Nothing about the hallway appeared different or unsettling: it was the same grand interior as before, the same paintings lined the walls and the same shiny marble floor was at her feet. She was even directed to the same uncomfortable wooden bench. But there was something subtly different and Mallory was sure it was related to the thrall’s attitude towards her.
She sat on the bench and eyed the Cursed Portrait. This time the moustachioed painting didn’t speak, though he did give her a very long, very derisive stare. Hmm.
She was kept waiting far longer than she’d expected. Mallory knew she ought to push back but her earlier irritation had been replaced by a dull numbness as she continued to worry about what she’d say to Alexander.
When she was finally admitted to Chester Longchamps’ drawing room, she realised the reason for the delay. His glassy eyes, dishevelled clothes and his perceptible wobble – not to mention the lingering scent of heavy booze – made it obvious: Chester Longchamps was as drunk as a skunk.
‘Mallory!’ He spread his arms wide as if to embrace her.
Mallory glared and stepped back but the vampire appeared not to notice and stumbled towards her. With a flicker of nausea, she noted splatters of blood on his pristine white shirt. She knew how the vampires worked: to get to this state of inebriation,Chester must have got all of his blood donors drunk before opening their veins and piggybacking off their blood alcohol. She would really rather not have to deal with this right now.
The easiest way to fend him off was to remind him why she was there so she held up the box containing the jug. ‘Here,’ she said. ‘One bellarmine jug in pristine condition, as requested.’
Chester Longchamps clapped his hands like a child. ‘Oooh. Goody!’ He lurched forward to take it.
Mallory shook her head. He was horribly drunk; if he dropped the damned jug and broke it, she wanted to be sure that their contract was completed beforehand. She wasn’t sure there was another bellarmine jug anywhere in Coldstream and she had no intention of searching for one. ‘Nicola Sturgess will meet you tonight as soon as it’s dark to arrange for transfer of the Clouded Map. You remember the conditions?’
‘Yes, yes.’ Longchamps hiccupped. ‘It’s all in hand. I have the preservation spells you purchased. I know I have to return the Clouded Map to Sturgess by August, and then the bellarmine jug to you.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Mallory gazed at him. ‘But there is zero chance that she’ll give you the Clouded Map if you’re drunk, even if you have a thousand jugs and preservation spells.’
‘I’m not drunk!’ he protested. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Alright,’ he admitted, slurring his words. ‘Maybe I’m alittledrunk. I’ve been celebrating. This map will change everything.’ He grinned at her lopsidedly. ‘I’ll be sober by this evening, I promise.’
She wasn’t sure if she believed him, neither was she sure that she cared. ‘So we can shake on the completion of our contract?’
He nodded. ‘You have fulfilled your obligations, Ms Nash.’ He thrust out his hand.
Mallory exhaled. Good. Very good. She carefully lowered the box onto a table then turned and shook Chester’s clammy hand.‘Congratulations, Mr Longchamps.’ He didn’t seem to notice that she didn’t call him ‘Lord’. ‘I’ll be in touch about repayment at some point in the future. You can expect to hear from either me or my representative.’
The vampire executed a perfect bow. ‘Not a problem,’ he said, then immediately turned towards the box.
‘By the way,’ Mallory said, ‘what’s happened to Eric?’
‘Who?’
She counted to ten in her head. ‘Your thrall, Eric. One of the many members of staff whom you promised to stop abusing.’
‘Oh, him.’ Longchamps paused as if recalling a distant memory. ‘Yeah, I dismissed him.’
‘What?’ she asked, shocked. ‘Why?’
‘Well, I can’t abuse him if he’s not here, can I?’
Vampire logic. For fuck’s sake. Doubtless the real reason he’d dumped the thrall was nothing more than petty revenge that had more to do with her than it did with poor Eric. ‘Is he alright?’
Longchamps shrugged blankly. ‘How would I know? He’s no longer my concern.’
Mallory shook her head. Although being free of the vampires was a good thing in her opinion, she knew that Eric wouldn’t see it that way. ‘Goodbye Mr Longchamps,’ she said. ‘I’ll be in touch.’
The vampire barely heard her; his focus was on the box. Mallory’s jaw tightened and she left the room.
As soon as she returned to the hallway, she heard the argument. ‘I need to speak to her now!’ Boris demanded through the small grate in the door.
‘You need to wait,’ the female thrall said snippily in return.
Mallory’s stomach dropped. Something was clearly wrong – there was no reason for Boris to be here now unless there’d been a disaster. What if it was Alexander? What if it something terrible had happened to him?
The Cursed Portrait cackled loudly but she paid it no attention; instead she ran past it to the door. ‘What is it, Boris?’ she yelled. ‘What’s happened?’
