The Queen's Vampire (The Vampire Spy Book 1)

by K. T. Tomb

  “I can assure you that my offer is completely honest.”

  “I would prefer to know what would be involved in my ‘service’ to Her Majesty before accepting your offer. Or even believing it.”

  “I understand,” Alfred responded. “The problem, however, is that the nature of the work requires the highest level of discretion. Not unlike your own… current… vocation.”

  “I’ll need a little more than your word,” Nora replied.

  “I see. I can’t say that I blame you.” Alfred sat in silence for a few moments and Nora could tell that he was trying to figure out how to tell her what he couldn’t really tell her. Finally, he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, flat, wooden cylinder and extended it to her. “How about this as a promise of good faith? It will relieve the burning of your rashes almost immediately and clear up the effects that the sun has had on your face and hands.”

  “How do you know this?” Nora took the wooden cylinder from his hand.

  “Let’s just say that I know many others with your condition. There’s a cure for it.” He rose from the chair and stepped toward the door. “I will return in two days’ time to check on your condition. Do think over the offer.”

  Nora, relieved to have the discussion over with did not try to stop him from leaving. She trailed him across the common room to the door, which he opened without hesitation. He turned, tipped his hat, bowed slightly, and pulled the door closed behind him.

  Chapter Six

  Nora opened the wooden cylinder and was instantly aware of the gentle, floral scent. Inside was a soft, yellow cream which, after dipping a finger into it, she applied to her face and hands. Alfred had been right. The burning sensation abated instantly.

  By morning, it had cleared up the rash and she had felt renewed, but had retained her doubts about Alfred. Maybe the man had been forthright with her, but her experience with men had, up to that point, been quite disappointing. The many, many things which she had been promised by the men in her life had never come to fruition. In fact, the more earnestly the promises had been made, the less she tended to trust them. Hence, as she had taken on clients later that evening, she had continued to have lingering doubts about Alfred, despite his “promise of good faith.”

  Is he just trying to lure me into some sort of trap, like the Magdalene asylum, or is he being honest? Why can’t he tell me more? What is he hiding? These and other questions continued to assault her as she went through a full evening of entertaining, wrapping it up by inviting Kate and Mary to join her at Old John’s Pub. With Alfred’s unexpected money and what she had gathered that evening, she was feeling particularly generous, not to mention that she needed a way to escape the internal questions that were about to drive her out of her mind.

  The three didn’t “work” when they were at Old John’s Pub. Though it typically helped them to set up future clients, the agreement between them and John, the owner of the pub, was that they were there to relax, not to work. Because of John’s strict rules about working, the patrons, though interested, did not make any overt offers. That said, Nora had only bought the first round before others began to arrive from various admirers.

  In the early morning hours, well before dawn, the three of them had left the pub together feeling the effects of the alcohol, but not entirely without the ability to navigate their way back home. There was one considerable obstacle that still stood between them and their home. Granted, it wasn’t much of an obstacle for Mary and Kate, but it was one for Nora.

  The moment she saw Emma’s, Nora started to feel the euphoria already beginning to wash over her. I can’t. I need to stay clean. She hadn’t liked the way she had found herself yesterday morning, confused and vulnerable. Now, she paused in the street as the struggle between what her body craved and what her mind was trying to tell her.

  “What’s the matter, Nora?” Kate asked.

  “Oh no you don’t, Nora,” Mary snapped when she realized where they were. “You can’t do it. No more.”

  “Say, why don’t you two come with me? It’ll be fun,” Nora suggested.

  “You’re drunker than you look,” said Kate. “Don’t you remember what happened to you yesterday?”

  “Yes, but we won’t stay long. Just enough to relax,” Nora argued.

  “I’m already relaxed, thank you very much. Besides, I’m not touching the stuff,” Mary responded flatly.

  “Me neither,” Kate agreed. “Come on, Nora, let’s go home, have some tea and relax there. Besides, I’m a little sleepy. Aren’t you sleepy?”

