The Payment

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Not until he came to me, that is. After he drank demon blood, he became part demon. Combining the demon blood with what Joaquin already had inside him, I could then bring forth the child I needed.”

  “Cunt,” Pierce seethed. “You poisoned him to death!”

  “I did not. Your brother was scheduled to die when he did, regardless.”

  Was that true? Would Joaquin have died no matter what?

  “He had stomach cancer, Pierce Landcross,” Freya informed him. “He had it for many years. Yes, the demon blood damaged him, but in the end, it was cancer that caused his death.”

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he gasped.

  “If it’s any consolation, I was very fond of your brother.”

  It wasn’t any consolation.

  “What gives you the fucking right to have a djinn? What are you going to do with it?”

  “Anything I damn well wish,” she stated. “I spent centuries being a worthless nymph. I was so bored, I even decided to take on a demon as a pet, which got this entire thing started in the first place. I wanted more for myself. I wanted to become a greater force, and when the opportunity arose, I decided to take action.”

  “To become?” Pierce pounced on the word.

  “Yes. Once the djinn is created, my first and only request from her—my daughter—will be to turn me into a djinn, as well. I shall then grant Vela her freedom. Our offspring will fuse together, yours and mine, Pierce, and become a single being with two souls inside. Since I’m to be the parent left alive, it will be my daughter who will dominate your son.”

  Can she get at my son no matter where he is?

  “You won’t get your damn hands on my boy,” Pierce declared. “And you’re not going to touch my wife, either.”

  “Your wife?” Freya repeated with a hint of amusement. “You never took the actress as your bride.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Wait a tick. Frederica?”

  Freya nodded. “She carries the missing piece I need, for she is the descendant of a mare who brought nightmares. Frederica is the mother of your firstborn.”

  “Kolt? That can’t be. He’s Oskar’s kid. The lad has just turned sixteen.”

  “He was born on September 28, 1835, nine months after you and Frederica separated. I know this because I was there when he arrived.”

  “You were there at his birth?”

  “I was. I placed a location spell upon him the same as I did you on the day of your birth.”

  Pierce’s blood temperature rose with his anger.

  “You lie.”

  “It was no accident you and Frederica met,” Freya explained. “As you and your parents were drawn together by their bloodlines, so were you and Frederica. There were many places in the theater where you could have hidden when the footmen chased you inside, yet you ended up in the costume area where she worked. You were as drawn to her as she was to you.”

  Pierce remembered when Frederica had found him hiding inside the theater. Even in the midst of great danger, there was that pull. He had felt a deep desire toward the young woman even before she saved his life.

  His thoughts turned to Kolt and certain mannerisms he had. Pierce had to admit his smart mouth was familiar.

  “She lied,” Pierce grunted. “Frederica lied to me the whole time.”

  “No, she didn’t. When I visited Katz, I made her and Oskar Brune believe he had sired her son.”

  “How the bloody hell did you do that?”

  “I approached Katz before she realized she was pregnant and through hypnosis, I fooled her and Brune into believing they were already married and were having a child together a year after you left. It was the best way to keep her and someone like your grandmother from suspecting that Kolt was yours.”

  “You took an entire year from their memory?”

  “Categorized time is a manmade invention. It can be altered in one’s mind easily enough.”

  “And you knew about Frederica’s bloodline?”

  “I did. I knew about Katz years before you ever met her. I needed to find a female with mare in her blood, and I was able to track one down. I simply steered you to her with a series of events. After you conceived your child, my next task was killing you, which has proven more complicated than I had imagined. But that story can wait. I only stopped in to tell you what a selfish man you are.”

  “Selfish? What the bloody hell are you talking about?”

  “For letting your friends die, which they will in a couple of hours.”

  Pierce’s thoughts instantly went to Robert and Penelope. “What have you done?”

  “I have set up something special. I even made the people who previously had their box seats ill so your friends could be right where I want them.”

  Pierce hated the fact this woman had so much power that she could direct him in any way she saw fit.

  “Go to them and they live,” she said.

  “And I will die.”

  She smiled wickedly at him. “That would be ideal.”

  Pierce remembered what Orenda said at Archie’s place. Even if he escaped England, it wouldn’t stop Freya from coming after him. The focus she’d need to ensure his death would grant Orenda and his grandmother the chance they needed to bring down her defenses. Orenda gave him simple instructions to follow in order to give Freya a false sense of confidence and to get her to lower her guard.

  “While you hide, they will die,” Freya threw in.

  “Why go through the trouble? You know where I am. Why not tell the law or any bloodthirsty bounty hunter where to find me, eh?”

  “You’d find a way out of it, Landcross,” she explained. “You always do.”

  His stomach twisted with worry, for he realized that whatever she had planned for him at the theater, he was not meant to survive it.

  “Make those children upstairs into orphans if you wish, Landcross,” she threatened him while fading away. “You choose what you want to do. Your ticket waits for you at the Circle Theater.”

  She left the room like the last bit of light at the end of twilight.

  * * *

  Kolt stood on the pier, holding a bouquet of flowers. The Harbormaster told him when and where the last ferryboat from Le Havre was scheduled to arrive. He waited anxiously.

