The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume

by Chad T. Douglas

  What distinguishes the Leviathan from all other oceanic horrors is its frightening cunning. Stretching its upper body high into the air above the surface of the sea on dark or foggy nights, it casts a bright light from the luminous ridges atop its head. Beneath the surface of the waves, its vermicular body whips round in circles, treading water and creating a violent whirlpool great distances in diameter. Simultaneously, its head rotates round and round, luring in ships with the promise of safe land, hence its common nickname, the Devil’s Lighthouse. The cyclic current it generates not only draws in sailors foolish enough to come close, but also manipulates the elements high above in the sky, creating twisting tempests that tear vessels to scrap as the beast dives down, mouth agape, into the carefully crafted kill zone.

  A sailor I once met in Sidmouth, an old, eroded fellow with part of his left jaw missing and little sight left in his eyes, told me, through haggard breaths, that he’d seen the Leviathan and lived. His ship was lost, his fellows drowned and eaten and his captain driven to hysterical suicide. “When I saw it,” he said, referring to the swirling current, “I thought the Ninth Circle had opened up and was singing us our death song. The furious gales hushed as the ship was drawn toward the abyss. Just as silence fell on the thrashing waves, the clouds drew back and the beast came down from the sky, shining like the glorious sun, stealing from us our sight and blinding us to the most hopeless moment of the ordeal, in which we were delivered to the cold depths.”

  Being mortal, and already in a position of great vulnerability, we often ask ourselves, “Why?” Why must we constantly fight to protect our already endangered lives? Why are we so often called to protect others? Why must we sacrifice on each and every step we take toward our destination? Why so much pain?

  Molly’s brush with Death may not have been as unnecessary as we would like to think. Upon looking back at the events of this tale, I must admit that what happened that night and what Thomas was forced to do were necessary in the greater design of things. I can’t imagine how differently things would be now if Thomas hadn’t bitten Molly.

  Bridgetown, in Barbados, as the carousel of fate would have it, is where Tom would face his “smallest of trials” as Gabriel Vasquez put it—confronting his brother, Harlan. At the time, the Black Coat Society was attempting to establish a safe and strong brotherhood far away from the interference of English and French authorities at home. Times were difficult, and most cults in London especially were suffering greatly. Disappearances, betrayals and inter-cult violence were common. Good relations with Parliament were weakening. As the population of the world grew, half-humans increasingly competed for room. The new Black Coat Society had an answer to this: amass a new cult of vampires, dominate the Caribbean isles, remove problematic clan settlements in Europe, and then reclaim territory one major city at a time. I suppose some of the Black Coats surmised they could win back the favor of civil mortals by doing these things, simultaneously removing the obstructing werewolf population as well, just to ensure that competition for space would never again damage vampire relations with humankind.

  Sometime during the development of these goals, something else was suggested: hybridizing immortal curses. Initially rejected and ill-received as unthinkably taboo, the idea gained popularity when a charismatic young werewolf began to advocate hybridization to young Black Coats in Barbados. His name was Harlan Crowe. In order to demonstrate his loyalty to the Black Coat purpose, he voluntarily became the first known werewolf in history to receive the vampire bite. It made him into something terrible and great. He would be the new patriarch of the Black Coat Society, and an unforgotten symbol of the times.

