The Devil & Lillian Holmes

by Ciar Cullen

  “Another rather charming mortal. As it turns out he was quite insane, but that doesn’t matter. They hanged him a few years ago.”

  “Hanged him?”

  “He liked to murder. Fine parentage, your beloved, don’t you think?” Marie sighed, and for a moment George thought he saw regret in her eyes, a longing for a different outcome. “He was rather famous, and although the couple that Pemberton hired to raise Lillian thought her father to have perished on a ship, I always thought it a little dull of them not to investigate matters further. Henry Holmes was in all the papers. Mind you, I did not choose him because he was an insane killer. I simply thought he was handsome. See, that is what I mean about mortals. Unpredictable, unreliable.”

  “It sounds as if he was very predictable.” God help Lillian, was she truly the child of this abyssal monster and a heinous murderer? Which horrible traits could be passed down? Why was she so good, so noble?

  But so confused, George. So vulnerable.

  Marie hissed. “Well, it hardly matters now. She was mortal until Pemberton mucked things up and you interfered further. Her child is mortal, although we have waited a good while to see if he would remain so. In fact, the entire exercise proved incredibly unproductive. He shows no signs of being remarkable in any way. I find him rather tedious, in fact.”

  “She has a child?” George prevaricated. Please, Sullivan, please.

  “Oh, my dear Georgy. That is beneath you. Now, put this silliness aside and tell me how things have gone for you these last few hundred years. We have a bit of catching up to do, do we not?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The wrong brother.

  Mr. Doyle took off his spectacles and handed George’s letter back to Phillip, who clutched it tightly and stared out the window. Lillian wanted someone to tell her everything would work out, that George hadn’t actually gone to Marie. That she didn’t have a child that needed rescuing. That her life, to this point, was one long dream. But these people and their reactions were too detailed, too laced with frustration and emotion for her to be fantasizing. Life had actually become unbearable.

  What good would it do to find her son now? What use could she be to him, broken, heartbroken, tired, and unable to change any circumstance around her? I am like a puppet, she mused. And it seemed anyone in the world could take over the strings at any time without her leave.

  If she could somehow make everything as it once was, though, would she? She sat in the chair she’d typically used when chatting with Addie. She closed her eyes and imagined Addie there, humming an old tune and knitting or doing embroidery, depending upon the season. Thomas would be close by, always close by. Her two servants, the closest she had to family. He would usher visitors, although few and far between, in and out of the parlor, but he seemed always happier once they were gone. His nerves, he said, since the war…and his leg. He’d sneak off to sip a dram of whiskey.

  Aileen would be bustling around upstairs, folding the washing or polishing some piece of jewelry. She sang too, but her songs were in Gaelic and always seemed melancholy. Once Lillian had asked her what she sang about, and she shook her head. “A place I don’t know, a place I’ll never see.” Lillian had made a note in her Journal to find a proper way to take Aileen on a journey to Ireland. Another promise she’d broken.

  Lillian would sip a bit of her own medicine, read for hours, and then wait for the sun to set so she could sneak out set out on grand adventures. She’d only had one: the Leaping Man. So, which was the dream? Her life before George, or her life after?

  The house was bigger then, wasn’t it? How could that be? She watched Phillip, who seemed larger to her now that he wasn’t in George’s shadow.

  Phillip will act. He cannot resist any more than I. We are both slaves to our maker.

  Mr. Doyle eyed Phillip nervously then turned to her. “This is grave, indeed. I cannot claim to fully understand any of it, except to say that Mr. Orleans is a man besotted. If what you tell me about this Madam Lucifer is true, then despite his argument to the contrary he is indeed a hero to attempt what he does. Miss Holmes, I am sincerely sorry for whatever has transpired but feel I am out of place here now. I will leave you to your business.”

  The author’s pronouncement shook Lillian out of her numbness, sheer panic taking over. She saw his hands shake as he put his glasses into his jacket pocket. “No! I beg you, Mr. Doyle. I would have your counsel now more than ever. I promise I will find Johnnie Moran so you feel more at ease!”

