s dead,” she said deliberately. George, her only true father, had died years ago. She’d never had the courage to find out if his spirit would talk to her.

“Then come for the money,” Nicholas Smith said softly. “Come for the fun of it. I suppose I can’t expect you to feel the family connection overnight.”

“Oh, I feel it,” she murmured.

Slowly, he stretched out his hand to her. “Do we have a deal, Sera?”

She looked at his well-manicured fingers, his shapely, cared-for hand. She wanted to kick it upward, make him hit his own face. “I’m not always honest,” she confessed. “I’ve scammed people, taken money under false pretenses. But even I have standards. And trust me, Nick, you fall considerably below them.”

His hand fell slowly to his side. “I’m sorry you feel like that.”

“Funnily enough, so am I.”

“You’re angry. You’ll change your mind later, I know, but for now… I need you to be safe, Sera.”

She curled her lip, ready to retort, but her skin prickled, and she realized too late that it had been doing so for some time. There were vampires close by, and they weren’t Blair or Phil. A glance at the window showed her the light was fading. Thick cloud, an impending downpour had further darkened the sky. Even as she looked, a shadow, two well-wrapped-up shadows, jostled the glass door of Serafina’s, and two vampires came in. Ella and Jason.

Sera bolted back to the desk that held her jacket and the sharpened wooden stake, but Smith was before her. As the vampires advanced, Smith held the stake in his hand. “Come, come,” he chided. “You can’t kill your client’s son, anyway.”

“I can if it would save my client himself from the trouble,” she retorted. Jason looked at her without emotion and kept coming. She kicked out, and he dodged without difficulty. Ella moved closer.

“They won’t hurt you,” Nicholas Smith assured her. “We’re just going to take you back to my house.”

“No point,” said the voice she hadn’t expected. “I’d only come and take her out again.”

Blair stood framed in the inner office doorway as if he’d just come from the flat. And yet she hadn’t sensed him there. It didn’t matter. The balance of power changed immediately. That was in Smith’s venomous glare, as well as in the sudden halting of the vampires. They might be in thrall to Smith, but they recognized a threat when they smelled one.

As Blair strolled into the outer office, Smith seemed to issue some silent command, for the vampires began to move again, blocking off the way between Smith, Sera, and the shop door on one side and Blair on the other.

Smith grabbed her wrist, “Run,” he commanded. She tried to shake him off but found herself being dragged inexorably toward the door. She kicked him in the kneecap, then brought her own knee up to connect with his groin. She missed only because he dropped her hand and leapt backward.

“Sera,” he pleaded.

“Fuck off.”

Her crude command seemed to be all Blair needed. He leapt so fast she didn’t see him move. But Jason and Ella were flung to either side of the office, and he reached for Smith.

Smith cringed as if he knew he was dead. His mouth opened, presumably to try to talk Blair out of it, but Blair didn’t wait. He lunged for Smith—and staggered backward as if he’d encountered a brick wall.

He looked briefly stunned. So did Smith until Blair tried again from either side and still seemed unable to cross some invisible line around him. Then Smith began to smile.

“I didn’t think it would work on you,” he confessed. “I am truly invincible. You people should really consider your options more carefully. So long, Sera. You know where I am when you change your mind.”

Jason and Ella picked themselves up and moved after him, giving the baffled Blair a wide berth. Ella was jerking her head, as if there was a crick in her neck

“He’s used a protective spell,” Sera blurted as the door closed on them. “To make sure his own guys don’t turn on him.”

Blair dragged his gaze from the window to Sera. “Well, that’s a pity. I’d just decided the best way out of this mess was to kill Smith. You‘ll have to do it now.”

“I can’t kill the bastard,” she said bitterly. “He’s my father.” Her breath caught. “Or at least, he says he is.” Hope sparked, faint but definite. “He couldn’t have known how that would alienate me,” she murmured, “and he was hoping to get to you through me.” Eagerly now, she crossed the room for her bag and found her phone, swiftly scrolling down for Melanie’s number.

“Mel, it’s me again. Listen, was my mother’s name Rebecca?”

A brief silence, then, “Yes. Rebecca Frances MacBride. I thought you knew.”

“I never asked. A child’s mother doesn’t have a name, does she? Another question, Mel. You know you said you didn’t know who my father was because my mother never told you?”

“Yes.” Mel sounded wary.

“Was that because she didn’t need to tell you? Did you already have a good idea?”

Another pause. Then: “I might have guessed. I never knew for certain.”

“Please tell me it wasn’t Nicholas Smith.”

In the silence, Sera closed her eyes, let the pain batter her.

“I’m sorry,” Mel said, barely audible. “I never liked him. I didn’t want it to be him. And I didn’t want him to influence you or—”

“Good-bye, Mel.” She broke the connection and threw the phone on the desk. “Seems there are some things even your best friends can’t tell you.”

****

Blair felt emasculated in some bizarre way. It had been a long time since he’d come up against any being stronger than him on any suit, and although he could see the funny side of it, being unable to so much as slap a puny and frightened human male was galling in the extreme. His damsel in distress however, seemed curiously unaware of her knight’s failure. In fact, she seemed to be lost in her own suddenly unpleasant world.

After locking the front door of the shop, she marched through the inner office to the open door of her flat. “Lock it, will you?” she threw over her shoulder. Blair followed and locked the door behind him.

From the top of the stairs, Sera turned and frowned down on him. “You were here all the time? Since I arrived this evening?”

Blair nodded. He wanted to impress her by leaping up the stairs faster than she could see and be sitting on the sofa waiting for her. It might give one of them a kick, but right now, he doubted it would be Sera. She radiated distress like a warning beacon.

“But I didn’t sense you. All I could feel was the echo left by the fact that you’d been here.”

“I was hiding,” Blair told her, coming to stand on the top step beside her. His body stirred at her nearness. There was an instant when he knew she felt it too, when her pupils dilated and he smelled the sudden musky heat of her arousal. But she brushed past him as if irritated by her own reaction.

“Hiding from me?” she demanded.

“No. From Smith’s vampires. From Smith himself, if he can sense me as you can. I don’t want you caught in the crossfire when they try to kill me.”

She scanned his eyes for a moment, then walked into the kitchen, throwing over her shoulder, “You really think they would?”

“Kill me? Sure, if they could. If I don’t join them.”

“Do you suppose Smith will let them kill me? If I don’t join him.”

“No,” Blair said truthfully. “I don’t think he’ll let them. But he knows it’s a risk. Which means his spell only protects himself. How the hell do I break that?”

Distractedly, Sera opened the fridge, rummaged briefly, and closed it again, only to begin the same process with various cupboards. “Why is there no food in the bloody house?” she exclaimed, slamming the final door.

“Because you ate it all for breakfast.”

For a moment, her eyes lightened, softened. “You made me breakfast,” she observed.

“I had an ulterior motive. I need you to replace the blood I took from you as quickly as possible.” He took a step closer, touched the fine, blue vein in her neck with the tips of two fingers. “So I can take some more.”

He felt her moist heat as lust surged in her. “This is perverse,” she said shakily. “Did you hypnotize me to make me like it?”

At least she wasn’t denying that she had liked it.

“No,” he said, caressing her throat. “Most people like it. If it’s done properly.”

For no obvious reason, the soft tenderness in her eyes vanished. “Most people,” she repeated dully and slid away from his questing fingers. “Just another bite. Just another willing blood source.”

“And a damned good fuck.”

Her smile was bitter. “Is that meant to lift my spirits?”

“I don’t know. It certainly lifted mine. What’s the matter, Sera? I was enough for you last night.”

She spun away from him but not before he saw her eyes closing. “More than enough for me. Too much.”

He followed her and put his arms around her. Ignoring her halfhearted push to free herself, he drew her back against his body and listened with pleasure to the drumming of her heart. She radiated some deep desperation that would make for intensely passionate sex. The jumble of her need and lust washed over him, urging him on. He buried his mouth in her hair, inhaled her scent, listened to the pumping of her blood.

The vampire in him was already tearing her clothes off and pinning her to the wall. And yet he said, “There’s no food in the house. Let me take you out for dinner.”

He had his reward in the stunned pleasure of her mind and expression. She turned in his arms, half smiling. “You don’t eat.”

“No. But it’s damned sexy watching you eat.”

“You’re weird, Blair.”

He drew back his lip to reveal his fangs and she let out a shivery little laugh before slipping from his arms.

Chapter Fourteen

He took her to a place Sebastian had gone on about during his last “state visit” to Edinburgh. Almost in the shadow of the castle, it was atmospheric and expensive, and Blair could see at once what had so appealed to the older vampire. With its thick, stone walls, low ceilings with dark, exposed beams and atmospheric lighting, the place looked and felt medieval, almost gothic—a fitting setting for ancient, dangerous beings to wine and dine their prey.

Blair’s prey, Serafina, looked suitably impressed as she took her seat opposite him at the corner table by a window. Casually gorgeous in a fresh pair of jeans and a sexy red top that hugged her breasts and flowed elegantly beneath them, Sera gazed around her and accepted the menu from the waiter with a quick murmur of thanks.

“Blair, I can’t afford this,” she hissed after scanning the menu.

“You don’t need to. And if it ruins me, I’ll just arrange a loan with my banking colleagues.”

She glanced up at him curiously. “How do you pay for things? What do you live off?”

“My wits,” he said blandly.

“No wonder you’re poor.”

“Cheers.” In fact, he rarely needed money, but he doubted she would approve of his method of helping himself to whatever he required. “What sort of wine do you like?”

It was certainly easier in this age of sexual equality to order in restaurants. Sera ordered for both of them, including the wine he chose, while he sat back in the shadowed corner and watched her. He liked to look at her when she was unaware of him, see the play of expressions across her beautiful, vital face. He made conversation, just to watch the effect of her thoughts on her face, but ended by paying as much attention to what she said, because it nearly always amused or interested him. She had no shortage of opinions, some of them charmingly naïve, others world-weary and cynical. A woman of fascinating contradictions.

“What about the girl who works for you?” he asked once. “Jilly.”

“What about her?”

“She’s very protective. In fact, they both are. They came up this afternoon to warn me off.”

Sera grinned. “Did they really?” She shrugged. “It works both ways. We watch each other’s backs.”

“You and Jilly against the world? And Jack, when you let him.”

“Something like that.” She hesitated, twisting her wineglass between her slender fingers. “Jilly had a hard time as a kid. Worse than me. We never talked about it—still don’t. But we both found we could bear it in alliance. We even discovered fun. What do you do for fun, Blair?”

He waited until the waiter had placed the fillet steak in front of her and watched her inhale the delicious smells before cutting into the meat and placing a morsel into her mouth. Then he said, “I watch you eat.”

“That’s a new hobby. A week ago, you didn’t know I existed. Mmm, this sauce is so good!”

He played with the salad he’d ordered to look “normal,” pushing leaves and tomatoes around with his fork while he contemplated licking sauce from her thighs.

By the time she’d eaten pudding, he was so hard he could barely stand up to go to the bathroom. Fortunately, he discovered a young man there washing his hands. It had to be quick and clinical, so he simply seized him, stared at him to prevent the startled shout already forming in his throat, and bit into his flesh. The blood was a relief; the old, familiar pleasure kicked in as it always did. But it was easy to stop, easy to close the wound and release the boy from his trance with a quick apologetic grin, as if he’d just bumped into him by accident. No regrets, no desire for more. His blood wasn’t Serafina’s.

Later, as they left the restaurant, she paused to gaze up at the ancient, looming castle. Her lips tugged upward into a lopsided smile. “One of the few things in this city that’s older than you.”

“I like the mixture of older and newer—it’s one reason I keep coming back here.”

“I’ve never been anywhere else.”

“What, never?”

“Well, Glasgow. A couple of places up north and a weekend trip to York. I’ve never even been to London, let alone abroad.”

“Why not?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I’m too comfortable. And to go abroad, I’d need a passport. To get one of those, I’d need my birth certificate. For some reason, I never wanted to see it.”

“Because it would solve the mystery?”

“Maybe.”

He took her hand to lead her up the hill. “Well, you have the certificate now.”

“So I do. Who needs mystery when they have a passport?”

“Exactly.”

He felt her gaze on his face, warm like the flesh of her fingers lightly clasping his. She said, “Is that what you do when you get bored? Travel?”

Unnerved, he glanced at her. “I suppose I used to, when I could.”

“You’ve lived more than four human lifetimes,” she mused. “As the song says, ‘Who wants to live forever?’ Do you never feel that?”

He kept his mind silent. He didn’t know what to say, and yet dishonesty would lose the moment of closeness that he had no idea why he valued. Her eyes slid away from his, and he felt her leaving at the same time.

“Boredom is the curse of the vampire,” he quoted desperately. “It’s the reason very few of us are truly immortal. We die because we lose the will to exist.”

Her eyes seemed to pierce him. “Have you ever felt that way?”

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

For a moment, she stared into his eyes as if waiting for more or perhaps just mulling it over. Again, he wondered if she’d picked up anything about him from touching stuff in his flat.

And then she frowned again. “Is that why Phil drinks?”

“No, Phil’s drinking is partly addiction and partly affectation. He enjoys his vampirism.”

“Like you?”

Sneaky, coming back at him when he’d relaxed, but he was able to curl his lip and say dryly, “Not quite like me.”

It was only later that he realized she’d turned the tables on him, invading his secrecy to preserve her own. Two creatures who could read each other’s minds.

****

He could barely wait until they were inside her flat. He followed her in, turned with her as she closed the door, and hemmed her there with his hands on the wall on either side of her head. She stared at him, her eyes dilating, her lips trembling as he bent to take them.

But again, she surprised him, ducking under his left arm and bolting for the kitchen. He felt her shyness unexpected after last night’s uninhibited lovemaking, a knowledge that tonight would make it more than a one-night stand. Humans were obsessed with numbers. But beyond that, beyond even her undoubted desire for him, lay a wealth of confused, desperate emotions that the night’s outing hadn’t dissipated, merely postponed.

Well, if she wanted to take her mind off her troubles, Blair was just the vampire to help. He walked into the kitchen after her, took the kettle from her hands, set it down, and turned her into his arms. Her fingers gripped his shoulders tightly, then slid around his neck and held on to his hair like a drowning woman clinging to seaweed.

“Blair, I—”

He sent her an image of them entwined, still semi-clothed against the kitchen door, and her words dried up in her throat. She swallowed convulsively.

“Yes?” he said in her mind. “Right here, right now?”

Her breath caught. Her heart drummed in her breast, drowning out her thoughts—or perhaps his. He didn’t care, for she suddenly pulled his head down and latched her mouth to his. He pushed her backward into the door, letting their combined weight close it tight as he pressed close into her. She let out a moan that inflamed him even further. She licked his fangs, sealing her fate for the night, and he swept his hands downward over the sides of her breasts and hips. He parted her legs with his knee, and she pushed against his thigh as if she couldn’t help it.

There was a new desperation in her kisses, in her urgency, and Blair was more than happy to fill her needs. He moved her body with him, as if dancing, while he unfastened her jeans and pushed them down over her hips and thighs. Then he slid one hand up her body, pushing her top out of the way and freeing her breasts. In a movement that must have made her dizzy, he whisked her upward against the door, bracing her high enough that he could kiss her exposed breasts with ease. Her nipples were hard and responsive to every caress of his lips and tongue; her skin tasted of sunshine and fresh flowers.

Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging, holding him to her breasts. It was sweet, it was sexy, but it wasn’t nearly enough. Her hands were on his jeans now, trembling, fumbling with his buttons. He did it for her, brushing her hands aside. He lifted his head from her breast, devouring her lust-clouded face with his eyes. Her parted lips were full and red with kisses, her cheeks flushed with passion. He lifted one of her legs, dragging it free of her jeans to hook it over his hip. He caressed her thigh and smooth, curving buttock, let her feel the hardness of his cock, stroking it along the devastating wetness between her thighs. She leaned on him, using him as leverage to lift and impale herself upon him. She gasped, closing her eyes with the shock. She felt amazing, a hot, firm, velvet sheath pulsing around him. She even smiled with wicked triumph straight into his eyes. If he’d had a voice, he’d have growled or howled with triumph. He thrust into her hard.

Although not the seduction he’d intended as he’d waited and planned in the long hours of daylight, he took it anyway. And she didn’t just accept this urgency; she insisted on it. Twisting and writhing on him, she moaned aloud with pleasure as he hammered her against the kitchen door.

At such a fever pitch, she couldn’t last. Her knees buckled as she fell into orgasm, but he was enjoying it far too much to surrender just yet to his own clamoring climax. He loved the juddering, hugging caress of her convulsions. And so he gave her a bonus, increasing the speed of his thrusts well beyond what a human could possibly achieve or even see. Her head fell back against the door, revealing her pale, graceful neck, flushed now with passion, its veins standing out blue, beautiful and oh so tempting as he fucked her. He knew from experience that the inhuman speed of his movements inside her could hold her in intense orgasm for several minutes. But he didn’t think she could take that, not yet. And besides, he needed a distraction from her beautiful, throbbing vein. And so he pushed himself as deep inside her as he could get and let go.

Christ, it was good. It had been a long time since a knee trembler had dragged him to the floor with the explosive force of its climax. But at least he took her with him, rolling half under the table to keep himself inside her delectable body while the storm raged and slowly calmed.

“Neat trick,” she said shakily when she could form the words.

“I’ve always thought so.”

****

Blair lay beside her in her bed, enveloped in the warm darkness, listening to her breathing. Warning bells were going off all over his head. Not just because he liked screwing this human girl too much, but because he liked this too much too—just lying beside her, hearing the beat of her heart and the even rise and fall of her lungs. He wanted to keep her safe and keep her with him. And that, as he well knew, did not lead to a peaceful happy ever after.

Well, who needed peace?

He smiled and let himself drift off into the aware half sleep of the vampire.

It seemed only minutes later that he felt Sera rise and walk across the room to the door. He blinked himself fully awake. A few moments later, he heard the toilet flush and the splash of water from the bathroom tap. And then silence. But she didn’t return to bed.

With anyone else, he might have used telepathy to find out what they were doing. With Sera, it seemed too much like spying. He seemed to have to wear his honorable schoolboy hat around her.

He rose from the bed and left the room.

He almost didn’t notice her at first. The light was off, but that didn’t matter—he could see in the dark. He’d taken several steps into the living room before he caught sight of her.

She sat naked on the floor with her back against the sofa and her knees drawn up in front of her. Her face was hidden in her knees, and her whole body shook convulsively.

He’d never seen a human cry silently. Not since his mother.

The knowledge held him paralyzed. Which was a good thing. She was too lost in her own misery to know he was there. She didn’t want him there. It would be easy and far better for both of them if he just crawled back to bed and left her to it.

Or he could go out and feed. His snack in the restaurant really wasn’t enough to keep body and soullessness together.

He went to the sofa and sat down. Her heaving shoulders stilled. There was a muffled gulp, then silence. He laid his hand on her head, gently stroking.

“Don’t,” she gasped.

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t be kind to me!” With a broken-off sob, she turned onto him, burying her face in his knee instead.

He bent and put his arms around her. “I’m not being kind. I just want more sex.”

At least it raised a watery sound that might have been a laugh. She knew it wasn’t true. That was another thing he liked about her. Most people, human and vampire, took his jokes at face value.

For a long moment, they just stayed like that. Then he made her lift her face to his. Her eyes shone still with brimming tears while the stains and drips from earlier ones ran down her cheeks.

“Still want that sex?” she asked ruefully.

“Always.” He brushed her tears with his thumb. “I know I’m a vampire, but it’s not usually the sex that makes women cry.”

“Oh, it isn’t you, you self-centered—male.”

“Then who’s making you so unhappy?”

She dashed her hand across her eyes. “Nicholas Smith, of course.”

Human relationships. He was lucky to be shot of them. “Not the best father you could have wished for,” he acknowledged.

“Why not?” she retorted. “He cheats like me. He’s even—” She broke off, leaving no more than an echo in the air, but it was enough for him to understand. Fighting his detaining hand, she dropped her face back onto his naked thigh.

“He’s even psychic,” Blair finished for her. “You think you inherited your gift from him. You think it isn’t yours anymore.” There was more, of course. There was always more. Her gift had made her special, in her own eyes more than in anyone else’s. Now it wasn’t special at all. It was shared. It was given to her, just as her black hair was given, because of who her father was.

Serafina MacBride, brash and capable as she was, had built her self-confidence on very shaky foundations. It was probably even the real reason she’d rarely left Scotland, where she was the strongest psychic anyone was likely to encounter. And she’d recognized that earlier tonight when she’d brought the subject up.

“Serafina. He didn’t make you who you are. Many things come with blood. Life itself. It’s what you do with those things, those gifts, that makes you.”

She didn’t look up. But she didn’t move away from him either. He shifted his leg under her face. “I know what you’re thinking. That you have a pale imitation of his power. You think you can’t defeat him because he’s stronger than you, and that if he wins, it’s therefore your fault.”

“Oh, shut up,” she said, sudden anguish in her voice. “I hate you.”

Since she put her arms around his waist and clung to him as she spoke, he didn’t take her words too seriously. It wasn’t hate he sensed coming from her. So he lifted her off the floor and settled her in his lap.

He stroked her hair. “I know. I know too that you can win, because you have a strength he lacks.”

She lifted her head, rested her chin on his chest to look up at him. Christ, she was beautiful, her eyes sparkling with her recent tears and raw emotion still trembling on her full, so kissable lips. “The night before last, you said he was stronger than me.”

Blair shrugged. “In some things he is. But you have something he doesn’t.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But I feel it.”

****

Sera woke with the sun filtering through the curtains. She opened her eyes and lay very still. His big, cool body was no longer beside her, which was disappointing. She stretched luxuriously, like a sensual cat.

On the other hand, it was probably as well he’d left. As she relaxed her muscles, the warmth of the comfort he’d given her so unexpectedly last night began to dissolve. She’d wept all over him. No wonder he’d buggered off.

His kindness had been a surprise. After all, it wasn’t as if Blair was the sort to go through the socially expected motions: There, there, don’t cry, you’ll be fine. But it was his understanding that devastated her. He had knowledge of her pathetic weakness now, and that gave him power over her.

“I’ve messed it up again,” she whispered.

Messed what up? He’s a vampire! she reminded herself. Were you imagining yourself in some kind of relationship with him just because he chose to fuck you a couple of times? Because you chose to let him? Because it was so bloody good…

She threw off the quilt and leapt out of bed, as if by doing so she could escape the unbearable thoughts in her head. They weren’t worth a damn anyway, besides the rather more important issue of her sodding father taking over the world with entranced vampires.

What B-movie writer had thought that one up?

