by O. M. Grey
Suddenly, she belched forth the most offensive sound. It assaulted my ears. Cackling, loud and boisterous, much like a mixture between the braying of an ass and the sound of the hyena I had seen at the London Zoo. I was utterly appalled to realize it was this irritating creature's laughter.
I turned to Avalon in shock at such sights and sounds, which could only come from Americans, and she appeared as affronted as I, but always the lady, hid it better than I did.
Jeffries, with an air of being very pleased with himself indeed, tried to hide a smile as he regarded the sprite. His eyes sparkled in something between pride and condescension, much as one would look at a trained monkey or a prized show spaniel. Therefore, I soon deduced the cause of her madness. She looked up at him with complete adoration. Even though he was over two feet taller and at least fifteen years older, although much better preserved, she loved him. I knew it was rather rude to ask, but I couldn't help myself. Something inside me demanded an explanation for this freak show.
"Pardon my candor, but are you two..."
The eruption of new braying caused me to jump, and Avalon moved into my arms for protection from the offense.
"Us! No!" she said, but her eyes never left his. They stood locked in the most intense glare I had ever witnessed between two people. She was no doubt under his spell, bound to him, and he enjoyed every moment of her submission. He owned her.
"Heavens, no. Not since, well, we don't talk about that, do we, my poodle?"
Her expression changed to that of a dog who had just been caught piddling on the new carpet.
Mr. Jeffries smiled wider, not missing a tick. His pride swelled as he enjoyed her embarrassment.
"Rather a scandalous thing back in Boston, right my pet."
"Yes, Roddy,” she said in a tiny voice, disgraced. "I am so sorry."
This salesman delighted in her discomfort, in her shame, even to the point where I couldn't bear it, and Avalon nudged me to do something, so I changed the subject.
“Lord Arthur York.” Jeffries shook my proffered hand. “And this is Miss Avalon Bainbridge.”
“How do you do?” Avalon said, tilting her head. She didn’t offer her hand to the crook. Smart girl.
“Fine, ma’am, just fine. I’m Roderick A. Jeffries from Boston, Snake Oil Salesman, as you can see, and this is my assistant, Miss Polly Pooter.”
“Howdy, ya’ll!” Tail wagging once again.
“Roderick Jeffries? Any relation to Madame Jeffries, the notorious madame?"
"Yes, she's my cousin on my father's side."
"She's quite the businesswoman. I see it runs in the family."
"We all take business seriously, Mr. York." Mister? I looked into his eyes and saw he meant the slight. Other than that, nothing. Empty. His expression, too. Void. No affect whatsoever behind that false smile. "Unfortunate business, a few months back, at her establishment on Gray's Inn. She lost more than a few quid because of that. Half her clientele is gone."
He was testing me. Of course I remembered the unfortunate business quite well, as does Avalon. As does all of London, since there was nothing else in the papers for weeks, but this man was prying to see if I was a client. To see if Avalon would blush.
But my sweet love stood beside me, her face emitting the perfect amount of innocence. How I loved her.
"I read something about that. Rather gruesome murder, if I recall."
"Murders, Mr. York. Plural. Murders. Yes, her purse strings have been a bit tighter since then, but not for long. Men do have their needs, after all, and she does tend to their rather unique needs, don't you find?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Jeffries. Hearsay is all."
"Please, call me Roderick. All my friends do. Enough of this English propriety."
“I wanna be the puppy! I wanna be the puppy!” Polly screeched.
She had already succeeded.
Jeffries chuckled and sat upon one of the overturned crates with his arms spread wide. The mewling imp leapt on his lap and nuzzled her head in the crook of his neck.
I was quite surprised she didn’t start licking his face.
Jeffries held an expression of complete satisfaction. “Isn’t she delightful?”
Um. No.
Avalon’s expression was that of complete shock, and no wonder. She tugged on my arm twice, indicating that she wished to leave at once. One couldn’t blame her.
"Polly and Roderick, from Boston, you say?"
