Blood Ties

by Jessica Marting

  Except that miserable housekeeper at the Halsalls’ house, Mrs. Poole, told them otherwise. Edward Quinn was alive, well, undead, Ada mentally corrected herself, and terrorizing London. And he was very likely making his uncle’s city home his hiding place.

  The upside, she mused, was that Edward Quinn was a younger vampire, and inexperienced. He should be an easier kill than usual.

  She and Max looked over their shoulders, but the street was quiet. Distantly they heard the whistles from steam cabs on the nearest thoroughfare, but there wasn’t a vehicle near them otherwise.

  “Should we knock?” Max asked.

  “You must be new to breaking and entering.”

  “I’m new to all of this.”

  “Max, we aren’t vampires. We don’t have to wait for an invitation.” Still, what if there was someone inside? A butler, maybe? Silas Weston cared for Max’s house in his absence. Maybe someone cared for Lord Greenstone’s. The garden, at least.

  But if the only person inside was Edward Quinn…

  It was best to break in and have the element of surprise on their side.

  “Do you suppose there’s a back door?” she asked. “There’s no one here right now, but I don’t want to draw any attention to us.”

  “There should be a servants’ entrance around the back or side of the house. It’s a common feature for homes like this.”

  They crept away from the front entrance, around the side of the house. True to Max’s word, there was a door at the back. The windows on either side of it were just as dark as the ones facing the street.

  Ada withdrew a metal file from her satchel and wedged it between the door and jamb. Weathered wood splintered under the file, and it was a tense few seconds before the door gave way on unoiled hinges. Both of them winced. The creak was loud enough to wake the dead. Or undead, she noted.

  The house was just as dark inside as out, but Ada could make out an empty counter in the darkness and guessed they were in a kitchen. A strong odor of spoiled food permeated the air, and as her nose tried to process the awful smell, something else hit her.

  Pain. Her temples throbbed and pounded in time with her heartbeat. Immediately she felt for the vial of holy water she always kept in her skirt pocket. She then removed her stake and mallet from her satchel, tucking them under her arm. Max saw her do so and quickly had his in hand, too.

  “He’s in here somewhere,” she whispered.

  Max didn’t reply but tapped his head, looking at her questioningly. “Sense?” he mouthed.

  Ada nodded.

  They padded through the kitchen on tiptoe, Ada grateful that Max wasn’t making an issue of her being in the lead.

  Tonight should be simple. Edward Quinn was a new vampire. But she couldn’t quell the nervousness that lodged itself in the pit of her stomach, and beneath that, fear.

  Ada wasn’t afraid of vampires. What brought it on tonight?

  She already knew the answer. Max. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him.

  She removed a small flameless torch from her satchel and switched it on. Its dull yellow light barely illuminated the darkened servants’ corridor she and Max crept through, but it was better than nothing.

  The house smelled dusty and unused. Its occupants were likely in the country shooting pheasants or whatever dukes did when they weren’t in London. But there was something else under the disused smell, something sinister. A faint smell of death that Ada automatically associated with vampires lingered in the air.

  Edward Quinn was very close by. She tightened her grip on her stake. A rustle behind her told her Max was probably doing the same.

  The servants’ corridor led into an empty sitting room. Its fireplace was cold, and when Ada flashed her torch over a table she spotted a half-full bottle of brandy, surrounded by a layer of dust. A squat crystal glass rested next to the bottle, dregs of brandy clinging to the bottom. Who knew how long ago someone drank it?

  And was that someone still alive, or undead?

  She looked over her shoulder at Max, who kept his stake at the ready. His eyes darted around the room before settling on her face.

  He’ll make a good Searcher. He had to stake a vampire first, but Ada suspected he could be very helpful to Searchers with the sense.

  “He isn’t here,” Max said.

  “He is. My head is saying so.”

  “I mean, he hasn’t been in here for weeks. No one has.” Max gestured to the ceiling. “We should look upstairs.”

