Deep In the Woods

by Chris Marie Green

  “Aren’t soldiers always expendable?” Lilly asked, knowing a custode could be just as disposable, even if they were chosen by a higher source, activated by genetic imprint and the vision/tales that called to them. But she had taken her vows and was comfortable with her life’s work. Actually, she would wager that she was the most devoted Meratoliage to come along in eons.

  “True enough—the girls can be replaced and trained.” Nigel pushed back the wheeled chair, stretching his arms above his head. “And they did their duty tonight, exposing those hunters and sending them running. The vampirelets will catch up, no doubt, after they’ve had enough rest to heal from the fire trap that toasted them.”

  “I’d like to join them in tracking.”

  “Don’t you get all the fun.”

  There was a tweak in his tone. After being tuned, he’d been so agreeable that she’d all but forgotten how contrary he could be.

  Keeping to business, she relayed details of the intruder in the tunnel, whom he still had been monitoring from this room via cameras. When she revealed her plans for tuning the captive, when or if his invisible bodyguards did wear down, Nigel said, “I’d prefer to go to him now. I’d like to take a read on him and these ghosts for myself.”

  Lilly began to protest, but he added, “So blasted territorial about everything, aren’t you?”

  “I’m only doing my job.”

  He relaxed in his chair, his arms resting on his head. “You may stop proving yourself now. It’s getting wearisome, Lilly.”

  She raised her chin. Proving herself? As the only female custode—an “aberration,” as Nigel had once called her—she had to do more to keep pace. But then, she always had, even while growing up with an older brother who constantly degraded her.

  As if he hadn’t insulted her, Nigel continued with their strategy session, revealing that he’d been partaking in computer research about the flat in Southwark where Lilly had encountered Dawn the first time. A “Mia Scott” was renting it and, so far, she proved to have no ties to Dawn.

  “I’m not certain we need this information right now,” Lilly said. There was still a drilling tension in the room, and it wasn’t due to the oppression in this area of the Underground. It was between her and Nigel. “We can already confirm the Southwark group as hunters. And there’s no doubt we’ll know more once we fully entertain our caged guest.”

  Nigel was staring at her, and his sprawling, intimate posture unsettled Lilly.

  She jerked a thumb, indicating he should leave the chair to her. “My turn for monitoring. You take your shots at the visitor, as you wanted.”

  “Is there such a hurry?”

  Fuck him. “Go, Nigel. You’d do well to remember that I’m a custode, and not anything less. If you desecrate that, there’ll be retirement for you.”

  He lowered his arms, knowing this to be true. Treating her as anything other than a keeper would carry severe consequences.

  As he donned his mask and left, Lilly breathed easier, but her pulse was still like a tiny, trapped thing in her veins.

  For the first time since she’d arrived, he’d acted as if she was still what she’d been designated to be. A female Meratoliage. A breeder.

  Then the anger came. Nigel should know better. Not that she had known her fate before she’d been activated, but it was clear to her now that she’d been fortunate to have been born the way she was. Sterile. Altogether useless in the eyes of the Meratoliage line until she had been called to service because no other male relatives had been of age.

  Unlike custodes, who had the capacity for heightened physical abilities once activated, breeders normally developed a talent for witchery, and they facilitated the family’s needs. However, their black-art talents obviously weren’t divine enough to have discovered Lilly’s recent activities. This was no doubt because she’d asked during Relaquory for the dragon to shield her orchestrations, and she believed he had heard her. Even in his resting state, he must have known that she was doing it all for him.

  Perhaps he had always known that she would come to his rescue one day, and he had willed her destiny. Lilly’s null breeding status had been discovered after a trip to a doctor, whom Lilly now knew to have been a cousin versed in the black arts. Nigel had left the estate afterward, then Charles. At that point, the family elders had turned to secondary resources for childbearing, such as cousins whose composition would require much more interference than a breeding couple in the strongest bloodline—her immediate family’s—would have required.

