Van Helsing cracked a wry smile. “And I suppose the limb laying back there belongs to Goldilocks?”
“L-la-limb?” Cunningham’s jowls began to quiver. He was a reliable man, even if he did have a bit of a yellow streak.
“Let’s have a look,” the Inspector illuminated the lantern he carried at his side. “Lead the way, Doctor.”
The bloody appendage lay a short way down the tracks. It was a hideous thing. Larger than belief and covered in black hair, with gnarled claws in the paw. Severed at what looked like the pubis bone, the muscles seemingly infused with raw power.
Van Helsing unfolded a charcoal outline of a large lupine footprint. He pressed it to the paw. “A perfect match. It belongs to the Vârcolac I have been hunting.”
The Inspector frowned as he moved his light across the tunnel floor. “Then who do those belong to?”
Another set of prints ran against a muddy patch near the back wall. They were slightly smaller, but the long claws belonged to a no-less deadly creature.
Lighting a torch, Van Helsing bent to examine the second set of prints. “Who indeed.”
“Perhaps it is as you predicted, Doctor.” The Inspector paced out the distance of the animal’s stride. “One of the males has challenged the other. The loser may not have just lost a leg; it may have been killed by its own kind.”
“Unlikely.” Van Helsing extinguished his torch.
Cunningham tried to ignore the bloody shank. “Why unlikely? It makes perfect sense to me.”
Van Helsing sighed. “I wish it were so. But these prints belong to a juvenile or a female perhaps.”
The Inspector set down his lantern to consult his notes. “I thought we killed the only female long ago. How could there be another one?”
The hunter gritted his teeth. “They must be breeding. That means there are at least three Vârcolacs.”
Suddenly, a young constable called out, his lamp jiggling as he hurried down the tracks. “Detective Inspector!”
“What is it, Constable?” The Inspector wiped his hands on his pants.
Breathing hard, the lad rattled out some hasty words. “Derby Gate…Constable Nevil…another murder.”
The Inspector’s lip twitched. Derby Gate was close. The werewolf had moved on and was continuing to kill. Using his handkerchief, the Inspector laid hold of the werewolf’s leg. “Take this…evidence back to my office at once and lock it in the safe.” He looked uncertainly at Cunningham. “Can you make the run back to the Horse Guard?”
Cunningham straightened, minimizing the paunch showing beneath his coat. “Yes, sir!”
The Inspector nodded. If Cunningham said he could do it, then he would. “Have them ready three of their fastest mares.”
The two constables pounded down the tracks, the younger man pulling ahead slightly.
Loading his revolver, the Inspector looked to Van Helsing. “Are you armed?”
Van Helsing shook his head, indicating no. The Inspector glared at him until the hunter smiled. “Always.”
The Inspector and Van Helsing emerged from the tunnel at Westminster Bridge Station. Three horses from the Royal stables stood saddled and ready. Cunningham held their reigns, looking a little winded. All three mounted without delay and began trotting towards Derby Gate.
After a hectic ride, the three men met a wall of constables. Parting like water at the sight of their superior officer, they reformed their blockade behind them as they passed.
As the ranking officer, Constable Stoker approached to give his report. “Right mess, this one, Inspector.”
The Inspector dismounted, handing his reigns over to the man. “Similar pattern as the others?”
“Well, not exactly,” Stoker scratched his cheek and spat on the ground. “The victim was a young gentleman this time. He wasn’t so much torn apart as, well…eaten.”
“Were there any witnesses?” asked the Inspector.
“An old woman saw the attack from her house window.” Stoker lowered his voice to a hush. “It wasn’t the black one. There was a nearby lamp post to see by, and the witness swears the creature had brown fur.”
“Then it’s true.” The Inspector removed his notepad and began underlining some notes while crossing out others. “There are more than one.”
“There’s something else,” Stoker said with a fearful look on his face. “She swears by the Lord Almighty that the thing was…was talking to the man before killing him.”
