Free Dire Straits by Helen Harper

doesn’t. This is one of the reasons why my grandfather hates magic makers. Then again, my grandfather hates everyone.
    ‘I still don’t see why male passivity is a problem,’ I say. ‘In fact, I think it sounds like a damn good idea.’
    ‘You’re not the only woman to think that. The client I was meant to be meeting is female.’
    I can see a certain twisted logic there. I think of the odd scent of rosewater when I opened the door on his tortured body. But even though I didn’t see his face, I’m pretty certain that the vampire who attacked Tam and the others was male.
    ‘Did your client show up?’
    He shakes his head. ‘Just that fucking bloodguzzler. He leached the spell, cuffed me to the chair and then tried to kill me.’
    ‘Do you know who he was?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Was the female client a vampire?’
    ‘I never met her. But no, I don’t think so.’
    ‘If you’ve never met her, how did you set up the drop?’
    ‘A private chatroom. People contact me directly through that.’ He shrugs. ‘I used to contact them the old-fashioned way and write codes in birthday cards, that kind of thing, but it became too much hassle. Everyone prefers the internet these days.’ He sounds miffed, as if it’s a personal affront.
    I gently manoeuvre him back to the real topic of the conversation. ‘What’s her name? The client’s?’
    ‘I only ever knew her via her avatar, Lucy.’
    Just like Mina’s friend in the book Dracula , I realise. The one who enjoyed ensnaring men while human but who then turned vampire. Appropriate. ‘Lucy could still be a man,’ I point out.
    ‘Nah. I know how women write. This was definitely a woman.’
    I’m not sure I can trust him on this but I’m prepared to let it go for now. ‘Why would anyone want you dead?’
    ‘I don’t know. I’m a good boy.’ He blinks at me innocently.
    ‘A good boy who deals in dodgy under-the-counter magic and who was almost drained of all his blood.’
    He juts out his bottom lip. ‘It must be the spell.’
    ‘How long do the effects last?’
    ‘Please. I’m a professional. They’re permanent. Cast this baby and, believe me, you ain’t having any more babies.’
    I’m startled. ‘You mean you don’t just deal? You created the spell?’
    ‘Of course. There’s no other spell like it,’ he says, but then his face falls. ‘Yeah, they tried to kill me for the spell.’
    Perhaps. But that doesn’t explain why they – whoever ‘they’ are – also tried to set me up for his murder. Or why they succeeded in murdering pretty much everyone in my company. Or what would make Tam involved. It all seems so sordid and very, very petty.
    I remember something Tam once said to me about sex and money. I’d only just joined Dire Straits and I’d expressed my frustration about the lack of variety in the assignments I was given. He laughed and said that in the end there was never any variation, that cases always boiled to either one or both of two things: sex and money. I certainly have the sex element here but that seems unimportant. From what O’Shea has told me, it seems as if this has more to do with power. And power equals money. I need to start with that and track down his original client.
    ‘How much were you being paid?’ I ask.
    Before O’Shea can answer, a phone starts to ring. The pair of us jump. I get to my feet and look for the source of the sound, eventually discovering an old-fashioned Mickey Mouse phone to the side of the sofa.
    ‘You don’t know where your own phone is in your own flat?’
    ‘It’s not my damn flat,’ I snap and lift the receiver.
    ‘It’s me.’
    I’m relieved. ‘Excellent timing.’
    ‘Your flat’s fine. It’s being watched but it’s not been obviously turned over.’
    I nod. That makes sense. It would be far too suspicious if the prime suspect in a murder had her flat robbed on the same day. The theft of my handcuffs was clearly done surreptitiously. I really hate the idea of someone rooting