High Stakes (26 page)

‘Hello,’ I say feebly. There’s an explosion of camera flashes.

One of the police officers steps forward. With a sinking feeling, I recognise Nicholls. Great. ‘From hero to villain in less than three hours, Ms Blackman,’ she tells me. ‘That’s rather impressive.’

I’m not sure where she’s pulled the hero part from but I have no difficulty in understanding why she’s called me a villain. I decide to cooperate openly. ‘Take me in,’ I say. ‘Put the damn vampire handcuffs on me and lock me in a cell. I’ll answer your questions.’

‘Did you kill a fourteen-year-old boy, Bo?’ one of the journalists shouts. I’m disturbed by his use of my first name.

‘I should qualify that by saying I will answer the police’s questions,’ I say.

‘Well, then,’ Nicholls drawls, ‘did you kill Alistair Jones?’

I meet her eyes. ‘No. He was shot by a daemon. There are about two hundred witnesses who will attest to that fact.’

‘Is he dead?’

I don’t know. Every fibre of my being is praying that he’s not. ‘I don’t think so,’ I mumble. Apparently she wants my interrogation to take place in full view of the world. To add weight, a camera crew arrives and start videoing the action.

‘Where is he?’ someone calls.

An engine roars and Michael appears, straddling my bike. He turns it off and examines me coolly. I wonder what he’s thinking.

A ripple of hushed whispers runs through the crowd at his arrival. Ignoring them, his expression alters and he fixes me with a viciously angry glare. ‘Did you do it?’ he demands.

Nicholls whips her head round to face him. ‘Do what? What did she do?’

‘Bo,’ he says, not moving an inch, ‘you know I can’t help you if you did. You were going to take him to a hospital.’

I straighten my shoulders. ‘There wasn’t time.’

‘Send a team inside,’ Nicholls mutters.

Several police officers peel off and, giving me a wide berth, head towards the entrance. Nicholls steps forward. I have to give the policewoman her due – she’s not intimidated in the slightest by me or Michael. A set of shiny cuffs dangles from her hands. ‘Turn round,’ she tells me.

‘Wait!’ There’s a quiet voice from behind.

Everyone freezes. I slowly turn and see Rogu3 leaning weakly against the door frame. His face is pale but he’s upright and he obviously made it down the stairs under his own steam.

I rush forward to help him. As soon as I get close, I scan him carefully. His eyes look normal and there’s nothing to suggest he’s a bloodguzzler. His t-shirt is still soaked in blood and, when I look down, he gives me a small nod. ‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll still need stitches, but it’s fine.’

In a shaky voice, he says loudly, ‘I was shot. Bo helped me.’ He smiles. ‘I’m lucky it was only a flesh wound. Thank you all for your concern but I really should be getting home. My parents will be splenetic.’

I notice a couple of the journalists exchanging glances. One of them asks, ‘What does splenetic mean?’

I stifle my smile, reach over and give Rogu3 a tight hug. He winces and I immediately withdraw but he pats my shoulder in reassurance. ‘I’m okay, Bo.’ He leans towards me and whispers, ‘I know what you did and I’m grateful.’

I stiffen. How much does he know? X killed O’Connell because I told him the truth about the cure. My relief changes quickly to hot, tense worry.

‘We’ll get you to hospital and then home, Alistair,’ Nicholls says briskly, throwing me a look that suggests she’s not finished with me yet. She takes him gently by the arm and guides him towards a police car.

‘Don’t ever call me that again, will you?’ Rogu3 mutters as he passes.

I flash him a quick grin. Then my gaze falls on Michael, who is staring at me with an expression as cold as granite. I look away hastily.

One of the protestors shakes his head. ‘He was unconscious and dripping with blood. She’s done something. Turned him into some kind of…’

‘Shut up,’ Nicholls tells him. She raises her eyebrows at me. ‘I appreciate it has been a long night for you, Ms Blackman. We do have a number of questions, however, about both the boy and the courthouse.’

‘Agathos daemons,’ I blurt out. ‘There may still be some around. They obviously have resources. You need to put a guard on Ro―, I mean Alistair. And Nisha Patel, Devlin O’Shea. Probably Harry D’Argneau too.’ I remember he wasn’t at the courthouse when the attack happened. ‘Wait! Harry! He could be…’

‘He’s fine. We’ve spoken to him.’

I sag in relief, pointedly ignoring Michael’s dark look. ‘The danger’s not over. They could still attack again.’

