A Drop of Red

by Chris Marie Green

  Della turned round, nose to nose with her, finally standing up when, all the time before, she’d remained down.

  Violet tried to hide her surprise, acting pleased instead. You thought of the group before yourself, Della. Bravo.

  Mind your back, Vi. I won’t warn you again.

  Are you challenging me, you prat?

  Della only smiled as she turned round to join the masque.

  But that smile withered once she realized she’d just stepped into the spot Blanche, Briana, and Sharon had left vacant.

  EIGHTEEN

  THE SCHOOL FOR FiNE YOUNG GiRLS

  The Next Day

  DAWN fought the London traffic while driving the team’s modified Kia Sedona to Queenshill for a 1:00 PM appointment.

  Earlier, just before classes had been scheduled to start, a Friend had come down to headquarters, letting the team know that some girls in what they’d begun to call the Fang High Uniform had been seen sneaking back into the dorms and were now in school.

  It was all Dawn could do to keep her foot from stomping down on the gas pedal.

  But . . . relax, she told herself. The girls would still be there when the team arrived. Patience.

  Besides, the team had plenty to get done as they made their way to Queenshill. Since returning to headquarters last night, they’d all worked on individual research projects and slept, so this was the first time they’d been able to catch up as a group.

  Right now, Kiko was sitting shotgun on the front-left side of the vehicle, looking at Dawn every once in a while like she might all of a sudden bust out into major puppet-master mayhem again. It’d been his job to dig up background on the school and its nearby city, and he was updating them.

  “So here’s the scoop. St. Albans was named after the first British Christian martyr in the Middle Ages. A real bloody tale, which is appropriate, I guess. He wasn’t a Christian at first, but he gave shelter to a cleric who was running from the Roman authorities, who were themselves persecuting Christians, as we know from a little book called the Bible. Alban was so moved by his guest that he converted, and when the bad dudes came to make an arrest, Alban pretended to be the cleric while the guy escaped. Then Alban wouldn’t deny his new faith to the Romans, so it was bye-bye for him with a swing of an executioner’s blade—that is, after the first executioner was converted by Alban and then refused to kill him. The poor schmuck who took the first executioner’s place was miraculously blinded for putting Alban to death.”

  Wearing another modest business suit, Natalia scooted forward from her spot in the back. She’d tried to cover the bump on her head with foundation and powder, but the wound still peeked through.

  “Vampires in a saint’s city?” she asked.

  Dawn kept one hand on the wheel. “Queenshill is only on the outskirts, so the irony isn’t as delicious.”

  “Anyway,” Kiko said, “pilgrims would come through town to pay their respects to St. Alban at his shrine, so there’s been lots of traffic over the ages. But the city has a lot more going for it than that. Down by St. Michael’s village, there’re actual Roman ruins. Verulamium—that’s what it was called way back when. And there’s even a haunted old house on Market Place.”

  Natalia tapped her full lips with a pen, and Dawn noticed that Kiko noticed.

  Then the new girl said, “London, in itself, has its share of storied places that might draw a vampire or two. Why would they prefer St. Albans?”

  Kiko handed her some color printouts. “I don’t have a good answer, but just take a look at Queenshill. Note the chimeras on the building’s ledges. They don’t call them gargoyles because gargoyles technically spout water, you know? But tell me a vampire wouldn’t be into all that. Besides, the school is far enough removed from the city that it might serve as a decent hiding place for gathering vamps.”

  Natalia made a disgusted sound as she scanned the printouts and their chimeras.

  Clearly not a fan of the grotesque.

  Taking the papers back, Kiko said, “As for Queenshill, there was this eccentric millionaire named Thomas Gatenby, whose family made its fortune off the slave trade. Near the end of the nineteenth century, he suddenly got a conscience and established this school for girls. Later, his fortunes seemed to just disappear.”

  “I wonder,” Dawn said, “if Thomas Gatenby was a pseudonym for one of our blood brothers.”

