High Stakes (11 page)

‘That’s your trouble, Bo. You’re all work and no play. You need to loosen up sometimes.’

‘O’Shea,’ I warn. ‘Don’t test my patience.’

He sighs. ‘Fine. A couple of nights ago, I happened to be down the East End. It started raining so I ducked into a nearby pub. I’d just ordered a beer when I saw the man of my dreams. A little rough around the edges but sexy as hell. We got chatting and he invited me back to his place. You wouldn’t believe the size of his…’

‘I don’t need to know every detail, O’Shea.’

‘Television,’ he finishes triumphantly.

I roll my eyes. My expression is wasted on him, however, as it’s too dark for him to notice.

‘He eventually fell asleep and I decided I’d head home.’

‘The walk of shame from the “man of your dreams”?’

‘Let’s just say he wasn’t as impressive in the naked flesh.’

‘You’re so shallow,’ I tut.

‘Darling, if you saw his equipment, you’d be tempted to run too. Anyhow,’ he continues, ‘on my way out, I spotted the most gorgeous velvet jacket. You know, one of those old-fashioned smoking ones that make you feel like the lord of the manor.’

I wrinkle my nose. ‘You stole his coat?’

‘Nah. It didn’t fit me. But I did try it on and check myself out in the mirror. A few twirls, that kind of thing.’

‘Okay,’ I say slowly, not sure where he’s going with this.

‘I put the lapels up but that looked kind of silly. So I tried it with my hands in the pockets. That’s when I found it.’ He lapses into silence. All I can hear are our footsteps and the trickle of water from somewhere in the distance.

‘Come on, O’Shea, don’t leave me hanging. Found what?’

‘A little jewellery box containing an ear.’

I blink. ‘A what?’

‘An ear. The perfectly formed and neatly severed ear of an Agathos daemon.’

I swallow. ‘Jesus. How could you tell?’

‘I’ve been around a while, Bo,’ O’Shea says drily. ‘I know what ears look like.’

‘No, I mean, how could you tell it belonged to an Agathos daemon?’ I like to think I’m pretty adept at discerning different tribers but, as far as I’m aware, an ear is an ear is an ear.

‘I can just tell. But that’s not the really interesting part. You see, it was pierced.’ He pauses. ‘With a ruby.’

‘Shit in a hell basket,’ I breathe, utterly stunned.

‘And then some,’ he agrees.

Chapter Nine: It Happened One Night

The world is full of crazy unsolved mysteries. The humans have them in abundance with things like the
Marie Celeste
, Lord Lucan and the grassy knoll. The Families have them with the second Lady Stuart and Jack the Ripper. The witches have Moll Dyer and Alex Sanders. Kakos daemons, well, they’re enough of a mystery themselves without any extra help. But the Agathos daemons have Tobias Renfrew. He might just top them all.

It’s said that Renfrew was conceived the night the
Titanic
went down. His mother, a young Agathos noblewoman, scandalously was travelling alone on the ill-fated ship to make a new life for herself across the Pond. She certainly did that, although given that it’s been suggested it was a highly placed crew member who she was making that new life with, it’s possible that hundreds of other lives were also lost in the process. Renfrew’s alleged father had been on duty the night they hit the iceberg; he was mysteriously absent during the initial collision, however, and reportedly unkempt and dishevelled when he finally did appear - with Toby’s mother in tow.  Still, even if it had been his negligence that had contributed to the disaster, and he went down with the ship himself, he did manage to see his lover safely onto a lifeboat, saving the tiny embryo that was to become Tobias Renfrew in the process.

Devastated by what happened, and with a growing belly, she holed up in a corner of Brooklyn and sent tearful letters back to her family in England. Not long before Tobias was born, her father turned up on her doorstep and dragged her back home. I’m not sure whether he actually had to drag her, though; it can’t have been a lot of fun being single, pregnant and penniless. Unfortunately for her, things didn’t really improve back on home soil. She was hidden away in some godforsaken corner of the country to preserve the family honour. When she finally went into labour, the midwife wasn’t called until it was too late. Little Toby was breech and was eventually cut from his mother’s womb, apparently wide-eyed but entirely silent. She, meanwhile, bled out.

