“Hold him!” Paolo ordered the men clinging to Tom’s irons as he defended the block from attacking Ghosts. When he moved out of the way, Tom saw Molly again, far down the street, standing with a few Ghosts, a painful look on her face as they kept her from throwing herself into the fray.
“Molly!” Tom screamed. He let loose of his curse and his body and limbs bulged. With a deafening roar he flexed his arms and pulled twenty men off of their feet and into the air. With his free arms he grabbed hold of the framework around him and tore it from the block, swinging it like a club and beating the other twenty away. Unable to break the iron cuffs, he chewed through the chain links close to his wrists and ankles instead and liberated himself. Leaping from the block, he threw Paolo out of his way and ran on all fours down the street to Molly.
Paolo spat out two of his teeth as he rolled over on his back and coughed. As he got up, he drew the silver spike from the sheath on his belt. Gripping it tightly between his fingers, he spun around twice before spotting Tom. Paolo picked up his unwieldy feet, dragging one heel in a limp and trying to jog on the other. Searing pain shot through his injured leg and he stopped, falling to one knee. His time was short, and soon Thomas Crowe would be lost. Paolo decided to gamble his soul against Thomas’s. He would have to risk everything if he were going to succeed, and needed to invoke his curse. Turning the silver spike on himself, he pricked himself in the ribs and gasped, pulling out the blade and letting slip his inhibition and sanity as his curse broke free for the first time in years. Luminous, sugar-white fur sprouted from his body as his skeleton rearranged itself and his muscles expanded. Snarling, drooling, stretching his jaws, Paolo terrified his men. Bands of soft light bloomed in a crest across his shoulders and clashed with a murky, evil aura leaking from his eyes like cindery smoke.
“Thomas!” Molly ran to Tom as he neared. His body shrank as he stumbled and tripped. He opened his arms and fell into hers, embracing her so hard she nearly toppled over. “Thomas, my darling, I was so afraid!”
“Molly, we’re leaving,” he spoke so fast he bit his tongue. “We’re leaving and going far away and everything will be all right, I promise! I love you, Molly.” He was shaking.
“Oh, Thomas,” she held onto him and cried. “I missed you,” she said, sobbing and clinging to him, touching her face to his.
“I know, I know,” he said, feeling a lump growing in his throat. The ground began to shake and Tom let go of Molly. “Stay out of sight and be ready to run when I come back,” he told her.
“But Thomas,” she protested and then trailed off, backing away as she saw the great white werewolf lumbering toward them. Quickly she hid herself around the corner and watched as Tom exploded into his werewolf skin and turned on one heel, poised as Paolo ran for him.
Tom ducked his head and butted Paolo in the skull as he charged. They met with a dull crack and Paolo howled, teetering backward and holding his head in pain. Tom leapt onto his back and threw his arms around Paolo’s neck, swinging wildly as Paolo twisted and fought him off. Grabbing hold of Tom’s right leg, Paulo pried him off and tossed him through the air. Tom jumped to his feet and squared off with Paolo in the middle of the street, squatting low.
Their arms spread like a pair of dueling crabs. Paolo swung first and tore into Tom’s left arm as he defended himself, but as Paolo made his pass, Tom stepped inside Paolo’s reach and stuck a handful of claws into Paolo’s face, ripped him across the left eye and snout, then shoved him backward with a vicious heave of his arms. Dazed and losing control of himself, Paolo thrashed in place as his two halves began to tear him apart from the inside out. Opportunity struck, and Tom pounced again, climbing onto Paolo’s back and opening his jaws wide. Crunching down on Paolo’s right shoulder, Tom held tight and wrestled him to the ground, but it only made the deranged priest crazier. Tom was thrown aside, and though he landed on his feet, he stumbled, heel-over-heel, into the windows of a building across the street and shattered them with his great weight.
