Mission: Improper: London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy

by Bec McMaster

  "Come on. We'll get closer, see what we're up against. Between the two of us, we should be able to handle a few pasty-faced Echelon lords and get Debney out," Ingrid said, overriding the voice in his ear. She grasped a section of her skirt and whirled the fabric away from her body, revealing a pair of slim-fitting leather leggings beneath the skirt and a ruffle at the back that was all that remained of her bustle.

  "...got a special treat in mind for Mrs. Miller," Ulbricht whispered, in his ear. "Thou shalt not suffer such filth to live. Is that not correct, Barringale?"

  "Indeed," came a sibilant hiss.

  Byrnes caught her wrist. "Wait."

  Ingrid lifted bronze eyes to his. She'd peeled off her silk gloves, revealing slim leather gauntlets that ended with silver spikes that had been pressed flatly against her fingers but were now extending into deadly points. One punch with them would render a man full of holes. "If we don't hurry—"

  "I'm aborting this mission," he said forcefully, "Get out of here. We'll rendezvous at the airfields in Kew-On-Upton. If I don't arrive by dawn, then take the dirigible and return to London."

  Ingrid's expression told of her confusion. "What about Debney?"

  "I'll bring him out. He's my brother, after all."

  She searched his gaze, drawing back against his hold. "What did you hear? Byrnes?"

  "Nothing."

  "You promised we'd work together." Her expression was becoming steely. "And I like Debney. He's quite a decent fellow. He's—"

  "This has nothing to do with me not wanting to work with you—"

  "Oh, really?

  Damn it, yes! "They've got something planned just for you."

  There. It was said. Ingrid paused. "I don't like the idea of placing you in that situation," he admitted, just as Debney began screaming again. The sound of it was like ice in his veins, but that threat.... He knew men like this, men who'd once tortured verwulfen just because they were different, or because only a verwulfen could stand against a blue blood and hope to survive. He'd even worked one particular case, closing down a set of fighting pits that forced their verwulfen slaves onto hot coals for amusement, or chained them down, allowing blue blood lords to pay for their bodies for the night. Verwulfen would survive almost anything, including being cut open or burned and branded. But just because their bodies could heal, it didn't always mean that their minds did. "Ingrid, I won't risk it. They don't know about me yet, but you—"

  "Get it away from me!"

  Debney. Again.

  Ingrid squeezed her eyes shut, then let out a slow breath. When her eyelashes fluttered, he saw the fear evaporating, replaced instead by steely resolve. "I know what they want to do to me, Byrnes. It's nothing I haven't experienced before. I didn't just join this mission for entertainment's sake, but because I believe in it. These men want to bring back a culture and time where I was barely worth spitting at, let alone allowed to live as a person with my own dreams and desires. They need to be stopped, and unfortunately there are only two of us here. Going back for Debney's a risk that I am willing to take, because he is worth it. He is trying to make amends."

  He didn't want to let her go, but there was no time to argue, and it was her choice ultimately, not his. "Fine. We go back together, but if we do this, then we do it smartly...."

  Ingrid's eyes gleamed as he explained how.

  NINE

  "ARE THE CHAINS secure?"

  Ingrid forced herself to hover at the back of the crowd as someone shouted. Nobody had seen her yet, but they would. Dozens of masked blue bloods stood in a central ring near the grotto's pool, surrounding something that screamed. As the wind drifted, she screwed up her nose. Something smelled rank, almost enough to turn her stomach, and she had barely begun to get her sense of smell back after the chemical bomb.

  "Don't do this," Debney begged. "Ulbricht!"

  "I name this man guilty of betraying his social order," Ulbricht called. "And leading agents of the Crown against us in order to bring down the Rising Sons. Raise your hands, my friends! Cast your votes! Should he live, or should he die?"

  Each member of the crowd thrust forth one fist, thumb out. All of them slowly turned down.

  "Death," Ulbricht snarled. She could just make out his face as he whirled on something in the center.

  Ingrid strained to see. Debney, trussed and tied? What the hell had they done to him?

  Her mind struggled to make sense of the shapes, of the pulley system that was rigged with chains tied to Debney's wrists and ankles, holding his body taut off the ground, as each chain pulled at his limbs—

  "Jesus," Byrnes whispered, in her ear. Horror filled his voice. "Ingrid, get out. Get out now!"

