Tea before Dying

by Vered Ehsani

He inclined his head toward me yet refused to admit his guilt. Beyond us, the savannah continued, oblivious to our little drama, so insignificant to the herd of zebras farther afield or the water buffalo meandering through the tall grass. Only the flick of an ear or an occasional eyeball directed at the train indicated that any of them were aware of our existence. The buzz of insects and the chirps of birds returned as the clatter and clink of the engine subsided. Even the shouts of passengers was now no more than a background murmur.

  Prof. Runal took another step back, dragging Cilla with him. “You’ve quite literally derailed our plans, destroyed them for now. Beatrice, my dear child, these shifters would have served a much higher calling with us, a higher purpose. Otherwise, they’ll be raised no better than a wild creature, eking out an existence not worthy of mention.”

  “Have you so little regard for family?” I shrieked, amazed he could still cling to such delusions. “They deserve a mother, a father, a childhood. Everything you took away from me.”

  Prof. Runal didn’t answer as his canines began to extend out of his mouth. He was about to shift and, despite the setting and circumstances, I stared at him in morbid fascination. I’d never seen him shift before. He was a fearsome beast, oozing with ancient power and cunning.

  “Beatrice,” Cilla gasped. Her face was devoid of its usual rosiness, her dark blue eyes wide with terror, her mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

  In that moment, as I wondered if I was to watch my friend die before me, three things happened almost simultaneously. Drew lunged forward. Prof. Runal finished shifting into a very large, old, battle-scarred wolf. And the old wolf bit deeply into Cilla’s neck before falling to all fours and bounding away from the train.

  Chapter Forty-One

  SOMEWHERE ACROSS THE vast expanse of African grassland, a voice screamed.

  The volume of sound contained terror, anguish and rage in equal measure. It overwhelmed all other sound, smothered the birds and insects, caused the zebras to hurtle into a stampede of black and white, the animals moving as a single organism through the tall grass. The water buffalos snorted and turned their heavy horns and beady black eyes toward us.

  Only as I stumbled off the train did I realize the source of the scream. I closed my mouth to shut off the emotions that threatened to tear my world asunder. My vision narrowed until all I could see at the end of a silent tunnel was Cilla, her expression astonished as her legs folded beneath her and she slowly collapsed to the ground. Her fingers fluttered like lost butterflies as her hand drifted up to the deep gouge in her neck. Blood leaked across her chest, staining the grass.

  “Cilla,” I gasped. Sight and sound overwhelmed me with a crash.

  Drew crouched over her, alternatively growling and whimpering. Shrieking, Koki lunged after Prof. Runal. Behind me, Simon crawled to the carriage entrance, crying Cilla’s name.

  “Drew, let me help,” I begged as I staggered toward them.

  Men shouted. Glancing toward the engine several carriages away, I saw a cluster of humans gather outside yet their attention was directed not to us but some large creature running across the savannah. I wondered what they thought they were seeing and then I stopped caring. The Society killed in the name of secrecy but no more would it rule me. If the humans saw Koki for what she was, so be it.

  I crouched next to Cilla. Drew snapped at me, his large canines too close to my face.

  “Drew, shift,” I hissed. “You can’t help her like this.”

  Whining, he obeyed. Together, we lifted Cilla into an upright position. My hands shaking, I tried to staunch the blood, but it continued to leak through my fingers.

  “Here,” Simon gasped as he fell to his knees and pulled a handkerchief from a pocket. Within seconds, the white fabric was red.

  Shaking, Drew clutched her close to his chest, his features obscured by his long, dirty-blond bangs. “She can’t die. Don’t let her die, Bee. Please, save her.” He lifted his chin, his fierce yellow eyes clouded with pain, desperation, hope. “Don’t let her become like me. And don’t let her die.”

  “Drew,” I whispered and averted my eyes as Cilla coughed and gasped in his arms. “I don’t know how.”

  Why hadn’t I pressed harder in my training? Why hadn’t I finished reading my mother’s journal by now? Surely there was a spell or potion to save a friend who was the essence of sweetness and innocence?

  Simon’s head flopped forward into his cupped hands as he sobbed.

