Abigail Jones (Chronicles of Abigail Jones #1)

by Grace Callaway

  A dark pool had spread over the pebbles. It looked thick, clotted; its slick surface reflected the flames from the Hall. With wordless dread, I passed the ghastly puddle and followed the trail up the front steps. At the entrance, the door hung half-torn from its hinges. The smoke billowing from the inside caused it to bang feebly against its frame.

  Covering my mouth with my sleeve, I plunged in.

  At first, I could not see anything for the acrid film over my eyes. I rubbed at them, coughing as the smoke assaulted my lungs. Stumbling forward, my feet caught on something, and I fell to the ground, my landing strangely cushioned. I twisted my neck to see what had broken my fall. A scream tore from my throat.

  Not what, but whom.

  Mr. Creagan's kindly face had the stillness of repose. From neck up, I might have thought him sleeping. Bile rushed upward at the sight of his midsection, or what was left of it. He had been slaughtered—eviscerated like a dumb animal by a gleeful hand. He floated in a slick of his own blood. Scrambling backward, I wretched. Tears blurred my vision, but nothing could remove the indelible image of carnage. Of the cruel, senseless end visited upon this gentle soul of a man.

  Damn you, Lilith. Damn you to hell where you belong.

  Rage and panic had me wiping my mouth and crawling onward. I stayed low to the ground, trying to keep below the swirling smolder. I could hear the crackle and hiss of the fire as it consumed everything it touched. Overhead, there was an ominous creaking sound, and I knew the wooden beams that had supported the Hall for centuries would not stand for much longer. But I had to keep going. I had to find the others ...

  Then I saw her. No, no. With a moan, I scrambled to where she lay at the foot of the stairs. The top of the banister was already aflame.

  "Mrs. Beecher," I cried.

  I tried to lift her head to my lap, but my hand slipped. I felt something greasy and saw with horror the crimson dripping from my fingers. Turning the housekeeper's head to the side, I found angry gashes gouged into her throat. Sobbing, I pressed my hand to the wounds. I did not know what else to do.

  "Ab—Abigail ...?"

  Relief filled me to hear her voice. "Yes, Mrs. Beecher," I choked out. "It is Abby. I'm here now. I'm going to get you out of here."

  Seeing the cracked web of her lenses, I removed the battered spectacles. Faded blue eyes blinked into mine. "I ... I had to come back ... had to get ..."

  She tried to move, the effort making her cough, draining what little energy she had left.

  "Stay still," I pleaded, wiping her brow with my sleeve. "Please, Mrs. Beecher. Don't move. Help will come soon."

  "Have ... to come back ... Agnes," she panted, her eyes wide and confused.

  My tears splattered on her cheek. "You were her best friend. She spoke of you often. Of the days you spent together, of the school you once dreamed of opening together."

  "Her dream." Mrs. Beecher's eyelids fluttered close. "Not ... brave enough ... to follow her."

  A glistening trail trickled from her eyelid.

  My heart clenched.

  With a shaky hand, Mrs. Beecher reached to her bodice. I realized she was trying to remove something. I helped her to pull out the small bound stack. Letters. I recognized my aunt's hand.

  "Couldn't leave her behind." Each word was a rattling whisper. "Not ... again. See her soon, won't I?"

  With moisture dripping down my face, I finally understood the line from my aunt's favorite poem. "Once again love drives me on, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet creature against which nothing can be done," I whispered as I held the housekeeper's hand tightly in mine. "You'll see Agnes soon. Go in peace, dear friend."

  A smile smoothed across Mrs. Beecher's face, and her grip on me slackened.

  Footsteps sounded behind me, and I turned to see Hux's grim, sooty face. His eyes went to Mrs. Beecher; he laid a hand upon my shoulder.

  "We must get out of here," he said.

  He lifted the housekeeper in his arms, and I followed him. There was a giant splintering sound behind us: the banister had dissolved in a wall of flame. Showers of spark and waves of blistering heat chased our departure. Once outside, I felt a keen relief to see Ginny and Edgar by the fountain, huddling beneath horse blankets. I ran to them, threw my arms around Ginny.

