Tremble in the Dark: A Gwen Farris Novel

by P. S. Power

  As long as you listened to the right stations. She liked the instrumental things. It was sort of reminiscing of big band music from the nineteen thirties or forties, she thought. Back home she hadn't listened to a lot of things like that. She was more of a modern pop or classic rock kind of girl. You adapted though, or died. She was pretty certain that was a real thing too. She had to keep learning the rules, or she just wasn't going to make it.

  "I was thinking of practicing in my armor for a few hours, going on a run and then seeing if you and Charles wanted to spend a bit of time on unarmed combat? We need to keep in practice. That and go over my own magical studies later." That last part was new. She had some tricks, thanks to a bit of brainwashing, and they were very cool ones too, since she could just point her finger at someone and blast them with a bolt of energy, and fly. Not that far, only a few miles, and not that fast, but still, flying. It was awesome and she couldn't claim otherwise. Even if it had been forced on her.

  The magical practice wasn't for that however, though she still needed to do that, because... awesome. It took work to stay good and to get better. Everyone said that. So she'd been trying to keep her hand in daily. Everyone else kept looking at her funny about it, except the Westmorlands, who seemed to think she was one of the only non-lazy regular people on the planet.

  She had the time though. Even after she packed. Gwen got up and started to do that without comment, which had Bethany leave, presumably to do the same, once she caught on. Nobody said goodbye here. It had taken her over half a year to learn why that was too. Any word could become a spell, if a powerful person said it with the right amount of focus or intent, so the superstition was that if you said goodbye, you may never see a person again. Like a curse.

  So when you were going, you just walked away, without saying anything.

  Her single canvas pack that looked like it was old army surplus, and the more normal clothing bag, were both packed inside about ten minutes. Then she went over what weapons to take. She sort of wanted to pack along her magical Combat armor, but didn't bother to think about that for more than a few seconds. Even if they could use magic, the stuff was a pain to lug around on a journey. If magic went out, which she was assuming would be the case, given the reports, then it would just be a hundred pounds of metal or more. She didn't know for certain how much hers weighed, but it was nearly impossible for her to carry any distance alone. She might make a mile or two, if she had to, dragging it behind her. That wouldn't work for their mission, and they sure as heck wouldn't leave it, if they had to leave on foot. So it needed to stay in the little room that the Vernors had provided them for it.

  She decided she would take her little reddish PC, as well as a Crin and several knives. She kind of wished she had a real gun too. They worked in this world, they'd just never really been a thing. Why would anyone bother, when the magical versions worked and were more familiar to them? She'd seen some, brought in by some very bad people, from another world, but those were all off with the royal examiners, or whatever they called them.

  The image that popped to mind was of a giant warehouse that was filled with identical crates that all said top secret on the side. Then, most of her idea about reality had been formed by television, and the rest by movies. Well, with the occasional attack thrown in. That, she realized, probably wasn't the healthiest way to grow up.

  Tucking the last of her knives into the pack, she found Mrs. Vernor standing in the doorway, her hands in front of her, clasped a bit nervously.

  "Dear, I was just going to sit down to tea, would you and Bethany like some, do you think?" It was hard to tell if the woman had something important to discuss, or simply wanted to be polite. She was so good at what she did, social things, that it might be either one, and the only way to find out would be to go and see. It was the accent that did it, Gwen knew. Everyone sounded slightly British to her here. At least in the Western Kingdom.

  Smiling, but only a little, to show she was pleased, she nodded.

  "That sounds great. Beth and I have to be off in the morning. To investigate those murders that have been in the papers? The ones on the trains?" It wasn't like the case hadn't been covered. After all, who killed people on a moving train? That was weird and that, naturally, meant it was newsworthy. Just like in her world. Unusual things were news. Always.

  "Oh? That sounds worrisome. Couldn't they send someone else? I can have Robert put in a word, perhaps, with some of his contacts? Or you could speak to King Ferdinand? He's rather fond of you." She said it very genuinely, which nearly made Gwen tear up. In her entire life she'd only known one or two people that actually cared about her like that. All of them were here too.

  More than just two, she realized, counting in her head. More than ten.

  "Nope. Beth and I are actually the right people to send in on this one. If I talked to Ferdinand about it, he'd probably still send us. If magic is going to be spotty in that area, who would you send?"

  Ethyl Vernor was a society wife, but also a good person, and not exactly a fool. She'd run an anti-terrorist squad during the attacks that Doctor Debussey and her evil crew had been using to create fear after all. In one case that meant going in to a bomb scene to protect people herself. She actually took the information she had, and thought about it for a bit, then sighed.

  "I understand, dear. Make certain to stay safe however. I... Well, perhaps we could speak of it over tea?"

  That meant collecting Beth, who was already packed herself, even though she didn't have a backpack.

  "We need to get you one. Like mine. Just in case. If we're running for some reason, I don't want you slowed down, trying to lug that duffle around. I bet Charles has something that will work, if we aren't too picky about appearances?" The thing there was that people there were sensitive to that, almost always. Even the poor would wash everything they wore and iron them daily. Even if it meant not having money for food in order to do so.

