I'll Be Damned

by Erin Hayes

  Where the lone gas lamp in the room shows that Catherine is gone.

  I stare at the rumpled sheets for a long moment, then glance around the room, wondering if I missed her or if she is somehow hiding. But there's nothing in the small room. Just me and my memories of the time spent between the sheets with her.

  As if in shock, I sit on the edge of the bed, looking at my callused, worn hands. I shouldn't have told her that I love her. I should have done a lot of things differently.

  "You're a damned idiot," I mutter to myself.

  Trust Jared Etheridge to scare off a prostitute. It's then that I realize that I haven't even paid her. She left without so much as a coin from me.

  I smirk. Maybe I was that terrible at sex that she'd rather flee than have to deal with me like this.

  I sigh and fall back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling again. I can still smell her scent here, like she's still in the room with me. I grab a pillow, hug it to myself, and somehow, despite all the self-doubt, I fall asleep.

  And dream of her.

  11

  Hazel

  Lizzie, rather than Mrs. Hudson, is waiting for me when I finally arrive at home in the early hours of the morning. I don't even have a chance to knock on the door or unlock it—when I go up the steps, she throws open the door to look at me, her expression as scared as I feel.

  "I did it," I tell her, feeling an odd hollowness inside me. "I found a sailor and I did it." I look down at my hands, unsure what to do with them. "We'll see if anything comes out of it."

  Anything being a daughter. I'm such a terrible person for thinking in those terms.

  At the same time, I certainly hope I achieved my goal, because I don't think I can go through that again. It isn't as if Jared had been a bad "client." Quite the opposite, and I shiver, remembering his hands on my body. But I don't think I can find another client to have sex with and then leave him. I don't think I can pretend again.

  She looks at me for a long moment, before her face falls and she reaches out to embrace me in a hug. "Hazel, I'm so sorry."

  I hold her tightly in response. "I didn't think it would affect me as much as it is."

  "William was that bad of a lay, huh?" she says, and I laugh despite myself.

  Lizzie is eerily close to the truth with that question. Now, comparing him to Jared, I can definitely say so.

  "Let's get you inside," Lizzie says.

  "Mrs. Hudson and Margaret—?" I ask.

  "They're asleep, thinking you're out on a hunt."

  I look at her. "Without you?" Since Catherine died, Lizzie has been my hunting companion. As a general rule of society, women aren't supposed to be alone, and with the streets of London as dangerous as they are, I have been going on hunts exclusively with Lizzie to make sure that we're both safe.

  Lizzie winks at me before giving a couple of pathetic coughs. "I've come down with," she coughs again, "a cold. So I'm currently under the comforter in your guest room."

  I chuckle softly. "Lizzie, I swear sometimes that you're a genius."

  "Only sometimes?" She steps back and examines me, her expression changing to scandalized amusement. "Are you naked under your cloak? Come inside, come inside."

  "I've only got my pantalettes and boots on," I tell her as she ushers me inside and shuts the door. I take off my satchel, which has the rest of my clothing shoved in there. "I wanted to get out of there as soon as I could."

  "That bad, huh?" Lizzie asks.

  "No, that good," I murmur, and her expression turns puzzled.

  She shakes her head, clearing away her puzzlement. "I hope you realize how stupid it is wandering around London in nothing but a cloak, Hazel."

  I nod. "Indeed. I need a bath."

  She snorts. "Thought as much. Come, we'll deal with this in the guest room. Wouldn't want to awaken Margaret to your new nighttime career."

  We go upstairs to the room that had once been Thomas's, but now acts as a guest room for Lizzie to stay in whenever she needs to. I pass by the room that I share with Margaret and see that the door is slightly ajar. She's waiting for me to come home. Margaret, in her own way, has always been looking out for me, just as I'm looking out for her.

  I sigh and duck into the guest room where Lizzie is already running a hot bath for me.

  I stand in my cloak, running the events of the night through my head, wondering what had happened and what I could have done differently.

