by Amy Cross
“Penny for 'em?”
Turning, she found that Joshua had finally come over to speak to her.
“I was just marveling at the turnout,” she told him. “I never knew the cantina could get so busy.”
“It never does,” he replied. “At least, it didn't used to. Something's obviously different tonight.”
“Whatever it is,” she continued, “it has been something of a trial by fire. I haven't had a moment to spare.”
“I know. I've been watching you for a while now.”
“You have?” She paused, surprised by his forwardness. “Well, that sounds like a rather boring evening.”
“There's sadness in your eyes.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Don't deny it,” he continued. “I can see it, even if no-one else can. Your heart's broken, isn't it?”
“I have no idea what you mean,” she told him, “and frankly, I think you're being rather forward, coming to me like this and -”
“Is it Edgar?” he asked, interrupting her. “Or is it that nice doctor?”
“I -” She paused, not knowing how to answer.
“Or is it both of 'em?” He smiled. “Are you in love with two men, Estella? Or don't you really know what love is?”
“You have no right to talk to me of such things,” she told him.
“I'm just curious. You can always walk away if you hate it that much.”
“I...” Another pause, as she tried to gather her thoughts. “I was to marry Baron Le Compte, you understand.”
“I do.”
“So obviously I loved him a great deal. I still -” She caught herself, just in time.
“Here's what I think,” he said with a smile. “I think you don't know what you want, or who you love. I think you're angry about losing Edgar, but does that mean you loved him? Or did you just love the idea of being married to such a grand chap? And as for Doctor Lassiter... Do you love him, or is he just your fall-back man?” He paused. “He's pretty pathetic when you think about it. Maybe you're only in love with one person, Estella, and that's yourself. You were in love with the idea of Estella the noble-woman, then you were in love with the idea of Estella the doctor's wife, and now...” He smiled. “Now you're in love with the idea of Estella the barmaid, and maybe even Estella the witch.”
“I don't know what you mean.”
“Don't you?”
“You must excuse me,” she added, turning to walk away, “I have customers to serve.”
***
Locking the door on the front of the school, Mrs. Wallace took a moment to slip the keys into her pocket before making her way down the steps and heading home. The night was unseasonably cool, and after her confrontation with Jennifer Kazakos a few hours earlier, she wanted nothing more than to relax for an hour or two before bed, especially after all the extra work she'd put in at the school, getting everything ready for the following day's classes.
“Good evening,” a familiar voice said suddenly.
Turning, she saw a figure nearby, loitering in the shadows.
“I'm sorry to disturb you,” Quill continued, limping into a patch of moonlight with a shawl wrapped tightly around his body, leaving just his withered and gaunt face showing. “I know it's late, and school-teachers work so hard.”
“Absolutely,” she replied, squinting a little as she realized he looked much thinner than before, as if he was ill. “I stayed late to finish some preparations for tomorrow.”
“I saw you had a visitor earlier,” he told her, slowly getting closer. “Did Ms. Kazakos want anything in particular?”
“She's worried about her daughter. I told her there's no need, and that she should speak to you if she has any concerns. If you ask me, that woman isn't right in the head. After everything she's done, she should be glad she's not back up on that scaffold. Are you sure she can't be tried again?”
“I believe there are laws regarding double jeopardy,” he replied, with a faint smile. “She cannot be tried twice for the same crime.”
“Yes, but -” She paused, trying to understand the twisted logic. “I suppose not, but still, she's a murderer.”
“She is?”
“She killed Inspector Tarud!”
“Oh, yes.” As he got closer, he reached out and leaned on the railing that ran along the side of the building. “Well, one could argue that she was merely defending herself. I've been doing some digging, and there does seem to be some circumstantial evidence that suggests Tarud was...” He smiled. “Well, he was hardly a man of great virtue.”
“And Evangeline Mediaci?”
Another smile. “Ms. Kazakos has consistently denied involvement.”
“But still, everyone knows she killer her.”
“I suppose so.” He paused, struggling a little to get his breath back.
“Are you okay, Mr. Quill?” she asked after a moment. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you're...” She paused, trying to find a more diplomatic word than 'sick' or 'dying'. “Well, you look...”
“Weak?”
“A little.”
“I've been a little off my food lately,” he replied. “Maybe it's life in that lighthouse, or the stress I've been under...”
“The lighthouse?” She turned and looked toward the tall, dark tower that stood just off to the south-east of the harbor town. “The light hasn't been working for a few nights now,” she added. “Do you happen to know what's wrong with Joe? People are starting to worry, but he hasn't been answering the door.”
“Joe is...” He paused. “Let's just say that Joe is unable to tend to his duties right now.”
“And what exactly are you doing there?” she asked, with a hint of concern in her voice.
“Helping out.”
