Serafina and the Silent Vampire (23 page)

Quietly, she turned the handle and went in.

Oh Jesus Christ, no…

Mel was slumped over the table, one hand still in the tray of earth, the other under her head on the table. Without conscious volition, Sera found herself crouching beside her friend, smoothing the hair from her face so that she could see her.

She touched Mel’s lips, felt her breath, and almost sobbed in relief. Then she saw the tearstains on Mel’s face as the witch’s eyes fluttered open. She tried to lift her head but seemed unable.

“I’m sorry, Sera,” she whispered. “I can’t reach them. I’m not strong enough.”

Sera stroked her hair. “Not any of them?”

“Not one.”

“The spell doesn’t work,” Jilly said from the doorway. Frustration was clear in her voice.

“The spell is good,” Mel said weakly. “It just needs more power than I have. Even in the same room, I’d have difficulty. It’s too strong for me.”

“You’re just tired,” Sera said. She didn’t know if she meant to comfort Melanie or herself. “Come on. You need rest. You can’t do something like this on the strength of three hours’ sleep.”

Jilly came to help, and between them, they lifted her from the chair and half carried her through the door and upstairs to the flat. Sera fetched her a glass of water, which she drank obediently and then lay down on Sera’s bed as if she couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer. Over her sleeping body, Sera met Jilly’s gaze.

And then came the distant sound of Elspeth’s voice, speaking too loudly, in too much panic. “She isn’t here right now. I’ll get her to call you.”

Sera bolted to the stairs and crept down, listening. “I’ll wait,” said the voice of Nicholas Smith.

Sera glanced over her shoulder at Jilly, whose eyes narrowed, ready for a fight. Sera grinned and walked the rest of the way down to the inner office. Through its open door, she could see Nicholas Smith seating himself in the waiting chairs. He wore a suit and tie.

Sera and Jilly strolled through. It comforted Sera to hear the click of the flat door locking behind them.

“Old Nick,” she observed, entering the main office. “How can I help you today?”

“By telling me what you’re doing.” Smith rose to his feet, and Sera at once sensed anger. He was suppressing it beneath his usual, suave exterior, but tension radiated from his tense shoulders, the careful modulation of his voice, the infinitesimal tightness of his polite smile.

“I’m about to have a cup of coffee and make a few phone calls. I want to expand my business.”

He stared at her. “So long as you’re not interfering in mine.”

Sera met his gaze blandly. Had he felt Melanie’s attempt to break through his spell? If he guessed what they were up to, would he be able to block them? Supposing Mel ever discovered a way to actually reach the vampires…

Sera said, “I want nothing whatever to do with you or your ‘business.’”

“Some of my people,” Smith said, still gazing at her as if he could read her mind, “have had their access to funds denied. Pending security investigations.”

Jilly had gone very still. Sera grinned openly. She wanted to grab Jilly’s hand and dance around the room with her. Instead, she said succinctly, “Good. I guess the banks aren’t as stupid as you thought them. Or your vampires are stupider—it’s what you get for cutting off their thought processes.”

“Oh, I can cut off a lot more than that,” Smith said, smiling. His eyes were cold and furious, and behind that, more worryingly, was a fierce, vindictive triumph that clawed at Sera’s stomach.

“What do you mean?” she asked, forcing lightness into her voice.

“I mean you should join me now, before it’s too late.”

Sera curled her lip. “It’s always been too late,
Dad
. Why don’t you run along? You’re making my shop untidy.”

He was alone, without his vampires in the middle of the day. Sera had already considered capturing and imprisoning him, but they really didn’t want all his vampires rushing to his rescue as soon as it was dark. At least not until they knew Mel’s spell would work. Right now, Sera just wanted him gone. Jilly and Jack stood on either side of her, leaving Smith in no doubt that they could and would run him out the door if necessary. Even Elspeth had got to her feet and was staring at him sternly.

Smith left.

In the doorway, he did a slightly impatient shuffle with two people coming in—a man with a casual jacket over a shirt and tie, a woman in black trousers and a red wool jacket with her hair scraped well back from her face.

They looked slightly surprised to see the delegation lined up before them. Jack coughed and mumbled something as he went back to his desk. Jilly dropped into her own seat and casually opened her laptop.

