God Save the Queen (The Immortal Empire) (5 page)

I’d heard of humans like that before, but had never met one that I knew of – until tonight.

“Why did they nab you?”

She cast a glance at her friend, who shrugged. “Wrong place at the wrong time,” he said, but I could hear the lie in his voice. Fine by me. It wasn’t my business, and it wasn’t as though I’d side with the betties anyway. Every half-blood and aristocrat knew that humans couldn’t be trusted – not after the Great Insurrection. They despised us and wanted to see every one of us dead. Dede used to tell me I was a bigot, but it wasn’t prejudice. It was truth.

“You should at least let me pay for dry-cleaning.” She gave me a good look up and down. “Those stains will never come out.”

I glanced down. “Fuck it all.” She was right. My gown was ruined. Blood soaked the silk in a six-inch splodge, and there was dirt and grass stains from the Nosferatu impersonation I’d tried to pull. My face was bruised and bloody and my hair was probably a mess by now too. Lord knew my gloves were beyond repair. There was no way I could show up at Curzon Street looking like this. Vardan would be humiliated, but besides that there wasn’t any point – already the streets were filling with carriages and cars heading deeper into Mayfair. I was too late.

I wouldn’t even be able to catch Church at home. By the time I got there he’d be underside. The lore about vampires despising the sun was true. Their skin was super-sensitive, just like their eyes and their ears, and would blister under ultraviolet light. They weren’t undead, though. The Prometheus Protein affected them on a cellular level, putting their bodies in a sort of stasis. They aged, but at an incredibly slow rate. No one knew just how long a vamp could live. Queen V had been born in 1819 and looked like she was in her late twenties, early thirties. The Church condemned all of us with plagued blood as demons, but science deemed us
Homo Sapiens Yersinia
. Rumour has it Her Majesty ate the previous Archbishop of Canterbury when he made the announcement, and had the Prime Minister appoint his successor over his still warm corpse.

Even if Church was still awake when I got to his house, he would be in lockdown for several hours. He was one of the many aristos who took to sleeping in an impenetrable, vault-like room as protection against attack after the Insurrection. As much as I wanted to talk to him about Dede, I had no choice but to go home and try to get some sleep.

“I’m sorry,” Blue-hair said. I’d almost forgotten that she was there. “If not for us, you’d be wherever it was you were supposed to be.”

I shrugged. “It’s not your fault.” Of course I had the uncharitable thought that if I had just minded my own business I could be with Church right now, but that was just wrong. I didn’t regret stopping to help them. I regretted not being able to do both.

I glanced up as the headlamps of an arriving motor carriage washed over the scene. “Is that for you?”

“Yes. Can we give you a lift?”

Her friend had already left us, gone to speak to whoever the car belonged to. Bit rude, but I was intrigued by the whole scenario.
There was something surreal, slightly off about the whole thing. “No thanks … I’m sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

She smiled, and the familiarity of her features struck me once again. I knew her from somewhere. “My friends call me Fee.”

The name didn’t ring any bells. I offered her my hand. “Xandra.”

“Yeah,” she said, an odd light in her one good eye. “I know. Thanks again for helping us out. I owe you one.”

I probably should have been more surprised that she knew who I was, and at the weird way she looked at me, but I was thinking of Dede and her having to spend more time in Bedlam because I’d fucked up. I shrugged. “You would have done the same, I’m sure.”

She arched a brow. “Are you? I appreciate the confidence.” Then she touched the brim of an imaginary hat. “I’ll bid you adieu, for I suspect our friends are waking up.”

She was right about that – the betties were stirring, and I had no desire to tango with them again. “Night, then. Don’t spend those funds all at once.”

A quick grin flashed in the darkness, and then she was off, running east across the grass. I turned on my heel and was hauling arse back to where the Butler sat waiting when a tickling sensation in the centre of my back had me glancing over my shoulder.

Fee and her friend stood beside the motor carriage – an antique Swallow, silver and sleek, engine a low purr. They were watching me, but it was the sight of the tall, well-built man with them that made the breath catch in my throat: Vex MacLaughlin – alpha of the UK wolves.

The halvies climbed into the vehicle, leaving me pinned under the weight of glowing yellow eyes. His presence was overwhelming even at this distance. Wolves were one step down from goblins on the ferocity scale. Many vampires, my father included, thought them barbarians, but I’d always been a sucker for a boy
with fur. And the MacLaughlin, as he was known, was no boy. He was in the vicinity of two hundred years old, and had been made alpha after the Great Insurrection, when he’d continued to fight despite being wounded, and saved the lives of half a dozen aristos.

He’d apparently carried the former alpha to hospital during the attack only for the wolf to die under human care. No one knew if he was murdered or not, though most thought the latter. It was the MacLaughlin who, after the funeral of Prince Albert, decided there needed to be hospitals specifically for aristos. That was when the noble world saw the benefit of halvies as protection, and as professionals in aristo-friendly establishments. Scads of research went into growing my race. There were still three humans for every halvie, but we were doing all right.

I’d seen photographs of what the humans did over those few days. I saw the bodies and the destruction – violence that only fuelled my prejudice. The only human I ever trusted was my mum, and she wasn’t a regular human – she’d been a plague carrier. A courtesan. They were special.

Vex MacLaughlin had yet to breed any halvies, but he certainly seemed to consider them part of his pack. He came to the rescue when they called. I couldn’t imagine my own father doing that. What were Fee and her friend to him that he’d come personally to fetch them?

