“Christ,” he said. “Another Civil War.”
“He can do it, too,” Agatha said. “That zombie powder ain’t an endless supply, though. Hard to make. Come from blowfish. But it don’t take much, either. Just a sprinkle. One or two granules, and you hooked. He could build an army with no more than what fill a salt shaker.”
“The new slaves don’t fight back,” Garrett said. “Makes ‘em easy to control.”
Kane looked back down at him.
“And less likely to rebel.” He glared at him. “What’s he want with me? I’m not worth much without that amulet.”
“You’re his immunity,” Garret said. “Like he said earlier. That Brit fella won’t do anything to this place as long as you’re here. He wants you alive.”
“Why?”
Garrett shook his head.
“That I don’t know. Honest.”
“Right,” Kane said, grabbing the man’s shirt. “I believe you because we’re such good pals.”
“I swear I don’t know,” Garrett said, putting his hands out as if to shield from another attack. “He said somethin’ about you makin’ spells without that little trinket.”
That one stopped Kane in his tracks.
“Gentry can’t do it,” he said, mostly to himself. It was beginning to make some sense. He looked up at Agatha, who raised her eyebrow and shook her head at him, confused. “He’s tried, but it doesn’t work for him.”
“What doesn’t work?” Agatha asked.
“His power,” Kane said. “Gentry can’t cast without his amulet. He wants to find out how Tabitha and I have been doing it.”
The air in the shack went cold instantly, the flame in the lantern flickering from a silent, unseen, unfelt draft. Something moved by quickly, the shadows cast by the low light thickening, darkening, swirling. Kane tried to follow it, tried to pinpoint where Richard would materialize. He stood, ready for a fight. Agatha gasped, her eyes wide in fear as she stood and stepped away from Garrett. The man gave a shout as he tried to move, but a black mass shot from the shadows, smacking him in the chest and pinning him down as it turned into a black leather boot. Kane lunged, but shadow tendrils shot out from the dark, wrapped around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He heard Agatha shriek, saw the same happen to her.
Richard stood over Garrett, his boot square on the man’s chest. He leaned down, rested his arms on his knee as he smiled at him.
“You told the piggy too much,” he said, his voice low and silken.
Garrett gave a short laugh despite his entire body quaking in fear.
“Who’s he gonna tell? He ain’t leavin’ here. He’s as good as dead, anyway.”
“So are you.” Kane saw Richard tense, pressing down harder on Garrett’s chest with his boot. Garrett tried to reach up and swat him, but Richard waved his hand and two shadow tendrils shot from the floor. They wrapped around Garrett’s wrists, pulled his harms hard to the wooden planks. Garrett shook his head, stammering.
“Richard, get off me! Don’t! You need me!”
Richard’s mouth turned up in his toothy grin, his eyes wide and sinister.
Before Garrett could speak, Richard picked his boot up and slammed it down on Garret’s throat. The Hunter choked and gagged, writhed on the floor. Richard looked at him, mocking concern on his face.
“Oh, my,” he said. “That may need a closer look.” The knife was out and in motion, a flash of steel in the lantern light. Garrett gagged as blood poured from the wound in his neck, sputtered as he tried to form words. His head lolled to the side, his eyes glassy, staring at Kane as life left his body.
“No more talking,” Richard said as he stood and looked at Kane. He turned his head, his eyes locked on Agatha. “I’ve always known you weren’t a zombie. The master will be interested to know.” Richard reached for her, but Kane stepped between them. He grabbed Richard by the arm, tried to sling him into the wall. Richard disintegrated into shadow, slipped from Kane’s grasp. Kane stumbled in mid swing, then reeled when Richard reappeared behind him and shoved him. Kane tripped over Garrett’s body, fell down into the pool of blood on the floor. He rolled onto his back, tried to stand, but Richard was on top of him, boot pressed into his chest like the demon had done with Richard only a moment before. Agatha rushed the man, but Richard side-stepped, lifting his boot off of Kane as he turned and used Agatha’s own momentum to hurl her across the room. Kane got to his feet, shouted the spell.
