Damian breaks off a few more shards of wood and follows Elliott into violet gloom.
‘Be careful, babe!’ Floss cautions.
I’m not sure what she thinks is going to be in there that will harm him after over a century. Even a rabid dog would be fur and bone, and heisa vampire with superhuman strength. Soon, there are the sounds of drawers opening and closing, heavy items whumping, and, after a cloud of dustcomes billowing out, coughing.
Eventually, Damian sticks his head out, his purple-streaked hair covered in a light frosting of dust. He beckons, saying, ‘You guys should come and see this.’
Eagerly, we clatter down the stairs, Sadie pushing us out of the way so she can get there first. Charlie follows more sedately, holding on to the railing, unwilling to risk breaking a hip.
Sadie rushes through the door, and a jagged splinter from the doorframe saws across her bare arm. ‘Ow, fuck!’ Hah, serves her right for wearing a crop top without a coat. I told her it would look weird in winter, but did she listen? No!
‘Careful, sweetheart.’ Elliott holds her arm steady and licks the bleeding wound on her bicep, which isn’t that deep. It disappears almost instantaneously from his healing venom. She smiles up at him. ‘Thanks, lover.’
I roll my eyes, though it is kind of hot to watch him lick her blood. An image of Will sucking euphorically on my neck springs unbidden into my mind, but I push the thought aside before I can get too attached to the idea—not going to happen!
Forcing my attention elsewhere, I scan the room. Since it’s Alexander’s laboratory, I’m not surprised to see a variety of scientific apparatus set out on a desk: a brass microscope with rust-coloured slides, wooden stands with discolouredtest tubes, and a collection of crusty glass jars with a dried brown substance. One is sealed, and there’s a dark residue at the bottom and a cloudy layer above.
‘I’m no scientist,’ I say, nodding at the jar. ‘But I’m pretty sure that’s old blood. Looks like he was doing a lot of experimenting back then.’
‘It’s probably mine!’ growls Charlie, coming in behind me.
‘Or mine,’ says Floss, sounding faintly horrified.
‘Yes, that’s interesting,’ says Elliott from over in the corner. ‘But it’s not as helpful as these.’
I turn to see that he and Damian have raided the bookshelf; and a motley pile of leather-bound books, some tied with string, is sitting on a nearby desk. There are at least a dozen. The cover of the top one has been flipped over.
‘What are they?’ Sadie asks.
‘From the look of what’s written in the top one, I’d say they’re records of Alexander’s experiments. But there may be journal entries in there as well.’
Sadie goes over and reads aloud from a yellow-brown page covered in elegant cursive:
August 26th, 1888
Cure for Vampire Insomnia: Coagulum prepared from cat’s blood, mixed with drops of the Subject’s own, dried and ground fine. This I dissolved in a cup of my own blood, mingled with a preparation of camphor and valerian root, and bade him drink. For several minutes nothing happened, then his body convulsed and I feared dissolution, yet the crisis passed. He lay still for a full six hours. A most successful outcome!
‘Yuck, that’s disgusting,’ Sadie says, wrinkling her nose. ‘I feel sorry for the poor subject being made to ingest cat’s blood.’
Charlie gives a low menacing growl, and we all look at him.
‘Papa is talking about me.I’m the“poor subject”,’ he says in a voice like ice. ‘His shitty cure is why I now look like this.I want that bastard drained.’
Chapter 15
Hester | London, 1560
As soon as we arrive at Greenwich Palace, Darius escorts me to the privy chamber, and I curtsy to the queen. Darius holds my arm, as if anxious I may spring and bite her neck. But I would not do such a thing to Her Highness.
I attempt to wrench my arm away, but he has it in a tight grip.
‘Release her, Darius, and leave us,’ says the queen from her crimson velvet chair. ‘I trust she bears me no malice.’ She touches the cushion in front of her with a slippered foot. ‘Come, Hester. Let me look at you.’
Darius bows and withdraws. I gather my skirts and cross the room. When I am kneeling in front of the queen, she tilts my chin and surveys my appearance intently.
‘Your eyes are greener,’ she mutters. ‘Your hair is shinier, and your skin glows. Hmph, you are more beautiful than before.’ This last is stated grudgingly, as if it displeases her.
I hitch a shoulder but remain respectful. ‘I cannot help the way I look, Your Majesty. It is a symptom of being undead.’
