The Black Lotus (Night Flower)

by Claire Warner

  Movement on the lawn caught her gaze. She stopped and stared out into the moon splashed night. For a moment, just a moment, she had seen something move between the yews. Had it been a man? Perhaps the man who had slain Honesty Malison? Swallowing quickly, Melissa wiped the condensation from the window and looked out again. Pressing her nose against the cold glass and straining her vision, she stared out across the gardens. Her pupils widened as she attempted to squeeze as much light as possible from the moon drenched landscape. From the yew avenue to the start of the flower beds she stared neglecting no part of the garden. At the edge of the yew avenue, she glanced over at the white marble statue of the muse Terpishore. If anyone had ran across the garden to hide, it would be there. Fixing her green gaze on the statue she waited. Cramp crept up her leg but she stayed still. No sounds save that of her breathing and the wind encroached on her hearing. The cold made the hairs on her arms stand up and she began to shiver. It was pointless. Whatever she had seen from the corner of her vision was clearly not there now. There was nothing and no one out in the garden. If there had been anyone in the garden, they would surely have moved by now. Shaking her head in disgust at her own imagination, she moved and tugged at the shutter opposite, finally pulling it closed. Sliding beneath the covers of her bed, Melissa stared up at the canopy above her and continued to think. It was no good; she had to find out what Justin’s secret was and if he was a murderer. Her toes warmed slowly as she focused on her memories of the man. For the beating he was rumoured to have received, there was surprisingly little evidence of it on him. He wasn’t even mildly bruised. It was another minute detail that made up the mystery of the man that she would have to discover. She was drifting into sleep when another thought insinuated itself into her brain. The brooch he and Emily wore, the enamelled lotus, seemed to strike a chord within her. She had felt a twinge of unease as she looked at it and yet every time her eyes fell on its gleaming black surface, a jolt of fear ran up her spine. She pushed her thoughts away from the brooch and felt herself drifting off into sleep as the laudanum finally claimed her.

  Out on the lawns, the figure she had seen moved out of its hiding place and moved closer, looking up at the window where it had seen her sitting. With quick light steps, the figure moved closer to the house, running between the yews like a gazelle. Stopping for a moment beside the last tree, the figure stared up at the window it knew to be hers, wondering if they had been spotted. Relieved at the lack of sound or light, the figure moved forward, crossing the last bit of garden with ease. Reaching the wall of the house, it moved along slowly, hugging the wall until her window was above. Once more it waited, keeping still with a patience that would have shamed a saint. The clock in the churchyard struck the quarter hour, releasing the figure from its moonlit vigil. With catlike grace it reached upward and began to scale the wall of the house. Within moments it was within reach of Melissa’s window. Carefully the figure slid a thin bladed knife beneath the edge of the window and with the ease of long practice, slid it upwards.

  The room was opulent, as was to be expected and there, lying asleep and helpless, lay Melissa De Vire. Taking a satisfied breath, the figure edged forward, reaching for the heavy parchment envelope that lay under several layers of clothes. Grasping the envelope between steady fingers, the figure slowly and softly moved forward.

  Melissa was dreaming. She was running through a garden, plants tugging at her legs as she went. Overlaid it all was the scent of death. Her breath was coming in sharp gasps as she struggled over the lawns, the overly bright sunlight a mocking sop to the vile scent that assailed her nostrils. A tendril wrapped itself around her legs and she fell to the ground, face level with the first of the living flowers. A lotus, velvet black with a maw of sharp, jewel bright teeth faced her. It spat towards her, teeth aiming for her eyes.

  The figure was almost at the bed when Melissa moaned piteously and bolted upright, a shriek on her lips. The figure jumped back and lay prone on the floor, startled as Melissa woke and stared blindly into the dark. From the hallway behind, sounds of movement could be heard. Apparently the nurse did not sleep far from her mistress. Silently cursing and grateful for the girl’s disorientation, the figure scrabbled beneath the bed, just disappearing out of sight as the door swung open to admit Jane’s worried figure.

  “Miss are you alright?” Melissa stared blindly into space for several moments before Jane’s words finally got through. Turning her bright green eyes onto her maid, she stopped herself from throwing herself at her former nurse.

  “Oh Jane,” Melissa breathed as Jane placed an arm about her shoulders. “I had the most horrible dream.” In her mind, she could still see the bloodthirsty flower reaching out for her.

  “It’s okay Miss, t’was only a dream,” The maid’s words were soothing and quiet aiding the spell of sleep. “You just settle back now, you’ve had a long night and you need your sleep.”

  “I don’t want to dream. I was going to be eaten.” Melissa’s voice was slurred and dreamy.

  “Don’t think of it Miss,” The nurse was tucking the covers around her mistress tenderly as though she were still a child. “And..” She glanced up at the open window. “It’s no wonder you can’t sleep with that draught.” With purposeful steps she crossed the room and shut the window, cutting off the stream of cold air that wafted through the opulent suite.

