‘I deserve to suffer.’
My eyes widen in alarm. This kind of self-flagellation is not healthy. ‘Peter, nobody deserves to suffer.’
‘Yeah?’ he scoffs. ‘What about your boss? The one you were in love with? Don’t the vampires who killed him deserve to suffer?’
I’d forgotten all about that little story I’d spun. ‘Er…’
Nicky appears from behind me. ‘Bo! You were in love with your boss and a vampire killed him? No way! That’s so awful.’
For once, I’m irritated by her abrupt appearance as well as the line of questioning. Before D’Argneau’s revelations, I’d have milked this conversation for all it’s worth. After all, it was my plan to gain the others’ confidence and encourage them to tell me if they’d been approached by any vampires looking to organise a mass-scale betrayal. Now I know that Bancroft is behind it all, I’m less interested in possible minions who might emerge from the woodwork. I don’t need the followers when I can nab the leader and achieve my goal.
‘I don’t really want to talk about it.’ I shift uncomfortably.
Peter moves past us. ‘Now you know how I feel,’ he mutters.
I watch him wander off then turn back to Nicky. Not for the first time, I register distaste in her eyes when she looks at him. ‘You don’t like him, do you?’ I say. ‘He’s actually a nice guy if you give him a chance.’
She faces me, her eyes clear and guileless. ‘It’s not his fault,’ she tells me frankly. ‘He just reminds me of … you know.’
I suddenly feel like a shit. ‘The people who attacked your family?’ I ask gently.
She nods, her eyes welling up. I pull her into a hug. ‘I’m so sorry, Nicky. It must be impossibly hard for you.’ I feel her body tremble while she sniffs into my shoulder. ‘Why does Peter remind you of them?’
She sobs harder and clutches at me. I hold her and wait until her racking cries subside. I smooth her hair, telling myself that she doesn’t want my advice or guidance, she just needs a bit of comfort. I hope she gets over her feelings for Peter though, not just for his sake but for hers too. Irrational dislike is never healthy, even if it seems unavoidable.
Eventually she pulls away. ‘Thank you, Bo. You’re so kind and helpful. I don’t know what I’d do without you.’
Warmth spreads through me and I feel oddly embarrassed. It’s part of being British, I suppose, this inability to accept a genuine compliment. I smile awkwardly at her. ‘I’m always here, Nicky. You know, if you ever want to talk about it.’
She sniffs tearfully. ‘You’re the best.’ Then, before I can say anything else, she runs up the stairs, quickly disappearing from sight.
***
Two days later, dealing with Nicky’s fragility and Peter’s increasing weakness seem easy in comparison to what Beth and I are about to attempt. It is hard enough staying awake beyond dawn; every time I stifle a yawn, Beth does the same. The rhythmic sounds of fatigue from the pair of us add to the tension in the back of one of Montserrat’s helpfully blacked-out cars.
‘I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,’ she mutters.
I try to keep my tone light. ‘Hey, at least we’re doing this with the full consent of our Lord and Master this time.’
‘Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?’
‘It wouldn’t be fair. First of all, it’s meant to be confidential information and, second, I don’t want to worry you.’
‘You realise that there is nothing more worrying than the phrase “I don’t want to worry you”, right?’
‘“I think you should sit down”?’ I suggest.
‘Okay, yeah, that’s never good to hear.’
‘“This isn’t going to hurt much”?’
‘Fine.’
‘“Our nuclear facility has run for a full seven days without an accident”?’
‘Bo?’
‘Yes?’
‘Shut the smeg up.’
I grin. ‘Chill out. All you need to do is keep them busy so I can get to Bancroft.’
Beth glances out of the heavily tinted window. ‘Assuming we can actually get from here to there first.’
‘It’s just a bit of sunshine. And it’s less than five metres to the door from here anyway.’ I’m not sure whether I’m attempting to reassure her or myself. Thanks to my fabulously unnatural healing powers, the blisters I incurred in my mad suicide attempt to see the sun rise have already healed. I can still remember what it felt like – and smelled like – to frazzle in the sun’s rays, though. And that was at dawn. Now we’re barely an hour past midday and there’s not a single cloud in the sky. ‘Being a vampire isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,’ I comment sardonically.
