After walking up the hill, Dawn came to a village square where a cozy pub named the Figurehead awaited with its white walls and brown trimming. Tudor style, it was called.
She saw Kiko and Natalia going in together, and she guessed that they were tailing Jonah.
Dawn slyly made sure her earpiece was tuned to Frank back at headquarters so she wouldn’t get feedback from the other team members, then she entered the pub while extracting the crucifix on her necklace so it would be in plain sight. She hadn’t done it before out of a grudging awareness for Jonah’s comfort.
She was welcomed by planked walls and a small collection of ship figureheads that mainly featured wooden women with bared breasts. The decorations mixed with long trestle tables and a bar populated by people who looked British and local enough.
Kiko and Natalia, who were already ordering meals from their server, had taken a seat at a rustic table near a duo of salty-looking older men. Jonah had gone to the far side of the bar, near a gray-haired old woman who was knitting and nipping at a glass of whiskey.
Avoiding them all, Dawn cruised the room, playing the tourist as she surveyed the mermaids and assorted ladies with abundant boobs. But she was really listening for who might provide the best conversation.
As her pulser thumped, she focused on a man who looked to be in his sixties, sitting at the bar opposite Jonah and easily talking to the bartender while cradling an unlit pipe in one hand and holding his place in a magazine with the other.
Target fixed and locked.
Dawn claimed the stool next to him, then ordered some tea and the curry special. Afterward, she smiled at her possible fountain of information, making sure he saw her crucifix.
He didn’t react.
“Is that pipe for show?” she asked lightly.
He peered at it, his eyes crinkling while he smiled. He reminded her of what Rupert Everett might’ve looked like if he had lots of gray hair and hadn’t gone into movies: a less polished version of suave.
“We’re following in the footsteps of the States with our smoking bans,” he said, his tone dry. “I’m still weaning myself from the habit.”
She knew all about bans, and the last time she’d met a smoker ignoring one in a pub, she’d gone off on him with her mental powers. Accidentally.
Or maybe not. She still wasn’t sure what the hell had happened when her temper broke and she’d turned into a puppet-mastering fiend.
“And here,” she said as the bartender brought her tea and all its trimmings, “I thought you just wanted to seem like an intellectual.”
He smiled wider, showcasing tobacco-stained teeth. But somehow that didn’t make him any less professor-like attractive.
Not that Dawn was “on the pull” or trying to get laid here.
Not these days.
She dug into the bag she’d plopped onto the stool next to her. As she took out her guidebook and a notepad, she hoped that her neighbor would take the bait and comment on what she was doing.
And ... yup.
“A guest in our country,” he said. “If you need a recommendation or two, I’d be more than happy to provide.”
“Thanks. To tell the truth, I really could use some advice. This isn’t just a fun trip to England for me. I’m here to study.”
“Really.”
“Yeah. I know I’m not exactly a coed”—she motioned at her face, laughing, hoping she’d done a good enough job with her aging makeup—“but I went back to college, and I’m taking a semester off to do some research for a project I’ll need to finish for graduation.”
“Oh?” He tucked his pipe into a pocket.
She shoots—and she scores.
“And what subject moved you to come over here from the colonies?” he asked.
The colonies. How droll. She ignored the jibe because getting into a discussion about the Revolutionary War wouldn’t just be a distraction; it’d be embarrassing because she didn’t really know about that shit.
She just laughed a bit, and he looked as if he regretted that he wouldn’t be able to engage in a debate about Loyalists and Patriots or “America’s imperialist bent” or ...
Whatever.
“I’m into the formation of legends. Sociology,” she said, like she knew exactly what area she’d be studying for that subject. Like he’d know, either. “And London seemed to be the place to go for good stories.”
“Highgate has its share, so you did find a cozy little niche.”
In Dawn’s peripheral vision, she saw Jonah charming the old woman across the way. Hopefully he wouldn’t get an itch to bite her or anything.
