THE FRIENDSHIP OF MORTALS
by
Audrey Driscoll
Book 1 of the Herbert West Series
Copyright ©2010 by Audrey Driscoll
ISBN 978-0-9866369-0-5 (EPUB version)
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover art by Damonza.com
DEDICATION
To Howard Phillips Lovecraft
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Contents
Prologue
Part 1: The Undertaker’s Son
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Part 2: The American Volunteer
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Part 3: The Necromancer
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Part 4: Providence
A Note from the Author
Other Books in the Herbert West Series
Preview of Book 2
THE FRIENDSHIP OF MORTALS
a novel of Arkham
Prologue
What do I remember?
I could say, “Everything I need to, and nothing more.” But if I am being truthful (and tonight I must be truthful, for in vino veritas), I will admit that certain of my memories have been too heavy to carry around with me. I have entrusted them to a mental root cellar – dark, cold and difficult of access. The key to this place, unlike most keys, permits itself to be found only on nights such as this, when I have drunk deeply enough to set aside daytime scruples.
Here it is, small and ornate, a subtle thing. And here is the little door. Insert the key with trembling fingers, and turn. The latch clicks and the door opens, revealing a thin slice of darkness.
Let me pause a moment before venturing inward. Intentions straight? Resolution in place?
All right, Charles Milburn, what is it that you remember?
Darkness and light; the inherent darkness of that town – ancient Arkham, on the Miskatonic – and the darkness of secrets. Alma's bright hair, shining like rippled silk. Her silvery laughter, the touch of her hand warm like amber or October sunshine.
But these are only feuilles mortes, escapees from the blue dusk of dead days. They were not what drew me to Arkham and kept me there, unreasoning, unarguing, until the end. Herbert West… What was it about him – the steely glance of his grey eyes, with the accompanying flash from his gold-rimmed spectacles? His voice, soft but compelling, saying, “Don’t be an idiot, Charles, just get on with it.” And I generally did, breaking laws and the conventions of my upbringing for reasons that I have never yet been able to define. At first there was the certainty that what he said was the truth, despite the doubts thrown up by my slower mind.
But it wasn’t always the truth, was it?
And so, Herbert, finally, to the end – your hand in mine, suddenly lifeless. The blank stare of your eyes. The weight of your body as I carried you to the cellar. It was dead weight; I was sure of that then, and I am now. Almost sure.
The cellar… what happened there? I was exhausted after a sleepless night and by my grief at your death, desperate for visions and wonders. And I saw your eyes open. I heard you speak. But before I could be sure of anything, you were gone.
I have no answers, only doubts and questions. They are my legacy from you, Herbert. Because of you, I have become a man who holds conversations with himself, with his old ghosts or with no one at all. Would it help if I remembered everything, in order, from the beginning? Would the end look different then? Probably not; I have tried to take this journey before and failed, but this night will be long and I do not think I shall sleep.
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Part 1
THE UNDERTAKER’S SON
The Friendship of Mortals Page 1