Laughing, I twisted my hand free, stuck two fingers in my mouth and accked. ‘Pleeeease! Don’t tell me that works? That is soooo bad!’

He grinned, teeth white and even against his tan. ‘What do you think?’

‘No, that’s just too awful to contemplate.’ I shook my head. ‘All those witch groupies you’ve got hanging around, they actually fell for that?’

He spread his arms wide. ‘What can I say, I’m a sex god.’

‘Ha!’ I poked him in the chest. ‘In your dreams.’

His face turned serious. ‘Just one question, though?’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘What?’

He leaned in close and murmured against my cheek, ‘You ever seized the magic at midnight and danced across the stars?’

My breath caught. Shit. He was too close. Anticipation spiralled deep inside me. I could almost taste the ripe blackberry juice bursting on my tongue.

Finn moved back, far enough to study my face. His moss-green eyes filled with male satisfaction. ‘One night, Gen.’

I bit down hard until the copper tang of blood filled my mouth and I swallowed. ‘Don’t tempt me, Finn.’

‘Always.’ He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

I forced myself to move away and laughed, needing to end the serious mood. ‘You know what they say about wishes?’

‘Wait.’ He held up a hand, then gave me a wicked grin. ‘Oh yeah, it’s too late once the wish comes true.’

I nodded. ‘Remember that.’

‘I wasn’t making a wish, Gen.’ He crooked a finger at me. ‘That was a promise.’ He twirled the finger like he was reeling me in. ‘Wishes have to be granted.’ I felt a sharp pull deep in my centre as though hooked on the thorny stems of bramble. ‘Promises on the other hand’—he touched his lips to his palm, eyes never leaving mine—‘when given’—he blew me the kiss—‘are a sure thing.’

Fuck.‘Don’t bet on it.’

Finn smiled but his eyes were sombre. ‘Too late.’

A popping noise followed by an irritated cough sounded from behind my head.

‘Mebbe when thee and himself have finished blathering, an ole biddy could get a wee word in?’

The brownie sat like a well-dressed doll on top of the coffee machine, her leather ankle boots stuck straight out at right angles from beneath the floral smock she wore. Huge brown eyes glared down at us out of a sandstone-coloured face and little tufts of brown hair sprouted angrily over her scalp.

The sensible part of me was glad of the interruption.

‘I think she wants to talk to you,’ Finn muttered. ‘I’ll be in the kitchen.’ Tipping his head at the brownie he retreated faster than a troll who’s cornered a cat.

The brownie’s round face screwed up into a disapproving scowl, her button nose almost disappearing into dried-peach-like wrinkles. ‘Himself had better keep his hands offa mawean, else he’ll lose more than the odd sock.’ She jumped down to stand on the counter: a bristling two-foot-high guard-nanny. ‘And thee better take care yerself, thee’s supposed to do the courting, not him.’

I got what she was saying, my mind automatically translating ‘wean’ into ‘child’ thanks to a year living in Scotland when I was nine. If her wean was pretty and female and no longer childlike, then Finn had already found her. And as for courting—dating—Finn really didn’t need any encouragement from me in that department.

My earlier suspicions clicked. I gave her an enquiring look. ‘This is all for my benefit, is it? You could have phoned, you know.’

She fisted her hands on her hips. ‘Don’t hold with those new-fangled mechanicals. Anyhows’—she smiled smugly—‘you’re here now.’

No arguing with that. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

Her smock billowed as she leapt to the floor and held out her hand. ‘Agatha Brown, Lady.’

I placed my palm in hers and an old familiar comfort swept over me, like snuggling under cosy covers on a cold winter’s night. I crouched next to her. ‘Do I know you?’

Her small rosebud mouth parted in a sigh. ‘A brownie’s touch goes to them that needs it and is ne’r forgotten.’ She shook her head. ‘Weren’t maself, though, would have bin one of ma sisters.’

She cupped my cheek in her small hand and as she did so, the memory returned. I was six. The latest nanny stood over me, her face flushed red, anger spewing from her like vomit.

We’d moved to an old country mansion and it had one of those stone food safes in the kitchen, a heavy wooden lid covering an ancient hole in the floor. Inside was cold and black. And when I stopped screaming, and started listening, it was full of odd scratching noises. I wanted someone to come for me, my father, or any of them, but it was daylight and they were all sleeping like the dead. Then a small hand crept into mine, offering comfort. I’ve never been afraid of the dark since.

Agatha’s large brown eyes were full of anger and compassion as she shook her head. She’d shared something of my memory. I stood quickly, breaking the connection.

The nanny had taken to leaving me in the hole nearly every day, but that small warm hand was always there. Of course, one day the nanny left me there past sunset and my father found me. We moved again that night. We were always leaving somewhere.

Later, I realised he must have killed the woman.

But then he always was a practical bastard when it came to keeping his secrets safe.

I smiled at Agatha, accepting the obligation along with the manipulation. ‘Want to tell me why I’m here?’

Her forehead creased into a worried frown. ‘It’s ma wean, she’s awfy poorly—’

The sound of breaking crockery interrupted her and she rushed away through the service doors into the kitchen. I followed her, and we found Finn and the manager staring down at a pile of shattered china plates.

Damn. Looked like Finn had tried crackinga spell.

‘Mr Andros, this is not what I had in mind when I hired your company.’ The manager prodded the pile with the shiny toe of his shoe. ‘I expected a quick professional clear-up of the mess. That is what your company guarantees.’ He made a point of looking at his watch. ‘I have customers in less than an hour.’

Finn threw a malevolent glance towards Agatha, who sniffed and headed for a half-open doorway at the back of the kitchen.

I left Finn to handle the apologies. Whatever the problem was, it wasn’t going to go away until Agatha got what she wanted.

The door led to a small staff area furnished with a table, a couple of battered chairs and a row of lockers. Agatha stood, hands clasped, chewing her lip next to a young woman sprawled over the table. ‘Ma wean, Holly.’

Holly wore the standard waitress uniform, white blouse and black skirt. She’d abandoned her shoes on the floor and with her head buried in her arms, all I could see was a mass of dark curls that tumbled over the table like tangled vines.

‘Go away, Aggie.’ The words were muffled by their passage through all that hair. ‘Nothing’s wrong. Jus’ leave me alone.’

‘Herself’s here, ma bonny.’

‘I don’t want to see anyone,’ Holly wailed.

Aggie tentatively stroked the girl’s shoulder. ‘Please, Holly,’ she entreated.

Holly jerked upright, her face blotchy from crying. ‘Get out,’ she snarled at Agatha, baring small green triangular teeth. ‘You always ruin everything!’

Agatha’s expression turned determined and she grabbed Holly’s wrist, holding it out for me to see. ‘She would’nae go to the clinic. Tuesday night it happened, an’ I’ve bin worrid stoopid, what with the news an’ all.’

Holly snatched her hand back, though not before I spotted the half-healed vampire bite, and burst into fresh tears.

Now I knew why Agatha had booby-trapped the restaurant with spells: this wasn’t a magical problem, but one I dealt with every week at the HOPE clinic. Getting Fanged was the current hot fashion for that all important coming-of-age celebration and as a result, we had a constant parade of youngsters dragged in by worried parents once they realised where, and with whom, their offspring had been out partying the night away.