London Calling

by Sorcha Mowbray

  “Mr. McRae,” she implored. Her heart pounded. Her blood sang through her veins.

  “Shh.” He nipped her neck. “Watch.” He splayed his hand across her belly. The muscles rippled as the heady tang of her scent thickened, tempting him.

  Ezra opened the door and stepped out into the full moon of the night. He pulled his shirt from his body then did the same with his pants, placing them in the box near the door. Naked, he crouched to the ground as the first contraction struck his frame, contorting it. With each snap of bone, his body realigned, lowering until the black beast stood before them on all fours.

  “Miss Craig, this is Mr. Blakely’s true form.” Jonah motioned to the wolf standing before them.

  She stared at him for a moment, then took a step forward. “I’ve heard tales. Read, pieces. But, I have never seen a werewolf up close.”

  Ezra curled his lip and growled. His yellow eyes glowed with malice.

  “I believe we should be going. No time to waste,” Jonah said, drawing her attention from the wolf.

  “Sorry. Yes. Please.”

  *

  When they arrived at the dock, the Metropolitan officers were still talking to people standing near the area where the woman’s body lay. Miss Clara and the man whom he believed Miss Craig named, Mr. Lloyd, waited nearby. If Mr. Tinnin was in the area, he kept himself hidden to those who might try to find him.

  Annabelle left his side and went straight to her team. If he wanted to intrude and listen to their conversation, he could, but chose not to. After this evening’s affairs, she deserved a moment. He hadn’t meant to tell her about the sunrise. It spilled out. For the first time in almost three hundred years, he’d witnessed the sunrise through her eyes. He didn’t have the proper words to describe it. Beautiful seemed too bland for the event.

  An edge of foreboding had the hairs on his nape standing at attention, pulling him from his revelry. Mr. Tinnin. He glanced over his shoulder, and caught the imposing shadow of the man. Jonah left the throng of people and followed the unhinged fellow. When Jonah rounded the cobblestone alley, there he stood, leaning against the building, cigar hanging out of the side of his mouth.

  “Mr. Tinnin,” he murmured, knowing the men could hear him. “What have you found?”

  “A body,” he answered. “And a zombie-machination, I captured.” He hitched a large thumb over his shoulder toward a waste pile. “Saved it for the doctor.”

  “How bad is the body?” He cautiously made his way over to where the undead lay.

  “Horrible,” Mr. Tinnin answered. “Not proper for women to see, truth be told.”

  Jonah arched a brow. “Going soft on me, old man?”

  “Bah,” he growled. “Never, but if we must work with them, they shouldn’t see the bodies. It sours their meat.”

  There was the sadistic bastard they all knew. Jonah crouched down and examined the zombie. The cog-work heart clicked but didn’t move. The steam elbow joint hissed, however didn’t stir. Thin, grey skin covered the body, and clung to the boned remains of what once was. Yet, it didn’t stink of decay or death. Whoever made these things created an interesting automaton.

  “Mr. Tinnin,” he said, standing. “Please take this to Dr. Brew’s laboratory.”

  “What I get out of this?”

  “Another day of life, sir,” Jonah answered.

  “Fair enough.” The deranged man grinned. “And the woman?”

  “I’ll have Mr. O’Keefe bring her to the good doctor later.”

  “Very well.” The man stubbed out his cigar on the bottom of his bare foot before lumbering toward the inhuman remains.

  Jonah returned to the scene to join Annabelle and her compatriots. What was the purpose of killing women? Putting the fear of God into them made more sense, especially if the condition of the undead being fit the others. They were disgusting, vile things. It was apparent, from their rank and file movements, they had a hive brain. Jonah had so many unanswered questions.

  As he approached Miss Craig and her team, he smirked. They were in deep conversations about him.

  “You stayed?” Miss Clara hissed. “Why?”

  “Did he bite you?” Mr. Lloyd questioned.

  No, he hadn’t, however he wanted to. He cleared his throat and stepped to her. “Excuse me.”

  Annabelle gave him a sheepish look. “Mr. McRae, I was just going over what we know.”

