Mina sinks lower in her chair.
“Wait a second,” I say. “A vampire murder has happened before?”
“It turned out to have a rational explanation,” Mina mumbles. “I’m sure this will, too. Right, Maisie?”
“Right. But itisall very strange. The police are stumped. Whoever the killer was, they somehow managed to follow Danny down that narrow alley and make it back past all the patrons at the pub without being seen by a single eyewitness.”
“That’s because the killer turned into a bat andflewin to make the kill.”
“Isis, the killer isn’t a vampire,” Dora huffs.
“Then explain how Danny ended up with his veins drunk dry?” Isis’s eyes dance. “I’m telling you, ladies, we have a real bloodsucker in town and if it isn’t Winnie’s boss?—”
“Don’t tell me, Isis is banging on about her vampire theories again?” a bored voice coos.
Everyone’s heads turn towards the door, where an impossibly tall and elegant woman stands. She has the silken black hair and flawless dark skin of a twenty-one-year-old film star and the haughty air of a widow who pushed her husband down the stairs and got away with it.
Isis sticks her tongue out at the newcomer, who sweeps into the room like some ancient courtesan, rolls her eyes at Isis, and flops down dramatically on the one remaining beanbag, legs akimbo.
“How are you this evening, Arabella?” Isis asks, a hint of sarcasm dripping into her voice.
Arabella – perfect name – shrugs her elegant shoulders. “Newliver, same eagles.”
I gape at her. “Did you just make a Prometheus reference?”
Arabella smirks at me. “Hello, new girl. You’re going to fit in perfectly. Yes, I’ve had a terrible headache from dealing with lawyers and bankers all day, and that’s before I’ve even started my evening client meetings. I have no patience for Isis’s mad theories.”
“Arabella is our resident vampire expert,” Isis explains. “She’s one of the few humans they trust to keep their secret because she’s helping them to invest their centuries of inherited wealth so they can become even richer assholes with devastating good looks?—”
“Isis!” Mina, Komal, Maisie and Dora snap at the same time.
“Right, er …” Isis shrinks in her seat. “I mean, I’m sure Arabella’s clients are lovely and not murderers at all.”
“I’m not here to discuss my clients,” Arabella huffs. “I come for one reason only – thesmut. I for one enjoyed this chilling dark romance, although I don’t think the serial killers were as imaginative as they could have been. There was a distinct lack of things shoved underneath fingernails, andno onegot beheaded with a rusty sword?—”
As Arabella leads the group in a lively discussion aboutButcher & Blackbird, I glance around the room and find myself wishing that I were here for longer than six weeks?—
What’s that?
In the window behind that strange purple cloth, obscured by shadow, is the outline of a face.
Someone’s watching us.
“Hey, Isis, can you see that?” I nudge her just as she pulls her arm back to throw a muffin at Beth.
“What?”
By the time Isis turns around, the face is gone.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ALARIC
Gideon: Here’s my weekly invitation that you’ll ignore as usual – meet me at the Sanctus Club on Friday night. Nothing removes a stick from your arse like the sins of the flesh, and you don’t have to marry a lady to have some fun for once. You could even bring along the human. That would be delightfully taboo. As long as she doesn’t mind a friendly nibble …
Icrouch in the overgrown garden running along the side of Nevermore Bookshop, my favourite sword resting over my knees. A large stick pokes my posterior, but I don’t dare shift my position to remove it.
Did she see me?
