Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1)

by Grace Callaway

  Fanning the smoke from my eyes, I saw the tangled bedclothes. They lay half on the mattress, half dangling in a twisted rope to the floor. There was a discarded gown upon one chair, and Hux's shirt pooled beneath it. Nearby, a table lay upended, its contents scattered on the floor. Unease crept over my neck. I should be thanking my lucky stars that no one was here—I had best not challenge fate and court further disaster. It seemed my feet could not move, turned to stone by a sudden, deep-rooted premonition.

  Danger was near. I could feel the dread in the quivering pit of my belly. I could sense it in the bright stillness and disordered calm before me.

  At that instant, a glittering movement caught my eye. I saw it came from the Turkish rug; there was a small object lying upon the crimson fibers, several feet from the bed's end. Like an unquiet dreamer, I moved toward it. My volition faded in the urgency of fear. 'Twas as if another's limbs brought me there, to the edge of the carpet—another who crouched there and examined the sparkling thing with eerie detachment.

  The hair ornament was exquisite. A masterful working of beauty and evil. The gilded poppy, with its ruby-encrusted petals and heart of jet, held the eye with its merry, life-like rendition. The bloom distracted from the truth of the stem—no dainty pin this. No, 'twas a hardy stalk, a golden blade that lay hidden, waiting, amongst seductive feminine tresses. But this night the flower had revealed itself: its lethal edge was sheathed in fresh, darkening scarlet.

  Bile rose in my throat. I could not look away from this thing, this weapon, which rested there so innocuous and deadly. Panic assailed me beyond any I had experienced before. Hux was in mortal danger. I did not know how I knew that; it did not matter. My heart squeezed with the certainty of his peril. My muscles tensed, my pulse throbbing with indecision. God help me, with the knowledge of what I had to do.

  The hand that came into my view was small and trembling. It hesitated for a moment above the jeweled flower, and then those quivering fingers—my fingers—did what they had never done before. They reached for madness.

  Mayhap because I was prepared, the wavering of light and space did not disorient me as much as before. Still, I did not know what to expect having never chosen this path of my own volition. My eyes adjusted to the blurred lens of the vision. The same chamber, the same garish glow of light. Then her coquettish voice rushed into my head; its sudden force was absolute. I could feel my lips shaping to her words.

  Enough games now, Lucien: I want to fuck. Mount me like the stallion they say you are—show me what that giant horse-prick of yours can do.

  I see him advancing, coming to the bed. I can feel the mattress sinking beneath me, giving in to his weight. I smell his scent, raw and virile, and it fuels my hunger. When his torso, lean and rippling, covers me, I sink my nails into the unyielding flesh of his shoulder. I want to leave my mark. More than one, this night. His lips are hot upon my shoulder, my breast. I mewl with animal delight. It is what I want, what I crave.

  Yes, Lucien, lick me, suck me. Show me what a man is good for.

  His mouth moves over my white belly, and I moan, urging him with the thrust of my hips, the claw of my fingers against his scalp. His hands hold my thighs apart as his tongue delves into my flaming cunt. The lust boils inside me—to fuck and fuck and fuck. I shove against his mouth, his face. He is mine to use. I drench him with my juices. I am coming, coming, the unholy heat of me rising to the surface ... He rears above me, and I see the flash of triumphant blue, the sudden glint of something silver.

  Chains.

  Fury tears into my throat. My hand flies to my hair. I grasp the blade, yank it free, and plunge it with all my power into his worthless human flesh. He holds me down with unexpected force; I hiss and struggle against the rattling menace of the heavy links. The cold bites into my neck, and his hand reaches for the poster of the bed. Then the darkness opens, but it is not the safety of my shadowed realm. He is dragging me, the silver chain strangled round my throat, the stone steps cutting into my knees, and we go higher and higher ...

  *****

  With a gasp, I threw the hair jewel from me. The flower skittered across the floor and beneath the bed into obscurity. I fell forward, my hands planting onto the carpet. I remained that way for several moments, on all fours, my head bowed. My lungs worked fitfully, and I had to wait for my head to clear. When I came to my full senses, I pushed to my feet and stumbled to the head of the bed. I fumbled along the thick mahogany poster as I had seen Hux do in the vision. My fingers ran along the smooth carved surface until they found the groove of the hidden mechanism. I pressed.