“Aethereum Ignus!”
The fireball formed in his hand. He hurled it at Richard, but the Shadow Wraith ducked it and rushed Kane. A black blast fired at Kane, caught him in the chest. He was off his feet, against the wall, and in the floor before it registered in his mind what hit him. The back of his head stung from the blow.
Richard stood over him, Agatha struggling in his grip as he grinned down at Kane.
“I’ll leave you with Garrett. At least you’ll have a meal.”
Kane opened his hand to form another fireball, but the flame sizzled out. Richard shook his head, then vanished with Agatha in a swirl of shadow. Kane heard the padlock outside jiggle and latch.
Locked.
* * *
How long had it been? Minutes? Hours?
Days?
Kane sat in the corner, his eyes locked on Garrett’s corpse. The lantern burned softly, the light barely enough to see by. Garrett’s blood looked black and viscous in the low light. The heat was worse than it’d been since Kane arrived in the South. His body was drenched as if he’d jumped into a lake with his clothes on, the soaked fabric sticking to his skin. His fingers were pruning from the sweat dripping off his fingers.
Air. No air. Hard to breathe.
What was the point? To break him? Give something up? It seemed like they already knew everything they needed to know. The Revolution would be finished if they weren’t warned. Made ready.
Tabitha. They were going after Tabitha.
His chest hurt with the thought. He’d tried to reach out to her, tried to talk to her the way she was able to at times. The way he’d talked to Danwood seconds before blowing the Special Forces gunner the bastard had been on out of the sky. How had he done that?
Thirsty. Water.
He looked around. No water. They’d locked him up without water. What was he supposed to drink?
His eyes fell on the pool of blood on the floor staining the wood planks. The Wendigo stirred, licked its rotted lips in his mind, tongue moving over jagged and stained teeth. The pit of his stomach knotted, yearned.
Hungry.
He tried to pull his eyes away, repulsed at the idea. He clenched his muscles, his arms wrapped around himself as he pressed himself harder into the corner.
No. He wasn’t pressed in.
A hand reached out, placed itself on the floor. Supported weight. Another hand. Legs unfolded, got underneath. Moving forward. Kane’s hands. Kane’s legs. His eyes were locked on the body, the eyes staring and empty. The Wendigo gave a guttural, deep sound in the back of his throat, its eyes using his to look the carcass up and down hungrily.
Feed.
Kane fought, pushed against the Wendigo. It ignored him, made him crawl forward like a predator. Hungry. The smell of blood metallic and sweet. Aging. Better. Kane’s stomach churned from yearning and repulsion at the same time. Closer. The Wendigo licked its lips again.
His lips. Kane licked his lips.
He leaned down, inhaled deeply as he screamed in his own mind to stop. Cursed at the Wendigo. Pulled at it. He wanted his body back. Wanted it to go away.
Blood was still warm. The body was warm. The heat in the shack was keeping it from going cold. Garrett was beginning to smell, the acrid aroma of spoiling meat light in the air. Kane leaned down, his arms straining, twisting to allow his shoulders and face to lower toward the blood. His tongue snuck out from behind his teeth and lips, lolled toward the tacky pool.
“Kane!”
He jerked, the Wendigo angered and alert, making his body
rigid as it sat up and looked around. His vision yellowed, hazed as the nightmare searched the shack for the voice.
Tabitha’s voice.
“Kane, talk to me. I know you’re alive.” Her voice broke with a sob. “Oh Gods, Kane, please be alive. Please.”
The Wendigo pulled its lips back, bared its teeth in a snarl. Meat. Where was it?
No. Not its lips. Kane’s lips. Kane’s snarl.
Kane fought. The pain shot up his spine, rolled inside his head, the pressure enough to make his eyeballs feel like they might come out. He moved his jaw, his tongue moving out, long and thin, muscular. Wanting the blood. His face felt as if his mouth was contorting, moving outwards into a muzzle. He forced his lips to work, the Wendigo yowling at him, trying to drown him out and push him back.