  “Vampires are likelier to hide in cellars,” Ada said.

  “If the cellar here is anything like mine, it will be too full of preserves and wine for a vampire to make himself comfortable. I think we should look upstairs first.”

  It was a sound idea, and Ada didn’t know what was usually kept in upper class English cellars. “I’ll go first,” she said, heading for the doorway. There had to be a staircase nearby that she hasn’t spotted yet.

  A few steps into the corridor and a left turn had her at the foot of the plushly-carpeted stairs. When she shone her torch over the steps, she saw large, muddy footprints dried in the fibers. “Max,” she whispered urgently. “Look.”

  The footprints were large and obviously male, and led upstairs. Ada and Max ascended, their footsteps silent on the carpet.

  The landing upstairs branched off in two, much like Max’s home. There were more footprints on both sets of stairs, making it impossible to guess where Edward Quinn might be hiding. And he was hiding, Ada knew; her headache hadn’t ceased. The bastard was in here somewhere.

  “Which way?” Max whispered.

  “You don’t have to bother trying to be quiet,” a cultured voice said in the darkness. “I can hear you plainly.”

  Heart pounding, Ada dropped her torch and gripped her stake and mallet. Before she could react, light flooded the landing from electric lamps lining the wall. At the top of the stairs to their left stood a black-clad figure, his skin pale and looking almost leathery. A network of scars crisscrossed his face, the result of being attacked with holy water. He was all too familiar to Ada.

  “You!”

  He was the one who bit her that first night in London, the vampire who swooped out into the night as a bat. Who nearly ripped her throat out.

  The vampire sniffed the air, then fixed his bloodshot eyes on Ada. “I thought I recognized you. You’re the American dhampir who tried to kill me at the Langham Hotel.”

  Ada didn’t offer a response. She simply lunged for the vampire, managing to knock him off-balance. She didn’t have the element of surprise on her side anymore, and she damned herself for not arriving earlier, before he rose for the night. She should have listened to Max and come here earlier in the day. Then she could have staked him while he slept the daylight away.

  But there hadn’t been time for that; Max needed to be outfitted with weapons, the London branch had to be informed of their activities.

  Quinn lurched on his feet, clearly taken aback by Ada’s attack. Maybe he thought she would ask questions first, or she could be enthralled long enough for him to try to kill her. Again.

  “Why did you kill my uncle?” Max shouted.

  Not now, Max! Ada aimed her stake at the vampire’s chest, but only managed to tap it with her mallet before Quinn pushed her away. Still, the action managed to withdraw a hiss of irritation from him.

  “I was turned six months ago,” Edward Quinn said. “By a vampire in Paris. Lisette said I would love it, and by God she was right.” He narrowed his eyes at Ada. “You killed her.”

  Ada didn’t respond. Instead, she withdrew her vial of holy water and flung it at his face.

  Quinn screamed, and the sizzle of burning flesh assaulted Ada’s senses. She readied her stake again.

  “Why did you kill Doctor James Sterling and Cerys Hughes?” Max tried again.

  Quinn angrily scrubbed at his face with clawed hands, but he answered Max’s question. “Cerys? That sniveling maid? She rejected this gift,
and James was helping her.” He turned his burned face to Ada. “I know what you’re up to.”

  His eyes flashed red, and his incisors extended past his lips. One pale hand latched to her wrist, twisting until an audible snap sounded and she dropped her stake.

  For the first time since she started hunting vampires, Ada screamed.

  Fangs latched on to her throat, and a deep, searing pain that she never experienced before shuddered through her body. She tried to push him off her, but her broken wrist wasn’t cooperating. She heard a shout that sounded very far away, and her knees buckled. Then all she could hear was the vampire greedily sucking her blood, and the electric lamps illuminating the corridor dimmed as her eyes fell shut.

  Chapter Eight

  Rage colored his vision red. Max launched himself against the vampire, pushing Ada out of the way just enough to hammer his own stake through the monster’s chest.