  “Of course,” he answered. “Well, if you’d like to retire to the manor, we should have some answers by tomorrow.”

  “How?” Miss Clara rested her hand on the modified pistol at her side.

  “Mr. Tinnin found the body, and the zombie. It’s on its way to Dr. Brew’s laboratory, while I’ll have Mr. O’Keefe pick up the body at the police station.”

  “You expect us to believe you’ll help us?” Mr. Lloyd glared at him. His blue eyes swirled with menace and hate.

  “I gave my word and my bond. I’m sure Miss Craig explained such.” He shrugged. “Either way, we’ll have answers shortly. Something we need if we’re going to stop these incidents from happening.

  The man frowned but nodded. “How long before we have an answer?”

  “By sunset tomorrow, at the latest. As I stated to Miss Craig, my house is of service to you, if you wish to use it.”

  Miss Clara and Mr. Lloyd looked to Annabelle. His beloved squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “Mr. Lloyd, send word to the rest of our team. We will be staying with Mr. McRae for the foreseeable future. We have a case to solve and we need all the help we can obtain.”

  The man touched her arm, and Jonah had to rein in his desire to snap Donovan’s neck. “Are you sure about this, Annabelle?”

  “Yes, Donovan,” she replied. “Quite. So far, Mr. McRae has been right about these attacks. I believe teaming up with him will give us the best shot at taking down whoever is wreaking this havoc upon us.”

  “Then we will meet you there.” He paused. “Where is there?”

  Jonah smirked. “I will send a carriage to fetch you.” He placed his hand on her arm. “If there’s nothing else, I’d like to head to Dr. Brew’s lab.”

  Annabelle nodded. “I agree. We will meet you at the manor just before sunrise.”

  Miss Clara squeezed her hand. “Be careful.”

  “I promise, nothing will happen to your friend. You have my word.”

  Miss Clara gave a humorless chuckle. “Your head on my pike is my assurance, Mr. McRae.”

  When Miss Clare was out of eavesdropping range, Jonah turned to his beloved and muttered, “She is a deadly woman. I can see why you call her friend.”

  9

  Annabelle arrived with Jonah at his mansion, while the others were gathering their supplies to meet at the manor. When the massive, ornate door closed, leaving them all but alone in the house, she turned to him.

  “I feel I must apologize for my friends,” she said, slightly ashamed of her friends’ behavior.

  Jonah cocked a brow, watching her for a long moment before he responded. “No apology is needed, Miss. Craig. I assure you.”

  “Please feel free to call me Annabelle,” she stated as she removed her coat before walking into the library.

  “It will be my pleasure.” He paused. “Annabelle.” He drawled out her formal name with a smoothness that had her shivering in need.

  She clenched her thighs together, determined to ignore her response to him. Instead, she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Finding out who brought the horde of zombies to life and activated the ley lines.

  “I do not expect acceptance overnight. After all, I am a vampire.” He flashed her a smile, revealing his wicked canines, as if she needed a reminder.

  If his intent was to scare her off, it had the opposite effect. She desired him even more. Flashes of him sinking those teeth into her bared neck flowed through her mind. He groaned, pulling his coat over his hips.

  “Perhaps. It does not make it correct though. I remained in your home most of the
day and survived unscathed. This should be all the proof they need.”

  “Not totally untouched,” he reminded her.

  She rubbed her slightly swollen lower lip as her gaze found his across the room. He ensnared her. Entranced her.

  How long they stood as such, she had no knowledge of it, nor did she care. Her friends would say Jonah mesmerized her with his powers. She knew different. This had nothing to do with him being a vampire and everything to do with him being a man and the undercurrents of desire they felt for each other. It radiated off him in waves, flowing over her, mixing with her own need.

  If it was not for hearing the front door opening and the sound of heavy footsteps, announcing the arrival of someone into the foyer, she would have found herself upon the table in front of her, and Jonah between her thighs.

  Fucking her.

