My trusty curved dagger was already strapped to my skin beneath my blouse. I prepared several pinches of the Wicker witches’ illumination powder and tucked them up my sleeve, then I pinned my hair back with two poisoned darts. Poisonwas rarely my preferred weapon of choice but I knew I had to be prepared for anything. I even double-checked the extra blades concealed in my shoes. It was unlikely I would require most of these items but there was no such thing as overkill. Not in this business.
Finally I straightened up. I pulled out my increasingly crumpled map, returned my small backpack to my shoulders then examined the drawing carefully under the familiar glow of witchlight.
I knew where I wanted to go. William at the Bureaucratic Suite had taken his time in stating that he wanted me to succeed; if anyone could tell me more about the mysterious ‘problem’ that Chester Longchamps had supposedly been dealing with, not to mention the potential murder of several vampires and thralls, he’d be the one.
I’d been struck by his attention to detail, so after I’d questioned him I could check his answers with Penelope. I might also discover who had visited the Suite recently to pinpoint my location because, after all, my monster conjuror was still on the loose. One way or another, I told myself, I’d find out the truth about what was happening down here.
Although individual vampires’ homes and their entrance points weren’t marked on the map, I had a reasonably good idea about where I was. If I veered left I’d reach one of the larger tunnels. From there I could make my way to the large cavern where the Bureaucratic Suite was located.
It was still early enough that few vampires would be up and about, so my journey should be unimpeded, but even so I was mindful of all that had happened recently. If I were attacked in these tunnels and didn’t successfully defend myself, it could be days before my body was discovered.
I’d learned enough in the past day to know that I could be considered a threat even if I didn’t know who was against me orwhy there’d been so many disappearances and murders in the Understream. I had to be aware of my surroundings; it was fortunate that sneaking around dark places was one of my strengths.
I maintained a steady pace but I didn’t rush. Almost every tunnel I encountered was quiet and empty. At one point I heard the soft trundle of a passing worm and saw the glow from its head lantern, but I didn’t see the worm itself. The vampires appeared to be staying at home today.
After forty minutes or so, I reached a dark crossroads where five tunnels branched off. I dug out my map again; I knew I was heading in the right direction but I wasn’t sure which tunnel was the fastest route to the main cavern.
There were two possibilities: one veered to the right and the other to the left. I squinted from the map to the tunnels and back again. The nearest one to the right was likely the best. I squared my shoulders and prepared to head down it – then I heard footsteps and a bright light appeared.
I stepped backwards. Whoever was approaching wasn’t trying to remain hidden, so there was probably no reason to be concerned, but even so I waited. If thisdidturn out to be an enemy, at least I had several escape routes.
Two figures emerged and both were vamps.
The man on the right was dressed in a surprisingly traditional fashion, albeit entirely in gothic black: black shirt, black tie, black kilt, black sporran, black socks and – shocker – black shoes. Something glittered on his shirt: a brooch, perhaps? It seemed an odd choice of jewellery.
The vampire on the left was wearing less formal attire and even sporting a flash of colour. His T-shirt, visible beneath a black-leather ensemble that wouldn’t have looked out of place inThe Matrix, was blood red.
Neither of them looked friendly. The gothic Highlander wasthe first to notice me and speak. ‘Well, well, well,’ he drawled. ‘What do we have here?’ Despite his clothing, his accent was as far from Scotland as a Siamese cat’s.
His companion smirked. ‘A little mouse,’ he said. ‘Scurrying along tunnels where she shouldn’t be.’
‘Hi there,’ I called, smiling to try and avoid any aggression on their part. ‘I’m not a vampire but Iammarked.’ I held up my arm to show the red semi-circle branded on my skin.
‘I can’t see any mark,’ the Highlander said. ‘How about you, Jonesy?’
Jonesy was already shaking his head. ‘Nope. Can’t see a thing. I think we’ve found ourselves some vermin.’
Great. Just my luck to stumble across the Understream’s version of schoolyard bullies. I couldn’t be arsed with this. I had better things to do, not to mention having qualms about revealing too much of my abilities.
I considered my options: kill, fight, placate or run. I knew what Iwantedto do but I also knew what Ioughtto do. Damn.
I sighed. I’d have to tread carefully with this ridiculous pair. ‘I can assure you that I am allowed to be here.’ I injected a quiver into my voice. If they believed I was already frightened, they might decide they’d achieved success and move on.
‘She sounds scared,’ Jonesy said.
‘Shelooksscared,’ the Highlander agreed.
‘But she doesn’tsmellscared,’ Jonesy finished.
I couldn’t fake pheromones, more’s the pity. Most people, even werewolves who were often guided by scent, defaulted to what they could see and hear rather than what they could smell, but these vampires had obviously been round the block more than once. They knew better than most.
‘That will be because I smell of cat,’ I said.
The vampires exchanged looks. ‘That part is definitely true,’ the Highlandersaid.
As he darted forward and stopped an inch from my side, I realised that the brooch on his chest was a beetle, a live beetle, tethered by a tiny silver chain and a safety pin. Ick. Poor thing.
Jonesy joined the Highlander to flank my other side. ‘Look,’ he said, pointing to my sleeve. ‘Cat hair everywhere.’
