Wicked as She Wants Read online

  “So that’s done. I’ll be posing as your uncle, since you look like you’re eighteen and have hair a similar color to mine now. I’m chaperoning you en route to a job as a governess to a baron’s house in Muscovy. I’m a musician. Keen is my servant. Everybody got that?”

  “I don’t like it,” I said.

  “Neither do I,” Keen said, hard on my heels.

  Casper didn’t even turn around. “Tough.”

  We had reached the gate by then, a huge and rusty affair with a lamp-lit guard box to the side.

  “Papers!” the guard shouted, his voice magnified by a speaker. I couldn’t even see his face, just a tall brown hat and goggles. He might as well have been a brass clockwork, for all I could see. Which was probably the point.

  Casper put a packet of brown papers into a metal box, which withdrew into the guard post with a ringing clank. “Casper Sterling. Lorelei Keen. Anne Carol. Will you be returning to London?”

  “Lorelei and I will. My niece is traveling to be a governess in Muscovy.”

  The box shot back out, and Casper took our papers.

  “May Saint Ermenegilda have mercy on your soul, Miss Carol,” the guard said.

  Before I could ask what on earth he meant by that, Casper had me by the arm and propelled me and the trunk toward a large gray vehicle that shuddered, chugging in place against a dark and cloudy sky. We stepped up stairs mere inches away from the heavy treads, and Casper handed the driver our tickets.

  “About time,” the thick man muttered around a pipe before clomping outside to stow our trunk.

  I ducked through the narrow door. The inside of the bus-tank didn’t smell any better than the fuggy cloud around the begoggled driver. It was less than half full, and most of the other passengers looked to be of the low-class, seedy sort I’d only read about in newspapers. Traveling salesmen wore extra-tall top hats buttoned tightly under the chin, with enormous unfolding suitcases beside them on their seats. Young men who had likely sold their souls to the navy or something more piratical quivered fearfully in place, en route to sinking ships and sea monsters. One other woman, who looked more masculine than the driver, held a corncob pipe clenched in yellow-streaked teeth, squatting across two seats like a citadel over a river.

  Casper led us to the back, pointing me toward the very last seat. He shoved our bags into the bins overhead. As Keen settled in front of me, Casper slid onto the bench, his leg pressing warm against mine.

  “I brought you something to read.”

  He shoved a rolled-up tube of greasy newspapers into my hand. I felt something hard in the middle and sighed in relief. A corked vial of blood, wrapped with yet more newspaper and tied with twine. I untied it and held a section of newspaper in front of my face to hide the vial as I gulped, and Casper leaned over to block the view from the aisle. His face was so uncomfortably close that my eyes sought the newspaper, and that’s when I noticed that it was the London Observer, and I was staring at a section labeled “News of Sang,” including updates on “Victory in Freesia.”

  “Victory in Freesia? That does sound like a good read, uncle,” I said.

  He chuckled darkly and handed me a red handkerchief, which I stared at in confusion.

  “I think you’ll be disappointed, niece. Don’t forget who writes the papers in London.”

  I expected him to leave me then, but he didn’t budge from my side. As I scanned the story and finally understood the depth of my country’s trouble, I put my head to his shoulder and wept.

  9

  When I pulled my face away from Casper’s shoulder, the handkerchief between us was sticky with blud tears. Much to my surprise, his arm was around me, and even more to my surprise, I didn’t care. The fall of my family may have seemed like a victory to the Pinkies of London, but for my people and my country, it was a tragedy.

  Casper had told me the truth. Freesia was collapsing. My parents were recently executed, my sister and I had been missing for years, and my younger brother, Alex, was in thrall to Ravenna.

  According to reports from Muscovy, the upstart gypsy witch had deposed or murdered several landed barons and hand-picked their replacements on the Blud Council, our token House of Lords. She had been declared prime minister and was absorbing several of the Tsarina’s roles as she stood at Alex’s side. And she was having a statue raised in honor of the lost Princess Olgha, whose ship had supposedly been sunk by her younger sister, the bastard half-Svede Ahnastasia. I was also presumed dead, but the price on my head had gone up even more.

