Chapter
One
The stone steps leading from pavement level to the dark maw of the basement of the narrow, terraced house were the stuff of nightmares for anyone with even the mildest of vampire phobias.
Or, Mallory reflected, anyone wearing high heels.
There were glistening patches of dark, wet blood in several places; they looked fresh, as if at least one unsuspecting victim had dribbled their last drops of the red stuff as they were being dragged underground, but that was an unlikely scenario despite the location.
Doubtless the blood had been there for months, kept slickly moist by a handy flash of witch-induced magic. It was a clever trick because a good number of people, whether they hailed from Coldstream or elsewhere, would steer clear. Two things that vampires universally despised were nosy parkers and cold callers. The steep claustrophobic steps and the puddles of sticky blood would discourage both.
Fortunately, although Mallory owned two pairs of devastatingly sexy heels, they were reserved for more congenial occasions than this one. Currently she was wearing grubby high-tops which had seen better days. It was just as well.
Avoiding the blood, she descended carefully; flat shoes or not, this wasn’t the time to rush and end up on her arse. She was a professional conducting a business call and there were standards to maintain.
Mallory knew there would be at least one pair of eyes watching her from behind the shuttered door at the foot of the steps, whether via magical means or through a more mundane peephole. There was a lot to be gained from the five-hundred-year-old vampire she was due to meet and first impressions were important. He wouldn’t care what shoes she was wearing but hewouldcare if she appeared clumsy or nervous.
Remember to breathe.Relax. You’ve got this. She had lived in Coldstream for more than ten years, but annoyingly she still found anxiety got the better of her at times. It was a good thing she was adept at masking her true feelings; compensating for her negative emotions with a display of ebullient confidence usually worked well.
Once the danger had passed and Mallory reached the door, she lifted her chin and allowed herself a moment to prepare. She inhaled deeply and tightened her toes, an old calming technique she’d learned years before. Then she relaxed, raised her hand and knocked.
From the other side of the door there was a shuffling sound followed by a scraping thud as the square grate in its centre was slid open and an irritated face scowled out.
The doorman wasn’t vamp. Judging by his clammy, grey pallor he was merely a thrall, a servant who willingly yielded to the vampires in all things in the hope of one day being turned.
That was quite a gamble to take with your life. Mallory was well aware of the statistics: typically, only one in every thirteen thralls was allowed to become a full-blooded vampire.
Three or four people came to her every year requesting her services in return for a leg up with the vampires. Although plentyof vamps didn’t bother with thralls, she could help someone become one if that was what they desired, but she had no control over what happened after that. Vampires were notoriously mercurial. People lined up to join them, desperate to partake in the dubious delights of an unnaturally long life. Some remained in thrall until their dying days, others abandoned the enterprise after a month or two of unrelenting servitude. Very, very few were turned true vamp.
None of Mallory’s clients had ever made the full-fanged leap. Although it would be beneficial to her if they did because she’d have a direct line to all things vampish, she was secretly pleased. Foregoing sunlight forever and drinking blood would be bad enough, but vampires were cold creatures and the longer they lived, the worse they became. Every passing decade stripped them of another streak of humanity until they were little more than unfeeling husks on legs. When you lived for hundreds of years, everything quickly became boring – and, in Mallory’s opinion, bored vampires were dangerous vampires.
She wasn’t one to judge the life choices of others, however, so she gave the grumpy thrall a friendly smile. ‘Good evening.’ She nodded politely. ‘My name is Mallory Nash. I have an appointment with Chester. He’s expecting me.’
The thrall’s scowl deepened. ‘You’re early.’
By three minutes. Mallory didn’t allow her smile to dim. ‘Shall I wait out here?’
He rolled his eyes expressively, suggesting that her question was completely unreasonable, then sighed heavily. ‘You may come in.’ He sniffed wetly. ‘I suppose.’ He slammed the grate closed and there was a clink as he slid back a bolt. The door creaked and, finally, Mallory gained admittance.
It wasn’t her first time walking into a vampire’s lair and it likely wouldn’t be her last. A lot of Mallory’s job involved keeping schtum about her clients; she would never admit whoshe had worked for in the past and the thrall would never learn how many times she’d walked into a vampire’s house under similar circumstances. She knew enough to look awe-struck as he led her into the grand hallway with its flocked red wallpaper and stern paintings lining the walls.
Vampires liked it when the hoi-polloi admired both them and their surroundings. Much like the rest of the society, they wanted their life – or rather theirundead– choices to be validated. As a mere squib, Mallory was supposed to be more impressed than other Coldstream citizens and she reacted accordingly; she knew the game and she knew her place.
The thrall gestured to an uncomfortable looking wooden bench elaborately carved with gleaming fleur-de-lis along the back, and grizzled lions with bared teeth on each arm. Sadly the carver’s skill hadn’t extended to making it a pleasant place to sit. In Mallory’s experience, comfort often took a backseat to beauty, more’s the pity.
‘Sit there,’ the thrall instructed. ‘When Lord Chester is ready, I shall return and fetch you.’
Both the thrall andLordChester were exerting their power in an unnecessarily showy manner, and they’d doubtless leave her waiting for at least an hour before she was allowed any further into the building. Mallory checked her watch. She’d cool her heels for seven minutes but, as much as she wanted this contract, she wouldn’t demean her reputation by waiting any longer than that. The vampires weren’t the only ones with appearances to maintain and she had another appointment to meet before the night was out.
The easiest way to hurry things along and get what she wanted would be to ingratiate herself with the thrall. ‘Thank you so much. What’s your name?’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘You seem like a nice fellow,’ she lied. ‘And it’s always good to put a name to a face.’
His suspicion lessened a fraction but he was clearly still wary. ‘Most people who come here don’t care what my name is.’
Mallory felt a flash of sympathy. ‘I’m not most people.’
