by Tl Reeve
For days, they argued. She brought proof, showed him all of the hard work Clara had completed to aid in their mission, but he forbade her from talking to the girl who’d become her friend. Forced to choose between her mentor and her friend, she packed her things and left. For months she worked with Clara, ridding the world of those who went bump in the night, and who terrorized innocent people for sport. The Misfits became her team one member at a time.
Clara.
She scrubbed her face and stood. Grabbing her clothes, she donned them as she walked to the door. She had to find out how her friend fared through what remained of the night. She supposed bringing a witch into the group might not have been the best idea she’d had; however, the girl saved them more often than not.
The cool floor chilled her feet as she moved quickly down the hall. If anything had happened, Charlie would have fetched her. Annabelle tapped lightly on Clara’s door and was surprised when her friend answered.
“You’re awake?”
Clara nodded. “Yeah, Charlie gave me something for the pain and fixed my arm.” She lifted it. Wisps of smoke curled from the exhaust vents, while the cogs of her elbow joint whirled.
“Fantastic.” She hugged her friend. “Can you recall anything?”
“I do. All of it.” She ushered Annabelle into the room. “The book. Do you mind bringing it to me?” She pointed to the manuscript sitting on her side table.
“Not at all.” She grabbed the leather-bound tome and stroked the binding. The seal in the middle of the cover surprised her. “Black magic? Clara, I thought we talked abou—”
“We did. I had to research the feelings I experienced last night. I had no other way to find it.” She took the book from Annabelle’s hands, and opened it. “I found a spell to trace the magic back, but it burns.”
“Burns?”
“My soul.” She sighed. “It’s hard to explain. It’s as if whoever recited the incantation drew my life force from me to tie into the spell.” She grabbed a pewter plate off her bedside table, then a piece of paper. “See how the edges are straight, unmarred?”
“Yes.”
She grabbed the candle nearest her, and lit the paper. The flame spread from the corner, burning the paper before she blew it out. “Though I haven’t lost these bits of me, I feel as though this paper looks.”
The ragged edges bothered Annabelle. If a witch could experience this burn, then who else might it affect? Could they stalk the person who used the incantation? “Is it what caused the…issues, last night?”
Clara nodded. “It knocked me for a loop. I started digging as soon as Charlie checked me over and I’d rested a bit. I came up with this spell.” She flipped through the book before turning it toward her. “This one is the closest I can get to the original.” The ancient incantation had been written in, if she hazarded a guess, human blood. Around it were pagan symbols along with small glyphs.
“Living death? Like a vampire?”
“No,” Clara replied, shaking her head. “Something more organic, I believe.”
Annabelle narrowed her eyes. The spell hadn’t been written in Latin, but something more…earthy. “What language?”
“The best I can tell, Druidic with a mix of Latin.”
“Incredible.” None of the spell made sense.
“Not completely. I don’t know what it’s used for.”
“Well, let’s tick off the list of things we know for a fact it can’t be.” She held up a finger. “Vampires. They are created with a neurotoxin administered into the bloodstream by a bite from another vampire and the sharing of a maker’s blood.”
“Werewolves,” Clara added. “There are two ways to create the furred beasts. Bites and birth.”
“Monster.” Annabelle ticked off the third. “Dr. Raycraft’s creation.”
Clara frowned. “So, we’re back to the beginning.”
Annabelle glanced out the window. “Twilight now. We should hunt. See what stones we can turn over.”
“Are you sure you want me to go out after everything?” Clara peered up at her through her lashes.
“Yes. The only way to get over what happened to you is to get back on ones feet.” Annabelle grinned. It had been one thing her mother taught her as a young girl.
“You’re right. I agree. Let me dress and I’ll be ready.” She slid out of bed and crossed to the dressing screen.
“What about the vampire from last night?” Her friend grabbed the cuff dress shirt from the edge of the screen. “Did you find him? Was he sexy?”
