Cogs in Time Anthology

by Catherine Stovall

  The sight of the tiny cracks lit a new lamp in Draegan’s mind, a lamp of light and hope in the darkness. While Mordecai and the guards concerned themselves with the disposal of Karina, Draegan tapped at the crack, touching it lightly down its length.

  As the guards left with Mordecai, Draegan banged his head against the fissure. Thank you, Karina, my wonderful chubby human, for the gift of freedom.

  ***

  Mordecai paced up and down his office in a fit of anxious concern. “Ten women. All insane. Ten infants. All stillborn.” His voice bellowed through the room, shaking the portraits along the walls. The High Table understood the implications; the genetic engineering had failed again.

  “Every subject in the trial? All ten?” asked Castille.

  “Indeed. Every one.”

  “Perhaps they were exposed to some other carcinogen, something outside of the Society’s control?”

  “Unlikely, Castille. The common denominator between all the subjects is Draegan’s vaccine for chromosomal alteration, extrogenX. And it’s a retrovirus.”

  “Viral? Do you mean contagious?”

  The room fell as silent as death. Mordecai was rarely uncontrolled with his anger. “I do. And we may have inadvertently released the insanity into the general population. We released these women to their homes. They are spreading their virus, polluting the streets with the virus!”

  “We should perhaps not have sent them back so quickly after their delivery. But yet, perhaps their madness stems from the loss of their child,” added Castille.

  “It is more than post-partum distress, Castille! Look at the facts! Draegan’s vaccine must cause mental instability. Probably from the unnatural manipulation of the fetal hormones and absorption into the brain.”

  “What are we to do about Draegan? Obviously, he too is no longer stable,” added Castille.

  Mordecai sat silently as his mind hovered over the contents of Draegan’s mind. He knew something was amiss. He had scanned every thought of Draegan’s in the past month and seen every dream, and all he could view was swirls of madness and impulsive energies. Where and what the energy was, try as he might, Mordecai could not see it or feel it.

  A barrier to reasonable thought existed in Draegan’s mind, and Mordecai could not push past the superficial layers of his thoughts. Mordecai could not peek into the deep recesses to see what had taken over Draegan, for there was no doubt that he had changed. A flash flew through Mordecai’s mind. Draegan, standing under the glass dome, his fingers covered in the blood of Karina, licking them hungrily. Dear God, Draegan is infected too.

  ***

  Draegan felt a surge of energy, as he tasted Karina’s blood—energy that grew with each red drop. It had entered him like a kindred spirit, whispering the secrets of another life into his being. This feeling had become his closest friend and ally. For he knew he would soon be free. Draegan drew a blanket of darkness over his mind as he felt a deeper sinking into madness. Yet he buried it, hidden like a serpent waiting to strike.

  “He is mad as a hatter,” reported the guards. “Madder than ever.”

  Mordecai knew this much to be true. He could see nothing but black shadows in every corner of Draegan’s mind. He must be infected with the human mutation.

  ***

  The evenings in the genetics laboratory were cold and empty; the old building lay deserted and forlorn with inactivity. Draegan sat on his cot, reliving his last memories of his brother. He remembered his encounter with Astrid, almost able to recollect the taste of her blood on his tongue and in his mouth.

  He felt her skin break under his teeth and the warm gush of human blood entering his mouth. He heard his brother’s voice echoing through the alley, desperate and pained, calling out to Astrid. Each evening, as Draegan sifted through this memory, he realized two things. One, his brother was in love with Astrid, which was an unspeakable abomination. The second was that his greatest desire was now to hunt down and destroy the human woman, Astrid. The thoughts became words in his mind, drifting slowly to his lips. Soon, the words would become actions. That, above all things, he knew to be true.

  Chapter Eight

  Storm in a Teacup

  Luca paced the room, sick with worry. Astrid had recovered well enough to return home, yet an unsettled fear gnawed at his throat. Astrid. Thoughts of her softness slid into his mind, uninvited and unannounced, threatening to overtake his faculties completely.