  “I’m not sleepy at all,” Nora laughed. “I’m charged up and ready to go a few rounds with a half-dozen sailors.”

  “We’ll get you a half-dozen sailors to wrap up your night, just don’t go in there,” Mary responded. “Please.”

  “I don’t really want a half-dozen sailors,” Nora replied, laughing some more. “I’ll just get a hit or two and then when I get home, I’ll be able to go right to sleep.”

  “Or,” said Mary, “wake up in a stupor the next day with your clothes off and surrounded by strangers.”

  “Come on, Nora, don’t do this,” Kate begged. She tugged on Nora’s hand to draw her past Emma’s, but Nora dug in her heels and jerked her hand back.

  “Oh God, no,” Mary groaned, knowing what was about to happen. It wasn’t the first time they’d played out this drama. The moment either she or Kate urged her forward, it was always the deciding factor that made Nora’s stubborn Irish side surface. “Kate, why did you do that?”

  “I’m sorry,” Kate responded, instantly recognizing the mistake she’d made.

  “You two go on,” Nora said. “I’ll be home in a little while. I just want a hit or two to relax me.”

  Mary and Kate looked at her in sad, hopeless defeat, but neither continued with their arguments. They wouldn’t have worked anyway, not with the siren’s song of euphoria convincing her that she could handle only a couple of hits to relax her, and that she really could return home and sleep soundly.

  “We’ll see you in a little bit, then?” Kate asked with a forced smile on her face.

  “Just a hit or two,” Nora repeated, in that moment, truly intending to do exactly as she said.

  “See you in a bit,” Mary said, drawing Kate down the street with her.

  Just a hit… maybe two hits… and then I’m out of here. I don’t want to go through that nasty sickness like last time. I don’t want to burn myself in the sun again, either. Of course, I do have that cream now.

  The instant she thought about the cream, she thought about Alfred and his vague offer. Those thoughts only irritated her more. Consequently, as she fought against the confusion in her mind, one hit became two, two hits became four, four hits became eight…

  At some point, all thought and consciousness disappeared.

  Chapter Seven

  “Jesus, I did it again,” Nora moaned as she found herself repeating an almost identical chain of events from two mornings ago. Why do I do this to myself? Why can’t I control it? Am I trying to kill myself?

  Skin burning, Nora was hurrying home and already regretted the conversation that was coming with Kate and Mary. It wouldn’t be as bad with Kate as it would with Mary. Mary’s glare would hover over her like Sister O’Bannon at St. Paul’s parochial school had when Nora or any of the others had misbehaved. Kate’s kindness, however, would be far more difficult to endure.

  Why do I do this to myself?

  “Look what we have here,” a voice called out to her, a voice that she instantly and regrettably recognized.

  She had been so intent on keeping her head and hands covered against the burning of the sun, and trying to remain focused on her objective, that she hadn’t noticed Edwin Burberry. Edwin had gotten rough with her when he’d tried to force his way on her after giving her only half her usual rate. Between her, Kate and Mary, they had driven him out of the house and banned him from coming back. The promise of a slug from Mary’s ol
d flintlock leveled toward his heart from about two paces had ultimately been enough to keep him away.

  Nora pretended to not have heard the man, and forced her ill body to pick up its pace.

  “Without your friends with you, maybe I can have you for free, instead of half price,” he said, his voice was just behind her. He was following her. “Damned whores charge too much anyway, especially since they obviously enjoy it so much.”

  Nora knew that trying to out-run him in her current condition would be futile, considering she was nursing an opium come down—and the sun, which somehow weakened her. With her back still to him, she noticed a broken board in the gutter and scurried forward to scoop it up. Edwin, apparently, had seen it as well and rushed forward. Just as she closed her fingers around it, he brought his foot down on the other end, catching her fingers between the board and the cobblestone. She screamed out.

  “Ah, now, Nora, why would you want that? You could hurt somebody with it,” he laughed, and grasped a handful of her thickly-matted hair and jerked her back into him.

  Amazingly, the sidewalk was empty, and so was the street of passing carriages. The bastard had timed his ambush perfectly.

