It was late by the time he finished. He’d learned two important things. People and dogs had gone inexplicably missing here as well as in Wapping, and the mechanical man didn’t seem to appear every night. Also, just like in Wapping, the reported size of the thing varied widely. How much was truth and how much a result of imagination and the cheap gin which permeated a large percent of the waterfront population?
He chose to take a longer route home than was absolutely necessary, eschewing the pleasant, well-to-do Lambeth in favor of Wapping and the City of London. Walking back over London Bridge, through some of the poorer parts of town might not have been the wisest idea for most officers of the law. His air mask, hell, even the brass buttons on his greatcoat were worth something, and his subdued, dark suit, though far from flashy or dashing, didn’t send a message of abject poverty, either. He’d cultivated the appearance, for the most part, of a reasonably well-heeled cit—an inspector with a bit of family money to ease his way. He must have given off some aura of danger, however, because not one thug, pickpocket or even vampyre came near him on his was back to his small house. A pity, that. He could have used a good knuckle-dusting fight. An edge of restless energy had been driving him all day—all week, really—and he needed to do something to let it out.
A glance upward showed a rare break in the fog and then he understood. A full moon. He’d been so caught up in his work that he’d ignored the pull of his lupine blood. While, contrary to popular opinion, he wasn’t forced to shift—at the full moon, or any other time—he did need to spend some time on four legs to maintain a mental balance within himself. At the full moon the need intensified to something like a soul-deep itch. It could be ignored, but it wasn’t comfortable.
Fortunately, it was an itch that was easily scratched. Instead of going in the front door of his modest townhouse just off the Strand, where it hugged the edge of Mayfair, he went around to the empty carriage house in the mews behind his residence. Leaving the door cracked, he stripped off his clothing and folded each piece neatly before tucking it into a cupboard he’d cleaned out for just this purpose. He pulled a small leather pouch from the pocket of his waistcoat and hung it from his neck by its long leather cord.
Liam had modified his carriage house by installing a swinging flap in one wall—a bigger version of the door some people used for cats—hidden on the outside by the scraggly remains of a yew hedge.
Standing nude inside the dusty interior, he drew in a deep breath and reached for the other part of himself. As his thoughts settled into the calm alertness of the wolf, his body stretched, twisted and popped, a jolt of pain singing through his blood for just a second before it was gone, leaving him strong and steady, standing on all four feet.
He eased himself out the flap and paused behind the hedge, listening for footsteps or speech and sniffing the air for other traces of humanity. In wolf form, he didn’t bother with a breathing mask. Though dog masks were available, it was impossible to put one on himself without thumbs. Besides, all the damage to his lungs would heal the moment he shifted back.
Nothing. Liam was alone in the night—at least as much as one could be in the heart of London. Padding along quietly, he slipped into the shadows of the alley. It was only a few blocks to St. James’s Park, so as long as he avoided being run down in the street, he could be there in minutes. Once in the park, he could stretch his legs and run.
Before he reached the park, however, the familiar odor of rotting flesh curled through the fog. Liam bared his fangs. Vampyre. This would be even better than a run in the park. The undead stalked the streets by night, but not in great numbers, and not all that often in Mayfair, with its gaslights and regular Watch patrols.
Ears pricked, the ruff along his spine raised, Liam padded forward and peered into the small gap between two grand houses. A young man waited, a servant of some kind, just outside the scullery door. The denser fog that was the incorporeal bloodsucker hung in the air above the servants, waiting. Hoping to get two victims for the price of one?
Vampyres couldn’t be touched until they solidified, so Liam crept closer. When he was just a few feet away, he laid back his ears and snarled at the young man.
“What?” The lad about jumped out of his skin and leapt for the door. A girl opened it, a frightened and confused look on her face.
“Quick, lemme in.” The youth pushed past her into the house and slammed the door shut behind him.
Liam panted happily. His work wasn’t done, but getting the twit indoors was a good start. He growled at the mist, his ruff and hackles raised.
