Free High Stakes by Helen Harper Page B

by a bank of clouds, appears momentarily, although it seems dim against the twinkling lights of the city. I remind myself to breathe then sprint forward, trying out some new moves to avoid any more mossy obstacles. I use an old chimney top from which to perform a handstand flip, and the vertical wall of a rooftop emergency exit to run along and push myself even faster. I even execute a perfect somersault landing. Better late than never.
    When I finally reach my self-imposed destination, I stop and check my time. I raise my eyebrows and give myself a mental pat on the back. Just over five minutes; I’m improving. Much as I loathe being a vampire, the exhilaration provided by the changes to my strength and speed delight me.
    As I force my heart rate to slow, I spot a shadow of movement far below. I tiptoe to the building’s edge and peer down. It’s a fox. It pauses for a moment, nose quivering as it catches my scent. Then the wind changes and it relaxes, nosing towards a collection of rubbish bins. Unfortunately, a group of late-night partygoers lurch past, causing the animal to run for cover. It’s quickly swallowed up by the darkness. I feel an odd, painful kinship with the fox; we’re both scavengers – though it is seeking food and I’m looking for information.
    I jar my knees slightly as I drop back down to street level. I pad over to a parked car and use its wing mirror to check my appearance. I do my best to smooth down my unruly curls and wipe away a smudge of dirt from my cheek before straightening up and heading to a door nearby that is marked in the corner with a red design. I’m taking a risk coming here but this will be my fourth visit and, so far, nothing untoward – or even remotely exciting – has happened. After the trouble it took me to find this place, I’m not about to act like a frightened rabbit and simply hang back to observe.
    I make a series of elaborate knocks and wait patiently until the small shutter set in the centre slides back and a fanged face appears. There’s a smear of blood at the corner of his lips which is frankly repellent, but I keep my expression blank.
    ‘Let me in.’
    The vampire blinks at me. ‘We told Lord Medici you’d been hanging around here.’
    I shrug. I’d expected as much. ‘So?’
    He doesn’t respond, merely moves back and opens the door. I duck inside, allowing my fangs to grow as I pass the bouncer. It might be a dick move to make but I want him to know that I’m not intimidated by him or his boss. For his part, he’s totally disinterested.
    I walk into the darkened, smoky room. There aren’t many places in London now where you can have a cigarette. Getting cancer is not a problem for vampires and after the smoking ban some of them flaunted that fact across the city. I think the smokers finally realised that such actions were petty and pointless, so now any bloodguzzlers who do suck on nicotine tend to stick to the human laws and avoid public places. This joint, however, doesn’t count. I had heard a rumour that applications to join the Families and turn vampire increased considerably in recent years as there were a lot of smokers unwilling to give up the habit. It strikes me as one of the more stupid reasons to want to be a bloodguzzler; however, I realised on my last visit here that I could use the smokers’ addiction to my advantage. It worked when I was human, anyway. So far, I’ve avoided approaching any of the patrons here as the only way this will work is if they come to me first.
    I walk up to the bar and perch on a stool. As unpleasant as this place is, at least it’s not providing television aerobics as entertainment. The bartender, with a flicker of recognition in her eyes, wanders over.
    ‘Bloody Mary?’ she asks.
    I nod my head.
    ‘Sure I can’t tempt you with the real thing?’ She points to a comfortable looking cubicle that houses several bored looking humans. I wonder which one is Mary.
    ‘No, thanks.’
    She shrugs, busying