Sera, her head singing with frustration and unanswered questions, wanted to scream at them to go away so she could discuss things with the others. Or at least have peace to think. Instead, she forced herself to smile at the newcomers.

Elspeth said welcomingly, “Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” said the woman, turning to Elspeth. She produced an identity card. “I’m Detective Sergeant Lennox from CID. This is Detective Constable Graham.”

One of the hardest things Sera ever did was not to look at Jilly and shout,
Run! Take the laptop and chop it into a million pieces!

DC Graham said, “We’d like to speak to Miss Serafina MacBride.”

That was a good thing. That
had
to be a good thing. “I’m Sera MacBride,” she said, as lightly as she could manage. “What can I do for you?”

DC Graham fished a paper from his pocket and unfolded it. “We’re making some enquiries about this man. Do you recognize him?”

Sera glanced at the paper. It showed a rough pencil sketch of an unmistakable figure that made her stomach lurch. There was no point in denying him. Alex McGowan had seen him in her flat.

“Yes, I know him,” she said easily. “What do you want him for?”

“Could you tell us his name and address?” Sergeant Lennox asked while Graham refolded the paper and stuffed it into one pocket before taking his notebook from another.

“His name’s Blair. I don’t know his address.”

The lie brought both pairs of eyes to her face. “Does he work for you, Miss MacBride?” Sergeant Lennox asked.

“No. He’s just an acquaintance.”

“But I understand he’s a good enough friend to have been visiting you in your home last night.”

“He and several other people, yes. Look, what’s this about?”

“You’ll have heard about the fire at Fountainbridge? Completely destroyed a warehouse that was due to be converted into flats. A firefighter’s in hospital.”

“I hadn’t heard,” Sera said, frowning. “I’ve had other things on my mind.”

“Can you tell us where you were between five and six o’clock this morning?” Graham asked.

“I was here,” Sera said. “Or at least in my flat upstairs. Why?”

“Can anyone vouch for that?” Lennox asked.

“Aye,” Jilly said aggressively, at exactly the same time as Jack and Elspeth both said, “Yes.”

Clearly startled, both police officers glanced around Sera’s staff. “You can all swear that Miss MacBride was at home between five and six in the morning?” Graham said in disbelief.

“They stayed the night,” Sera explained. “We were in the middle of something and finished late. It seemed easiest.”

“Did Mr. Blair also stay the night?”

“Yes,” Sera said boldly.

“Is he here now?” Lennox enquired. “We’d like to ask him a few questions.”

“No, he’s not here now.”

“When did he leave?”

That, Sera realized, pretending to think about it, was a tricky question to answer. If she told the truth, she could be incriminating him; if she said she’d been asleep and didn’t know, it put her own alibi at risk.

Jilly said, “I think he went about five-thirty. I heard him go downstairs.”

The officers exchanged glances that could have meant anything.

Sera said, “You really think he had something to do with this fire?”

“We need to talk to him,” Graham said stolidly.

“Oh, I can cut off a lot more than that.”
Smith’s words suddenly began to make sense. “Did someone give you his name?” she asked. “If so, I have to tell you it was probably malicious.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” Lennox said dryly. “He was seen and recognized at the scene by a police officer.” She took a card from her pocket and shoved it into Sera’s nerveless fingers. “Ask him to contact us on that number, will you? Or if you have any information, let us know immediately.”

“Of course,” Sera said vaguely.

****

There was no way she could stay away. No assurances that he’d be asleep or warnings that she’d only lead the cops straight to him could prevent her. She took a circuitous route via several shops, every sense on high alert to make sure she wasn’t followed. But in the end, she stood outside Blair’s house, ringing the bell in vain. Both doors were locked. And yet she knew he was in there. She could sense him.

At last, she decided to try the basement door one last time, and if he wouldn’t open it, she’d do her best to pick the lock.

She thumped the door a few more times, to absolute silence.

Then she opened her bag and rummaged for a nail file. Fortunately, the street was quiet, and she could see no one obvious at the opposite windows. Bending to the lock, she began to insert the file, just as the door opened and a woman in colorful hippy clothes emerged, trailing long, cotton scarves and chunky jewelry. She gave Sera a vague smile as they passed in the doorway, then walked up the steps and turned right toward Prince’s Street.

