Bite Mark Read online

  My footsteps and breathing echoed around the dampness as I hurried to the arch of white light at the far end. I couldn’t get there fast enough and sped up to a jog, the sound of my slapping footsteps ricocheting eerily.

  I slowed once the weak light of day surrounded me and then spotted a wooden gate, arched like the tunnel and with thick iron hinges and handle. It was set in a high stone wall and appeared to be the only place to go from here, the path led to a dead end of tangled weeds and a cracked red plastic crate.

  Pushing thoughts of trespassing from my mind, I twisted the rusty circular handle. Like the railings out front, it was icy cold. The gate squeaked as I opened it and I pushed just enough to step through into what appeared to be a very well-tended courtyard garden about the size of a tennis lawn.

  Precision-cut hedges lined graveled walkways. Conical topiary bushes sat in terracotta pots, as did lollipop-style bay trees. There were two wooden pergolas strung with frost-laden ivy, each sheltering chilly-looking benches.

  I shut the gate quietly, carefully, then glanced to my right and spotted a stone shelter. Pillared like the front of the main house, it had a pitched, tiled roof and a single low seat pressed into the deep recess.

  Quickly, I stepped into it, pleased that it offered a good vantage point of the back of the building and somewhat of a hiding place in its damp shadows.

  “You are either incredibly foolish or brave to the point of suicide,” said a voice out of nowhere.

  I clutched my chest. “Fuck,” I gasped, looking up into the hypnotizing dark eyes of the man I’d been following. I had no idea where he’d come from. I hadn’t seen or heard him approach or caught him in my peripheral vision. One second I’d been alone, the next he was there, standing right in front of me, within touching distance.

  “So which is it?” he asked, twitching his eyebrows and stepping a little closer.

  “I…I, well…” I retreated deeper into the shelter, my tongue heavy, my mouth dry. My heart was pounding violently. It was a combination of surprise and fear. The way he was looking at me could be perceived as predatory, like a fox staring into the face of a rabbit, or a slaughterer meeting the pig. But it could also have been victorious, like a champion athlete raising a medal after decades of hard work. “Where did you come from?” I managed, my breath puffing from my mouth between words.

  “You tell me. You appear to be keeping a close track of my movements.”

  I glanced toward the building. I could only make out the very corner of the brickwork, he’d backed me so deep into the shadows. He must have walked straight through it to meet me.

  “Please,” I said as my shoulders touched cold wall. “I’m sorry, I was just looking for my friend.” There was only one thing for it, and that was to come clean, offer him the truth. He could be a murderer or a rapist for all I knew, and I was in a deserted, shadowy garden with him. Who would hear me scream?

  No one.

  “Your friend?” He tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth, which, despite my inner turmoil, I noticed were perfectly white and beautifully straight.

  “Yes, he’s missing and I wondered if you, or someone here, might know where he is.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Because…” I hesitated, not because I didn’t know what to say but because something had suddenly struck me as incredibly odd about him. It wasn’t just the dapper suit or the flawlessness of his face, or the way his eyes seemed to invite me in—it was his breath, or rather lack of it. While mine was like smoke, huffing from my nose and mouth to hang in a cloud before dissipating into the atmosphere, his was clear, as if it weren’t there, or at least, as if it were the same temperature as the cold air outside. “Why haven’t you… I mean, why can’t I see your breath?”

  His gaze shifted, as though studying mine. “Mmm, observant little thing, aren’t you?”

  I folded my arms, hugging myself against the cold.

  “You must be freezing,” he said, stepping back and raising his stick toward the house. “Why don’t we go inside and talk about your friend. Perhaps if you fill me in on the details I may be able to help.”

  Suppressing a shiver, I swallowed tightly. My instinct was to run, not go in there—The Worshipful Company of the Ancient Order. That would be madness. No one knew I was here, for goodness’ sake.

  But I was considering it.

  Am I crazy?

  Probably.

