Chapter 72 Society Schemes
MADAME VIOLETTE
The blood club is quiet tonight. Tuesdays usually are. The serious addicts come regardless, desperate for their next drink, but the social vampires stay home.
I prefer the quiet. Gives me time to think, to plan, to remember what I used to be before Mordaunt made me his creature.
The door chimes. Two vampires enter, both young-looking. One male, one female, dressed too well for this neighborhood. Slumming, probably. Rich vampires pretending to be dangerous by visiting East End clubs.
"Welcome." I approach with my professional smile. The one that hides everything. "First time here?"
"Yes." The male vampire looks around with poorly concealed distaste. "We're meeting someone. Lord Mordaunt."
Of course they are. Mordaunt owns half the blood clubs in London. This one's just the seediest.
"Private room in back." I gesture. "He's expecting you."
They follow me through the main floor. Past the feeding booths where thralls offer their necks for cash. Past the venom addicts slumped in corners, riding their highs. Past everything that used to horrify me before I became part of it.
The private room is nicer. Mordaunt insists on comfort even in slums. Leather chairs, expensive carpet, walls thick enough to muffle screaming.
He's already there, looking perfectly composed despite the club's squalor.
"Violette." He doesn't look at me. Never does unless he wants something. "Bring wine. Then leave us."
I pour three glasses. Not wine. Blood. Fresh, judging by the warmth.
The two visitors sit across from Mordaunt. They look nervous. Smart. Mordaunt makes everyone nervous.
I leave but don't go far. There's a ventilation grate in the hallway that carries sound perfectly. Mordaunt knows about it. Doesn't care. Sometimes he wants me to overhear.
"Captain Merrick. Lady Shaw." Mordaunt's voice is warm, welcoming. The tone he uses before destroying someone. "Thank you for coming."
"Thank you for the opportunity, my lord." Merrick sounds eager. Too eager. "We're honored you considered us."
"You come highly recommended. Both turned within the last fifty years, both ambitious, both intelligent enough to see where power is moving." A pause. "And both desperate enough to take risks for advancement."
Lady Shaw laughs nervously. "We prefer to think of ourselves as opportunistic rather than desperate."
"Semantics." Mordaunt's smile probably doesn't reach his eyes. "I need operatives for a delicate task. Infiltrate a resistance group, gather intelligence, sabotage from within. Interested?"
"Very." Merrick leans forward. I can picture him, practically salivating. "What's the target?"
"Rookeries. Callum Brennan's packless wolf organization." Mordaunt explains the situation. The growing resistance, the extermination order, the need for inside intelligence. "We have external surveillance but I want operatives embedded. See what Brennan's really planning."
"You want us to pose as packless wolves?" Lady Shaw sounds uncertain. "We're vampires. Won't they notice?"
"You'll pose as newly turned wolves desperate for help." Mordaunt's thought this through. He always does. "Perfect cover. You don't know pack structure yet, you're confused and scared, you need guidance. They'll welcome you, teach you, trust you."
"What if they can tell we're vampires?" Merrick asks.
"They won't. I have a witch who'll craft temporary transformations. Three days at a time, renewable. You'll smell like wolves, move like wolves, feel like wolves. Perfect disguise."
Clever. Terrifying, but clever.
"What's our objective?" Lady Shaw's warming to the idea. "Just gather intelligence?"
"Intelligence primarily. Map their organization, identify key members, learn their plans." Mordaunt pauses. "But if opportunities for sabotage arise, exploit them. Destroy supplies, spread distrust, eliminate leadership if possible."
"Kill Brennan?" Merrick sounds excited.
"Only if you can do it without exposure. Your cover is more valuable than one assassination." Mordaunt's practical. "Dead leaders become martyrs. Discredited leaders become cautionary tales. I prefer the latter."
"Understood." Lady Shaw's fully committed now. I can hear it in her voice. "What's our compensation?"
"Success means advancement. I'll sponsor your applications to Parliament's inner circles. Introduce you to the right people, support your ambitions." The carrot. "Failure means consequences. I don't tolerate incompetence."
The stick.
"We won't fail," Merrick promises.
"Of course not." Mordaunt stands. I hear chairs scraping. "Violette will provide contact information for the witch. Transformations begin tomorrow. You'll arrive at the Rookeries separately, different nights. Make your stories distinct but believable."
"Yes, my lord."
"And one more thing." Mordaunt's voice hardens. "Brennan has a dhampir working with him. Valentina Corvino. We're sending hunters to capture her tonight. If she escapes, if she ends up still with Brennan's group, I want her location confirmed. Highest priority."
My heart stutters. They're hunting the dhampir. Tonight.
"Understood," both vampires chorus.
"Excellent. Violette will see you out."
That's my cue. I walk back into the room like I haven't been listening.
The two vampires follow me to the front. I give them the witch's address, watch them leave into the night.
Then I'm alone with the quiet club and my thoughts.
Mordaunt's infiltrating Brennan's resistance. Two vampire spies pretending to be desperate wolves, gathering intelligence, planning sabotage.
And somewhere tonight, hunters are looking for Valentina Corvino.
I should feel nothing. I'm Mordaunt's thrall, his creature, loyal by addiction and venom. His plans are my plans.
But I remember being human. Remember having choices. Remember the woman I was before three drinks of vampire blood enslaved me.
That woman would warn Brennan.
This woman pours another drink and tries to forget.
Hours later, after the club closes, I'm cleaning blood off the floor when my phone buzzes.
Text from Mordaunt: Hunters failed to capture dhampir. Three dead, three retreated. She's still with Brennan. Send the infiltrators in tomorrow.
Three hunters dead. Valentina survived.
Part of me is relieved. The human part, still buried under venom and slavery.
The rest of me knows this means Mordaunt will escalate.
I text back: Understood. Witch contacted. Transformations scheduled.
His response is immediate: Good. I want daily reports once they're embedded. Every detail, no matter how small.
Yes, my lord.
I finish cleaning, lock up the club, head to my flat above the building.
Small space, barely furnished. Everything I own fits in two bags. That's what thralldom does. Reduces your life to servitude and whatever master allows you to keep.
I pour myself a drink. Real wine this time, not blood. One of my few remaining human habits.
The alcohol helps me think clearly. Ironic.
Mordaunt's plan is solid. Two vampires disguised as wolves, embedded in Brennan's organization, reporting everything. They'll map the resistance, identify weaknesses, sabotage operations.
Brennan won't see them coming.
Unless someone warns him.
I stare at my phone. I have contacts. Underground networks, information brokers, people who owe me favors from my human life.
I could get a message to Brennan. Anonymous warning about infiltrators.
I could also get myself killed.
Mordaunt monitors his thralls closely. If he discovers I betrayed him, death would be mercy. He'd make an example. Torture that lasts decades, kept alive by vampire blood, suffering endlessly.
I've seen him do it to others.
My hand shakes around the wine glass.
The human part of me wants to help Brennan. Wants to fight back against the system that enslaved me. Wants to matter, to make one choice that's mine instead of Mordaunt's.
The thrall part knows better. Knows survival means obedience. Knows resistance means suffering.
I drain the glass, pour another.
Tomorrow Merrick and Shaw start their transformations. Three days from now they'll arrive at the Rookeries, separate nights, perfect cover stories.
They'll be welcomed because Brennan helps desperate wolves. That's who he is.
And they'll betray him because that's who they are.
I could stop it.
I won't.
Because I'm not strong enough.
Because I'm not brave enough.
Because I'm just a thrall in a blood club, remembering what it felt like to be human.
The wine helps me forget.