Annabelle shook her head. “We like the danger and in doing so, we forget they are monsters. All of them.” The absent thought struck her.
She stuck her head out from around the screen. “Not all of us.”
“Not all of you.” She could admit when her friend was right. “However, he is a blood sucker. A nightwalker. And, no. I didn’t find him or her.”
“The girl?” A frown creased her friend’s brow.
“Died.”
“Damn,” Clara muttered.
Her friend stepped from behind the screen dressed in a pair of snug fitting trousers, three-quarter sleeve dress shirt and vest. She pulled her brown curly hair back into a bun, then began the arduous task of pinning it into place. They dressed unconventionally in men’s clothes, made specifically to aid them when they both hunted and fought. They learned long ago to ignore the stares and comments of those around them. Besides, when a vampire gave chase, which inevitably happened, wearing a bustled skirt and yards of material could get a woman killed quicker than she could scream, ‘help.’
“Have an idea of where you’d like to start?”
“Yes and no. I think we should go back to the scene of the attack and work our way from there.” Annabelle stood.
“We should try the park too.”
“Why?” Annabelle furrowed her brows.
“Remember the earthy undertones in the spell?” Clara pointed to the book. “They could have gone to a park or a cemetery.”
“Sounds strange.” She followed her friend out of the room. “We should gather the team.”
“Charlie?” They stepped into the parlor.
“Yes, Miss Craig?” The automaton stepped into the room. The soft light glinted off his bronze and silver body.
“Would you like to go on an adventure tonight?”
Clara blinked. “Take the automaton with us?”
“Why not?”
Her friend shrugged.
“Is this appropriate, Miss Craig?” His mechanized voice held no emotion when he asked the question.
“For tonight, we could use your help.”
He removed the blacksmith apron he wore most times, and placed it over the small bar situated against the east wall then followed. “Yes, Miss.”
“Dr. Cantrel should be in his office still. We should start there, then find Donovan at the police station. Norah is sitting with her mother tonight and Amos will be working at the pub.” Annabelle came to a halt as a scream rent the early evening air. “Never mind Charlie, stay here. We might need you later.”
“Yes, Miss. Be safe.” The automaton headed back into the house.
“What do you think happened?” Clara stared at her. Her bright brown eyes were filled with fear.
Another scream joined the first a few seconds later.
“I don’t know, but we’re going to find out.” Annabelle dashed in the direction of the shouters. Whatever was happening, she wouldn’t allow another human to be harmed.
Clara’s footfalls grew closer as she came to a stop on the corner. Before her a unit of… things. She didn’t have a name for them—yet, marched down the road. Their pasty, translucent skin drew her attention first, then the machines caught her eye. She crept down the cobbled lane behind them as people scurried into their homes to get away from these things.
She and Clara followed, watching this bric-a-brac ensemble of creatures shuffle and drag themselves toward…what? As she turned the corner, she
came face to face with the man she’d followed the night before. Vampire. Her gaze shifted between the beings and the vampire. Instinct told her she could kill the things faster than she could deal with the man standing before her. And, if his stiff posture and wary stare were any indication, he realized the same. Yet, instead of running, he stood there.
“You.” She pointed at him. “You killed a human.” Yes, because sticking her finger in his face was supposed to scare him.
“Miss, now isn’t the time. If you haven’t noticed there is an army of unnatural beings marching through the city.”
She wanted to knock the smug look off his perfectly chiseled face. “Yes, well, two birds, one stone, Mr.—”
“McRae,” he answered. “Pleasantries later, Miss—”
“Craig. Annabelle Craig and this changes nothing.” She hurried down the street following the undead.
“No, it doesn’t, but perhaps we should speak later…about last night.” He came up beside her, without even breaking a sweat or exerting himself.
“Before or after I stake you?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t, actually.” He pulled her to a stop. “Look, there.” He directed her attention to the city cemetery.
“Interesting.” She flicked her gaze toward Mr. McRae “How do I know you’re not drawing me into your nest?”
