by Honor Gable
Watch of Nightingales
Honor Gable
Published by Honor Gable, 2019.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
WATCH OF NIGHTINGALES
First edition. June 13, 2019.
Copyright © 2019 Honor Gable.
Written by Honor Gable.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
CHAPTER ONE | VIOLA
CHAPTER TWO | AUDREY
CHAPTER THREE | VIOLA
CHAPTER FOUR | VIOLA
CHAPTER FIVE | AUDREY
CHAPTER SIX | VIOLA
CHAPTER SEVEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER EIGHT | AUDREY
CHAPTER NINE | AUDREY
CHAPTER TEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER ELEVEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER TWELVE | AUDREY
CHAPTER THIRTEEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER FOURTEEN | AUDREY
CHAPTER FIFTEEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER SIXTEEN | AUDREY
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN | AUDREY
CHAPTER NINETEEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER TWENTY | AUDREY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE | VIOLA
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO | AUDREY
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE | VIOLA
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR | AUDREY
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE | VIOLA
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX | AUDREY
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT | AUDREY
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE | VIOLA
CHAPTER THIRTY | AUDREY
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE | VIOLA
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO | AUDREY
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE | VIOLA
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR | AUDREY
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE | VIOLA
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX | AUDREY
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN | VIOLA
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT | AUDREY
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FORTY | VIOLA
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO | VIOLA
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR | VIOLA
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX | VIOLA
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN | AUDREY
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT | VIOLA
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FIFTY | VIOLA
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO | VIOLA
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR | VIOLA
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE | AUDREY
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX | VIOLA
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN | AUDREY
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT | VIOLA
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE | AUDREY
CHAPTER SIXTY | VIOLA
CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE | AUDREY
CHAPTER SIXTY-TWO | VIOLA
CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE | AUDREY
CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR | VIOLA
CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE | AUDREY
CHAPTER ONE
VIOLA
IT COMES AND GOES IN surges, the acidic pain mixing with the blood in my veins. My wrist pulses under the bracelet, pumping in more power, enticing me to use it. To use what the meteorite gives me. Begging for a taste. My arms hang loose at my sides and I shake them out. It'll be fine. We spent eight weeks training for this and learning our powers. Today was our last test.
I'm an agent now.
My team, The Nightingales, could be dropped into France any day.
Choking back the grit in my throat, I push the door to the office open with trembling hands. I'm the last one finished meeting with Mr. Pipping. The others are already on the way to the tea shop.
Of course it's raining. I tug the hat down farther onto my head, wiping my face with the back of my sleeve. My fingers fidget with the black and silver bracelet rooted into my skin, wincing a bit at the pain always firing through me. Dried blood around the meteorite begs to be scratched and picked, but it took three hours before it stopped bleeding last time. So much for them masquerading as pretty bracelets. I'll clean it with a swab when I get back to the flat. Something in the composition of the rocks keeps the holes from closing around our skin. Even Audrey can't heal around it. Her skin only closes when the bracelets are off. The rest of us make do with swabs and bandages and scarves to hide them when we aren't in uniforms.
Not that we're allowed to take the bracelets off very often-or the uniforms.
I hate seeing London this way. Rubble stacked in piles everywhere, beautiful and once majestic buildings with holes blasted through them or nothing left at all. I miss the vibrant London I fell in love with only nine years ago on my first trip here with my friend, Dorothy and her family, when we were twelve. We came and shopped and then took the train to a football match. It's one of my favorite memories. One of the only times I've been away from home and my brother, Sebastian.
The war has changed everything. Billboards and signs now warn about listening ears and loose talk and war bonds, taking the place of advertisements.
Passing a newsstand, I double back to take a peek: a "Look Before You Listen" poster, cigarettes, the new Roy Rogers comic. I hand over a few coins in exchange for the comic and check the time.
I'm going to be late. When I'm out of sight of the man and his newsstand, I swing my head back and forth, checking to see if anyone is around. The rain is thick and has chased most people indoors. Since I'm starving I’m willing to chance the use of my powers.
A quick left down a narrow side street and I'm completely alone. I give in to the call of the bracelet and let go. I almost whoop with the relief, my bracelet spreading a different sensation through me. Electricity and warmth.
And it's addictive.
Everything in me lightens and floats away, joining the barrage balloons hovering overhead. My mouth spreads in an open-mouthed grin as the buildings lining the street blur in my vision as I speed past them. According to the last test they performed on me, I can run sixty miles an hour. I'm about as fast as a cheetah, though I can only keep up the pace for ten minutes at most.
After a couple minutes, I slow to a barely increased pace, not wanting to be spotted. It should be enough to make it to the tea shop on time. My hands adjust and smooth my uniform, not wanting to look more ridiculous than I already do in the hideous color swallowing my shrinking frame and my deformed legs shaped like ham hocks hanging below the skirt. I hate wearing skirts now, the looks of disgust and pity I see on the streets chasing me into trousers, the looks I get for wearing those aren't as bad.