  Quinn turned shocked eyes to Max for all of two seconds, before they rolled up in his head and his ruined face turned gray. His grip on Ada slackened as his body disintegrated until he was nothing but a pile of oily ashes inside black clothing.

  Max brushed everything aside, gathering Ada in his arms. Her eyes were closed, her face pale and smeared with blood. The blood was not just on her face, he noted with a growing, horrifying realization of what had just happened. Her neck and dress were stained, and more blood flowed from the wound in her throat, so much worse than the one that brought her to his flat a few days ago.

  She wasn’t moving, and her skin was clammy when he touched her. Her breaths were short and shallow.

  “Sterling!”

  The yell from the foot of the stairs had his heart pounding in alarm, but the sight there was one of the best he ever saw. “Seecombe!”

  The Searcher had a stake in hand but tossed it aside when he reached the landing and saw Quinn’s remains. His eye widened at the sight of Ada in Max’s arms. “We have to take her to a doctor,” Seecombe said. “She’s losing a lot of blood.”

  Max wrapped his scarf around Ada’s neck, but the fabric was quickly saturated. Seecombe pressed his own against the wound and helped lift Ada into Max’s arms. “I have a steam cab waiting nearby,” he said. “She needs immediate attention.” Worry creased his features.

  “She needs blood,” Max said hoarsely.

  “You’re speaking of a transfusion. That’s far too risky.”

  Ada’s breathing grew more labored, and Max knew she didn’t have much time. “I think it’s the only chance she has,” he said, damning the break in his voice.

  “One of the Searchers is a physician. He will be able to help.” Seecombe was already on the stairs, and Max quickly followed. He held tightly to Ada.

  Do not die on me. I need you too much.

  He and Seecombe dashed for a battered steam cab one street over, and Seecombe slid into the driver’s seat. The vehicle hissed as it started and a peculiar rattle sounded through it, but Max didn’t care. “You received our note?” he asked.

  “I did.”

  “My late uncle did a great amount of research into blood, including transfusions. There may be something useful for your physician to help him. James’s butler will give him everything he needs.”

  “I don’t think we have time for that,” Seecombe said. He jerked the steam cab into traffic and brought it to full speed, far faster than Max had ever experienced before. His stomach lurched in protest, but he didn’t let go of Ada.

  Her eyes opened briefly and she stared at him, recognition briefly flashing through them. Just as quickly, she sighed a little and closed them again.

  “Ada,” Max said sharply. “Wake up!”

  Her eyes remained closed, but she was still breathing, thank God. Max kept the scarves pressed against her neck and his eyes on her face.

  “Please,” he added, his voice softer.

  It wasn’t fair. He finally met an amazing woman, someone who was strong and smart and warm, someone he could see himself actually falling in love with, and he was in grave danger of losing her. Max wasn’t ordinarily petulant and decried the entitled members of his class who felt the world owed them everything simply because of their ancestry, but this time, faced with this potential loss, he was angry. He would destroy every vampire he ever came across, make it his life’s work, if she died tonight.

  And if she didn’t, Max was determined to remain at her side, helping rid the world of monsters. It was time to stop gallivanting around Europe and Asia, finding fodder for the character he created to live through vicariously, and start really living. Work toward something for the greater good, rather than massaging his own ego. Make a positive change in the world he had taken so much from and had so much handed directly to him, without his deserving it.

  “How much longer until we reach your headquarters?” he asked tersely.

  “At top speeds, twelve minutes,” Seecombe said. “How is she faring?”

  “She’s still breathing.”

  “Important, but not enough.”

  “She needs that doctor.”

  “He’ll be there,” Seecombe promised. “There are two physicians in the London Searchers.”

  Ada stirred, but didn’t open her eyes. Her breath shuddered, and for a horrifying moment Max thought she might die in his arms. But she exhaled, and her shallow breaths continued.

  He held her to him and silently prayed.

