God Save the Queen (The Immortal Empire) (15 page)

Before we could enter the room, there was a shout, and the two guards from outside came running down the corridor towards us. I knew it was them from the ruddy-rage colouring the face of the one in front – and the security card missing from his belt.

“Stop right there!” he shouted. “Step away from the girl.”

It was obvious that he was talking to me because I was the one he was pointing his gun at. I was fairly certain I could break both of his kneecaps before he shot me so badly I would require medical attention. Not sure about his friend, though.

Dede tried to intervene. “There’s no need for this. She’s my sister.”

The guard didn’t even look at her. “I said step away.” Then to his partner, “Take the other one to the administrator.”

Perhaps it was just me, but that sounded fairly ominous. “You’re not taking her anywhere.”

He reached for Dede, tried to push her towards his partner. All it took was that little push – nothing violent about it, but I reacted all the same. She stumbled towards the other fellow, her declarations that I was not a threat falling on deaf ears.

Still, she was all the distraction I needed. The sight of the guard’s hand on her unleashed something in me, and suddenly I
was like that green monster-man in the American comic books Val’s aunt used to send him. I couldn’t remember the name, but I knew people didn’t like him when he was angry.

I was very, very angry. What else was new?

I ran towards the guard, and when he lifted his gun, I pivoted so that I ran partway up and along the wall. He fired at the spot where I had been standing just a split second earlier. But by the time he caught up, I was in front of him and the hand he had on the trigger was broken at the wrist. I disarmed him as he fell to the floor, screaming.

His partner forgot about Dede and obligingly came at me in a defensive rush, so that all I had to do was lift the pilfered weapon to the proper height and he rammed his face right into it. He jerked back and fell to the carpet in a graceless, boneless heap. Blood trickled from his nose.

Humans.

Someone began to applaud as I lowered the gun. I turned towards the sound. It was Fee, looking like she was about to lead a marching band, in a military-style red tail coat and snug black trousers tucked into wellington boots. But it wasn’t the blue-haired witch who caught my attention – that belonged to the lovely woman standing next to her.

My brain stopped working. In fact, I think my entire body shut down. My knees felt like rubber, my ribs crushed my lungs and I was somehow hot and cold at the same time. I had to grab Dede’s shoulder to keep from falling.

Standing before me was a woman I hadn’t seen for twelve years. A woman I had been led to believe was forever lost to me.

My mother.

This couldn’t be real.

“You’re dead,” I rasped. Pinpricks of hot disbelief assaulted the periphery of my mind. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

But Dede was supposed to be dead as well, wasn’t she? I pushed aside my shock and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. My knees trembled as I moved forwards, towards the ghost in front of me. Fee stepped between us, as though to prevent me from getting any closer. I turned my head to look at her – dead in the eye. Whatever she saw in my gaze was enough to make her move aside, and I took another step.

Juliet Clare was my mother’s name. She’d been one of the most sought-after breeding courtesans twenty-some years ago because her children tended to be strong and agile. No miscarriages on her record. My father chose her because those traits went well with his own sense of self-preservation and stubbornness. He wanted to breed a warrior. He got me – the only
halvie ever to have been attacked by a goblin and lived to tell the tale.

I remember when my mother heard about the attack – it had been just before she was sent to Bedlam. She’d worn an expression much like the one she wore now. She looked as though she wished she could take this moment away from me, live my terror herself.

I hated her for it then and I hated her now.

She was about my height, perhaps a little shorter, and possessed the most flawless skin I’d ever seen – pale cream with just a touch of peach. Her hair was a mix of gold and flaxen blonde, her eyes cornflower blue. She was beautiful, and she didn’t look a day older than I remembered her. Wearing an old-fashioned coral House of Worth gown that cinched her waist and fell to the floor in a froth of fabric, she looked like she should be hobnobbing with the Mayfair set, not here. Not in this place that had been the setting for so many of my nightmares.

Her fingers trembled as she raised them to my face. I flinched when she touched my cheek – not because it hurt, but because it had been so long since anyone … well, I wasn’t used to being touched that way.

“Alexandra.” Her voice was light, a little breathy. She took a step forward and halted, as though she wasn’t sure if it was safe to come closer. “I can’t believe it’s you.”

“Ditto,” I croaked. How was this possible? So many things I wanted to ask her and I didn’t know where to begin.

A sob tore its way out of my tight throat. I pressed my hand to my mouth to stifle any other noises or words that might want to jump out, but I couldn’t contain the sobs, nor could I seem to prevent tears from burning my eyes and running down my cheeks in scalding streams. I was choking and couldn’t seem to get a breath. It was as though my body was too small to contain me, and I wanted out, frantically pushing against my seams.

Strong arms closed around me, wrapping me in a subtly perfumed embrace. She smelled like summer and roses, just as I remembered.

What the bloody ever-loving hell was going on? Now that some – just some – of the shock had worn off, I was able to think again. How could it be that two of the most important people in my life were here while the world thought them dead? Why hadn’t I known? Why the lies?

And if my mother was full-on hatters, why was she walking about like she owned the place rather than rotting in a cell?

Sniffing, I withdrew from her strong – too strong – embrace. I didn’t want to lean on her. My mind was slowly clearing and all that numbness was being replaced with something very much like rage.