My breath hisses at the pain shooting up my legs and the blisters bursting on my feet until my brisk stride becomes a pathetic limp. The soft padding I wrapped around my feet bunches, leaving my heels bare against my shoes, more layers of skin scraping off. Thankfully, I'm almost there and will be able to sit for a little bit. I turn back onto a main street, the rain letting up a little, turning into a softer mist.
Goodness, what was I thinking, signing up for this rubbish?
Sebastian's face pops in my mind. I grit my teeth and keep limping. He's safe at home, not breathing in coal dust as a Bevin Boy. What are a few blisters, raging hunger, and ugly legs in comparison with a dead brother? I almost lost him once and I refuse to do it again. I'll do anything to keep him alive.
I can do this.
I finger my still short hair, missing my long curls. My one pretty feature, and last external feature indicating I'm a girl. No one had an inkling I was a girl during my time as a Bevin Boy. Until they came for me.
I'm earning my freedom and will get my life back after the war is over. I'm not meant for a life of intrigue and
danger and excitement; I'm not brave or adventurous. It's a quiet life for me, caring for my family. The war shouldn't last much longer. Maybe we won't even get a chance to go to France. D-Day was weeks ago and everyone is saying it'll only be months before it's all over. Maybe even before my twentieth birthday in September.
Until then, at least I have three other girls in the same boat as me, and I've grown to love them dearly over the past two months. Especially my roommate, Audrey. My brows draw together. Is that her? I'd recognize that saunter and gorgeous black hair anywhere. I put on the tiniest burst of speed and tap her on the shoulder. She spins around, her fists coming up in defense.
I hold up mine in surrender. "Whoa. It's me."
"Viola?" She gapes and drops her arms. "What the bloody hell were you thinking? I almost punched you."
"Sorry." I shake my head at her dramatics.
She grins and quirks a brow. "Did you speed here?"
"A little." My stomach roars at the reminder.
She chuckles. "Well, come on. It's just another block down and we can feed you." She winds my arm through hers and drags me down the sidewalk.
A familiar buzzing sound tickles my ears, and I check behind me for the dying motorcycle about to run over us, but nothing's there. Where is it coming from?
Audrey frowns, and her head cranes to peer up into the sky. Several others walking along the streets stop and mirror Audrey's position as the sound grows loud enough to recognize.
My mouth drops in horror. The Buzz bombs. Hitler's special vengeance weapons built in retaliation for D-Day. One slipped by the fighter planes and barrage balloons.
It makes a spluttering sound, and my stomach plummets. My speed won't do any good now. I have no idea where to run and I can't leave Audrey behind. An eerie hush follows, chilling me through and through. If we can hear it this well, through the clouds and rain, it's close. Right on top of us close.
And the silence hails hell about to rain down on us.
Audrey's voice echoes in the soundlessness. "We've got to get under cover. Now."
We run towards the closest underground station. We aren't going to make it. It's too far away.
Layers of skin scrape from my palms, grit burrowing deep and mixing with blood. Audrey's thrown herself on top of me, covering my body with hers, just as the unnerving quiet breaks with a rocking explosion that shakes the world. My ears roar with adrenaline and fear, canceling out the noise around me. What little I can see through Audrey's hair, buildings explode and crumble all around us. Pressed between her weight and the hard ground, it's hard to draw in air. Audrey's body jerks against mine and she moans. I try to wriggle out from under her, but her grip is tight for someone who has lost as much weight as I have. Something warm and wet soaks my shoulder.
When the ground finally stops shaking, Audrey rolls off of me onto her back in the middle of the street. I crawl over to her, wincing at the jabs of rocks under me. Blood soaks the side of her uniform.
"Audrey!" Why did she knock me down? I would've been fine.
Her eyes squint open and she coughs and tries to smile, but it's a bloody grimace. "I'm all right. I just need a moment."
I lift her jacket and shirt, my stomach rolling. She has a shard of glass sticking out of her skin. Not wide enough to grab onto. "I'm going to turn you onto your side, okay? You won't heal if I don't get this out."
"Get what out?"
I pause, not wanting to tell her. But she'll argue with me if I don't and there's no time. "You have a little bit of shattered window stuck through you." The lie tastes like ashes.
"Bloody hell."
Breathing deep, I roll her over. She groans around gritted teeth and mumbles more curse words than I've heard before. I gag at the massive plank of scarlet stained glass sticking out from her back, rip off my scarf, wrap it around the red stained glass, and grip it.
"On three, I'm going to pull it out."
She grunts in response.
"One." I yank it out, hissing as the glass slices through the scarf and my hand.
Audrey yells and curses some more. I shake the glass from the scarf and use it to mop up the blood. The open skin around her wound puckers and tightens until there's nothing left but a scar. I ease her onto her back and check her hip. Same there. She's all healed. This is the worse wound she's gotten. At least when the scientists had her shot during training, it was in the shoulder. What will healing this do to her? It's going to take more energy and calories than she has right now.
