Scenting Hallowed Blood by Storm Constantine

realised this was probably a
futile hope, but if anyone was in danger, it was only himself. The
Parzupheim wouldn’t be interested in Emma or the others; they were
insignificant.
    Let them take me , he
thought, raw with unshed tears. Let them destroy my body, break
it and burn it. I owe them nothing. I will not be their scapegoat
again and I will not ‘ be’ for them.
    Lily Winter liked living in the
Moses Assembly Rooms. The other occupants, who seemed to fill
Daniel with apprehension and Emma with scorn, attracted her. At one
time, the Rooms had been a gathering place of Grigori adepts, and
perhaps strange rituals had taken place there. Certainly the
multitude of bedrooms suggested that many people used to stay
there; the servants’ quarters alone were huge. Since its hey-day in
the Victorian age, it had declined and was now nothing more than a
kind of hotel for Grigori who felt estranged from their people.
Lily loved its fading grandeur and was fascinated by its eccentric
inhabitants, who seemed to have nothing to do other than live out
their own fantasies. Its caretaker — or perhaps owner, for the
details were unclear — was lean Naomi, and it was from her that
Lily had learned the Rooms’ history. Naomi had a twisted leg and a
stooped body, as if she’d suffered some terrible accident years
before. This alone was unusual, because Lily had already learned
that Grigori could heal their bodies far more efficiently than
humans could. It was impossible to guess Naomi’s age. She painted
strange, ancient patterns on delicate silk, with which she adorned
her body and the crumbling walls of her room. Lily spent a lot of
time with Naomi who like to be read aloud to as she worked on her
patterns. Her taste in literature was eclectic: sometimes she
wanted to hear humorous fantasy tales, othertimes heavy, depressing
modern novels, written by women who seemed to have been punished by
life.
    Then there was Israel, whose
skin was a soft, satiny purple-black. He came from a far Grigori
family whose ancestors had been worshipped as demons in the dust
and heat of a famished land. His people were very enclosed, he
said, which was why he’d chosen to flee them. He had travelled much
about the world and had seen many strange and disturbing things.
For a while, to obey some facetious urge to mimic art, he’d lived
as a vampire, although admitted he didn’t much like the taste of
blood. Israel possessed a beautiful, foreign, stringed instrument,
which he took out onto the street and played. People threw him
coins. Unlike some of the other residents of the building he did
not appear to have recourse to his family’s assets, although the
others tended to share what they had without thought.
    Money, Lily had quickly
learned, was never a problem for Grigori, even the outcasts. They
treated it without reverence. It was as vital to them as air, but
just as easily obtained. Not for them the life-long love/hate
affair with the demons of lucre, the humiliating entreaties and
prayers of desperation, the draining offerings of time and energy
for meagre rewards, spiced by the occasional god-like yet sardonic
windfalls. Lily too had money — a legacy from her mother — but Emma
had told her not to try withdrawing it from her account, because it
would make her easier to trace. Naomi gave her money sometimes: ‘Do
you want this?’ Offering a crumpled twenty pound note, as if it was
some little bauble she’d found and did not want to keep. Lily
always took these presents, feeling that one day she might need
them.
    Her favourite new friend among
the Grigori was Johcasta, although she was perhaps the most
threatening. Johcasta had a sharp tongue and often resorted to
slapping people if they annoyed her, which was often. But her fiery
temperament, flashing and dashing about the dour halls and
corridors of the Rooms, fascinated Lily. Also, she seemed to have
taken a shine to the fey hybrid twin, and asked her questions about
what it was like to