Mission_Improper

by Bec McMaster

  quest again.

  Verwulfen, humans, and mechs were free

  now, but how long would that last? Especially if

  Ulbricht and his friends had anything to do with it.

  She was never going to live her life in a cage

  again.

  "Perhaps you'd best look at me," Debney

  murmured in a nervous tone, patting her hand.

  "You're drawing attention."

  And she was. Her stare had become an almost

  incinerating glare, and from the swift glance that

  Ulbricht shot her, she knew she'd captured his

  notice. Ingrid looked away, sipping at her

  champagne. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Debney ushered her

  through the crowd, and this time Ingrid forced

  herself to watch everyone.

  Ulbricht reached the bottom of the stairs and a

  woman stepped forward to meet him. White was

  always something that debutantes wore to

  symbolize their purity, if they had never been taken

  as a thrall before, but the fashion had died out

  recently. Though gowned in a voluminous gown of

  pearlescent white, with dozens of pearls

  embroidering her bodice, this woman looked

  neither innocent nor pure.

  A pearl choker dripped from her throat and

  her mask covered the entire top half of her face,

  with gauze obliterating even the eyeholes. A

  glorious swan mask, but something... something

  about her seemed wrong. Perhaps it was the way

  she surveyed the gathering with the same regard

  that Ingrid had given to the buffet earlier.

  " What is it?" Byrnes's voice murmured in her

  ear, which shocked her. She'd forgotten that he was

  keeping watch, and had no doubt listened to the

  entire previous conversation.

  She couldn't quite put her finger on it.

  Exchanging her champagne glass for a fresh one,

  she put the glass to her lips to disguise the words.

  "I don't know, but all the hairs on the back of my

  neck just rose. That woman... on the stairs, in

  white."

  There was a moment's silence.

  " The swan? "

  "Yes." Ingrid shivered. The feeling quite

  reminded her of a child's chalk scratching over

  slate and the resulting sound.

  " She seems harmless."

  "She looks like a predator," Ingrid countered.

  "Look at the way she's watching all of the blood-

  slaves in here. It's almost hungry, as though they're

  naught but cattle to her."

  Silence. "Hmm. You might be right. She's

  certainly not his plaything. Not with the way she

  just grabbed his hand."

  Though they might have been an entire

  ballroom apart, Ingrid felt as though Byrnes stood

  at her side, watching as the swan caught Ulbricht's

  arm and reined him to her side, murmuring swiftly

  in his ear. Ulbricht looked startled, then followed

  the swan's gaze to something at Ingrid's left.

  When Ingrid turned, all she saw was Debney,

  clasping hands in welcome with someone in an

  embroidered green waistcoat.

  Ulbricht's smile sharpened as it locked on

  Debney, and then the pair of them separated,

  slinking in different directions through the crowd,

  as though circling Debney.

  "Did you just feel a cold shiver down your

  spine?" Ingrid looked away, masking her words

  with the glass.

  " I couldn't see what just happened." Byrnes's

  voice had softened. " Someone intercepted me,

  wanting more blud-wein. But I'll keep an eye on

  her."

  "Don't. Keep an eye on Debney instead. I

  have a feeling that Ulbricht's up to something."

  " What do you mean?"

  "It's the way he just looked at him."

  "What are you saying?"

  "What if he's outlived his usefulness?" she

  murmured.

  "Are you certain you're not imagining

  things?" Byrnes murmured. " Everyone looks

  normal to me. And he's safe here, in the

  ballroom."

  Ingrid looked around. Nobody was focusing

  on Debney anymore, nor her. People laughed.

  Ulbricht held court in front of the automaton

  quartet, and the swan... was nowhere to be seen.

  She rubbed her arms. "Perhaps I'm on edge. I'm not

  used to this."

  "Take

  your

  glass,

  ma'am?"

  someone

  murmured, and as she set her empty glass on the

  tray, she realized it was Byrnes.

  His eyes twinkled behind the plain black

  velvet domino mask he wore. "Calm down," he

  murmured. "I'm watching over you and Debney.

  And I have a highly developed recurring pistol in

  my pocket, packed with firebolt bullets that could

  tear a blue blood in half."

  "Thank you," she replied, cocking her head

  and then turning away. It wouldn't do to have

  someone notice that she knew him. "Who did you

  knock out to steal that costume?" she whispered,

  fluttering her fan in front of her face.

  Byrnes moved away from her. " Tall fellow.

  Punches like a brute, but he went down

  eventually. Not a footman, no matter what he was

  wearing. Undercover guard, perhaps. Ex-soldier,

  back from the wars in France. Unusual type of

  servant at a place like this."

  "You think something smells fishy."

  "Something is definitely going on. I can't

  wait to do some breaking and entering."

  "When?"

  "Give me a half hour, then meet me in the

  hallway that leads to the powder room."

