'What friend?' My frown deepens, a sense of panic rising in my chest. I suppose in the back of my mind I'd always known that Lorna and I would be caught sooner rather than later. I'd never even expected to get this far, but now that I don't know who this man is, or whose orders he operates on, I feel cast into the dark, my fate unknown.
'An old friend,' He smiles secretively, still circling his coffee. 'I received a message asking me to come here. Asking me to find you.'
'Find me?' A lump forms in my throat and no matter how hard I swallow, it won't go away. 'Who asked you to find me?'
'Can't you guess?' He smiles again.
'A lot of people are searching for me right now.'
'That's true,' He nods. 'But the majority are looking to capture you. I'm not here to capture you.'
'Then what are you here for?' I try not to look at Lorna, try not to reveal my panic.
'To take you where you want to go.' He shrugs simply. I wait for him to elaborate but he doesn't.
'And where is that?' I prompt him.
'To the Rebels.'
Lorna's gasp is audible all the way across the airport and I'm sure my face must mirror hers; etched with shock. The man doesn't seem to notice as he stretches his long legs beneath the table. 'You're with the Rebels?'
'Not exactly,' He shrugs, pausing a moment. 'I suppose you could say I'm affiliated with one.'
'I told you!' Lorna hisses, kicking me under the table. 'I told you the Rebels exist!'
I have to admit, I'm shocked. The Rebels – up until now – were nothing but a half-baked notion, a product of Lorna's hypothesis. I suppose it made sense that there would be a new strand of Rebels lurking in the shadows, supporters of the old Rebellion who weren't directly involved, but I still never completely believed in them.
'And did this Rebel ask you to find me?' I frown. I can't imagine how the Rebels have even heard of me, let alone why they would ask someone to search for me, though I suppose it's possible that news of my escape has travelled. An escape in itself may not be a big deal, but taking the headmaster's human daughter is bound to raise some eyebrows.
'No,' The man chuckles. 'The person who asked me to find you is far from a Rebel. About as far as you can get.'
My stomach clenches painfully with a writhing, twisting sensation. I don't know what makes me think of him, perhaps something in the man's wording, but I hold my breath for a moment before speaking. 'Malachy?' I breathe, savouring the sound of the name on my tongue. I know it's crazy. I know the man will cock an eyebrow, give me a quizzical expression and shake his head. How could Malachy possibly send someone to take us to the Rebels? Why would he when he was so against my finding them in the first place? When he even went so far as to deny all knowledge of them? The man's blue eyes sparkle and his lips twist into a wry smile.
'My name is Asil Katak.' He holds his long-fingered hand out to me. I hesitate, eyeing it warily before taking it.
'Eve Ryder. This is Lorna Gr – Beaudreux.' I correct myself quickly. Even though this man appears to know who we are, I don't want to volunteer Lorna's surname too readily. 'Are you saying – ' I swallow, trying to force the words out even though they make no sense. 'Are you saying that Malachy is with the Rebels?'
'No,' The man – Asil – laughs loudly. 'Not with them. He – ' Asil hesitates, smiling. 'He wants to keep you safe. He knows the Rebels can protect you from those hunting you. That's all. In fact, they're waiting for you. They're very excited to meet you.'
'They know of us?' I frown. The man chuckles again.
'Of course. You're already infamous to those with political connections,' He stands, tossing his still-full coffee cup into a nearby bin. 'We shouldn't keep them waiting.'
I hesitate, narrowing my eyes on the man – Asil's – lean frame. We don't know him. We don't know he is who he says he is. Even on the surface, it seems highly unlikely that Malachy, our future Auctorita, is in any way connected to the Rebels. I'm certain he isn't. He'd be going against his duty if he didn't tell Sirus, and, contrary to the evidence, Malachy does take his duties very seriously.
This could so easily be a trap, lulling us into a false sense of security so that we come quietly, so that we don't make a scene in front of hundreds of humans. I step a little closer to Asil, studying his blue eyes. I see no spark of green within them. 'As you said, there are many Immortals hunting you, Eve Ryder,' He says calmly. 'And their numbers are increasing. You can come with me now or you can waste days trying to find the Rebels yourselves and likely be caught. The choice is yours.' He shrugs, sensing my hesitation. I cast a quick glance at Lorna, who raises her eyebrows, as much to tell me it's my decision.