  She clung to his arm and he stared at her incredulously. You are nothing to him, Lil. Why couldn’t this man be my father, be the one to tell me what to do, to guard me and stand by me at all costs?

  “But even Mr. Orleans instructed you to defer to Phillip,” Mr. Doyle said. “What could I possibly know about defeating a deadly vampire? I didn’t even know they exist until you opened my eyes.”

  He is simply afraid. He should be. And he is right; Bess, Kitty, and he must leave immediately. And they must take the boys.

  “May I ask a favor of you, although I’ve done nothing to earn it?”

  “Your tone is so reproachful, Miss Holmes. I am sorry to have failed you. You seem to have given me powers akin to my fictional heroes. I assure you, I am a very average man.”

  “You are not. But you are mortal,” she allowed. “And the other mortals I care about are numerous. Might you assist them in escaping this city?”

  “Escaping?” Bess shook both her foot and her head. “I am not leaving my home.”

  “Oh, Bess, I nearly forgot. This is for you.” Lil handed the tear-stained envelope to Bess, who opened it with trepidation.

  “I don’t understand.” Bess lifted the stack of bills and gaped at them.

  “George. He wants your wellbeing.”

  “I wasn’t serious! Oh, Lil, I wasn’t serious! Damnation! This is unbearable. Is there no way to rescue him?”

  Kitty linked her arm through Phillip’s, and the two whispered to one another. Lillian knew Kitty wanted assurances that he would do nothing to save his brother, that they would have a chance at peace. She also knew as well as Kitty that no such assurances would come.

  “Mr. Doyle,” she said, “I beg you again. Would you take the Musketeers with you, north, wherever your next stop takes you? I will try to convince Bess and Kitty to accompany you, to help. They are good children who have had nothing but heartache. They are not safe here. I have adequate funds to hire additional help if you think it necessary.”

  “Musketeers?”

  “My Irregulars. The boys. Two are brothers of Aileen O’Shaunessy, one is Johnnie Moran’s brother.”

  “Isn’t that a role better taken by Johnnie? I cannot simply abscond with his little brothers!” Doyle’s eyes reflected open fear now. He would flee, and she wouldn’t blame him. If only he would take the children.

  Bess stomped her foot. “I’m not going anywhere! I will take the boys to my house. You don’t get to orchestrate everyone’s lives, Lillian, whether you feel it is for their own good or not.”

  Lillian was ready to explode from the grief pulling at her heart, the clock ticking away precious moments she didn’t have, and a house full of people who needed her care but did not want it or know it. “I don’t get to orchestrate my own!”

  Kitty placed a kiss on Phillip’s cheek and stood near Bess. “I will go with you to your house, if you’ll have me. We can take care of the children together. I, too, am not leaving.”

  “No!” Lillian said. “You must listen to me. There are matters beyond your comprehension, Kitty!”

  “And I will take my leave now.” Mr. Doyle approached and pressed a kiss to Lillian’s hand. “I pray we cross paths again, Miss Holmes.”

  It sounded very much like he prayed for the exact opposite, and without giving her time to utter a word of protest he donned his hat and rushed to the hallway. The sound of the door slamming behind him felt like her fate was sealed.

  Bess followed his departure with
a look of deep regret, but Lillian had no time to comfort her about her cure. Her friend straightened herself up and linked arms with Kitty.

  Lillian looked to Phillip, who was staring at her. The two held one another’s gaze.

  “Ah.” Bess came over and gave her a quick hug, whispering in her ear, “Get your wonderful George and your child and bring them back.”

  Kitty wiped away a few tears before going with Bess to collect the boys from the yard, leaving Lil alone except for Phillip.

  She shuddered. Everyone would be gone, but they would not be safe. No one had listened to her, no one wanted her direction. Lillian bristled that she was left with the man George told her to listen to, bristled that once again she was being ordered around. She choked back tears and reached into her pocket for her pill box.

  “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t take anything.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do! You are not my maker! You are not…anything to me.”

