The Dirigible Airship Disaster Page 7

  A snap, and a plume of smoke enveloped the spot where he once stood, the end of Lucius’s chain dangling to the floor. Abaddon’s white eyes widened, as did his mouth, which opened like the jaws of a shark, taking over his entire head and a swirling vortex fell from his lips. A scream, like a bursting supernova, filled the cavern, and my ear drums broke like tiny blood vessels, filling my head with yet more agony. Hellfire and damnation, I needed to feed.

  The pounding of hundreds of footsteps filled the amphitheater as vampire guards began to swarm the dais, and I transformed into a bat, flying above their heads just as a piece of the ceiling fell on top of Abaddon. Electricity crackled, igniting the air, and my wings beat furiously as I steadied myself.

  Above, a sliver of light filtered through the hole in the ceiling from the rock that had fallen upon the great king. The smell of the tangy, humid, and moss-covered Georgia evening drifted from the small aperture, and I flew toward it, my determination to be no one’s fool hurrying me onwards through the opening, narrower than a chimney flue.

  Outside, dusk fell upon me, and the sun’s dying rays stung my leathery wings. The pain did nothing but spur me on to frenzy, and I zoomed closer and closer to the twinkling city lights, some miles off in the distance. The chants of the witches and growls of the vampire fiends rumbled below me as their battle continued, and I flew at great speed to the home of my bewitching, endangered doll.

  Chapter 6

  Samuel Quartermaine

  The magick smoke of Tiodora’s transporter bomb filled my throat and stung my eyes. It had taken me back to the bayou shack, but I needed to reach Elyse before Henderson. My stomach churned, lurching in protest at the unearthly movement of the transporting spell, and I swallowed hard to discourage the nausea from worsening.

  To say I was panicked was an understatement. Abaddon—the memory of his eyes, like little orbs of spider’s webs, sent a shiver to my marrow—had given Talcott Henderson a strict command. And the great king’s perception was correct; Henderson possessed a degree of selfishness that would make any vampire envious, and it turned my insides to ice.

  I could take her out of the city, back to my Annecy, and we could hide away beneath a thatch-roofed cottage by the shores of the blue lake. The thought of her in a warn kitchen, fragrant and colorful herbs in her pocket as I stirred a boiling pot while the ducks played in the yard caused a sorrowful smile to play upon my lips. Clenching my jaw, I knew no such escape could happen. We were all just cogs in a machine we didn’t understand, and the only peace we would ever find could only happen from the deaths of the interlopers; Lucius, Calista, Abaddon, and Henderson. I pressed my fingertips to my temples, massaging them as a heaviness, a pervasive exhaustion took over.

  I’d been assassinating rogue members of the vampire hoards, maintaining a thankless equilibrium for centuries. I wished to be done with it all. If it weren’t for her, I would have refused to feed, and ended my cursed, harried wandering of this decaying planet in a slow and deliberate agony.

  The thought of her at the end of Henderson’s claw had me angry, so very angry at her foolishness. Since when was anyone but I allowed a death wish?

  Making matters worse, that foul creature Henderson could fly, and I was only a fluffy alley cat, the perfect feast for a bathing crocodile. Gratitude that I was much closer than he to the city center struck a chord within my worried heart, and I rubbed my eyes to clear the smoke from them.

  A small ember remained burning in the fire pit. I called for Tiodora, but only the bullfrogs and their cricket minions hearkened to the echo of my shouts. With a grimace, I plucked a burning ember from the pit, as my flesh seared. Kicking open the door of the shack, I jumped down into the boat moored outside the door, and threw the ember into the tank at the heart of the skiff. Since I had fed recently, my hands began to stitch themselves back together once I released it.

  I blew upon the ember, sparking it, glowing it brighter, and steam soon filled the small tank. I unlashed the thick rope from the dock, and with a heavy groan, the boat began to part the dense blanket of algae upon the surface of the fetid swamp. Whispers of ‘hurry, hurry up’ and a torrent of curses fell from my lips as the boat seemed to cut through the swamp slow as a lame mare. As if it heard my pleadings, the ember began to spark hotter, filling the tank with a thicker cloud of steam, and the boat gained speed.

