God Save the Queen

CHAPTER 3

A HOST OF FURIOUS FANCIESI demanded to see the body.

Val tried to put his arms around me. “Xandy, you don’t want to do that.”

I pushed him away. “Yes I do. She’s not dead until I see for myself.” I stomped to the door of Church’s office. “I’m going to Bedlam.” All thoughts of my own fear disappeared, replaced with an odd sense of determined desperation.

Avery grabbed my arm. “Xandy, no. She … she set herself on fire.”

I froze, the tension of her hold threatening to pull my shoulder out of joint. “Dede wouldn’t do that.” I jerked my arm free. “She was afraid of fire.” And just how was that even possible? Where would she have got the tools necessary for such a macabre feat? Didn’t places like Bedlam take precautions to make sure its mad denizens didn’t give into the demons riding them?

The three of them – my siblings and Churchill – stared at me as though I were as delusional as Dede was accused of being. They looked as if they felt sorry for me that I couldn’t accept the death – and madness – of my youngest sister.

Did they not understand that no one with even a shred of their right mind would set themselves on fire? Then again, when you’re bred to be hard to kill, suicide options are limited.

I could accept it – if it were true. But it wasn’t. If Dede was dead I would know. When she was eight Dede became hung up on the idea of “blood sisters”. She had seen it on the box. I explained to her that we were already related, but that didn’t matter. She wanted to mix our blood. For some reason she was obsessed with it. I indulged her – even then I would do anything she asked – and allowed her to make a small cut on the pad of my right index finger. She did the same to herself and then we pressed the wounds together. Ever since she’d maintained that she felt closer to me because of that. Maybe it was bollocks, but it was sweet, and a part of me wanted to believe it.

If Dede was dead, I would feel it in my blood.

“Alexandra,” Church began in a tone that I suspected was supposed to be soothing, “the hospital wouldn’t have notified the family if it weren’t true.”

“Yeah?” I challenged. “No one notified me and I’m listed as her next of kin!” I turned to my siblings. Avery’s pink frock coat was buttoned up wrong, and one of her stockings had a tear. She had dressed in a hurry. “Now the two of you can either come with me or not, but I’m going to Bedlam.”

Avery looked horrified at the prospect – which was exactly why neither Dede, Val or myself had her listed as an emergency contact. Me, the one who had nightmares about Bedlam Asylum, I was going to walk through its doors to prove that the charred corpse in their possession was not my baby sister, but Avery would rather tear off her own fingernails than visit a morgue.

It was my brother who stepped up. “I’ll come.” As soon as the words left his mouth, his rotary rang. He swore, and accepted the call. “Vardan,” he said in a clipped, hard tone that I teasingly referred to as his “big boy” voice.

“Right … Now’s not a good …” He turned his back, walking to the other side of the room. We could all hear him, however. “Of course … Yes, of course, I understand, sir … I have a family emergency, sir … I’ll be there as soon as I can, of course.” He hung up, his expression pinched as he turned back to us.

“Jesus, Val,” Avery spat around a sob. “Your sister’s dead. Can’t you leave the job for a few minutes at least?” I would have corrected her about Dede, but she was right about Val, so I kept quiet. He worked too hard – and spent too much time kissing his superintendent’s arse.

“Someone broke into the PAH last night,” he told her, as if to justify himself. “Stole the records of every halvie born between November 1990 and December 1991. Looks like it was a halvie who did it.”

Prince Albert Hospital was where all half-bloods were born and received any medical attention needed throughout the course of our lives. Someone stealing records was a big deal – but not more important than family. Still, it took me a second to realise that my own records would be amongst the ones stolen.

“Halvies stealing half-blood records? That’s a little dodgy, isn’t it?”

He shrugged. “I’ve heard of stranger things.” He straightened his shoulders and shoved his wireless into the leather sheath on his belt. “Right, so let’s get to Bedlam and get this over with.”

“Don’t tell me you believe Dede’s not dead just because Xandy doesn’t want to believe it?” Avery’s cheeks were flushed the same colour as her hair. “I don’t want to believe it either, but that doesn’t make it less true.”

“No harm in checking. We owe Dede that much.” Val’s expression was sadly resolute as he put his arm around me. “Come on. Let’s go. See ya, Church.”