Paolo did not come for another strike, and as Tom picked himself up out of the window he saw Paolo writhing in the street, clawing at the fur on his face and head. Rolling over on his belly, he crawled toward Tom, sinking his claws into the cobblestone and inching himself across the street, black eyes bulging and tongue hanging out. Before dragging himself another arm’s length, he gagged, collapsing and lying still. The white fur on his body turned grey and then black and brittle as if he’d been burned to a crisp. Paolo was dead. The man who gave Thomas Crowe his curse had succumbed to his own. Tom watched him quietly as he himself returned to his human form, but not because he had been cured. Paolo’s death was of Paolo’s own doing, but Tom didn’t care. Something his brother Harlan had told him about the curse had only begun to make sense as Paolo lay dying in the street:
There’s no getting rid of it, Thomas! Not for people like us! What kind of people were Tom and Harlan? There was a time when Tom thought Harlan had meant violent people—people with no way out, or people with no goodness left in them. As he watched Paolo leave this life, he began to wonder if Harlan had meant people who could learn to forgive, and were therefore doomed to bear the curse. It’s not meant to be played forever, Harlan had said of his favorite musical piece. What was it called again? It’s meant to teach you how to know when to stop…
Tom found Molly on the other side of the street and took her hands in his, looking her over.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Am I? You’ve nearly been beaten to death, Thomas,” she said.
“Molly, I must tell you, I got a letter from Remy Vanille, and he said that your father—”
“I already know, Thomas. My father wants us to go on. He is going to find us after he does whatever he means to do here in London, with the Ghosts.”
“Are you sure he’ll find us? Will be he all right?”
“I don’t know, but he made me promise we would leave.” Molly frowned. She looked away as if she knew something he didn’t, and then changed the subject. “Oh, and here …” From her waist she took his saber, Brother, and handed it to him. She wiped the blood from his eyes and face as he fastened Brother around his loin wrapping. It had been the only thing the Bureau allowed him to keep and wear.
“Oh,” he said, touching her round belly. “When did this happen?”
“You only now noticed?” she shrieked.
“Is it …” he wasn’t sure how to ask.
“Of course it’s yours!” she exclaimed before he finished, smacking him on the shoulder and nearly laughing at his surprised face, “You were after me like a rabbit for months last we were together! And speaking of which, don’t you ever leave me again, Thomas Crowe!”
“Leave? Dying is not the same as leaving!” Tom retorted. “Perhaps I should be angry at you for not coming after me!”
“Is that right? So I should have leapt to my death or something dramatic like that?” Molly countered with a flourish of her wrists.
“Believe you me, if you had died, I’d have been right on your heels, girl.”
“Of course you would have! You haven’t the good sense that I have!” Molly gave him a push and then embraced him tightly.
Tom was about to yield and apologize when suddenly it occurred to him that the Uyl Talisman was not where it should be, tied around his arm. His captors had taken it, but he did not know what became of it. However, it was too late to fret about it. He and Molly needed to go.
Nearby Ine, Geoffrey and Chera, who had come to help Molly and the Ghosts, were only beginning to fight their fight. The trapper Decius and his grinning partner-in-crime, Macius MacNamara, had come to the aid of the Bureau like a couple of hungry crocodiles as soon as they heard the first sign of excitement from several blocks away at headquarters. Decius spotted Ine among the Ghosts and came after her, guns blazing, catching Geoffrey in the crossfire. Geoffrey, courageously but foolishly put himself between Ine and Decius as soon as Decius showed himself. His act of bravery did not im
press the cold-blooded trapper. Decius drew a stubby, concealed pistol from his long coat and put a piece of lead right into Geoffrey’s chest. When Geoffrey fell, Ine drew Yatagarasu from its sheath and dared Decius to come any closer. Pulling a pair of knives from holsters around her thighs, Chera stood her ground next to Ine as the two pairs sized each other up. Chera’s knives were special weapons, crafted with the help of her wounded friend, Geoffrey, himself—flintlock daggers, each affixed to a sleek gun barrel and loaded with one lucky shot each.
Geoffrey lay near death. The shot had come close to his heart, and his blood was staining the cobblestones. Ine knelt beside him, trying to stop the flow but keeping Yatagarasu ready to defend him.