  "And Debney?"

  "Safe here, in public. Nobody would dare

  touch him, if your little theory proves right."

  A strange little flutter went through her. He'd

  promised to keep an eye on her, but it was

  surprising how much it meant to know he was here.

  She'd never needed anyone to watch her back,

  but she'd never felt more out of her depth. Debney

  had been correct. Being verwulfen in this place

  marked her as lesser, and though she could handle

  herself, she was still outnumbered. Somehow, they

  knew what she was.

  "There you are," Debney said, making his

  way through a veritable crush of silk and feathers.

  "Lord Ulbricht is interested in an introduction."

  "Lead on then, darling." She accepted his arm,

  playing her part.

  Up close, Ulbricht was even more imposing

  than he'd first seemed. He eyed her with a flinty

  up-and-down, taking a considerable pause at her

  mask, as though trying to see her irises through the

  eyeholes. Or was that just her imagination?

  "Ulbricht, may I introduce you to Mrs. Inga

  Miller?" Debney purred, sweeping her forward as

  though she were a precious gem to display. "Mrs.

  Miller is a very good friend of mine."

  Ingrid graced Ulbricht with her most pleasant

  smile, flashing her teeth. He reminded her of Lord

  Balfour a little, the man who had bought her as a

  child and locked her in a cage. Perhaps it was
the

  thin, supercilious smile he returned, or the sneer in

  his dark eyes, as though she were nothing to him.

  "A pleasure, my lord." The words were breathy

  and unctuous, and Ingrid extended her hand for him

  to greet, forcing him to accept it.

  Ulbricht eyed her glove, distaste rampant on

  his face, but he took it. That enormous hand lifted

  hers to his lips, his sleeve sliding down, revealing

  a dark tattoo on the inside of his wrist. "The

  pleasure is mine, Mrs. Miller."

  "What an interesting tattoo, my lord." As he

  moved to withdraw his hand, she kept hold of it.

  "What is it meant to represent?"

  Ulbricht's lips thinned, but Ingrid could see

  better now. The shape was that of a rising sun.

  "Something that interested me, Mrs. Miller." This

  time, he was more insistent upon withdrawing his

  hand. "If you will? I have guests to entertain."

  SINCE ULBRICHT'S EARLIER CUT, most of the

  Echelon lords seemed to be taking their cues from

  him and ignoring the pair of them. Girls came and

  went from the ballroom, vanishing into private

  parlors with blue blood vultures. Ingrid watched

  the clock, waiting for time to tick around to her

  appointed meeting with Byrnes, but she couldn't

  stop herself from making sure each girl returned.

  "The first time I received an invitation to one

  of these events, I was thrilled," Debney murmured,

  staring across the room at Ulbricht in a way that

  she couldn't quite define. "A chance to restore life

  as I knew it—one where finances weren't quite

  strained and a man couldn't find himself in trouble

  for something he'd always done. The balance

  would be restored. Smashing, I said. And I came,

  and I watched as they partied, and it was horrible

  in a way that it had never been before."

  "What did they do?"

  "There were girls there. 'Do as you wish,'

  Ulbricht said, as they circled among us. They'd

  been promised good money for the event, you see.

  But... telling a blue blood lord to do as he wished

  meant that her life lay in his hands. Those who

  remembered what it was once like... they were

  insatiable. Men who I knew before the revolution

  who had never raised a hand against their thralls in

  the past, or some who even disdained the taking of

  blood-slaves as a necessary evil, were suddenly

  men that I didn't know. For three years there have

  been limits to bloodletting, and punishments for

  those who stepped over the line, and it were as if

  Ulbricht took our leashes off for the one night and

  something emerged that wasn’t pleasant."

  "The Echelon were always like that. It wasn't

  as if you didn't know."

  "I had changed. For the first time I realized

  what Caleb saw when he looked at me." Debney’s

  gaze dipped beneath gold-fringed lashes. "A

  disgrace."

  "And what happened to the girl they'd given

  you?"

  "I got her out, of course."

  Something didn't quite add up. "Earlier, you

  said that you'd come to three of these events, and

  yet they disgust you."

  Embarrassment flashed over Debney's face.

  "I-I.... He made me come again."

  "Who? Ulbricht?" It was the first time that

  Debney had proffered any hint of excuse for his

  behavior, and it rankled. Or perhaps that was the

  presence of a pair of young blue bloods forcing

  one of the 'blood-slaves' into a private curtained

  alcove of the ballroom, despite the flash of fear

  that crossed her face. "Did he force you into a

  carriage by chance? Abduct you at gunpoint?"

  Ingrid swished away through the crowd before her

  emotions got the better of her. She was struggling

  to stand there and watch that poor girl be molested.

  And how is this any better than what Debney

  did? Walking away, because it offends you....

  After all, she had no plans to get that girl to safety,

  even if her instincts seethed within her to do so.