'Where are we going?' I narrow my gaze.
'To a bar.' He takes a step backwards, towards the airport doors. I step with him, ignoring a suspicious glare from Lorna. He's right; we have no plan from this point on, we're simply stumbling around Bangkok, trying to find the Rebels that up until now I hadn't even been sure existed. If he really does know where they are, he'll be saving us valuable time, and possibly preventing our capture.
We get into one of the blue and red taxis parked outside the airport in the baking sun. Asil says something to the driver in Thai, laughing before buckling his seatbelt and gesturing for us to do the same. The city of Bangkok seems to lie on a long river and the contrast between pristine white beach and steel clad city skyline is somewhat strange. Everything seems ten times larger than in London; more sparkly, newer, though we pass a few magnificent old temples lit up by the sun.
Lorna sits in resolute silence, squashed beside me and staring blankly out of the window. Asil watches Bangkok pass, too, but occasionally his glance slides over to me.
'Do you really know Malachy?' I ask quietly, voicing the thought playing on my mind most.
'Yes,' He smiles, blinking long eyelashes. 'I used to work for him.'
'Doing what?'
'I was a Servus in Domum.'
'A what?' I frown.
'A servant for the Auctoritas. Malachy's servant eventually.'
'Oh,' I nod, pretending to understand. Lorna acts like she isn't listening but I notice the way she leans subtly closer to catch the quiet conversation. 'But you're not any more?'
'No,' Asil's jaw hardens momentarily. 'I left a long time ago.' He pauses and I wonder whether to ask him more. He doesn't seem keen to talk about it but I have to know that I can trust him, even if I have no choice. 'Malachy asked me to find you,' He senses my discomfort. 'We keep in contact occasionally. He knows of my connection to the Rebels. He asked me to bring you to them. I – ' He hesitates. 'I owe Malachy.'
I should ask Asil why he owes Malachy. Maybe if I knew the reason, I could trust him a little more. But all I can think about is the time Malachy pretended the Rebels might not even exist, when he knew damn well that they did, and the fact that he hasn't handed them over to Sirus. What is his angle?
We pull up outside a tall grey building with dark windows and a battered sign spelling 'Beach View.' As we climb out of the taxi, I briefly pause to note that we're nowhere near a beach before following Asil through the swinging door entrance.
Inside is virtually empty, the darkness penetrated only by neon signs on the wall spelling Thai words I can't read. Over by the bar a small huddle of people cluster around, resonating murmuring voices and the occasional burst of laughter. The bar staff appear bored, cleaning glasses with paper towels and staring at the clock. One of them – a young Thai man – glances up and notices Asil. His eyes light up and he drops the glass he's holding, hurrying over to welcome us and pour us drinks. They converse in Thai and there's a lot of nodding before Asil hands Lorna and I tall glasses of amber-coloured liquid and gestures for us to follow him.
We head to the back of the bar and through a small door, up a narrow flight of stairs until we reach a fire escape. Asil shoves it open and we step outside, momentarily blinded by the bright sun. Up on the roof are more tables and chairs, distinctly grander than those inside, a
nd a large group of people at the far end, pressed up to the balcony's edge. They're Immortals, every one of them, and they turn as the fire escape slams shut behind us. Their conversations cease and I shift uncomfortably as twenty or so eyes come to rest on me. For a moment we all just stand there, staring at one another, clutching our drinks. Then somebody moves in the corner of my eye and it seems to break the spell; most of the group go back to talking, though some of them still sneak the odd glance my way.
'Come on,' Asil beckons us forward towards an Immortal who is weaving his way through, heading in our direction. He's tall, like Asil, with shoulder-length dark hair and skin the colour of milky coffee. His eyes are mahogany, his nose slightly crooked, and he wears a thick leather jacket even in the heat of Bangkok. 'Eve Ryder,' Asil smiles, stopping in front of the dark-haired Immortal. 'Meet my brother, Vlad Katak.'
