The Iscariot Sanction by Mark Latham Page B

dismissing Cherleten’s jibe. ‘He has already examined the remains that you found in the Dials. Beneath Miss Goodheart’s fingernails was a small amount of necrotised flesh, like as not clawed from the attacker in her final moments.’
    Both Lillian and Sir Arthur had heard many times over how Smythe believed that one day criminals would be apprehended by the scientific method of examining skin, blood and hair left at the scene of their crimes. And yet, they had also listened to Smythe bemoaning how such advances in forensic science were beyond the reach of the medical fraternity at this time.
    ‘This cannot help us identify the killer, surely?’ asked Lillian, lending voice to her thoughts.
    ‘So we would have said previously, were it not for Lieutenant Hardwick’s struggle with de Montfort. You see, as the lieutenant has told us, de Montfort did not bleed. The flesh beneath the girl’s fingernails was also curiously bloodless. Smythe has examined the girl, and the severed hand that Agent Hardwick and Sir Arthur discovered. He believes the flesh beneath the fingernails was not from the creature Agent Hardwick shot, although most like from its… kin.’
    ‘Kin? You cannot mean de Montfort.’ John sounded incredulous.
    ‘The flesh had been treated with some type of bleach. And it had been, in Smythe’s professional opinion, dead for longer than the unfortunate herself. That is to say, it looked as though it were taken from a corpse.’
    ‘But you said it was likely from her killer,’ Lillian said.
    ‘Indeed I did.’
    Arthur was quickest to comprehend. ‘It has to be some new devilry of the Riftborn,’ he said.
    ‘I am afraid not, Sir Arthur,’ Sir Toby replied. ‘We entertained several theories at first, but eventually had to accept the truth of it. Events that we had long hoped would never come to pass have been set in motion. The Order’s learned opinion is that the creatures you three encountered are not of the Rift, but are indeed of our world—though they are not entirely flesh and blood. Lord Cherleten is here today because he has something of an insight into the case, having collated intelligence from several… sources… over the years. I do not mean to beat around the bush, but it is difficult for me to believe what I am about to tell you, even though I have already seen the evidence for myself…’ He trailed off, as if trying to gather his thoughts.
The old man is rattled
, thought Lillian. From the corner of her eye, she saw Cherleten smirking.
God, but he loves to hold all the cards
.
    ‘What do you know of vampires?’ said Cherleten, blurting out the question gleefully.
    Sir Arthur almost choked on his cigar. John only half-managed to suppress a scoff. Sir Toby did not so much as blink. Lillian took the bait, if only to bring a swift conclusion to Cherleten’s game.
    ‘They are a fiction, dreamt up by gypsies and peasants from Bohemia and beyond, and served up in the penny dreadfuls by the more sensationalist writers. Unless you are suggesting that the things we all encountered yesterday were… vampires?’ She scorned the notion. Lord Cherleten remained unruffled.
    ‘A fiction, indeed? I suppose I would say the same, were I prone to denying the evidence of my own eyes.’
    ‘I’m sure Agent Hardwick means no offence,’ Sir Toby intervened. ‘Likewise, I am sure that we can both understand her incredulity.’
    Cherleten smiled and returned to his seat, leaving a coil of thick cigar smoke in his wake that made Lillian’s eyes flutter. The oppressive atmosphere of the room was affecting her.
Damn this corset, I can hardly breathe.
    ‘I dislike the word “vampire” as much as you,’ Sir Toby said, ‘but Lord Cherleten has persuaded me of the truth of it. In your reports you both used the word “degenerates” to describe the creatures. You were not wrong; only, they were not degenerate humans that you faced, but degenerates of another race. They are ghouls—flesh-eating