The Undying Legion

by Clay Griffith

  “And that little darling is the werewolf that helped us?” Penny hefted the rucksack with a knowing glance at Simon.

  “Yes.” Kate laughed. “Needless to say, she’s not always a little darling.”

  Simon added, “Thank you for coming back out, Penny. I know it’s been difficult for you these last few days. And riding that monstrosity back and forth from London must be exhausting.”

  Penny waved a casual hand as she watched Charlotte pick up a heavy stick. “No troubles. It’s proper exercise. I can crack a chestnut with my thighs now.”

  Kate couldn’t cover her raucous laugh while Simon nodded with thoughtful consideration, saying, “Good to know.”

  Across the lawn, Aethelred splayed his front legs and stared openmouthed at the stick in Charlotte’s hand. Charlotte handed it to Imogen and pointed into the distance. Imogen showed the stick to Aethelred once more, then reared back and threw it with amazing power. The dog roared off in a spray of dirt. The stick bounced near the service path and rolled under a wagon. The wolfhound loped toward the wagon and wedged his large body under it, reaching for the stick. The ancient horse hitched to it paid the dog no mind. Charlotte raced forward and crawled under the wagon too to help the hound while Imogen bent over and watched them as they wrestled for ownership.

  Even more remarkably, Imogen paused to pull her veil up over her face. She raised her head to bask in the limited sunshine. Her bloodless lips stretched into a smile as she faced the warming rays. Kate’s breath caught in her chest, watching her sister bask in the sun as if, for just a moment, she was a normal young woman again.

  From around the back of the house came a figure carrying wicker baskets in his arms. Kate recognized him. He was the son of a tenant farmer who lived on the estate, likely delivering eggs. He was a young man, strikingly handsome, barely sixteen, and had a penchant for flirting with the pretty girls, even the higher-class Imogen in years past. He approached the two girls beaming broadly at their play, until Imogen turned her bared face toward him at the sound of his approach. She smiled back and waved at him, forgetting that her hand was nothing more than a bundle of tentacles.

  At first he showed disgust, but then terror crossed his features as Imogen’s mechanical eye rolled toward him and jutted in and out to focus. He screamed, his hand fumbling into his baskets. Imogen froze in place. The first egg he threw struck her in the chest, splattering her with its runny innards, yellow yolk soaking into the blue silk. The next ones coated the beautiful material even more and struck her in the head. Foul egg whites dripped off her chin and onto the delicate embroidery, covering it in a slimy film.

  Kate shouted, breaking into a run. Her heart was in her throat as she stared at Imogen’s face, watching it transform from the relaxed girl back into the hopeless creature of the last few months. “No!”

  The lad staggered back and reached down beside the path to grab up several stones.

  “Get away from my wagon!” He threw the rocks at Imogen.

  Imogen cried out as one struck her cheek, covering her face and protecting her head. A moan of despair left her as she crouched in as small a ball as possible, too frightened to even run.

  Kate ran with the rest in her wake, but she couldn’t react fast enough to prevent what happened next. Charlotte let out a roar. She rushed the farm boy, her eyes flashing unnaturally. She was still human, but only just. She shoved him violently, and the young man flew backward to slide across the graveled road.

  “How dare you!” Charlotte screamed at him. She picked up rocks of her own and threw them hard at the flabbergasted young man. Then she looked down at her arms, which had started to bulge with the transformation. Her looked about wildly for help.

  “I can’t stop it!” She ran for the house.

  Imogen stood up and started staggering after Charlotte. Kate threw her arms around her sister, trying to restrain her, unmindful of the quills that lay flat against her arm.

  “Imogen! Stop! Calm down.”

  Imogen only moaned pitiably and used her good hand to tear at the sodden dress she wore, ripping the sleeves and the ruined bodice.

  Penny grabbed the young farmer by the arm, yanking him to his feet. He pointed at Imogen and demanded, “What is that thing?”

  Penny didn’t answer except to kick him in the backside, nearly tumbling him to the ground again. The lad stared at the young woman in surprise, too shocked to ball his fists and fight back.

  “On your way!” Penny slammed the heavy rucksack against the boy’s shoulder. “Get on your wagon and begone before I do something terrible to you!”

