Raven (Legends Saga Book 2)

by Stacey Rourke

  Rip’s shoulders curled in, his body lurching in a dry heave.

  “So, you were brought here by a set of magic teeth?” Ireland hitched one eyebrow in blatant disbelief.

  “Not just any teeth!” Young Rip poofed from one of them to the next; leaning on their shoulders, hovering over their heads, even twining between their legs. “They are teeth belonging to a victim slaughtered by the very abomination you all are looking for!” Poof. “Her name is Lenore, by the way.” Poof. “In case you hadn’t pieced that together.” Poof. “You don’t look like the ‘quick to deduce’ kind of bunch.” Poof. Poof. Poof.

  “Thhhop it … me!” Rip pulled back, stammering his frustration.

  “Maybe you could just tell us why you’re here.” Noah cocked his head, allowing a mask of intimidation to sharpen his features. “And how we get rid of you.”

  The entity manifested in the dead center of the group. Clicking the heels of his shoes together, he bent in a formal bow. “I am here only to serve you. To guide you in your pursuit of that known killer, that you may stop her. Then, we shall all get what it is we are after.”

  “And what ith it you’re afther?” Rip folded his arms over his chest and scowled down his nose at him.

  “When you’re around? A towel.” Young Rip drifted to him like a fast moving storm cloud, pantomiming wiping his mouth with the ruffles of his collar.

  “The truth.” Ireland glared.

  “Maybe I’ll get my wings.” One translucent shoulder rose and fell in an almost taunting shrug. “Maybe they’ll turn me into a real boy. Of what concern is it to you? Either way you’ll get to slay your monster.”

  Noah cast a sideways glance her way, his expression a question mark. “He’s really the only lead we have to find her.”

  Silence as heavy as a lead weight fell over the group, all of them contemplating their nonexistent list of alternative options.

  The hush was shattered by Ridley’s manic giggle. “I can’t tell you how happy I am you can all see him!”

  22

  Edgar

  Even as a reanimated corpse Lenore was still the most stunningly beautiful woman in the room. The bodice of her black gown hugged her curves to the rise of her hips, where it belled out. Ebony fabric split in the front of the full skirt to reveal layer after layer of snow white taffeta beneath. Her cap sleeves and sweetheart neckline exhibited enough of her luminescent skin to tempt every red-blooded man that glanced her way with hungry eyes. Onyx raven feathers swooped from the side of her black lace masquerade mask to hide her scars—the only flaws in her otherwise polished appearance.

  Catching her elbow, Edgar steered her around the torch in the middle of the room. It burned behind blue stained glass panes that filled the foyer with an aquatic flair. “While I appreciate that you knew the names of the influential men that would be at this event, I cannot help but wonder how we will recognize them since neither of us have ever laid eyes on them and everyone’s face is covered?”

  “Make no mistake, my darling, I will know them.”

  Edgar would’ve questioned her bold statement further had it not been for the loud gasps and smatterings of applause that filtered through the room at the reaper-masked performer on stilts that meandered in.

  “Follow me, oh, sinners and saints! To a world free from restraints!” The entertainer’s body moved with a practiced grace, undulating in tempo with his rehearsed dialogue. “Each room a glimpse of a new realm of pleasure. Step inside, explore each at your leisure.”

  With a grand wave of his arm, he motioned for the crowd to follow. Edgar and Lenore found themselves caught in a demanding current of bodies, being forced down the narrow hall. Around each sharp bend, spaced out every twenty or thirty yards, they would encounter another chamber. Edgar craned his neck, eager to see the spectacle held within each. The color scheme bestowed on each boxy apartment was cast by a flame behind various colors of glass; blue from the foyer, followed by green, orange, and violet. The costumes of the writhing dancers perfectly matched the chamber that housed them. Through each door lay a whole new world Edgar longed to explore, yet Lenore held firm to his arm and marched on. Her amethyst gaze narrowed with single-minded intent. The crowd thinned around them, partygoers peeling off to mingle in the setting that best suited them.