I glanced over my brother’s shoulder at my sister and former professor. Avery looked like a sad and angry child with her redrimmed eyes, but she stood her ground. Church raised his hand in sad farewell. He didn’t say anything – he didn’t have to. He knew me well enough to know that he’d be the first person I rang once I saw the truth with my own eyes.

I just hoped that truth wouldn’t be that my blood didn’t know f*ck-all, and that my sister really was dead.

Val and I didn’t speak the entire drive to Lambeth Road. I sat in the passenger seat of his vintage Triumph motor carriage and watched parts of the city go by, blurred by the increasing rain. The carriage was lower to the ground than its horse-driven counterpart, and it was a rich auburn colour, with cream wheels turning beneath metal arches. The long snout was curved, narrowing toward the front where the wide headlights sat like startled eyes. To be honest, I was surprised that my brother had his precious baby out on such a wet, thankless day. He usually treated it as though it was made of sugar.

Rain didn’t just fall from the sky, it stomped down like the feet of a child in the middle of a tantrum, spraying up around the tyres as we raced across roads that were a mix of cobblestone and modern ashphalt. The city was grey; it looked as though a giant hand had dipped the spires and stone in pewter. It was exactly the kind of day it should be when you got news of your sister’s suicide.

Alleged suicide, I corrected myself as I dry-swallowed the supplements Val had forced upon me after telling me I looked feral. He had plenty of his own script left, so I didn’t mind taking a couple.

My brother had his A-cylinder plugged into the Triumph’s audio system. The small metal tube stored hundreds of songs on its internal memory – a vast improvement from the wax cylinders used a century and a half ago. Like so many other blokes I knew, Val had a thing for electronics, and he liked to play loud music when he drove. Today he had the noise at a decent volume – I could still hear the rain on the roof. I only half-listened as Sid Vicious warbled a slightly off-key, yet strangely melodic version of “Luck Be a Lady” from the Frank Sinatra tribute album he’d released last month.

I couldn’t get Dede out of my head. I still didn’t believe she was dead, but a lump of dread sat like cement in the pit of my stomach. What if I was wrong? What if all the trust I put in my instinct and blood was nothing but ego?

“Did you ring Vardan?” I asked, rejecting the doubt in my mind.

Val didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Avery did on the way to find you.”

“How did he take it?”

He shot a dry glance in my direction. “How do you think? He was stunned, just like the rest of us.”

I may have imagined the slight barb in his voice, but I ignored it regardless.

It took us almost half an hour to reach our destination. The Triumph was fast, but traffic was heavy, the road stuffed with motor carriages much like the Triumph, horns blaring and engines revving. It never failed to grate upon my nerves. I was more accustomed to Mayfair, where horsedrawn carriages were more the norm, and motorists were much more relaxed.

Eventually, we reached our destination. Of course there were no open parking spots on the street when we arrived – all the pay posts were taken. Fortunately Val had brought his Scotland Yard permit, which he placed on the dash so it was visible through the windscreen. Normally I would have teased him for such a cheeky abuse of power, but not today.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said to me as I opened my door, umbrella in hand.

I looked at him and didn’t feel any conflict between my head and my heart. That was how I knew I was doing the right thing. My gut was another matter – it rolled and churned as though trying to digest itself. Just the sight of this place was enough to make me want to puke. “Yes I do.”

We braved leaving the dry warmth of his carriage at the same time, both of us as protected as our gear allowed. We ran together through the opening in the wrought-iron gate topped with lengths of metal twisted and formed to spell out the name Bedlam. Water splashed up my boots as I hurried up the paved walk to the impressive columned portico.

The asylum formerly known as New Bethlehem Hospital didn’t look like a house of the damned. It wasn’t dark and monstrous, falling down upon itself. In fact, it was quite the contrary – a fact that only served to make it all the more intimidating. It was a long, sprawling red-brick building with white trim and a dome on top. Three storeys high, it had to have six dozen windows along the front of either wing – most of those were barred.

“Almost looks like a country house, dunnit?” Val remarked, his words echoing my thoughts.

“Mm.” It was as much conversation as I could offer through my clenched jaw. My palms were beginning to sweat and there was a hot, prickling feeling in my torso. When we reached the shelter above the steps, we stopped running.

And then my feet didn’t want to move at all. I stood there, just beyond the rain mark on the stone, frozen like a f*cking statue.

Val shook the water off his umbrella and turned to me. “You coming, Xandy? Xandra?”

