Simon’s head turned with a grating rumble. He scowled at the dissolving thing.
Kate grabbed Simon under the arms and dragged him away from the pool of ghastly ooze that drained from the white creature’s boiling remains. In less than a minute, it went from a body to viscous mush interspersed with odd metallic lumps.
“Well,” groaned Simon, “that’s unfortunate.”
Suddenly the pool of ichor stirred with a muffled, clicking sound. Short metallic rods lifted from the morass as if alive. They pivoted and jammed their ends into the large bulbous object that had been the creature’s skull. Metal rods extended and lifted the dripping skull from the ground.
Kate scrabbled for the sword. She leapt to her feet and slashed at the horrific, insectlike object. The tip of the sword rang off the skull. Kate found it disconcerting that the eye sockets were staring back at her as the thing scuttled through broken glass and raced away. With spindly metal legs, it veered one way, and Kate turned, but then it made a quick swerve, nearly causing her to lose her footing trying to follow. It accelerated onto the lawn and slipped into a row of sculpted hedges. There was a brief rustle of leaves, then silence. Kate stopped and tried to listen for the sound of clicks over her own breathing.
It was impossible. She made one last scan of the area and returned to the library. Simon was still lying on the floor where she had left him. His eyes were a bit glazed and his lips had the oddest smirk.
Kate settled next to him with the sword still in her grasp. “I can’t believe what I just saw.”
“It was a bit unexpected.” Simon rolled his shoulders, regaining some flexibility although his arm flopped wildly as if it was numb.
“What did you do to yourself?”
“It’s a spell that hardens my flesh. The benefit is that it renders me invulnerable to nearly anything. The difficulty is that I am unable to move or breathe. When I begin to black out, the spell wears off. And I become supremely vulnerable.” Simon worked his jaw up and down, accompanied by crunching sounds. He laughed painfully. “Magic has its ups and downs.”
Kate slumped to the bricks and put a hand to her face with a hiccuping laugh that heralded the exhilaration of survival. She heard the footsteps of servants pounding toward them and watched steam rise from the disgusting puddle that used to be a living creature. “Is this normal activity for you, Mr. Archer?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s an everyday thing, no.” Simon took her hand with his peculiarly cold and hard fingers. “And by the way, thank you for saving my life again.”
Kate was disturbed by how inhuman his touch felt.
Chapter Sixteen
It was dark and cold inside the vast arched cellar. Men and women shuffled through the chamber, yet they were not the common breed of London homeless who searched the tenement streets for stoops or basements to shelter in. Some wore fine garb although days of hiding had taken their toll.
One man held court in a corner, growling out a rage to any who would listen. “Who is she to tell us? I was born in Wessex. What of her? She’s from far away.”
“Lincolnshire?”
“No,” he snapped back. “Denmark or Norway or some damn place no one comes from. What can she do that we can’t do for ourselves? What can she give us that we can’t take?”
A woman spoke up. “She has the wulfsyl.”
The man glared and pulled his threadbare coat tighter. “We can get our own. She must get it from somewhere. Why can’t we do the same?”
More in the crowd turned toward him, exchanging glances and nods.
The man flexed his arms. He was large, muscular, and fierce. His long, unkempt beard was flecked with spittle and his eyes glowed. “I don’t care what the rest of Gretta’s little packs are doing. Aren’t you sick of hiding in the dark, waiting for the pathetic meals she brings? Lord Oakham stood up to her. He didn’t hide in the dirt just because she said to.”
There was a ripple of dismay, and someone said, “And now Lord Oakham is dead.”
“He was alone. We are together.”
A girl, perhaps age thirteen, who wore a dirty pink frock and had tangled blond hair, said, “Aren’t we all the same kind? I never knew there were so many. I thought I was alone. Now I think we should protect one another. Why should we fight her?”
The man sneered. “That’s all well and good, girl. But I don’t like taking charity. I was made to take what I need!” He spread his hands over the crowd. “And where is she now? Is she here in the cold with us? No! She is somewhere warm and soft, while she leashes us here like her slaves. I am no one’s slave!”
