Unnatural Appetites (18+) REVISING

Making Better Memories

"The body's round the back. We haven't touched it, but it's one for you."

The police officer wasn't one Gregor recognised although the man's behaviour was familiar. Police officers never listed Argist Agents in their top ten favourite people, and this guy wore the usual disdainful expression, one that said, 'Why the fuck do we pay you people so much when you're about as much use as a chocolate fireguard?'

One of the restaurant's waiters had found the body, stumbling across it as he took out the kitchen waste. The boy sat at one of the tables, still white-faced his complexion in sharp contrast to the black shirt and trousers he wore. Vampire victims were never pretty. Gregor clapped a hand on his shoulder, and the boy glanced up, eyes glassy.

"I didn't think..." he whispered, and Gregor stroked his cheek lightly. "I'll talk to you once I've taken a look," he said, keeping his voice low so the police office didn't hear him. "You'll be fine. I promise." The boy blinked, pinkness returning to his cheeks, and Gregor stifled his conscience. Mrs Wang told him off for what she called the indiscriminate throwing around of his charms, but if you brought a moment of comfort to a disturbed young man was that so wrong?

Chez Jacques was an old-established Soho haunt, tucked away from the main streets and too discreet to find if you didn't know about it already. The interior favoured wooden panelling and velvet booths where clients ate food untouched by any modern trends. Its cuisine was classical French, and the waiting list for a Friday or Saturday night six months long.

Gregor followed the police officer, Sergeant Hawkins, and the restaurant's owner through the kitchen and out to the back. Like most places in Soho, the restaurants backed onto a tiny back yard shared by several other businesses. Huge metal bins on wheels lined the back wall, and the body lay between two, feet sticking out. According to the police officer, old blankets and clothing had covered it. Young Simon had only discovered it because he'd tripped over the feet when he heaved the rubbish into one bin, pulling off some of the covering and then being unable to stop himself removing the rest.

The pile of vomit nearby testified to what he'd found.

Gregor's years of Argist Academy work had accustomed him to sights best kept to films rated 18 plus, but the body in front of him made him gulp, the contents of his stomach threatening to erupt out of him. He sensed the officer next to him smirk, doubtless amused that a so-called Argist agent struggled to face a vampire victim.

The man's throat had been bitten so thoroughly, the wound had left the head hanging awkwardly to one side and the bones of his neck visible. His eyes bulged from their sockets and his tongue hung from his mouth. The skin had turned that peculiar ashy-white shade that happened when too much of your blood left your body. His crotch was bloodied too, trousers wrenched half-way down his legs and his cock missing. Two days earlier, a victim had turned up in a similar state, suggesting that whoever did that one had done this one too. A post-mortem of the earlier victim revealed that the injuries to the throat and penis happened at the same instant.

"They're working in a pair, I reckon," the pathologist told him. "Which is worrying."

Not half. Vampires tended to operate solely as blood lust made you selfish. If there were two, they needed to be caught fast before more decapitated and castrated bodies turned up.

Gregor pointed at the tiny blinking camera mounted on the wall. "I take it the CCTV showed nothing," he said, and the restaurant owner shook his head.

"I didn't want to watch it, but the bits I skimmed over showed only him. He had his back to the camera, thank god."

That was the trouble with vampires. Mirrors and cameras ignored them. It wasn't as if Gregor could circulate an image of them with a big Wanted sign and a fat reward to all known informers.