She shook her head.
“I’m so cold and I haven’t had anything to eat. And I’m so frightened! What happened to that wolf and where is Percy?” she asked, all of her words coming out at once.
My back stiffened when she mentioned the name of my betrothed, the man I would never marry now, if John’s hasty prognosis was correct. “John’s upstairs, tending to an injury—a cut that Percy got. Nothing serious.” I forced a smile and wondered if it looked believable. “I’ll start a fire here and find something light for you to eat. Stay here, will you?”
“Of course.”
I ran from the room, found the firewood I had rounded up earlier on the floor of the kitchen. Within a quarter hour, I had a roaring fire going in the parlor and a tray with biscuits and jam—the only thing I could find that didn’t need to be cooked. I gave her a flask filled with watered-down wine, hoping that it would dull any pain her later contractions might cause.
Then I went back upstairs to check on John and Percy. I planned to go into town, but needed to make sure everything was all right up there first. I also needed to let John know that Claire was in labor. My knuckles rapped against the door and I heard a rapid scuffling, as if something or someone was being dragged across the floor.
“John? You need to check on Claire as soon as possible. I think she’s going into early labor. I’ve got her set up in the parlor.” I paused, listening. He didn’t reply. I turned the doorknob, ready to take my chances with whatever might be taking place on the other side.
The key was gone.
And the door was locked. From the inside.
I jiggled the handle.
“John? Percy? I don’t know what the two of you are doing in there, but this isn’t amusing! Answer me!”
A long, unearthly pause followed and I knew at least one of them had heard me. I shivered, wondering how the two of them could stand the cold in that room without a fire.
“John!”
“Yes,” his voice came back, faint and weak. “I will tend to her soon.”
“Good,” I answered. “I’ll be back before dusk.”
He laughed then, an unnatural sound that made me a take step away from the door. Something about it seemed to warn me.
“They’ll be coming at dusk,” a voice said. Unfamiliar and thick, it took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t John after all, but Percy speaking.
They.
Did he mean the wolves or was he speaking of the man-beast with the glowing eyes that had watched me from the forest? There had only been one man-beast in the woods, but one had been enough to rip apart an entire pack of wolves. Arjeta’s warning continued to echo in my mind as I strode purposely away from Percy’s door. Another room stood at the end of the hallway, the most impressive and lavishly appointed quarters in the villa—Byron’s room. Fortunately, he had left his private apartment unlocked, so I had no problem entering or searching through his belongings. I was constantly aware of the dimming daylight, the sun getting ready to slide behind another bank of threatening clouds.
It was already two o’clock. The ride to Geneva would take me about half an hour each way. I had to leave soon or I could be forced to stay in the village overnight.
I didn’t think Claire would be safe here alone overnight. But if I didn’t go looking for a midwife, she might not survive at all.
I began rooting through drawers and armoires, ripping through stacks of scented silk shirts and pressed trousers, piles of embroidered collars and velvet jackets, until finally my fingers located a carved box, tucked away in a corner. I slid it out and opened it, finding exactly what I had been looking for.
A pearl-handled dueling pistol from the seventeenth century. The match to the pistol Byron had been carrying when we arrived and that he had taken with him on his journey to the mountains.
Claire needed a weapon, if I left her behind. She wasn’t strong enough to swing an ax and had never learned to fire a rifle. But she knew how to handle one of these.
My hands trembled as I loaded the weapon, puzzled when I saw the odd bullets. They were made of a strange combination of iron and ivory. I’d never seen anything like these, although Byron was known to collect rare treasures. I paused, a sense of foreboding threading through me—he was alone on some mountain road, maybe heading home by now. I hoped he’d wait until morning and spend the evening at some inn along the way, instead. Percy’s comment about “them” coming at dusk had unnerved me—even though part of me knew that I shouldn’t listen to anything he said now. His delirium could already be causing hallucinations. Who knew what he thought was going on or why he imagined he’d been locked in his room.