Van Helsing crossed himself. “I have heard one of the Vârcolacs speak as well. Their voices are foul, twisted utterings. What intrigues me the most is why we haven’t seen the others until now. The black one kills almost every night, but these two others have only emerged to hunt on the night of the full moon.”
His pen running dry, the Inspector withdrew another from his waistcoat. “Let us not forget that Constable Cunningham has observed the black one during the day. Do these other two only hunt at night?”
Van Helsing unstrapped the crossbow at his hip. “I don’t plan to let them live long enough to find out.”
CHAPTER 13.
A
FRAGILE ALLIANCE
Dorian found Sage the next day in a corner stall of the Spitalfields market. The stall displayed several paintings for sale, but had scant other potential customers. Dorian was just about to place a hand on her shoulder when a dagger kissed the nape of his throat.
“There’s no need for that, Majaris,” Sage said without turning. “He means me no harm.”
Dorian risked a sidelong glance at the beautiful woman holding a knife to his throat. She hesitated several seconds too long before finally lowering the weapon.
“Ar trebui să-l ucidem și să fim terminați.” Majaris sheathed the dagger and folded her arms.
“I didn’t quite catch that,” he said, though it was clear what the woman’s intention was.
Sage turned slowly, giving Dorian a sad smile. “She thinks you beyond redemption.”
He saw something of the Sage he remembered in the look of recognition on her face. “And what do you believe?”
Sage turned back to look at the shimmering oil landscape to her left. “It’s one of my earliest works. They say an artist’s paintings become ten times more valuable after their death, yet it sits here unwanted and at a deep discount.”
Dorian swallowed as the nick on his skin healed, leaving a small drop of blood.
She turned back suddenly, searching his face with her eyes. “But there is beauty in it still. I could never abandon something I helped to create. Perhaps, with my help, it could find its way home.”
She embraced him then, ignoring the scowl from Majaris. Dorian stiffened, still unable to believe his eyes—until he remembered just how a hug from Sage felt: tentative and warm, soft yet loving. He relaxed immediately, pulling her close to him.
After a few moments, Dorian unwillingly released her. “I’m so sorry for all that has happened. I have no excuse for what I have done. But you must believe me that I have changed. It’s as if I have my soul back.”
Sage blinked back the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “I know how that feels. We need to work together to stop the creature, but first I need to know what has happened—since my death.”
Shadowed closely by Majaris, the two left the stall and walked a few blocks to a pub named E Pellicci. They sat at a quiet table in the back and each ordered an Italian coffee. Sipping the roasted brew, they enjoyed the rich layer of yellow cream as they talked. Dorian told her everything—skimming quickly over his descent into evil. He tried to make sense of events after being eaten alive and Shuvani Ingraham’s failed attempt to separate him entirely from the creature. Sage was grief-stricken at the news of her old friend Lady Helena’s disappearance.
The two women were in awe as he explained his new abilities. Sage handed him her iron ingot, and he crushed and reformed it with his bare hands.
Dorian handed it back and folded his hands. “I have come away with a newfound
morality, a desire to stop killing.”
“I believe you. What about Luna?” Sage asked.
Dorian frowned. He related the appearance of the brown female werewolf and the attack on the black werewolf in the train tunnel. “But I don’t know anything more about Luna.” He didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth about Lady Helena’s fate.
Majaris broke her silence. “I have questions over this remarkable ‘transformation’ of yours…What did you do during the war? What brought about this miraculous change in character? How do you plan to control your thirst for blood and stop the animal urges that come upon you during the full moon?”
Dorian responded patiently and honestly, omitting some of the private details, like his promise to Shen. “I have some questions of my own. Sage, how did you survive? What did you mean that you have new powers too? How can you possibly think all of this death and destruction is your fault instead of mine? And what is Majaris’ connection in all this?”
He accepted what Sage had to say in return. Dorian was just relieved to have her back in his life, a true friend to replace all those who had betrayed him. He would never let harm come to her ever again. After what seemed like hours, the three sat silently digesting everything they had shared.