  I tried to think straight. Worshipful Company? Ancient Order? I had no idea what it meant. And if this equally beautiful and terrifying man was part of that order, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet his contemporaries, who might be even more extreme in both departments.

  But despite my trepidation a tremble of excitement ran up my spine. It had been so long since I’d had something other than hard work in my life. The thought of interesting people and handsome men was incredibly luring. Not to mention I really did need to find Denny.

  “I mean you no harm,” he said. “You were wrong to follow me, that is true, but I admire loyalty between friends.” He reached out and touched the tips of his fingers to my elbow, pressing against my sweater. “So we will call it even, and if I can help you then I assure you I will.”

  “Really?” He seemed genuine, and those eyes, they were like deep vats of hot chocolate I could happily lose myself in.

  He raised his fingertips to his nose, the ones that had just touched me, inhaled deeply and fluttered his eyes shut, the way I’d seen him do to the black pudding at the market. It was as though he was trying to catch a scent of me lingering on his fingers. It was such a primitive thing to do yet he looked such a gentleman, as far removed from primeval urges as a human could be. The trouble was I found it strangely erotic that he wanted to smell me. I wouldn’t mind smelling him too.

  “Mmm, yes,” he said, gesturing out of the shelter with his cane. “I am sure we will be able to find something to go on. I have many contacts who I can ask for information.”

  “Um, thank you. That would be great.” I stepped past him onto the gravel and headed toward the building, my feet crunching on the stones and my fingers bunched into the sleeves of my sweater. My common sense was wondering why the hell it was being so rudely ignored while my sense of adventure was punching the air in victory.

  As we stepped through an enormous black door, similar to the one at the front of the house, the temperature rose a fraction, but not much. I could still see my breath.

  “Come, follow me,” he said, heading toward a narrow, scarlet-carpeted staircase with a mahogany banister. “This isn’t the usual route for visitors to the Company but when we have set the wheels in motion for finding your friend, I will show you around properly.”

  “What does it mean, Ancient Order?” I asked.

  “It will all become clear in time, but for now just think of us as one big family trying to live quietly and do good when we can.”

  “Oh well, that sounds very commendable.”

  And weird.

  “I’m glad you think so, now come, we have much to do.”

  I stared at his neat, long body, almost gliding up the staircase, and my heart suddenly swelled with gratitude. He was the first person to take my concern over Denny’s disappearance seriously. Not only that, he sounded proactive about finding him. Okay, he was a bit strange, the way he dressed, spoke and had smelled his fingers after touching me, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and I needed any help offered my way.

  The staircase curled up and around then deposited us onto a wide landing where the banister continued, highly polished and with decorative balustrades. There was an enormous tapestry hanging on the wall. It reminded me of the Bayeux Tapestry I’d seen in history books at school, except something was different about it.

  I peered a little closer and studied the figures stitched into the material. It was a battle scene. The armor one side wore was metallic and cumbersome, the opposition dressed in just loincloths, and in two instances, capes. The armored soldiers also
carried weapons, swords, daggers, scythes, whereas the near-naked army had empty hands, but despite this they seemed to be coming off best. None of them were lying on the ground, compared to almost half of the others, who were sprawled higgledy-piggledy, limbs akimbo with bloodied throats and chests and chunks taken out of their faces. The threads of the tapestry were faded and worn with age, but what struck me most was the heavy embroidery around the mouths of the undressed army. It was over-stitched several times in burgundy and black, making it look as though they had blood dripping from their lips.

  “Do you like it?” he asked, stepping close.

  “It’s intriguing,” I said. “What’s it of?”

  “An ancient fable.”

  “What, like a fairy tale?”

  “You could say that.”

  “It’s pretty gruesome.”

  “It tells the story of victory for a kind who were persecuted until they fought for the right to exist, and won.”

  I pointed at the victorious army. “And that’s these blokes, is it? With the blood around their mouths.” I glanced up at him. “Who are they?”

