The flies stuck fast to Lafferty’s skin. He ran screaming across the shop, waving his hands hopelessly in the air. Bits of his skin started falling in strips on to the wooden planks of the shop’s floor. Lafferty flapped and flailed for a few more minutes, but a cluster of the flies had found a tasty vein on his wrist. Within minutes he was dead in a pool of his own blood, a grin of terror frozen on his face.
‘He was a liability,’ said Don Grigori, slipping a pitch pipe into the inside pocket of a black bespoke suit. ‘And, worse, a terrible bore. You simply can’t find good men these days.’ He adjusted his cuffs. ‘I must admit I do quite like the fashions of this time, Hector. This English tailor knows his craft. Make sure you reward him well. We may need him again soon, when His Eminence is back among us.’
Hector bowed, ignoring the flies buzzing round Don Grigori’s head. ‘It’s an honour for his family to have been of service to the Camarilla.’
Kneeling, Don Grigori scooped a handful of buzzing bluebottles from what remained of Lafferty’s raw pink flesh and white cartilage. Cupping them in his hands, he puffed air at their wings, watching them flutter on his palm before brushing them back on to the body.
‘Should I clean that up?’ Hector asked.
Don Grigori ran his slender fingers over an animal skin, sending dust motes dancing into a ribbon of sunlight piercing the filthy latticed windows. Then he sat on a carved mahogany chair and crossed his legs, his elegant hands smoothing the already perfect crease on his trousers. Even after only one day outside the painting, Hector noticed Don Grigori’s recently repaired skin was thinning, his complexion becoming translucent and jaundiced.
‘Leave my children to their work,’ he said. ‘Tell me what you have learned about the boy’s whereabouts.’
‘According to my sources,’ Hector said, ‘he conjured his disappearance and vanished beneath a statue of Shakespeare.’
Don Grigori smiled. ‘Ah, Shakespeare.’
Hector continued. ‘The police believe the boy is part of the gang of jewel thieves who’ve been plaguing this part of the city in recent months. The sooner we can relieve them of this notion, the better for us.’
‘How so?’
‘When the heat from the police cools, the boy will be more open in his movements, making it easier for our network of spies to catch sight of him.’
‘It is an affront that the boy has escaped again,’ Don Grigori said irritably. ‘I must share the blame for our failure to stop him in Chicago. I’d never encountered two conjurors at the same time, especially a mother and a son. I was unprepared for their powerful bond. It will not happen again.’
‘The boy’s mother had been trouble for a long time,’ said Hector, flicking a fly from his forehead. ‘Taunting us with her music at the Albert Hall, no less.’
‘Indeed,’ said Don Grigori. ‘And now her son comes charging into our plans with his lance tilted.’
‘Should we delay the journey?’ asked Hector. ‘We could stay here a little longer.’
Don Grigori cupped Hector’s chin and tipped his face upwards. His gaze was ice blue. Hector shivered.
‘We will leave tomorrow as planned. The boy has worked faster than I could have imagined after his mother’s death. He has her journal to guide him, of course. When he is ours, we must destroy it. For a weak woman, she somehow managed to uncover our plans.’
‘The boy will be ours soon enough,’ said Hector.
Don Grigori nodded. ‘And when he is, our journey to the Second Kingdom can proceed. Until then, prepare your… what is your word?’
‘Our network, signor?’
‘This age lacks poetry, Hector.’ Don Grigori sighed. ‘Use your network, then, and search this city for the boy. When you find him, bring him to me.’
‘I know someone in a unique position to help us,’ said Hector. ‘Until now, this person has been a rather reluctant member of our cabal. Perhaps it is time to call in our favours.’
A bluebottle landed on Don Grigori’s polished brogues. He leaned forward and let it flutter to the back of his hand, where it folded its wings against its bulbous body. The castrato pinched the fly between his fingers and dropped it into his mouth.
‘I trust I can leave this matter with you, Hector,’ Don Grigori said, floating up off the chair. ‘Don’t let me down again.’
Hector bowed and tried not to think about Lafferty’s corpse.