I blinked and met his gaze. The pins and needles inside me had grown insistent. I could feel them in my head now. “I need a little help, Fetch.” That was what I’d called him when we were still in the courtesan house, so long ago now that I didn’t even remember how the moniker had come to be.

His face softened and for a moment I thought he might actually break down, but he came towards me, holding out his hand. “Then I’ll help you.” He didn’t just mean at this moment, he meant inside as well, and I loved him even more for it.

I’ve always prided myself on being a bit of a kick-arse, confident – perhaps overly so – in my ability to fight and win. There wasn’t much that scared me other than goblins – and you had to be a special kind of stupid not to be afraid of them. Even then, Bedlam terrified me more.

Because I honestly believed that one day I would be an inmate here. This was where I would die if some Human League zealot, whose mission was to ensure that humans were the last race standing, didn’t take me out first. This place was my destiny. Sounds like bollocks, but I felt it in my bones.

“You’re going to break my fingers,” Val whispered as we crossed the threshold into the awful place.

I eased up on my grip, but didn’t let go of his hand. I wasn’t even embarrassed – that’s how freaked out I was. Inside we found ourselves in a small but impeccable foyer, separated from the rest of the building by gates and a security station. Val was right: if it weren’t for all the tech, this place would look like a country house, right down to the oak panelling, ornate plaster ceiling and Axminster carpet.

There must be good money in madness.

We were greeted by halvie guards, both in black trousers and red frock coats with “ASYLUM SECURITY” stitched on the left breast. Val and I flashed our respective official identification. Neither guard looked terribly impressed; they simply nodded and gestured for us to move on to the hounds – machines fitted with sensors that smelled the person walking past the “nose” posted on either side of the frame. It could tell in a few seconds if a visitor had a weapon, drugs or anything else that might be considered dangerous.

I’d left the Bulldog at home, but Val had to give up his handgun. They told him he couldn’t take it inside, not unless he was there to arrest someone.

Fortunately, lonsdaelite had no odour, so the dagger hidden in my corset didn’t register. I wasn’t about to sashay on into Bedlam without some kind of weapon beyond my own hands and teeth. Although I was fairly certain I could chew my way out of this place if necessary.

“Are we done?” I asked, standing toe to toe with the rougher-looking of the two guards. “We’d like to see if a body in your morgue is our sister.”

The guard’s eye twitched. What do you know, a hint of remorse. “We’re done. My associate will escort you to the morgue.”

The guard who’d searched Val led us to the lift. Behind us I heard the other bloke radio ahead to let them know we were coming. I stepped inside the antique cage, turning so I faced the front. The guard inserted a key into the control panel, turned it and pressed a button marked “B”. The gate crept shut and the floor beneath my feet shifted, dropped.

The morgue was underground. It was a well-known fact that London, nicknamed the “Necropolis”, was built on graves ranging from pre-Roman times to historically preserved plague pits to nineteenth-century tombs. Dig deep enough almost anywhere in the city and you’d find bone fragments of some kind. So it seemed only natural that this place associated with death should, like the pits and ancient graves, keep its dead like a dirty secret, buried deep.

There was a bit of a draught – I felt it along my hairline where my skin was damp with perspiration. The place made my flesh creep, my breathing shallow and my heart race. Silly to be so afraid of somewhere I’d never set foot before, but I was. A little fear was a good thing – it made you sharper – but too much made you a wreck. Made you weak.

I was not going to let this pile of stone and madness make me weak.

The lift jolted to a stop, wavering beneath our feet before stilling enough for the gate to jerk open. The corridor was dimly lit, with a low ceiling and a worn floor that looked shabby compared to the maintained grandeur of above stairs. I stepped out into the unknown at the same moment as our escort, looking right and then left. We were totally alone – the only sound the hum of the grainy lights.

“This way, please,” the guard said, setting off down the shorter part of the corridor on the left. Val and I followed without looking at one another, him with his hands behind his stiff back, me with mine curled at my sides. The guard’s shoes made soft clipping sounds as he walked, but Val and I moved as silently as ghosts, as we were trained to do.

At the end of the corridor was a scarred metal door with an obscured window and the word “MORGUE” in chipped black paint. The guard punched several keys on a security pad to the left of the door, and when the light turned green, he twisted the knob and led us in.

I went first. Now that I was here, I was determined to get this over with as quickly as possible so I could get the hell out again.