  Two figures appeared from the door into the kitchen. One was Mrs. Tolbert, the housekeeper of Hartley Hall, and the other a mature man in workman’s twill who rushed toward the wagon when he saw the boy being manhandled by a young tough. He wrenched Penny aside, showing sudden surprise and shame when he realized she was a woman.

  The grizzled man touched his beaten cap. “Begging your pardon, miss. I didn’t realize … that is, I didn’t know you were a …” He turned on the young man. “What’s happening here, son?”

  The lad stammered and pointed toward the house, where Kate could be seen struggling to calm the ragged and despondent Imogen.

  Penny snapped, “The boy saw something that scared him.”

  “Oh.” The man relaxed and gestured for his son to climb onto the wagon. “Is that all? Let’s be on our way.”

  “But it was some sort of monster!” the boy shouted.

  “Aye, no doubt.” The farmer doffed his cap to Mrs. Tolbert, who had waddled up in alarm. “Sorry for the disturbance, Missus. It’s the boy’s first trip up to the Hall.” And then he gave Penny a slight bow. “And I humbly apologize for laying my hands on you, miss.”

  “No harm.” Penny turned and legged it for the house.

  The boy took the reins, still looking quite stricken as his father climbed up beside him. “But I saw it!”

  “Drive on.” The man shook his head ruefully. “The day you come to Hartley Hall and don’t see something strange is the day you should worry.”

  The wagon was pulling off as Simon ran through the open French windows into the library. Charlotte was pulling open the door leading down to the cellar, trying desperately to reach the safety of her room. Suddenly, the young girl screamed and pressed against the door. Fingernails thickened into curved talons, and they sank easily into the paneled wood beneath. She wailed in pain as her glowing eyes locked on Simon as he froze in place.

  “Charlotte, you handled that situation very well,” he soothed, trying to keep her calm. “Try to relax.”

  If the girl heard his words, they were lost inside a raging beast. Gone was the beautiful youth. The thing that remained was over twice Charlotte’s size, horrible and powerful. A human-shaped creature writhed on the floor, broad-chested, all knees and elbows. The horrific form was covered in grey fur. Its head was long with a doglike snout curling over savage teeth. Yellow eyes darted from side to side, squinted in pain or anger.

  She was fast. Her muscled limbs propelled her forward. Long sinewy arms darted out. A deadly clawed hand slashed at Simon’s face. He blocked the blow with a stiff arm, gritting his teeth at the impact. It bought him precious seconds as the werewolf staggered off balance. He drove himself at what once was Charlotte and shoved her against the wall, one arm across her neck, blocking her snapping jaws.

  Her strength was far greater than before, now that she was recovered from the injury. He would not be able to hold her for long without doing serious damage or letting her harm him. He would, of course, act to protect those in this house, but he didn’t want to kill Charlotte. She had tried to do the right thing. He didn’t want Malcolm to be right.

  With an explosion of power, Charlotte pushed Simon away so that he collided with the wall behind him and spun off it, crashing to the floor. She bounded high onto the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves overhead, ripping volumes into the air as she threw herself about like a trapped animal.


  Charlotte landed with a thud behind him and the werewolf’s jaws shut just shy of Simon’s back as he twisted aside. He slapped his hands together in front of the beast, shouting out a single odd word. A bright light flashed from his hand like a thunderclap. The creature reared back with its arms over her eyes, howling a dreadful shriek.

  Simon darted out of the corner and moved behind her, but the beast anticipated his action and turned with him. Simon was forced to leap back. A hairy arm sliced the air in front of him. He seized her once again and used her own momentum to pull her off balance. With a single spell, the strength in his limbs once again rose and he slammed Charlotte into the wall.

  “Simon! Get clear! I’ve got a shot!”

  He recognized Malcolm’s voice and knew the man had his weapon trained on the rampaging beast. The moment Simon stepped away, she was done for. He refused to move. Malcolm’s loud curses sounded behind him.

  A long, clawed arm lifted. For an instant, Simon stared into Charlotte’s eyes. The molten irises widened, almost as if in recognition. She let out a mournful wail and her claws wavered above him for a split second, then they crashed downward. The wood shattered beneath the blow that landed next to him on the floor.