  The shadow of wings flitted over us. Angels or vultures? Either way, it indicated the closeness of death.

  “You can’t have her,” I yelled, leaning my head back to glare up at the sky, prepared to battle Le-Eyo, the African God of Death, if necessary.

  But the wings belonged to neither angels nor vultures. Instead, a giant bat flapped down close by. Dressed in her long, white dress, Lady Sybil slid off his back and hastened to my side.

  “Can you…?” I asked, letting the sentence and hope float between us.

  She took one look and shook her head. “I’m not equipped to deal with this, not here. But with Mzito to help, perhaps.” Spinning to face the Popobawa, Lady Sybil gestured imperiously. “Carry her to the estate. Mzito is in the library. She can stabilize Cilla until I arrive. Then return for me.”

  Even in human form, Drew’s reaction to the giant bat was no different than a wolf’s: his lips pulled back in a snarl of warning.

  “Drew, we can’t help her here,” I said, grabbing his chin and twisting his head away from the bat. “Let Tiberius take her. It’s her only chance.”

  I wrapped my arms around Drew’s shoulder while the bat tenderly clutched Cilla in his claws and flew away, carrying our hopes and fears with him.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  WHILE WE WAITED for Tiberius’ return, Lady Sybil put us to work.

  “There’s no point moping around,” she shrilled when Simon protested. “It won’t save Cilla, nor will it be of any use to these children.”

  Yet when she thought no one was looking, she glanced up at the sky toward the direction of the Hardinge Estate, her pale, heavily veined hands clenching her skirt, her eyelids blinking. As if sensing my observation, she spun to face me, clicking her tongue and flaring her nostrils.

  “Come now, Mrs. Timmons,” she commanded, “before the humans either come to investigate or get their engine restarted.”

  The children, some too young to have reached their first shift, huddled together as we released them. A particularly small, darling girl clutched Simon around the neck and refused to release him. His eyes wide, he met my gaze, silently imploring me for assistance.

  “She won’t bite you,” I said, hoping that was true. One could never be sure. My experience with little children was limited to my niece, Grace, who did in fact bite quite frequently.

  Gulping, Simon awkwardly patted the large-eyed girl on her back. In response, she sighed and nestled her sweet face against his neck.

  We herded all the children into the caboose where we uncaged the rest of them. Upon realizing they would soon be returning home, the captives’ fear transformed into excitement, chatter and more hugging. Gideon encouraged the chaos by flying overhead and making funny faces. By the time we’d opened the last cage, we were all covered in children.

  Drew remained sullen, his shoulders hunched, his face only lifting to glance out the train. Simon however allowed the children to distract him from his concerns. Once the cages were all empty, he began to direct the children out the back of the caboose. Hidden from the line of sight of the humans, the children clustered in groups, waiting for further instruction.

  A shrill hoot pierced the air, again silencing all in the area.

  “They’ve started up the engine,” Lady Sybil said, glancing around, her nostrils flaring.

  The caboose lurched, and the remaining children screamed as they lost their balance. Simon and Drew scooped up armfuls of the smaller ones and carried them outside. As the train heaved into motion, we pulled
the last child to the ground and watched as the caboose rolled away.

  “Do you think they’ll notice a long line of African children running down the tracks?” Simon mused as he embraced me.

  Weariness overwhelmed me, and I sunk into his arms.

  Lady Sybil sniffed and clicked her tongue. “Of course they won’t. No more than they’ll see that giant bat flying overhead.”

  Tiberius didn’t bother landing. He merely extended his talons and snatched Lady Sybil into the air without so much as a greeting. Drew, Simon and I watched as the odd sight faded into the horizon.

  “I hope she’s all right,” Simon murmured into my hair.

  I was too exhausted to summon up the energy to comfort him. Instead, I turned my back on the retreating train and began the long walk home. Their conversations subdued, the children fell into line behind us. Still naked, Drew shifted back into his wolf form and herded any stragglers.

  “What’s that?” Simon asked after we’d been trudging along for what felt like days but was really only an hour.