"I'm from Boston, yes. Polly here, Polly is from the south. Tennessee to be exact. Aren't you my poodle, my spaniel? Yes, you are! Oh, yes you are!” He rubbed his nose against the tip of hers. She cackled again, tossing her head back, belching laughter to the heavens.
Low class colonists. Well. That explained a lot.
Just as I was about to make my excuses and take leave of this ghastly couple, a ragged woman rushed up and started shouting. “It’s you! It’s you who done this to me!”
She pointed to her face full of pox. Disgusting, weeping sores around her mouth and nose, and, sticking out her tongue, revealed they were there as well. Avalon and I took a step back. Well, two. Thing was, beneath the sores, she could’ve been beautiful. Probably was until she got them.
“Pardon me, ma’am,” Jeffries said with the most pleasant smile. “But I think you have me confused with someone else. What you’re saying is slander.”
The woman continued to make a scene, shouting about how he had forced himself into her mouth and given her the pox, demanding compensation for her suffering. Jeffries stood there, dumbfounded.
Polly was the first to react. She jumped up and stood much like a bulldog ready for a fight, shouting back at the woman, “You’re a liar! You’re a liar! He’d never do nuthin’ like that. I’ve known him for years, and he’d not do that. Yer crazy, lady! Now git!”
Still, the woman kept shouting, and I would never forget the look on Jeffries’ face. While everyone one else watched at the cat fight, I knew the truth lay with Jeffries, so I regarded him with a keen eye. His blank face didn’t show an ounce of emotion or affect whatsoever, except when Polly had rushed to his defense. Then, ever so slight, nearly imperceptible, I saw it. Pride. Pleasure. Conquest.
What the woman said was true, and it was confirmed but moments later. The spectacle attracted several more people, and before long, others spoke on Jeffries’ behalf.
“I’ve shared a pint with the man. He’s a good one, ya wretch. Leave him be!”
“You’re just trying to make an easy quid, you are.”
“You need some of his Snake Oil!”
“Look at the likes of you, you harlot! He’s a hardworking man, he is. Upstanding member of the community. See? He’s got so much more class than you. He hasn’t said a word against you. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Jeffries beamed, then spoke, “Now, now. This poor woman is obviously ill and deserves our pity, not our anger.”
Mumblings around.
“He’s a good bloke, he is.”
“Bless ‘im. Taking the moral high ground. Good for ‘im.”
“Such a handsome one, too, ain’t he? Certain not to be cavorting with the likes of her.”
“It’s prolly just a case of love gone bad is all. Poor thing.”
Jeffries walked up to the woman who at first stood tall, proud before him, but after a moment of looking into his eyes, cowered, as if she was afraid of being struck. Jeffries held a whole quid in the air, ensuring all could see, turning around and around with his chest thrust out and head held high to the point he had to look down his nose at everyone gathered. A smug smirk, not quite hidden, mocked the poor wretch as he turned back to her, and placed the money in the woman’s palm, whispering something to her. It was too quiet for anyone else to hear, but Avalon and I heard it well.
He had said this through his devilish sneer: “Stuff your gob, woman, or I shall have to stuff it for you. Again.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
CONSTANCE
The y
arn slipped through my fingers as I made the final stitches on the poppet. I loved to crochet. It was a meditation, of sorts, focusing with such intent on each stitch. Managing the tension. Keeping count of stitches. Feeling the roughness of the yarn against my soft hands, amazingly soft after so many centuries. That was one of the benefits of being an immortal succubus with transformative powers: young forever. I could, of course, appear as young or as old as I wished, but when I was at rest, I was as beautiful and supple as the day I died.
No. Not died, transcended.
“It’s getting near time, Madam.” Everett stood in the doorway. He started as a client, and became a friend. The ever-increasing love and trust between us made him more like a father every day. Over the years, he had aged while I had remained the same.
“Everett. You startled me. How long have you been standing there?”
