Rules? I raised my eyebrows. The place was more civilised than I’d thought. A coaster materialised on the counter between us. It looked like a playing card, the King of Hearts, except the hearts were blue.

She tapped it with her yellow-varnished claw. ‘Most of my vampire clientele belong to the Heart bloodline, but I don’t discriminate.’ Her chin wrinkled, the long thin cats’ whiskers curling and uncurling. ‘So long as there’s no trouble.’

‘Not what I’m looking for.’

‘Good to hear it, luv.’ An empty shot glass, frosted with condensation, appeared on the coaster. ‘Now, if you find yourself a compatible guest, alcoves are for wrists or necks only. We’ve a nice selection of private rooms underground if your taste runs elsewhere, rates are very reasonable. There’s a credit card deposit against any medical expenses and check-out time is one hour before dawn, otherwise we charge for a second night.’

‘I’ll remember.’

The glass filled with clear liquid, then slid towards me. It was standard brownie magic, except that part of the whole ‘not being affected by magic but able to sense it’ usually meant that goblins couldn’t use magic themselves. I was curious enough to want to check it out, especially after my own brownie-magic problems. Maybe brownies sold their magic like the witches? Not that I’d heard anything like that. Only I couldn’t, not in this guise—the sidhe magic part of me shuts down. That’s probably why goblins never recognise me like this, or grant me the usual greeting.

‘First drink’s on the house, luv.’ Her lips parted in warning, letting me glimpse sharp silver-plated teeth studded with citrines. ‘Enjoy.’

‘Cheers.’ I touched my fingers to the chilled glass and nodded, but didn’t drink.

An age-spotted mirror behind the bar offered a panoramic reflection that included the three vampires, as well as me. That old myth about vampires not reflecting in mirrors is just that: a myth. I didn’t even have to turn my head to watch them, or the rest of pub. Mr June looked like that fifties movie star, the Grant guy. His shorter pal had the round cheeks of a cherub. The last of the trio had zigzags shaved into his close-cropped hair and a gold dumbbell through one eyebrow. Something silver-coloured would’ve looked better against his black skin, but hey, maybe he couldn’t afford the platinum-plated stuff.

Concentrating on listening, one of the vamp tricks I hadmanaged to master, I cut through the noise in the pub and tuned into their conversation

‘Me, I like a young, tasty bit of totty,’ Zigzag said. ‘I mean, look at the knockers on that one, man: big enough to suffocate in if I still needed the air.’

I checked out the object of his affections. Her black leather corset offered her full venom-flushed breasts on a plate. I could see why the vamp was impressed. Perched on the edge of her seat, hand grasped round an Alcopop bottle, her examination of the room would have put searchlights to shame. It wasn’t just the vamps that hunted in Sucker Town.

Cherub Cheeks shook his head. ‘Know wot really gets on my wick nowadays? Science, innit. Sumfings jus’ ain’t right. Ended up back at this bird’s place las’ night, I tell you, mates, she was sumfing else, tits big as bleedin’ melons they was.’ He grinned, jiggling his hands in front of his chest. ‘You’d ’ave luvved ’em, mate.’

Zigzag leaned in, fangs making small indents in his bottom lip.

‘So I tell you, I sunk me points right in one of them juicy tits.’ Cherub Cheeks paused for effect. ‘Sunk ’em right in, I did, ’spectin; a nice bit of the hot stuff.’ He clapped Zigzag on the shoulder. ‘And know wot I got? Bleedin’ silicone, that’s wot.’ His face screwed up in disgust. ‘Bleedin’ melons was nuffin’ but pumped-up bleedin’ boob balloons.’

‘Shit, man.’ Zigzag almost pierced his lips in shock.

‘I tell you,’ Cherub Cheeks patted his own flat chest, ‘I’m stickin’ to fried eggs from now on, ’cos that stuff tastes like a bleedin’ troll.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Bleedin’ science.’