  Fronds and reeds rustled against the sides of the old skiff, and I shivered at the thought of so many crocodiles eyeing my escape with hungry eyes. It was a clear night, and the light of the moon and glow of the ember was enough to light my way. With my hands now healed, the flesh pink, new and shiny, I gripped the wheel and steered the ancient skiff upon the water, beating back the relentless passage of time to get to her before that horned beast.

  Chapter 7

  Elyse Delafayette

  The teeth marks on my wrist were angry, red, forming rough scabs and sore as bee stings, but they still could not compete with the anger that consumed me. How dare he. His immortality had him entitled, whiny, and self-absorbed. Were they all like that now? Did the only good man die in a fire four years ago?

  In response to Dr. Henderson’s wild disregard for my well-being, I’d gone up to the attic where Mr. Pembroke kept his medieval artifacts collection. I’d rummaged through the boxes for hours, searching in the dim light of the dusty attic for the silver chainmail mock-up of a crusader’s armor. Dozens of sneezes, and a pair of dirty and bruised knees later, I found it on an old dress manikin inside a window seat.

  The waning of the day caused me to shudder with a strange mix of apprehension, excitement and mischief, knowing Dr. Henderson would return for me once dusk settled. I wondered then what kind of look would cross his face once he saw my silver armor; the only thing I knew could deter, or at least, contain him. And what would he do? Laugh, cry, rage? Maybe he would find my clever defiance even more bewitching. A shiver ran through me as I clutched the slippery, cool armor and raced down the stairs, quiet and fleet-footed, into my bedroom, and locked the door.

  Draping the armor over the back of a chair, I rummaged through the drawers of the vanity for a set of silver bracelets, wondering with a shaky hand if I ought to bother with pendants or chokers. It was odd that he hadn’t fed from my neck, like he couldn’t break the skin there despite his desire, and his reaction had been terrifying. I felt like toying with him for once. It was the least hospitality I could offer him for such rough handling the night prior. Denying him was exhilarating, dancing on the edge of danger. He’d had ample opportunity to end my life, and he hadn’t. Why would he now? He’d already promised me eternal life and I chose to believe him. But, I might as well allow myself some entertainment before I granted him the directing of my funeral.

  Bottles of perfume and tubes of rouge clattered together as I opened and closed the jewelry box drawers, sifting through the chains for all the silver. A gold, pearl ring was caught in the lobster clasp of a filigree choker, and it clattered to the floor, rolling somewhere near the edge of the bed as I gently shook the choker loose before setting it onto the vanity’s surface. I closed the jewelry box now that I had a sufficient pile of silver to adorn myself with and watch the torture of Dr. Henderson commence.

  I pulled my hair away from my unmarred neck, the messy curls brushing against my cheekbones, and placed the choker overtop the base of my throat. With a satisfied smirk, I fastened the lobster claw and adjusted my hair. My bare toes were cold, and I slipped on a pair of jeweled slippers from the side of the dresser.

  The sun was almost gone, and I sensed his imminent return. Quickly, I took a box of matches from my kimono pocket, struck one and lit the oil lamp. The flame danced like my excitement as I returned the glass covering, and unlashed my kimono, slipping it from my shoulders.

  I shivered in the light of the lamp, my skin covering itself in gooseflesh. I never wore my hair loose, and was surprised at how long it had gotten, covering my breasts, the ends trailing at the curve of my waist. I wondered t
hen if I could cut it once I became undead, or if whatever length I died with would remain forever. The myth of corpses fingernails and hair growing long past death and in the grave sent my skin quivering, and I picked up the armor and slipped it over my head.

  It rattled and jingled like tiny bells as I adjusted it. It was cool, but soon heated to my body temperature, and I picked up a few more silver chains from atop the vanity, adorning my décolletage. They dangled at different lengths before I started with the heavy bracelets, like handcuffs. Once fully armored, I picked up the kimono from my feet and put it on, tightening the sash at my waist, and went to the floor at the edge of the bed in search of the pearl ring.