  Charlotte purposely missed!

  Simon backed away. The wulfsyl was working, just slowly, or perhaps she needed a stronger dose. Simon could not ponder that matter more as the werewolf stalked after him though he couldn’t be sure if it was to kill him or just instinct. Her lips curled over the long canines in a snarl and Simon realized he might be in trouble. The beast surged forward and Simon tried to twist aside but her shoulder clipped him on his hip and sent him sprawling.

  The werewolf swiped as he tried to roll out of her range. Her claws sunk into his long jacket, just missing tender flesh. Furiously, she reached out with her other arm, catching him a glancing blow on the forearm, this time drawing blood.

  Simon grunted at the sudden pain as he fell forward. Charlotte loomed over him. He punched Charlotte hard across the jaw. The amber eyes rolled up in her head. For a moment Simon enjoyed his success, but it didn’t last. Charlotte roared in fury, spraying spittle through her bloody teeth. Behind her, he saw Malcolm stepping into place with pistol raised.

  “Malcolm don’t!” he shouted.

  “Just everyone drop to the floor!” It was Penny and she hefted a silver ball.

  Simon covered his head. The round device struck Charlotte square in the chest. The ball exploded in a cloud of silver dust. Charlotte hacked violently, flinging herself away from Simon’s prone figure. Clawed hands slapped wildly at her fur and face in a vain attempt to dislodge the fine silver powder. The werewolf’s whole body shuddered and her muscles abruptly seized as the silver penetrated pores and nostrils. She hunched over, gasping for breath. Then the grey fur faded and long limbs shrunk as she transformed to human. Simon rolled under Charlotte and caught her before she struck the floor. As he cradled her still form, he feared that Penny had used too much silver. But Charlotte suddenly drew in a wheezing breath and coughed violently. Simon held her and gently rubbed her back. Penny knelt with a look of concern.

  Simon said, “Well done, Penny.”

  The engineer hefted another silver ball in her hand. “Figured a little silver in the lungs would make breathing hard. Glad it didn’t kill the child.”

  Malcolm holstered his pistol, glowering at the small, shuddering form surrounded by the unsuspecting.

  Chapter 7

  Kate walked upstairs. The house had settled again into a quiet hum of subdued activity, but her heart still pounded at how close they had come to disaster. Charlotte was chained safe in her room downstairs, sniffling quietly. Kate would have to meet with the farmer, Mr. Romley, to ensure that all was well and that his son would remain quiet over the events.

  But more important was Imogen.

  Kate’s stomach churned at the thought that all the progress her sister had made was now undone. Imogen had been so relaxed just moments before the Romley boy had come upon her. She had been enjoying simple pleasures like the sunshine and playing with friends. How quickly those joyous highs had been replaced by frightening lows.

  Kate knocked on her sister’s closed door. Only silence greeted the action. She heard no movement beyond. She prayed Imogen hadn’t locked it but waited another minute before she laid her hand on the handle. It clicked open and she entered.

  The faint winter light barely penetrated the room through drawn velvet drapes. Kate searched the gloom for Imogen while her eyes adjusted. She knew better than to open the curtains to the outside world.

  “Imogen,” Kate called out softly.

  A familiar tinny voice echoed from her left as the homunculus skull once again spoke its bitter words. Kate turned to see Imogen crouched on the floor in the corner, huddled over the meager flame of a candle to ward off the deepening shadows. The same corner she had occupied for a month after her return from Bedlam. The dark veil covered Imogen’s porcelain face, but her once-pretty dress was shredded, revealing patches of pale skin beneath. Kate’s heart fell, but she kept her despair from showing.

  “There you are,” Kate announced, coming closer and settling herself on the floor beside her sister, unmindful of the dirt and clutter. Imogen had made a new nest of blankets and clothes. Kate sat near enough that their shoulders were close without touching.

  She didn’t know where to start in reassuring Imogen, but she was desperate to silence the grating recording, which set her nerves on edge. “It was a good thing Mr. Romley was here today. You remember Mr. Romley? He is a good friend of Father’s. He guarded all of our secrets.”

