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‘Sounds great,’ I said, eyeing the neat punctures on her neck as I handed her the glass back, ‘but I think I’ll pass.’
The trombone blasted itself into an ending. There was enthusiastic clapping, and the musicians started what even I recognised as a lively waltz.
She gave me an apologetic smile. ‘A lot of the regulars don’t like it.’ She leaned in, whispered, ‘Some of them bring their own, y’know, like the old biddy over there next to the pillar.’
The old biddy, her hair rinsed a bright shade of lilac, sat behind her voluminous handbag, topping up her glass from a small silver hip flask. As she carefully screwed the top back, the Blue Heart stamp looked like a dark wound on the back of her hand.
‘It’s probably gin, or vodka. The cloakroom staff pretend not to notice,’ Debbie confided in a low voice. ‘I mean, it’s not like they’re going to get the Gift at their age, is it?’ She gave a low laugh. ‘Who’d want to spend immortality looking old and decrepit? Not that any of the Masters would sponsor them anyway.’
I raised my eyebrows. ‘So why d’they bother coming?
She held up her own stamped hand. ‘See, the stamp says you’re willing, so it’s just a bit of a thrill for most of the old ones, and they get the extra points, along with the health benefits. There’s more than enough customers that most of them never get fanged anyway. The last thing the management wants is one of the tea-cosy brigade pegging it from a heart attack or something.’
Looked like I owed Katie one. Debbie was just the person to ask about Melissa . . . if I could just bring the conversation around to asking about her.
‘Y’know, if you’re pla
The music headed for a crescendo. A vamp in a white sailor-suit lifted his elderly partner’s feet right off the floor, and got a kick in the shins for his consideration.
‘It’s not just for the points, you get a discount on the entrance fee and in the shop too.’ Debbie’s face lit with eagerness. ‘And if you save up enough points, you get to pick which vamp you want for a date. I’ve got my eye on this new French vamp. He looks really cool, wears his hair tied back with a bow, and has these really hot velvet jackets and—’
‘Great, but I was wonder—’ I tried interrupting her.
Debbie was on a roll. ‘I could join you up if you wanted,’ she gabbled on with the zealous look of someone ready to clinch a deal. ‘You get like a plastic pass card. It’s only a few questions and you get to—’
More to shut her up than anything, I produced the Earl’s silver invitation and held it up.
Her mouth stopped working, but not for long. ‘Oh, wow, oh look! It’s a silverone, and it’s got a jewelin it!’ She peered at the card. ‘I’ve never seen that one before. Whose is it?’
I looked myself, saw the black gem. Not the Earl’s, then.
‘Malik al-Khan.’ As I said his name, a sensation like silk brushed over my skin, making my pulse jump. Damn. Maybe speaking his name aloud hadn’t been such a great idea.
‘Oh, I’ve seen him, yum, he’s totallycute, but terrifying, if you know what I mean.’ She finished her drink with a gulp.
Movement caught my eye. Lilac Hair was doing the finger waggle at someone.
Debbie seemed lost in some i
‘’Bout four months.’
‘So you’ll know everyone that works—’
‘Oh my God, you’re really her aren’t you?’ She clutched her hands together in excitement. ‘Oh my God, this is amazing. Your eyes are real, not lenses—I thought you were just one of the fakers.’ Her scarlet lips twitched in derision. ‘They think it’ll get them noticed, but, of course, theycan tell the difference. But your eyes are really real, aren’t they?’
‘Last time I looked, yeah.’ At last I sensed a way in. I frowned. ‘Hey, what about that Mr October’s girlfriend? I heard she was a faker.’
She looked puzzled. ‘Melissa? No, she—’ She stopped, her face closing up. ‘Oh, we’re not supposed to talk about that, just to say how tragic it was. But’—she glanced behind her—‘there’s something fu
‘So you don’t think Mr O killed her?’
‘Oh yes,’ Debbie nodded, ‘everyone says he did, ’cause he was jealous. I mean, they all fancied her.’ Her expression turned envious. ‘The Earl, those Irish brothers, Louis, that’s the new French vamp I like, Malik, he’s the scary one—’ She ticked the names off on her fingers. ‘Even Albie hung around her, that’s him over there, and he’s gay.’
A vampire dressed in the male version of Debbie’s green uniform was holding Lilac Hair’s hand. Albie had obviously been the recipient of the finger waggle. Lilac Hair looked like she was just as much a chatterbox as Debbie—good thing really, because Albie didn’t look the talkative type. Unsurprisingly, he didlook familiar though—Albie was Mr June—and another fully paid-up member of the fang-gang from Sucker Town.
I wondered briefly whether his uniform still itched.
One of the trumpet players stood and blew a loud blast of notes.
‘And there was something else about Mel,’ Debbie whispered into the ensuing silence. ‘She kept disappearing, like, nobody could find her, then she’d pretend she’d been there all along. She freaked me out once.’ She crossed her arms. ‘She actually told me something I’d done that I’d thought no one had seen.’
Before I could ask what she meant, more enthusiastic clapping erupted, then the pensioners turned as one, heading straight towards us like stampeding goblins.
Out the corner of my eye, I saw Albie drop Lilac Hair’s hand, stand up and stare straight at Debbie. My pulse jumped and I looked back just in time to catch the mind-lock falling over her face.
Shit.
She grabbed my arm, flashed her fake fangs in a grin. ‘Break time.’ I didn’t want to hurt her, so I let her drag me behind the drinks table. ‘Better move quick or you’ll get run down in the rush.’ She pushed me towards the fire-exit. ‘Go that way, it’s a shortcut.’
Shortcut to where?I looked back at Albie, whose face was pale with strain.
Debbie’s grin stretched so wide it looked painful. She gave me another impatient shove. ‘Go on. Go.’
Damn. He might push her mind too hard if I didn’t do as I was ordered. Taking a deep breath, I wrapped my hand round the steel bar marked ‘only for use in emergency’ and pushed.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The fire-exit door slammed shut behind me. The shortcut was an empty corridor lit by fluorescent tubes. That and lack of luxurious carpeting on the easy-clean floor, the bare painted walls, unoccupied office, another fire-exit and a cleaning cupboard told me this wasn’t one of the public areas.
There was only one other place left to go.
Ornate blue and silver lettering above the double doors read Le Théâtre du Grand-Guignol.The twin masks of Comedy and Tragedy looked like the fossilised faces of long-extinct giants. They were thickly coated with silver leaf. One cried a single ruby teardrop the size of a hen’s egg, the other laughed wide, showcasing a set of fangs too large to belong to any vampire. There was nothing beguiling about either of the faces, but they left no doubt as to the entertainment on offer.
The Blue Heart’s website had listed the Théâtre as open for VIP members only on Saturdays—looked like I’d just been upgraded—but it was odd that someone had spent a lot of money decorating an entrance that no one, other than the club’s staff, seemed likely to use.