London Calling

by Sorcha Mowbray

  “He never listened to me. Each member of our team, Miss Clara, takes an oath. I offer redemption for those who might not feel worthy of such. Mr. Wright didn’t see the point sometimes.”

  “What sent him away?”

  “I found him dissecting bodies.” Omer frowned. “He had the ability to raise the dead. Curious about his abilities, I suppose, he began to take them apart while they were…undead.”

  Annabelle paled. Miss Clara placed her automaton hand over her belly. The man gave Mr. Tinnin a run for his money. “Fits. If you stop to think about it. The entire zombie horde has added machinations. A cog heart. A steam powered arm. He is experimenting on the bodies he is raising, adding to them.”

  Mr. Lloyd scrubbed his chin. “What gave you the idea he died, though?”

  “Our connection snapped. I carry a mental link with each person who accepts my oath. On the day I believed he died, the connection severed.”

  “A witch could break it,” Miss Clara announced. “A simple spell to mask it, or undo it.”

  Omer seemed to consider her words. “Perhaps. It could also be why we can’t find him.”

  “Where did you find him, Omer?” Jonah crossed his arms. The idea that one of them, former or not, was terrorizing the city, made his blood boil and wasn’t that interesting. Curiouser, his skin had been a bit warmer than the normal chill he experienced.

  “The cemetery. Near the park. Of course, it wasn’t a park when I came upon the derelict man.”

  “Where we followed the first faction of the horde,” Ezra reminded them.

  “Interesting,” Jonah whispered.

  “There are a few mausoleums that are open,” Dr. Brew said. “Mr. Tinnin said as much. Claims one is devoid of caskets.”

  Jonah arched a brow and glanced at Omer. “The beginning?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Annabelle looked at the map. “The cemetery is an x on the map and a point the pentagram. We have at least two days before he’ll strike again according to the schedule he’s been keeping. We should take a look around.”

  “Lay a trap,” Mr. Lloyd muttered. “Catch this bastard and break the curse.”

  “I agree,” Miss Clara said. “I can reverse the incantation, but I need the necromancer’s blood to do so.”

  “Since you know what you must do,” Omer stated. “I will take my leave.” He glided toward the door. “Mr. Tinnin, Mr. Blakely and Mr. O’Keefe will be your strongest members. Use them to draw out Mr. Wright. Mr. Dunn, Mr. Charlie, and Mr. Nealy should be there when he is flushed out. The rest of you should stay away. You can be manipulated.”

  Jonah agreed. After the first night, he couldn’t imagine what would happen if he were out and the spell was rejuvenated. Or worse: if Miss Craig was hurt by him, he’d never forgive himself and for sure he would walk into the sun. “Right. Tonight, we will investigate the cemetery, see if we can find the empty tomb, then tomorrow evening, we hunt.”

  “Agreed,” Annabelle stated. “Clara and I will work on the magical aspect of this investigation. Mr. Lloyd and Mr. Cantrel, please assist Mr. Blakely and Mr. O’Keefe with their enquiry.”

  “It would be nice if we could see Mr. O’Keefe,” Mr. Cantrel grumbled. “He enjoys a good spooking now and again.”

  A light chuckle came from the fireplace. A wisp of smoke curled around Mr. O’Keefe’s body. “It’s hard not pranking you lot. You’re so easy.”

  “Jack, put on some clothes,” Jonah snarled. “There are ladies present.”

  “It’s a waste. Can’t see me bollocks or me cock.”

  “Mr. O’Keefe!” Clara’s shrill, clipped tone rose the hair on the back of Jonah’s neck.

  Ezra growled. “Invisible or not, I will kill you.”

  Jack laughed. “I’ll put me clothes on. No humor whatsoever.”

  “I will keep him occupied,” Emmitt announced. “We have several more things to go over. How about I warm us a pot of tea and grab some treats so we may eat while we work?”

  About that. “Jerome, I am in need of a bottle of elixir.”

  Dr. Brew nodded. “I have one in my bag. I will grab it for you. Mr. Tinnin is getting restless as well.”

  “Let him out. Tell him to stay near the manor, but be vigilant for now,” Jonah answered.

  “Aye, he is agreeable. Thank you.”

  Jonah nodded. He would accept the platitude when they were victorious; until then he smacked the good doctor on the back as they exited the library. “Perhaps you can help me later, as a thank you.”

  “Deal.”

  11

  “Jack! Where the bloody hell are you?” Mr. Nealy hissed.

  “Right ‘ere,” Jack announced, chuckling when Lawson Nealy swung around looking for him.

  “You took your bloody clothes off again, didn’t you?” Mr. Nealy stared at the spot where Jack stood.

