Malik produced a fifty, handed it to the driver. ‘Please. Wait here for us.’

The locks clicked open. ‘Cheers, mate. No worries.’

‘No way,’ I said, ‘you’re not coming with me.’

‘Genevieve, we agreed—’

‘Go home, Malik.’ I repeated his own words to me, and jumped out of the cab.

Istormed off along the pavement and tried to roll the tension from my shoulders. Damn. Now what? A hot breeze rushed over the River Thames and threw my hair in my face and I shoved it back. I took a deep breath, then wished I hadn’t as all I got was a lungful of the ever-present traffic fumes mixed with the fainter scent of water.

Sighing, I rotated one ankle then the next. My feet weren’t impressed at having to walk in my high-heels again. I looked around, hoping for some inspiration to help me get rid of the pretty vampire. Along the well-lit Victoria Embankment I could see the RAF monument, its golden eagle perched on top. On the other side of the river the bright pods of the London Eye hung suspended. It might be midnight, but this was London and there were still plenty of people around: walking across the Hungerford Bridge, partygoers out for a smoke on the deck of the Hispaniola boat, a couple smooching under the railway bridge, a man in shorts walking a yappy Pekinese.

Only inspiration and ideas seemed to be in short supply. I sighed and turned around. Malik was standing, feet apart, thumbs hooked into his belt, arrogance surrounding him like a shadowed aura. Even if he wasn’t recognised for what he was, he looked dangerous enough that most people would give him a wide berth—like the dog walker who’d obviously turned back to avoid him.

Malik wasn’t going to go away as easily as that—but what if I tried the direct approach?

‘Look,’ I said, walking over to him, ‘I don’t want you to tag along, okay? Alan Hinkley is my client and it doesn’t look very professional if I bring you with me.’

He lifted his chin and scented the air. ‘Why are we not at the police station?’

‘Old Scotland Yard is just round the corner. Alan Hinkley wanted to meet here first, in private.’ I checked my watch. ‘If he’s not already waiting he’ll be here any moment.’

‘A street corner is not a suitable place for a private talk.’

‘We’re meeting in the garden.’ I indicated the gate. Through it I could see the gravel path stretching maybe eighty feet to the exit at the other end. Ringed by black iron railings, the garden was mostly grass, with a few large trees, and three statues that faced out towards the river. The buildings behind overlooked it and only a few of the windows were dark, with just the bushes near the railings giving the semblance of privacy. The place was well lit and it was easy to see it was empty.

A line creased between Malik’s eyes. ‘Why would he choose to meet you here?’ he asked, then looked over towards the underground. ‘Why not at the station or the café?’

‘Okay, enough with the twenty questions.’ I let out a frustrated sigh. ‘I don’t think that Alan Hinkley’s too taken with vamps just now, and neither am I. And I don’t want you frightening him—so what’s it going to take to get you to leave?’

He stood looking at me, expression enigmatic. ‘It is not the best place for an ambush, but it could still work. This time of night, not many humans enter the park, and should anyone see or hear something untoward from a window above, they might conclude it to be a lover’s assignation and not interfere.’

Apprehension tensed my shoulders. ‘You’re a scary bastard, aren’t you?’

‘You should learn to think like your enemy, Genevieve.’

‘But to think like my enemy, I’d have to know who he is, wouldn’t I?’ I jumped, startled, as a jogger ran past, feet slapping hard against the pavement. He veered away from the entrance to the gardens and pounded across the road to sprint along next to the river.

‘Why are you nervous?’ Malik asked.

‘Why the hell do you think?’ I snapped. ‘Too many vampires taking an interest in me makes me feel like a mouse surround by hungry cats.’

‘I shall wait here with the taxi while you have your assignation. ’ He bowed. ‘Rest assured I will not be seen, and therefore I will not “scare off” your client, or anyone else he brings with him.’ He smiled, and my stomach flip-flopped again. Damn.I was going to have to stop it doing that. And he disappeared.

Mice taste sweet to cats.

I snorted and strode through the gate into the gardens. A cobweb drifted across my face and I swiped it away. ‘I hate vampires,’ I muttered. The gravel path crunched under my shoes, but otherwise the place was quiet. Not even a leaf rustled. I checked my watch again and gave an irritated thought for my lost phone. Alan should’ve been here by now. Maybe he’d called it off?

Malik’s words sat uneasily in my gut, and I was almost glad he was watching. Slowly I headed for the tree in the centre, the one with its limbs propped up on tall wooden crutches, where I was supposed to meet Alan. Why couldn’t I hear the music from the party boats any more? Or the traffic? I shivered. Maybe the sensible thing would be to go back outside. Wait until Alan did finally arrive. I turned—

Wood cracked, the sound loud behind me.

Heart jumping in my throat, I spun around.

A tall, scrawny figure stood under the tree wearing a dirty red T-shirt over stained jeans. He was holding a Beater goblin’s baseball bat on his shoulder. ‘Say, these things work a treat.’ He swung the bat round like he was hitting a home run and demolished another of the wooden crutches propping up the tree.

Fuck: Malik had been right. Tensing, I half-crouched, adrenalin whizzing round my body on overdrive.

Human male, late teens, bad case of acne and no muscle tone: I could take him—except for the bat. The bat sort of knocked my confidence. Only a dead goblin gives up his weapon.

‘Yep, a treat. No wonder the little creeps use ’em.’ He nodded his shaved head. ‘I’m gonna try it on you next, faerie freak. Have us a bit of fun.’ Large black letters across his T-shirt advised me to Remember his name, because I’d be screaming it later.

I screamed Malik’s instead, as loud as I could.

The pizza-faced figure patted the logo. ‘That’s it, freakoid, get some practise in.’

Why wasn’t there a dangerous vampire rushing to my rescue?

I had a nasty thought, so I looked.The railings shimmered with green-tinged spells, as equally nasty as my thought—and green meant stun. Crap, no way could I get out, or Malik get in. Even if he’d heard my shout, which was doubtful, he was more than likely lying unconscious outside the gardens anyway. I could try crackingthe spells, but that would turn the railings into so much shrapnel, so it wasn’t worth the risk, not for one scrawny human.

‘Freakoid, faerie freak,’ Pizza Face sang, swinging the foil-wrapped bat around his head.

And then the night got so much better— not!—as another, fatter figure lumbered from the shadows under the tree. His baggy jeans hung from his hips and I could see the flab wobbling under his T-shirt. Small round glasses were stuck like magnifying lenses on his podgy face. ‘Ye’th,’ he lisped, ‘we’re gonna show you, faiwy fweak.’ A picture of a distorted Dalek blowing a speech-bubble shouting Exterminate, exterminate, stretched over his chest and he brandished an arrow-headed pole.

I bit my lip and swallowed a hysterical snort. Exterminating these two felt like a great idea.

Pizza Face moved to the left, putting me between him and Fatboy.

Pulse racing, I back-tracked until I was off the gravel path and on the grass. My gaze flicked from one to the other and back again: who would attack first, Lanky or Lardy?

‘C’mon, freakoid, come to me,’ Pizza Face called.