Chapter 12 Gideon #2
But I’ve seen far too many men like Mike ruin the lives of people I care about.
That look on his face at the pole studio reminded me of my father. I couldn’t save my family from that rotten man, but I can help Dora.
Silently, I step up to the back door. It will take a flick of my wrist to break the ancient lock, but when I twist the handle, the door opens.
I pause at the threshold. Thankfully, the mythology of vampires requiring permission to cross a threshold is nonsense.
Upyr like Alaric cling to an ancient code of politeness because they prefer not to frighten their food.
But I like my prey afraid. From the moment I became an Upyr, my world was one of violence.
“Hello, Mike.”
He raises his head, his whole body trembling as he tries to figure out how I appeared in his kitchen. “Y-y-y-you.”
“Yes. Me.”
I step towards him. I don’t turn on the light. I see perfectly well in the dark and I want Mike afraid. He should be afraid.
Blake is not my second surname. I lost a bet with Allie so he named me after one of his grim poets. For several decades, I wore the name Gideon Vega – a name that causes women to swoon and the most ancient and powerful Upyr to quake in their slippers.
The chair makes a loud SQUEEEAK as I slide it out. Mike winces. He twists his hands into knots. I slide into the chair opposite him and set the knife on the table, blade pointed towards him.
We both stare at the knife for several tense, silent moments.
“You have nothing to fear,” I say in my friendliest voice. “Not yet, at least. I’m here for a chat.”
Mike’s eyes flick to my face, then back to the knife. He doesn’t utter a word.
Wise man.
I taste his fear on my tongue – hot and sticky and metallic. He smells much more appetising than he did at the pole studio. I can hear his pulse pounding erratically. He’s terrified. Good.
I hadn’t planned on drinking from him, but his fear smells delicious. Perhaps it would teach him…
No. I think of Hamish Aeturnus’s message on the Sepulchrr app, the one that’s now up to 50,000 Digs. The last thing I need right now is to prove Hamish and the Conclave right about me.
“I’m here to talk about your wife.”
“You… s-s-stay away from Dora.”
Mike’s skin is bone white. He’s trembling like a Christmas trifle on a foosball table.
I’ve still got it.
“Dora is a remarkable woman.” I steeple my fingers like a wise man imparting important truths.
“I’m sure you know this, or you wouldn’t have married her.
Women aren’t our possessions, Mike. They’re not unruly pets that need discipline, or faulty tools we send back to the shop if they don’t work the way we want.
Women are mythological creatures, and our only job on this earth is to worship them and get out of their way when they need to flatten a civilisation. ”
“W-w-why are you telling me this?” Mike sinks lower in his chair.
“Because I think you could use a little advice, man to man. I care about Dora very much, and you need to know that trying to control her is going to end badly for you.”
“But… but she already told me this!”
“She? Dora?”
“No.” Mike’s whole body convulses with fear. “The… the tall, scary one. Arabella. She was here just before you. Sh-sh-she—”
“She what, Mike?”
He whimpers, shrinking into himself.
Arabella, you wild, beautiful, sadistic creature.
Mike’s face twists with agony. “She has fangs—”
“You mean, like these?”
I smile. My fangs slide down, their sharpened points digging into my lip.
CRASH.
Mike falls off his chair. He hits the floor hard, crying out as his tailbone crunches on the tiles. He backs away from me, sobbing loudly. “You—”
“Yes.” I stand. There is nothing more I can do here that Arabella hasn’t already achieved. “I trust you’ll think about what I’ve said. I’m watching you, Mike. And so is Arabella. Have a pleasant evening. I’ll put the kettle on for you. I think you could do with a calming cup of tea.”
I flick on the gas hob on my way out. As I step into Dora’s fragrant garden, a tall, dark shape emerges from behind an old oak tree.
“You didn’t need to do that.” Arabella plucks the knife from my hand and admires the silver inlay along the blade.
“I did. It may surprise you to learn that I’ve come to care about the Nevermore Coven as much as you do. I don’t like to see my friends hurt.”
“Funny, it’s never bothered you in the past.” She twirls the knife in her long fingers. “I already took care of Mike. And I didn’t need a blade to do it.”
