God Save the Queen

CHAPTER 10

CURIOUSER AND CURIOUSER“What?” I demanded. “Of course I exist.”

Cold rage overcame the panic fluttering in my chest. F*cking Ophelia. She had done this. There was some kind of mistake.

“I’m coming over,” I told him.

“You’d better,” he agreed. “I want to draw a sample of my own.”

“Be there as soon as I can.” I pushed the button to end the call. Fang me. My hands were shaking.

My sister and her girlfriend looked up as I entered the kitchen. Avery’s pleasant expression faded almost immediately. “Everything all right, Xan? You look pale.”

I nodded – big fat liar that I was. “Dede’s landlord,” I lied. “Wanted to know what to do with Dede’s things. I told her I’d come by.”

The look on her face made me feel like shit. It also made me want to strangle Dede. She was the one who’d got me mixed up in this mess. What f*cked-up reason did Ophelia have for swapping my blood?

“Do you want me to come with you?” The fact that she asked proved that she wasn’t up to the task.

“Nah, I can take care of it. I’ll donate what we don’t keep to charity.”

“She would like that,” Avery remarked quietly.

No, I wanted to say, she wouldn’t, which was exactly why I intended to do it.

I kissed Avery on the forehead and said see ya to them both, then I ran up to my room before heading out. In my bedroom, I opened the door to the large walk-in wardrobe and flicked the light switch.

There was a small box marked “MUM” that had a few toys in it, some children’s jewellery, a plastic barrette, photos and a couple of items of hers that I’d been given when she had been hauled off to Bedlam. I removed one of the photos – a shot of the two of us at the Courtesan House on Christmas Eve. I might have been five years old. My mother looked very much like she did now, which made me wonder if they did cosmetic surgery in Bedlam.

I put the photo back in the box and replaced the lid. No time for walking down memory lane, even if the box marked “RYE” tempted me like the proverbial snake in the garden. Instead I opened the one that read “ACADEMY: YEARS 10 & 11”. Inside were medals and ribbons I’d won, papers I’d written that had got good grades. A photograph of me and Churchill sparring – he’d beaten the crap out of me, of course. It was an exam and I got the highest mark in my age group. In any age group, actually. The only other person to come close had been Rye in his tenth year, beating me by two points. By the time I finished my final year I had set a new record – better than Rye’s. As far as I knew, no one had topped me yet.

But this photo and reminders of my failure to reach my full potential weren’t why I opened this box. I dug down through notes from the few friends I’d had, more photos and programmes for school tournaments. I didn’t even stop to look at the card my father had given me upon graduation.

There at the bottom of the box was the object of my search. It was a small, nondescript box that looked like it could be a rotary or AC. In reality it was a displacer, and it would keep anyone who might be monitoring my whereabouts from seeing where I was.

Really, if Ophelia had been smart she wouldn’t have told me how she found me last night. But then if I’d been smart I would have realised she was up to no good. I didn’t want her – or Church – knowing where I was.

I put the box back, gathered clothes and headed to the shower. A little while later I was dressed in snug black trousers, camisole, tall boots and black corset jacket that flared out and fell almost to my knees in the back. The device went into a pocket of my trousers, while the others ended up housing my rotary and watch. I tucked a few pound notes in with the displacer and slipped the lonsdaelite dagger inside a sheath in my right boot. I left the Bulldog behind.

Despite my frantic hurrying I’d lost an hour searching for the displacer and getting ready. It was that time of day when the streets and motorways teemed with humans coming home from their tedious jobs – whatever they were – and most halvies were getting ready for theirs. We were outnumbered by the humans, and it occurred to me then that I should know more about them. They kept the city running – electricity, plumbing, trains … And we simply assumed they were controlled. Cowed. Some even assumed the humans liked their situation.

I knew differently now. There was rebellion brewing. The barest stirrings of it could lead to war. Was the aristocracy any more prepared to take on the humans than they had been in ’32?

Fang me, but that was a fight I wanted to be part of. My entire life I’d been taught that humans were the enemy, that every last one of them wanted to see aristos and halvies wiped off the face of the earth. How could Dede and Ophelia be so certain that when the day came their human comrades wouldn’t turn on them? After all, we were just dirty half-bloods, right? My hands tightened on the steering bars.

It took me twenty minutes longer than it should have to get to Simon’s office at the hospital, even with the advantage of being able to weave in and out through the mass of cars and carriages, buses and trolleys.

