Redeemer of Shadows

by Michelle M. Pillow

  “You are such a bloody snob,” Nan exclaimed, with a poke to Sara’s side. Sara swatted her away. Nan laughed.

  “But that’s not possible,” Hathor denied, ignoring the banter. Narrowing her gaze to study the gems, she declared, “They’re fakes. You’re wrong.”

  “Well, it has been a long time since I’ve appraised, but I don’t think I am. If I were you, I’d keep them in a very safe place. If I’m right, they’re worth a lot of money.” Sara gave the gems over to Georgia who quickly stuffed them back in the box and shoved them into her purse for safekeeping. She kept the purse hugged on her lap.

  Helplessly, Hathor looked at Georgia, who could only direct a weak shrug in her direction. Suddenly, the front doors burst open and a group of chattering beauticians came in. Their animated talk broke into the stunned silence.

  “What’s going on?” Candi asked. “You’re late.”

  “We were just hav’n a pint at the pub watchin’ the news,” one of the women chimed in as the group hurried past to the back.

  “You know that poor little girl that’s been missing since last week?” a tall willowy woman inquired, stopping to lean on the station. Her pink hair was striped with lavender. Catching her reflection in a mirror, she licked her fingers and began pulling at her bangs to straighten them.

  “Oh, did you hear about that?” Candi questioned, waiting to watch Hathor shake her head in denial. “This little four-year-old just disappeared right out of her mother’s house on the East End. Snatched from her bed without a trace. Mother’s had a hard time of it. If someone took my son, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  “Anyway,” the willowy woman interrupted, finishing with her hair and moving on to touch up her lipstick. “They found her. She just turned up last night in her parent’s dooryard. No one knows how she got there. They said she was pretty beaten up, but that there were no signs of molestation.”

  “Thank God for that,” Nan interjected with a sorrowful shake of her head.

  “But that’s not the strange thing,” the tall woman continued. “They said that in her hand, she was carrying a fancy handwritten—”

  “Calligraphy,” one of the women interrupted.

  “Yeah, calligraphy note,” the tall beautician corrected, “telling them where they could find the teddy bear the girl had with her when she was abducted. It was in her grandfather’s closet. It seemed the old guy locked her up or something. They searched his house and found kiddie porn on his bed. The guy’s missing, and there is an alert out on him for questioning. Could you imagine if he walked in here? I’d grab the sick—”

  “Ugh,” Sara spat in disgust, to stop the other woman’s words.

  “How could anyone…?” Candi shivered.

  “The grandfather’s name is Franklin St. James, or some such thing,” the willowy storyteller finished. She turned to lean her backside on the countertop, pushing her makeup back into her black smock. “I hope they find him and throw him in the river. He should be shot.”

  Franklin. He was a bad man. Hathor froze. Servaes’ subtle words echoed in her ear. She gulped. Surely, he didn’t actually kill him? It had to be some sort of coincidence.

  “Sick bugger,” Nan mumbled. Standing, she walked back to the break room with the other chattering ladies, no doubt wanting to get her say in.

  Hathor swayed on her feet. She quickly sat in a nearby chair, not wanting to believe what she’d heard. Could it be she spent the night with some kind of bizarre hero? Or was he a killer? She numbly waited as Georgia’s hair was unrolled and styled into a big, round, puffy ball. She couldn’t move. Her heart fluttered wildly, her hands shook, and her mind reeled in feverish denial.

  The gossipy hairdresser moved on to a new subject, keeping her aunt’s attention captivated with the latest happenings of London Town. Hathor was glad they paid her no mind, sure if they asked her opinion she would burst into confused tears. Already Servaes invaded her every thought. She was falling hard and didn’t like it.

  Hathor’s hands continue to shake. She clutched them together to keep them still. Her throat constricted with mixed emotions. As she closed her eyes to block out the sunlight streaming in from the window, she shivered. It was Servaes’ handsome face she saw, and his passionate kiss she felt against her skin. When she was with him, she wasn’t scared. He didn’t feel like a killer to her. He didn’t feel wrong.

