by Bec McMaster
so was her throat. Blood spooled through the
water, heading in at least three different directions.
"Why did they kill her?" Byrnes gently
levered the woman out of the water and onto a
ledge.
"Looks like an animal attack," Charlie said.
“Maybe.”
"Whatever it was," Ingrid pointed out,
gesturing to the fractured ribs, "it was strong. Blue
blood?"
The throat was torn open, but a blue blood's
feed was generally cleaner. Without sharp teeth,
most blue blood lords preferred to use a thin razor
to open the vein, and a chemical in their saliva
caused the wound to clot enough to begin healing
once they were finished. "Don't think so. No blue
blood that I've ever seen anyway. They wouldn't
have gone for the abdomen—tear the wrong organ,
and it sours the blood. No, they'd have gone for
throat, or thigh, or wrist, any of the major arteries."
"Even in the bloodlust?" she asked.
"Even then," he confirmed. "It's instinctual.
Could a verwulfen have done this?"
Ingrid chewed her lip. "Yes. I don't know why
they would though. If they were suffering from a fit
of berserkergang, they'd have kept tearing their
enemy apart, limb from limb. A gut wound like this
is not a technique we'd usually employ." She knelt
closer, examining the ragged edges. "These look
like sharp teeth marks, like... fangs. And despite
what the superstitious whisper, verwulfen don't
change shape. Our hearts beat with the heart of the
wolf, but our bodies always remain human."
"So we're looking for something with fangs,"
Byrnes mused, "which counts out a blue blood."
"Vampire?" Charlie whispered, and all of
them stilled.
The hairs on the back on Byrnes's neck lifted,
but a quick glance showed that they were alone.
Just his body reacting to the word. Even so, he
rubbed a hand across his nape, soothing the skin. "I
hope not."
A vampire was rare; the final end stages of
the craving virus finally overtaking a blue blood
and turning him into something... else. Something
wiry and maggot-pale and purely destructive. Ever
since a rash of vampires had haunted the city in the
1700s, no blue blood was allowed to exist past a
craving virus count of 80 percent. They were
executed instead.
"If it was a vampire, they wouldn't have taken
the people," Ingrid pointed out in a soft voice.
Even she felt it. "We'd have walked into a
bloodbath in the pavilion, and the trail of bloody
wreckage would have been easy to follow. A
vampire doesn't hide itself, or its acts. It's not
smart enough to see past prey. It just kills."
"And it doesn't stop," Charlie whispered.
There was nothing more to see here. Byrnes
scowled. "Let's follow the trail a little longer, then
get the body back to Ava. She assists Dr. Gibson
with the autopsies at the guild, so I'm certain she
can give us more information. We need to know
what killed this woman, and why."
Byrnes took the lead. Sometimes all he could
go by was the splash of blood against the walls. At
other times, it was the muddy stir of water. A great
many people had either been carried or forced to
march through here.
It took another half hour to realize what was
slowing Ingrid’s and Charlie's steps. Byrnes stood
at the crossroads of four intersecting tunnels with
his hands on his hips.
"They're long gone," he said, "and the water
is washing the blood trail in other directions." His
jaw hardened. "We've lost them."
"I don't like to agree," Ingrid replied
cautiously, "but... I'm getting nothing. We might not
even be following their trail anymore."
"What we do know," Charlie pointed out, "is
that they used the sewer system to get in and out of
the Venetian Gardens. This was a planned assault
then, and they could have gone anywhere."
"How could forty people go missing?" Byrnes
mused, noticing the warm presence that stepped up
to his side.
"I don't know," Ingrid replied, sharing a
sideways glance with him. A shared case—
something to focus on—had taken most of the
animosity out of her behavior.
And his, he had to admit. If he were being
generous, Ingrid was an excellent person to work
with—smart, hardworking, well skilled, and
someone who didn't slow him down. "Especially
when half of them had to be blue bloods. Not so
easy to take down."
"Not so easy to take down," she agreed. "So
how did they do it?"
FOUR
SINKING ONTO THE ottoman in Malloryn's
library, Ingrid sighed. She should have been
looking at the guest list, but she couldn't stop her
hand from delving into her pocket, and unfurling
the small telegram she had stashed there. Its edges
were rumpled, thanks to extensive use ever since
she'd received it three days ago.
Tracked down Bergen family. I'm sorry. Not
your family. Don't have other leads. Request next
directive? Cease looking?
Detective Maddeslow.