  Yes, her inability to breed had once marked her as a failure, even before she’d needed to prove herself here. But, as the monitors flickered with action in front of Lilly now, she threw herself into this blessed calling, grateful she was able to give her life to the Underground, as a keeper.

  Never again would she be anything less.

  FIFTEEN

  THE GREAT ESTATE

  SOMETIMES vamp hunting could be a bitch.

  Then again, sometimes you got a break, and at Menlo Hall, everything was going like such clockwork that Dawn thought there had to be a catch.

  But so far, so great, as Dawn smoothed down her newly procured maid uniform that she was about to use to bust into a manor house.

  She and a couple of Friends, including Kalin, were in a spacious closet in the newish servant’s quarters on the grounds, where an unfortunate dishwater blond girl who actually owned this uniform was curled on the floor in her slip, lulled to sleep by the spirits.

  It hadn’t taken all that long for the assigned Friends to speed down to Kent and comb the area along the River Darent for an estate that matched the description from Kiko and Natalia’s vision. Ninety acres of lawn, gardens, and pastures surrounded the Elizabethan manor, which looked to Dawn like a brick structure out of Barbara Cartland territory or whatever. Not that she’d ever read much.

  Anyway, after the Friends had inspected the house, observing employees who were using security codes to get in and out as well as pinpointing this one maid in particular who’d been cleaning the library/study, they’d come back to temporary HQ, ready to roll while one spirit stayed at the Hall to keep investigating.

  When Dawn had arrived there with the Friends, she’d been in a disguise that involved padding and a whole lot of bulky skirt and sweater, plus the long, dirty blond wig she had on now. Then, it’d just been a matter of the spirits facilitating the snatch-and-grab of the designated maid.

  After taking off the first costume, including the pulser, then getting into this one, Dawn adjusted the sassy little cap on her head. The rest of the gray uniform, including a plain white full apron, was unremarkable—perfect for fading into the woodwork. However, Dawn wouldn’t get too cocky about fitting in.

  “I just hope someone doesn’t stop me in the halls,” she whispered to the Friends while still in the closet, hoping her voice wouldn’t carry. “My face won’t be familiar to anyone and that might raise a stink.”

  Greta, who’d been on duty at Queenshill before being reassigned here, floated around her. “We told you—we’ll scout in advance, keep others away, clear your path. You worry about using your hands to do the jobs we can’t do.”

  Dawn further readied herself, taking care to make sure her crucifix pendant was in plain sight. Before leaving temp headquarters, she’d armed herself with smaller weapons like throwing blades and knives so that she’d be able to move quickly, but there wasn’t much room in the dress pockets under the apron for many of them. In fact, she was going to have to leave behind her silver-bullet-loaded illegal revolver in this closet with her own clothing and the real maid.

  “Now,” Dawn said, “before I go . . . You guys are sure this is the place we need to be?” Damn, she sounded like a worrywart. But they couldn’t afford to blow this.

  “Yeah.” Kalin’s words were as rushed as a clock pushing the seconds. “All descriptions match—even the black-art books in the study. Let’s speed away.”

  “Just making sure, because Kik and Na
t said ‘Meratoliage,’ and this is ‘Menlo’ Hall. We don’t have time to be putzing around the wrong location.”

  Trudy, a third Friend, was already hovering near the door, waiting for Dawn to open it. “Sweetie,” she said in her truck-stop waitress tone, “we can only guess that ‘Meratoliage’ is an old family name from way back. Like, you know how Maria Shriver doesn’t really run around with ‘Kennedy’ attached to her? ‘Menlo’ isn’t even their last name. It belongs to this Hall.”

  “Gotcha.”

  With one last glance at the sleeping maid, Dawn went for the door. If this field trip didn’t produce anything, she was going to hit the bottom of desperation. Claudius needed to worry if she came back empty-handed.

  Dawn opened the door to a slit, allowing Trudy out first. The spirit was back in a lick, summoning her and Kalin. Greta was going to stay behind with the maid, and there’d be yet another Friend somewhere around the Hall itself, coordinating the bigger picture.