A silence from the far side of the chamber collided with the aggressive rumble the man had created. The quiet touched his followers, who looked to see its source. The wanderers in the cellar parted for a woman who approached.
Gretta Aldfather stooped for comfort in the low ceiling of the cellar. Her tall frame moved with quiet precision and her vast cloak barely moved. Her face had the cold dispassion of the Arctic. The statuesque woman stopped a few feet from the man who had been pontificating. To his credit, he didn’t shrink but stared evenly up at her.
“Samuel,” she asked quietly, “what is this about?”
“I’m surprised to see you here, Gretta. Aren’t you afraid you might dirty yourself?”
Gretta stood motionless. The crowd began to shuffle, some toward the vociferous Samuel but most away.
He took her silence for hesitation. “We’ve had enough of you, Gretta. We don’t need you here.”
Gretta smiled slowly in understanding. “You’re an idiot. Like Oakham.”
“You killed him.”
“I didn’t, but he deserved it all the same. All of my other lieutenants followed my rules. But he broke my curfews. Brought attention to us. His foolishness brought a hunter to London.”
“I’m not afraid of hunters,” Samuel replied haughtily.
“Then you’re a fool,” Gretta said. “MacFarlane is about, and if he gets your trail, you’ll be dead, just like Oakham.”
Samuel waved dismissively. “MacFarlane is nothing to me. If you’re afraid of him, perhaps you’d best go home.”
“I’m offering a new age for our kind, but you’re too much a beast to see it.”
“A new age?” the man scoffed. “We kill. That is what we do.”
“I agree.” Gretta threw back her cloak to reveal that she wore her antique leather cuirass over her bare ivory skin. She reached behind her and pulled a large, double-edged battle-axe, which would’ve taken the strongest of men to wield.
Samuel showed trepidation for the first time, but it was brief. Physical violence was his currency, as it was for most everyone gathered there. He flexed his fingers and grinned. “Do you hope to cow me with that toy?”
“I have no interest in cowing you.” Gretta’s voice remained deathly quiet.
Samuel laughed, throwing his arms to encompass his friends. “You think you can kill all of us?”
“Yes.” Gretta tightened her hands on the haft of the axe with a leathery squeak.
Samuel stepped back into the group of ten supporters, his body starting to shake.
Gretta surged forward with axe swinging. Before it could reach its intended target, it struck one man and cleaved him near in half before continuing to gouge deep into another. She tried to pull her weapon free, but it was caught in the rib cage of the second victim. Gretta growled and yanked, producing a shower of bone and blood. She spun in an arc of steel as other figures closed on her. Screams and snarls vibrated the cellar.
Samuel had doubled over as a man but straightened as a beast. His horrible sneer grew grotesquely wide, splitting his face open. Then his nose and chin lengthened into a snarling canine snout with rows of terrible teeth. His large hands grew dark with scimitar claws. As muscular as he had been, his bulk increased. Shoulders hunched and brawny. Arms long and powerful. His clothing tore, revealing matted black fur sprouting beneath. He shook himself violently and sprang for the blond
woman.
With amazing speed, Gretta brought the axe straight out in front of her, bracing her powerful legs as the large werewolf slammed into her. The impact drove her back, but the beast was held away from her by the length of the weapon so his clawed swipes fell short. With a tremendous shout, Gretta surged forward again and pushed him off his feet, slamming him down onto the floor. She pressed the eye of the axe into his chest with all her considerable might, causing him to snarl with pain.
The sounds of growls, stretching flesh, and cracking bone that accompanied the lycanthrope change came from all parts of the room. Figures writhed in the ecstatic torment of transformation.
In the time it took Gretta to raise a foot and stamp on one of Samuel’s arms, she changed too. In the unbelievable blink of an eye, she went from Valkyrie to a huge wolf on her hind legs, still draped in a cloak, with her powerful torso straining against her leather armor. Samuel struck at her with his free arm and snapped pointlessly with his jaws. Gretta curled back her lips and gave a sound that might have been a laugh. Then she pressed down onto the haft of the axe creating two sounds—a cry of pain from Samuel and the sound of snapping bones beneath the blunt crown of the blade.