Vlad Katak eyes me with a mixture of wonder and wariness. He doesn't acknowledge his brother, but his gaze quickly travels to Lorna, and I watch him ignite with excitement.
'Your name is Vlad?' I cock an eyebrow, instantly stepping in front of Lorna. Not enough to block her, just enough to let him know that she's with me. Vlad Katak doesn't smile, but his eyes sparkle with amusement.
'I'm a vampire and my name is Vlad,' He speaks, his voice a low rumble. 'The irony isn't lost on me.'
'That's a relief.'
'And who is this?' Vlad peers over my shoulder, unfazed by the proximity of a human being.
'This is Lorna Beaudreux.' I don't step aside, but Lorna warily extends her hand around me, and Vlad reaches for it.
'A pleasure,' He licks his lips slightly. 'We're delighted to meet you both. Thank you, brother, for bringing them here safely.' He claps Asil's shoulder before turning back to Lorna. His eyes sparkle with an eerie eagerness, like she's a prize waiting to be won. If I didn't know better, I'd half expect him to start sucking on her neck now, but that can't be the reason we're here. There's a whole city available if Vlad fancies a snack. He opens his mouth to speak but a hand clamps down on his shoulder, bright red fingernails glinting in the afternoon light.
'Time to make with the introductions, Vlad.' A crisp voice sounds from the tall blonde woman stepping to his side. She's beautiful and poised, extremely intimidating with her perfect red mouth and long, black eyelashes. She reminds me uncomfortably of Lucrezia Beighley, besides the brown eyes, which focus on Lorna with the same eagerness as Vlad.
'Vanessa,' Vlad nods. 'This is Eve Ryder and her friend, Lorna – Beaudreux, was it?' He raises an eyebrow, giving her a knowing smirk. Lorna swallows loudly, finally glancing up to meet Vlad's gaze.
'It's Gray,' She says loudly, her voice wobbling a little. 'My name is Lorna Gray.'
'It's lovely to meet you, Miss Gray,' Vanessa steps forward, her black stilettos clacking on the concrete tiles. 'Miss Ryder,' She nods at me. 'My name is Vanessa Foxton. We're so pleased you could join us.'
'Asil, why don't you take Lorna to meet some of the others?' Vlad speaks to his brother, but keeps his focus on me. 'You, too, Vanessa. I'd like to speak to Eve alone.'
Lorna throws me a petrified glance but Asil takes her arm and leads her off without a word. I watch them go, Vanessa's blonde head bobbing behind them, disappearing into the crowd. I try not to panic as I lose sight of them, reassuring myself that this is what Malachy wants, and Malachy would never lead me into a trap. Vlad stares at me for another uncomfortable moment before stepping forward, beckoning me over to the edge of the balcony.
I finally understand why the building is called 'Beach View' as I spy the white sand and endless stretch of ocean in the distance. Vlad leans on the black railings, his leather jacket creaking with his movements. 'I wanted to congratulate you,' He says, looking down at the crowds below. 'It must have been no easy feat to escape The Gray Institute with Sir Alec's prized daughter under your arm. And then to make it all the way here, all the way to us. You must be some Immortal.'
'Not really,' I shrug, trying not to feel unsettled. 'If it weren't for your brother, we might never have found you.'
'My brother?' Vlad turns to me, raising an eyebrow. He opens his mouth to say something, but then seems to think better of it. 'Yes, my brother. It is fortunate all round.'
'Lorna – ' I hesitate, turning to scan the crowds, looking for her familiar brown hair. 'Lorna wanted to find you. It was her idea. The escape, I mean. Well, everything, really.'
'Is that so?' Vlad studies me, his dark eyes piercing.
'She wants – ' I hesitate again, not sure how much to tell him. 'She hopes that your goals are the same. That you can help her.'
'Does she?' He asks keenly, thinking in silence for a moment. 'And what is it you want, Eve Ryder?' He asks suddenly, throwing me off course. I blink, opening my mouth and then closing it again. 'Did you want to find us?' He presses, his gaze intense. 'Did you want to leave The Gray Institute? Do you want to join the Rebels?'
