by Bec McMaster
"It's a gas-dispersing device, with a timer," Ava pointed out. "I can't imagine a good purpose this could be crafted for."
Hayes looked away. "They paid a small fortune. I-I—"
"You knew they were up to no good," Ingrid replied, strolling through the shop and running her fingers along one of the steel puppets, "but you didn't care because you wanted the money."
"Y-you don't understand." Hayes licked dry lips. "These men.... They weren't the type of men you say no to. I know times have changed—supposedly—but I still remember what it felt like when the Echelon were in charge. These... blue bloods...."
"Describe them," Ingrid suggested, leaning on the counter and peering at him. "And do try and remember everything."
By the time she and Ava exited the shop, they were convinced.
"Ulbricht," Ava murmured. "That name just keeps popping up."
"And now we have proof he was connected to the Begby Square disappearances, and a witness, and a reason to question Ulbricht." Ingrid cracked her knuckles then lifted a hand to flag down a carriage. "That should satisfy Malloryn's objections to bringing him in."
"I do hope that didn't sound like you mean to enjoy questioning him," Ava murmured.
"He tried to feed me to a vampire." A distinct thrill lit through her. Revenge. "There might be a small part of me that will enjoy it."
Ava shuddered as a carriage ambled to a halt at the curb. "You and Byrnes—you're terribly well-suited."
Hell. Ingrid slammed to a halt. The other woman's feelings were apparent to her, even if Byrnes was shockingly oblivious. "Ava, I'm.... I-I—"
"It's all right, Ingrid." Ava smiled sadly. "I'm not angry, or upset. You suit Caleb. I should like to see him happy with someone, and you... you get beneath that callous facade he wears so well in a way I've never seen anyone else do. He needs someone like that. Someone who makes him feel."
"I don't think he and I shall ever happen," Ingrid admitted as she tugged the carriage door open for Ava. "It would be very easy to begin to feel something for him. But I think you're misconstruing his attentions. It's just a game to him."
"I've known Caleb for nearly four years. Trust me, Ingrid. I wish he looked at me the way he looks at you. Don't give up hope just yet."
"You're taking this remarkably well."
Ava's blonde lashes obscured her eyes. "I've known for a while that nothing was ever going to develop between Caleb and I. The mind knew, even when the heart held hope." She swallowed. "And I think that you are a decent, kind person. Even when you want to break bones."
"Just Ulbricht's," Ingrid assured her as Ava stepped up into the carriage.
A sickly sweet scent caught her nose at that moment. Something familiar. Something strong enough to cut through the coal smoke.
"Are you coming?" Ava asked, peering out of the hackney.
"I'm just going to take a look around," she replied, nostrils flaring as she stepped back. "I think I can smell something."
Ava's green skirts swished out of the carriage, and Ingrid realized she intended to follow.
"Alone," she snapped, one hand to Ava's chest to hold her safely inside.
Ava's green eyes widened a little. "Is everything all right?"
"It's fine," Ingrid replied, cursing herself for her bluntness. "But I'm going to be moving quickly, and you yourself said that fieldwork sets your pulse racing. It's probably best if you take the information about the Doeppler orbs back to Baker Street."
For if she smelled that scent correctly... a vampire had recently passed through the area.
"If you see Byrnes, maybe send him this way," Ingrid said, still trying not to alarm the other woman. Regardless of her and Byrnes's not-quite-argument at the moment, she wasn't stupid enough to track a vampire alone.
She just wanted to see what it was up to. People spilled through the streets around them, children clutching their mothers' hands, and one even trying to ride a bicycle in the park across the street, guided by a man who had to be his father. This section of town was a bloodbath waiting to happen.
"All right," Ava concurred, closing the door and peering out of the window. "As long as you're certain you'll be fine alone?"
"Right as rain," Ingrid replied, and stepped back onto the footpath. Fog clung to the alleyways and the hair on the back of her neck rose, as if something was watching her from within, but she forced herself to wave to Ava as the carriage let out a hiss of steam and then burbled into the traffic.