I parked the Butler in the first available spot I found and practically ran through the front doors. I hurried to the lift and punched the button for the lab, which was one floor down. The doors slid open to reveal a corridor much more sterile than the prettily painted lobby and waiting area I’d run through upstairs. Here the overhead lights cast a slightly greenish tint along the whitewashed walls and tiled floor. They flickered above me as I walked.

It was quiet down here. The thick soles of my boots were silent on the polished floor, making nary a squeak as I set out at a brisk clip to the left. Simon’s office was a small space just outside the lab that used to be a storeroom. I knocked on the door and turned the knob, not bothering to wait for permission.

The door swung open. Simon wasn’t there.

But he had been.

I entered cautiously, wishing I’d brought the Bulldog regardless. A quick assessment of the room and I didn’t bother pulling a weapon – I knew I was alone. I couldn’t smell, hear or sense another body nearby. The heavy smell of smoke lingered on the air, as did the aroma of coffee. A cup on the desk had been knocked over, spilling latte all over the papers there. The chair lay overturned on the floor, Simon’s jacket still draped over the back of it.

A cigarillo burned in a crystal dish – the kind old grannies put barley sugar and peppermints in. It had been deliberately left to drown out all other scents, reinforcing the fact that Simon hadn’t left voluntarily. I knew that just as certainly as I knew I wouldn’t find any trace of my blood in the lab. I knew these things because there was a smear of blood on the wall behind the desk. I also knew without touching or tasting it that it was still warm.

And that it was Simon’s.

I did look for any information that might pertain to me – in both Simon’s office and the lab itself. Once I told the techies that Simon wasn’t in his office and that there was blood on the wall, they’d filed out to investigate for themselves and call the authorities. That left me with just a few minutes on my own, but that was all I needed.

There was no trace of me in the lab, and the smoke obliterated anything that might have been left behind in the office – everything but that awful smear on the wall.

Simon could have fallen and hit his head. At this very moment he might be upstairs getting stitched up. But I knew that wasn’t so because others in the lab would know about it. If the blood on the wall had been thicker I might suspect that he’d been shot, but I hadn’t smelled gunshot residue – the smoke couldn’t conceal that – and there wasn’t any splatter. I called his rotary to see if he answered.

He didn’t. No surprise there. Was it a coincidence that he had disappeared – violently – after contacting me? I didn’t think so, which meant that one – if not both – of us had some kind of surveillance on our line.

Fang me, could Simon have truly been taken because of me? My blood? Why? It made no sense.

Unless I was an experiment, like Ophelia had suggested at Bedlam. The thought sent my heart pounding. This was not the time to go full-on hatters.

How was I going to find out the truth about me now? An awful, selfish question given the circumstances, but I thought it regardless. More importantly, what was it that people were taking such extreme measures to keep me from finding out?

My search for answers was yielding nothing but more questions, the most important of which was where was my friend? There was a chance Simon’s disappearance had nothing to do with me at all, but in that case I’d expect to find the results of his tests in his office, or on his computer, and there hadn’t been anything at all. The Yard didn’t find anything either – nothing that they cared to share, and usually they did share with RGs.

They wanted to talk to me – officially. While I waited, itching and squirming in my own skin, I took a walk down the corridor, sniffing for traces of Simon. If the peelers hadn’t found anything it was unlikely I would, although at the exit I thought I caught a whiff of myself, which is an unsettling sensation when you’re not expecting it.

There was a drop of blood on the floor. This had to be where they’d taken Simon out of the building. I pushed the door open and walked through, careful to avoid the blood.

Outside in the back lot the smell disappeared. Plague it all. Why couldn’t I catch one bloody break?

I went back inside and waited a few more minutes. Once I had given my statement to Inspector Granger from Special Branch – and she had expressed her sympathy over Dede’s “death” – I left the hospital and tore off in the direction of Bedlam, weaving in and out of traffic as recklessly as I dared without attracting undue attention. I held tight to my anger, because that kept me from dissolving in a fit of guilt. I had no idea anything would happen to Simon when I brought my blood to him, but I felt responsible for his disappearance.

When I arrived at Bedlam, I parked the motorrad around the corner and hurried through the wrought-iron gate and up the path. It smelled like rain and the waning day was grey. I’d probably get soaked on the way home.

The asylum loomed before me like a house in a gothic novel – as though it was a living, breathing creature of darkness. I had the absurd thought that it would swallow me alive once I crossed the threshold.

Obviously I still had a few issues with the place, but right now, it just pissed me off.

I swept through the front door like the heroine in an American action film, all butch swagger. The guards stiffened at the sight of me, reading my body language as a threat. I smiled. I wasn’t in the mood for their shit.