  Which I could handle. I no longer resembled the doe-eyed, long-haired ice angel in the newspaper image. What pained me the most were the rumors that my brother Alex was in love with Ravenna and on the verge of marrying her. The papers claimed that she fed him secret medicines and magic potions to combat his chronic ferocity, trying to tame the hot blood that made him little more than an animal and the only Feodor sibling incapable of taking the throne. No wonder he was the only one she had left alive—he was by far the most easily mastered.

  I fought the urge to rip the paper to shreds with my teeth and then kill everyone on the bank. I had never felt so helpless, so far from home. I looked out the window, watching the endless green of the moors roll by, willing the bank to speed up. But the gears kept grinding, and the engine kept burning, and we plodded along at the speed of a fast trot. I had to lash out at something, so I kicked the seat in front of me with a growl.

  Casper chuckled softly, a look of grim understanding in his eyes. “Makes you want to burn down the world, doesn’t it? Knowing that what you want most is far away. That your old life is gone forever.”

  “My entire world.” I stroked a finger down the thick, cloudy glass. “My family. My country. Gone in a heartbeat. Gone, while I slept.” I wiped away another tear. “I’m completely alone.”

  The silence fell heavy between us. I could sense that he wanted me to look at him, that there was something he wanted to tell me. But I resisted. What I felt—it was too much. He couldn’t possibly understand.

  With a last, sorrowful sigh and a hand on my shoulder, he said, “You’re not the only one who’s ever lost a world, you know. And you’re only as alone as you want to be.”

  He slipped back onto the bench in front of me. Keen murmured in sleepy annoyance as he settled down beside her. I should have been exhausted myself, but I was caught between sorrow and uselessness and hunger, trapped on a slow, plodding bank with my listless, clueless prey. Had they known what I was, what I wanted to do to them, they would have hated me. It was an uncomfortable feeling, being hated by creatures who had all but worshipped me in my youth, even as I fed from them. The Pinkies of Sang were so different from the ones in Freesia.

  I looked over at the nearest passenger, trying to see past his blood to the person below. It was a young man in a sailor’s uniform sitting diagonally from me. His silly white hat extended down over his neck and buckled to his navy-blue jacket. His eyes glanced nervously around the bank, full of fear, and he panted as if he were losing a fight against his uniform’s chin strap. Closing my eyes, I inhaled. I could smell his terror, as sure as a hawk could sense a baby bird in its nest. This boy had most likely chafed at being cooped up in London, probably bragged to his friends and his girl about joining the navy and seeing the exotic places of Sang. And now he was petrified of the outside world. He smelled of dead plants and cheap soap. Like a peasant.

  But most of all, he smelled of blood. Sweet, warm, deep. I could scent it on his breath, see the tiny patch on his cheek that he’d sliced open shaving that morning. In my old life, he would have knelt before me, in his proper place, cleaned and dressed, his hair parted just so, and I would have taken my due with great care and restraint. Instead, I exhaled and pressed the grease-splotched newspaper against my nose, willing myself not to think about food. After four years of starvation and a few tiny vials, he was still more appetizer than equal.

  At least Casper and Keen didn’t smell so good to me. She was too filthy a
nd covered up, and he had that strange stink. It reminded me of something I had read once about how wild animals would urinate around their dens, marking their territory as a warning. But who had marked him? And what in Sang had driven Casper to kiss me? And why was I more curious than angry about it?

  Feelings warred inside me, sadness and loss and fury and hunger and the deep, pounding need for revenge. And something else, a softening warmth that seemed to radiate from the shoulder Casper had just squeezed. For a moment, I caught the soft glow of his hair over the edge of his seat, but he gave a dreamy sigh and shifted away. I turned my face to the window, trying to ignore the odd longing tugging at my heart where no longing had any right to be.

  I watched the grasses roll by, the smooth darkness of the moor outside broken up only by the stars shining on an occasional copse or abandoned town or warren of bludbunnies. My eyes dipped closed. And eventually, I slept.

  Movement woke me, and with it, the smell of food dangerously near. But I denied the beast inside and raised one eyelid, peeking underneath my arm, fully aware of where I was and what was at stake.

