“In you go,” he said.
Violet, Polly, Noreen, then Della hopped down into a pitch-dark gape, so blinding that Della’s heightened gaze had to adjust once she landed in a crouch on the dirt.
Wolfie shut the door behind them, and Della’s chest beat with a tattoo that linked with that of her friends’.
But, as she began to see vague shapes in the tunnel, she realized the thuds consisted of more than their pulses.
There were . . . drumbeats.
Other bodies punching out a common rhythm.
Wolfie’s teeth gleamed into a smile in the dark, and he walked off, leading them down a dank tunnel, which gradually became a brick corridor of arched walls that moaned with captured wind.
“This is my favorite part of teaching,” he said as the pounding got louder, bouncing round in all their chests. “I always love to see the looks on the classes’ faces when they catch first sight.”
Noreen clasped Della’s hand. Polly did the same on Della’s other side.
But Violet? She was right next to Wolfie as the darkness grew to dimness, as the thumping grew to banging.
Where are we? Violet mind-asked him.
He glanced down at her, hardly seeming surprised that she had left the group behind. Highgate, just off North Road. Highwaymen used to employ these tunnels for smuggling loot, and when I found them, I couldn’t resist. I blocked some of the known ones off, then all it took from that point was a touch more digging and decoration.
But, as you dears know, I had help.
They halted several meters away from what looked to be a belling banner that covered an entrance. The colors reminded Della of a flag waving over a castle, yet that made sense, seeing as Wolfie had spent his existence in and out of castles and palaces and even the woods where peasants used to hunt predators.
He taunted them, his eyes searing through the dark. On second consideration, perhaps another night would be a better time for your introduction. . . .
“Wolfie!” they yelled over the drums, needing to finally partake of the treat they’d been promised for so long.
His laugh tore through them as he turned round and leaped toward the banner, then whipped it aside to welcome them to their future, their home upon finishing school. . . .
They all ran to him, peeking in and sucking in a breath at the cavernous, raucous seventeenth-century inn, with rough-pine drinking bars, overturned tables, and bone-spiked chandeliers.
But they could barely see the furnishings through the throng of girls, the powdered, sugared scent of their clothing taking the place of the ale and smoke that should’ve seeped past the doorway.
There were girls sporting golden half masks that hid their identity as they tossed back their hair and laughed.
Girls wearing dresses from all eras while they stood on wooden chairs and tore at each other’s clothing as if they were the stepsisters in a Cinderella story.
Girls sitting on the floor and beating large drums like overbearing pulses. Girls climbing on the upstairs railings. Girls lying on the bar and drinking the blood spilling from the golden taps.
Senses blooming with all the yelling and carousing, Della longed to see their faces. A clinging hope in the back of her mind made her wonder if, perhaps, she would find Briana, Sharon, and Blanche here, where they had been told by a wickedly plotting Wolfie to reveal no secrets until Della and the rest had been introduced to the real Underground. . . .
But that was ludicrous. Wolfie would never go that far.
So she went on to see if she might recognize former students from previous classes. The group had never been told the identities of earlier Queenshill vampires, so she was dreadfully curious.
All they knew was that every two years, girls like them—of proper European stock, of affluence—were turned, then trained to recruit for the main Underground. Then they were sent here, where they could go to the surface to feed at will, or even to attend another school under another name, as long as they shielded and remained alert for nosy humans.
Della clutched Noreen’s and Polly’s hands, and they clutched back, taking in the vivacious army Wolfie had been instructed to form so that, one day, his master could rise, gather all the Undergrounds, and dominate the world.
An army of scratching, running, singing, laughing, drinking masked Violets, Pollys, and Noreens, and Blanches, and . . .
And probably even Dellas.
But there were also the girls who had been recruited—the ones who didn’t quite have the polish of any Queenshill girl.
Kates. Disaffected girls, runaways, bad daughters who took care to remain missing from wherever they had originally come from. Once accepted by the recruiters, they had all exchanged in a ceremony such as the one Della had undergone with her own class-mates.
As Wolfie said, they had all become one, big, happy family.
Even so, Della keenly remembered the raw initiation into it—the blood coming out of her, into her, her soul ripping out of her core to go . . .
Where? Was it roaming about, as free as Wolfie had promised?
Or had it gone to the other place—the inferno that was hinted at in the eyes of the cat who kept watch over the girls?
When Wolfie motioned them farther into the chaos, Della was reminded of the very reason she had welcomed the exchange: as long as she lived—and it would be a long, long time, maybe even forever if she could manage—she would be a part of a home, no matter where her soul might be.
A low, cracking scream claimed Della’s attention, and she glanced across the room to where a teen boy ran from a girl who was moving in human-time motion, toying with him instead of pouncing vampire quick. He yelled again when she batted him to the floor.
Then he scrambled back up, darting for a table. She bounded into the air, landing on him, then licked him from bare chest to face.
Polly’s mind-voice validated what Della was thinking.
Looks as if the girls bring mice down here to play.
Noreen added, Wolfie would’ve eaten him right and proper aboveground.