  Women didn't go out without makeup on either. Even in uniform they'd have to have some along. It was a pain in the rear, but it was the nature of the place. Their house, their rules. Writ on the largest scale imaginable.

  Their universe.

  "Is that a logical conclusion, or a prescient insight?" Beth looked at her coolly then. That, learning to tell the difference was actually part of her magical training. Along with a whole lot of reading.

  After all, if you had magic, and all it took to learn about it was reading and some practice, why wouldn't you do it? That most didn't bother with it all that much amazed her still.

  Dropping into a focused state, she cleared her thoughts and tried to feel the sense of fullness that indicated to her that magic was taking place. That or a tingling, but it was almost always like a mild pressure when it was in regards to the future. It shocked her, but it was really there. She thought. She took a few minutes, and finally nodded.

  "I'm still learning, but I'm going to go with it being prescient. We should have you drop into your own state for that before we leave, just to double check it all. You're so much better at that than I am."

  The woman simply was, but she demurred calmly and then winked.

  "You need the practice. You do have a point though. We could do it right now? Before we practice?"

  Gwen shook her head. "We can't. We're invited to tea. I couldn't tell if it was for a regular chat, or something more involved. I'm coming to collect you now, actually. If you want to come?" She could beg off and not be impolite, but you had to be careful with things like that. One refusal was fine, but two or three indicated that you didn't like someone. Ethyl was a nice woman though, so it was easier to just try to say yes all the time.

  "I'd love too. She always serves those wonderful biscuits, on top of being excellent company. Shall we?"

  "Let's." The word felt funny in her mouth and came out with a slight accent. Gwen had learned to fake one, in order to pretend to be Katherine for a long time, and now it just popped out. Beth, detective or not, didn't seem to n
otice it.

  Gwen did, and focused again, like she just had been, trying to find the girl in her head, and make sure she was staying dormant. If she wasn't, there was only one way for Gwen to hold her back.

  It wasn't something that she'd discussed with anyone, but if Katherine Vernor tried to take over, as evil as she was, as spoiled and despicable, Gwen wasn't going to let her do it. Well, she'd mentioned it to the girl in her head, who was stirring ever so lightly, listening to her thoughts.

  No, if the other girl ever got the upper hand, which was very possible, given that she was the actual owner of the body they were both in, then she would be stopped, permanently. Imagining the scene rather intensely, knowing that it would be seen, she envisioned taking the Crin that she'd been carrying, and putting the business end in her mouth, then reaching down and squeezing the odd handhold on it, causing her head to explode.

  True, that would mean killing herself, but if Katherine Vernor hadn't picked up on the fact that she'd really do it, then she wasn't very bright at all.

  Thankfully, she just whimpered a few times, internally, then went still again.

  Gwen knew that one of these days she wouldn't, and then they'd have to finish things, but for the time being, they seemed to have worked things out decently well.

  Chapter two

  "What I mean, is that, well... It's been a little difficult lately. Robert's business hasn't suffered, thankfully, but socially things aren't what they once were. We've been thinking about moving to one of the country estates for a time, to wait for things to pass. I simply don't want you to think that we're planning to abandon you Gwen. That isn't the case. You're welcome to join us, if you wish? I'd rather stay, but," Ethyl, who was only in her forties and rather well preserved at that, showing where Katherine got her looks from, stopped speaking altogether and waited for a reaction.

  Bethany merely nodded, her tiny china cup in her left palm. That was the proper way of doing it, and Gwen was mimicking the movement. She bought a little time to think by lifting her own and taking a sip of the still warm tea. She'd skipped the cookies, not wanting to risk her new body to being overweight. It was a gift, after a fashion, and she wasn't going to let it be ruined, unless circumstances demanded it.

  After a moment, she set her cup on the little saucer, and fixed Ethyl with a hard and rather cunning, she hoped, look.

  "No. You're both staying here." She looked at Beth and flipped her hands, then went on. "We'll Lizzy Borden the heck out of these people, and they won't know what hit them."

  Ethyl leaned in, looking interested suddenly, since it was a plan that didn't mean going to the country to hide. That had to be a good thing in her book, since the woman's only occupation seemed to be alternating between good public works and charity projects, and having the occasional dinner party. If at least once a social season was occasional. They had three of those a year, and it was just starting into the summer section. That generally meant garden parties and outdoor concerts, Gwen thought. Picnics even, but it would be weeks before the really nice weather started, if what she'd heard was correct.

  "Excuse me, but I don't think I understand? Whom is Miss Borden? Or is that a thing from your world? A kind of activity?"

  Gwen winked, and then smiled, because she'd finally managed to get it right. It felt like it, at any rate.

  "Goody, story time, and for once it isn't my turn to sit on the floor and listen." She held up her hand, ready to explain that little kids in schools had to do that, but oddly enough, both women merely nodded. Apparently everyone had story time. Even Westmorland kids.

  "Please, go on." The slightly older woman seemed interested enough, but she would have if Gwen had gone into a long discussion of the martial arts too, and the woman found that kind of talk not just boring, but bordering on rude. She was a master of social interaction however. It was fun to finally be able to add something to her own area of interest. It would probably be considered too crude, but it was better than running from the bullies. If you ran, they chased you. Always.