For years I’d believed her lost – even dead. How could she be … this? And why was Fee so protective of her? What was the connection between my mother and a thief?

I turned my gaze on the wanted halvie. Fee stood beside Juliet like a bodyguard. That was when I noticed how much the two of them looked alike. Noticed the strange little similarities between myself and Fee as well. Probably the reason why I’d taken to her that night with the betties. Had she known who I was then? Probably, once I’d introduced myself. I kicked myself for not recognising her, but then I hadn’t seen her for seventeen years, since she went off to Scotland to be trained up there.

Fee was Ophelia Blackwood, and she was my maternal sister. It was the final slap in the face.

At least I hoped it was the final slap, because I was afraid my poor brain couldn’t take any more surprises. Not tonight. I already felt laughter deep inside me, wanting to spill out like a hyena’s sinister cackle. I was on the edge of madness at that moment. At least I was in the right bloody place.

“Twelve years.” I looked my mother dead in her pretty eyes. “Twelve bloody years. Did you ever think of me?”

Ophelia stepped forward, obviously reacting to the tension in me. Fangs distended from my gums. They felt huge in my mouth. I hissed at her, baring my teeth. “Step the fuck off, nutcracker.” Her blue eyes widened but she didn’t step back.

“Twelve years.” I looked from Juliet to Dede, who’d gone paler than usual. All I knew was that these people had walked out of my life. Abandoned me in a way I would never have done to them. “You knew.”

Dede held out her hands. “I can explain—”

“No,” I interrupted, hands fisting at my sides. “You can’t. Can you think of any possible reason good enough why you didn’t tell me my mother was alive and well? How long have you known?”

She stared at me, eyes waif-wide, shrinking from my anger.

“
How long have you fucking known?
” My throat tore as I yelled at her. Oh yes, my hinges were coming undone.

“Leave her alone,” came Ophelia’s biting tone.

I ignored her, keeping my gaze glued on Dede. Let Ophelia come at me. I’d tear her and her epaulettes apart. My teeth clenched, fangs threatening to break through the delicate skin of my mouth. If I tasted blood, would I lose control as I had with the betties? “How long?”

“Seven months,” she whispered. “Shortly after Ophelia first approached me.”

“Seven months.” I couldn’t believe it. “On the last anniversary of her being taken away, I told you how I wished I knew what had happened to her. You knew then that she was fine?” Because there was no doubt that the woman was in good health.

Dede nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.

I slapped her – hard enough that her head snapped back and she staggered under the blow. She was lucky I didn’t go for her throat.
God help me, I wanted to. I was so far past reasonable anger it wasn’t funny. At that moment I could have killed her – I felt the bloodlust rushing through my veins, demanding vengeance. My skin prickled with it.

“I went into the plague den for you,” I told her, voice low and menacing, even to my own ears.

Dede turned even paler, if it were possible. Her eyes widened and she stared at me as though … as though she finally realised the risks I had taken, the lengths to which I had gone to find her. As though she finally realised just how much I loved her – and how deeply she had cut me.

“That’s it.” A strong feminine hand came down on my shoulder. It was Ophelia, I could tell by her scent. I spun around, shucking off her hand and catching her by the throat with my own hand. She hit me but I barely felt it; I just kept squeezing. I could crush her windpipe if I wanted. She’d recover but at least it would shut her up for a while.

“Alexandra.” My name seemed to echo throughout the room, delivered by a voice that was much more than human. My eyebrows shot up as I turned my attention to my mother, standing so still and preternatural. Just what had my mummy turned into during our estrangement? “Release her.”

I glanced at Ophelia, gasping for air as she struck me again and again. Why couldn’t I feel the blows? Was I so far gone that even physical pain couldn’t permeate?

“Let her go, Xandy.” This time it was Dede who spoke. “She’s not the one you want to hurt.”

“Actually, I kinda do,” I replied casually, but I released her regardless. I was prepared for her attack, though. Were the situations reversed I would have gone after her as well. Family resemblance, I suppose.

Her fist struck me on the jaw. It bloody well hurt now. For a
moment I wondered if she’d knocked teeth loose. I retaliated with a backhanded slap that knocked her head back. I whipped my dagger out of my corset, pushed the blue-haired girl up against the wall and put the razor-sharp blade to her throat.

I didn’t want to kill her – I just wanted her to stand down, although I
could
have killed her at that moment.

A soft but firm hand came down on my shoulder. It was my mother. “Let her go, child. Violence won’t make you feel any better.”

Her words had a very soothing effect. I lowered the blade and released Ophelia. She glared at me – looking almost like my doppelgänger – but didn’t strike back.

I turned my back to the wall and slid down it to the carpet, fingers still wrapped around the dagger as though it was the one thing keeping me from falling apart.

With my rage gone, all I had left was a sense of soul-deep betrayal. I didn’t know reality. I didn’t even know myself, my control was so frayed. My eyes stung, my knuckles hurt and inside me was this terrible wrongness I would do almost anything to be rid of. No one tried to comfort me, which was just as well.

I didn’t want it.

Some time later – after I’d returned to the land of sanity and dignity – someone, I think it was my mother, decided I deserved an explanation.

No shit.

“In 1935 those who opposed aristocratic rule needed a place where they could hide and be safe from persecution. The administration of Bedlam was sympathetic to their cause and it’s been a safe haven ever since. An asylum in the truest sense.”