by Amy Cross
“Come on,” Jennifer said, taking Anna's hand and leading her back up the staircase. “We're going to go and fetch Balthazar.”
“Is Kate going to be okay?” Anna asked.
“Sure, sweetheart. She's going to be fine.”
“I wouldn't count on that,” Madeleine whispered, as she reached up and put a hand on the side of Kate's face. “God, Edgar, why didn't you tell me what you'd done to her before all of this got out of hand? What the hell were you thinking?”
***
“Careful!” Madeleine hissed as she and Jennifer laid Kate on the back of the cart. “She's kinda delicate right now.”
“Has she regained consciousness at all?” Jennifer asked, as she lifted Anna up onto one of the cart's wooden seats.
“Not yet,” Madeleine replied, “but that's for the best. Until we can figure out what the hell is going on here, I really don't want to have to try explaining anything to her. One thing's for certain, though. Edgar was right, we should never have come to this place.”
“But Anna -”
“I know, but still... I need to get some answers from Edgar.”
“At least we stopped that awful Ms. Eversham woman,” Jennifer pointed out. “She's gone forever, right?”
“I personally tore her into several smaller pieces,” Madeleine replied, “although stopping her might not be enough. We might just have done exactly what Quillian wanted and -”
Hearing footsteps nearby, she turned as she realized she could sense Camilla nearby, along with several other heartbeats.
“I found them hiding,” Camilla explained, staying in the shadows as three young girls stopped just behind her. “They managed to avoid the direct sunlight. Yesterday we had more than one hundred girls here at Raven's Briar. Now there are just four of us.”
“What are you going to do?” Madeleine asked cautiously.
“The only thing we can do,” she replied. “The only thing anyone can do. Try to survive. We can grow our own food, and there's money in the office that'll let us buy what we need from town. We can't go out during daylight hours, but at night we can get our business done.” She looked down at the other girls. “Since I'm older than these three, I guess I'll have to take charge.”
“You don't seem particularly dumb,” Madeleine muttered. “I guess you've got a chance.”
“Thank you for letting us live,” Camilla replied. “You pulled me to safety, otherwise I'd have burned with the rest of them.”
“Yeah, well...” Madeleine sighed, before making her way over and shaking her hand. “I guess I got sentimental. I never thought the day would come when I'd let a cold-blood take another breath, so please, for the love of God, don't make me regret being so kind and generous.”
“Free free to drop by and see us some time,” Camilla told her. “You know, to see how we're getting on, something like that.”
“Whatever,” Madeleine muttered, turning and heading back to the cart, before climbing onboard. “I said I got sentimental, but it won't last. By the time I get back to Thaxos, I'll probably be kicking myself for not staking the lot of you out in the yard. For a cold-blood, you're not so bad, but you're still a cold-blood.” She paused for a moment. “Good luck,” she added finally, as if she was annoyed with herself for saying the words. “Come on!” she added, banging the side of the cart and causing the donkey to start braying. “We need to get moving! The sooner we get back to Thaxos, the sooner we can work out what the hell's going on with Kate!”
“I guess I'm driving, then,” Jennifer muttered, climbing up onto the front of the cart and grabbing the reins. “I wish I knew how these things work.”
“It's a donkey,” Madeleine sighed, leaning over and slamming her fist against the wooden panel, causing Balthazar to bray louder and then start pulling the cart across the bumpy ground. “There. Just keep it nice and jumpy, make sure to steer, and we should be back at Parios in the next few hours, and then we can start thinking about the journey to Thaxos.”
“It's going to be okay,” Anna said, looking down at Kate's unconscious face. “You'll wake up soon, I promise.”
Part Forty-Five
I
Raising his face in the morning sun, the wolf sniffed at the air for a moment. His enemy's scent was all around, but it took a moment for the complex web of smells to reveal their secrets. Turning slightly, the wolf was able to pinpoint his target's location, and at the same time he detected a matrix of hormone markers that indicated weakness. Finally, he realized his enemy was tiring.
