The Queen Is Dead (The Immortal Empire) (11 page)

“Brilliant.” I felt a stab of envy, though. Yes, I looked like a halvie, but I was a goblin. I wasn’t going to be able to pick and choose which I wanted to be whenever one served me better. Eventually I was going to have to choose.

Penny seemed to know what I was thinking. She patted my shoulder. “At the risk of sounding like one of those insipid
cards my mum gets me every year on my birthday, it’s not what you are, it’s
who
you are. And honey, you are Xandra Vardan, gorgeous, vicious bitch.”

I chuckled. “Yay me.”

Her other hand came down on my opposite shoulder. There was nothing of the snarky, catty girl I adored in her eyes. At that moment, even though she was buried beneath layers of perfectly done make-up, I saw the resemblance to Val. “If anyone can save Val and destroy the fuckers who took him, it’s you. I believe in you, otherwise I’d be a snivelling mess right now–and you know how I hate my mascara running.”

As far as compliments went, I wasn’t certain it was entirely flattering, but I’d take it.

I drove Penny to Freak Show and told her I’d be there when she finished. It was the best I could do when she refused to stop working. I was going to have to come up with something, because I wasn’t confident she was safe so long as she was inside the club, especially since we’d found Val’s tracker.

Then I sent a digigram to Vex on my rotary and let him know that I was on my way to Bedlam. I had a date to keep with Ophelia, but I was also hoping they had someone who could run a few tests on the transmitter. I doubted it would yield anything, but maybe they could see where he’d been if the memory was still active.

I am a nocturnal creature by nature, but there’s something about London at night that fills me with energy and a sense of confidence. I don’t know if it’s the change in the tempo of life, or the lights, or the feeling that the city is a living, breathing thing. All I know is that I felt most alive in the shadows and darkness of London.

Traffic was light going over the bridge–I only had to drive
illegally once–and I made it to Bedlam a few moments before the time Ophelia and I had agreed to meet. As luck would have it, there was an excellent parking spot available as well–not a lot of folks visiting mental hospitals after dark. They were somewhat like cemeteries that way.

Bedlam was a hu Cdlating mentalking beast of a building with a domed spire and wings that seemed determined to go on for ever. It had been built here in the 1800s, but the hospital had been around in other locations for hundreds of years prior to that. At one time it served the human community, but that was before my kind started showing up. Now it was a place where half-bloods–and the odd human carrier–went when their minds conspired against them.

Or when they’d been victims of grisly experiments. Dede had shown me some of those poor souls.

It was also the hideout for the so-called Insurrectionists–a group who rebelled against the current monarchy and wanted change. Though all of their known followers and conspirators had been jailed or executed in the years following 1932’s Great Insurrection, they were gathering forces again. Were they anything to worry about? I wasn’t certain, but Church seemed to think they were. He’d killed Dede to send a message to them as much as to me. As far as I knew, the truth about the Insurrectionists hiding in Bedlam had died with him, as had the identity of any spies he had within the ranks.

This bunch of traitors was headed by my mother, Juliet, and my maternal sister, Ophelia. My family covered the spectrum of patriotism in this country in broad strokes from one end to the other. My father had his head so far up Victoria’s arse he was choking on shit, and his former lover was head of the group determined to bring about her downfall.

And then there was me, who didn’t trust either side to look both ways before crossing the street.

The heavy iron gate with the word “Bedlam” above let out a low screech when I opened it. I jogged up the path and pulled the cord for the bell. They’d started locking the place up better after my last visit, smart cookies that they were. Used to be they only worried about people getting out.

“May I help you?” came a disembodied voice from the horn-shaped brass speaker on the wall. That was new too.

“I’m here for Ophelia Blackwood,” I replied. “We have an appointment.”

“Your name?”

I paused, a darkly humourless smile inching across my face. This was not going to go well. “Xandra Vardan.”

Silence. I should have felt some remorse for this, but I didn’t. I felt awful for what I’d done to Ophelia, but she’d made a full recovery, and I wouldn’t have done it if she hadn’t been so fond of antagonising me. Had she asked for almost getting her throat ripped out? Not really, no, but she’d intentionally baited me while knowing I wasn’t… normal.

No, the loss of control weighed heavier upon my shoulders than taking a bite out of her did.

The door opened. A strapping young human in a black uniform greeted me with a stoic expression and a canister of Tetra-Sil in his hand. It was a tetracycline and silver aerosol that was quite effective against those of plagued blood. “Come in.”

I crossed the threshold from slightly sticky summer night to the cool, dry interior of the asylum. At one time this place had filled me with fear. Now, it just made me weary. Old buildings like this were drenched in memories–moments in time–that
lingered like a perfume. Death. Despair. Madness. Those three notes came together in a cloying, sweet scent that reminded me of opium smoke and funeral flowers. It was faint, but it was there, and I knew I’d carry it on my clothes and hair after I left.

There were two other guards at the hound–a gate-like machine that could sniff out dange Ciffft.

The two men and one woman–a halvie–watched me carefully as I went through the machine. They patted me down as well–the halvie being the only one brave enough for the job. Then she escorted me to the lift and came up to the first floor with me. The patient side of the building was locked down, but the wing that my mother and her followers kept to was well lit and inviting.

I was escorted to a door I hadn’t gone through before. We had to walk past Dede’s former room to get there. A lump stuck in my throat. I remembered barging into that room and finding her lounging on the bed without a care in the world, her copper hair dyed black. That was the true beginning of this mess for me. That was what had led me to eventually discovering that I was a goblin.

That had eventually led to her murder.

The guard rapped on the door to this new room and waited.

“Come in,” said a voice I recognised as Ophelia’s.