  Too late, for the crowd was starting to notice her now. Ingrid pushed her way through them, emerging from the shadows of the cave like some ancient Valkyrie, come for revenge. "Wait!"

  Sudden shocked silence greeted her, as almost three dozen blue bloods turned to face her, covered by dark robes and blank face masks. The effect was eerie.

  "I deny your vote," she called, standing firm in the wake of their unspoken censure. "I vote for him to live!"

  The pressure on Debney's chains eased and he slumped with a whimper, halfway to the ground, looking around for her, his face a mess of white.

  "Run," he mouthed.

  And that was when she saw what was harnessed to the chains. Everything in her ran cold. Oh shit.

  Vampires.

  The stink made sense now. The maggot-white bleached color of their bodies strained in their harnesses at each of the four points of the device, threatening to tear Debney apart. Wiry and lean, with knotted protuberances marching up their spines, vampires were any sane person's worst fear. All that remained of a blue blood once they reached the Fade and color began leeching out of them, they were consumed by nothing but hunger. Strong, fast, vicious, and terribly, terribly bloodthirsty.

  Ingrid froze.

  She'd never seen one, only ever heard the stories; of martial law settling on London and vampires running loose, leaving rivers of blood in the streets. The Year Of Blood had been over a century ago, but London never forgot. And the part of her that was purely primal began to feel the pulse-thundering tick of prey, sending shivers of fear through her veins, her muscles trembling as if prepared to run.

  She knew now what could tear apart that woman in the sewers. But why had it stopped? Once unleashed, a vampire would just keep killing and killing....

  "You." Ulbricht was the only one without a mask, and his smile etched pure evil upon his face. "The filth thinks she has a right to vote!"

  Laughter roared back at her.

  Be brave. Be brave. Ingrid lifted her chin. "I hope you have everything in place," she whispered to Byrnes, swallowing hard.

  "Almost," Byrnes promised. "Are you ready?"

  No. "Yes."

  "The second the Doeppler orbs release, get out."

  "What about Debney?"

  He hesitated.

  "I'm not leaving him here," Ingrid told him, glaring at the assembled blue bloods.

  "Then get to Debney and try and release him, but Ingrid... if you can't do it, then you need to retreat. Promise me that?"

  "Promise," she whispered, her heart thudding like a drum.

  "I'll cover your back. Just make sure the hemlock spikes don't hit him. He's too heavy for you to carry and still be able to fight."

  Feathers ruffled. The swan stepped forth at Ulbricht's side as the mysterious woman swept off her mask.

  Cold gray hair glittered beneath the torchlight, so fine and silvery it looked like spun moonlight. The gleam of the woman's pale, translucent blue eyes was shockingly frigid as their eyes met, and suddenly Ingrid remembered that a single woman had walked free of the Venetian Gardens disappearances, a woman with pale hair.

  "This trespass demands an answer," the woman called. "What say you, my friends?"

  "Hunt," came a resounding cry.

  "Hunt!"

  "Hunt! Hunt! Hunt!"
they all echoed, the shout taken up like tribal war drums.

  Everywhere she looked, Ingrid was faced with fists thrusting in the air and vicious, gleeful smiles. Macabre figures circled her, backlit by the flickering torches. Right. Ingrid flipped both of her knives from the wrist gauntlets she wore into her palms.

  "You have no right to vote, filth." Ulbricht held his hands up, demanding silence.

  And it came, almost as eerie as the menacing shouts had been. The nearest vampire snapped and strained at its harness, sniffing the air and making creepy chittering noises in her direction. It had her scent now, and if blue bloods craved verwulfen blood above all others, then she had no doubt the vampire hungered for it too. Those yellowed fangs were almost an inch long.

  "Ready?" Byrnes whispered.

  "Ready," she said, and crouched low.

  Firecrackers started going off, coughing and spluttering as they were launched into the crowd. Small explosions of red and gold light spat as something whined past her ear. Ingrid shoved forward, knifing one blue blood in the back and slashing at another as he wheeled and tried to flee. An explosion sounded, dangerously close to her, and left her ears ringing.

