However, Volik’s coffee-coloured eyes glinted coldly as he laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Merryhill, after the shopping centre near where he was born and then dumped.”
“Oh.” Charley’s expression drooped, before he took a deep breath and said in a sunny tone that almost fooled Gethin, “That’s lucky. Could have been round the back of the IMAX. Wouldn’t have sounded nearly as classy.”
Luc covered his mouth with a hasty fist. Rosie Anderson’s big brown eyes bugged with the effort she was making not to laugh. Gethin’s breath stuck in his throat while he watched for Volik’s reaction. He didn’t dare look at Sorley; bad enough that Dalziel’s expression on a human would have been indicative of severe constipation. There was a sudden noticeable drop in the temperature of the room.
But it was Neele whose tinkling bell of a laugh cut the tension in the air. The hint of frost disappeared. “Dearest,” She rested a slim hand on her husband’s sleeve, “Charley is such a natural comedian. Think how powerful he could become if he learned to channel this humour as a distraction.”
“Indeed.” Volik’s frosty glare thawed a fraction and the moment passed. He swept the room with his sharp gaze and said to everyone with a touch of impatience, “So if we can’t be certain of tracking every liaison the vampire made in the past few weeks, how else are we to stop this…man?” His eyes narrowed. “Does anyone truly believe it is a woman we seek?”
Sorley sighed loudly. “I doubt it,” he said, resignation seeping from every pore. “I don’t want to bethatguy, but it does seem like this is personal. No woman I can think of would know me well enough, or think they do, to imagine they stand a chance with me and get it so wrong. Am I right to think this is an extreme case of sour grapes, with a psycho seeking revenge for some imagined slight?”
24
SORLEY
“Imagined slight, or real?”Susan Langridge, the other shifter, Sorley recalled, was doodling on a pad in front of her. It looked like some kind of mind map. He focused on her kindly, wise-looking face.
“I don’t know, do I? I don’t say yes to every bit of arse that throws itself in my direction. I do have standards.”
“He’s right. He can’t be expected to divine others’ interpretations of what to someone else would be a swipe left without a second thought.” Trace, one of the witches, shrugged when everyone looked at him. “What? I use dating apps. If I took offence at every time someone bypassed my profile, I’d be a serial killer.” He grinned, turning his sullen-looking, plain features into someone Sorley realised was a very attractive man. Not that he was interested.
“You don’t get notified for swipe lefts,” he argued, mostly to counteract the realisation that although he liked Gethin enormously, he wasn’t yet blind to the appeal of other men. Trace Dempsey had an undefinable something.
Trace’s grin split his face. “I know, but I have to assume they see this ugly mug and say ‘yikes, no’ seeing as I’m not tripping over potential matches every time I check my profile.” He held his hands up in an apologetic gesture to Susan. “What I mean is, it’s unrealistic to expect Sorley to know a momentary grumble at being turned down from a total overreaction. Doesn’t mean it’s not a bad idea to tickle the old grey cells and see if anything turns up. Have you got a list of the places you like to hang out and pick guys up?”
Langridge looked thoughtful. “Can we help you with the list? Get someone delving into the security footages? Lean on our local security forces in the relevant areas to see if anyone dodgy pops up on the feeds?”
“Baxter’s been combing the security tapes, but most get overwritten within two to three weeks. I also gave her a list of everywhere I can remember going, but I don’t always hook up with blokes at clubs and not every pub or wine bar has cameras. It’s pretty hopeless.” Sorley sighed deeply, not for the first time that day.
“He seeks vengeance with the powers of the sea-born.” The voice didn’t sound like it was coming from the witch on their left, but as Sorley watched Clancy’s mouth move, it had to be her.
Sorley felt Alec’s silent giggle before he said in an almost indiscernible whisper, “And here comes the real star of the show…dun dun dun…the crazy witch lady.” Sorley knew Gethin had heard and caught the shifter’s eyes;what the fuck is she on about?Gethin in turn gave him the faintest of eye rolls.How the hell should I know?
Dalziel arched his thick eyebrows at the witch who was seated almost opposite him. “Clancy, are you with us?”
The little witch took a moment before she blinked and shook herself. “I think so?” She looked vaguely around the room, then sighed and made an abortive grab for the water jug in the centre of the table. Susan reached over and filled a glass for her. “Are you okay?”
Clancy nodded. “I channel voices sometimes. It’s one of my gifts. What did I say?” She seemed unsettled, but not overly surprised or concerned. Sorley repeated what she’d said.
“Oh.” She ran a hand through her wild mop of hair, looking rather nonplussed. “That’s a new one. I can’t see anyone hurting you and your friends by teaming up with the merfolk. They tend to keep to themselves.”
“Hang on a minute!” Charley spoke up, sounding rattled. “Are you all going to tell me that there are mermaids? Mermen!?The fuck didn’t I know this before?” His gaze pinballed from person to person, eyes wide and his heart clanging like a bell. “Dad?” he implored Dalziel. “Is it true?”
Dalziel sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t honestly expect the subject to ever come up.”
“You mean she’s telling the truth?” Charley squeaked. Dalziel’s nod precipitated the boy smacking his head onto the table with a loud thunk. “Jesus fucking Christ. Imma need a minute here. Or a brandy. That’s good for shock, right?” His voice got very quiet. “Maybe a big fucking bucket of brandy. Luc…”
“I’m here, babe.” The young shifter sounded pretty rattled himself, dragging his chair nearer to his boyfriend’s in order to heave Charley into his arms.Huh,thought Sorley,perhaps the mer really are more secretive than I realised.He knew of them and was aware that Alec had spoken to at least one, but Alec was double Sorley’s age and had seen a lot in his long life.
Marlowe, the mage in whose presence Sorley felt uncomfortable, although he still hadn’t worked out why, chewed the end of a pen. “I might have a suggestion,” he volunteered, the set of his shoulders rigid.
“Speak up then, man,” Justin urged him. “Right now, we’ll throw any options on the table, because even the dumbest ones might contain a grain of truth. Not that I’m saying your ideas are dumb.”
The mage put down his pen, then instantly picked it up again, holding it sideways like a shield, for all the good it would do him.
“It’s not something we talk about,” he stammered, almost to himself. “I don’t even know if I’m allowed to tell anyone.”
Dalziel was typing something on his phone, but he looked up and said sharply, “You’d better fucking talk. This concerns my progeny and many of his friends. You don’t keep secrets from the Council, Mr Reed.” He shot Sorley a smile, full of comfort and support, which Sorley returned.
