by James Somers
Mr. Black leered toward the place. All of the furniture separating him from the wall was immediately thrown to either side, parting the way through the middle. The mouse hole was revealed in the baseboard.
“Clever boy,” Mr. Black remarked of Tom.
“Too clever for his own good,” Sinister mumbled.
A man, one of the Breed, appeared in the room, having come through Black’s office.
“Lane,” Sinister said, referring to the new arrival. “Just the man I need. Two clever mice have gone into the walls, looking for a way out no doubt. Find them—”
“And Eliminate them,” Mr. Black said, interrupting.
Lane cast his piercing eyes with their red-rimmed irises toward the mouse hole then nodded. He lunged down toward the hole, transforming into a muscular rope of serpentine flesh. A moment later, six feet of black-scaled snake had disappeared inside the mouse hole, forked tongue tasting the air, seeking out its small prey.
Our winding, twisting, turning trek between floors and through walls had led us unto several dead ends, forcing us back to different routes. On several occasions we ran into magical barriers that Tom quickly identified in order to keep us from being destroyed. It wasn’t that I couldn’t see them once they were shown to me. I just had no idea what I should look for.
What should have taken all of sixty seconds in human form seemed to take us mice an eternity. Finally we emerged through a gnawed board, left by some earlier rodent, into what appeared to be a tool shed. Various lawn implements lined one wall very high up from our perspective while a push mower, with its bladed cylinder fastened between two large wheels, stood in the corner.
We wandered only a few steps before a trap of more human origin barred our way. A rat trap, easily the size of a man’s hand, sat on the cold concrete ahead of the hole we had emerged from. The spring was still set with a blob of moldy cheese set upon the little metal square that would trip the mechanism.
“Give that a wide berth,” Tom the mouse said.
“No problem,” I answered, having no need to be warned of the danger.
We bypassed the trap and walked through the small room. Tom and I searched for a way that would allow us out of the house. A small window sat high up, but it was clearly closed and locked.
“That has possibility,” Tom said, his back to the rat hole. “I’ll just return to form and open it. Then we can scoot out through there.”
However, I had heard something else while he was preoccupied with how to get us out. I turned to find a monstrous black snake emerging from the hole in the wall we had come through. I pushed Tom out of the way with all of my miniscule strength as the beast made its first strike.
“What the devil!” Tom squeaked, tumbling across the concrete.
I had already bounded away. The snake had followed literally on my tail. Fortunately the beast could not pursue me and coil to strike at the same time.
I had lost sight of Tom in my terror. I wasn’t fond of snakes in my human form, and becoming a tiny mouse had only worsened my outlook on the scaly beasts. I dodged and bounded over and under various equipment and tools lying around the shed floor, doing my best to evade the predator hot on my heels. The few fleeting glances I had of its eyes had only terrified me more. They were crimson, almost glowing with bloodlust.
A mongoose leaped upon the snake from out of nowhere. I heard Tom’s voice in the fray as the two opponents flailed in a twisting coil flopping around on the shed floor. Somehow the snake managed to escape Tom’s clutches, spotting me.
The black viper recoiled and struck. I leaped away at the last second. The black head with its crimson eyes darted past me. I heard a sharp clap behind me. I came down among writhing coils, sure that I was about to meet my maker. But the movements were only reflexive.
Tom joined me as I stared at the sprung rat trap. The black snake had missed me, but he had hit the trap. It had snapped shut right behind the head. The crimson eyes bulged. The mouth gaped, fangs hanging ready to strike from the roof of the viper’s mouth. Our pursuer was quite dead.
My mouse heart was literally humming in my chest. I started to speak of the horror we had just faced, but Tom cut me off. “We’ve no time,” he said. “Let’s hope this is the worse we face today.”
He grabbed my mouse paw in his larger mongoose paw. Our transformation occurred simultaneously. A pair of gray squirrels now sat where the mouse and mongoose had been.
“Let’s go!” Tom instructed. He bounded up over equipment with ease, coming to the window. I followed, finding the squirrel form even more lithe and agile. Tom concentrated upon the latch. It opened without us even touching it; another bit of magic for lack of a better word.
We pushed together on the window, moving it fairly easily. As soon as we had a gap, we both leaped through, landing on the well manicured lawn outside. The smell of fresh night air was refreshing after being confined to the walls of Mr. Black’s house.
“Follow me,” Tom said, heading off through the hedge. “As soon as we get to the property line, we can escape.”
I bounded across the lawn, catching fleeting glimpses of the full moon shining down from above. The house fell away behind us and was soon obscured by shrubbery as we made our mad flight toward the boundaries of Mr. Black’s estate. I prayed all along the way, thanking God for his protection and seeking further direction and help for what we would certainly face in the future.
Pursuit
Mr. Black stood in the driveway of his gothic style mansion, surveying the vast grounds before him. In the distance, many gas lights in London could be seen. The two boys he had wanted apprehended were nowhere to be found.
Mr. Sinister came up behind him, waiting for his master to speak to him first. This matter with Tom and the boy was becoming dangerous to him. He had sponsored Tom’s promotion through the ranks of Black’s operation here in London.