  A man sat in the seat across from mine, which had previously been empty. He stank of wine. Leaning toward me, elbows on his knees, he hissed, “Oi, pretty little thing.”

  I quickly took stock of my environment. By the low lights of the bank, I could see Keen’s head leaning on Casper’s shoulder through the space between their seats, and if I focused, I could hear their slow, steady breathing. The world outside was as dark as a closet, not even a glint of light. The only sound I could hear on the entire bank was soft snoring, and the air was filled with the warm, cozy smell of pulsing blood.

  “You awake, love?” The man hissed and made kissing noises through his teeth, a little louder this time. The cloth of his jacket whispered as his hand reached for my leg.

  “Can I help you?” I sat up cautiously, crossing my arms and glaring at him.

  He lurched back and fiddled with his watch chain as if trying to hide that he’d been on the verge of touching a strange woman’s knee. He was young but wiry, cocky, and almost good-looking for a Pinky. But there was something wanting, a certain looseness of morals to be read in his narrow shoulders, too-short trousers, and cruel, yellowing grin. Had I been anyone else, this fellow would have been trouble.

  As it was, I was the trouble.

  “Just wanted to talk, love.” He winked. “Everybody else is asleep, and I thought you might like some company, as they say.”

  “Really? I was fairly certain you were about to make free with my sleeping person, actually.” I smiled, keeping my lips carefully pulled down over too-sharp teeth.

  He had the absolute gall to look injured. “I would never make advances at an innocent young miss as such. Unless . . . hmm?” He waggled his eyebrows as high as his bowler would allow and held out a tarnished flask.

  I glanced around, throwing out all of my senses. Everyone else was unconscious, which was probably why he’d sought me out in the first place.

  “Come close, and I’ll tell you a secret.” I pursed my lips and batted my eyelashes.

  His grin widened, and his eyes took on a predatory gleam that I unconsciously mirrored. It was a different kind of hunger that moved me to my next action, inappropriate and dangerous as it was.

  I scooted into the corner and patted the space I’d just vacated, which was still warm from my sleeping body. He took a sip from his flask and sidled across the aisle to slide in beside me, leaving his salesman’s valise in the other seat, where it advertised Stephanie’s Superior Seamstress Salve to no one. His hand was working its way up my skirt before his weight had settled on the plush bench. I let his fingers wander, curious at the feelings it aroused.

  As a young princess, I had been kept far away from most males, especially those my own age. Even at the Sugar Snow Ball, no one had dared to touch me improperly, much less tempt me into the shadows with my parents and all of the Freesian royalty watching. I had heard rumors and whispers of love play in the castle, and Olgha had told me some desperately ridiculous things about mating. Other than Casper’s kiss, which I still didn’t really understand, I knew very little of what passed between men and women. With the boy’s forceful hand stroking up my calf, I was disgusted but curious.

  With a knowing smile, I began pulling the laces under his chin to loosen his hat. So inconvenient, the way these Sanglish Pinkies kept themselves all laced up, their pulse points covered in smelly old leather.

  “You’re a dirty girl, you are,” he said approvingly as his hand caressed my knee, only a thin stretch of stocking between his glove and my flesh.

  Finally, I pulled out the last of the filthy laces and pushed back his hat. The smell of his hair underneath was nauseating—had he even heard of bathing? The stench probably did more to scare off local Bludmen than the leather shielding. But underneath the stink was the true smell. The blood, warm and inviting.

  I ran a hand through his hair and nibbled his ear, and he sucked air in through his teeth. His hand jerked up to my thigh, digging into the flesh. For a few brief seconds, I let his hand angle farther upward. My legs were crossed tightly, but it was fun, defying his urgency to pry them open. I licked a line from his ear to the place where his jugular vein nearly touched the surface. My lips lingered there, prolonging the moment. He hummed, caught in my power.

  And then I bit down.

  Before he could make even the slightest groan, my glove was over his mouth, my other arm holding him tightly to my chest. If anyone had been awake to see it, they would have seen two young people fumbling with underclothes in the back of the bank, an occurrence that surely had some precedent in impolite society. Still, I slid down a little in my seat, in case the driver chose that exact moment to look up from his sleepy parade across the lonely moors.