  Please, don’t let me fall for him, Hathor thought, almost like a prayer. Don’t let me fall in love. Not with him.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hathor passed the day in a haze, doing her best to be pleasant company for her aunt. However, by the end of the shopping trip, Georgia knew her niece was deeply shaken by her mysterious man. After leaving the beauty parlor, Georgia insisted that they go to a jeweler and ask about the necklace. It was as Sara said. The jewels were very real and very old. Georgia lied and told the appraiser the stones were family heirlooms.

  Hathor left her aunt in her bedroom to take a nap, going to her own room to wait for the sunset. Her heart skipped as she wondered if Servaes would come back to visit her, despite her harsh words to him. She needed to talk to him. She needed to know what was going on. Was he some rich Marquis living an elaborate fairy-tale life? Did he have anything to do with the missing pervert? Would he forgive her and kiss her again, making her forget all her questions?

  Spending the evening straightening her hair and bothering with makeup, Hathor’s eyes constantly strayed to the balcony, waiting for darkness. Servaes would only come if it were night. She found she didn’t really mind the quirk.

  Finally, as the sun lowered in the distance, throwing the land into a brilliant display of orange and red, Hathor slipped on a slender-cut dress of cream floral lace design. She watched the sunset from her balcony before slowly making her way downstairs and out the front door, undetected by her aunt.

  As she crossed the garden paths, caressed by the gentle breeze of night, she sighed. Making up her mind that, if Franklin was what they said he was, then he deserved to be dead. And if Servaes were responsible, she would listen to what he had to say about it and not automatically overreact.

  For some reason she couldn’t ascertain, she was unafraid of him. His eyes haunted her, giving her chills. His body drove her to distraction. His voice haunted her until her body trembled with intense longing. He was in her dreams, in newly formed memories, in memories she couldn’t have really had. He was her mystery, her unsolved enigma. She was not afraid.

  Going to the bench where he first spoke to her, she sat and waited. She listened to the insects buzzing in the distance, listened to the wind howling above in the trees, the sound of water in the fountain. She waited as the moon reached far into the sky, marking the slow passing of time.

  “If he comes, I will give myself to him. I will take Georgia’s advice and take what he can offer. Then I will never regret not going for it. If he doesn’t come, well then, it wasn’t meant to be.”

  Her feet tapped nervously on the cobblestone pathway. She closed her eyes, wondering what he would look like naked. What would he do to her? How would his warm fingers feel against her flesh? Her lips trembling, she whispered, “I don’t care what he wants to pretend to be. If he wants to be a vampire and only come out at night, then let him. I’ll change my schedule. The world is crazy. Why can’t he be what he wants, so long as it makes him happy? I want to be crazy too.”

  As the hours passed and he didn’t show, her heart sank deeper into the pit of her stomach. She knew the feelings swirling around in her were more than just a physical attraction. It was a connection, one she couldn’t explain or reason. Servaes invaded her soul with charm and sophistication, and she chased him away because of her foolish fears.

  The night crept by until finally the dawn came slowly in a display of pink and reds, bringing sadness with it. Hathor stood, having snoozed on the stone bench. She made her way back inside the house and into her bed.

  Crying softly, Hathor’s mind chanted, He didn’t
come. He didn’t come. He might never come again.

  Hathor spent the next several days in a state of half consciousness. She couldn’t stop herself from wandering out to the garden each night, deigning only to stay until midnight and leaving for bed each time at half past one. Servaes didn’t come to her again, and each night she would determine it wasn’t meant to be.

  The day caught her looking out of the front window, watching for a carriage to deliver a message, to pick up the gown. One never came. Pulling the drapes back for the twelfth time in a half hour, Hathor sighed. She looked longingly down the stone drive to the iron gate. Her ears strained for the sound of horses’ hooves. Occasionally a car would pass by, never slowing to come in.

  “There you are,” Georgia said. “I thought you might still be here.”

  “I was reading,” Hathor lied, “and I thought I heard something outside.”

  “Hmm,” Georgia answered thoughtfully. She was no fool. “Is anyone there?”