‘It’s only for a couple of years. Then we build up immunity to the ultraviolet light.’
‘You could have completed the process, you know. I wouldn’t have minded if you’d drunk.’
Beth shakes her head. ‘Nah. This’ll go easier if I’m still clean. By this evening, however…’
I smile at her, even though it doesn’t quite reach my eyes. Despite my earlier misgivings about Beth, the thought of this bright, resourceful woman becoming a full vampire seems tragic. I can’t help feeling that she’s throwing away her future. Fortunately, if Beth knows what I’m thinking, she doesn’t comment and we are distracted by a cough from the driver in front.
‘Lord Montserrat told me to inform you that you may still change your mind,’ he says. He’s not referring to fully fledged vampirism, unfortunately.
I look at Beth. ‘Last one out is a deep-fried semi-human.’
She winks at me and pulls up the protective hood until her face is covered. It’s made of some kind of odd reflective material. Apparently, it’s the perfect material to be wearing should one ever find oneself in the midst of a nuclear attack. I don’t feel any better knowing that the sun now has the same effect on me that a thermo-nuclear device would have.
I do the same, then kick open the car door and rush out while Beth follows at my heels. The heat is searing and, even though I’m covered from head to toe, it feels as if every layer of skin is being scorched from my body like a marshmallow in a campfire. Then we’re inside and moving away from the large glass windows – more out of instinct than because of any residual rays that might be seeping through.
I yank down the hood and paste on a wide smile for the receptionist. She is staring at us with the sort of horror that she usually reserves for people who’ve left the house before blow-drying their hair. I’m glad that I’m with Beth and her bouffant hairdo.
Beth saunters forward. ‘Angelique! Darling, how are you?’ She reaches across the desk for a double air kiss.
Angelique, recovering her professionalism, purrs, ‘It’s so wonderful to see you again!’ She’s never seen Beth in her life before, of course.
‘Well, darling, you can see the trauma.’ Beth flips out a hand in my direction and I manage to look suitably contrite. ‘I mean, those curls! So last season. We simply must do something about them immediately.’
The receptionist looks me over, nodding. ‘Yes, indeed. Do you have an appointment?’
‘Angelique, this is an emergency! There’s no time for appointments. We must see a specialist right away.’
If I’d not been standing there, I’d have believed Beth was far too melodramatic to suit our purpose but it’s clear from Angelique’s expression that she agrees this is an ER situation. She frowns. ‘I can fit you in tomorrow. Around 10am?’
‘No,’ Beth replies firmly. ‘That will be far too late. Can’t you do a little shifting here and there and work your magic so we can see someone now?’
Angelique shakes her head. ‘We have a special client. She’s booked out the entire facility.’
‘Where is this client?’ Beth asks, sounding surprised.
‘In the massage treatment room. She…’
ʻ
Well, then! We won’t go anywhere near there. I absolutely promise.’
‘I’m sorry. This client is rather particular. We can’t afford to…’
‘Angelique. You know me. I would never upset the rhythm of your wonderful spa. We will stay far away from your client.’
‘I don’t think….’
‘Angelique.’ Beth leans towards her. I think some of the unawakened vampirism in her blood must be working its magic because the receptionist pulls away and there’s a flicker of fear in her heavily mascaraed eyes.
She yields. ‘You must understand I can’t be responsible for what happens if the other client sees you.’ What she really means is that she won’t be responsible if Bancroft drains the pair of us of our blood for daring to venture close to her.
Beth tosses her head. ‘Darling, that’s absolutely understood. We’ll just head straight on up. The hair specialist, what’s his name again?’
‘Lars.’
‘Of course, Lars. I can never remember those foreign-sounding names. Well, we’ll stay with Lars. No one will even know we’re here.’ She waves her fingers in the air. ‘Toodle-do!’
And with that, we move quickly to the lift and get in before Angelique changes her mind. ‘Nicely done,’ I say, when the lift doors close.