  She would have offered no resistance to him taking her either. She’d have been a willing participant, even baring her neck to him, allowing him to drink from her without a whisper of protest on her part.

  None of it happened. It would at some point; she knew this, as did he. She saw the knowledge in his gaze.

  Jonah broke eye contact first.

  Emmitt loomed in the doorway; he glanced between Jonah and her. She swore she saw a look of regret in Emmitt’s soulful brown eyes. But why?

  “Pardon me, Jonah.” Emmitt acknowledged her with a head nod before turning his attention back to Jonah.

  “It is all right, Emmitt,” Jonah assured him.

  Jonah’s slightly husky voice when he addressed Emmitt had her shivering in anticipation. Would it be the voice he would use when he buried himself within her body?

  Jonah abruptly pivoted toward her, his grey eyes dark and stormy with desire.

  Perhaps it would be best if she learned to keep her wayward thoughts to herself. Especially as it seemed Jonah could sense or read them.

  Emmitt cleared his throat before continuing. “The rest of our team, as well as Annabelle’s, should be here momentary.”

  Bowing her head, she scrutinized her boots as if they were the most fascinating thing in her world.

  “Thank you, Emmitt. When they arrive, show them in here,” Jonah said.

  “It might behoove everyone, if you deal with whatever is brewing between the two of you sooner rather than later.”

  “It will be dealt with, as you so eloquently stated, when the time is correct. Not a moment sooner,” Jonah snapped.

  Her head jerked up at Jonah’s tone. It became quite clear Emmitt was referring to Jonah and her. She had not thought they were so obvious.

  The front door opened again, and footsteps drew near the open library door. Ezra was the first to step through the doorway. He paused, sniffed the air, and his face crinkled with disgust.

  “Open a damn window or two in here, it stinks of lust,” Ezra growled.

  Although she never considered herself a whimpering miss, she could feel her cheeks heat with embarrassment at Ezra’s blunt words.

  Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she could not detect what the werewolf spoke of.

  “You might want to quit while you are ahead,” Emmitt warned. “He is holding on by a thread.”

  “It might be best if I stepped from the room for a moment,” Jonah announced as he zipped out the door in a blink of an eye.

  “Is he…all right?” she asked.

  “He will be once he fu—”

  “That will be enough, Ezra,” Emmitt chided. “This is his issue to resolve and we need to remain out of it.”

  She wanted to question what they were speaking about and she wanted to find out where Jonah had gone. She did not, for the simple fact that she suspected neither man would be forthcoming with her.

  The room quickly began to fill with Jonah’s team and he had yet to return. Unsure of her place within his crew, she waited quietly. Impatience filled her. She pursed her lips as Emmitt and Ezra conspired near the corner. The conversation between the men had become rather animated. Every once in a while, Ezra would glance her way and narrow his eyes before he returned his attention back to Emmitt. She suspected, rightly so, their conversation revolved around her.

  A loud knocking on the front door had Emmitt lumbering away from the corner and out toward the front door.

  She smiled when she heard Charlie’s voice and Clara’s.

  Reinforcements had finally arrived and would provide a welcome distraction from Jonah.

  As if he heard her thoughts, Jonah’s large frame appeared in the doorway first. He appeared more relaxed than when he left and her breath hitched as he scrutinized the room with keen interest, then stopped when it landed on her. A smile of pleasure and wickedness tugged at his lips.

  He stepped into the room and headed directly to her, holding out his hand to her. Annabelle took it with ease. A moment later, Clara and Charlie stepped into the room.

  “This library is more impressive than The London Library,” Clara proclaimed as she studied the shelves filled with book after book. “Tell me you read some of these the other night, Annabelle.”

  “I did,” she assured her friend, who brushed past Jonah and now stood beside her.

  “They even have a containment box.” Clara gleefully gestured to the large box above the table in the middle. “I have been asking for one for some time, you know.”

  “I am aware. Could we speak about this at another time?” she teased.

  “Why would you need a containment box?” Ezra demanded, strolling from his spot in the corner, closing the distance between he and Clara. If her friend noticed, she gave no indication. She was oblivious to anything but the vast number of manuscripts housed in the mansion’s library.