All of them squeezed hands, excited, their pulses stabbing.
Near Wolfie, Violet was greedily eyeing the boy as he wiggled out from under the attacking girl. He stumbled up the stairs as the vampire alternately snatched at him and laughed.
Wolfie, in turn, was watching his class, his eyes alight. They’re having a masque in your honor. A good soiree will relieve all kinds of pressure from the drudgeries of life.
One girl dressed in a primal, fringed ensemble and wearing a gilded fawn’s mask pranced by Wolfie, touching his hair, just as if he truly were a rock star. And since he loved to brag that he was quite storied, Della thought that, in the eyes of all these eternal girls, he really might be a leather god.
Right behind the fawn, another female, this one in what looked to be a Spanish gown with the full mask of a panther, followed in hot pursuit.
As she passed Wolfie, she whipped off her facial covering to reveal the hairless cat-wolf appearance they had all earned during the exchange.
She barked lightly at her master in greeting, then masked herself again and pursued the fawn. They disappeared through an arch in a far wall.
As yet another girl swished by—this one in a green cape, wolf half mask, and a chaste, ribboned skirt and bodice—Wolfie scooped her into his arms. She giggled and hugged him.
But then that hug turned into something more when her hand crept between them, hidden by her cape.
Closing his eyes, then opening them to reveal that his irises had gone pale yellow, Wolfie whispered into her ear.
She giggled once more, then scampered off.
A dual paradise, Della thought. For the girls and Wolfie.
Hearing Della’s thoughts, he winked at her, his gaze mellowing back to gold as he mind-said, She was one of the first. Still as lovely as the day she was turned.
A seventy-plus-year-old vampire who hadn’t aged past sixteen. And she would never have to grow up and leave the b
est friends she would ever make.
None of them would, and this warmed Della’s blood.
Safe.
Wanted.
Violet had tracked the green-caped girl through the arch in the wall, her own eyes a feral purple, showing her excitement at this promise of what they would soon have. Della also felt it, just as she could feel it in the pulsing skins of Noreen and Polly.
After straightening his jacket, Wolfie invited the girls to follow him into that arched exit, where the others had gone.
As they made their way hand in hand through the crowd—oh, the smell of yummy sugar, sweetness, blood—the other vampire girls reached out to touch Violet’s arm, Noreen’s red locks, Polly’s cheek. One vampire even swooped down from a swing to skim the frizzy hair Della so despised.
They’re welcoming the new class, Della mind-said, smiling shyly at them.
The new us, Noreen added.
They left the masque, the cool, black atmosphere beyond the arch swallowing them. Even before her sight adjusted, Della could tell this second area was just as massive as the first, merely by the way it seemed as if she might fall into a hole if she took another step.
And on we go, Wolfie said.
From the direction of his mind-talk, Della realized that he had taken a turn.
Through and through, he added.
He’d taken another turn.
Were they . . . ?
She could see light objects versus dark by now and . . . Yes. They were in a maze—the walls a towering combination of brick and iron grillwork.
As they moved round another corner, she saw the purpose for the iron.
An ecstatic male had been tied with leather strips to the grillwork. He had stubble on his face, and Della realized that this was no teen—he was a young man.
Below him, a girl in humanlike form and garbed in the skirts of a tavern wench was nuzzling his waist. Thus far, she had used her fangs only to inflict superficial cuts, which she licked as if they were lines of candied syrup.
As they passed the scene, a hunger within Della—one never quite satiated—fisted brutally.
She turned her gaze away, only to notice an enthralled Violet clutching Wolfie’s arm.
Della knew Polly and Noreen had felt the same pangs, and she wondered if Wolfie was giving this tour in order to stoke their appetites. It would be just like him to tease like this.
Farther into the maze, they passed more couples.
Then trios who had gone beyond scratching and into gnawing.
Then quartets who were feasting on the males, whose eyes had glazed over even as their skin was peeled away like waxen wrappers.
Food, the girls thought as one. Always hungry, never full.
Just as they had all but doubled over from their cravings, a breath of light brought them out of the maze and into another room where blood haunted the air to a lesser degree.
This one was bright and looked as if it belonged in Versailles itself.
As Della slowed her pulse from what she’d seen in the maze, she took in the pastoral scenes lining ceilings and the half-masked girls who reclined in silken, gilt-edged corners. Most of them wore voluminous skirts and powder in their upswept hair.
Yet all of them had razor blades they were whisking along the flesh of blissful males who were, perhaps, in their later twenties.
Witness a favorite pastime for our older recruits, Wolfie mind-said. You’ve probably guessed that these boys aren’t getting anything they haven’t asked for in the world above.
The class tilted their heads at Wolfie, and he laughed at their innocence.
We find some of our more special treats in fetish clubs, he said. And if we determine that they won’t be missed, they come down here and never go anywhere else again.
Oh, Della thought along with Polly and Noreen.
Wolfie had never taken them to any such clubs.
Wolfie laughed again. New experiences, darlings. You will enjoy them.