His kind eyes regarded me through his square lenses. The magnifying loops were still attached to the wire frames, but rotated out of the way. He must’ve been working, tinkering with watches and clocks. He did that on the side to bring in a little extra income. We didn’t need it, as I was well compensated when I could be. When I had a wealthy patron, like I had now. One of them was quite wealthy. Still, often I worked for nothing but gratitude and the knowledge that I was reducing evil in this world. Besides, I had good investments on top of all that, so it wasn’t all that necessary. I figured he did it to keep busy more than anything else, to feel useful. It was very important to feel useful.
“Just a moment or two, mum. Is your trunk ready to go?” Everett had been with me a good fifty years now. Nearing seventy, he was as strong and devoted as ever. A horrific event had brought us together, and after I had helped him, he stayed, having nothing left after losing his Agnes, having been forever changed, as they all were.
“Almost, I’m finishing his poppet now.”
“Is tonight the night for Mr. McFerret?”
“I believe so. At least sometime this weekend. I can’t imagine he’ll pass up the opportunity.”
“Will you be all right, mum? I hate that you have to…endure.”
“Don’t you fret. It’s fine, Everett. Just fine. I gather what will happen with Willie tonight will be more of the coercive nature. He is not the forcible type, not in the overtly violent sense of the word, I don't believe. Damaging nonetheless, of course. More so in a way, as it’s so subtle. The woman, often left so deeply confused, blames herself.”
“Indeed, mum. I’ve seen the results, as you well know.”
“Indeed. Come in, Everett. Please, have a seat while we talk. I’m nearly finished. Yes, I'm rather certain this one uses emotional blackmail and just the right mixture of manipulation, fear, and intimidation to coerce these women, perhaps with a mixture of alcohol. I have been known to be taken unawares before, to be wrong about a man.”
“Not since I’ve known you, mum. Not mistaken once.” His jaw tensed, making his silver beard stand on end, as he remembered all those he’d seen me punish. He picked up a poppet out of the large cedar chest beneath the window. The same one as always. He squeezed it hard in his fist. A tear fell down his cheek.
“True, I am mistaken about the essence and method of a man so rarely, that it is safe to say virtually never. Yes. Virtually never.” I had honed my skills over the years, and I could see into the black heart of a man in a matter of moments. Once I punished him and bound him with his poppet, then all was confirmed. “Still black, as you see. Still black as night, and it will be as long as you live. As long as they all live and still suffer.”
“But this one, you say he’s not violent?”
“I don’t believe so. Not terribly anyway. He’ll have another method so as not to get messy. This one likely gets a woman in a compromising position, one she can't explain without suspicion on her, and she knows it, too. He talks himself into her. Coerces her. Then, abandons her and denies anything ever happened. Leaving yet another ruined. Her career, her dreams, shattered. That’s what happened to my patron, poor girl. At least she knew enough to summon me. Now he won’t do that ever again.”
“Poor girl,” he repeated. “And all so that he could fulfill his lustful urges. All so that he can control her, manipulate her into doing what he wants. Into trusting him.” Everett twisted the head of the poppet, his face contorted in a grimace of pain.
“Careful, my dear. Take the head off, and it’s all over. He’s not ready to be at peace, not for quite some time.”
“No. Not for a very long time.” He spat on the thing’s face. “Then he has hell to look forward to as well.”
“That or oblivion. Regardless, he’s getting his, and rightly so.”
“Yeah. He’s getting his all right.” Everett pulled a pin out of the cushion and thrust it in the poppet’s gut and twisted it around.
“So. Power. It is about power, isn’t it, Everett? Control. That’s quite clear. Lust, sure, but the belief that one has a right to another’s body, to their soul. I suppose it makes him feel powerful somehow, and a man that weak and scared likes to feel dominance over another. Cowards, all of them. Mice grasping at grandeur.” I chuckled and turned to look out the window. It had begun to snow. “He hasn’t seen true power, but he will tonight.”