  No one to help me but me, she thought, gritting her teeth.

  Nora spun, directing a knee toward his groin, but evidently, this wasn’t the first knee to the groin he’d seen. He blocked it easily with his own, but she wasn’t done yet. Like a cornered hellcat, Nora swung her fists wildly and kicked with both feet. Edwin dodged and blocked her blows, finally clutching her arms. He hissed in her face, “Just hold still and maybe I’ll let you live. Besides, you like this sort of thing or you wouldn’t be a whore. We’re going to go into that alley yonder and I’m going to take my pleasure and walk away. If you’re lucky and behave yourself, you’ll walk away too.”

  Nora considered her options. She didn’t believe that he was going to let her walk away, neither was she finished fighting him, but she needed to come up with a way to surprise him and catch him off guard. When he’s taking his pants down, she told herself, I’ll get a good grip on where he dangles and put this to an end once and for all.

  The thundering in her head, her churning stomach, and her weak condition were all working against her optimism as she was half dragged and half carried toward the alley. In spite of her plan to wait for a better time, one of his hands had slid into a position that left it exposed to her teeth. She clamped down on it with all the force she could muster. Edwin yelped in pain. For a moment, Nora was free. She rushed forward and had advanced several long strides away from him before he caught up to her and swung hard at her head with a heavy fist.

  Her knees buckled and there was a moment of darkness that passed over her eyes as she lost consciousness. When the dark fog cleared moments later, she felt herself being dragged over the cobblestones, one strong arm clutched just below her bosom. A hand gripped her hair. She tasted blood—his blood. She had bit the son-of-a-bitch hard enough to tear open his skin. The blood... it tasted wonderful. No, not wonderful. It tasted perfect. What was wrong with her?

  She didn’t know, but she figured she was desperate. She would bite him a hundred times more, tearing the skin from his flesh if it would help her now.

  Gasping, she caught sight of a pair of black horses stepping lively in front of a familiar carriage. She pulled together the last of her strength and screamed, “Help!”

  Edwin clamped his hand over her mouth and pressed so tightly that trying to bite him was all but impossible. Had her cry gone unheeded? She didn’t know, but she was going to sink her teeth into him one way or another. She liked the taste of his blood and was going to have it again, somehow, some way.

  And just as the coolness of the alley closed in around her, a voice called out from the street, “You there! Unhand that woman!”

  She recognized that voice! It was, of course, the voice of the gentleman, Alfred Covington. Her cry hadn’t gone unheeded after all.

  She was well back into the alley when Edwin threw her down, hard enough to hit her head on a pipe, and just as she began to lose consciousness for the second time in so many minutes, she heard Edwin say, “You stay right here while I go tend to this dandy.”

  There were moments after that, which came and went, as did her consciousness. She heard grunting, fighting, the sound of a skull splitting open. Later, she felt strong hands lifting her, felt weightless for a moment and then felt nothing again. In another moment, she could hear a rhythmic sound, which she could not identify and a distant soothing voice. She let herself go and allowed the darkness to swallow her up.

  Chapter Eight

  A conversation with Count Graf von Hohenstein, also known as the Duke of Cambridge after marrying Queen Victoria’s cousin Mary Adelaide, had been quite beneficial for Alfred as he rode out of Richmond Upon Thames that morning. He was still running through their conversation as he crossed London en route to Limehouse to check up on Nora.

  “Patience, dear boy,” the Duke had told him in his thick, Slavic-accented English. Alfred was no boy; it was just a form of address which the Duke favored. “Convincing a woman to agree to anything is a battle more fierce than Wellington and Blucher faced with Napoleon. To win over an Irish woman, no less, is a feat for the gods.”

  “That’s not encouraging in the least, sir,” he’d replied.

  “You’ve already won half the battle, Alfred,” the Duke had laughed. “That skin cream is like magic to one of her kind. By golly, I’ve used it myself. The relief it brings and the long-term results won over my own heart and I’m not given to such things.”

  “You’ve used the cream, sir?” Alfred had asked, blinking.

