by A. W. Exley
His complexion was pale, veering toward grey, and his dark hair was dishevelled. He looked more like he lived rough under a hedgerow than… dead. I know others stripped them of their humanity and referred to them as it, but I simply couldn't. What stood before me was a man, even if his soul was long departed.
His lip curled up in a snarl and a rumble came from his chest. He lifted his head and sniffed at the air, like a wolf scenting for its prey. That was when I realised I was trapped. The stone walls that enclosed the orchard also embraced me. Trees clustered to each side. This creature stood between me and the dash to the house.
"Miss Charlotte? Are you out here?" a voice called.
Lieutenant Bain. A chill took grip in my chest as his khaki clad form appeared on the path.
"Don't come any closer, Lieutenant, it's one of them," I shouted.
I was of no consequence, but the officer did vital work in the battle against the Turned. I cast around for any weapon and tried to ignore the shiver trying to take hold of my limbs. Ella faced these things every day. For once in my life I would be like her and summon up the courage to stand my ground.
The lieutenant stopped but his hand went to the pistol holstered on his belt. He pulled it free of the leather and raised it. "Step away, Miss Charlotte, I don't want to shoot you by accident."
There was a slight problem. Because of the trees and overgrown garden, I stood right in line with the undead creature. Foliage and trunks blocked the way on one side. If the lieutenant shot, there was a high chance the bullet would pass straight through the Turned and lodge in me.
I swallowed. "I don't appear to have a direct avenue of escape." Then I remembered a certain object in the kitchen. "There is an old Calvary sabre in the kitchen, by the back door."
Bain's fingers tightened on the grip of the pistol. "I'll not leave you alone to fetch it. I have foolishly left my sword hanging behind my saddle, as I did not expect to need it. The best bet is a shot to warn it off."
The low growl came from the vermin, like a dog guarding a bone, or one that had found a far tastier morsel. His lips quivered as the growl became louder. Nostrils flared as he scented away from me and toward the lieutenant. In slow motion he turned.
"No!" I could not let it attack the lieutenant. Why did it not want me? A sob welled up in my chest. Even the undead thought me unworthy of attention. Mother was right all along—I was a useless nobody. As I tightened my arms to my body a startled squawk reminded me of the broody fowl in my grasp.
In a desperate moment, I did the only thing I could. I apologised to wee Henrietta and relied on the fact I had never seen an undead chicken so she should emerge unscathed. And then I threw the hen at the monster.
She gave an almighty screech as I tossed her. The vermin's head disappeared under feathers as she flapped her wings, battering at him in an effort to stabilise herself and in doing so, blocked his view.
"Over here, demon!" Lieutenant Bain called out, attracting its attention while trying to aim his pistol around both me and the agitated bird.
I shouldered past the narrow gap between creature and tree, determined to reach the officer before the undead gent. I averted my face so I couldn't see how close I had to pass. Pain lanced along my forearm. Did I snag it on the rough bark of the tree or a chicken claw? I tugged my arm free of the obstruction, inadvertently looking down expecting to see feather or leaves. But it was a dirty hand with long fingernails that raked down my exposed arm. I cried out as fire flared under my skin where the vermin's scratch broke the surface and blood welled up.
"Get down, Charlotte!"
I flung myself to one side, ducking my head as a shot rang out. I looked up from between branches to see the thing stagger backwards, a wisp of smoke curling from a small black hole in the centre of its forehead. Henrietta hit the ground and ran off into the long grass, squawking as she had witnessed a murder being committed. The commotion brought the rooster running around the corner to defend his woman.
I scrabbled to my feet as the vermin clutched at a tree branch to steady itself. The shot had repulsed him a few steps, but given he was already dead, he wouldn't be halted for long.
The lieutenant never took his gaze from the creature as he retreated deeper into the orchard and farther into the corner where the stone walls met. "The sword, Miss Charlotte. Do run and fetch it, please."
My body and mind reacted instinctively thanks to long years of doing what I was told. I picked up my skirts and ran, pounding down the path and around the corner of the house. The back door stood open and I dashed in and grabbed the old sword, sitting amongst the umbrellas in the wooden stand.
Lieutenant Bain had the creature cornered when I returned. The puffed up rooster acted as his wingman. Bird and vermin appeared to be staring each other down. The Turned would snarl and lash out at the rooster, who would charge in and peck at his legs. I held out the sword hilt toward the officer.
He cast a quick glance in my direction and changed the pistol to his left hand, before drawing the sword from the scabbard with his right. "You might want to look away now, this part is rather unpleasant."
The dead man wavered before me and seemed to dissolve to be replaced by the image of my mother. She dropped to her knees, her hands extended to Ella, begging for her life. I bit my knuckles and spun, running away from the horrible image of my step-sister slaughtering my family.
Strong arms caught me and panic raced through my chest. Was there another one?
"I have you, Charlotte. It will be all right."
The deep voice was familiar; I looked up into the haunted eyes of Reverend Mason. "Reverend Mason? What are you doing outside?"
"I heard the shouts and the shot." His gaze drifted over the top of my head.