Ingrid fingered the worn edges of the
telegram. Cease looking. He might as well have
cut out her heart. What should she do? This job for
Malloryn would give her so much money, perhaps
enough to complete her search, but how could she
continue when she didn't even have a single idea of
where to look?
When she'd first begun looking for the family
whom she'd been stolen from, she'd had so much
hope inside her. It was dulled now. Barely a
glimmer. Too many years had passed since she'd
been kidnapped by English raiders, in the snow
near her Norwegian home. And she'd been four.
Far too young to recall enough details to track
them.
"Where are you?" she whispered, half to
herself.
Looking up at the sound of footsteps, she
shoved the telegram into her pocket, and only
relaxed when Ava McLaren entered the room. The
young woman's mess of blonde curls was gathered
back into a neat chignon, and she wore a plain
gown of grass green, with her laboratory apron
over the top of it. Something ticked as Ava settled
on the sofa across from her, and it was so quiet that
Ingrid thought it a clock, or a pocket watch, except
Ingrid had been studying the young woman today
and could sense neither of those objects about her
person.
"Well, I've found something," Ava said,
tugging a small object from her apron pocket and
tossing it in the air. It was a clockwork ball. "This
was at the crime scene. It's a Doeppler orb,
designed to release a pressurized gas once the
timer releases the clockwork lock on the
mechani
sm. They were first used in that blood
frenzy case the Nighthawks investigated a few
years ago. The gas drove several blue blood lords
to commit terrible murders against their servants
and families."
Ingrid knew the case. Several of the mechs
who had worked with the humanists she'd run with
had created the orb before going off on their own
to mount a half-baked scheme against the ruling
Echelon. Ingrid set the lists aside in interest. "Do
you think that's what happened to that girl? Did a
blue blood dip into the blood frenzy and tear her
apart?"
"I'm not certain. It doesn't have the same
chemical components as the blood frenzy gas, and
it didn't affect me in that way. I've been speaking to
your friend, Jack, down in the laboratory, and
neither of us can identify the gas, but after I took a
sniff, I had the most unusual sense of dizziness. It
doesn't effect your friend Jack, and I think it has to
do with the fact that he's human and I'm a blue
blood."
"You actually smelled a gas that was
notorious for driving blue bloods insane?"
"I took precautions," Ava replied.
"I should hope so." Ingrid slid closer,
examining the orb. "So you think this was used to
incapacitate the blue bloods? Somehow?"
"Possibly," Ava replied. "I only found one, so
the kidnappers might have collected them
following the assault."
"Which argues for quite a few people
involved."
Ava's gaze grew distant. "This is quite a
dilemma, isn't it? I knew the moment Malloryn was
involved that we were facing something big, but it
frightens me somewhat to think of how important
this work could be."
Ingrid turned the clockwork ball over in her
hand. The two halves had popped open, but when
she pressed them together, they fit back neatly.
"The general public don't know the particulars of
the blood frenzy cases," she said, slowly. "Only the
humanists who were involved, the mechs who
stole the device, and the Nighthawks who
investigated were aware of what this is, and how it
was used."
Ava's gaze lifted to hers. "You think whoever
is involved in this is someone that we know? Or
who has some connection to the blood frenzy
case?"
"It has to be someone who knew what a
Doeppler orb could do." Ingrid turned her head on
an angle, her thoughts scattering as the ticking
became louder. "What is that ticking sound?"
Ava froze. "Ah, that's my heart."
"Heart?"
The young woman looked away in distress. "I
have a clockwork heart, Miss Miller. Not by
choice, however."
Sometimes Ingrid was perceptive enough to
pick up on certain emotions, and the look on Ava's
face told her not to press. "My apologies for
bringing it up. And you may call me Ingrid. I'm not
used to polite company, and 'Miss Miller' sounds
like you're speaking to someone else."
"Oh?"
Ingrid smiled. "I've spent most of the last
decade skulking in and out of back alleys and
taverns, or in the tunnels of Undertown. I'm more at
home with people cussing at me rather than playing
polite."
Ava's expression softened. "Well, I've been
with the Nighthawks for three and a half years, so I
guess that I'm more accustomed to people cussing
at me too."
"People?" Ingrid asked. "Or just Byrnes?"
Ava laughed and patted a hair into place.
"Actually, he's the exception. He's terribly polite
when it comes to me, though I've heard him speak
when he thinks I'm not around."
A little fluttery feeling ignited in her chest.
She couldn't quite describe it, but it had something
to do with how polite Byrnes was to Ava. "Oh.
That's... nice of him."
