Dusk: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein (The Frankenstein Saga Book 2)

by Merrie Destefano

  I gave him another spoonful of soup, hoping it would quiet him.

  “They nest in the woods, where the shadows are so deep you can’t see them until you’re upon them.” He reluctantly took another sip of broth, then pushed the bowl away with trembling hands. “And it’s so dark it’s like night in the forest—the trail home led me right through one of their nests.”

  “I’m going to give him something to calm him down,” John told me in a soft voice. He opened his bag and began to pull out several brown bottles filled with powder. “Would you get me a glass of water?”

  Byron continued to talk, his voice strained and his face flushed, while I fetched a pitcher and glass from a nearby desk.

  “They curl up together, their backs to the sun, in groups of four or five, and they almost look like rocks, with their dusty cloaks pulled over their heads.” Byron held the blankets tight, covering himself and closing his eyes. But he didn’t stop talking. “I was only a few miles away when they attacked, latching onto my horse and pulling us both down.” He began to moan then, the memory too fierce for him to continue.

  “Would you leave the two of us alone for a while?” John asked as he took the glass of water from me. He quickly made a potion by adding several spoonfuls of different powders, mixing them until the medicines dissolved and the water was clear.

  “Are you sure?” I asked.

  “Yes,” John answered.

  Byron drank the glass of water without hesitation. Within a few minutes, his shaking stopped and his muscles relaxed.

  “Mary?” John looked at me with raised eyebrows.

  I was reluctant to leave—I’d been so worried about Byron and finally he was back. I tried to come up with a reason to stay, but there really was none. After much inner debate, I left the room. Still, I hovered outside the door for nearly half an hour, listening, afraid to learn more about what had happened to Byron and yet desperate to know. Their voices lowered, though, and there came a point when I couldn’t hear anything.

  At that point, I left, knowing I needed something to distract myself.

  After I left the library, I rummaged about in the kitchen, trying to assess how much food we had left and how long it would last. What I discovered was unsettling. Except for the venison, we didn’t have much in our pantry—the servants must have fled right about the time the cook needed to order supplies from town. I dug through empty bins of flour and sugar and cornmeal; all the while, in the back of my mind, everything I did was in preparation of our departure. I tried to figure out what food we could pack that would get us all the way to Bernex.

  Two days on the road. Then we would be safe. Once we reached Bernex, we could hire a carriage to take us to Mâcon or Lyon. If Claire’s situation stabilized, we might be able to leave tomorrow. Perhaps both John and Hannah had been wrong—surely my stepsister was strong enough to survive a buggy ride.

  At last, in my searching, I found a bag of oats and remembered my horse. He was necessary for our escape, but he hadn’t been tended to since last night. I carried a bucket of water and a bag of oats into the dining room. He’d made a mess of the room, which was only natural. He’d kicked holes in the walls and chewed the upholstery off one of the chairs. The stress of the previous evening—when the sangsue had attacked the other horses—flickered in his eyes, making him skittish. He backed away from me as soon as I entered the room.

  I gave him water and food, talking to him in a soothing voice the whole time, until finally he settled enough that I could touch him. John had removed the horse’s saddle the night before and I doubted that the poor beast could bear to wear it again. I simply slid the bit in his mouth, speaking to him gently.

  Then I led him outside, away from the carnage of the stable.

  I had the iron-and-bone crucifix from the stable door tucked into my waistband, my rifle slung over one shoulder and a leather holster I’d altered to fit a small ax. As far as I was concerned, I was prepared for anything.

  Once the horse had grown calm from walking, I climbed on his back and together we went for a ride. We followed the line of the forest, always careful not to disturb the tracks left behind by the sangsue. Whenever I could, I peered into the darkness that shadowed the forest deep. Sometimes I thought I saw shapes inside, curled up—just like Byron had said—and once I saw glowing eyes staring back at me.

  I wanted to go after them, hunting them just like they’d been hunting us, but this was not the time.