Decius was the first to move. Twirling his right wrist, he unraveled a long, thin chain and began to swing it in vertical loops. A jambiya on the end of it whined and whistled. Taking a hop and a step toward Ine, he suddenly swung it wide from right to left and brushed her hair as she ducked low and sidestepped away, both hands on Yatagarasu and poised in defense. Chera rushed Decius, spinning the flintlock daggers in hand and taking an overhand stab at Decius’s chest. Quickly, he bent to the left and backpedaled, winding up his chain again and lashing at Chera with it. Acrobatic as a cat, she dodged the first swing and jumped over the second, coming at him again with a stab from her left hand and a strike from her right. Decius whipped the chain and retracted it mechanically back into his sleeve, catching the jambiya in hand and using it to parry her attacks. He was able to get away from her, and when he got far enough, he raised his hand and slung the jambiya at her, the chain singing as it poured from his sleeve. Chera was caught off guard and did not see where the blade fell, failing to dodge it as it bit into her left thigh and ripped back out. She screamed and grabbed hold of her leg as Decius whipped the blade at her again, cutting her across the chest.
He hadn’t meant to kill just yet, but he should have, because the next time he swung, Chera caught the blade and chain around her dagger and spooled it up like a noodle, pulling hard and yanking Decius’s jacket sleeve down his arm. Chera swung her hand in circles and twisted the sleeve, pinching Decius’s arm inside. Springing to her feet she pulled him close and kicked him hard in the stomach. As he recoiled backward, she jerked on his sleeve and snapped his shoulder out of the socket before letting go and watching him fall over.
Ine stood over Geoffrey as Macius stared her down and reached into his coat. As he dug around, Ine heard a jingling of metal. He’d an entire arsenal under just one arm. When his hand came back out, he had a fistful of bagh nakh, steel claws, in his left hand, each four inches long and gleaming. His dark, sunken eyes flashed, and he spread his lips in a reptilian grin, creeping forward and breathing heavily. Ine kept him at a distance with the tip of her blade, slowly moving farther away from Geoffrey, but Macius became more daring, stepping inside her reach and dodging strikes when she tried to slice him open. When Ine finally turned to the offensive and swung down at his head, Macius reached up and caught Yatagarasu in his steel claws and twisted his arm, throwing her off-balance. When she stumbled, he leapt, swinging at her and baring his teeth like an animal. It was his mistake, because Ine was much quicker, swinging upward and cutting off his right ear as he jerked his head away. Stunned, he clapped a hand over the hole in his head and then laughed nervously, saying something in a hoarse, unintelligible voice.
When Ine rushed him again, Macius spread his arms and howled, suddenly bursting into flames from all sides. Ine yelped and skidded to a stop, covering her face and turning away from the intense heat. Macius chuckled as jets of fire magically spewed from his coat. He flexed his fingers, pointing at her and spraying a jet of fire from the tip of his index finger. Ine flipped Yatagarasu in her hand like a fan and blocked the jet as she backed away. Raising the other hand, Macius sprayed another flame; Ine spun her blade faster, creating such a wind that he could not touch her. Digging into his coat, Macius drew handfuls of razor-sharp little knives, dancing them along his fingers and slinging them at her as fast as he could, alternating arms and chuckling like a hyena. Ine couldn’t find a way to safely approach him and resorted to defending herself from getting cut to pieces. She couldn’t stop every one, and when Macius unexpectedly threw all the rest of the knives, several cut her badly, two or three of them sinking into her exposed arms. The wounds they opened left an excruciating sting behind. Fearing they were poisoned, Ine picked them out hurriedly, and when she next looked up at Macius, he was drawing what looked like a blunderbuss from his coat. Before she could react, he pulled the trigger. Ine pulled Yatagarasu toward her and spoke to it as the boom of gunpowder rocked her ears and a barbed net flew from the mouth of the gun, spreading wide like the mouth of a python and threatening to swallow her. Yata answered Ine just in time, enveloping her in an inky mist, and the net flew right through her as if she were not there.
Just then Chera appeared at Macius’s side and jabbed a dagger into his upper right arm, throwing her other arm around his neck and flipping him off his feet. Ine ran past her and intercepted a stab by Decius, who had caught up with Chera. His jambiya screamed down the blade of Yatagarasu and threw sparks into Chera’s face. Macius leapt at Chera with his claws, and instead of blocking him, Chera stuck out her foot and tripped him. Lolling forward, he fell in front of Chera as Decius lost his footing and passed behind her. Chera reached across her waist to tuck the dagger in her right hand under her left arm. She pulled both triggers at once. One dagger punched Macius in the back and came out his chest as he hit the cobblestone. The other pierced Decius through the ribs, passing through his heart as he toppled over. Both men collapsed into heaps, their armaments banging around loudly inside their coats.