It turned the corner and Ingrid let out the breath she'd been holding. Turning, she strode along the street, breathing deeply.
What was a vampire doing in this area of town?
Every person she passed only pushed her nerves right to the edge, as she couldn't resist glancing at their faces. A fat banker there, hurrying home to his wife and children perhaps.... What if he got home and found nothing but blood? Or nothing at all. After all, people were disappearing and they still didn't know why.
At least this was a bloody lead.
Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Ingrid looked up. Black clouds hovered on the horizon, but she still had some time before it rained.
A young governess looked both ways at the edge of the pavement, her hands clasped around her two charges' hands. Ingrid couldn't stop herself from taking the woman by the arm.
Startled eyes flew to hers.
"Take them home," Ingrid said curtly, trying not to frighten the young governess too much. "I'm working with the Nighthawks, and I'd highly recommend that you keep your charges inside today."
The young woman blanched, and Ingrid smelled panic. But the girl swept up the children and hurried them away. At least that might be two that she saved.
Children... everywhere. Ingrid's gaze locked on the grassy park across the street, her ears ringing with their laughter and screeches of joy. Indecision warred in her breast. Should she send them home? Or follow the creature to try and stop whatever it was up to?
Ingrid bit her lip, then started to run after the scent trail. There were simply too many people out, and if she paused here, then the vampire might start its killing spree before she got to it.
She was the only one who might be able to stop it.
Suddenly she realized where she was. Familiar streets that she'd only traveled herself a day or so ago. She began looking around, her steps slowing as the scent trail crossed itself. It had some sort of interest in this area. Where the hell was she? Why did she recognize—
That was when she knew.
"No," she whispered, "No, no, no." As she scrambled around the corner, she caught hold of the gaslight and stared up at the building across the street. Miss Appleby's Home for the Elderly.
Not coincidence. Not merely a chase. It had come here for a purpose.
Screams lit through the building. Ingrid was running before she'd thought about it. Byrnes had made her promise not to confront the vampire by herself, but this was no time to worry about breaking that promise.
Not when his mother was in that building.
Slamming through the front door, she saw the blood painted against the walls, one forlorn handprint splayed in wet vermillion before it slid in a splash toward the floor. A body lay there, throat torn out and eyes wide in horror.
Lightning flickered in the distance, highlighting the darkened entrance. Ingrid leapt over the body, seeing others in the halls, through the kitchen door.... Above her, noise thumped, and someone cried out in agony.
Upstairs. The bloody vampire was upstairs.
Moving quickly up the stairs, she caught its scent—that sickly sweet rot. This one was not as far advanced as the Ulbricht vampire had been. It had only just begun to stink of rot, not dripping in it like the house party vampire. That didn't mean anything. She had nothing to compare it to, as the Ulbricht vampire was the first she'd ever encountered. Who knew whether it was at the full peak of its speed and abilities, or whether it was only beginning to find its strength? Vampires weren't precisely a studied phenomenon.
They were rare, and the usual way to deal with them was to exterminate them.
Following the muffled thuds and thumps, Ingrid took stealthy steps forward, one foot placed carefully in front of the other, both of her knives in hand and her heart thundering in her throat.
Right into mayhem. The creature was sitting at the end of the hall, glutting itself on a body. Others lay scattered and torn to ragged pieces. Ingrid froze, realizing it hadn't seen her. Its face was buried in the ravaged throat of what had once been a servant here, judging by the apron. Mrs. Byrnes's door was cracked open just across the hallway, faded sobs coming from within. Alive then. Perhaps it had focused on the maidservant in its grip, forgetting the other potential victims in here. Sometimes they did that, she'd heard.
She slid an inch toward Mrs. Byrnes's room.
Another inch gained, her heart pounding like it was fit to erupt through the cage of her ribs. How the hell the creature couldn't hear it was beyond her. One more step....
The vampire froze.
Ingrid echoed it.
Sniffing, the pallid face lifted like a dog's. Filmy glaze covered its eyeballs, turning them an eerie calcium blue. Right. It was blind. But it would smell her now, and its blindness would barely slow it down. She had to remember that.