  Phillip strode across the room and pulled her in tight, pressed a tender kiss on her hair. She hated him for not being George, hated him for being part of the reason George sacrificed himself.

  “Has he made amends enough for you, Phillip?” she hissed.

  “Oh, Lillian, I’m so sorry.”

  She grimaced. It’s simply not his fault. It’s no one’s fault. No one’s except George. And yet, “Phillip, did I bring ruin on him, or did he bring it on me?”

  “Stop it! George has done this for us both, and for himself. If we were sensible we’d honor his wish and go far away, save ourselves.”

  Lillian nodded. “Yes. He could be already dead.” Dead. The word sounded so hollow.

  “No. Our maker is not gone. I would feel it.”

  Our maker. “We are as brother and sister in a way. Phillip…?”

  She’d called his name, but now Lillian pressed her hand to her mouth, unsure of what she wanted to ask. Phillip took her hand and led her to a settee. He stared at her earnestly, waiting to help. George had described him accurately many times: noble and generous. That gave her strength to continue.

  “Does he love me? Or does he feel responsible for me?”

  She could tell Phillip held back a chuckle, which was almost answer enough. Almost.

  “That is not really the question, is it?”

  “I rather think it is!” Lillian huffed.

  “Lil, I was his first newborn. I can still remember the awful struggle defying rational thought or description. I hated him. I loved him. I couldn’t stand to be with him, I couldn’t stand to be without him.” Phillip shook his head. “I’ve hidden from him, put continents between us, put him in harm’s way, killed to free him from harm. Multiply these last few months by a hundred. And still, I cannot answer the real question for you.”

  “Which is?”

  “Is it love that you feel, or is it that he holds your bond?”

  “Which is it for you? Why does he still hold your bond after all this time? You have become friends. I see it. Have you asked him to free you?”

  “That is between us,” Phillip said in an uncharacteristically sharp tone. “But if you want to be able to answer these questions for yourself, we’ll likely have to rescue the idiot.”

  “He is an idiot, isn’t he?” Lillian wiped a tear away and cursed. “What a stupid thing to do. I am far more intelligent than he, I believe, and could have assisted greatly in this mission. And, after all, it is my son at risk. How dare he! What was he thinking, Phillip?”

  Lillian shot to her feet and paced to wear down some of her nervous energy, and Phillip said, “God only knows, my dear. But this is the deadliest of his stunts.”

  “So…you think him still alive?”

  “Indeed I do. And I suggest that we cannot adequately chastise him for his stupidity until we rescue him.”

  “He said that I was attend to your instructions.”

  George’s brother scoffed, and Lillian looked into his blue eyes and saw a love like her own buried under anxiety and great pain. And mild amusement. “That is quite ridiculous. Are you likely to take my instruction? No. Nor should you. As you said, you are far more intelligent than George. So, what would you like to do?”

  “I won’t run away.”

  “I suspect George knew that. He also knew I wouldn’t run. He is so much greater a man than he believes himself, than even you believe him to be. He doesn’t want to die, hasn’t since he met you.”

  Lillian shook her head, confused.

  “After a few hundred years you will understand him better. George wants to do what is right, but his notion of heroics seems somewhat stuck in the days of our upbringing. I think we’d better show him how it’s done.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Why, there is something between surrender and running.”

  “Fighting back?”

  “Yes. I want my brother, and so do you.”

  “Yes. And I want my son. But we are fewer now, weaker. How can we succeed if George will not? And I’m sure Kitty does not want you to go.”

  “Please do not assume my love for her is meager, or that she values peace over justice. She does not want me to die. But how could she love a man who would abandon his brother? Even if he is an idiot.”

  They turned as they noticed Phoebe framed in the hallway arch, anger pouring from her. “You brought him to this pit of Hell and yet don’t mention his name. You both deserve to die at Madam Lucifer’s hand, along with your child and George!”

  Phillip approached the woman, but she held up her hand and grimaced. “Don’t give me your excuses! You may have convinced Chauncey that he could redeem his soul by killing the diab, but I am not so gullible. I pleaded with him to quit this place, and to go away with me.” She made a quick spitting noise and crossed herself.