The guard turned the knob and gestured for me to enter. I stepped into a large area that looked more like a hotel room than a bedroom, with its sitting area, bar and refrigerator. A
separate bedroom was beyond another doorway, along with a small en suite.

“I’m surprised you came.”

I turned to face my sister. We were similar in height and build, but she had saltwater-blue hair and blue eyes rather than my red and green/yellow. I couldn’t help but look at the base of her throat, where it met her shoulder; there wasn’t even a scar.

“I’m surprised there wasn’t a sniper on the roof,” I replied. “You were the one who said we should meet here.”

“I figured it w
as safest for both of us. Have a seat.”

I glanced at the sofa. “I don’t mean to stay that—” Well, fang me and chew the wound. There was a very large, high-calibre gun pointed at my face.

Ophelia pulled back the hammer, her gaze hard. “I said, sit the fuck
down
.”

I sat. I walked right over to that little sofa and plopped my arse down on it like any rational person with a gun pointing at her would. It was not my first instinct. That had been to make a grab for the gun and chew her face off.

I think it was only because of the blood I’d drunk earlier that I was able to think clearly and realise that Ophelia wasn’t attacking me–she was simply taking necessary precautions against someone who had once hurt her very badly. I would have done the same. But then I wouldn’t have invited that someone into my home.

No, I’d lure that person into the underside and eat their heart.

“I didn’t come here to hurt you,” I told her. “This was your idea, remember?”

She lowered the gun. The barrel trembled. “Can’t blame me for not trusting you.”

I frowned. “Beg pardon, but I c Fiffftarrame here trusting that you weren’t trying to lure me into some sort of trap.”

“Yeah, well maybe you aren’t as smart as you think you are.”

I met her blue gaze directly. “If you’re going to shoot me, get it the fuck over with. I’ve things to do, and mucking about with you ain’t one of them.”

She hesitated. Was she honestly debating it? Finally she sat down on a chair facing the sofa. Not quite within lunging distance, but close. The pistol was at the ready, but no longer pointed directly at me. “I was surprised you called.”

I shrugged. “Vex said you wanted me to give you a ring.”

“I did. I thought you might like Dede’s things.” Her voice cracked a little, bringing a sad smile to my mouth. It was nice to know she was missed.

“I do, but that’s not why I’m here.”

The pistol came up a bit as my sister stiffened. “Why
are
you here?”

“My brother’s missing. We think he was investigating the disappearances at Freak Show, that he might have been abducted by the people experimenting on halvies.” Horrible thoughts of what they might be doing tried to flood my brain, but I denied them entry. “I thought you might be able to help me.”

“Right. The lab I was kept in was burnt to the ground shortly after Mum got me out. They don’t exactly put their address in the directory, so I’m not sure what kind of help you think I can offer.”

The pair of us were like two hedgehogs trying to dance. The intent of harmony was there, but all the pricking and poking got in the way. I swallowed the urge to flip her off, and sighed.
“If he was taken by the same or similar people, you can tell me what they might be doing to him, and whether or not they’ll keep him alive. You can tell me about the place where they kept you.” I was betting that their operation needed substantial space in the right sort of environment. It wasn’t like they could torture halvies in a flat above a coffee shop.

Ophelia–Fee–ran a hand through her tangled blue hair. “It was an old factory or something. They kept us in cells, separated so we couldn’t talk to each other. They’ll keep him alive as long as he cooperates and behaves.”

I couldn’t imagine Val being inclined to do either, but he wasn’t stupid, and self-preservation ran in the family. “What are they doing to him?”

She shrugged, avoided my eye.

“Look, I understand you don’t want to talk about this, especially not with me, but I have to find him. You may be able to tell me something that will help me save not only him, but anyone else they have held prisoner.”

Her gaze jerked to mine. “Our mother spent weeks planning how to get me out. She had someone on the inside who helped her, and raided the place with a dozen trained half-bloods, and they still only managed to save a handful of people.”

“She had to find you first. Tell me what I need to look for. Let me worry about the rest of it.”

“You’ll get yourself killed.”

“I’m not abandoning my brother.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you had known about me, would you have tried to find me?”

I wanted to say no, just to be a bitch, but it would be a lie. “Yes.”

She started. “Why?”

“Because you’re my sister.”

“You tried to kill me!”

I shrugged. “I didn’t say it made sense. I’ve never met anyone who makes me want to punch them as much as you do, but if someone tried to hurt you, I’d hurt them. I’m sorry for what I did to you. I would take it back if I could, but I can’t. If you want to punish me, fine, but please help me find my brother. I can’t lose him too.”

She swallowed. I heard a click as the safety on the pistol was switched on, and then she set the weapon on the coffee table between us. She either trusted me not to make a grab for it, or figured she was the faster of the two of us.

Either way, it was almost as insulting as it was a relief.

“Why do you think he was taken by the same people who took me?”

“He was investigating halvie disappearances from Freak Show when a couple of betties nabbed him outside the club. And earlier I found his tracker. It had been cut out of him. What?”

Fee had turned pale–more so than usual. It made me wonder just what had happened to her in that lab. “They use betties to abduct halvies. They’re instructed to remove the tracking devices and deliver the subjects to the lab. In return, the betties are given the plague.”

Betties liked to inject themselves with the plague, which they get from aristos. Some used a funky compound derived from aristo hormones that had a more subtle effect and wasn’t as hard on the body. Others, I had learned, went right for injecting aristo blood straight into their veins. There was a more drastic effect in terms of strength, agility and speed. It
was also more drastic in that it didn’t take long for sores to appear and bits to start turning black. Those betties might be tough, but their lives were significantly shortened.