God Save the Queen (The Immortal Empire) (40 page)

If anyone would take him. Many aristo women would see it as marrying down to attach themselves to him.

I approached the house from the back. I scaled the stone wall and crept along the top of it until I was in jumping distance of the house. The grounds would be protected by alarms, as would the house itself, but I knew how to get in.

I jumped from the wall and sailed through the damp night to the balcony. I caught the balustrade and hauled myself over. The French doors were unlocked, letting me inside easily. Of course, once I was in, they shut and locked automatically. I had less than thirty seconds to disarm the alarm before an armoured unit of RGs arrived to riddle me full of holes. Quickly I crossed the carpet to the panel near the main door. I punched in 1-9-1-8-5-4 – Church’s mother’s birth date – and breathed a sigh of relief when the tiny red light stopped flashing.

This was Church’s bedroom. It was neat to the point of obsessiveness. I would find nothing pertaining to me here. The old man kept his life in neat little compartments. I would be business, and therefore all information about me would be in his office, where his best security was housed.

I eased open the door to the corridor and peered out. Empty. As far as I knew, he didn’t keep many servants, and that would work in my favour. Chances were that I wouldn’t be seen at all. Slowly, I stepped out and ran down the hall. The thick carpet muffled my haste until I reached the door to his study.

He purposely kept his office on a higher floor so it was more difficult to get to – and so he would stand a better chance of saving things if we ever had another insurrection. I’d laughed at him for being paranoid; now that I knew insurgents were out there, I realised he was only being smart.

There was another alarm panel here on the cream-coloured wallpaper. This one had a keyboard of letters. I punched in LEONARD – Church’s middle name – before using a hairpin to turn the tumblers in the old-fashioned lock. The alarm had to be turned off before the door could be opened. I knew all of this handy information because I’d seen him enter it enough times. I was surprised he hadn’t changed it. I supposed he didn’t see me as a threat. Maybe he thought I was too dumb, or perhaps he thought I’d be afraid.

Or maybe I was doing exactly what he wanted me to.

I opened the door. The lamp on the desk was on, so I didn’t have to switch on the other lights. This was the tricky bit. I might know how to get around his alarms, but I had no idea where he kept his valuable documents.

Then I spotted it. It was a painting he’d purchased in Germany by some insipid painter named Adolf. He liked it because he said it was so very human. I never understood the appeal of a country
church scene. It wasn’t as though we lacked for those in England.

I crossed the room to the painting and pulled on the frame. It came away from the wall on hinges, revealing a safe behind it. A little too easy, perhaps, but then this was the one thing I did not have the code for.

I tried Church’s birthday, and his mother’s again. I tried the date of the Great Insurrection. I searched his office for clues and tried any and all combinations I could think of. I wasted half an hour doing this. Had I sneaked in here for nothing? I could not leave empty-handed. I’d sit behind that fucking desk and wait for him to get home if I had to. I was not leaving without answers.

In a fit of what I supposed was arrogance, or simply futility, I tried my own birthday. The door to the safe swung open.

What the bloody hell? This was too wrong. Fortunate, of course, but so very unsettling. I shook the creep off my skin and removed a ledger and a stack of files from the interior of the safe.

The files had names on them – some I recognised and others I did not. I stopped when I found one that read VARDAN, ALEXANDRA ELIZABETH. It was at least two inches thick, and worn, as though someone had gone through it on a regular basis.

I opened it. A photo of me taken earlier this year for my RG badge was clipped to the inside cover. These were the documents that my hospital files lacked. On top were pages that made very little sense to me, with all their medical jargon, but it was clear that they contained blood-work results. My throat tightened at the sight of the name at the bottom of the results – and the smear of blood across it.

Simon Halstead.

At that moment I thought my heart might give up and stop beating, it was so completely broken. It hurt. Fuck me, it hurt so bad.

How could Church have this information unless he was the one who killed Simon? The suspicion had occurred to me, but seeing this made it real, not just paranoia.

Quickly I sorted through the rest of the folder. There were photographs of me from birth right up to a few weeks ago – candid photos. I hadn’t even been aware of being photographed. Every injury was noted, every event – including the date of my first period. Perv.

But more importantly, there were the results of all the blood tests Ophelia had asked about. They monitored everything about me, including the fact that I seemed perfectly normal despite my “tainted” blood. On one sheet, in red ink, it was written that I “responded well” to the supplements, which were designed to “inhibit” any potential goblin behaviour.

That would explain why things began changing when I stopped taking them.

There was more – so much more I couldn’t process it. I couldn’t take it all in – it was too much.

There was a digital processing machine on a sideboard near the heavy wooden desk. I went to it and scrolled through my rotary for Vex’s number. I dialled the corresponding digits on the face of the machine, and began feeding pages into the slot. I didn’t bother with photographs, just the pages that seemed important. Church’s set-up was state-of-the-art and incredibly fast, but it still took a good quarter of an hour to send it all.

I should have taken it all home and sent it from there – that would have been the smart decision. If I’d done that, I wouldn’t have been at the machine when Churchill walked in. I hadn’t heard him over the digital processor. He was that quiet, and I was that distracted.

“Good evening, Alexandra.”

I jumped. Before I did anything else, I jabbed the buttons to erase the transmission history so he wouldn’t see where the pages had gone. Then, without any pretence of trying to lie my way out of the situation, I slowly turned to face my former mentor.

The sight of him, all sharp and dapper in his evening clothes, made me both sad and angry. “Hullo, Church. The party at Chesterfield house let out early, did it?”

He stripped off his gloves. “What are you doing here?”

I held up the file. “A little light reading.”