  Timidly, almost frightened, I put a hand over my abdomen, and I wonder if this had worked. If I am with child. There's no way of knowing, not until I miss my monthly bleeding. If I do.

  "I'm sorry," I whisper, and I'm not sure to whom I'm speaking.

  Lizzie helps me out of my cloak and undergarments and helps me into the water. I let her. Now that I've made it home from my night, I'm in a state of shock more than anything else. I feel as transparent and frail as a pane of glass, able to be shattered at any moment. I keep running through my thoughts, doubting everything.

  Mother and Papa had loved each other, had raised a family together. While there have been sad times, there have also been gay, happy times. I remember the Christmases we spent together, Mother's grace as she taught us everything that our grandmother had taught her. Papa had been happy. I'd been happy too.

  And I may have possibly denied my child that.

  "I'll be out here if you need anything," Lizzie says, recognizing my need for privacy. I only give her a shocked nod as she shuts the door behind her.

  Leaving me alone in my thoughts.

  I sigh and lean back against the rim of the tub, looking up at the ceiling.

  "You did right," I whisper to myself, trying to convince myself of my choices. "You did right."

  I close my eyes, and with measured breaths, I try to slip into a meditative state. If I were a true Harker, I could transcend this meditative state and enter what’s known as the Void. It’s a place between life and death, where I can contact the Harkers of the past and get advice for what to do next.

  I’ve tried doing it so many times since Catherine died. To ask her if she blames me for her death. To see if she’s disappointed in me.

  As of yet, I haven’t been able to. No matter how hard I try, even now.

  I open my eyes and I’m still in the bathtub in the physical world. I let out a disappointed sob.

  No, I haven’t managed to do the one thing that I’ve wanted to since I became the Harker.

  I shiver and cross my arms. “I’m sorry, Catherine,” I murmur, wondering if she can still hear me, even though I’m not in the Void.

  I stay in the bath until the water grows cold, and with a numbness, I put on the nightgown that Lizzie had laid out for me. And when I step out of the bathroom, Lizzie is already sound asleep and snoring.

  I slip under the covers next to her, curl up on my side, and cry myself to sleep.

  I feel a bit better in the morning, despite Lizzie's constant snoring that woke me up several times throughout the night. Her nighttime idiosyncrasies only make me appreciate Margaret's consideration in sharing a room with her.

  I didn't dream last night, which I consider to be a good thing. Better to have no dreams than nightmares.

  Mrs. Hudson already has breakfast spread out on the table by the time I make it downstairs. Margaret and Lizzie are already sipping their tea and tucking into their meals. Papa's place is empty, though. As it has been ever since Catherine died.

  I feel his absence deep within my soul as I take my seat and pour myself some tea.

  "You were out late, Hazel," Mrs. Hudson says, giving me a suspicious glare as she sets down my plate of ham, eggs, beans, and toast. Crumpets and preserves are situated at the center of the dining table.

  "My prey eluded me all night," I tell her, giving her a wry smile. I spoon some butter onto a crumpet. "I hope you didn't wait up for me."

  She crosses her arms underneath her ample breasts and inspects me up and down. "My dear, if I waited up for your family every time you
went on a hunt, I'd never get a night's peace."

  "So you didn't find the vampire?" Margaret asks, peering over at me.

  I shake my head, feeling the extent of my lie grow and grow with every word. "They've been crafty of late."

  "Crafty," Lizzie says with a snort. "Right." I shoot her a look.

  "You seem to be much better this morning," Mrs. Hudson says, eyeing my cousin.

  Lizzie only gives her a demure smile. "It's because of your kind attention that I'm able to recover so swiftly, Mrs. Hudson."

  Our housekeeper looks as though she doesn't believe her, but she simply sighs and turns back to washing dishes.

  "Hazel," Margaret says excitedly. "I have something to show you."

