The Cold Kiss of Death (43 page)
Ri-ight.
So pretty much as Hannah had explained, except without the oh-so-relevant specifics.
So pretty much as Hannah had explained, except without the oh-so-relevant specifics.
‘What do you mean, tidy up round at Granny’s?’ Janet asked, her voice petulant. She popped another liquorice torpedo into her mouth.
Hannah gave her a disbelieving look. ‘Well, there’s Granny’s body for one, and that wood shaving mess in the hallway. The police will have found it all by now, won’t they.’
‘I s’pose so - but won’t the sidhe slut get the blame?’
‘Janet, little sister, I
am
the sidhe now - and if you ever call me a slut again—’ Hannah gave her a warning look. ‘And unfortunately, my stool-pigeon has flown the nest, thanks to you.’ She waved an imperious hand at Joseph. ‘Doctor, please shoot her and put her out of her misery.’
am
the sidhe now - and if you ever call me a slut again—’ Hannah gave her a warning look. ‘And unfortunately, my stool-pigeon has flown the nest, thanks to you.’ She waved an imperious hand at Joseph. ‘Doctor, please shoot her and put her out of her misery.’
‘Shoot me?’ Janet’s mouth fell open as Joseph turned round, picked up his tranq gun and, without hesitating, aimed, then shot Janet in her ample chest—
She looked down, her eyes round with surprise. ‘But—?’ She dropped her sweeties.
‘Damage limitation, little sister dear,’ Hannah said briskly. ‘Someone’s got to get the police off my back, and since you’re actually guilty, you might as well take the blame for the baker’s, the boy’s and Granny’s deaths.’
Janet’s eyes fluttered, then she did a tree-topple and thudded to the floor.
‘Is Janet really her sister?’ I asked Cosette, stunned.
Cosette nodded.
Talk about dysfunctional families.
Hannah prodded the unconscious woman with her foot. ‘Don’t worry, if all goes well, I’ll try and get you out before they burn you at the stake.’ She looked up at Joseph. ‘Don’t just stand there; tie her up or something. You should enjoy that; after all, isn’t that what you like to do at that little club you go to?’
He pushed his glasses up his nose, lifted the tranq gun and pointed it at her.
‘Don’t be silly, Doctor,’ she sighed. ‘Just put it down, otherwise that DVD of you cavorting about in all that tacky leather and chains could still accidentally find its way onto the internet ...’
He did as he was told, his hand trembling.
‘You should be glad, you’re going to be labelled a hero for rescuing me from the dangerous sorcerer’s clutches.’ She smiled. ‘Which is much better than being labelled a pervert, isn’t it?’
His cheeks flushed with either anger or embarrassment and I remembered all the ‘clothes’ in his mirrored wardrobes - the ones he’d said belonged to a friend!
‘Compulsion spell tied to a nice bit of blackmail,’ Cosette muttered as Joseph pulled out the cord from Hannah’s discarded robe and started to tie Janet up. ‘She always was rather good at that.’
‘I see you started without me.’ A man strolled out of the gloom, his sun-streaked, gelled hair and well-trimmed van Dyke glinting blond in the candlelight, a red Souler cross pinned to the lapel of his smart grey suit. Neil Banner. Not totally surprising considering their supposedly separate but similar quests for the Fabergé egg. I wondered whether they were an established item, or if the egg had only recently made them soul-stealing mates. Not that it made any difference.
Cosette gave a small gasp and whispered, ‘That one is the necromancer who has been collecting the souls for her. I did not think he would be back so soon.’
‘Neil!’ Hannah held her arms wide and my body did a shimmy. ‘Look, it worked. Do you want a feel?’
His face twisted in disgust. ‘Not when you’re all covered in blood, Hannah.’
‘Genny,’ she snapped, ‘you must call me Genny, nothing else.’
He waved her anger away. ‘I will; it’s just that I still see your soul, not hers.’ He frowned, looking around. ‘Where is her soul, anyway?’
She patted the gold locket. ‘In here, of course.’
‘No, it’s not.’
She clutched at the locket in panic. ‘It has to be! I did the ritual perfectly.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Neil said calmly, ‘she can’t have gone far; she’s probably still disorientated from being cast out.’
‘You don’t understand—’ Hannah grabbed his arm. ‘I have to wear her soul close until tonight. What if it dissipates? Then this body will fade away and I’ll be left with nothing—’
‘Hannah, it’s you that doesn’t understand.’ He extricated himself, then with a self-satisfied smile he pulled out a bloodstained hanky from his pocket. ‘The sidhe’s hand was bleeding last night when I met her at HOPE. I managed to get a hook into her soul then.’ He touched the hanky to his nose, muttering as he turned a slow circle. ‘She’s not going anywhere.’