  Geoffrey Mylus,

  May 17, 1833

  ~~~

  Harlan!” Tom screamed the name, sitting straight up from sleep inside his cabin. Molly was nowhere to be seen. Tom leapt to his feet. As the curse reared within him, he crashed through the cabin door, breaking it from the hinges. Outside it was bright, midday. “Molly!”

  Several crewmen jumped. Morgan Shaw approached him cautiously. “Captain, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wr—?”

  “The lady’s below, sir. Cooking, I believe.”

  Tom breathed heavily. “Wh—”

  “Yes, I saw her earlier. She should be there.”

  Molly set out the last of several meat pies on a wooden table, reviewing her creations with pride. She wiped her brow, and a bit of flour smudged her cheek. Tom descended the stairs to the galley, wide eyes focused on the happy and carefree Molly, busy at work by the stove fire. She looked up in surprise. Beads of cold sweat traced Tom’s cheek. At the last second he ducked to avoid walking straight into a low wooden beam.

  “Thomas! It’s about time you woke. Good timing, too. I’m just about to put these in the oven.”

  “You’re awake? You’re all right?” he asked dumbly.

  “Yes, of course. I used beef in these rather than the pork. I think the men are tired of pork. Is that all right? Thomas? I told the cook you hired to take a holiday.”

  Tom walked over to her, his eyes inspecting her thoroughly up and down for injuries. Still wide-eyed and shaky, he slowly embraced her and rested his weight on her in relief.

  “Yes! Yes...pies are just fine. Ha ha!” His laugh was both frightening and joyful.

  Molly was surprised by his sudden embrace. “Careful, Thomas.”

  “Oh!” He loosened his overbearing grip and apologized with an awkward smile.

  Molly rubbed her shoulder, wincing. “It’s all right. I’m just a bit sore this morning for some reason.”

  “I’ll leave you to the uh … the … your pies … I … sorry.” Tom tripped as he attempted to leave her in peace. “Ow!” he shouted, hitting his head on the low beam on his way out.

  Puzzled by his exceptionally odd behavior, Molly watched as Tom exited quickly before she could question him. She shrugged, deciding she would ask him about it later.

  The large tear in Tom’s pant leg from the night before caught a nail and tore wide open. “She’s fine. She’ll be fine. But now what do I— agh!” he shouted, falling through the main deck trap door. The crew on deck stared at their pants-less captain. Tom strolled on, pretending he didn’t notice a thing out of the ordinary. Returning to his cabin, he lay down, pants-less, and pondered the situation at hand. The crew shrugged off the incident, continuing to repair the leftover rigging and raising new sails.

  “Drop anchor for now! We’ll wait for the captain’s orders to sail!” Shaw called out to them. With a large splash, the ship anchored in place. The storm had carried the ship safely to a large shoal off of Cape Verde. The wild storm whipped up by the Leviathan had forced them across the currents they were sailing before. It was not a serious redirection, for now they would have only to catch the boomerang current off the African Coast and sail up to Barbados from the southernmost reaches of the Caribbean.

  The afternoon was quiet, and the crew worked busily on the various needs of the ship. The tranquility was shattered as Molly let out a loud cry below deck.

  Tom jumped up and out of his bed. Shaw was the first to reach the galley. “Miss Bishop?”

  “Molly?” Tom fell into Shaw on the stairs.

  Molly leaned against a cutting table, clutching a rag to her forearm, a cutting knife at her feet. “I’m sorry I startled you. I was being clumsy with the knife is all.” Molly, talking quickly, tried hard to conceal the shaking in her voice.

  “Are you all right?” Tom asked.

  “If you’ll excuse me, please help yourselves to the pies,” she said, quickly cleaning up the counters.

  Tom was able to catch a glance of the fresh cursed mark on her skin, barely visible behind her right shoulder, just below the neck. He said nothing of it and ordered Shaw back to the deck as he exited the galley. Shaw lingered behind for a moment, leaving only after Molly shooed him away and reminded him he had other duties to manage. He apologized and stood quietly in place, watching as Molly left the galley,
heading for the main deck and her cabin.

  Molly clenched her teeth together as the cut began a slow healing process. She was trembling violently, in a mixture of pain, fear and confusion.

  “Whatever you do, never touch it.” Tom suddenly appeared in the doorway of the cabin. “That makes it hurt worse.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s happening to me?”