“We are stronger together,” Sage declared. “What we need now is a plan. If I can determine where the next attack will be, we have to be ready.”
CHAPTER 14.
T
HE DUKE’S MASQUERADE GALA
Dorian and Sage rode together in an enclosed carriage pulled by an all-white team of Kochlaini Arabian horses. Decorated with emeralds and gold trim, it was a costly expense designed to grant them immediate access to Duke of Berwick’s exterior gate. With the death of his father, the newly anointed Duke was heralding his rise with an exclusive Masquerade Gala—and they did not have an invitation.
Sage had been thoughtful enough to safeguard a deposit box at the London Midland Bank prior to her death. She had enough bank notes stored to cover any of their expenses. Dorian looked the part of a wealthy young businessman with a tailless grey-silk tuxedo and trousers. Underneath he wore a red silk lapel and shawl collar.
“Did you hear what I said, Dorian?” Sage asked.
“I’m sorry, no,” he certainly did not seem to. Sage was a vision, sitting on the purple velvet bench across from him in a white bell-shaped gown that hugged her curves in all the right places. She wore it with long lace sleeves that peaked at the shoulder, and had elected for the less conservative plunging neckline in the Romani style—a decision that Dorian apparently agreed with.
Catching his glance at her bosom, Sage cleared her throat. Dorian’s eyes shot back to her face and she continued speaking, “As I was saying, we have to get our stories straight.” She reviewed their identities for the third time—with a slight smile on her lips. It had been a long time since she had gotten that type of attention from Dorian Gray.
The ruse worked well, their driver swiftly bypassed the guard at the main gate. They donned their masks. Dorian wore the fierce likeness of a wolf, and Sage a graceful swan complete with feathers, a long neck elegantly extending swooping above her head. At the main steps, a footman assisted Dorian in guiding Sage into the limelight and towards the arched entryway. The double iron doors were open, but the threshold remained blocked by the Duke’s valet who was carefully checking invitations.
The butterflies smacking the inside of her stomach turned into crows as they approached the front of the line.
“Invitation, s'il vous plaît,” the valet murmured.
Dorian and Sage looked at each other blankly.
“Your invitation, PLEASE.” A look of annoyance crossed his face.
This was all part of the plan. Sage turned to Dorian, “Idiot! Don’t tell me you forgot the invitation, AGAIN.”
Dorian raised his hands in protest, “Now, Ursula, I distinctly remember you saying that YOU wanted to hold the invitation so I didn’t lose it.”
Sage smacked him on the shoulder. “If I had the invitation, then it wouldn’t be lost, now would it?”
The valet cut in, “Monsieur and Madame, if you do not have an invitation, I really must insist—“.
But Sage didn’t give the man time to finish. “How dare you! I am Ursula Wood, you fool. The Duke has commissioned me to paint his likeness to hang in Berwick Hall alongside his father’s.”
“I don’t think so.” Not so easily fooled, the valet began to motion for the guards.
Sage had foreseen all the different ways this exchange could go. Several ended with them turned away, and one with them in irons. She couldn’t let that happen.
Sage became outraged. “Oh, so you don’t think a woman has any place outside of the home?”
The valet grimaced. “Not at all, Madame.”
“Not at all, he says!” Sage raised her voice, gaining the attention of the other guests. “They warned me about you. Milo Demaret, is it? It’s foreigners like you who have set back woman’s suffrage for years.”
A scowl appeared on several of the other ladies’ faces, a fact that Demaret took notice of. “Pardonne-moi, I really don’t think—“
“Oh, you don’t think a woman can paint? I’ll have you know I attended the Royal Academy and was mentioned in The Times.” She turned and motioned to her carriage. “You there, footman! Unload my brushes and easel from the baggage and I will paint Mr. Demaret’s portrait, here and now.”