  The skull’s voice faltered a bit.

  Kate continued. “He’ll set his son, William, straight. Of that I have no doubt. Remember when he caught us stealing apples from his orchard?” Kate laughed at the memory. “We got in so much trouble.”

  From the jacket of Imogen’s torn coat, which she still wore, popped the little hedgehog, who proceeded to crawl onto her lap and wash himself. Now the talking skull quieted. Imogen brought up her fingers to stroke the hedgehog.

  Kate took a deep breath. “I almost feel bad for poor William. It can be a bit of a shock to visit the Anstruther girls. You never know what you’ll find.” She laughed sadly.

  Imogen raised a translucent hand and pointed down to the floor, which Kate instinctively understood was the direction of Charlotte’s room in the cellar.

  “Charlotte’s fine,” Kate said.

  Imogen tilted her head questioningly.

  “Truly,” Kate replied. “She is well. We just have to find the proper dosage of wulfsyl. This time, she didn’t hurt anyone. Much. I’ve already taken care of Simon’s small scratch. He’s weaving magic spells with his usual aplomb. Soon we’ll have hedgehogs everywhere.”

  Imogen’s chest quivered with what appeared to be gentle laughter.

  Kate grinned at the hopeful sign from her sister. “Would you like to see Charlotte?”

  Imogen shoved up the veil from her disfigured face so Kate could see her excitement at the prospect. The homunculus skull tumbled from her lap to the floor, forgotten for now.

  Kate held out her hand and Imogen grasped it with long, tentacle fingers. “We should take her a new dress. Why don’t you pick out one for her?”

  Imogen hesitated but then shuffled to a closet and pulled a box from a high shelf containing dresses from her younger days that had been preserved from her rampages. She slowly worked the lid from the box, with Kate watching but not helping. Imogen shuffled through the box, pausing to run her fingers over the luxurious fabrics. Kate stood beside her and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. She could feel the small sobs shaking her sister. They stood quietly for a few moments till finally, Imogen drew out a beautiful party dress, a lovely shade of lavender and embellished with delicate navy embroidery.

  “She’ll love that one,” Kate agreed, finding a clean cotton chemise for Charlotte to wear tonight. Then together they went downs
tairs to the cellar.

  Charlotte was curled in a tight ball under a blanket on the disheveled bed. Her head rose meekly at the sound of the door opening. She looked forlorn and sounded miserable. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?”

  Kate settled herself on the foot of the bed while Imogen sat in a chair close to Charlotte’s head. “No, dear. You behaved admirably. We’re all terribly proud of you. Aren’t we, Imogen?”

  Imogen nodded and reached out to gently touch Charlotte’s shoulder.

  “Mr. Malcolm isn’t,” Charlotte whimpered. “He hates me.”

  Kate shook her head. “Mr. Malcolm is concerned, that’s all. We are a family here and there is a risk to everyone’s safety. He has been a hunter all his life and has made a commitment to keep the innocent safe from those who do not care about life. You two know more than most that it is hard to change what you are.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone!” Charlotte clutched Imogen’s rubbery hand. “I think I recognized Mr. Simon! I tried not to hurt him. I didn’t, did I?”

  “No, dear. He’s fine.” Kate rubbed the girl’s chained ankle beneath the blanket.

  Charlotte flopped down into her pillow. “I tried so hard not to change. But that boy was throwing rocks at Imogen. He shouldn’t have done that! It made me so mad.” She squeezed her face tight, trying not to cry.

  Imogen held out the dress to her friend.

  Charlotte opened her eyes and stared at it. But she turned away. “Why should I bother? I’ll just ruin it. I’ve destroyed every dress you gave me.”

  Imogen sagged and brought the dress back to her lap, and the two girls lapsed into silence.

  Kate scowled and folded her arms. “Truly, the two of you give up too easily. Charlotte, I can have more dresses than an elephant can carry brought here from London. Mrs. Tolbert will have them altered in no time.”

  “You mean I can stay?” Charlotte’s eyes brimmed.

  “Of course, but you must calm down and not cry.”

  “Not even tears of joy?”