  I bite into my crumpet and look at her curiously. "Something to show me?" I’d be lying if I said that I don’t enjoy her latest pieces of work. It has been too long since she created something new, the last being the disrupter pistol that Catherine had turned on me that fateful night.

  There used to be new weapons with nearly every hunt. This would be the first in over half a year.

  Margaret winks proudly. "It's a surprise. I'll show you after breakfast. Perhaps it will help you with your hunts."

  Margaret's enthusiasm is contagious, and I feel even better as I grin at her. "I guess I shall have to hurry then."

  Mrs. Hudson lets out a dramatic sigh as I eat my breakfast faster than what is proper, but after last night, I'm not entirely sure what constitutes proper versus not. At the same time, I'm not sure I care, either. If Margaret is excited, then I am too.

  Margaret is a brilliant tinkerer and inventor. Between her work and Father's, there have been some incredible inventions that have come out of their workshop. The advent of harnessing steam has helped them to come up with frankly insane ideas that have made hunting so much easier.

  So I finish up my breakfast as quick as possible and hurry downstairs with Margaret and Lizzie to the workshop where Papa is hunched over a table, soldering his latest project together. He doesn't even look up as the three of us trudge down the stairs.

  "Papa," Margaret calls to him, "Hazel's here with Lizzie.”

  Papa glances up from what he’s working on, blinks at us, and then offers a grin that doesn’t meet his eyes. It’s the same smile he’s given me since Catherine died.

  “Ah, Hazel,” he says with the same familiar distance. “Elizabeth.” He nods to her before glancing at me. “How was your hunt last night?”

  “Unsuccessful,” I lie. I hope it’s a lie, at least. Even though I was hunting something other than vampires, I hope I was successful in acquiring my mission. I clasp my hands together, as I’m not sure what to do with them otherwise. They may still shake after last night.

  I clear my throat. “What is it that you’re working on, Papa?” Anything I can do to reconnect with my father. My father had tinkered to create weapons to make Mother’s hunts easier. Tinkering is his passion, and I miss that light he gets in his eyes when he’s excited by his latest creation.

  He looks back at the bits of scrap metal that he’s been working on. He looks like he’s going to consider saying something, to break into one of his long speeches about his latest creation

  “Oh,” he says distantly. “Nothing.”

  I clamp down on my words and cross my arms. Margaret clears her throat and presses her lips together. I think she’s given up on trying to bridge that distance between Papa and me. You can only help those who wish to be helped.

  “Hazel, Lizzie,” Margaret says, and she brings us over to her station, where she has some new weapons laid out on the bench.

  Lizzie lets out a gasp and picks up the closest one to her, a weapon that resembles a revolver. “How ingenious!”

  “That,” Margaret says, taking the weapon from her, “is an automatic stake revolver.” She unlatches the cylinder of the weapon so that we can see the chambers, which are far larger than that of a normal six-shooter. “You load up five stakes and,” she closes the cylinder, “you have five rounds of stakes that you can fire at vampires.”

  “Brilliant,” I murmur. I indicate the middle weapon. “And this?” It looks like a hand cannon, if not for the harpoon that sticks out the end.

  Margaret picks it up proudly. “A steam-powered hook shot. I know that you have many instances where you need to get to higher ground in a hurry, and Henry thought—”

  “Wait,” I interrupt in alarm. “Henry? As in Mister Holmes?”

  Margaret sways at my outburst. “Yes, Henry.”

  “He was down here? In the workshop?”

  “Yes?” She gives me a bewildered look.

  I shake my head and seize Margaret’s hands. “You cannot bring him down here.”

  Margaret’s bottom lip trembles. “Why not?”

  “Because.” I fumble for words, for a way of explaining my misgivings, and I don’t really have an answer for it. “Because you’re bringing an outsider into our world.”

  “Hazel,” Lizzie murmurs, but I ignore her warning.

  “Henry is to be my husband,” Margaret says. “He won’t be an outsider for much longer.”