I clenched my fists. Bastard.
‘You must go, now!’ Cosette grabbed my left hand, in as much panic as Hannah, and touched the thin red thread there - it was stretching out towards Neil Banner.
Crap.
I tried to break it, but it was like pulling at elastic; it just kept stretching. ‘Go where?’ I demanded.
‘There.’ Neil pointed straight at me. ‘She’s hiding in the corner with that stupid child. Open the locket and I’ll call her to it.’ Hannah fumbled with the catch as he resumed muttering.
Cosette pushed at me frantically. ‘Go!’ She indicated the ethereal black silken rope that wrapped around my left arm and dangled down around my feet. ‘Follow it, and pray that the necromancer is not strong enough to call you back.’
Neil’s muttering rose to a crescendo and the red thread yanked at my hand, dragging me towards him. I stumbled, almost falling, but my fingers closed round the black silk rope—
—the rope slipped through my fingers as if it was slick with blood, and I fell, spinning out in the red-blackness ...
Chapter Twenty-Nine
T
he red-blackness was as before: empty, silent, scentless ... nothingness. This time the mist that circled the blackness was no longer pale and far away, but pressed close, and shot through with hot golds and coppers and reds, like the rays of the sun that backlight the dark side of the moon. I didn’t want to think what that might mean. The black silk cord I tailed down and away below me.
he red-blackness was as before: empty, silent, scentless ... nothingness. This time the mist that circled the blackness was no longer pale and far away, but pressed close, and shot through with hot golds and coppers and reds, like the rays of the sun that backlight the dark side of the moon. I didn’t want to think what that might mean. The black silk cord I tailed down and away below me.
Hand grasped tightly round the blood-slick silk, I continued to fall ...
Where was I, some sort of limbo place for the soul?
And how was this supposed to get me my body back, let alone save virgins and kidnapped ghosts? Use my connections, Cosette had said, which was fine, except she’d hadn’t told me how, thanks to Neil the necro turning up.
What I needed was help - but how, when the only ‘people’ I could talk to were other ghosts, or my local not-so-friendly neighbourhood necro? Of course, if I could make my way to a graveyard, I could talk to anyone living - whoever happened to be around at midnight. I could even touch them, since I’d be corporeal again for the hour between one day and the next - except that midnight on All Hallows’ Eve is traditionally when demons made their house calls, so midnight was going to be way too late.
But I was falling the same way I had after Malik skewered me with the sword - only then I’d tumbled back to my wedding night. No way did I want to relive that memory; one return visit was around a hundred times too many for my liking. I shuddered in the darkness as I kept on sliding down. Malik had called to me the last time, as if from above and below, but still I’d kept dropping, until I’d come round in the hallway the morning after - so did that mean
down
was the past? But in the past, when I’d been fourteen, I’d never picked up the Autarch’s sword, I’d never decided to go hunting, hadn’t even met Cosette, so it had been less like a memory and more as if my adult self had travelled back to that time. Could I do that again? Could I pick a time where I could step into my own body and change things?
down
was the past? But in the past, when I’d been fourteen, I’d never picked up the Autarch’s sword, I’d never decided to go hunting, hadn’t even met Cosette, so it had been less like a memory and more as if my adult self had travelled back to that time. Could I do that again? Could I pick a time where I could step into my own body and change things?
But when?
My descent slowed, as if the silken cord wanted to give me a chance to think.
The last time I’d revived seemed to be the most obvious point, when Malik had called my soul back to my body and I’d awakened to the realisation it was Malik who had chased me on my wedding night, Malik who had sunk his fangs into me, not the Autarch. I felt my hand slip, almost as if the black silken cord was reacting to my thought, and I dropped faster again, the air rushing past me as if heralding an approaching train—
—and the black silk cord frayed to nothing within seconds. Stunned, I hung in the red-blackness spinning slowly, clutching the thin red thread that was hooked through the knuckles of my left hand. Frustration sliced into me, sharp and painful, like the bronze sword of my memory.
Damn.
Whatever bond Malik had tied my soul with was broken - so now what? Did I hang around waiting to see if Necro Neil was strong enough to haul me back so I could be part of Hannah’s demon debt? Or ...
Damn.
Whatever bond Malik had tied my soul with was broken - so now what? Did I hang around waiting to see if Necro Neil was strong enough to haul me back so I could be part of Hannah’s demon debt? Or ...
I looked at the red thread dangling below me. Necro Neil said he had hooked into my soul at HOPE—
I took a deep breath - not that there seemed to be any air to breathe - and loosened my tight hold on the thread ...