  Malloryn had even predicted such a conflict when

  he offered her this job, knowing her nature as he

  did.

  “Ingrid, can you do this?” Malloryn had

  asked. “Can you pretend to turn the other cheek

  for the sake of the greater good? Can you look

  the other way? For that is the type of work I'm

  offering you.”

  She was verwulfen, and always prey to her

  heated emotions. In her ignorance—or arrogance,

  perhaps—she'd shrugged, and claimed that it was

  what she had always done in her role with the

  humanists.

  This was not the same. Then she'd been in the

  shadows, spying for Rosa and using her strength to

  run brief skirmishes, but she'd never played an

  acting role. She'd always been herself, unabashed

  in her defiance of the very lords and culture she

  walked among now. It was one thing to lead

  humanists against the Echelon, quite another to slip

  through its ranks and pretend to be something she

  was not.

  "Ingrid, wait!" Debney snagged her elbow,

  and because she had promised Malloryn she went

  with him, even though she was feeling a rather

  violent itch to push Debney over the rail.

  "I can do this," she told him flatly.

  "I know." He looked both young and old at the

  moment, and disappointed with himself. "You

  never gave me a chance to explain. It wasn't... like

  that."

  Tamping down the sudden fury within her,

  Ingrid slipped inside one of the very alcoves that

  the young lords were currently using to their

  advantage. She could smell blood nearby as one of

  them fed. Soft mewls of discomfort—or something

  else—mingled

  with

  the

  sound

  of

  polite

  conversation and edged laughter. "Then explain."

  "Ulbricht is aware of... some private things

  about me. He wanted me to invite some of my

  friends to his gatherings, to enlist them in the SOG,

  and so he became quite insistent on my attending. I

  know everybody, you see. That was the one thing I

  was always very good at. Knowing people, and

  yet, not really knowing them at all."

  With a cough, he continued. "Nobody else is

  aware... not even Caleb, but I was somewhat

  indiscreet a few years ago with one of Ulbricht's

  cousins, and when the relationship broke off, he

  told Ulbricht everything."

  He. Ingrid stared at him, her mind absolutely

  blank.

  "I have certain proclivities," he hurried to

  explain, seeing her expression, "that are not widely

  accepted. It's the kind of thing some of these men

  here would kill me for, if Ulbricht didn't see a use

  for me."

  "You have relationships with men." How had

  she not noticed? She was well acquainted with

  Jack, after all.

 
"It's actually quite amusing." Debney seemed

  relieved that she hadn't immediately cut him,

  though he was watching her face intently.

  "Watching Caleb fret over my attentions to you, as

  though I pose some kind of threat."

  "He does?" He did?

  "Well, yes." Debney laughed, a little shrilly.

  "I've never seen him behave so with a woman. He

  avoids emotional entanglements—he always has—

  so it's quite amusing to see him so tangled up over

  you."

  There was a faint hint of static in her ear, a

  muttered curse. Ingrid opened her mouth, then shut

  it. Debney would probably faint if she told him that

  Byrnes could hear everything she could through the

  communicator.

  "May I ask, what precisely is your

  relationship with Byrnes?" For there was a

  familiarity there that was beginning to grow quite

  obvious.

  "We're brothers," Debney said, the words

  spilling out of him as if one confession suddenly

  unloosed a tide. "Though he wouldn't call it such."

  " Ingrid," Byrnes growled through her

  earpiece.

  "Brothers?" How fascinating. "And how did

  such a thing come about?"

  Debney's face brightened. "Oh, I was three

  when Nanny came to live with us—or Byrnes's

  mother, I should s—"

  The curtains suddenly wrenched apart and

  Byrnes stood there. "Are we keeping an eye on

  Ulbricht, or gossiping like a bunch of little old

  ladies?"

  "Well, it is terribly interesting," Ingrid

  replied.

  "If you want to know something, just ask,"

  Byrnes replied coolly. "I detest people gossiping

  about my life as though I'm not living it."

  Touché. Ingrid tilted her head. He was

  correct: Ulbricht had to be the focus.

  At her side, Debney looked like he'd seen a

  ghost, and made some sort of gasping noise.

  Byrnes shot him a disgusted look. "Christ,

  Francis. It's not as if I didn't know. You followed

  Christopher Lamb around like a girl with the

  swoons the summer I turned fifteen. It was fairly

  obvious to anyone with eyes. And I am a

  Nighthawk. Grant me some credit."

  "You never said a word about it," Debney

  managed to rasp.

  "What was there to say? It was your business,

  not mine." Slipping a hand behind Ingrid's back,

  Byrnes nudged her toward the ballroom, his voice

  lowering for her ears only. "Just as my past is my

  business. Stay out of it. Five minutes."

  That stung, which was her own fault. She

  knew better than to develop an interest in him.