“What about the others from your cult? I mean clan. I mean…group?”
Abigail gave him a disapproving look before removing Klaus’ trench coat, vest, tie, and all the undershirts so he was stretched out on the bench in just his pants and boots. She gently touched his shoulder where the greyish taint covered his entire arm and half of his torso. “There is strong power here, dark and forbidden magic. I’m…I’m not even sure if he could be human.”
“How could he not be human?”
Abigail tilted her head left and right, looking at Klaus at different angles. Her attention landed on the Collector’s blade hitched to his belt. The object sparked with familiarity and warning. Sam also noticed the weapon and reached out to touch it.
“Incredible, I never seen this type of blade before.”
The moment he reached for it, Abigail caught his wrist and held him back. “Don’t touch that.”
“What? Why?”
Thoughts churned and spun. Memories from Ma’s teachings rushed to the front of her mind, and one word felt to stick to the image. A dark thought, covered in unlawful magic she was wary to touch. She retracted her hands. “He needs some serious help. We need to take him out to the coven. Ma will know.” Sam looked away uneasily and Abigail scolded his hesitation. “You once choice to love rather than to kill. Are you still that great man?”
“I think you mean dead man.”
“An honourable man.”
“Honourable? Ha! Depends who you ask.” Sam smiled uneasily.
“Sam Blackmore…do you believe in fate?” She reached out and touched his check tenderly. Sam took a steady breath, and gently nodded. “Then I believe you are fated to save this man.”
Chapter Thirty-Six:
“Any news from Catherine?” Elizabeth asked as she set the newspaper down. Talk of the mystery woman had left the headlines weeks ago at what Elizabeth suspected was the stern request of Arthur Beaumont.
“Nothing, I’m afraid.” Harry approached with a fresh cup of tea to replace her cold untouched one. He then handed over a note. “But this letter came addressed to a E. Blackmore. Perhaps it’s for you?”
Elizabeth took the ash covered letter eagerly. The writing was feminie, giving Elizabeth even more hope. With Harry reading over her shoulder, Elizabeth tore into the note.
Elizabeth.
Dare I believe it really is you? The papers speak the truth? I have birthed the son of a Beaumont. I hope you are not mad with me, it was not my choice. I was just a servant in the Beaumont kitchen, and there’s little I could do against his advances. If it really is you, please meet me by the Burning Man tonight at sundown. Come alone, for I fear for my life. I hope it’s not too forward for me to ask, but please bring money to help feed me and my starving son. We are homeless and penniless. I fear we won’t last the winter without help. I need you, little sister. Please help me.
Love,
Penelope Blackmore.
Elizabeth slumped back into her chair, her fingers clenched tight on the note. “It’s true.”
“Miss Wicker?”
She almost couldn’t say the words. “The mystery woman in the papers. Her name is Penelope Blackmore, my sister.”
Harry frowned, “What do you intend to do?”
“I will help her, of course.” Elizabeth quickly stood and started rampaging through William Wicker’s belongings. “Arthur has left her with a son to feed all by herself. I have money I can give her. Things she can sell, whatever was left from the Wicker fire she can have.”
“Miss Wicker.” Harry looked after her concerned. “You must think of your future, too.”
She slowed at the thought of her own impending fate. Her ticking heart was a constant reminder of her time slipping away. “My future is now, Harry.” She turned to face him, faking a smile. “Does Doris have a wig I can borrow?”
#
Doris’ semi-balding head allowed Elizabeth the chance to step out into public. She fitted the short, brown bob over her head, ensuring every strand of white hair was carefully tucked out of sight. Her large lumpy coat and dirty pants disguised her, allowing her to slip underneath the radar of police officers and officials alike. Not even Arthur would glance her way.
There was, however, one man who didn’t let her go from his sight. Nikolas perked up from his seat the moment Elizabeth stepped out of the house. Her disguise was good, hunching her over like an old lady, but the gremlins’ couldn’t be fooled. He followed her calmly, biting into an apple as he waited across the street from the bank she visited.
