Only the sequins worried me.

‘No touch.’ The goblin’s voice was soft, almost a whisper.

Banner blinked in surprise, his eyes flicking between the goblin and me. ‘No touch? Why not?’

‘He’s protecting you, Mr Banner.’ I kept my hands where the goblin could see them. ‘Goblin workers are very literal beings. You hired him to do a job and that’s what he’s doing.’

‘But that’s against the vampires and magic, not you.’

The goblin, his grin fading a tooth or two, put himself in front of Banner. He nodded his head, ringlets bouncing frantically, and twisted the bat in his grip.

‘Why’s he doing that?’ Banner frowned down at the goblin.

‘I come under the heading of magic.’ I smiled ruefully, careful to keep my lips closed—I didn’t want to spook the goblin. ‘He won’t let anyone capable of magic touch you, or allow you to touch them. Spells are easier to cast with skin contact.’

He tugged at his neat beard. ‘Really? I didn’t know that. I thought spells all came in little bottles or crystals, like those at the Market.’

‘That’s witch magic.’ I sighed. Didn’t the Soulers teach their acolytes anything? ‘When you’re dealing with the fae or vampires, you need to be more careful. Don’t shake hands, and try not to let them get too near you.’ I glanced over at Alan, still clutching his phone to his ear, remembering how easily the pretty Armani-suited vamp outside had controlled him without being anywhere near. ‘Although that’s not going to work with the more powerful vampires; they only need to be in the vicinity to be able to catch you in a mind-lock. But you needn’t worry too much, the goblin will watch out for you. They’re very good at sensing magic of any kind, and even better, they’re immune to it.’ That was, after all, the main reason they’d become so popular in negotiations involving vampires—and the goblins were minting it, selling peace-of-mind-guarantees to the humans that they were acting of their own free will and not being ripped off via vampire mind-locks.

‘Wow!’ Banner’s amazed grin made him look younger. ‘This is all so fascinating. Meeting you, chatting with Jeremiah here.’ He gave the goblin’s head a soft pat. The goblin flinched, only Banner didn’t seem to notice. ‘I’ve only ever seen the goblins on the Underground before today. Jeremiah’s an interesting chap. He’s only recently moved to London from somewhere in the north, I think he said.’ He rubbed his palms together, then squeezed the fingers of one hand with the other, as if that would contain his excitement. ‘His English isn’t too good yet.’

The goblin was a recent import? Maybe that explained the sequins.

‘I’ll have to make sure I introduce myself without the handshake from now on, Ms Taylor,’ he added. ‘Thanks for the tip. I’ve only recently found my salvation, but I’m keen to spread the word.’

I groaned inwardly.

Oblivious, he carried on, ‘Perhaps we could—’

The door next to the counter swung back and hit the wall with a soft thud. I jerked round at the noise, stomach somersaulting with nerves as I recognised the figure that ducked under the doorjamb and strode into the reception hall.

Damn. I’d been so hoping he wouldn’t be on duty.

Now I was for it.

Chapter Six

You need all the front you can muster when facing seven foot of solid granite troll, especially when the troll is Detective Sergeant Hugh Munro. Never mind that he was as soft as faerie moss, he was not going to be happy I was there.

‘Genny, good to see you again.’ Hugh’s voice was a deep bass. He lifted one large hand in greeting and smiled, pink granite teeth gleaming: his bite was way worse than his bark. His shock of black hair grew straight up, two inches above his scalp ridge, contrasting nicely with the deep red of his skin—not sunburn, just his natural colour. Hugh came from the Cairngorms, from the largest tribe in Scotland, and his grand-mother was the matriarch.

I straightened my shoulders and returned his smile.

Hugh scanned the room until his gaze landed on Alan. ‘Mr Hinkley, Detective Inspector Crane would like to speak to you.’ He stepped aside, revealing the plump, curly-haired policewoman. ‘If you’d like to go with the constable, please.’

Alan glanced at me, his face etched with worry, then headed off with the curly-haired constable.

Hugh came towards Banner, the goblin and me. ‘Mr Banner, I am sorry, but the inspector insists you wait here, not in the morgue.’ A firm expression crossed Hugh’s face. ‘You have her full assurance that the injunction will be complied with fully.’

The goblin broke in with a high chittering sound. An answering rumble came from Hugh’s throat. The goblin tapped his bat three times on the floor, finger smoothing quickly down his nose to cover his mouth. Hugh, lips pressed tight together, touched his own nose, nodding with a slightly self-conscious air.

‘I hope there isn’t a problem, Sergeant.’ Banner sounded earnest as he looked from one to the other. ‘My minister assured me that the police wouldn’t have any issue with a goblin guard.’

‘No, not a problem at all.’ Reddish dust puffed into the air above Hugh’s head, his embarrassment even more obvious. ‘Young Jeremiah here is an adopted member of my tribe. He was just saying... hello.’

Hmm. If that was the case, what was Hugh getting all dusted about?

‘That’s great.’ Banner gave us all a wide smile, still not noticing when the goblin flinched again. ‘It’s always nice to bump into old friends, isn’t it?’

Fine crevices creased across Hugh’s forehead as he frowned. ‘You’re right, Mr Banner. Old friends are always a welcome sight. Please feel free to wait here as long as you want, you and Jeremiah both.’ He looked down at me. ‘Genny, why don’t you come through to the office.’

I stifled a sigh. It wasn’t a request.

As I followed him along the corridor, I eyed the precisely ironed crease down the middle of his white shirt, which was tucked neatly into the belted waistband of his black trousers. He didn’t look much different in plain clothes, or any older than when I’d first met him ten years ago. Trolls usually lived a few centuries, and I’d worked out that Hugh must be around ninety-odd, for all that he looked half that age.

He stopped, held the office door open for me. I breathed in the familiar fresh smell of ozone that was Hugh and safety. ‘How are things?’

‘Fine, Genny.’ A large, gentle hand touched my shoulder.

‘I heard about the new boss.’ I briefly patted his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘So am I,’ he rumbled. ‘But Detective Inspector Crane has an exemplary track record, and I’m happy to be working with her.’

I smiled at his diplomatic answer. ‘You’d have made a great Inspector, Hugh.’

‘Just wasn’t the right time for me, Genny. The DI’s a powerful witch, got a lot of experience here and in Europe; she’s just what the team needs.’

And even though she’s a witch, she’s still human, I added silently. Hugh might have been the first troll to make Detective Sergeant, four years previously, but he was still a troll. Life sucks sometimes, and not just for vampires.

I walked into the empty open-plan office and headed for Hugh’s L-shaped desk. It was easy enough to find—his was the only one clear of all but the essentials: a pile of paper coasters in a pink granite holder, three of the overlarge ballpoint pens manufactured for a troll’s fingers, and an electronic photo frame, currently showing a summer landscape of his mountain. Next to a tidy stack of files, his computer screen flashed a screensaver of the same view, this one taken in lightly falling snow.

Smiling, I asked, ‘So what’s with the goblin and you?’

‘Grandmother was concerned about some of the newer goblins being brought into London.’ He pointed me to his ‘guest’ chair as he sat down. ‘She asked me to be their Ardathair, that’s sort of a pastoral figurehead.’