A whack and a thump were followed by a squawk. Then the rooster crowed and announced himself the victor. In my mind, Ella stood with a bloody sword in her hand and one foot on my mother's decapitated head. The sob broke loose from my throat and I turned my face to the reverend's rough waistcoat.
He patted my hair. "It is horrible, but necessary. I watched as my poor Lizzie's body was sent back to eternal peace. May her soul rest quietly."
I blinked hard and cleared the tears. That was the first time I heard the reverend mention his wife and acknowledge she no longer walked this earth. His mind shattered when she clawed her way free of her grave and ambled through the kitchen door. We had maintained the pretence that she was out shopping or visiting.
"You remember what happened?" I whispered.
A sad gaze dropped to meet mine. "Yes. I remember. I know it was not her that returned that day, but an empty shell controlled by a demon."
"Mr Mason, do you have some petrol and wood? I will move the body to the yard to burn it," Lieutenant Bain said from behind me.
Confusion entered the reverend's eyes, as though he struggled to focus on the conversation. I willed him to stay with us, to grasp at the tendrils of rationality he could now see.
"There is petrol and firewood in the shed," I said.
Mr Mason frowned and nodded. He looked so lost, but for a moment he had returned to this world. He nodded again and his vision cleared. "Yes, in the shed. I will fetch them if you take care of Charlotte."
The lieutenant pointed to my arm. "You're bleeding. Let's clean that up. Must have been that attack chicken you lobbed. Quite an effective distraction." He winked and put a hand at my waist to turn me toward the house.
I glanced down at the scratch. My arm burned as though I had rubbed it on the edge of the oven. It was no chicken scratch. Oh God. I'm going to turn into one of those.
I bit my lip to stop the scream that wanted to burst free of my throat. Instead a strangled sob combined with a hiccup emerged. "It wasn't Henrietta that scratched me, it was him—" I pointed back to the wall, where a body twitched in the longer grass.
"Oh, Charlotte." Bain's brown eyes widened.
"It burns. Already I can feel their poison inside me. Changing me. Ella will
have to dispatch me too, won't she?" Good job Ella, you managed to rid yourself of your entire horrible step family. Another hiccup cut off my words and the tears rolled down my cheeks.
The lieutenant pulled me close to his side as he walked me to the house and through the back door. Then he let me go to pull out a chair and I dropped to it, my head slumped as I cried.
"You won't necessarily Turn. Miss Jeffrey has hypothesised that those who survived the original influenza pandemic are somehow resistant to the bite or scratch of these creatures. Private Jenkins, he's one of our chaps, was able to move among them in the catacombs and they never paid him any heed. He survived the first wave of sickness, you see." He fetched a bowl and poured in warm water. With the end of a tea towel, he dabbed at the blood on my arm and washed around the wound.
"I had the influenza, or what we thought was the influenza. I nearly died." My hiccups eased but the tears still trickled down my face.
"Part of the reason I visit every day is to collate the records of those who survived. So far we haven't found any who have subsequently Turned." He smiled in a reassuring manner and wiped my arm dry.
The cut was long, well over six inches and still afire, the sharp sting moving up my arm and into my chest. The edges of my skin even seemed black and scorched.
The lieutenant opened and closed cupboards until he found the small medicine chest. He carried it over to the table and flicked the lid open. Using a clean corner of the tea towel, he applied salve along the cut, then wrapped my arm in a crepe bandage.
"There. I'm sure it will heal without problem." This time the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.
I drew a deep shuddering breath into my body and tried ever so hard to be brave. It almost worked. "I won't Turn?"
He took my hand in his and squeezed my fingers. "I shall continue to visit every day to monitor how you are, but on my honour, I believe you are quite safe from such a fate."
I wiped the tears from my face with one hand. There was one silver lining to this cloud. "I'll make sure there is shortbread every day when you visit."
7
Ella
Work. Play. Slay.
* * *
Millicent deMage clung to her secrets. Day by day we worked to dig them up but found only a snippet here or an oblique reference there. Despite what I had imagined, her diaries weren't full of witches’ hexes, gory details of people she had ruined, or an outline of how to release an undead plague on the world. Each page was crammed with the boring description of daily life in Elizabethan England. Of interest to a historian, but I struggled to keep my eyes open.
While merely conjuring her image still made me shudder, she was an enemy we needed to understand. The more I learned of her through her words, the less I feared her. At night, all the disjointed threads we chased spun through my mind. Like silvery strands from a spider's web, they seemed unrelated until you stood back and saw them woven together. Now I only needed to decipher what the pattern said.
I closed the last diary and tossed it on a teetering stack. Seth was occupied on the telephone talking to the War Office and trying to convince them we needed to know more about Aleister Crowley. From the one side I overheard, they thought him stark raving mad.
Lieutenant Bain walked through the door, fresh from his time at the manse, and I waved him over.
"How is Charlotte?" My first reaction on hearing she had been scratched by a vermin was to rush to her side. Then the lieutenant pointed out that the village slayer turning up clutching a sword would only increase her anxiety, not alleviate it.
