by Amy Cross
Dead Souls Volume Four
(Parts 40 to 52)
by Amy Cross
Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved
Published by ACBT Books
Omnibus first published: July 2015
This edition first published: February 2016
Originally published in serial form
between May to July 2015
http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com
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Dead Souls Volume Four
(Parts 40 to 52)
Part Forty
I
As the first rays of morning sun began to appear in the distance, the Le Compte mansion stood in still, silent darkness. It was as if the building itself could not dare to witness the true horrors that had taken place within its walls. Finally, however, light began to show through the windows, laying bare the cold, empty corridors within.
On a normal morning, Edgar would be up by now, taking tea in his study.
Nixon would be in the library.
Madeleine and Benjamin would have woken, and would be discussing the future in hushed, excited tones.
Estella would be taking breakfast in bed.
On this particular morning, however, none of those things were happening.
In one of the rooms upstairs, Madeleine Le Compte lay on her bed with thick bandages wrapped over her eyes, and with more on her chest and belly. Blood was already starting to soak through, staining the bedsheets, and nearby a figure sat on a chair and worked with trembling hands to cut fresh bandages, ready to change her dressings for the fifth or sixth time since they had first been applied. Stony-faced and silent, Edgar Le Compte had maintained a constant vigil ever since he had finished his desperate attempt to save his sister, but now all he could do was wait.
He had never really waited for anything before.
He had always taken what he wanted.
He had always used force.
He had always, always known that he would succeed.
Waiting was strange. Unusual. He hated it.
Now, as he watched his sister's bandages chest slowly rising and falling as she slept, he felt for the first time in his life the horror of uncertainty, of powerlessness, of defeat. The one person he had always sworn to protect, from herself as much as from others, lay in her own blood, and while the bandages looked bad enough, he couldn't keep from thinking about the horrors that lay beneath those bandages.
The empty, hollow sockets where her eyes had been.
The hundreds and hundreds of cuts all over her skin.
And perhaps worst of all, as more morning light filled the room, was the thick cut he had made on her belly.
Looking down at his hands, which he had washed several times but which were still smeared in blood, he remembered the moment he'd reached inside Madeleine's body and taken out the life that had been growing there. He'd held the child – or at least, the vague shape of a still-forming child – in his hands, and for the first time in his life he had realized without doubt that he had failed. Life, fresh life, had shivered in his grasp, dying as each second slipped past.
Nearby, footsteps reached the door and a shadow fell across the floor. Someone was coming close, but Edgar was aware of nothing around him.
He simply continued to watch Madeleine.
“Here,” Benjamin said, setting a fresh pack of bandages on the table, “Jacob told me she'd need these soon. He's going to find more.” Waiting for a reply, he realized that Edgar seemed not to have even noticed his arrival. “Is there any... I mean, is she... Has she woken yet?”
“No,” Edgar replied, his voice low and somber. “No, she has not woken.”
“But she will, won't she? You said -”
“She will wake eventually.”
“And her injuries -”
“Will heal.”
“All of them? Completely?” He waited for a moment, scared to ask the next question. “What about her eyes?”
“They too will heal. Our physiology... Physical wounds can always be overcome, given time and care. It will not be the work of an instant, but her body knows how to repair itself.”
“So she'll see again?”
He nodded.
“But the -” He paused, staring at the bandages over her belly. “Was there nothing you could do to save the child?”
Edgar opened his mouth to reply, but something seemed to hold him back for a moment. “Nothing,” he whispered finally.
Benjamin nodded, although he was clearly close to tears. “Was it... Did you see whether it would have been a boy or a girl?”
“It was too early to tell,” Edgar replied, “and anyway, I did not particularly want to look at it.”
“I understand,” Benjamin said quietly. “We should... When Madeleine is up and about again, it might help if we could bury the child.”
Edgar shook his head.
“It might help her,” Benjamin continued. “When she finds out what happened, she...” His voice trailed off for a moment.
“I didn't think of that,” Edgar replied, still staring at Madeleine's sleeping form. “Perhaps you are right, but it's too late. I'm afraid I had Jacob dispose of the remains.”
“Maybe I can still -”
“It has been burned,” Edgar said firmly. “I thought that was the right thing to do, but maybe... It is not often that I admit I might have been wrong.”
Stepping closer to Madeleine, Benjamin reached down and touched her hand, slipping his fingers between hers. “And her mind?” he asked.
“That,” Edgar replied, “is what worries me.”
“But she's strong,” Benjamin continued. “I mean, I've never known anyone like her. Whatever happened to her, she can pull through! Like you said, vampires are different to humans, they can recover!”
“She looked into the eyes of an ancient cold-blooded vampire god,” Edgar pointed out. “It has long been said that anyone who looks into the eyes of Ashalla will be driven to permanent, unrecoverable madness. I can only hope that those stories were exaggerated, or that perhaps the child absorbed some of the madness and gave her a degree of protection.”
