High Stakes (19 page)

I duck inside the first service door I come across. I know I’m close to the Medici den; I just need to find the right exit. Ignoring all the tunnels that branch off, I count my footsteps. Once I’ve gone about eighty metres, I stop and look around.

There’s a door to my right. I hold my breath and carefully turn the doorknob, easing it open. I wrinkle my nose at the stale air. As quietly as I can, I tiptoe down another corridor. Unlike the previous one, the walls here are tiled only three-quarters of the way up. I knock gently along the old tiles, listening for the right note. When I finally I hear a dull thud, suggesting some sort of hollow chamber, I stop.

Even though I can see a long way through the darkness, I can’t detect any other entrance. I chew my lip. I’d been afraid it would come to this. So much for tiptoeing.

I take off my jacket and wrap it around my right fist. I’m glad I’m not wearing my trusty leather jacket, it’s been damaged enough in the name of vampire escapades. I tighten my fingers, clenching hard, leap forward and smash my fist into the wall. I succeed in knocking off several tiles. They fall to the ground with a loud clatter and I freeze, listening hard. When I’m sure I’m still alone, I use my other hand to pull away more tiles so I have a bigger gap to work with. I step backwards and try again. Chunks of plaster break off and I start coughing as I’m assailed by a cloud of dust. I wave at the air to clear it. Satisfyingly, I can see several cracks. Perhaps this won’t be so hard after all.

I back away to the opposite wall and focus on the largest crack. Steeling myself, I inhale and jump, feet flying out in front of me like a kung-fu master. The wall is thin and my strike is powerful enough that my foot goes straight through it. Rather embarrassingly, however, it also sticks fast. I tug at my leg, trying to pull it free. More plaster comes away. It takes several twists and one difficult shimmy to extricate my foot. Still, I reckon I can now knock off enough plaster around the small hole with my fingers.

Most of the plaster around the foot-shaped hole is old and crumbling. To be fair, I got lucky. If this entrance had been bricked up as well, I’d have had no chance without a few tools to help me. When I’ve done enough, I step back and eye my handiwork. It’ll have to do. I pick up a small chunk of plaster and shove it into my pocket before squeezing through to the other side.

Dusting myself off, I look around. I’m in a large room full of empty crates and shelves. I spot a barrel date-stamped 1772. I hope I got my bearings right and I’m in the right place; it’d piss me off to find that I’m in some ancient smugglers’ den rather than where I want to be. I edge forward, old cobwebs brushing past my skin. To my left I hear a sudden scuttling, followed by a squeak. I grimace. Bloody rats get everywhere.

I think I’ve reached a dead end, when it suddenly occurs to me to look up. As soon as I do, I smile. I was right. A small trapdoor has been placed into the ceiling.

I roll a barrel underneath it. Being this short really is a pain in the arse sometimes. Even the barrel isn’t tall enough so I grab a box and put it on top. The effect is like an upside-down wedding cake. I clamber up, praying to the powers that be that it will be high enough. Fortunately, I can place my palms flat against the rough wood of the trapdoor.

I push upwards, hoping it’s not locked. It’s heavy and there is something lying over it, but I create enough of a gap to wedge in my fingers and pull myself up. I use my head to open the trapdoor more fully, push aside the rug that was lying over the trapdoor, drag up the rest of my body and roll onto my back, panting. That was bloody hard work; it had better be worth it.

‘Fort Knox, baby,’ I whisper to myself.

My long shot has paid off. I’ve not had much time to research the Medici headquarters – not that I’d have gleaned much from the internet even if I’d had weeks to spare. I’m aware that for once Lady Luck is on my side. Now I’ll just have to hope that my luck continues.

I scramble to my feet and straighten out the rug. It’s Persian and probably an antique but it’s also very threadbare. I’m definitely not in a main Medici thoroughfare. From what I know of the vampire Lord, he surrounds himself with beautiful things. I bet he spends very little time in this part of his house.

Looking around, I decide I’m in the basement. It reminds me of the room under the kitchen at the Montserrat mansion where the vampire records are kept. Other than the faded rug, however, there’s nothing down here apart from some old boxes. There’s a door at the far end, stripped of its varnish, that adds to my belief that this is nothing more than a spare room that is rarely used.

