Without A Heartbeat
Chapter 28

Scarlett spent the evening in a grand bedchamber somewhere in the depths of a grand mansion that made Oakley Manor seem like a hovel in comparison.

Mahogany furniture carved with meticulous detail and finished with decorative flourishes lined the edges of the room. Carpet that felt as soft as spring grass ran under her feet and royal blue curtains framed windows that looked out onto grounds of immense scale and beauty. In the middle of the room stood a four-poster bed that could have accommodated her entire family with ease. However, the most impressive thing was that the entire room was illuminated through some type of connected system. When Scarlett pressed a button on the wall, there were a series of whirs and clicks – as if the gears of a giant clock were activating - and then glass cones fitted to the walls flickered on.

Scarlett explored the rest of the chamber and discovered a bathroom through a narrow door designed to blend in with the trellis wallpaper and dado rails that ran around the rest of the room. Inside was a privy connected to a series of metal pipes and an ornate bathtub. Rising above the ceramic edge of the unit was a copper pipe that opened onto a flat metal plate dotted with holes, connected to a lever. Intrigued, Scarlett pulled it and tensed as the pipe spluttered into life. Water gushed out of the plate and hit the tub, before swilling down the drain and into the pipes beyond.

Scarlett held out a hand and let the water fill her cupped palm. She bought it to her nose and took in the scent. It smelled slightly of sulfur, but otherwise seemed clean. Stripping off her clothes, Scarlett stepped into the bathtub and let the water spill over her. The water temperature was barely noticeable on her skin, so she tried pulling the lever down further. The water grew warmer until it was so hot, dense steam filled the room. Only then did she feel the slight warmth of its touch. Scarlett stayed under the water for a long time, letting it wash away the grime that clung to her skin, wishing it could also wash away her dark deeds. That will never happen, she thought. They are part of me now.

Regardless, when she stepped out of the bizarre bath she felt undeniably better. A steamed up mirror hung from one wall. Wiping it with one hand, she stared at her pale face. The wounds on her face had almost completely healed. Skin as fresh as a pink rose webbed across her wounds and her nose had reformed itself, with only a few fading lines covering it to give any indication she had been injured. The thing that drew her attention were her eyes, which were no longer covered in silver stands. Instead they had mixed with her irises, changing them from green to a bright silver that shone in the light.

Clothing herself in a robe she discovered in a cupboard, Scarlett climbed into the bed and drew the thick covers up to her chin. Picking up the book Faru had given her she opened the first page and began to read. She read about all of the different types of creatures that came from Pandemonia, about the history of the organisation and its dark past. She read about the weapons the Alliance used and the countries where they operated. She spent a long time learning about the different types of Vampires and how Bloodlings could slip into the recesses of their minds and transport themselves to previous memories or experience thoughts vividly – which allowed them to recall things from long ago in great detail.

That is what happened to me in the Court of Chains.

Scarlett kept reading until she a simple sentence at the end of the section about Bloodlings made her pause. A lump appeared in her throat and she struggled not to cry.

“Due to the fact that Bloodling Vampires are effectively revenants, their bodies cannot support new life. Thus it is impossible for a female to fall pregnant.”

She bit her trembling lip as she read the sentence over and over again. I will never have children. Gabriel took that away from me.

It was morning by the time she closed the book and set it down next to her. Scarlett did not feel the pull of sleep as she read – the dead were beyond the reach of such things.

But she could still imagine.

Scarlett closed her eyes and allowed her thoughts to return home in her stead. She pictured her family gathered together, talking and enjoying each other’s company. She could feel the weight of Connor and the smell of his hair as he sat on her lap trying to pronounce words from their father’s books. As she sank into the vision, her troubles slipped away. A smile spread across her face and for the first time since her transformation, Scarlett felt true happiness.

The sound of knocking at the door scattered Scarlett’s daydream and she sat up with a start.

“It’s Rachel,” said a voice from beyond the door.