“What did you do?” I chuckle. “He’s terrified.”
Arabella smiles, her fangs sliding down. They’re long and curved and elegant, like everything else about her. I grow hard at the sight of them. “Keep annoying me, Gideon Blake, and you’ll find out.”
“Can I ask you one thing?” I shift position, hiding my crotch behind a planter of geraniums so she can’t see what her presence has done to me. “Why are you here? I thought Arabella Lestrange was only out for herself.”
She blinks.
I press my advantage. “You send a scary fellow to cut my head off—”
“I did no such thing.”
“—and then disappear from Paris, the only remnant of you a torn scrap of fabric in a burning theatre. And then you show up a hundred and fifty years later, a vampire with a successful finance business, only no one knows a thing about you after you left the City of Light. You have no court affiliation. And you’re the same Arabella you were back then.
Aloof. Distant. Independent. Except that you’re not.
Winnie says that you never miss a Nevermore Coven meeting.
You agree to dance in Beth’s pole studio opening, even though you think it’s silly.
Even though it risks exposing you. And tonight you show up here to terrify Mike so that he’ll treat Dora better. ”
She huffs. “You’ve been pestering Alaric and Winnie for information about me.”
“Well… yes. But only because I’m curious. I ask again, why are you here tonight?”
Arabella reaches down and uses my knife to slice off the largest geranium from the pot. She smirks as she crushes it in her fingers, while I try to force my body to behave and my not-inconsiderable appendage to stay hidden behind the remaining flowers.
“The problem with curiosity is that some people don’t realise that they’re the cat,” she simpers.
“Fine. But I get to ask another question.” Something brilliant has occurred to me.
Why didn’t I think of this sooner?
“You are a masochist.” The knife flashes in the moonlight.
“Maybe I’m just desperate.” I close my eyes. “I need your expertise. As you may have seen on Sepulchrr, Sanctus Estate just lost our biggest investor. I need to raise money, fast, or we’ll have to stop construction.”
“What do you need me for? In case you’ve forgotten, you stole the one thing I owned of great value, and you’re certainly not getting your mitts on my art collection.”
There it is, that upward tick of her eyebrow. She is interested.
Arabella believes in Sanctus. If she didn’t, she never would have bought a house.
“I wouldn’t dare.” I hold up my hands in mock surrender.
“Lots of our members paid for their homes with items. Antiques. Rare coins. Bags of gold. One of them gave me an unused first-class ticket for the Titanic. I let them do it because it’s the only way some of them can afford to buy in.
I could afford it while I had Hamish Aeturnus’s money, but—”
“Oh, Gideon.” She clicks her tongue in disdain. “So you have a room full of useless vampire crap you want me to turn into fast cash?”
“Got it in one. I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Yes, you will.” She taps the knife against her chin, thinking.
I’m terrified she’s going to tell me that the price for her help is for me to leave her alone and never speak to her again. But if I’ve read Arabella right, she’s not going to say that.
“I’ll take fifteen—No, twenty per cent commission.”
“Done.”
“I’m not done. Maisie has guilted me into directing this absurd variety show.” Arabella twirls my knife in her long fingers. “You’re going to assist me. And by assist me, I mean, do all of the work.”
“I’ll be your willing servant.”
“I like the sound of that. And you’re going to be part of the show,” she says. “I don’t know what you’ll be doing on stage yet, but suffice it to say that your role will be humiliating beyond comprehension. Perhaps it will involve a meerkat costume.”
It’s worth it if I can save Sanctus and bask in her presence. “I agree.”
“And you’re going to give my friends and me any information we need to help solve these murders.”
I sigh. So much for keeping the humans safe from this monster. “Yes, fine. Callista wants me to unmask the husker—”
“But you’re less amateur detective, more master debater?”
“Damn right. I am an exceptionally cunning linguist,” I grin. Arabella groans. “But if the Nevermore Coven wants to swoop in and solve this mystery for me, I’ll accept their help. Is that all?”
“For now.”
“You drive one hell of a bargain.”
“What can I say, Blake?” She plucks a second geranium from the pot and tucks it behind her ear. “I know my worth.”