  They slipped unnoticed by anyone out of the detached quarters, which seemed to have been converted from what had at one time been stables. Earlier, Greta had mentioned that a lot of servants lived downstairs in the main house itself, but the spirits thought it’d be easier to smuggle Dawn into and out of the outside structure, so they’d waited until this particular maid had taken a break there.

  The noon sun disguised itself in a clouded haze as Dawn followed the jasmine down a short path to the main house, its grandeur still imposing, especially under such a dreary sky. She kept her hands under her apron to protect them from the cold.

  When they got to a back entrance, Kalin bumped Dawn to the side, where a panel waited.

  “Open it,” the Friend said.

  Dawn followed instructions, finding a keypad behind the panel. Since the Friends had seen other servants using the sequence, Trudy gave her a code to punch in with her stiff fingers.

  A lock clicked at the door, and Kalin urged Dawn forward. “I can walk,” Dawn said.

  The ghosty backed off. “Just chuffed to be ’ere, is all.”

  Dawn related. Kalin only wanted Jonah and Costin back, and Dawn knew that she would also barge into anyplace that would help them get that much closer to the missing guys.

  She cut the chatter as they entered a stark hallway, Trudy zooming ahead, Kalin remaining behind as a silent escort. They moved quickly, Dawn keeping her head down, because the spirits had said there were security cameras around. Hence, the stolen uniform and the inclusion of two Friends right now; the spirits would be subtly manipulating cameras—especially the one they’d found in the study.

  After going through the main hall, which was dominated by a grand curved staircase and a sprawling chandelier, they entered a long hallway, papered in a striped mahogany pattern so tasteful that Dawn even felt posh. It had that old house smell, too—closed-in air and must that hadn’t been quite polished off with all the housecleaning.

  Then Trudy sped back to them.

  “Hostile approaching,” she said.

  Kalin pushed Dawn to the wall, and Dawn knew that she needed to keep her head down, her hands folded in front of her. She was a servant.

  As she assumed the position, she heard heavy footsteps on the carpeting. Someone passed, and she saw a pair of thick, stubby legs, perfectly creased trousers, and polished shoes.

  Whoever it was sniffed as he went by. The jasmine, Dawn thought.

  He paused, and her heart practically gouged its way out of her chest.

  Hellfire. The shadow thing and the schoolgirl vamps had to have connected the jasmine with the team. Would they have communicated the information to the people here or did the Underground operate on its own to ensure as much secrecy as possible?

  When the man spoke, he didn’t address Dawn as much as ruminate out loud.

  “New polish?”

  In a low, barely audible voice, Dawn said, “Yessir.”

  The Friends had already told her that this family didn’t have titles—only a fortune they’d gained through smart land investments nearly a hundred years ago. This guy wasn’t a lord or duke or one of the million titles these English people carried around.

  He didn’t even break his stride. Dawn peeked up from beneath the strands of her wig to see the retreat of a stiff-backed, balding man tight-assing his way down the hall. Dude was even wearing a fine jacket, like he was all dressed up for a day strolling around the country house.

  “Keep better watch,” Kalin said to Trudy after the man had turned a corner. “That one was the father.”

  “He popped out of a door,” the other Friend said. “I can’t be everywhere, sweetie.”

  As Trudy took off again, Kalin pushed Dawn ahead.

  A zing of belated adrenaline flooded her. Thank God the guy had barely noticed her. Luckily, to the rich, the house staff was meant to be invisible—like gremlins who magically kept their home functioning.

  They reached the study without further incident, the massive doors like oaken gates in front of a fortress. Dawn accessed the keypad with the same code she’d used before.

  “They’ll be dependin’ on the camera inside to see what kinda activity’s goin’ on ’ere,” Kalin whispered by Dawn’s ear. “Go on—open the door, just a touch, though. Me ’n Trudy’ll slip in for the camera and position it so that it shouldn’t light on you—but if it does, you’ll just look like that little maid yer imitatin’. Mind that you follow where we tell you to go though, so you basically stay out of its range, yeah? That way, our manipulatin’ won’t be as obvious. Also, there’s another Friend patrollin’ the ’ouse, and she’ll be right outside to warn us of danger if it comes our way.”