I walked into a sterile-looking room – all white with surgical green and stainless steel. The overhead lights were bright, flooding the room with artificial brightness. The concrete floor was dull, sloping downwards to a drain in the centre. I smelled formaldehyde, the charcoal-coppery scent of scorched blood, the faintly musky-sweet odour of burnt spinal fluid and charred meat. My stomach churned as my throat tightened.

Val reached out and took my hand. I squeezed his fingers.

A man in a lab coat came out of a room in the back. He looked to be part Indian, with thick, wavy black hair and a spine so straight you’d think it was made of steel. Pale blue eyes regarded us from behind square-cut glasses. “Inspector Vardan?”

Val stepped forward and offered his hand. “Yes, and this is my sister Alexandra. Thank you for seeing us.”

He nodded, not a hint of expression on his handsome face. “I’m sorry for the circumstances.” He sounded about as sorry as someone returning a bowl of cold soup. “If you will come this way, we can get this unpleasantness over with.”

Val and I exchanged a look as he walked away. “His empathy is overwhelming,” I remarked drily.

My brother’s expression was strained, but his green eyes held a flicker of warmth. “Manners, Xandy.”

I shrugged, and followed the doctor. Any other smart-arse remarks I might have made disappeared under the lead weight that seemed to have settled in my stomach.

The doctor stood beside one of the walls of refrigerator units. When we approached, he opened one and pulled out the slab. The body on it had a black sheet over it – it wasn’t a sign of mourning; it was because black didn’t show stains like white. A little consideration to the family, I supposed, and to the laundry.

Pale eyes flickered from Val to me. The doctor held my gaze a little longer than necessary, as though looking for the answer to something in my eyes. I didn’t blink, but I arched a brow.

“I apologise for this,” he said, looking away from me as he took hold of the sheet. “There’s nothing I can say to make it easier for either of you.”

Val gave a quick nod. “We appreciate that.”

The doctor hesitated just a moment, as though girding himself against the sight of what was beneath that sheet. I took those few seconds to do the same. Then he peeled back the fabric.

Black. Cracked. Monstrous. The thing on the slab didn’t look like a person at all. It looked like something out of a movie – a prop. It smelled real, though. Too real. But it didn’t smell like Dede – though that didn’t prove anything. Burnt didn’t smell like anything but burnt.

I looked away from that face that was no longer a face, a surreal kind of detachment taking hold of me. The corpse was the right size to be Dede. It was obviously half-blood, given the sharp but small fangs in its gaping mouth where the gums had receded, shrunk. It even had her ring – the Vardan signet – melted on to her finger.

“It’s her,” Val whispered hoarsely.

I shot him a sharp glance. “We don’t know that.”

“Xandy.” He took my arm and pulled me aside. “It’s Dede. You know it and I know it.”

I didn’t know it. One thing I did know, however, was that this “doctor” was watching us closely – too closely. He was listening to us as well, even though he pretended to be very interested in his clipboard. Someone wanted us to believe this poor soul was our sister – and they’d done a good job of selling it. Only not quite good enough.

“Whatever you say, Val,” I murmured, turning away to examine the body once more. Dede was a natural copper-head – hair the colour of a brand-new penny, and just as shiny. But there wasn’t any hair left on this poor thing.

My gaze drifted downwards. There was a small hoop in the corpse’s right nostril, just like Dede had. The surgical steel was slightly warped, the curve scorched. My stomach clenched, bittering my mouth. Could it be …?

Then I looked at the teeth. Enamel would burn, same as bone – it just took longer than flesh and hair. Halvie bones and teeth were especially strong. The body’s teeth were in full view, the lips having been charred into ash. My heart kicked me in the ribs.

This wasn’t Dede.

A few years ago, when Dede had been a teenager, she’d had a huge crush on the lead singer of the halvie band Diamond Dogs. The singer – he was called Rufus or something – had a diamond embedded in his right front tooth. Dede had gone out and had a diamond put in hers as well. It hadn’t been all that noticeable unless the light caught it.

The body on the slab did not have a diamond in its tooth.

I lifted my gaze to the doctor’s. He was watching me, his broad shoulders rigid. I could sense his anxiety almost as though it was my own. There was something devious going on here. Something secretive enough that it was worth putting me, Val and Avery through hell thinking our sister was dead. And that meant it was something I wanted to get to the bottom of.

Burning a corpse was the only way to destroy its scent as well as ruin any distinguishing features. It was a fantastic way of concealing identity. As efficient as it was, it was also very drastic. Someone truly wanted us to believe that Dede was gone. I hoped this poor girl had already been dead when they did this to her.