  “Now you just settle back down and try to sleep.” A sigh answered her and Jane returned to the door, an indulgent lift to her lips. Beneath the heavy wooden bed, the figure waited for the movements above him to cease before he finally rolled out from beneath the bed. Getting to his feet he stared down at the sleeping form of Melissa De Vire. In the moonlight she looked peaceful, innocent, her dark hair spread across the pillow like a dark cloud. A feeling of power rushed through him as he gazed upon her helpless form. The sensation of being so close to his prey thrilled him and he reached forward, fingers seeking her smooth skin. He brushed a stray strand of hair from her cheek and leant closer.

  “It would be such a shame to mark you.” The voice was low, barely a whisper as he moved closer resisting the urge to cup her cheek. Leaning over her, he placed the envelope on the pillow beside her and moved back.

  “Take the warning.” He muttered as he backed away slowly. Melissa moaned in her sleep and rolled over as he reached the window. Stepping out onto the ledge, he slid the sash shut and was gone as quietly as he had arrived. Melissa slept on unaware of her late night visitor and the danger that had suddenly entered her life.

  Chapter 19:

  Justin collapsed into his favourite chair by the fire and pondered the night’s events. His decision for a late night carouse had brought unseen consequences. He had certainly not expected to run into Melissa De Vire on the road to the capital. That unexpected yet delightful coincidence had proved to be an education to his jaded palette. Of course he had met charming women in his past, yet none had sparked his interest as much as she. He reached forward, picking up the brass poker to strike life into the dying fire when pain blossomed suddenly across his chest. Grunting as the stomach churning pain roiled through his body, he managed to sit upright.

  “Goddamn it not now,” He hissed as the sensation faded from raw, nerve wracking pain to a dull throbbing ache. With shaking fingers, he reached for the enamel flower at his neck and pulled it free. The black enamel bloom sprang open as the small metal catch on its side was depressed and the innards were revealed. It was a locket, carrying two small cameos; one was of Justin, small, perfectly painted and lifelike, the other cameo caused a bitter smile to cross Justin’s lips for it was empty. Where there should have been a picture there was merely a blank space.

  “Excuse me sir.” Coll interrupted his thoughts and he stared up at his servant. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  “I know Coll,” Justin closed the lotus flower and stood. “We’ll deal with that presently, now however.” He reached for the chest that stood in the corner of the room and began pulling cl
othing from it. “We need to go out.” He dragged a ragged cloak and two shirts from the wooden chest and threw them on the floor. A pair of breeches so rank in appearance and odour that he nearly gagged followed the shirt and finally, he drew a pair of poor rag shoes into the light.

  “My god I hate this,” Justin muttered as he pulled off his rich garb and threw them onto the chair. Beneath the white silk his smooth skin seemed paler than before and it glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. With impatient gestures he pulled on the rough garments and mussed his hair. He now no longer resembled the courteously seductive host of parties and instead looked like a street rat.

  “Where to sir?” Coll watched the transformation with little surprise, since becoming Justin’s coachman he had become privy to all his secrets and aided him in keeping some of the more deadly ones.

  “St Albans.” The terse answer sounded as Justin reached into a drawer and pulled forth a vial of laudanum. Placing the vial into a pouch along with the enamel lotus, he reached down into the chest and armed himself with the rusty knife that lay there, scant protection but enough for his purpose. “I can find what I need faster there.” Pulling his heavy cloak about his shoulders, he marched from the parlour into the damaged hallway and from there out into the cool air. It would take most of the night to return to the city

  He hitched two good horses to his phaeton and taking charge of the reins, drove the fast buggy out of the stables and into the crisp night air. It was after three and tendrils of mist drifted from ditches along the sides of the road, tugging at their clothing and drenching their hair so it hung in limp strands. The noise of the wheels sounded loud in the silence, both men were too focused on the future to idly chat.

  Dawn was tinting the horizon a steely grey as they reached the city. Justin pulled the phaeton to a stop as they reached the slum district. Handing the reins to Coll he stepped into the muck strewn streets.

  “Drive round for a bit,” He murmured, gazing about his with a note of distaste in his voice. “I won’t be long.” Stepping away from the carriage, Justin turned and walked into the raucous, cluttered district.

  The slums were alive at this time in the morning, tradesmen and workers were trudging wearily through the pre-dawn light. In the alleys by the taverns, drunks staggered, slept or urinated freely into the stinking road. Within minutes, his rag shoes were awash with muck and sewage. Moving deeper into the warren, his eyes flickered over the people huddled in the streets. Clothed in rags and reeking of gin, they looked up at him through befuddled eyes as he stepped over them.

  “Care for a ride?” The whore appeared from nowhere, her crude red dress cut low revealing startlingly firm breasts. Her teeth were rotting, yet she was young, perhaps seventeen, he could not be sure. For a brief moment, he considered choosing this one. She was young, strong and would waste away on the streets of the city. A flicker of uncertainty creased her features as he looked at her with a speculating, calculating glimmer in his handsome face. “Only a copper..” She continued, a trembling note entering her young voice.

