Hibbert stared into the bowl of his sputtering pipe with a disapproving sneer. His voice was slurred from narcotics. “Here, I won’t have talk of eating me in my own home.”
The woman came toward his chair and reached for him. A horrific screech filled the room. Shades of bright yellow sprang from the floor, terrifying figures of translucent vapor with fingers and skeletal faces twisted in anguish. The shades coalesced around the woman, who showed surprise for the first time. She swung her strong arms as the sickly, spectral things ripped at her. Her head was slapped from side to side, raising scarlet welts on her cheeks. Her blond hair flew around her face, long strands torn from her scalp. With a shout of anger, she scrambled quickly to the door, keeping an arm up to cover her face. The yellow spirits did not pursue her. They hovered around Hibbert, giving off a weird, cackling noise. Then they thinned like morning mist at dawn and disappeared into the floor.
Gretta crouched, breathing hard and collecting herself. Her blue eyes penetrated the thin man who had made her crawl. She stood slowly and brushed her clothes. Now she saw that Hibbert’s chair sat in the middle of a magic circle chalked onto the wood. She glanced at the bedroom door.
“Oh, it’s the same in there.” The man smirked with unctuous superiority. “Miss Anstruther is reclining in the middle of another circle. Approach her, and my nasty familiars will rend the skin from your body. Which will only serve to make you more masculine than you already are.” He chuckled at his witticism.
“What’s your game, Hibbert?” Gretta’s voice cracked with restrained anger.
“It’s no game. I want what’s owed me. I don’t have to give Miss Anstruther to you. I can just enjoy her a few more days, then use pieces of her in my conjuring. It would slacken my taste nicely for revenge against the Anstruthers.”
Gretta went rigid. Her veins bulged and tendons in her neck grew taut. She began to shiver.
The man squirmed in his chair but kept his voice even. “Your act doesn’t frighten me, Gretta. I’ve the upper hand here. You are toying with a conjurer who learned his art in the Dark East. What do you have to match that?”
The woman’s pale skin suddenly went dark. Her back hunched and the cloak bulged with powerful muscles pushing from inside. Her fingers twisted and gnarled, growing black with claws growing from the tips. Gretta’s head grew larger and her blond hair turned the color of coal and seemed to blend with a thick coat of heavy fur that rose from her entire body. Her mouth widened and the white teeth grew ever larger. Clawed feet tore free of shoes.
She shrugged off her heavy cloak and shook herself. The remnants of clothing slid from her gigantic frame. A massive werewolf stood with dripping jaws. She dropped heavily onto her hands and dug her claws into the floor. Blackened lips rippled with a growl.
The man drew his feet up into the chair, staring wildly at the creature. He pointed the stem of his pipe at her. “Here now, Gretta. Stop that noise. You can’t penetrate my circle, even in that form.”
“No?” she rumbled and exploded at him.
Hibbert shrieked, dropping the bottle of opium, which shattered on the floor. The yellow shades appeared immediately, enveloping the great beast. Her back bowed as if she had hit a wall. However, she muscled forward with her hands, gouging curls of wood from the floor. The yellow, misty horrors wailed and tore at her head and back. Their hands, trailing steam, ripped bloody rows in her hairy flesh. Still, Gretta drove closer to the little man in the chair. The shades roared as if in hellish pain, continuing to swirl about her, raking her. Despite the brutal damage they dealt, they lost ground with each crunching step she made.
Gretta’s ferocious glare never wavered from the terrified Hibbert. Her snout strained to within a foot of the man and she bared her teeth. The tip of her huge tongue lolled from her mouth and licked his face. The man screamed and bolted. The instant he broke the circle, the shades vanished and Gretta toppled against the empty chair.
Hibbert took three steps before a huge claw fell on his back. He hardly had time to shout when his back opened in a flood of gore. One shoulder with the arm attached fell to the floor, while the rest of the man staggered drunkenly for a few steps, teetering backward, and spun to the ground.
Gretta slapped at the motionless body. She sniffed it closely and only smelled death. She grunted a bestial laugh.
With two long strides, she reached the bedroom door and pulled it open. She peered into the bedroom. Filthy curtains floated in the cold wind.