“She's strong,” Benjamin said again. “She can get through this.” He paused. “Was the child alive when you... I mean, when...”
“It...” Edgar stared at Madeleine for a moment. “Such things do not matter,” he said finally.
“But if -”
“I do not wish to talk of it,” he continued. “What's done is done. A decision had to be made, and I made it. I did the right thing. For her.”
“And are you sure that Quill -”
“Don't say that name.”
“But if -”
“I will deal with that abomination,” Edgar said firmly, “once I am certain that Madeleine is going to recover. I will not let revenge blind me to the needs of my family. That miserable stain can await his day of judgment at my hands.” Getting to his feet, he made his way to the bed and laid the new bandages nearby. “I need to change her dressings,” he told Benjamin. “It might be best if you are not here.”
“I don't want to leave her side.”
“You should not see her. Not yet, not like this. She wouldn't want it.”
“I'm not leaving.”
“Fine.” Reaching down, Edgar began to unfasten the bandages that covered his sister's face. Pulling them back, he found that thick blood had begun to dry between the layers. By the time he pulled the final bandages away, he saw that blood was once a
gain smeared and glistening all over her face, while the dark caverns of her eyes still stared up with haunting, baleful hollowness.
“Why did she do it?” Benjamin asked, steeling himself against the sight. “Why did she poke out her own eyes?”
“I imagine she was trying to keep the madness from spreading,” Edgar replied, reaching into a nearby bowl of warm water and wetting a cloth, before using it to start wiping blood from Madeleine's face. “She probably felt as if she could still see the eyes of Ashalla, as if they were still entering her. By that point, her mind was most likely shattered anyway. She even attacked Nixon.”
“She'll recover,” Benjamin said firmly, forcing himself to keep watching as Edgar cleaned Madeleine's face. “I know she will. She's too strong to let this beat her.”
“When I've finished her face,” Edgar replied, “I shall have to clean the wound on her belly. I really think you should not be here for that part.”
“I'm not leaving her side. Not now, and not ever.”
“You have a very strong soul,” Edgar told him. “Are you sure you're only human?”
“Maybe humans have their strengths too,” he replied, watching Madeleine's face for a moment longer before turning to him. “Edgar, there's something else you need to know. Something that happened last night.”
“I will deal with other matters later. Right now, I care only for my sister.”
“But it's important,” he continued. “It's... Edgar, it's about Kate.”
II
“She's alive?” Estella said, clearly shocked as she turned and watched Nixon limping across the dining room. “Are... I mean, are you sure?”
“She has two broken ankles,” he replied, pouring himself a glass of brandy as he looked out at the sunrise for a moment, “and a fractured wrist, and she was knocked clean out, and to be honest she lost a little blood, but...” He turned to her. “Yes, she's more or less fine. It wasn't that big a fall, and she had a lucky landing, and the broken glass didn't cut her up too much.” He raised his glass. “Cheers to at least one miracle from last night, eh?”
Estella forced a smile, but the color was slowly draining from her face.
“What's up?” Nixon asked. “You look awfully pale.”
“I... I just thought... I really thought the fall would kill her.”
“No,” he continued, sipping from his glass, “not from that height, not unless she'd been particularly unlucky and landed right on her head.” He watched Estella for a moment. “I must say, for someone who thought Kate was dead, you don't seem to be jumping with joy at the news that she's going to be okay.”
“It's wonderful,” Estella whispered, “quite wonderful.” She looked away for a moment, before turning back to him. There was a sense of nausea in the pit of her belly. “Has she woken yet? Has she said anything?”
“No, I gave her a sedative and some painkillers. She's going to be very sore when she wakes up. Humans heal so desperately slowly, don't you? The way your bones knit together in such a haphazard manner... I mean, it's something of a miracle that you don't all drop down dead as soon as there's a stiff breeze. Compare to vampires and werewolves, anyway.”
“Of course, and... How long do you think it will be before she's awake?”
“She should be sitting up and talking by lunchtime. Why?”
“No reason, I just...”
Pausing for a moment, Estella thought back to the moment during the night when Kate had been pleading for help, and when she had hesitated, and then... She'd told herself that she'd been about to help when Kate fell, that there was little else she could have done. The whole thing had seemed so fortuitous, as if the problem of Kate Langley had swept itself away neatly, yet now it had arisen once again, and she knew that if Kate remembered those final moments, there would be consequences.
“It's okay,” Nixon said suddenly, breaking her train of thought, “Kate will be okay.”
“And will she remember what happened last night?”
“I imagine so.”
“But you said she'd been knocked out. Isn't there a chance that she'll have some blank spots?”
“I doubt it. Why?”
“I just...” She paused again, desperately trying to work out what she could do to keep the truth from coming out. “Perhaps I should look for something in those books,” she added finally, “something that might help Kate and hurry her recovery along.”
