I took it from him. ‘Thanks.’ I dabbed at my hand, frowning. He’d obviously had his Crusaders and their pet Gatherer goblins out looking for me—the poodle-perm Souler who’d taken my picture with her phone on the Underground was evidence of that—but just to be sure, I asked the question anyway. ‘I’m curious, how did you recognise me?’
He pulled out his phone, thumbed the keyboard and held it out to me. The screen showed a picture of my Glamoured self. ‘I had a little help.’ He smiled sheepishly. ‘And I apologise for the cloak-and-dagger antics, but it’s important that I speak with you, and with the situation as it is, I assumed, rightly as it turned out, that sooner or later you’d use the Underground, or come here. And quite possibly be in disguise. And of course, there’s not much magic that can fool a goblin’s nose.’
Why was he babbling? ‘I take it you’re not going to inform the police of my whereabouts?’
‘Er, not at this moment, no.’ His smile wilted a bit round the edges.
Which made whatever he wanted vaguely threatening. ‘What is it you want to talk about that’s so important, Mr Banner?’ I said calmly.
‘It’s a rather delicate, Ms—’ He clasped his hands together nervously. ‘Um ... I think you might have something in your possession that belongs to our Order. As we’ve met previously, my superiors decided it might be easier if I approached you instead of a stranger.’
‘So what’s the item?’
‘I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to tell you,’ he said apologetically. ‘All I can say is that the item was a bequest to the Order from someone recently deceased. The solicitor dealing with the will maintains that it is in your safekeeping.’
I narrowed my eyes at him. ‘Why all the mystery, Mr Banner?’
‘The item is important, apparently, so you’ll know if you have it or not.’ He was practically wringing his hands. ‘But my superiors don’t want any information about the item becoming public knowledge.’
‘In other words they don’t trust me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he rushed on, ‘I advocated being straight with you, I told them that you saved my life at risk of your own when that vampire attacked me, that you deserved to be told everything, but—’
‘I’m a suspected murderer on the run. Don’t worry, I get it. It hardly makes me trustworthy material, does it?’
His cheeks coloured hot with embarrassment.
‘Thought so.’ I checked my hand where Bobby’s fangs had caught it. The skin had scabbed over already.
I gave Thaddeus an appraising look. Beater goblins were usually employed in Sucker Town, a private police force paid for out of the vampires’ pockets to keep the night-time streets safe for human visitors. It’s not such a contradiction as the idea suggests, since goblins are all about the job, right down to the last full stop on the contract. Although the Soulers are the only humans that use Beaters instead of the smaller, more acceptable Monitor goblins for any business dealings involving vampires or magic, since turning up with a baseball-bat-toting bodyguard is not the way to engender trustful relations. So Neil Banner searching for me with a monster Beater goblin at his side wasn’t that surprising ... but then he’d mentioned our first meeting. That time he’d only warranted an inexperienced, imported goblin as a minder, even though he’d been mixing with the Earl and a couple of his fang-pals. Either his standing within the Order had gone up in the last month, or his errand was of prime importance. And once I started thinking of the Earl, it didn’t take much to put it all together. He was the only one I knew who had died recently and who had given me something of value.
The Fabergé egg.
My bullshit antenna twitched. Why would a vampire leave a religious organisation such a legacy—especially when said organisation believed that vampirism was evil and anyone who accepted the Gift was destined for Hell? And apart from anything else, the Earl had been around for eight hundred-odd centuries, so I doubt he’d expected to die when he did.
But before I could ask, loud shouting erupted at the clinic’s entrance and I heard someone cry, ‘Where’s the sidhe?’
Chapter Fourteen
‘Where’s the sidhe?’ the girl shouted again. She was dressed skimpily in washed-out grey lace and velvet, white hair worn loose down to her emaciated hips. Her outfit labelled her: she was one of the Moths from Sucker Town, so called because they lived—and died—in the unlicensed off-piste blood-houses. Between the scraps of lace and velvet she had so many swollen red bites marking her thin body that she looked like she’d been prepared as a speciality dish for a fang-gang; not to mention she had to be pumped up higher than a kite with the amount of venom and adrenalin fizzing through her blood—not a good thing when she was brandishing a foot-long carving knife like some sort of ghostly warrior princess.
What the hell was she doing here looking for me?
‘I gottaseethesidhe,’ the girl shouted again. ‘GottaseethesidheNOW. ’ Her words slurred as she banged the knife down on the reception counter.
Hari appeared, his large hands held placatingly out in front of him, his yellow face splitting with cautious concern. ‘Now, miss, you want to put that knife down before you hurt yourself.’ He moved slowly forward, his big bulky body almost blocking Moth-girl from view.
‘Nooooo!’ She opened her purple-painted mouth wide and screamed, lunging straight for him. Hari dodged out of her way and her forward rush carried her past him into the hallway. She jerked to a stop in front of the lifts and stood, chest heaving, swaying like a sapling in an angry gale.
Beside me, Thaddeus stamped his feet, trainers flashing red and raised his aluminium bat.
Neil Banner placed a restraining hand on his arm. ‘No, my friend, the girl’s sick and needs our help, not our judgement,’ he said quietly.
Moth-girl looked from our little group then back to Hari, her purple-eyelined eyes in her Pierrot-whitened face blinking like a confused clown’s as her brain tried to catch up with her headlong rush.
Junkies off their head weren’t that rare at HOPE. The usual plan was to safely distract the junkie, in this case Moth-girl, until security could turn up and defuse the situation, then help her as best we could. Hari knew the drill as well as I did, except I realised he wasn’t wearing his stab-vest—what if she spooked? Mountain trolls might be born from rock, they might be tough, they might live a few centuries longer than humans, but their flesh was still flesh, and they could still bleed, even if it was silicate and not actual blood.
Instinctively, I stepped forward, moving as slowly and cautiously as Hari had. ‘Hey,’ I called, just loud enough for her to hear me.
Her head whipped round, the movement nearly overbalancing her. She peered suspiciously at me, still blinking.
‘Why do you want to see the sidhe?’ I asked softly. ‘Maybe we could help?’
‘Nottellinyou!’ She pointed the knife at me. ‘You ain’t the sidhe, I seen her picture. Sidhe’s got red hair an’ those funny eyes, ’n’you’re like blonde,’ she said accusingly. ‘You ain’t no sidhe!’
‘Miss, I’m sure the sidhe will show herself soon.’ Neil Banner smiled at her and kept his voice soothing. ‘You’ll be able to see her then. I’m here to see her myself. We could wait together?’
I got the message: lose the Glamour so Moth-girl could recognise me. It wasn’t a bad idea. Trouble was, never mind anything else—like being wanted by the police, or even why she wanted to see me—the Glamour wasn’t that easy to lose. Distracting Moth-girl until security arrived was a much more sensible plan.
‘Yes, I’m sure she’ll be here as soon as it’s possible,’ I said agreeably, ‘so long as nothing happens to ... keep ... distracting ... her,’ I added much more softly, glancing at Neil Banner.
He half frowned, then his face cleared into understanding as he deciphered my return message. He smiled at Moth-girl and said in the same soothing voice, ‘We could have a chat while we wait, if you wouldn’t mind, miss.’ Then he gave a small wave at the orange visitor chairs and took a couple of cautious steps towards them. ‘I’d be glad of the company.’