The Queen's Vampire (The Vampire Spy Book 1) Read online

  THE QUEEN’S

  VAMPIRE

  A novel by

  K.T. TOMB

  The Vampire Spy #1

  Acclaim for K.T. Tomb:

  “Epic and awesome!”

  —J.T. Cross, bestselling author of Beneath the Deep

  “Now this is what I call adventure. The Lost Garden will leave you breathless!”

  —Summer Lee, bestselling author of Angel Heart

  “K.T. Tomb is a wonderful new voice in adventure fiction. I was enthralled by The Lost Garden... and you will be, too.”

  —Aiden James, bestselling author of Immortal Plague

  Other Books by K.T. Tomb

  STANDALONE NOVELS

  Pandora’s Box

  Tyrannosaurus Knights

  Monster

  Little Wolf

  The Dragon and the Witch

  Jerusalem Gold

  Curse of the Coins

  Ghosts of the Titanic

  The Honeymooners

  The Tempest

  The Swashbucklers

  The Kraken

  The Last Crusade

  CHYNA STONE ADVENTURES

  The Minoan Mask

  The Mummy Codex

  The Phoenician Falcon

  The Babylonian Basilisk

  The Aquitaine Armor

  The Ivory Bow

  The Rosary Riddle

  The Jeweled Crown

  PHOENIX QUEST ADVENTURES

  The Hammer of Thor

  The Spear of Destiny

  The Lair of Beowulf

  The Fountain of Youth

  The Ark of the Covenant

  The Seal of Solomon

  The Shroud of Turin

  THE ALPHA ADVENTURES

  The Adventurers

  “A” is for Amethyst

  “B” is for Bullion

  “C” is for Crystal

  “D” is for Diamond

  SASQUATCH SERIES

  Sasquatch

  Sasquatch Found

  Bigfoot Mountain

  The Snow Giants

  Kingdom of the Yeti

  CASH CASSIDY ADVENTURES

  The Holy Grail

  The Lost Continent

  The Lost City of Gold

  The Falcon Cloak

  The Jaguar God

  NICK CAINE ADVENTURES

  Map of the Masons

  Mountains of the Moon

  Order of the Cyclops

  Labyrinth of the Minotaur

  Blade of the Ripper

  ISLANDS THAT TIME FORGOT

  Dinosaur Island

  Ape Island

  Snake Island

  THE LOST GARDEN TRILOGY

  The Lost Garden

  Keepers of the Lost Garden

  Destroyers of the Lost Garden

  THE VAMPIRE SPY

  The Queen’s Vampire

  Vampire of the Realm

  SHORT STORIES

  Here Be Dragons

  The Queen’s Vampire

  Published by K.T. Tomb

  Copyright © 2018 by K.T. Tomb

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  About the Author

  The Queen’s Vampire

  Chapter One

  The throbbing in her head and the lurching in her stomach hit her before Nora even opened her eyes. In truth, she wasn’t thrilled about opening her eyes at all. She opened one of them, felt the wave of pain roll back through her skull, felt her stomach proclaim its protest and closed it again.

  If I lie very still, it will all go away.

  She listened for sounds of Kate or Mary stirring in the kitchen but heard nothing of the sort. Instead, she heard the rhythmic ticking of a parlor clock pendulum, and the sound of a deep, painful groan. It was so close to her, that, for a moment, she thought maybe it was her own expression of agony. It took a moment for consciousness to break through, and she slowly moved her hand, patting smooth, nude flesh and then coming in contact with the unmistakable swelling of a breast.

  That’s not mine.

  The sudden realization caused her to sit up. Her eyes snapped open and she looked at the nude body of a strange woman who, by her appearance, was struggling with the same problem as Nora. Her stomach protested immediately. She rushed to the brass chamber pot placed near the opium bed and emptied what little was in her stomach, groaning loudly as her entrails seemingly tried to exit through her open mouth. When finished, she used the silk cloth to wipe her lips and chin.

  Nora had little time to recover before the nude woman she’d been lying with rushed to the same chamber pot, pushing her out of the way in the process. Nora drew back and let her eyes scan the room, which was lined with tapestries and furnished with opium beds similar to the one she’d just left. There were other women–and men–in various states of dress and undress, beginning to stir throughout the room. Full recognition of the revelry they must have enjoyed the night before was shrouded in a mist. At least, for Nora.

  The chiming of the parlor clock is what finally penetrated through her own fog and jarred her into full consciousness. She counted the number of times the clock sounded, not wanting to turn her throbbing skull to look at the actual position of the hands.

  It was ten in the morning. Ten!

  “No,” she murmured. These days, Nora did all she could to avoid the painful sun. Something was wrong with her, she knew, but it was something she couldn’t explain, and she dealt with it the only way she knew how... by avoiding the sun altogether.