  Even though he knew Mr. Norwich had some uncertainties about him, Kolt was still excited to see Clover again. He could not stop thinking about her all day.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. He dismissed it until a tart-smelling cloth was pressed against his face.

  “Easy, lad,” cautioned the person who suddenly held him tight against him.

  Kolt struggled, which caused him to breathe in deeper, and with every breath, the world spun faster. His limbs fell heavy.

  Just before the darkness took him, his assailant said, “We’re going on a little trip, boyo.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The Circle Theater

  Evening had arrived by the time their ferryboat arrived at the Port of London. Clover was anxious to return. She needed to meet up with Kolt, and then the three of them could warn Pierce about Freya. She hurried with her brother down the ramp, passing other departing passengers along the way. She looked around for Kolt but did not see him. When she reached the pier, she searched some more. There weren’t many people about, waiting for returning passengers, so spotting him shouldn’t have been much of a challenge.

  “Where could he be?” she asked, feeling an ache in her chest.

  “I’m not sure,” said Archie. “We cannot linger about, though. We need to get to Blackbird’s place.”

  She hated to admit it, but he was right. Perhaps Kolt had found out about Freya and was already with Pierce.

  As they left, they walked over a bouquet lying on the dock. The flowers crunching under her foot caught her attention.

  Such lovely flowers, she thought. What a shame. I wonder who they were meant for.

  * * *

  In his last dream about the mysterious woman, she pr
omised there would be a ticket waiting for him. She kept that promise.

  Volker settled comfortably into his chair in the second row. He had dressed in a fancy black suit that accommodated his mechanical arm. He’d had problems in the past with shirtsleeves snagging on a wire or jarring a gear. Anci had come up with the idea to buy shirts twice his size, cut one sleeve off, and sew it onto his regular shirts, replacing the smaller sleeve.

  He hadn’t had the time to have the seamstress at the clothing store alter the sleeves of his new shirt. Instead, he simply cut off the sleeve at the hotel and wore the shirt as it was, allowing his coat to conceal the arm.

  In his seat, Volker patiently waited. He had no quarrel with keeping Landcross alive so long as he could hurt him. If the mysterious woman desired a quick death for him, however, she would have to pay up first and take away his crippling pain.

  Volker sat like a proper gentleman, glancing up at the box seat where Queen Victoria was sitting. Very few knew she was there, for she had aimed to keep a low profile on this outing. If he had come to the play as any other audience member, he would never have known it himself. Volker was no ordinary audience member, though. He’d come to this Greek tragedy play to carry out his own deadly plot.

  He had given plenty of thought as to why the woman wanted the Queen dead, and he had concluded that it was a trap set for Landcross, which she had orchestrated for her own reasons. To draw Landcross out, Volker needed to kill someone he cared about, or so the woman in his dream told him. He had sent his men, save for Grant who had vanished, to attack the Queen. It was the same as sending animals off to slaughter. It would offer the perfect distraction. And when Landcross made his appearance, Volker would make his move.

  The lights dimmed. The show was about to start.

  * * *

  “Yes?” asked a butler who answered the door shortly after Pierce knocked on it.

  “Is Mrs. Paris in?” he asked, hoping he had the correct flat.

  “Whom may I ask is calling?” the servant inquired priggishly.

  Pierce had disguised himself in the wig and facial hair and had dressed in the outfit Frederica brought him. He also wore one of Robert’s black tailcoats and bowler hats.

  Pierce had no patience for this cocker or his lofty attitude. He shoved him as he stepped into the townhouse. “Move aside, chum. Mrs. Paris! Are you home?”

  “Sir!” the butler wailed. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Oi! Mrs. Paris!”

  “Sir!” the butler exclaimed.

  Pierce gave the butler a fierce look. “Shut it.”

  The sod stood quietly.

  “Yes?” said a woman from the top of the staircase.

  Pierce tipped his hat to her. “My apologies for the intrusion, milady. I am a friend of your neighbor, Mr. Blackbird. I’m looking after his children at the moment. I’m afraid something has come up and I must dash. Would you be so kind as to watch the boys for me?”

  “Charlot and Enzo?”

  “Aye! Them! Wonderful, I definitely have the right house. Thanks, love.” He turned on his heel and headed out, saying, “The door is unlocked.”

  Pierce hurried along to Printer St. and caught a hackney carriage to the Circle Theater. He collected the ticket Freya had left waiting for him and showed it to the uniformed bloke inside.

  “Ah, welcome, sir,” greeted the usher, waving another usher over. “You’re just in time. The play has just started.” To the second usher, the first one said, “The gentleman is in Box Seat B. Next to the State Box.”

  Pierce strained to keep his composure. The usher was none other than that tosspot, Finley, one of Volker’s thugs from the cottage in Sherwood.

  “This way, sir,” beckoned Finley.

  He looked straight at Pierce and yet failed to recognize him—or, at least, pretended not to know him. Pierce’s heart knocked hard against his ribs as he followed Finley upstairs. It was plain to see that Volker’s men had managed to integrate themselves into the theater, posing as staff or perhaps even audience members. It meant Volker was here, too. He wondered how Freya had convinced them to come after Robert and Penelope.