She showered and dressed as quickly as possible and ran downstairs. The flat smelled of him, of sex and false happiness, and she couldn’t wait to get away from it. She made coffee in the office of Serafina’s and nipped across the road to the shop and bought a bacon sandwich. Then she settled down at her desk with a pen and a piece of paper.

The sandwich was finished, but she was still writing busily when the others arrived, all together for once.

“Busy boss,” Jack observed, throwing his jacket at the coat hooks on the wall as he did each morning.

“Conference,” Sera commanded, and Jilly and Jack promptly came and sat on her desk while Elspeth sat at the reception desk nearest the door. “You too, Elspeth,” Sera said.

Elspeth looked surprised but pleased to be included. Jilly wiggled her eyebrows but made no comment, merely dragged a chair across with her feet for Elspeth to sit in.

“We need to decide what to do,” Sera said abruptly. “This is the situation. Nicholas Smith, aka Nick Black, is a sorcerer who has used some unknown spell to control an ever-growing number of vampires, turned under his instructions from people holding key posts in the financial sector. His ultimate plan is to use the vampires to control—and use—all the wealth at their firms’ disposal. We know the danger to human life and freedom etc. What you probably don’t know is that Nicholas Smith is my father.”

Three pairs of wandering, restless eyes transferred their gazes to her face with a snap. Sera drew a deep breath and got it over with.

“He came here last night, waving my birth certificate. His name isn’t on it, but he seems to regard it as genuine proof that I’m his daughter, and Melanie agrees it’s more likely than not. The good news about it all is, he doesn’t want me to be hurt—which I’m sure you’ll agree is big of him. However, I doubt his benevolence extends to you guys, so I doubt it’s much of an advantage. From my end, I’d wimp out of killing him, but I won’t weep if someone else does the bastard in.”

“Fuck,” Jilly said in awe, though at what in particular wasn’t clear.

Sera ploughed on regardless. “The other bad news is that vampires can’t touch him, not even Blair.”

“That’s a blow,” Elspeth said unexpectedly. She seemed to be listening intently and thinking deeply.

“It is. It means we have nothing to scare him with, and if Blair can’t kill him for us, it means we have less chance of breaking his hold on the vampires and—”

“Shit, Sera, he’s a vampire himself, not your private assassin.” Jack sounded shocked.

She stared at him. “We have to use every tool we have.”

“It’s a long time since anyone’s called me a tool, at least in my hearing.”

At the sound of his voice in her head, Sera’s heart seemed to lurch into her mouth. Beneath it, her stomach was trying to do backflips. And when she forced herself to look over Elspeth’s shoulder and see him strolling out of the inner office, looking sexy as hell in black leather trousers and boots and a short, leather biker jacket, she recognized the pain behind all that turmoil as grief.

Oh no.
I won’t grieve for what I never had. Aloud, she said, “How did you get here?”

“Sewer or smoking blanket?” Jilly added.

“Motorbike,” Blair said surprisingly, although Jilly continued to stare at him in expectation of an answer.

Sera frowned, then forced herself to swallow the question. She had a feeling she’d only be feeding him lines. And besides, she refused to care. “It doesn’t matter,” she said hastily. She looked him in the eye as he came to a halt behind Elspeth’s chair. “I want to know how they feel about the mass killing of vampires.”

His eyebrow twitched. “You want them to kill the vampires?”

“If necessary,” she said steadily.

His strange, profound eyes searched hers, one at a time. “They could die. You could die.”

“You have an alternative?” Sera snapped. Around her, she was aware of the others’ bewilderment as they picked up only one side of the conversation.

She heard Elspeth whisper to Jilly, “Oh dear. Is that…?”

“Oh yes,” said Jilly, and Elspeth actually turned her seat for a better look.

Blair said, “Yes. I’ll fight the vampires.”

“You against all of them? You already told me there were too many for you, and I don’t think Smith will risk another fight unless he has them all lined up against you.”

“Of course, he won’t. But I have Phil. And very soon I’ll have more help.”

“What do you mean?” she asked with a weird sense of foreboding.

“I’ve summoned other vampires that I know in this country, including the oldest and strongest I’ve ever encountered. You may leave the banking vampires to us.”

“A war? In the middle of Edinburgh?”

“What’s he saying?” Jilly demanded. “What war?”

Blair’s lips tugged upward. “You have an alternative?” he quoted. “But at best, our war only keeps numbers down. Smith can just start again, until between us we’ve killed off most of the banking profession.”

Sera ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. “How the hell do we get to him?”

The shop door tinkled as it opened, and someone barged in with a suitcase and a bag and several books under one arm.

Melanie halted and looked around the gawping faces. “Anyone got a spare hand?”

****

In the flurry of Melanie’s arrival, Jilly watched Sera a little anxiously. She’d caught on to the fact that Mel hadn’t been telling her friend all she knew, and that this was bound to hurt Sera. However, in the current mess of vampires and banking crises, Jilly couldn’t help feeling that Melanie’s arrival was a good thing.

And after the initial shock, Sera did indeed appear to be pleased to see her. While Jack took the books from Mel’s arms and laid them on a desk, and the vampire took her case into the inner office, Sera met the older woman’s gaze through the turmoil and gave a lopsided smile.

Jilly breathed a sigh of relief and went to help Elspeth make coffee, while keeping a watchful eye on everybody else.

“So did you find something?” Sera asked eagerly.

“Not yet,” Mel answered, “but I’ve brought all the likely books and got a few pointers from wiser folk than me. I can research better here and keep an eye on you guys at the same time. You must be Jack,” she added, holding out a friendly hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise.” Jack grinned, shaking her hand. “Very glad to meet you at last.”

Melanie turned to the vampire, who was leaning one shoulder on the wall beside the inner office to watch the humans. She smiled, and to Jilly’s horror, there was a definite flicker of admiration in Melanie’s green eyes.

Well, Blair would be an attractive man to most. Tall, good looking, with a certain mystery about his strange, compelling eyes. And his fit, slender body was so still it made you long to see it move, lithe and graceful. And deadly.

“Hello. I don’t know you either,” Mel said. Being a friendly sort, she began to walk toward him, hand stretched out. Blair straightened and politely took her hand. Mel’s eyebrows twitched at his touch, which was, presumably, inhumanly cold. Jilly waited for Sera to say something, to warn Melanie who and what she was dealing with. But Sera looked deliberately toward the coffee. Perhaps she was paying Mel back for her silence on the subject of parentage. Whatever, it seemed to be up to Jilly.

“He’s Blair,” she said abruptly. “You may have heard of him. The only good thing I’ve discovered about him so far is that he doesn’t talk. He’s a vampire.”

The catch in Mel’s breath was audible. But she didn’t snatch her hand free or even bolt backward when he released her. In fact, she looked, if anything, more interested. She was a witch, after all. Perhaps her interest was professional.

Elspeth took the first cup to Melanie. Sera watched; then her eyes flickered to Blair and away. The vampire began to walk toward Sera, who swung round at once, almost in panic, walking straight to where Jilly still stood pouring coffee into mugs—somewhat erratically, since her attention was divided. Elspeth would tell her off for the mess.

Jilly shoved a cup toward Sera. “Everything okay?”

Sera nodded.

“Has that bastard hurt you?”

“No.” Sera’s smile was twisted and vanished quickly. “The opposite, in fact.” She picked up the cup and took a hasty gulp. “I was upset last night. Adjusting to finding out about my father, you know?”

Jilly nodded. She knew. More carefully, she said, “And Blair was there? When you were upset?”

Sera nodded ruefully.

Just for an instant, relief flooded Jilly with enough force to make her dizzy. Then her heart began to sing. No one knew better than she that Sera couldn’t stand anyone to see her in the grip of such weakness. That was the cause of the tension between Sera and Blair. To Sera, he’d become unbearable.

“Does he drink coffee?” she asked, and when Sera nodded, she picked up a cup and walked toward him. One of his eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he took the cup with an inclination of the head that presumably betokened thanks. Up close, he was very tall and even more overwhelming. And now that she didn’t need to worry about Sera, she could even acknowledge his physical attraction.

Jilly smiled. “You’re history,” she said happily.

Chapter Fifteen

The witch was interesting. She hadn’t picked up on who or what he was, and she wasn’t telepathic. On the other hand, he thought he’d probably have trouble mesmerizing her. She had an inner strength that heightened her gift until she almost thrummed with power. He liked that, although it sat oddly with her mother-hen emotions concerning Sera. She hid those feelings pretty well, but he could still read her like an open book. And along with her natural curiosity, she was undoubtedly alarmed by his casual presence among them.

He didn’t blame her for that. Less understandable was Sera’s reaction to him. After last night’s explosive sex and the new closeness they’d found, he’d expected rather more warmth in her manner. But she’d seemed more dismayed than pleasantly surprised or even made curious by his unexpected arrival, and now she was deliberately avoiding speaking to him.

It was Sera’s other mother hen, the aggressive Jilly, who provided the clue with a cup of coffee.

“You’re history.”

Since the words were spoken so gleefully, he had little doubt what they meant, especially accompanied by a powerful mental vision. He could have rummaged in her mind for more information. He chose instead to look over her head at Sera.

She was talking to the witch, Melanie. Her eyes flickered to him once and veered away.

“What’s going on?” he asked. He received a shrug, physical and mental, so he gave her one back and left.

Clearly, he was accomplishing nothing by hanging around here. He was already uncomfortably aware that dropping in to discuss his next move with Sera had been an excuse to see her again—a mistake he couldn’t fix while she was surrounded by humans. Time to do something useful instead.

He stopped off in her flat to reclaim his heavy biker’s helmet with its specially made visor. He put it on, refastened his jacket up to his chin, and donned the thick bikers’ gloves. Ready, he jumped downstairs in one leap, opened the door into the idyllic grayness that was Scotland in late summer, got on his motorbike, and rode round to the C & H building car park.

It was easy enough to mesmerize the doorman. After which, he simply followed his nose, releasing the digitally locked doors with his mind as necessary. He took a chance and removed his helmet so that he didn’t excite any suspicion. There was a PA in an outer office, to whom he merely nodded soothingly as he deposited his helmet on the end of her desk, and walked passed her into Jason Bell’s inner sanctum.

The fledgling vampire was dozing over his computer. Blair went round for a look. There was an email on his screen asking him to make an informal investigation into various irregularities and anomalies in some of the firm’s accounts. Blair’s lips curled. Then he had the germ of an idea.

While he considered it, he clicked on Jason’s appointments and found what he wanted almost immediately. Dead or undead, it seemed, Jason was well organized and meticulous.

Blair gave Jason a nudge, and the fledgling awoke with a start that was more human than vampire.

“Oh dear,” he said, as if he’d prepared the words in advance. “Sleeping on the job! I need more coffee.”

“You need a stake through the heart,” Blair said brutally. “Which is what you’ll get, sleeping as soundly as that. I could do you the kindness now.”

Jason clutched his head, no doubt in pain from the previously unused mental pathways Blair had just forced himself into. “Shit, it’s you,” he uttered, belatedly realizing his danger. To his credit, he tried to do something about it, even exercised his new vampire powers by trying to leap over Blair’s head to relative safety on the other side of the room.

But Blair was in no mood to play. Before Jason was more than a foot in the air, he simply reached up and yanked him back by the tie. Jason landed with a bump back in his seat, blinking at Blair in bewilderment that turned swiftly to fear.

“That’s right,” Blair said encouragingly. “I could have killed you twice by now. I still might, if you piss me off any more.”

Moving faster than a fledgling would yet have learned to achieve or even to see as more than a blur, he fetched another chair from the other side of the room and straddled it with his arms resting along the back.

“What are you doing here?” Jason blurted. “How did you even get here in daylight?”

“There are ways,” Blair told him. “You guys need to start using your undead brains. What did Smith do to you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ella bit you and killed you and turned you into a vampire,” Blair reminded him. “When you woke, Arthur took you from your parents’ house to explain your new situation and sent you to work before dawn. And here at work, Nicholas Smith came to see you.”

“I couldn’t remember anything,” Jason recalled. Although not particularly handsome, he had the kind of open, self-confident face than inspired trust in humans. But abruptly, his dignity crumbled, leaving a very unsure if still very well-dressed young man. “I was terrified. Nicholas helped me get my memory back.”

“How’d he do that?”

“Just talking to me. Things began to come back.”

“How come? You’d never met him before.”

Jason frowned. “Yes, I had. I remembered him.”

Blair searched his eyes and as much of his leaking thoughts as he could stomach. There wasn’t much more on that subject. It was all a blur to Jason. “And he made you keep on working.”

Jason frowned. “I chose to keep working.”

“Why? You’re dead.”

“Undead. What do you want with me?”

Blair shrugged. “I’m trying to get the hang of this scam your boss wants me to join. Vampires working in banks is a new one on me.”

“We have the power to alter monetary wealth and society.”

“Spoken like a true thrall. How d’you do it, then?”

“Do the mechanics matter to you?”

“Not really. I’m more interested in whether or not you can pull it off. You can’t have vampires in all the banks.”

“All the major Scottish banks and headquarters. Several investment companies and insurance companies. We’ve already begun.”

Blair rested his chin on his hands. “What if you get caught? You bite the police?”

“It won’t come to the police.”

Jason’s absolute confidence on this point was interesting. Why would it not come to the police? Because if irregularities were discovered, a fall guy was sacrificed?

Blair stood up. “You’ve been very helpful, Jason,” he said civilly. “Thanks. Say hello to old Nick for me.” And he walked out the door, nodded to the PA as he picked up his helmet, and left the building.

****

Sera pushed the enormous old book a few inches away from her and sat back, rubbing her eyes. Leaving the others minding the shop, she and Melanie had retreated to the flat and spread a big bunch of books out on the table. Mel had discovered a few promising lines of inquiry, which Sera was doing her best to pursue, but despite the importance of the research, personal stuff kept getting in the way.

“Smith said she dumped him,” Sera blurted.

Mel glanced up, letting her reading spectacles droop halfway down her nose. She looked like a slightly mad but sexy professor. “Rebecca? Your mother? Yes, she dumped him.”

“I suppose I don’t need to ask why.”

Mel shrugged. “He was egotistical, selfish, and vain, and fortunately, she discovered her mistake in time.”

“Not quite.”

Mel took the specs off, staring at her. “Oh no, you weren’t the mistake, Sera. Never think that. Even unborn, you were the light of her world. She forgave Nick because of you. But she didn’t want him in her life or in yours. And at least in that, they were in agreement. Nick wanted nothing to do with children.”

“Did he know when I was born?” She kept her voice carefully neutral. Tears were very close to the surface, tears for the mother she’d never known. And bitter anger toward the father who’d let her go into care.

“He must have,” Mel said gently. “We moved in a pretty small circle. But he was young, male, and selfish, blah blah blah.”

Sera stared determinedly at the gothic print of the book in front of her.

“Look, Sera. I never liked Nick, but it was definitely the wrong time for him to have kids. Your mother wanted a child and picked the wrong man to have her with. She kicked him out before she even knew she was pregnant. He might have thought—or talked himself into thinking—that you weren’t his.”

“Then why’s he so keen to own me now?”

“Because people change and grow up. It doesn’t sound like he’s any less selfish, but he may have different priorities.” She seemed to hesitate. “Or you may have something he wants.”

“I wondered about that. What, though? Does he imagine I can influence Blair?”

“Can you?”

Sera lifted her gaze to Mel’s, gave a lopsided smile, and looked away again. “No.”

“Then I doubt it’s that. Read on. We’ll discover the truth eventually.”

Sera dragged the book back toward her.

“Serafina.” The familiar voice in her head made her jump.

“What?” she demanded aggressively.

“Nothing,” Mel said in surprise.

“You should work on that telepathy or you’re going to freak out your friends,” Blair remarked. “You don’t need to think aloud.”

“I didn’t invite you into my head,” she retorted.

“I’m not in your head, Sera,” Melanie said anxiously. “Are you all…? Oh.”

Sera directed a helpless shrug at her friend while she listened to the voice in her mind.

“I’ve just been to see Jason. He met Smith before he died as well as after. I think you might be looking at some combination of spells, one planted in the living and activated in the dead. Or undead.”

“Thanks. I’ll pass it along.”

“I’m all gratitude. Here’s another angle. Your mate Jilly hacks computers.”

“She most certainly does not!” Sera said robustly, although she spoiled the effect slightly by adding, “Why?”

“Get her to hack into the banks.”

Sera sat bolt upright. “Are you mad? She’d never get in, and if she did, they’d crucify her!”

“She doesn’t need to get in, just cause enough of a scare to wake up the banks’ security, start a few investigations rolling. It should slow things down, might even lose a few vampires their jobs.”

Sera found herself grinning. “That’s not such a bad idea. If she can pull it off…”

She waited for him to say something else, but he didn’t. Her mind felt curiously silent, almost…lonely. Dismissing such a stupid idea with impatience, she refocused on Mel, who was staring at her. “What?”

“That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen you do. Who were you talking to?”

“Blair,” she said uncomfortably, then covered the moment by repeating what he’d told her, after which she ran downstairs to talk to Jilly about committing a crime that could earn her life in prison.

****

When her last appointment of the day had left, Sera swept Jilly, Jack, and Elspeth upstairs to her flat and set everyone to work—Jilly on infiltrating bank security online, and the rest on research under Melanie’s instructions.

However, despite Blair’s clues, which had got Mel quite excited, it was difficult reading and slow going.

“How long is it going to take us to read all this stuff?” Sera said at last, waving one helpless hand around all the piles of books.

“Depends how lucky we get,” Mel said ruefully.

Sera groaned. “Okay. Who wants pizza?”

An array of hands sprang up. Mel pushed back her chair. “I’ll get them,” she said. “I need some air.”

Sera settled back to work, conscious that her stomach was rumbling loudly enough to present yet another distraction. Fortunately, Melanie was back pretty quickly, and as they heard the flat door open, Sera noticed everyone’s heads lifted in relief. Only Sera felt the prickles of mingled warning and excitement that came with the presence of Blair.

She found she was holding her breath as the living room door opened and Melanie walked in with a stack of pizza boxes.

“I found him in the street,” Melanie said apologetically to Sera.

Jilly frowned up from her laptop long enough to say irritably, “What’d you bring him here for?”

As Blair walked casually in, Elspeth cleared a space on the table for Mel to lay down her burden and smiled at Blair in a friendly fashion. She was the only one who did.

“We’re busy,” Sera told him, deftly catching the pizza box Mel threw to her.

“I didn’t come to eat pizza.”

“I thought he could help,” Melanie said quickly.

“How?” Jack demanded.

Blair continued to regard Sera. “I can read a lot faster than you.”

Sera listened to the beats of her heart. When she found she was counting them, she said, “We need his help.”

It was less than an hour later when the doorbell rang. Sighing, Sera stood up from her position on the living room floor, snatched the stake from her jacket pocket, and went downstairs. Blair didn’t budge from his position on the sofa, but she knew from his very stillness that he was listening.

She couldn’t sense vampire on the other side of the door. Was it Nicholas Smith again?

She opened the door and saw bright orange hair gleaming in the street light. She frowned. “Constable McGowan?”

“Got a minute?” He sounded half aggressive, half rueful. And he wasn’t in uniform.

“Er—I’m a bit busy. I’ve got people round.”

“Clients?”

“Friends.”

“I won’t take long.”

Sera hesitated. He was out of uniform, which suggested his visit was unofficial. To keep him out would only make him unnecessarily suspicious. And yet how could she invite him in when Jilly was hacking into banks?

She compromised. Opening the door to admit him, she turned and headed back up the stairs calling, “Cup of coffee for PC McGowan!”

He seemed slightly surprised by this.

“That’s my warning for them to flush all the dope down the toilet,” she explained.

“I didn’t think you really had visitors,” he said unexpectedly. “I thought it was an excuse.”

“I don’t make excuses,” Sera said. “I’m more likely to shut the door in your face.”

Praying Jilly had closed the laptop, Sera led the way into the living room.

Jilly hadn’t shut the laptop, though at least she’d changed position to sit in the armchair in the corner so no one else could see what she was doing. But her shoulders were tense, her eyes wary as she glanced up.

“Know everyone?” Sera asked casually. “Jack, Melanie, Elspeth, Jilly, Blair. PC McGowan. Anyone make that coffee?”

“There’s some in the pot in the kitchen,” Mel said.

“Not for me, thanks,” McGowan said, looking around him in some bafflement. The floor, the table, and every available space on chairs and the sofa were covered in books and handwritten notes. Everyone was reading large and ancient books, apart from Jilly, who hunched like an old woman over her laptop. “Have I interrupted some kind of study group?”

“Sort of,” Sera said.

His smile was slightly twisted. “I will say you keep taking me by surprise.”

“I think we can call that one mutual,” Jilly murmured, staring at her screen. She grinned at it. “Yes!”

“I think you have to have that coffee,” Sera said hastily, ushering him back out of the living room and into the kitchen. “We can talk in here. So,” she added as she reached for a clean cup, “what can I do for you?”

“Satisfy my curiosity,” McGowan said, leaning against the worktop to watch her. “I’ve been making enquiries about you. Very few of your clients are dissatisfied.”

“That’s nice,” Sera said inanely, pouring coffee into the cup. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Yes, please. But I have to say I find your scale of charges incomprehensible.”

“Depends on so many things,” Sera said vaguely.

“The Gordons told me you spent two evenings with them for the princely sum of ten pounds.”

“What can I say? I’m cheap.”

“Not according to Dianne Thomson. Do you adapt your charges according to what you think your clients can pay?”

“No, no. The charges are fixed. I give discretionary discounts.”

“Look, Miss Mac—Sera, I’m not trying to catch you out here. We both know ten pounds is a purely token payment. Why did you go to all that trouble for nothing?”

Sera shoved his cup along the worktop to him. “Because I can.” She poured another cup for herself.

His gaze was piercing. She thought he might have a future in CID. “Moira Gordon really believes you talk to the dead. So do a lot of other people.”

She met his gaze directly. “What do you want me to say, Constable? You don’t have to believe it. I don’t mind.”

“You can what?”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“A minute ago, you said you went to all that trouble for the Gordons because you could. Because you could what? Free the spirit of her dead daughter?”

“Why are you so angry about the whole thing?”

He half turned away, dragging his fingers through his bright hair. “A so-called medium ripped off my mum a couple of years ago. She claimed to speak to the ghost of my dead sister while she milked my mother of her life savings. I couldn’t stop her. Now my mother, who worked hard all her life, lives in a shitty wee council flat, and no, she won’t take a penny from me.”

Sera nodded slowly. “I’m sorry. About your sister and the con woman. They’re all out there, and policemen’s families aren’t immune either.” She sipped her coffee and looked him in the eye. “If you’ve got someone who needs help, I’ll do my best. I don’t guarantee to do it for ten pounds, and I don’t guarantee it will be what you want.”

His lip curled. “It isn’t in your power to give us what we want.”

