"No," she murmured back from the side of her mouth. "But I have-"
"Never mind." I turned back just as the man with the knife swiped a hand toward me.
I dodged and then, to his surprise, lunged toward him. My cloak flapping, I caught him in the midriff with my head, sending him tumbling to the ground. Before he even hit the dirt, however, I spun toward the lantern man, whipping my cloak off and into his face as I did so. Kicking out with a well-placed foot, I felt a rush of satisfaction when my shoe connected with a soft area on his person. He squealed like a dry wheel cog and dropped the lantern as he collapsed.
Exhilarated, I turned to meet the man with the truncheon as he rushed up behind me. His club whistled through the air, and with a cry of delight, I ducked beneath it, then leapt behind him as the force of his would-be blow sent him pivoting around to face me.
I glanced over as I surged upright and saw Miss Holmes staring at me, her eyes wide. She held something in her hand, and a dark figure was crumpled on the ground at her feet.
My assailant must also have noticed his companions had been disabled, for he began to back away into the shadows. "Don' mean n'arm t'ye, loydies. Jus' tryin' t'be fren'ly."
I stepped toward him, brandishing my knife, showing him a tight, feral grin. He stumbled backward, then spun and dashed into the darkness.
Knowing my job wasn't done, I turned back to the first two. One of them had dragged himself off, and the other was still a sobbing bundle of skin and bones. He was hardly worth the effort, but I walked over to him and placed my foot on the hem of his coat anyway. "I took it easy on you tonight." I gave him a good look at my knife. "Next time we meet, I won't be so friendly."
His eyes goggled, and he managed to nod.
"Get out of here," I said, and watched with satisfaction as he crawled off into the darkness. When I turned back to Miss Holmes, she was looking at me as if I'd grown another head. I gestured to the last attacker, who still lay unmoving on the ground. "What did you do to him?"
She handed me a slender metal object and explained, "It sends a little shock of steam. Unfortunately, it only works once, and only at close range."
We vampire hunters had been fighting with stakes and swords and knives for centuries. We didn't need cognoggin gadgets like that. Still . . . I felt a pang of fascination and maybe a bit of envy. "It's brilliant."
"You were brilliant. I-you moved so fast! And you're strong. Really strong."
I was a little stunned by her words and admiration, and it took me a moment to respond as I patted my hair back into place and picked up my cloak. "I'm a Venator. It's what I'm called to do. To be."
"And your gown! It's all beyond cleverness to have split skirts-you have such freedom of movement. I shall have to have some of my own made if these sorts of events are going to occur regularly."
"Thank you," I said, choosing not to point out that she could hardly expect to be as accomplished a fighter as I was.
"What I find difficult to comprehend is how you can inflict such pain and violence so easily and yet become ill at the very sight of blood."
My smile faded. "Right. Well, it's quite simple. Vampires don't bleed."
Or so I'd heard.
Chapter 6
Miss Holmes
An Introduction to a Secret Society
Filled with admiration for the way Miss Stoker had flown into action so competently and gracefully, I confess I was a bit distracted as we hurried along the tunnel after our quarry.
That doesn't mean I neglected to take note of the environment: the remnants of old shops in the alcoves, the evidence of human presence and of the nonhuman creatures that existed below the streets. Because of my dislike of dark, deep places, I'd never ventured into the infamous London sewers, where the tosher men lived and dredged up anything of value from the sludgy waste.
We'd lost our group by sight, but we were able to hear them and use the sound as guidance. It led us to a bright tunnel perpendicular to the railroad tracks, and off that tunnel was a room. Its door was open.
Miss Stoker and I approached the chamber, but seemed to draw no attention, for the rest of the young women were standing about talking in small groups.
The place could have been a parlor inside any well-appointed home during an afternoon tea party or musicale. It was lit by numerous electric lights, which gave off a cleaner, whiter light than gas lamps, but had been made illegal by the Moseley-Haft Act. The room was comfortable in temperature without the lingering dampness that pervades underground spaces, and was furnished with rows of upholstered chairs. Rich, heavy fabrics had been draped on the walls, and a small table of refreshments held lemonade, tea, and a generous assortment of biscuits. An odd scent lingered in the air, and I sniffed. Sweet and pungent, with an underlying note of muskiness.
At the front of the chamber stood an imposing statue of Sekhmet. The representation of the half-lion, half-woman stood a head taller than a man. Her regal body was shiny gold, and her leonine snout was rounded and feminine, yet fierce. Despite the fact that Sekhmet was a goddess, she was shown with a male lion's long, smooth mane. As was common in the depiction of any immortal, she had a disk atop her head. This represented her deism in relation to Ra, the sun god. A cobra in mid-lunge curled out from the circle.
Sekhmet's dark eyes captured my attention. Despite the fact they were carved from whatever medium the statue was cast (I couldn't tell for certain if it was gold or merely painted to look that way), those orbs were clear, shiny, and seemed alive.
I suspected this was the same Sekhmet statue that had somehow caused Mr. Dylan Ekhert's mysterious journey.
I turned to the group of young women. Their hoods had become slack, and I could see the faces of many of them. Counting fifteen in the room, I recognized some as familiar, but I knew none of their names. I judged them all to be between sixteen and eighteen years. Each was well dressed, with fancy coiffures and jewelry, and I glimpsed fine fabrics beneath the cloaks, confirming my deduction that they were all attendees of the Cosgrove-Pitt ball. They talked and laughed among themselves, and energy and excitement filled the air. My sharp eyes found no sign of the shadowy figure who'd carried the lantern and led us all to this place.
A delicate chime sounded from near the front of the chamber, and the occupants appeared to take that as a signal to find a seat. Just as Miss Stoker and I slipped into chairs in the last row, a door hidden by one of the wall hangings near the statue opened and the room fell silent. The only sound was from a young woman in front of me. If the noisy masticating coming from the vicinity of her jaw was any indication, she was enjoying a very crunchy biscuit.