  Whenever we got too close to the tree line, the horse would pull back, stamping his front hooves, his flank trembling. I decided to follow the beast’s instincts, so we trotted down the hill toward the road, where I watched in both directions for a long time, wondering if there might be any travelers about, anyone able to help us.

  There was no one.

  Only flocks of crows that sat in the tree branches and flew overhead, drawn like the sangsue by the scent of fresh blood spilled on the snow.

  Time was not my friend that afternoon. Overcast skies and brisk wind and the warm horse beneath me all proved a welcome distraction. I rode for a long time without purpose, only enjoying the wind on my face and the beautiful landscape about me. Despite all the things that had been happening, I found myself once again captivated by the glorious mountains that held Lake Geneva cradled in their palms, like giant hands. To my left, the Alps rose up in majestic shades of blue and grey and purple, the rock carved into folds and crevices that reflected the light, always leading my eyes toward heaven. And there, where the mountains touched the sky and snow dusted the peaks—at that place, each peak also wore a crown of clouds. To my right, the lake glistened with unseasonal chunks of ice that made me think of Glacier Montanvert, the ice flow in the near peaks that had become a popular tourist attraction. And across the lake stood the Jura Mountains, an almost mirror image of the Alps.

  I pulled the horse to a stop so I could admire the view, finding a few moments of peace in the majesty of God’s creation. The cold air stung with each breath I took, but I didn’t mind. I’d been cloistered in the villa for too long, my only thoughts of survival.

  When I finally took my fill of the landscape I realized where I was, a mile or two down the road and in front of the nearest dwelling—another villa, somewhat smaller than ours, tucked back from the road and nearly hidden among a grove of trees. A thin column of smoke rose from the chimney, drifting upward and blending in with the gray clouds overhead.

  Could there be someone inside who’d survived the recent sangsue attacks?

  With a cautious heart, I guided the horse off the road and up a trail that led toward the villa, careful to stay away from the grove. The closer I got, the more I became aware of a foul odor, so strong I covered my nose and mouth with my scarf. The horse began to shy away from the trail, so I let him choose a different path up the hill. A moment or two later, we passed two dead bodies sprawled across the trail, flesh bloated and rotting, despite the frozen air. I realized these bodies must have died indoors, where it was warmer, for their flesh to have begun decomposing.

  “Steady boy, slow down,” I said, tugging at his reins. I climbed down, keeping the reins in one hand, the other fixed upon my ax. Together the horse and I approached the corpses. If possible, I needed to figure out their cause of death. I didn’t want to get too close, so I picked up a stick and prodded one of the bodies—an elderly man—prying his coat open so I could see his neck.

  His throat was purple and swollen and covered with bite marks, some larger than others, some crusted over and nearly healed, while others were fresh enough to ooze yellow pus.

  I dropped the stick, stepping quickly away.

  At the same moment, the door to the villa swung open, and a young woman about my age stepped out. She wore a nightdress, the sleeves torn off, the neckline open, and she walked outside without a shawl or cloak. The closer she got, the more I realized that her skin looked mottled. I climbed back on the horse, checking the nearby groves for suspicious shadows. Meanwhile, the young
woman continued to walk toward me, a sweet smile on her face.

  “Are you one of us?” she asked, her head cocked to the side as if waiting for my answer. The look in her eyes was disconcerting, for she seemed to gaze through me rather than at me. She stretched both arms out toward me, exposing naked flesh. “Are you hungry?”

  I winced.

  Her skin looked almost as bad as the dead man on the road. Covered with bites, from palm to shoulder, some bruised and swollen, some that looked infected. Her feet were bare and her skin pale as the snow.

  “Come inside and join us,” she said.

  I glanced back at the open door and saw shadows shifting about inside.

  Then I did something I’d vowed never to do. I got off the horse and walked toward her, keeping one eye always fixed upon our surroundings, in case this was a trap and any sangsue lurked nearby, ready to attack despite the sunshine. With one hand, I carefully unfastened my cross necklace, continuing to approach as if she were a wild animal that needed to be tamed.

