Year of Blood, nobody allowed a blue blood to
live through the Fade, so we had no means of
discovering any different. However, Cremorne's
experiments prove otherwise. Using the elixir
vitae to control the metamorphosis, it appears that
a blue blood does not revert to a vampiric state,
but evolves into something more. Something faster,
stronger, far more dangerous. We call them
dhampir."
"Them?" Byrnes questioned. “How many are
there?”
Barrons exchanged a look with his wife.
"Only one known," said the duchess, her hand
sliding surreptitiously to her middle, as though she
was worried. "Of the seven test subjects who
survived the metamorphosis, it was thought that
they had all died seventeen years ago in the fire
that destroyed Falkirk."
"Who?" Ingrid demanded. "Who is the known
dhampir?"
"The Duke of Caine," Barrons replied, with a
mocking smile. "My father."
The Duke of Caine was a recluse, by all
reports, and suffered from some sort of disease.
"Bloody hell," Byrnes said. "What's his state of
mind?"
"Normal," Barrons replied, "as far as we can
tell. Or normal for him—he's still a cunning old
bastard, meddling with people's lives, but that's not
unusual. His appetite is increased, and he’s
stronger and faster than I am, but he doesn't appear
to like leaving his house very often. Indeed, he
seems to feel the cold more, and prefers to remain
by his fire, in the dark. He cannot walk in sunlight
the way we do, as it burns his skin and blinds
him."
And they'd only seen Zero in daylight, Byrnes
realized, if it were foggy.
"Both
a
blue
blood's
strengths
and
weaknesses are exacerbated it seems," Malloryn
added, draining his cup. "They have the strength of
a vampire, and the speed and healing, but are not
deformed or blinded as a vampire is. And although
a blue blood can walk in sunlight if necessary, the
dhampir cannot. Interestingly enough."
"Not what I'd call it," Ingrid said gruffly.
"Bloody terrifying is somewhat closer. After all,
you missed the most obvious exacerbation—just
how bloodthirsty are these creatures?"
"Very," Barrons replied, and set his cup
down. "Almost vampiric."
Byrnes scratched at his jaw. "Zero said that a
vampire was created when a blue blood in the
Fade dies. That doesn't make sense. We've
executed hundreds of Fade blue bloods over the
years. One would presume we'd be swimming in
vampires."
"Unless there's some kind of difference in the
stages of the metamorphosis," the Duchess of
Casavian corrected. "Maybe there is a certain
point during the metamorphosis the blue blood
must reach before they can make that leap?"
"We execute them when they reach 80 percent
craving virus levels," Barrons mused. "So it must
be a higher virus percentage."
"Hold on," Ingrid said. "So you're saying that
Annabelle—or Zero—was one of the test subjects
that you thought was dead."
"Yes," Barrons replied.
"Then what happened to the rest of them?" she
asked. "You say that Caine is the only other one
living. What if others escaped? What if there are
more, just like her?"
A cold chill ran down Byrnes's spine. "She
didn't say anything about other dhampir.”
“Then there could be others,” Malloryn
murmured.
“What does she want?" Ingrid asked, then
turned and looked at Byrnes. "She said she liked
you. That she might help you become what she is.
Does that mean she wants to offer you the elixir
vitae?"
"If I can find her and prove worthy, or some
such nonsense." A cold hand curled around his
particularly interested in some mysterious potion. I
like myself the way I am. No, she said her purpose
was both vengeance and anarchy." He looked
Malloryn in the eye. "Against you and the duchess
in particular, and all those who fought for the
revolution."
Malloryn leaned back in his chair, his gaze
distant. "Why would she have such a personal
stake in vengeance? She had nothing to do with the
prince consort or his rule. Neither of us ever knew
her."
"If her complaint is against you and me in
particular," the duchess commented, "then it has to
be something to do with the revolution. Very few
people know that you, Barrons, and I practically
ran it. It sounds like someone who was close to the
Court, who might have been there when the prince
consort was killed and knows what really
transpired, might have some grievance against us."
"And the queen?" Barrons asked. "It was her
revolution, after all."
The three of them looked between each other.
"See that the guard is increased," Malloryn
finally said. "Perhaps move her to a different
bedchamber. Cancel some of her engagements until
we can discover more about this Zero."
"If someone wanted to make an attempt on the
queen," Byrnes pointed out, "then she's downstairs
in the garden. Supposedly along with half the
people this Zero seems to want revenge upon. If I
were her, I wouldn't attack the queen at the Ivory
Tower, which is well guarded and practically
impenetrable. I'd do it now."