  “The ladies are no longer present,” Jack grumbled.

  Reaching out he touched Mr. Nealy’s sleeve, letting him know where he was. “We should start in the empty mausoleum and go from there.”

  “Agreed.”

  Being invisible had drawbacks. The biggest? People tended to walk right into him, which started the screaming, especially women. Some of them were frail. Weak of heart. Or, if they didn’t scream, they’d step on him and keep going, excusing their actions by brushing their skirts. Pissed him off when it happened. He had learned it was easier to walk behind a group. Unless of course he wanted to fook with them. Then he walked in front of, around or between them and to trip them up.

  “I’ll be goin’ first, make sure it’s empty,” he whispered. They had stopped at the corner near the iron gate door, which hung open, leading into the mausoleum.

  Moving past Mr. Nealy he slipped between the gate and into the cold marble building. A shiver of dread slid down his spine. He didn’t need anyone to tell him evil happened here, he could feel it.

  “It be clear,” he called out.

  Mr. Nealy appeared seconds later.

  “Is that blood?” Lawson pointed to an area in the corner where a bowl rested, stained in red.

  “Looks like it, yeah.” He cocked his head to the side. The back wall was off. As though the edges didn’t meet properly. Moving closer, he ran his hand down the slabs of marble and where they met each other. “Found something. I think it’s a hidden door.”

  “Think we can open it?”

  “Sure of it.” He gave a hearty shove and stepped away as the door flew open. “The real question is, who’s goin’ first?”

  The thick, heavy air reeked of death, along with rotting and decaying flesh. Pleasant. He gagged. The putrid smell made his eyes water. Lawson retched behind him, then groaned.

  “You found it, you go can go first,” Lawson proclaimed. He looked over his shoulder at the other man and pulled a handkerchief from his waistcoat, placing it over his nose.

  “That helping?”

  “No. Not really.”

  Lawson peered around him. “We do not require torches.” He pointed to the lower level where several were illuminated.

  “One thing to be grateful for, innit.” He breathed in through his mouth. It didn’t help. Now he tasted what he smelled. “Might as well get dis shite over with,” he grumbled as he stepped into the narrow walkway and took the stairs to the first landing.

  “Either I’m getting used to the putrid smell or it is easing,” Lawson muttered, as he joined Jack on the landing.

  He handed him one of the two torches perched on the wall above them. “I should ‘ave left me bloody clothes on.” Jack continued down the creaking, old wood steps. “I’ll ‘ave to soak in me tub for days to remove this bleeding smell.”

  “I will need to burn these clothes,” Lawson fumed. “Outside. Under the cover of darkness. So those around the house do not realize it is me.”

  He snorted. “Shite! No one needs ter see ya arse on da full moon.”

  It took them a while to meander down the old spiral stair case. When he h
it the final step, he breathed in through his nose. The ugly oppressive air dissolved, allowing them to breathe a bit easier. Holding the torch above his head, Lawson joined him, and their combined light pushed back the darkness to reveal what was buried under the cemetery.

  “Bloody hell,” Lawson cursed.

  He couldn’t have said it any better as he looked around the underground cavern—an ossuary to be exact.

  “This is just like the Catacombs of Paris,” Lawson murmured as he moved his torch around in the dark, dank tomb. Light flickered off the human skeletal remains tucked into large alcoves.

  “Never saw’em and ‘ave no desire to after seein’ this shite,” he stated. “It’s makin’ the hair on me neck stand up!”

  He shivered in disgust as mucky skull after mucky skull all but stared at him.

  “Let’s get moving.”

  They walked through the endless tomb, creeping farther into the underbelly of the cemetery. A sense of foreboding settled over him. Like walking over his own grave, even though it didn’t exist. Lawd above! I swear I’m never se’in’ foot in’er cemetery ever again.

  “See that?” Lawson moved his torch further in front of him.

  “Yeah.”

  Spread out in front of them was a room. Littered around the room on display were the items Clara described might be found around where the black magic was performed.

  “This be the spot,” he declared.

  Crouching down, he traced the magical circle etched deep into the rock with his gaze. Lawson stepped over the circle and went to the slab of marble dead center in the circular room.

  “Is that a—”

  “Sacrificial stone would be my guess,” Lawson stated. “It’s coated in blood and I believe in the bucket are human remains.”

  “Bollocks!” he exclaimed, standing up and following Nealy.

  “The witch, Clara, she described this perfectly.” Lawson moved to the large box and placed his torch into an empty bucket. “This is where it’s happening. I’ve found all different machinations used to build the horde.”

  “Where are da zombies though?”

  “Not here, which means they are out and that doesn’t bode well for the citizens of London,” Lawson announced.