“In my studies so far,” she said to her own target, “Highgate stood out.”
“Let me guess. The vampire of the cemetery.” He took a quaff of his ale. “And the supposed ghosts of the Gatehouse pub up the way.”
“Wow.” Dawn pushed the friendly act even further, stoked that she was actually successful at it. See what happened when you tried? “I’m really lucky that I ran into you.”
She positioned herself to visually touch base with Natalia and Kiko. The new girl was listening to the old gentlemen at her table, and one more had even joined the group while Kiko kept his head down and did his best to hide that he was an adult dressed like a kid. His main purpose was to be there in case Natalia needed him.
Dawn grabbed her pen, like she’d taken Natalia’s place as the best note taker ever. “I dug around for a topic that my adviser might not have seen before, and I came across the name of a guy who no one seems to know much about. Are you local?”
“Yes.”
Sweet. Her blood beat in time to the pulser, and she felt like she was at the edge of a forest, ready to run and chase.
Then he added, “I even happen to be Sting’s neighbor.”
As she gave him an “ah, good for you?” glance, he laughed.
“All right, I hardly live next door to him. But I can never resist the opportunity to impress others with the fact that the stars live among us here in Highgate.”
Dawn smiled politely again, but not enough to encourage any kind of pickup. She didn’t want to be impressed.
Her unknowing informant went back on track. “What’s the name of the chap you’re keen on researching?”
“Thomas Gatenby.”
“Ah, the infamous dandy who was led straight into near obscurity, though no one knows exactly by whom ... or how. Quite the challenge you’ll have tracking down his precise story.”
“Any ideas about what happened to him?”
“I’ve had many a conversation about it in these parts. We do love our speculation.”
“And . . . ?”
“It’s said that Gatenby favored the pub at the top of the hill, on the old main road. The Lion and the Lamb. Byron and Keats once enjoyed it, as well.”
Dawn wrote down the name of the team’s next stop.
She said, “I’ve heard talk about some pals who might’ve guided Gatenby in the wrong direction, like you mentioned. I think there’s something to that story. Was he ever seen there with any of them?”
“There are rumors about such sightings, yet most involve Gatenby drinking to excess and then stumbling into the night in the company of one man who was as wild-eyed as they come.”
Wild-eyed. Could that describe a vampire who had Gatenby under his influence?
Or was it the other way around?
“This is great,” Dawn said, egging him on. “I’ll have to check out this pub.”
“Oh, do. There’re said to be hauntings, too, and if you plan to dig into the history of the place, there were tunnels discovered under the building, as well as secret rooms. They believe highwaymen used them for smuggling, since the road was a well-traveled thorough-fare. The Lion and the Lamb would be a brilliant place for you.”
“Think they’d let me look at those tunnels?” She meant to sound like she was kidding.
But in reality?
Not even.
“They don’t open
that portion to the public, as far as I know. It’s a danger, they say, and as business-minded people, they don’t need that risk.”
“I’ll chat up the employees there anyway. Can’t hurt.”
She heard a mellow ruckus behind her, from where Natalia had been talking with the old men, and when Dawn turned around, she found both Kiko and Natalia walking out of the pub.
When she turned back around, her meal had arrived, and she made eye contact with Jonah, who shook his head then quickly snapped his gaze away when he saw that her crucifix was in plain sight. All the same, he didn’t want to leave the pub yet.
Just to ease out of the topic, Dawn asked the man beside her—Damian, she eventually found out—to give her a few restaurant and theater recommendations. And by the time she’d finished eating her food, Jonah had gotten off his stool and was kissing the hand of the old lady, who laughed like a young girl and bade him a fond good-bye.
While she rubbed her skin, as if noting how cool his own had been, he left without even a glance at Dawn.
She settled the bill while thanking Damian, who seemed slightly disappointed that she hadn’t asked him out or something. The guy must’ve been desperate for company, she thought. But she did quietly make arrangements to pay for his bar tab in gratitude.