The pistol loaded, I headed back downstairs, only pausing for a moment to quietly listen at the door to Percy’s room. I didn’t speak and kept my movements as quiet as I could; still I sensed a dark presence on the other side of the door. A shadow moved in the space beneath the door and I thought I heard an intake of breath. I was just about to move away when Percy spoke, so close it felt as if he was beside me. His voice sounded completely normal, and that unnerved me more than anything that had happened thus far.
“Mary?” he asked, softly, his tongue dwelling long on the ‘r’ as he was prone to do. “My love. Are you still wearing that cross your mother gave you?”
One hand fingered the chain that always hung beneath my clothes, day and night. It held an ancestral token, passed down from mother to daughter for generations. It was hundreds of years old and so worn you couldn’t make out the markings or read the Latin inscription on the back anymore. For a moment, I wondered about it, realizing that it was carved from ivory, almost like the bullets I had just handled.
“Why don’t you take it off?” he asked. There was a rich sensuousness to his words, an almost musical quality to the tone of his voice. “I feel the need for absolution, my sweet. Take it off and slide it beneath the door. I could say my prayers with it before I go to sleep. John has given me something, a powder of some sort, and already I’m getting weary—”
I almost unfastened the clasp. Then I remembered how many arguments we’d had about our wedding and how he didn’t want to have it in a church. A devout atheist, he claimed that he preferred a pagan ritual, with flowers and candles, held in a grove.
Yet, I couldn’t deny him the opportunity for repentance. Not if he were sincere. Especially not if he was going to lose his mind soon.
I hurried back to my room, took the crucifix down from the wall and carried it back with me.
“Here,” I said as I kneeled, getting ready to slide it beneath the door. “You can hold this as you fall asleep and say your prayers. If you want, I can get you a Bible when I come back.”
But as soon as the crucifix slid beneath the door, a low, rasping hiss came from him. He cursed, loud and long, kicking the cross back out at me.
“I asked for your cross, Mary! Couldn’t you do this one small favor for me? I’ll be dying soon, hasn’t John told you?”
“Where is John, Percy?”
He didn’t answer me. Instead, that soft, enchanting voice returned. “I begged you not to leave me, my love. When we were beside the fire. Don’t you remember? I need you—please, if you would only lend me your cross for an hour, I will give it back to you. I promise.”
I stepped away from the door, wariness creeping over me. I leaned down and picked up the crucifix, then stepped slowly and cautiously away from the door, suddenly afraid that he might open it and lunge out at me. I ran on tiptoes, down the hall and the stairs, returning to the parlor, out of breath and no longer able to hide how I felt. Claire rose up when I entered the room, obviously startled by the expression on my face.
“I have to go into town,” I told her. I brusquely handed her the crucifix and the dueling pistol. “You know how to fire one of these, don’t you?” She stared at me, frightened. “Answer me!” I shouted.
She nodded, tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“Don’t leave this room, for any r
eason, do you hear me? I’m going to lock the door behind me. I’ll be back before dark.”
“But—but there’s no chamber pot in this room,” she said.
“Blast it, woman, piss on the bloody floor if you have to, but stay inside. And do not open the door. Not even for Percy or John. Do you understand me?” I no longer trusted either one of the men. Something strange had happened in the time they spent together in Percy’s room.
She latched onto my hand just as I was getting ready to leave the room.
“What has happened, Mary? You must tell me,” she pleaded.
I didn’t know what to say. What was the truth? That both men were possessed by something demonic and evil? I decided to tell her the easiest, most believable truth, one that would make her safe, but not give her too much anxiety.
“They were both bitten by a wolf in the yard. I thought that John wasn’t injured, but I was wrong. They are both locked in Percy’s room and I fear they may have hydrophobia—”
Claire covered her mouth with one hand. She shook her head, stumbling backward until she sat on the settee.
“They could already be having hallucinations and episodes of delirium,” I continued. “So you can’t trust anything they say. Tell me you understand how important this is.”