“Where are you Klaus?” he grumbled and glanced into the crowds. The silence from his brother was disturbing, making Nikolas think his threats on Elizabeth were too light. Klaus wasn’t taking this seriously. Maybe she really wasn’t his type, he did like brunettes after all. He thought back to the Beaumont mansion. To Klaus’ face and the terror that twisted him. He started to doubt his assumptions when Elizabeth stepped out of the bank with cash in hand. Enough of this waiting. Nikolas cut across her the moment she was alone.
“That’s a good look for you,” he joked, startling Elizabeth into spinning around. “Going shopping?”
“Nikolas?”
“Surprised?”
“Not a nice surprise. I haven’t seen you for weeks, I had hoped you had left.”
“And miss the chance to see you play Old Mrs. Scrooge?”
“Why are you still here? What happened before?” Her voice dropped with her seriousness, indicating back to the moment they teleported back into the Pitts.
Nikolas answered half-honestly, “You wished.”
“And you listened?”
He did, even though he didn’t want to. He was suddenly nervous that the code would overpower him again, that there was something in Elizabeth’s choice of words that could undermine his control. Perhaps it was his rage, making him lose his grip over the code. Nikolas sighed and glanced away. “Klaus wasn’t there. Didn’t see a purpose in staying.”
“Well, he’s not here either.” She pointed out with more disappointment in her tone than she intended to convey. She cares for him. Too bad it isn’t mutual.
Nikolas shrugged. “Not yet. But he will come, the knight will always come to save the damsel in distress.”
“I’m no damsel.” Elizabeth turned to leave. Nikolas quickly blocked her path. She crossed her arms. “Is there nothing I can say to make you leave? Or do I have to do something more extreme? Like setting you on fire?”
Nikolas snorted. “How ambitious of you. You may actually find my company interesting.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Do you know why Lady Claudia was so keen to marry you into the Beaumont family? Why she had me scavenge through Doctor Wicker’s estate?”
“Why she targeted my mother?” She asked instead. Nikolas perked his eyebrow and Elizabeth grumbled under her breath. “Okay…then tell me? Why?”
“A riddle.”
“What riddle?”
Nikolas craned his head back, “An ancient script that was written about your family, the Wicker bloodline. Sun and Moon. Ying and Yang. Life and Death. Through Wicker name can stars be dulled. Through Wicker name can time be stopped, love uncapped and death reversed. Through Wicker name the game’s blade turned back. Broken circles, union through rings, draw on Wicker name.”
“What does that even mean?”
“As I said, it’s a riddle. Unions through rings, is pretty obvious. Marriage. Stars be dulled, time be stopped, love uncapped and death reversed sounds like magic not even Collectors can achieve without great sacrifice. And a weapon, the game’s blade, seems to be the key to it all.”
“So, you broke into my house looking for a weapon?”
“And I found something.” Nikolas indicated to the golden pistol he carried next to his Collector’s blade.
A lump wedged in her throat. “That’s nothing but an old family heirloom. It’s useless.”
“Sure. That explains why you wanted it back
so badly.”
“It has sentimental value.”
Nikolas looked down at it fondly. “It sure does. The Wicker myth is as old as witches and Collectors,” he said. “All we know for sure is that you need a Wicker to unlock it. Ever notice no Wickers ever got married? None that carry your special gene, that is.” He reached out to touch her white hair.
She swatted his hand away. “I won’t be married for long. Once Klaus and I defeat you—”
“Klaus and you?” Nikolas repeated, holding back a laugh. “I think you’re a bit deluded. What are you expecting at the end of all this? A happily ever after? A sweet taboo romance turned wild with desire? Klaus has no interest in romantic things. He’ll sooner rip your heart out than give you his.” Nikolas touched his lips, feigning shock. “Oops! He’s already done that, hasn’t he?”
“I had a heart attack. He saved my life.”
“He killed your father.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. “And you killed my mother.”
“He also killed your friend.”
“This isn’t a competition.”
“If it was, he’d be winning.” Elizabeth chewed on her lower lip, stopping herself from revealing how upset the conversation made her. Nikolas cleared his throat. “Why him then? I don’t understand, he has caused you so much pain? Why him?” Nikolas had seen the beginnings of romance more often than he had felt it. The senseless loyalty, the ability to overlook the other’s flaws, the helpless hope and faith.