“Well...” She turned to look at the dark lighthouse again. “You should get it up and running again. There's a busy shipping route not far from Thaxos, a boat could -”
Suddenly she felt his hand on her waist, approaching from behind. She froze, shocked that he'd be so forward, but something was keeping her from turning or running away. For a moment, as Quill's hand squeezed her a little, she felt as if she was rooted to the ground.
“I'm not quite sure what you're doing, Mr. Quill,” she said finally, as she felt his breath on the back of her neck, “but -” Pulling away, she turned to him and saw that his shawl was hanging open now, revealing his naked, painfully thin body, complete with ribs that seemed to be forcing their way through the flesh. “Are you alright?” she asked, mesmerized by the sight. “Are... I mean...”
“As I said,” he continued, slipping the shawl off to reveal his ravaged form, “I've been off my food. I exerted myself a great deal the other night, and now I need to bulk myself up a little.” He stepped closer. “And you, my dear, are so delightfully... full-bodied.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but something about Quill's eyes seemed to attract her attention, and her mind began to empty of all thoughts. Deep down, she knew she should run, and she was filled with a sense of primal fear; at the same time, she couldn't convert that fear into any kind of conscious thought, and she certainly couldn't work out how to run. Tears began to run down her face and her body began to tremble, but still she was unable to save herself.
“That's right,” he said with a smile as he opened his mouth, revealing two sharp fangs. “Just remain calm. It'll all be over soon.”
With that, he slipped his fangs into the side of her neck and felt the nourishing rush of hot blood starting to fill his body once again.
***
“See you tomorrow, Estella,” Kenneth said as he opened the door for her. “If it's anything like tonight, you're in for another long shift.”
“That's fine by me,” she replied, stepping out into the moonlight. Turning to him, she smiled. “Thank you for this opportunity, Mr. Goddard. It feels good to work hard.”
“You've surprised me tonight,” he told her. “I never would've thought you had it
in you to work in a place like this, but I think you might shape up to be the best barmaid I've ever had.” With that, he closer the door, and a moment later a bolt could be heard sliding across.
“I've surprised myself,” she whispered, before turning and making her way around the side of the cantina, heading for home. She walked slowly, not because she was tired but because she had a decision to make. Her father's house was a little further to the north, and she'd have to take the next turn if that was where she was going. Continuing on her way, however, she followed the street until it kinked left, and finally she spotted Doctor Lassiter's surgery up ahead. Stopping beneath the brand new sign that hung in the night air, she looked up and allowed herself a faint smile.
And then she kept walking.
A couple of minutes later, she stopped again, and this time she found herself staring at the house occupied by Gustav Lowndes, his wife Maria, and their daughter Emma. All the windows were dark, which was as expected since the hour was late, and Estella allowed herself to imagine the three people inside, sleeping soundly in their beds. They had probably spent the evening excitedly talking about the upcoming wedding, planning Emma's dress and discussing the future. She remembered, for a moment, all the plans she'd had for her own wedding, but those days seemed so long ago now, as if they'd been part of another lifetime.
“Fool,” she whispered, as she remembered how desperately she'd scurried around, trying to satisfy Edgar's every whim.
Finally, reaching into her bag, she took out the crude stick figure she'd put together earlier. All she'd done was tie some pieces of wood to one another, but she'd used a few strands of Emma's hair in the process, having found those strands in the bathroom during her visit to Lassiter's surgery earlier in the day. Without the books from Edgar's library to guide her, she wasn't entirely sure how her powers worked, but she was feeling more confident when it came to experimentation, and she allowed herself a faint smile as she knelt and set the stick figure down.
Slowly, she stood again, keeping her eyes fixed on the dark house.
“Dear Lord,” she said out loud, “you must forgive me for what I am about to do. I do it only because...” She paused, trying to think of an excuse, before realizing that none existed. “Well,” she added. “Let us see, Emma Lowndes, if it is true love between you and my poor, dear Paul Lassiter. I do hope, for your sake, that he doesn't just want you for your undoubted beauty.”
With that, she pressed the heel of her shoe against the stick figure and slowly applied pressure, until she felt the wood bending slightly. A moment later, the figure snapped in the middle.
She held her breath.
Silence.
Adjusting the pressure of her shoe, Estella pressed down again, this time on the stick figure's other end. Finally, there was another snap as she caused the head to crack.
She waited.
Silence.
“Come on,” she whispered, starting to feel a little irritated. “This damn thing has to start working soon.”
Moving her shoe again, she pushed down, cracking the figure's torso before twisting her foot and starting to grind the figure into the dust.
She waited.
Silence.
And then, suddenly, a cry of pain rose from the house.
Immediately, a smile crossed Estella's lips. She crushed the figure a little more and heard another cry. Someone inside was in agony, and she could tell that it was Emma's voice. A moment later, she heard other voices, and it became clear that Emma's parents were rushing to help their daughter.
Still, Estella twisted her heel against the figure, splintering the wood.
