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I opened the larger box, then swallowed hard. The Fabergé Egg nestled amongst the blue velvet. It wasn’t my father’s; his didn’t have sapphires on it ... But the egg meant that the Earl knew who my father was—who Iwas—and he wasn’t pla
‘Ge
‘Yes, it is.’ I took a deep breath. ‘And I want you to look after it again, please Hugh.’ I turned around, yanked open the fridge and took out the plastic container. It wasn’t big enough to hold the blue velvet box, so I wrapped the opals carefully in some kitchen roll and tucked them next to the soap, then snapped the plastic lid closed. ‘Keep it with all my other stuff.’ I held the box out to him. ‘Oh, and you’d better keep that too.’ I indicated the egg. ‘I’ll need to return it.’
‘Of course I’ll look after your things,’ he said, a small dust cloud puffing from his head ridge. He held up the Earl’s letter. ‘But—’
‘Look, I’ve got to go, Hugh. There’s someone I need to visit.’
‘Ge
I gave him a rueful look. ‘Don’t worry, Hugh, I’m not going to give in.’ At least I hoped not. ‘I’ll be back before sunset. Tell Detective Inspector Crane I’ll take her up on the offer of a cell, because I think I’m going to need it.’
Then tomorrow I could sort out what I was going to do with my life.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The Bloody Shamrock was closed. In the daylight the door was pitted and scared, as if it had withstood an onslaught of Beater goblins. The neon cloverleaf was unlit, and it looked like no one was home, but when I concentrated, the faint trace of vampire snagged the edge of my radar. I hammered my fist on the door and gave it a kick for good measure. I turned and sca
I gave the door another hard thump.
There was the sound of bolts being drawn and the door opened slowly, revealing a thin slice of darkness. I shoved my shoulder against it and pushed my way into the building.
Mick stumbled away from me, a sullen look on his face. ‘What’d you do that for, Ge
‘Yeah? Well maybe I wanted to make sure.’
His short red hair was mussed, like he’d just got out of bed—which I guessed he had going by the green silk boxers hanging off his narrow hipbones and the fluffy slippers that looked like he was wearing a couple of small furry barrels on his feet.
‘You don’t seem very surprised to see me,’ I pointed out. ‘Not going to ask me what I want or why I’m here?’
‘Fiona said you’d be coming.’ He hugged himself, hands clutching his arms, the suckers on his fingertips pulsing red. ‘She’s never wrong.’
‘Let’s not keep her waiting, then.’
He edged past me and re-bolted the door top and bottom, then said, ‘She’s upstairs.’
I followed him through the empty pub. His pale, freckled skin shone like a beacon as he picked his way through the spiky maze of upended chair legs. The place smelled of stale beer and blood. The combination made nausea roil in my stomach—or maybe that was just nerves.
He glanced back as he reached the stairs and I gave him a toothy smile.
‘Bumped into your boyfriend last night,’ I said, conversationally.
‘I know,’ Mick mumbled. His slippers made shushing sounds on the wooden treads. ‘He told me he saw you at the Blue Heart.’
‘He looked like he was getting all cosy with this blonde. You better watch that.’
‘It was business.’ He tried for couldn’t care less, but there was a stricken sound in his voice.
Shit. Now I felt like the bad-tempered faerie ... oh, wait, I was, but maybe Mick deserved it. Maybe. I’d never quite worked out if he’d set his sister, Siobhan, up as bait four years ago, or if she’d just ended up a victim because of his naïveté.
We walked past the semi-circular booths to the far wall of the gallery. It looked like a dead end, but Mick waved a hand above his head and there was a soft snick, and a section of the wall slid quietly aside.
Behind was a narrow hallway, with four heavy steel doors down one side. At the fourth, Mick stopped and waved again, then he turned and glowered at me. ‘I know you think I’m stupid for being with Seamus, especially after what happened with my sister.’ He stuck his bottom lip out. ‘Sometimes he has to do things that I don’t like. But we love each other. If you had ever felt like that about anyone, then you’d understand.’
He was right: I did think him stupid, and I didn’t understand—but then, I wasn’t the one in love, so I just shrugged and didn’t ask him the question that popped into my mind. Wasn’t love supposed to make him happy?
The steel door did its snick-and-slide thing.
The place was done up as an Edwardian lady’s boudoir. Painted plaster roses covered the ceiling, ivory-striped silk lined the walls, and long velvet drapes suggested there might be windows behind them, though I doubted it. A huge marble fireplace dominated one side; double doors opposite presumably led to the bedroom. Someone liked their little luxuries.
In the middle of all this finery Fiona reclined on a velvet chaise lounge, looking like a beautiful painting. Her white-blonde hair spiked above her large, luminous grey eyes, and a ruby necklace dripped into the deep V of her rose silk negligee.
‘You were right, it was her.’ Mick sidled past me and sat in front of her, legs bent to one side. ‘And she’s not happy.’
She rested a pink cotton-gloved hand on his freckled shoulder, gave it a squeeze, throwing me a resigned but slightly wary look. Her makeup was still perfect, but it didn’t hide the dark circles under her eyes or the map of ugly red veins that pulsed across her chest. She looked delicate and fragile, and nothing like a cold-blooded murderer.
I strode over the thick rose-coloured carpet towards her and stopped with my boots touching Mick’s legs. ‘Want to explain why you sent those two revenants to kill me last night?’
Mick shuffled his legs further back.
‘Ms Taylor’—Fiona’s fingers spasmed, digging into Mick’s freckled skin—‘sometimes I seethings that distress me, and I have to try to alter the course of what might happen.’ Perspiration beaded her forehead.
‘Well, I’m pretty distressed about what didhappen, never mind the future.’ I leaned over her. ‘Start talking, and give me a reason not to tell the police about it.’
‘Tell her what she wants to know.’ Mick patted her glove, glaring at me with a half-petulant, half-anxious expression. ‘Then she’ll leave us alone.’
Fiona took a shuddering breath. ‘Ask your questions, Ms Taylor.’
I straightened. ‘Tell me about Melissa and the spell that they all want, the one that’s supposed to have killed her.’
‘Melissa was Declan’s little spy. He used her to keep tabs on the other Masters. Once she’d overheard them talking about the spell, then of course he wanted her to find out more.’ Her gloved hand shook. ‘Only she got ambitious and started holding back information, and then she died. When her mother found her, she phoned the police instead of us. It meant we couldn’t get to the body. Declan searched Bobby’s memories and discovered that Melissa had found the spell, but Bobby didn’t know the details.’