“Ta…bitha,” he said, his voice cracked and grated, his throat sound as if he’d swallowed a handful of rocks. “Tabi…tha…”
The Wendigo dug its claws into his brain, its teeth locked on his spine. It held him, clawed at him to keep him from coming back to the surface. The thing howled, the sound hateful and jarring in his ears. Kane backed away from Garrett’s body, each push harder than the last as the Wendigo howled again and tried to drive him forward.
Eat. Eat.
The shack grew cold. Colder. The Wendigo howled again, this time in pain, its living carcass shivering in the frost, its muscles tense with agony, that agony rolling around in Kane. The floor shook slightly as two boots landed in front of him. Hands grabbed him, clung to his clothes. The Wendigo made to lash out at the figure, but Kane fought it back, braced his body against the monster’s force as the world raced past him, the shack gone as he and the savior blasted through the air on an icy wind. It retreated from the cold, taking the aching and burning of bone and sinew with it. Kane felt himself hit a floor, roll, slam into a wall.
He lifted his head, weak and exhausted as he looked around.
Tabitha staggered back, slumped against the dresser. She panted, out of breath, her eyes encircled in dark and sallow. She tried to walk forward, her knees gave. She went down, hit the floor with a lifeless thump.
Kane lay there staring at her, unable to move, watching her sleep as the Wendigo retreated back to the darkest part of his consciousness. Pain flowed over his body, bringing with it fatigue. His vision began to darken, his eyes locked on Tabitha as she and the room slowly faded away.
Chapter Fifteen
Kane blinked as the sun shone through the window, the curtains drawn back to let the bright light shine in directly on his face. He winced, tried to roll away from it slightly as he sat up. His entire body ached. He looked down, saw he’d been bathed and changed into a clean pair of boxer shorts and pants. His body was covered in bruises and scratches, his wrists darkened where the rope had dug into him at Harbor Plantation.
Anderson’s. He was back.
The bedroom was bright, every window open. The bed was queen-sized, the linens fresh and newly washed, the four posts a polished mahogany. Kane rubbed his eyes, and looked around, finding Anderson standing in the doorway.
“You’ve been out for one night,” she said, her face taught as if she were trying not to show her anger.
As usual.
Kane nodded.
“Rough night,” he said, rubbing his head as he stood and stretched.
“I had Wilson and Derricks assist in carrying you to the wash, and then in here,” said Anderson as she stepped into the room and stood at the foot of the bed. “You were too heavy for the maids.”
Kane gave a small laugh as he searched around. He found his laundered shirt folded neatly over the back of a nearby chair. He grabbed it, slid it on and buttoned it up as he spoke.
“Where’s Tabitha?”
Anderson looked away.
Kane’s breath caught.
“Anderson, answer me.”
She looked back at him.
“She’s not awake, yet,” she said. “Our doctors said that her pulse is faint. She’s not looking good, Mr. Shepherd.”
“Where is she?” Kane said, stepping closer to her. “Now.”
“Her bedroom.”
Kane made for the door without a word, ignoring Anderson as she called for him to wait. He heard voices behind the door across the hall from the bedroom. He tried the handle. Locked. He knocked, waited until the door opened just a crack. A young black girl answered, looking up at him, her eyes wide. She maybe came up to Kane’s midsection. Kane guessed her age to be around twelve or thirteen.
“I need in, please,” he said.
“She restin’ now, sir,” the girl said.
Kane started to argue when Anderson spoke from behind him, cutting him off.
“Let him in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the girl said, nodding. She stepped back, pulling the door open as she went.
Tabitha’s room was identical to Kane’s except for the flowers on the nightstand. Two other maids backed away from the bed as Kane approached, his heart pounding.
Tabitha looked peaceful, resting, her hair cascading over her pillow. She lay on her back, her chest slowly rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her face was sallow, her skin sickly pale, her lips colorless.
“Is she dying?” Kane forced the question, every word causing him pain.
“We don’t know,” Anderson said behind him. “Everything about you people is a mystery. The medics are at a loss as to the severity of how far she pushed herself.”
