Midnight Smoke (The Firebrand Series Book 3) Read online

  MIDNIGHT SMOKE

  By Helen Harper

  BOOK THREE OF THE FIREBRAND SERIES

  Copyright © 2020 Helen Harper

  All rights reserved.

  BOOK COVER DESIGN BY YOCLA DESIGNS

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter One

  The door was exactly the same as I remembered it from my childhood. The varnish was a little more weather-worn, and there was more moss growing on the front steps than there used to be, but it was still the same familiar dark-blue colour with its old brass knocker and barely legible name plate.

  I drew in a breath and raised my hand to knock. I’d barely made contact when the door swung open and my uncle’s craggy face peered out. ‘Saw you coming from halfway down the street,’ he grunted. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’

  There was no warm hug, brief peck on the cheek or handshake. He simply turned and shuffled into the house, leaving me to follow. I shrugged and wandered in after him.

  He moved more slowly than he used to, and his shoulders were more stooped, but the glacial way he greeted me made me almost nostalgic. In a way it was comforting that some things never changed. I’d been meaning to make this trip for weeks but work had always forestalled my plans. When I’d finally found myself with a spare morning, the first thing I’d done was set off, leaving early to avoid the worst of the rush-hour traffic. I hadn’t called ahead. Perhaps that had been a mistake.

  My uncle settled into the same worn armchair that had always sat in the corner of the living room next to the overflowing bookshelves packed with biographies and treatises on global politics. Everything was the same, from the dusty rubber plant in the corner to the small flip calendar on the little table by the wall. I gazed at the date displayed on it in bold red letters: Tuesday 22nd June. It was hard to believe that it was summer already.

  My uncle sniffed loudly. He didn’t offer me a cup of tea or a glass of water, but I hadn’t expected him to. ‘Got your birthday card,’ he said.

  I nodded. ‘You’re welcome.’ His acknowledgment of the card was his way of saying thanks.

  He sniffed again and crossed his legs. ‘How’s life with the police?’ he enquired. ‘Bagged yourself any criminals lately?’

  ‘Several. And, to answer your first question, I’m enjoying the job.’

  His expression didn’t change. ‘Good.’ Then, ‘I suppose you’re here because you’re in some sort of trouble. Have you got yourself knocked up?’

  I was thirty years old, hardly a teenager. If I did fall pregnant unexpectedly, not only would I be more than capable of dealing with it myself but he would be the last person I’d turn to for support. My uncle wasn’t a bad man. He’d taken me in and ensured I was clothed and fed and had a safe roof over my head. The fact that he’d never shown up at school plays or read me bedtime stories wasn’t his fault. He’d never asked to be saddled with a child and I certainly didn’t hold any grudges towards him. I’d received plenty of warmth and attention from my schoolfriends’ parents and various neighbours.

  In his own way Wilfred Bellamy had done the very best that he could and then, when I was eighteen, he’d sent me off, satisfied that his duty had been done. I’d kept in touch with him but only with the odd postcard or Christmas greeting and very occasional visit. We weren’t close and never would be – but I’d come to terms with that long ago.

  I smiled faintly. ‘No,’ I said. ‘I’m not knocked up.’

  ‘Good,’ he said again. He fixed me with a beady stare. ‘Why are you here then?’

  We were two hours out of London in a small village on the outskirts of Brighton. There was no chance that I’d happened to be passing and decided to pop in on a whim to say hello. He knew it and I knew it. That was one of the things that I liked about the cantankerous old bastard – he didn’t waste time bothering to maintaining a facade. He liked it when people got straight to the point instead of faffing around with niceties and politeness. Unfortunately, in this particular case that was easier said than done. There were things about me that I was unwilling to say aloud, at least to my uncle, but I still had a lot of questions that only he could answer.

  ‘I’m here about my parents,’ I said softly.

  ‘They’re dead.’

  I gave him a long, exasperated look. ‘I want to know more about them. I don’t remember very much.’

  ‘You were five when they died. You must remember some things.’

  Not the sort of things that were helpful. I remembered a warm, sunlit kitchen and a worktop strewn with flour as my mum and I baked together. I remembered running around a garden playing hide-and-seek with my dad. There were flashes of other memories – family meals, building a snowman, snuggling up together in front of a roaring fire. I knew I’d been loved. What I didn’t remember was any mention of the supernatural, or the fact that I could die over and over and over again before being resurrected in flames. I didn’t remember anyone ever telling me that I was a phoenix. No, I corrected myself, not a phoenix. The phoenix. Infernal Enchantments, the book that I’d come across during the course of an investigation, had suggested there was only ever one. And currently that was me.

  ‘Did they ever have anything to do with supes?’ I asked.

  For the first time my uncle looked surprised. ‘Vampires?’ he barked. ‘Werewolves? Those sorts of … people?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Your parents lived in Kent. We’re talking English country garden stuff,’ he dismissed. ‘Not inner-city London shenanigans.’