  Once again, Dawn did as Kalin asked, and the Friends eked in through the crack.

  She waited a few moments, then came in herself, putting all her trust in Trudy and Kalin to have done their camera work.

  Closing the door behind her, she surveyed the dim, windowless room, which was lit only by another chandelier in the center. The place looked Victorian, with burgundy and pinstripe-black wallpaper, not that Dawn knew what Victorian decorating actually was. But it sounded right.

  The rest of it, though, was more “evil library extreme” in Dawn’s terms. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with leathered tomes that made the room smell like . . . well, old books. A frieze presented a sweep of dark, bodiless wings. And as if that wasn’t creepy enough, there were grumpy-faced portraits on the far wall, lined up like the ranks of a small, nasty, in-sore-need-of-enemas army.

  A shocking thought invaded her. What if these Meratoliages had living pictures, too, just like the Friends?

  Nah, Dawn thought, getting a move on. Her spirits would’ve sensed that.

  She heard Trudy’s voice from where a camera blended into a high corner, where both she and Kalin had combined forces to manipulate its scanning.

  “Left corner. Start there then back up ten feet so we don’t have to keep on pressing this camera.”

  Dawn assumed the Friends were muting any sound devices on the mechanism.

  Winding through the leather chairs and settees, she headed for an ornate wooden stand that held a ledger. Low shelves filled with similar books flanked it.

  Trudy again. “When I was in here before, I noticed that it looked like a register of some kind. Births, deaths. You know how families used to keep that stuff in their Bibles?”

  “What good is that going to do us?” Dawn asked.

  Kalin talked now. “The books round it might be of great importance. Friends’ve already scanned the titles on the shelves—mostly books ’bout black arts. Those in front of you ’re untitled, and we couldn’t read none of ’em on the inside. That’s yer job.”

  Dawn got right on it, not bothering to wear gloves this time. The team had already been made by the Underground, and fingerprints wouldn’t matter now.

  First, she fetched the ledger on the stand, backed out of range, then skimmed it. The pages contained a complex network of family trees, using symbols next to ea
ch name that she couldn’t even begin to decipher. But she did notice that, with each grouping—about a century’s worth of them—there were two names.

  Couples? she thought, noticing that all the names were male, so it couldn’t be about reproduction. Not unless black arts or a very modern technique was involved.

  Then she remembered the dead boy in the lab freezer. Shadow Girl.

  Had they been partners?

  On the last filled page of the book, Dawn found the branched names and birthdates of what looked to be the most recent custode s: “Nigel,” who was in his twenties. Next to him was “Charles,” a late-age teen. But his stricken name was capped off by the date of his death.

  And that date was just over a week ago.

  Was Charles the boy in the team’s lab freezer? When Kiko had done touch-readings on his clothing, they hadn’t gotten anything to know for sure.

  Next to his name was the only female one Dawn recognized throughout the pages.

  “Lilly,” who was near Charles’s age.

  Dawn tried to place the flowered name with the face she’d seen that one night in Eva’s flat when she’d unmasked Shadow Girl during her attack. Light eye color, a wide smile accented by slightly bucky teeth, a heart-shaped face capped by light brown hair.

  Even though she had a name now, Dawn still found it hard to think of Lilly as a person. She seemed to be more like a robot or . . .

  A spine-rattling word came to Dawn.

  A minion.

  Driven by what she’d found so far, Dawn told the Friends she was going in, put the first book back, then squatted to a lower shelf and pulled out another resource, which seemed to be a very brief account of events. Dawn had never been a studier. She’d never even made it through college and had been pretty disinterested in everything but sports in school. But, now she retreated and settled on her ass to read for as long as she could.

  She took out a penlight from a pocket on her uniform, scanning the first entry, which dated back to 1897.

  Shit—she knew that date. The publication of Dracula, right?