  Out of the corner of his eye Edgar observed the firm set of Lenore’s jaw, the anxious flare of her nostrils. His brows knit together tight at how thoughtless he had been. So many people, clearly his beloved was overwhelmed at her first outing. “The spirits are flowing free this night, my flower,” he said, clearing his throat and attempting a casual façade. “Any business discussions held here will not be remembered come the morrow. Perhaps we should take our leave?”

  If Lenore heard him, and there was little doubt that she had, she failed to even bat an eye in response. Her strides became more determined as they rounded the last bend, where a gigantic ebony clock swelled before them. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a monotonous clang, as if keeping time with the drumming pulse of the party. The room that housed it was noticeably absent of the whimsical flare of its predecessors. Black velvet tapestries shrouded the ceiling and walls. The gothic arched panes of this chamber had been stained a bleeding scarlet. The light streaming through those fire-lit panes casted a ghastly ambiance few would be brave enough to endure. Five men fit that bill. They stood huddled in the center of the room, their thick bellies and broad chests puffed with self-importance. Lewd smiles curled across their lips as they spoke in hushed whispers.

  A hiss, more animal than human, escaped Lenore’s clenched jaw. Seizing Edgar’s wrist hard enough to bruise the skin, she yanked him further into the shadows where they could hide.

  “That man in the white coat with the heavy beard is Augustus Fantaine. He is the reason we are here.”

  Shivers of ice prickled down Edgar’s spine at the unmistakable threat dripping from her tone. “You lured me here under the pretenses this involved a vocation. I have the unmistakable feeling that is not the case.”

  Her head snapped his way, silver specks swirling through her violet eyes like a warning flare. “You have a vocation, Edgar. A very important one you have been ignoring since the moment you watched Dougie die.”

  A hot rush of color filled Edgar’s cheeks, straight up to his earlobes. “How do you know that name?”

  “You are not a simpleton,” Lenore snipped, flipping her blonde curls over her shoulder to glance back at Augustus. “Do yourself a favor and do not pretend to be. You know very well how I know Douglas. You have known since the night you brought me back.”

  And there it was. The secret he had been keeping for fear of upsetting his delicate flower, splayed out naked and exposed. Even so, the guilt he expected did not come. Mainly because the woman before him now could be called many things, but delicate was not one of them.

  “Enough of this.” Edgar’s hand closed around her upper arm as he spun her away from Augustus and toward the exit. “We are leaving.”

  He pretended not to notice the smirk of amusement that tugged at her lips, or the fact that she wasn’t even trying to resist. What he could not ignore was her singsong chant that echoed off the hallway walls. “Where are the angels? I counted off three: Pamela, Suzanne, and Natalie. Where are the angels? I counted off three: Pamela, Suzanne, and Natalie.”

  Resolve building, Edgar marched on. All around them the partygoers fell silent, turning their shocked gawks toward the ruckus. The moment they reached the foyer, with its blue light lapping over the walls like soft waves, Lenore yanked her arm back with a sharp snap and broke free from his hold.

  Pirouetting to the center of the room with her skirt fanning out around her, she continued her mantra. “Where are the angels? I counted off three; Pamela, Suzanne, and Natalie.” Mid-spin she paused, her hand fluttering to her mouth in a mock gasp as she feigned innocence to the curious onlookers. “This was their home. Is it taboo for me to utter their names?”

  The comm
otion lured forth the men from the black room. Lenore turned to welcome them with a wide, villainous grin that injected an acidic burning dread straight in Edgar’s veins.

  “Who are you to come into my home and speak the names of those who I have lost?” Augustus snarled, spittle foaming at the corners of his thick lips.

  A respectful woman would have bowed her head in apology and taken a demure step back. Not Lenore. Squaring her shoulders, she tipped her head and allowed her hair to wave behind her like a silk curtain being drawn. “Who am I? I am justice for those that have had their voices stolen from them, and tonight I come for you.”

  Fighting to maintain his composure in front of his guests, Augustus’s face bloomed from red to purple. “I will not be spoken to in such a fashion in my own home, by a woman no less!” His beady-eyed gaze flicked to the well-dressed men that flanked him. “Escort her out. Be quiet about it, lest we ruin the party.”