“It’s her,” I said, low and careful. “It’s our sister.”

Val put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed, turning slightly so that he held me against him. I hugged him back, but I kept my peripheral attention locked on the doctor and caught his barely perceptible sigh of relief.

If I pounded his skull into the floor would he tell me the truth, or would he take it to his grave? I was tempted to find out, and I wasn’t bothered that murderous thoughts occurred to me with such careless ease.

I stood back as Val thanked the doctor for his time and he went through all the motions of a professional. The more I watched him, the more I was convinced he was lying. I didn’t say anything to Val as we were escorted from the lab by the same security guard. I didn’t want anything to get back to the doctor – either via the guard or through listening devices that might be concealed nearby. Plus, Val wouldn’t believe me. He thought Dede was exactly the weak and broken kind of girl who would go mental and set herself on fire. Avery thought the same. Even if I told them about the tooth, they would fight me.

They believed she’d killed herself because they’d seen her headed in that direction for years, and now they didn’t have to worry about her any more. They’d tell me I was the foolish one for thinking differently. They’d argue that she had had the tooth fixed.

We took the lift back up to the ground floor. Val stopped at the security desk to retrieve his gun and I took a few moments to look around and get an idea of just how secure the building really was. I would be coming back soon. It still scared the child inside me, but now it pissed me off as well. These walls held the truth about Dede, and I was going to find it.

Val’s rotary buzzed as we stepped outside. It had stopped raining and the day had that slightly warm dampness I often associated with spring. It was going to be a humid night.

We paused so he could check the message. “Digigram,” he said, referring to the electronic telegrams sent between wireless devices. “The Yard has new information on a member of the Insurgent Army who they think was involved with the theft at PAH.”

The IA was like the Human League, but was made up of halfbloods as well as humans. They didn’t believe in the superiority of any race, but held that the aristocracy was a dictatorship ruled by fear and that Victoria should be forced to step down as monarch. They wanted a democracy where half-bloods weren’t bound to the peerage, while the Human League’s goal was to obliterate anything that wasn’t human.

I had more respect for the League than I did for the IA. Going against your own kind was just … wrong.

“Good,” I heard myself reply, though my thoughts were still on Dede. What could anyone hope to gain by falsifying her death? Had it something to do with our father? The Duke of Vardan was an important man, but any villain would be better served by kidnapping Dede and demanding a ransom rather than pretending she was dead. “If you see this halvie, ring me asap,” Val said, bringing me back to the moment. “She’s dangerous.” He handed me his mobile so I could see the photo.

My breath caught in my throat as I gazed at the person captured by hospital cameras. It was a bit grainy, but I recognised the face – and the blue hair.

It was Fee, the halvie whose life I’d saved the night before.

Avery made me wear black to work that night. She told me I should call in and take my bereavement leave, but the last place I wanted to be was stuck at home with her and Val as they pored over old photo albums and drank too much wine. They might be in mourning, but I wasn’t. So I slipped into a black satin evening gown that had enough give for me to fight, and tugged on matching gloves and a pair of pointy-toe boots before setting off on the Butler.

I was right – it was a humid night. Warm, damp air tugged at the pins in my hair as I drove toward the gates of Mayfair. They would have cool air circulating at the party to keep all those fast metabolisms comfortable. That was another reason why it made more sense to me to move the Season to the winter months, when it not only stayed dark longer, but was cooler as well. But Queen V was a stickler for tradition in many ways, hence why I was in a gown rather than my usual kit.

Tonight’s party was at the Duke and Duchess of Somerset’s home. Theirs was one of the houses rebuilt after the Great Insurrection. The next house down the street had been left a ruin, the family who owned it destroyed in the fire. It stood as a memorial to all the aristos lost that awful day, and had been turned into a beautiful garden, filled with night-blooming plants and vines that climbed over the charred stone. I took a deep breath of floral-scented dampness.

It was just after 11.30 p.m., and the guests were due to arrive shortly. My task this evening was to prowl round the perimeter of the party and make sure all was secure. Of course, each couple or individual would have their Peerage Protectorate detail lurking nearby, but the Royal Guard had to be wherever a royal might show up, and Bertie, the Prince of Wales, was on the guest list.

