"Yes, I'm dressed." Fabric rustled once again. "Your poor innocent eyes should be safe if you turn around. So what's the diagnosis? Disease? Murder?"
"I don't know. But don't you find it interesting this Black Vein rears its head at this particular time-right when Lord Ulbricht and the dhampir group have shown themselves committed to causing civil unrest in London? Right when one of the dhampir themselves died in the same way? As much as I dislike leaping to conclusions, as you said, that sounds like a connection."
She chanced a look at him, only to find him doing up the buttons on his shirt. A pity.
Ava pinched herself. Not a pity. It is not a pity. She needed to forget he'd ever put his hands on her at the Garden of Eden. It was too distracting, too close to home. There was nothing between her and Kincaid.
You're lying to yourself. You find Kincaid physically compatible.
If one were looking at a list of faults and strengths, then she had to admit she found him attractive in a visceral, somewhat barbaric way. He was no gentleman, and sometimes it looked like his shoulders threatened to tear through his shirt and coat.
Ava belatedly realized he was staring at her, and he'd said something, and- "Pardon?"
"We don't even know they're working together," he clearly repeated, looking younger with such smooth cheeks. "Ulbricht was Zero's puppet. There may be no connection between him and the remaining dhampir, now she's dead."
She forced herself to focus. "But their cause is the same. Civil unrest, chaos, the queen off the throne, and in Ulbricht's case, the Echelon back in control."
"I'll concede that point, but what makes you think our little mystery is even connected to them? It sounds like there's something wrong with the vaccination, a side effect or a... vulnerability. Something causing this Black Vein, since you're not convinced this is a disease."
"Perhaps there's a bad batch of vaccine? The science behind it is accurate-I remember reading about it in the medical monthlies when Sir Artemus Todd published it posthumously, but I confess I simply haven't had the time to research the science in more depth." The black veins in Mr. Thomas's pale dead face sprang to mind again. Ava frowned. "The vaccine works because the craving virus cells they inject have been made inert. So if it were a bad batch, then you could perhaps say Francis Jenkins, Marcus Long, and David Thomas might then become blue bloods-which is what happened. But... there's no reason to suspect it would do anything other than afflict them with the craving. No black veins. No side effects, barring perhaps a fever. I've been speaking to Dr. Gibson, and the entire time the craving virus has been known in England, there's never been a single case of something like this happening to a blue blood. This Black Vein looks like... like something ravaged Mr. Thomas's body, rupturing all his veins and capillaries and making a mess of his inner organs. The craving virus simply couldn't heal all that damage in time. But I would like to attend some of the clinics today, just to see what their procedures are like, and whether Jenkins, Long, and Thomas are isolated instances."
"Sounds more like connected instances to me," he said. "We just happen to have three dead bodies, who were all recently vaccinated, and all just happened to come down with this Black Vein?"
Ava released a slow breath. "I've been taught not to believe in coincidence and not to make judgment until we have solid evidence. If you lock your mind into a position, then it's very easy to convince yourself with the merest fragment of proof."
"Still, it's a damned good thing I haven't received a vaccination," Kincaid muttered, rubbing his arm.
"You were thinking of getting the vaccination?" Of course he was. He despised blue bloods, and the worst thing any humanist could imagine would be to become infected. "What stopped you?"
After all, it had become common practice among those who were rabidly humanist as soon as the vaccine was made widely available.
Kincaid shrugged. "I don't like needles."
Ava felt a smile curve her lips.
"What?" he demanded.
"Nothing."
His eyes narrowed. "You're trying not to laugh at me."
She couldn't help herself. It erupted from her in a loud snort. "It's just the thought of you, Liam I'm-too-brash-for-my-own-good Kincaid, shuddering at the thought of a needle." The mere image of it set her off again. "Mr. I don't need laudanum for my broken nose because I'm far too brave for that."
Kincaid very carefully crossed his arms over his chest, scowling down at her with menacing form. "Miss McLaren, I'm a man. I am brave."