  Lenore shifted her weight from one foot to the other, cocking each hip in the direction of her sway. Her blatant nonchalance caused warning bells to chime a deafening chorus in Edgar’s mind. This was the very reason she wanted to come here. The thought of what could possibly come next in her plan caused streams of sweat to streak down his back. Not for fear of her safety, but for that of every bystander in the ostentatious home.

  “Lenore,” he rasped, his voice deep with emotion. “Let us take our leave. Clearly, coming here was a mistake.”

  “Lenore, is it?” A building of a man with bushy auburn sideburns leered, taking a threatening step closer. “Pretty name for a pretty lass. Unfortunately, sometimes ugly things happen to even the prettiest of women.”

  Her narrow shoulder’s shaking with a half-heart chuckle, Lenore plucked the mask from her face and tossed it aside. A collective gasp from the onlookers sucked the air from the room. Raising her chin, she seemed to revel in the ghastly pallor the blue light bestowed on her pale skin; sharpening the jagged edges of her scars and filling the hollows beneath her eyes with the shadows of looming fatality.

  “Do your worst, sir,” Lenore openly taunted, a devilish gleam brightening her ethereal eyes. “For I shall do mine.”

  Nine simple words. That was all it took for panic to erupt in the manor. Shrieking guests dashed for the door, fearing the wrath they believed to be the mistress of the damned. A skirmish of shoving bodies, frantic shouts, and overturned furniture followed, all with Edgar’s dark angel as the cause. Silently, those with a vested interest—Edgar, Augustus and his crew—watched the spectacle … and waited.

  When the last of the footfalls faded into the night, Augustus fixed his murderous stare on Lenore. “You made a mistake the second you stepped foot in my home. Now, you shall learn what becomes of little girls that do not have the sense to respect their station.” His double chin wobbled as he dipped his head in a brief nod to his men.

  The towering redhead was the first to heed the call, his broad chest swelling with enthusiasm for the charge. Lenore feigned demure, watching his advance through wide, innocent eyes. His face ripened to the hue of his hair in the thunder of his attack. Only when he bore down, merely an arm distance away, did she act. She plucked the torch from its tripod with the ease of freeing a wilted rose from its stem. Hot air whooshed, sparks flew, as she swung at her would-be attacker. The torch connected with his jaw in a bone-crushing crunch, the sickening smell of burning hair immediately filling the space. He didn’t emit so much as a peep when his head snapped back at a grossly unnatural angle.

  The muscles of his arms twitched involuntarily.

  His eyes rolled back.

  In a heap of lifeless flesh, he thudded to the ground.

  Edgar crouched behind a table that had been overturned in the mass exodus, peering up at his heaving beauty as if seeing her for the first time. Grasping the fabric of her full skirt with her free hand, she hoisted it up just enough to step over the body. One wide stride, with no outward signs of regret for the life she had taken.

  “Get the torch!” Augustus boomed, purposely hanging back while the three remaining men moved in.

  “Is this the torch to which you are referring?” Lenore asked in a tone as smooth as velvet, before coolly casting her weapon aside. The hand woven rug ignited in an eager blaze, causing the two men moving in from the right to pull up short.

  The heavier set of the three ducked to the left, out of the range of the licking flames. Lowering his shoulder, he prepared to plow right through Lenore’s slim frame. Achieving the same practiced grace of a trained matador, she spun clear of his assault, somehow managing to snake an arm over his shoulder in the process to seize him by the chest. She heaved him off his feet with a jerk and twist, the result audibly fatal. He drew his last gurgled breath, staring into the vacant eyes of his friend who had gone before him on the great journey into the beyond.

  Smoke and flames filled the room, a ravenous beast lapping up substance wherever it could be found. Covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve, Edgar crept around the outskirts of the foyer in search of an opportunity to whisk Lenore from the growing inferno. Regrettably, he wasn’t the only one looking for such a chance. A grey-haired man, with his scraggly pony-tail knotted at the nape of his neck, dodged his way between the flames.

  His thin lips curled back, to reveal a front tooth missing from his snarl. “Let us see how you fair against a real ma—”

  Lenore’s hand darted out, her clamped digits catching his throat and cutting off his attempted threat. “I think I am fairing quite well, thank you.”