The second she stepped out the door, she furtively tucked her crucifix back in her shirt, then reactivated her earpiece to group mode, which caused it to come back to life.
“We’re in the bookshop to your left,” said Kiko’s voice while Dawn walked away from the pub. “The Friends have taken care of any cameras for us, and they don’t see anyone following.”
Fetching a stick of spearmint gum from her bag—curry was yummy but strong—Dawn spotted the quaint bookstore and headed toward it. Out of new habit, she kept her gaze on the rooftops for any signs of Shadow Girl.
Nothing.
Inside the shop, activity was muted except for the shuffle of shoes and the serenity of quiet classical music. It didn’t take Dawn long to find the rest of the team huddled around a New Age book section, Jonah on one side of the shelves, Kiko and Natalia on the other.
Dawn took a spot next to Jonah, but she could see through the spaces between the books that Natalia seemed upset.
Kiko stuck his head around the shelves, then whispered, “Limey bastards. We left because they started talking smack about Romania and Gypsies when they heard her accent.”
From the other side, Natalia whispered, “It’s okay, Kiko. I paid no mind.”
“Bullshit.”
Dawn had never seen him look so affronted.
“Really, Kiko—” Natalia began.
He continued talking to Dawn. “The last thing we needed was a scene, so we split before I got out a dart gun.”
Dawn stopped chewing her gum and glanced at Natalia, who had her gaze lowered as she paged through a paperback about crystals. There were splotches of color on her cheeks, revealing her embarrassment.
Natalia, who’d recently immigrated from Bucharest, was trying hard to be a productive member of this new society, but she had a hot button about being called a “Gypsy,” a derogatory term that people tended to use for criminals who’d immigrated from her homeland.
“Natalia?” Dawn whispered.
The new girl didn’t glance up, but Dawn could tell she was listening.
“They don’t know you. They don’t know jack about what you’re made of. It’s their problem, not yours.”
Natalia nodded stiffly, like she couldn’t talk because that might open the floodgates.
Dawn sighed, not knowing what else she should do. And when she felt Jonah watching her, as if he approved of her trying to make things better, she pretended to be totally into the book titles.
She didn’t need the blessing of a psycho. She hadn’t forgotten how Jonah had slashed his face to keep Costin in line back before the two of them had been turned into a vampire. She hadn’t forgotten how voracious he’d been that night at Queenshill.
“I got some great info back in the pub,” she said to all of them, talking softly and getting back to business, the most comfortable place she knew. “How about you guys?”
“Nothing worthwhile, as you can imagine,” Kiko said.
Jonah ran a finger over a volume about self-healing. “I never even got around to asking about Gatenby. My lovely lady friend told me how much I resembled her long-gone husband and then reminisced about how they’d met as children in a bomb shelter during World War II.”
“That’s okay.” Dawn motioned all of them closer, then shared what Damian had told her about the Lion and the Lamb and the tunnels below it. “I vote we make our way up there to see what we can see.”
“I’m your Huckleberry,” Kiko said.
Jonah and Natalia agreed, too, and as they left the bookstore piecemeal, Dawn stayed behind for a second, grabbing the book that Natalia had been so interested in and buying it.
What the hell. It was just an impulse.
They were all walking toward North Road, which had been visible from the square, and it wasn’t long before they spotted the Lion and the Lamb, with its red bricks and faded shingle sign.
They were about twenty feet from the entrance when Dawn passed Natalia, slipping the paperback to her.
“Looked kind of cool,” she said, moving ahead and not waiting for a thank-you.
“Dawn,” Natalia said.
There was something in her voice that begged for a good look, and Dawn turned around.
The new girl had come to lean against a wall, almost sitting down, one hand pressed against her temple. Dawn went back to her, letting Kiko and Jonah go farther ahead.
Without even asking, she had the feeling this was about Natalia’s vamp radar.