  “And you are not the Harker,” I tell her, gritting my teeth. “And you will never be the Harker.” Not if I can be sure of it. Her eyes flash in anger that I’ve drawn that line in the sand, that I’ve excluded her from my position. “The more people who know about us, the more risk we put ourselves in. Does he know about vampires? Does he know what I am?”

  She lets out a disbelieving laugh. “I will never be the Harker?” She shakes her head. “Listen Hazel, I hope that’s true, that you won’t die at the hands of a vampire,” and I feel a pang at that, “but you’re acting as though Henry will tell the whole world about your duties.”

  “He’d better not,” I mutter. “But there is a mad man out there who stabbed me.” I rub my shoulder. “Or did you forget about that, too?”

  Margaret shakes her head. “I don’t believe this. No, Henry did not do that. He will have to know about our family at some point. Papa knows about this.” She gestures to our father in the corner, who hasn’t even looked our way once during this exchange. “Even Scotland Yard knows who we are, and they’re not a part of our family.”

  “Because they have to.”

  “And at some point, Henry will have to know.”

  I cross my arms. “That is my burden to bear. Not yours.”

  “No, it is not!” Her voice raises in anger. “We’re a family, Hazel.” She sweeps her hands over the assortment of weapons. “You use my weapons during your hunts. This my way of helping with your burdens. And Henry is brilliant, Hazel. He can help protect you, too.”

  “Let’s all keep calm now,” Lizzie says, stepping between us, but by that point, both Margaret and I have our hackles raised.

  We glare at each other for a long moment. I take a deep breath and shake my head. “No, the only one who needs protecting is you.” And I am not even certain why I said that, because it’s too close to what I spent last night doing.

  Tears spill over Margaret’s cheeks. “You’re so cruel, Hazel.” She whirls away from me, hikes up her skirts and storms up the steps to leave the workshop.

  I stand there for a long moment as the door slams upstairs, and it’s Lizzie, Papa, and me down in the workshop. I look over and see Papa looking over at me, and his expression is sad.

  “Hazel.” His voice is rough and hoarse, and for a moment, we look at each other, and I feel a spark of my old father again. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Finally, it seems as though he settles on one thing and says, “Let Margaret make her own choices.”

  I stare at him, aghast. She can’t make choices like this, not when they directly impact me. Not when I’ve already set actions into motion that will protect her.

  My own choices.

  He and I stare at each other a little longer before I shake my head with a groan and go upstairs.

  “Have a good day, Uncle,” Lizzie tells Papa be
fore she follows me. I hear him speak in response to her, a muffled reply, but it’s lost to the workshop downstairs.

  In the hallway of the house, I sigh and lean against the wall.

  “That could have been handled better by all parties,” Lizzie says blithely.

  “She shouldn’t have brought him down there.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “That is my concern.”

  “She is your sister. And the next in line for the Harker.”

  I eye her. “For now.”

  Lizzie snickers. “And until she’s not, trust her instincts.”

  “I do trust her. It’s others I don’t trust.” I rub the spot in my shoulder where I’d been stabbed. “Do you think—?” I falter. “Do you think he was the one who attacked me the other night?”

  She shrugs. “To what cause? And you’ve seen him since, and he hasn’t done anything untoward, correct?”

  “Yes,” I agree, thinking on it. I close my eyes and exhale sharply. “There’s too much happening at once these days.”

  Lizzie pats me on the back. “And if your...liaison last night was successful, your hands are about to get even more full.”

  And with that thought, dread settles deeply into my gut.

  I wonder if Jared is upset that I left without saying good-bye. Yet that is ridiculous, as I was nothing but a whore to him. Still though, I remember the way he kissed me, the way he looked at me.

  And even though nothing happened beyond just procreation, I can believe that there had been more to it.

  12

  Jared

  Sunlight streams in from the window, flickering over my eyes with the fluttering curtains. I groan, roll onto my back, and comb a hand through my hair as pieces of the night before come back to me. The worst part about it is that Catherine isn't here in bed with me.