  “You can leave them,” I told her, my words steady and soft. “You can be set free.”

  “Why would I want to leave my family?” she asked. Her large eyes were dark and mesmerizing, carrying nearly as much enchantment as the sangsue.

  “I have something for you. A small gift.”

  She smiled, some part of her still a young girl who enjoyed presents.

  I took one slow step at a time, my muscles tensed and ready to flee if necessary. Her eyes were not glowing. She had to be a vache, like Hannah said—someone kept weak and not allowed to join the pack, someone used by the sangsue to feed upon. If so, there was still hope that she could escape.

  “It’s a necklace that belonged to my mother,” I said, now close enough to touch her. I saw movement back inside the villa; the shadows were drawing closer to the door but hesitating there, as if unable to step outside. One of them began to moan, a long throaty cry almost like a song. The girl turned and looked back towards the villa. Perhaps the sangsue sensed my plan and were calling her to return.

  I grabbed the girl by her shoulders, the reins of my horse still laced through my fingers. She struggled at first, but then fell still, perhaps expecting me to sink my teeth into her neck. With my left hand, I draped the cross necklace around her neck, fastening it. She screamed when she realized what I had done, striking me with her fists and pushing me away from her. All the creatures inside began to moan and cry and I wished I could block out the sounds.

  At that moment, when their cries were the loudest, her expression changed. Her eyes cleared, she looked down at herself and began to weep. I took off my cloak and spread it over her shoulders.

  I climbed back on the horse, then stretched a hand down to her.

  “Get on my horse, quickly!” I said.

  She shook her head. “My brother and sister are still inside the villa,” she said, her words barely comprehensible through her tears.

  “I cannot save them, but I can save you. If we leave now!”

  Shadows began to rise in the groves around us, creatures with hunched shoulders and bared teeth, all of them moving closer, their yellow eyes watching us and the air shivering with animal-like growls.

  At last, the girl climbed up on the horse behind me, arms wrapped around my waist, her head buried in my shoulder.

  “Go! Now!” I cried to the horse, and he fully understood the command. He reared up as he turned and we both nearly fell off, still I clung to him, my knees and heels dug firmly into his flanks, my hands refusing to release the reins. I vowed that even if he threw me off, he would have to drag me behind him, for I would never let go.

  Twelve

  The horse galloped down the hill and I leaned into him, pulling the girl with me. It was at this moment, when we were racing away from her villa and heading toward mine that I realized I’d stayed out too long. Dusk came early in this valley and the sun slipped behind the mountains with little warning.

  One moment, rays of sunlight peeked through the cloud cover. The next moment, the light came in long slanted beams, sporadic and broken and dim. Shadows spread across the landscape, and everything near and far took on the same colors as the lake—blues, purples, grays. The horse galloped down the road and we passed a succession of trees and tiny lake cottages on our left, all of them with shutters drawn and doors closed. But as the darkness enveloped the landscape, shutters and doors began to open; tall lean shapes appeared, walking out from one form of darkness into another, heads lifting toward us to reveal glowing eyes.

  “Hurry!” the girl behind me called. “They are waking up. They’ll be hungry now!”

  I dug my heels deeper into the horse’s side, urging him on. He seemed to understand our danger and charged faster up the hill. The sangsue began to follow us, tens of them, more than I could count—from the lake, from the nearby villa, and now appearing in the trees that surrounded our villa.

  And there, standing atop a large rock, was their King.

  Cloak flowing around him, eyes like stars in a midnight sky, claw-like hands stretched out toward me like a warm embrace.

  “Join us, my little raven,” he said. His words weren’t loud, yet they carried all the way to my soul as if he had whispered in my ear. “Come. Be one of us.” A chilling smile revealed teeth that could rip flesh from bone.

  “Don’t look at him,” the girl said.