Several people look over their shoulder as if an attack is imminent. For all I know, it could be. Nicholls jerks her head towards the door and I nod. We walk inside, away from curious ears.

‘We’ve tracked the terrorists to a flat in Camden,’ she informs me. ‘About ten minutes after attack on the school was over, a helicopter took off from that area. There was no recorded flight plan but we tracked it to a small airfield near Brighton. They’re currently in the air and apparently on their way to Venezuela. The ones who are still alive.’

‘No extradition treaty.’

Her mouth turns down. ‘Indeed.’

‘Are you sure that’s all of them?’

‘No. But we have enough CCTV footage and evidence from the flat to piece the story together fairly quickly. We’ll know within the next twenty-four hours.’

‘They’re not terrorists,’ I tell her.

‘They bombed the Agathos court and invaded a school. They’re certainly spreading terror.’

I shake my head. ‘No, that’s not their motive. It’s to do with Tobias Renfrew.’

‘I already heard that theory.’ She sniffs.

‘You don’t believe it?’

She gazes at me speculatively. ‘These days I don’t know what to believe. You’re free from any charges, Ms Blackman, although I would like to talk you in more detail at the station.’

‘I can come by after dark tomorrow.’

‘That will suffice. And there are guards in place for most of the potential targets.’

‘Most?’

She quirks an eyebrow. ‘Would you like one too?’

‘Uh, no, I’m good.’

‘I thought you’d say that.’

‘We can’t let them get away with this,’ I say, as much to myself as to her.

‘We won’t. I guarantee it.’ To my surprise, she holds out her hand. I shake it.

‘Why are you being so nice all of a sudden?’ I ask her suspiciously.

‘I wouldn’t want to get on the bad side of the Red Angel.’

I blink. ‘The what?’

She smirks. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms Blackman.’ Nicholls pivots and leaves. I watch from the open doorway as she gestures at the other police officers and they all get into their cars and depart.

Matt and Connor bounce up. ‘That was hairy!’ Connor says. Despite his light tone, he’s obviously unsettled by the events upstairs. I want to reassure him but Michael’s dark figure looms behind them.

‘A word, Bo?’

I nod and turn, leading him upstairs to the flat. The sofa is still soaked in Rogu3’s blood. He eyes it silently for a moment and then looks at me. ‘What happened?’ he asks quietly.

I lick my lips. ‘The wound wasn’t as bad as we thought.’

His expression is derisive. ‘Don’t treat me like an idiot. That boy was dying. What did you do?’

I glance down at my feet, realising in panic that the vial is lying on the floor. Attempting to look natural, I sidle towards it and kick it under the sofa. ‘I helped him,’ I say. ‘He’s alive. That’s what counts, right?’

Michael glowers. ‘Tell me.’

I stop dancing round the truth. ‘I can’t. I’d like to but I really, really can’t. Suffice it to say it won’t happen again.’ That vial was my one and only shot. X made it very clear there would be no more.

Michael leans forward. ‘You told me you don’t trust me so I answered your questions, Bo. I told you the truth about who I was. Now it seems that you’re the one who’s not trustworthy.’

I gaze at him helplessly. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t tell you.’ If I do, I add to myself, X will rip out your heart. I think worriedly about how much Rogu3 and Connor know. X may still take umbrage at my actions.

Michael’s face shutters. ‘So be it,’ he growls. He stalks out. For a moment, I’m tempted to call him back, to do or say anything to make him understand. He wouldn’t understand, though. And I have no idea what I’d say.

I sit on the arm of the sofa, away from the damp bloodstains, and rub my forehead. I thought I’d had some bad days in the past but this night puts them in the shade. It’s a miracle there weren’t more deaths. And in that respect, I guess it’s been a success.

I check my watch. To ensure my friends’ safety, there’s one more thing I have to do. I have time.

*

I park outside X’s plush apartment building. The windows are dark and it’s impossible to tell whether anyone is inside. I don’t even know if X really lives here – it didn’t look lived in when I came here before. I run my hands nervously through my hair, get off the bike and walk up to the gleaming red door. The paintwork is so shiny, it looks like it’s still wet. I can’t see a doorbell or knocker so I raise my fist to knock. The door opens before my knuckles scrape the surface. I peer inside. There’s no one there.

Pulling back my shoulders, I step inside and walk up the stairs. When I round the corner to X’s living quarters, I wonder whether I’ve made a mistake. The room was sparse before, but at least it had some furniture. Now I’m confronted with a vast empty space. If it weren’t for the large leather chair in the centre, and the pair of feet poking out from underneath, I’d turn round again and leave.