  Except when she slept in opium dens. She would have kicked herself if she could. Maybe later. For now, she needed to get home and out of the sun, and not necessarily in that order.

  She scrambled to gather the clothing she could find, rushing to put enough of it on to cover herself. She shoved her slippers on and, clutching her delicates, passed through the heavy curtain of the room. As she hurried down the hallway, she tried to straighten the tangled mess that was her long, curly red hair, but abandoned the idea the closer she got to the door... and the bright glow of daylight.

  She knew the sharp glare of sunlight was going to hurt. Bad. Indeed, this hadn’t been the first time Nora Kelly had awakened in the opium den instead of her own room in the flat she shared with Kate Bradbury and Mary Winston in London’s East End. The three weren’t friends in the truest sense of the word. In reality, they were three women who had allied themselves for the purpose of survival. They were drawn together by a common vocatio
n; the oldest one in history.

  For all of her strength, Nora had one debilitating weakness: opium. She could hardly pass by the opium house on the corner of Ming and Saltwell streets in the Limehouse District and hold onto the money she’d brought in from the sailors and other seekers of pleasure before a craving led her through the doors... and the soothing escape that the mist of the black seeds brought her.

  Now, she could feel the sun’s heat bearing down on her as she scurried along Saltwell Street toward the three-story townhouse which had been broken up into six dumps that resembled apartments. The three young women were actually lucky to have had such a place to lay their heads as well as ply their craft, but it was still a far cry from the barest of luxuries.

  Nora could feel the burning of the sun’s rays on her exposed skin and tried to cover herself up. The blister-like rash on the back of her hands was already beginning and she knew that her face would have the same rash; a recent condition which caused her to miss work and cut into her profits. The way she felt in that moment, working tonight didn’t appeal to her anyway; indeed, she felt like hell.

  She was halfway between Emma’s Emporium and her flat when her stomach demanded her attention again. Not caring that the sparse number of people on the street might see her, Nora emptied a tiny bit of the lingering poison into the gutter—and continued to heave without bringing up anything more than a foul taste.

  Pulling herself together again, Nora covered her exposed skin, clutched the garments in her hands, and started on again. She had taken fewer than a dozen steps when she heard the rhythmic beat of hooves on the cobblestone catch up to her, pass her, and then stop. She tried not to look up at the passing carriage, but could hardly help herself when a voice from within called out to her.

  “Miss,” the voice called out. “Might I give you a ride to your destination?”

  Out of habit—and necessity and safety—Nora’s furtive eyes took in the carriage instantly. It was well cared for. Clean and freshly painted and polished, but was also embellished with silver and brass so that the sun glinted off of it and hurt her eyes. It wasn’t the sort of rig you often saw in the Limehouse District. The handsome pair of black horses pulling the carriage were leggy, held their heads high and pranced impatiently when the carriage had come to a stop.

  Assuming that the speaker was probably looking to be entertained by her, she turned him down, directing the best smile she could muster in his direction and shading her eyes against the sun. “I’m not working today. I’m sorry, mister.”

  “I’m not soliciting your services,” he chuckled. “I’m just concerned for your well-being under this scorching sun.”

  “I’ve only a few blocks to go,” she responded. She remembered her manners. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “I insist that you join me. Even in those few blocks, you’ll wreak disaster on your delicate skin.”

  He was right, of course, but she wasn’t used to being helped out in such a way. Since she’d arrived in London—and even before that—she’d taken care of herself. Indeed, she hadn’t relied on anyone to help her and she didn’t intend to start now.

  “Please,” she returned. “Our talking is doing more damage than if I had been left to make the journey without stopping.”

  “I insist,” he returned, hopping down from the carriage, extending a hand to her and guiding her toward the narrow step. “I could never forgive myself if I didn’t lend a hand to one in such great need.”

  Nora didn’t feel like fighting and she could not ignore his insistence. She stepped up into the carriage and out from under the blazing sun.

  Chapter Two

  Alfred Covington recognized the marks immediately.

  He might have passed by the woman with the disheveled, flaming-red hair and thought nothing of her, had he not happened upon her as she was trying to cover up her exposed skin. His eyes were drawn to her as his carriage passed by and, in that brief moment, he noticed the rash-like blisters on the back of her pale, slender hands. When she’d looked up at him, he could see the same rash starting to form along her cheeks.

  Yes, he knew the marks very well.

  She was a new one, just coming into her own, and no doubt confused.

  He had been passing through Limehouse en route to Fobbing upon the orders of the Duke of Cambridge, who had been appointed to head the agency. Although on urgent business, he could not ignore the woman, knowing full well the effect the sun would have on her skin and the excruciating pain she would endure later on.