  ****

  Ada was immediately taken from him and placed on a makeshift examination table as soon as they reached the Searcher headquarters. A tall, slim man who reminded Max of his Uncle James introduced himself as Pilcher, the organization’s physician.

  “She’s losing blood rapidly,” Pilcher said. “That vampire was determined to kill her.”

  “It was the second time he bit her,” Max said.

  Pilcher inspected the wound, a needle in hand for stitches. “He had an axe to grind, and his teeth hit something vital.” Without missing a beat, he immediately soaked a rag in holy water and pressed it to her neck. She moaned, and her eyes briefly blinked open before closing again. It was clear she hadn’t seen anyone in the room. Pilcher cleaned the bite as best he could before he started to stitch it closed. The sutures would leave a noticeable scar, but Max didn’t care about that. He doubted Ada would, either.

  “But she can be healed? You can do that?” Max heard the pleading in his voice but didn’t care.

  “She needs stitches and blood.” Worry creased Pilcher’s face. “Without it, she likely won’t last the rest of the night. I’m surprised she’s made it this long.”

  “Do you know how to do a transfusion?” Max asked.

  “I’ve attended some experimental transfusion therapies, but it’s still a very risky procedure.”

  “How many?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “How many transfusions have you attended?”

  Pilcher paused for a second. Max saw doubt flit across the man’s face. “Five,” he finally said. “I observed four and participated in one.”

  “How many patients lived?”

  Pilcher hesitated again before replying. “Three. We lost two. We still don’t understand why that occurred. There are theories relating to serology and why some patients thrive after a transfusion from another patient and others die, but we’re still unable to understand exactly why only some procedures are successful.”

  “You said she’s going to die unless she receives blood,” Max said.

  “I did. There’s a slim chance she may survive, but it isn’t high. Her color is terrible and her pulse is slowing. She’s lost too much.” Pilcher gestured to Max. For the first time, he looked down at his clothing and saw the stains there, felt blood sticking to his skin. He hadn’t noticed it, nor did he care.

  He was soaked in it. He hadn’t realized there was so much inside one person.

  “What if I gave her blood?” Max asked. “You know how to do the procedure, do you not?”

  “I do, but I do
n’t have the equipment on hand.”

  Max’s mind raced. “My uncle’s home does. Is there someone who can go there and retrieve it? His butler will help in any way possible.”

  “It’s inadvisable to bring someone else here tonight,” Pilcher said.

  “My uncle died by Edward Quinn’s hand,” Max said. “He knew about the existence of vampires and was conducting research into a cure. His butler knows about them, too.”

  Pilcher’s lips thinned. “I’ll perform the procedure if the equipment can be brought here immediately. Speak to Seecombe, and he will make the arrangements.” The doctor’s expression softened. “I can see Miss Burgess is dear to you. Do you understand the gravity of what you’re offering? This transfusion may kill her.”

  “If I don’t do it, that vampire bite will.”

  Pilcher considered this as he continued stitching Ada’s wound. She didn’t flinch at the needle piercing her flesh. The doctor may as well have been sewing a child’s toy. Her broken wrist hung limply off the edge of the table.

  “I’ll do it,” Pilcher finally said. “As soon as the necessary apparatus is brought to me.”

  ****

  Silas Weston accompanied Seecombe back to the Searcher headquarters, a blindfold across his eyes. “What is the meaning of this?” Max demanded.

  Seecombe removed the blindfold, and Weston blinked at the brightness of the room. “I told you I wasn’t planning to reveal your secrets,” the butler said indignantly. “God knows I’ve kept enough. What’s one more?” He flinched at the sight of Ada, so pale and still on the examination table. But she was still breathing, Max noted to himself.

  A large case was gripped in Weston’s hands. “Who shall I give the transfusion apparatus to?”

  Pilcher took it and opened it. “It’s immaculately clean,” he said, removing the metal pump and needles resembling railroad spikes. Max looked away. He didn’t want to think about the massive needles piercing his veins until he had to.