  A small tendon flexed and unflexed in his cheek as he studied the picture with me. “The story goes that it was a needless battle. Compromise could have been sought with words yet instead blood was spilled. I like to think this image is a reminder that violence is the last resort for settling disputes.”

  “I agree. Thank goodness society has moved on, eh?”

  He gave a small huff, almost like amusement, then said, “Eh, indeed.” He tapped his cane on the floor. “But right now we must get to the matter at hand.”

  He opened a door to the right of the tapestry and ushered me through.

  The room was large, wooden-paneled and smelled of timber and pine. It was also gloriously warm, like midsummer, only cozier.

  “Oh wow,” I exclaimed, quickly moving toward a fireplace that boasted crackling logs set in a high grate. I held my palms at the ready to claim some heat and longed for the permanent shiver in my spine to ease. “A real fire, that’s so lovely,” I said, glancing around. “Is this your office?” There was a large desk holding several stacks of neatly piled papers and a red telephone that looked like a throwback to the nineteen seventies.

  “Please,” he said, shutting the door and indicating one of two bottle-green leather chairs pulled up next to the fire. “Take a seat, make yourself at home. This may take a while.”

  Again he hadn’t answered my question, but I presumed that meant it was his office, his place of work.

  I sat, enjoying the fire with all my senses, the smell, the heat, the way it reminded me of delicious Christmas flavors—mulled wine, fruit cake and pheasant.

  He fiddled at a tall dresser and as I stared at the flames I heard the bubble and boil of a kettle.

  “Here, drink this.” He walked over and pressed a thick black mug into my hand. “Tea,” he said, “the perfect drink to warm your blood.”

  “Bones,” I said. “You mean warm my bones.”

  “Of course.” He inclined his head slightly and sat opposite. “That is what I meant.”

  Chapter Three

  “So tell me,” he said, linking his long fingers on his lap, “about your friend.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Physical description, when you last saw him, where have you already looked for him, that kind of thing.”

  I sighed and rested back, relishing the warmth and the chance to talk about Denny. “Well, he’s about five-ten, blond hair, usually wears an Arsenal beanie, he’s a mad fan.” I smiled. Denny could enthuse about his favorite football team for hours. “He’s a bit on the skinny side, not that I would tell him, he can get obsessive about things like that, you know the sort.”

  “Mmm, I do, and perhaps that may give us a clue as to his whereabouts.”

  I took a sip of the sweet, fragrant tea and the heat trickled down my gullet. It was an unusual blend but I liked its flavor. “I don’t even know your name,” I said.

  “And I don’t know yours.” He tipped his head and the ends of his hair stroked his pristine white collar.

  “Beatrice, or rather Bea, I go by Bea.”

  He stared at me unblinking. “Nice to meet you, Beatrice, I’m Aimery.”

  “That’s an unusual name.”

  “I suppose it is if you haven’t heard it before.”

  “I haven’t. Is it foreign?”

  “As far as I am aware it is a German name.”

  “Are your parents German?”

  “No, they were Norman.”

  “Norman?”

  “Yes, but enough about me, what about Denny? He is our chief concern, is he not?”

  I glanced at the flickering fire. Aimery’s dark, heavy gaze was like a weight on me. Not uncomfortable, just intense. “I reported him missing to the police last week, but they didn’t seem interested. Said he was a grown man and if he wanted to go walkabout then that was fine.”

  “They have more important things to cope with,” he said, “than looking for folk who have few friends and family and who won’t be missed.”

  “How do you know Denny has few friends and family?” I bristled.

  He hesitated. “I don’t, it’s just a guess.”

  “Oh.” I rubbed at an itch on my neck and his gaze followed my fingertips.

  He pulled in a deep breath. “If Denny had a wife, parents, brothers and sisters, you, just a friend, wouldn’t have felt the need to come into a stranger’s home to seek out information on him.” He lowered his voice. “You look like a sensible girl, Beatrice. I can’t imagine that you generally put yourself at risk like this.”

