Chapter 1

Okay, so it was turning out to be a Halloween of mixed experiences.

There were five of us in all, rather the worse for a few beers at this late stage of the evening, squeezed into costumes that were probably only meant to fit teenagers at best, and with mischief bubbling inside us like dangerous molten lava looking for a quick escape. We were currently huddled together inside the impressive, mirrored lift of the Grosvenor Square Hotel, gliding our way up to the sixth floor and the most exclusive suites. And three of us—excluding me—were arguing.

“Press the button—that one—no, that one!”

“So keep your fucking tail out of my way!”

“And that green monstrosity growing out your fat arse isn’t as much of an obstacle? Oh, wait, maybe that isyour fat arse?”

“And maybe right now, I want to see you take those horns and shove them sideways up your—”

“Yeah? Yeah? You want to watch? You wish—”

“Dammit, what is this, Bickeror Treat night?”

“We’re here,” I announced, knowing the others weren’t listening.

“Joey,” came the fourth, previously silent voice at my ear, breaking into the brief pause. “You know, I c-c-could…”

“Not now, Gaz,” replied the three other, boisterous voices, mixed with good-natured laughter.

I looked over the group. Vince was a couple of years older than I was, with some kind of trainee lawyer job that involved decent salary increases, a wardrobe full of designer suits, and even more arrogance than he was naturally blessed with. Bren was bigger than me, tall and broad like the athlete he’d been at university, blessed with a powerful physique, mischievous grin, and a natural tan, all of which he liked to show off in the gym. Chris, his boyfriend…well, Chris was smaller, button-cute (as per Bren’s description), very outrageous, and also shockingly brighter than all of us. His parents had wanted a great and glorious career for him in medicine or politics, and were still weeping in a corner after his proud announcement last year he was going to be a cabaret dancer.

The fifth and quietest person in our group was Gaz, my best friend. Just an ordinary young man like me, sort of good-looking in the right light, sort of interesting with the right topics. You know how it is. He’d been with me through school, then taken a similar office job in an insurance company situated next to the main city bank, my own employer. It was very convenient because we could take lunch together, share the journey to and from work, find good bars together for drinks after work on a Friday. We were very relaxed with each other. Comfortable.

Doesn’t sound very exciting, but then we weren’t into anything outrageous, not like the others, were we? Gaz came around to my place most nights, helping me decorate my box-sized flat, lending me stuff from his own place when I needed it, laughing with me about disasters and gossip at work, encouraging me when I was down. Oh, and feeding me more than a few times when my money ran out. It was great. He was great. Didn’t need dating or anything with a friend like that, right? But it was funny how he never relaxed as much when we were out in a crowd. Yeah, the guys were a handful, but Gaz didn’t stand up for himself enough. He developed some odd kind of stutter, and the guys just trampled over it.

I knew they looked on me as the leader of the group, and not just for tonight. I was the common thread among them all. I’d met them through school, or college, or just in the neighbourhood, and somehow I’d become the main organiser. I arranged the trips out and the nights in, and—like glue—I fixed the friendships back together when they creaked apart. I listened to Vince’s lurid tales of pursuit and capture of the young women at his firm, I patted Chris on the back every time he argued with Bren and came around in tears, and I went out and drank with Bren when he’d been the one to initiate the latest fight. And Gaz? Bless him, he didn’t seem to need much from me at all, just the usual company. Or at least, if there was anything more he wanted, he never said.

The lift ground to a halt with a discreet chime and we tumbled out on to fitted carpet that was probably thicker than the cheap mattress on my bed. Vince peered back into the polished doors, smoothing the black velvet of his full-length cloak and adjusting his vampire teeth. With his white face and swept back dark hair, he looked as debonair and handsome as always. Until he smiled, and then he looked downright dangerous.