  Chaos. Beautiful, glorious chaos.

  Ulbricht spun, trying to see what was happening as the torches on the left side of the grotto fell into darkness, one by one.

  "Go," Byrnes said, and more firework balls began crackling as they were launched into the crowd of blue bloods, their short fuses hissing.

  Ingrid sprang into a run, her bustle flapping against her thin leather breeches. Lowering her shoulder, she smashed directly into a blue blood and with a cry he went up over her shoulder. Lashing out with one of her knives, she cut another's throat. He went down as she waded on, but she doubted the blow would kill him. Blue bloods could heal almost anything; only a knife to the heart or decapitation could kill them. Or fire.

  Byrnes had been busy, having retrieved the special traveller's bag he'd stashed in their rooms. Whilst she and Debney distracted the Rising Sons, he'd been laying powder trails and planting the Doeppler orbs he'd brought with him. The orbs worked on a timer, releasing a mixture of gases that sent the blue bloods coughing and spluttering, thanks to Ava. Fire raced along the powder trails, igniting the tails of one blue blood’s coat, and sending panic through the mob. The last weapon he had on hand was the most dangerous; exploding devices that contained almost a hundred hemlock-studded iron spikes in each ball. Hemlock would momentarily paralyze the blue bloods, although it would barely affect her.

  Debney. There! Ingrid felt the wild surge of her blood suddenly heat as the violence and mayhem appealed to her predator nature. Faces began to blur away, becoming mindless shadows that she cut and slashed, and then suddenly she was through the ring of blue bloods into the marble circle cut in the center of the grotto, where Debney strained in his chains.

  The swan was between them, one hand on a pulley system, as if she'd been waiting. "All yours, my dear," the woman said, yanking the lever down.

  One of Debney's chains sprang free. He yelped, and rolled as he hit the marble, the chains easing. The woman turned and pulled another lever, and steel bit through the chain on his left wrist, snapping it clean off.

  Ingrid paused. "Why are you helping us?"

  "Oh, I'm not." Another yank, another chain. Only one remained, this time on his left foot. The woman stepped away, crossing toward the vampire. "I promised Ulbricht a hunt, and a hunt he shall get." Withdrawing a slip of brightly colored silk from the bodice of her dress, the woman reached out as if the creature couldn't simply take her hand off, and petted it, waving the silk in front of its face.

  Red silk. Her drawers. "You bitch!" She'd been in Ingrid's room, in her things.

  Bunching the silk, the woman rubbed it against the vampire's nose. "Easy, easy now, my pet. You'll get a taste," she crooned, smiling at Ingrid as she began to tug on the straps holding the vampire in place. "Soon."

  That cut through the rising surge of berserkergang that was threatening to overwhelm her. Suddenly Ingrid knew exactly what the woman planned.

  "Byrnes!" she snapped, turning and rushing to the final lever.

  "Rather busy," he panted.

  "She's releasing one of the vampires." Ingrid threw all of her weight into the enormous lever, and it barely budged. What? She stood back. The woman had yanked it as easily as if it weighed a mere ounce. "It has my scent."

  "I'm doubling back then! Get moving!"

  "It's a vampire, Byrnes." A chill ran through her. Nothing could escape a vampire. Very few things could kill one. During the Year Of Blood, it had taken over a thousand militia and half the Echelon to find their nest and destroy them. Numerous buildings had been gutted by fire, and hundreds of civilians were torn apart by the creatures.

  "One problem at a time, Miller. Free Debney."

  Throwing all of her weight into the lever, she felt it hover on the verge of shifting, and then finally launch down, the last chain on Debney falling apart in two pieces as the guillotine sliced through it.

  Something exploded behind her. Blue bloods screamed, then three of them went down. Hemlock bombs. "Debney!"

  He was scrambling to get on his feet. "Ready!"

  Yanking him up by the arm, she dragged him through the crowd. Byrnes had detailed their escape route to avoid most of the hemlock bombs he'd planted. They ran, Ingrid barging through panicked blue bloods and shoving them out of the way with her verwulfen strength.

  Another bomb exploded. Fiery pain lashed her arm as two of the hemlock spikes drove into her flesh, and the flash-fire burn in her blood indicated the loupe virus was attacking the poison with prejudice. It was good to be verwulfen.