I hear X’s deep, unmistakable voice. ‘Ms Blackman. I’ve been expecting you.’

He sounds like a Bond villain. That’s disturbing, considering I’d pegged Medici as a wannabe Bond. When the chair swivels round, I’m half-expecting to see a fluffy white cat in X’s lap. It is just him, however. He’s in daemon form and his tattoos swirl and shift across his skin. He’s doing nothing more than sitting in a chair but he still exudes absolute danger. His black eyes don’t help.

‘Mr X.’ I feel like I should curtsey or something.

‘It’s just X.’ His mouth curves into the semblance of a smile. ‘Although it’s not hard to understand why you feel the need to be polite.’

‘How are you?’ I ask unnecessarily.

His smile broadens. ‘Fabulous.’

I twist my fingers together. ‘Thank you for the information about Miller’s other victims.’

‘Miller?’

‘Terence Miller. The serial killer-slash-rapist.’

‘Ah.’ He seems amused. I can’t for the life of me think why.

I cut to the chase. ‘You killed O’Connell.’

‘I rather think you wanted me to.’

‘No,’ I say hastily.

He laughs. ‘And now you’re here to beg for clemency for your little friends.’

‘I didn’t tell them!’ I burst out. ‘They don’t know about your blood.’

‘The boy knows you turned him yet he remains human. The one you drink from knows that also. As for Michael Montserrat, well,’ X purrs, ‘he suspects.’ He holds up three fingers. ‘One, two, three, little Bo. I made it very clear what would happen if you let the truth slip. You knew it with O’Connell. You know it now.’

‘But I didn’t let the truth slip! They don’t actually
know
anything. They don’t know about the vial. They don’t know about you. I’ve not mentioned Kakos daemons to anyone.’ I’m desperate. ‘I’ve not broken the terms of our agreement.’

He stands up. ‘Actually, you have. The blood was for you but you gave it to another. Some might say it was a selfless act.’ He bares his teeth. ‘But it’ll all be for naught if I kill the boy now.’

‘You’re stronger than I am,’ I begin.

‘I’m stronger than everyone.’

I ignore him. ‘You’re flexing your muscles. You enjoy playing with me like I’m some kind of toy. So if you want to punish someone, then punish me. They don’t suspect a Kakos daemon is involved. Leave them alone.’

His twisting tattoos coalesce, their hard edges blurring. ‘You forget I can read your mind,’ he says. ‘You might sound tough but I can feel your terror.’

‘Do you get off on it?’ I snarl.

X laughs again. ‘I’m not a monster. Besides, I have treated you more than fairly. You’re here because you know I have cause to visit them.’ The way he purrs over the word ‘visit’ makes my stomach twist. ‘Visit,’ he repeats. ‘It’s not a scary word.’ His eyes gleam.

‘Please, X,’ I whisper.

‘Pretty please with a cherry on top?’ He licks his lips slowly. ‘And whipped cream?’

I stare at him mutely. He walks towards me, reaching out with one long index finger and trailing it down my cheek. I try not to flinch but my skin tingles from his touch.

‘I wonder what it would take…’ he murmurs, not finishing his sentence. He gives himself a little shake. ‘Very well then. As your friends do not know the truth, I shall give them a pass. In return for a small favour.’

I’m too wary to feel relief. ‘What?’

X shrugs. ‘I don’t know yet. I’ll have to think it over.’

‘You can’t do that,’ I assert. ‘You can’t demand some unnamed favour. It could be anything.’ How stupid does he think I am?

‘Ms Blackman, you’re stupid enough to try and negotiate for mercy with a Kakos daemon.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘It’s not something we’re generally known for.’

‘Didn’t you tell me you were turning over a new leaf? Joining normal society?’

‘Normal society? You mean where women are abducted in broad daylight, brutally raped and then killed? Or where daemons try to shoot children because of hacked-off ears? That kind of normal society?’ I can’t answer him. He folds his arms. ‘Those are my terms. A favour. To be fulfilled in the time and manner of my choosing. Take it or leave it.’

He knows I have no choice. Without bothering to speak, I think the words, enunciating them in my mind. Fine. You prick.

He winces. ‘There’s no need to shout. And I think I preferred Mr X.’ He gestures at the door. ‘You may leave,’ he says. Then, in an appallingly bad Russian accent, ‘Goodbye, Mr Bond.’

You got what you came for, Bo, I tell myself. Get out while you still can. I turn and leave, ignoring X’s laughter echoing behind me.

Chapter Twenty-One: Two