“Do you have an appointment?” one asked, his hand hovering over the pistol at his hip.

“I don’t need one.” I started to pass by them, but one stopped me with his palm against the top of my chest – just above my breasts. I glanced down at that hand, so large and brown against the pale bit of skin peeking out of my coat.

“You’re going to want to move that,” I told him, raising my gaze to his. “And not down.”

I gave him credit for not smirking, but he didn’t remove his hand. “No appointment, no pass.”

I wrapped my fingers around his wrist, still smiling.

A minute later, as the alarm the other guard had set off rang in the west wing, Ophelia came tearing around the corner looking ready for a fight. I stood just inside the hounds, the two guards unconscious on the floor at my feet.

“Hello, sunshine,” I said cheerfully, stepping over the legs of the guard who’d put his hand on me. “Miss me?”

“You might have called,” she informed me – rather peevishly I thought. She was wearing a long purple frockcoat over her grey trousers and black corset. The coat matched a bruise on her jaw. My handiwork, I reckoned. “Now who’s going to deal with visitors?”

I shrugged. “They’ll be awake soon.” A moan from behind me proved me right. “See, one’s coming round already. Take me to Juliet.”

Ophelia’s blue eyes glittered. “Say please.”

Good Lord, we really were sisters. I found myself smiling at her in a demented fashion. “Pretty please.”

I had the pleasure of seeing some of her bravado waver. She wasn’t a stupid girl; she simply didn’t trust me any more than I trusted her. She did, however, know that I was spoiling for a fight, and that I had the undoubtedly lucky advantage of being slightly unhinged.

The second guard began to come round as she watched me. The first sat up slowly. Ophelia glanced grimly at them before jerking her head back. “Come on then. I’ll take you to Mum.”

I despised her right then. I blamed her for a lot of this – even the shit that had nothing to do with her. It was convenient and made me feel better. She could call Juliet “Mum” without a second thought, while I felt as though I should ask permission, even though I would rather razor-blade my own tongue than admit that I wanted to have such familiarity with the woman who’d borne me.

“You know they can track you here,” she muttered.

“Taken care of.”

She glanced at me – warily. I wasn’t about to tell her about the displacer, just in case she decided to put a silver bullet in my brain and cut off my head.

My half-sister didn’t seem to like having me walk behind, so I fell into step beside her. Our strides matched almost perfectly, as did the slight swing of our arms. Neither of us spoke until we reached a set of double doors near the end of the west ground-floor corridor, behind which I could hear the muffled sounds of sparring. Ophelia opened them – with a bit more of a dramatic flourish than I thought necessary – and gestured for me to enter.

Across the threshold was what must have been a dining hall or ballroom at one time – a really large space. Whatever it had been, it was now a gymnasium and training room for their treasonous rebellion.

On a large tumbling mat my mother – looking better than a woman her age ought in pink spandex – sparred with a large man. They weren’t using any particular school of martial art, but rather seemed to incorporate whatever suited them. Arms and legs spun and struck with impressive speed and force. They weren’t fooling around.

It took me perhaps two seconds to realise that my mother moved entirely too fast to be a normal human. Why was that? If she had visible sores I’d suspect her of being a betty, but she looked far too healthy.

Then her opponent struck a particularly effective blow and knocked her back several feet. Being a courtesan didn’t give her any more strength or speed than a regular human. The strike should have laid her out. My mother didn’t even fall. She came at the man with a snarl.

A freaking snarl that sent a shiver down my spine. Albert’s fangs – the hits just kept on coming.

I didn’t need to see the gold sheen to her eyes to realise the truth. My mother was a f*cking werewolf.

I’ve never fancied myself one of those people who, early in Victoria’s reign, might have been described as having an overabundance of spleen, or an imbalance in their humours, but I’d had a lot of things happen to me in the last couple of weeks and there was a bubble of near-hysterical laughter stuck to the back of my throat. Since the treatment for hysteria was basically vibrator-induced orgasm until one was too weak and too sore to “fuss about” any longer, I held the laughter in check. I liked the big O as much as the next girl, but that really wasn’t what I needed right then.

Although I couldn’t quite say what I did need at that moment. So I sat down on a chair against the wall and ground the heel of my left hand into my forehead, elbow digging into my thigh.