“Like what?”
“There must be something,” she whispered darkly.
“I think in this case,” he replied, “the best thing is just to let her wounds heal. There's no need to go using your powers left, right and center. Save them for when they're most useful.” He took another sip of brandy. “You know, you really did raise Jennifer Kazakos from the dead last night. It took longer than we expected, but she's up and about now. Not all witches have that kind of power, and it's very rare for an untrained witch to be able to do such a thing after simply reading about it. You must be very strong, Estella.”
“I'm sure it was just luck.”
“No, there was no luck involved. I hope you don't mind me saying this, but I think you might have some serious potential. If you were to get some formal training -”
“I don't want formal training,” she replied, as if the idea horrified her. “I didn't even ask for these powers in the first place, I just want to be normal and...”
“And squeeze out children for Edgar?”
“Just a normal, happy life,” she continued, with tears in her eyes. “That all seemed possible until recently.”
“Well,” Nixon replied, finishing his brandy and starting to pour another, “when Edgar's involved, nothing -”
“It's my wedding day,” she said suddenly.
He turned to her.
“There has been so much going on lately,” she continued, “that I think everyone forgot.” She paused again, and this time her bottom lip was trembling a little, as if she might start crying at any moment. “You know how it is with Edgar, he just snaps his fingers and a great party appears all around him, so I don't think he really put much thought into the preparations, but...” She sniffed back tears for a moment. “Today is the day that I am supposed to marry him and become Lady Le Compte, and no-one remembers.”
“Huh,” Nixon replied, checking a calendar on the desk, “you're right, it is supposed to be your wedding today! Well, I'm sure you can reschedule for -”
“Why would we reschedule?” she asked.
“Well, because -”
“As I said,” she continued, with a hint of grit in her voice, “Edgar can arrange a party in the blink of an eye, and the priest is already in town, and I have the dress... Just because I'm the only one who remembered, that doesn't mean things have to change.”
“Estella... You might want to rethink that idea.”
“But why?”
“Are you aware of what happened to Madeleine last night?”
“Edgar's fixed her up, hasn't he?”
“She lost her baby,” he reminded her. “Edgar had to cut it out of her belly and Jacob had to burn it.”
“Then a wedding is just the right tonic to cheer everyone up!”
“You can't be serious!”
“It's still early,” she continued, forcing a smile. “I'll send word for the priest to come up this afternoon, it's a little unconventional to marry after midday but I suppose we all have to break tradition now and again. By three or four, I'm sure Edgar will see that we all need a lovely distraction!”
“A lovely distraction?”
“Don't be a party-pooper!”
“You're insane,” Nixon replied. “Estella, that is literally the worst idea I've ever heard in my life!”
“And what do you know about love?”
“Nothing, but I know a damn sight more about basic common sense!”
“I'm sure Madeleine wouldn't want us to suffer just because of her misfortune. Benjamin can put her into a wheelchair, perhaps, and -”
/>
“No,” Nixon replied, shaking his head.
“And I shall fetch my dress.”
“Please, Estella, just think about this for a moment.”
“I have thought about it,” she replied, “and it's a wonderful idea. Really, truly wonderful. Everyone's spirits will be lifted, and Edgar can hold another big party, much grander than the one he put on last night, and -”
“Estella -”
“You'll see,” she added, turning and hurrying to the door. “Everything is going to be absolutely fine!”
“But -” Sighing, he watched as she hurried out of the room. Finishing his second brandy, he headed back to the cabinet and poured another, while glancing out the window and seeing that the sun was now over the horizon. “Why do I have a very bad feeling about this?” he muttered to himself.
***
“Perfect,” Estella whispered to herself, biting her bottom lip as she admired herself in the dressing room mirror. She'd already slipped into her hastily-repaired wedding dress, and now she knew she had to go and find Edgar and tell him about the plan.
Looking down at the fabric, she realized a few patches of blood were still visible, but she figured she could find a way to keep those covered. Likewise, the cuts and tears from the broken glass were visible if one looked in detail, but she'd managed to sew most of them shut and, besides, she knew there was no time to order a proper replacement. Whereas just a few days earlier she'd been determined to have the wedding of her dreams, now she was focused simply on getting the ceremony completed so that, finally, she would be Lady Estella Le Compte, wife of Baron Edgar. The dress would just have to suffice.
First, though, one problem was still in her way.
Heading over to the desk in the corner, she picked up the book she'd fetched from the library. She began to leaf through the pages, searching for something she could use to wipe Kate's memory, perhaps something similar to the mixture she'd used on Doctor Lassiter but further-reaching. She also needed to find a way to make Edgar forget about his feelings for Kate, and she had no idea how to create a spell that would affect a vampire, but she felt the first step had to be dealing with Kate. After a moment, however, she stopped as she found a very different kind of recipe.