  Finley led him up a flight of stairs and to a burgundy hallway with an Indian rug running down the middle of the floor. Colorful lamps shaped like butterflies were mounted on the walls. Three doorways, closed off by crimson curtains, were to their right. They passed one and then stopped at the next.

  “Here you are, sir,” Finley announced, drawing the curtain away for him.

  Pierce had to admit he played his usher part well. Down the hall and standing in front of the last curtain were two armed guards dressed as footmen. To his surprise, having them there made Pierce less nervous, for they might sway any attack on him or his friends. He had no idea who could be in that other box seat, but he was certainly happy these people had brought their own security.

  When Pierce entered the box, he saw the silhouettes of four people watching the play in progress. He stepped over to the vacant chair at the end.

  “Excusez-moi,” he said politely as he took a seat.

  As he did, he had the chance to study the people. An older couple sat beside him and beside them was Robert and Penelope. They were holding hands while Penelope’s head rested on her husband’s shoulder. Both were completely engrossed in the performance below. Pierce was trying to think of a way to grab their attention when he heard a familiar voice down at the stage. He looked over and spied none other than Frederica in full costume. She graciously approached the actor near center stage, reciting her lines as naturally as if they were own words.

  Frederica instantly drew Pierce in, and he watched her perform her heart out, just as he remembered.

  * * *

  Darius Javan sat beside the Queen, dressed in his own suit. Although the play was entertaining, he could not get over his anxious need to return to the search for Landcross. It wasn’t that he was aiming to beat everyone else in finding him. In fact, he prayed Landcross had already been found. However, that didn’t stop Javan from feeling like a hound being held back from his hunt. After the Queen admitted she suspected something terrible might happen, he wanted nothing more than to be by her side. But as the night wore on, his protective nature cooled. There were four guards, two standing outside the box and two others inside with them. Because Her Majesty wished to keep a low profile, the guards were dressed as common footmen instead of in their red uniforms. Javan felt she was well protected. Not to mention, there were no signs that anything was amiss. He couldn’t blame her for her paranoia, however. After all, there had been four attempts on her life in the past.

  “Are you well, Lord Javan?” Queen Victoria asked softly.

  He looked over at her and soon noticed his leg was shaking as it did whenever he was restless. He stopped it. “Yes, Your Majesty. I apologize if I am disturbing you.”

  “You’re fine. I think I am the one who should apologize.”

  He was taken aback. “My Queen?”

  “I am keeping you from your work. That was not my intention.”

  Queen Victoria was the ruler of an entire nation. She was a mother, a loving wife, and had the kind heart this old country needed in a monarch. She truly was a Queen worth protecting, no matter how low a threat it may be.

  “No, my Queen, this has been a wonderful evening, and I am honored by your request to join you.”

  She smirked and turned her focus back on the play. He decided to stop his blasted pouting and watch the performance.

  * * *

  “The first act is almost over,” Ethan Jones said, standing at the base of the stairs, holding a tray with glasses of wine on it. “We need to attack now.”

  Cash Finley sighed. Ethan had always been a cross between a jackrabbit and a horse near a burning building. Quick to jump into action and to run straight into disaster. He honestly had no idea how the man had stayed alive for so long. His impulsiveness made Cash decide to allow him to go in first.

  “Fine,” he a
greed. “Remember, if Landcross does make an appearance, take ’im alive, eh? We need him to tell us where the money is. And when that mental case German comes to take possession, we stuff him full of bullets, got it?”

  Ethan winked. “You don’t need to tell me twice.”

  “Good. Then let’s get to it.”

  Cash felt ridiculous. Here he was, preparing to take out the Queen of England on the slim chance that there would be a prize at the end of it all. They had even killed two ushers for their uniforms and dumped their bodies in the rear alley. It wasn’t like him to act so recklessly. In the past few days, he hadn’t felt right in the head, as if a static cloud had been cast over his good judgment. Regardless, the need to push on was as demanding as a toddler wanting attention. Why couldn’t he stop it?

  They reached the top of the stairs and went straight for the guards.

  “Ethan, go shine,” Cash ordered his anxious comrade.

  “Gladly.”

  With his tray in hand, Ethan marched onward. Cash followed closely behind.

  What happened next was between a dream and a nightmare.

  Ethan approached the guards, carrying the tray while his other hand held his pistol behind his back. “Wine for Her Highness.”

  What the hell are we doing? Cash thought, coming to his senses too late.

  Ethan pulled his pistol and shot a guard in the chest. The second guard acted quickly and stabbed him in the arm with his musket blade. Ethan got off another shot, striking that guard in the face. More guards darted from the box seat only to be shot by Cash and Ethan at close range. Shouts and frantic screams echoed down in the auditorium.

  Being wounded didn’t stop Ethan, who charged in. A gun blast exploded and Ethan was flung back. He fell into Cash, who was standing directly behind him. He was merely wounded and perfectly capable of fighting, which made him Cash’s best bet. He shoved Ethan hard into the tall, dark-skinned man with the gun. It happened so quickly that the fancily dressed bloke had no opportunity to get off a second shot.