  He was well aware that it was forbidden for a vampire to fall in love with a human woman. If Mordecai and the High Table knew his feelings, he would be ruined from the storm of the Society’s anger, a storm designed to wipe out any remnant of emotions towards Astrid.

  ***

  Luca stood, attacked by Draegan’s lurid accusations. “You are a whore-monger,” hissed Draegan.

  “I came to visit you, as a courtesy to our familial bond.” Luca’s body filled with anger. “I did not come to be insulted by a detainee of the Society.” Mordecai had asked Luca to visit his brother, hoping Luca could ascertain any helpful information regarding the infected women from the genetic trials.

  “It is better to kill the whores than to fall in love with them,” Draegan sneered, his hollowed face twisted into a grimace. Draegan stared at Luca, daring him to deny his words. “Tell me,” he continued, pushing his dark hair from his eyes, “how does it feel to love a woman? How can you not consume her?”

  “You know nothing, Draegan.” Luca turned to leave. “Certainly nothing about women.”

  “Really, brother?” Draegan hung from the inside of his glass like a bat. “Is my knowledge of any concern? No. The real concern is Mordecai’s knowledge. Am I right, dear brother?”

  Luca felt the muscles inside his chest tighten. His breathing quickened as Draegan had him cornered.

  “What is it you want, Draegan? Just spit it out!” His words were an order, a plea to be understood and left alone. As he waited for his brother’s answer, he felt his heartbeat careen throughout his body, every muscle twitched with anger.

  Draegan jumped back from the glass wall and walked backwards to his cot. Like a flash of lightning, using all the force his body possessed, he pounced upon the glass below the small fissure. He banged his head twice against the wall, in the exact place each time.

  “I know how to get what I want. And no one can stop me,” he whispered. Thick, blue drops of his blood stuck to the glass and matted in his hair. In a final crash, glass shattered and debris flew through the room. Luca closed his eyes for a second, covering them from the shards. When he opened them again, Draegan was nowhere to be seen.

  ***

  Gabriel had been a felon since birth. He accompanied his father on petty robberies to feed his family and ailing mother. As he grew, his crimes involved thousands of pounds and tens of dead bodies. He feared no one, his power and influence over the East End grew, but it was never enough for him. He wanted more.

  Draegan observed Gabriel’s greed, overreaching pride and hubris. He will be perfect. He will make a deal with me. He will hunt Astrid. In exchange, I will offer him genetic engineering to increase and empower his senses and body. He will be the keenest criminal in all of London.

  The streets of the East End were just coming alive with the evening activity. Gaslights blurred through the fog and children were hushed inside. Draegan tossed his robes into the Thames after stealing clothes from an upscale tailor.

  Draegan entered the gin house. He remained inside the doorway as he watched Gabriel hold court at the bar. The human man’s height intimidated most men; he stood over six-and-a-half feet. His blonde hair curled around his ears and his blue eyes were unrepentant. Dark smudges of grime decorated his face and smeared down his cheeks.

  Done watching the man, Draegan stepped outside again, under the deep violet skies. A surge of excitement flowed through him. He felt hungry. Very hungry. First, he needed weapons and private transportation.

  St. Botolph’s. I will find what I need there. Draegan hopped
a train to the old sanctuary. A plethora of old materials was stored in the rectory, waiting to be remanufactured into service. Draegan wanted guns—double barreled, brass-tipped, sniper-scoped guns. A junkyard of old disused airships was hidden behind the cemetery and he was certain he could recondition one into service.

  ***

  Gabriel had no fear of vampires, nor any natural distrust. He did not fear death or pain, and that made him very powerful.

  “If I was to help you, mate,” began Gabriel. “And not saying that I will, by any means.” Gabriel worked a toothpick between his front teeth as he spoke. His lips curled as he spat the wood to the ground. “I would need a generous reward, a reward, unknown by another man, mate. Otherwise, no deal.”

  “I am able to reward your service handsomely, by giving you a power not known to man.”

  “And I don’t want any of your bloodsucking coming my way. I won’t have it. Keep that to yourself.”

  “I hear you know no fear,” said Draegan.

