by Amber Benson
He was doing precisely that, and reading the comedies of Aristophanes, when he heard the familiar trilling noise that announced translocation. The sound faded, to be replaced by the less musical one of brother and sister muttering indignantly at each other. The duo materialized.
“Hello, Nigel.” Tamara smiled and tilted her head just so. Her eyes sparkled. “You look comfortable.”
Ah, Tamara. He could never deny her.
“To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, children?” Nigel asked, masking his irritation for her sake. He wore an Egyptian smoking jacket and black trousers, but his feet were bare.
Tamara’s eyes sparkled as she took in the jacket and the Turkish cigarette, its smoke curled languidly toward the ceiling.
For his part, William only looked annoyed.
Nigel smiled, exposing his sharp white fangs. It gave him great pleasure to annoy the uptight William Swift. He had decided that it was his duty to loosen the boy up, however he could. He gathered that underneath all that stiffness lurked a berserker waiting to hear the call of battle, and Nigel Townsend hoped to witness the transformation when it finally did occur.
Being undead, he had to take his little pleasures wherever he could find them.
“There’s a terrible scourge making its way through London, Nigel. A plague, of sorts, though rooted in dark magic. If you’re willing, we’re going to need your help,” Tamara said.
Nigel saw William wince. The boy hated coming to him for aid.
“Go on, then. Let’s have the tale.” Nigel crossed his arms and drew sweet smoke from his cigarette.
Tamara regaled him then with a story of cursed idols and transmogrified men, of Indian people dying in the slums from a magical plague. He half listened to her words, while at the same time measuring the thrum of her heartbeat as it danced merrily beneath her breast.
When she finally ceased her tale, he looked up into her luminous blue eyes and shrugged.
“And you would have me do what about this . . . ?”
For the first time since their arrival, William spoke.
“How can you ask that?” His face was pinched into an angry scowl. “There is a threat to Albion! For some reason, our grandfather trusted you. You have an obligation to tell us what you know about this . . . this Bharath.”
Nigel just shrugged, waiting patiently for William to finish. One corner of his mouth lifted into a smile.
“I still fail to see what I can do for you, William Swift. I know nothing of that strange Hindu culture. There are other Asian places of which I am fond, but that hellhole India is not one of them. I suggest that you speak to Byron for this sort of enlightenment. He traveled extensively in that region, if I remember correctly.”
Tamara took a step toward Nigel.
“Nigel,” she began, “what we need from you is your help in locating the Protector of Bharath. I found some reference to him in the journals you brought us, Grandfather’s journals, and I think he might be connected with the danger we face.”
She reached out and took Nigel’s hand in her own. It was warm against the coolness of his skin.
“Please, it must be that if this man, Tipu Gupta, was a friend of Grandfather’s, he was at least an acquaintance of yours.”
He nodded. “I did have the occasion to meet him, once or twice, and he wasn’t a bad sort as magicians go. I would suggest that you pay a visit to his home, in Alipore, a suburb of Calcutta. You can easily translocate from here,” Nigel offered. He lifted Tamara’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss, and a closer sniff of her blood.
William reached out and quickly yanked Tamara’s hand away. “Thank you for your help, Nigel,” he said, his voice pinched. “We shan’t bother you again.”
Tamara silenced her brother with a curt glance.
“Yes, thank you, Nigel,” she said. “We will keep you abreast of what we discover. In the interim, if you think of anything that might be of help . . .”
Nigel’s nostrils flared in amusement, and he arched an eyebrow. “It seems I remain your humble servant, despite my worst intentions.”
TAMARA AND WILLIAM translocated into the middle of a forest of well-tended ferns. He had been gaining confidence in his magical prowess of late and had insisted on directing the course of their translocation himself. But perhaps he’d been overconfident.
“Oh, well done, William.” Tamara sighed. “Where’ve you sent us now? Some African jungle, perhaps?”
He shot her a dark look. “There’s no need to be snide. Considering we’ve never been here before, you can’t blame me if we’re a bit off the mark.”
His sister raised an eyebrow. “Can’t I? I suppose that depends upon how far off the mark.”
Once they got their bearings, they found a path through the ferns and shortly were making their way down the dirt roads of the southern Calcutta suburb of Alipore. On the road they met a small, bent old man who was, oddly, carrying three cricket stumps. Fortunately, he was acquainted with Tipu Gupta, and he gave them clear instructions that would lead them to the Protector’s bungalow. It was all William could do not to ask the man about the stumps, for he was an avid player, but their mission had to take priority. As they continued, he cast a sideways glance at his sister.
“You gave me the most hideous glare back at Nigel’s apartments, Tamara,” William chided as he kicked up a cloud of dirt from the road. It gathered like a storm around them, and would not dissipate.
“You were rude. Rudeness does not pay, Will. Especially with Nigel,” Tamara replied. “You know how he can be.”
William didn’t answer her, though. He was too busy shooing the bugs away from his uncovered face and neck.
The late afternoon was warm and pleasant. He found that he did not need the light jacket he had brought with him. In fact, he had taken it off; it hung casually over his right shoulder.
“Are you even listening to me?” Tamara demanded.
