God Save the Queen (The Immortal Empire) (18 page)

“Nothing to be sorry for.” I forced a smile. I felt stupid knowing he’d been in on the deception. It was exactly the boot to the arse I needed to get out of there.

“Xandra.”

I paused on the threshold and turned my head to meet Dede’s gaze. I didn’t speak. I simply waited. Finally she spoke. “Thank you.”

The four of them stared at me. I held their fate in my hands and we all knew it. I could turn them in and distinguish myself, or I could keep my mouth shut and protect Dede, and possibly condemn myself. One way or the other, I had to find out the truth. Who could I trust?

“Don’t thank me yet,” I said, and walked out the door.

I took the Met to Covent Garden – one of London’s “neutral” zones that catered to aristos, halvies and humans. It seemed the logical choice of destination when I wasn’t ready to return home.

Once I was certain I hadn’t been followed – fairly easy when on foot and sniffing for the scents of Bedlam – I stopped at a privacy box and stepped through the bright red door. The smell wrinkled my nose. There was a glistening smear of something on one of the walls. I did not want to know what it was – though the bare breasts and spread legs staring up at me from the laddie rag on the ground gave me a good idea – and kept as far away from it as the small space would allow. Fucking pervs.

I pulled my rotary from my coat and dialled Church’s number. It rang several times before going to his message service. This wasn’t anything I had planned to tell him over the aether – you
never knew who might be listening, even on supposedly secure connections – but not getting him irked me all the same.

“It’s me,” I said after the annoying beep. “Call me as soon as you’re able. Church … it’s important.” I pressed the button to disconnect and stared at the gadget for a moment before dialling Val as well, with the same results. Church not answering I could understand, but where the hell was my brother? He was on bereavement leave and had no social life that I knew of.

Sighing, I tucked my rotary into my pocket and threw open the door. The smells of smoke, night and exotic food greeted me – a welcome reprieve after the skankiness of the box.

I had no idea what to do and was as restless as fuck. I contemplated going to one of the city’s opium dens – the smoke would mask any other scents clinging to me and calm me down – but thought better of it. I’d chased the dragon before, but I’d never really enjoyed it – it made my head too fuzzy.

An absinthe bar was out of the question. Much as I could tolerate the green fairy, it wasn’t the sort of thing I wanted to imbibe in large quantities, and large quantities was what it took to get me pissed. Once there, I had to keep drinking to maintain, so I’d learned that the best stuff was a high-proof grain alcohol. Vodka, preferably.

I thought about what Dede had said about the Freak Show, and decided to go there. I hadn’t been in a while, and it was a place I could find distraction. It had been opened in 1877 on the site of an old theatre, and had been run by only three generations of halvies, thanks to our long lifespans.

The building was a huge circus tent made of pink-stuccoed stone with paintings of old spectacle posters on the sides. It looked kitschy and camp, but it was one of the hottest clubs in town. A long queue stretched around the corner from the velvet-roped entrance. There were still several hours left of night and these
people – mostly under the age of five and twenty – were eager to get their party on. I almost felt guilty for flashing my badge to be let immediately inside, but if anyone was in desperate need of a drink at this moment, ’twas me. A few line-waiters cursed me, but I flipped them off and crossed the threshold without a flicker of guilt. Most of them were human anyway.

Inside the big top the bar was a series of small stages and one large platform in the centre – that was where the headlining acts performed. There were tables in front of each area, and not one of them was empty. A large sign just inside the door warned – in a very sideshow script – that touching the performers was strictly prohibited, as was any form of harassment, and that any persons committing such acts would be ejected from the club immediately, and subsequently banned from returning.

Everyone was dressed for a night on the town, glittering under the dim coloured lights. I hadn’t seen so many short bustled skirts or brightly coloured corsets in a long time. Aristo women generally stuck to the old way of wearing corsets as undergarments rather than sporting flashy ones over their clothes. They didn’t show quite so much stockinged leg either. The gents in the club wore kilts and long trousers. Some had mutton chops, which were back in vogue, while others were clean-shaven right down to their skulls.

I must have looked like some gothic mortician in my funeral kit – a grim reminder of all that had happened since I woke up. I removed my long coat, feeling cooler and more comfortable in my halter-style corset and trousers. Plague me, but the world felt shaky beneath my feet, and yet … yet I was oddly calm, as though some part of me had been expecting this. I had known deep down that Dede wasn’t dead, so it wasn’t really a surprise to find out she was into something bad. Why else would she disappear?

The things Dede had showed me were just too awful to
contemplate, and something had obviously happened to those poor people. However, I wasn’t going to condemn all aristos based on the word of some human-fucker – and that was what Ophelia was.

I found a seat at a small table, near one of the side stages. On the glossy black platform a young woman in a sheer red body-stocking – with solid panels in just enough places to keep her act from being X-rated – rested her chin and upper body on the surface of a table. Her hands reached behind her on the wooden surface to grip the sides as she slowly brought her long legs up to curve over her head and dangle in front of her face.

When we were young Dede had loved to dance and do gymnastics and tie herself in knots. She should have gone on to become a performer of some kind rather than part of the Peerage Protectorate. I think she would have been happier that way. She might have avoided Ainsley if she’d followed her heart rather than expectations.

Me, I had always wanted to be RG. Though at times I felt like there was more to me – some potential I had yet to reach – but it hovered just out of arm’s length. I wasn’t what I was supposed to be, and I didn’t know how to get there.

