Genevieve trod along a narrow walkway without light. She followed the path until it met with one of London’s underground rivers that had become a sewer and then took that track until she reached a hidden door in the brick. Pushing it aside, another feat she should not have been able to accomplish, she passed through.
Several minutes later, she stepped into an underground cavern teeming with people. She moved past the cavern’s inhabitants and staggered down a familiar narrow passageway, fumbling as her vision blurred.
“Genevieve?”
She stopped and braced herself against the stone transom, like it would hold her up.
Elspeth stepped out of a crack in the passage that led to their bolt hole. She reached up a hand and self-consciously patted her blonde hair, making sure she had pinned it to cover the sides of her head. “What are you doing back here? I thought—hashecalled you back?” Her voice trembled.
Genevieve shook her head and pulled off her old-fashioned bonnet, hands shaking, revealing her short dark hair that just brushed her chin. “It was no use. I was too late.” Her voice broke. Genevieve covered her face with her gloved hands.A whole year too late.
“Oh, no.” Elspeth’s arms came around her. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry.”
The tears that Genevieve had valiantly tried to hold back escaped. Blood trickled down her cheeks as sorrow crashed over her in waves. All her hopes to which she had clung for so long—dashed. Shattered around her like miniscule slivers of glass, never to be put back together. Determined to slice her to ribbons if she moved.Oh, Papa.
“Why did you come back, Genevieve?” Elspeth murmured. “I had hoped you would seize your freedom.”
“All I wanted was to find my father. Without him, where could I go? This place… It’s the only home I have left.”
“What an awful thought,” Elspeth said on a broken laugh.
“And I thought you would need me,” Genevieve admitted.
Elspeth pulled back and looked her in the eye. “Dear, we’ve leaned on you most shamefully for support, and when you were no better off than the rest of us. You deserve your time to grieve. Let us be strong foryoufor once.” She handed Genevieve a fresh handkerchief. “Here, or you will stain your gloves.”
That produced a fresh wash of tears. Genevieve mopped her eyes and stained the cloth red. “But what about you, Elspeth?”
Elspeth shook her head. “I am still bound, but others felt their bonds part as well,” she whispered. “No one really knows what happened. But there’s some disturbance tonight. Sparrow went to see what was happening—here she comes.” They both looked up.
A patter of rapid footfalls announced Sparrow’s arrival. “Elspeth! Elspeth—oh! Genevieve,” Sparrow fluttered. She had taken the name because of her diminutive height and her high voice. “You’ve come back! I didn’t realize.”
The noise from down the passageway grew louder.
“What is it?” Elspeth asked.
“You must come—both of you! They’re saying that the Draugodrottin is dead!” Sparrow exclaimed.
Genevieve exchanged a shocked look with Elspeth. The master of all the vampires in London and much of England,dead?
Rupert, the Draugodrottin, had taken control of the vampires of England for twenty years, coming to power just before Genevieve and Elspeth had been turned. She had heard that Rupert had taken the chance to kill the prior master, Theron, after part of the prior master’s power base had been slain by another. Styling himself with the mythic title “Draugodrottin” instead of the traditional “Master,” Rupert had removed strictures on turning new vampires to increase his power base but had exerted ironclad control over everyone else.
Sparrow twisted her hands together. “Everyone is converging in the main hall!”
The old role of marshaler and mother hen felt familiar, even as black despair tried to pull her under. “Well, we must go and see, I suppose,” Genevieve whispered.
She balled up the bloody handkerchief and put her bonnet back on before she and Elspeth ventured out into the hubbub of the main hall.
Sparrow nodded to the group approaching the cavern’s makeshift dais, one that the Draugodrottin always used to sit upon in a great chair he had styled as a throne to look upon his thanes and thralls. “They arrived not long ago, gathering all the loners and far-flung ones. They’re about to make an announcement.” Sparrow pressed a hand to her throat.
Elspeth seized Genevieve’s hand, holding it tightly.
A tall man with long hair unbound around his shoulders and a blond beard stepped onto the dais. His face was set and resolute. Though he could not be older than middle thirties physically, something about his eyes looked ancient. In his hand, he held a naked sword, its long blade gleaming in the scant light.
Genevieve had never seen him before.
Most vampires had a distinctly feline look to them, thin and whip-like. If they were cats, this man was a lion. He was broad-shouldered and well-muscled. A warrior in a frock coat.
Strange. Most strong emotions in vampire eyes showed as red. His eyes glowed yellow.