I shook my head. None of my business. I’d turned to climb on to the Butler when a growl tore through the weakening dark and raced a cold finger down my spine. I looked up to see the alpha grabbing the betty I had almost bitten by the throat. For a second I thought he was going to kill the bastard, but he tossed him into the boot of the Swallow instead. The betty was big, but MacLaughlin lifted him like he was nothing more than a rag doll.

He slammed the boot shut before walking around to the driver’s door. He paused, and turned towards me once more, his rugged features impassive. Our gazes locked. He inclined his head – a slight nod – before sliding into the vehicle and tearing off down the street as the sun began to shove pale fingers across the sky.

What was that all about? I’d never know, and I had more important things to worry about.

Dawn was coming. Nothing for me to do but get the hell home, which I proceeded to do.

I dragged myself over the threshold with a sigh. Suddenly, I was very tired. I hadn’t eaten in hours and I needed my supplements. Our fast metabolism mean that half-bloods need to eat more often than humans. Sounds fun, but it ain’t. Try being in the middle of a tango with a bunch of betties and losing your momentum because your blood sugar’s bottomed out. Not pretty.

I locked the door behind me and fought a bout of dizziness. I wanted a steak, rare and juicy, but that would take too long. Instead, I settled on a sandwich – a big one – and bed. In fact, I’d eat the sandwich
in
bed.

I made straight for the kitchen, the rustle of my skirts the only sound. I washed the blood and dirt from my hands and went to work scrounging for food. I found thickly sliced bread in the cupboard and loaded it up with meats and cheese, vegetables and a thick layer of spicy mustard. While creating my masterpiece, I nibbled on stale shortbread biscuits. Starving halvies couldn’t be fussy.

Plate in hand, along with a small glass of creamy milk, I made my way back through the dimly lit house to the staircase. I’d taken a huge bite of the sandwich before I left the kitchen, so I was still chewing as I tried to negotiate the stairs without lifting the hem of my dress. I got all the way to the top before I realised I wasn’t alone. The smell of food had made me oblivious to other scents.

By the time I noticed, it was too late. I saw bright pink toenails two steps above me on the landing and came to a dead stop. I looked up, and swallowed.

“What the bloody hell happened to you?” my sister Avery demanded, hands on the hips of her snug black bloomers. “And why does your bedroom smell like a wet goblin?”

I’ve often thought my sister Avery resembled a walking mound of candy floss, with her pink hair and penchant for the same colour, but beneath that sweet exterior lived the soul of a fishwife.

“Yersinia?” she said, using the goblin name for their underground city. “Xandy, what the sweet hell were you thinking?”

I winced as a mug was slammed on the table in front of me. Deli cious-smelling Darjeeling sloshed over the side. Avery had dragged me to the kitchen to interrogate me, and if she was breaking out the Darjeeling, it was bad indeed. “I was looking for information on Dede,” I replied, wiping up the spill with a napkin. I had finished my sandwich and was thinking of dessert. Not more shortbread, that was for certain.

“Albert’s fangs,” my sister muttered, joining me at the table with her own cup. She rubbed her fingers violently across her forehead. Her nail varnish matched her toes. “That chit runs off, and every time you chase her like a damn puppy, but going to the goblins is beyond mental.”

Facing her across the table, I looked for some indication that we were even related. The matching green of our eyes was the only sign. How could she be so cold? Yes, Dede had always been something of a hellion – a handful – but that didn’t mean we shouldn’t worry, did it? Flighty she might be, but never cruel. For shit’s sake, she still slept with a stuffed bear.

“She’s never been gone this long before,” I defended. “Not without ringing me.”

Avery arched a brow, looking at me as though she thought she knew the inside of my head. “So this is about you, then? Dede hasn’t checked in with mama bird so something has to be wrong. Face it, Xandy, she’s selfish and spoiled and right now she isn’t thinking of anyone but herself. She’ll show up in a few days wondering what all the fuss is about.”

“Something
has
happened to her,” I protested. “The goblin prince—”

“You spoke to the prince?” Avery’s eyes were huge, cheeks chalk-white. “Were you trying to get yourself eviscerated? I swear on Albert’s grave, when Dede comes back I’m going to smack her senseless. And you … I don’t know what to do about you. You’re not our mother, Xandy, it’s time you stopped acting like it.”

My hands tightened around the mug. “Dede’s in Bedlam.”

My sister went still. “You’re lying.” And there was our family resemblance: instantaneous denial.

“That’s what the prince told me. And you know they don’t lie.”

“We need something stronger than tea.” Avery left the table to open a cupboard by the sink. She took out a bottle of whisky, and two glasses from the cupboard above. She returned to the table, uncapped the bottle and poured a double for each of us. Neither of us spoke until we’d each taken a deep swallow. It burned, but it cleared the last of the shock in my system. Unfortunately, we metabolised alcohol quickly.

“Was it because she went hatters on Ainsley?” Avery asked, rolling her glass between her palms along the tabletop.

I stopped toying with my own glass. “You knew?”

She nodded, not quite meeting my astonished – and pissed – gaze. “I was there with the Ashworths. I was the one who pulled her off Ainsley.” Both she and Dede were part of the Peerage
Protectorate – privately contracted guards for aristo families. They were different from the Royal Guard in that it was the RG’s job to protect
everyone
of rank, with emphasis on the royal family and their guests. We covered gatherings and events – such as the Queen making a public appearance – while the PP were private guards who made themselves available whenever their clients wanted.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” I could have slapped her, but I didn’t seem to have any fight left in me. I’d used it all up betty-bashing. I was tired right down to my bones.