The Mech Who Loved Me (London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy #2)(7)

"I am not seducing Lord Ulbricht!" Charlie looked horrified.

Kincaid scratched at his jaw. "There's no need, I'm sure. I doubt even Malloryn would send you off to be some blue blood lord's catamite. A little flirtation, and if you're lucky, you can lure him somewhere isolated where Gemma can truss him up and return him to face the duke's tender mercies. Am I correct?"

"I don't know that I would use the words 'tender' or 'mercy,' but something like that, yes." Malloryn's smile died. "Ulbricht knows I want his head. He's bound to be well guarded by his fellow members of the SOG. Be careful."

"I could do this in my sleep, Your Grace," Gemma replied.

"And me?" Kincaid demanded. Surely there had to be something for him to do? Malloryn wouldn't have called him or Ava up here just to listen.

Malloryn shot him a look. "A crime scene just came in. It has nothing to do with our work, but the Nighthawks have requested Ava's assistance, as she used to work for them. It's the fifth death in a fortnight.... I think Master Reed said they were referring to it as the Black Vein."

"Black Vein?" Ava murmured.

All of them turned to look at her, as though startled to find she'd spoken. Kincaid examined them from beneath sleepy eyelids. Sometimes she faded into the wallpaper—or perhaps that was purposeful—but he seemed to be the only one who always saw her.

Malloryn waved a dismissive hand. "Some sort of disease afflicting blue bloods, and now a human by the look of it. Kincaid can make sure you're safe."

Bodyguard work. He slid his hands into his pockets... and didn't say a damned thing.

"But blue bloods cannot succumb to illness," Ava protested. "That's impossible. The craving virus is a jealous mistress—it will tolerate no other diseases in its host while it sets about colonizing them. It heals all wounds, and there's been no way to even cure it."

"Well something is killing blue bloods," Malloryn said, "and considering your interest in the craving virus, it was thought you would be the perfect candidate to proceed with the investigation. Just be quick about it. The second Gemma and Charlie have Ulbricht in hand, I plan on setting things in motion very swiftly. I want to crush the SOG before they can cause further chaos to England, and then we still have those dhampir to find. Whatever is killing blue bloods is important, but it pales in comparison to the real threat to the empire." He gained his feet. "Report to Isabella in my absence. She'll keep me apprised of any of the goings-on. And make sure you keep your actions quiet. The last thing London needs is mention of a disease running rampant."

"Will do," Kincaid muttered.

Ava blinked, and Kincaid willed her to look at him.

Seemed they were going to be spending more time together than anticipated.

He could hardly wait.





Three





SHOUTS ECHOED THROUGH the narrow streets.

"What on earth is that sound?" Ava demanded, as the steam carriage came to a halt. "Are we going to make it to the crime scene?"

"Hopefully." Kincaid helped Ava down from the steam carriage, a scowl furrowing his brow. The traffic had been thick in the last few minutes, but he'd been distracted by Ava's absorption in the notes she'd been writing. He hadn't been paying attention to what was going on around them. This was his home territory—the borough he'd been born in, and had spent most of his formative years within. Sheets flapped from laundry lines slung between narrow alleys; windows were boarded over; and the usual assortment of flower girls were out with their baskets of posies, trying to beg a sale.

But something was wrong. There was a tension in the air he hadn't seen for at least three years, almost like a thunderstorm on the horizon. And the streets were far less crowded than usual.

"Five shillings," said the hackney driver nervously, his hand sliding over the stick shift of the steam hack.

Kincaid paused with his hand on the pouch. He couldn't hear anything anymore, but there were hints of smoke in the air. Across the street a man hurried his wife and child down a small lane, glancing back over his shoulder. The butcher in the store opposite them locked his door and then pulled down the blind.

"I've got another hire," the hack driver muttered, as if to hurry him along, and Kincaid made his decision.

"Are we going?" Ava called.

There were Nighthawks holding the scene of the latest Black Vein death, Malloryn had said. A ruckus was clearly going on nearby, but it wasn't unmanageable. And Kincaid was armed if necessary. Handing over the coin, he helped Ava onto the footpath and out of the way as the hack driver pulled out into the traffic.

"How unusual," Ava muttered, staring after the hack. "He couldn't wait to be rid of us."

"Expect trouble," he told her, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm. "I don't know what's goin' on precisely, but something's brewing."

"The disease?"

"Perhaps." The body they were going to investigate was certainly in the direction of all the noise. "Can you hear any—"

"Get back!" someone called. The sound of cries suddenly echoed ahead of them.

Kincaid stopped dead in his tracks. A pack of street children ran past, thin leather shoes slapping on the cobbles. A pair of dogs galloped at their heels, tails tucked between their legs. Kincaid captured Ava's hand beneath his, stepping between her and the rumble of brewing noise.