Mayfair parties hadn’t changed much since Victoria took the crown. They were still overcrowded and overheated. Fortunately sweat was more prevalent amongst humans than aristos, and hygiene was considered a friend to all, so the smells of the evening stayed relatively pleasant. Supper was put out, mostly for the halvies, though some aristos nibbled on the fare. There was also a variety of blood on hand, as well as rare beef for the weres, who often preferred to eat, rather than drink, the protein their evolved bodies craved.

The blood came from willing donors – often humans related to aristo families. Mandatory blood donation for healthy humans over the age of eighteen had been put into place fifty years ago. Every three months, British citizens were required to give a pint. Some of this blood went to human hospital blood banks. The rest went to aristos. There was also a supply of foreign blood – purchased from America, Canada, Mexico and other human-rich countries. China was a huge supplier. I had no idea if the rumours were true, but it was said that foreign blood tasted more exotic than domestic.

Some of the other RGs came up to me and offered their condolences – news of Dede’s death had travelled fast, all the more so because of the scandal attached. I took each well-meant word as it should be taken, and thanked my colleagues, even though I wanted to scream from the rooftops that it wasn’t true. I held myself together well, until my father approached.

The Duke of Vardan wasn’t an overly tall man – somewhere in the vicinity of six feet. His thick wavy hair was dark and his eyes were the same clear green as mine. He was as handsome as he was intimidating.

“My dear Alexandra,” he said, giving me a quick, loose hug. I wanted to lean into him and hold him a little longer, absorb some of his strength, but he moved away before I could. “I heard you went to New Bethlehem today. I’m so sorry you had to go through that ordeal.”

It was a sign of his age that he referred to Bedlam by its proper name. “Thank you, Father, but it had to be done.”

He shot me a sympathetic look. “The burden should have been mine, child. Not yours.”

Tears prickled the back of my eyes at that simple admission. I blinked them away.

He stepped closer, so that his arm almost brushed mine. Not a speck of lint could be seen on the fine black wool of his jacket. His cravat was impeccably knotted. He was the perfect gentleman in every respect.

“Are you certain it was Drusilla?” he asked me softly.

I started. Did he have the same misgivings as I had? Or was he simply clinging to the hope that his child was alive? Regardless, something inside me stopped me from answering truthfully. He was regarding me in a way that made me paranoid that maybe he thought I was delusional. Val or Avery – or Church – must have said something to cause him concern about me.

“As certain as I can be, sir.” The lie slipped off my tongue with all the ease of butter gliding across a hot dish.

He seemed almost relieved, and I knew my suspicion was right.

“You look pale, my dear. Are you taking care of yourself? Getting your injections, making certain you eat properly?”

Anyone else and I would have rolled my eyes, but it warmed me knowing he was so concerned about my welfare. In addition to individually prescribed supplements, halvies got vitamin shots once a month. Every three months I had to get an extra shot because of some deficiencies I’d suffered since childhood. It was certainly no great scandal, but it added to how freakish I’d felt when I was younger. “I’m well, sir. Only mourning the loss of my sister.”

“Of course you are.” He patted me on the shoulder. “Make certain you take the full amount of leave. You are a good girl, Alexandra.”

I preened, though I knew he’d probably say the same to Avery – or to Dede. “Thank you, Father.”

He left me shortly after that, so that I could return to my duties. First, I paid a visit to the refreshment room. All manner of delicacies and sustenance was laid out for the guests’ pleasure, including a platter of live Russian leeches raised on a diet consisting solely of the blood of virgins fed the best beef and the purest vodka. Apparently aristocrats of vampiric nature considered them a delicacy.

I didn’t share the sentiment. Wiggly, slimy little buggers.

I stole several slices of ham from a plate and wrapped them in a bun before ducking out to do my usual checks. I ate as I walked.

At the end of the corridor was a set of French doors that led out on to a terrace. There were similar doors upstairs in the ballroom on to a balcony that not only overlooked the garden but had stairs down to it as well. It was a perfect place for someone to gain entry into the house, especially during a busy party.

Chewing the last bite of my crude sandwich, I opened one of the tall doors and slipped out into the night. It was warmer out here than inside, but I didn’t mind it so much. The darkness smelled of jasmine – Dede’s favourite – and I sucked in a deep breath.

I will find you.