... and beige vinyl floor tiles rushed up to meet me. Blurry peach-coloured walls and bright orange chairs jarred in my vision and in the distance I saw myself talking to Necro Neil. Thaddeus, the monster Beater goblin, was standing next to him, his high horse’s tail of red and grey hair fanning over his shoulders—
I slammed into something solid and cold, something I couldn’t see. I stared into Necro Neil’s blank, mind-locked face, and our tiny shared past stretched out behind him like a stack of freeze-frame photos, right up to the point where he handed me his handkerchief and I pressed it to my bleeding hand.
That had to be when he’d hooked me.
‘I bin lookin’ for you, sidhe,’ a girl’s shrill voice broke in. ‘I got somethin’ to give you.’
I turned towards the voice and the girl pointed her foot-long carving knife at me. Her hip-length white hair floated in a nonexistent wind and scraps of washed-out grey lace, satin and velvet fluttered like hundreds of wings against her anorexic body. The faint scent of liquorice and blood clung to her like day-old smoke.
The fact that Moth-girl could see me didn’t bode well for either of us.
I looked behind her.
Bobby, a.k.a. Mr October, huddled against the lift door, hands clutched to his stomach, a dark pool of blood beneath him. Malik, a fine line creasing between his black brows, watched the Glamoured blonde-bimbo me as I stared down at Grace, who was kneeling, checking for a pulse on Moth-girl’s unconscious - or more likely dead body, judging by the girl standing next to me. The two security guards hovered nearby.
It looked like I’d arrived in the middle of Malik’s mass mind-lock - was that why I couldn’t go any further?
The red thread in my hand gave a slight tug.
‘Hey, I’m talkin’ to you, sidhe,’ Moth-girl shouted in my ear. ‘Can you ’ear me?’
‘Yes, I can,’ I said, flinching as I turned back to her.
‘Good, I’ve got sumfing to give you.’ She waved her carving knife at me, then plucked at the white ribbon tied round her throat. ‘D’you know wot this is?’
‘Yes.’ I pursed my lips. ‘You’re supposed to be a
gift,
from one vamp to another.’
gift,
from one vamp to another.’
Her own purple-painted lips grinned. ‘That’s right; well, see, my Daryl, you knows ’im as Darius, ’e said to tell you—’
‘Darius?’ I interrupted. ‘The vamp that’s shacked up with the sorcerer?’
‘Yeah, that’s ’im. ’E did ’is dance for you.’ She gave a little wiggle of her hips. ‘Well, ’e’s my Daryl, ’as bin since we was kids togevver at school.’ Her fingers toyed with the ribbon again. ‘And ’e said, if I come an’ show you this, then it means ’e can ask for your ’elp.’
I held my hand up to stop her. ‘Wait a minute,
Darius
sent you as a gift, not some other vamp?’
Darius
sent you as a gift, not some other vamp?’
‘Course ’e did! Anyways, Daryl said as ’ow you’d understan’, an’ you’d get ’im away from the old devil-witch, seein’ as you’ve got that spell-fing on your hip for the ovver vamp, Rosa’s ’er name. Daryl says the devil-witch were on the blower to sumone an’ they tole ’er you’d be ’ere tonite.’ Her grin widened and she waved the knife again. ‘So ’ere I am, all wrapped up an’ ready.’
It sort of made sense. Darius had been there in my flat, listening and watching whilst Hannah had been talking to me about Rosa and the Disguise spell. He must’ve decided that having a sorcerer for a master wasn’t for him - not that I blamed him - and as Hannah and Neil were in it together, Neil was probably the one who’d told her I was at HOPE. Darius, no doubt doing his impression of Big Ears, had overheard, so he’d followed vamp tradition and tied a ribbon around Moth-girl’s neck and sent her to me/Rosa with his ‘request’.
But once Moth-girl had got to HOPE, not only could she
not
find me - because I’d been wearing the blonde-bimbo Glamour - but it looked like she’d died even before we tried to save her and Bobby. And sad as I was that Moth-girl hadn’t made it, I needed someone who could communicate with the living world, not with the dead. Right now another ghost was about as much use to me as—
not
find me - because I’d been wearing the blonde-bimbo Glamour - but it looked like she’d died even before we tried to save her and Bobby. And sad as I was that Moth-girl hadn’t made it, I needed someone who could communicate with the living world, not with the dead. Right now another ghost was about as much use to me as—
‘Oy!’ She jabbed the knife at me. ‘You needs to pay attention ’ere.’
... well, the ghostly knife Moth-girl was jabbing at me. Not that it didn’t stop me jumping out of its way. Someone points a knife at you, even a ghost one, and instinct takes over.
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