  “No.” Hathor sighed in heavy melancholy. She dropped the drape and turned back around. In surprise, she eyed her aunt’s packed suitcases. “Are you leaving?”

  “Yes, I just got a call from an old, dear friend of mine. Her husband’s got cancer pretty bad in his stomach. I’m going up to Sheffield for a week to help take care of him while her grandchildren visit from Edinburgh. I left some numbers for you in the kitchen just in case.” Georgia smiled, going to give her a quick hug. Then, digging in her purse, she handed over a large set of keys. “Do you think you’ll be able to watch the house while I’m gone?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Remember the cleaning crew comes next Tuesday. Ms. Quaken has a key to the back door, so don’t worry about being here. Also…”

  Hathor listened as Georgia rattled off her last-minute instructions. Turning to the window, she saw a car come up the drive to pick up her aunt.

  Georgia sighed. “I think that’s it. Take the car if you need to.”

  “I’ll probably just walk, but thanks.” Hathor gave the woman a hug. “Take care, and have as much fun as you can, save the circumstances.”

  Georgia picked up her bags. Hathor opened the door for her. Her aunt motioned to the driver as she set her suitcases on the top steps. Then, turning to Hathor, she said, “Don’t wait for him to come to you. Go to him. Go to his club. Return the dress if you must have an excuse. But go. Don’t put it off. If he’ll forgive you, bring him here to stay with you this week. I don’t mind. There is plenty of room.”

  “I don’t remember where the club is,” Hathor admitted, dejected.

  “Your feet do. Follow them. They’ll get you lost the same way.” Georgia hugged her again. “It might take them longer, but they know.”

  With those words, she was gone. Hathor watched the car pull away, lifting her hand to wave at her aunt as the woman blew a kiss out the window. Hathor nodded with determination. “You’re right, Georgie. It’s time I went to see him.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Intermediate street lamps lined the roads of London’s back alleys, brightening the damp, dark night. Paved passageways turned into stone-lined walks. Wooden signs, boasting the numerous ancient crests and coat-of-arms from various family lines, hung before old houses and businesses. They were carved into banners and shields. Their lions, phoenixes, and flowers looked so much of the past, each unique and beautifully different as they swayed proudly in the wind. Hathor studied each one as she passed, but couldn’t tell them apart.

  The flat-faced buildings were compacted together, boasting everything from tobacco clubs, to small cafés, to exotic restaurants and pubs. The busy streets faded into partially crowded neighborhoods, to completely abandoned alleyways. Most of the streets Hathor chose were too small for cars to pass through, twisting into an incredible maze of hidden lanes. Archways tilted overhead, some of them so dark and long she could only see the light on the other side as she made her way through the tunnel-like brick walks.

  Letting her feet get lost as Georgia suggested, she refused to look at the street signs. Instead, she searched for any familiar bend that would take her to where she longed to go. Absently, she wandered. All of a sudden, she noticed a wrought iron street lamp in the middle of a tapering path. She vaguely remembered admiring it on the way to meet her aunt. Hurrying forward past the light, she saw a narrow alley and smiled. She’d found it.

  Hathor’s bold steps slowed, careful not to echo too loudly. She turned down the alley, stepping several yards into the darkness. Swallowing nervously, she glanced around. Her fingers shook and the hairs on her neck stood up in warning. She didn’t recall the alleyway being so dark. The smile fell from her features. Her feet stopped. Fearfully, she looked up. Stoic figures, outlined by city lights, crouched unchangingly above her like statues, except for the flapping of coats on the wind. She would have thought them gargoyles, but for the fact that every time she squinted and blinked, another one would appear to join the rest.

  Hathor took a step back, inching deliberately the way she’d come, careful not to draw attention to her presence. The statues didn’t move. She kept her eyes turned up.

  One by one, Hathor could sense the silhouetted heads moving to follow her. Their eyes began to shine green and glinted dimly in the darkness. The thin probing dots of light held still like the afterglow of dead fireflies.