Sera gazed unhappily after her. Her stomach felt knotted with stress. Or distress. Although she’d seen no wounds on the girl, she was damned sure Blair had drunk from her. Did he fuck her as well?

More lowering than anything else was that she felt more jealousy than anxiety for the victim.

“Sick old bat,” she told herself and went into the house. Closing the door behind her, she stepped forward into the dark hallway.

“Blair?” she called. “This isn’t a social call. I need to talk to you.”

Something moved at the top of the stairs—no more than a silent shadow. Swallowing, grasping the stake in her pocket, Sera walked toward the stairs. With all her senses, she reached into every room downstairs. She knew he was on the next floor.

She began to climb the stairs. “Blair, what are you doing?” she demanded. “It’s me! The police are looking for you! What’s going on?”

Something clicked upstairs. She felt a tiny frisson of fresh air.

The bastard had left by the other door. She bolted to the top of the stairs and ran to the front door, tearing it open. There was no one in the street, apart from a biker, all leather and helmet, disappearing round the corner.

“Sewer or smoking blanket?”
Jilly had asked sardonically.

Motorbike.

Sera’s skin prickled. Was that really how he got around in daylight? Was that Blair she’d just seen? Probably. She could no longer feel him in the house. But she
could
sense vampire.

Her heart hammering in her breast, she closed the door without shutting it tight, and walked slowly down the hall, past the sitting room she’d been in before, and on to the door that stood ajar. She touched it.

Vampire.
Everything screamed at her. She took the stake from her pocket and pushed open the door.

Nothing leapt at her.

The vampire lay on a large, four-poster bed. Behind curtains and shutters, a solitary candle burned, but the vampire didn’t move. His spirit was weak, in such pain that it took Sera several moments to identify it.

“Phil?” she whispered. She didn’t mean to; fear just brought it out that way. Something was terribly wrong with him.

“Serafina.” If he’d spoken it, it would have been like a breath, no louder.

She went closer. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter with you?”

“I’m hurt,” he said, a tad more strongly. There was even a touch of wryness in it.

He
was
hurt. A single sheet covered him, but above it, the head on the pillow was almost hairless, the skin blistered and red, tinged black in places. His hands and arms were the same. And the eyes which gazed at her were full of unspeakable agony.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “What happened?”

“Smith tracked me to my home. His vampires bound me and laid a trap for Blair. Then he set the place on fire by remote control. Or at least, his vampires did.”

“The warehouse at Fountainbridge,” she said stupidly. “My God… Where’s Blair? Did he just leave?”

“He’s gone to get me more blood. It’s all that will save me now.”

She’d been right that the hippy girl was food, just not for Blair. “Shite, Phil, how did you get out of there?”

“Blair. I refused to call him, but he came anyway. I managed to warn him so he was far enough back to survive when the explosion happened. But he knew I was in there and came back for me. I knew he would. I knew he would.” Something leaked from his eyes. It looked like blood. Distressed, Sera searched for a cloth to wipe his eyes and found one with a bowl of clean water on the bedside table.

“Don’t,” she said with difficulty, dabbing at the corner of his eyes and trying desperately not to hurt him further. “You’ll lose all the blood you’ve just taken.” She paused. “Why does that upset you so much? Why did you try so hard to keep him away?”

“Because I was afraid he’d use it as an excuse. To save me and die.”

Sera sank onto the bed beside him. “An excuse?” she repeated.

His cracked lips tugged as if trying to smile. “The curse of the vampire,” he said, “is boredom. Blair has been bored for many years.”

Sera looked away, dropped the cloth into the bowl. Suddenly, she wanted Phil to stop talking, but he wouldn’t.

“The only reason he’s still here is the promise he made to Ailis. That when she was away, he would look out for the community, for all of us, in her place. She understood him, knew how to keep him with us.”

Blair with dead, anguished eyes, unresisting and silently laughing under the stabbing stakes of ignorant young men; Blair, exuding such sorrow that even his would-be murderer had wept for him while a beautiful vampiress had coaxed and coerced him into the promise that kept him bound to existence and gave him reason, however unwanted. The Blair of Jamie’s vision.