  “My dear boy,” the Duke replied. “Without that cream, I’d have clawed the hide from the back of my hands, destroyed my face and likely plucked out my own eyes!”

  “You have the same condition, sir?”

  “I do, indeed, why do you think I keep a vast a supply of it here at the manor?”

  “I’d assumed it was passed along to you because it was needed for those we are recruiting into the agency.”

  “Your assumption is only partially correct.” The Duke paused a moment, frowned, then returned to their original conversation. “I believe that your next move is to bring her to meet me.”

  “Getting her into the carriage is trouble enough, sir,” Alfred had answered.

  “Nevertheless,” the Duke said. “Meeting me will tip the young woman’s scales toward Her Majesty’s service.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because I can tell her things and present her with arguments that you cannot.”

  Though the Duke had never revealed how he would be able to convince Nora to join the agency, Alfred believed him. And so, Alfred had purchased a fashionable dress, adornments, and shoes on the advice of his housekeeper, Missus Boyles, and was confident that such items would help entice the young lady to, at the very least, hold a meeting with his boss.

  As the dapper pair of steeds trotted down the cobblestone and into the outer limits of Limehouse, Alfred was lost within his own thoughts; rehearsing his conversation with Nora over and over as he went. He barely noticed a commotion near the entrance to an alley along the street as his eyes were focused forward; that is, until he heard a woman’s high-pitched cry for help.

  Rattled out of his own thoughts, he caught the glimpse of flaming red hair, and had instantly drawn up on the lines of the horses. He’d scrambled down from his carriage and made his way along the street toward the alley.

  When he came to the opening, he saw two shadows drawing deeper within. Alfred had shouted, “You there! Unhand that woman!”

  He’d next heard the heavy crack of what appeared to be Nora’s head hitting something as she fell and lay unmoving. Alfred prayed he wasn’t too late to help her. Unfortunately, before he could attend to her, there was a very large and angry man standing in the way.

  “You’ve gone and stuck your nose into somethin’ that doesn’t co
ncern you, dandy,” the man had hissed. “This whore owes me for not givin’ me what I paid for. Turn away and go on with yer business.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that,” Alfred replied, rolling up his sleeves. “You see, that woman works for me. Or is about to. You are, in fact, assaulting a future member of Her Majesty’s service.”

  “The whore? You are confused, dandy. She sells her goods here in Limehouse and uses what she makes to smoke opium in that emporium over there on the street corner. She’s no more a member of Her Majesty’s service than you are. Now, get on with you before I teach you a lesson, too. It won’t be pretty, trust me.”

  “You would be very ill-advised to try to teach me anything,” Alfred returned. He finished rolling up his sleeves and braced himself for what he knew would come next. Though he was weaponless, he did have the heel of his hand and knew exactly where and how to meet a man’s charge.

  “I’ve warned ye fairly.”

  Alfred turned his body as the man hurled a fist, and drove the heel of his hand up under the man’s chin. The assailant was unconscious before he hit the floor of the alley. Alfred dashed immediately to Nora’s side.

  He put his ear near her mouth and immediately felt her hot breath. Alfred was more relieved than he was prepared for. For some reason, this feisty redhead had worked her way under his skin, and maybe even into his heart. From behind, Alfred heard the man scramble to his feet, and turned to prepare for an attack, but the man had no more fight in him. Typical, a tough man around women, but not so tough when another man shows him the floor. Alfred watched the man’s staggering shadow retreat from the alley.

  Sure that Nora’s attacker was gone, Alfred scooped her up from the ground and carried her back down the alley. As he emerged in the street, there was no sign of the man who had attacked Nora, neither was there more than two or three persons moving along the street. All ignored him, as was customary here in Limehouse. Next, Alfred laid her gently upon the rear seat of the carriage, placed his rolled jacket under her head and went to the boot for a blanket to pull over her. Once done, and satisfied she was as comfortable as possible, he took up the lines of the carriage and started the pair of blacks on their way, turning them at a wide spot in the street so that he could return to London.