War Within (Death's Contract Book 2)

by KJ Harlow

  I got to the bottom of the stairwell and jogged through to the resting chambers. Tracy’s door was slightly ajar. Tor’s was closed. Agatha, Walter, and Silas arrived a few seconds later.

  “Rose, how is your arm feeling?” Agatha said, looking at me. Her back was slightly hunched and she seemed tired, a shadow of her usual self.

  “I’m fine, really. Look,” I said moving my arm 360 degrees, “Death worked his magic on me once we got back.” She regarded me for a moment then managed a faint smile.

  “I’m going back to my room to rest for a while. I won’t be long, I just need to…” she said, her voice trailing off, “I’m going to rest.” She walked quickly to her room and without another word went inside.

  “I’m going back upstairs to check on some surveillance footage,” Walter said, looking at me and Silas. “Get some rest, OK? Something tells me we’ll be back up pretty soon.” He turned and jogged back down the hall. I looked at Silas.

  “How are you feeling? Did you get hit?” I asked him. He shook his head.

  “I’m fine. You, Tracy and Tor were wounded. You should go and check on them. I’m going back to my room now too.” Silas said. I nodded at him as he walked back to his room.

  I was alone in the middle of the circular resting chamber. I looked at Tor’s door, then Tracy’s. Which one should I go to first?

  “Argh!” Tracy’s muffled yell came from her room. In a flash, I had pushed open her door.

  “Tracy, are you –”

  “Argh!” She yelled again. She was rigid on her bed, her eyes scrunched together. Death was kneeling with his head down. A faint, green light was glowing in front of him. I moved towards Tracy, keeping my eyes on Death until I could see where the light was coming from.

  His palms were open and relaxed. He held them about half a foot away from Tracy’s leg. His eyes were closed as he concentrated. On my first mission, two Conflicted had ambushed Silas, stabbing him in the leg with a kitchen knife. While the physical signs of trauma disappeared, he told me the pain stayed behind when we came back to the Underworld. There was no blood and no gunshot wounds on Tracy’s leg, but I knew she wasn’t pretending.

  Death was so tall that even when he was kneeling, I had to still look up at him.

  “How is she?” I asked. Death was silent for a few more seconds. Gradually, the green light faded away. He opened his eyes, sat down on his heels and placed his hands on his lap.

  “She’ll be fine,” he said, looking at Tracy’s face calmly. Tracy seemed to have fallen asleep, her chest rising and falling peacefully. “I’ve dealt with worse.” Death stood up and turned to look at me. “How is your shoulder?”

  “It’s fine!” I said, a little too sharply. Immediately regretting it, I looked up at Death. “It’s fine, thanks to you.” He stared at me for a moment. It felt like he wanted to tell me something but kept putting it off. I knew what he was thinking about.

  “I don’t know yet, OK?” I said, looking up at the angel. “I admit, it was fun to Rid the Conflicted but –”

  “I wasn’t thinking about that,” he said, interrupting me. Before I could respond, he turned and closed the distance between Tracy’s bed and her door in four paces. He opened the door and looked back at me. “It’s good that you care about others, but there are times you should look after yourself.” The door clicked shut as he left.

  “What was that all about?” I spun around. Tracy’s eyes had opened and she was smiling weakly at me.

  “Sorry, did we wake you up?” I crouched next to her bed and held her hand. I gripped it tightly as she tried to squeeze it.

  “Death likes you,” I released the pressure in her hand momentarily.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He really cares about you. He doesn’t always show it since he’s always so busy running the Underworld, but he does.”

  “He really cares about you, too,” I said, visualizing the green healing power he used on her earlier. “He really cares about all of us.” Tracy closed her eyes again, a ghost of a smile haunting the corner of her mouth. My mind was occupied as it was without Tracy putting strange ideas into my head. I squeezed Tracy’s hand rhythmically every second, as if pumping life force back into her. Her eyes fluttered open again.