Ine immediately ran to Geoffrey’s side and dropped to the ground, her hands dancing over him nervously, unsure what to do. He could no longer hear her voice, and his eyes searched slowly for her face even though she was right above him. Chera stood uncomfortably by Ine’s side, her face contorting in worry as her eyes brimmed with tears. As Ine watched Geoffrey struggle to breathe, she saw a light appear on his chest. Like a sapling, it grew and rose higher, thin as a thread and glowing white. A cold draft chilled her arms and she looked up. The Octopus hung in the air overhead, its hands working slowly and drawing up the thread, winding it around its black fingers like a spider with its spinnerets.
“No, wait!” Ine begged it, holding up a hand.
“Hm?” The specter turned to look at her and its fingers slowed.
“I wish to end my contract,” she told it.
“Matsuda Ine, are you certain?” it asked, not sounding disappointed as it let go of the thread.
“Yes, I am sure. I bequeath Yatagarasu to this man, here,” she said, touching Geoffrey gently on the arm.
“If you wish it, you may sever him now,” said Death, waiting and watching.
“For centuries I have wandered without purpose,” she whispered, resting her face on Geoffrey’s cold cheek and shedding a tear. “I realize there is nothing left for me to do in this world, except to be certain you do not leave it just yet.” Her eyes pinched shut, and her cheeks trembled as she kissed him once. Sitting on her knees, she sat up straight, held the thread in one hand and pulled it tight, snipping it in two with the edge of Yatagarasu.
Chera watched in astonishment as Ine did these things. She could not see the Octopus, nor could she see the little thread coming from Geoffrey’s chest. As Ine took Geoffrey’s hands and wrapped them around the hilt of her sword, she stood slowly and looked up at the sky, but Chera couldn’t tell why. Then, holding out her right hand as if to be led away by someone else’s, she faded from sight like a dream.
A roll of thunder blasted Chera’s ears, and she turned to see the Bureau marching her way, driving the Ghosts back out of the square. Amid them walked a hideous thing—a man, from the look of him—who had dingy, metal skin and devilish little sparks in his eyes. They were unfeeling eyes, empty and calculating. None of the Ghosts’ magic slowed him
down. Raging fire, howling gale-force winds, torrents of water—everything that touched him glanced off like sticks and pebbles. Through the square he muscled his way. Parts of his body glowed hot from explosions and others exhaled wafts of steam; they dripped with moisture, were caked in thawing sheets of ice or hissed from the residue of corrosive potions. Walking at the head of his soldiers, the Metal Man, George Abrams, commanded the rebels to disperse. When they did not, he halted his men and raised his right arm, which convulsed and reformed itself into a cannon. Planting his feet into the ground, he fired a shot that flew over the heads of the Ghosts and then asked one of his men for a sword. Instead of using it as a weapon, he broke off the blade and mashed it into his steel flesh, absorbing it and using it to replace the tissue he’d lost making the cannonball. The shot he fired crashed into the stone wall between Chera and the next street. Thick dust clouds filled the air and choked her. Waving her arms, she hobbled away from the wall, coughing and spitting out grit. Bodies ran past her in the haze, and a hand grabbed her by the shoulder. It was Tom.
“Where are the others?” he asked urgently
Decius rolled himself over onto his back, hacking and coughing as he breathed the thick dust in the air. His good arm reached into his coat and searched feverishly. Something inside it was moving, speaking to him. Its whispers were harsh and loud, filling his head. His fingers found it and pulled it from one of his pockets. Blinking weakly, he looked at the little blurry object in his hand. It rattled and hissed, speaking his name, and then he remembered: he had taken it from Thomas Crowe before throwing him into the cell beneath Bureau headquarters. The snake bones on the Uyl Talisman shivered again, rustling and making a sound like falling rain. For whatever reason, Decius was compelled to tie it around his arm. Fumbling with the leather strings, he eventually succeeded. Feeling a pulse on the backs of his eyes, he got up and began to feel strangely fine. His eyes blackened, and broken white rings drew circles around his pupils. Looking around, he saw a man lying on the ground, holding something he wanted badly. Sprinting through the stifling dust cloud, he dropped to the ground and pried Yatagarasu from Geoffrey’s hands and vanished into the haze as quickly as he’d come.
The Lore Series (Box Set): All 3 Books In One Volume Page 92