Brightlingsea had claimed his so-called Solution was the only way to stop the unbeatable Abominable Army from overtaking the continent. Perhaps he'd been right, but the price had been high. The Duke's Solution had laid waste to thousands of square miles of land, from Constantinople to Kiev, ensuring the Abominable Army's defeat. The resulting miasma, officially blamed on the Steam Revolution, had blanketed the whole of Europe for years, suffocating its inhabitants until none could survive without an Iron Necklace.
Brightlingsea had made an impossible decision, one Sasha hadn’t envied. But it wasn't for this decision that Sasha blamed him. It was for the true genocide that came next, when the Duke, in his grief, abandoned his post and left the field to the idiots in the War Office.
He blamed the Duke for turning his back while hundreds of thousands of survivors like Fyodor, unwilling victims of Stieg Ehrengard’s lust for power, were slaughtered while they lay helpless in the field. They'd been free of the strange hypnosis Ehrengard had used to compel them, and blameless for what they'd been made to do. But the War Office had declared them less than human and therefore disposable.
Only the Duke could have prevented such a travesty, had he not run away. This was what Sasha had a hard time forgiving.
As far as Sasha knew, the Duke hadn't left his self-imposed exile on his remote Welsh estate in forty years. Seeing him here now was enough to clear the rest of the vodka from his mind. Or very nearly. He reached down for the fire poker, just in case he needed it.
Fyodor had to prop him up again. He shook off Fyodor's arm, attempting to retain a shred of dignity. "Your Grace, finally stirring from your lair after all these years?"
The Duke frowned at him ferociously. "Don't try my patience, Tsarevich," he growled. "I'm not happy about being here either."
"Why are you here? We caught the murderer."
"No, we didn't," Rowan said in a grim tone.
Sasha laughed in disbelief. "You can't possibly still believe I am the murderer. Rowan, Elijah, you were there. You heard Vasily admit his guilt."
"Your brother was involved, but we don't believe he is Osiris," Rowan said.
"Again, I didn't do it!" he insisted.
Rowan cringed when Sasha went for the poker once again. "For God's sake, pull yourself together, Sasha. No one believes you did it!" he muttered in exasperation. "Not even Franco."
Sasha studied Franco warily. The man scowled at him, as usual, but the anger that was usually behind the scowl was gone. In its place was something that looked very much like guilt. That was new.
"What the hell is going on?" he demanded. "Why don't you think Vasily was the man we were looking for?"
"For one thing, he was a vampire. Did you not wonder how he became one? Who turned him?" Drexler asked with exasperation. "Or have you been drunk for the entire week?"
"I've been drunk for the entire week," he said honestly, running a frustrated hand through his hair. Elijah brought up a valid point, one Sasha had briefly wondered about. But he'd been distracted. Badly. He turned his attention back to the Duke. "Did you know that London is infested by vampires?"
The Duke gave the Inspector a sidelong glance. "I have been informed of the situation. But that is another matter. I am here to put a final period to this whole infernal business with your heart, Tsarevich."
"I don't see how that is any of your business," he said, affronted. "I am leaving London. She has agreed it is for the best."
The Duke's expression went from annoyed to incredulous. "Are you speaking of a woman right now, Tsarevich? The same woman who has reduced you to this ridiculous, drunken state?" He shook his head. "Does it look like I care? I was speaking of the device that beats in your chest, you idiot."
The others backed up a step at the edge to the Duke's voice, even Fyodor. Brightlingsea wasn't the leader of the most powerful group of men on earth for no reason. But Sasha had never been afraid of him. He'd grown up with Ivan the Terrible for a father, after all. Brightlingsea was a kitten in comparison. He glowered at the Duke. "What about my heart?"
Rowan approached him, put a hand on his shoulder. "You might want to sit down, Sasha. There's a story here you're not going to like."
Sasha shook off Rowan's aid. "Get to the point, then get out. I've had enough of the damned Council to last until eternity."