  “You never can tell.” Kiko sent her one of those random I-can’t-believe-you-made-a-guy-your-marionette looks again, then glanced out the window. “For all we know, based on Frank’s follow-up with Justin Abberline, every girl in that school might be a vamp, and that could lead to a master who maybe did donate the land they live on.”

  Frank’s interview was one news item that’d gotten around headquarters last night: while Frank had been asking Justin for help in locating the Posh Spice wannabe who’d gone off with those possible vamp chicks in Kiko’s vision, he’d confirmed that the hotel clerk had indeed seen fangs on the head schoolgirl. All Frank had needed to do was look into Justin’s eyes to spy the victim in his mind while they’d talked about the night Posh Spice Girl had disappeared.

  Frank had also discovered that Justin had never again seen his gal pal or the guy friend who’d also accompanied the schoolgirls. But according to Justin, this wasn’t much of a surprise. The kids in that disgusting place where he’d been staying—an abandoned loft in East London—didn’t always come back. Everyone was in and out. There and gone.

  Dawn tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “Just imagine if every girl in Queenshill does wield fang. Are they all cocky enough to use their powers aboveground? Are they really that flip?”

  “I sure as hell hope so,” Kiko said.

  The roadways had gotten greener, and traffic thinned out.

  “Natalia?” Dawn asked. “Did you find out anything about who Posh Spice girl might be?”

  The second psychic dove right in, relaying the results of her own assigned task. “As far as any missing girls in the Brixton area who match Kiko’s vision parameters, I have nothing to share. I concentrated on the name Justin told Frank—‘Andrea,’ which Posh Spice used when they first met. However, I suspect it was false. I did widen the search, though, yet I found no results of consequence.”

  “She’ll end up being a runaway who could’ve been reported missing from someplace miles and miles beyond even that,” Kiko said, taking out his handheld cross, then buffing it to a silver shine.

  “Justin did tell Frank that ‘Andrea’ had an American accent,” Natalia added, “but it’s such a large country that my search there turned up many girls, and I could only look into a fraction of them last night.”

  Dawn turned onto a stone-walled lane that bypassed the city of St. Albans itself. “We could always collect pictures for the most likely matches and have Frank pay a return visit to Justin so he can take a look at them. But at least we know from Frank’s meeting that you nailed the time frame for Kiko’s vision. That’s pretty good work right there, New Girl.”

  She glanced in the rearview mirror to see Natalia smiling.

  There. Dawn had done her good deed for the day.

  It obviously spurred Natalia to offer more. “Later last night, while Frank was showing me how to use a stake in the proper manner, Breisi arrived to tell him that they had news from the desk of Detective Inspector Norton. Kate Lansing was last seen with a young man named Harry Dale. You and Kiko were sleeping at the time, so Frank and I did research before sunrise. We didn’t find any contacts yet for Mr. Dale, but it’s another lead, yes?”

  Kiko stuffed his cross into one of many jacket pockets. “Yes, but we’re on the straight track to Discoveryville today, with this lead.”

  “Did you get a vision about that?” Dawn asked.

  “Nah.” Kiko grinned. “I’m just chuffed—that means pleased here—about what we already have.”

  She was chuffed, too. But something was bugging her about the ease of this investigation. Was there a reas
on for them catching so many clues so relatively quickly?

  A master-planned reason?

  Or was this possible Underground really that careless? If so, how had they survived any length of time?

  “I’ll bet Harry Dale’s just another society dropout,” Kiko added. “The world has so many victims to offer.”

  Dawn turned down a slim, downhill street, which was verdant with overhanging trees over the bush-masked stone walls. According to the GPS system, the school was less than half a mile away.

  She quickly updated Kiko and Natalia on one other matter: Friend surveillance. Besides the Queenshill contingent, the two who had been watching over Mrs. Lansing and Justin Abberline hadn’t noted any odd activity. There’d also been nothing earth-shattering around Mrs. O’Connell’s house, either, except for the spirit sweepers Costin had hired from the comfort of headquarters. Fortunately, they’d declared the house clean of bad energy and left the elderly lady to her tea.