Beth shrugs. ‘All in a day’s work. Besides, that was the easy part. Lady Bancroft is hardly going to be here unaccompanied. She could have a dozen guards with her.’
Actually, I’m betting on the reverse. It would be a show of weakness for one of the Family Heads to travel with a vast entourage. I’m banking on the fact that she’ll be virtually alone. I hope.
The lift doors open and we step out. ‘You’ll need to keep this Lars occupied,’ I tell Beth. ‘Just in case Angelique gets curious.’
‘No problem. But Bo?’
‘Mmm?’ I say, glancing down the corridor and inhaling the heady scent of lemongrass and jasmine.
‘You need to be smegging careful. It’s not just your life that’s on the line if you mess up whatever it is you’re about to do.’
‘You can play innocent. Say that I placed you under a compulsion spell or something.’
‘I’m not talking about the vampires. If you get killed doing this, your grandfather will have my head.’
I want to protest but I have to acknowledge the truth of her words: revenge is his strong suit. For this reason, I’ve already penned him a letter and given it to Montserrat to send if my little foray into the heart of the Bancroft action doesn’t work out.
I squeeze Beth’s arm, then set off to the right. I need to be bloody smart about this. Guards or no guards, Lady Bancroft isn’t the head of one the five Families because of her charm.
I duck my head to avoid the CCTV camera at the end of the corridor and creep on until I hear the murmur of voices from behind one of the doors. I listen for a moment, but I can’t make out the words. It’s of little consequence. I don’t need to know what they’re saying about exfoliation, I just need to get past them without being seen. I take a few steps backwards and quietly open the door to the adjoining room. Peering cautiously inside, I make sure it’s empty before I sneak in and shut the door behind me. I prop a chair underneath the handle to keep it closed. It won’t hold a vampire back for more than a few seconds but it’ll probably be good enough to prevent any of the spa staff from entering.
I search the room. I’d hoped for a connecting door but that would be far too bloody easy. However, examining the layout of this room will probably help me enter the one next door. Companies like this tend to follow the same floor plan and I’m fairly certain that all the rooms are the same size. That means Bancroft’s spa room will probably be the same as this one.
There are several shelves with artfully arranged, scented candles next to wooden bowls filled with fresh jasmine petals. For no apparent reason, each bowl includes a perfectly aligned set of chopsticks as if, at any minute, patrons can wander along and partake of the flowers as a pre-therapy snack. A massage table sits to one side, covered by fluffy towels; on the other, there’s a bath that looks big enough to swim in. I whistle softly and pad through an archway to another section of the room. A large plastic coffin-like structure sits in the centre. I glance at it warily. This must be the sensory deprivation tank. It looks more like a bizarre torture chamber.
I try to work out how to open it. After a few moments I find the mechanism and, when I lift the lid, it’s heavier than I expected. I frown at the silky looking water inside. There are tiny lights embedded around the inner edge of the tank, together with what appears to be a speaker. That’s good. If Bancroft enjoys listening to music while lying in the dark, I’ll have a better chance of sneaking in. I imagine where her head will be when she’s inside. There’s no sign of a pillow so it’s difficult to judge which end to aim for. I’ll just have to take my chances.
Once I’m satisfied with my inspection, I walk to the window. Heavy curtains tied back with fake rustic ropes frame the glass. I finger the material thoughtfully. No doubt they’ll be closed to create a sense of privacy in Bancroft’s room. I turn my attention to the window. Unfortunately for me, it’s been designed with health and safety in mind and it opens out only a scant five inches. I may be small but I have no chance of squeezing myself through that gap.
I need to get into the room next door without being detected. There is obviously at least one spa staff member inside – which means at least one human. Even with my daily dose of the bloodlust dampening powder, attacking them and inadvertently drawing blood will lead to my undoing. Besides which, I’m sure there will be a minimum of one Bancroft Family companion. I’m still a weak recruit; I’ve got no hope against a genuine vampire. I press my palms against my temples and try to think. My musings are interrupted by a dull thud from outside.