Four sets of eyes locked on him.
And that was when the explosion sounded, the
window shattering into thousands of glass shards
that sliced through the air.
TWENTY-SIX
INGRID THREW herself at Byrnes, carrying him
to the floor as glass spewed over them. Hot shards
of pain lashed her thigh, weeping wet blood. What
had happened? Where was—
Then
she
was
being
shoved,
quite
unceremoniously, onto her back. "Are you hurt?"
Byrnes demanded, fingers tracing down the silk of
her skirts. "I can smell blood."
"Saved by the bustle," Ingrid gasped, reaching
down and dragging a thick spike of glass from her
leg. Pain flared, but with it came the steady cold
burn of the loupe. If not for the sheer volume of
fabric, half her leg would have been shredded.
A thin runnel of blood in Byrnes’s hair was
his only sign of injury, and his face bore dark sooty
marks. "Here," he said, picking several pieces of
glass out in a peculiarly dainty way that wasn't at
all like him. "Idiot woman. Diving atop me like I'm
some kind of precious—"
"I'm fine," she said, sitting up. "Byrnes, I'm
fine." And you are precious. At least t
o me.
"Is everybody all right?" Malloryn demanded,
light on his feet like a cat. His coat was torn, and
he'd lost his polished persona.
Leo Barrons helped the duchess to her feet.
From the look of it, he'd borne the worst of the
assault. Shredded strips of his coat hung off him,
and blood dripped from his elbow. "Below," he
gasped. "The queen."
"On it," Malloryn said, striding for the door.
“Byrnes? Ingrid?”
"Coming." Byrnes tugged Ingrid to her feet,
then stopped to check if she was bleeding.
"Go, you fool," she said, pushing at his chest.
"It's naught but scratches."
"I'm not used to this."
And neither was she. But she kept her tongue
as she pushed him toward the door, knowing that
his fussing over her indicated the depth of his
feelings. He wasn’t the type of man to tease her
with love words, and so she had to find them in his
actions.
In the garden, everything was mayhem. People
screamed, and here and there lay crumpled piles of
silk like crushed butterflies. Smoke boiled from a
pit in the ground. Servants were panicking, and
none of the servant drones seemed to be working.
Perhaps the explosion had fried their electrics?
Into the mayhem stalked danger. A vampire
leapt onto the sandwich table, scattering trays as it
hissed at the frightened party guests.
Ingrid whipped a silver sandwich platter off a
nearby table and threw it like a discus at the
creature. It launched itself over the tray and darted
after a pair of screaming girls, hampered only by
the panicked flight of the rest of the party guests.
Too many people fled at one, distracting it as it
looked for the weakest member of the herd.
"Watch my back." Byrnes vaulted over the
table, knocking a dozen platters of sandwiches and
cakes to their deaths on the tiled walkway.
“Byrnes!” Ingrid tried to follow and dragged
two chairs with her. Bloody sodding skirts. With a
slash of her knife, she cut away the offending
lengths then went after him.
“This way!” Byrnes sprinted through the
gardens with Ingrid on his heels.
The creature slid to a halt as the clouds
suddenly parted and a wash of sunlight lit over the
gardens. London's incredibly inclement weather
was finally giving them a ray of hope, as it were.
It hissed as the sunlight burned its skin, and
the pair of girls in front of it screamed. One of
them was Malloryn's bride, holding a sandwich
platter as a shield, as though that would do any
good. The vampire darted into the shadows along
the garden wall.
“Stay in the sunlight,” Ingrid told Malloryn’s
fiancée. “And don’t run.”
A small package with brass springs and
ticking clockwork pieces was attached to the
vampire's back, strapped into place with a leather
harness.
Ingrid's blood ran cold as she realized that it
was ticking. "Byrnes! It's strapped to a bomb!"
Just one glimpse of his ice-cold blue eyes
across the expanse of grass showed her that he was
thinking the exact same thing as she was. We need
to get it out of here.
Agreed.
There were too many people—too many
innocents. But how were they going to lure it
away?
Blood. They needed blood, something for the
vampire to lock onto as prey. Ingrid slashed a thin
cut down her arm, ignoring the flare of pain.
Verwulfen blood was richer in iron than human
blood, and according to most blue bloods, tasted
better. Perfect.
"Ingrid!" Byrnes bellowed, seeing what she
was about.
"Find me somewhere isolated," she shot back,
darting close enough to flick her blood across the
vampire's face. "Somewhere where we might be
able to trap it, if that bloody thing doesn't
explode!"
Then she was running before she could even
look to see if it followed.