“Damn him!” Gretta cursed.
The huge werewolf stepped to an empty bed with an open window next to it. There was a second chalk circle on the floor, but with Hibbert dead, it had no power. The bedclothes were rumpled and Gretta could smell a recent occupant. A female. The scent went from the bed to the window and out.
The Anstruther girl was gone.
Gretta gathered her cloak and inspected the nasty, steaming wounds on her arms, legs, and torso. Painful, but they would heal. She went to the bedroom window and took a deep huff of the air. Out there among the smoke-shrouded rooftops and alley warrens black with shadow, there was a slight scent of the girl.
With a fluttering of her cloak, Gretta leapt out into the cold night.
The Anstruther four-horse post chaise rocked to a stop on the Strand. Simon parted the window shade and glanced out. He nodded with satisfaction to Kate Anstruther, seated across from him. She threw up the shade and stared out with open disdain at the white marble Italianate edifice with its row of flickering gas lamps.
“Imogen is in there?” she asked, her voice grinding.
“This was Hibbert’s last given address, so it is likely. It is a good thing your manservant directed you to me. The Mercury Club is not overly friendly to women.” Simon sounded apologetic. “I’m certainly no choirboy, but these chaps are quite despicable in many ways that cannot be spoken of in polite company. I know members in passing.”
“In passing?” she repeated in a questioning tone.
“In passing,” he said, letting it go. “They cultivate a façade of mystery. Like to pretend they are magicians. In reality, they are adult boys with too much time on their manicured hands.”
Kate snorted with agreement. Her mood had deteriorated since she had met with Simon at Soho Square an hour ago to explain her situation. Now she was more a caged animal spoiling for a fight. The way she held herself, there was a studied aggression to her, an economy of motion and nervous energy he had seen in athletes.
Just as interesting to Simon was the Anstruther’s manservant, Hogarth, who rode outside with the driver. He was an odd character who hardly spoke, barely moved, and exuded a strange power and authority. Simon found him a bit disturbing.
Despite her virulent mood, Simon was glad Kate had come to him. He had intended to contact her because he couldn’t let the events at Viscount Gillingham’s go unexplored. She had handled herself with such mastery.
Simon said, “If you’d care to wait, I will go in and make inquiries.”
Kate threw open the carriage door. He quickly followed her out onto the Strand with a look of mild dismay. She cleared a path through the late-afternoon crowds until a liveried doorman of the Mercury blocked her from the dark wooden door. Simon quickly darted in front.
“Good afternoon.” He smiled broadly to the doorman.
The doorman relaxed at seeing a gentleman with the lady. “Good day to you, sir. Is this your party?”
“It is.”
“Was the Circle alerted that you were coming today?”
Simon cleared his throat and deposited a gold sovereign into the doorman’s gloved hand. “You haven’t seen Colonel Boylan Hibbert in the last day, have you?”
The doorman gazed back without emotion as if the cash exchange hadn’t occurred. “You’ll need to speak to Lord Argyle, sir, with such inquiries.”
“Is he in?”
“He is, sir.” The doorman stood aside. “You will, of course, stand for your guest, sir.”
Simon gav
e the doorman a quick salute of silver-handled stick on hat brim, then ushered Kate and Hogarth into the hushed, dignified cool of the Mercury Club. A magnificent chandelier glittered over their heads and a grand staircase curved up to the second floor. Doorways opened into lavish parlors and libraries and smoking rooms. There was no sound save the footsteps of a valet who approached across the checkerboard-tile foyer. Simon placed a calling card on the man’s gold salver.
“I should like to see the Archdruid, if you please.”
Kate scoffed, which caused the valet to divert his attention to her before turning silently and departing.
Simon chided Kate. “Do try not to mock, Miss Anstruther. This is a serious conglomeration of very serious men. And Lord Argyle is the most serious of them all.”
“I shouldn’t expect anything less of an Archdruid?” Her eyebrow arched with bemusement. “Is he a real Archdruid? In that case, I apologize.”
“He’s a git with a magic fetish. But the Archdruid, or Lord Argyle as mere mortals know him, is a man of influence, and if you challenge his fantasy, he’ll never tell us anything.”