Succubi had a rather unfortunate reputation. Demons, those in the upper echelons of the church said. Those cowards sitting high on their thrones of gold. Demons, as if we worked for the devil himself. Of course they would consider us demons, as we were charged to avenge the women they harmed. Such were the ways of man. Those who did the devil’s work hid behind pious robes and clever rhetoric. Their silver tongues convinced all around them of their innocence, sometimes even their victimization. Only behind closed doors did anyone see their true nature, and the relative few who were chosen as victims never stood a chance. Society looked for the stranger in the dark, the filthy man with no teeth, the overtly cruel. Although they, too, could have been abusers, and often were. Men who take pleasure in hurting others could be found at all levels of society. Still, they were not the most dangerous because one at least saw them coming, and they often left visible scars. No, by far the most dangerous and damaging were those one trusted. Those one admired. Those one loved.
Those were the worst.
The charmers. The politicians. The clergy. The professors. The leaders. The privileged. The elite.
Those who were educated and with affluent background were the most successful in keeping it hidden, thereby doing so much more damage. Lifetimes of damage for their dozens of victims.
Lifetimes.
That was how long they paid.
Lifetimes.
“Are you all right, mum? You stopped.”
I looked down at the poppet and realized I had lost count. “Oh no. I lost my place, Everett. Give me a minute. One. Two. Three.” I counted the stitches around the top of the poppet’s head, and then finished the last few, counting out loud so as not to lose my place again. “Everett, would you hand me the wool, please? Just there on the other side of your chair.” He sat in my normal sewing chair while I half lounged on the sofa, feet up. It would be a grueling weekend, so I needed all the rest I could muster. Taking a handful of batted wool, I stuffed the poppet’s head before sewing it on its already-stuffed body. “Next, the eyes and mouth, and heart.”
“I love to watch you do this part, mum. Especially the heart. It’s quite remarkable.” A crocheted white heart would adorn the top of the poppet’s chest, but as soon as I infused it with the target’s own heart, it would turn black and stay that way until he suffered as much fear, pain, and confusion as all his victims combined. I wove the thread in and out around the stitches at one side of the neck, I left a small hole that could be cinched tight and tied off after the spell had been cast.
It wasn’t their essence I captured in these poppets. I hesitated to call it a soul, as these men were quite soulless, most of them. Their consciousness, perhaps. No. Not even that. It would be too dangerous to have had all those in
such close proximity to me and to each other. Too dangerous for me, as all that blackness together would have created a palpable misery, even pain, for all those in miles around.
They were trapped elsewhere, nowhere and everywhere at once. These poppets enabled me to control their level of suffering from afar, and it worked quite well.
Everett spat on his pet poppet’s face again before tossing it back into the cedar chest with the others, hundreds at the moment, all at different stages of atonement. Because of my compassionate nature, I sometimes sped up their sentence by inflicting pain directly into the poppet, and Everett helped with his personal poppet. Although it wasn’t out of compassion from Everett. It was out of pure hatred and seething rage. Well-justified after what the monster had done to his wife, Agnes. It was more cathartic for Everett than anything, so I indulged him. One understood the depth of damage such trauma caused, and the length of time needed to heal. A lifetime, usually, for a few minutes of horror.
After finishing the heart and eyes, I tossed the finished poppet atop the packed clothes in my trunk. “Ready,” I said. “This will be the first time I’ve been on airship cruise. How very exciting.”
“They are rather rare, mum. Unnatural, too.”
“Even so. Although I will be there to work, it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view. Besides, I deserve a holiday.”
“You do that, mum. No doubt. I’ve never in my long life known another so dedicated.”
“Thank you, Everett. Nor have I known another so loyal. We shall leave London before long, and none too soon. I long for a change of scenery. Perhaps New York City next. With these Colonists I’ve met lately, it’s time to return. Only four more to go here, at least four more planned. I do have the tendency to come across new scoundrels all the time, don’t I, Everett? Causes one to believe that most men are thus, doesn’t it?”
“Most men are, to one degree or another, Mum. Indeed they are.”
“Pity. No mind. Plenty to do. This cruise will be the perfect opportunity to get information on at least two more of them here in London, in addition to Willie. He will likely make his move tonight, I believe. Indeed. A private meeting, no doubt. I’ll get more on the doctor. Then the final two, well, I already have plenty of proof on both of them. Insidious. The one especially, his punishment will be of the most ruthless I have ever delivered.”