  To my startled eyes, the armoire on the adjacent wall began a slow, groaning shift to the right. Behind it was no wall but a gaping darkness. A secret passageway. My heart in my throat, I trespassed its mouth. I commenced my journey to that forbidden place, the winding ascent to the hidden summit none of us servants had visited before. I made my way to the last threshold.

  NINETEEN

  I followed the narrow staircase as it wound upward in a suffocating spiral. The air inside was dark and dank, oppressive as a tomb of unending night. I slipped suddenly, catching myself against the wall. I bit my lip but did not stop. Bracing myself against the damp, sweating stone, I mounted the steps one by one. I was beyond pain now, beyond anything but the urgency pulsing in my veins. My breath burned in my lungs. I had to get to the top. I had to get to Hux. I could see by the growing glow that I was getting closer.

  I rounded the bend, and the scene blazed across my consciousness. At first, all I felt was a buzzing relief to see Hux. Though his back was to me, he was standing, alive and well. Then the other details filtered through: she, the poppy-bearer, chained to a wooden cross at the center of the circular room. Her arms were spread and manacled, her ankles bound together at the base. Like molten topaz, her hair dripped over white shoulders and breasts. Her lips formed a scarlet circle of pleas; even from where I stood, I could see the sheen of tears upon her flawless cheeks.

  Hux was facing the crucifix. His torso was unclothed, the imposing shoulders tapering to lean hips. His feet were planted aggressively apart, and I could see the leap of sinew beneath his gleaming bronze skin. Around him and the woman, blue candles formed a ring of fire and cast his form in dark relief against her bright beauty. He was saying something, in a voice I had never heard from him before. Low, impossibly deep, the tones rose and fell in an ancient, hypnotic chant. Latin, I recognized in a daze. As I watched, his arms lifted, the thick cords flexing with effort.

  Then it came into view: the huge silver blade, hefted above his head, poised to strike—

  "Hux, no!"

  The words rushed out of me, seemed to slam into him. Bands of tension rippled over his bared torso as he turned with startling velocity. His eyes pinned mine, scorched my insides with reflected flame. My sophisticated employer had vanished. 'Twas as if he'd shed that human shell and emerged a fierce and feral spirit. His hair fell dark and wild upon his shoulders; blood trickled from the gash on his taut, quivering bicep. My gaze lowering, I saw a jagged, wicked-looking scar marking the place beneath his heart.

  As he loomed before me, I saw him fully for the first time: my master, potent and exposed. He possessed my breath, the harsh rhythm of his chest dictating the working of my own lungs. I tried to speak.

  "P-please ..." I tried again. "Don't. Hux, whatever it is, don't do this—"

  "Get out." His voice boomed with an authority beyond even his usual arrogant tones. I felt my body being pulled backward, helpless to the invisible force that wanted me out of this place. The blaze of the candles shot up higher and higher, until they formed an impenetrable wall of fire. But I refused to go. I fought to find the calm center of my mind. Instead, the memory of the kiss found me: the shelter of Hux's warmth, the purity of need and passion. I grasped onto it as one does a branch in the face of a howling storm.

  "I won't leave you, Hux." My words sounded stronger, rooted in the truth of my conviction. "I know she is wicked. But wha
tever she has done, do not let her stain your soul."

  "You know nothing. Begone," he shouted.

  The words blasted at me, yet I did not budge. I had the desperate notion that if I could just keep him talking to me, looking at me, that I could distract him from the other deadly purpose. Buy him time to recover his senses. To deliver him from whatever sinister force possessed him.

  "Hux, it's me, Abigail Jones. Your ... your secretary. It is my job, remember, to see to your personal affairs. I read your letters, organize your books." Above the flames, he looked at me blankly, and I knew naught else but to babble on. "However, I can't say I approve of your current imbroglio. In truth, I disapprove most heartily."

  "Disapprove?" I thought I saw the sword lower in his grip; at least, he did not hold it quite so high. The fire of the candles seemed also to waver. A frown lowered his brows. "You dare say that to me?"