He cocked a brow. “If only, Miss Craig.”
3
It got away.
Jonah scowled as Miss Craig ran through the cemetery to the river’s edge and stopped short. Bloody woman could have gotten herself killed, if not worse. Andres, the arsehole, also gave chase, leaving him to deal with a headstrong witch, and a Metropolitan Police officer who didn’t look pleased at all for being dragged into this mess.
“Vampire,” the witch, Clara snarled. “What have you started?”
“What have I started? What have you started? This…mess is on your kind’s hands.”
“We had nothing to do with it,” she shrieked. “You are vampire. You would know the black arts best, ground dweller.”
Her words whipped through him, raising the fiery anger he’d been holding onto by a quickly unfurling thread. “Miss, I assure you not even a vampire would awaken these…things. We have no use for them.”
“And yet, here they are.” The smug, satisfied grin on her face, like she’d bested him, only served to piss Jonah off more.
“Perhaps,” Andres stated, strolling back to where Jonah stood, “you should stop blaming each other and start trying to figure out where these beings came from?”
“We’ll do it on our own,” Annabelle replied, coming to a stop beside him. “Go back to whatever dark hole you crawled out of, before I add you to the list of things I must stake.”
At a full pout, her plump lips and haughty disposition turned Jonah on like no other could—not without chasing them first. A thrill of anticipation and a spark of arousal coursed through him. He wanted this female in a primal way. He craved getting her under him, to take and give what they both needed. A good, hard, fucking. His groin tightened and his mouth watered as his gums throbbed. Not a good time to go full tilt with her merry band of… whatever they called themselves.
“Miss Craig, as you can see, we’re both on the same side here. What happened last night shouldn’t have.” The clawing need to explain his actions of the previous night overrode the self-preservation part of his brain.
“Which part? Killing a prostitute by tearing a hole in her neck? Or how about showing your filthy mug in my town?” The vitriol in her words shocked him. Perhaps it shouldn’t have. He was a vampire and she a hunter; however it didn’t lessen the impact of her inquiry.
“I’m afraid both.”
She tilted her head, as though surprised by his admission. “You can’t charm me.”
“Didn’t expect to.”
“You’re a vampire.” She stomped her foot. If they hadn’t been in such a dire predicament he’d have laughed.
“Yes, I am.” He cleared his throat. “We are tracking the same thing. At least we should work together on this.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It won’t work. I’ll be spending my time wondering when you’re going to bleed us dry.”
“I don—”
“Do it anymore?” She arched a brow.
“Miss Craig?” Andres tapped her on the shoulder. “He’s not what you make him to be.”
“I don’t need you fighting my battles, Andres,” he snarled. “Miss Craig can believe what she wants. Nothing I say will make a difference.”
His friend stared at him for a moment. “Is this the way you want it?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Fine. She isn’t your type anyway. Too…frail.”
“Excuse me, Mr.—”
Andres smirked. “Dunn.”
“Mr. Dunn. I am not sure what you are, but I don’t appreciate your assessment.” Again, a frown marred her beautiful face, and annoyance darkened her blue eyes as she stared at the supernatural being in front of her.
“And here I thought we might have fun together. Too bad, Miss Craig.” He smacked Jonah on the back of the shoulder. “Did you find anything?”
“No. They disappeared.” He’d allowed this woman—with pert breasts and who smelled like rosewater and lilies—to crawl under his skin.
“If you hadn’t been following me, Mr. McRae,” she stated, “I would have gotten one.”
“And, if I hadn’t been there Miss Craig, you would have been taken or worse, killed.” Anger rose within him at her lack of self-preservation. She didn’t stop to think about the situation as those…things, part dead, part machine, marched through London.
“Perhaps we should kill one and bring it back to Dr. Brew?” Mr. Tinnin stepped from the shadowed grove of trees. “They are nothing like I’ve seen.”
Annabelle took a step back. Her eyes were wide with fear; even the witch with her appeared uncertain. “You’re the beast with the bounty on his head.”