  My head was too heavy to lift, and my eyes were unfocused. The only reason I remained upright was Simon’s arm around my waist, supporting me. “More railway tracks?” I asked.

  “No. It’s something moving.”

  “A trolly with a large tea set on it?” I said, my gaze fixed on the ground just in front of my heavy feet. “And a tray of chocolates and cake to go with it?”

  “Definitely not,” Simon replied, a laugh tucked into his voice despite the sway of his body as his legs threatened to give way. He still hadn’t recovered from ingesting the automatons’ energy.

  A happy neigh answered me. “Nelly,” I gasped, my head lifting in slow motion.

  Nelly limped toward us, one of her front legs swollen around the bottom half. There were deep scratches along one side of her neck and flanks. Still, she managed a healthy belch in greeting.

  Simon snorted. “She’ll live.”

  Drew snarled and barked but not at any of us. He was staring at something that was rapidly approaching from the direction of town.

  “Now what,” I muttered and turned to see a two-wheeled, uncovered wagon bouncing toward us and pulled by two oxen. A cloud of dust billowed behind the wheels. The children clustered tightly around us as they no doubt wondered what new danger now approached. As the wagon drew closer, I could see the sour expression of the driver. “Jonas,” I called, wondering if he’d thought to put the kettle on the stove before coming to our rescue.

  “Bah,” he said as the oxen stopped several paces away, their nostrils flaring as they eyed us. “Lady Sybil, she’s more bossy than Mzito.”

  “And thank the gods for that,” I replied.

  We piled the smaller children into the wagon, then collapsed onto the driver’s bench. Jonas and the older children walked in front of the oxen while Drew raced ahead to be at Cilla’s side.

  As the sun descended to the horizon and the long shadows of evening embraced us in a cool breeze, the children’s chatter faded into sleepy silence. We were a sorry sight to be sure, covered in sweat, dust and exhaustion, when the wagon finally rumbled to a stop next to the Hardinge house. Nelly collapsed on top of Lady Hardinge’s attempt at a flower patch and promptly began to decimate the petals. Jonas led the children to the kitchen while Simon and I stumbled into the library.

  That room, that literary sanctuary, had served as a morgue for the body of a dead warrior-poet, the hub for numerous plots and schemes, the site of a battle with a one-eyed giant crocodile and the home of a vampire. Now, it was a hospice for my cherished friend.

  Once inside, we were greeted by the cheery warmth of the fire. Lilly and Lady Sybil were conferring in hushed tones as they stood near the fireplace; Lady Sybil’s white dress had streaks of dried blood. In a corner, Tiberius sat upon the floor, one arm looped around the neck of a wolf. Mzito crouched over the paisley sofa that still bore the claw marks of the crocodile. Upon the sofa lay a still and pale figure, and for a moment I mistook her for dead.

  Father appeared by my side, his features grave but not despondent. Hugging me close, he guided me to an armchair. “You look ready to collapse,” he chided. “You must take better care.”

  “Cilla?” I croaked, my throat dry with dust and spent emotion.

  “She will live,” he reassured me as he pushed me into the chair and kneeled before me. As I released a heavy exhale, he added, “But the bite was too deep.”

  Simon collapsed in the chair near mine. “What does that mean?” he asked, his eyelids fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.

  Father glanced between the two of us, frowning. “Between the depth of the bite and the delay in administering medicine, the venom infiltrated her system.” He shook his head. “Despite popular human notions, it isn’t easy to create a werewolf. It takes an old and powerful werewolf with sufficient venom, a deep bite and time. Sadly, all three were present in Cilla’s case.”

  In the silence that ensued, I glanced to Tiberius and Drew. The wolf was lying down, his muzzle on Tiberius’ knee. “But she’ll live,” I said.

  “Yes,” Father replied as he stood. “She will survive this, as shall we all.”

  My head sagged back, my neck unable to carry the weight any longer. “That’s all that matters,” I whispered. “She will live. And we’ll teach her how to manage her new reality. With us, she won’t be alone like Drew was.”

  Father said something, but all I heard as I fell asleep was the turning of a train’s wheels along the track.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  WHEN I AWOKE, it was midmorning. Despite the hour, a silence filled the space around me as if even the birds and insects respected the needs of the convalescing souls within the house.

