The Complete 1st Freak House Trilogy: Box set (The 1st Freak House Trilogy)

by C. J. Archer

"That's not true. He cares about Jack and Sylvia, and me too. He doesn't want me to die, Mr. Tate, and I doubt he wants you to either. He's not entirely heartless. Talk to him and you'll realize it too."

  He came to stand in front of me and lowered the syringe to my jaw. One small move and he could jab it into my throat. "I tried talking to him years ago. He laughed in my face."

  My resolve to calm him down and make him see sense was fading fast. His hatred of Langley ran deep, perhaps too deep for me to convince him to let it go. "I know you loved him," I ventured. There could be no gain without risk, and from the raw pain in Tate's eyes, I was taking a very big risk indeed. "I know he betrayed you with Bollard. But are past hurts enough of a reason to jeopardize your life?"

  "It's your life I risk, not mine. Listen to me, Miss Smith. August's betrayal with Bollard is only part of the problem. It's the icing on the cake, or, if you prefer, the lesion symptomatic of an underlying cancer. The far greater betrayal was when he tricked me into receiving much less than I deserved for the drug we created together. I thought we were going to split everything in half, but found out too late that the papers he made me sign had certain caveats that locked me out of the greatest portion of funds. So you see," he said with a mocking smile, "I don't trust him. He'll come in here, pretending to work with me, and then he'll take my cure and sell it to the Society. I wouldn't even trust him to inject me with it beforehand."

  "He would never do that."

  "You don't know him like I do, Miss Smith."

  "Clearly not. But I do know him now. He's changed. He'll be fair with you, I promise. Just put down the syringe."

  "Miss Smith." He spoke my name as if it were a weight he wanted to shove off once and for all. "I'm hot and tired. My time is close. Without a cure I have only a day or two left."

  He did indeed look hotter than the last time I'd seen him in the Red Lion. He wore neither waistcoat nor tie, and his shirt was soaked with sweat. "I don't have the energy or time for Langley's games." He primed the needle. A squirt of the liquid dropped onto the floor and soaked into the boards. "Besides, it's not necessary to include him. I have the cure. He doesn't. I don't need him anymore."

  "How can you be sure that's the cure if you haven't tested it?"

  "Would you like to see my calculations?" He jerked his head at the table where papers were spread out and notebooks lay open. He laughed.

  "You know I won't understand it."

  "Then I'm sorry for you and your small brain, Miss Smith. You'll just have to trust me."

  My stomach heaved. I wanted to throw up. Perhaps that would make him stop pressing the needle to my exposed arm.

  I searched for the anger inside, but it was buried too deeply beneath fear and hopelessness. "Please, Mr. Tate. Please, be reasonable. He's different now, I assure you. He won't betray you again." My voice was shrill. Hysterical.

  I shook my arm as best as I could, and he pulled the needle away.

  It was only a teasing delay. "Hold still," he growled. "Moving will only succeed in making it hurt more."

  I began to cry. Great, gasping sobs sucked even more precious air from my lungs, and I coughed so hard it felt like my insides were being brought up. It made it impossible for Tate to inject me.

  He set the syringe down on the table and slapped my face with the back of his hand. My head buzzed. My cheek hurt. But I quieted. In a sense, I woke up.

  I watched Tate pick up the syringe again and press it to my arm. I felt the bite of the needle as it pierced my skin, the heavy weight of anticipation as he emptied the contents into my arm.

  The liquid was cold. I'd never felt anything like it. It slithered along my veins, up my arm to my shoulder, numbing. If the cold meant I was cured, then the drug had worked.

  He removed the needle, and the coldness went with it.

  "Well?" I prompted, searching his face for any sign of what was supposed to happen next.

  "Now we wait and observe."

  Wait. God, how I hated that word.

  Tate pulled up the only other chair in the hut and sat, the pistol in his lap. He watched me intently, peered into my eyes. "How do you feel?" He sounded remarkably clinical for someone whose life depended on the outcome of this test. Perhaps, like me, he was resigned to fate. It was too late to tweak the drug now.

  "Still hot," I said. "The drug's coldness didn't last. It's as if my heat overpowered it."

  "Fuck!"

  Dread punched its fist through my chest. "You…expected more?"