I crack my neck and perform a few perfunctory stretches. My aim is to catch Lord Medici off guard; it’s the only way he’s likely to be honest with me. That means I need to locate him when he’s alone – and avoid everyone else into the bargain. Piece of cake.

I walk to the door and open it cautiously. When I’m satisfied that the corridor beyond is empty, I venture out. So far I think I’m safe but I keep a close eye out for security cameras. The Montserrat mansion only uses them at the front of the house – and those were only installed recently after the burning cross incident.

Vampires are expected to be completely loyal to their Families so watching them suggests a degree of distrust. In my experience, when people are given high expectations to meet, they rise to them. When they’re treated like cattle, they act as such. It doesn’t always work like that; executions have taken place when bloodguzzlers stepped out of line – and it’s impossible to forget what Nikki did. But when you have a bunch of ex-criminals under your wing and you want to prove you’re serious about wiping their slate clean, you need to put your money where your mouth is. Having said that, if you’re going to break the most sacrosanct Family rule and turn people like Arzo’s ex, Dahlia, who don’t want to be turned, then you have a different set of problems to worry about. That’s why I’m not taking any chances.

I pass a small table with a vase on it. Hanging above it is a pretty seascape in a gilt frame. I’m three steps beyond it when I twist back, remembering what Rogu3 told me about the art thief. I grin and hoist the painting away from the wall. Carrying it awkwardly in front of me so it obscures my face, I continue.

At the far end of the corridor there’s a staircase that I start to climb. It’s not long before I hear voices coming towards me. Trying not to panic, I keep moving.

‘So,’ a female voice says, ‘I told him that if he thought he could take on a vampire, then I was game. I suggested that the best part of his body to sink my fangs into would be where all his blood rushes.’ She pauses. ‘And expands.’

‘No!’ Her friend laughs.

‘He was a bit confused. I undid the zip on his trousers and showed him my fangs.’

‘Then?’

‘Then he ran a mile. I didn’t think humans could move so fast.’

She brushes past me as they continue their descent. Neither of them even looks at me. When they’re out of earshot, I exhale loudly. I didn’t even realise I was holding my breath.

I reach the top of the stairs and peer round the picture frame. I have two choices. I reckon I’m at the north end of the building, probably on the ground floor. Lord Medici no doubt lives in the nicest part of the house, which probably means the south-facing side. I chew my lip. The sun must be coming up by now and, unless the Medici Family uses the same UV-filtering glass panes as the Montserrat Family, I’m in danger of getting fried. I need to avoid any windows just in case.

I turn left, making my way south while shifting the painting slightly. When I hear another set of footsteps coming towards me, I stop. ‘Hey!’ I call out from behind the canvas. ‘I’m taking this over to the Lord’s office but I can’t see a damn thing. Tell me I’m heading in the right direction, will you? If I put it down, I might damage it.’

It’s a flimsy excuse but I’m counting on apathy from whoever I’m speaking to. Sadly, things don’t work out that way. ‘I’ll help you with it.’ The speaker has a deep Welsh burr.

Sodding hell. I’d been hoping all the Medici bloodguzzlers would be as arrogant as their Lord. A polite offer of help is the last thing I need. I can’t expose my face; given that I’m the only vampire to leave a Family in living history, my days of travelling incognito are long over.

‘No, no,’ I say, as cheerily as I can. ‘I have direct orders and it’s probably better if I carry them out on my own.’

‘It’s no trouble.’ He starts to take the picture from me.

My fingers tighten round the edge. ‘Really, I can manage. I just need to know I’m going the right way.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He continues to pull the frame. Cursing inwardly, I let go. When he catches sight of my face, his eyes widen in recognition. I clench my fists and slam them into his face in quick succession. He staggers back.

‘Sorry,’ I mutter. ‘I guess it’s hard being a gentleman in this day and age.’ I crash both my hands onto the top of his skull. He collapses.

I bend down to check he’s not dead. When I’m satisfied that he’ll suffer from nothing more than a sore head, I grab his feet and drag him into a nearby empty room. I close the door and return to the corridor, picking up the stupid painting again. So much for that idea.