I’d never heard of a courtesan being turned before. Courtesans were for breeding, not turning. I had to think that more of these women would have been changed into full-bloods if it was that easy, but perhaps then they couldn’t breed halvies. Obviously my mother had been turned after I was born. By whom? And why was I just finding out about it now? Was her turning part of the reason my blood was supposedly being monitored? Was it because of her aristo-friendly genes that I was considered odd? She was more than just a carrier if she could be turned.

“You all right?” It was Dede who asked. She’d come in just a few seconds ago.

“Do I f*cking look all right?” I demanded, glaring at her as she stood over me.

Her lips twitched. I think she was enjoying this. “You look like you’re about ready to toss your pot.”

What she lacked in eloquence she made up for in accuracy. I was feeling a little sick. That feeling intensified as my mother approached – her opponent dismissed. Juliet had a concerned and slightly horrified expression on her face. I watched as the gold faded from her eyes.

“My dear girl. I never meant for you to find out like this.”

That would indicate that she meant for me to find out eventually.

“When?” It was all I could think of – the only thing that seemed important at that moment.

My mother placed her hand on mine. Her skin was almost hot compared to the chill of my own, but then werewolfs ran a little hotter than the rest of us. “When I was pregnant with you,” she replied softly. “Three months.”

Now I knew why she had given up being a courtesan after I was born. She had to. Fang me. “That’s why you wanted to check my blood, to see if it did anything to me.” And it was why my blood looked weird to Simon. I’d have markers that belonged to vamps, halvies and weres.

Her expression was grim. “Yes.”

“Who was the were who did this to you?”

“I don’t know. It was dark, and my senses were human then. I never saw his face, and afterward … our paths never crossed.”

I had the feeling she would have killed him if they had. “Why didn’t you have me tested when I was young?”

“Your father did, but he told me there was nothing to worry about.”

I met her concerned blue gaze in surprise. “Vardan knows?”

She made a choking sound as she chuckled humourlessly. “He found me after the attack. For all I know he could have instigated the whole thing.”

I glared at her. “He would never.” How could anyone take such a risk with the life of the woman carrying his child?

A thin blonde brow arched. “Such misplaced devotion. You don’t know His Grace like I do, my girl. After I was bitten I told your father I would have to have an abortion as the law dictated. He wouldn’t let me.”

My spine straightened. “He didn’t want to lose his child.”

“He wanted to see how you’d ‘turn out’ – as he put it. I assume that’s why he continues to monitor your blood.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. It was as though I had the lead role in some bizarre panto and didn’t know my lines.

Ophelia kicked my chair. “Don’t you get it? You’ve been a lab rat your entire life. They’ve been studying you.”

I shrugged. “If I was that much of a freak, wouldn’t they know by now? Wouldn’t I know?”

“It would be in their best interests to make you think you’re normal.”

I winced. “I suppose you’ll find out when you get your test results back.”

My mother dabbed at her damp brow with a towel. “Didn’t you take your own vial for testing?”

More laughter – just a chuckle this time. I leaned back and rubbed a hand over my eyes. If I didn’t laugh I just might become what my father liked to call “a watering pot”. “Right, here’s the kicker – my blood and the bloke who tested it have gone missing. It looks like there was a struggle. That’s why I came here. I thought perhaps you lot might know something about it, but you don’t, do you?”

I looked up at my mother, so young and beautiful, her pale brow marred by a frown as she shook her head. She looked worried, and I wasn’t comforted by the fact.

I looked from Juliet to Ophelia and back again. “No one else knew.”

My sister spoke first. “Did you talk to this man on your rotary?”

“Yeah. Someone obviously overheard his end. That or I have a huge coincidence on my hands.”

“You said there seemed to have been a struggle?”

I nodded, shoving my thumb and middle finger along my aching brow. Headaches were rare amongst halvies, but I was working on a good one right now.

“You need to get a new rotary,” my mother said. “Don’t tell anyone about it. Use it only in emergencies or to call us.”

“You think someone tapped my phone?”

“Either yours or that of your friend.”

Albert’s fangs. I really was in an American action film. Any minute now some bald man would pop up with a machine gun and call me a motherf*cker. Why hadn’t I thought of the tap being on my end? I was paranoid about everything else.

I was starting to feel a little shaky. I took a sealed packet of supplements from my inside coat pocket with the intention of swallowing them – maybe with a biscuit.

Ophelia snatched the packet from my hand. “Yeah, don’t do that.”

I watched as she tossed them in the bin against the wall. “Oi! I need those.”

“No you don’t,” she replied, “they make you weak. They contain pharmaceuticals that suppress reflexes and instincts. I can give you proof. God knows what else they put in yours.” My supplements would not be the same as Avery’s or Val’s, and we were always cautioned never to take another halvie’s supps unless we absolutely had to.