  I swallowed and looked into his handsome face, wondering if he was being sarcastic or genuine.

  Does he mean me harm?

  Normally I was pretty good with my gut instincts. But something about Aimery sent them out of whack. He was devastatingly gorgeous, way out of my league I was sure, and certainly not my usual type. Also there was a restrained air about him. He was cool to the point of chilly, polite to the edge of uncomfortable, as though holding back something he wanted to do or say.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to find out what it was he wasn’t saying or doing, but at the same time, I had to admit I was utterly intrigued.

  “Go on,” he said, leaning forward in the chair.

  Light from the tall window behind rendered him almost in silhouette, just a few ocher shadows from the fire glancing across his face.

  “Tell me everything,” he whispered.

  I cupped my palms around the warm mug I held on my lap. “Well, last time I saw him was in the market, three weeks ago. It was a rainy Wednesday morning, business was steady. Denny had been shouted at by Tony—”

  “Who is Tony?”

  “His boss, a right wanker.” I clasped my hand over my mouth. “Shit, sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve heard worse, and if that describes him in one word then so be it.”

  “It does.” I nodded. “And then I was working, preparing a fillet, and I saw you. Then I looked at him, looking at you, and by the time I’d got ten steaks out of the fillet he was gone and I never saw him again.” I shook my head and gripped the mug more firmly, took a sip. “He just vanished. Without even saying goodbye.” Tears nipped my eyes. I couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing my best friend again.

  Aimery folded his arms, sat back and watched me staring into my mug of tea. I was sure he was giving me some time to compose myself and I was grateful. I wasn’t normally a crier. That kind of behavior would render me a laughingstock at the market. “I’m sorry,” I said, blinking rapidly and refusing to let the tears spill.

  “Was he happy?” Aimery asked softly.

  “No, not particularly. He wanted more from life than working in a cold meat market for the rest of his time and he also hoped to…” I hesitated, feeling like I was revealing confidences.

  “Please, Beatrice, go on. If I am to help you I must know every lit
tle detail.”

  I stared at him. His eyes were narrowed and his fingers meshed tight. There was something solid and powerful about him. His calm assurance and the air of competence and determination surrounding him made my soul fill with hope. But at the same time, prickles of apprehension snaked up my spine. He was almost too perfect to have landed right here, right now, to help me out of this nightmare.

  I nibbled on my bottom lip. The truth wasn’t easy and it saddened me to say it. “Denny wasn’t happy, in fact he was downright miserable, completely in the doldrums.”

  “Why is that?” He’d lowered his voice, softened it too. It was more like a hum now, like a concerned parent coaxing a child to speak. “You can tell me, Beatrice. In fact, you need to tell me.”

  “Denny is gay and they made his life miserable at Smithfield.” There, I’d said it.

  “How did they do that?”

  “Always having a dig at him whenever they could, typical playground bullying. Calling him an up-hill gardener, ginger beer, bum bandit, you know the sort. Ignorant and pathetic.”

  Aimery frowned. “So why did he stay?”

  “He had nowhere else to go and no one to help him out of the situation. I wish I could have, but what could I do? I live at home with my dad and it’s not like I have loads of dosh to give him so he can start fresh and do the interior design course he’s always on about.”

  “Maybe someone has offered him a way out and that’s why he’s gone.”

  I shook my head. “No, he would never have left without saying goodbye. We were close, best friends.”

  “But not lovers?”

  “No, absolutely not.” I was shocked by the question and fiddled with the base of the mug, sliding my fingertip around the smooth pottery. “I just told you Denny is—”

  “I know, gay. But maybe he met someone and was swept off his feet, whisked away into the sunset.”

  “Do you really think so… Ouch!”

  “What?” He was on his knees before me, reaching for my right hand.

  “Bloody hell, that’s sharp,” I said, watching a ruby blob of blood grow on the tip of my index finger.