  "I—I don't know what 'appened, Abby," she said in a befuddled voice. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair singed and springing wildly around her face. "One minute I was abed, the next Edgar was shakin' me, tellin' me we 'ad to run ..."

  My gaze went to the groom. He was with Hux, who was laying Mrs. Beecher gently upon the ground. Hux looked at me, but I knew already. Going over, I went to my knees. I pressed a kiss against her weathered cheek.

  "Farewell, Mrs. Beecher," I whispered. "Peace and love is yours at last."

  Behind me, I heard Ginny begin to sob.

  "I tried to stop her." Dropping on one knee next to Mrs. Beecher, Edgar gave me a look of shock. "I couldn't get to Creagan, but I rounded her and Ginny up. I followed his lordship's instructions in case of an emergency. I took them to the tower like he said, lit all them special candles and herbs. I poured holy water 'round the perimeter. The demon couldn't get us. We were safe. But Mrs. Beecher—" he swallowed, his thick neck working painfully. "She left something behind, she said. Something she couldn't allow to be destroyed. And afore I could stop her, she ran out."

  "You did everything you could." I started to reach for his hand, but saw that it was raw and blistered. Various cuts and burns scored his face. "You were very brave, Edgar," I said. "You saved Ginny and yourself, for which I am forever grateful. Now we must have your wounds attended to."

  "Abigail, go with Edgar and Ginny to the village," Hux said. "I've sent one of the footmen ahead to the Lamb and Flag. They're expecting us."

  "But what about you—"

  "I have to stay here." With his hair wild and his face streaked with smoke, he had shed his civilized skin. He was a primal warrior ready for battle. Nay, eager for it. Every taut muscle, every murderous beat of his heart demanded Lilith's return.

  "I won't let you do this alone—" I began.

  "Devil take it, just this once, do not argue with me and do as you're told!"

  I cringed as his words blasted through me. His eyes blazed with brimstone, but I knew his fury was not directed at me. I understood what he was striving to keep under control so that he could attend to the disaster all around us. To what surely would be coming next. Knowing he had slipped beyond reason, I felt my chest constrict.

  Do not panic. Be calm. Focus.

  "Yes, my lord," I said in a tremulous voice.

  He turned and strode toward the house, barking orders at the men arriving with buckets of water. When I saw that his attention was completely diverted, I stooped as if to retrieve a dropped object. My fingers found the jagged perimeter of a nymph's head that had been severed from the fountain. Instantly, Lilith's vicious energy sliced through me. Her orgiastic joy shot bile up my throat. Numb with horror, I bore through her butchery of Mr. Creagan. Then, oh God, Mrs. Beecher ...

  Digging into my deepest reserves, I forced myself to hold onto the vision. To control it and not let it control me. I had to discover what Lilith intended next. The necklace's fortifying magic poured like mortar through the widening cracks in my willpower.

  I saw her.

  Reclining against blood-red satin, her eyes closed in smiling reverie. Two attendant Lilin fan her with palm leaves. She is resting beneath the whispering dark fronds, dreaming of the bloodshed yet to come. Of her return tomorrow night, when her power is replenished to its fullest. She will descend in a virago of pain. This time, she will find the infidel and the betrayer, and she will tear them to pieces. Finally, she will regain what is hers. She will decimate mankind and in its place create an empire worthy of a Goddess.

  Even in repose, her lips twist with feline pleasure.

  "Abby, are you alright? We 'ave to go now."

  Blinking away moisture, I straightened and b
roke the contact with the stone. With Lilith. An odd calm settled over me, the peace of knowing what had to be done. "Yes, Ginny. Let us go. I am ready."

  FORTY-ONE

  News travelled fast to the village. By the time we arrived at the Lamb and Flag, the street was crowded with curious onlookers despite the late hour. Ignoring them, I helped Ginny and Edgar to their rooms. The village physician arrived shortly. Leaving them in his good hands, I made sure to have food and drink sent up. Then I asked the innkeeper to call for a hackney. He did as I asked, and within a quarter hour I was climbing into a well-travelled coach.