  “We haven’t forgotten him!” But Phillip’s lie didn’t roll off his tongue convincingly, and the woman moved closer and beat on his chest. He trapped her hands as she screamed at him.

  “You stole my love! What did you say to him in the cathedral? What did you promise him? Lies, all lies! You brought him here as sacrifice to the demon woman. Your George took him today and now he’s gone off to his death.” Phoebe fell to her knees and pounded her fists on her legs, sobbing and shaking. “You are the diab!”

  “We will get him back,” Lillian said, wondering if they could, ashamed that what Phoebe said was true. She’d forgotten Sullivan ever existed.

  Phillip shook the woman and yelled back. “Stop it, Phoebe. This won’t help him! Of course we’ll try to save Sullivan.”

  “Selfish bastards!”

  Phillip traded looks with Lillian. “It’s just us.”

  Lillian nodded. “Do we have a plan at all?”

  “Stupid bastards!” Phoebe hissed. “You never had a plan to kill her. Chauncey said you had a plan, promised you had a plan! Oh, God, he will die. But, no. Dear Mother Mary, have mercy on us. I will get my husband back from her. You can rot with her in Hell for all I care. I am going to find my husband—”

  Phillip tried to hold her but she pushed him away violently. “Phoebe, you are not strong, not old. Marie could kill you with a flick of her wrist. You must stay here.”

  The woman pointed to Lillian. “This devil is a newborn. What use is she? I go to save my husband; she goes to save her lover and child. Women do what women must do. Who are you, monsieur, to deny me?”

  “I take it you’re coming with us, then?”

  Phoebe’s eyes burned black, and veins stood out scarlet against her dark skin. “I must get my bones and chalk, my cauldron. Then we go.”

  The woman flew up the stairs, and Lillian called after her, “We don’t have time for this!” Then, to Phillip: “Her bones and cauldron?”

  George’s brother whispered, “She is an ally, but she could prove…unstable. I suggest we leave without her. Besides, all Sullivan seemed to want is her safety, according to George’s letter. We can at least do
this much for him. Let’s go now.”

  “Right,” Lillian said.

  Phillip sighed. “Lead the way to the castle.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Brave mortals.

  “God help me!”

  Arthur ran as quickly as he could, his breathing labored from his chest cold, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and the insanity of Lillian Holmes’s mansion. He stopped at the monument, where George Washington—at least he supposed it was George Washington—stood atop an enormous column. There was such a monument in every city in America, it seemed.

  Taking a seat on an iron bench, he wiped at his brow and tried to calm his breathing. A few couples were out for a stroll, although the night was brisk and a young shoeblack sat forlornly on a step without a customer. How could life go on so normally? Would his life ever be normal again?

  Arthur pulled his watch from his pocket and opened it to the inscription that brought bittersweet grief, unfailingly. All my devotion, Louisa. Louisa didn’t even know he was abroad, but neither would she know his face. Tuberculosis ravaged her body while dementia ravaged her brain. Oh, for once to have her tell him that he was a good and noble man worthy of the blessings life had given him. But no, that was impossible—and untrue.

  “You have not the bravery of the lowliest soldier, the inquisitiveness of the poorest scientist, or the imagination to pen a single new story,” he accused himself. Faced with the seemingly impossible truth that he’d met and even liked several vampires, he’d run.

  “Well, who wouldn’t?” he almost shouted. The shoeblack turned and held up his brush.

  Arthur ignored him and rested his head in his hands. Lillian had begged him to help. The astonishment and hurt on her face when he curtly abandoned her… Well, those were sentiments he understood too well. Louisa had looked at him that way before, as had his children. He would tend battlefield wounds but would not fight a battle.

  A few seagulls circled overhead, and Arthur watched them settle on George Washington. He sniffed out a laugh. What would that great man do, faced with a nest of vampires? What would Sherlock do? Why, John Watson would understand, wouldn’t he?