A fierce, fiery cold began to creep through her veins, along with the faint tremble that preceded a fit of berserk rage. In the rage, a verwulfen man or woman was almost impossible to cut down. They barely felt pain or fear, or knew the cost of consequences. Nothing but brutal mindlessness and strength.
The unfortunate thing was that she was already quite afraid, and what she really needed to be was angry.
"Easy," she whispered, stepping closer to the door. "Easy there, lad."
Movement flexed in the vampire's hindquarters.
Ingrid twisted, driving the knife up as it launched toward her. Claws raked the hard carapace of her body armor, cutting through it like it was gauze, and then white-hot agony blistered through her abdomen. Oh shit. Ingrid forced herself to complete the blow she'd planned, her knife driving into the creature's eye, even as its teeth clamped down upon her shoulder. She had it by the throat with her other hand, but there was something there. A collar? Electricity zapped through her and she jerked her hand back.
A high-pitched roar of rage ripped from its throat. Ingrid punched it in the chest, earning a few precious inches. Rage burned in her blood, her entire body going ice-hot as she threw it away from her. Then she was through the door into Mrs. Byrnes's room, slamming it shut—
A weight hammered at the door, almost flinging her across the room. Turning, she set her back into it, knowing that this was the only barrier that might, just might, keep her alive. Byrnes's mother was huddled in the corner, her bare feet drawn up beneath her white night-robe. She stared at Ingrid with a childish expression of fear on her face, rocking slightly before burying her face in her hands. No help there.
Blood. Blood everywhere. On her shirt, on her hands, on her.... She saw the gaping mess of her abdomen, and instantly her body went cold. Shite. Her mind refused to deal with it, but the sight of the mess cost her the fury she'd been building. The berserkergang slid from her like a shroud, and Ingrid gasped as all of the pain came rushing back in.
Not now. Another blow almost broke the door in two.
"Help!" she screamed.
Claws scraped at the wood, slicing thick gouges of timber off it, she imagined. Blood. Pain. Shocking pain. Ingrid's vision blurred. She couldn't breathe. Couldn't move—
The door rocked one more time. Her legs were about to give out. Then whistles broke out, high-pitched and stabbing through her ears. Nighthawks. She'd never been so glad to hear Nighthawks’ whistles in her life. A fluting trill of notes sounded in response. Claws padded away from the door.
"Good boy," someone murmured, and a metallic clip snapped shut.
Ingrid slid to the floor, as footsteps vanished into the depths of the house. That awful clicking screech of claws on the floorboards echoed it.
Her abdomen was a hot, flaming mess of pain. God, what had it done to her? Tingles of heated numbness burned in her midsection, a sure sign that the loupe virus was hard at work.
But at least the bloody vampire was gone.
* * *
STATIC CRACKLED in Byrnes's ear. Cursing under his breath, he stepped into the nearest alley and pressed a finger to the button on his communicator. He'd almost forgotten he was wearing it as he tried to track Ingrid, who'd asked for him, according to Ava. "Not now, Garrett."
"I've got an emergency at Clerkenwell. You're the closest Nighthawk—"
"Garrett, I'm busy." Ingrid wouldn’t have wanted him if she didn’t think she needed him, not after last night.
"Byrnes, it's a slaughter in there." Garrett's voice was on edge, even through the tinny speaker. "Sounds like your case."
Byrnes paused. "A slaughter?"
"One of the nurses escaped and bolted for the nearest Nighthawks garrison. They sent in a relieving crew, but nobody's answering. Craigmore went to scope the place out, and he says there are bodies everywhere. He hasn't been inside yet. Can see something moving in there, but he's waiting for reinforcements—"
"Where?" That cold feeling seeping through his veins unnerved him. No. Garrett had said Clerkenwell. That didn't mean anything. The borough was large. And there was no guarantee that this slaughter had anything to do with the vampire they were hunting.
"Miss Appleby's Home for the Elderly. It's on—"
"Grant Street," Byrnes said hollowly, his ears ringing as though all of the blood had drained from his extremities. His mother. "I'm on it. Get me reinforcements as soon as possible."