His shoulders slumped a little. He looked younger, boyish almost. It didn’t suit him. “I wish you hadn’t found that.”

“You’re not even going to attempt to deny it?”

“Deny what, my dear?”

“
This
.” I shook the file at him. “Aren’t you going to tell me it’s all a misunderstanding?”

Hands in his pockets, he moved towards me. I took an instinctive step back – right into the sideboard. “You’re not stupid, Alexandra. You’ve read it, were obviously smart enough to copy it. What could I say to make you doubt your own eyes? I’d have to lie, and I so hate lying to you.”

“You’ve done a good job of it the last couple of decades.”

“Yes, well … that was necessary.”

“Necessary for who?”

“For you, of course.” He seemed surprised I would even ask. “All I’ve ever done is try to protect you.”

My jaw literally dropped. “You shot me in the bloody back!”

Church sighed. “To keep you from catching up with Victoria’s would-be assassin.”

Fang me, he wasn’t even going to deny that either. “Why? You shot him too. Thankfully you did a better job on him than me.”

“Yes, well I didn’t want you dead. I regret you were as badly injured as you were. Still, the prince took care of you.”

I stared at him. Had I heard him correctly? “Did you … were you involved in the assassination attempt, Church?”

He smiled at me. “My dear girl, if I was, do you think I’d admit to it? Besides, you ruined that plan, didn’t you?” His gaze sharpened.

He
had
been involved. An icy-hot sensation spiked down my legs to pool in my feet. I had adored this man. Part of me still did, despite the fact that I didn’t know the real him at all. “What purpose could possibly be served by the death of the Queen?”

“Hypothetically?” he queried with an arched brow. “Change. The Great Insurrection should have been a well-learned lesson for aristocrats. We are the superior race, yet we hide away like rats. We throw bones to the humans because they outnumber us and we don’t want another rebellion. Victoria refuses to see that another revolution is coming. Aristocrats should be strong, inspiring. Instead, we let half-bloods defend us. Once we were glorious,
fearsome creatures. Now, they write romances and make foolish teen films about us. Is it any wonder the humans seek to overthrow us?”

“Killing the Queen would only give humans that much more power.” Bedlam would love it if Victoria had been killed. That sort of tragedy would weaken the aristocracy.

“Prince Albert Edward would unite us as a whole.”

“The Prince of Wales knows you tried to kill his mother?” This was becoming a kind of paranormal melodrama.

He shrugged. “I didn’t try to kill anyone.” Did he think I was wearing some sort of listening device, recording his words? “But even you must admit we need change, Alexandra. You, and others like you, are key to that change.”

My heart squeezed into my throat. “There are others like me?”

“Not quite like you, no. Not yet.” He smiled – a mysterious little twist of his thin lips. “But there are other unique half-bloods out there, contributing to the betterment of our kind.”

I thought of the cells in the basement of Bedlam. I thought of Vex’s murdered son. “Are these halvies willing participants in this plan of yours?” Christ, this was too much. “Church, how can you be a part of this?”

The sharp jut of his cheekbones flushed. “If not for me, they would have put you in a cage years ago.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? How long have you known what I am?”

“Since the prince tried to grab you. I couldn’t let anyone find out the truth.”

“Why not?” I demanded. “What did I ever do to deserve such
condescension
?”

Church blinked. “You’re my special girl. You always have been.” He came forward, and I edged to the left, closer to the door. “You must know I’d never let anything happen to you.”

“Other than shooting me in the back.”

“None of this would have happened if you hadn’t gone looking for Dede. Where is she, dear girl? Poor mad Drusilla. She needs help.”

At one time I would have confessed everything to him. “She’s dead.”

He cocked his head to one side. His perfectly groomed and pomaded hair didn’t move. “We both know that isn’t true. She wouldn’t leave the child.”

The metaphorical knife twisted in my chest. “Did you do that?”

The gleam in his eyes turned sympathetic. “Everything I do is for the good of my kind, Alexandra. Dede could help us increase our numbers. If aristocrat and half-blood matings can produce viable births, think of what that means. The human side is negated, and a half-blood is already of noble blood. Studying half-bloods, especially those with unique characteristics, we can continue on.”

Bitterness flooded my tongue. “So we’re just lab mice to you, then?”

“Not you. You’re so much more.”

“I’m a goblin.”

“You are more than one of those monsters. Alexandra, you’re a miracle!” He suddenly became animated – like an old automaton wound up for the first time in decades. “You have all the advantages of being fully plagued without the defects that goblins suffer. You are the beginning of something wonderful for the aristocracy. You are hope.”

That was the second time someone had referred to hope in relationship to me. The first time had been the goblin prince.

I opened my mouth, but Church cut me off. “You are going to be the salvation of the aristocracy. You and me.”

Oh, fang me. He was not hinting at what I thought he was, was he? He was. I could tell from the pervy way he looked at me.
“Church …” I licked my lips. “I don’t think of you in that way. You’ve always been a father to me. Besides, I’m seeing Vex.”

His face darkened. Perhaps mentioning Vex hadn’t been the smart thing to do, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly right now. “Do you think he loves you as I do? I’ve spent your entire life preparing you for this moment. I have moulded you into exactly what you are supposed to be. I won’t lose you to some barbaric wolf.”

“I’m not yours to lose.” In all the years I’d known him, I’d never thought of him in a sexual manner. Sure, I’d crushed on him when I was young – all the girls had – but that had gone away. I had idolised him, not lusted for him. He was more my father than my father ever had been. The idea of him putting his hands on me … it turned my stomach.

“How is Vex anyway?” he enquired with false sweetness. “Did he find anything useful in the hospital files? Is he any closer to discovering what happened to his son?”