"I'll attempt the autopsy on that girl in a
minute, so we should know more by this evening,"
Ava said, standing and heading for the door. "But
Kincaid found something at the enclaves and wants
me to have a look at it first." She stifled a yawn,
and Ingrid realized that Ava, as a blue blood,
would most likely be sleeping through the day if
not for this mission.
"You're going to be pursuing the lab work
here then?" Ingrid asked, following the other
woman.
"It suits me. It's what I've been doing for the
past three years at the guild, and I've never been
very good in the field." Ava grimaced. "My heart
has limited capacity for pumping blood, and I can
exert myself only to a certain point, which makes
field work out of the question."
Don't ask. Don't ask. Don't ask. She wanted
to, however. She'd never heard of a clockwork
heart. Most mechs had mechanical limbs, or other
less complicated internal organs, like chest pumps
instead of lungs. How could you keep someone
alive whilst you installed a new mechanical heart
inside them?
"Well, that sounds like an ideal pursuit for
you," Ingrid said, swallowing the question down.
"You'll most likely be spending some time with
Jack then?"
"We've already begun working together. He's
claimed the basement laboratory, but he's allowed
me a small space."
"He would." This time Ingrid's smile was
genuine. Jack was the older brother she'd never
had. "Don't let him push you around. He'll use
charm and smiles to get what he wants, but make
no mistake, he's demanding." A thought occurred.
"If you think that Jack's overdoing it... will you let
me know?"
"You care for him?"
"He's part of the only family I've known,"
Ingrid admitted. Along with Rosa, the Duchess of
Bleight, and young Jeremy, who'd set up as a
candlemaker's apprentice. The three of them shared
blood in truth, however, whilst she had merely
been adopted into the fold when all four of them
had escaped a madman.
"Oh." Ava glanced sideways at her and Ingrid
realized she'd been sounding out how well Ingrid
was involved with Jack.
"It's not like that," she hastily assured the
blonde. "Jack's a brother, not... well, not like that."
Nor was he likely to be interested in Ava, but
Ingrid thought she'd best keep that to herself. "Do
you know where Byrnes went?"
Another look. One that slammed through her
like a punch as she realized precisely what it
entailed. Oh, hell. It wasn't Jack whom Ava was
interested in, after all. Ava had feelings for Byrnes,
and was clearly aware of the... complex
relationship between he and Ingrid.
But the pretty young woman merely smiled, an
expression that didn't quite reach her eyes. "He's
returned to the guild for the rest of the afternoon.
Said somethi
ng about examining the guild records
from the blood frenzy case."
"You told him about the orbs?"
Ava rolled her eyes. "He was hovering in the
laboratory. I didn't particularly have a choice."
"Byrnes thinks the orb might have something
to do with the woman we found, doesn't he?" And
he was following a lead without her. Ingrid's blood
heated. This was supposed to be their case. Not
just his. It was happening again.
Ava shrugged. "I personally disagree. A
preliminary glance showed that you were correct.
The woman's wounds were caused by fangs, of
perhaps an inch in length. No blue blood has
fangs." Consternation flickered over her heart-
shaped face. "Though some do file their teeth into
sharpened points. Still... The length is almost half
an inch long, so it couldn't be a blue blood."
"Then we still have no idea what did this."
Frustration burned through her. When she got her
hands on him....
"No," Ava said with a sigh. "But we know
what didn't."
INGRID CLUNKED down the stairs to the
laboratory that was located in the cellars. She and
her friend, Jack, had been called in three days ago
to help Malloryn set up this network, and Jack had
been poking around down there ever since.
Good God, if she'd known what Malloryn
intended when she set out to deliver his invitations,
she'd have balked. Last night as she lay in the dark
in her bed staring at the ceiling, she'd finally
accepted the fact that she would have to work with
Byrnes in the company. She'd even told herself to
buck up, because with half a dozen spies in the
group, what were the chances that she'd have to
spend much time with him?
She hadn't expected Malloryn to partner them
together.
"Are you there, Jack?" she called, gathering
her skirts as she thudded down the stairs. Jack was
her lodestone, her emotional compass, and right
now she was far too vexed to think straight. The
typical verwulfen curse. Her kind were driven by
their emotions and thrived in a state of fury, or
even passion. It drove them, gave them their
strength—but it could also prove crippling if one
wasn't able to control it. Right now, she wanted to
punch her fist through the wall, but that would only
tear the skin on her knuckles and smash a brick or
two into powder.
You are not ruled by the beast. You control it ,
not the other way around.
If she repeated it to herself enough, she might