A little blood dripped from the wolf's muzzle, before he set off down the hill, heading away from the stones and making for the long grass to the north.
For the next few minutes, the wolf stayed low, preferring the cover of the grass. Although his enemy was suffering now, he knew all too well that a cornered, injured beast could still pose a danger. Once he got closer, the wolf stopped for a moment, watching as the grass swayed in an early morning breeze. The enemy had moved to an easterly position, possibly to force the wolf into looking toward the rising sun and to mix his scent with the coastal breeze, but this matter could be easily remedied. Heading around the side of the grass, the wolf aimed to approach from the south, in order to -
Stopping suddenly, he realized his enemy was on the move again.
Grass rustled.
Scents intensified.
A shape rose against the lightening sky.
Before the wolf could react, Edgar Le Compte burst through the grass and attacked. His clothes torn and with thick wounds scratched into his muscles, Edgar had become a primal force, fighting for survival and driven by the desire to win at all costs. His deltoids and biceps tensed and flexed as he grabbed the wolf's shoulders, pulling the animal down with enough force to bring a pained growl from its mouth.
Still, Edgar kept going. Like two pistons, his arms pushed the wolf into the dirt and held it down, while he shifted around and let out a grunt of anger. A large wound on his chest, just above his abdomen, glistened in the morning sun and leaked blood as it was squeezed, but still Edgar focused all his efforts on holding the wolf down. Slipping one hand to the animal's throat, he began to squeeze, cutting off its air supply. There was a wild, manic look in his eyes, as if the civilization had been stripped from his soul and only the anger was left, only the rage.
Suddenly the wolf kicked hard, slamming its rear legs into Edgar's belly and ripping away some of the flesh. Edgar pulled back slightly, enough to give the animal a chance to wriggle free, and a moment later they were face to face again. The wolf raised its lips in a snarl, revealing sharp, blood-flecked fangs, while Edgar kept his unblinking eyes fixed on his opponent, waiting for its next move. He could already see the fur standing up on the wolf's back, and its shoulders were broad and slightly lowered as it prepared to attack. Both man and beast knew that the endgame was finally upon them, and as they waited and panted in anticipation, they each tried to determine when the other would strike, and whether it would be wise to attack first.
Finally, the wolf launched itself at Edgar, who stepped aside and then grabbed the animal's shoulders, slamming it down into the mud with enough force to knock all the air for its lungs. Reaching down, Edgar grabbed a rock from nearby and raised it high, ready to bring it crashing down against the wolf's skull as rage filled his eyes.
“Edgar!” Nixon gasped. “Stop!”
Ignoring his enemy's entreaty, Edgar slammed the rock down hard, striking the side of his enemy's head but not securing a direct hit.
“Edgar!”
Blinking a couple of times, Edgar suddenly realized that the wolf had changed, shifting its form and becoming human again. He saw that he now had his left hand around a man's throat, rather than that of a wolf, and finally he pulled back before dropping the bloodied rock to the ground.
“You win!” Nixon hissed, struggling to get out from under his opponent. Naked, bloodied and covered in mud, Nixon was panting hard, and the transformation from his wolf form to his human
aspect had not yet knitted together all the injuries he'd sustained during the hunt. There was a thick, knotted wound in his flank, and a large tear running along his inner thigh. “Jesus,” he continued, wincing as a wave of pain struck his side, “next time we do this, we need a safe word. I don't think I can handle quite so much anger.”
In reply, Edgar whispered something, but his voice was low and filled with tension.
“What was that?” Nixon asked.
“Again,” Edgar replied breathlessly. “We have to do it again.”
“Are you serious? That was the fifth time already, you -”
“Again!” Edgar roared, getting to his feet. Blood was running from wounds all over his bare chest as he began to wipe mud from his flesh. “I have to be stronger. I have spent too long away from battle, I still need to practice. Believe it or not, you are the most useful opponent for me right now.”