  “I don’t believe in fear.”

  “I don’t believe you,” answered Draegan. He stood toe-to-toe with Gabriel and eye-to-eye.

  “I care nothing for what you believe. You can stay or go. Talk or be quiet. I don’t care.”

  The two men stood in a silent standoff, each staring at the other. Draegan was the first to speak.

  “I need you to find a woman. Her name is Astrid West. Her father is Lord West. However, Astrid can usually be found among the whores.”

  Gabriel nodded his head. The nod was enough of a commitment. There was now a pact.

  “She’s tall for a woman. Dark hair. Decent features,” Draegan added begrudgingly.

  “Lord West is influential,” said Gabriel. “He has the ear of Queen Victoria.”

  “Yes. Well, you have mine.”

  ***

  She gasped in her sleep. Standing in the middle of a meadow, her dressing gown was tied tightly, like a corset, around her waist. A small tug on her dress by a tiny hand shocked her. At her feet was the baby girl, trying to steady herself to a standing position by pulling Astrid’s garments. Through blinding fog, she tried to bend to reach the child, but she was immobile, as if her spine was made of unyielding steel. The child tried to climb, grasping Astrid’s dress with chubby fingers, twisting and pulling. Astrid began to sink in the mud of the meadow. She pulled her feet out with a loud sucking sound from the muck as the child sank down deeper. Astrid cried to her, trying to reach, but her arms would not move. Blackness fell.

  Astrid was asleep, tossing in her bed. Her dreams of the infant girl and butterfly continued, almost nightly. Luca waited outside her window like a sentry, perched on her ledge.

  He had learned her quiet sounds of distress or discomfort, and when peeked in on her that night, he saw her clawing at her sheets again, shaking her head back and forth, and breathing in quick spurts. Pulling her window open, he sat next to her, resting his head next to hers. Her warmth and scent filled him and he took her hand. Closing his eyes, he emitted a low, almost imperceptible moan. His hand vibrated as it held hers, until his it visibly absorbed her own. Luca summoned his strength in a meditative hum, willing Astrid’s anxiety to diminish, pulling it from her and into him.

  Still, she woke, starting in fear, but within minutes she quieted. She did not know that her calmness was due to the loyal creature guarding her outside her window through the day and through the night. Luca was ever constant.

  ***

  The women clustered together outside the Gin Bar. The chill in the night air was harsh and their frayed stockings did nothing for their protection or beauty. Business was slack and the women’s clothes reflected the desperation and haggardness more suited to beggars.

  Ada, the oldest of the women, was the first to catch sight of Gabriel sidling down the alley. He walked in a jagged pattern, crisscrossing from one corner to another, in a futile attempt to be unnoticed. However, Ada had keen eyesight and was an even keener judge of character.

  “It’s bloody Gabriel,” said Ada to the group. Timothy looked up from his game of marbles to peer down the alley. Her voice had grown hoarse from years of smoking cheap tobacco and grinded through the air like a blunt knife.

  “Indeed? I don’t see anyone. Especially anyone with the evil mug of Gabriel,” said Beatrix, a buxom young girl barely contained by her garments.

  “No, I see him,” said Ada. The years on the East End streets had given her a matronly status of respect. “Put your shawls on, girls. No sense in giving him a free show or giving him any ideas.”

  “Oh it does look like him. I see him now,” said Violet, an Irish beauty with black hair and green eyes. “I can tell by his cocky step. Wait, it can’t be Gabriel. He’s smiling.”

  Violet squinted into the darkness trying to elucidate the shadowy figure ahead.

  “Stop frowning and bunching up your faces!” shouted Ada. “Haven’t I taught you anything about staying young looking? It’s the key to a nice retirement.”

  Violet immediately raised her eyebrows to stretch out her face, getting rid of her scowl of concentration.

  “He is smiling,” said Timothy. “Perhaps he has some fortunate news.”

  “Timothy, go put the kettle on, leave us.” Ada did not want a young boy such as Timothy exposed to the criminal element stealthily headed their way.

