Mother Swift rubs her own neck distractedly, as if imagining the sharp points of my fangs jabbing her. ‘All right. Twelve, not too many. And that’s handyyou can erase their memories.’
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘That we say nothing to the other girls for a start. If word gets out that Mother Swift is housing a vampire, then we would be set upon. You will be staked, beheaded, and burned.’
I shudder at that. ‘Not my idea of fun. But I’ve been keeping to myself lately anyway, so no one else knows.’
‘Good, good. How much sleep do you need?’ she asks.
I shrug. ‘Maybe a couple of hours during the day? I have a lot more energy than before, especially after feeding.’
‘We should increase your number of customers then. How many could you service during an eighteen-hour period, do you think?’
Closing my eyes, I calculate rapidly without needing to use my fingers. Thanks to vampirism, my mental acuity has increased. ‘At four men an hour, around seventy-two men a day.’
Mother Swift’s brown eyes glint greedily. Her exact thought isSadie is going to make me rich!
‘Excellent,’ she says out loud. ‘I’ll set you up in my quarters at the back of the house where no one can disturb you, dearie. There’s a nice big bedroom and an adjoining parlour you can use too. I’ll move upstairs into your bedroom.’
‘Oh, thank you. That’s kind—’
She waves away my thanks. ‘It’s not kind. It’s business.’
‘Fine. But I have two requests.’
She inclines her head. ‘Name them.’
‘That I can feed on two men of my choosing per day and I get five days off once a month.’
Mother Swift’s teeth grind as she calculates how much money she’ll lose in my absence.Five days! That’s much more than I allow the other girls. Then again, she’s going to make me so much money that it’s well worth it.
‘It’s a deal,’ she says, and I nod, smiling to myself.
Mother Swift reaches out a manicured hand to shake on it but then remembers I’m a vampire and withdraws it hastily.
***
A couple of months later, I’m well settled into Mother Swift’s new regime. We’re even on a first-name basis, so I’m calling her Fanny.
Her worries about my vampiric state being leaked were unfounded as there aren’t as many girls working at the brothel now. In fact, there’s mostly just me since I’m so efficient. We’ve expanded into small group servicings since they’re popular amongst the elite. This is how it works: Aparty of half a dozen young toffs are out on the town for a drink. They go visiting pub after pub, getting rowdier and rowdier until they’re thrown out. Then one of them has the bright idea of calling at Mother Swift’s. They show up sozzled, demanding the best girls. Fanny smiles winsomely, talks them through my various talents, and gets them all hot and bothered. Once they’re thinking with their stiff rods, she then charges them triple. Up front. Suffice to say, once they’re in my parlour, they’re not disappointed. Everyone leaves satisfied, except for two of them, who stay behind until I’m fed. Fucking, feasting, and getting paid well for it—it’s an excellent arrangement.
On the downside, I am quite lonely and missing the company of the other girls. Sharing funny stories about our customers and having a laugh at the pub were some of the highlights of working here. Now I spend most of my time being rogered so I can earn my supper.
They should update my description inHarris’s List:Sadie Smith, forever 21, silky blonde hair and luscious long legs. You won’t get much conversation, but you’ll get a fast sweet fuck ... and a sore neck.
It is slightly concerning that Fanny is putting all her golden eggs in one basket. I’m her ticket to a fancier life, and she’s counting on me to get her there. With the extra money she’s making comes extra temptation too, of thealcoholic kind.
One slow afternoon, she sends me out on a gin run. She’s been knocking back the stuff like no one’s business lately because she’s upgraded to a better quality of spirit. But it’s not for me to judge how she spends her coin.
I memorise the address of the house she’s scribbled on a grubby scrap of paper and wend my way through the darkened back alleys, asking directions from whoever I meet. Daylight hurts my eyes, but I discover I can tolerate it for short periods. Enough to bring back a bottle of dodgy gin for my only friend anyway.
Emerging from a particularly dark alleyway, I blink as a familiar row of houses with neatly tended front gardens and a black iron fence materialises. Fear grips my gut as I recognise exactly where I am. According to the directions I’ve been given, one of these is the gin house.And that one right there with the dark-green door, number 13, is Darius’s house.
Quickly, I check Fanny’s piece of paper:Number 11, Stukeley Street. Amy Renfrew. Buy the LARGE bottle.
What are the chances it’s right next door! The gin can wait. I have to know. I have to find out.
After carefully opening the gate, I totter up the garden path, peering around nervously. It takes me a while to gather my courage and knock on the door, but when I do, I know it’s out of my hands now. Will he be glad to see me?Or angry?