  Turning, she darted as if to run, only to freeze when she saw a dark silhouette blocking her path. The street lamp threw the feminine curves into stark relief, almost swallowing the limbs with the intensity of the contrasting glare.

  “What do you want?” Hathor demanded, trying to sound brave. Her spine prickled with fear. Jolting in alarm, she thought she felt someone whisk by her neck. Her fingers curled, reaching automatically up to feel her skin. It was unharmed. Glancing around, she realized no one was near enough to have done it. “I have no money.”

  At that the figure in front of her cackled, the cold, hard sound causing the others above them to join in. Their sordid song filled the night, unafraid of who might listen. Hathor swallowed. Her breath came in heavy pants. Some of the figures above her stood. Others simply shifted their weight.

  When the woman in front of her didn’t answer, Hathor turned to venture down the alley the opposite direction. The only sound was the hurried thud of her boots. Her feet ground to an abrupt stop as she glanced up. She watched in amazement as one of the stationary figures above jumped from the towering height of the building. His long jacket fluttered behind him in the breeze. The fall should have killed him, but instead he landed with slow, exaggerated ease to stand before her. An eerie smile on his face, he nodded at her like a gentleman and blocked her path of escape.

  Hathor stiffened in terror. The man’s eyes faded, but remained green. Without seeming to take a step, he was before her. His head tilted as he studied her with watchful purpose. His lips moved to utter words she couldn’t understand. The dark strands of his hair and the handsome lines of his face rang a chord deep inside her, but she couldn’t readily place him. His narrowing eyes again glittered from the pale depths of his face. The man cocked his head to the other side, pressing his face close to hers. Then, angling back, he walked around her swiftly, sniffing her neck as he moved behind her.

  “Well?”

  Hathor jolted as the voice, sharp and angry, came from directly behind her. She spun on her heels, moving to the side to look at the interrogator. Her boots clicked on the hard brick sidewalk as she backed into a wall. Shrinking away from them, she dug her body into the stone. Only her shoes made noise. Only her breath fanned over the echoing distance.

  The damp stone of the cold building soaked into her back, moistening the white linen shirt she wore. She pressed hard into the wall, feeling to her sides with her hands for an escape. There was none—no doors, no walkways. The female, who whispered past her ear, turned to keep her cornered against the building with her body. Seeing high pink bangs and a trashy tank top, Hathor whispered in disbelief, “Ginger?”
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  The man in front of her smiled in wonder, though his face held no mirth. His fingernails were long as he drew them thoughtfully past his face. Coldly, he asked Ginger, “How does she know you?”

  “From the club. I told her,” Ginger stated.

  Ginger angled her head slightly, acknowledging Hathor’s statement before again ignoring her. Seeing Ginger, Hathor remembered the man to her side was also from the club. He had been with another man. Shaking his head, the man muttered, “I can smell her human blood, but I can’t read her. It’s as if she is already dead.”

  Hathor saw a distinct pair of fangs under the curling of his lips. They paid no heed to the whimpering sounds escaping their captive’s throat. Vague memories from the first night she saw Servaes invaded her. Glancing at Ginger, Hathor noticed the woman too had fangs. Seeing her inspection, Ginger spread her lips and hissed defiantly at her, baring the full length of her sharp teeth. She laughed when Hathor recoiled.

  “You couldn’t read rat, Vincent,” a third voice spat cryptically. A few above them chuckled at the jibe. Hathor turned just in time to see the man land, having jumped from the building top. He didn’t break stride, continuing to walk as he touched the ground. Hathor’s eyes searched for cables along his waist and could see nothing. He too came forward to sniff at her. His eyes glowed brightly, the same as the others—green and ominous. The mysterious orbs seemed to give off their own light. Surveying her as he would a fine steak, he licked his lips. “Nothing.”

  “Move over, Vincent, Lamar,” still yet another voice. “Let me see her.”

  Lamar, her last inspector, frowned. “Vincent’s right. She can’t be read. I say we dispose of her at once.”

  “Let me have her. I’ll find out what she knows,” Ginger offered with a cruel twist of her lips. “I don’t need power to get it out of her.”