  "It should have worked." He shot to his feet and stabbed the pistol barrel onto the open notebook. "It should have bloody worked."

  I tried to swallow, but couldn't. My throat was too tight. Something was happening. Heat rose from the pit of my stomach up to my chest like smoke. Searing. Stifling. It stole the air from my lungs, wrapped itself around my insides like a burning rope.

  "Mr. Tate." I tried to shout, but it came out a whisper. "Mr. Tate…help. I'm burning up."

  He took one look at my face, and I knew from the horror in his eyes that it must be dangerously red.

  "It hasn't worked, has it?"

  He plopped down on the chair and buried his head in his hand. "No, Miss Smith. It hasn't worked. You'll be dead very soon. I'm sorry."

  Ordinarily I would be a puddle of pitiful tears hearing that, but I concentrated on fighting the heat. I focused all my energy inwards, tried to conjure cool things in my mind, like swimming in the lake with Jack.

  My efforts were useless. My fingertips were hot, perhaps even on fire. I couldn't tell, bound as they were behind me.

  My blood throbbed between my ears, so loud that I didn't hear the door opening. It wasn't until Tate's head jerked up that I realized someone had entered the hut.

  I heard their shouts. I recognized Jack's voice and Samuel's. Accusing. Cursing. Demanding to know what had happened. Somebody untied me, but had to jump back as I burned him. Samuel, I realized, as his face came into focus. He blew on his hands and shook them out.

  "She's on fire," he said. "Too hot for me."

  I caught a glimpse of Jack's face as he came to my side. There was no sign of relief at finding me, no worry either. It was as if he wore a mask, his eyes shining like two hard gems within it.

  He began to untie me. My heat couldn't combust him unless there was desire between us, and there was nothing like it in him now. He was all fierce determination and calculating anger. I did not envy Tate in the least once Jack directed that wrath at him.

  He never got the chance. Tate stood, the pistol in his hand. He pointed it at Jack. Cocked it.

  Jack's head whipped around at the click. Samuel swore, as did someone else. Myer, I think. Tate pulled the trigger, but Jack dove out of the way at the last moment. The bullet bit into the floor and lodged in the boards.

  Tate pointed the gun at me. My hands were still tied to the chair although Jack had got my legs free. But it was useless. I couldn't move out of the way. I was as limp as a rag doll. And hot. So damnably hot.

  A fireball shot past my ear, singing my hair. It slammed into Tate's shoulder. He dropped the gun and screamed in pain. He slapped frantically at his shirt and was able to put out the flames.

  Too late. His skin had blistered and burned off in patches. He stared down at himself, as if he'd never seen anything like it. I stared too, riveted by horror and shock. He should not have burned. Neither he nor I nor Jack should have been affected by flames. Yet Jack's fireball had scorched him. The smell of seared flesh was unmistakable.

  Jack stood at my side, still staring at Tate. His mask had fallen away. He looked as horrified as Tate. He'd burned someone, something he'd sworn never to do again. The guilt must have returned, and the memories of that time he'd killed a man by using his fire to save Charity.

  He shuddered and covered his face with his hands. I wanted to hold him, tell him it was all right, but I could do nothing. I could not even find my voice.

  Samuel edged closer to the gun lying at Tate's feet.


  But Tate got it first. He directed it at Samuel. "Get back!"

  Samuel stayed still, hands in the air. "Jack," he said.

  Jack stood there, doing nothing, not looking at Tate or anyone else. He stared down at his hands, his shoulders stooped as if he'd given up.

  "Bloody hell, Jack!" Samuel cried. "Fire another one!"

  Tate shifted the gun to me. "I'll put her out of her misery," he said. "She's dying anyway. It'll be kinder than—"

  Jack's fireball hit him square in the chest and blasted him across the room. He slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor. Dead. There could be no doubt. His body and clothing were alight, the fire quickly consuming him. The putrid smell of burning flesh grew stronger, clogging my throat and nose.

  Jack rubbed his hands down his face. When he drew them away, it was as if the horror had been wiped off. The normal Jack had returned.

  He bent to untie me. "Hannah?" he whispered. "Hannah, please…fight it."

  "I'm hot, Jack. So hot."