He gave her a blank look. “It’s these damnable bugs, Tam. They seem hell-bent on eating me alive.”
“Well, they’re not bothering me at all,” she answered, but she stared curiously at the swarming creatures.
William scowled, wondering if his sister was somehow getting the better of him, but he could not for his life figure out how.
“I think this is the place,” Tamara said, stopping abruptly and pointing at an old bungalow with bits of greenery growing up its sides. It wasn’t a small structure, but it wasn’t a mansion, either. It sat back a distance from the road, so that the siblings had to traverse a winding dirt-and-stone path to get to the front entrance.
Upon reaching the bungalow’s door, William positioned himself in front of his sister. He was reasonably certain Indian culture would look even less favorably upon Tamara’s independent streak than did that of England. She tossed him an irritated look, but remained quiet as he knocked on the old wooden door.
“I think you’d best let me handle this, Tam,” he said, but before he could continue, a tiny middle-aged woman opened the door. She wore the traditional Indian sari, and her graying hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
She stared at them, but offered no greeting, and her brown eyes were curious.
“We’ve come to see Mr. Gupta,” William said in what he hoped was a respectful voice. The older woman cocked her head and blinked twice before breaking into a fast stream of agitated Hindi.
William didn’t know what to do, and he looked back to his sister nervously. Given the expression on the old woman’s face, he was sure she was calling him all sorts of horrible names. Tamara stepped forward.
“Let me try, Will.”
Tamara closed her eyes and spoke quietly under her breath. “Ostendo.”
The woman’s words crystallized into precise, accented English that both she and William could easily understand.
“. . . and then supposed to arrive in Darjeeling, but the Protector was not to be found,” the woman continued. Her words tumbled over themselve
s.
“You mean to say that he’s missing?” Tamara asked, alarmed now.
The woman nodded. “I just said as much, didn’t I?”
Thanks to the spell, she now understood Tamara’s English as easily as if she had been speaking Hindi.
“We were having trouble with translation,” William told her.
She raised both eyebrows, an expression of sudden comprehension on her face, and then shook her head as though amused. “I see. More magicians. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have presumed you spoke Hindi. I’m pleased you can understand me now.”
Tamara smiled. “You seem rather relaxed about the idea of magic.”
“I have served Tipu Gupta for twenty-three years. Very little surprises me after all that time.”
“But Gupta is gone, you say?” William asked, pulling them back to their purpose.
“They are both gone, and cannot be found. It is not my place to keep watch over them. I am only a servant in this household, though I raised the child as my own from the very moment of her mother’s death,” the woman explained. She studied them carefully. “Why are you looking for him? Do you know anything that might help us discover where they’ve gone?”
“Our grandfather, Ludlow Swift, was a great friend of Tipu Gupta,” Tamara said.
At the mention of Ludlow’s name, the woman’s eyes lit up, and her mouth curved into a smile, making it clear that she had known and been quite fond of their grandfather. But the effect was brief, and her expression darkened as she shook her head. “Why are you here? If the Protector of Bharath is in London, why are you here?”
“I’m sorry,” William said, befuddled. “The Protector . . . you mean to say that Mr. Gupta’s gone to London?”
The woman nodded vigorously. “Yes, of course. There is trouble there, he says. That must be where she has gone, too.”
“It makes no sense,” Tamara muttered, as though to herself. “If he knew what was happening there . . . if he went to help, why wouldn’t he have contacted us? And who is this girl you mentioned?”
“His daughter, of course. They are both missing.”
Tamara frowned. “And you know nothing else that would help us locate them? He said nothing that would provide a clue?”
The woman shook her head. “Nothing. You will find them, though, won’t you? I worry for him. He is an old man, now.”
William stood up a bit straighter. “Yes, madam. Of course we’ll find him. Find them both.”
“Thank you. I believe you will.”
Abruptly the woman reached out and stroked the curve of William’s jaw. He was so surprised by her action that he didn’t stop her.
“So much like your grandfather. Ah, Ludlow . . . he knew how to treat a lady,” the woman said. She winked at him, then, and closed the door, leaving them standing there staring in astonishment.
“Well, fancy that. Ludlow was a ladies’ man,” William said as he turned and grinned at his sister.
“Oh, William, do try to open your eyes once in a while,” Tamara said airily. “I’ve known for ages that Ludlow was a notorious lothario. Haven’t you paid the least bit of attention to Bodicea? The woman practically swoons every time someone says Grandfather’s name.”
“Oh,” William said, feeling foolish in a way only Tamara seemed able to elicit.
“Back to London, shall we, Will?” Tamara said, taking his hand.
“Yes, and quickly,” he said, frowning.
THE ALLEY STANK of urine and human refuse. Tamara had to lend William her handkerchief, which she had perfumed that morning with lavender, so that he could cover his nose and mouth against the stench. “Thank you,” William said, his voice muffled by the press of the cotton.
It was still afternoon, and the loud throng of voices and of cartwheels slapping against cobblestones filled the air around them, giving them a false sense of security. Here in Shadwell, no matter how many people passed by in the surrounding streets, Tamara and William would be considered fair game. Indeed, they were too fair, too cleanly scrubbed, and far too well dressed to be inconspicuous here. The accursed men, those twisted, reptilian monsters, would be less out of place in the winding streets and unwashed throngs.