  It was Ms. Helene’s. She’d given it to me on the one-year anniversary of my employment, which was really our friendship. She filled a maternal need I had ripped from me so unexpectedly. I kept it because I Ioved her, but never wore it because I hated gold.

  Earlier that afternoon, I’d gone in to see her. Her face was like wax paper, startling me so, although the expression on her still, smooth face had been peaceful. The nurse said she only awoken briefly in the late morning for breakfast, and had barely eaten. Pain lashed at me, sorrow tightening around my solar plexus at the prospect of her imminent death. I took a deep breath to choke back a cry. I couldn’t bear to think of her now. Losing one mother had been hard enough.

  On my hands and knees, I saw the band glisten with the reflection of the flames in the oil lamp, and reached under the bed, grasping it tightly in my hand. I felt the gathering dust swirl as I picked up the ring, and made a note to ask Mrs. Ewee to take a mop to the floor there. I stood a bit too quickly and saw stars swim within my vision, and something else.

  On the pillow, my pillow, a cat lay whipping his tail back and forth, eyeing me with almond shaped, ocean blue eyes. The cat was orange, a striped tabby. I dropped the ring, along with my jaw.

  The clatter of the ring brought me back to the present and I found my voice. “I can’t stand animals in the house,” I said, my heart hammering in my throat. He’d just seen me naked! The realization that perhaps he couldn’t touch me either now that I was armored in silver struck me as funny, and I laughed, slapping my hand across my mouth when the tears started to sting at the edges of my vision.

  He got up from the pillow, stretching with his paws far out in front of him, giving a yawn, and jumped to the floor. He scurried into the bathroom as I watched, dumbstruck, from the foot of the bed. I heard a crackling like snapping twigs beneath boots, and a rustle of fabric, when he returned to the room wearing my bath robe. It looked ridiculous on him, all short and stretched about the wrong places. It was a feminine, lavender shade, and I laughed again from behind my hand when the tears began to spill from my eyes.

  He hurried to me, his face grave, a startling change from his languid manner as the orange tabby. He grasped my wrists in his hands, his jaw clenching, his face going green. I wanted to kiss his face and slap it at the same time.

  “Silver makes me sick,” he whispered, before letting me go and holding his stomach. “You need to take that off and come with me.”

  I shook my head and glared at him.

  “God damn it, Elyse. Henderson is coming to kill you.” He glared, and glanced out the window.

  I scoffed. “I know. I invited him in,” I said, steeling my voice. “I want him to kill me.” I hissed.

  His mouth fell open, and his face crumbled like sand in water. “You don’t mean that. And I’m selfish. I can’t lose anyone else.”

  I turned away from him and took a few steps over to windowsill, feeling like I’d swallowed a gallon of oil. “Your own actions are what caused you to lose me,” I said, sitting down on the seat and smoothing my kimono. I couldn’t look at him, standing there all stupid in my robe looking like he couldn’t play the man, looking like he cared.

  His face grew red and his nostrils flared. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You haven’t the foggiest clue about Trina, or what she did.” He took a step toward me, and his face grew redder, and the vein in his neck ticked apace. “Or what happened between us. Or what Lucius Marquis has put me through for almost four hundred years.” He took another step, then another, until he loomed over me.

  I cowered there on the window seat, and gulped a dry mouth.

  “You’re a god damn baby.”

  My eyes grew wide, and he nodded before continuing to verbally spank me.

  “You weren’t even a thought in the cosmos while I’ve lived the lives of ten men, and now, you think you know what’s happened and have the right to judge and execute me with Talcott Henderson’s guillotine.” He took a deep breath, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment, before looking at me with a fire in his eyes that was all together fearful, commanding, and terribly true.

  “You, child, have no idea what Henderson has planned for you. And I can assure you, it’s not what you think,” he whispered, his face a mere inch from mine and I recoiled at his invasion.

  Some part of me that I’d buried years ago loved his impassioned display, his urgent words and determination. The strong smell of sandalwood drifting from his skin and hair awakened my memoires of him so close to me, embracing me and toying with my emotions, stirring them up until I didn’t feel like a corpse inside. My lips parted as my pulse hammered in my temples, and I wanted to tell him then how sorry I was. That is, until he opened his mouth.