Vile laughter rang in the alley as the dank mist coalesced. “Was hoping for serving girl, but dog will have to do for tonight.” The vampyre formed in front of Liam and the filthy talons swiped at the place Liam’s throat should have been.
The scent of putrification made Liam gag. He leapt at the vampyre’s throat, feeling the bite of the monster’s claws through the thick fur on his shoulders as he bore it to its back. Vampyre claws wouldn’t infect him but they stung. Controlling his gag reflex, for the creature was revolting, even to a wolf, he used his muzzle to tear out a chunk of the vampyre’s throat. The talons pierced his shoulders, stinging badly, but after three more bites, its head rolled apart from its body, and the vampyre died.
The taste of death and decay was more than disgusting. Liam kicked the head over to the rest of the corpse and allowed himself to vomit on the remains. He sat on his haunches, with his backside up against the door and watched the monster as it decayed. Based on the degree of decomposition, this one had been turned for a year or more. A dead vampyre rotted almost exactly to the point where its corpse would be if it had died at the moment of turning. This one didn’t crumble to ash, so Liam shifted into his human form and took a small tin from his neck pouch. The shift healed his wounds almost instantly, and mindful that he was buck naked in a Mayfair alleyway, he moved as swiftly as possible, sprinkling a fine powder over the rotting remains and then lighting a match and tossing it onto the pile.
A flare of white light illuminated the alley, casting grim shadows into murky corners. In moments, Liam was back on four legs and the vampyre’s corpse had been consumed. Only a pile of ash would be left for the unhappy lovers to find when they next ventured forth. Tongue lolling, Liam headed back toward home, his need to run in the park abated. He’d have to tell Wink her new flash-fire powder worked brilliantly. He also had to let the Order and his superintendent know vampyres were drifting back into Mayfair and not all leaving the city. Perhaps because most Mayfair residents could afford masks, it had one of the healthier populations in town? Whatever the reason, it might be time to initiate a more ruthless hunt to clear out the undead.
He sighed as he slipped into his carriage house and shifted back to human form. A copper’s work was never done.
* * *
Wink sat alone in the library of the townhouse after her evening with the carnival, trying to think about anything other than Connor or Liam. Nell and Aunt Dorothy were out at a concert, leaving Wink with some rare time to herself—only tonight she didn’t want it. She stared at the carved wooden panel hiding her papa’s liquor cabinet and considered helping herself to a small glass of his imported Scotch whiskey. No. While it might offer a little relief, she’d have an awful headache in the morning if she indulged. For some reason, her body didn’t react well to alcohol, leaving her with a horrible headache after only a glass or two of wine. Had her birth father been the same? she wondered. Had that been part of his descent into drunkenness? She could well understand him taking a drink or two to forget his pain, then another in the morning to make the headache go away. After watching him fritter his life away, though, drinking was a cycle she was determined to avoid.
Before she could go any further on this maudlin train of thought, the telephone on Merrick’s wide oaken desk began to jingle. Wink jolted, startled out of her thoughts. No one ever rang at half-past eleven at night. She leapt for the desk, terrified that someone was ill, or
worse.
“Hadrian House.” She managed to keep both hands and voice steady as she lifted the earpiece.
“Hullo, Wink. Is Tom around?” Piers, at eighteen, the next Hadrian down from Nell and Nell’s genetic half-brother, sounded puzzled, but unharmed.
Wink let out the breath she’d been holding. “No, he’s off to Plymouth for work. And how the devil did you get to a telephone at this hour?” There were strict rules about such things in the dormitories at Cambridge, where Piers was a student. He was only allowed access to a telephone in emergencies, or for half an hour every other Sunday.
“A few of the lads decided on a night out. The pub we’re at is on the ’phone.”
“You’re at a pub?” Piers was even more abstemious by nature than she was, possibly due to childhood bouts of pneumonia, which had given him a permanent distaste for all things medicinal.
“Well, there were these dancing girls, see?” Piers snorted out a chuckle. “And the other chaps like having someone along who’s sober enough to make sure they get back in one piece. Besides, someone’s got to be able to jigger the window so we can get back in without getting caught.”