  As I bumped against the thin cushions, I heard a crackling noise like parched leaves underfoot. Remembering, I reached into my cloak pocket and withdrew the packet of letters. I held them in my palm, their weight so insignificant, and yet Mrs. Beecher had died to save them. To preserve the memory of love found and dreams lost. My throat thickened. Undoing the twine that bound the yellowing folds together, I scanned the familiar, precise loops of Aunt Agnes' script.

  9 March 1856

  My dearest Rebecca,

  As always, when spring arrives I think of you. The hope of renewal is ever bright within me; yet I know you think my dream cannot be so. Thus I wait, full of impatience for the time when your mind blossoms into possibility (though, I daresay, you will prune it soon enough with that pragmatism of yours!). But never mind: I write not to unearth old arguments, but to share with you tidings of the year past.

  Little Abby, how she has grown. She is thirteen now, a serious thing more like me than my sister, her own flesh-and-blood mother. Yet though Abby's temperament is steady, I fear my sister's weakness is growing within her. I cannot speak more of it; I can only say every family has its cross to bear, and I pray that Abby can withstand her burden with greater fortitude than poor Patricia did.

  But you know me, Rebecca: I do more than pray. I have been instilling all the best protections I know of—a learned mind, a moral heart—and my dear girl absorbs all like a sponge. My heart is full when I think of her; something of her quiet strength reminds me of you and makes the loneliness a little easier to endure. You would like her, I think, and I cannot relinquish the hope that one day we three shall meet.

  Affectionately yours,

  Agnes

  I blew my nose. I had always thought Aunt Agnes a woman of fiercely independent spirit, and while that was so, I ached to realize that her solitude had not been entirely chosen. As I read on, I gleaned that she and Mrs. Beecher had parted ways because they could not negotiate a way to be together. Mrs. Beecher wanted them to continue as domestics beneath a shared roof, their feelings hidden yet their time together real and abiding.

  My aunt, on the other hand, wanted freedom. She dreamed of living her life on her own terms, openly and without shame. Reading between the lines, I knew also the sacrifice she made for me. At times, when her loneliness was too great, she thought to join Mrs. Beecher in a household—but what of me? With my affliction, she had to keep me safe, insulated from the dangers of strange objects and people. She could not risk my coming to the same end as my mother, her beloved sister.

  So she gave up her own happiness, for my sake. She surrendered her own future in order to give me mine. The closing of her last letter brought a poignant burn to my throat.

  ... So many years have passed since we last saw each other, Rebecca—in my mind it was only yesterday you wore a peony upon your breast, the bloom of youth yet more beautiful upon your cheek. But time has passed; we are both older. And dreams, though un-relinquished, grow duller with the tarnish of the years.

  I have only one hope left, and that is to see Abby safe after I am gone. That time is not too far off, I fear. Dear friend, may I ask this last thing of you? To keep an eye on Abigail for me, to guide her with your wise and loving heart. I have many regrets in this life, and you, my cherished Rebecca, figure in too many of them. The one regret I do not have, however, is having known love. There is no sacrifice too great, no pain I would not endure, in its blessed name. It will be in my heart when I pass from this earth; thoughts of you and Abigail will lift me with gratitude and peace.

  Forever yours,

  Agnes

  These letters were my aunt's final gift to me. Moisture splattered onto the fragile paper as I understood at last what love was. Something worth living and dying for.

  *****

  Too soon, I arrived at my destination. As the hackney rattled away, I stared up at the magnificent gray walls of the cathedral rising high into the night. The medieval Abbey was a place of sanctuary that countless before me had visited to worship—or to find a miracle. As I entered through the door, I understood why. I looked upward into the stone vaults which stretched so high above me; I looked forward through the nave, its ten elegant bays, all the way to the chancel and the breathtaking altar. Even at a distance, I could see the screen of ornate sculpture, the fabric of rich scarlet and gilt, and the holiness of the windows which seemed to reach into the heavens above.

  In such a hallowed presence, I felt my smallness, and for once it comforted me. I knew now that I was not alone. Loneliness and fear fell away. My aunt's words illuminated my heart, and all the love I had ever known surged through my veins. I felt the warmth of my mother's cross against my neck, the weight of Hux's kisses upon my lips, and I knew a strange and wondrous peace. This was the place to meet my destiny. The time, too, whilst the enemy was weakened by her recent assault on Hope End.