  Tom sighed. “What’s happening now is you’re paying for a decision I made for you.”

  “I don’t understand. What decision?”

  “It isn’t permanent but you’ll have to live with it for a while.”

  “Damn it, Thomas! Tell me what you did!”

  “It’s better I tell you how to rid yourself of it, but you aren’t healed yet. So calm down.”

  Molly was more frightened than she had ever been in her life. She trembled, eyeing Thomas with fear.

  He continued, “You need to cooperate with me. First, I need a direction. Harlan isn’t running anymore. He’s waiting. But we seem to be a bit off course. I have to have orders to give my helmsman before dusk. Tell me which way the map ring points so I can be sure he’s in Bridgetown where I expect him to be.”

  Molly’s eyes narrowed. “I need an answer before you get directions.”

  “If I give you an answer now, I may die later. Because you are infected and I must confront Harlan, things must be done in a precise order, or very unpleasant things may beset us.”

  Molly’s eyes widened.

  “If you do not trust me, I may die. And if I tell you what I will ask of you … after I find Harlan … before the time is right … I will most likely die, because you will refuse to cooperate. I’ve seen these things in my dreams. I promised you I won’t die, and from this point on, your decisions will determine if I can keep that promise. If I told you what you must do soon, you wouldn’t do it.”

  Molly flinched, her gaze remaining hard. “Do what?”

  “I can’t tell you.”

  Molly tried to speak again, but a cry of pain escaped her lips instead, followed by a violent shudder.

  “If you want to live with that pain the rest of your life, you are free to do so. If my word means nothing to you, I cannot convince you to trust me. If what …” he paused. “If you think things happen for a reason …” He stopped again, giving up. Throwing the door wide open and leaving the cabin, he headed for the main deck. “Helmsman! West, full speed! Use your instincts! Find Barbados! Gentlemen, eat sparingly. We’re behind schedule!”

  Molly sobbed quietly into her hands, unaware of the dull gray color engulfing the face of her once beautiful ring.

  Molly awoke later that night, the pain completely gone from her arm. No scar was left from the cut. She walked out on deck and stared out into the ocean, spotting the North Star.

  “I’m so frightened. I don’t know what to do,” she murmurred, speaking to her mother’s star. “I’m walking blind, allowing someone else to direct my life.” She reached her hand up, tracing the mark on her shoulder. She closed her eyes, visions flying before her in a blur—a white flower, her father, a burning ship, Tom’s embrace. “I trust him.” Molly glanced down at her ring and then back up at the star. “I just hope it’s not too late to save him from whatever he plans to do.”

  Tom stood atop the highest point of the ship, balancing himself like a bird on a clothes line on the smallest yardarm of the main mast. The sea before him was infinite. The stars collected in a great crowd, each and every one present. Tom could feel it waiting for him over the horizon—destiny. He had memorized the scenario of meeting Harlan as clearly as it had been shown to him in his dreams. It always played out the same way, so it had to be true—Harlan dying, the strange feeling in Tom’s chest, a white flower, and a flash of light. But now more than ever he doubted the flower and the light. Maybe he had invented that part. Everything hinged on the flower. A white blossom, particularly moonbloom, was traditionally a prophetic symbol. A milky white flower with triplets of red spots on its petals, it was the sign of Luna Mater, according to many werewolf superstitions, and was not a vision to be taken lightly, especially if it appeared in one’s dreams. Tom was positive that the flower was a crucial part of the sequence. He was absolutely sure. There was always one more person in the dream after Harlan was gone, though. Or was there? Did he or didn’t he die in the dream? The light. What was the light, then?

  Tom stood pensively, watching the stars turn in place until the night air became too cool for him. He descended the mast and decided to lie down on deck instead of going back to his cabin. He stared at the locket Gabriel had given him, which was usually dangling from his neck and was now lying on his chest. Was the locket in the dream? He didn’t remember.

  For the first time in years, Tom slept peacefully, without a nightmare or dream. For now, he would lie without a care on the deck of his ship, under the watch of the heavens, sleeping on an eternal bed between Sea and Luna Mater.

