“Maybe I’ve seen him, but that doesn’t mean he’s seen me. Even if he has met me, he wouldn’t recognise me. That’s the advantage of being a blonde who always wears brown leather – when you step out as a brunette in a knock-’em-dead red dress, you’re a completely different person.”

Sanguine shook his head. “We should either make a strategic retreat or find a way to isolate him. We kill him, you get the dagger, we get the hell outta Dodge.”

She put her hand on his arm. “No. Leave him alone. I’m not even one hundred per cent sure I recognise him.”

“You may have dated him at some point.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Wouldn’t be surprised. You seem to have dated most everyone else.”

“Now is definitely not the time for this. I’ll say this once more – I don’t know who he is.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll ask him his name as he’s dying.”

“Billy-Ray. Be nice.”

“What do you care? You no longer have a conscience. I could slaughter everyone in this place and you’d only be mad because I didn’t leave any for you.”

Tanith shrugged. “Just because we can kill doesn’t mean we have to. I don’t derive any pleasure from killing people.”

Sanguine looked at her oddly. “You don’t? Not even a little?”

“Well,” Tanith said, “maybe a little.” She turned. “OK. I’m trying again.”

“This is stupid. What if he does know who you are? You got no back-up here.”

“Would you please trust me? Go on, go. I’ll be fine.”

Sanguine seemed on the verge of saying something else, but Tanith walked away before he had a chance. She stepped out, smiling again. The man with the dark hair wasn’t standing there any more.

Expecting a pack of Rippers to descend on her at any moment, she followed the sounds of the party and found herself in a large gallery where everyone had congregated. Starke, she knew, was something of a collector. In the past, his collection would have paled in comparison to China Sorrows’, but ever since her library blew up, Starke’s was possibly the most impressive in Europe.

Starke himself was a narrow man with grey-flecked hair. His beard and moustache were intricately styled – the sign of a man who spends far too much time admiring his own jawline. Well-dressed, though, Tanith had to give him that. And he had that aura of power that all people in positions of authority seemed to possess. He saw her watching him and she looked away, walked to examine the next item in his collection, adding a little sway to her hips.

A moment later he was standing beside her.

“This is a wonderful piece,” she said.

“And you have an eye for quality,” he responded. He held out his hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”