New Order by Helen Harper Page A

Here’s my card.’ He pulls out a small white oblong and scribbles something on the back. ‘My direct line is there.’
    I take the card and flip it over. Instead of a number, he’s hastily drawn an intricate shape on the back. The hex. I look up and smile. ‘Thank you.’
    ‘We always welcome the support of the Families. Please convey our gratitude to Lord Montserrat.’
    I try not to wince. So that’s why he’s being so helpful. Michael brought the mugger in and they’re hoping that Michael will absolve them of any wrongdoing. Unfortunately he’s passing on that message to pretty much the worst person in the world. I’m lucky that news of the first-ever vampire abdication hasn’t yet reached human ears.
    ‘I don’t suppose you’ve had time to examine the feather he stole?’ I ask casually. ‘Lord Montserrat is keen to understand its significance.’
    The officer swallows. ‘It’s gone,’ he says quietly. ‘It vanished from the evidence locker around the time the suspect died.’
    Curiouser and curiouser. The police aren’t incompetent and they’re well aware of the various triber abilities that might impede real investigations. Unlike vampires, witches aren’t immune from the full weight of human prosecution – a fact that undoubtedly sticks in their magical craws – but after the highly publicised case of Thomas Argyll, a white Romany witch who charmed sprigs of white heather to cause a number of deaths and who also managed to spirit away all the evidence against him from right under the investigating officers’ eyes, the government paid vast amounts of money to ensure all police departments are heavily protected from similar magic invasions. It’s a powerful witch indeed who could break through those enchantments.
    I’m careful not to pass judgment. ‘I see,’ I murmur. ‘And has the suspect’s name been released to the press?’
    ‘Samuel Lewis.’ Then more quietly, ‘He’s also known as Slick. He lived at 5D Easthouse Road.’
    I give the policeman a tiny smile of thanks and leave, shoving my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket. My efforts at looking serious and tough fail me entirely, however, when I see the flashy stretch limousine waiting on the street outside and two vampire goons looming on the pavement. All coherent thought flees and I’m convinced I’m about to be cut down right here on the steps of the sodding police station. I finally register that the colours they’re displaying are Medici Red, not Montserrat Blue. I have no idea whether that makes my situation better or worse. The car door swings soundlessly open and both goons point towards it.
    I glance up and down the street, searching for an escape route. I know it’s a futile gesture. I’m not even two months old yet, in vampiric terms, and only just starting to control my abilities. If I run, these two will mow me down in a heartbeat. I’d rather scratch together some dignity and go out with my head held high than act like terrified prey, so I paste on a smile and nod like I was expecting them. Then I get inside.
    It’s Lord Medici himself. I swallow my growing terror when the car door shuts and we glide smoothly down the street. Of course. Even though the vampires won’t get into trouble for ending my short, miserable life, it makes more sense not to taunt the police by doing it in front of their eyes.
    Medici bares his teeth in the semblance of a smile and fixes me with his pale aquamarine eyes. They’re entirely incongruous with his olive skin.
    ‘So,’ he says, drawing out the word, ‘we meet again, Ms Blackman.’
    The fact that he’s using my real name speaks volumes. ‘I would say it’s good to see you, but I’d be lying,’ I tell him, with considerably more courage than I feel.
    He barks out a laugh. ‘There’s no need to be afraid.’ He reaches out and trails a finger down my face. Despite my best intentions, I flinch. The amusement in his eyes grows. ‘I’m not here to hurt