Bloodrage - Helen Harper Page 0,35

them to just to wait for me to materialise through a portal. My temporary nausea induced incapacitation would then quickly become permanent and there’d be fuck all I could do about it.

I rubbed my hands over the top of my head. At least I didn’t have to worry about ending up with bits of vomited carrot in my hair, I figured. I shrugged thoughtfully. Maybe I wouldn’t bother re-growing my hair out. Then I reminded myself of the charming nickname Mary had designated for me, and thought otherwise.

Looking around, it was clear that I was on the roof of a building somewhere. I walked over to the edge and peered down, but didn’t see anything I recognised. Not that it was such a huge surprise that I didn’t know where I was. After all, I was hardly an expert on London. I had kind of thought that maybe it would be near the Ministry, but it didn’t seem to be. Shrugging, I turned back, making for a small door that could only lead down to the counsellor’s offices.

The initial staircase heading downwards was considerably more plush than I’d been expecting. The walls were dotted with photos of what I could only presume were successful clients. I stopped at one that looked vaguely familiar. Damnit, I knew I’d seen him somewhere before, I just couldn’t work out where. I felt slightly comforted at least that there others who were brave enough to attest to the fact that they’d been here before. I wouldn’t be letting anyone even think of putting my photo up here, though. Absolutely not.

I emerged from the stairs into a small waiting area. Creamy leather couches stood against a lightly coloured mauve wall. There was a chrome coffee table, upon which sat the obligatory range of magazines to cater to different tastes, and a blonde receptionist behind a desk, smiling professionally at me.

I cleared my throat. “Er, I’m here for an appointment. My name’s Mackenzie Smith.”

The receptionist’s eyes widened slightly. I didn’t like that reaction very much and frowned to myself. She beckoned me to sit down on one of the sofas and then practically ran out of the room to get ‘refreshments’.

My eyes narrowed. Something was going on here that I definitely did not like. Out of habit, I reached behind my head for the silver needles that I used to keep secreted away there, then I remembered that they had been taken away from me far too long ago. Instead of sitting down, I leaned over the desk to look for something I could use in case this was an ambush. I had no idea who or what might be after me now, but experience taught me that you could never be too prepared. My eyes fell on a silver coloured fountain pen and I smiled grimly. That would do.

Unscrewing the top, I palmed the pen, concealing it within the sleeves of my robes. It might not be a throwing dagger but it was better than nothing. Down the corridor from where the receptionist had disappeared, I heard a door open. My body tensed, and I moved to the opposite wall where I’d have optimum access if this really turned out to be something that required more than my usual attention.

Adrenalin began mixing with bloodfire and I could feel trickles of anticipated heat filtering through. I realised that there was a part of me hoping that this actually was some kind of nasty out to get me. It might even help me get rid of some pent up aggression before the real anger management. I frowned. As long as it wasn’t actually the counsellor himself who was hoping for a bit of action, of course. The sound of heavy measured footsteps approaching down the corridor filled the small space. That definitely wasn’t the receptionist returning. I clutched the pen tighter and prepared myself for whatever it might be. The footsteps got louder and louder, and then abruptly stopped just around the corner from where I was. I knew that their owner would be able to see that the couches were empty. That was unfortunate as it meant that I might just have lost the element of surprise. It was of little matter, however; I was confident enough that I could take on whatever was coming.

And then I inhaled.

“Fuck!” I slammed my hand against the wall and pushed myself off, rounding the corner to greet the unwelcome owner of that ever so familiar citrus spice aftershave.

“Hello, kitten,”