Tom had always been such a bright pupil; loyal and clever. He often accomplished with ease what others found difficult. Despite being an elf and not of the Breed, Sinister had found him a valuable right hand, often bragging of Tom’s devious ability before his master. Now that choice was making him look like a fool before a being who might very well kill him with barely a second thought on the matter.
“What became of your hound?” Black said sarcastically.
Sinister hesitated to answer. After all, it was obvious that Lane, one of his Breed, had not come back from the hunt for the children. However, there was no way to keep the unpleasant and embarrassing news from his master. He might have even known already.
“Lane’s body was found in the tool shed, my lord,” Sinister admitted reluctantly. “His neck was broken.”
“How?” Black asked without emotion.
“Caught in a rat trap while in his animal form,” Sinister hissed.
Black turned to him, his eyes boring into his servant. Sinister felt the press of Black’s power. He feared his master while, at the same time, reverencing his great power.
“Muster your resources immediately,” Black said. “I want that boy found and eliminated. We cannot risk him falling into enemy hands. Have your Breed sniff him out.”
“It will be done, my lord,” Sinister said, bowing his head.
He turned to find his brothers among the Breed gathering behind him; at least fifty vampires. Crimson eyes dilated, ready for the hunt. Preternatural muscles became taut with anticipation. Sinister nodded to them. They knew what had to be done.
Many, whose animal forms were predatory birds, transformed and took flight. The rest launched away across Black’s estate grounds, running too fast for human eyes to track them.
“I will bring you word when we have destroyed him, my lord,” Sinister promised.
His master leered at him. “Bring me his corpse instead.”
Mary Wilde staggered from the blow dealt by her longtime benefactor. Fresh blood pooled hot in her mouth as she braced herself against the cold wall behind the tenement where sh
e both lived and worked for Jack. Her vision blurred from the bruising she had already received tonight. She only hoped that this beating ended quickly like other nights.
“Let’s face it, Mary,” Jack said, continuing a diatribe that had gone on now for five minutes straight, “you’ve forced me to do something I didn’t want to have to do. You’ve been running off customers for too long. Are you trying to break me, girl?”
Mary started to speak, but Jack’s fist cut her off again, sending her sliding dazed down the wall to the garbage strewn alley. “No more of your excuses!” he warned.
A knife came out of his pocket. It wasn’t large, but it would do the job. Mary sobbed before the big man, begging him not to do it. “I’ve had enough,” Jack said. “You’re just not earning your keep.”
He stood over her, relishing the moment despite his words. It wasn’t often that he got the chance to cull his herd. When they didn’t perform to expectations, Jack warned them for their own good. And when they still didn’t make him happy, they soon disappeared. It was a simple truth; one that all of his girls knew. Now it was Mary’s turn.
He raised the knife ready to cut her throat on his first pass. There would be no screaming; not that anyone would come running anyway. Not around here they wouldn’t. People knew better. Besides, no one was going to risk their life for a woman of the night like Mary Wilde anyway.
A shadow passed like a blur through the alley. Jack grunted as something hit him from the side. He stumbled, trying to cry out, but his voice wouldn’t obey. He clutched his throat with his free hand. It came away covered in blood. More drained down his chest, soaking his yellowed white shirt in crimson.
Had the girl shot him? No, she was still dazed upon the ground. Mary didn’t seem to have registered what had happened.
Jack dropped the knife, trying to catch himself as he fell sideways. He was too dizzy from blood loss already to even stand. He landed on the cold pavement heavily. Blood continued to pour from the gash in his throat. He clutched in vain at the wound, only managing to spread the mess of it around further.
Mary spotted Jack writhing on the pavement, blood pooling around his head. She gasped as he reached out to her for help. She did not respond to him other than to stare into his terrified eyes.
Something, or someone, sprang at Jack’s body from the darkness. The small creature hefted Jack’s head up by reaching into his mouth, pulling him forward by his upper jaw. Jack struggled weakly as the shadow dragged him quickly away into the darkness.
Mary waited, staring after her former benefactor. She wasn’t sure if she had been rescued or merely left behind as unworthy of this creature’s attention. Either way, she felt relieved and grateful to have been spared Jack’s fate and the one he had planned for her a moment ago.
Mary stood up cautiously. These last few moments had sobered her from any stupor Jack’s beating had left her in. Her gaze remained on the place in the alley where she had lost sight of the man, his feet kicking wildly behind him. Mary Wilde backed away, leaving the alley, making her way quickly from this place where she had spent too many miserable days over the past ten years. She left without regret. She left with her life.
Charlotte drained what she could from her victim. The large man would sate her thirst for many nights; at least until she found some other mortal who had committed such acts as this man. Charlotte had watched this man, Jack, for quite some time. She had suspected he would cross the line eventually, but was never sure until tonight. The young woman he had been about to kill was of no interest to her.
Despite her heritage as one of the Breed, Charlotte did pride herself on only taking mortals who had abused others around them, or who had set to killing their own kind as this man had. She sometimes wondered about the influence her friend Oliver had on her life. After all, it was very unlike the Breed to be so discriminating about their mortal prey. Only the ability to remain undetected mattered to her kind, as it did most of the Descendants of the Fallen.