  And Dawn hoped it would stay that way as she pulled into the small car park by the Queenshill administration office. After cutting the engine, she saw to it that they were well equipped, then they alighted from their vehicle.

  Dawn smoothed out her skirt. She’d forgone the more Joe Blow costumes they stored at headquarters because she needed to look like an affluent relative who wanted to send her little buttercup sister to this school. So she’d visited Eva last night to borrow a decent ensemble. The cashmere length of her outfit was tight, because where Eva was willowy, Dawn was muscle, but it’d do for today.

  Visiting her mother had been tough, to tell the truth, because Eva had gotten all bubbly and asked Dawn to take this tour or that tour with her, and Dawn had needed to turn her down.

  Eva had understood, of course, but seeing the light dim that much more in her hopeful gaze had stayed with Dawn until she’d finally gotten to sleep hours later.

  After passing inspection on herself, Dawn saw to final touches, like making sure Kiko’s jacket hid his revolver and Natalia’s bruise was covered. Then one of the Friends whooshed by to update them.

  “We’re staying with the girls. In history class now. We’ll lead you to them when your tour allows.”

  Awesome. Then Natalia could see if she heard any hollow Frank-type sounds from them and confirm or deny their vampire states. It was a way more efficient plan than waiting for the girls to feed in front of the Friends or something—if the possible vamps even dared to act out around school.

  Dawn thanked the Friend and let her go while Natalia asked a question.

  “What do we do if these subjects truly are ‘clients’?”

  Kiko made a “seriously?” sound. “We carry on like normal people and alert the boss as soon as we can. If we’re lucky enough after school lets out, our girls will lead our unobtrusive Friends to our pot o’ gold, if you know what I mean.”

  Dawn drew Eva’s thick camel coat over her expensive sweater. Holy crap, they really might find an Underground by the end of the day.

  The team turned toward Queenshill, which waited under a sky of clouds that bunched together, swollen with a baleful gray.

  The school reminded Dawn of one of those estates you might see on a BBC period miniseries. Something like a—what was his name from high school lit class . . . Henry James?—place where the characters moped around in fancy mansions during stormy days. Queenshill’s buildings were composed of brown stones, towers, and leadwork patterned windows with arches and spaded flourishes. And, best of all, there were the promised chimeras lunging away from precipices, their wings spiny, their mouths spread in pointy-tooth leers.

  In L.A., Dawn had seen a lot of fake gothic architecture. She’d worked on many a scary movie set.

  But this shit was for real, and there was a good chance some vamps were running around in here.

  “I don’t like the chimeras,” Natalia uttered as they walked toward the admin office.

  Dawn wondered if there was another reason for the new girl’s discomfort.

  “You getting those Highgate chills?” she asked.

  “No.” Natalia trained her gaze on a chimera near the doorway as Kiko went ahead of them up the stairs. “I only find it less than hospitable.”

  Hmmm. Maybe Natalia really was tuning into some muffled vamp vibes and she just wasn’t seasoned enough to know it.

  With an emerging smile, Dawn stared down the chimera as they passed under it and arrived at the doorway. “These decorations are used to scare off baddies,” she told Natalia. “Don’t let them get to you. Just stay alert, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  A raven flew in back of them, cawing, and when Kiko opened the door, Natalia dashed inside, holding her coat around her. Dawn exchanged excited glances with Kik as she entered, too.

  After about five minutes, they were greeted with profuse kindness since the privately funded school was, after all, trying to make a sale. The secretary outlined the schedule: they would have a tour with one of the school’s top students and then meet with the headmaster.

  But as far as Dawn was concerned, contact with a student was the thing.

  Soon, a ringlet-haired blonde dressed in a maroon blazer and gray skirt came to greet them, and the secretary introduced her as “Astrid,” an upper-sixth-form student, which meant she was in her last year.

  Astrid had cherub cheeks and an upturned nose, and right off, Dawn recognized her as a straight-A, associate-student-body, accepted-by-the-best-college-ever wonder.