  "There's a stream nearby, we'll take you there. You must live, Hannah. For me."

  "We have to get her to August," Samuel barked out.

  "No time," Jack said. "Myer, fetch August here. Now."

  Myer hurried out, and I heard the pounding of a horse's hooves.

  "I dare not carry her," Jack said to Samuel. "Can you?"

  "No," I rasped. "I'll burn him."

  Samuel ran through a door to an adjoining room and quickly returned carrying a blanket. He wrapped it around me. The familiar smell was a comfort. Wool. I laughed at the irony.

  I closed my eyes. They were too heavy to keep open, and my head felt like it was going to explode if I used up even the small amount of energy needed to do that.

  "Hannah, wake up," Jack shouted. Samuel picked me up, and Jack stood close. I could feel his breath on my face. It was cooler than my skin, which was odd. So odd.

  "Hannah! No. No, don't go."

  I had to. I was too hot, too weak to do anything but sleep. I wanted to tell him that I wanted to be with him, tell him I loved him, but my voice had been consumed by the fire. I had nothing left. Not even tears.

  "Stay with me." Jack's plea clawed at my heart, his sobs wrenched a cry from my chest.

  I tried to rally for him. I tried so hard. But in the end, it was too much effort. The heat blasted through me and the darkness came.

  CHAPTER 15

  I awoke in a stream, fully clothed. It was dark, but I could just make out the tall shapes of trees and people standing on the bank. Somebody held my head above the swiftly flowing water and the weeds. Somebody strong but gentle. Somebody who cradled me like I was the most precious thing in the world.

  Jack.

  I was alive. I was quite sure of it, but I wanted to be doubly certain. I tried to sit up, but lacked the energy to do it on my own.

  "Hannah?" Jack sounded wondrous. He shifted and his face appeared in front of mine. He stared at me, unblinking. "Hannah. Thank God," he muttered. "Thank God, thank God." He raised me a little and pressed his lips to my forehead. I hadn't been surrounded by weeds, I realized, but by my own hair.

  Jack pressed his hand to my cheek, his lips to my mouth. He was shaking and his face was wet, either from crying or the water, or both.

  I tested my limbs and found I had some strength in my arms. I wrapped them around his neck and clung to him. Relief and happiness burst out of me. I sobbed against him, unable to stop myself. He held me fiercely, rocking me, as shudders wracked us both.

  Water splashed, and I heard voices. Sylvia called out my name, and somebody stroked my hair. I looked over my shoulder and was greeted with kisses on my cheek, first from Sylvia then Tommy and finally Bollard. The mute's eyes shone in the moonlight. I looked past him and saw Langley sitting on the bank, his useless legs stretched out in front of him. Behind him stood Myer. He had his back to me, facing the smoking ruin of the hut beyond. His shoulders were slumped forward, his head bowed, like a defeated man.

  "It's cold in here," Samuel muttered.

  I laughed then stopped. Needles of pain shot along my limbs, through my veins, piercing my skin. It was back. The fire…

  No, not the fire. It felt different. It wasn't heat, but something else. Something I'd never felt before.

  "Samuel?" I said, my voice rough. "What does cold feel like?"

  "Well, like…it's hard to describe."

  Jack drew away to look at me properly. "Why? What do you feel, Hannah?"

  "Like I need to get out of this water before I turn rigid."

  He grinned. "You're shivering."

  "Get her out!" Sylvia cried, charging back to the bank. "Dry her before she catches her…uh, before she catches a chill."

  A chill. I'd never had a chill.

  Jack lifted me in his arms. I expected to feel his heat warming me now that we were out of the water, but I felt nothing like that. I continued to shiver, perhaps even more than when I was sitting in the stream. Touching Jack felt like being touched by anybody else.

  Normal.

  "I'm cured," I said to him.

  He looked down at me. It was dark, but I could see the brightness in his eyes, the curve of his mouth as he smiled. "It would seem so."

  He set me gently on the bank beside Langley, but didn't let me go. He remained at my back, propping me up, his arms wrapped around me.

  August's hand gripped mine. "Welcome back, Hannah."

  "Did you save me?" I asked.

  He didn't answer, but turned to Tommy. "Fetch the blanket. She's freezing."