“Well, have fun and don’t get caught.” Wink slid into her father’s chair and smiled. It was good for Piers to let loose a little and act like an ordinary young man. Most of the time he was far too serious. He was a dedicated scholar, hoping for a life in Whitehall or even Parliament. Wink wasn’t ashamed to admit he was brilliant, likely the cleverest of them all. “Having Jamie sent down from school once a term is enough for Mum and Papa to deal with.”
“I know.” Piers sighed. “Look, I had to bribe the pub’s owner to let me call. I’ve only got a minute. There’s a message I need you to get to Tom—or anyone at the Club.”
“What?” Wink reached for a pen and tablet, all levity gone in an instant. “I’m ready.”
“There’s a flyer going around on campus. Several actually—more than usual. The place is practically swarming with anti-Royalist rhetoric, but this one I found tonight—it bothers me. It sounds like more than the usual blowhards. This time it has the feel of someone with an actual plan.”
“Can you read it to me? I’ll take it in to the office first thing in the morning.” She dipped her pen and blotted it.
“‘To all gentlemen of means. Are you tired of being crushed under the heels of the aristocrats? Don’t take the oppression any longer. Be a part of the Glorious Revolution,’” he read. “‘Join with our brothers in the United States and France in throwing off the tyrannical yoke of the old regime. Interested men, wear the tricolor and we will find you.’”
“Right, got it.” Wink read the lines back to him for confirmation. “Thanks, love. I’ll let Kendall know. I wouldn’t be too surprised if you see someone in the next day or two.”
“No problem. Tell Kendall that if he wants me to put on the tricolor to draw the buggers out, I can. Some of the pamphlets have mentioned younger sons, but since I’m adopted, I’m in a similar situation.” It was true. Despite legally being the oldest son of a baron, Piers wasn’t in line for the title. That would go to Will, the single son born to Merrick and Caroline, who was only five.
“I’ll let him know.” Wink would, but she hoped the Order wouldn’t take Piers up on it. While he was as tough a fighter as any of them, she’d never quite gotten past her instinct to protect the sickly former chimney sweep he’d once been.
“Ta. Give my love to Nell and Aunt Dorothy.” With that, Piers rang off, leaving Wink to wonder if she ought to wait for morning. Since it didn’t seem likely that a few hours would make any difference, and since Kendall and Amy had an infant at home, the news would wait. Her mind still troubled, she spent a restless night and was at the Camelot Club half an hour early the following morning.
* * *
Kendall shook his head when he read the transcribed pamphlet. His dark eyebrows knit together. “I was afraid something like this was coming.” He leaned back in his chair and told Wink about the assignment his father and Superintendent Dugan had given Liam, and the fear that something was brewing regarding the Royal Ascot races. “We need to get this to McCullough. Make a copy and send a messenger, would you? We’re short-handed in the office today, and I have to meet with my father and the Home Office in an hour.”
“I’ll run it over myself,” she said. “If you don’t mind. He’s been helping a friend of mine from Wapping with something, and I wanted to talk to him about that anyway.”
“Fair enough. In fact, since Connor and I are the only Knights in town right now, not counting my father, why don’t you consider yourself our acting liaison with the Yard on this matter? You finished wiring my terminal yesterday, right?”
“Yes, my lord.” She gave him a mock bow to go with the teasing formality and hid her excitement at being given responsibilities beyond fixing machines. It was a remarkable display of trust in someone not born to the Order. For a female employee, it was nothing less than staggering. Wink all but ran back to the cloakroom to trade her work smock for her bonnet.
* * *
“Blast and bugger.” Liam dropped the copied pamphlet to the center of his meticulously tidy desk. He ran one hand through his hair, mussing the already rumpled dark waves before looking up at Wink. “Sorry. Language.”
Wink snorted. “Please. I could out-curse you any day of the week and you know it.”
He nodded his acknowledgement. “Have a seat, if you want.”