Sighing, I lifted my skirts and walked down the shallow steps to the gravel path. Nearby, shrubbery rustled, though there wasn’t much of a breeze. I reached behind me and took the Bulldog from the holster secured beneath the bustle of my gown. I didn’t expect any trouble, but I would rather have a gun in my hand that I didn’t have to use than not have one when it was needed.

Of course, the gun wasn’t needed. There was no sign of human activity, nor whiff of stink on the air – other than that of horse. I finished my patrol and was coming back around the terrace – near the stairs up to the first-floor balcony – when I smelled a familiar tobacco. I turned towards it and saw Church standing by a stone pillar, smoking one of his specially blended fags that smelled slightly of clove and cardamom. He was not alone. Vex MacLaughlin was with him, also smoking.

Both of them watched me as I approached. The MacLaughlin’s luminescent gaze was almost academic in its studiousness. I lifted my chin, determined not to be intimidated, or reduced to girlish flutters, no matter how tempting the latter was. Did he know what Fee had done? Was he protecting her, or had he turned her over to the Yard?

These were not questions I would get the chance to ask. He murmured something to Church as he casually flicked his cigarette into the night. It landed not far from me on the path – I could see the burning tip. Then the tall alpha straightened, rolled his broad shoulders and walked away without giving me so much as a second glance.

Though my ego insisted he had wanted to do just that.

“Patrolling, Leftenant?” Church enquired. There was nothing overt in his tone, but something told me not to ask about the wolf, no matter how much I wanted to. It was none of my business.

“Just finishing, sir,” I replied as I joined him. He eyed me with a mixture of stern appraisal and vague amusement.

“Have you time for a break?”

“I’m due.” I took the cigarette he offered me. He was the only person I ever smoked with. It made me feel like we were part of a secret club. As far as I knew, I was the only former student he spent any amount of time with – since Rye’s death, that was.

He flicked his thumb over his lighter and offered me the flame that jumped up. I stuck the end of my fag into the fire and took a drag.

“I never got the chance to express my condolences,” he said, staring out into the night. “I’m sorry about Drusilla – more than words can express.”

“Thank you.” My throat was tight. I might be able to carry on this charade with Avery and Val and even my father, but not with Church. “Sir, I don’t think Dede’s really dead.”

He turned his head towards me as he exhaled a thin stream of fragrant smoke. “It’s not unusual for people to feel that way after the loss of a loved one. It’s part of grief, my dear girl.”

“I saw the body,” I reminded him before inhaling deeply on my own cigarette. “It wasn’t right.”

“Not to be morbid, but intense heat can do strange things to a body.”

“Maybe,” I agreed, “but I don’t think so in this case. The corpse didn’t have a diamond in its tooth.”

He frowned, turning his body towards me as well. “You think someone purposefully burned the corpse so you’d think it was your sister? Xandra, that sounds like something out of a novel.”

“I don’t know what to think, except I’m certain the body in that morgue isn’t Dede, and someone went to a lot of trouble to make me believe otherwise.”

“Your brother is a detective, Alexandra.” He eyed me carefully. Plague me – did everyone think I was barking hatters? “How is it you noticed what he didn’t? Are you certain you saw what you saw?”

Was it possible I didn’t? No. “To Val, Dede is capable of killing herself, but I know better. I know my sister is still alive and I’m going to find her.”

A half-smile curved Church’s lips. “I have no doubt that if Dede is out there you will find her, but promise me you’ll entertain the notion that you might be wrong. I don’t want to see you sacrifice judgement to hope.”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I promise.”

“Good girl. Let me know what your investigation uncovers – you’ve intrigued me.”

“I will.” I took another puff and we stood there for a few moments in silence, smoking. Finally I tossed the smouldering butt to the flagstones and ground it beneath my heel. “Duty calls. Enjoy the rest of the evening, Church.”

“You as well.” He wrapped his arm around me for a quick squeeze and then let go. “Oh, and Xandra?”

I’d already begun to walk away, so I had to turn to look at him. “Yes, sir?”

“Vexation MacLaughlin was asking me about you tonight. Is there something I should be aware of between the two of you?”

Only that I saw him toss a human into the boot of his vintage 1971 Swallow before he drove off with a wanted criminal. “Not to my knowledge, sir.”

He nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Keep it that way. That’s one dog you don’t want sniffing around your door.”

“I’ll remember that.” But as I walked away I couldn’t help but realize that if the MacLaughlin decided to come “sniffing around” there was nothing I could do to stop him. Thankfully, I could kick my way out of a boot, should the situation arise.