“Edgar,” Nixon continued, “we've spent the past three days practicing. I've hunted you, I've stalked you, I've attacked you, I've hurt you... You've won almost every time, you're in better shape than ever. If you're worried about being ready to face Quillian, you -”
“I need to be stronger,” Edgar replied, interrupting him.
“You're ready to take on anyone.”
Edgar shook his head.
“Quillian's not a werewolf,” Nixon pointed out. “He's a vampire. By training with me, don't you think you're simply learning to fight a wolf? There's a danger that you'll become too focused on one particular set of strategies.”
“So you're saying I need to fight a vampire?”
“Well, it'd give me a chance to rest up.”
“There are no other vampires on Thaxos,” Edgar replied. “Apart from Quillian, anyway. If Madeleine was here, I'd perhaps use her.”
“Seriously? You'd fight your own sister, just to improve your chances against Quillian?”
“I don't see why not,” Edgar muttered, turning and making his way through the grass and then heading down the rough path that led to the island's northern beach. “I must be in the best state possible when I face him,” he muttered. “Nothing can be left to chance. If it comes down to a straight fight, I must be ready. For all his weakness, Quillian is a difficult and deceitful foe, and I refuse to underestimate him.”
“You're ready right now,” Nixon replied, hurrying after him. “Edgar, you were ready the moment Quillian stepped onto Thaxos.”
“It took me too long to subdue you.”
“Your average three days ago was twenty-four minutes,” Nixon continued, “and now you're down to less than nine. I mean, I am quite a tough opponent. Not everyone could force me into submission.” He sighed. “I don't think you're recognizing what a great achievement it has been to pummel me into the ground several times a day.”
“It's not enough,” Edgar replied, reaching the beach and making his way to the shoreline. “Don't you understand? I have to be ready to fight him to the death. The biggest danger here is that I allow myself to be surprised. Quillian might be old and weak, he might be tired, but he will put his every ounce of strength into the fight, and I must do the same. After all, when he and I face one another, it will be a fight to the death. When I've fought you over the past few days, I've felt something missing.” He began to walk into the cool morning water until he was waist-deep, before ducking down and disappearing below the surface.
“Edgar,” Nixon replied from the shore, before sighing again. He waited until finally his friend came back up. “Training is good, but eventually you have to face him. Wouldn't it be better to do it sooner rather than later?”
“Have you ever faced such a singular enemy?” Edgar asked.
“I...” Nixon paused. “Well, no, to be honest, I've rather gone through life trying to avoid making enemies.”
“And that satisfies you?”
“It allows me to focus on other things.”
“Then you don't understand.”
Nixon paused again, watching as blood ran down Edgar's torso and into the sea. “I understand one thing,” he said finally. “I understand that if there's something missing when you've been fighting me, then that something is obviously the pure, absolute hatred that you'll only feel when you face Quillian. You can't replicate it.” Another pause. “I think you've hit a wall, Edgar. I think you've trained and trained, and I think you've now reached the point at which you can train no more.”
“What are you saying?” Edgar asked, turning to him.
“I'm saying...” Nixon stared at him for a moment, as a cool breeze blew along the beach. “I'm saying you're ready, Edgar. I'm saying it's time to go and face Quillian, and to end this once and for all. So what are you waiting for?”
II
“You're a miracle worker, Estella,” Kenneth Goddard said as he carried a rack of glasses into the cantina's yard. “I don't even remember how I ran this place before you came to work for me.”
Following him out into the early morning Thaxos sun, Estella couldn't help but smile as she set her mop and bucket next to the gate.
“You're too kind,” she told him. “I'm simply a hard worker.”
“You'd be surprised how hard those are to find.”
“There's no point doing half a job,” she pointed out.