“One moment,” she said and scrambled out of the bed, gathering the robe around herself. The winter sun was streaming through the open curtains and she had no idea how long she had been lost in her thoughts.

Scarlett opened the door to reveal the Guardian and two different agents, carrying closed umbrellas. The Pixie – which Scarlett now understood the meaning of – stepped into the room without invitation. She was dressed in full leather uniform, with boots that reached her shins and the cloak that had become synonymous with the organisation, open at the waist.

“I hope I didn’t disturb you,” she said and regarded Scarlett’s robe with a slight smile. “Although I feel now that I might have.”

“It’s fine,” she replied, drawing the robe tighter around herself when she saw the two agents give her sly glances. She frowned at them and they looked away, appearing as if anything else were far more interesting.

“Good. Sorry to intrude on you like this, but we must make haste if we are to make our appointment on time.”

“Appointment?”

“I can tell you on the way. There should be a change of clothes in the cupboard. We can wait outside for you.” Rachel left the chamber as quickly as she had entered, closing the door behind her. “If I catch you ogling the poor girl again, I will have you transferred to the worst Outpost I can think of,” she barked from the hallway.

Scarlett couldn’t help but smile.

Five minutes later Scarlett was dressed in a cream petticoat dress, white camisole and black lace up boots. She found a matching cream bonnet in another, shelved wardrobe and fixed it over her unruly hair before opening the door.

“Well don’t you look nice,” said Rachel.

Scarlett allowed herself a tiny smile as she smoothed down the dress with both hands. “Thank you.”

“This way,” said the Pixie, gesturing down the plush hallway, which contained several more doors that Scarlett assumed lead to many more bedchambers like hers.

Walking with the Alliance members at that moment was a very different experience to when she had been a captor. Rachel walked beside her amiably and the agents were unarmed, talking between themselves. Scarlett did not suppose for a moment that there were no weapons or deterrents to be found within robe or suit. However, she felt no hostility.

“I would like to apologise,” confessed Rachel as they reached the end of the corridor and entered one of the odd elevators that Scarlett had discovered operated within the mansion as well as the tunnels underneath London.

“For what?”

“When I first met you, I was rude. I unfairly judged you as the enemy before even taking the time to understand the motives behind your actions. I should know better than that.” She slid the grate across the elevator with a quick movement and the car rumbled into life, dropping like a stone. “If I had known what that man was doing to the young girls in his employment, I would have opened up that bastard’s arteries myself.” One look at the Pixie’s expression told Scarlett that she meant every word.

As the elevator cab rushed through what Faru had called the Nexus, Rachel placed a hand on Scarlett’s arm. “As it seems that you might be with us a while, I thought it was only right for me to clear the air.

“Consider it cleared,” Scarlett replied in a pleasant tone.

“Fantastic.”

The ride was short. The elevator cranked to a halt and the doors opened at the rear of a smoked filled warehouse. Several men were sitting around a poker table that was covered in stains and beer bottles. Some were passed out drunk in their chairs; others had spilled over the sides and were sleeping in positions of such discomfort that Scarlett had to stifle a giggle. The ones still awake had coins piled high near them and were studying their cards with the intensity of the possessed. They barely looked up as the group walked past, Rachel stepping over the snoring body of a balding man who had passed out in a kneeling position and at some point fallen onto his face.

“Stooges,” explained Rachel. “A new addition, but now all Alliance entrances have them. They loiter around to make sure that unwanted people aren’t looking where they shouldn’t be. They also help the Alliance maintain a cover of normalcy.” She gestured to one of the passed out men. “Many of the policemen are aware of our activity and any that are not would be far more interested in illegal gambling than a storage container filled with children’s toys.”

Children’s toys? Scarlett thought in confusion.

There was a loud cranking sound and she turned to see that the elevator doors had disappeared, replaced by the opening into a container stacked high with colourful boxes, all printed with the words, Foxx’s Toys For Boys and Girls.