But her fondness for Oliver these many years had changed her outlook. Before meeting him, she had desired nothing more than to stay out of the messy business of revenge and war. Since that time, she had found herself inextricably drawn into the matter on the opposite side, albeit covertly.
A familiar scent passed through the alley. Charlotte turned her senses skyward where she expected to find her own kind nearby. She saw through the dark, in moments finding numerous Breed warriors bounding over the rooftops of a sleeping London.
It was not uncommon to spot one or two at most in a single night out to feed, or on the business of their master. But this was something else entirely. Either an attack was in progress, or someone had eluded their grasp.
Charlotte left her victim’s body where it lay. She had been careful not to make his death too clean. Otherwise, the authorities would find it something far stranger than the simple murder of a criminal. The exposure of her kind would bring down upon her the collective wrath of all Breed.
The pale young girl glided through the alley, her bare feet hardly touching the ground. She leaped effortlessly to a wrought iron balustrade, up to another across the alley, and then to the roof. From this vantage point, Charlotte looked out over a veritable jungle of chimneys, smoke, weather veins, and steeples.
Despite the night, Charlotte saw her brethren traveling throughout the city. Counting those she could find up this high, she numbered at least thirty. She felt the flush of energy received from her recent feeding. If ever she was ready for a fight, it was now.
She felt no revulsion to her act. She had been born to this, a creature descended from an outcast strain. This was who she was. And yet Oliver had somehow found a conscience within her that she had not even been aware she had. A deeply rooted yet suppressed desire to do good in some way.
As she watched them on the hunt, a desire to join in the chase with her kind tugged at her thoughts. But she would not, could not go back to living as she had. To the others she had become somewhat of an oddity. In reality she was a traitor.
Charlotte waited, watching until she noticed a large raven soaring high, silhouetted against a massive white-washed moon. Her eyes narrowed. She recognized this one, even felt a kinship with him.
She leaped from her crouched position out away from the ledge into the space between buildings. Her form changed almost without thought of the act, becoming a raven much like the one she had spotted. Black wings beat several dozen times, carrying her aloft in pursuit.
The raven regarded her with a turn of its head as she fell in line behind him. He dropped his altitude abruptly, coming to land upon the steeple of a large cathedral. Charlotte came to rest upon the same small ledge upon the ornament. The raven returned to his human form, as did she.
The man dressed in black clothing, wearing a black bowler atop his head, regarded her for a moment before addressing her. “You’ve been hunting, I see,” Sinister remarked before turning back to observe the Breed scouring the city. “Probably another criminal.”
“Who better than someone the mortals won’t miss walking among them?” She had no intention of arguing an old point with him, but she had never been able to simply let his disdain fall upon her unchallenged.
“Humph,” was his only response.
“I see you’re out in force tonight,” Charlotte said. “Did your master misplace a child?”
Sinister turned abruptly on her, his eyes blazing with fury. She could see that he wanted to speak, but was holding back nonetheless.
“Interesting,” she said.
“And none of your concern, Sister,” Sinister replied, gaining control of emotions he rarely allowed to surface. “Remember that it is I who stands between you and my master.”
Charlotte held his gaze impassively. “I have not forgotten.”
He softened slightly then, turning back to the Breed scattering before them under the pale moonlight. “Then wish me well, Sister, and leave it alone.”
“I always wish you well,
Brother—” she said.
He was already transforming, taking flight again as the mysterious hunt continued. She stayed behind on the small ledge of the great steeple, watching him go.
“—but I cannot leave it alone.”
Tom and I ran through fog and the amber glow of diffused gaslight for our lives. We were human again, having shed our animal guises as soon as we had reached the boundaries of Mr. Black’s estate. My chest was aching terribly, huffing and puffing throughout our trek through the streets. On occasion, we passed groups of gay voices enjoying their drink, singing merrily together like ghosts in the fog; heard but never seen.
“Can we stop and rest yet?” I asked, following Tom and staying as close as possible so that I didn’t get separated from him.
“Not yet,” he said. “The Breed are hot on our heels.”
“I don’t hear anything.” Even as I said it, I knew that this was almost certainly because of their nature. These predatory fiends could be on your throat before even a whisper came to your ear to alert you to their presence.
“You would do better to keep running and ask fewer questions,” Tom said. “After all, I am risking myself in order to save you.”
I hushed for a moment before responding, considering Tom’s complaint. He was right, of course. He didn’t owe me anything, yet he had certainly put himself in Mr. Black’s crosshairs by helping me to escape the man, or whatever he was.
“Thank you for that, by the way,” I said.
We ran down another alley before Tom slowed his pace, finally coming to a stop near a retaining wall overlooking the Thames.
“You’re welcome,” he said, breathing heavily. “But keep your wits about you. We’re not out of danger yet. I’m trying to figure out where we can go without them being able to follow.”
“What about your special place that you created in Faerie?” I asked.
“If I open a portal into Faerie they’ll be able to follow,” he said. “It’s more complex than you might think. There are traces left behind. Just trust me.”