  What a funny thought. I laughed until a shiver coursed through me. Tommy handed the blanket to Jack and he folded me into it.

  I felt their stares on me, wondrous, happy, relieved. All the same emotions that welled inside me where not long ago only excruciating heat had been.

  "We ought to go now," Sylvia said. "Hannah needs dry clothes and rest."

  Myer, Tommy and Samuel remained behind to ensure the fire in the hut was completely doused. We left the three horses with them. Bollard lifted Langley into his arms, and Jack picked me up in the same manner. We were carried through the woods to where the carriage awaited us on a track nearby. The driver sat huddled inside his coat, his chin on his chest. He sat up when he heard us coming. He rubbed his eyes and picked up the reins.

  "Why did Myer look so sad?" I asked Jack as he set me on the seat in the cabin.

  "The cure was in that hut," he said. "The original compound Tate took from me too. He wanted them both and now he has neither."

  Jack sat beside me, Sylvia opposite. She fussed with the blanket, ensuring it was closed tightly at my throat. "Keep your chest warm," she directed. She sounded like a mother hen, clucking at her chicks. I didn't scold her. It was nice to be coddled.

  Bollard put Langley down beside her then closed the door. The carriage dipped as he got up beside the driver. We drove out of the woods and made our way along the road back through Harborough and onto Frakingham. The sky in the east was lighter, the clouds edged with gold. Dawn was near.

  "What happened after I fainted?" I asked.

  "I carried you into the stream," Jack said simply.

  "Keeping you cold saved your life," Langley said.

  I tilted my face to look at Jack. He sat beside me, his hands on his knees, quite still. He was wet through, but as achingly handsome as ever. More so. I kissed him lightly on the lips. Saying thank you didn't seem adequate enough. There were no words to express my gratitude and love.

  He grasped my hand and pressed the knuckles to his lips. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, shuddery breath.

  "We were so worried about you," Sylvia said. Her uncle held her hand between both of his own. He did not try to separate Jack and I. Not that I could be separated from him ever again.

  "When Tate took you…" Sylvia bit her lip and shook her head, unable to go on. Her eyes glistened in the weak dawn light.

  "By the time I arrived in Harborough, Myer had already left,"
Jack said, picking up the story. "I found him on the London road and brought him back to Frakingham. It was the middle of the night, but the entire household was awake. They told me what had happened." He cleared his throat, and I suspected it had been a tense time for them, far more so than his blunt retelling indicated. "Samuel, Myer and I set out for the hut immediately. Myer knew its location, thankfully."

  They must have all been exhausted traveling hard and fast to return to the house and then the hut. And the night hadn't ended then.

  "You sent Myer back to fetch Langley," I said. "I remember that."

  He nodded. "It felt like forever before they returned."

  "What happened then? How was I cured?"

  "Uncle brought his notes and things with him," Sylvia said, shooting him a proud smile. "He mixed Tate's formula and his own, and voila! You were cured."

  Jack laughed. "I'm sure it was a little more complicated than that, Syl."

  "Somewhat," Langley admitted. "I found the ingredients of Reuben's formula in his notes. He'd come at it from a different angle to me, but our findings weren't all that far apart. I knew almost immediately where we both went wrong. I made some adjustments to my formula based on his calculations and tested it on your blood sample."

  "Obviously the results were positive," Sylvia said.

  "Actually, they were inconclusive. Testing on blood samples alone wasn't enough."

  He needed to test it on a real human case. Me. He didn't say so, but he didn't need to. There'd been no time to conduct full tests, and he'd injected me anyway.

  Tate had been right all along in that regard. He did need me. Myer had also been right—Langley and Tate worked better together, not alone.

  Now Tate was gone, and all his knowledge with him.

  ***

  I ate a good breakfast as Sylvia dried and brushed my hair. Then, wrapped up in blankets, I slept the entire day and the following night. It was Christmas Eve when I awoke. I felt refreshed, and cold. For the first time since my arrival at Frakingham House, I dressed in warm winter clothes, complete with woolen jacket, waistcoat and skirt. I even wore gloves inside the house.

  I had hoped to find Jack alone, so I could thank him properly for saving my life, but he was with the others in the dining room.