  ‘I know,’ I persisted, ‘but—’

  ‘I’d be surprised if either of them ever met a supernatural creature. But I wasn’t close to them, as you know. Mark, your father, was fourteen years younger than me. We didn’t grow up together. I left home when he was two. He was a snotty-nosed child with a predilection for plastic trucks. I didn’t spend a lot of time with him, even when he grew older. As for your mother,’ his mouth pursed as he thought, ‘well, I only met her two or three times. I seem to recall she enjoyed painting. She had brown hair.’ He pointed at me. ‘Same shade as yours.’

  Neither of those two things were helpful, but all my grandparents were dead and my mother had been an only child. The only person in the world who could tell me about my parents was the uncle sitting in front of me. I wasn’t going to give up yet.

  ‘Do you have anything that belonged to them?’ I asked. ‘Any diaries? Or notebooks? Any old belongings at all?’

  His brow creased. ‘Why are you bringing all this up now? They’ve been dead for a quarter of a century. What does it matter?’

  I didn’t answer his question. ‘Do you have anything of theirs?’ I repeated.

  He sighed and cast his eyes upward. �
�There might be a box,’ he said finally. ‘Up in the attic.’

  I sprang to my feet. ‘Great. I’ll go look for it.’

  My uncle didn’t move. ‘There’s a lot of stuff up there. I have no idea where it would be, even if it’s still there. I certainly don’t want you rooting around in my possessions.’

  He wasn’t making this easy for me. ‘I’ll be careful.’

  He shook his head. ‘I will look for it and send anything I find on to you. I am a private person, Emma. I don’t like having my routine or my home disturbed.’

  I was well aware of that. I considered arguing, but I didn’t want to annoy him to the point that he shut me out completely. ‘Okay,’ I said finally. ‘I appreciate the effort.’

  He knitted his fingers together and gave me a dark look. ‘What is this really about? He’s not getting out is he?’

  I knew who he was referring to – Samuel Beswick, the man who’d broken into my family home and murdered my parents, leaving me alone with their bodies. The crime had only been discovered when my wailing alerted the neighbours, although blessedly I remembered nothing of the event. Beswick had been arrested less than twenty-four hours after the double murder and had been in prison ever since. He’d never explained why he’d committed such a terrible deed, and he’d never admitted his guilt. But he was the reason I’d wanted to join the police in the first place.

  ‘No,’ I said quietly. ‘He’s not getting out.’

  Something gleamed in my uncle’s eyes. There were occasions when it seemed to me that he despised Beswick far more than I ever could. ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll look out that box for you.’

  I had the distinct impression that I was being dismissed. ‘Thank you.’ I paused. ‘How are you?’ I asked. ‘Are you keeping alright?’

  ‘A few aches and pains. Nothing serious.’ He pulled a face. ‘The worst thing about getting to this age isn’t my health, it’s the way everyone else treats me. I’m no longer seen as a real person. I no longer have a personality of my own. They see me as an old man who must be spoken to in a very loud patronising voice.’ His lip curled. ‘I used to be considered important. I used to be respected. Now I’m just seen as old.’ He pointed to the door. ‘I’ll see you out.’

  I opened my mouth, wanting to say more, but he was already moving towards me and ushering me out. I knew that the last thing he wanted was my sympathy. He’d view it as pity – and neither of us wanted that.

  ‘There’s no need to come back,’ he told me. ‘I’ll post whatever I find.’

  Translation: stop bothering me and interrupting my hermit-like existence. I sighed. Yeah. Some things never changed.

  Then he surprised me. He reached out and took my hand, gripping it tightly. His skin felt papery and thin. My eyes flew to his but I couldn’t fathom his expression.

  ‘Dredging up the past isn’t always a good thing, Emma. Sometimes it’s better to leave matters where they are and move on. What happened to your parents is a tragedy. What happened to you is worse, and I know that I was not the best guardian for you. But you can’t change what happened.’

  I swallowed. ‘I’m not looking to change it,’ I said quietly. ‘I only want to understand it.’

  He held my gaze before nodding. ‘Very well.’ He released his hold on me. ‘They would have been proud of you, you know.’

  Unbidden tears rose behind my eyes and I blinked furiously. ‘Thank you.’

  My uncle shrugged. ‘I merely speak the truth.’ Then he nudged me out of his house and closed the door.

  ***

  Rather than appreciate the opportunity to stretch her metaphorical legs on winding country roads, Tallulah had grumbled all the way to my uncle’s house and all the way back. It wasn’t until we reached the outer London limits that her engine stopped rattling.

  The lurid purple Mini, which I’d inherited from my Supe Squad predecessor Tony Brown, had considerable merits despite her age and tendency to belch out black smoke whenever she felt like it. Unfortunately, performing well on long drives was not one of those merits. I was beginning to think that she might have a point; the entire journey south felt like it had been a waste of time.

  We were crossing the river when my police radio crackled. It was so unexpected that I almost smacked Tallulah’s bonnet into the rear end of the black cab in front of me. I was jerked forward and the edge of the seatbelt cut into my skin. The taxi beeped its horn loudly. I breathed out. That was close. London taxi drivers were not to be messed with. The driver shot his hand out of his window and flicked his middle finger ostentatiously in my direction. I scowled. Whatever. It wasn’t like I’d actually pranged his taxi.