“What happens if these men are arrested?” she asked, struggling to keep pace with the striding Rachel.

“They go to jail. They are paid well, so it’s a risk they are willing to take.”

Scarlett looked at the snoring bodies splayed out around them. “Surely these men aren’t very effective at all?”

“In the dark world we operate in, you will learn that things are never what they seem, Scarlett.” Rachel raised a hand and clicked her fingers. Instantly all of the men climbed to their feet, alert and bright eyed.

“Wow.”

The group exited the warehouse, which led through an indoor market, where wooden stalls were laden with food and various wares. Hawkers shouted in loud rhythmic patterns, trying to entice those passing into buying what they were selling. The stench of the vegetables and fruit was almost nauseating to Scarlett’s new senses; the only stall that caught her attention sold various raw meats carved up and hanging from metal hooks.

They exited out into a torrent of rain. A sea of umbrellas pushed past them on the narrow path, moving like an undulating wave through the streets. The agents opened the umbrellas they were carrying and passed them to Rachel and Scarlett, resigning themselves to getting utterly soaked.

Rachel led Scarlett down the street and onto a path that ran through a park. A building of considerable size loomed over them from the east, its white columns stretching almost as high as those in the Alliance temple. A sign reading, The Colosseum, was placed nearby.

Soon they were in the thick of it all, and Scarlett’s keen senses were all but overwhelmed by the sheer number of people, horse drawn trams and bicycles streaking down the shop-filled maze of roads that formed Central London. In comparison, the town of Belfast that Scarlett had visited as a child seemed small and insignificant. Eventually the group reached a horseshoe shaped road containing its own small park and a run of white-bricked houses. They stopped outside one with a brass plaque on the wall, which read, The Natural Healing Centre for Sickly Constitutions.

“Here we are, finally,” said Rachel, handing her umbrella to one of the agents and shouldering open the door. The other agent took Scarlett’s umbrella from her and they both waited outside while she followed. Turning back, she saw both men shivering as they huddled under the umbrellas, their clothes already soaked through.

A dark skinned man was sitting at a large desk directly in front of them. He stood up and tipped the cap he was wearing in greeting. “Good morning ladies,” he said in a clipped, foreign accent. “Welcome to the Natural Healing Centre for Sickly Constitutions. I am Solomon Aguda. Do you have an appointment with one of the physicians here?”

“Miss Reid here does,” Rachel replied with a sweet smile. “In the area off limits to the general public.”

The man gave a confused expression. “I’m afraid I do not know what you mean.”

Rachel’s smile widened. “I am pleased to see you are doing your job well Solomon, but I am here on official Alliance business and we are late.” She stepped forward and unbuttoned the cuff of the leather jacket she wore under her cloak. Hiking up the sleeve, Scarlett was amazed to see an X framed by what looked like two crescent moons suddenly appear on her wrist.

The Mark of the Alliance, she thought, remembering the handbook.

Solomon gave a slight bow. “My apologies Guardian, but I have to follow orders. This way please.” He opened a door set into a carpeted flight of stairs that ran next to the desk. Inside appeared to be no more than a dusty storage cupboard that barely had enough room to fit the three of them.

Things are never what they seem.

As if answer to her thought, Solomon heaved two spare rolls of carpet away from the wall and flicked a tiny switch hidden behind them. There was a dull groan and then a fake wall popped open, revealing a set of stone steps that ran directly underneath the main stairwell, down into the unknown. Glass tubes fitted to the walls flickered and bloomed into life, bathing the passageway in an eerie yellow hue.

“Have a good day, Guardians,” said Solomon with another bow and exited the faux storeroom, closing the door gently behind him.

“Shall we?” said Rachel.