“Come on, William,” Tamara said, taking her brother’s hand. “Let us go to meet Horatio and Colonel Dunstan. We cannot be far from the hospice Horatio described for us.”
That was the magic of translocation. Even if you didn’t know precisely how to reach your destination by foot, the spell would still manage to place you within walking distance. As long as you kept focus on what you desired, magic always knew. Their recent missteps had been prompted by William’s inability to focus, the result of which was that they found themselves in the oddest places.
Fortunately, Tamara had taken the reins this time, and she knew enough about Shadwell to get them to the general neighborhood where they would meet with Nelson. She had spent time down here, among the sick and destitute, delivering food and old clothing. As much as William complained that they had been ignoring the plight of the poor, Tamara doubted he had ever set foot in these slums.
Blessed with good fortune and health, she had felt it her duty to assist others who were not so fortunate, making certain they had the basic necessities. She and several of her friends had donated their time, bringing supplies to the women and children who inhabited these streets. She and Helena, who had a particular fondness for sketching the street urchins, had come here together, accompanied by a few of the other women from the charitable society.
Sadly, recent events had caused her to discontinue her efforts.
“This way,” Tamara said, leading William through the zigzagging alleyways. Turning a corner at a brisk pace, she uttered a small gasp and stopped abruptly in the middle of the narrow alley they had entered. William almost ran into her.
“What is it?” he asked, but he practically swallowed the last word as he saw what it was that had given her such pause.
A large green toad sat on a loose cobblestone, staring up at them. It made a loud croaking deep in its throat, and, as if summoned by the first, three others hopped from the shadows.
The toadlike creatures—for upon closer inspection they seemed quite a contrast with any toads Tamara had ever seen—had small, glittering red eyes that fixed unblinkingly upon the siblings. Their bulbous, sludge-covered bodies shimmered darkly in the obscured light that streamed through the narrow gap between the roofs of the tenement buildings.
“What in the Lord’s name—” William began, but his words died in his throat when he heard the clicking of something sharp against cobblestone.
“William,” Tamara said, her voice a measured contralto. “Look.”
A pair of long, dark shadows blotted out the light that came from a filthy lane running behind the tenements, intersecting the alley they occupied. The figures moved toward them, and their features became clear.
They were enormous, hunched demons with mouths full of gnashing, dagger teeth and skin like rough leather where it wasn’t covered in filthy, matted fur. Their eyes were yellow, and crusted with a sickly glaze.
“Run, Tam!” William shouted, trying to pull his sister back.
“Are you insane, Will? You need my help!”
Tamara stood her ground, her head bent low, her eyes watchful as the creatures picked up speed and loped toward them. Their feet cracked cobblestones as they ran, muscles taut and shifting beneath the sheath of their skin. They opened their jaws in silent howls, further baring the rows of fangs that jutted like daggers in their angular mouths.
“Ignate!” William thundered, throwing his hands up in front of him.
A ball of red fire formed from the tips of his fingers, and he hurled it at the closest demon. Its eyes widened and it tried to escape the spell, its claws scoring the tenement wall as it lunged aside. But it was too late. The magical fire engulfed it, and it fell to the ground writhing in pain, its howl no longer silent.
Distracted by the stink of burning demon and
the unearthly screech of its death throes, Tamara misjudged the speed of the other, and as it leaped at her she had no time to cast her own spell. She dropped to her knees and rolled out of the demon’s path in a desperate move that slammed her shoulder into the tenement wall. She cried out at the impact but instantly climbed back onto her feet, her eyes wet with pain.
Her fingers were twisted into the sigil for a spell, but her attacker had been diverted by the screams of its companion and now rushed at her brother. William screamed as the monster raked its claws across his chest. He staggered backward and fell to the ground.
As the demon crouched to attack once again, William stared up into its tiny eyes, terror jamming his throat and paralyzing his body.
“Ignate!”
Tamara shouted the spell and the magic erupted from within her. The look on her face was almost one of ecstasy. With a thrust of her hand and a flick of her wrist, the arcane fire burned across the alley and struck the demon, spreading quickly along its shoulders and back. It turned on her, enraged and in pain, swiping wildly at her with its claws.
Still sprawled on the ground, William raised his hand, and the flame poured out of him as if he himself were ablaze with it. Already burning, dying, the monster could not escape. The fire engulfed it entirely now, burned away the matted hair on its body and then quickly set to work melting the flesh and muscle away until the thing was nothing but bone, and it collapsed into a heap on the cobblestones.
Tamara ran to her brother, helping him to stand. She fussed over him, looking at the scratches the thing had given him. Its claws had mostly torn his jacket and shirt, but there were thin gashes across his chest as well, and the blood was staining cloth.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I think I will be. Though I wonder if the claws of that creature could carry the infection . . . the curse.”
Tamara frowned. “We’ve no reason to expect that. Even werewolves have to bite to pass along their curse. Still, a strong healing spell ought to close those wounds and protect you from infection, as well.”