Free Incarnation by Emma Cornwall Page A

there patches of blue could be glimpsed. The stench of the tidal flats along the Thames was greatly diminished, a certain indicator that the river was running high.But the aromas of manure and diesel fuel made for a nasty mélange on the back of the tongue.
    Although I was mercifully free of any need to breathe in the acrid air, I could not avoid tasting it. Peering down the passage, I saw vehicles of all sorts thronging Fleet Street. As I watched, the liveried driver of a large black automobile bearing the crest of the Cabinet Office shook a fist at a recalcitrant lorryman who refused to give way. Almost at once, Watchers appeared, surrounding the lorry and clearing a route for the government worthy concealed behind darkly tinted glass. Pedestrians were forced to scamper out of the road as the vehicle sped off.
    A spindle-thin paperboy shouted the morning’s news. “Subversives bill passes Commons! Anarchists to be held without trial!”
    The subject seemed to be of great interest. Men and a few women clustered around, thrusting money into the hands of the grinning boy as they snatched up newspapers. Quite a few walked only a short distance away before stopping to read. As they did, I noted that some appeared well satisfied, nodding emphatically as they absorbed what their elected representatives in their collective wisdom had chosen to do. But many others were frowning, shaking their heads, and hurrying away with grave expressions.
    My father had believed that the natural state for Britons was one of freedom founded on the twin pillars of the Magna Carta and the common law, which he regarded as England’s gifts to the world. I had to wonder if he still felt that way, wherever he was.
    The morning sun was pleasantly warm on my face; I felt a temptation to linger outside the Bagatelle, but I told myselfthat I should use what time I had before the other vampires awoke to go back and search the club. With luck, I might discover a clue to the whereabouts of the one who had transformed me. At the very least, I would gain a better understanding of the strange beings among whom I found myself.
    I was about to return inside when a flicker of motion nearby stopped me. A man was leaning against the passage wall near the entrance to the club. He looked up from the newspaper he had been reading.
    “Miss Weston,” Marco di Orsini said. “What a surprise.”
    He had exchanged his evening dress for the elegant apparel of a gentleman of business, but he still wore the glowing red pendant. I could not help but notice that he looked every bit as formidable and compelling by daylight as he had in darkness.
    My unwonted awareness of him put a tart edge on my tongue. “Have you nowhere else to be, Mr. di Orsini?”
    Far from being put off, he looked amused. “I thought I’d make sure you were all right.”
    “While everyone was asleep?” I asked. The notion of him looking in on me as I lay unaware on the bier was disquieting, to say the least, yet I did not doubt that he was capable of doing just that. A human who could confront vampires when they were fully awake and eager for blood certainly would not hesitate to do so when they were asleep and unaware.
    “Not everyone apparently. You’re up and about. I hope you had a peaceful rest?”
    “Peaceful enough.” I made to go around him. “Now if you will excuse me . . .”
    He shifted away from the wall just enough to block my path. “The sunlight doesn’t trouble you?”
    I recalled what Lady Blanche had said about the perils of exposure to full light and hesitated. “As you can see, I am well covered.”
    My assurances did not convince him. He came closer and studied me intently. I drew back as he reached out a hand but not before I felt the light stroke of his fingers along the curve of my cheek.
    The effect was electrifying. Apart from my struggles with the thralls and with Stoker, no one had touched me since that night on the moors when he had transformed me. Until that