Kate clasped her hands behind her back, rocking on her heels. “Wouldn’t want to embarrass the Archdruid.”
“Archer!” A man descended the carpeted grand staircase, waving his arm enthusiastically. He was short and fat with wisps of white hair flying from his mottled dome. He wore a long, broad-sleeved silk robe embroidered with moons and stars. In his pudgy fingers, he clutched a crooked tree branch as a wand of some sort. The man trundled up and shook Simon’s hand with a sweaty grip and a jovial greeting. He eyed Kate with approval. “Splendid to see you again, Archer. I see you finally decided to take us up on our offer of membership. And you brought a guest!” He poked Simon like a naughty schoolboy.
Simon cast a baleful warning eye on Kate. “This is Miss Kate Anstruther. Miss Anstruther, I have the honor to present the Archdruid, Lord Master of the Mercury.”
Kate nodded politely though her impatience showed in the way her mouth tightened.
“I bid you welcome.” The Archdruid flourished his diminutive twig at her, causing Kate to suddenly peer over at the intricate woodwork around the door as if her life depended on it. The plump Lord Master looked a bit put off, but he regarded Simon. “Did you say Anstruther?”
“I did. Miss Anstruther is the eldest daughter of Sir Roland.”
“Ah!” the Archdruid exclaimed, bending slightly at the waist. “You do us honor.”
Simon gave Kate a surreptitious shake of his head to warn her off any argument.
The Archdruid took Simon’s arm. “When your membership is finally settled, we would even consider including you in the Inner Circle. Come now, Archer, you’re our kind of people.” He winked toward the woman. “Obviously.”
“I fear, your lordship, that my time is not my own these days. I will give it serious consideration, however. For now, I would like to ask a question of you.”
The Archdruid’s pleased expression faded but still remained courteous. “Of course, Archer. Shall we go into the Golden Grove?” He pointed his jagged branch toward what appeared to be a normal sitting room. “Your servant can wait outside, and we can have your guest taken to a room upstairs, where she can prepare herself.”
“Prepare myself?” Kate burst out, hands balled on her hips.
Simon coughed. “Now, my dear, your needs will be attended to presently.”
Kate shot him an angry glance. A very angry glance. The Archdruid looked her up and down quite shamelessly, and Simon took the opportunity to shoot the woman another silent plea, begging her restraint.
The fat druid elbowed Simon. “Fiery. I should think you’ll be in for it later.”
“I make the same prediction. But if we could briefly speak here. I am trying to find Colonel Boylan Hibbert, late of the East India Company.”
“You are? That gentleman is no longer a member here.”
Kate stiffened in alarm. “Since when?”
The Archdruid glared at the woman for speaking out of turn, and said to Simon, “A year perhaps. If I may trust you with a confidence, he was a bit too free with his behaviors. We have high standards here. Colonel Hibbert was beyond the pale, so to speak. We can’t have ourselves held up to scorn or scandal.”
Simon felt a cold dread seeping into him. If Hibbert was too peculiar for the Mercury Club, it spoke volumes about his potential danger. “You wouldn’t happen to know his current place of residence, would you? I’d take it a great kindness if you did.”
“He did recently ask for a room here. I refused him lodgings, of course. At that time, he reported that he could be contacted at the Boulware, room seven-B, if we changed our mind. We have not, and we have seen no more of him.”
“When was this?”
“Perhaps two weeks ago. He had a young woman on his arm. Blond. Rather stupid, but attractive and well dressed. Colonel Hibbert obviously would rather make his address the Mercury for a wealthy piece such as her.”
Simon couldn’t react fact enough to stop Kate. She stepped forward and unleashed a thunderbolt right cross to the Archdruid’s jowl. He spun helplessly and collapsed to the tiled floor.
Hogarth hadn’t shifted an inch, but there was a strange, slight smile on his lips. Simon blinked and glanced down calmly at the drooling, semiconscious Lord Argyle, tangled in his druidic robes.
Kate rubbed the fingers of her right hand while staring at the man on the tiles. “If I find out my sister was here, and anyone touched her, I will return and rip you into pieces.”