The Duke summoned Franco forward with the flick of a finger. "I'm thirsty. You tell the tale, Salerno, since it's your fault we're in this mire," the Duke said, striding over to Sasha's sideboard and pouring himself a drink.
Franco sighed unhappily. "There were to be thirteen of us originally. The heart that now beats in your chest was stolen by one of Leo's acolytes, who disappeared without a trace. Then you came to our attention a century later. To most on the Council, your existence was unacceptable and illegal. We voted to retrieve the heart and give it to the man it was originally intended for."
Sasha was floored at this revelation, but he didn't know why. He'd always known he couldn't trust the Elders. "You were going to kill me and take back your heart?" he asked.
"I voted against it, Sasha," Rowan said quietly. "And the motion was eventually overruled, after the Duke seized control of the Council."
Brightlingsea didn't look pleased at Rowan's interjection. He tossed back his glass of vodka, scowled at the bottom of it, and poured another. "We decided to let you live."
"How magnanimous of you," he muttered.
"Unless you proved unworthy. Then we reserved the option of retrieving the heart."
"Killing me, you mean," Sasha corrected.
The Duke scowled at him. "It was agreed from the beginning that should any of the Elders be proven guilty of a heinous crime, their hearts would be forfeited and destroyed."
"I wonder you are alive, then," Sasha said. "And Stieg Ehrengard, after what he did."
The Duke gave Sasha an arctic smile. "Oh, he won't be alive much longer, you have my word on that, Tsarevich," he said in a tone that disconcerted even Sasha.
Before Sasha could digest this new intriguing development, Franco began to speak again. "In your case, however, because of your unique situation, the Council agreed that your heart would not be destroyed, but rather restored to its original owner. My brother. Carlos Salerno. I Bonded him to extend his life as we searched for the missing heart. I've continued to Bond him in the centuries after you were discovered. But I've come to believe he may be the one responsible for the murders."
Sasha couldn't believe what he was hearing. He took Rowan's advice and sat on the edge of his desk to absorb this news.
Franco continued, pacing the room. "When the murders began, I was more than happy to believe you responsible. The heart that beats in your chest was my brother's, after all. I never suspected Carlos could have orchestrated the whole thing." Franco shook his head. "But what you said in Genoa made me think of him. We are no longer close, and he's gone his own way for centuries. I see him only when he wishes to renew our Blood Bond. I knew it broke the covenants to give a Bonded such latitude, but Carlos was supposed to be an Elder like me. I felt guilty, I suppose."
"You've hounded me for three centuries, and you never once stopped to think it was your brother, the man who wanted my heart?" he demanded with barely-restrained fury.
"I love my brother. It is still hard to accept the fact that he may have committed these horrible crimes," Franco cried.
"We believe that somehow Salerno enlisted Vasily in his plan to implicate you in the murders," Rowan continued, sensing Sasha's desire to attack Franco, and hurrying the conversation along to avoid a confrontation.
"I recalled that Carlos made a trip to Russia around the late 16th century when we were hunting for the heart," Franco said after a deep breath. "He must have met Vasily there and turned him to use him against you."
"What makes you so sure your brother is behind the murders?" he asked.
"When I followed you to London, I saw him," Franco said.
"You followed me? Of course you did," h
e growled.
"And he was in the company of a woman who should have been dead a century ago," Franco continued as if he hadn't heard Sasha's snide comment, "which is when I saw Theodora last. I knew then my brother had broken at least one Council law, and I had no choice but to seek out the Duke and relate my suspicions."
Sasha froze at Franco's words, his blood running cold. Rowan went still as well, demanding, "Did you say Theodora? You never mentioned her before."
"What does your brother look like?" Sasha urged, rising to his feet, completely sober now as a horrible suspicion began to take root.
Franco had no chance to answer, however, as yet another uninvited guest appeared in the doorway, breathless and clutching her side as a pale Madame Kristeva hovered over her. Lady Christiana pierced Sasha, her brother and the Inspector with a disgusted glare, her bodice heaving. "Does no one ever check your wireless? I've been trying to contact the lot of you for an age!" she declared with exasperation.