Kane couldn’t take his eyes off Tabitha. He spoke over his shoulder.
“Pushed herself?”
Damn it. Tabitha had taken it too far. The amount of magic she’d used in teleporting, shifting miles away from Charleston to the plantation, and then back again. It’d worn her body out.
“She’s been using magic to find you,” Anderson said. “We didn’t realize it until we caught her just as she disappeared. We told her, and her eyes turned white. She ran off before we could ask her what that was about. We found here in her room just before she disappeared.”
“It means she was having a premonition,” Kane said. “She can see things. Shadows. Stuff before it happens.”
Anderson sighed. “Something else that would’ve been good to know. We could use that. Find out what they’re planning. What’s next.”
Fury welled in Kane. Was it the Wendigo? Would he attack her? He clenched his fist.
Kane stepped toward her, every muscle tense as he tried not to hit her. She stood her ground, but he could tell he was unnerving her a little.
Kane pointed to Tabitha, his voice a low, menacing growl.
“She’s not your Goddamn tool, she’s a human being. Her abilities aren’t yours to use.”
Anderson moved forward, got in his face, her tone low and sharp.
“You both were sent here by Alastair Jones because your abilities could benefit the Revolution.” She looked past him at the three maids who were tending to Tabitha. Kane glanced at them, saw them standing and staring, their eyes wide as they watched him argue with their General. “Out!”
The girls nodded and scurried out. Kane looked back at Anderson.
Jones. He’d volunteered Kane and Tabitha for this? Kane shook his head.
“You heard me,” Anderson said. “Don’t look so surprised. Jones was part of the operation. His healing abilities were critical. It was his idea to recruit Magicians into the Revolution.” She shook her head and sighed. “His loss was a tragedy, both to the cause and personally. He was a good man.”
Kane turned away from her and moved to the side of the bed, looking down at Tabitha. He’d never seen her look so weak.
All because of him.
“We weren’t given a choice,” Kane said, shaking his head. “Christ. Does everyone have an agenda?”
“This is war, Mr. Shepherd,” said Anderson. “We’re all part of the game.”
Kane looked up at her, glared at her.
“This is no game,” he said through clenched teeth. “You have no
idea what’s coming. You aren’t prepared, and I doubt you even have the stomach for it.”
He reached down and took Tabitha’s hand, her fingers limp, her skin cool to the touch.
* * *
Anderson sat at her desk, her face ashen, her mouth slightly open from the shock.
Kane sat back in his chair and waited for her to respond, though he didn’t expect her to say much.
What was there to say?
Derricks stood by the window, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. His clothes were filthy from working on the new airship they were restoring. His mocha-colored skin was splotched with grease stains, and there were telltale scars from steam burns on his arms. Wilson sat in the chair next to Kane’s and shifted uncomfortably. Kane felt bad for the kid. He and Farnsworth had been close.
Kane just watched Anderson shake her head, stare off into space as if she were at a loss.
“It’s unholy, it is,” Derricks said from the window. He looked at Kane. “If what you’re saying is true.”
“It is,” Kane said. “Gentry and Douglas told me to my face. I guess they didn’t anticipate Tabitha coming in and getting me out like she did.”
“Which means they could attack sooner than they’d planned.” Anderson looked up at him. “Christ.”
“We’re not ready for any kind of attack right now, ma’am,” Wilson said. “We have one airship, and she’s not got the firepower yet to deal with another ship. We might stand a chance in a ground attack, but nothing in the air.”
“The men are demoralized,” Derricks said. “Seein’ nine of their own executed on the doorstep of this very house, their brothers and friends bein’ taken away and made into zombies. It’s enough to make a man want to walk away and say ‘hell with it all.’ We ain’t slaves anymore. Nothin’ tyin’ us here now but the Revolution.”
“Gentry has a point or agenda for every move he makes,” said Kane. “He’s a calculating bastard. Killing those men was never meant to scare us or show his power. He didn’t do it for our benefit. He did it to scare the people.”
Gaslit Armageddon (Clockworks of War Book 2) Page 16