“Suppose not.”

“Is that what you’re doing with the Bells? Giving them what they want?”

So this was the real reason he was here… And yet, looking at him, Sera wasn’t so sure. She sensed some deep discomfort in him that certainly hadn’t been there on their first two encounters. As if he was beginning to believe in her and hated himself for it.

She smiled. “You really are a policeman, aren’t you? All right. The night Jason died, I admit I was taking the piss. I didn’t believe the vampire stories—who would? I thought he was taking the Mickey out of me and decided to do it back at him only better. I’d no idea it would backfire and Jason would end up…as he is.”

“And how is that?”

Sera spoke into her coffee mug. “You wouldn’t believe me, Constable. But I didn’t make it happen.”

“Are you still working for Ferdinand Bell?”

“I think so. Although I’m not sure I’ll get my fee.”

He took a final gulp of coffee and held out the mug to her. “Then why are you doing it?”

Sera reached for the mug and made a stab in the dark. “Why are you working when you’re off duty?”

Their fingers touched on the mug handle, and vision blasted into Sera’s head. Jason on his bed with puncture wounds in his neck. A woman with the same wounds, sprawled on a plush velvet sofa, the kind you got in certain bars. And behind both of those, the girl in the car crash.

Like everyone else’s, PC McGowan’s motives were mixed. As if he felt something, a frown pulled at his brow. Then a shadow darkened the doorway. She didn’t need to look up to know it was Blair.

Sera pushed both the mugs in the vague direction of the sink.

McGowan muttered, “I have to go. Thanks for your time.”

He edged past Blair with a hard, unsmiling stare that was returned in full. As the policeman strode along the hall and downstairs to the front door, Blair asked, “What did he want?”

“I don’t think he knows.” He was in good company. “Come on, back to drudgery.”

In the living room, Jack was saying, “Mel, we’ve gone through all the vampire references you listed, and there’s just nothing there that helps us.”

Melanie groaned. “There has to be something. What are we missing?”

Blair brushed past Sera, his fingers trailing against her wrist and making her shiver as always with the mixture of sexual awareness and the zing of dark, ancient memory. She stopped and stared at him as he walked across the room and sank back on the sofa beside his books.

“Vampires,” she said aloud.

The others looked at her doubtfully.

“What makes them vampires?” she said impatiently. “How do they get to be the way they are? How is it possible? If we knew that, maybe we’d have more chance of understanding what’s making Smith’s vampires different.”

Every gaze turned on Blair, who looked up from his book with odd reluctance.

Melanie said thoughtfully, “No one’s ever explained it to me, though in fairness, I’ve never asked before.” She waved one dismissive hand at the book-strewn table. “These books tell us what affects vampires, but not why, not how vampires came to be.”

Because they were linked, however much Sera might have been trying to break that link today, she felt Blair’s unexpected discomfort. More than that, she had the impression he didn’t really understand the feeling himself. It had something to do with vampire isolation. For centuries, perhaps forever, their survival had been dependent on the human belief that the undead were merely figments of legend and literary imagination. Now, everyone in this room was aware and wanted to know more.

Deep down, Sera could identify with Blair’s reluctance, but this was no time to consider the half-understood sensitivities of one being.

“The Founder,” she said briskly. “You’ve mentioned him a few times. Said that all vampires are descended from him, that you inherited his gift of telepathy and his lack of vocal speech. Who was he? What was his story? How did he get to be a vampire? Did he start off as human, or was he some other species altogether? What—”

She broke off as his lowered eyes lifted suddenly, harsh and accusing. As if she’d betrayed him.

“Stuff that, Blair,” she said evenly. “This is important.”

Blair’s mind shut down from her. No emotions whatsoever escaped, and some tiny, lonely part of her grieved at the loss. Why? She’d already lost him.

He placed his palms on the open pages of his book and gazed at them instead of at her.

“The Founder’s story is legend. I can’t vouch for any of the truth, although my maker was made by him. We don’t dwell in the past; it’s too long for most of us. But we know his story as a reminder of the very good reasons we live in secrecy from humans. We’re a different world that merely feeds off yours.

“According to this legend, the Founder was once a human male who lived thousands of years ago. Which millennium is scarcely important now, though it was before Christ. Various countries claim him, but the most common belief is that he was born somewhere in the Mediterranean regions. He’s been called a wise man, a sorcerer, a druid; different names, probably, for the same thing. He was a driven man, obsessed with the reasons for human existence and the need to extend that existence for as long as possible. He knew all about the human body, and about medicine, such as it was at the time. And, of course, his studies went further, into the spirits of the dead and magic. It wasn’t unusual then. Many people talked to their ancestors, spoke with the dead.”

Blair lifted his head, cast his gaze around all the blank, expectant faces watching him and hearing nothing, and came to rest finally on Sera as he sent her the next, deliberate words. “As I’m sure you know, Christians were not the first religious bigots. The Founder was discovering things that didn’t agree any more with anyone’s knowledge or beliefs. They hounded him out, abused him, half killed him on more than one occasion, but he kept on looking and studying.”

“For immortality?” Sera whispered.

Blair nodded. “Tell them.”

Stumbling, she repeated what he’d told her while he waited patiently and then began again.

“Rumors spread that he’d succeeded in his goal, and then, of course, everyone wanted what he had. He was pursued and captured and tortured for his secret. But the Founder, still human, although by this stage he knew how to achieve immortality, also understood that it couldn’t be for everyone. If the world was peopled by vampires, who would supply the blood? So he wouldn’t tell. He understood the awful abuses such power would open up in the wrong hands. So he never told. In the end, they cut out his tongue and damaged him so badly internally that his vocal cords never worked again.

“Almost dead, he escaped with the aid of magic and spirits.” Blair’s lip curled. “I know. Legend is curiously silent on the mechanics. One story says he had human help and that this human was the first vampire he made. Suffice it to say that ‘with one bound, Jack was free,’ and managed, as his body expired, to perform the magic that reanimated it. We know he drank human blood as part of this ritual and needed to do so ever after. So do we. It’s the Founder’s blood that makes us. We don’t bow to the Founder or worship him, but somehow, his story always stays alive.”

Blair’s eyes, briefly out of focus as he talked, came back to Sera. He jerked his head at the others, and Sera hastily repeated his words, rushing so that she could ask the questions piling up in her mind.

“What happened to him in the end?”

“In the end? I don’t read the future.”

Sera’s lips fell apart. “You mean he’s still out there somewhere?”

A faint smile crossed Blair’s closed face, briefly softening it. “Somewhere.”

“We need the Founder,” Melanie said determinedly.

“Well, you can’t have him,” Blair said, sounding more amused than anything else. The idea was clearly ridiculous, but Mel continued to gaze hopefully from him to Sera and back again.

“Couldn’t you find him?” Sera suggested. “And ask?”

“No one ‘finds’ the Founder. If necessary, he’ll come to you. I understand it’s a good thing if that’s never necessary. Shall we move on?”

With a quick shrug and a shake of her head for the benefit of the others, Sera tumbled into her next question.

“Okay. You inherited certain qualities of the Founder through his blood? Even things that he wasn’t born with, like muteness?”

Blair nodded. “Apparently.”

“But how? It’s like being born with one leg because your father lost his in the war. It doesn’t make sense.”

“True. But then, we still have tongues, which he didn’t when he died, and all our other organs are in perfect condition and remain so.”

Sera frowned. “As if the Founder chose what should be passed on? Why would he not let you speak?”

Blair’s smile was lopsided, and Sera understood.

“To further isolate you from humans, for all the reasons you said before, safety…” Her breath caught. “Smith’s vampires don’t want to be isolated. They need to be with humans to do the banking thing. Could Smith have altered the Founder’s original spell?”

She stared at Melanie, who closed her mouth with a snap.

“Does anyone know the Founder’s original spell?” Mel asked faintly.

Blair shook his head.

“But people must have discovered something similar,” Sera said excitedly, pacing across the room to her. “Even if it went down a different road. Point us, Mel.”

Although Melanie looked more alarmed than inspired, it didn’t stop everyone staring at her in hopeful silence. Only the faint rustling sound of Blair turning the pages of his book disturbed the quiet.

Then Blair stood up and walked over to where Sera stood with Melanie. Somewhat to Sera’s pique, he laid the book on the table in front of Mel, who glanced from him to Sera and down to the pages.

Blair put his finger on the page. “There’s a pre-death spell to animate the dead. To be cast several days before death takes place, to make the body responsive to reanimation. It’s associated with zombies rather than vampires, but the important point is it’s meant to instill obedience to the caster.”

“And if the spell’s cast before the turning, before the person is a vampire, then it bypasses the Founder’s magic,” Sera said triumphantly. “No wonder they seem a different species from you…”

Melanie began to read while everyone else watched her. After a moment, Sera peered over her shoulder. The words didn’t make any sense to her.

At last, Melanie raised her gaze to Blair’s face. “Would that work on a vampire?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. But I don’t think Smith knew whatever he used would work either. I doubt it had ever been tried before in conjunction with the creation of a vampire.”

“Then why would he risk it?” Sera asked.

“Because that’s what he does. He takes risks and grabs opportunities, and makes his plans accordingly. I think he can talk to the dead, as you do. And I think that gave him the idea which he put into practice when he encountered a vampire. Arthur, probably. Whatever magic he used to compel obedience has interfered with whatever occurs naturally to turn the dead into the undead.”

For the benefit of the others who were looking bewildered—even Jilly had glanced up from her laptop, frowning—Sera repeated Blair’s words, adding hastily, “It makes a weird kind of sense to me, but it isn’t proof. You’re just guessing. We’re all just guessing.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “But it struck me today when I was talking to Jason. Even for fledglings, they don’t think for themselves. They’re more like zombies, acting from instinct or obedience, not from desire.”

Slowly, mulling it over, Sera repeated Blair’s speech.

“Fuck,” Jack said in some awe. “Is he saying we’re dealing with a hybrid of vampire, zombie, and banker? How scary is that?”

Melanie pointed her pen at Blair. “I think you’re on to something. We need an enchantment to reverse zombie spells.”

“Simple,” Sera said faintly.

****

By the time Sera fell asleep, there was hope. They’d found a powerful counter-spell to the one Blair had brought to their attention, and Melanie was sure she knew now how to break the caster’s hold.

“Postpone the celebrations,” she advised. “We’ll give it a shot tomorrow when I’ve slept.”

Jilly had already fallen asleep, satisfied she’d caused at least some havoc in the banking world while covering her tracks.

“Even if they do catch you,” Elspeth comforted, “I’m sure they’ll be more lenient when you haven’t actually stolen anything.”

“Not sure it works that way,” Jilly murmured, shoving the laptop off her knee and curling into the chair with her eyes closed. Sera threw a blanket over her.

Under protest, Elspeth was given Sera’s bed. The rest crashed out on the floor or sofa. As Sera gave in to exhaustion, she was aware of Blair standing by the window, looking into the night. He was very still, very straight, and something about his long, lean back and the way his hair curled over his neck made her heart ache. Tonight, he might have been human.

But he wasn’t.

There were so many reasons to draw back from whatever it was she’d found with him. She knew she was doing the right thing.

And yet, when she woke up suddenly to the clicking of the front door lock, she was on her feet and running down the stairs in nameless panic before she was properly conscious.

He must have heard her coming. At the speed he moved, he could have been halfway home before her foot hit the top step. Instead, he stood below her, one hand on the half-open door as he watched her descent.

“You’re going,” she whispered stupidly.

“It’s nearly dawn.”

Reaching the bottom, she walked slowly toward him, not knowing what to say except a lame, “Thanks for your help tonight.”

He inclined his head. It didn’t appear to be ironic. His expression was serious, if otherwise unreadable. She stood beside him, waiting for him to say something or to go. She didn’t know which she wanted.

Slowly, unsmiling, he lifted his hand and touched her cheek, cupping it in his palm. It felt tender and sweet. Until she blinked, and then his touch and his presence were both gone. The door didn’t make a sound as it closed behind him.

Sera stared at it without seeing. She raised her hand, placing it over the skin he’d caressed. It felt like good-bye.

Chapter Sixteen

Judging by the sky, Blair reckoned he had time to call in on Phil before he went home. He wanted to make sure the old piss-head was up for the fight. Or at least, that was what he told himself. In reality, he didn’t want time alone to brood about Serafina.

One thing a vampire learned was patience. He knew better than to invite Sera to his house for a dawn ravishing. Whatever was going on in her mixed-up head, she needed time to sort it out, and Blair was happy to give her that. After all, he’d be seeing her regularly until this mess was sorted out anyway. The fact that she’d followed him in panic to the front door, the arrested look in her eye when she imagined he was saying a terminal farewell—a belief he’d rather deliberately inspired—both convinced him that hope of Serafina was not lost. He could wait. But the knowledge didn’t stop the lust or the frustration from rampaging through him until he almost turned back, shoved the door in, and took her while she was still halfway up the stairs.

A fantasy for another day.

Phil had taken up temporary residence, as he frequently did while in Edinburgh, in a condemned warehouse in the old brewery district of Fountainbridge. He wouldn’t have the use of it much longer, though—a sign bearing the name of a major property developer had gone up. It would soon be luxury, serviced flats, so unless Phil stumped up and bought one, he’d be homeless pretty soon.

There had once been iron gates leading into the yard. Now it was a much lower, makeshift, wood-and-wire barrier held on with string. Blair jumped over it without touching it and strode toward the smaller, boarded-up door at the side of the building. His mind was on Sera, on the difficulties of the task she was trying to achieve, and on how to charm her back into his bed before he exploded with lust. So he barely noticed the warning prickles breaking out all over his body until he’d reached up and almost pushed open the door.

Vampires. On the outside, close by.

“Run, Blair. Don’t come in. Run.” Phil’s telepathic voice from the inside turned the cold blood in his veins to ice. He’d never before felt such panic, such fear in Phil’s mind.

“What’s going on?” he demanded.

“Run!” Phil pleaded desperately. “Fucking run!”

He could rush in and try to save Phil from whatever was scaring his pants off. But Phil would hardly tell him to run unless—

Blair was already leaping backward when the force of the explosion blasted him even farther. A fireball followed him, bursting from the building and searing him on its way past. Blair could hear the awed, triumphant laughter of the vampires in his head, and then it was drowned out by Phil’s terrible screams.

A vampire couldn’t survive fire; and the warehouse was burning.

At the last moment, Blair managed to twist in mid-air, so that when the force of the blast released him, he hit the ground feetfirst, instantly running through the billowing clouds of smoke and dust, back toward the warehouse. The raging inferno straight in front of him had to be the door he’d almost entered. Swerving, he sped to the main front door, which was in much the same state.

The other vampire presences were melting away. Perhaps they’d imagined he’d burned up in the fireball. Or perhaps they’d heard the police and fire sirens screaming toward them. Blair leapt to the upper floor window, crashing through the boards and into the derelict, smoke-filled room. Phil’s mental screaming grew fainter, but it was enough for Blair to trace him. Forcing his way through the heat, which grew ever more intense toward the inferno that had once been the wooden stairs, he ignored the agonizing blistering and crumpling of his skin. In the end, he found Phil by bumping into him.

From instinct, he grabbed at him as an ominous cracking sounded even through the roar of the flames. There was an instant of clarity when he realized Phil was pinned to the balustrade with wooden stakes through his hands, and that the whole stairwell was about to collapse, balustrade and all.

The only way to go on was not to think. To shut out the heat and close down the part of his brain that still felt pain. He allowed the anger, the fury, since it gave him a false strength he no longer had in reality. Blair altered his grip and yanked. The balustrade came with Phil, and Blair swung back the way he’d come.

But the smoke was so thick now he couldn’t even see the window he’d crashed through. Still relying on an instinct that couldn’t be trusted in this hell of heat and smoke, Blair took his last chance. He could end it all by rushing straight into the thick stone walls. With the force of his run, that would be his last act. Or he might get it right and find the window.

Carrying Phil and the accompanying balustrade in his arms, Blair leapt. The balustrade crashed and broke against the wall, vibrating through him like a machine-gun blast. But there was colder air and nothing under his feet.

The night was alight not just with fire but with emergency flood lights. Human voices yelled, mingling with the wail of sirens. Fire engines, ambulances, and police cars seemed to fill the edge of the yard and the street beyond.

The ground rushed to meet him. He glimpsed a policeman, openmouthed and stunned, and then the sea of smoke and rubble closed in once more.

Even as he hit the ground running once more, despite the agony of burning skin and the dead weight of his tragically silent friend in his arms, the joy of survival rushed through him.

Who’d have thought a mere forty years ago, when Ailis had forcibly tethered him to the earth with responsibility, that the mere extension of existence could have made him grin like a maniac in the carnage?

****

Nobody wanted to be the one to open Serafina’s the next day. So, buoyed up by a shower and a lot of coffee, Sera did it while the others took turns to go home and change. It was a mostly clear day, appointment-wise, because Sera had set it aside for the chasing of new business.

“And since I don’t feel capable of chasing anything that moves faster than a cup of coffee,” she told Melanie, “I think I should stay here and watch you de-spell the banking vampires.”

“What if they go on the rampage?” Mel asked anxiously. “If they’re suddenly released from Nick’s control…”

“Well, they can’t rampage before tonight. And if they’re no longer acting together, Blair can kill them.”

Something twisted inside her as she spoke the words, but there was no time to dwell on that because Melanie was bringing up other problems. “Yes, but how long will that take? You said he wanted you to track them for him. Do you really want to be a sniffer dog for a vampire assassin?”

Sera flopped into the nearest chair and rubbed her tired eyes. “I don’t know what else to do. There are too many of them, and they keep killing.” She lifted her gaze to Mel, who looked unnaturally bright and wide awake. “And what about Nicholas himself? If you break his spell, will he not be able to just recast it when you’ve gone home?”

Mel eased her hip off Elspeth’s desk and walked to the window. “Not really,” she said ruefully. “My counter-spell should run through each vampire to the source of the original spell.”

“Nick?”

“Nick. Each loosening should weaken him. To be honest, I doubt he’ll have much magical power left by the time we finish with him.”

The twist tightened. Sera wondered if it was her conscience. “You mean he won’t be psychic anymore?” How would that make me feel? I wouldn’t be different anymore. I could have a normal life, get married, have kids… So why does the very idea make me feel dead inside?

Melanie said, “I don’t think that can be taken from him, any more than his knowledge can.”

Was that relief? Did she really care what happened to that bastard who’d rejected and ignored her and was perfectly happy to enslave humanity? Christ, I need more sleep.

“It’s his—energy, if you like, that’ll be affected. He’s needed a lot for what he’s doing, and it sort of feeds itself on a loop as he uses it. We’re going to smash the loop. And that will leave him with a hell of a lot less than he started with. At the very most.”

Sera frowned at Melanie’s back. “You mean we could kill him?”

Mel hesitated, then shivered and glanced back over her shoulder. “I don’t know. But we certainly won’t do his health any good. Do you want to call it off, Sera? Look for some other way?”

Sera spread her hands on her knees and regarded her fingers, spotting an uneven nail, a random scratch on her thumb. “There isn’t another way, is there?”

“There’s always another way. We just have to find it.”

“I don’t think we’ve time for that, do you?”

Mel shrugged. “I don’t even know how often we’ll have to do the spell. I don’t imagine you get many vampires with one shot. And this is going to use up a hell of a lot of my own energy. I’ll need to sleep in between.”

Sera stood up with decision. “Then let’s start. Why don’t you use the inner office? I’ll mind the shop as well as watch for you.”

****

There were no words, but Blair sensed their grim, silent presence. As he gazed down on the still, burned husk on the bed, all those with whom he or Phil had links hovered in his mind with grief and anger. It was rare enough for one of them to die that they all felt Phil’s pain and the shock of his imminent passing.

Possible passing.

Again, Blair had to break his own skin before holding his wrist to Phil’s lips, pressing hard enough for some of the blood to spill over his lips and teeth. At least this time, he felt the weak, instinctive suck, and knew there was hope.

Abruptly, Davie spoke in his mind. “I’ll be coming over now.”

“Now would be good,” Blair said after a pause, willing Phil to keep drinking. Surely the pull was growing stronger? “Keep hidden and wait for my call.”

For once, there was no dispute, no posturing or defiance, only a subdued murmur of assent as they drifted away.

“You have them well in hand,” a very different voice said in his mind, mingling amusement with admiration. Relief washed over him, almost like a pain.

“Ailis.”

She was Phil’s best chance, and, as if Phil felt her too, he sucked harder, drawing Blair’s blood greedily into his own mouth. The blackness of his skin began to recede and lighten to blistered redness in places.

“I’m on my way,” Ailis said. “But it will be well after dark before I can reach Edinburgh.”

Blair sent her a nod, gritting his teeth. His blood was doing its job, reviving Phil, giving him the strength to remember his greed. He could drain Blair dry and it still wouldn’t be enough blood to heal him.

Reluctantly, he pulled his wrist free. “Enough for now. Rest.”

****

On his way out of the police station to begin his shift, McGowan was surprised to see Steve Paton slumped over a desk, apparently doodling with pencil and paper.

“You still here?” he said in surprise. “I thought you were on night shift.”

“Yes.” Steve grunted, throwing down his pencil and rubbing his face with one hand. “I feel like shite. Need my bed. I just wanted to draw this character before I forgot what he looked like.”

Steve wasn’t a police artist as such. He was just a police constable with a talent for sketching. Over the years, he’d done caricatures of McGowan and most of their colleagues and superiors. They hung on the walls of the canteen and the locker rooms.

“Who’s he?” McGowan asked without much interest.

“You heard about the Fountainbridge fire? Definitely arson. I saw this guy running away from it, carrying someone else. I suppose you could say he’s our chief suspect. I’ll give it to Sal before I go.”

McGowan nodded and was about to pass on when, as Steve stood and reached for the picture, he glanced at it himself and stopped dead. Snatching it from Steve’s surprised grasp, he stared at it.

It showed a good-looking, lean young man with thick, wild hair, and large, deep-set eyes, looking out of the picture as if he was dropping from the sky. He had the sort of bone structure women swooned over and the lips of a sensualist. He also looked furious, and his skin seemed to be peeling.

“I know him,” McGowan said slowly. “I’ve seen him before. Recently…” He cast his mind back over the previous working day and its finish via the home of the enigmatic Sera MacBride. His breath caught. He lifted his gaze to the expectant Steve. “Blair. His name’s Blair, and he’s a friend of that psychic researcher in the New Town: Serafina MacBride.”

****

Jilly, her ear to the door of the inner office, said, “It’s very quiet in there. She’s not speaking.”

“Maybe it’s happening,” Sera said hopefully. She was trying to concentrate on her research for tomorrow’s appointments, with indifferent success.