  Not so good to be a blue blood. Debney jolted, staggering as his right leg suddenly stiffened. "Hit," he gasped, and went down on one knee. "Leave... me...."

  Like hell.

  Straining under his sagging weight, Ingrid dragged him over her shoulder, and started running up the slope, her thighs burning. Every hair down the back of her neck rose, as if she could feel something hunting her.

  Screams broke out behind them. Then a strange fluting trill pierced the air. "Hunt, my pet!" Another low, eerie tone from the flute.

  "Byrnes!"

  "Coming!"

  A lithe black shadow broke out of the trees, and Byrnes caught her, wincing as one last hemlock bomb exploded behind them.

  "What are we going to do?"

  "Can you carry him?" Byrnes glanced over his shoulder, flicking his pistols into his hands.

  For a while. She ground her teeth together. "I'll manage."

  "Head for the folly. I've planted some more bombs there, on a remote detonating charge." He gave her a shove in the back and turned, both pistols lifting.

  Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Double barrels spat bullets, the sound shearing through her eardrums. "There are two of them! I've got this one!"

  As if the odds could not get any worse.

  Panting, with sweat dripping down her face, Ingrid forced her way up the hill toward the marble folly. Something snarled behind her and she threw herself over the edge of berserkergang, letting the fury, the fierce rush of the loupe consume her. It fired through her veins, granting her an extra burst of speed, even as the fierce cold-hot rush bled through her veins.

  A heavy weight hit her and Debney squealed. Ingrid went to one knee, as a flash of something rocketed past. Dumping Debney off her shoulder, she spun just in time to face a nightmare. The vampire had overshot them, but now it loped toward her then paused, as if it sensed that she'd turned, and lifted its head to sniff. Crab-walking sideways, it made a series of high-pitched clicking noises that somehow helped it to see, considering the blind film covering its eyes.

  Ingrid moved with it, trying to force it back to the main entrance up the slope. "Come on," she whispered. "Back you go." There was no fear now, only a tempting lure of violence. Let's see if you bleed. "Back, you ugly bastard."

  Back where the glittering gold hemlo
ck orbs waited, lying forlornly on the grass. In the distance, she could see flames flickering as if something was burning, but Byrnes was nowhere to be seen. The vampire took a single step forward, hopping on three limbs. Nearly there. Nearly.

  "Byrnes," she said softly, gaze locked on the vampire as it made one more step. "Anytime you're ready with those detonators."

  The golden orbs made a faint clicking noise, and the vampire looked down. Ingrid threw herself behind the folly wall as they exploded. Iron spikes flew past, embedding themselves in the marble, and the vampire gave a high-pitched scream.

  "Got you."

  Hemlock couldn't be entirely trusted; its effectiveness differed depending on the levels of craving virus in the blood, and a vampire's would be coming in at 100 percent. But it might slow it down, just for a few seconds anyway.

  Blades in hand, she launched herself down the slope. The creature was staggering, shaking off the effects of dozens of the iron spikes. Ingrid lashed out, raking her knife through its maggot-pale flesh. Black ichor splashed and it screamed, its claws lashing at her, just as a wave of putrid stench enveloped her. Forcing herself not to gag, Ingrid sank her second knife into its guts, and wrenched it upward, toward its sternum. Heart. Where was the heart?

  There. She felt it on the tip of her blade, and the vampire's efforts redoubled, its back claws hooking up between them and raking down her side. Hot blood burned her knuckles; somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware of the pain and the hurt, but the berserkergang had her in its grip now. Lashing out, she drove her main knife in deep to join the second one. Again. Again. Then it kicked out, and the force of the blow knocked her feet out from under her.

  "Ingrid! Clear!"

  Ingrid threw herself aside, relief flooding through her, as Byrnes suddenly appeared, pistols raised.

  * * *

  THERE WERE a few moments in his life that had branded themselves on Byrnes's brain; the moment when his mother had fallen that last time, her head striking the edge of the fireplace and making that sound, that horrible sound; the memory of cold rain drizzling down his face as he stared impassively at his father's casket and hoped the bastard was rotting in hell; and now Ingrid, backlit against the blaze below, runnels of sweat marking her face.