"We have urgent business here, Tia," Rowan said with equal exasperation. "Can't you see we've company?" He gestured at the Duke.
Lady Christiana looked unimpressed with the Duke's presence, which raised her considerably in Sasha's estimation.
The Duke, who was finishing off his latest glass of vodka, quirked a brow at Rowan. "Can't you see Lady Christiana has been shot?" he retorted mildly.
Sasha finally noticed the blood seeping through Christiana's fingers as she clutched her side. The Inspector started in her direction as if to rush to her aid, but he stopped abruptly and flew to the other side of the room, averting his face. But not before Sasha had seen the glow in his eyes and the glint of his fangs.
That was certainly not a good reaction in a room full of Elders, and the Inspector knew it. Fortunately for Drexler, Sasha was the only one who seemed to notice his reaction in the ensuing chaos, and Sasha wasn't about to give the Inspector away. He trusted a damned vampire more than the Elders.
With a harsh oath, Rowan rushed to Christiana and guided her towards a chair. She attempted to wave off his attentions. "I'm fine. Truly. You know I'll heal shortly," she protested. "It's only bleeding because I had to run here from our townhouse. You really should check your Tickers!"
"Who the devil shot you?" Rowan cried.
"Charles Netherfield! He's gone mad! He's kidnapped Aline!"
Sasha's heart stopped. Literally stopped for several seconds while he struggled to absorb this news. He could feel the blood draining from his face and a horrible pit begin to form in his gut, growing deeper by the second, and filled with dread.
"I think we've found your brother, Franco," Brightlingsea said in a weary tone.
"Netherfield?" Rowan exclaimed. "That stuffy old archaeologist?"
"Who studies ancient Egypt, and the god Osiris," Sasha said grimly. "How could we not realize something so obvious?" He crossed the room and clutched Christiana's shoulder. "Did he say where he was taking her? What he wanted?"
"Aside from shooting me, he didn't make much of an attempt to communicate," she shot back wryly. "The Hendrixes were with him. I think Theodora may be a vampire, by the by." She took the handkerchief Rowan had provided her and clamped it against her side. Her usually beautiful features were taut with unspoken pain. It had to be excruciating, but she was enduring it stoically. "Perhaps if you check your wireless, like I suggested? In case he's tried to contact you. If your urgent business can be interrupted, that is," she bit out waspishly.
Everyone in the room, including the Duke, did as told. Sasha pushed aside layers of detritus atop his desk before he unearthed his wireless device. None of the unspooled messages were from the bone-hunter, however. In a fit of frustration and rising terror, he swept the contents of his desk to the floor with a loud curse, startling everyone in the room.
Fyodor was the one to tap him on the shoulder and point urgently at the post box, where the latest tube still lay after its noisy arrival had nearly spurred him to violence. He rushed over, opened up the glass door, and pulled out the tube. He ripped it open and unfolded the note with trembling fingers. His heart sank.
I have your whore. You have my heart. Bring it to me alone, and I'll let her live. We await you at the air docks. Osiris.
He balled up the letter in his fist, reluctant to let the others read its contents. That this psychopath dared to call Finch a whore was the last straw. He would see the bone-hunter dead, if it was the last thing he ever did.
And it might very well be.
Chapter 13
Parliament fell in line with the rest of Europe when it passed a bill in both Houses yesterday, banning Dirigibles and Dirigible-like conveyances from Her Majesty’s Skies. The agile, swift vehicles, which proved so valuable for Allied Forces during the War, have become a threat to National Security, according to Officials. Dirigibles have been instrumental in the rise of Piracy across the Empire, as well as the recent airborne violence between gangs in Britain’s cities …
-from The London Post-Dispatch, 1871
ALINE tested the strength of the ropes binding her wrists to the post of the airship. Charlie – or Salerno – paced the deck, pistol in hand, as they waited for their quarry to arrive. Theodora stood on the other side of Salerno, her attention fixed on Aline to the exclusion of all else. She reminded Aline of a barely leashed wolf, ready to pounce on her prey if given the slightest opportunity.