  I glanced at my watch. Midday exactly. The morning had zipped by.

  ‘DC Bellamy, this is Dispatch. Please acknowledge.’

  ‘Uh…’ I fumbled with the equipment. ‘This is DC Bellamy.’ I paused. ‘Acknowledged.’ I winced at my awkward phrasing. I was rusty with a lot of terminology. As the only Supe Squad detective, I didn’t spend a lot of time around other police officers. There was Fred, of course, but he’d been in Supe Squad longer than I had. I was the only detective; he was the only police constable. Liza was counted as office support and didn’t go out in the field. And although I’d made radio calls myself when necessary, I’d never received one before.

  ‘What is your current location? Your presence is required at the London Eye.’

  I glanced at the road. ‘I’m less than ten minutes’ away. What’s the problem?’

  ‘Suicidal vampire.’

  My mouth dropped open. Huh. ‘I’m on my way.’

  I changed lanes to adjust my course. A vamp with a death wish was the last thing I’d expected. I’d never heard of such a thing before, and no doubt Lukas, also known as Lord Horvath and the leader of the London vampires, would be apoplectic at the idea. He was also sure to be on the scene both to help his vampire and to manage what could only be vast numbers of avid tourists.

  I’d been avoiding Lukas for weeks but I knew it was only a matter of time before our paths crossed again. I quashed the butterflies in my stomach and focused on recalling my Academy training. Dealing with potential suicide attempts could be tricky. When such an attempt involved vampires and one of the most famous landmarks in the city … hell, anything could happen.

  Chapter Two

  I parked as close to the London Eye as I could before jogging the rest of the way. There was already a police cordon around the area but, rather than preventing onlookers from pausing to gawk, it was only encouraging them. Truthfully, I’d have done exactly the same if I had been a passer-by.

  I’d never seen anyone perched on top of a gigantic observation wheel before. The vampire in question wasn’t in any of the glass-domed pods which were slowly revolving, affording visitors a panoramic view of the city. He’d foregone them in favour of clambering up the outside of the metal structure. How he’d achieved such a feat, which must have included evading the Eye’s security measures, was beyond me. Even for a vampire, it seemed nigh on impossible.

  I squinted at the ascending figure. He was dressed in black and his hoodie obscured his face. I doubted that was by accident. I frowned and carried on towards the Eye.

  I waved my warrant card at the first uniformed officer I came to, and he lifted up the cordon and gestured me through. I ignored the hum of curious questions from the crowd about my identity and walked quickly to the foot of the wheel.

  A man with a shiny bald pate, who was wearing a tailored suit that hung around his slight paunch, was flapping his arms and yelling. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he was part of the London Eye’s management team; the dripping sweat on his brow and his obvious panic broadcast it. ‘You have to get that idiot down!’ he shouted. ‘There are news crews here already. This isn’t the sort of publicity we need right now!’

  Lord Lukas Horvath was standing less than a metre away. He didn’t flinch – in fact, as far as I could tell, he was the epitome of
cool, calm and collected vampire poise. He looked relaxed, his expression was bland and his arms were held loosely by his sides. His confidence was such that he didn’t appear remotely out of place, even though he was wearing clothing that made him look as if he’d stepped out of the pages of a Victorian romance. I’d seen him wearing ruffled shirts before, but I’d never seen him wearing one that was open almost to his navel with blood-red frills artfully sewn in so many places. His inky-black hair had been blow dried and was swept upwards from his face. On anyone else that hairstyle would have looked ridiculous but it suited Lukas perfectly. All he needed was a swooning woman in a corset hanging off his waist and the picture would have been complete. Fabio, eat your heart out.

  I glanced down at my jeans and plain T-shirt. If I’d known this was supposed be a fancy-dress party, I’d have taken more care. Truthfully, if I’d known I was going to be in Lukas’s company, I’d have taken more care full stop. I couldn’t deny my attraction to the vampire. And I couldn’t allow it to go anywhere.

  Lukas’s priority would always be the vampires, and I knew that vampires couldn’t be trusted. They desired blood, power and sex, not necessarily in that order. After what had happened to me at the hands of my boyfriend, who had killed me twice, I wasn’t willing to do anything that might jeopardise my fragile heart. But that didn’t prevent the lurch in my stomach when I looked at the vampire Lord.

  ‘Are you suggesting, Mr Hannigan,’ Lukas enquired, ‘that the pages of tomorrow’s newspapers are more important than a person’s life? Perhaps we should hope for a gust of wind to knock the poor fellow off his perch? Then you can clean up the bloodied mess of brains and splattered internal organs while the tourists get back on board for their selfies.’

  Uh-oh. Usually Lukas could charm the pants off anyone he spoke to. The belligerent edge to his words spoke of his genuine anxiety about whoever was clinging to the observation wheel above our heads.

  I jumped forward before an argument ensued. ‘Detective Constable Emma Bellamy,’ I said by way of introduction. ‘I’m with Supe Squad. I need to know what’s going on here, then we’ll see about the best way of talking that man down. Who is he, and how did he get up there?’