Demaret looked flabbergasted. Now it was Dorian’s turn. “Look here, the Duke will hear of this insult to my sister. We are to negotiate a large shipment of silk from Canton for the Duke’s personal wardrobe on the morrow.” Demaret began to look worried as Dorian continued, staring closely at his fine silk garments. “If this is a representation of your household’s behavior, perhaps I will reconsider other offers.”
They were immediately waved through to profuse apologies. After all, Demaret had a family of four to feed and could not afford dismissal from the Duke’s service.
They walked through a hallway filled with ornate gas lamps. Passing several doorways, they strode into the main ballroom. It was as beautiful as Dorian remembered, though he tried not to dwell on the last time he had been here. The Duke had distinctly different tastes from his father, removing the statues and fountains from the center of the room. In their place sat what could only be described as a jungle.
The Duke had brought in giant ferns and creeping vines for the gala. The wood floor glistened with the fresh paint of individual blades of grass. An actual river babbled down the center, lit from beneath a glass bottom and filled with bright colored fish and frogs. Dorian knew at least one of the species to be poisonous.
Two small chimpanzees wandered around, handing out frozen bananas to guests under the watchful eyes of their handlers. Ornamental ice cream bombes and spun sugar shaped as massive flowers sat atop vine-covered pillars. A fine selection of cotillion games were scattered around the room, with lavish prizes to be won. The guests proved the most flamboyant of all, each sporting bright colors as they hid their faces behind animal masks.
The Duke of Berwick mingled at the center of it all, his face partially hidden by a roaring lion’s face with a golden mane flowing down his shoulders. He was truly king of his domain. One might not have known who was behind the disguise, except for the prominently displayed fortune in jeweled rings he wore. That and the ostentatiously heavy gold chain about his neck displaying his family crest.
Majaris floated by, proffering a tray of delicate hors d'oeuvres behind the guise of a servant dressed as a Capuchin monkey. “Finally. I’ve been here for over two hours. What took you so long?”
“Sage spent forever preening.” Dorian selected one of the angels on horseback. The salty oyster always paired well when wrapped in bacon. “What have you been able to find out?”
The angry monkey moved the tray away as Dorian reached for a second helping. “Not much. I’m not supposed to speak to the guests.”
Do
rian spun behind her and grabbed a second oyster. “Shouldn’t Sage be able to use her psychic sight to know if one of the guests is the werewolf?”
Sage hissed, “I’m still new to this. It took a great deal of energy to discern where to go and how to get in. I don’t even know which of the werewolves will be here.”
Sage chose one of the coconut prawns and delicately nibbled at it. “If we find the black werewolf, I will need some power in reserve to help you stop it. Can’t you just sniff him out?”
Dorian colored. “Normally, yes. But there are too many strange smells in here. Have you smelled chimpanzee at ten times the normal sensitivity? Besides, have you gotten a whiff of the perfume the Duchess of Devonshire is wearing? It’s overpowering everything.”
Sage laughed. “Very well. Let’s get a lay of the land then.”
“I would be honored to escort you, my lady.” It was exhilarating to hear Sage laugh again.
Rolling her eyes, Majaris moved on to investigate another tittering couple as she plied them with food.
Taking her by the hand, Dorian felt a thrill of excitement as they took their position on the dance floor. He placed his right hand firmly on Sage’s shoulder blade and cupped her left hand in his own. The orchestra was playing a new version of “Varsouvienne”. The steps of the Waltz flooded back to him as Dorian deftly adapted to the movements of the other dancers, spinning Sage artfully across the floor.
They were both laughing and breathing hard by the time the song finished. A touch of color had reached Sage’s cheeks. “Thank you, Dorian. I haven’t danced like that in a long time. We really should return to our search though. If we split up, we might cover more ground?”
His face fell for a moment. “Of course. Wise plan. Whoever finds the werewolf first should alert the other with a telepathic thought.”
“You can do that in human form?” Sage asked.
Dorian nodded. “You are the most dazzling woman here.”
Box Set: The Wolf of Dorian Gray Series: Books 1-3 Page 37