  As if it had sensed the turmoil to come, the Abbey had emptied itself. My steps were the only sound as I made my way down the deserted nave. I noticed the luminous medieval drawings along the sides of the walls and the elegant checked stone over the arches. All of the details flashed through my mind as I advanced calmly to the heart of the building. To the place where legend had St. Alban, Britain's first martyr, giving his life for a greater cause.

  Stopping before the altar, I dropped to my knees. I said a quick prayer, my heart quickening despite the calmness of my soul. I thought once more of all those who had loved me, and I was filled with immeasurable gratitude. With my eyes raised heavenward, I reached to my neck. My fingers grasped hold of the amulet which had protected me for two and twenty years. I could feel its energy even now, the invisible light that had buoyed me through countless sorrows.

  In one fluid motion, I pulled it over my head and let it drop to the ground beside me.

  Laid bare to Lilith, I waited.

  FORTY-TWO

  I sensed her arrival. The air around me began to stir with disturbed energy. Color bled from the stained glass, the panes darkening into the pitch of night. On the altar, the row of votives leapt in agitation. The smell drifted to me, sweet and acrid burning, and I knew she was not far off. A humming began in my ears, quietly at first, and then growing in volume and timbre. It blossomed into a clear soprano, a voice so beautiful that my eyes welled, and it enraptured me, called to me as a mother calls to her lost child.

  An irresistible longing swept through me.

  Footsteps echoed against the stone. She was a dark figure, cloaked in shadow. As she came toward me, the darkness around her seemed to grow, a pulsing black aura which fed off light and turned it into swirling ash. The ground trembled with her advance. Grabbing hold of the necklace, I slipped it once more around my neck. The cross settled against the hollow of my throat, and the familiar hum of energy steadied me for confrontation. Her floating, mocking voice seeped into my head.

  "You do not stay kneeling before your mother?"

  I stared at the form before me. Though the top half was hidden by a velvet hood, her face nonetheless exuded unearthly beauty. Lips of ruby gleamed against luminescent white skin. She laughed, and I saw the pointed incisors, pearly and glistening.

  "After all these years of hide-and-seek, and nothing to say for yourself," she said. "For shame. What am I to do with you, my naughty girl? What punishment would fit a crime such as yours?"

  Though chilling, her words pulled at me lik
e fingers plucking at a harp. Every fiber of my being seemed to respond to her, in yearning and in fear.

  Taking a shaky breath, I said, "I have committed no crime against you, Lilith."

  "Tsk, tsk," she responded, as if reprimanding an errant child. "Lying will only make it worse for you. Give it back, little girl, before I rip it from your throat."

  My fingers went to the necklace, closed instinctively around it. "Why do you want it so badly, Lilith? What power does this cross possess for you?"

  Her teeth bared suddenly, the hood blowing from her face. Her otherworldly splendor struck me with the force of a gale. I stumbled back a few steps, my arm raising to shield my eyes. Tonight she inhabited a form of glowing camellia skin and shining ebony hair. I'd thought that her recent carnage of Hope End might diminish her strength. All hope of that evaporated as she hovered above the ground, her features radiant, her eyes amber suns ringed with fire.

  "You dare question me?" she hissed. "Like a thief in the night, your ancestor stole what was mine. She took from her own mother—she betrayed my blood, all that I had given to her. And for what? To lay on her back for that disgusting filth. To stay hidden from me, so that she could bear the sickly fruit of his weak seed and be enslaved to his mortal will. My disgraced daughter," she spat, "who gave up a goddess' immortality to be with a man. And you, offspring of that repulsive union, you will give me back what she took."

  My mind struggled to process Lilith's words, to put them together with what I knew already from my visions. "My ancestor stole the cross so that you could not find her. She could sense you—but you could not track her. She passed the necklace to her children so that we would remain safe from you. Having made the choice to love," I said with sudden realization, "she did not want her children hunted by evil."