Emma's cries were now so loud, people were emerging from other houses, woken by the noise. As they began to gather in the street, none of them paid much attention to Estella, and they certainly didn't notice the crushed figure beneath her heel, which was now little more than a set of broken splinters.
“Call the doctor!” a voice shouted suddenly, as the front door opened and Gustav Lowndes rushed out with a horrified look on his face. “For God's sake, somebody get help! It's Emma!”
As a commotion build all around her, Estella simply smiled, imagining the excruciating pain that Emma must be experiencing. Stepping back, she looked down at the wooden figure and saw that it had been completely crushed, to the point that it was no just a collection of broken twigs that bore no resemblance to a human figure. Mixed in with the twigs were the strands of Emma's blonde hair, glinting in the moonlight.
More screams rose up into the night air as Estella turned and walked away.
***
“Mildred? Mildred, are you in there?”
Approaching the dark, shuttered school, Alf Wallace realized there was no sign of his wife. He made his way around the side of the building until he reached the yard at the front, but the whole place seemed curiously empty, even desolate.
Sighing, he turned to head back into town. He could hear a commotion, and people were shouting, as if something was wrong. He was used to sudden eruptions of panic in the middle of the night, having lived on Thaxos all his life, but whatever was going on tonight sounded worse than normal.
Just at that moment, a faint gust of wind caught the school's main door, pulling it open a little before slamming it shut.
Turning, Alf realized that there was no way his wife would ever have left the building unlocked. Even on an island like Thaxos, where everyone knew everyone and crime was almost non-existent, Mildred Wallace was a stickler for rules and regulations. He remembered nights when, having climbed into bed, she worried that she'd forgotten to lock a door or close a window at the school and had headed back out to check. Now, as the door creaked open again in the gentle night breeze, Alf felt a knot of concern starting to twist in his belly.
“Mildred?” he called out.
Making his way up the steps, he stopped at the doorway and peered inside. The main corridor was dark as night, but after a moment he realized he could hear a faint clicking noise in the classroom at the far end of the building.
“Mildred?” he said again, making his way into the darkness and fumbling until he reached the next door. Stopping, he pushed the door open and saw that a patch of moonlight had fallen through the window, casting bright shadows from all the desks and chairs. He looked around for a moment, not seeing anything, but finally he realized that the clicking sound was coming from over in one of the corners.
He took a step forward.
“Mildred?”
There was a figure sitting at one of the desks on the back row, but there was something strange, almost inhuman about the figure's posture, as if it was sitting bolt upright with its head tilted back. It also seemed unnaturally thin, which made him immediately feel that it couldn't possible be Mildred, but as he edged closer he realized he could smell her perfume.
“Is that you?” he asked. “Mildred, what are you doing?”
As he reached the desk, he realized the clicking sound was coming from the figure's throat. He wanted to believe that nothing was wrong, that the whole thing was just in his head, but finally he saw that the curtains had been partially drawn across one of the windows, preventing him from seeing the figure properly.
“I don't know what you're playing at,” he muttered, grabbing the curtain and pulling it open, before turning to the figure, “but it's late and we -”
Stopping suddenly, he saw to his horror that Mildred was indeed sitting at the desk, with her head tilted back and a faint, gurgling sound coming from her mouth. There was blood running from multiple thick wounds all over her bare body, and whole sections of skin and muscle had been torn away, leaving little more than a skeletally-thin cadaver that was twitching and clicking as its horrified eyes stared up at the ceiling.
“Mildred,” Alf said, stepping forward before realizing that he didn't dare touch her. “Oh God, what happened to you?”
On the side of her neck, two thick, wet puncture wounds glistened in the moonlight.
V
As the grandfather clock in the hallway struck twelve, she slipped through the shadows and into the main corridor that ran along the length of the house, before reaching the kitchen and heading to the back door. Grabbing the handle, she found that it was locked, and for a moment she wondered whether Edgar himself had sent the note in an attempt to frustrate her. Such a trick seemed like the kind of thing he'd do if he wanted to force home his point from earlier.
“Damn you,” she muttered, trying the handle again. “Why can't you just -”
“Looking for these?” a voice asked.
Spinning around, Kate saw to her shock that Madeleine was standing nearby, twirling a set of keys.
“You sent the note?” she gasped.
“Don't look so surprised,” Madeleine replied, reaching out and feeling her way across the kitchen. With thick bandages still covering her eyes, she was unable to see the route to the door, but she got there quickly nonetheless, as if her other senses were doing a good job of compensating. “Poor Benjamin has to sleep sometime, you know. He's dozing in a chair by my sickbed. The poor man has been at my side non-stop ever since I ended up in this sorry state. I don't know whether to be charmed or sickened. Is it possible to feel both sensations at once?”
“Can you help me get out of here?” Kate asked.
“Any door Edgar can lock,” she replied, fumbling with the lock for a moment before slipping the key inside and giving it a turn, “I can unlock.” With a smile, she pulled the door open. “Voila!”