“How long did she say it would take?” Jack asked, carefully neutral. He was having a hard time believing in witches and spells. If it wasn’t for the recent events featuring vampires, he’d have been snorting in derision. At least in private.

“What do your parents think of you working for a psychic researcher?” Sera asked suddenly. Jack’s parents were a surgeon and a company director.

Jack grinned sheepishly. “They don’t know. They think I’m unemployed.”

Sera gave a slightly twisted smile. “Which, for all the salary you get here, you probably are.”

“And for all the work he does,” Jilly added, moving away from the door.

“Why don’t you get a real job? The sort graduates are supposed to do?” It wasn’t the first time she’d asked, and she wasn’t surprised to get the same answer.

“When the right one comes along, I will.”

“What is the right job for you, Jack?” Jilly mocked.

“Nursery nurse,” Jack scowled. “I feel I’m already doing it.”

Sera stood up. “I don’t like this. She’s too quiet too long.”

Jilly caught her arm as she marched toward the inner office. “Wait. What if you interrupt her at the crucial moment?”

“What if she’s dead?” The words slipped out without intention, scaring Sera as much as Jilly.

White, Jilly stared at her. “You’d know, wouldn’t you?”

Not with Mel… This time, Sera closed her lips before she spoke aloud. She pulled free of Jilly and reached for the door.

Quietly, she turned the handle and went in.

Oh Jesus Christ, no…

Mel was slumped over the table, one hand still in the tray of earth, the other under her head on the table. Without conscious volition, Sera found herself crouching beside her friend, smoothing the hair from her face so that she could see her.

She touched Mel’s lips, felt her breath, and almost sobbed in relief. Then she saw the tearstains on Mel’s face as the witch’s eyes fluttered open. She tried to lift her head but seemed unable.

“I’m sorry, Sera,” she whispered. “I can’t reach them. I’m not strong enough.”

Sera stroked her hair. “Not any of them?”

“Not one.”

“The spell doesn’t work,” Jilly said from the doorway. Frustration was clear in her voice.

“The spell is good,” Mel said weakly. “It just needs more power than I have. Even in the same room, I’d have difficulty. It’s too strong for me.”

“You’re just tired,” Sera said. She didn’t know if she meant to comfort Melanie or herself. “Come on. You need rest. You can’t do something like this on the strength of three hours’ sleep.”

Jilly came to help, and between them, they lifted her from the chair and half carried her through the door and upstairs to the flat. Sera fetched her a glass of water, which she drank obediently and then lay down on Sera’s bed as if she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Over her sleeping body, Sera met Jilly’s gaze.

And then came the distant sound of Elspeth’s voice, speaking too loudly, in too much panic. “She isn’t here right now. I’ll get her to call you.”

Sera bolted to the stairs and crept down, listening. “I’ll wait,” said the voice of Nicholas Smith.

Sera glanced over her shoulder at Jilly, whose eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. Sera grinned and walked the rest of the way down to the inner office. Through its open door, she could see Nicholas Smith seating himself in the waiting chairs. He wore a suit and tie.

Sera and Jilly strolled through. It comforted Sera to hear the click of the flat door locking behind them.

“Old Nick,” she observed, entering the main office. “How can I help you today?”

“By telling me what you’re doing.” Smith rose to his feet, and Sera at once sensed anger. He was suppressing it beneath his usual, suave exterior, but tension radiated from his tense shoulders, the careful modulation of his voice, the infinitesimal tightness of his polite smile.

“I’m about to have a cup of coffee and make a few phone calls. I want to expand my business.”

He stared at her. “So long as you’re not interfering in mine.”

Sera met his gaze blandly. Had he felt Melanie’s attempt to break through his spell? If he guessed what they were up to, would he be able to block them? Supposing Mel ever discovered a way to actually reach the vampires…

Sera said, “I want nothing whatever to do with you or your ‘business.’”

“Some of my people,” Smith said, still gazing at her as if he could read her mind, “have had their access to funds denied. Pending security investigations.”

Jilly had gone very still. Sera grinned openly. She wanted to grab Jilly’s hand and dance around the room with her. Instead, she said succinctly, “Good. I guess the banks aren’t as stupid as you thought them. Or your vampires are stupider—it’s what you get for cutting off their thought processes.”

“Oh, I can cut off a lot more than that,” Smith said, smiling. His eyes were cold and furious, and behind that, more worryingly, was a fierce, vindictive triumph that clawed at Sera’s stomach.

“What do you mean?” she asked, forcing lightness into her voice.

“I mean you should join me now, before it’s too late.”

Sera curled her lip. “It’s always been too late, Dad. Why don’t you run along? You’re making my shop untidy.”

He was alone, without his vampires in the middle of the day. Sera had already considered capturing and imprisoning him, but they really didn’t want all his vampires rushing to his rescue as soon as it was dark. At least not until they knew Mel’s spell would work. Right now, Sera just wanted him gone. Jilly and Jack stood on either side of her, leaving Smith in no doubt that they could and would run him out the door if necessary. Even Elspeth had got to her feet and was staring at him sternly.

Smith left.

In the doorway, he did a slightly impatient shuffle with two people coming in—a man with a casual jacket over a shirt and tie, a woman in black trousers and a red wool jacket with her hair scraped well back from her face.

They looked slightly surprised to see the delegation lined up before them. Jack coughed and mumbled something as he went back to his desk. Jilly dropped into her own seat and casually opened her laptop.

Sera, her head singing with frustration and unanswered questions, wanted to scream at them to go away so she could discuss things with the others. Or at least have peace to think. Instead, she forced herself to smile at the newcomers.

Elspeth said welcomingly, “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” said the woman, turning to Elspeth. She produced an identity card. “I’m Detective Sergeant Lennox from CID. This is Detective Constable Graham.”

One of the hardest things Sera ever did was not to look at Jilly and shout, Run! Take the laptop and chop it into a million pieces!

DC Graham said, “We’d like to speak to Miss Serafina MacBride.”

That was a good thing. That had to be a good thing. “I’m Sera MacBride,” she said, as lightly as she could manage. “What can I do for you?”

DC Graham fished a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “We’re making some enquiries about this man. Do you recognize him?”

Sera glanced at the paper. It showed a rough pencil sketch of an unmistakable figure that made her stomach lurch. There was no point in denying him. Alex McGowan had seen him in her flat.

“Yes, I know him,” she said easily. “What do you want him for?”

“Could you tell us his name and address?” Sergeant Lennox asked while Graham refolded the paper and stuffed it into one pocket before taking his notebook from another.

“His name’s Blair. I don’t know his address.”

The lie brought both pairs of eyes to her face. “Does he work for you, Miss MacBride?” Sergeant Lennox asked.

“No. He’s just an acquaintance.”

“But I understand he’s a good enough friend to have been visiting you in your home last night.”

“He and several other people, yes. Look, what’s this about?”

“You’ll have heard about the fire at Fountainbridge? Completely destroyed a warehouse that was due to be converted into flats. A firefighter’s in hospital.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Sera said, frowning. “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Can you tell us where you were between five and six o’clock this morning?” Graham asked.

“I was here,” Sera said. “Or at least in my flat upstairs. Why?”

“Can anyone vouch for that?” Lennox asked.

“Aye,” Jilly said aggressively, at exactly the same time as Jack and Elspeth both said, “Yes.”

Clearly startled, both police officers glanced around Sera’s staff. “You can all swear that Miss MacBride was at home between five and six in the morning?” Graham said in disbelief.

“They stayed the night,” Sera explained. “We were in the middle of something and finished late. It seemed easiest.”

“Did Mr. Blair also stay the night?”

“Yes,” Sera said boldly.

“Is he here now?” Lennox enquired. “We’d like to ask him a few questions.”

“No, he’s not here now.”

“When did he leave?”

That, Sera realized, pretending to think about it, was a tricky question to answer. If she told the truth, she could be incriminating him; if she said she’d been asleep and didn’t know, it put her own alibi at risk.

Jilly said, “I think he went about five-thirty. I heard him go downstairs.”

The officers exchanged glances that could have meant anything.

Sera said, “You really think he had something to do with this fire?”

“We need to talk to him,” Graham said stolidly.

“Oh, I can cut off a lot more than that.” Smith’s words suddenly began to make sense. “Did someone give you his name?” she asked. “If so, I have to tell you it was probably malicious.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Lennox said dryly. “He was seen and recognized at the scene by a police officer.” She took a card from her pocket and shoved it into Sera’s nerveless fingers. “Ask him to contact us on that number, will you? Or if you have any information, let us know immediately.”

“Of course,” Sera said vaguely.

****

There was no way she could stay away. No assurances that he’d be asleep or warnings that she’d only lead the cops straight to him could prevent her. She took a circuitous route via several shops, every sense on high alert to make sure she wasn’t followed. But in the end, she stood outside Blair’s house, ringing the bell in vain. Both doors were locked. And yet she knew he was in there. She could sense him.

At last, she decided to try the basement door one last time, and if he wouldn’t open it, she’d do her best to pick the lock.

She thumped the door a few more times, to absolute silence.

Then she opened her bag and rummaged for a nail file. Fortunately, the street was quiet, and she could see no one obvious at the opposite windows. Bending to the lock, she began to insert the file, just as the door opened and a woman in colorful hippy clothes emerged, trailing long, cotton scarves and chunky jewelry. She gave Sera a vague smile as they passed in the doorway, then walked up the steps and turned right toward Prince’s Street.

Sera gazed unhappily after her. Her stomach felt knotted with stress. Or distress. Although she’d seen no wounds on the girl, she was damned sure Blair had drunk from her. Did he fuck her as well?

More lowering than anything else was that she felt more jealousy than anxiety for the victim.

“Sick old bat,” she told herself and went into the house. Closing the door behind her, she stepped forward into the dark hallway.

“Blair?” she called. “This isn’t a social call. I need to talk to you.”

Something moved at the top of the stairs—no more than a silent shadow. Swallowing, grasping the stake in her pocket, Sera walked toward the stairs. With all her senses, she reached into every room downstairs. She knew he was on the next floor.

She began to climb the stairs. “Blair, what are you doing?” she demanded. “It’s me! The police are looking for you! What’s going on?”

Something clicked upstairs. She felt a tiny frisson of fresh air.

The bastard had left by the other door. She bolted to the top of the stairs and ran to the front door, tearing it open. There was no one in the street, apart from a biker, all leather and helmet, disappearing round the corner.

“Sewer or smoking blanket?” Jilly had asked sardonically.

Motorbike.

Sera’s skin prickled. Was that really how he got around in daylight? Was that Blair she’d just seen? Probably. She could no longer feel him in the house. But she could sense vampire.

Her heart hammering in her breast, she closed the door without shutting it tight, and walked slowly down the hall, past the sitting room she’d been in before, and on to the door that stood ajar. She touched it.

Vampire. Everything screamed at her. She took the stake from her pocket and pushed open the door.

Nothing leapt at her.

The vampire lay on a large, four-poster bed. Behind curtains and shutters, a solitary candle burned, but the vampire didn’t move. His spirit was weak, in such pain that it took Sera several moments to identify it.

“Phil?” she whispered. She didn’t mean to; fear just brought it out that way. Something was terribly wrong with him.

“Serafina.” If he’d spoken it, it would have been like a breath, no louder.

She went closer. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m hurt,” he said, a tad more strongly. There was even a touch of wryness in it.

He was hurt. A single sheet covered him, but above it, the head on the pillow was almost hairless, the skin blistered and red, tinged black in places. His hands and arms were the same. And the eyes which gazed at her were full of unspeakable agony.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“Smith tracked me to my home. His vampires bound me and laid a trap for Blair. Then he set the place on fire by remote control. Or at least, his vampires did.”

“The warehouse at Fountainbridge,” she said stupidly. “My God… Where’s Blair? Did he just leave?”

“He’s gone to get me more blood. It’s all that will save me now.”

She’d been right that the hippy girl was food, just not for Blair. “Shite, Phil, how did you get out of there?”

“Blair. I refused to call him, but he came anyway. I managed to warn him so he was far enough back to survive when the explosion happened. But he knew I was in there and came back for me. I knew he would. I knew he would.” Something leaked from his eyes. It looked like blood. Distressed, Sera searched for a cloth to wipe his eyes and found one with a bowl of clean water on the bedside table.

“Don’t,” she said with difficulty, dabbing at the corner of his eyes and trying desperately not to hurt him further. “You’ll lose all the blood you’ve just taken.” She paused. “Why does that upset you so much? Why did you try so hard to keep him away?”

“Because I was afraid he’d use it as an excuse. To save me and die.”

Sera sank onto the bed beside him. “An excuse?” she repeated.

His cracked lips tugged as if trying to smile. “The curse of the vampire,” he said, “is boredom. Blair has been bored for many years.”

Sera looked away, dropped the cloth into the bowl. Suddenly, she wanted Phil to stop talking, but he wouldn’t.

“The only reason he’s still here is the promise he made to Ailis. That when she was away, he would look out for the community, for all of us, in her place. She understood him, knew how to keep him with us.”

Blair with dead, anguished eyes, unresisting and silently laughing under the stabbing stakes of ignorant young men; Blair, exuding such sorrow that even his would-be murderer had wept for him while a beautiful vampiress had coaxed and coerced him into the promise that kept him bound to existence and gave him reason, however unwanted. The Blair of Jamie’s vision.

Understanding, compassion, neither could prevent the numbing chill spreading through her veins.

I’ve been a distracting fuck for a depressed vampire. Why should that hurt so much? She’d had sex for less worthy reasons.

“Ailis could force him to exist,” Phil’s faint voice went on in her mind. “But she couldn’t make him happy.” When Sera glanced at him uncertainly, his cracked lips quirked again. “He didn’t throw me to safety. He jumped with me and saved us both. Your banking vampires intrigued and annoyed him. You gave him back life. Un-life.”

“You’re delirious,” she said shakily. Blair wasn’t like that, he wasn’t. He was hedonistic and lazy and unexpectedly good fun. And yet when he’d first touched her, there had been that profound blackness corroding him. She’d put it down to too many terrible memories, appalling crimes committed and suffered. But it had always been more than that. Jamie’s vision had reinforced what she already suspected deep down. She of all people should never have labeled Blair so simply.

“I’m talking too much,” Phil agreed, closing his eyes. “For a silent vampire…”

Sera stared at him and swallowed. “I can give you blood. If you promise not to take it all.”

Phil’s eyes opened. “I can’t drink from you, Sera.”

“Because you’re too weak?” she asked in pity.

“No, idiot. Because you’re his.”

She tore her gaze free, appalled to feel tears clogging her throat. “No, I’m not,” she whispered.

Chapter Seventeen

“We have to finish this,” Sera fumed, all but slamming the shop door as she entered Serafina’s. “Smith’s fighting dirty. That fire was meant to kill Blair.”

“I thought he was dead already,” Jilly muttered.

Sera swung on her. “Well, there are two kinds of dead. There’s dead and able to help us, and there’s dead and useless. Does that make it more palatable for you?”

“Not entirely,” Jilly snapped back. “When all this is done, who’s going to help against him?”

“Let’s worry about that when it’s a problem. For now, trust me, Smith and his little banking army are by far the greater threat.” Sera threw herself into the chair behind her desk and scowled at her fingers.

No one spoke, although she was sure they were all busy exchanging glances.

“Are you guys in the phone book?” she asked abruptly. “Can you be traced easily?”

“Don’t try and put the wind up us, Sera MacBride,” Jilly said.

“I’m not. Look, even if Smith still refuses to hurt me, he’s still more than capable of hurting you to force my hand. Maybe you should all find somewhere else to stay until this is over. Don’t come in to work.”

“Don’t be silly, Sera,” Elspeth said briskly. “If he won’t hurt you, being where you are is clearly the safest place for us. I know your flat is rather small, but maybe we should all stay with you for the duration.”

Sera closed her mouth.

Jilly grinned and cocked her head in Elspeth’s direction. “What she said.”

Sera sprang to her feet. “Have I ever told you how annoying you are?”

“Frequently,” said Jilly proudly.

Sera threw a pencil sharpener at her and paced toward the window. “I wish it would get dark…”

“So the bad guys come out again?” Jack enquired.

She sighed. “No, so Melanie will have had a good sleep and be able to give the spell another go. I was thinking about it, and I’m sure it’ll work better at night, when there are vampires around.”

“Maybe,” Jilly allowed.

Sera didn’t give her other reason, which was that Blair was more likely to visit. She still hadn’t warned him to steer clear of the police.

****

Melanie’s second attempt seemed destined for as little success as her first. She sat bolt upright at the dining table, one hand clutching a human bone, the other buried in a tray of fresh earth. A green twig lay under her wrist. The words were said. Sera had seen the power flowing from her friend’s eyes, but somehow, she knew it had never connected. But Melanie was still concentrating, still trying.

For an observer, it was, frankly, boring. No one could complain if Sera’s mind drifted away, looking for Blair. She’d never tried contacting him telepathically before, although it had happened by accident at Smith’s house. She tried it deliberately now, talking directly, silently to the “feel” that was Blair.

“Blair. Blair, are you there?”

Silence greeted her. Inevitably. Then his voice sounded in her head, unmistakably Blair. “Of course.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m busy.”

Infuriated, she demanded, “Busy doing what?”

“Vampire things,” he said blandly. “Call later.”

Bastard. She’d sensed the excitement in his telepathic voice, had no doubt what he was doing. She fed her own anger because it was easier to deal with than what lay underneath it.

“Damn!” Melanie gasped out.

At once, Sera dragged her attention back to the witch. “What? What is it? Are you okay?”

“I nearly had it,” Melanie panted. “Nearly. I felt a surge and almost reached a recipient.”

“What sort of a surge?” Sera asked, frowning.

“I don’t know…” Melanie’s eyes came back into proper focus, gazing at Sera. “You, I think…” She closed her eyes. “Hell, I’m weak as a kitten. This is going to take an awfully long time, isn’t it? I need help. I should call in a few colleagues.”

“Maybe you should,” Sera agreed, trying not to sound too bleak. She stood up. “Come on. Sleep some more, and then we’ll decide. I’m going to find Blair.”

****

No one, Sera thought, walking through the cobbled streets of the old town surrounding the castle, could object to being the reason her lover wanted to live. Although she could doubt its truth. Sera had encountered depressed and even suicidal people before, and Blair, for all his hidden depths just didn’t fit the profile.

Nor was she blind to the fact that as she’d entered his house this afternoon, Blair had deliberately left it. He had other things on his mind, of course: preserving Phil and stopping his pain—how did human blood do that, anyway? But what difference would a minute have made? Couldn’t he have said hello?

Why should he? Why should a centuries-old vampire waste any time on a girl who blew hot and cold for no reason except her own miserable hang-ups? And why should said girl give a damn anyway? She needed Blair to help with the banking-vampire problem. In personal terms, they were poison to each other.

She even wondered if he were hiding from her, because tracking him had proved extraordinarily difficult. He’d walked past Serafina’s at some point, but his trail had disappeared. She’d gone back to his street and picked up the “feel” of him there. It had gone round the corner and disappeared again. Heading up to the old town had been a last resort, because at least one of the vampires’ victims had been killed in a pub in that area. She was sure he would be hunting, whether human or vampire, and the dark allies and closes, the old stamping ground of murderers like Deacon Brodie and Burke and Hare, would surely be the best place for that.

And here, at last, she’d picked up his trail, following him from pub to pub. As she brushed against a wall, she got a flash of him, gazing into a man’s eyes, arm around his shoulder as if in drunken camaraderie, while in his mind was only cold calculation and blood lust. She could feel where he’d drunk the man’s blood and moved on. Clearly he wasn’t taking them all home to Phil. Perhaps there were limits to what Phil could drink in a day.

He’d been in another pub since then and left with another human. Sera followed them along the road and down the steps of a narrow alley. The old, gray stone buildings rose tall and threatening on either side. The light was poor, and at the corner of another, even narrower passage that ran between buildings, it seemed to disappear altogether. Glancing up, Sera saw that the street lamp was broken. She could see only blackness in the passage, and yet she knew he’d gone that way.

Her skin prickled as she stepped inside. It was worth remembering that vampires were not the only predators who haunted the dark corners of cities. In fact, human predators would probably do her more damage. At least the handy sharp stick in her pocket would work on either kind.

She moved on, trailing one hand along the wall of the building on her left to keep track of him. Her eyes grew more accustomed to the deeper darkness and began to make out the looming buildings, their doors and windows and backyards. Her feet made very little noise, just the occasional crunch on the uneven cobbles. From the buildings, she heard occasional muffled voices raised in anger or bursts of laughter, but she encountered no one.

Until she saw Blair. There were rough, ancient steps on two sides, leading up to a doorway. The light above the door had mysteriously gone out too, and beneath its broken glass, Sera saw shadows move. Not large or threatening movements, but very slight, sensual ones. Her heart lurched. She stopped and stared until the figures resolved. A man and a woman locked in an embrace. He’d braced her against the wall, much as he’d once done with Sera against her kitchen door. He might have been screwing the woman, for all Sera knew. He was certainly biting her.

Head thrown back against the wall, the woman’s body moved against him as if to the rhythm of his sucking. She made a tiny little mewl of pleasure, and slowly, unhurriedly, Blair lifted his head. But he didn’t look at his victim; he turned and gazed directly at Sera. Of course, he knew she was there. His eyes seemed to glitter. She could make out his fangs, gleaming white among the blood. Then, deliberately, he returned to the woman’s throat and drank some more.

Sera stood rooted to the spot. She wanted to throw something at him, make him stop. And yet she knew he wouldn’t kill the woman. She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she did. In some strange, perverse way, he’d never looked more beautiful or more alien to her. And yet what bothered her most was the heat that flooded her body as she watched him. Her hard, yearning nipples seemed to rub against the fabric of her clothes; between her legs was the hot moisture of lust. And in her heart, the sharp, ugly ache of jealousy.

Blair raised his head once more. She even saw him lick the woman’s wound as he’d licked hers. Then he released her. The woman appeared to tug his arm, urging him toward the doorway, but Blair merely removed her hand and kissed it with antiquated gallantry before gently pushing her into the doorway.

Only then, when the door had closed behind his obedient victim, did he turn and look once more at Sera. He said nothing. His mind was silent, his body unnaturally still.

“Full?” she snapped, more to break the silence than because she had any desire to know.

“No. But then I was always taught to leave the table knowing I could eat just a little more.”

What the hell was she doing here? Had she really imagined that Blair would be any help with Melanie’s spell problem? Had she really imagined he’d want to be? They were anathema to each other, and this was exactly what Blair had meant to show her.

Hell, I’ll do it. I’ll wish all the energy of the dead through me to Mel. Then she’ll reach the bastards.

It was a wild thought, surging out of nowhere from defiance, from some unbearably painful disappointment that she refused to analyze. She even swung away from him, ready to return the way she’d come.