* * *
"IS ANYONE ALIVE IN THERE?" Byrnes demanded, frantically searching each window as he stepped out of the shadows behind Craigmore, a Nighthawk he'd worked with in the past. Mother. No. Not this way. After the life she'd led, she didn't deserve to die this way.
"I don't know, sir. I haven't seen anyone moving in the last five minutes. Earlier, yes, but..."
"Did—?" A hint of scent wafted past his nose, cutting off his next line of questioning. A scent he knew, musky and all woman. Nostrils flaring, Byrnes strode toward the building, a new fear rising in his heart. The scent was stronger here, near the door.
"Ingrid," he whispered, and everything in him went cold. What the bloody hell was she doing here? A new fear rose to choke his throat, because if Ingrid was here then she wouldn't hesitate to enter, not when she knew his mother meant so much to him.
Argument or no argument, he felt the darkness rise, the predator inside him just as frantic as he was. Get to her. Protect her, it insisted, locking bloodthirsty claws around him. The color in his vision vanished and blood pounded through his temples.
This case had already proven that neither of them was invulnerable when it came to vampires. Jesus.
"Sir, what are we going to do?" Craigmore sounded like a frightened little child behind him.
"Stay here," Byrnes replied, clamping down on the hot surge of emotion that threatened to choke him. "Guard the perimeter and wait for reinforcements. I'm going in."
TWENTY
BLOOD HERE. Blood there. The Home was a slaughterhouse.
Jesus Christ. Byrnes's mouth pooled with saliva, his nostrils flaring as he stepped inside. The hunger surged, sickening him. The men and women here were familiar. Not prey. It was the blood, overwhelming his senses and igniting the predator inside him.
He didn't force it down, however. He needed the predator. That was the only way he could imagine coming up against a vampire alone and surviving.
Ingrid, he whispered to himself, trying to refocus it. Ingrid needs us.
Above him, something clattered.
Byrnes froze, his gaze rolling toward the ceiling. Nothing moved. Only his heart, threatening to pound its way out of his chest.
More sound. A thud. Byrnes started for the stairs. Both pistols were in his hands. A faint, mocking f
lute sounded somewhere above, a sound that took him back to Ulbricht's immense gardens.
"Ingrid!" he called, reaching the top of the stairs. "Ingrid, where are you?"
Sound echoed behind him, and he spun, pistols rising instantly, only to see a startled cat flee past him. Byrnes let out the breath he'd been holding and eased both fingers off the triggers.
"Byrnes?" came a low, feminine cry.
Oh, thank God. She was still alive, and in his mother's room.
He strode toward it, body alert for the faintest shifts of breeze and shadows. The door looked like it had faced one of those hedge trimmers that were all the rage at the moment. Thick gouges marked its heavy surface and curls of timber lay abandoned on the floor beneath it.
"Ingrid?" he called, sheathing one of the pistols at his belt. "Is my mother there?"
"She's here."
Byrnes paused. Ingrid was breathing hard and something about her tone sounded strained. A faint note of panic crept down his spine. "Are you all right?"
"A scratch," she croaked. "I'll heal."
Something about that didn't sit right with him. "Where's the vampire?"
"Was here. A minute ago. Left with... the woman."
"What woman?" he demanded.
"The pipe-playing woman. Ulbricht's mistress, I think."
Her again. Byrnes looked around, but the house had an abandoned air. "Craigmore," he said, putting a hand to his ear to activate the communication device. "It's clear, I believe. Bring in the medics if they've arrived."
Holstering his second pistol, he tried to open the door, but there was something in front of it. Giving it a nudge revealed a long lean leg, clad in Ingrid's dark trousers. The second the door cracked open, the wash of blood stung his senses.
"Jesus Christ." There was blood seeping down her trousers. Byrnes pushed harder against the door, his breath catching. How bad was the wound? That was a lot of blood. "Can you move? Let me in, damn it. That's not a bloody scratch!"
Ingrid dragged her legs up to her body, then tried to move aside. And failed.