Even so, when he turned his attention back to the razor-bearing girls, Della saw his smile lessen from when he’d lavished a gaze on them.
Did he spend so much time with their class because of their innocence? And once they moved from school to the Underground, would his interest fade in them, as well?
Would he love the next class better?
Della watched as a girl sliced along the belly of a man, lapping her way down and down his skin while making his flesh glow in delicious reds.
Shivering in anticipation—or perhaps it was in fear of losing Wolfie’s affection if she should become as worldly—Della let go of Noreen’s and Polly’s hands, sidling closer to him.
He tweaked her chin, then walked them round and round more rooms: cottages, pirate ship cabins, castle chambers. . . . Every luscious fantasy a schoolgirl might dream of during a lecture.
As they strolled out of the harem room, Della was so swept away that she said out loud, “You spent time in all these places before you modeled your Underground after them, Wolfie?”
“Most, my darling.”
She sighed. “I should love to hear even more stories about your life and times.”
Pausing, he looked deep into her eyes, and she saw the adoration she craved there. Appreciation.
He touched her cheek, running a thumb over her skin, and Della leaned into his palm.
Then Violet swept by on her way to the closed door, brushing against Della in a hardly subtle warning.
Wolfie chuckled, shaking his head. You girls.
But before he let them out, he said, “Keep up now. Hurry along after me. There’s much entertainment and sustenance to be had back at the main masque before you leave, and I know you’ve been exceptionally hungry recently.”
When he opened the door, Violet went first, delivering a glare so ugly to Della that she almost shrank away.
But she didn’t.
Not with the afterglow of Wolfie.
Once in the dark hall, she realized that they were so far from the masque that the drums were nothing more than faint blips.
Then Della sensed . . . something.
All of them did.
Energy. Malice. Misery.
It was almost as if damp, shivering bodies were pressed against them, and Noreen and Polly crowded Della, as if this would combat the sensation.
But Wolfie had warned them to keep up, and as he sped away toward the sound of drums, they followed, more than happy to leave the awful awareness behind.
They arrived back at the masque entrance to the cheers of the other girls, and Noreen and Polly trailed Wolfie inside.
But before Della could do the same, Violet thrust the banner curtain in front of her, blocking the entrance. Then she veered close, her nostrils flaring.
As if she’d smelled fear on Della, she pulled back, her eyes aglint. You’re still frightened of me, Della. Good.
Stand aside, Violet, she said, clinging to the last of Wolfie’s touch. Wanting to find him and the others again. You don’t scare much of anyone these days.
Violet’s gaze seemed to click to pale slits, and whip quick, the other girl planted her foot on Della’s chest and shoved.
Della flew through the air, darker, darker, the blackness becoming thicker, way, way back past all the rooms—
Slamming into a wall, she heard Violet’s echoing giggles, far away, while the pitch-dark wrapped her in what felt like a clammy rag.
Reeling, Della fumbled round her, feeling rock, using it to stand as she swayed to her feet.
Gradually, her head cleared, leaving humiliation.
Now that Blanche had left, Violet would be bored, and she would return her attention to the weakest member.
Della could either take it or—
Out of nowhere, two figures appeared in front of her.
Two pairs of unblinking red eyes accompanied by an electric whining sound that made Della press her hands to her ears and open her mouth in soundless surprise.
But just as quickly as it’d ha
ppened, Della felt arms wrap round her and zoom her away, out of the viscous pressure of the darkness and back to the noise of the masque.
The laughing and drums seemed a world away, even though they were right there.
In her blurry gaze, Wolfie, her rescuer, stood in front of her, his hands on her temples as he looked her over, his hair clouding round him in the light.
Della, he said, his mind-voice like thunder.
His pique shook her as the other girls stayed back.
He squeezed her head with just enough strength that she couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Violet tells me you got lost, he said.
Behind him, Violet came into view, blocking her thoughts from everyone. But the glare she leveled on Della was open enough.
Don’t you dare tell what really happened, it said. Or else . . .
Della thought about the upcoming nightcrawl they’d been promised, perhaps tomorrow if they were good. Thought about the wonderful night they could enjoy here.
Food. Delectable food.
She looked away from Wolfie and straight at Violet, making certain the other girl knew just how far she would go for the group.
How much punishment she was willing to take if it led to rewards.
I got confused with my direction, she mind-said. But I was about to catch up, Wolfie.
This is no place to ever get confused, he said. We have others at work around the Underground. They leave me to my business, and I leave them to theirs.
Della closed her eyes as Wolfie let her go. She wished he would glimpse into Violet’s thoughts to see if she was lying, but there was no reason when Della herself had covered for her.
Violet could always manage a lie with almost anyone, except for the one who punished them.
When Della opened her eyes, she found that Wolfie was already back to his careless self, scanning the masque as a starving man would set his sights on a feast. The pull of the festivities was too much for him to resist as he linked arms with Noreen and Polly, leaving Violet alone with Della.
The drums beat in earnest as the other girl circled to Della’s back. There, she inhaled, exhaled, causing the hair on Della’s neck to part with each breath.
A Drop of Red Page 22