  Alfred had hurried her into the seat, not caring that she was obviously suffering from something other than the burning of the sun and made certain that she was well shaded. He didn’t question the wadded-up garments in her hands. Where she had been or what activity she had been engaged in was none of his business.

  “Alfred Covington at your service,” he announced, giving the reins a soft flick to start the pair of black horses that were drawing the carriage.

  “Nora,” the woman replied in a low voice. “Thank you.”

  Alfred wondered about her but tried to keep his eyes straight ahead. She was attractive and shapely. Her hair, though at the moment a tangled mess, was a glistening hue of copper that outshined the brass on his carriage. Though he had avoided looking directly into her eyes, it had been impossible for him to miss the rich, green hue that was often found in the eyes of those from the Emerald Isle.

  “Nora is Irish?” he asked.

  “It is.”

  Given her features and the rather boisterous tendencies of the Irish, he hadn’t expected her to be so timid. It was likely that his proper speech and obvious societal trappings were intimidating to her. The odor lingering on her and her condition suggested that she might have been coming down from an opium high the night before. Not exactly the type who is recruited into Her Majesty’s service. In spite of his reservations about her, Alfred was intrigued. He also had compassion for her social station.

  Of late, there had been a great deal of concern being raised over the conditions of those in the East End, more specifically the plight of women. A week earlier, he had finished reading Henry Mayhew’s work on the London poor, had been stirred by it, had certainly felt that something ought to be done, but hadn’t seen how he, personally, might affect the situation; up until that point.

  They rode in silence a moment before Alfred was able to form some sort of offer to make her. “If you will permit me,” he began. “I can help you.”

  “Help me?” she asked.

  “With your problems, with your poverty, with your condition…”

  “My condition? My poverty?” There was irritation in her tone as she repeated his offer back to him in questions.

  “I can offer you a better life,” Alfred replied.

  “A better life than this?” she sneered. “I’m livin’ my dream. I’ve got a warm and dry place to sleep. I’ve even got a bed; something most don’t have in Limehouse. I’ve got clothes on my back, and I can buy a bit to eat. What more do I need?”

  In spite of her obvious discomfort, he’d stirred up her ire; a practice he ought not to make into a habit. Still, he couldn’t help pressing his point a bit further. “You could have plenty of money to spend. You could ride in fine carriages. You could wear the most fashionable clothes. You would never want for food or comforts and you wouldn’t have to do what you do anymore.”

  “If you’re proposin’ marriage, I’ll have to decline,” she replied. “Those of my station don’t marry those of your station.”

  “I’m not proposing marriage,” he replied, taken aback by the suggestion.

  “If not marriage, then you must be askin’ to cart me back to Buckingham Palace to entertain the gentlemen there.” She laughed softly at her clever retort.

  “I’m suggesting nothing of the sort.” His attempted offer had gone terribly wrong. He’d insulted her somehow, but wasn’t sure exactly how it had all come about.

  “Then how am I going to have all
of these comforts you’re talkin’ about? How am I to live in luxury, never want for food, ride in fine carriages, wear fashionable clothes and have plenty of money to spend? There’s one thing I know, Mister Covington, you can’t get somethin’ for nothin’. So, just what somethin’ do you want and what’s it going to cost me?”

  “It will cost you nothing,” he said evenly. “Except service to Her Majesty.”

  “You want me to service Her Majesty? Do you know my vocation?” she laughed.

  “I don’t want you to serv—” He realized that repeating what she had said was utterly distasteful and couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. Perhaps he’d made a grave mistake in assuming that Nora wanted to be saved from her condition. Still, he pressed forward. “You would be employed in one of Her Majesty’s special agencies.”

  “Pull the carriage over here, Mister Covington,” she responded.

  “I didn’t mean to insult you,” he replied. “I’m extending a legitimate offer of employment.”

  “Actually, Sir Covington,” she mocked, “it’s because we’ve arrived. Unless you plan to take me home with you and present me to your mother.”

  The house Alfred stopped the carriage in front of wasn’t much. It was a decent enough house by Limehouse standards, but by Richmond Upon Thames standards, it wouldn’t pass as a shed for the storage of coal.

  Alfred had little chance of refusing to help her down from the carriage. Clutching the wad of clothing, she’d all but leapt out of the carriage the moment they came to a stop.

  “The conversation was intriguing,” she smiled. “In spite of my condition, but I’m afraid your offer is less believable than a fairy story.”

  “I really can help you,” he insisted, not fully understanding how the woman could turn down his offer.

  “I hate to be contrary, Mister Covington, but I don’t think you can.” Without further pretense, she turned away from him, made her way up the steps, and entered the house.