‘No.’
‘Where then?’
Penelope shifted her weight. ‘Cold Tones,’ she admitted.
I blinked in astonishment. ‘The karaoke bar?’
‘There is an entrance point beneath the stage.’ She smiled. ‘Judging by your reaction, it is the perfect location. Nobody would expect an ancient vampire tunnel in such a place, although it’s the entrance most approved visitors to the Understream use.’
A secret entrance in a karaoke bar? I couldn’t imagine the likes of Penelope on stage with a microphone in their handsbellowing outI Will Survive.Then again, vampires probably loved that song.
‘Okay dokey.’
‘You have not missed out,’ she said. ‘Entering through Cold Tones is … very different to how most of us come to the Understream. You are privileged to have avoided that route.’
If she said so. It didn’t make much difference to me. I shrugged and then, because if you couldn’t beat ’em, you should join ’em, I walked into The Den.
My first impression was that it looked like any other homely British pub. A long, burnished-oak bar was on one side of the room, against which were leather-covered stools dyed racing green. Two of the many beer pumps advertised beers that I recognised. Small fridges behind the bar proved that it was possible to get electricity in the Understream. There were towels on the bar top and mats on the tables. There was a pool table, a darts board, a shuffle board and a jukebox playing what sounded like Kylie Minogue.
‘Amazing,’ I breathed.
‘If I had known you liked old pubs this much,’ Penelope said, ‘I would have brought you here earlier.’
It wasn’t so much that I liked old pubs, it was more that everything about this place had been designed to create a convivial atmosphere. It went against everything I’d believed about vampires before today. The last half hour had felt like revelation upon revelation.
I knew as soon as I looked at the customers gracing The Den’s interior that there were several non-vampiric blood donors; they were immediately recognisable by their flushed cheeks and the tubes running from their veins as they sat and chatted. But they all looked content. They were bantering with their vampire counterparts, who appeared equally at ease.
I watched as a glamorous raven-haired vampire, who hadpoured herself into a shimmering black dress, approached one of the donors. ‘I would like tequila, please,’ she said.
The donor shook his head. ‘Sorry, love. Tequila makes me vomit.’ He pointed to one of his fellows. ‘Anita loves it, though. Try her.’
The vampire moved away. Anita, who had heard the exchange, was already grinning widely. ‘Tequila?’ she asked. ‘My pleasure!’
The bartender, a grizzled vamp with a bushy beard, poured two shots and placed them in front of her beside an hourglass timer. Anita immediately downed the shots in quick succession while the bartender turned over the hourglass and the sand inside it began to drain.
‘Ten minutes before it hits her bloodstream,’ Penelope explained.
I nodded. My gaze was fixed on the small mark on Anita’s wrist, a tiny red quarter circle.
Penelope’s eyes followed mine. ‘Donors in the market are only permitted to spend one night in the Understream in any given six-week period. Donors in The Den are only allowed one night every twelve weeks. They are carefully vetted and heavily compensated.’
She paused. ‘We understand it is not a perfect system and that it inevitably exploits the poor. No-one from the wealthy middle classes chooses to come here to donate so our recruitment drives focus on impoverished areas because that is where we have the most success. It is not a fair system but it is the best we can make it. I promise you that nobody is forced to come here. Ever.’
Her frankness was unexpected. Her attitude when we’d encountered the marketplace donors had bordered on flippant but I knew that this version of Lady Penelope wasthe real one. ‘I’ve never heard so much as a whisper about any of this,’ I told her.
Penelope didn’t look surprised. ‘Our blood contracts are very good. And we pay well.’
I didn’t doubt it. I might not have approved but I couldn’t think of a more humane alternative to the system. Like it or not, vampires had to drink fresh blood to survive.
If She Without An Ear was concerned, she wasn’t showing it. She strolled around the pub as if she owned the place and eventually jumped on one of the tables next to the jukebox. A vampire reached out to scratch her chin and she hissed at him, but he just laughed. She settled into a sitting position and turned her green eyes on me.
‘What would you like to drink?’ Penelope asked. ‘I can recommend the ale.’
Much as I would have enjoyed a decent pint, I shook my head. I was working. I had never allowed a drop of alcohol to pass my lips when I was on a job for EEL and I was determined to carry forward the same attitude now. ‘Coke is fine.’
‘The beverage?’ she asked.
I jerked. ‘You mean…?’