THE SHAKING COLD began as Ingrid darted out
into the streets, the loupe firing through her blood
and bringing with it the tidal edge of
berserkergang. Fear washed away, leaving her
buoyed with defiance and hungry for violence.
A fine edge to walk along. Push too far, and
she'd be turning to face the vampire, careless of
danger, fearless. Holding herself back meant that
she wouldn't receive the burst of extra vibrancy,
speed, and strength that she needed, just to stay in
front.
A hack driver swore and those who’d turned
out to see what all the fuss was about gasped as
they realized what was behind her. Those gasps
soon turned to screams, high-pitched enough to
catch the vampire's ears perhaps.
"Don't run!" Ingrid yelled, but the lady in front
of her snatched her little girl and darted down an
alley. Ingrid cost herself a precious second in
looking back, to see the vampire falter as it
realized prey was fleeing from it. Instinct kicked
in. It wanted to chase the slower, weaker prey.
Damn, and double damn. Ingrid's arm was
beginning to heal now. She cut herself again,
waving her arm in the air, and the vampire's head
turned, blindly tracking her.
Byrnes met her gaze over the vampire’s
shoulder, lifting his pistol into the sky and then
firing. The shot ricocheted through the streets, and
screams echoed nearby.
What was he doing? Then she realized. Other
streets would be just as clogged with people. If
they heard the shots, maybe they'd have time to flee
before she led the vampire directly toward them.
"Ivory Bridge!" Byrnes pointed toward the
half-completed bridge arching up over the Thames,
and fired his pistol into the air again.
Abandoned, thanks to the ongoing negotiations
and workers strikes that had so fouled up river
traffic and were causing endless headaches among
the Council of Dukes. It just might work.
"Slow it down!" She took off running just as
that ugly face tilted toward her again.
The Ivory Tower loomed in the distance; the
heart of parliament, and the seat of London’s
power. Ivory Bridge speared out from its southern
walls, the suspension bridge hanging in parts as
cranes stood motionless.
"Come on, you ugly bastard," Ingrid muttered,
leaping up onto the rail of the bridge and running
along it.
Claws lashed through the remains of her skirt,
and Ingrid leapt up onto the stone base of the
tower, her fingers catching in the cranny between
the slabs of stone. Lashing out with a foot, she
managed to catch the vampire in the face and it
fell, catching a claw on the base of the bridge, its
body dangling over the dirty Thames.
Ingrid
shoved upward, stabbing her fingers
and shoes into the cracks as she climbed to the
second span. There weren't a lot of options to take.
Behind her the vampire scrambled up the
stonework like a rat up a brick wall, and Ingrid's
blood froze. Looking around revealed only a thin
iron span to use as an escape route, and she swiftly
realized she was going to be trapped if she—
Something whizzed into gear on the
clockwork package strapped to the vampire's back.
Everything sped up, the tick, tick, tick, becoming
more pronounced. The bloody creature fixated
entirely on her, however, its teeth bared as it found
the ledge she stood upon.
A shot ricocheted past, snagging the vampire's
attention for all of a second. "Ingrid!" Byrnes
screamed. "Get clear!"
Turning, she started to sprint along the narrow
span, catching sight of a crane nestled on the
battlements. Hissed breath stalked her heels, claws
skittering over the iron. Jesus. She wasn't going to
make it…. She wasn't— Ingrid leapt, snatching
hold of the end of the crane, her body arching as
the end of the chain swung wide, out over the
water.
The vampire skittered to a halt as she
vanished out of its reach. It spun, making high-
pitched noises, as if to find another way to get at
her, but she had reached the end of the arc now,
and was swinging back round—
"Let go!" Byrnes yelled.
The water was a flat pane beneath her, brown
and murky. Ingrid's blood ran cold. High. She was
incredibly high, and her hands wouldn't unlock on
the chain.
"Ingrid! It's going to explode!"
Taking a breath and forcing herself not to
think, Ingrid let go. Gravity sunk its greedy claws
into her, and she plummeted like a stone, heels held
straight below her. Water rushed up, and then—
Everything went white.
She hit the Thames hard, tossed end over end,
as the bomb exploded above. A sonic boom
scraped her skin raw and left her floundering in
churning water. Something slashed through the
water nearby, trailing a wake of bubbles, and she
could see fire blooming in the sky behind it as
other various bits of flotsam and jetsam struck the
river and slowly sank.
Another object cut through the river's murk,
sleek and black, like a knife. Then hands were
dragging her up. Presumably up. She didn't know
anymore, but she couldn't breathe... she had no
breath left inside her.
They broke the surface with a cough. Ingrid