Taking a calming breath, and thankful that Grace had got caught up in an emergency at HOPE and wasn’t here yet, I raised my key—

The door swung open, making me start. A girl—rather, a woman—stood there. Thick black eyeliner shaped her amused brown eyes, her dark hair was pushed into an artfully messy topknot, tiny ruby-eyed silver skulls hung from her ears and her full breasts were almost bursting out of the deep pumpkin-coloured bustier she wore over a black net skirt. Ignoring her, I looked over her shoulder at the vampire standing a few feet behind her.

He wasn’t Malik.

My pulse leapt in my throat as fear slammed into me. How the hell had the vamp got in?

‘Genevieve,’ the woman said, standing back to usher me in.

To my own flat!

What the fuck were the pair of them doing here? Anger rolled over my fear, but anger wasn’t going to help, or get my questions answered. I shoved it and the remnants of my fear far enough away that I hoped the vampire couldn’t taste them—didn’t want to get him excited—then eyed the woman with wary suspicion.

She arched one perfectly drawn-in black brow. ‘Don’t you think it might be better to come in instead of loitering out on the landing?’

I frowned again at her breasts and realised I recognised her: Hannah Ashby, human, top City accountant and self-certified vamp-flunky, a.k.a. business manager.

Except the master vamp she flunkied for was dead.

And I had no idea who she was working for now, but I did know it wasn’t the vamp behind her. He was too young to be anything more than sharp-fanged muscle.

I walked past her and stopped just inside the door, quickly scanning the large room that doubled as my lounge and kitchen.

My computer was on the floor in the corner—its usual place—but its standby light glowed red. I always left it switched off. The huge amber and gold rug that covered most of the wooden floor hadn’t been moved, but the pile of floor cushions and throws in the same bronzy colours were closer to the wall. The stack of glossies and newspapers on the low, wide windowsill had been tidied, and on the kitchen counter, the goldfish bowl—home to my new pets—was next to the sweet shop-sized jar of liquorice torpedoes as I’d left them—except both were on the wrong side of the sink. Whatever the pair had been looking for, they hadn’t found it, otherwise they wouldn’t still be here. And unless conducting an unobtrusive search wasn’t one of Hannah’s strengths—something I doubted—she wanted me to know she’d clawed her sharp, orange-painted fingernails through my belongings.

But why? It only served to make me angrier, as if invading my flat with a muscle-vamp wasn’t enough ... an answer came in a memory, my father’s calm, precise voice cautioning me: those that cannot control their anger are subject to mistakes.But controlling my anger didn’t mean I had to be polite, not when being rude might gain me the upper hand.

‘Trick or treat’s not until the end of the week, Ms Ashby,’ I said, eyeing her outfit with disdain. ‘And aren’t you supposed to be the one knocking on the door, instead of entering uninvited? ’

‘Please, call me Hannah.’ Her black-lipsticked lips lifted in a gracious smile. ‘As for uninvited—well, we have broken blood together, you and I, after all. Not wanting to embarrass you with your neighbours, we used the back way.’ She gestured at the open bedroom door—I’d left it closed. The window in the bedroom led out onto a small, flat, gravelled roof I used as a mini-garden in summer ... and to an old fire-escape ladder to the church’s grounds below—the ladder I used as an alternative exit route all year round.

‘How considerate of you,’ I said sarcastically.

A chill draught barrelled through the open door and rattled the gold, copper and amber glass beads of my chandelier—my one extravagance when I’d moved in a year ago—and I looked at the vamp standing beneath them. Of course, Hannah, being human, would’ve had no problem using the window as an entry point; it’s the only part of the building not protected by wards, something I was going to have to rectify. But the six-foot-plus vamp posing in the middle of my living room like he was expecting someone to take his picture wouldhave needed an invitation—from someone whom the threshold recognised.

‘I’m curious.’ I flicked a hand in the vamp’s direction, wishing the gesture would just make him disappear. ‘How exactly did heget in uninvited?’

‘Blood, of course. I offered you mine without constraint, and you accepted it in the same vein.’ Her amused smile widened. ‘It gives us a connection, and allows for some leeway in the usual proscriptions. So I invited him in on your behalf.’

Momentary panic flashed through the banked anger inside me. Crap! Did the fact I’d drunk her blood (in a desperate, weird moment of need I wasn’t too keen on remembering) mean that she could invite any of her fang-pals into my home? But then, she wasn’t the type to worry about technicalities; if she thought she’d found a magical loophole, she’d use it. I looked, and only just managed to stop from gasping in surprise. Air was moving in a constant stream around her—where I imagined her aura would be if I could actually seepeoples’ auras—and it flowed out from her to the vamp and then back again in a swirling figure-of-eight. Then I realised it wasn’t air. It was power; turbo-charged power that almost obliterated the small spells stored in the ruby eyes of the earrings she wore. Somehow she was using it to blank the vamp’s presence in my flat, despite the fact she hit my radar as just plain human with no magical abilities. But then I’d always suspected she had a source of power from somewhere ... and power this strong meant Hannah was a sorcerer.

She’d done a deal with a demon.

Demons outrank vamps in the bad news stakes. Although one good thing about demons, they only ever turn up this side of hell when invited, and not even the stupidest sorcerer would issue an invitation without taking the necessary precautions. Hannah Ashby didn’t strike me as stupid, and a Consecrated Circle is kind of hard to miss.

Of course, some people’s demons are other people’s gods; it just depends on the religion, so that didn’t necessarily make her bad. But a demon’s power is like any tool, it’s what you do with it—and how you pay for it—that matters. Demons, like necromancers, don’t come cheap. And it’s the currency a sorcerer chooses that makes them either grey, black, or just plain old evil.

And since my good luck was in short supply lately, I was betting Hannah was the evil type.

Suppressing another spike of fear, I walked over to the kitchen, pulled out the vodka from the fridge’s icebox and a glass from the cupboard, placed them on the counter, and faced my unwanted visitors.

‘If we were all friends’—I unscrewed the bottle—‘I’d offer you a drink. But we’re not friends, so please, tell me whatever it is you’ve come to tell me, then take a not-so-subtle hint and vacate the premises. I’d appreciate it.’

‘I’m sure we can offer you something you’d appreciate more, Genevieve.’ Hannah executed an MC’s flourish towards the vampire, the light catching the silver death’s head ring with its emerald eyes on her ring finger. ‘Can’t we, Darius?’

Darius the vampire grinned at me, flashing all four of his fangs, and leisurely stripped out of the ankle-length black leather coat he wore. He swung it over his broad shoulder, leaving him standing there in nothing but his black calf-high boots and snug black Calvin Kleins. His grin widening, he rubbed his hand over his smooth-muscled pecs like he was adding more oil to his already glistening skin and then slowly walked his fingers down his six-pack, finally hitching his thumb into the low-slung waistband of his shorts. Decorating them was a wide-open diamanté mouth complete with red-beaded fangs that showcased his bulging package as it glittered provocatively in the overhead light. He tossed back his highlighted tawny-coloured hair as if to an unheard drum roll, then did a slow thrust and grind with his hips, finishing off by blowing me a kiss.