disapproving arch to his spine makes it clear what he thinks of the plan. ‘You might provide some insight into her story.’
‘Story’ is an interesting choice of words. ‘You think she’s lying,’ I say softly.
‘Oh, she was definitely attacked. And with a viciousness I’ve not seen in years.’
‘Except you don’t think it was a vampire who did it.’ He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. ‘It’s nice that you’re coming to me for help,’ I comment. ‘Last night, your buddy Nicholls was not exactly forthcoming.’
He stands up and steps towards me. Kimchi starts to growl from behind my legs, and Foxworthy hastily sits back down again. ‘Yeah, except it didn’t stop you from interfering. You really screwed us over with that. Your antics compromised every piece of evidence we collected from the scene. It’s going to cause us problems if we ever nail the prick that did this and drag him to court.’ He smirks at me. ‘We’ve impounded your bike, by the way.’
I curse inwardly. ‘Do I get it back?’
‘I’ll consider releasing it if you cooperate.’ He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a set of handcuffs. I don’t need to see the Magix logo to know that they’ve been bespelled to be particularly effective against vampires. He dangles them at me. ‘For our own protection.’
‘I’m not putting those on.’
He lifts an eyebrow. I sense he’s pleased. ‘Then I will waste no more of your precious time.’
Shit. He called my bluff and won. ‘Fine,’ I snap. ‘Give them to me.’
Foxworthy doesn’t speak as I hold out my bare wrists. Avoiding touching my skin, he puts them on me. The effect is instantaneous; they sap all my energy so any movement I make is slow and sluggish, like I’m wading through jelly. For the first time he smiles genuinely.
The protestors, who have regrouped outside, let out a raucous cheer when Foxworthy leads me out. One lets fly hawks a ball of phlegm that lands in a glistening green mass on my shoulder.
‘Aren’t you going to do anything about that?’ I say to the inspector, as he puts me into a waiting car.
‘We live in a free country, Ms Blackman. People are allowed to protest.’
‘Doesn’t spitting count as assault?’
His eyes drift down to the phlegm dripping down my front then up to my face. ‘I didn’t see anything,’ he says, slamming the car door shut behind me.
Chapter Six: Flash of Gold
Foxworthy drags me through a series of labyrinthine, antiseptic-smelling corridors. He seems irritated that I’m struggling to keep up but, when I tell him that he’ll have to remove the vampire inhibitor handcuffs if he wants us to move faster, he merely grunts. Everyone gives us a wide berth, even when there’s little room for them to do so. One nurse lets out a small shriek and darts away as fast as her comfortable shoes can carry her. This fear of bloodguzzlers may be a recent development and a result of over-hyped media spin and one solitary psychopath, but every reaction serves to remind me that I really hate being a vampire.
Eventually we arrive at a small, private room. A uniformed copper stands outside. His gaze is friendly and I flash him a big smile, relieved that not everyone thinks I’m a monster. Then Foxworthy nudges me inside.
I’d been prepared to see someone battered and bruised but the state of Corinne Matheson takes my breath away. Her head has been shaved and there’s a line of stitches across her skull that are reminiscent of those on Frankenstein’s monster. Her right eye is massively swollen and her skin is mottled with angry-looking bruises. I glance down at her hands, which are wrapped in huge swathes of white bandages. Her one good eye blinks at me and a single bloodstained tear falls from it. I swallow hard.
‘Pretty, ain’t I?’ she croaks.
‘I need to know whether the blood is a problem for you,’ Foxworthy says to me.
I don’t answer immediately; I’m still too horrified by
‘Story’ is an interesting choice of words. ‘You think she’s lying,’ I say softly.
‘Oh, she was definitely attacked. And with a viciousness I’ve not seen in years.’
‘Except you don’t think it was a vampire who did it.’ He doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. ‘It’s nice that you’re coming to me for help,’ I comment. ‘Last night, your buddy Nicholls was not exactly forthcoming.’
He stands up and steps towards me. Kimchi starts to growl from behind my legs, and Foxworthy hastily sits back down again. ‘Yeah, except it didn’t stop you from interfering. You really screwed us over with that. Your antics compromised every piece of evidence we collected from the scene. It’s going to cause us problems if we ever nail the prick that did this and drag him to court.’ He smirks at me. ‘We’ve impounded your bike, by the way.’
I curse inwardly. ‘Do I get it back?’
‘I’ll consider releasing it if you cooperate.’ He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a set of handcuffs. I don’t need to see the Magix logo to know that they’ve been bespelled to be particularly effective against vampires. He dangles them at me. ‘For our own protection.’
‘I’m not putting those on.’
He lifts an eyebrow. I sense he’s pleased. ‘Then I will waste no more of your precious time.’
Shit. He called my bluff and won. ‘Fine,’ I snap. ‘Give them to me.’
Foxworthy doesn’t speak as I hold out my bare wrists. Avoiding touching my skin, he puts them on me. The effect is instantaneous; they sap all my energy so any movement I make is slow and sluggish, like I’m wading through jelly. For the first time he smiles genuinely.
The protestors, who have regrouped outside, let out a raucous cheer when Foxworthy leads me out. One lets fly hawks a ball of phlegm that lands in a glistening green mass on my shoulder.
‘Aren’t you going to do anything about that?’ I say to the inspector, as he puts me into a waiting car.
‘We live in a free country, Ms Blackman. People are allowed to protest.’
‘Doesn’t spitting count as assault?’
His eyes drift down to the phlegm dripping down my front then up to my face. ‘I didn’t see anything,’ he says, slamming the car door shut behind me.
Chapter Six: Flash of Gold
Foxworthy drags me through a series of labyrinthine, antiseptic-smelling corridors. He seems irritated that I’m struggling to keep up but, when I tell him that he’ll have to remove the vampire inhibitor handcuffs if he wants us to move faster, he merely grunts. Everyone gives us a wide berth, even when there’s little room for them to do so. One nurse lets out a small shriek and darts away as fast as her comfortable shoes can carry her. This fear of bloodguzzlers may be a recent development and a result of over-hyped media spin and one solitary psychopath, but every reaction serves to remind me that I really hate being a vampire.
Eventually we arrive at a small, private room. A uniformed copper stands outside. His gaze is friendly and I flash him a big smile, relieved that not everyone thinks I’m a monster. Then Foxworthy nudges me inside.
I’d been prepared to see someone battered and bruised but the state of Corinne Matheson takes my breath away. Her head has been shaved and there’s a line of stitches across her skull that are reminiscent of those on Frankenstein’s monster. Her right eye is massively swollen and her skin is mottled with angry-looking bruises. I glance down at her hands, which are wrapped in huge swathes of white bandages. Her one good eye blinks at me and a single bloodstained tear falls from it. I swallow hard.
‘Pretty, ain’t I?’ she croaks.
‘I need to know whether the blood is a problem for you,’ Foxworthy says to me.
I don’t answer immediately; I’m still too horrified by
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