And suddenly, he was there in front of her, forcing her to halt.

“That might work,” he said mildly. “Energy comes from many sources, and you can channel it as I can’t. Vampires only pass supernatural energy on through their blood. Also, I’ve been thinking about what you said about magic, about opening locks with my mind. It only works when I’m close to the lock in question.”

Sera’s lips parted. “You mean she has to be around the vampires as she casts the spell? Bloody hell, how long is that going to take?”

“Depends on how close the vampires are.” He leaned closer, inhaling her. “The closer the better.”

Her body seemed to remember its experience of closeness to Blair. She felt it melt, even as she fought the memory.

“Don’t even think about it.” It would have been a snarl if only her voice hadn’t shaken. “You haven’t brushed your teeth.”

“I don’t leave blood on my teeth. I drink it all.”

“Not from me, you don’t!”

Although her body trembled, her words and her mind defied him. Glaring into his eyes, she even began to drag the stake from her pocket. But this close, his eyes seemed to drown hers. It wasn’t his hypnosis. It was her own fascination and straightforward lust. His lips parted, revealing a glimpse of his fangs. Her breath caught. He bent his head, not to her throat but to her mouth, and took it with his.

She tried to speak, to tell him to fuck off, but it wouldn’t have been honest. She wanted his kiss. She wanted his mouth moving on hers, stroking her tongue and lips and teeth. She wanted the reminder, the danger of his wicked, pointed canines, grazing the inside of her mouth. So she gave in and found she hadn’t remembered the full devastation of his kiss after all.

It was long and sensual and drove everything else from her mind. And yet he didn’t hold her, merely touched her with his body and his mouth. If anyone pressed closer, it was Sera. Only at the end, as his lips began to disengage, did he bring up his hand and touch her cheek, almost as if he couldn’t help it.

But his fingertips felt strange. Not the smooth, sexy touch she’d somehow got used to, but rough, uneven. She snapped her eyes open as he lifted his head, and she imagined one side of his face was disfigured. The darkness was playing tricks. But the knowledge didn’t prevent her touching his face in return and feeling the damaged skin.

“You were burned too,” she blurted. “Like Phil.”

“Not like Phil.” He stepped back, out of her reach, and she realized that the tender moment, if that was what it really was, had passed.

“He wouldn’t drink from me.”

“Drunks are always overly sentimental. Why were you looking for me?”

“Lots of reasons. We need to finish Smith quickly, and I don’t know how. The police think you started the fire; someone drew you escaping, and McGowan recognized you.”

“Did you tell them where I live?”

“Of course, I bloody didn’t!”

“Schoolboy honor—schoolgirl honor—is not yet dead,” he said flippantly. “All right. We’ll finish it quickly. I should be healed by tomorrow.”

“Will Phil?”

“Phil may take a little longer.” He gave her a small, ironic bow, turned on his heels, and disappeared into the night so fast she couldn’t make him out.

****

He didn’t go far. From the end of the passage, he leapt onto the top of the tall, stone tenement and watched her make her way back to better lit parts of town.

“Nicholas,” he called with his mind, reaching out to the psychic presence. “Nicholas Smith. I suppose I have to talk banks with you.”

There was a pause. But he’d got the message. Blair felt his astonishment, paralyzing his mind.

“Blair?” came the cautious response. Fear had overlaid his disbelief. “I thought you were—dead.”

“Oh, I’ve always been dead. At least in your lifetime. I’m not so easy to kill for good, but I can see that if I want a quiet life, I have to take to the financial world. Have you thought of telepathic banking?”

Nicholas Smith’s mind was smiling now. He was still suspicious but definitely hopeful. “I can see you’ll be a great asset to our cause after all.”

****

“I need a drink,” Sera said, throwing her keys on the table and sinking into the nearest chair. Opposite her, Jilly and Jack looked up from their fish suppers with more hope than expectation.

“Bring any in with you?” Jilly asked.

Sera sighed. “Didn’t think of it till right now.”

Elspeth, coming in from the kitchen, said, “There’s a bottle of vodka downstairs.”

Jilly made a noise like a squeaky door, which meant she was trying not to laugh. But Sera decided one honest admission deserved another.

“I know,” she said.

“Shall I bring it up?”

“Elspeth, I already owe you three bottles.”

Elspeth smiled faintly. “I know.”

She turned and went out. Listening to the measured thud of her feet on the stairs, Sera exchanged glances with the other two. “Guess I’m not as smart as I thought I was.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Or maybe she’s just smarter than we ever gave her credit for.”

“Sera gave her credit,” Jilly said. “Everyone gets credit off Sera till they blow it.”

Sera frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How’s Blair’s credit?”

“He’s still prepared to help us, so I suppose it’s high enough.” Sera shifted uncomfortably in her chair, listening to the sounds of Elspeth’s return. “Where’s Melanie? Still asleep?”

“Yep. Whatever she’s doing—or failing to do—it takes it out of her.”

Sera took the proffered bottle from Elspeth, and slowly raised her eyes to the older woman’s face. The bottle was unopened.

Elspeth said, “You don’t owe anyone, Sera.”

Sera smiled. “Neither do you.”

Jilly followed Sera to the kitchen to get glasses and mixers. “She knows, doesn’t she?” Jilly said, rummaging in the fridge.

“That I was the kid she stuck up for? I think maybe she always knew after all.”

“You know, I think I like Elspeth.”

“Easy, Jilly. You might find yourself liking Jack soon.”

“Nah,” said Jilly, emerging with a bottle of tonic and a carton of orange juice.

“Small ones only,” Sera said as they set everything down on the table. “And then an early night.”

“Yes, boss,” Jack said, reaching for the vodka bottle. Elspeth stuck with orange juice, which no one saw fit to comment on.

Abruptly, Sera said, “Blair thinks Mel needs to be closer to the vampires for the spell to work.”

“Can we trust Blair, though?” Jack asked.

I don’t know. I don’t know who or what he is. Aloud, she said steadily, “In this, I think so. He wants the same thing as us. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want revenge for the fire.”

“The fire could have convinced him he needs to play ball with Smith,” Jilly pointed out. “You always said he wanted a peaceful life.” She waved one expressive hand. “Existence. Whatever.”

Sera chose to ignore that. It had already crossed her mind. But she couldn’t bear the being who had kissed her like that to be betraying her at the same time. It was her weakness, and she needed to allow for it.

“He also said I could channel energy to Mel to make her stronger.”

“You can.” Mel’s voice spoke from the bedroom doorway, and when Sera turned, she was already walking toward them. She looked wide awake and businesslike, despite her sleep-crumpled clothes and tousled hair, and her eyes gleamed with new excitement. She sat down beside Sera and carefully poured herself a small vodka, which she drank neat, before she turned to face Sera. “That is, you probably can. I should have thought of this before.”

“Thought of what before?” Sera asked, bewildered.

“What Blair said.” Mel drew a deep breath. “I keep waiting for you to ask about your mother, but you never do. I can understand that. Reality so often pollutes a pleasant dream. But I’m going to tell you now anyhow, because you need to know. Did you guess that she was a witch? That I knew her because she was teaching me?”

Somewhere, it had entered Sera’s head, although she hadn’t wanted it to be true—for the same trivial reasons she hated Nicholas Smith being psychic. Now, staring at Mel, she merely nodded curtly. There was more than her ego involved here,

Mel said, “I was her—apprentice, if you like. She was a strong witch, with many gifts, which formed, I think, part of her attraction to your father. Whatever, she stayed grounded. She was a good person and strong. Strong enough to see Nick eventually for what he was and to move on without him. But I digress. One of her gifts was gathering other people’s energy for her own purposes.”

“What kind of energy?” Jilly asked uneasily.

“All kinds. Spiritual and emotional; from the living and the dead. She could pass it on to people to heal them, but I know it can be channeled to others too, to link power if you like.” She turned back to Sera. “You might have that gift too.”

Sera tried to laugh. It came out brittle and unhappy. “Why would you think that? Because I’m her daughter? Everything isn’t inherited. It’s not all about blood.”

“No. But in this case, it helps. I’ve felt something when you touch me. Everyone sensitive must feel it. Maybe you’re not just reading what’s inside them; maybe you’re giving your own positive energy.”

“Melanie, that’s shite,” Sera said and downed her remaining vodka and orange too fast.

“No, it isn’t,” said quite another voice inside her head, and instantly, she felt the blood rush through her body. “I’m outside your door.”

“Come in,” Sera said, waving her empty glass expansively.

“What?” Jack said, confused.

Sera sighed, although her heart was beating like a drum. It wasn’t all warning. “It’s Blair. He’s coming up.”

Blair entered the room silently and sat down beside Elspeth, who looked at his damaged face without comment. She didn’t move away from him. He wore the leather trousers and biker jacket she’d seen earlier—and Sera finally accepted that the helmeted biker she’d seen outside his house was him. That was how he got around during the day, preserving his eyes and his skin from the damaging sunlight. And on a motorbike, his feet would rarely touch the ground, and so she’d been unable to track him from his house this evening.

His hands were hidden in his lap, but despite the darkness of their previous encounter, Sera was sure the burn on the side of his face was smaller.

“You look better,” she said, pushing the bottle toward him.

He smiled. “Blood cures most things. In a vampire. No thanks, I can’t stay.”

Bugger you, then, she thought before she could help it. Why should he stay? There’d be no privacy here with her flat full of people. “Then what do you want?” she snapped.

“Some friends of mine will drop in on you tonight—hopefully while I’m here.”

“Will they eat us?” Sera asked flippantly.

Around her, her already bewildered friends looked startled or alarmed, according to their natures.

Blair said, “They might, if you ask them nicely. They’ve agreed to help, and they can protect you from vampires when I’m not around.”

Jack said, “Please tell us the answer to the eating question was no.”

Hastily, Sera repeated what Blair had said, while Blair himself sat unmoving, watching his hands rather than the people around him. It came to her that he was tired, exhausted even. Perhaps his body used up all its energy—and stolen blood—in healing his wounds.

I won’t care, she thought desperately, and his gaze lifted unexpectedly to hers.

However, he only said, “You want to finish with Smith quickly. I can bring the vampires together for you and your witch tomorrow night. Think of a suitable place, preferably large and open. You’ll have to be able to hide somewhere close by so that you can see what’s going on and cast your spells.”

Sera opened and closed her mouth. She felt like some brainless goldfish, floundering. Worse, some vague sense of alarm had begun to prickle her skin. Shrugging it off, she repeated what Blair had said to the others.

“What will they be doing there?” she asked him.

He stood up. “Talking finance with me.”

Sera sprang to her feet. Her alarm was no longer vague. It surged through her. “Something’s out there!” she exclaimed. “Vampires!”

“Oh shite,” said Jilly as they all stumbled to their feet and reached for the stakes Sera had insisted they carry at all times. Only Blair seemed completely unmoved, blinking almost sleepily as he gazed around the panicked humans. In sudden silence, they looked at each other, waiting.

Something knocked against the living room window. Sera jumped, and Elspeth let out a squeal.

“Shit,” Jack exclaimed. “They’re at the windows! Can they get in?”

Blair sighed in Sera’s head. It felt weird, as close to real breath as she’d ever feel from him. “They’re not bankers,” he said mildly. “They’re my friends. Let them in.”

“You let them in,” Sera retorted, moving forward with her stake as she flung back at her friends, “They’re Blair’s friends.”

“I really don’t see that makes it any better,” Jilly said grimly while Blair strolled forward and pulled back the curtain. A woman with jet-black hair and white skin clung there, pressing herself to the glass and revealing her fangs. She wore a full-skirted, brightly colored dress.

“Lord God Almighty,” Elspeth whispered.

Blair stood aside. There was the click of the window unlocking, and then the sash began to rise. The woman seemed to liquefy, snaking inside and reforming on the floor. In fact, Sera knew she’d never lost her form, merely moved very fast as Blair did, but somehow that didn’t make the sight less ominous, particularly as she was followed at once by a tall, broad-shouldered man in a dinner jacket with black tie.

The woman didn’t so much as glance at them. She floated to Blair and embraced him, pulling down his head to kiss his lips before she scanned his face.

She was beautiful. Probably the most beautiful woman Sera had ever seen. Certainly the most beautiful vampire. And Sera was sure she’d seen her before. She had, in her vision of Blair during one of their early encounters, and in Jamie’s memories from Blair’s sitting room floor. For Blair, she was a mixture of joy and sadness and powerful affection, and for some reason, that hurt. So did the power radiating from her.

So concerned was she with the woman that she didn’t notice the man’s approach until he stood in front of her, searching her face with open appreciation. Sera blinked, hoping she’d suppressed the startled jump of her nerves.

This being gave Blair a run for his money in terms of looks. Jet-black hair and even features, a tall, well-built body, and amused admiration gleaming in his dark, profound eyes.

“So you are Serafina,” he said softly in her mind, almost like a caress. At the same time, he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

She snatched it back. “Yes, I’m Serafina. And you’re out of order. Next time, ring the sodding bell.”

The vampire blinked, then began to laugh. His lips smiled, revealing his fangs. “Why, you are enchanting.”

Blair said, “Sera, Sebastian.” Even telepathically, his voice sounded resigned. “And this is Ailis.”

Sera turned with strange reluctance to meet the female vampire. Ailis, the oldest vampire Blair knew, the one who had turned him in the eighteenth century. She’d been made by the legendary Founder, and yet she didn’t look a day over twenty-five, if you ignored her eyes, which were as ancient and as incomprehensible as a Pictish standing stone.

And Ailis didn’t like her. “Sweet,” the vampiress pronounced, in the same tone of voice she might have said, Yuck. She strolled past to get a better view of the others and waved one languid arm. “These are the humans you want us to protect?”

“Sebastian will do for tonight,” Blair said. “Phil needs you.”

“Then I’ll meet you outside,” said Ailis. She cast a last glance around the humans, including Sera in her sweep, and then she shimmied under the window again and disappeared. Sera followed her and shut the window with a snap. It rattled.

Blair stood by Sebastian, glaring into his eyes, but whatever communication passed between them was out of her “hearing.” At last, while the humans exchanged uneasy glances around them, Sebastian shrugged and folded himself into the sofa.

“I’m on watch,” he said blandly to Sera. “What are you going to show me?”

“Does he have to stay here?” Sera demanded. “I’ve told you, Nicholas Smith won’t hurt me.”

“His vampires might, outside of his presence. And I wouldn’t trust Arthur not to branch out on his own.”

“No? Well, I’m not sure he won’t branch out on his own either.” She jerked her head at Sebastian.

“He won’t,” Blair said grimly.

Sebastian laughed, but Blair ignored him and walked to the living room door.

“Holyrood Park,” Sera said suddenly, and Jilly’s head jerked round in alarm.

Blair turned back to Sera.

“An open place for the vampires,” Sera said. “And Jilly’s flat overlooks it.”

Blair nodded. “Set up there tomorrow without drawing attention to yourselves. I’ll be in touch.”

Chapter Eighteen

Ailis sat on the bed at Phil’s side, her wrist to his mouth. He drank her powerful blood greedily, watching her all the time, like a baby being fed by its mother. She stroked his hair with her free hand. “Poor Phil. You’ll do better now. Especially if you stay away from Blair.”

Gentle but firm, she detached her wrist from his teeth and watched the wound close up almost immediately.

Phil licked his teeth. “Thank you.” The thought was like a sigh as he drifted into a proper rest, free now of all but the dullest pain.

Ailis glanced up at Blair. “You look as if you could use some too. Going after him was foolish. You could both have died.”

“We didn’t.” Blair took her outstretched hand but merely kissed it before releasing it. “I’m fine.”

“The psychic girl’s blood is so strong?”

“I haven’t drunk her blood since it happened.”

“Why ever not?”

“I’m saving it for rainy day. What was the monster show at her window all about?”

Ailis laughed. “It was Sebastian’s idea. We thought it would be amusing, which it was, although rather more at Sebastian’s expense than he’d intended. The humans didn’t react as he’d hoped.”

“They’ve got too used to vampires to be more than wary. If you want the screaming ab-dabs, you’ll have to go elsewhere.”

Blair walked out of the bedroom and across the hall to the sitting room, where he poured two glasses of whisky from the bottle Phil hadn’t got around to.

Ailis took the proffered glass from him. “I’m glad to see you keeping your promise to me and looking after things here.”

Blair curled his lip. “What, presiding over an invasion of zombie vampires obedient to a perverse human? Yes, I’ve looked after things extraordinarily well.”

“So, you’re dealing with it before it gets out of hand. My only criticism is that you’re relying too much on humans.”

“They can do it. If we take care of the vampires.”

“I could take care of Smith.”

“I’m sure you could. Physically.”

Ailis smiled. Her eyed flashed green, then black. “I have other weapons in my arsenal.”

Blair, who knew he hadn’t discovered anything like all of them, merely drank his whisky and murmured, “I know you do.”

Ailis sat on the sofa and stroked its velvet arm with one hand. She smiled. “Ingenious and amusing idea, though. Smith’s. And banking. Why didn’t we think of it?”

Her gaze held his, and he let it. He said, “I don’t know.”

****

“Energy,” Sera said, sitting bolt upright on her living room floor. It was still dark. Beside her, Jilly groaned and pulled the sleeping bag over her ears. “There’d be energy from a fight, wouldn’t there? That’s what he’s going to do. That’s why he brought the others, just as he said he would. To fight them long enough to give us energy.”

“Sounds like comic-book nonsense to me,” Jack said, his voice muffled from the other side of the room.

“Makes perfect sense to me,” Melanie said sleepily from the sofa.

“And it serves the double purpose of keeping their numbers down,” Sera added.

“Unless he’s joining them,” Jilly said, pushing the sleeping bag down from her face and propping her chin on her hand.

“Then why plant protection on us?” Sera asked, jerking her hand toward the hall, where they could hear the vampire pacing.

“Doesn’t have to be protection. Could be a spy. Or an assassin.”

“Well, he’s clearly a crap assassin,” Sera said wryly. What’s more, he was getting nervous about the approaching dawn. Waves of unease, instinctive and unhidden, rolled into her from him. Since everyone was now awake, she called, “Hey, Sebastian!”

The vampire didn’t appear to her command. But he did speak flippantly inside her head. “You rang?”

“Feel free to leave whenever you want,” she offered.

“I do. This is too good a time to attack, when they assume Blair has stood down. I’ll wait as long as I can. But I apologize in advance for any abrupt exit.”

“You’re very polite,” she observed.

There was a pregnant pause. “Not always.”

When the vampire had finally bolted, they ate breakfast. To Sera, it felt curiously like the last supper. After which, Jilly took Melanie off to her flat, Jack and Elspeth were sent to open Serafina’s as normal. And Sera went to see Ferdinand Bell.

As he opened the front door to her, she tugged down the string of garlic hanging above it. His eyes dilated. “Jason’s dead?”

“No more than he has been since the night of the party.” She stepped past him, reaching up to unhook the nearest cross from the hall wall. “I thought you’d have realized by now that this stuff doesn’t work. Jason’s been here since he was turned, you know.”

“But he didn’t harm us.”

“That’s to do with you and Jason, not this. It’s time it came down.” She walked into the nearest room, unstringing garlic, unhooking crosses and dropping them into the capacious bag she’d brought for the purpose. “It doesn’t work, Mr. Bell. I was winding you up because I didn’t believe in vampires, and I didn’t really think you did either. Turns out life—and death—is rather more complicated than that. But this stuff doesn’t help. I’ll take it all down for you.”

He followed her from room to room, watching and holding the ladder for her where necessary. Having something to do made it easier to talk. “I’m sorry I didn’t earn the fee I charged you. If it makes you feel better, I believe Jason would have been turned anyway. The events at the party just led me to understand what was going on. It’s a conspiracy, headed by a human but involving the creation of obedient vampires in the financial sector. I think I know how to stop it, and if I’m right, tomorrow things will be back to normal. Jason may be totally dead by then. I’m sorry, and I’ll arrange your refund.”

She dropped another cross into the bag and folded the ladder.

Ferdy took it from her with a sad little smile. “A refund won’t be necessary. You may not have earned your fee that night, but you earned it since. I’m a stupid, gullible old fool, but at least I know you’re looking after us—and Jason—as best you can.”

Sera’s throat closed up. There were other things she wanted to ask him, about his wishes for Jason, but it was the wrong time to ask. She’d no idea if Jason would survive in any form, and if he did, what kind of a vampire he’d make without Smith’s hold.

Ferdy said, “Can I help at all?”

Sera looked at him. “Maybe you can. Pray. After dark, think of me—and of Jason—and pray as hard as you can.”

His smile was lopsided. “Is that to keep me out of the way?”

Sera’s lips quirked unhappily in response. “Yes,” she admitted. “And to give me all the positive energy I can get.”

****

Melanie had set all her stuff up on a table under Jilly’s living room window, which overlooked Holyrood Park. Jilly’s tenement flat was two floors up, and if you looked to the right, you could glimpse Holyrood Palace—scene of gruesome murder in the reign of Mary Queen of Scots and present-day official Edinburgh residence of Queen Elizabeth. Directly in front were some trees and a large expanse of green grass, beyond which was the loch, surrounded by people feeding ducks and swans, and the distinctive hill known as Arthur’s Seat.

Sera, enjoying the brief spell of peace along with the beauty of the view, felt as if she were playing hooky. Melanie had gone shopping, and Jilly’d gone back to Serafina’s, where Sera knew she should also be. Soon.

She tried to imagine what the park would look like tonight, full of battling vampires trying to kill each other while she and Mel tried to spell them into normal disobedience. There would be a huge crowd of banking vampires, many more than they’d seen at Smith’s. And against them would stand Blair, Ailis, Sebastian—and Phil, so badly burned he could barely move. To Sera, it didn’t look like good odds. Even once the obedience spell was broken, there was nothing to stop the banking vampires continuing to fight Blair just for the hell of it.

And what if she couldn’t summon the power Melanie needed? She’d never tried anything like this before. It was unknown and scary territory, and it would be a bloody awful time to fail. Oddly, it was only Blair’s faith in her ability that had made her agree to the attempt.

The door buzzer interrupted her rather bleak thoughts. She walked across the hall to answer, and a familiar voice said, “Hello. It’s Tam. Hello?” he added when surprise kept Sera silent.

“Tam, it’s Sera. Jilly’s at work.”

“I know. She told me I’d find you here.”

Sera pressed the button that released the lock and listened to the sound of Tam’s large feet running up the stairs.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked lightly as his bulk appeared outside the flat door. “Tea?”

“Sure.” The flat seemed to shrink as Tam filled the hall and then lowered himself into one of the kitchen chairs. She’d missed his large, comforting presence, his blunt, almost ugly features, and she felt a rush of affection as he fixed her with his serious gaze. “Jilly’s been telling me all the shite that actually went down at that vampire party. Could’ve knocked me down with a feather.” He leaned forward, offering his head. “You still could.”