  “Not tonight luv.” he altered his tones, bringing a rough burr to his once smooth tone. “I’m on me way home.” Stepping around her blowsy frame, he moved deeper into the morass. Pink tinged the sky as the sun began to rise as he reached the very heart of the slums and looked back. He would have to find something soon before the sun truly rose and bathed the twilit streets with light.

  Shouts erupted from up ahead and he sped up, heading for the noise. The sounds of scuffling grew louder and he could see the fight. Two men against one as a baying crowd gathered around them. The man was holding his own despite the bloody nose and contusions. Justin reached the edge of the crowd and watched. The first man lunged, punching wildly as he rushed forward, his fist making a satisfying crunch as it connected with a jaw. One of the men staggered back, his hand reaching for his belt and the knife that hung there. The crowd gasped as one, Justin amongst them as a satisfied feeling rushed through his body. He watched the man attempt to circle away, only to career into the arms of the other, watched as he was held still for the shining blade that descended without mercy, listened as the crowd gave up a scream and scattered as the murderers finished their work before robbing the man of all he owned. Both men took off at a run and Justin followed at a slower pace, keeping track of the man holding the knife as he did so. Sliding into the shadows with practised ease, he followed the men and watched as they split up and headed down two separate streets and away from the main press of humanity. Justin did not hesitate; he turned to the right following the man with the knife. In the maze of quiet streets he sped up, catching up to the man with ease. His feet made little noise on the cobblestones as he sped up behind the man and struck out with his fist. Justin’s fist slammed into the back of the man’s neck pitching him forward. The man yelled and turned, slashing out wildly with his knife. The rust spotted blade tore across the Justin’s throat as the man let out a yell of triumph. Justin felt the warmth of blood spray across him as the blade struck yet he pressed forward, watching the man’s face change as he reached for him.

  “Devil!” The man watched him come forward, watched the handsome faced youth ignore a cut throat as he marched forward. With a contemptuous almost negligent thrust, Justin punched again, sending the man to the floor. Slowly he walked forward and pressed his knee against his chest.

  “I am the devil.” Justin murmured softly as he pulled the small vial from his rags and uncorked it before he poured half of it down the man’s throat. Grasping hold of the man’s nose and mouth, he forced the ragged thug to swallow. The laudanum acted swiftly, sending the man into a lethargic doze. Once done, he stared down at his garments, the top layer of clothing was soaked with blood and he could tell that his throat yawned wide with what would ordinarily be a fatal wound.

  “You…” He snarled at the man as he peeled the top shirt from his body and tossed it over the nearest wall. “You’ve done it now.” He pulled the lotus flower from the pouch and flicked it open, holding the inside before the man’s eyes, he slapped his victim awake. He couldn’t return to his home like this. His victim’s eyes fluttered open and fixed on the locket. On the blank side of the locket, colours began to flow and swarm over the plain surface. The uneducated lout began to tremble as a face began to form, a rough face, a face he recognised. Justin forced himself to watch as the man began to whimper at the sight of his portrait flowing into being before him. It would not be long now. Justin felt the connection snap into being and he moved away from the man as he felt the skin on his neck pull together. He watched from a distance as the man’s neck tore and broke open, spilling blood over the alley floor. Within moments he was well and whole, yet his victim. He stared down at the thug and swore, the man was now dead and he would have to find another. Turning, he took off down the alley at a run, there were bound to be other candidates. He couldn’t do this to someone who didn’t deserve it. Murderers, rapists even a mugger would do. Moving deeper into the maze of alleys, he felt panic touch the edges of his resolve. He could do without finding a host for a few days and then he would wither. He had tried to stop taking life before, yet each time the feeling of his body rotting had made him crumble. He didn’t want to live like this, yet he couldn’t stop.

  Barrelling round another corner he travelled deeper into the warren where life was cheap. He was looking for the man’s partner, he knew which way he had gone and the fight with the other had not taken a great deal of time. He ran along the streets, his body carrying him round corners almost in a daze. It was futile; he was never going to find the man’s partner. He stopped and took a breath, tasting the heavy air as it rolled down his throat. What could he do now? It was far too late. There was little chance of finding someone, much less getting them home without being seen.

  The press of humanity grew as he waited on the corner. Flower sellers, servants, workmen, all passed him as he stood there thinking. He garnered a few stares, yet no one spoke to him. The sun had crested the horiz
on and slender rays of gold flowed across the cobblestones, shining off the puddles in the road.

  The carriage rattled up beside him and Coll stared down at his master. Without a word, the man helped him up and clicked to the horses.

  “I take it you were unsuccessful sir?” Coll mouthed the formula phrase as his eyes flickered over the pale form of his young master.

  “I’m afraid so.” Justin responded, his voice morose. “I did find one but he cut me across the throat and I was obliged to use it.”

  “Ah.” Coll didn’t feel the need to respond any further than that. The coachman knew that he should feel more pity for the men and women that his master used, yet he found that he could not. Justin tried not to take those who were blameless or innocent; in fact he deliberately searched for those who had committed vile acts. Alistair had been another matter; the younger brother had a cruel streak in him that he frequently gave rein to. It was not Coll’s place to say so but he felt that Alistair was overly enamoured with the power that his station gave him.