  Clara held up her hand. “I am a witch,” she announced, clearly not sensing the shift of tension in the room.

  “Bloody fucking hell,” Ezra growled. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”

  “It is either bloody hell or fucking hell, not both. You Americans have no concept of how to curse the correct way,” Mr. Tinnin stated from the window. “Why would you care if she is a witch or not, Ezra?” The deranged man smirked.

  “Enough. Need I remind you we have guests,” Jonah barked. “And the city is being overrun by a horde of zombies. Where is the doctor?”

  Ezra hitched his thumb toward the deranged man. “He isn’t ready for the good doc to take over quite yet.”

  “I had to see the women for meself,” Mr. Tinnin drawled. “My, what tasty morsels they are. Good evening, ladies.”

  Annabelle rolled her eyes. “May we continue, sir?”

  Mr. Tinnin shrugged.

  “Continue, Miss Clara,” Jonah stated.

  “It is black magic,” Clara replied. “The night the ley lines were activated I felt it…felt him.”

  “To feel the lines being opened, wouldn’t you have to practice black magic yourself, witch?” Ezra sneered.

  Annabelle glanced to Jonah, who was watching Ezra with interest.

  What was she missing?

  “I know of black magic, sir. Every witch, good or otherwise does. Without the knowledge of black arts, we wouldn’t understand the difference between good and evil, or what to stay away from,” Clara answered, seemly unconcerned with the large man standing in front of her.

  “Would you perhaps have a copy of Homer’s Odyssey anywhere in this library?” Clara glanced over her shoulder at Jonah.

  “Do we?” Jonah cocked a brow at Emmitt.

  “We do,” Emmitt replied, moving over to the wall furthest from the window and searching till he found what he was looking for. He then removed a leather-bound book.

  Before he could even make it back to Clara, Ezra snatched the book from his hands and then handed it to her friend, who’d taken it without even addressing the surly werewolf.

  “Why the Odyssey?” Emmitt inquired of her friend.

  “It has many references to necromantic rituals. I thought it might be helpful since I believe it is a necromancer who has ca
lled up the horde and activated the ley lines,” she stated before she opened the book. “Most of these rituals are performed around a fire pit after dark at cemeteries or in mausoleums. The rites last for hours and include the drinking of blood from sacrificial animals.”

  “Vampires?” Donovan declared.

  Clara shook her head, not bothering to look up from her search of the book. “Drinking of blood does not equate to a vampire. During the Middle Ages those who were necromancers were usually male Christian clericals who used specific recipes and recited specific prayers to the gods of the underworld. It is my thought, maybe, whoever is responsible is relying on the old ways. We should continue searching the local cemeteries. I am almost positive we’d find hints of the ceremonies, at least one if not more. One is never too careful.”

  “What type of clue might he have left behind?” Jonah questioned.

  “It could be a great many things.” Clara closed the book.

  “Like what, witch?” Ezra demanded.

  Her friend frowned, finally seeming to notice the surly attitude of the man standing in front of her.

  “We could find magic circles, wands, or talismans around grave sites anywhere near a body that has been buried within the last twelve months.” Clara cleared her throat and took a moment. “We might also find more…morbid acts, since raising the dead can be a messy business.”

  “Do we honestly want to take advice from a witch?” Ezra reached out, grabbing the book from Clara’s hands.

  “This witch, as you have repeatedly called her, has at least given us a place to start,” Annabelle countered.

  “I have a detailed map of the city, with every cemetery in and around London,” Charlie announced, his mechanized voice echoing through the room.

  All eyes turned to look at the automaton, his silver and copper body glimmering in the gas lit room.

  “That sounds bloody morbid, if you ask me,” Mr. Tinnin interjected. “I like it.”

  They all ignored him.

  “I asked him to gather the information for me,” Norah stated with a shrug. “It seemed like a good resource to have when we are tasked with hunting monsters every night.”

  “Can you return to your home and gather those maps?” Jonah asked.