“Run out of feathers,” Sera said dryly. “Weird happenings, eh?”

“And that bloke Blair, in the kilt—he really bit me, aye?”

“Aye. Do you still not remember it?”

Tam frowned. “No. It feels a bit hazy, to be honest. Didn’t seem to matter at the time, but looking back, I must have had some kind of dizzy turn. As if I’d drunk too much, you know? Only I didn’t. I don’t remember him speaking to me, yet I knew his name, so he must have. I wasn’t lying to you, Sera. That is, I didn’t mean to.”

“I know that, Tam. And I’m sorry I checked up on you. It was just such a bloody weird night, and in spite of everything I know about you, it still seemed more likely that you were in league with another scammer than that there really were vampires running around posh parties biting large men the size of houses.”

Tam nodded sagely. “I see what you mean.”

“And I think he told you his name telepathically. You must be slightly psychic.”

He looked stunned by that but accepted his mug of tea from her and drank thoughtfully before setting it down on the kitchen table. “Jilly says he’s actually the good guy.”

Sera dropped into the chair opposite him. “Blair?” she said in disbelief. “Jilly said that?”

“Well, better than the other bad guys.”

“He’s our ally. We think.”

“I’ll come over this evening,” Tam said casually, “and watch your back.”

Touched, Sera said, “You don’t need to do that.”

“Might as well. Not working until pantomime season.”

Sera smiled. “Thanks, Tam.”

“No bother.” He drained his mug and stood up. “Right, got a couple of things to do. I’ll bring some food in with me this evening.”

For some reason, Sera felt uplifted by Tam’s visit. Perhaps it was his calm acceptance of events or his forgiveness or just his stoic loyalty, but it all added up to a lot.

Why could I not love Tam? The wayward thought gate-crashed. She needed to avoid the L-word at all costs. But even burying herself in Melanie’s books and concentrating hard on what had been written about summoning and channeling energy couldn’t distract her from the knowledge that no one in her adult life had moved her as Blair did.

****

Alex McGowan’s patrol car was on its way back to the police station, driving past Serafina’s, when he spotted a well-known villain leaving her premises.

“Stop here a minute,” he said on impulse, and his partner obligingly pulled up at the curb. McGowan got out and walked across the street to the shop front. He’d wrestled a lot with himself over Serafina MacBride. From believing her to be the same scum of the earth who’d abused his mother’s grief to steal her entire life savings, he’d almost got to the stage of believing she could contact his dead sister if he could only make himself ask her.

And now lowlife Andy Kerr was visiting her.

Of course, Andy could have a spiritual side. Or Sera McBride could be involved in more serious crimes, like the Fountainbridge arson. Although he couldn’t quite imagine Sera’s reasons, Andy Kerr had been done for arson before.

McGowan opened the door and went in. The middle-aged receptionist was on the phone. The glamorous assistant—Jilly?—was at the desk behind her, staring intently at a computer screen. When McGowan coughed, she glanced up impatiently, then, presumably recognizing him, got to her feet and came toward him.

“Miss MacBride in?” Alex asked.

“No, sorry, she’s out right now. Can I take a message for her?”

“No thanks, Miss…?”

“Kerr. Jilly Kerr. We met the other night.”

Kerr? Sera MacBride worked with a Kerr? Alex held Jilly’s gaze. “Are you related to the gentleman who just left here?”

Her eyes changed, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on how. “That’s no gentleman, Constable. That’s my brother.”

“Does he work here too?”

“Andy? Work? Of course, he doesn’t.”

“Then can I ask what his business was here?”

Her eyes flashed. She really was extraordinarily pretty. “Not without a bloody good reason.”

“Arson investigation’s a bloody good reason.”

Her lips parted. Her gaze dropped, then returned to his. “For what it’s worth, I’m sure Andy had nothing to do with Fountainbridge, if that’s what you’re talking about. He came to borrow money off me, if you must know.”

“D’you give him any?”

“Do I look stupid?” she countered. In fact, some people might make that mistake. On one level, she possessed a sort of doll-like beauty which, combined with blonde hair and glamorous clothes certainly not chosen from the top-of-the-range shops, gave her something the look of a bimbette. But sharp intelligence positively gleamed in those china-blue eyes, and her mouth was far too quick.

“Actually, no,” he replied. “Seen anything of the elusive Mr. Blair?”

“Nah,” she said at once. She looked him in the eye, but for the first time, Alex was sure she was lying.

Behind him, he heard movement from the inner office. He hoped it was Sera, but he said nothing. Then, just as the silence was stretching too long, another voice called from the office.

“Jilly, I’m going back to your place to check up on Sera!”

“Okay,” Jilly called back, smoothing the instinctive crease of irritation from her brow. She hadn’t wanted him to know where Sera was. Why? What was going on at Jilly Kerr’s place?

Before he could enquire further, his phone went off. It was his partner, brief and to the point. “Shoplifter at the St. James Centre.”

Alex sighed. “On my way.”

****

Blair’s arrival at dusk took Sera by surprise. Sitting on Jilly’s living room sofa, picking at the vegetables Melanie insisted she eat instead of the fish supper Tam had brought her, she could hear Jilly telling someone off at the front door, but until he walked into the living room, she didn’t sense him at all.

“I’m masking,” he told her blandly when she glared at him.

“He won’t lead them here,” she interrupted Jilly’s tirade. “He’s covering his scent, or whatever it is they use to follow each other. I couldn’t sense him either.”

“Yes? Well, I’ll bet the cops can see him easily enough,” Jilly muttered.

Blair, who, she was sure, had taken in the occupants of the room at a glance, now gave them a longer sweep. Tam laid down his fish supper. Blair inclined his head.

Tam’s face colored a dull red. “You’re the bastard who bit me.”

Blair gave another ironic bow.

“Don’t dwell on it,” Sera advised. “He bites a lot of people.”

Blair smiled at her, revealing his fangs.

“Fuck,” said Tam.

Blair walked past him and Sera to the window. He appeared to allow Melanie’s accoutrements set out on the table a cursory glance; then he looked out at the park below.

“Smith was there earlier,” Sera reported. “Just taking a walk.”

“Did he look up here? Did he see you?”

“No. And no.”

Blair turned from the window. “You must all have stakes and be prepared to use them.”

“I thought you were going to take care of the fighting out there?” Sera retorted.

“There are a lot of vampires. I can’t guarantee to engage them all. If you’re uncovered, you’ll need to be able defend yourselves.” He didn’t sound anxious, and yet it came to Sera that he was.

Without a word, she stood and opened the drawer in the table. It was full of lethally sharpened sticks. She’d made them during the day while reading Melanie’s books.

Blair nodded and jerked his head in Tam’s direction. “Make sure he knows.” He walked toward the living room door.

“Wait,” Sera exclaimed, jumping up. “Are you really going to be able to fight all of them? Just four of you?”

He didn’t even turn. “There are more than four. I told you. I summoned all I could.”

She followed him into the hall, catching his arm. He turned, and at once, she released him.

With his cool, unreadable eyes holding her gaze, she spoke with difficulty. “Some of you could die, couldn’t you?” His lip quirked, and she added almost angrily, “Don’t tell me you’re all dead already. You know exactly what I mean.”

“More of them will die.”

She stepped back, feeling her shoulders slump. “Why does that not make me feel better?”

His eyes searched hers, one to the other. But he didn’t answer. Instead, he reached up and touched her lips. His fingertip felt smooth again, healed from its burns, like his face. And as always, his cool touch heated her skin, catching at her breath. Understanding, he smiled lazily. He dropped his hand before she could pull away and walked toward the front door.

Sera swallowed. She wanted to call him back. Terrified she’d never see him again; terrified she would and be unable to live with what he’d done and seen. It was all muddled with her own fear of messing up tonight, of failing Melanie and endangering everyone. With a sudden yearning that shook her, she longed for one more time with Blair, not just to shut out the unbearable inadequacy, but because it was him. And she couldn’t even find the words. All she could do was stare miserably at his back. Until, without warning, he swung back to her.

She didn’t see him move, but suddenly she was crushed in his arms, and his mouth seized hers. His kiss was hard, almost brutal, making her gasp into his mouth. But she wasn’t afraid, even when his fangs cut into her lip. Everything in her rose to meet his onslaught. She fought back with her teeth as well as her tongue and lips. She sucked on his tongue and his wicked canines, rubbing her breasts against his chest in an instinctive effort to get closer to him. When he ground his erection into her hip, she writhed for a better position, glorying in her own outburst of lust as much as in his. Tangling his hands in her hair to hold her head steady, he deepened the kiss impossibly until she moaned aloud in utter need.

“Channel that,” he said fiercely in her head. “Sexual energy is very powerful.”

His lips released hers, then came back for one more brush and lingered, sensually teasing. “You’re strong, Serafina. You’ll do this. And I’m not fucking history.”

With that, he strode away from her, leaving her wobbling unsteadily in the hall. The door closed sharply, although she didn’t see him pull it.

Jilly’s head appeared at the kitchen door. “All right?”

Sera tried to pull herself together, to work out what the hell had just happened. “What did he mean by that?” she wondered.

“By what?” Jilly asked suspiciously.

“He said he wasn’t history. Of course, he bloody is. He’s walking history!”

“Ah,” Jilly said. She chewed her lower lip and released it. “That might have been me. After you discovered Smith was your dad and got upset, I told him he was history.” Jilly’s eyes narrowed. “He is, isn’t he?”

Sera gazed at her friend. A smile seemed to begin deep inside her. “None of us are history,” she said firmly. “We’re going to save the world.”

****

Blair leaned his shoulder against the broad trunk of a tree and waited. Since he was no longer masking his presence, Smith and his vampires would all know exactly where he was. He’d chosen the time of the rendezvous deliberately early in the evening, both to help Sera and Melanie avoid the late-night tiredness common to humans and to allay the suspicions of his enemies, who would be less likely to expect a fight when so many people were still abroad.

The gray clouds that had been threatening rain all day had vanished to leave a clear night sky sparkling with stars. Pity. Rain would have repelled humans.

He’d chosen his tree well from the glimpse he’d taken of the view from Jilly’s window. From here, he could see the sharp, distinctive shape of Arthur’s Seat silhouetted against the sky, could make out the ancient, ruined chapel toward the bottom of the hill. He could even hear the ripples in the distant loch as ducks shook their tail feathers in sleep.

When he closed his eyes, he could feel her gaze on him. Serafina. Her eyes would look as they had when he’d held her in his arms an hour ago, shining with longing and lust and self-belief. His loins began to ache and harden.

History my arse. I will have her…

…Right after this.

His senses dragged him out of Serafina fantasies and back to reality. Nicholas Smith was striding toward him from the direction of the main path. Not far behind him came Ella and Arthur, as if he considered them an appropriate escort for an important man unafraid for his life. But the park was crawling with vampires. Blair could feel them from all sides, combing for enemy vampires as they converged on the meeting place. They wouldn’t find any. Arthur was with Smith, and the others were too weak to have much more than human senses.

But there were lots of them. Enough to bury him.

As Smith and his escort approached, Blair straightened and strolled out of the tree’s shadow.

“Nicholas,” he said fondly.

Smith halted. Although he smiled, his eyes were understandably wary, and he didn’t offer his hand. After all, they were both well aware that Smith had tried to burn him to death. And, in fact, Smith still believed Phil had died in the fire, though he’d no idea if that would inspire Blair with a sense of vengeance.

Smith spoke with his mind, slowly, haltingly, as if he had difficulty keeping background thoughts at bay. He didn’t share Sera’s instinctive talent for telepathic speech. “Blair. Thank you for meeting me.”

“Thank you for bringing your friends.”

Smith’s brow gave a betraying twitch.

Blair smiled and waved one lazy hand toward Arthur and Ella. “Charmed to meet you both again. So let’s talk business. What are you offering me to join your merry band of banker pirates? Aside from a share in the new wealth.”

Smith smiled back. “But I don’t really need to offer you anything else, do I? In the circumstances, isn’t your continued existence enough?”

He didn’t mean it. He was keeping the conversation going, to give the bulk of his vampires time to get here and kill Blair for him. Blair was happy to play along, since he needed them here.

“Nicholas,” he reproved. “You don’t really want me in the same condition as my friend, do you? I thought you were just trying to get my attention.”

“It worked, didn’t it?”

“Absolutely,” Blair agreed. “So pay the price of my attention. I want the command of your vampires. And let’s face it, if I don’t get it, I may not be able to kill you, but I can certainly kill enough of them to make your banking career—difficult.”

The numbers were building. Vampires were emerging through the trees, advancing from the path and the gate, closing in on them.

“Let’s not quarrel over it, Blair,” said Smith smoothly. “We both know I outnumber you by—oh, about a hundred to one.”

He was right. The twenty or so vampires who’d been present at their last encounter had multiplied considerably, so much so that Blair suspected some had been created solely to fight him rather than to enhance the banking plan.

“About a hundred to four,” Blair corrected and issued the telepathic summons that brought Ailis, Sebastian, and Phil leaping downward from the tree branches to the left to land flanking Blair and facing Smith.

Smith did a satisfyingly ludicrous double take as his nervous gaze flitted across Phil, who accorded him a toast with his inevitable bottle. “You made me burn in hell,” Phil told him. “I wish you the same joy.”

Smith said, “You can’t touch me. None of you can. Ask Blair.”

Phil took a swig from his bottle. “You don’t need to be dead to be in hell.” He passed the bottle under Blair’s nose. Without touching it, Blair breathed on it and worked his party-trick magic. The whisky burst into flames, and Phil hurled it into the midst of the gathering crowd of vampires.

Now’s your moment, Serafina. Begin.

Chapter Nineteen

“My God,” Jilly said. “There must be a hundred of them.”

She and Jack stood at either side of Sera and Melanie, who’d taken their places at the table under the window. Elspeth stood silently behind, while Tam stood in the doorway, from where he could also see the front door.

“What are they doing?” Jack asked uneasily.

“Just talking, I think… Shite.”

Sera jumped as Blair’s allies leapt out of the trees. She recognized Phil—that had to be him with his inevitable bottle. She reached out with one hand and grasped Melanie’s.

“Now?” Mel asked. Her voice was hoarse.

“Soon.”

Melanie slipped the elastic band over her left wrist to hold the rowan twigs in place. Then she took the bone in her left hand and buried it in the tray of earth. Her other hand gripped Sera’s convulsively.

Sera saw Phil casually pass the bottle. It even crossed her mind that his wits were too addled to appreciate their danger. But then, as if Blair had ignited it by thought, the bottle went up in flames, and Phil hurled it into the crowd of banking vampires.

And the voice that even now could set her very bones on fire spoke inside her head with the calm triumph of total belief. Now’s your moment, Serafina. Begin.

“Now, Mel,” she whispered.

Melanie’s breath shuddered, but when she began to intone the words, her voice was clear and firm. Sera concentrated on it, drew her energy into herself. Every emotion, positive and negative, all her love and affection, desire, disappointment, anger, even fear, she thought into pure energy and sent it shooting down her arm into Melanie’s fingers.

Mel jerked but didn’t let go. Her voice grew louder, and the link between them, now it was established, kept drawing the energy from Sera. As it flowed into Melanie, she felt herself contract, reached out for more energy, for the emotion and fears and hopes of the others. Their thoughts too became her energy and were sucked out of her into Melanie.

She’d done the easy part, with people she knew. She focused her eyes on the window once more, became aware of the melee of flying bodies and screaming voices. Searching for another link, a consciousness to ground her there, she found Blair, fighting and spinning in the maelstrom, and she let the curious happiness of his presence wash through her. She reached through him for his lust and his rage and was thrown backward in her chair so hard she nearly lost Melanie’s hand.

Somewhere, she knew the doorbell was ringing, but she couldn’t concentrate on that. Instead, she felt Blair in her mind, calming her so that she could bear the force of his energy, accept it, and pass it on. Through him she seemed to expand, to feel the vampires’ energy in general terms: hate and violence, the sheer love of violence, enough to break her heart. But she held firm, united with Mel’s hand and Mel’s voice, as her friend leached energy from her like a vampire sucking blood.

****

She was a natural, Blair thought proudly as he tore at a vampire’s throat and hurled his body at another before it exploded into dust. He’d already summoned his second rank of vampires, wild Davie well to the fore, so there wasn’t one of them not fighting to supply Sera with the energy necessary to destroy their master. It was a neat, pleasing plan, and it was working to perfection.

Or at least, he thought it was until he saw Smith.

The sorcerer, Sera’s father, stood aloof from the fighting. No one even troubled to try to attack him. Blair had told everyone there was no point. So Smith stood to one side, watching the battle with growing anxiety, a wooden stake in either hand which, presumably, he meant to use on any vampires not his own. Although, in the darkness and carnage of this battle, Blair had no idea how he would identify friend from enemy.

But Smith was psychic, and he was sensitive. He could feel the magic happening around him. Blair saw him scanning the park, then actually close his eyes as if he were trying to find the source by psychic means. And then, slowly, he turned and lifted his gaze toward the tenements overlooking the park.

“Sera!” he screamed.

Blair laughed. He wished it was vocal so that it would echo around the park instead of just inside the minds of his friends and Smith and Arthur and the few vampires present capable of hearing him.

With Smith’s cry, Arthur seemed to catch on too. He disengaged and swung around to follow Smith’s gaze. Then he was talking, snarling out orders, and suddenly, Blair was beset by vampires, as if as one they’d left off their other opponents and turned on him. He killed or felled the first few, but when they leapt on his back and hurled themselves into him from all sides, he knew he had to go under, however hard he fought.

As he fell under the sheer mass, he saw Arthur dragging Ella by the hand. They leapt up above the trees and over the wall to the road, heading, unmistakably, for Jilly’s flat. And several vampires, the few who weren’t crushing Blair to death or engaging with his allies, raced after them in support.

****

Off duty but still eternally inquisitive, Alex McGowan had been waiting in his car opposite Jillian Kerr’s flat in Royal Park Terrace when the noise began. Curious, he got out of his car and ran along the road until he could find a place to peer over the wall into the park. It looked like a gang fight. And yet the only sounds were the slapping of skin, the cracking of bones, the rushing and occasional thud of feet on grass. These gangs were fighting in bizarre silence.

McGowan already had his phone out to call for assistance when a figure caught his eye.

Blair. Unmistakably, the man he’d first seen waiting for Sera MacBride in Muirhouse, and then, later, lounging on her sofa. If he was her bodyguard, he was a damned good one, leaping through the air like a circus act and kicking with enough force to kill.

Shite, he’d been right to be alarmed by the presence of Andy Kerr. Wherever that little weasel turned up, there was always trouble. Alex couldn’t begin to understand what the connection was with Sera or with the Fountainbridge fire, but he was sure there was one. And presumably whoever Blair was fighting was threatening Sera and her friends.

Alex slid back down the wall and spoke rapidly into his phone, reporting the major disturbance even as he ran back along the street to Jilly’s flat. The buzzer was answered surprisingly quickly by a posh, male voice.

“Police,” Alex snapped.

The door released immediately, and he ran upstairs three at a time. A large man filled one of the flat doors.

“Looking for Jillian Kerr’s flat,” Alex said curtly.

“Jilly’s busy,” the large man said. “Can you come back later?”

“No, I bloody can’t,” Alex said impatiently and pushed past the big man. Or at least he tried to push past, but in fact he might as well have been shoving at a twelve-ton rock for all the man moved. Worse, he was sure they both knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on legally and would be crucified if any case came to court out of this. But instinct was propelling him forward, insisting he find out what the hell was going on here. And perhaps there was guilt too, because he’d set out to persecute Sera MacBride and now found himself wanting desperately to protect her.

So he and the big man stood chest to chest, glaring at each other, neither budging an inch.

“Tam. Just let him in,” another male voice said urgently. It sounded like the posh one who had answered the buzzer. “He can wait in the kitchen for Jilly. Oh, it’s you.”

Alex had been recognized by Sera’s other assistant, Jack Urquhart.

Jack grinned as Tam moved reluctantly to one side. “Sorry. They don’t call him ‘the Tank’ for nothing.”

“What’s going on?” Alex demanded. “Do you know there’s a huge fight in the park across the road?”

Jack nodded. He didn’t appear shocked.

“Is Sera MacBride here too?” Or was she, God help her, in the park itself?

“Yes, she’s busy,” Jack said hastily, “but she won’t be long.”

For the first time, as his panting breath calmed down, Alex became aware of a loud voice close by—not shouting, precisely, more—declaiming. “What the…?”

He strode in the direction of the noise, nimbly avoiding the simultaneous lunges of Tam and Jack, and found himself in a living room. In a very strange world.

Jilly herself and the receptionist from Serafina’s stood side by side, confronting him. They weren’t doing the chanting, but it was definitely in this room. Alex leapt sideways. So did they, to cover whatever they were hiding, but it was too late.

He’d already seen Sera holding hands with another woman, who was declaiming in Shakespearean tones. Both women’s attention seemed to be riveted on the window, through which even Alex could see the fight in the park.

Alex was familiar with the “someone walking over his grave” feeling. But he’d never before felt as if someone stamped on it and jumped up and down. Wild, impossible ideas filled his head, not least of which was that the women were connected to what was happening in the park.

“Shite,” he whispered. “Are they—causing that? What the hell’s going on?”

He lunged forward, but Jilly leapt into his path once more. Her face was white, determined, and desperate.

The older woman actually caught his arm and held on with surprising strength. “Wait,” she said urgently. “It’s nearly over.”

“What is, for God’s sake? Stop this now!”

“Tam!” Jilly yelled, grabbing his other arm. Between them, the women were strong enough to hold him back, but not for long. Tam, however, was a different story, so while the insane chanting continued as if approaching some kind of crescendo, Alex shoved with all his strength in the hope of getting past the women before Tam yanked him back again.

He’d just broken free when there was a terrific crash of glass and splintering wood. It came from another room, and even as Alex froze, Tam skidded to a halt on the wooden floor and dashed back the way he’d come. Jack was in front of him.

“Use the stakes, Tam!” Jilly yelled.

Alex hesitated. The receptionist, Elspeth, was staring at him, her eyes pleading and deathly serious. “Please,” she said. “Help us protect them. It’s our only chance.”

“Protect who?” Totally at sea, Alex couldn’t even pretend to understand.

“Sera and Melanie.”

“Elspeth, what’s wrong with her?” Jilly cried, suddenly. She was crouching beside Sera, staring at her boss’s face while, Alex noticed, not getting in the way of the window. Alex moved toward her while Elspeth moved hastily to the other side. A shout and some crashing came from the room next door.