“It’s stronger than ever,” the psychic said. “I—”
She doubled over, both hands vising her head now, and Dawn rushed over to her while talking into her earpiece.
“Kiko, get back here and take Natalia to one of the vehicles. I think she’s done her job for the night.”
It seemed like there were a thousand pulses thrashing around in her now.
Vampires. Near. There had to be.
“What’s going on?” Kiko asked.
Up ahead, Dawn could see her coworker turning around, then start jogging back to them when he saw Natalia. Meanwhile, Jonah waited under a streetlight—a lone figure, lean, mean, and ready to go.
Kiko was patting Natalia’s back as she squeezed her eyes shut and kept pressing her palms against her head.
“You’re going into the pub while I get her out of here?” he asked Dawn.
“Yeah.” She kept watching Jonah, her pulser too loud in her ears and against her chest because, somewhere inside that body, Costin was waiting for them to find that Underground location so he could come out and kick some—
Doubt cut off the thought. Would he come out again?
Dawn just wasn’t sure anymore.
Leaving Kiko and Natalia behind, she walked in Jonah’s direction, even though she started to wonder if she might be entering a vampire hive for Costin ...
... or maybe just for herself now.
TWENTY-ONE
LONDON BABYLON, MAIN UNDERGROUND KITCHENS
THE rumors about what might have truly happened to all the missing Queenshill girls had gone round much sooner than Della had expected.
She looked out of her cage at the gathered students who had been promoted from Queenshill throughout the years—girls who were staring at Della as if they were about to blast into her mind to see if she was lying.
Actually, she thought, trying to stay calm, the speed with which the news had circulated was stunning.
Yet, honestly, she was most shocked that each and every one of these so-called caring classmates had been so wrapped up in the excesses of the Underground that they had left their pasts at Queenshill behind with nary a thought to their own missing friends from years gone by.
But perhaps that had been the ve
ry idea. Perhaps that was the reason for this eternal play park where the girls lacked for no diversions. Wolfie had enchanted them all, and Della wondered how long it might have taken for her, too, to forget about her beloved mates.
As the Queenshill girls cocked their heads at her, she spied Polly in the rear, her expression sullen. Noreen was at the forefront, closest to the cage. And round all of them the caged boys begged, reaching beyond their bars, only to be ignored.
Della used her classmate mind-link to Noreen, cutting the rest of the group out. Somehow, I suspect that you did more than leave an anonymous note for the others to find.
Noreen didn’t shy away. So I risked volunteering answers when I realized that the girls were more than receptive to the anonymous note, Della. The news awakened something within them. Everyone here has wondered about their own missing friends at some time before they came Underground.
The remainder of the girls—lovely upper-class, well-raised girls—were still watching Della as if she were an ... oracle?
Was she?
No. She had only been desperate enough to speak aloud because she suspected she had nothing more to lose. If she had been out of this cage, would she have ever found a voice?
I suppose, she thought to Noreen, willing to accept whatever consequences were in store now, it doesn’t matter if everyone’s privy to what I believe about Mrs. Jones. For all I know, I might not ever be released from this cage, anyway.
A girl wearing her platinum hair in a chignon, her slim body draped in a white dressing gown, moved next to Noreen, emanating maturity. Della had no doubt this was an older vampire, even though she appeared to be sixteen.
How did you come upon this information about Mrs. Jones? she asked, looking into Della’s eyes to reach a mind-link, since they weren’t born in the same Queenshill class.
Like Della and Noreen, the older vampire clearly knew to keep silent about this, refusing to broadcast their doubts in case any cameras should pick them up. They needed to stay quiet on all counts, even though Noreen had already told Della that a good deal of the recruits were either still playing in the common areas or flitting round aboveground in the Lion and the Lamb, where Wolfie had a deal with an owner who never asked just what the girls who brought such good business were. And Mrs. Jones was nowhere to be found at the present time, either—she was probably still finishing business at the school.
The Path of Razors Page 21