Elizabeth inhaled a shaky breath. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. That’s the thing with Klaus. It is not love that will drive him back to you, it’s an obligation.”
Elizabeth went to argue, but couldn’t. The thought hit her hard. It was true. Klaus only cared about stopping Nikolas. He had already proven this when he was willing to marry her off to Arthur Beaumont if it meant a chance to ambush him. Had I really made this up in my head? Her girlish crush had blinded her. Every bone in her body felt heavy with doubt.
She swallowed back her remorse. If Klaus had feelings for her or not wasn’t relevant. “It is not love that I seek from him.”
“Then what?”
“A promise.” Sirens turned her head around. Over her shoulder, she noticed the setting sun. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. I have somewhere to be.”
“Yes of course.” Nikolas stepped back. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.”
#
The Burning Man was the main power plant sitting further out on the south side of town. Its primary use was to pump burning coal into large industrial buildings and aircrafts. It had achieved its nickname due to its human profile, and how at night, the internal fire made the six-storey man appeared to be boiling from the inside. Despite being operational around the clock, during the night shifts the staff dropped down to a skeleton crew with little security. The Burning Man was not an unknown place for Elizabeth. In fact, when she used to struggle to sleep, she would sneak off to the Burning Man and curl up under the floorboards. Beneath the structure, the dirt was soft and warm. If it weren’t for the bugs, she may have stayed there every night. And, of course, the soot she dragged home with her. It was probably the combination of everything: the muffled footsteps, routine churning of gears, the warmth and solitude that helped her remain at ease. It was like listening to a giant robot’s internal system. The heartbeat of a sleeping god.
The heat radiating from the chrome building breathed out of the windows in bouts of steam, keeping the entire area a constant soggy, lukewarm temperature. She crept along the outer walls when a startling noise came from inside. The sound of a baby’s cry.
Elizabeth slipped through the side door and down the steps, leading her down a narrow staircase which opened to a large furnace. Inside, Elizabeth’s eyes fell upon Penelope. Her face carried the same youthful pout in her cheeks, inherited through Ana, but her large brown eyes aged with crowfeet pinched at each corner. When she squinted, the lines became more prominent. Her bulb nose had grown larger to match her growing face and her brown hair was wedded with soot and sweat.
For a moment, Elizabeth’s world of aristocrats and Time Collectors dwindled down into the size of the furnace. Both girls stared at each other in a moment of silence before Elizabeth rushed forward and pulled her sister into a hug. Her arms trembled, her mind pulled between delight and devastation. “I have dreamt of this day for so long.”
“It’s nice to see you too, little sister.” Penelope tensed beneath Elizabeth’s arms. “You’ve become quite the celebrity.” She wiggled out of Elizabeth’s embrace and held her hand up to admire the pearl of her white skin. Blemishes marked her body from years of study at the academy. Penelope smiled at the scars. “Not as pretty as they say.”
Elizabeth eased her hand back. “Your son? Can I see him?”
Penelope motioned sideways to the makeshift cradle on the counter top. Elizabeth edged closer and peered into the basket. The child slept peacefully, his cheeks roasted pink from the breath of hot air from the furnace. She gently touched her lips, feeling the pride of becoming an aunt, at seeing part of herself in his blotchy, chubby face. “He is so beautiful. What is his name?”
“Aaron.” Penelope smiled. “A strong name, for a strong leader. Did you bring the money?”
Elizabeth nodded and dabbed her eyes clear of tears. “Yes, but they only allowed me to withdraw so much in one go.”
“How much?”
Elizabeth revealed the cash. Penelope’s eyes widened at the sight of it, but she didn’t extend her hand to take it. “I haven’t seen that much money in my whole life. You poor, pampered little princess.”
Elizabeth flinched, “You are mad at me? I came here to help you.”