“Hellooo, gorgeous.”

Smiling, I glanced up at the tiny Asian waitress in a magenta Marie Antoinette wig standing before me. She was dressed in a corset, short bustled skirt, fishnets and high boots. I wished I had her legs. “How are you tonight, Miss Penny?”

Penny Dreadful batted her false eyelashes, dark eyes sparkling. She was one of Val’s siblings, and that made her family in my mind. “Delicious as always, duckie. The new busboy is all up in my business, desperate to sample my charms.”

“But you’re playing hard to get?” I guessed with a grin.

She rolled her beautifully made-up eyes. Penny was halvie, but
she was also one of the most popular drag queens in all the Empire. “Of course. A lady can never be too careful. You look like a girl who wants to drink the day away.”

Now would be the perfect time to ask her about horror shows, but I simply couldn’t do it, not when there were so many people around. “I need a bottle of something potent, Penny my love.”

She eyed me intently from beneath high drawn-on brows. “Going to need more than a bottle to fix you up, lovey.” She glanced around the club, and a smile curved her red lips. “Miss Penny has found just the thing to brighten your day, gorgeous.”

I followed her gaze against my own better judgement. Oh. My. God.

It was Vex MacLaughlin.

Was this a coincidence? It had to be. It only seemed strange because I’d seen him a lot over the past few days. My heart bounced off my ribs at the sight of him standing by the bar talking to a pert halvie girl. Aside from being somewhat intimidating, he was one of the most stunning examples of aristocratic lineage ever born. Tall and muscular, he had short dark hair, intense light blue eyes and a grin that showed off big white teeth.

“All the better to eat you with,” Penny drawled sweetly, as though reading my mind.

I shook my head with a chuckle, and that was all it took to tear my attention away from the Scot. In addition to being a supreme fighter and fair leader, he was one of
Good Day
magazine’s sexiest aristos. There weren’t a lot of royal bloods who looked as good as he did.

So of course I snuck another peek at him. He held a bottle of beer in one large hand as he leaned his opposite elbow on the bar. He stopped in mid-conversation and sniffed the air. How he could pick up any one scent in a place like this was amazing, even for a were.

When he turned his head and stared right at me, I froze. Why did he look at me like he thought I’d be good on toast? Why did he look at me at all? I was a halvie, he was an aristo. He could have any woman he wanted. Did he smell Fee on me and wonder how and why? Did he know she was a traitor and now suspect me as well?

The wolf scared me a little, with his intense grey-blue eyes and rugged good looks. He had that imperious air about him that came with being alpha. He was dangerous, and could make some real trouble for me if he wanted.

Something inside me responded to that danger. My gums stretched as my fangs pushed themselves out. I wanted to walk right up to Lord MacLaughlin and sink my teeth into him.

As if he sensed that, the MacLaughlin moved away from the bar and walked toward me with long, purposeful strides, leaving the halvie he’d been flirting with blinking in bewilderment.

“Bitch,” Penny said slowly. “You are my fucking hero.”

My mouth was as dry as a desert. “Whisky, Penny,” I rasped. “A bottle.”

“You lucky sow,” she retorted with a grin, as though she hadn’t heard me, but she bounced off in the direction of the bar, passing the MacLaughlin on her way. He said something to her that made her laugh.

I stood up when he reached my table. Despite the trembling in my knees, I began to curtsy.

“Don’t,” he commanded with a bit of a wince, and held out his hand. “That’s an archaic custom. I’m Vex.”

I straightened and accepted the handshake. “I know who you are, my lord. I’m—”

“Alexandra Vardan,” he interjected, gently rolling the Rs. “Our paths seem to keep crossing as of late. May I join you?” He gestured towards the other chair at my table.

I was wary but not stupid. “Of course.”

He waited for me to sit before joining me – those aristocratic manners kicking in. A few curious patrons glanced our way, but the sky didn’t fall nor did the ground open up.

As bizarre as the last few hours had been, this had to be the cherry on top of the madness. Obviously the world had gone arse-up-hatters and no one had thought to send me the notice.

“So, Xandra,” he began, his low growl of a voice carrying easily over the crowd and performers, “has anyone ever told you that you smell like running through heather in the rain?”

I might have rolled my eyes if he hadn’t smiled in a self-deprecating fashion that I found utterly sexy.

“Oddly enough, a fellow said that to me just last week,” I replied with a grin. “Must be my shampoo.”

He laughed and I breathed a little easier. Maybe he hadn’t come over to eviscerate me, or question me about Fee.

Penny arrived with the whisky – a top-shelf brand that I would never have thought to ask for – and two glasses.

“Put this on my tab, Penny love,” Vex commanded. I liked that he was nice to her. So many people weren’t.

“You don’t have to do that,” I told him. “I ordered it, I can pay.”

He gave me an amused glance, but I didn’t spot any condescension in it. “That bottle of Springbank is older than you are. I know, because it was made in Kintyre by my people. Consider it a point of pride and indulge me, please.”

Why not? Better his wallet than my own. I shrugged, but softened it with a smile. “Consider yourself indulged, my lord.”

Penny set the bottle on the table in front of us. I caught her not-so-subtle glance as she slid a crystal glass towards me. She waggled her painted-on brows – subtlety was not in her repertoire – and patted Vex on the shoulder of his dark grey greatcoat. “When are you going to have a drink with me, duckie?”

The alpha grinned. “Whenever you command, Miss Penny.”