  “You’re coming with me,” he said, lunging.

  Too shocked to speak, my reaction was to thrust my foot between us, nudging him in the gut. I found my voice at the contact and protested. “No, I’m not. Don’t touch me!”

  “Yes, you are.” He clawed at my ankles, gripping me tight at the calves.

  Blast, I thought, at forgetting to put on silver anklets. “No, I’m not,” I shouted again, scrambling to get away from him, kicking him in the gut as he pulled at my legs, attempting to wrest me from my perch.

  A fluttering sound, and a cool breeze brushed my cheek as I fought him off, and with a snap and a heavy thud, Dr. Henderson appeared behind him in the nude. I held my breath as he spoke.

  “She’s coming with me,” he said, his eyes turning from brilliant green to deep red, dark as blood. He pulled at the collar of the bathrobe, spinning Samuel around and cocked his fist, but Samuel parried the blow, landing a quick, powerful punch to Henderson’s ribs. He fell back into the vanity with a resounding crash. I yelped and covered my mouth as the mirror cracked, the drawers opened, and the contents spilled to the floor along with my perfumes and make-up.

  Horns began to grow from Dr. Henderson’s head, and with a terrible growl, he charged at Samuel, his talons menacing in the candlelight.

  Samuel, quick as the cat he’d transformed from, jumped to the other side of the bed with an otherworldly speed, and frantic knocks sounded at the door.

  “Elyse, are you all right? What was that crash?” Mr. Pembroke called through the keyhole.

  Dr. Henderson stopped, snarling, and he and Samuel glared at each other, then turned their gazes to me. My eyes flicked from them, to the door, back to them before I shrugged, and a pathetic squeak came out of my mouth like a mouse in a trap.

  Samuel jumped across the bed again, landing in front of Dr. Henderson, and began to beat him back with fists of rage, hitting once, twice, a flurry of times to his ribs. Dr. Henderson reared his menacing claw, and landed a slicing blow to Samuel’s back, tearing my robe in the process. Blood as black as pitch stained the shreds. The sight of him injured did something to my soul, and I whispered, “Stop,” as the blows continued to land and the knocks on my door grew more hurried, and something about ‘knocking it down’ could be heard from the other side.

  “Stop!” I yelled right before my vision went black, and the air became stuffy as a scratchy, stiff hood was put over my head. Panic froze the blood in my veins as I struggled and fought, pulling at the hood around my neck before a powerful suctioning feeling tugged at my solar plexus, pulling me through the ope
n window.

  Chapter 8

  Samuel Quartermaine

  The flesh of my back stung as I sensed her panic through the atmosphere, and felt the rush of air pull her from the room, like the light of my life extinguished with her disappearance. It was as if she was sucked into a distant void, turning to black in the navy, star-peppered sky.

  Henderson noticed it too, for he pushed me and ran to the open window, eyeing the empty, silent night with a tilted head and craning neck, before transmogrifying to a bat. As I watched him fly after her, acrimony spread throughout my veins. How slow and impotent I was, standing there in a torn woman’s bathrobe as Henderson flitted off to play the hero.

  “Lick-fingered bastard,” I muttered beneath heavy breaths.

  He’d sliced me good. The area between my shoulder blades and down to the right side of my rib cage burned like it’d been seared with a branding iron, and I sensed my flesh hanging in bloodied ribbons along with the bathrobe. Black tendrils of tepid blood dripped down my legs, staining the floor and making my feet sticky. I needed to feed.

  The crunch of splintering wood echoed throughout the empty room, and the door swung open on its crooked, broken hinge as Mr. Pembroke and Mrs. Ewee hurried inside, their mouths and eyes opened wide.

  “What the devil is all this?” Mr. Pembroke asked, regarding the vanity smashed to a heap against the wall. “Where is Elyse?” he whispered, his face aghast at my appearance, all bloody and wearing her torn bathrobe.

  My stomach fell to my feet as Mrs. Ewee shrieked, tearing off her chapeau and running toward me. She began to slap me silly with the chapeau and I covered my face with my arms.