“Help me? No, you’re here because you found out I had a Beaumont son. You’re here to threaten me, aren’t you? Are you going to tell me to back away from your husband?” Elizabeth took a step backwards. A deep seeded hatred curled Penelope’s lips. “How you mock me. Dressed in rags, pretending to be one of us. You’re a beloved Wicker, not a low-life Blackmore.”
“I am a Blackmore!” Elizabeth quickly defended. “Well, I’m both.”
“No. You’re a precious, spoilt, shitty little nobleman’s daughter,” she snapped. “Our whorish mother only took you to high-society. Her favorite daughter. She left Sam and I in the hands of a drunken man with large debts.”
“High-society? Penelope, my life is not as glamourous as you think! Mother loved you, but father was the one who kicked us out,” Elizabeth countered. “Life was hard on us and she did not want you to suffer like we were. Father had money to feed you at least, but we starved out there on our own. We went cold on most nights and I had to steal all my clothes off the clotheslines from the neighbouring kids just to have something to wear. I spent most of my life training at the Academy of underprivileged ladies where I was going to be sold into servitude.”
“That!” Penelope lashed out and slapped the cash from Elizabeth’s hand. The seal broke, bursting the notes out across the room. “Is that not Wicker money?”
Elizabeth’s heart hammered. Penelope’s rage stemmed from her sense of abandonment. She was a terrified young mother worried about her baby. Elizabeth gulped, and carefully held her hand out. “I want to help you.”
“Help me?” Penelope scoffed. She turned and picked up her screaming child, who was startled awake by their yelling. “You really think I’m stupid? I know what you’re trying to do. You’re trying to chase me out of town by bribing me. I want more than money. I want to be the governor’s wife. I want power. I want a mansion and servants. You’re only helping me so I’ll leave and you can have all the Beaumont riches for yourself. That isn’t fair, you already got the Wicker fortune. Why do you deserve to have the Beaumont fortune too?”
“I…I don’t—” Elizabeth stuttered, but stalled at the sound of footsteps approaching behind her. A man stepped into the light of the furnace. He didn’t speak, but smiled eagerly down at
Elizabeth as though she bled diamonds. He didn’t need to say anything. His intentions were as clear as the knife he carried. Elizabeth trembled. She glanced back at Penelope, pleading. “Don’t do this.”
“Arthur will never recognize me as his wife with you around. I’ve already given him a son, he’ll come begging for me once he sees his trophy-wife is tarnished.”
“Wait, Penelope, please let us talk.” Elizabeth took another frightful step back. The room felt smaller. “I don’t want to be his wife. I didn’t ask for this.”
“Yet you take it still? You’re given everything, aren’t you?” Penelope screamed. “You don’t know what it’s like to fend for yourself. Our mother chose you over both Sam and I. Father sold me so he could drink. I sold myself just to eat. And when I had to lock my door every night to keep out the drunks, you were running around with that doctor, dressing up like you’re better than us.” Her voice cracked as she shouted. She saw in Penelope just rage and abandonment. It thickened the redness in her cheeks. She licked her lips and turned away. “I promised you money. Take the cash, but make sure she’s dead before you leave.”
She turned and abruptly left. Elizabeth leaned forward to speak but the shock clamped her voice box closed. He moved in, fast and feral, like a dog diving on a tender piece of meat. She didn’t have time to react, her training with Klaus blocked behind her shock and she buckled instantly when a knife plunged deep into her side. Pain ripped underneath her skin. Choking her, taking out one knee as she hit the ground. She couldn’t scream, her breath caught as the knife struck her a further three times into her back, torso and chest. The wounds opened in slashes. Warm red blood wept out. Her entire body tensed and crumpled. She hit the ground. He started scooping up all the money, ultimately forgetting about Elizabeth bleeding out on the ground.
Her mind darkened, unable to see the world around her. Her death was definite. Her wounds were far too deep for Elizabeth to drag herself to the streets. Her cheek faced the door, her body motionless, crippled by pain. Above her head, his silhouette remained behind to watch her die. How she cursed him. How she wanted to scream, but no sounds came out. The figure dropped to their knees and cupped her cheeks, bringing her face to their lap. Warm hands. Familiar hands.
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