  “I’ll let you –”

  “No,” Tracy said, gripping my hand, “that was nice. Keep doing that.” She said, weakly squeezed my hand a few times. I grinned at her and sat on the floor, crossing my legs. I rested my head on the bed next to her body and resumed my metronomic hand squeezing. We stayed quiet for a few minutes.

  “I’ve never seen Agatha like that,” Tracy said quietly. I kept squeezing, not giving any outward indication that I heard her. “She’s always so sharp, so switched on. Something happened up there in London today that opened up an old wound of Agatha’s. We need to check in on her.”

  “Mm,” I mumbled noncommittally. There was silence again for about half a minute.

  “What do you think it was?” Tracy asked, her voice sounding a little stronger. “What made her become like that?”

  “I don’t know. It was a pretty traumatic day overall. A lot of innocent people died. Death’s got his work cut out for him.” I chuckled.

  “It was the wedding,” Tracy said. She was quiet and thoughtful for a moment. “Yes, that’s what it was. Matylda and Mortimer came out and started turning innocent people into Conflicted and Agatha just… froze.”

  “It’s not like she hasn’t seen people turned into Conflicted before, right? What made the wedding so horrific?” I stopped pulsing Tracy’s hand. Crossing my arms, I thought back to the moment I saw Matylda pull out her Ombre Gun and start attacking people.

  “Westminster Cathedral,” I said whispered under my breath. Tracy sat up, looking at me. She was recovering fast. “Westminster Cathedral. I told her it was a beautiful church and she corrected me.”

  “Wait, you don’t think...”

  “Has she ever told you which church or cathedral she lived at before she came to the Underworld?”

  “Now that you mention it…” Tracy closed her eyes for as second and searched her mental archive, “…I don’t think she has. We’ve got to go and ask her.” I sat up next to Tracy and stared intently at her.

  “I’m not sure she wants to talk about it. When you had gone off to chase Matylda, I pulled Agatha into the changing room, like,” I mimicked the action as Tracy’s hands flew to her mouth, “literally pulled her into the change room. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  “You don’t do that to Agatha Burnside!” She said in a hushed tone.

  “I know! I don’t know what compelled me to do that, but I did. After we came back from Ceasing Stan, Agatha was giving me healing balms in her room. She told me she and Mortimer had ‘some history’. I was probing her about this but she was tight-lipped.” Tracy crossed her arms and frowned.

  “Now that you mention it, I don’t know much about it either. I don’t think anyone does. She’s also told me before that she knew Mortimer a long time ago. It could be that being here in London is dredging up some old memories.” Tracy and I looked at each other as we plotted our next move.

  “How are you feeling, Trace?”

  “Good.”

  “Do you want to go and ambush Agatha with me now?”

  “Yep.”

  Tracy jumped off the bed and immediately regretted it. She placed the tiniest amount of pressure on her left leg and started hopping on her right just to stay up. I laughed as I swooped over to her, grabbed her left arm that she was using for balance and put it around my shoulders.

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” I asked, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’m not going to think any less of you if you want to rest.”

  “And miss Agatha taking you out? Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Tracy with a devilish grin.

  We stood in front of Agatha’s room. We could see light flickering from underneath her door; she must have lit her candles again.
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  Tracy stood back, gingerly testing her right leg. I stared at the plaque on her door with Agatha’s name on it.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Tracy hissed.

  “Hold on!” I whispered angrily behind me.

  “If you girls are done standing outside bickering, you can come in,” Agatha said, her scathing voice making me flinch.

  Tracy and I both froze. I looked back at Tracy. Her eyes darted down to the door knob several times, directing me to open it.

  “I said you can come in,” Agatha said, louder this time. In one swift movement, I put my hand on the door knob, pressed down and pushed the door open. Agatha was sitting at her desk. Her candle was lit. She was reading an old, brown book that lay open in front of her.

  “I’m sorry Agatha, we didn’t mean to intrude. We were just talking and Tracy wanted to know more about you and Mortimer.” I blurted. Tracy squawked in outrage but managed to smother most of the sound before it escaped from her mouth. I could practically feel her eyes boring into the back of my head as she plotted her revenge.

