Mrs Walker – referred to as Lady Walker by the rest of the household, even if Irene hadn’t come across any trace of a title when she was researching the family – came to a stop in front of a particularly dramatic picture. She turned to look at Irene. Her eye-patch hid her right eye, but the left eye was considering, thoughtful, evaluating. Since Irene preferred to be underestimated and ignored, this wasn’t welcome.
‘So you are the notorious Irene Winters,’ she said. ‘How convenient that you’ve come to me, rather than me having to come to you.’
‘Really.’ Irene decided to drop the act. It seemed she’d acquired a reputation, so she might as well throw any plans to dissemble out of the window. Which was where she’d like to be right now. ‘Might I ask your sources?’
‘Family connections.’ Mrs Walker shrugged. The jet ornaments on her dress shivered and danced in the gaslight. ‘Just because I prefer to spend my time up here rather than running off to frivol in the fleshpots of London . . . but I digress. I assure you, Miss Winters, I know more about you than you might think.’
‘Oh?’ Irene said, in the conciliatory tone of voice she’d had the chance to practise in the past. Do tell me more, it implied. You’re so clever.
‘Good.’ Mrs Walker looked positively approving. ‘Just the sort of thing I’d have said, in your place.’
Damn, Irene thought. ‘Perhaps we should skip the preliminaries and get to the point,’ she suggested.
Mrs Walker nodded. ‘Very well. Here it is. I know you’re part of a power play by one of the other families. I want to know what is going on. I want to know who you’re working for. And if you hope to leave this house alive, you will tell me.’
Irene blinked. She’d been ready for various possibilities, ranging from I know you work for a secret interdimensional Library to I have evidence of your criminal acts and plan to blackmail you, but this was unexpected. ‘Dear me,’ she said. ‘This is so sudden.’
‘Your cover story was quite impressive,’ Mrs Walker granted. ‘Claiming to be a freelance translator and book-collector, and suggesting an exchange. A copy of Marlowe’s lost play The Massacre at Paris in return for our copy of John Webster’s Guise. Both of us would have profited by the deal. And it seemed credible enough to be genuine. But an offer that tempting seems like a fairy story, doesn’t it, Miss Winters? And we all know that fairy stories don’t happen.’
‘They happen more than you might think,’ Irene said. In a high-chaos alternate world like this one, narrative tropes had an unfortunate way of coming true. Unfortunately the traditional heroine-gets-trapped-in-household-full-of-vampires story seldom had a happy ending. At least, not for the heroine. ‘Honestly, I don’t understand why you think I’m an – er, what do you think I am?’
‘A spy,’ Mrs Walker said.
‘A spy?’ Irene said in tones of mild horror. What precisely did Mrs Walker know? Irene was an agent of the Library, and it was her job and her duty to retrieve works of fiction from alternate worlds. Bringing them back to her interdimensional Library home created links with these places. And thus did the Library help preserve the balance between unfeeling order and uncaring chaos, across a multitude of worlds. It was a noble calling and a lifetime commitment, and it allowed her to use the Library’s special Language to command reality. It also often involved her stealing books and running away. So technically, yes, ‘spy’ wasn’t entirely inaccurate. But it sounded as if her cover might still be in one piece.
Even if her chance of obtaining Webster’s Guise was looking less feasible by the second.
‘Yes, a spy. Scheming for one of the other families,’ Mrs Walker elaborated. The gaslight flickered, making her look even more like a barely preserved corpse than before. She was thin enough that, in her heavy black dress, she resembled a marionette from the sort of Punch-and-Judy show that ended in a zombie apocalypse. ‘Weren’t you listening? Personally I suspect you’re working for the Vale family in Leeds. You’ve been seen associating with Peregrine Vale in London. He’s supposed to be estranged from them, but that could be just a cover story. Or maybe I should look more closely at the Read family in Rotherham. I’ve been wondering about them for a while. They’d be delighted to have a spy within my walls.’
Irene had known, in a technical sense, that the north of England had its share of vampires. Vampirism wasn’t actually illegal in this Great Britain, though killing people by draining their blood was still classed as murder. She’d even been aware that this household she was visiting had some vampires in it. But she hadn’t expected quite such a convoluted nest of plotters or network of feuding families.
‘Mrs Walker,’ she finally said, ‘you are completely wrong. I’m not some sort of spy or secret agent, or a minion of your enemies. I’m not involved with your family’s affairs. I just came here to make the exchange.’ She indicated her briefcase. ‘And I have my share of the deal.’
‘You’re wasting your time,’ Mrs Walker said. ‘We don’t have the Webster here, in any case.’
‘Then I might as well leave,’ Irene said coldly. She made a mental note to find out where they did keep the Webster, and then remove it. Without offering payment this time. She didn’t appreciate being jerked around on the end of a string, even if the bait was books.
Ignoring her statement, Mrs Walker looked Irene up and down assessingly. ‘There are ways to bind you into the family, if you know too much. It might be the best option.’
Irene gave in. Sometimes it was easier to play along with conspiracy theorists than convince them they’d got it wrong. ‘And if, hypothetically, I was to decline this honour?’
‘You are in a house full of vampires, several miles out of town, surrounded by countryside, and it isn’t even midnight yet.’ Mrs Walker’s lips curled in a thin smile. ‘The rain outside is getting worse. No tracks will be found. It’ll be days before anyone even realizes you’re missing.’
‘Yes, they’ll probably assume I’ve locked myself away with a good book and didn’t want to be disturbed,’ Irene agreed. ‘Might I ask what makes me particularly suitable as a member of your family? I’d honestly never seen myself in that sort of position.’
It would probably have been more truthful on her part to say No thank you, not in a million years, excuse me while I kick the door down and leave. But she was curious.
‘You’re intelligent,’ Mrs Walker said. ‘You’ve proven your abilities – and we can’t allow you to leave now, anyway. You needn’t worry about your job, either.’
‘Really?’ Irene said.
‘Of course not. Once you swear loyalty to my family, you’ll be far too compromised to keep up your current job. You can leave it to the colleague with whom you share rooms. Incidentally, where is he?’
‘Out of London,’ Irene lied. Kai had gone to a family party. And given that he was a dragon – even if he was currently in human form, and working as Irene’s assistant – that party was in an alternate world. It was a relief to know he was out of reach. Mrs Walker might appreciate an extra hostage in order to persuade Irene.