My gaze darts back and forth, searching for my bag. There, almost buried by broken stones right beside us. I unearth it and dig around until I find the vitamin biscuits the doctors gave us. She eats the three I give her and I swallow one down too.
Her green eyes sharpen and the lines of pain on her face clear. "Help me up. We have to find Lois and Rivka."
We stumble to our feet, holding onto each other as we sway, another bomb hitting somewhere close by.
When the world settles, the screams filter through and we sprint down the street to the smoke and fire reaching up as a beacon. Fear pounds through me for Lois and Rivka. What if they're dead?
Wails of those left alive and thick smoke greet us when we turn the corner to see what's left of the Royal Military Chapel. At least a hundred people lay broken and bleeding in front of us, not counting the ones buried beneath rubble. The concrete roof collapsed and caved in on the congregation. If it wasn't Sunday, it wouldn't have been this bad. Some of the rubble is piled taller than me.
We exchange a glance and wade in, thankfully still in our FANY uniforms, so no one questions our right to be here. There's no way we'll find the others in this chaos. We have to help. If Lois and Rivka are alive, this is where they'll come.
I haul person after person from the wreckage, doing the best I can with the rudimentary field medical skills we were taught in training. The scene crawls with other women of the First Aid Nursing Yeomanry and men from the Civil Defense Rescue crew working along with us. My uniform is soon filthy with crimson and grey, strips of it missing from trying to stop blood flow, the bandages I unearthed long gone. My voice is hoarse and my heart bruised from praying with so many, easing them into the afterlife or onto the back of ambulances. My fingers are scraped and bloody, most of the nails broken to the quick, the gash on my hand burning. The adrenaline fights with the venom from the meteorite. There's no use for my powers here.
I catch sight of Lois and Rivka in snatches and I grip tight to the little relief it gives me.
How long have we been out here? Hours? Days? Only a few horror-filled minutes?
Images of everyone I've helped batter at my head. Their sobs and prayers and broken bodies will haunt me for the rest of my life. I stumble to my feet, back and knees screaming in pain from being hunched over for so long, and make my way to the next prone body. Bloody hands and arms trembling with weariness shift stone and wood from on top of what turns out to be a woman, her chest still rising, but barely. I start with her face, cleaning the blood and grime from it, and my stomach falls.
It's Dorothy, my childhood friend.
I'd heard she was part of Bletchley Circle, a hush hush code breaking organization, but I haven't had a chance to find her since I was released from prison. My eyes pinch shut, and I swallow hard. What are the chances of this? Today wasn't bad enough?
I force myself to look at her. "Dorothy? It's me. Viola. I'm going to take care of you, but I need you to wake up. Talk to me. Please."
Her lids flutter like she hears me, but they don't open. The cries for help and moans of the dying fade away as I heave more debris off of her, searching for more injuries-—everything on her face superficial. The dear friend I've known most of my life. I can't lose her. I can't go home on leave and tell her mother she died in my arms.
"Come on, Dot. Wake up. Tell me what hurts."
More fluttering, but still no response. I feel around behind her head, but there's no wound. No contusion. Why is she still unconscious? A bad s
woon? One more block of stone and she'll be free and I can get her to the ambulances. I yell for help.
Lois appears at my shoulder, her blonde hair streaked with blood and falling from her bun. "What do you need?"
Seeing her and hearing her voice fills me with the slightest bit of confidence. Her powers of traveling through shadows isn't really helpful right now, but she was the best in our field medic classes. "Help moving this stone. I know her. We have to save her. I have to save her."
She gives me a brisk nod, moves to one side of Dorothy, and grasps the edges of the rock lying right over her stomach. "Ready?"
"Now."
We lift up and dump it to the side. My breath catches on a sob at the blood spurting from her stomach. I press my hands over the flow, ripping more of my skirt to use as a makeshift bandage, desperate to stop the bleeding. The wound is similar to Audrey's, but this isn't going to heal like hers.
Lois places her hands over mine, tear tracks are the only clean part of her face, her distress reflecting mine. "The stone must have been keeping it inside her, but when we removed the pressure... Viola, this isn't good."
My head shakes back and forth. "No. She'll be fine. We just need some help. We need to get her to the hospital." My voice raises to a scream. "Help! Please, we need help over here."
No one responds, everyone's hands too full of others injured and dying. We're on our own.
"Rip more of my skirt while I keep the pressure on the wound and we'll wrap it around her. Then we can carry her to an ambulance. They'll have to help then, and they can get her to the hospital."
Lois's eyes brim with sadness, but she nods and rips a long piece of my skirt. Now, I kneel, knees digging into the rubble, in only my slip and filthy jacket. She ties the fabric around Dot's stomach and my own protests as the cloth turns bright red in mere seconds. My shaking hands are the same color, her blood so bright it covers up the dirt and filth and ash. I slide them under her shoulders while Lois takes her feet, our training making us stronger, but we still struggle to get her over the wreckage, our feet twisting and straining between rocks and fallen boards, our arms wrenching against her weight, slight as it is.