The other woman, Melanie, was still chanting, growing impossibly loud. Her voice sent shivers down Alex’s spine yet seemed to lift him upward with some powerful emotion he didn’t understand or want to. But it was Sera’s face that held him. White and wide-eyed, she stared at the window with such concentration that her normally vital face had lost all expression. And yet tears trickled down either side of her face.

“She’s crying,” Elspeth said. A huge bump came from the room next door, vibrating the floor under Alex’s feet.

“But why?” Jilly said. “Is she in pain?”

Elspeth turned and gazed out the window at the fight below. Much of the carnage seemed to have calmed into a ridiculous pile of men. Even as Alex watched, more jumped on the top. For the first time, he noticed that their movements were—wrong. They ran too fast, jumped too high. He felt as if he were watching a nightmare.

Elspeth said, “I think Blair’s under there.”

“Fuck,” said Jilly. “Will he—die?”

“She thinks so. Jilly, is that your door?” Elspeth jumped away in sudden fright.

Alex didn’t blame her. Three men seemed to catapult into the room. Elspeth and Jilly both snatched something from the desk. Alex thought at first they were knives, then saw they were just thick wooden sticks, sharpened to a dangerous point. What the hell? Wishing he had his police baton with him, he advanced with his fists curled.

“Police,” he shouted. “Who are you and what do you want?”

The men smiled. All three of them wore Halloween vampire teeth.

Jilly leapt past him in a flying kick that took the first man in the chest, knocking him over. The second grabbed her by the front of her shirt as she landed, and she stabbed him with her sharp stick.

“No!” Alex shouted in horror. But it was too late. He saw the blood spurt and then, for no reason, it was gone.

I’m dreaming. I have to be. None of this is possible.

But it seemed he couldn’t wake up. The third intruder lunged at Jilly, and Elspeth jumped on his back, her stick raised. The first one, whom Jilly had kicked over, lunged at Alex, knocking him to the floor and snarling at him like some kind of wild animal, trying to bite at his throat with gnashing, slavering teeth.

Alex shoved at the man’s face and caught sight of Sera above him. Her gaze flickered to him and away. Melanie’s voice filled the room, vibrated Alex’s very bones, and stopped.

She fell forward over the desk, and Sera, her hand free, picked something off the desk and in one impossibly graceful movement, she leant from her chair and stabbed his snarling attacker with a sharp stick.

Alex found he was wrestling with nothing. And Sera had gone. He twisted desperately, only to see her actually standing on the table by the window, both hands above her head on the glass. Whether it was the weirdness of the night’s events or some trick of the light, she seemed to be surrounded by a white halo, like a shimmering light bulb.

Alex staggered to his feet, staring from her to what held her attention below. The massive heap of people suddenly sprang apart, hurling bodies in all directions. And Sera fell off the table.

****

Since Blair didn’t need to breathe, the weight of the vampires was not too much of an issue. Unfortunately, they did break one of his arms, which hurt like hell and made staking them much harder. He felt the sting of their teeth like gnat’s bites wherever they managed to make contact, and he knew this would, in time weaken him enough for them to kill him. Plus, he couldn’t move his legs or his body, and his left arm didn’t have the space to stab with force. He bit through clothing to flesh and sucked hard until the owner disintegrated. In the instant’s space thus achieved, he managed to get his stake into another just before his teeth found more flesh.

He had to use the stake more like a screwdriver, so it was slow going. Between his teeth and the stake, he estimated this would take him an hour or so—if he lasted that long—time Sera didn’t have. Arthur and his allies were over there now, and even if Melanie managed to finish the spell and release them from Smith’s control, it wouldn’t save them from vampire blood lust.

“Working from the top,” Sebastian’s voice said in his head. “You are still alive down there?”

“Too slow,” Blair said curtly. “Someone has to get to that flat, protect the humans inside, and make sure the spell is completed.”

“We’re all pretty engaged here,” Sebastian said dryly. Then, “What the…? Wow, your girl—”

Without warning, the weight flew off him. Or at least enough of it did. With one massive heave of his body, he rose through the rest, shaking vampires off him like a dog shaking off water. It hurt his broken arm, so he placed it in a healing position before staking the nearest vampire with his left hand.

But something had changed. The vampires looked dazed. They stood still, as if wondering why they were fighting. Vampires enjoyed a good fight, as a rule, but these ones seemed to recognize, finally, that their opponents were stronger. They still had the advantage of numbers, of course, but that didn’t guarantee individual survival, and it seemed they were no longer thinking as one.

Blair began to smile.

The vampires had realized they were hungry for human, not vampire, blood. And there was only one human in the park. Blair’s senses sought and found Nicholas Smith. Not in the park after all, but entering Jilly’s flat.

****

Sera stared at the ceiling. She wondered where she was, where all the noise was coming from. There was shouting close by, and from outside, she could hear the wail of police sirens.

In fact, there was a policeman’s ginger head right in front of her face. PC McGowan.

Sera sat bolt upright, clutching her head. “Fuck! Blair! Mel!” She looked around her wildly.

“They’re fine, but we have intruders,” McGowan said with a weird kind of formality. “You need to sit still for a minute while I go and help.”

And the policeman ran out of the room. Sera pulled herself up by hanging on to the table edge. She felt very wobbly, almost dizzy. Mel lay slumped across the table, but a quick, anxious feel of her pulse told Sera the witch was merely sleeping off her labors. As she deserved to, because the spell had worked. She’d known, even before she leapt on the table to try to save Blair, that it had worked.

From the window now, she saw vampires streaming away out of the park. A few seemed still to be having a punch-up with Blair’s friends, who turned a few to dust and shooed the rest away. She saw Jason Bell, his shirt torn and flapping in the breeze, just standing there looking around him. But she couldn’t see Blair.

Something ached deep inside her. She thought it would go on a long time. But she couldn’t pay attention to it now. There was still a fight going on in the house. She drew in a shaky but determined breath and strode across the room as fast as her trembling legs would carry her.

Across the hall, in the bedroom, encircled by Jack, Tam, Jilly, Elspeth, and PC McGowan, stood the vampire Arthur, holding Ella in front of him like a shield. The vampiress hissed at the circle, yet behind her aggression, she seemed almost bewildered. Blood oozed from a wound in Arthur’s shoulder and from several all over Ella’s body, but they moved too fast for the humans to pin down. Sera had the feeling this had been going on a long time. It was a bit of a stalemate. But she supposed she could help finish it.

As she took a step nearer, urgent knocking sounded at the front door.

“Sera!” whispered a voice she knew only too well. “Sera, they’ve turned on me! Let me in! Save me!”

Nicholas Smith, begging to be saved from his own vampires.

I did that.

“Sera, please!”

She walked toward the front door. “I should let them kill you,” she said, reaching for the handle. “Since you didn’t trouble to teach them not to murder.”

She twisted the handle, and the door flew open under his boot. Nicholas Smith, his face murderous, strode in and reached for her throat.

It was so totally, stupidly unexpected that he’d seized her before she could move. She staggered back, away from him, but she couldn’t escape his squeezing hands. She twisted in his hold, kicking, punching, scratching. She drew blood, but she couldn’t make him release her. His face was purple with exertion, his eyes hard and cruel and absolutely furious.

I did that.

“Yes, you fucking did,” he screamed in her mind. “I’d have given you everything, and that’s exactly what you took from me.”

Choking, she tried to bang on the bedroom door for help, but everyone was too busy closing in on Arthur and Ella, who surely couldn’t escape this time. Jilly lunged at Arthur’s back, but he whirled just in time, and Jilly’s stake plunged straight into Ella’s heart. The vampiress exploded into dust.

As Jilly leapt back out of Arthur’s reach, the others stepped forward, close enough to touch him now, and he couldn’t grab all of them at once. But as he flexed his knees, Sera knew he could still jump over their heads, and it would all begin again.

By which time, her father would have killed her.

“He’s going to jump!” Jack shouted, just as another figure leapt through the broken window.

Perhaps she was losing consciousness, because it looked like Blair, all leather biking trousers and sexy muscle. He shoved PC McGowan out of the way, seized Arthur in the very act of jumping, and staked him without pause.

He strode through the dust of the disintegrated vampire, his handsome face without humanity or compassion of any kind as he zoomed in on Sera and Smith.

Smith laughed. “You can’t touch me. You still can’t touch me.”

Wake up, Mel, she pleaded silently, uselessly. Undo this one too…

Cruelty too pure even to be hatred seemed to spit from Blair’s eyes. He didn’t speak. He just lowered his head, keeping his gaze riveted on Smith’s, and surged forward like a charging bull.

It looked like a slow-motion film, all the more bizarre because of the contrast to his normal inhuman speed of movement. Sera felt Smith’s fingers loosen in surprise. Then they tightened again as he dragged her back. But they’d hit the wall, and Blair kept following. His fist came up, huge and powerful, but shaking with effort as it ploughed slowly onward and kept coming.

Suddenly, Smith’s fingers relaxed, and Sera gasped in the air her lungs so desperately needed, but she didn’t feel the pain, only astonishment as Blair’s fist connected with her father’s face.

It lacked the force of a real punch, but it was still enough to drive Smith’s head back against the wall. Blair seized Sera in one arm, dragging her out of the way. His other hand closed around Smith’s throat and squeezed.

Smith’s mind screamed the same words repeatedly: “How did you do that? How did you do that?”

Blair said, “Because I want to.”

And at that, Sera was able to think again, to grab at Blair’s murderous hand. “No! Don’t kill him!”

“He was killing you,” Blair said without pity.

“Blair, he’s my father! Please!”

Slowly, without relaxing his grip, Blair turned his gaze on her. Everyone had clustered out of the bedroom, staring. But no one spoke up for Smith.

The terrifying cruelty in Blair’s eyes seemed to soften as he gazed at her. Now they looked merely angry. Without glancing at Smith, he said, “You’re lucky my arm was broken,” and dropped him.

Smith fell to the floor.

McGowan said, “The police are here.”

And Sera realized that more feet were pounding up the stairs to Jilly’s flat. She tried to speak, but no sound came out, perhaps because she’d been half strangled. Or perhaps because she’d been swept up into Blair’s arms and was flying across the bedroom and out of the window.

Chapter Twenty

Via several rooftops and a passing van, Blair finally landed in the park, some distance from where the vampire battle had taken place, and let Sera slide down his body to the ground. He bent his head and gently, tenderly, kissed her bruised throat. Still dazed, she imagined the physical pain receding, and oddly that helped the emotional trauma too. Her father had tried to kill her, but she was alive because Blair had saved her and taken away her pain.

Not far away, some police officers were going over the ground, looking out for witnesses or injured fighters.

Blair’s mind had been unreadable as he’d escaped with her, a jumble of emotions and regrets he’d deliberately half hidden from her. But as he straightened and she laid her head on his chest, she felt his mind clear and resolve into words. “You saved me. You threw them off me with nothing but the power of your mind.”

“How did I do that?”

“I’ve no idea. Perhaps because you’d gathered so much during the spell, you needed an outlet. Perhaps just for the same reason I could get to Smith.”

She smiled, lifting her head. “Because we wanted to?”

“Yes. Come with me, Sera. Let me love you and drink from you.”

Some remnant of the magical energy must still have lingered in her body, for everything tingled at his words. Exhaustion slid away, leaving only excitement, especially when she moved in his arms and felt his erection pressing into her tummy. Her breath caught, and then his mouth swooped and took hers.

Interrupting the haze of bliss, her skin prickled.

“Vampire!” she gasped into his mind, since his lips wouldn’t let her speak. He released her mouth and let her half turn.

Jason Bell stopped under a nearby tree. He was confronting a single human who wielded a wooden stake. Sera could see the shape of it perfectly clearly in the moonlight. And she could see that the human was Ferdy.

“Oh no,” she whispered. “I can’t let this happen—”

“It’s too late. They have to reach their own conclusions.”

They were talking, although she couldn’t hear the words. Then Jason spread his arms wide, an act of surrender. Ferdy stared at him, then dropped the stake. Jason’s arms fell to his sides, and Ferdy stepped forward to embrace him.

Sera found she was smiling. “Really? As simple as that?”

“Not simple,” Blair said. “He’ll have to watch his parents sicken and die. But they’ll get some part of their son back.”

“Will you help him? To be good?”

“I’m not good,” Blair said, clearly affronted. His arm tightened at her waist, and she found herself running so fast her feet didn’t touch the ground. “Except at sex,” he added. “Over the centuries, I’ve become quite good at that.”

He said other things too as he ran, things guaranteed to set her blood on fire, even if it hadn’t already been desperate for him. The things that hurt—from her father’s assault, to her guilt at leaving her friends to deal with the aftermath—faded into a mere background to her need.

Impossibly quickly, they reached his house. As they raced up the steps, the front door flew open for them and slammed again behind them. Before Sera could even draw breath, she was flattened against it, with Blair’s weight pressing into her and his mouth devouring hers. Desire thrummed through her, urgent and irresistible. He stopped kissing her only long enough to pull her top up over her head. Her bra was unclipped and thrown on the floor after it, and her jeans quickly followed.

She’d been working on his fastenings and shoved at the leather to get his trousers out of the way, but it seemed neither of them could wait. She stood on tiptoe, desperate to have him inside her, and without taking the time to get rid of all his clothes, he lifted her, and she pushed down, and suddenly he was inside her, shocking her, filling her, and nothing, nothing in the world had ever felt this good.

Once inside, he paused to kiss her mouth. She opened for him, welcoming his tongue and teeth, kissing him back with abandon while she moved on him, tugging at his shirt. She pulled it up and over his head, and while his arms were engaged, he pinned her to the door with his body, thrusting upward so that she cried out with the pleasure. The smooth, cool skin of his back and shoulders undulated to the caress of her hands.

Somehow, he managed to shove at his trousers and step out of them, for, his arms around her once more, he turned away from the door, began to walk with her along the passage. She wrapped her legs around his waist. His every movement was bliss inside her. She listened to her own panting breath and moans of pleasure as she pushed herself slowly up and down on him. His mouth found her breast, raising the pleasure another notch.

A candle sputtered into life as if of its own volition, but Sera was too far gone to care. She fell backward onto the bed with Blair hard on top of her, pushed as far inside as he could get, and she cried out again with the fresh shock of sensation.

For the space of a heartbeat, he gazed at her. Then his lips parted to show his fangs, and she moaned in need, pushing up against his exciting weight. Blair bent to her throat and bit. She gasped in pain, clinging to him in silent plea as her blood rushed into his mouth. He moved inside her, thrusting to the rhythm of his sucks.

Sera writhed with him, drowning in sensuality. As his mind opened up, his pleasure overwhelmed her, driving her onward. He drank her blood and fucked her, and she screamed with joy. Holding him, caressing him, she bucked with him until she fell over the edge of bliss. He tore his mouth free of her wound, licked it with trembling tongue, and fell with her.

“Now tell me I’m history,” he said in her mind.

“I’ll tell you anything you like if you just promise to do that again—”

“Promise? I’m doing it already.”

“Oh God…”

****

She woke to the sound of her phone ringing. Without opening her eyes, she felt for it and unexpectedly found it on the pillow beside her head. Memory rushed back: last night’s battle and last night’s love.

“Hello,” she croaked into the phone as her body flushed. She opened her eyes, looking in vain for Blair. His bedroom was amazing, though. She lay in a four-poster bed with open red-velvet curtains. Beyond them, she could see Georgian furniture, wood paneling, and slightly dusty paintings.

“Sera? It’s Jilly. Blair texted to say you were okay.”

Blair could text? “Good,” she said faintly. “Everything okay there?”

“Yes. We told the police we’d just been watching the fight, and then someone crashed through my bedroom window.”

“On the second floor? They didn’t think that was strange?”

“Probably. But they could see the broken window. They charged Smith with assault, though I told McGowan you probably wouldn’t go through with it.”

No, she wouldn’t. She didn’t want anything more to do with the bastard. Her throat, the throat her father had squeezed so mercilessly, constricted. But at the thought of him, a whisper of emotion brushed her mind, an acknowledgement of defeat, a sense of shame that almost amounted to apology. Nicholas Smith, trying to communicate with her.

She slammed her mind shut. For what he’d done, there could be no apologies. But she realized something else, finally and irrevocably. She didn’t need her father and never would. She was stronger than he; she had the love of loyal friends whom she cared for deeply, and he couldn’t hurt her. She wouldn’t let him.

But the silence had stretched too long. “Sera?” Jilly prompted.

“Um, how is McGowan? He must have seen too much.”

“Let’s say he’s a bit more—open than he used to be.”

“Melanie okay?”

“She’s fab. Everyone is. Even I will be when I get my bedroom window fixed. I don’t suppose you’re coming in today, so I wanted to tell you that—”

“Not coming in? Of course, I am.” Sera peered at the watch still bizarrely on her wrist. It was 9:30 a.m. She and Blair had made love for hours, and then, obviously, she’d slept for several more. “Tell me what?” she demanded suspiciously.

“Ferdy’s just been in. Gave us a nice, fat check.”

“Bloody hell! Really? Why?”

“He said you solved the vampire problem and stopped him from killing his son. Who’s already dead. Jason’s resigned from C & H, by the way. They caught his financial shenanigans, but they won’t cause a scandal by charging him. What’ll happen to the other vampires? The ones who survived?”

“Blair says they’ll disperse now, go their own ways. Ailis and Sebastian will take some away and try to teach them how to behave in their new state. Some will die, and some will learn how to survive. Some might even keep their jobs, but if you’ve ever fancied working in the banking industry, now might be a good time to apply.”

Jilly snorted. It might have been a laugh. “I’ll tell Jack.”

Sera’s answering grin faded. “On the other hand, Blair believes none of the new vampires will exist forever. The Founder’s blood is too diluted in them.”

“Either way, there are more of them than there used to be,” Jilly said with an audible shiver.

“They’re not all bad,” Sera said.

There was a pause, then, “No, they’re not all bad.”

Sera grinned. It felt like another victory. “I’ll be in soon,” she promised, breaking the connection and rolling out of Blair’s luxurious bed.

She found her clothes on a velvet-upholstered chair and hastily pulled them on. She’d make time for a shower at home. She left the bedroom and let her senses find Blair. He sat in the sitting room, wearing fresh jeans and a black T-shirt, reading a newspaper. A mug of coffee stood at his elbow.

The mundane setting for so exotic a creature made her smile. But when he lowered the paper, her smile faded into a mixture of ache and excitement. Even after a night of excessive sex, he could still make her pulses race with one look.

He pushed the mug toward her, and she came and took it. He made good, fresh coffee too.

Lowering the cup from her mouth, she said, “I’m late for work.”

“I know.” He watched her take another gulp, then, “Are you coming back?”

“Do you want me to?” she asked lightly.

He held her gaze. “Yes. Tonight and every night. Live with me here.”

Her heart beat and beat. “But I need the flat at Serafina’s,” she blurted.

His lips quirked. It wasn’t quite a smile. “And the real reason?”

She opened her mouth, smart words already bubbling to the surface.

“Truth,” he said harshly.

Sera closed her mouth, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. They’d saved each other’s lives last night, had done things they shouldn’t have been able to do because of sheer feeling. She couldn’t ignore that; she couldn’t run from it. Something peculiarly wonderful happened to her with Blair, and whether or not she fled in the end, they really did owe each other truth.

Without meaning to, she sank into a crouch by his chair. “You move too fast, Blair,” she whispered. “I didn’t know you a week ago.” And you’re a vampire. The unspoken words hung between them, a justification and an accusation. “I don’t know you now. Jesus, you’re three hundred years old. I feel as if I’ll never know you. I thought I had you pegged: a hedonist with odd, charming flashes of conscience, and then I saw stuff, and Phil told me stuff, that made me realize—”

She broke off as his fingers tangled in her hair. The ache grew stronger. He said, “We both hide. Don’t you think the seeking might be fun too?”

“Wanting to die isn’t fun!” she burst out.

He held her head steady as he gazed into her eyes. “I don’t want to die,” he said deliberately. The words echoed around her mind, seemed to seep into her body, spreading warmth and pride and something powerful she began to recognize as happiness. She, Sera MacBride, had made a difference—and such a difference!—to this amazing being. Unable to speak, she turned her face into his hand and kissed his palm. She’d never heard his telepathic voice so soft and intense. “It’s a dark place I’m never going back to… Sera, do you love me?”

Did she? Scary, exciting, beautiful thought. She’d never imagined she could feel like this for anyone. It hadn’t even crept up on her. It had hit her like a thunderbolt, shaken the foundations of her life and passions, and God help her, she liked it.

She wasn’t blind to the gift of Blair’s honesty. The ache inside her that was at least half gladness grew stronger. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “I’ve nothing to compare this with.”

“But I’m not history.”

She smiled into his fingers, then covered them with her own and rubbed his hand against her cheek. “Oh no,” she murmured. “You’re not history.”

His lips curved into a smile. Her breath caught all over again, so before she threw herself into his lap, she released him and jumped to her feet, setting the neglected cup back down on the table. She needed to move, to run all the way to Serafina’s just to release the emotion that seemed ready to burst inside her. It was either that or end up back in bed with Blair. She had the feeling whole weeks of her life could disappear like that if she let them.

“I have to go,” she said breathlessly, and under his knowing, predatory gaze, she walked quickly toward the door, where, struck with an idea, she stopped and spun back toward him.

“Blair, would you consider a job at Serafina’s? A sort of special consultant?”

His eyebrow twitched, betraying surprise. Then, contemptuously: “I don’t do jobs. I’m a vampire.”

Of course. It shouldn’t have hurt. Like all men, he just wanted relationships on his own terms. She nodded as if it didn’t matter—which it probably didn’t—and left the room. The gloomy hall allowed in very little daylight, only a fine line under the front door.

“Sera?”

Already grasping the door handle, she glanced back. He stood, leaning his shoulder in the sitting room doorway, watching her. His face was unreadable.

“Yes?”

“I’ll consider it,” he said and walked back inside.

Not like all men at all. Not like any being she’d ever encountered among the living or the dead. And suddenly, that too was part of the fun. She found she was grinning like an idiot as she threw open the door to greet the day. She leapt down the steps in one stomach-churning bound and landed among a group of startled kids on bikes. Sera laughed and waved to them and ran all the way to Serafina’s.

THE END

About Marie Treanor

Marie Treanor lives in Scotland with her eccentric husband and three much-too-smart children. Having grown bored with city life, she resides these days in a picturesque village by the sea where she is lucky enough to enjoy herself avoiding housework and writing sensual stories of paranormal romance and fantasy.

Marie has published more than twenty ebooks with small presses, (Samhain Publishing, Ellora’s Cave, Changeling Press and The Wild Rose Press), including a former Kindle bestseller, Killing Joe. Blood on Silk: an Awakened by Blood novel, was her New York debut with NAL.