  "Well, not ordinarily," I said in all honesty. "But in this circumstance I am afraid I must, my lord. I fear you will make a grave error and come to regret your actions when you are more yourself."

  My plan was working—I felt a thrill as his eyes seemed to see me for the first time. The otherworldly cast had faded; the orbs of intense blue took me in as they had so often done.

  "You are hurt," I rushed on. "Your arm, it is bleeding. If you put down the sword and come to me, I will tend to your wound. We must wash it first, of course, and douse it with witch hazel—Mrs. Beecher swears by its disinfecting properties—and then I will bandage it. But first you must come to me. I cannot reach you where you are, my lord."

  As I paused for breath, Hux looked directly at me. After an instant, his mouth eased into a familiar wry curve. "I thought I told you to dispense with the my lord-ing business."

  I could have cried with relief. As it was, my voice wobbled only a little. "I will do better in the future, I promise. Now just come here, toward me ..."

  Slowly, the sword lowered to his side.

  The next instant, chaos exploded. As if in slowed time, I watched as the sword fell from Hux's grip, drifting to the ground and clattering. I heard Hux shout, his body hurling backward through the air. In reflex, I screamed his name and ran toward him. As I made to jump over the candles, a white-hot pain tore through my head. Hundreds of thunderbolts lanced into my skull. I fell to the ground, moaning, my vision blurred with agony.

  I did not know how long I lay there. I regained consciousness to the sound of laughter, soft and musical, high and sweet.

  "Did you think to defeat me with your little tricks?"

  I blinked. All I could see was a wall of flickering orange and red. I heard a groan of pain—Hux—and I struggled to push myself to sitting. My temples pulsed, and I fought off a surge of nausea.

  "Men and their pitiful weapons. They think poking a woman the answer to everything."

  Panting, I could now make out the grotesque tableau above the flames. A hallucination come to terrible life. The woman remained chained to the cross, and Hux now lay writhing at her feet. Pain contorted his face. Oh God, what had she done to him? She was laughing, taking utter delight in his torment. Her beauty had hardened: her face a mask of marble, her eyes like amber stones glowing with an unnatural light.

  "'Tis a shame, really," she said in light tones. "We might have had a romp of it, had you unsheathed that steel between your legs rather than this pathetic little sword. I suppose The Mother was right: one can never trust a man."

  "Fuck you—and your bitch of a mother," Hux gasped. His words were cut off by a choking gurgle; his hands went to his throat. With horror, I saw now what held him captive: no invisible power, but a noose of real and terrifying strength. Her golden brown hair had lengthened into a rope, and it wound, gleaming and hideous, around his neck.

  "Tsk, tsk—is that any way to speak to a lady?" She laughed as Hux kicked out, his face crimson as he struggled for his next breath.

  God give me strength—I could not watch him die. With power borne of desperation, I pushed myself to my feet. I felt the cruel bite of fire as I plunged heedlessly through the blockade of candles. The pain blasted through my head again, more potent than the flames, but I stumbled on, propelled by the greater agony of my heart.

  You will not die, Hux. Not like this, at the devil's feet.

  I reached for the fallen sword.

  As my palms closed around the metal hilt, a harsh vibration ripped through me. It shot up my arms, to my chest, until all the fibers of my being seemed to hum with strange electricity. The numbing sensation sparked and dictated my muscles. My limbs seemed not my own as I wrestled with the sword Hux had wielded so effortlessly moments ago. I could scarce lift the heavy blade, managing to leverage its tip only inches from the ground.

  "Release him," I shouted.

  The creature turned her blazing eyes to me. Her lips circled in surprise. "What have we here? A little mouse come to rescue the hapless cat?"

  "Let him go," I said, my voice trembling as badly as my arms. "Release him, or you will feel the edge of this blade."

  Her laughter trickled down my spine. "So the mouse has teeth."

  "I am not a mouse," I retorted. "I am a secretary."

  "Oh, little one, do you not know how pathetic you are? Such an old, trite story. I don't even have to know you to know your tale. Poor servant girl martyring herself for her master—all he's done is tickle your twat, and you with stars shining in your eyes."

  I swallowed, advancing closer, the blade held in front of me. "Stop talking and let him go."