"Her body expels the poison and the wound has started to heal. She appears fit and well with no signs of fever." Every day he reported his observations as we waited to see if Charlotte would Turn.
I hated treating her like a clinical test subject to be impartially studied, but needs must. After what we observed in the catacombs, we theorised the original survivors had some level of immunity. But despite our subsequent investigation, we hadn't found anyone who suffered a bite or scratch. Except for Charlotte.
I let out the sigh building in my chest. What would it mean if she were indeed unaffected? While I celebrated inside, we had to figure out how this could assist everyone battling around the world. If scientists wanted to study her blood for a potential vaccine, I would make sure they didn't think of throwing her in with Louise.
A clang from the end of the room caught my attention. Seth slammed down the telephone and then ran a hand through his dark hair. He leaned back in his chair and rapped short nails on the desk blotter as I approached.
We were in the middle of a war, but I fought my own battle with my desire to be with Seth again. Like a shaken champagne bottle, pressure built inside and I feared I would soon explode. I’d assumed we would repeat what happened, except he hadn't mentioned it. What if I did it wrong and he never wanted to see me naked again? I really needed to learn how to concentrate on one problem at a time.
"Any progress with the War Office?" I perched on the corner of his desk.
"Somewhat." He picked up my hand and drew lazy circles on my palm. The small action rippled through my body. "They admitted they hold information on Crowley, but it is classified and they won't release it."
"Well that's no use at all." I screwed up my face. What a bother. Every instinct in my mind screamed that Crowley was involved somehow. All I needed was a way to connect him to Millicent. Admittedly the idea seemed crazy, but with the dead walking the countryside, crazy was a distinct possibility these days.
The circle moved from my palm to the base of my wrist. "They have relented and said I can have access to the files in London."
"Oh." Another trip to London. He might be gone for days and we still hadn't had a chance to be together, alone, again. A wave of despair crashed through me.
Seth raised my knuckles to his lips and kissed my skin. "I was rather hoping you would accompany me. You are closer to this problem and see things others overlook."
A trip to London with the man I loved to try and find a satanic origin to the undead plague? He knew how to turn my head and make my pulse race.
"How scandalous, your grace, for the two of us to be alone and without a chaperone," I murmured while mentally I tried to decide on the best underwear to pack.
"If you married me we wouldn't have these concerns." He waggled his eyebrows.
"Give all this up to judge floral arrangements? No thank you." I stuck my tongue out at him.
He made the little humpf deep in his throat that meant he was thinking and he looked concerned. "Yes, floral arrangements would be too subdued for you. Perhaps we could have an annual flame thrower accuracy competition instead?"
"Flame throwers," I whispered the words with the same sort of longing most girls used for the name of fashion designers. Imagine the village fête if men had to compete to char grill vegetables with incendiary devices. "Sweet talker. You will simply have to live with the fact you fell in love with a career girl who has no intentions of staying home and fluffing pillows."
He smiled and I loved him a little more. "I thought Alice could accompany us as both secretary and chaperone. It would be good experience for her to see how a large government department runs."
I snorted. As a matchmaker, his machinations were obvious. "And let me guess, Frank will be driving?"
His frown deepened but I caught the twinkle in his eye. "Of course. And it will be an overnight trip. I will reserve us a suite at the Ritz."
I had to snap a tight lid on my reactions lest I throw myself at him like Louise. This trip couldn't get any better. Already my toes curled in my boots at the idea of pressing my naked skin to his again. "When do we leave?"
Seth gathered up several papers on his desk and dropped them into his out tray. "First light tomorrow morning. We should make London late morning and have most of the day to read dusty files. Tonight, I have a most important dinner engagement."
"Anyone I know?" Probably some stuffy local peer who wanted to disc
uss the rights of the undead to vote.
He looked up and captured my gaze, a steel glint in his eyes. "Your father."
"What?" Surely Seth must be mistaken. My father wasn't up to hosting dinner parties.
"Colonel Jeffrey wrote and invited me to dinner. I accepted, of course." He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper.
I scanned the few lines; the hand was Henry's. My father had a collaborator in this matter. I stared at the sheet and wondered what had prompted the invitation. Crikey. Did my father overhear us the other night? Would he greet Seth with a shotgun?
He laid his hand over the top of mine. "Don't worry. Given how I monopolise your time and your work here, he has every right to ask to see me."
We couldn't offer the duke grand company. We had a humble home and Father's speech was still slurred. "You know he is not back to full strength yet. He makes progress every day but still needs the bath chair, and some words he finds difficult—"
"I'll not overtax your father. You are quite a protective mother hen." Seth reached out and stroked my cheek, the contact silencing my concerns.
I still fretted all afternoon and finally excused myself early to prepare for dinner. I grabbed Alice from the office next door and bustled her through the corridors and into the sunlight.
"What ever is the hurry?" she asked, a frown pulling at the ivory skin of her forehead.
"Father invited Seth for dinner tonight." Out in the courtyard, I waved to the soldier in charge of the horses. Cossimo would need to come in from the field. Alice refused to ride in the motorbike's sidecar, so we had to rely on the much slower cob.