'It wasn't – ' I shake my head, thinking hard about my word choice. 'Lorna is... important to me. I wanted to help her. I felt sorry for her. She asked me to help her escape and that's what I did. It's Lorna you should be speaking to, not me.'
'Oh, believe me, Eve,' Vlad's lips twist in what I presume to be a smile, though the expression seems to pain him. 'I will.'
With that, Vlad Katak stalks back towards the crowd, heading for Vanessa Foxton's still bobbing head. I stand alone on the edge of the balcony, staring after him, and trying to ignore the sense of unease I feel creeping up my spine.
Chapter Eleven
Lucrezia.
When we return to the Institute, it's hard to ignore the solemn atmosphere that's settled over the castle in the time we've been away. The corridors – usually bustling with the sound of loud, friendly chatter – are eerily quiet. The few students who choose to speak do so in hushed, fearful tones, their heads bowed, their eyes darting. Even in the supposed safety of the common rooms, students don't feel able to speak openly with one another. There's an air of hesitation, of secrecy and – above all – fear.
At the mention of Eve Ryder or Lorna Gray, everyone – tutors included – stiffens and goes temporarily deaf. Those who have so far been interrogated by Sir Alec are the most subdued; Tia Carey – once so bouncy and full of life – now shuffles silently along the corridors, usually supported by her equally shell-shocked fiancé. A small part of me feels sorry for those who were closely associated with Ryder. I can't imagine what Sir Alec subjected them to whilst Mal and I were gone; even Diana Haddix was questioned fiercely, though she – like the others – denied all knowledge of Ryder's intended escape.
The only one who gets away without being interrogated is Malachy. It's not Sir Alec's decision – he'd love nothing more than to demand answers from my brother – but Mal has been questioned by Sirus himself, and to interrogate him again would be to disrespect our Auctorita. Though that doesn't stop the headmaster from calling us up to his office the moment we return, desperate for news of his precious escapee daughter.
As we step into the lift, heading to the fourteenth floor, two Institute Officials enter behind us, a small, mousey girl sandwiched between them. For a moment I don't recognise her, and briefly wonder if a new student has been added off the books – it's rare, but it does happen. But when she glances up at me through straggly, honey-blonde hair, I realise who she is.
'Unhand her!' I bark at the Officials, who both jump and spin to face me, their eyes wide with panic. 'Are you deaf? I said, unhand her! Do you not know who this is?'
'Yes, Miss Beighley.' The Official on the left nods emphatically, but doesn't release his grip on tiny Amber Mayfair.
'Then you'll know how important she is to Sir Alec and the Auctoritas. How dare you drag her around like this!' It's true, Mayfair is often used by Sir Alec for her lie detector gift, and occasionally by father if he tires of torturing a prisoner. But her existence is often a conundrum when it comes to false charges, particularly in the event that father wants the charge to hold up
. I don't care for her personally; she's waif-like and wears a permanent rabbit-in-headlights expression, and I've always got the impression that she'd rather not possess her gift at all, but what's important to father is important to me.
'It's Sir Alec's orders, Miss, honest.' The other Official protests meekly.
'I find that extremely hard to believe,' I snort. 'Let her go now or I'll be forced to tell Sir Alec you're dragging around a ninety pound girl for no reason I can see other than to have your wicked way with her.' My eyes glint as the Official shifts nervously on his feet. The lift comes to a halt on the twelfth floor, the doors chiming open, and both Officials hesitate, clearly unsure what to do.
'You take her, Mac,' One says to the other in a hushed tone. 'I'll explain to Miss Beighley.'
The larger Official shrugs carelessly and grips Amber Mayfair even tighter, frog-marching her out of the lift. The doors close and the three of us – Malachy, the Official and myself – ride the lift in silence to the fourteenth floor. We step out into the silent, empty corridor and the burly man turns to us, his expression grim.
'I assumed you'd been informed, Miss Beighley. Mr Beighley,' He turns to Malachy, suddenly realising he's been ignoring our future Auctorita this entire time. 'Miss Mayfair is in isolation.'
The Gray Institute_Rebels' Hell Page 11