Other E-Books by Marie Treanor

BLOOD GUILT (Blood Hunters, Book 1): a sequel to the Awakened by Blood trilogy

Available now from NAL Signet Eclipse:

The Awakened by Blood trilogy:

BLOOD ON SILK

BLOOD SIN

BLOOD ETERNAL

Available now from Ellora's Cave:

The Psychic Seductions trilogy:

HUNTING KAROLY

GUITAR MAN

FREEING AL

Available now from Samhain Publishing:

KILLING JOE

GOTHIC DRAGON

ARIADNE'S THREAD

THE DEVIL AND VIA

QUEEN'S GAMBIT

REQUIEM FOR RAB

Fairytale Fantasies (with Bonnie Dee):

CINDERELLA UNMASKED

DEMON LOVER

AWAKENING BEAUTY

Available now from Changeling Press

Tales of the Damned:

CITY OF THE DAMNED

Christmas Cookies: CHRISTMAS OF THE DAMNED

DRAGUL RISING

ROGUE WARRIORS

Jack o' Lanterns: WITCH OF ALLOWAY

ESCAPE: Devilish Fantasy

Hot Flash: SWAN SONG

Big, Blooming and Wild! WILLOW THE WISP

Heat Stroke: COOL POOL

STEAMY NIGHTS

DEMON'S KISS

WOLF HUNT

Holiday Howlz: CRY FOR THE MOON

Available now from The Wild Rose Press:

MAGIC MAN

GHOST UNLAID

Coming November 2012

SMOKE AND MIRRORS (The Gifted, Book 1)

by Marie Treanor

Deceit and desire, and a treasure beyond price…

When struggling Scottish writer Nell Black accepts a one-off job with the police, translating for an arson suspect from the isolated ex-Soviet republic of Zavrekestan, she stumbles into a terrifying world of organized crime and paranormal abilities that turns her whole belief system upside down. Faced with an incomparable thief, hit men who spontaneously combust, gangsters, drug dealers, British Intelligence and a fiery goddess, Nell no longer knows who to trust. The man who saves her life is a criminal to whom deceit is second nature. He has more smoke screens and more plans in motion than anyone else can keep track of. He is, moreover, probably insane. Even his fellow gangsters are afraid of him. So why is he the one man Nell wants to touch her?

Rodion Kosar is in trouble. His convoluted plans all lead to one goal - the retrieval of his treasure - and to achieve that, he needs Nell to believe he isn't the bad guy. He has many reasons beyond his own desires to make love to her. Especially when a plan goes wrong and he has to play dead before someone really kills him - either the police, the menacing Russian crime lord known as the Bear, or the powerful Guardian of the Gifted whom he's defied once too often. Nell's burgeoning gift of second sight could be his best route to the treasure, and yet keeping her with him spells danger. For Nell has her own agenda, her own mission, and she could just as easily cause his final downfall.

Please enjoy the prologue and the first chapter from Smoke and Mirrors…

Prologue

Fourteen years ago…

The Russian captain ran from the village as if all the fiends in hell were after him—instead of just one unarmed boy. He stumbled and slipped his desperate way through the snow, trying to reach his horse, any horse that would get him away from here. The dying screams of his men still rang in his ears, the stink of their burning flesh clogged his nostrils and churned his stomach. If it hadn’t been fire, he’d have coped better, but his greatest fear—maybe even his only fear—had always been death by burning.

He still couldn’t quite believe the boy had killed them all. Just by looking. There must be money in this, if only he could stay alive long enough to find the way to it. Visions of the last hour flashed back in front of his eyes—tracking enemy survivors of the battle on horseback, because it was the easiest way to travel in these dense woods; the trail of blood his troop had followed here, bright, shocking scarlet against the pristine whiteness of the snow; the wounded separatist soldier, dragged from his house with his wife and the boy clinging to him; the sight of the once awful wound healing and closing before his eyes; his own gun shooting the soldier; the screams of the women; one of his men seizing a young girl of the family, grabbing for her skirt—just before he burst into flames.

There had been a barrage of shooting then. The soldier’s wife, the boy’s mother, had fallen beside her husband as the Russian soldiers began the rampage of looting, raping and killing that was all they fun they ever got out of this shitty little war. Only that hadn’t happened either, because of the boy.

With a roar that had somehow terrified those hardest and most brutal of soldiers—the captain included—the boy had charged up the street. The Russians had burst into flames on either side of him. Sparks had seemed to fly from the boy’s eyes. No one could touch him. No one even had time to shoot him. In seconds, the Russian soldiers had been fleeing in panic, their captain very soon at their head, but the boy had kept on coming and the men kept burning. It was spectacular, terrifying, splendid. But he couldn’t let it go on.

He turned, levelled his gun, and for an instant he stared at the boy over the space of several yards and two dead, still burning bodies. He was only about fourteen years old, but tall for his age and good-looking to boot, even panting for breath, his smoke-grimed face contorted in grief and fury.

It was a pity; there had to be money in whatever the boy was doing, and in whatever had healed his father’s first injury. But right now, it was the boy or the captain. So, his hand shaking like an alcoholic’s on the morning after, the captain fired.

At first, he thought he’d missed altogether. The boy didn’t even cry out, just made an odd grunting sound in the back of his throat as he staggered back. Blood oozed from his thigh. But it didn’t stop him. He didn’t even fall, just lurched at the captain.

Why the hell had he only shot him in the leg? Just for some imaginary future profit? With an inarticulate, strangled cry, the captain staggered around and went back to running, expecting every moment to feel the flames bursting out under his skin, licking over his flesh…

Finally, he caught the reins of a frightened, skittish horse, and hauled himself into the saddle. The boy still followed, limping and bloody, and the captain actually sobbed with fear. But he didn’t burn up. Sobbing for breath—and surely pain—the boy hurled himself at the captain’s leg, trying to pull him off the horse. The captain kicked him and he fell back, blood pouring from his cheek. But the boy came at him again, and the captain finally understood. Whatever power had burned the others, the boy had run out of it. He had no weapons, only his fists to fight with. And the captain’s were bigger.

He leaned from the saddle as the boy ran at him for the second time, and punched him. The boy didn’t fall, merely swung with the punch, then lashed out fast enough to catch the captain’s chin before he stumbled back. The captain wheeled the nervous horse around, pointed him away from the village, and yet held him in check a moment longer.

He glanced back at the boy. So young, so angry. So fucking, amazingly lethal. “I’ll remember you,” he said softly.

The boy stared back, not even aware of the tears pouring down his grimy cheeks. “I know.”

Chapter One

Consorting with criminals in the middle of the night had never been part of her career plan. Yet here she was approaching the desk of Edinburgh’s Gayfield Square police station at half past two in the morning.

“I’m Nell Black,” she told the young policeman who seemed reluctant to look up from the football pages of his newspaper. Clearly, he was inured to the racket made by a rowdy group of drunks behind him. He glanced up at last without much interest, did a double take and sat up straight.

“Yes, miss?” he said, much more brightly.

Apparently the extra effort with makeup made a difference after all. “I’m a translator, here to see Detective Sergeant Lamont?”

The young policeman reached for his phone with alacrity, and less than a minute later, Nell was being led through a security door and along a maze of corridors and stairs. A plain clothes man in shirt sleeves with a tie dangling out of his crumpled trousers pocket, strode out of a room at the end of one passage and hurried toward them with his hand held out. Somewhere in his late thirties, Nell guessed. His hair receded, greying slightly, at the temples. He looked serious, harassed and not someone you should mess with, however hard you were.

There was no avoiding the hand shake, so she got it over with as quickly as she civilly could, which appeared to suit the brisk policeman well enough.

“Miss Black? Thanks for coming.” He jerked his head dismissively at the young copper who effaced himself, though not without a backward glance at Nell.

“I’m Craig Lamont,” the sergeant said, ushering her toward the room he’d just left. “And very glad to see you. I was beginning to think you weren’t available after all.”

“Sorry, I was out late,” Nell apologized, and Lamont cast her a more piercing glance. “I wasn’t drinking,” she said hastily, damned if she’d lose her first job through that kind of misapprehension. “What exactly is it you want me to do?”

“We’re interviewing a suspect in a rather nasty arson case. At least two people are dead, and this bloke was caught bolting out of the building. He claims not to speak any English and is refusing to talk to us without a translator. You guys are thin on the ground.”

“There must be lots of Russian speakers in Edinburgh,” she objected—stupidly. One should never look gift horses in the mouth, and God knew she needed the job.

“Well, that’s the crux of the matter,” Lamont said ruefully. “We have Russian translators we can use, but none of them know Zavreki.”

“Ah.”

“Exactly. Frankly, I’d never even heard of Zavrekestan. Thought he was having us on, but it’s a real country, right enough. One of the ex-Soviet breakaway republics.” He gave a quick, deprecating grin as he said it, as though proud of his research and yet aware he must be teaching his grandmother to suck eggs. “Do they really have their own language?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s similar to Russian, yet too different to be simply a dialect. On the other hand, if your man’s from Zavrekestan, I’d be very surprised if he didn’t speak Russian as well as we speak English.”

“I wondered about that. I have this feeling he’s wasting our time—probably didn’t expect us to find someone.”

“God bless mother,” Nell murmured.

Lamont stopped outside the door she’d first seen him exiting. “I take it you’ve never sat in on a police interview before?”

Nell shook her head.

“It will all be recorded,” Lamont said briskly. “All I need you to do is translate what I say to our man, and what he says back to me. Be as clear and as accurate as possible. I’ll name you and your job for the benefit of the tape before we begin.”

He laid his hand on the doorknob and paused. “For what it’s worth he seems to me to be hiding signs of agitation, but there’s no hint of violence about him. There’ll be two police officers present at all times.”

Nell nodded gratefully. She was a writer, a translator, a desk woman. These days at least, her criminals all came in books.

“What’s his name?” she asked, more because she felt she should than because she really wanted to know..

“Kolnikov,” Lamont replied, extracting a pad from his pocket. “R. Kolnikov.”

She lifted her gaze to Lamont’s face. “What does the ‘R’ stand for?”

He glanced at the pad. “Razz, apparently.” He opened the door and went in.

Razz Kolnikov? Really? The bastard was guilty and laughing at them.

Nell followed Sergeant Lamont inside, to where a group of people sat around a rather bashed-up table, ornamented only by a crushed packet of cigarettes. Lamont clearly felt time was of the essence because even as he pulled a chair forward for Nell, he was speaking, combining the social politeness of introductions with naming those present for the police recording.

His police colleague, seated beside him, was a young detective constable called Livingstone. The suspect’s solicitor on the opposite side of the table, was Gregor Gallini. Nell’s chair was squashed in at the end of the table, with Gallini on one side and Lamont on the other.

The suspect himself, Kolnikov, lounged next to his lawyer. Nell found herself in no hurry to face him. Instead, she concentrated on sitting down and arranging her coat and bag, giving quick smiles and nods to everyone else as they were introduced. Her first impression of the suspect, gained from half-glances and glimpses from the corner of her eye, was of long legs in blue jeans, a sloppy grey sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to the elbow to reveal colourful tattoos among the golden hairs on his forearms. And a sort of shimmering light – burning amber and gold – like an aura.

Nell didn’t believe in auras, largely because she’d never taken to the sort of people who talked about them. Therefore she’d always felt slightly ashamed of the fact that she occasionally imagined different coloured outlines around some people, usually from exactly this kind of half-glance. When she looked properly, the “aura” had always gone. Imagination combined with nerves, of course, and tonight she had excuse for both.

“And Nell Black, translator,” Lamont finished, “present at the request of Mr. Kolnikov.”

“What are her qualifications?” Gallini demanded at once. “She must be fluent in Zavreki.”

“I am,” Nell said mildly. She reached into her bag and brought out copies of her degrees and diplomas. Although she was aware of Kolnikov’s gaze upon her, she passed the documents to the solicitor, who pushed them nearer to his client, so that they could both view them. In the belief she would now have a free, if brief moment to examine the suspect, she lifted her gaze to his face. Mistake.

It was a bit like falling out of a tree when she was a kid: a sense of dizziness, followed swiftly by a thud that sucked all the air out of her lungs. Not because he was particularly good-looking—although he was, all straight, sharp lines and shaggy blond hair—but because his hard, intense blue eyes were staring right at her, as if he could see into every corner of her existence.

At least there was no “aura” now.

His lips separated, and he spoke in Zavreki. “How come?”

The words were brief, without emphasis, and yet they threw her. Perhaps it was his voice, quiet and deep as dark velvet, that made her shiver.

“How come what?” she demanded.

“How come you speak my language?”

“My mother came from Zavrekestan.”

He picked up the packet of cigarettes from the table. “And they say you can never escape,” he said flippantly.

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“Out of the frying pan into the fire,” he observed, placing a cigarette between his lips. His hands were large, but slender, his fingers long and oddly elegant compared to the rest of his flung-together if attractive appearance. He wore no rings, no wrist watch. And the tattoos licking down his forearms to his wrists were flames. Bizarre. Though no reason to arrest someone for arson.

“I’ve told you, there’s no smoking in here, Mr. Kolnikov,” Lamont said impatiently. “Can we get on? I take it you’re happy to have Miss Black as your translator?” He fixed Nell with his gaze, and she almost jumped with the realization that her job had now begun.

Hastily, she translated Lamont’s words and Kolnikov threw the cigarette down on the table. “Hit me.”

Nell translated that as, “He agrees.”

Both the policemen fixed their attention on Kolnikov, although it was to Nell, presumably, that he addressed his words.

“Ask him what he was doing in the burning warehouse in Abbeyhill tonight at five minutes to eleven.”

Nell translated without expression, although she felt a chill run through her bones.

Kolnikov shrugged. “If that’s when I met the police, I was running out of the warehouse before I burned to death. I only went in because it was on fire and I heard someone calling for help.”

Lamont and his side-kick both looked sceptical. “Was that not dangerously reckless? Could he not just have called the fire brigade?”

The solicitor looked as if he’d intervene, then waved one hand as if it wasn’t worth the fuss.

Kolnikov answered. “What can I say? I’m a good citizen. And I did.”

“Did what?” Lamont demanded.

Kolnikov’s hand closed around the cigarette. “Call the fire brigade.”

“We can check on that, you know,” Detective Constable Livingstone warned.

Kolnikov said nothing, just looked at him.

“Did you know who was in the warehouse?” Lamont asked.

When Nell translated, Kolnikov shook his head.

“For the tape, please,” Livingstone intoned.

While Nell translated, Kolnikov’s hard, impenetrable blue eyes came back into focus on her face.

“No,” he said.

Something twisted inside her. It seemed likely he was looking at her to avoid the policemen; and yet just for a moment she imagined his eyes weren’t impenetrable at all, but in pain, almost— desperate. Then his lashes came down, thick and concealing.

Perhaps Lamont caught that instant too. Or perhaps he just scented weakness or lies. At any rate, he leaned forward to ram his point home. “Two people died in that blaze, Mr. Kolnikov. Burned to death so that their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them. Did you start the fire?”

Nell translated, trying desperately to keep any emotion from her voice. Her cold lips seemed reluctant to say the words, but at least her brain kept working.

Kolnikov’s gaze flickered to hers and then on to Lamont. “No.”

“At least one of the victims seems to’ve been Russian,” Lamont said casually. “We found the remains of a damaged passport. Is that just co-incidence?”

“I suppose it must be.”

Lamont sat back. Kolnikov didn’t move, except for the slow play of his fingers on the cigarette, turning it over and over and tapping it occasionally on the table. There was nothing quick or nervous about it, and yet it looked to Nell as if his hands were shaking.

Kolnikov was a lot more bothered than he wanted anyone to think.

“So what were you doing in Abbeyhill?” Lamont asked. However he asked the questions, his attention was always on his suspect, looking, Nell was sure, for signs that Kolnikov understood before the translation, and for any tiny signals that might betray him before he was ready.

“I was on my way home,” Kolnikov answered.

“Which is where?” Livingstone asked.

“The Royal Hotel in Leith.”

Nell knew it. Despite its grandiose name, it wasn’t an impressive establishment. It catered largely for the homeless and for passing trade who wanted very cheap rooms.

“And where were you coming from?” Livingstone asked.

“Deacon Brodie’s bar,” the answer came back.

“Wasn’t Abbeyhill a bit out of your way?” Livingstone enquired.

“I got lost,” Kolnikov replied.

“Okay.” Livingstone obviously decided to let that one go. “Did you have much to drink in the bar?”

“A whisky and a pint of heavy,” Kolnikov said in heavily accented English. The funny thing was, the Scots intonation came through. Nell only just stopped herself from smiling, and from the sudden twitch of Lamont’s severe lips, she rather thought he had the same problem.

“Anyone who’d remember seeing you there?” Livingstone asked.

Kolnikov shrugged. “I spoke to a couple of people. Don’t know their names, though. I played chess with one.”

The translation of that managed to surprise the cops, but before they could ask any more, Kolnikov added. “One of the barmaids might remember me. I asked her for a drink on her next night off.”

“Did she say yes?” Livingstone asked.

Kolnikov smiled. “Actually, she did.”

“So when did you leave the bar?”

“Before eleven. Maybe half past ten.”

Lamont said abruptly, “Ask him if he knows what was in the warehouse.”

Kolnikov shook his head. “There were a lot of cardboard boxes on the stairs. Everywhere I looked.”

“Some of it was heroine. The female victim threw a bag of it through the window to attract attention.”

“Shit,” said Kolnikov. Anyone might have had that reaction. There was no way to tell if he cared any more than he would for a stranger.

“We also found guns,” Lamont went on. “Regular gangster’s paradise. We really don’t like that.”

Kolnikov let her say all of it before he answered mildly enough, “No one would.”

Lamont fired the questions quick and curt now, barely giving Nell time to translate the replies before he snapped out the next.

“Ever taken heroine, Mr, Kolnikov?”

“Once, when I was sixteen. In Zavrekestan. Never since.”

“Do you own a firearm?”

“No.”

“Have you ever?”

“No.”

“What are you doing in Scotland?”

“I’m travelling. Seeing the world.”

“Would you consent to your clothes and skin being tested for deposits?”

“No,” said Gallini, as if he’d just wakened up.

“Yes,” said Kolnikov, then glanced at his solicitor and shrugged. “I don’t care. What are you looking for?” he added.

“Anything that might eliminate you from our enquiries,” Lamont said smoothly, before spoiling it by adding, “Any reason we might discover anything incriminating on you?”

“Like what?” Kolnikov asked, apparently amused.

“Petrol,” Livingstone said dryly. “Matches.”

“Is that how the fire was started?” Kolnikov enquired.

“We don’t know yet. Please answer the question.”

He did them the courtesy of appearing to think about it. “I don’t have a car here, so I haven’t been near petrol to my knowledge. Matches…” He held up the cigarette and shrugged. “And I crashed about on the stairs of the warehouse, as far as the first floor before I realized it was useless.”

“We’d also like to take your fingerprints and DNA swabs,” Lamont said.

Gallini opened his mouth, presumably to object, but again his client merely shrugged and said, “Fine.”

Nell could almost have imagined he was innocent. Aye, right. Mr. Razz Kolnikov.

“In that case, interview ended at…” he glanced at his watch. “…three fifteen am, in order to take evidence swabs from Mr. Kolnikov.” He stood and regarded Nell. “Would you mind sticking around?”

“Sure.” Sleep was overrated. She’d already resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t going to get any for a long time. Besides, the caffeine pills had clocked in and she felt almost bright eyed and bushy tailed.

****

It was 6.30 am, and almost light. Nell, fortunate enough to find a café open on Leith Walk to catch the shift workers and early starters, sat staring into her black coffee. She felt as if her eyes were kept open with matchsticks and yet her brain was churning so fast she couldn’t have slept on a feather bed with the sandman in attendance and lullabies in the background.

It was years since she’d been in a police station. That police station. And the memories it stirred up didn’t help her to deal with the rest of tonight’s crap.

She’d hung around in an outer room, just in case Kolnikov chose to say anything while the police took away his clothes. He didn’t. She’d only glimpsed him once through the swinging door as his clothes were returned to him. He’d been sitting in a dull white bathrobe that seemed too small, his head back against the wall, his eyes closed, his long legs, spread casually wide and constantly vibrating to the tapping of his feet, which seemed to be the only part of him moving. In different surroundings, it would have been a sight worth memorizing. Even with the ends of the robe dragged together almost as far as his throat, as if he were cold, he was a sexy bastard. Nell’s body had acknowledged it, surprising her with its brief, shocking stir of interest.

She didn’t want to think about that.

She took a sip of coffee and hugged the warmth of her cup in both hands while she gazed out of the window. Rain was spitting down in a half-hearted sort of a way. Apart from the passing cars, the street was almost empty. A woman hurried by with a bawling baby in a car-seat.

The café radio played mindless pop music, interspersed with quite inappropriately cheerful chatter. A young man yawned behind the counter and began to fry bacon and sausages. Nell’s stomach rumbled.

And then she saw him. Kolnikov. He was walking down the pavement toward the café, hands in the pockets of a battered black leather jacket, his long legs striding, more, it seemed, because they couldn’t travel any other way than because he was in a hurry. He appeared to be whistling.

The police had found no reason to hold him. So far.

Nell’s heart lurched. Don’t look in, she willed him suddenly. Then, Oh hell, yes, please look in.

He looked in. He stopped first to examine the menu in the window. But she didn’t think he even saw it. He looked pale and exhausted, his lips tighter, his fine jaw more rigid than in the police station. And his blue eyes weren’t hard or cold. They were blank with something very like misery. Then his gaze dropped and he saw her.

She caught a flicker of recognition, even a faint upward tug at the corner of his mouth. For an instant, she held his gaze, descried a flare of intense, almost predatory interest that swiped at her breath.

Then he walked on.

She was at the door before he’d taken two steps.”Mr. Kolnikov?”

He paused, glancing back over his shoulder. She wondered what she looked like to him. A professional young woman fully made up at 6.30 in the morning, wearing a smart business suit and hanging out the door of a café only one step up from a greasy spoon. With her eyes held open by imaginary match sticks. This was such a bad idea.

“Are you all right?” she asked reluctantly.

There was the faintest pause, then: “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve been up all night being questioned by the police just for trying to help strangers?” It was too close to the words used by his solicitor already. She added quickly but honestly, “You look ill.”

“I’m not ill. Just tired, I guess.” He glanced at the café window. “Is the coffee any good?”

“Good enough,” she said, going back inside.

Stupidly, her heart hammered in her breast. She was careful not to make eye contact as he came in, gave him space. He didn’t need to talk to her. She didn’t want him to talk to her.

And yet the writer in her was curious. He wasn’t like any criminal type she’d encountered before. He wasn’t anything like she expected of an arsonist. A possible gangster. A murderer.

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Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

About Marie Treanor

Other Books by Marie Treanor

Sample Chapter: Smoke and Mirrors

Connect with Marie Treanor online