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Laughing, I said, ‘There’s not all that much—’
I stopped as the main door opened behind me and Toni stood up, offering a wide welcoming smile.
The woman was in her early thirties. Her blue silk dress and jacket were simple, but expensive. Glossy dark hair framed her face in a perfect bob and understated but effective makeup subtly enlarged her coffee-coloured eyes, sculpted her cheeks and outlined her full mouth. Everything about her shouted well-groomed class. She smiled as she walked towards us over the thick carpet, each step in her high-heeled summer sandals as precise as if she still had the finishing school book balanced on her head.
Her look included us both, but she addressed herself to me. ‘Genevieve Taylor?’ Her voice matched her appearance: quiet, elegant, with a hint of plum to the vowels.
I nodded, puzzled. She looked vaguely familiar.
‘Ha
It wasn’t unusual for clients to just walk in. It wasunusual for humans to ask for me specifically. And Ha
‘Shouldn’t be a problem.’ I glanced at Toni. ‘I’ve nothing booked?’
Toni shook her head.
I offered Ha
She gave me an odd, amused smile. ‘No. Thank you.’
Chapter Twenty-One
My office was a carbon copy of Reception: more sand-coloured carpet, more neutral shades, more pale wood furniture. Holding the door open, I ushered Ha
She looked briefly around the room then sat down, knees together, at ease despite her ramrod-straight back.
I sat behind my desk, took out a pad and pen. ‘How can I help you, Ms Ashby?’
She looked me up and down, her expression pleasant, but with enough concentration in her dark brown eyes that I began to think of bugs, microscopes and pins.
I tapped my pen against the pad, irritated. ‘Ms Ashby?’
‘Forgive me; you have such an arresting face.’ She laughed, a low warm sound. ‘Actually, I’m here to help you, Ms Taylor. Or may I call you Genevieve?’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘I deal with magical problems, Ms Ashby. You’re not a witch, or some sort of fae, so I’m not sure how you can help me, or with what, exactly.’
‘I’m sure you don’t.’ She gave me a wide smile. ‘But I amhere to help you, nonetheless. I am offering you an invitation, in fact.’
‘An invitation to what?’
‘Let me show you.’ She unclipped her bag and took out a small black velvet pouch. She upended it just above the desk and a silver oblong the size of a playing card slid out, landing with a soft metallic slap. Using one French-manicured finger, she pushed it gently towards me. ‘Your invitation, Genevieve.’
The ‘invitation’ gleamed in the sunlight that shone through the window behind me. I’d never seen one before, but I knew what it was, of course.
A VIP pass to the Blue Heart.
And the Blue Heart belonged to the Earl.
I leaned back in my chair. ‘Thanks, but I’m not interested.’
Ha
I shook my head. ‘No need.’ It meant I’d be guaranteed my safety, like my visit to the Bloody Shamrock. But it didn’t mean that there wouldn’t be any grandstanding. And a lot more vamps called the Blue Heart home, than at the Shamrock.
As if reading my mind, she said, ‘During your visit, should you be concerned for your wellbeing’—she laid the velvet pouch next to the silver oblong—‘show the invitation to any vampire and they will be ... deterred.’
I snorted, casting a judicious eye over the invitation. There was a single black gem in the centre. ‘It’s not going to deterthem much if they’re too far gone in bloodlust to notice.’
‘In that case’—she smoothed her hand down her skirt—‘the invitation has a rather ingenious side to it. It is solid silver, so should one be caught in that unfortunate state of affairs, all one need do is touch it to bare skin. That usually gets a vampire’s full attention.’
I laughed, unable to help it. ‘I bet.’
Ha
‘An expensive invitation.’ I picked it up by its edges, ignoring the slight burning in my fingers caused by my sensitivity to the silver. ‘So why’s the Earl so interested in me visiting the Blue Heart?’
‘The invitation isn’t from the Earl.’ There was a slight derisive edge to her voice.
‘It’s not?’
She opened her bag, and took out another black velvet pouch. I had a brief moment of déjà vu as she slipped a second silver oblong onto my desk. ‘You seem to be in demand, Genevieve.’ Her perfectly lipsticked mouth smiled, but her eyes didn’t.
Must be my lucky day.
She pointed at the invitation on the table. ‘This one is from the Earl.’ She tapped her fingernail on the heart-shaped sapphire mounted in the centre. ‘The stones are their markers. The one you hold is from Malik al-Khan.’
My stomach knotted as I rubbed my thumb over the black gem. My mind could come up with at least half-a dozen reasons why Malik would want to see me again—none of them good—but ... why invite me to a vampire club? It didn’t make any sense. Or any difference, really. An injured vampire—always presuming I hadn’t actually killed him—wasn’t going to be offering much in the way of protection, was he?
I looked up to find Ha
‘Don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why the Earl thought I might accept, are you?’
Her eyes flashed in amusement. ‘The Earl thinks a visit to the club might help in your investigation into the death of Melissa Banks.’
‘I’m not investigating her death. The police are doing that.’
‘He also mentioned his bronzes. Apparently you showed an interest in seeing them?’ She raised her voice in question.
I smiled, slightly in disbelief. ‘Are his bronzes a euphemism? ’
She arched one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. ‘He does have a beautiful and extensive collection, and he certainly enjoys exhibiting his works of art, but then again, you are an extremely attractive person, Genevieve.’
‘Is that a warning?’
Smiling, she took a white business card from her handbag and laid it on the desk. The sunlight lit her features as she bent forward, smoothing out the angles her make-up had created, and I realised where I’d met her before. ‘Should you have any questions,’ she said, ‘please feel free to call me.’
I glanced at her card. She had a stack of letters after her name. The address was in the heart of the City: one of the top accountancy firms in London. ‘You’re an accountant?’ I didn’t try to hide my surprise.
Her mouth twitched. ‘At present, I’m wearing my Girl Friday hat.’
I wondered how many other hats she had hidden up her sleeve.
‘I’ll show myself out.’ She stood, looped her bag over the crook of her arm.
I waited until she opened the door. ‘Ms Ashby. You haven’t told me the name of your Master.’
She turned back, the amused expression back on her face. The movement disturbed her hair, confirming my suspicions. Her voice was different, and without the goth makeup, or the blue streaks and the obvious display of breast I hadn’t immediately recognised her as Corset Girl, the vamp groupie who’d tried so hard to entice me at the Leech & Lettuce. But the bite was there, high on her neck, where I’d tasted her the night before.