Read Online God Save the Queen (The Immortal Empire) by Kate Locke - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Locke
Ads: Link
maintained grandeur of above stairs. I stepped out into the unknown at the same moment as our escort, looking right and then left. We were totally alone – the only sound the hum of the grainy lights.
“This way, please,” the guard said, setting off down the shorter part of the corridor on the left. Val and I followed without looking at one another, him with his hands behind his stiff back, me with mine curled at my sides. The guard’s shoes made soft clipping sounds as he walked, but Val and I moved as silently as ghosts, as we were trained to do.
At the end of the corridor was a scarred metal door with an obscured window and the word “MORGUE” in chipped black paint. The guard punched several keys on a security pad to the left of the door, and when the light turned green, he twisted the knob and led us in.
I went first. Now that I was here, I was determined to get this over with as quickly as possible so I could get the hell out again.
I walked into a sterile-looking room – all white with surgical green and stainless steel. The overhead lights were bright, flooding the room with artificial brightness. The concrete floor was dull, sloping downwards to a drain in the centre. I smelled formaldehyde, the charcoal-coppery scent of scorched blood, the faintly musky-sweet odour of burnt spinal fluid and charred meat. My stomach churned as my throat tightened.
Val reached out and took my hand. I squeezed his fingers.
A man in a lab coat came out of a room in the back. He looked to be part Indian, with thick, wavy black hair and a spine so straight you’d think it was made of steel. Pale blue eyes regarded us from behind square-cut glasses. “Inspector Vardan?”
Val stepped forward and offered his hand. “Yes, and this is my sister Alexandra. Thank you for seeing us.”
He nodded, not a hint of expression on his handsome face. “I’m sorry for the circumstances.” He sounded about as sorry as someone returning a bowl of cold soup. “If you will come this way, we can get this unpleasantness over with.”
Val and I exchanged a look as he walked away. “His empathy is overwhelming,” I remarked drily.
My brother’s expression was strained, but his green eyes held a flicker of warmth. “Manners, Xandy.”
I shrugged, and followed the doctor. Any other smart-arse remarks I might have made disappeared under the lead weight that seemed to have settled in my stomach.
The doctor stood beside one of the walls of refrigerator units. When we approached, he opened one and pulled out the slab. The body on it had a black sheet over it – it wasn’t a sign of mourning; it was because black didn’t show stains like white. A little consideration to the family, I supposed, and to the laundry.
Pale eyes flickered from Val to me. The doctor held my gaze a little longer than necessary, as though looking for the answer to something in my eyes. I didn’t blink, but I arched a brow.
“I apologise for this,” he said, looking away from me as he took hold of the sheet. “There’s nothing I can say to make it easier for either of you.”
Val gave a quick nod. “We appreciate that.”
The doctor hesitated just a moment, as though girding himself against the sight of what was beneath that sheet. I took those few seconds to do the same. Then he peeled back the fabric.
Black. Cracked. Monstrous. The thing on the slab didn’t look like a person at all. It looked like something out of a movie – a prop. It smelled real, though. Too real. But it didn’t smell like Dede – though that didn’t prove anything. Burnt didn’t smell like anything but burnt.
I looked away from that face that was no longer a face, a surreal kind of detachment taking hold of me. The corpse was the right size to be Dede. It was obviously half-blood, given the sharp but small fangs in its gaping mouth where the gums had receded, shrunk. It even had her ring – the Vardan signet – melted on to her finger.
“It’s her,” Val whispered
“This way, please,” the guard said, setting off down the shorter part of the corridor on the left. Val and I followed without looking at one another, him with his hands behind his stiff back, me with mine curled at my sides. The guard’s shoes made soft clipping sounds as he walked, but Val and I moved as silently as ghosts, as we were trained to do.
At the end of the corridor was a scarred metal door with an obscured window and the word “MORGUE” in chipped black paint. The guard punched several keys on a security pad to the left of the door, and when the light turned green, he twisted the knob and led us in.
I went first. Now that I was here, I was determined to get this over with as quickly as possible so I could get the hell out again.
I walked into a sterile-looking room – all white with surgical green and stainless steel. The overhead lights were bright, flooding the room with artificial brightness. The concrete floor was dull, sloping downwards to a drain in the centre. I smelled formaldehyde, the charcoal-coppery scent of scorched blood, the faintly musky-sweet odour of burnt spinal fluid and charred meat. My stomach churned as my throat tightened.
Val reached out and took my hand. I squeezed his fingers.
A man in a lab coat came out of a room in the back. He looked to be part Indian, with thick, wavy black hair and a spine so straight you’d think it was made of steel. Pale blue eyes regarded us from behind square-cut glasses. “Inspector Vardan?”
Val stepped forward and offered his hand. “Yes, and this is my sister Alexandra. Thank you for seeing us.”
He nodded, not a hint of expression on his handsome face. “I’m sorry for the circumstances.” He sounded about as sorry as someone returning a bowl of cold soup. “If you will come this way, we can get this unpleasantness over with.”
Val and I exchanged a look as he walked away. “His empathy is overwhelming,” I remarked drily.
My brother’s expression was strained, but his green eyes held a flicker of warmth. “Manners, Xandy.”
I shrugged, and followed the doctor. Any other smart-arse remarks I might have made disappeared under the lead weight that seemed to have settled in my stomach.
The doctor stood beside one of the walls of refrigerator units. When we approached, he opened one and pulled out the slab. The body on it had a black sheet over it – it wasn’t a sign of mourning; it was because black didn’t show stains like white. A little consideration to the family, I supposed, and to the laundry.
Pale eyes flickered from Val to me. The doctor held my gaze a little longer than necessary, as though looking for the answer to something in my eyes. I didn’t blink, but I arched a brow.
“I apologise for this,” he said, looking away from me as he took hold of the sheet. “There’s nothing I can say to make it easier for either of you.”
Val gave a quick nod. “We appreciate that.”
The doctor hesitated just a moment, as though girding himself against the sight of what was beneath that sheet. I took those few seconds to do the same. Then he peeled back the fabric.
Black. Cracked. Monstrous. The thing on the slab didn’t look like a person at all. It looked like something out of a movie – a prop. It smelled real, though. Too real. But it didn’t smell like Dede – though that didn’t prove anything. Burnt didn’t smell like anything but burnt.
I looked away from that face that was no longer a face, a surreal kind of detachment taking hold of me. The corpse was the right size to be Dede. It was obviously half-blood, given the sharp but small fangs in its gaping mouth where the gums had receded, shrunk. It even had her ring – the Vardan signet – melted on to her finger.
“It’s her,” Val whispered
Similar Books