  Everyone, including Kiko, shook the girl’s hand.

  She didn’t react much to Dawn’s crucifix necklace, and one look at Kiko and Natalia indicated that Astrid hadn’t produced any vamp visions or vibes, either.

  Maybe all the Queenshill girls weren’t vampires after all.

  The student led them out of administration and to the main building, where she quickly proved an articulate, self-possessed guide, while highlighting every reason a girl might love the musty halls of Queenshill.

  “I understand,” she said as they went upstairs to survey the classes in session, “that your sister is devoted to art studies.”

  Dawn took over while Kiko snapped photos for their fictional sibling and Natalia recorded notes. It was imperative that they didn’t look like walking billboards for vampire hunting.

  “Yes, she especially loves sculpting.” Dawn had decided to use Briana as a model because Mrs. O’Connell had already detailed what it took to be a Queenshill girl. “Since my cousins and I were visiting overseas, we decided to check out possible schools that would enrich her talents when the family moves here.”

  “Lovely,” Astrid said. “We’ll be in the art wing soon. There are exhibits in the hallways that you can photograph for her, and I’m certain you’ll be meeting with art staff in addition to our headmaster.”

  She knocked on a classroom door, then briefly introduced the team to a teacher and students who studied under the watch of laminated Shakespeare posters.

  After they listened to the class for a moment, they moved on, with Astrid shutting the door and taking up where she’d left off.

  “Our art program is renowned, yet Queenshill also excels in business studies. We’re very well-balanced.”

  The team nodded while she took them down the halls, explaining the showcased pictures of “head girls” and “prefects”—model students chosen so that the younger ones might emulate them; they even shouldered responsibilities in running the school.

  All the while, Dawn kept track of Natalia, just to see if she was hearing voices or getting that hollow sound from any day-walking vamps. Kiko, himself, was touching everything in sight, using his reading skills.

  When they moved to another wing of the building, it became obvious that they were entering art land. Sculptures created out of “found materials” flanked the halls: abstract tin-can pieces, old brick fountains, even a modern piece constructed out of gum wrappers. But there were also traditional paintings.

  They entered a studio classroom, and As
trid introduced them to a group of teen girls decked out in paint-splotched white coats, dabbing at canvases.

  After they were done there, Astrid guided them to the empty staircase, where Dawn turned on the approval act.

  “Carly would love it here,” she said. “We thought she might, because a family friend recommended Queenshill to us.”

  “Oh?” Astrid said. “May I ask whom?”

  The team slowed their steps.

  “Briana Williamson,” Dawn said. “I’m sure you’ve heard of her.”

  The blonde’s eyes saucered, but she kept her composure. “Briana. I see.”

  Kiko moved closer and “accidentally” brushed Astrid’s arm. She didn’t seem to notice because Dawn was talking again.

  “Awkward, isn’t it? That’s why we didn’t mention it first off. We know Briana ran away and hasn’t been heard from since, but she and Carly met online, and all we heard from my sister was ‘Queenshill this’ and ‘Queenshill that.’ Sometimes I think she’d like to come here just to see if she can find out what happened to Briana.”

  “No one knows what happened, really.” Astrid began walking, her spine as straight as one of the wooden beams decorating the halls. “One day she was here, and the next, she was gone. Her sister passed on, and we think it had something to do with that. But I never knew Briana very well, even though I shared a few classes with her. She had her friends and . . . We weren’t social.”

  Right behind Astrid, Kiko turned back to Dawn, confirming that whatever he’d seen in Astrid matched what she was saying.

  But something prodded at Dawn: there’d only been seven possible vampire girls in Kiko’s vision.

  That was hardly an Underground army.

  All the same, Astrid, the little pro, effectively doused the conversation about Briana while going back to her main duty—spotlighting the school.

  As they journeyed through another hallway, she asked Dawn if Carly was interested in languages. But before the team answered, she stopped at an opened closet doorway and said, “Why, hello, Mademoiselle. We were just discussing your department.”