A tingle of awareness slid across my back. It reminded me of Gazza watching me earlier in the Rosy Lee. I glanced behind me, almost expecting to see his Cheap Goth persona, but it was Darius, leaning against the jukebox, leather coat slung over one shoulder. He pressed a button and ‘I Want You Now’—Depeche Mode—blasted out. I ignored him. At least in the Rosy Lee my meals didn’t try to proposition me.

‘Do you know what I hate?’ Mr June combed his hand through his thick dark hair. ‘Those awful Blue Heart cocktails! I mean, fruit juice and no alcohol? Give me a gin drinker any day.’ He let out a soulful sigh. ‘I used to hunt this district back in the eighteen eighties. It was full of dockworkers in those days. You could stroll down any street after sunset and pretty much take your pick, no need to even mind-lock them to forget. They were all pickled by the gin.’

‘And what’s with all that fizzy pop they drink now?’ Zigzag joined in. ‘Shit, man, it gives me the hiccoughs.’

‘You know another aspect of the Blue Heart that I hate?’ Mr June brushed a hand down his black silk shirt. ‘That bloody awful uniform they make me wear. Authentic Second World War it might be, but the material scratches like the devil. You’d think Rio would let me have it lined in silk, but “Oh no,” the bitch says, “The customers would take exception.” As if they would know?’

‘Man, stop grumbling.’ Zigzag sniffed his brandy glass. ‘You’re one of the star attractions, you get well-paid for wearing itchy finery and you get your ugly mug stuck up all over the shop.’

I took a sip of Stoli, then caught movement in the mirror as the girl in the corset stood up, revealing a satin and net skirt. She fluffed it up, then, extending one slender leg, she smoothed her hands from her ankle to her thigh, adjusting her fishnet stockings. Looking up under her lashes, her eyes met mine and a slow smile spread across her face.

‘I suppose it has its compensations.’ Mr June’s words were faint in my ear. ‘I just wish Rio would serve alcohol. At least that would improve the blood on offer.’

Corset Girl straightened, gathered her long dark hair in her hands and clipped it in a loose bundle on top of her head.

‘Wot abaht that bleedin’ Mr October then, mate?’ Cherub Cheeks said. ‘Fink ’e did it?’

My ears pricked up and I dragged my attention away from the girl.

‘Bit of a rum do, I must say.’ Mr June lowered his voice. ‘I heard he had a bit of trouble with the girlfriend. She took a fancy to the Frenchie, and he to her. Ah, the Eternal Triangle causes yet another crime of passion.’ He chucked Zigzag under the chin. ‘You would have liked her: she was a real looker, and generous with it.’

‘I saw her.’ Zigzag grinned, fangs white against his skin. ‘She worked in the private bar, one of Rio’s specials. Very sweet, mate, verrry sweet indeed.’

The pub door opened and the mirror reflected another familiar face: Gazza, the Cheap Goth, only he wasn’t alone. As he headed straight for the alcoves I glanced at the vampire with him, but something made my eyes slide away. I frowned, tried to look again, and the same thing happened. Then I was staring at Corset Girl and Gazza slipped from my mind.

She smiled, fingers tracing the blue ribbon lacing her leather corset, then she tossed her head and started walking towards me.

‘Didn’t the girlfriend work at the Bloody Shamrock? Declan’s always got an eye fer the good stuff. That weird bird, ’er as belongs to Declan, weren’t there sum sorta scrap between ’em? Maybe she got jealous an’ she bleedin’ done ’er in.’

The voice grew fainter as the girl distracted me. She sidled in next to me. ‘I saw you looking,’ she murmured. Blue streaks layered the brown of her hair. ‘Thought I’d come over.’

‘Shit, that’s all old news, man,’ Zigzag said scornfully. ‘You know who else was sniffing round the girlfriend? Old Red Eyes himself, Malik al-Khan. Maybe he killed her.’