  Agatha kept reading the book as if she hadn’t heard me. I stared at her for a moment then looked back at Tracy. She shrugged her shoulders. I looked back at Agatha and shifted the weight between my feet awkwardly.

  “A-Agatha?” I put my hand up like a school kid asking permission to go to the toilet. Still, she didn’t answer. Slowly, I dropped it and stupidly stood there. I didn’t know what to do. Tracy tip-toed forward and stood to my right.

  “Maybe we should come back,” she whispered. I looked at her and nodded.

  “I was the only one who survived,” Agatha said quietly. Tracy and I whipped our heads back to toward the senior Deliverer.

  “December 24, 1957. A wave of pneumonia had swept London. It hit everyone in my household: Mummy, Daddy, Olive, Oscar and me. Worst Christmas present ever.” Agatha added with a wry smile. I exchanged looks with Tracy. Tentatively, we moved towards the desk. Agatha looked up at us, the flame of the candle reflecting in her eyes. They looked misty and shone with the youthful exuberance of someone reliving their childhood. Agatha pushed her chair out and picked up the old, brown notebook.

  “Come. Let’s sit on the bed.” She walked across to her bed. I looked at Tracy again. She gestured towards Agatha with her head. We both walked towards Agatha. Without hesitation, Tracy climbed onto Agatha’s bed and sat on her left. I looked between them then did the same thing, crossing my legs on Agatha’s right.

  “The doctors did the best that they could, but to no avail. One by one, the sickness took them. By New Year’s Day, they were all gone.” Agatha said quietly. I stole a glance across at Agatha. She was in her own little world. I wouldn’t interrupt this time.

  “It almost claimed me too. I was very ill and bed-ridden for a month. Finally, by the end of January, I was strong enough to get out of bed by myself again.

  “All of my family had died; I didn’t know what to do. That’s when I met Sister Walker. She just happened to be at the hospital that day. She took pity on me and welcomed me to the convent.

  “The first few years were difficult. I missed Mummy and Daddy terribly. I missed my brother and sister. I would cry and I would be beaten. I didn’t leave the four walls of the convent for the next 18 years.

  “But I was patient. I gained the trust of Sister Walker and the other senior Sisters. With supervision, I was allowed to leave the premises to run errands. I was 23 years old. My, how London had changed! There were more cars, more people, and more noise. So much noise; I dreaded it but I loved coming out to the big city.”

  Agatha looked up from the old book, her eyes twinkling with a memory decades old. She stared at something we couldn’t see and smiled, just like she did at Hyde Park. I glanced at Tracy. She was looking intently at Agatha, waiting for her to continue her story.

  “That’s when I met him. He just stole some ham from the delicatessen and was running away. He bumped into me. We both fell. I picked up his ham and gave it back to him. ‘Watch where you’re going next time!’ He yelled.

  “He was an abhorrent boy, but something drew me to him. He was wild, dangerous. He woke up something inside me that had been locked away for a long time.”

  “I started running errands by myself after that. I would see him time and time again. Pretty soon, I was convinced that he was looking for me. Then one day, I was doing my usual run for Sister Walker. He was waiting outside the gates. He took my hand and stole me away to an abandoned house.

  “We made love for the first time. He was harsh and insistent but shy at the same time. I knew it was wrong but it felt so right. We kept having our little rendezvous every so often. It was such a thrill.

  “Sometimes when we made love, he would look so angry. He wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. He would come close to hitting me, but he never did it. Something was gnawing away at him and had been for a long time, devouring him from the inside. I tried everything, but I couldn’t get him to open up. I was determined to keep trying.

  Up until this point, Agatha had been smiling. It started fading as she turned the page. Her breath caught in her throat as she glanced over an entry she had written. I couldn’t help it. I peered across her hand and read the first sentence. My eyes widened and I looked up at Agatha. She closed her eyes as the stitches were cut, the scar tissue ripping open.

  “The last day I saw him, he came to me with blood all over his hands and…” she took a shuddering breath in and opened her eyes. “…And he asked me to marry him.”