  "Do you know how many cunts he's fucked?" Her long, dark lashes fanned coyly over her bright eyes. "How many times he's planted that pole and in places finer than yours, my sweet. By now, he's already forgotten he's had you—if he ever knew your name at all."

  Her words wound with insidious precision round my heart. I tried to shut out her words, yet they crept through, finding the cracks, digging in deep. Summoning all of my strength, I brought the sword to the level of my waist and aimed it at her. "'Tis your last chance."

  She snarled. Lifted by some magic gale, her hair suddenly whipped outward, a froth of twisted ropes that framed her face and body. Amidst the shining tangles, her naked form was revealed in all its voluptuous glory. She laughed—as if she delighted in my smallness, her superiority.

  "He could have had this, had he been wiser. But men never are. Take my advice, little sparrow—they are always hungry for more than their share. So best you forget the greedy bastard and see to your own interests. Unchain me now—or you, too, will feel the power of my wrath."

  Her command had the dark pull of an undertow. Against my will, I felt my feet slide against the wooden planks, my grip on the sword loosening. I gritted my teeth and did not let go.

  "One last chance," I said above the thundering of my heart. She was so close now that I could smell her perfume—the cloying yet acrid scent from my dreams. If I crouched, I could touch Hux where he lay panting, but I dared not. I needed to keep my focus on the creature in front of me.

  "Get ... back, Abby ..." His hard-won words earned him another tightening of the noose; he fell back, fighting for air. As I watched helplessly, ropes of hair lashed around his eyes, his mouth, his entire head. His muffled shouts began to fade as she slowly but surely asphyxiated him.

  "Now 'tis your turn." The thing's eyes began to burn. The amber heated, obscuring her pupils, until all the area between her eyelids turned a glowing yellow. Fire shot suddenly from her eyes. I screamed, dropping the sword, my arms raising instinctively to cover my face. I felt the shower of heat and spark; I knew the certainty of death as flames engulfed me.

  A minute later, the blistering heat subsided. It took me an instant to recognize the fierce tugging in my chest—my wheezing breath. Breath, breathing ... I was alive? Heartbeats skipped by, and I dropped my arms. Stunned, I saw the ash of my former clothes drift from my skin—my unmarked skin. I turned my arms this way and that—incredulous, I looked down at my exposed belly, my toes. I was naked a
s the day I was born. Yet I was unharmed.

  "What's this? What's this?"

  The creature's voice screeched into my head. 'Twas as if in using her power, she'd siphoned off her beauty: her eyes had dulled, and her features looked aged, sunken. Dark, twisting veins began to appear beneath her once flawless skin. Before I could react, a tentacle of hair whipped out and caught me at the neck.

  I choked at the fierce hold.

  "What have we here?" her voice hissed. "Where did you get this?"

  My mother's necklace, I realized. The gold cross I had worn all my life. Apparently, it alone had not perished in the flames. The thing's hair snaked around the chain. She yanked at it again and again; for some reason, she could not break it.

  "Give it to me," she shouted. "Give it back to the Mother, or she will destroy you!"

  My hands went to the necklace, intending to hold onto what was mine. I feared the delicate chain would snap at any moment. As my fingers touched the tiny links, however, I was shocked to feel their resilience. Their glowing warmth hummed into my fingertips and spread through the fibers of my being, soothing, sustaining. The power of resistance permeated me; I was filled with a strange certainty, a wave of relief I could not understand.

  This creature, this manifestation of evil, could not harm me—so long as I wore the charm. Even now, the force of her grip was waning. The veins had spread beneath her skin, blotching her beauty like ink spots over parchment. Her eyes dimmed to the dull matte of aged wallpaper. Her hair began to shrink and retract into her scalp.

  "Give it to me—"

  She screamed then, a violent sound such as I had never heard before. High, terrified, it ripped through the room. Her eyes widened an instant; an odd, gurgling sound left her shriveled lips. Immediately, the pressure around my neck slackened. Stumbling backward, I saw what had caused the malevolent force to let go: the blade protruding from her ribcage. Somehow Hux had grabbed hold of the sword and, rolling to his knees, thrust it home.