  Molly, across the deck, paced. “This is what I’ve found, after all the searching,” she said softly. “I’ve finally discovered what I was meant to live for. I just had to see it for myself, with more than just my eyes.” She played with her ring, a soft smile on her face. The jewelry’s dull white glow illuminated her features. “I just needed time.”

  She wasn’t sure how late it was when she returned to her cabin. Her candle had burned down to the base. She diligently mapped out everything the ring would allow her to see, the path to Harlan, the path to Bridgetown and where she first met Thomas, neatly recorded on the parchment before her. It did not occur to her that she should not have been able to read the map, now that she, too, bore the werewolf mark. Either her curse had not matured, or other, dormant powers within her—fearsome powers she had still not cultivated—were too great to be stifled by darkness.

  The sun shone brightly overhead; the sky, azure. Molly hesitated at Tom’s cabin door before knocking. Inside, Tom was idly arranging items on his large desk.

  Since awakening at dawn he had occupied himself by cleaning his pistols and rearranging various charts in his cabin. He had opened a window to allow the cool breeze to soothe the persistent burning sensation in his back, which he often turned to the window, standing for long periods of time in relief. A soft rapping sounded at the door. Tom called from within.

  “Come in!”

  Molly entered, clutching the map she had worked on the previous night, and placed it down before him. “That should do.” She turned to leave again, feeling a pressure on her chest.

  Tom hadn’t moved since she entered. He stood facing the stern windows, the black tattoo on his back displayed for her. “Thank you, Molly. Did you sleep well?” A quaint and often meaningless question, it had become something of a mantra.

  “I don’t remember, actually.” Is that part of the curse?

  “Yes. Sometimes a dreamless night is a good one though, I suppose. Better that you sleep in silence than be disturbed by bad dreams, yeah?” He laughed softly and turned to look at her over one shoulder, smiling. The blue in his eyes glistened like a cool spring in direct shafts of sun.

  Be there sunshine or rain and mud upon his soul, those eyes always shine like polished glass, thought Molly to herself.

  Still smiling, he glanced down at the desk then back to her. “I’ve been thinking. One day I promise we’ll go back to London. I can take you to the All Hallows Eve ball. You would like it. It’s something of a gala for the supernatural. I’ve been only once before, and I went unaccompanied.” He turned back to the desk, resting his hands on it, shoulders rising to head level as he shifted his stance.

  “I would like that very much.”

  “Then you have my promise.”

  “You have my trust.”

  Tom, leaning on one arm against the desk, extended the other hand. Molly placed her hand in his, her deep, dark eyes never moving from his beautiful bright blues. Tom took her in the other arm, holding her close. “I’d like to ask you a favor.”

&n
bsp; “Anything.”

  “Oh, it isn’t much. May I ask for a kiss, even if just one? I feel rude, having never actually asked your permission before.”

  “When you love someone, permission is completely unnecessary.” Molly smiled sweetly.

  “Oh....” She’d used a word to describe them that he had certainly felt but never expressed before.

  Bright afternoon sunlight filled the cabin, warming them both. The beams of light pouring through the window revealed small particles of dust scurrying through the air with every breath of wind. Something in Tom’s kiss was a thing of divinity, and must have been leading Molly’s heartbeat as a conductor leads an ensemble, because each time she felt his lips touch hers, her chest became a music hall thrumming with timpani that could’ve heralded all of creation.

  Molly and Tom later sat comfortably in the galley, finishing an early lunch of meat pies. The crew left them to their privacy and impatiently waited above deck at their posts.

  “So then you will go to the ball when I ask you some day?” Tom smiled widely, taking up a bottle of wine his men had procured in Tangier.

  “I can’t have you go alone again, can I?”

  “Well, I believe you deserve a splendid night out in London after all the things I’ve put you through. I’ll get you any dress you choose. Any jewelry. A personal carriage. And you’ll dine like a queen.”

  “I would prefer this curse to be gone,” she said, rubbing the sore mark, “and then, I assure you, all I will need is you by my side. Besides, what could possibly be more splendid than a night spent on the arm of Captain Thomas Crowe?” She teased him and spoke the name with slow and regal intonation.