  Six

  “Did you say ‘yes’?” I couldn’t help it; I finally had to blurt something out. Tracy shot me an incredulous look as soon as the words left my mouth. I gave the tiniest of shrugs and mouthed ‘sorry’.

  Agatha didn’t notice me and Tracy. She was staring at a spot on the floor about three feet in front of us. Was she reliving Mortimer’s proposal? Was he kneeling there right in front of her? I fidgeted distractedly as Agatha eventually spoke.

  “No, how could I? I was married to the church. I already broke my vow of chastity, but I couldn’t just abandon the place that had saved and raised me.” Agatha said all this while staring at the same spot on the floor in front of her. Unnerved, I cast a glance towards the spot she looked at seeing if I had missed anything.

  “Did he ever tell you whose blood it was?” I persisted. What I really wanted to ask was whether he had told her he had killed someone, but I kept myself in check. Agatha shook her head.

  “So you said ‘no’,” Tracy said softly. She had her fingers weaved into Agatha’s left hand, who didn’t seem to notice.

  “I said ‘no’,” Agatha echoed, her voice becoming hoarse. “I said ‘no’, I said ‘no’, I said… ‘no’,” she repeated, her voice breaking when she said ‘no’ for the third time. Tracy’s left hand flew up to her mouth, eyes wide with horror.

  “He didn’t…”

  “No, he didn’t, though now I wish…” Agatha paused, a single tear rolling down her right eye. She took a moment to compose herself. The tear had fallen down onto the brown book, her sadness seeping into its pages.

  “I never saw him again after that. I went back to Westminster and tried to atone for my sins. I helped the homeless. I mentored and trained new girls who entered the convent. I prayed. I prayed for protection, not for myself, but for the people of London.

  “There was a lovely family – a father, mother, and son – who were going through hard times, who came for our weekly soup station. One day, the father stumbled in, a path of blood trailing him. He died right on the steps of the cathedral. It was horrific. I knew it was Mortimer; the poor man was the messenger.

  “For the next 30 years, he committed crime after crime after crime. Every other day, word would get out that a man with unquenchable bloodlust would take away another life. The press ate it up, giving him the name ‘Mortimer Wildblood.’”

  Tracy and I exchanged looks again, our eyes wide as we finally understood. A huge weight seemed t
o be lifting off Agatha’ chest the more she shared. She looked at me and Tracy, her eyes dark and solemn. She gave Tracy’s hand a squeeze and continued.

  “One day, he was caught. The death penalty had been abolished but the public bayed for his blood so the UK Government decided to make an exception to the Murder Act. He was to be the last man hanged, thus ending a dark chapter in London’s history of crime.

  “This was in 2005 mind you. Human rights activists flew the flag for Mortimer. They argued that we would be no better than he was if we were to take his life away. This bickering between parties generated attention… a lot of attention. Maybe enough for someone to sneak into his holding cell the day of his execution to bail him out.”

  “Are you saying it was Dante? That he came to London, snuck into Mortimer’s cell and turned him into a Tormented right then and there?” I asked. Agatha looked at me and shook her head.

  “How would I know? You’ll have to ask him about that,” she said, a hint of exasperation creeping back into her voice; looked like she was back to normal.

  “How about you, Agatha? How did you die?” Tracy asked. Agatha’s turned and looked at Tracy. I watched Tracy’s face as Agatha stared at her, not saying anything. Tracy abruptly pulled her hand away from Agatha and visibly shrunk away. Tracy had never been scared or intimidated by Agatha before. What did Tracy see on her face that made her react like that?

  There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Agatha said wearily.

  Walter poked his head through, his eyes bouncing curiously between the three of us. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

  Agatha rose, smoothing her habit down with both hands irritably. “No, what is it?”

  “It’s time for our Regroup,” Walter replied, looking closely at her. He swung the door in all the way as Agatha glided towards him. He pressed himself against the door to let her walk past him. Walter watched her walk up the stairs before spinning his head back towards us. “Girls, you coming?”