  Motion to the right whipped her head around. Augustus had pivoted on his heel and was retreating back down the hall. Grinding her teeth in frustration, Lenore administered one quick pulse of her hand that crushed her captor’s windpipe.

  “Lenore!” Edgar’s scream morphed into a coughing fit, the smoke chaffing his throat raw. “Please, my flower, stop this! Let us take our leave now before the opportunity escapes us!”

  “Nothing will escape me this night.” An icy chill of determination turned her bold statement into an open threat.

  Seemingly oblivious to the sweltering blaze around her, Lenore stalked after Augustus. The last, and gangliest, member of his crew positioned himself directly in her path. His quaking hands rose—as if it was possible to stop a rampant freight train with a stick. Amethyst eyes bored right through him. Lenore’s slender fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, casual as an afterthought, and flung him headlong into the sea of flames crackling behind her. Ignoring his agonized shrieks, she continued on in her pursuit.

  Edgar longed to offer the man aid, yet found himself helpless to do anything more than watch in horror as the flames quickly stilled his writhing. Placing one hand against the wall, Edgar forced himself to stumble on, the heat of the room scorching his skin like brisket on a spit. Three bends in the hall and the air become more breathable—a reprieve he knew would be fleeting.

  Blinking hard to clear his tearing eyes, Edgar called out once more, “Lenore?”

  The only response he received came in the form of a loud crash from around the next bend that shook the floor beneath his feet. The high-pitched scream that followed could have easily belonged to a slightly deranged woman, or a man terrified to his very core. Pushing himself off the wall, Edgar raced on, his shoes clacking over the wood floors.

  The black room—with its lapping and rolling shimmers of crimson—provided a fitting backdrop for the deadly showdown. Augustus had somehow produced a pearl-handled dagger with which he lashed out wildly to keep the glowering Lenore at bay.

  “Keep her away from me!” the quivering man pleaded, his gaze risking a momentary flick to Edgar. “I can reward you generously!”

  “And there we find the motivating force behind Augustus Fantaine.” Lenore prowled the length of the room, back and forth like a caged animal. “Monetary gain, even if it is acquired in the most bloody and barbaric of ways. Tell me, did Pamela, Suzanne, and Natalie pay for this party? Did their pounds of flesh al
low for this elaborate show?”

  “I have no idea to what you are referring,” Augustus stammered, his panicked gaze searching the room for an escape route. “My family was lost to the plague. It was a horrid, unspeakable tragedy.”

  Lenore paused, her slender arms folding in front of her. “The plague in your own home, yet you survived? If lies could swell the tongue you would be choking on your own deceit.”

  “I speak the truth! They were everything to me and I lost them!” He rendered his argument invalid by lunging for Lenore’s mid-section with his readied blade.

  Her face devoid of emotion, Lenore caught his wrist and squeezed in a white-knuckle grasp that stole a yelp from his lips. “You did not lose them. You knew right where they were … and who you were turning them over to.”

  Sweat dripping from his brow, Augustus frantically shook his head. “No … no! You are mistaken! I would never—”

  Placing one finger to his lips, Lenore quietly shushed him, “Shhhh, free the burdens from your soul while you still can. Admit that you never thought of them, at all, after the bounty changed hands. After you saw the betrayal and hurt on their faces. After you handed over your own wife and children, you never gave them a second thought. Did you?”

  Edgar’s head volleyed from Lenore, to Augustus, and back again, his pulse pounding in his ears. Bile burned the back of his throat in disgust over this revelation. “Is this why you brought me here? Lenore, are they speaking to you?”

  Augustus’s eyes widened. Desperately he tried to pull away, but could gain no ground. “I knew it! You are some sort of witch!”

  Slowly, Lenore turned his wrist. Angling the blade still clasped in his hand, she forced it to his throat with enough pressure to dimple the skin. Taking a brazen step forward, she wet her lips and let her voice drop to a seductive murmur. “Witches work their magicks from afar. What I plan to do will be done at the most intimate of proximities.”