It would be safe to say that the Renfrew family suffered Tobias’s childhood rather than enjoyed it. He was, after all, a bastard son. There were whispered tales of savage beatings and bloodstained dungeons. I suspect the truth is that he was simply ignored. Whatever, by the time he was a teenager, he had been incriminated in a number of local crimes and had run away at least three times from his spartan boarding school. His one champion was his aunt Molly, who tried her best to do right by him. But she was only a female daemon and the worse Tobias’s behaviour, the more her pleas to help him fell on deaf ears. Eventually the rest of his relatives had had enough. Tobias was thrown out with only five pounds to give him a head start. Molly, in a fit of desperation, gave him her favourite ruby earrings, thinking that he could pawn them. He never did.

He joined the army, signing up just in time to get involved in the civil war in Afghanistan. He rose quickly through the ranks, even though daemons were viewed with as much suspicion in those days as any human who wasn’t white skinned, God-fearing and male. He tripped from conflict to conflict, growing more bloodthirsty with each one until, inexplicably, he bowed out not long before the advent of the Second World War. He got involved in munitions manufacturing instead.

Whether it was from ill-gotten gains during his time fighting around the world, or from black market sales in the weapons’ trade, by the time the 1950s rolled around, Tobias Renfrew had enough money to buy his ancestral home. He did to his relatives what they’d done to him: tossed them out with a barely civil farewell. Molly was long dead, killed during the Blitz and, despite his wealth, Tobias was still completely alone.

Instead of warmongering, he filled his days with politics. He schmoozed all the right people and feathered all the right pockets. His coffers grew and his sticky fingers dabbled in all manner of pots. And he did it all while wearing Molly’s ruby earrings. If anyone ever teased him for such a girlish affectation, there is no record of it. He was not the kind of man you wanted to insult. Indeed, it was said that if he ever came across another daemon wearing similar jewellery, even if it was for reasons of flattery via imitation, he ripped it from their flesh no matter who they were.

At one point, Tobias seemed to take on a veneer of respectability. He started withdrawing from his more dodgy – as well as lucrative – dealings. My grandfather met him briefly during this time; unsurprisingly he dismissed him as a ‘rough amongst diamonds’. It’s been whispered Tobias was on course to become the first daemon Prime Minister. But that was before one cold night in January, 1963.

Tobias flung open the doors of his mansion to all and sundry. He didn’t just invite politicians: there were film stars, powerful witches and the five Family Heads – apparently one of whom was the reigning Lord Gully. Champagne flowed, opium abounded and everyone had a merry old time. Despite his history, Tobias was a congenial host. His family had taught him how to hobnob with the rich and he’d taught himself how to mix with everyone else. Prior to a breathtakingly expensive fireworks’ display, he gave a speech. There’s an old recording of it somewhere that has been pored over by historians and conspiracy theorists for years. He made reference to ‘hidden wealth’ and ‘mysterious saboteurs’. Then, just as he invited the entire gathering to raise their glasses and toast their own health, there was a flash of light and he disappeared.

His guests were amused, believing it to be some kind of clever trick – until someone went searching and discovered several body parts in an upstairs bathroom, along with copious amounts of blood. They came from at least five different corpses: one human, two witches, one vampire and one Agathos daemon. Tobias Renfrew was never seen again.

In the absence of any other suspects, he was indicted for murder. His surviving family members, all of whom had fallen on hard times, demanded that his wealth and properties revert to them. As a suspected, albeit not confirmed, murderer, the state and the increasingly powerful Agathos court wanted to confiscate everything for themselves. Tobias’s will, meanwhile, left everything to a defunct children’s charity. However, a very clever lawyer argued that in the absence of a body, his death could not be confirmed.

No traces of him were left behind. Because he was an Agathos daemon, Tobias’s disappearance couldn’t be explained away by him being turned into a vampire. The public nature of his departure also suggests that he wasn’t attacked by a Kakos daemon. (There are, of course, those who suspect that in a fit of Sleeping Beauty-esque jealousy at not being invited to the lavish party, a Kakos
was
involved but then there are always conspiracy theorists.) The witches were equally discounted, as invisibility spells are nigh on impossible to maintain. Furthermore, to add to the mystery, to this day not even the more talkative ghosts will discuss it.