  If you fought, you might be hurt, but they'd think twice the next time they came for you.

  "It starts with a little rhyme, one that almost everyone knows where I come from. 'Lizzy Borden took and ax, she gave her mother forty whacks. When the ghastly deed was done, she gave her father forty-one.' This happened, the real event, some, I don't know hundred and twenty years ago? I'd have to look it up to be sure, but something like that."

  Ethyl, for some reason, didn't frown, and simply raised her head slightly, looking odd.

  "Are you going to give me and Robert those whacks then? Or... Do we hunt down our enemies and to it to them? I'm not certain that will help us seem more civilized and welcome in social circles particularly." She seemed relatively certain that Gwen wasn't planning on the first part at least, but poor Beth just looked baffled.

  "Ah, you see, that's the next part. Lizzie was put on trial for the famous murders, and actually found not guilty, but everyone knew that she'd done it, and the facts be damned. So she started her own campaign of social combat, and even though the little ditty remained to follow her for the rest of her years, she ended up becoming a major player in the entire nation's social structure. This was a long time ago, and people traveled hundreds, sometimes thousands of miles to attend her parties. She held one every Saturday, for years. Everyone that was anyone went to a Borden party, just to say they had."

  This got Beth to sit back a bit and look miserable, but Ethyl didn't. She actually leaned forward a little.

  "So, you suggest that Robert and I stay the season and confuse the issue with parties? Will anyone come?"

  Gwen shrugged and didn't correct it. "They'll pretty much have to, especially after you get your well connected friends to put the word about that you're having a 'ghastly and tacky' party, and that they're only going to see how you can manage to hold your head up at all, given everything. Everyone will come, just to see what you do. Save me a seat. For that matter, invite some Westmorlands. We'll even see if some of the ones that explode can come. That ought to get people going. Plus, they don't always get to go to nice parties. It will be good for them. I'll ask if Mr. Grimes can be my date." That was the family Solicitor, and one of her favorite people there. He actually explained things from time to time. He was too old for her, being in his fifties, but that's why it would be slightly shocking. Especially if she could get him to hold her hand in public.

  The equivalent would be her and him actually having sex in the middle of the ball room, back home. She was willing to risk it.

  Ethyl set her own tea down, hardly any of it being consumed at all, and stood suddenly.

  "I, excuse me please, I won't be but a moment." The speed she left at could mean almost anything, from her running to the bathroom, to her needing to attend to a fire in the kitchen. It was nearly a jog, which for her was positively rapid. Nearly undignified.

  Gwen glanced at Beth and shook her head, slightly worried. "Too much?"

  "Not at all. I don't know if it's the best plan, mind you, but she didn't seem upset. Excited I'd say."

  They chatted for a bit, going over the travel plans several times, in case they became separated. They had real tickets for all their transportation, and they would, she was assured, be able to get sleeping quarters on the various trains. They also had hotel accommodations, though they were referred to simply as sleeping arrangements. That might mean they were in a tent or something, or even outside, but they'd live, if that was the case, so she didn't ask about it. They were going to find a murderer, or murderers. Not a vacation.

  Charles, the butler, came a few minutes later, and bowed slightly at the door of the room. He was fit, had slightly silver hair, and was in his forties too, or looked a little old for his late thirties. He was some kind of ex-military special forces, unmarried and far too cute to be gay, Gwen decided again. Well, lucky men at least.

  "Miss Farris? Miss Westmorland? Mrs. Vernor has asked me to invite you to the Telestator r
oom? She's currently on with Agatha Longbranch?" That last was a question, but she actually got the meaning for once. He knew it was Agatha, and was asking, without doing it directly, if he needed to make up an excuse for her not to go and talk to the women. Because the man would totally lie for her, if needed. He was cool that way.

  Gwen smiled, doing it without thinking, which shocked her into a brief silence, since it was close to the first time that had happened. She did manage to recover before anyone asked her what was wrong. She stood and nodded.

  "Brilliant. I see the point. Yes, we should go and see if we can help."

  Agatha was a Newsie, which generally meant a person that read the news on the Telesar. Right before they laid into the people involved, as if they were Satan. She'd heard little children called morons, just for having very normal accidents by some of them. The level of Westmorland hate speech...

  Well, they actually had entire stations devoted to it. Given that there were only a few thousand of them in the entire world, it seemed a bit over the top, but everyone needed someone to dislike, apparently. This place didn't have Hitler after all. Or if they did, he'd found his calling plumbing, or being a school vice-principal. Something that would fit his overall character better than genocide. At least she hoped so.

  Though poor kids, if he'd run their school. All that saluting and marching...

  Agatha Longbranch was a local, so they'd actually met several times. More than that, the woman was actually decently nice, for a Newsie. She never, ever called names, letting her disapproval only show in her tone, which was generally a bit matronly, but not uncaring. Ethyl however had gone to school with her. They were friends. And if anyone knew about how to engineer a social gathering under harsh conditions, it would be her. Really, they should have thought of it two months earlier, but this might work better, people having had a chance to finally realize that the terrorists were gone, and that they were safe again.