the service he offered. When James expressed his horror that the boy could be a true victim one day, the kid was filled with scorn. ‘Blood given willingly is a hundred times more potent than blood taken by force. Don’t you know anything?’
And no, James didn’t, because the arsehole who’d made him hadn’t bothered to share any details at all, let alone important ones like “murder isn’t necessary if you can find a willing donor”.
James would have scoffed at the purely metaphysical rule, if not for the fact that he’d proven it at the clinic. His patients didn’t know the blood samples he took for tests were used in part to feed him, but the samples were willingly given at least. When that wasn’t enough, animal blood was sufficient to curb his thirst until his next shift at the clinic. He’d never again be reduced to that thing that had woken from death.
Vampires. James loathed them.
Not that there were many of them in London, as he’d discovered when he went seeking answers. Vampires, it seemed, were not plentiful and, James was assured, very difficult to make. Most people lacked the significant level of willpower it took to survive the transition from dead to undead. That knowledge gave him little comfort, though at least it meant that London wasn’t as full of bloodsucking homicidal maniacs as he’d feared when he returned home.
James followed the trail of the werewolf west then south, down Plaistow road, but he lost the scent of it at the A13. Too much car pollution.
James wasn’t sure whether to be concerned or relieved. It wasn’t like he knew what he was supposed to do with a werewolf if he found one. He’d keep an eye out for trouble, though. He wasn’t going to tolerate some monstrous thing threatening his community.
He returned home as the light was falling to find a van parked outside the flat. A woman was talking with Gabriel as he stood on the kerb with a rucksack, a small suitcase, an easel and half a dozen canvases propped up on the red brick fence. The woman was in her mid-40s, James guessed, impeccably dressed, her dark hair dyed with red streaks and twisted up in a chignon.
Gabriel lifted his chin in a minimalist greeting. ‘James.’
James eyed the stuff on the kerb. ‘Is this it?’
‘I live simply,’ said Gabriel.
‘You live like a vagrant,’ said the woman, with affectionate frustration. She held her hand out to James. ‘You must be Dr Sharpe. I am Helene Dupre. Please let me assure you that Gabe isn’t half as irresponsible as he sometimes appears.’ Her accent retained a blush of French.
James shook her hand, noting the softness of her skin, her subtle floral perfume, the way her nails were trimmed and painted in the barest of colours, and that her grip was firm and confident. ‘Oh, I don’t mind if he’s exactly as irresponsible as he appears. I promise I’m only about half as civilised as I look.’
She hooted with delight. ‘Oh, I see what you mean, Gabe. No wonder you like him.’ She turned an impish grin on James, ignoring Gabriel’s pained expression. ‘He said you had an outré sense of humour.’
James cocked an eyebrow at Gabriel, a smile ghosting his mouth, which pulled an answering one from his new lodger. ‘No humour here, Ms Dupre. Mr Dare and I were in deadly earnest when we mutually agreed not to murder each other in our sleep.’
She waved her hand dismissively. ‘Oh, please, it’s Helene. And this is for you.’ She produced a cheque from her purse. ‘Though I can give it to you in cash tomorrow, if you prefer.’ At James’s puzzled frown, she expanded: ‘Gabe’s rent for the next month.’
James took the cheque but the puzzlement didn’t vanish.
‘It’s my advance,’ explained Gabriel, ‘She’ll take it out of my sales. Assuming there are any.’
‘Of course there’ll be sales,’ Helene admonished him, ‘your work is gaining its audience at last.’
‘It’s not why I do it.’
‘I know, Gabe, but be a dear, shut up and enjoy the money while it’s coming in.’ Helene opened the side of the van. Gabriel picked up one of the canvases by the fence and placed it onto a shelf inside.
The van was set up to carry a number of canvases securely, each on an individual shelf with a length of Velcro to hold the canvas in its slot. James examined the next painting Gabriel lifted into the van.
At first glance, the painting was nothing but smudged shadows, sombrely coloured, moody and almost threatening. Even so, the patterns and colours were arresting – and then James saw the figure emerging from an oppressive atmosphere. The figure was indistinct. Her eyes – definitely her eyes – were old and full of pain; yet dignity, too. Here was a wisdom that came of knowing too much, too soon, and the defiance from having survived the experiences that had given her such knowledge. She had strength in her. Courage. The darkness hadn’t beaten her yet.
‘That’s extraordinary,’ James said when he found his voice, ‘There’s so much hope in it.’
Gabriel paused in the act of picking up the third canvas. ‘Not depressing? Or brutal?’
‘No,’ said James, ‘Why would you say that?’
Helene grinned at Gabriel. ‘You’re right. He’s smart as well as funny.’
Gabriel looked pained again. James tried not to preen too obviously. He thinks I’m smart and funny.
‘Don’t you have somewhere to be, Helene? Somewhere far away from here?’
‘Oh, no doubt,’ she said breezily, ‘But I can’t imagine it would be as fun as this.’
Gabriel finished loading the last canvases into her van. ‘I’m sure it is. Much more fun. Unless you’d rather witness the unparalleled entertainment of me unpacking my worldly goods.’
‘Pfft,’ Helene plucked her keys out of her handbag, ‘As if that will take you more than three minutes.’
Gabriel lifted his rucksack onto his shoulders and reached for his suitcase, encountering James’s fingers as he, too, went to pick it up. They both pulled away as though an electric current had zapped through them.
Helene spared them further observations, though not a delightedly smug smile. ‘You’re right,’ she said, ‘I have places to be, and you have worldly goods to unpack and the charming Dr Sharpe–’
‘James,’ said James.
‘And the charming James no doubt has a list of house rules to give you, beyond “Rule one, flatmates will not attempt reciprocal homicide”.’
‘Rule two is about not drinking milk straight from the carton,’ said James, ‘So the list isn’t all that interesting.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Gabriel, grinning slyly at him, ‘I’m looking forward to negotiating Rule Three about helping each other hide the bodies.’
‘As long as you pay the rent on time,’ said James faux-sternly, ‘I’m open to negotiation.’
‘I’ll leave you two to flirt,’ said Helene, getting into the van.
‘I’m