Mr. Tinnin grinned, and gave a slight bow. “What it is up to now?”
“F-five hundred pounds,” she answered, taking a step back.
“Bah, I’m worth more than that.” He pulled a cigar from his pocket and popped it into his mouth. “I suppose I have been slacking, lately.”
Jonah shook his head. “You’re scaring her, Mr. Tinnin.”
“Aye, I am. I can smell it. It’s…quite invigorating.”
In a flash, Jonah stood before the good doctor’s split personality, Mr. Tinnin. “Mind yourself, sir!” he hissed, bearing his fangs. The rapid beat of Annabelle’s heart called to him as he held a staring contest with Mr. Tinnin. “I am not the one to trifle with.”
“No, but as much as I give the good vampire hunter a fright, what must you be doing right now?” He had Jonah by the balls with his question.
Even though he knew Annabelle meant to eradicate each and every vampire she found, Jonah only meant to protect her. “Miss Annabelle, I am sorry for my appearance, but I will not under any circumstances allow this brute to treat you—” He sighed as the tension he associated with Annabelle dissipated. He’d made a mess of the situation.
“She’s gone, Jonah. Run off with the witch in tow.” Andres stepped beside him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Stand down.”
“I know,” he muttered.
Mr. Tinnin laughed. “She is a spirited lass. I’ll have fun watching her.”
“Stay away from her,” Jonah snarled.
“Are you falling for her?” Humor laced Mr. Tinnin’s voice.
“Never. Vampires don’t love.” However, he felt a possessiveness for her, more so than he’d ever experienced or understood. “We take what we want, when we want. We keep pets. Nothing more.”
“Mmm, I would love to have Miss Craig as my pet.” Andres winked at him. “She would be fun to bed.”
Again, the anger-jealousy mix churned within him. Jonah tried to breathe through it. Perhaps the effects from the spell were long
er lasting than he or Omer had suspected. “I need to consult Omer. I believe the magic has caused issues with me.” Without waiting for a response, he took off, misting into the dreary London night.
Jonah spent the evening trying to get rid of the cloying need to shred everything in his path, while Annabelle’s faint scent clung to him with each breath. She wasn’t particularly remarkable. Didn’t have some extraordinary beauty to her, except for her raven hair and blue eyes. Yet the minute he saw her, he had to have her.
In some weird way, he wanted her to give herself freely to him. To bare her neck, and allow him to feed. Not enough to change her, but enough to lay a claim. The thought had his dick stiffening behind the enclosures of his pants. The brutal way his heart pounded stole his breath, and for a second he wondered if it might leap from his chest.
None of this made sense to him, and as he topped the hill near the mansion, he couldn’t force his feet to move. He didn’t want to be there. He wanted to be wherever the cursed Miss Craig was, while she wanted nothing to do with him—not surprising, after his little display with Mr. Tinnin. The bastard knew exactly what he’d been doing when he tried to intimidate Annabelle.
Jonah cursed himself, then trudged down the small incline and entered the house. There in the corner sat Emmitt. The soft light of the kerosene lamp shadowed his features; it was a trick he’d learned after his reanimation. In his hands was a book about corpses and the decomposition of the human body. Seemed like morbid reading for a man who’d been dead and then brought back to life.
“Emmitt,” he greeted the man.
“Jonah.” He grinned. “I heard you’ve had an interesting evening.” His voice had a low, raspy quality to it. Emmitt believed it was from the fifty-thousand joules coursing through his body which brought him back to life. As it stood, he had a Tesla coil brain and clockwork heart. Both of which needed a little jumpstart every so often.
“Indeed, I have.” He sat beside his friend, and pointed to the book. “A little like cannibalism, don’t you think?”
Emmitt laughed. “Not even in the slightest.” The scientist who created him also wanted him dead. Emmitt was supposed to be a mindless supplicant to do his bidding. Instead, he had the will to live.