“I do.” Her words were heavy, like anchors, pinning her in place.
“And you will stay here, safe, until I return?” I asked.
“I will. Only, please hurry, Mary. I am sore afraid.”
So am I, I wanted to answer.
Instead, I locked her in the parlor, and then slid the key onto the same chain that carried my cross. I held the cross to my lips, kissing it, wondering if it had saved me from some danger I couldn’t yet fathom. I vowed then, as I raced across the yard and gathered up my cloak, that I would never let anyone talk me into taking this necklace off.
Not today.
Not ever.
* * *
* * *
Read the Next Book
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Shade: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: Book 1
They played at love and they played at writing, but when the monsters came, they played at survival. For fans of THE FRANKENSTEIN CHRONICLES.
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Dusk: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: Book 2
The endless winter drove strange beasts down the mountain, creatures with an insatiable hunger that also possessed the power to raise the dead.
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Dawn: A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein: Book 3
Before she wrote the book that would change the literary world, she would break all rules of heaven and hell to raise her closest friend from the dead.
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Notes From The Author
Many historical events have been changed for dramatic purposes in this story. They include, but are not limited to:
Mary and Percy: In real life, this couple had another child, William, besides the infant girl that had died, and this little boy traveled with them on their journey to Geneva.
Harriet Shelley: Her death actually occurred in December of 1816, after Mary and Percy went to Switzerland. Harriet was pregnant for the third time by her husband, Percy, when she drowned herself in the Serpentine River.
Fanny Imlay Godwin: She committed suicide on October 9, 1816, by taking an overdose of laudanum. It’s quite possible she became depressed in 1814, when Mary and Claire left her behind to run off to Europe with Percy. It’s also possible that she had fallen in love with Percy Shelley and that this was one of the reasons she took her life.
The use of first names: although it is more historically accurate to use Shelley as Percy’s first name in conversation, I chose to use Percy.
Claire Clairmont: She was pregnant with Byron’s child during their trip to Switzerland, but the pregnancy was not as far advanced as in my story. Also, Claire was traveling with Mary and Percy, not waiting at the villa.
Friendships: I made the friendship between Mary and Byron deeper than it had been during this journey—they were not close friends beforehand. Also, Percy and Byron were only beginning to know one another at this time.
Lodgings: While Byron and John stayed in the Villa Diodati, Mary, Percy and Claire stayed in another house nearby.
Allegra: Lord Byron and Claire did have a baby named Allegra, also called Alba. The little girl lived part of her life in a convent and died at the age of five.
The Year Without A Summer: 1816 experienced strange, winter-like weather caused by the 1815 volcanic eruption of Mount Tambora. I exaggerated the weather conditions for the story.
About the Author
Merrie Destefano left a 9-to-5 desk job as a magazine editor to become a full-time novelist and freelance editor. With twenty years' experience in publishing, her background includes editor of Victorian Homes magazine, Zombies magazine, and Haunted: Mysteries and Legends magazine. Her books, novellas, and anthologies include Afterlife, Feast, Fathom, Lost Girls, The Plague Carrier, Waiting for Midnight, and Cursed. She lives in Southern California with her husband, their two German shepherds, a Siamese cat, and the occasional wandering possum.
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Also by Merrie Destefano
Please check the author’s website for current information about her new releases.
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She’s not the only girl to go missing within the last year…but she’s the only girl to come back. She desperately wants to unravel what happened to her, to try and recover the rest of the Lost Girls.
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Written to keep you reading all night long, this combination of short stories and flash fiction contains a ghost story, a werewolf story, and a science fiction story, as well as two stories that feature characters from her novels, AFTERLIFE and FEAST.
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Copyright © 2018 by Merrie Destefano
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover design by Les Solot.
Image from DepositPhoto/Fotolit2.
Created with Vellum
Shade_A Re-Imagining of Mary Shelley's Frankenstein Page 6