“Why thank you for such a thoughtful offer.” She sat on the tiny wooden chair that was all Liam could fit in the space besides his desk and files. “Piers wants to know if you need him to put on a rosette.”
“Piers? Hell no.” Liam grimaced. While Wink and Tom had been almost grown when he met them, Piers had been a boy of ten, thin and sickly. It was impossible to think of the lad as an adult, even though he was now almost as tall as Liam. “Sorry again. But Piers? Really? Isn’t he busy studying Latin and Greek and calculus? Chatting up barmaids, if nothing else? He shouldn’t have time to get involved in this mess.”
“I know. It’s hard to remember he’s eighteen.” The rueful twist of her lips acknowledged the difficulty. “But he is grown now, and far from helpless. He’s as good with a rapier as I am, and better with a cutlass. He hasn’t even had pneumonia in two or three years, despite the degradation in air quality.”
“I’ll run up and talk to him. If there’s no other way…well, I’ll stick close and keep an eye on him, if it comes to that.” She had to know Liam would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat before he’d let any harm come to one of her brothers or sisters. He couldn’t even have explained why. That’s simply the way things were.
“I know.” A wistful trace of sadness flitted across her face, before she tapped the pamphlet with one gloved finger. “Now, Kendall has made me the Order’s official liaison on this business. So what else do we know? Are you certain the attack is to be at the races?”
“Not at all.” What the bloody hell had Kendall been thinking? Was he trying to drive Liam out of his mind? Working day to day with the woman he lo—lusted after—no, that wasn’t any better—was liable to reduce him to a gibbering idiot. “But that’s the only upcoming royal appearance we’re certain will include Her Majesty and several of the others.”
“Well, you’re a younger son. Has anyone approached you?” Her foot tapped on the floor, a mannerism so ingrained that he doubted she knew she was doing it. “How do you stand this place? It’s so tidy it feels like an operating theater.”
A chuckle escaped his chest. “I’ve seen your workshop, remember? A pigsty is tidy compared to you. At least in here, I can find things when I need them.” Her creations were genius, but the woman was as messy as could be.
She shrugged. “I can always find what I’m looking for. It’s other people who don’t understand my organizational system.” The boot tapped again. “And you didn’t answer the important part. Have you been approached?”
“Not even obliqu
ely.” Liam shook his head. “I’ve been spending most evenings in my various clubs, but no one has said a word to me so far. Of course, most of society knows I’m with the police.”
“Hmmm.” Now her fingers drummed a beat on the desktop. That was Wink—constitutionally incapable of being still. “I can see where that might cause a problem. Still, the clubs might not be where they’re lurking. Have you gone to any balls? Musicales? Played the fortune hunter?”
“I have sufficient fortune of my own, thank you very much.” Fortune hunter? Him? Hell, no. “Besides, I’ve made no secret of my aversion to marriage.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, sometimes people change their minds. We can’t all be as intractable as you are. I know you hate those things, but that might be where you’ll find your insurgents. Lady Tregarth is having a musicale tonight. And her daughters can actually play, so your ears won’t be assaulted too badly.”
“Tregarth—isn’t that an Order name?” Liam had met a Knight named Tregarth, or at least he thought he had. “Surely the man’s too young to have musical daughters?”
“You mean Sir Robert? Yes, he is. This is his aunt, an Order widow. I think she’s about Papa’s age, and her twin daughters are the same age as Piers, just out this year. They’re pretty and well-off, so the fortune hunters will be there in droves.”
Liam sighed, his head already throbbing at the prospect. He clutched a lifeline. “I haven’t been invited.”
Wink’s smile was the same one she used when besting one of her brothers at chess or fencing, and Liam began to feel like a fly beneath a magnifying glass. Ah, but she’s magnificent.
“I have,” she said. “Pick me up at nine.”
No, no, no! “What about MacKay? Don’t you have plans with him tonight?” Liam didn’t think he could stand to be the third wheel. It was bad enough to help the other man court her. He didn’t need to watch it up close.
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