“It's like having two men working with me,” he replied, grimacing a little as he felt a twinge in his back. Heading to the door, he patted her shoulder as he stepped past her. “Don't get me wrong, but I never thought a woman could do so much physical labor. You've really opened my eyes. My God, maybe one day a woman could actually own and run a place like this!” He paused. “No, wait. I think I'm getting carried away with crazy ideas. Still, you're doing a good job, Estella. Keep it up!”
“You flatter me,” she said quietly, turning to watch as Kenneth disappeared into the main bar. She paused for a moment, before looking back across the yard and seeing the pile of glasses that needed to be washed. After rolling up her sleeves, she picked up the bucket and made her way over to the far side, before grabbing a stool and sitting down. She knew it would take a couple of hours at least to clean the glasses, but she didn't mind. Hard manual labor was turning out to be an excellent way to clear her mind.
“You're a miracle worker, Estella,” parroted a familiar voice suddenly. “I don't remember how I managed without you, Estella. The sun shines out from under the back of your dress, Estella.”
“What do you want?” she snapped, turning to see that Joshua Wood was leaning against the yard's open door. The sight of him was enough to turn her stomach. “I'm busy!”
“Not really a woman's job, though, is it?” he asked with a grin, taking a few steps toward her. “Hard, manual labor in a glorified beer hall. Long way from the heights of the Le Compte mansion. It's almost as if you've literally fallen from all the way up here, and landed all the way down here with the rest of us.” He chuckled to himself. “Still, it seems like everyone loves you round here. I wonder what they'd say if they knew some of the other things you've been up to?”
“Do you have nothing better to do,” she replied, taking the first dirty glass and dunking it into the bucket, “than come here every morning and torment me?”
“I'm allowed a bit of fun, aren't I?”
Seething with anger, she forced herself to ignore his provocations.
“I've got plenty to do,” he continued, poking a dirty finger into his ear and giving it a quick clean, before eating the residue. “I'm a busy man, that's why I have to fit in these little visits whenever I can, but I wouldn't want to miss out on a look at your smiling face, would I?” Reaching out, he placed a hand on her shoulder, only for her to swat it away. “What's wrong? Am I not allowed to touch you? I noticed old Goddard gave you a pat like you're a good little doggie. Then again, maybe he's got certain privileges that you deny to other people.”
“You're disgusting,” she replied, trying to focus on her work.
“You could make some extra money in a place like this.
Offering after-hours services to the men of Thaxos...”
Slowly, she made a fist with her trembling right hand, before thinking better of it.
“Emma Lowndes isn't doing much better,” he continued. “I heard Doctor Lassiter's spending every spare second by her bed, but she's still pretty nasty to look at. All cut-up and nasty, like. I didn't fancy going to see her myself, I was worried I'd lose my lunch, but they say she's in constant pain and her quality of life is all gone. Still, true love always triumphs over diversity, doesn't it?” His smile grew. “Doctor Lassiter must love Emma very -”
“Leave!” Estella hissed, before letting the glass slip through her fingers and smash on the ground. “Now look what you've made me do!”
“Does anyone ever make you do anything?” he asked. “I thought that was the whole thing with you, Estella. Every mistake, every misfortune, is entirely down to the decisions you take. The only person responsible for your fall is you. Someone smarter and less emotional, someone with more confidence about herself, would've got through these things just fine.” He paused, watching as she gathered up the pieces of glass. “I didn't just come here to torment you, though. I came here to -”
“I know why you came,” she replied, dropping the broken glass into a nearby barrel. “You want to know if I've reconsidered Quill's offer, and the answer's the same as before. I'm not taking anything from him, and I don't want to meet him and hear what he has to say.”
“Still trying to be an independent woman, are you?”
“Quill is a vile, wicked man.”
“That's exactly why I figured the two of you might get on so well. Everyone knows there's a nasty streak about you, Estella Graves.”
“Go to hell,” she sneered.
“I figured as much,” he muttered. “I actually came this time to ask you about my brother.”
“What about him?” she replied, sitting back on the stool. “I haven't seen Benjamin for a week, maybe longer.”