Salerno had banished Theodora to the opposite side of the ship after she'd nearly succeeded in sinking her fangs into Aline's neck. Salerno hadn’t counted on Theodora's thirst for Aline's blood being so strong, and he was clearly annoyed at this added complication to his plans.
"Don't you dare drink her, Theodora," he'd warned after pulling the vampire off of Aline for the third time. "She's no use to me dead. You may have her once I have my heart, not before."
Aline's relief at Salerno's rescue was tempered by the fact that hers was only a temporary stay of execution. Once Salerno had what he wanted from the Professor, he planned on throwing her to the vampire. But she didn't think she'd care if she died at that point, since Sasha would be dead. Because of her.
And she would have to watch it all. She turned her attention to Dr. Hendrix, who was preparing for the upcoming surgery. She'd gleaned the fact that Dr. Hendrix was not an archaeologist at all, but rather a medical doctor. He'd been promised eternal life as a Bonded in exchange for his services as a surgeon. It seemed Dr. Hendrix planned to remove Sasha's mechanical heart on top of the table he was preparing.
Aline eyed the ancient, square metal box that was the focus of most of Dr. Hendrix's attention. According to the voluble Salerno, it was a box specially designed by Da Vinci that would store the heart once it was removed from Sasha's chest.
While he was still alive.
When she'd learned just exactly what Salerno and Dr. Hendrix had planned for the Professor, she'd nearly cast up her accounts.
Theodora darted in Aline's direction once more, unable to restrain herself, and Salerno intercepted her, striking her in the face with the butt of the pistol. Theodora flew backwards and landed against the side of the ship, the ugly tears to her flesh quickly healing. She glared at Salerno, her fangs descended, her eyes glowing with her thirst.
Aline's dread deepened.
"I'll cut your head off, see if I don't," Salerno hissed at her. "Stick to the plan."
"But she smells so good," Theodora whined. "Are you sure he'll come?"
"Oh, yes," Salerno said, throwing a dark look in Aline's direction. "He'll come for his whore. I made sure of his attachment to her."
Aline refused to show her fear, considerable though it was. She raised her chin defiantly and glared at her former fiancé.
"What does he see in her?" Theodora sneered. "Those spectacles!"
Aline turned her disdain on Theodora, though her pulse began to thud in her veins. The vampire scared her more than Salerno, considering her unpredictability, but Aline was fast losing her patience. Was it really necessary for Theodo
ra to hurl such personal insults? "You seem to see something in me," Aline retorted. "At least in my blood."
Theodora growled her rage and started forward again. Salerno shot her in the arm, once again sending her crashing backwards against the rails. Salerno spun towards Aline with a furious expression. "I suggest keeping your mouth shut, if you want to live."
Aline only barely leashed her bitter retort that he planned on killing her anyway, so it hardly mattered. And she knew in the back of her mind that the best solution for the Professor would be for her to die before he arrived. Salerno would have no leverage against him, and he wouldn't have to trade his life for hers. The thought of her being the cause of Sasha's death was unbearable.
But she couldn’t quite work up the courage to tempt Theodora to do her worst. She could only hold onto her hope that somehow they both walked away from this. Surely Sasha would find a way to circumvent Salerno's evil scheme. He had Rowan, Fyodor and the Inspector on his side. Surely he would not be stupid enough to walk into Salerno's trap alone.
Or perhaps he would. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed movement towards the entrance to the ship. She swung her head around, her heart sinking as Sasha came into view. Alone. Wearing nothing but his shirtsleeves, the shadow of a beard on his grim-set face. He looked terrible – he looked absolutely lovely. Despite her deepening terror, she drank in the sight of him.
He was doing the same, his attention focused solely on her as he drew closer.
And she knew in that moment that if they both got out of this alive, nothing was going to keep her from his side. How silly she'd been to think she could let him go. But at the moment, she feared their chances of surviving were very slim. He just walked blithely up to her, ignoring the others, as if he'd no intention of fighting at all.
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