She went to one knee, clutching a clawed hand over Samuel’s neck. Before he could even reach for her arm, she came away with his throat. He quivered. She stood and, in an instant, drove the axe blade through his chest so deeply it pinned him to the floor.
Gretta turned and slashed at other figures. She moved like a reaping machine, putting claws through victims and crushing others with her teeth. Bodies fell around her. A few larger werewolves leapt for her, clambering onto her back, biting her neck and shoulders.
She whirled, pulling attackers off like fleas and smashing them to the ground. She crushed them with her heavy tread. She gored them with her murderous hands. Her lithe form climbed over bodies, grabbing for more of them, killing any who came near her.
Werewolves struggled to move back, fighting to get away from her savagery in the narrow confines, to be far from her berserker rage. Hairy bodies crouched and scuttled, pressing against the brick walls, falling on their knees and backs, praying their submissive postures might save them.
It didn’t. Gretta continued to kill, even those who offered no resistance, who whined and begged.
“Gretta! Stop!” The young girl ran forward, a little human among the writhing mass of monsters. She planted her tiny feet in a pool of red and held up her small pink hands to the bloody heaving monster. “Stop! Please!”
The towering creature raised clawed hands, and blinked. Gretta’s snarl calmed and she stood with heaving chest, looking down at the young girl. The beast let out a final rumbling growl and lowered a massive, bloodstained hand on top of the girl’s head. The child flinched ever so slightly at the touch. More of the cowering pack, now transformed back to mere humans, scraped forward, cringing on the ground.
Ignoring them, Gretta kicked into the mound of dead, and reached down to wrench her battle-axe free from Samuel the traitor. Gretta was a woman again, bloodied and flecked with gore. She fastened the axe on her back and adjusted her tattered cloak. She pointed at several of the survivors. “You and you. Bury them under the floor. Then you will all come with me. I have a place where I am gathering everyone.”
One of the miserable wretches crawled forward. “We are with you, Gretta. We didn’t fight.”
“No, you didn’t.” Gretta sneered at the supplicant. “At least they did.”
The Valkyrie waited by the door as holes were dug for the dead. With some interest she watched the girl who had confronted her. The girl helped dig, with an occasional glance over her shoulder at Gretta. The little thing was bold, and Gretta briefly wondered if she should be killed.
After the dead were hidden in shallow graves, the wretched survivors gathered their meager belongings and trudged out behind their leader. The ramshackle door slammed shut on the cellar, leaving behind the stench of blood and waste.
After a few minutes, a shadow stirred in a deep corner. A figure rose from behind a pile of detritus. He smelled of urine and dirt because he had covered himself in those substances before secreting himself in the cellar when the beasts has gone out yesterday. Filthy scents had covered his normal human smell from the gathered lycanthropes.
Malcolm had gone from trailing what he thought was a single rogue werewolf to finding a den of the creatures in the heart of London. That was horrific enough, but then she appeared.
Gretta Aldfather. Close enough to touch. The multitudes that she had slaughtered in her long life were unknown. Clearly, she was preparing to raise her totals.
Malcolm stepped around the mounds of freshly turned earth and made his way out of the bloodstained cellar. He needed to find a way to wash this filth from him. And then he needed help.
Chapter Seventeen
Simon kicked his way through dense, wet brush. His heavy boots were caked with mud and his trousers were wet up to the knees. His breath misted before him. Still, his strength was back and he felt invigorated to be out on a crisp fall morning. He also felt the inebriating filaments of aether winding through him, lightening his mood.
He slapped a sodden branch aside and found himself on a narrow path in the forest. It was a useful track toward Hartley Hall. If he were approaching the house, this would be a natural path to use.