  Unwilling to jump into action just yet, I glanced around the library. Despite the heavy drapes drawn across the windows, some light still leaked through. Across from me, stretched out on a sofa, was Simon. His features were utterly relaxed in a way that could only happen in a state of deep sleep. Cilla still lay on the paisley sofa but there was more color in her cheeks, and her chest rose and fell in regular intervals.

  Reassured that the only deaths of the night were the automatons’, I slipped out of the library and wandered to the kitchen. It was reassuringly similar to my own cottage kitchen but bigger. Jonas was by the stove, glaring at a kettle. Mzito was squatting in a corner, a large stone mortar before her, and was using a stone pestle to pound some herbs into submission. She glanced up as I entered.

  “Children gone home,” she croaked.

  “Of course,” I said, eyeing the kettle. News spread fast in the world of paranormals, no doubt assisted by messenger birds and a cheerful ghost. I smiled as I imagined the happy reunions occurring across the countryside.

  Lilly breezed into the kitchen. “Good, you’re awake,” she said, all business. “Join us outside. There’s tea and toast still remaining. Do you always oversleep? Really, you’ll have to amend your ways when Emma is born.”

  Before I could retort, she spun around and exited the kitchen in a swirl of yellow skirts. Grumbling, I followed her to the outside patio where a generous table had been set with more than just toast. The sight of a teapot and an assortment of food did much to restore my spirits. Even Lady Sybil’s dour expression didn’t stop me from overloading my plate. Manners be damned, I was hungry.

  “Well, I can see you are quite recovered,” Lady Sybil said, sniffing and gazing down her long nose at my plate. Despite the night’s exertions, she was stiff-backed, her hair tucked up in a tidy bun, her white clothes unsoiled and uncreased. I didn’t dare imagine my state, having just arisen and in the same clothes I’d worn yesterday.

  Shrugging, I accepted the cup from Lilly and sipped at the tea. As the golden brown beverage trickled down my throat, all the dust and despair slid away. Only then was I aware that we weren’t alone.

  Koki sat at the opposite end of the table, a red, sleeveless dress accentuating her dark features. I raised an e
yebrow, and she shook her head in answer. From that and the dangerous glimmer in her eyes, I knew she hadn’t caught Prof. Runal.

  “Well, I suppose it’s too much to expect everything to work out,” I mused. “We’re all alive and in one piece, at least for now. We’ll deal with him later.”

  Ignoring Lilly’s confused expression, I focused my attention on the food. No one spoke which was in itself another proof that miracles were real. In the conversational lull, I savored the scrambled eggs and buttery toast. The soft trill of insects, the happy songs of birds, and the perfume-scented breeze that toyed with the loose tendrils of my unraveling braid provided a pleasant accompaniment.

  Only as my energy rose in equal portion to the amount of tea I consumed did my thoughts turn to less pleasant thoughts. Lilly must have sensed the shift, for she placed a hand upon my arm.

  “He did it again,” I said, toying with my cup and staring at the lacy tablecloth without seeing the flowery pattern. “I trusted him, and he betrayed us again.” Shaking my head, I said, “What a fool I was to think anything could change.”

  Rubbing my arm before clasping my hand in hers, Lilly said, “No, Beatrice, you did the right thing.”

  I scoffed at her attempt to ease my disgust, but Lady Sybil interrupted me before I could speak. “Stop brooding, Mrs. Timmons,” she ordered. “It is most unbecoming. Forgiveness is powerful. Even if the brute wasn’t worthy of it, don’t let that dissuade you from moving forward.”

  My eyebrows rose as I stared at Lady Sybil.

  “At any rate,” she continued, “we have more pressing matters to discuss.” She tapped her frilly, white parasol against the stone slabs of the patio. “My great-niece has only just been married but is now at risk of being homeless.”

  All murderous thoughts of Prof. Runal faded away as I recalled our dilemma. The Hardinge family had now officially vacated the premise, and so must we. Lady Sybil inclined her head to acknowledge my understanding.