  The man struggled against me, but he was no match for a Bludman’s strength, even a young and weakened little thing like me. I drank, deep and deeper, eyes rolled back in bliss. The liquor in his blood made me feel warm and dreamy. When I was so full that my belly swelled uncomfortably against the leather corset, I licked my lips and tugged the grubby handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe at the little tear my teeth had made in his neck.

  “What a lovely conversation,” I whispered into his grime-stained ear.

  I stood, letting him slump to the seat. Everyone on the bank still slept. I had killed one of their fellows mere feet away, and their breathing hadn’t even stuttered. I turned my back to the far-off and mostly hidden driver’s box and opened the back door. It was a common occurrence for a lady to empty a chamberpot hidden under her voluminous skirts; I’d seen it happen several times myself, the scent of blood in their cheeks singing to me of their embarrassment and edibility. The banks stopped for nothing, especially not bladders, and I’d been careful to look away each time someone tossed something unmentionable out into the sea of grass. No wonder the back seats had been empty.

  Using my wide skirts to block the aisle, I tossed the man’s body outside and kicked his valise after him. The roaring of the motor and the grinding of the treads engulfed any sound he made when he hit the ground. I shut the door, wiped my hands off on my skirt, and sat back down in my seat.

  Perhaps public transportation wasn’t so horrid after all.

  Oddly enough, I couldn’t get back to sleep. As warm and dreamy and satisfied as I felt, there was something else plucking at my metaphorical sleeve. With so many worries, it was no surprise. As the other passengers woke up, I watched carefully to see if anyone would notice the missing salesman, but no one did. Not that he mattered to me—he was prey, and dangerous prey at that. Perhaps I’d even saved the virtue of some other, slightly more innocent traveler. As the sun rose bloodred on a gray sky the color of bruises, I tried to put the entire incident out of mind.

  When a slight change in his breathing signaled Casper’s return to consciousness, I pretended to be asleep.

  “Anne?” he whispered around the edge of the seat.
/>
  “Hmph?”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Goodness, I suppose I did. The sound of the engines and the rumble of the treads are quite soporific, don’t you think?”

  “You look like the sleep did you good.” He scanned my face but seemed hesitant to move closer. “I was worried that the night would be . . . difficult for you. Considering.”

  I gave him a winning smile and flicked my fingers. “Difficult? Gracious, no. I’ve had to practice self-control my entire life. This is nothing.” I hoped he wouldn’t notice the little droplets of blood on my sleeve.

  “If you say so.” He narrowed his eyes at me, and I shrugged innocently. “Still, take this. We can’t have any accidents.”

  He handed me another vial swaddled in greasy newspaper. I wasn’t hungry, but I managed to gulp it down anyway. With every drop of blood, my strength increased, and I was going to need all the power I could muster to face Ravenna.

  Shortly after that, the bank rumbled to a halt, and we disembarked. I was the last one off. The driver hunched over the steering wheel, holding a clipboard and glaring at me. He was more heavily dressed than anyone I’d seen yet, as if wild Bludmen roamed the moors, waiting to attack. I imagined that he would have smelled like a shoe if he ever took off all that leather.

  “You the last one off, miss?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said sweetly. “What a charming journey.”

  He blinked at me through his goggles, his mud-brown eyes utterly surprised.

  “Oh, well, yes, thank you, miss,” he mumbled. “You have a nice time in Dover.” He trudged back onto the bank, muttering, “Bloody traveling salesmen. Lad’s probably drunk under the seats.”

  “Let’s get out of here.” I tugged Casper’s arm to follow the crowd toward the tall city gates of Dover. Keen gave me her sneaky, slit-eyed look, and I smiled, showing her my teeth.

  The guard checked our papers at the wall, and we followed our fellow passengers into the port city as dawn lit the tired white buildings within. I stayed close to Casper, grateful for his hand on my elbow in the sea of strangers milling anxiously toward the docks. I grew accustomed to being jostled and having my feet trod upon, all while holding my nose, both for the stench and the blood. And then I felt a tug at my sleeve.