So, to all legal intents and purposes Tobias Renfrew is still alive. Nobody gets his money: not the descendants of his fickle family, nor the charity, nor the government. Every so often, another legal challenge is made and thanks to the intricacies of daemon law and the bitter greed of the parties involved, it always fails. It doesn’t help that each interested party advertises large rewards for information regarding Tobias’s whereabouts. They’re each determined to get the jump on the other.

If he is still alive, Tobias would be well over a hundred years old – not unheard of for a daemon but not all that likely either. His wealth continues to grow and estate managers continue to be hired. The Agathos community, by some strange unspoken agreement, never wear rubies in their ears. Whether it’s out of deference or fear, I don’t know, but it’s one of those weird foibles that people have that continues to linger.

*

‘Finding an ear in a pocket may be one of the most disgusting things I’ve ever heard of,’ I say, ‘but it doesn’t necessarily belong to Tobias Renfrew. Anyone could shove in a ruby.’

‘Sure,’ O’Shea says. ‘Anyone could. But why would they be so keen to come after me now that I know of its existence?’

‘Last time I checked, no law allows for ear hacking. Perhaps you’ve just stumbled across a normal murder.’ A normal murder? I wince at how casual I sound. ‘Or it’s an abduction. Or simple extortion.’

‘Bo, these guys mean business. I was in disguise because this wasn’t the first time they tried to grab me. There’s more to it than a run-of-the-mill ear slice.’

‘How do they know you saw the ear?’ For a moment, O’Shea doesn’t answer. ‘You took it, didn’t you? You took the damned ear.’

‘You’d have done the same.’

I think about it. I probably would. It still makes my stomach turn. ‘Where is it now?’

‘Stuffed down my jeans. Wanna see it?’

‘O’Shea! Ewwww! No!’

‘It’s still in the box. It’s not like the ear itself is right against my skin.’

I feel nauseous. ‘I can’t believe you’re carrying it around.’

‘Well, I had a plan. I was going to give it to you. You were going to give it to them. They were going to leave me alone. I knew they meant business when they came to my house this morning. It’s a miracle I got away. I thought you could deal with them and make things better.’ He blows air out from his cheeks. ‘They might not be so keen to talk to you now, though.’

I shake my head. ‘It’ll never work. They weren’t trying to grab you just to get the ear back, they wanted to kill you. In fact, it looks to me as if they cared less about finding out where the ear is and more about simply shutting you up. So maybe it’s a fake after all.’

‘Either way,’ he says mournfully, ‘it’s not looking good for Devlin O’Shea.’

‘When is it ever?’ I mutter. ‘Look, there’s a simple solution to all this.’

‘I knew you’d come up with the goods! You’re my hero, Bo. The wind beneath my wings. The custard to my apple pie. The…’

‘Enough. Please.’

‘So what do I do?’

I shrug. ‘Easy. Take it to the Agathos’ authorities and let them deal with it.’

‘You’re crazy! I can’t do that.’

‘There’s a tracking spell on you. There’s virtually nowhere you can go. Even if you stay down here, that couple will find you sooner or later. The only way to stop them from putting a bullet in your brain is to hand it over so it’s no longer in your possession. And the whole world will know about it so there’s no point in killing you to keep you quiet.’

‘Bo,’ O’Shea says patiently, ‘there is an outstanding warrant on my name. I can’t just turn up to the court and demand to speak to some Agathos bigwig. I’ll be slapped in irons.’

Why am I not surprised? ‘What is the warrant for?’

‘Illegal magic possession, of course. A certain little enhancement spell that screwed you over. Some people seem to think all those bloodguzzlers going wacko was my fault.’

‘Well, if you hadn’t created the spell in the first place…’

‘That’s not helping.’

‘You’re going to have to face the music sooner or later. They’re not going to forget about it.’ O’Shea doesn’t respond. I sigh. ‘That’s what you were hoping for, wasn’t it? That the Agathos court would be absentminded enough to forget your involvement. It’s not much of a strategy.’

‘Some of those judges are getting on a bit. It’s not easy to remember stuff when you’re old.’

‘Somehow I don’t think that all the information about Agathos criminals is stored inside the brains of a few decrepit judges. Besides, Devlin,’ I say, trying to impress upon him the gravity of the situation, ‘you can’t hide from your problems. Face up to them. Be proactive. Right now, you don’t have a whole lot of other options.’

‘I don’t want to go to jail.’