Bloody hell, was there anything in my life that was right side up? I sucked in a deep breath. Just because they told me these things didn’t make them true – I had to remember that. But the easiest way to find out was to stop taking the supps and see what happened.

And the next time I saw Vardan I’d ask him about my mother becoming a were.

My father had a good reason for keeping this from me – just as I knew Church had his reasons for concealing the truth as well. Maybe everyone under this roof was one of the bad guys.

But what if they were right?

My mother must have seen my confusion, because she chose that moment to take pity on me. “Go a few days without the supplements and see how you feel.”

“I feel like tearing someone’s throat out when I don’t take them.”

The corners of her lips tucked in a grim parody of a smile. “That will go away. It’s withdrawal. It may get worse before it gets better, but you’ll be all right. You won’t be a wreck for long.”

Speaking of wrecked … “I almost forgot.” I smiled brightly at Dede and Ophelia as I stuck my hand into my coat pocket. “Next time you want to search my house, just ask.”

They both protested, but I tossed Dede the earring Avery had found. Her cheeks flushed dark red as she caught it and realised what it was. “Sloppy,” I told her.

She looked me dead in the eye. “You would have done the same.”

“Sure I would have, but I would have made certain I didn’t leave any trace of myself behind.” I glanced at Ophelia. “And I wouldn’t send in a distraction.”

She stiffened and met my gaze but remained silent. She wasn’t sorry either. I tried to remember that she had just lost someone she loved, but even that didn’t make me feel charitable towards her.

“What were you looking for anyway?”

“Information on what happened to Raj,” Dede replied.

“Right, because I turned him over to the … the what exactly? A secret organisation of aristos that I’m somehow privy to?”

Dede lifted her chin. “To Church.”

I’d come close to turning her over to Church. “Why would I do that?”

She shrugged. “Everyone always thought there was something between you two. You worship him and its plain he has a thing for you. He always gave you good grades.”

I stepped forward, temper raised to a point that it threatened to blow the top of my fool head off. “I earned those grades, you selfish cow. I am not f*cking Church.”

“No,” Ophelia jumped in. “Why settle for a low-level vampire when you can f*ck the alpha.”

My fist whipped out and caught her in the jaw – opposite the bruised side. “Now you can have a matched set,” I snarled. My mother stepped forward and wrapped strong fingers around my wrist, forcing my fist down. “I wish the three of you would stop acting like feral cats tossed into a sack. And I wish you wouldn’t talk like you were born in a gutter. Did you not learn any decorum at Courtesan House?”

The three of us each lowered our eyes in shame. Juliet continued, “Trust has to be earned and rightfully given by all of us. Alexandra has reasons to be wary of our cause just as we will be wary of her, but the lies and subterfuge stop here.”

I arched a brow. “Is that so?”

Her expression was fierce as she sharply dipped her head. “You need to sort out for yourself which side you’re on. All I ask is that you be as careful in the company of aristos as you are with us, and extend to us the same discretion you offer them. Find out for yourself what they’re keeping from you and why. Meanwhile, give us a chance to prove ourselves.”

I couldn’t really argue with that. If this insurrectionary lot proved to be full of shit, I could always turn them in, or at least set Special Branch on to them. There was a part of me that wanted it to end that way, and another part that hoped for all the wrong reasons that Dede wasn’t a traitor.

“Agreed,” I said, rising to my feet. “Anything else?”

Ophelia stepped up – big surprise. “You really don’t know anything about Raj’s murder?”

I shook my head. “I wish I did.” I meant it. “Either you’ve got a traitor in your ranks” – what did one call a traitor amongst traitors? – “or someone’s on to you. Whichever, you’re not safe.” I might not like what they were up to, but I didn’t want to see any of them killed, especially not Dede.

And not myself.

I turned to my mother. Now I knew why she looked more like an older sister. “You’ll let me know when you get the results of the blood work?” If it had just been the two of us, I would have told her what Simon had said about the vial, but I wasn’t keen on giving Ophelia more “freak” ammunition to use on me. And I didn’t want them to see how responsible I felt for Simon’s disappearance.

She nodded, her expression soft but honest. “I will.” And then she gave me her rotary number – which I memorised because she wouldn’t write it down. “As soon as you get a new one, let me know so I’ll be able to contact you.”

I shouldn’t have done it. If I was caught … but it didn’t matter. I had to follow this through. No turning back now. For better or for worse the traitors were all I had.