Scarlett was hesitant. The passageway reminded her of the entrances to old crypts she read about in books like ’The Monk’ – dark and full of unknown threats. Rachel noticed her reluctance. “Scarlett, it’s okay. Down here are people who are going to help you get better.” Placing a comforting hand on the girl’s back, she urged her forward and Scarlett conceded, descending the steps into what lay underneath.

The area beyond could not have been any more dissimilar from a crypt. White paneled walls ran down to plush red carpet, filled with rows of mahogany pews upholstered with matching seating pads. A desk had been placed at the far end of the room. To one side of it stood a man with chestnut hair slicked into a parting and wearing an expensive-looking suit, hands folded together at his waist. Another man – a worker – was hunched over, applying the finishing touches to the lettering of a large emblem painted on the wall, which depicted twin snakes wrapping themselves around a staff. The words of the unfinished Latin motif, read Vita Post. Scarlett could remember that post meant after, but that was as far as her knowledge of Latin took her.

The wealthy-looking man stepped forward and gave a deep bow. In return Rachel crossed her arms over her chest and extended them towards him. Scarlett had only been taught how to curtsey, so she did that, and the man gave a warm smile.

“Welcome to the Rebirth Clinic, I am the founder Henry Marlowe. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He turned to look at the Pixie. “You must be Miss Steele,” he said. “A Guardian very much on the rise if the rumours are to believed.”

“Rumours are just that, Mister Marlowe,” replied Rachel, but she smiled regardless.

“And this young lady must be Miss Scarlett Reid. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance my dear.”

Even without the telltale silver eyes, Scarlett knew from scent alone that Henry was a Bloodling. He carried the same smoky aroma that she could smell on her own skin, but more nuanced and subdued. A restrained power exuded from within the scent, revealing him to be much older than he appeared. Scarlett had learned from the handbook that the longer a Vampire lived, the stronger they became – as if the condition itself meant to mock ageing. As Scarlett observed the man, the feral part of her stirred but did not awaken; the man carried no hostility within him.

“Hello, sir,” she said politely.

“Please do call me Henry, Miss Reid.”

“Only if you call me Scarlett.”

“Agreed,” he chuckled. “I do apologise for the inconvenient journey here, Scarlett. The Rebirth Clinic is a fairly new endeavor and has only very recently passed approval to be affiliated with the HASEA, so a Nexus route hasn’t been built to accommodate for it yet.”

“They are still building the Nexus?”

“It’s always expanding. Rumour has it that within the next twenty years, there won’t be a single part of London the Alliance cannot access.”

“Again with your rumours, Henry,” said Rachel. “You should spend more time learning facts.”

Henry Marlowe leaned forward slightly. “Now where would the fun be in that? Facts are so droll and they are all we deal with here. I prefer the unknown, it is far more exciting.”

Rachel rolled her eyes. “So if you have everything you need?”

“I do. Thank you, Miss Steele.”

“Then I shall take my leave.”

She’s going? Scarlett felt herself tense up. It was true that she didn’t know her companion well, but after her talk with Faru she knew far more about Rachel Steele and her organisation than she did about Henry Marlow and his. Better the devil you know.

Rachel seemed to sense Scarlett’s unease, because she placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back to check up on you,” she whispered. “And remember, you are under the protection of the Alliance now. If these Vampires do anything to upset you, I’ll have them sealed in an oak coffin for a month.” Rachel gave Scarlett’s shoulder a comforting squeeze and then spirited out of the room like a ghost.

Once again Scarlett was on her own.

She hesitantly turned back to face Henry Marlowe, who was still standing with his hands clasped at his waist, grinning at her. His wide smile made her think of the Cheshire Cat from ‘Alice in Wonderland.’

Where should I go?

That depends where you want to end up.

Unlike Alice, Scarlett no longer felt that she had any choices left. The hand of fate had reared up and snatched away her free will, leaving only a single path for her to travel until Faru let her go. Everyone around her was stronger, smarter and in control. All she could do was what she was told.

Henry Marlowe gestured towards a nearby door.

“Shall we begin?”

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