Simon took a heavy clay tablet from under his arm. It was about the width of a dinner plate and several inches thick. One side was inscribed with reversed runes that he had incised into the wet clay last night before baking it hard overnight. He set the tablet on the ground, rune side down, and knelt in the mud. He pressed a hand onto the circle and began to recite. As he spoke, the clay grew warm and glowed green. He spat out the final phrase and felt aether rush from him to the tablet and into the earth. With red raw fingers, he pried up the clay piece to see faint green runes glowing in the wet dirt.
Something huge slammed into his back. He was hurled into the brush. The scent of wet fur and the sound of ragged breathing surrounded him. He saw teeth and a huge pink tongue.
Aethelred licked his face. The wolfhound threw back his massive head and released a long, deep howl. Simon laughed and tossed an arm around the jovial dog’s neck.
“A bit of warning next time, eh?”
“Mr. Archer!” Kate’s voice cut through the forest.
“Here, Miss Anstruther.”
Kate waded through low-hanging branches and pushed onto the path. She wore a long, thick coat and heavy boots. Her hair, as usual, was wild around her face. She looked down curiously at the man and dog. “It’s a bit damp to be frolicking on the ground, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Thoroughly soaked, Simon climbed to his feet with Aethelred pressing against him, panting happily.
Kate snapped her fingers and the dog came dutifully to her side. “I knew Aethelred would find you.”
Simon retrieved the clay tablet from the undergrowth, cleaning wet weeds from it. “His penchant for silent stalking is as amusing as ever.”
Kate eyed the tablet with interest. “Is it working?”
“Well, I assume. I’ve set ten wards around the grounds. I’d like to put a least ten more to be sure.”
She walked to where the faint imprint of the circle lay in the mud. “I don’t see anything.”
“Good. We don’t want a glowing beacon to warn intruders.”
“And you’re sure it’s safe for the staff? The gamekeepers walk these paths frequently.”
Simon smiled mysteriously, wiping his perspiring brow. “It will only be triggered by some being of unnatural composition, such as a homunculus or werewolf. Every type of occult being has aether traces on it of a peculiar type. Obviously I can’t know all those mystic signatures, but I can manage enough to encompass the creatures we’ve already run across. Hopefully none of your gamekeepers are homunculi or werewolves.”
“No.” Kate slowly slid her foot over the circle in the dirt. “I can’t vouch
for Hogarth, though. What happens when a homunculus comes near it?”
“He will explode.” Simon laughed loudly.
She eyed him critically. “You seem a tad tipsy this morning.”
“Your scotch is safe! I promise.” Simon placed a hand over his heart dramatically, but at seeing her mood was less inclined, he made an effort at sobriety. “What you see is an annoying consequence of excessive aether drain. It will pass. Unfortunately, these wards are only temporary. This rough clay tablet is not the best tool, but I haven’t time for proper inscription to protect an estate of such size. However, I can renew them as needed.”
Kate patted the wolfhound. “Thank you. If you can spare a moment, you are needed at the house.”
Simon grew serious. “Something wrong with your sister?”
“No. Your friend, Mr. Barker, has returned unexpectedly. And he’s brought someone with him.”
Simon hurried with Kate along the path until sprawling Hartley Hall rose up before them. They walked side by side through the fading autumn garden, past hedgerows and statues. Groundskeepers with rakes watched them pass. Kate led the way to the rear of the house and a gracious room called the Blue Room. She opened the French doors and entered with Simon on her heels.
Nick sat near the fire, holding a cup. He grinned, regarding Simon’s mud-covered clothes. “Well, there you are, squire. Sorry to intrude on your new bucolic way of life with my city problems.”
“I apologize for not rushing back to London in the three days since I nearly lost my life. Oh, and by the way, we managed to kill that creature. What have you accomplished in the interim?”
Nick jerked his thumb to his right. “Found this.”
Malcolm stood in the corner as quiet as a shadow and just as grim. “We have business.”
“You seem to be everywhere.” Simon’s voice was cold. He noticed Kate’s surprised glance between the two men. It wasn’t difficult to detect the obvious, personal chill in the room. Simon felt his wet clothes now with miserable discomfort. The dour face of the Scotsman annoyed him with its simple assuredness. He ground out, “I owe you an apology, Mr. MacFarlane.”
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