  But it was too late. Whenever he appeared I couldn’t help myself. Every time I saw him, he grew more handsome and his voice became more irresistible. Without meaning to, I gripped the reins tighter, forcing the horse to slow down. We were at a brisk canter when the sangsue King leapt down from the rock—a leap that looked more like flying—and he approached us, walking through the garden.

  “Throw down your religious relics,” he commanded us, referring to the cross around the girl’s neck and the iron-and-bone crucifix tucked in my waistband.

  “No! They will not!” Another voice rose from the villa. Hanna stood on the portico, between the columns, a scythe in one hand, a small bowl in the other. “Come to me, demon king. Come and drink my blood offering.”

  John emerged from the shadows at her side, his rifle aimed at the King.

  The sangsue leader hissed. He fixed upon the bowl of blood, licking his lips, as if he could not resist such an offer—even if it meant his own death. All around us, his followers began to howl like wolves, and the sound broke the enchantment I had fallen prey to. I urged the horse forward and he raced toward the open villa door. John stepped aside as we passed, but Hannah stood her ground, facing the King with an icy glare.

  “Come and drink your fill, you demon,” she called.

  We were inside the house, the girl and I climbing down from the horse. I swung around, watching through the doorway, John between me and the sangsue horde, blocking me from joining them. A host of monsters covered the hill in front of the villa, so many they were like blades of grass, crowded together all the way down to the road. I gasped when I saw their numbers.

  Meanwhile, their King struggled against Hannah’s invitation.

  He took several halting steps toward her, growling and cursing, his movements no longer fluid or powerful. Hannah was the one with power now. She held the bowl higher, then lifted it to her lips and blew across the blood, stirring the fragrance and sending it in his direction.

  He ran then, swifter than any human, and he grabbed the bowl from her hand. She lifted her other hand and swung her blade down, but he moved too fast, darting out of her range. John stood behind Hannah, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her inside the villa.

  The King drank the blood, draining the bowl, and then he sprang toward her like a wild beast, mouth gaping wide, teeth bared and dripping blood. But he couldn’t cross the threshold. He could only lunge forward repeatedly, snarling and striking the doorframe with his teeth.

  She laughed at him.

  “Your kingdom for a bowl of blood,” she said. “You’re nothing but a shade, released f
rom the pit of hell before your time. Where’s your prophecy, shade? Where’s your payment for my blood?”

  A low snarl shook his chest and his eyes glowered menacingly.

  “I will kill you, witch. That is my prophecy.”

  “Tis a false prophecy then,” she said, pausing to laugh. “I expected nothing less. Like a dog, you can’t resist when you’re called to feed. It’s only one of your weaknesses. You should take your herd and go back into the mountains. I’ve heard they have a nice welcome waiting for you there.”

  He gave her a suspicious glance, then began to back away, his steps unsteady, his eyes blinking. As if summoned, Percy rose up from the faceless crowd of sangsue, and he cautiously approached the villa, watching his King as he faltered, knees buckling and movements sluggish.

  “What have you done to him?” Percy demanded when he drew closer. He wrapped an arm around his leader, helping him down the steps and away toward the horde.

  “I’ve just given him a little poison,” Hannah answered. “Something to make him wish he didn’t love my blood so much.”

  Percy lifted his chin, looking past her toward me. “Come outside and help me,” he ordered. “I know you’re falling in love with my King.” His words teased my mind, just like one of his poems. “We all love him. And we all do as we’re told. Come, Mary.”

  My feet moved me closer to the door, though I willed them not to.

  The girl I had rescued grabbed me by the arms and she dragged me away from the door. “Cover your ears,” she warned and she put my hands on my ears, then she continued to pull me farther into the house until we were in the kitchen. “You can’t listen to them,” she told me through tear-stained eyes, “or you’ll end up like me.” She released me and raised her arms to remind me of the horror she’d been living. Then she said the one thing that made me really listen, her words louder than the enchantment.