  Gabriel walked out of the alley’s darkness. His hands were deep in the pockets of his brown overcoat, a shiny silver-engraved pocket watch swung from his side. His coat sleeves were rolled past his elbows, revealing his tattoos. A faded blue Jolly Roger pirate ship decorated his right forearm. On his left, a skull and a hand with a raised sword were drawn in old blue ink.

  “He has a strange expression,” mused Ada, the trusted gatekeeper to the girls, as her analysis of human personality usually kept them safe.

  When a prospective customer approached the women, Ada had a silent system of acceptance. If Ada sensed no danger, she nodded her head slightly. If she was unsure of the intentions, or needed more time, a quick discussion regarding the weather would be in order. However, all of Ada’s girls knew it would take her less than five minutes to ascertain a prospective man’s intentions, and they depended on her to keep unsavory suitors away.

  The women stood behind Ada, waiting for whatever Gabriel would say and for Ada’s silent assessment.

  Gabriel tipped his hat, smiling a crooked grin that unnaturally sat on his countenance. He infrequently expressed himself with such a positive demeanor.

  “How are all my beautiful girls today?” Gabriel sounded uncomfortably festive in tone.

  “We are not your girls, Gabriel,” muttered Ada into her handkerchief.

  Ada knew Gabriel like to think he ran the East End, and that he owned the dark and sinister activities of the streets, but she took pride in running her own business. Hers was a business of women, run by women—not by men, and certainly not by Gabriel. However, the service-oriented profession she had chosen taught her tolerance of other’s egos, and sometimes, it was easier to let the men believe they owned their world.

  “I have a job for you.” He walked to Ada, who remained seated in the courtyard. “All of you.” He waved magnanimously to the group, as if he were a politician.

  “What sort of job?” asked Ada. “You know our profession. We find our own work.”

  “I need you to find Lady Astrid for me. The woman ‘attacked’ by the vampire,” he said. “Yet she lived…isn’t that odd? Unlike Margaret.” Gabriel knew he ventured into dangerous waters as he mentioned Margaret.

  The women stood as if a ghost had tossed freezing water on them.

  “Tea?” asked Timothy from a cracked doorway.

  “Timmy, go back inside and begin your math facts. Go and practice your tables,” instructed Ada.

  Timothy knew, though he would have liked to stay and listen to Gabriel, that he was not wanted. Nodding his head obediently, he walked towards the home they had made for themselves in the shed of an ol
d butcher’s shop.

  “Here, love, put this on,” said Violet, caring for him like a small brother. She removed her threadbare stole and wrapped Timothy with it as he left.

  “This Astrid is the daughter of Lord West, see? Of course he’d liked to get rid of us riff-raff, right? So why do you think his daughter is hanging around the East End talking to prostitutes and looking for vampires? To help? Doesn’t add up.”

  The women looked back and forth at one another. They knew exactly of whom he spoke. Lady Astrid talked to them as equals, unlike the others. The general attitude in the upper classes had been that the deaths of the prostitutes had been cleansing to London’s East End—good riddance to bad rubbish. In fact, the police had done relatively little about the killings. The attacks had stopped, certainly, but the killer had not been publicly identified or punished.

  “What’s in it for us?” asked Violet. She looked to Ada for a sign. Ada looked to the sky, wanting to hear more.

  Gabriel laughed with greed. “A great deal indeed,” he bluffed. “Unfathomable rewards!”

  Ada caught his accidental pause. “Don’t play with us, Gabriel. Tell us everything, and we will let you know what we can do for you.”

  Gabriel gulped uncomfortably. He had believed this would be a simple task. The women led desperate lives, anything he offered would be accepted, or so he thought. Perhaps if I appeal to their sense of justice…

  “The police are on the look-out for her. They would like to question her involvement with the murders. Seems like her father wanted to clean out the East End, and perhaps his daughter took things into her own hands. Made a pact with the vampires even.”

  The women stood, unrelenting.

  “Astrid is believed to be a spy,” he lied, attempting to squeeze their sentiments for the dead women until the pain was alive again. “She came to you as a mole and passed on information to the Society.”