The good Samaritan, with his preternatural vampiric healing abilities, won’t be unconscious for long. I probably have less than ten minutes to find Lord Medici before the alarm is raised. The smart thing to do would have been to kill him outright. Despite O’Connell’s belief in my lust for blood, however, I’m no cold-blooded murderer. Instead I pick up speed, walking briskly in what I hope is the right direction. I wonder briefly if I’ll bang into the unfortunate Dahlia and whether she’ll help me if I do.

I round a corner, catching the deep tang of fresh blood. I must be close to where the Medici vampettes hang out. That won’t help. Lord Medici will have his willing victims delivered to him personally; he won’t demean himself by coming here to drink alongside his minions. Perhaps all is not lost after all.

I follow my nose until I locate a group of humans clustered together. Less concerned about them than I would be about a fellow bloodguzzler, I let the painting fall a few inches.

‘Hey!’ I keep my voice hard, hoping the edge of intimidation will stop them looking at me too closely. ‘Lord Medici wants to see you.’

A willowy blonde extricates herself from the group. I note a few grimaces from the others. She must be one of his favourites. That’s good – it means she’ll know the way.

I raise my eyebrows. ‘Don’t keep him waiting. He’s not in a good mood.’

She lifts an elegant shoulder as if she doesn’t care, but her expression flickers, and she strides off quickly. I frown at the others, baring my teeth, and they all flinch. Then I follow the blonde. Her high heels click on the mahogany floors so it’s easy to keep my distance. When she finally stops and speaks to someone, I know I’ve found my mark.

A business-like woman seated at a desk is peering at the human over half-moon spectacles. Even from this distance I can see that the lenses are only glass; Lord Medici’s secretary wants to look like Miss Moneypenny. Or perhaps he wants her to look like that. I smile at the thought of the portly vampire Lord fancying himself as James Bond before digging in my pocket and taking out the chunk of plaster.

‘What do you want?’

‘I was told Lord Medici wanted me.’

I heft the plaster in my fingers and move back a few steps then I let it fly. It smashes into the light bulb at the opposite end of the corridor. Miss Moneypenny and the blonde fall silent. I count to three as they both move towards the shattered glass, drop the painting as quietly as I can and dart forward, managing to sneak behind the pair of them and into what can only be Medici’s office.

Chapter Fifteen: A Little Snack

The room is smaller and darker than I expected; it’s more like a windowless tomb than the grand space a Family Head would boast about. Medici is bowed over a desk scribbling away at something. I reach behind, sliding shut the old-fashioned lock on the door just as he glances up. His reaction is fast; he’s on his feet and leaping over the desk within a fraction of a second. I’m better prepared than he is, however, and whip my hand forward ready to smash the base of my palm into his face. I stop a whisker’s breadth before I connect and smile broadly.

‘Lord Medici, if I could beg a moment of your time?’

His bottom lip curls. ‘Blackman. What do you want? If you’re here to take me down, know that you’ll fail. You can’t manage it in my club and you can’t manage it here. You’re still nothing more than a fledgling, no matter what you and that Montserrat idiot think.’

I’m reminded how, according to Michael, they used to work together. ‘I’m not here to challenge you, my Lord. I’m working undercover.’

His eyes narrow suspiciously as he tries to decide whether I just made a throwaway comment or I know more than I should. ‘I will rip your throat out for daring to come here,’ he tells me.

I hold my ground. He doesn’t scare me – not much anyway. ‘Before you do, you should hear me out.’ I rock back on my heels, counting on his curiosity to get the better of him. I’m not disappointed.

‘About what?’

‘About
whom
is what you should be asking.’

He folds his arms and glares at me. ‘Go on.’

‘Terence Miller.’

His nose wrinkles. ‘I have no idea who that is.’

‘He left his old job to be recruited into your Family.’ I lean forward. ‘And he might be a serial killer.’

Medici stares at me. ‘There are no killers in my Family.’

‘Oh, he’s not just a killer. He likes to rape as well. To pin his victims to the ground with stakes. To beat them to a raw bloody pulp. Either that or he’s helping the real killer.’

‘You’re referring to Jubilee Park.’

I nod. ‘I am.’

‘The police cleared the Families of that. Perhaps you missed it. Besides, that woman was nothing more than a whore.’

I grit my teeth. ‘That woman was not the only victim. There have been four vampires as well.’ I meet his eyes. ‘All Medici.’