Simon extended his arm toward the door. “Miss Anstruther, it appears this interview is concluded.”
Hogarth held the door. As Simon passed the manservant, he said, “Quite a punch your mistress has.”
“Miss Kate is quite an effective puncher with either fist.” Hogarth dispassionately regarded the fat man on the floor. “She didn’t seem to require her left hand for this one, however.”
“No, she didn’t.” Simon laughed loudly. He pressed another gold sovereign into the doorman’s glove. “Thank you for everything. A very satisfying visit.”
Simon joined the woman as she climbed into the carriage.
—
The post chaise made its way west on the Strand, fought through a snarl at Charing Cross, and inched along Whitehall toward Westminster. Soon the towers of Westminster Abbey rose through the gloom on their left and the sprawling Halls of Parliament grew visible in the distance. The dim, medieval warrens north of the grand Abbey created a gloom inside the carriage.
Simon tugged on his cuffs. “We’re heading for a rather sketchy area. It’s known as the Devil’s Acre, for good reason. I suggest you stay in the coach.”
“No,” Kate stated plainly.
He didn’t think such a ploy would work but as a gentleman he had to make the attempt. His fingers tapped lightly on his knee. “You say Colonel Hibbert had some interest in magic, but did he ever exhibit any signs of being a practitioner?”
Kate drew in a deep, calming breath. “I never saw Colonel Hibbert evidence any skills of any sort, short of a loathsome ability to enchant Imogen. She often claimed he meddled in the dark arts, but she is a silly-hearted romantic.”
“He’s a poseur in all likelihood. Though the fact that he interacted with Lord Oakham, however briefly, makes me wary.” Simon tapped his walking stick idly on the floor. “Mind though, our singular goal is to remove your sister from the situation. Hibbert can be dealt with, if needed, in the future, at a time and place more to our advantage.” He peered out the carriage window. The cobblestone lanes were narrowing.
The coach rocked to a halt and the door flew open. Hogarth stood outside, a large shadow in the dark. The buildings beyond him were dilapidated and miserable. The Boulware Club was a club in name only.
Simon swung out and helped Kate from the coach. “Miss Anstruther, bloody knuckles to a minimum, please.” He strode forward into the gloom.
The front door squeaked when
they entered. A few bored fellows who sat reading newspapers or playing cards or smoking away their lives turned to look at the passing visitors. However, none of them were interested enough to speak.
Simon whispered, “Hogarth, take a position in the rear yard in case our quarry manages to slip us.”
The manservant checked with Kate for approval, and she nodded. Hogarth padded out.
Simon led the way upstairs, each step creaking under their feet, his hand grasping his walking stick. The banister was loose and felt oily from generations of unwashed hands. The ceiling had once been artistic plaster tiling, but it was water-stained and crumbling now. The stink of humanity was barely masked by the cloying haze of coal smoke.
Simon said quietly, “He brought a woman of breeding here? What power does he have over her?”
“His only power is that he isn’t me,” Kate replied bitterly. “He offers Imogen the freedom that apparently I don’t.”
They moved along the hall and stopped at a flaking door where there was a number. He pointed at it and put a finger to his lips. There was a metallic undertone to the stench in the building and his boots felt tacky as he moved them. He looked down to see he was standing in a dark stain that had seeped a few inches from under the door.
Blood.
He lifted one foot and it parted from the floor with a sticky pull. It was relatively fresh.
Kate stiffened in alarm. “Imogen!”
Simon whispered a word and smashed open the heavy door with a swift punch. Inside, the walls were stained with blood. A crumpled body lay in the middle of the room. Simon drew his stick sword and the blade flashed blue in the dim.
When Kate tried to rush past him into the room, she slammed against his arm like it was an iron pole. She was breathing wildly.
Simon stepped inside, his shoes squelching in the blood. He surveyed the sitting room, where blood covered nearly every inch of the floor like a repulsive carpet. Everything else seemed in place. Furniture upright. He noted a kettle burned black on a grate over the nowcold fire. There was a second door, but it was closed. He took another careful step, listening. He heard doors out in the hallway opening and voices raised in anger or curiosity.
The Shadow Revolution: Crown & Key Page 8