  “Good evening, Gentlemen,” the voice rumbled behind them.

  Turning, Jack held out his torch, lighting the darkness behind him. Nealy followed his lead and added the light of his torch. It wasn’t enough. All he could make out in the darkness was a shadowy figure in front of them.

  “I see you didn’t bring Mr. McRae. Pity,” he sighed. “Perhaps Omer isn’t as foolish as I suspected. If you haven’t figured it out yet, I am Lucian Wright.” The dark figure stepped into the light.

  Jack stood dumfounded at the man who appeared in front of him. The man, Lucian Wright, was exceedingly handsome. So, striking, one would not expect evil from such a man—till he examined the man’s eyes. Black, soulless eyes, holding zero emotion. Lucian was also dressed in all black, carrying a silver walking stick.

  Bloody hell, a fookin’ dandy, he was.

  “Tell me, exactly how long did it take Omer and his band of outcasts to figure out I was behind the horde?” Lucian arched a brow. “It seems he might be slipping in his old age.”

  “Bugger off,” Jack snarled.

  “Such a brave man, considering you are standing in my territory,” Lucian countered.

  “We aren’t afraid of the likes of you!”

  “You should be. But, alas, it’s not you I want.” Lucian smiled, his perfect façade slipping. “Tell Omer I’m coming for him and you all. In good time. Good evening.” His maniacal laughter echoed through the chamber as he disappeared.

  What the bloody ‘ell just ‘appened?

  How did he bloody disappear into thin air?

  “It was a projection,” Lawson answered.

  “So, he wasn’t really ‘ere? How’s that even fookin’ possible?”

  “A spell,” Lawson stated as he moved to the spot where Lucian had stood. “Black magic for sure. You can feel the remains of it lingering in the air.”

  “I’ve seen enough. We can go now,” he declared, following Nealy, except he didn’t stop, but continued back the way they came.

  “Jack,” Lawson yelled. “Slow down. Lucian doesn’t want us. Yet.”

  “Fook Lucian. This place bloody freaks me out. I need to get some fresh air in me lungs,” he called as he began to climb the stairs, his companion on his heels.

  The putrid, rancid smell came back with a vengeance when he hit the landing, stronger than before. It had a bitter, almost choking aftertaste that stuck in his throat and made his eyes water.

  Shoving the torch back in the sconce on the wall, he held his breath and traversed the last flight of stairs, bursting through the door out of the mausoleum.

  “Omer can assign another team the next time he wants any underground caverns explored.” He shuddered as the smell followed them.

  “He sent us, Jack, because Lucian cannot raise us from the dead.”

  “Well, if we die of that putrid smell, then ‘e can,” he snapped.

  “Let’s go update Omer.” Lawson smacked him on the shoulder. The phantom’s uncanny ability to see the unseen never ceased to amaze Jack.

  “Sounds like a plan.” He trailed behind his friend as they weaved their way around tombstones to the front gate.

  “Did you get your elixir?’ Annabelle approached Jonah the moment he stepped into his study.

  A deep frown formed between his brows. “Yes. You are quite safe now.” He continued to his desk, avoiding eye contact with her as he did.

  “At no time was I afraid, Jonah,” she assured him. Even though he seemed to worry about it, she knew deep down, he would never hurt her.

  “You are well?” He held the back of the chair in a death grip if she went by the stiffness of his fingers.

  “More than.” She crossed to his desk. “Omer came to see me.”

  “To warn you off?” He released his hold on the chair then sat.

  “No, quite the opposite in fact. He felt it would be smart to have a conversation with me about caring for myself after a feeding.” She paused, waiting till his gaze finally found hers. “He was very nice and reassuring. He said if I should have any questions, he was more than willing to help.”

  “Are you taking care of yourself?” Worry flickered through his gaze.

  “Yes. His instructions were very simple. Plenty of fluids, make sure I eat several meals a day with perhaps an extra serving of red meat and rest.” Nervous by his cold reception, she rubbed her moist hands down her pants. It wasn’t going exactly how she thought it would. He hadn’t even kissed her and his icy demeanor worried her. “All of which I have already taken care of.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Jonah, is there a problem?”

  Determined to not allow him to remain so remote, she stepped around the desk to be closer to him. He pushed the chair back and scrambled away, using the furniture almost as a shield to keep her from him. Was he afraid of her? She paused and watched him intently. His lips were compressed, his arms hung at his sides and his fists were clenched. He looked almost pained.

  “I know you said you obtained your elixir.” She cocked her hip and crossed her arms below her breasts. She swore he growled. “Did you actually take it?” she asked.

  “Yes. I did,” he hissed.

  “So why are you avoiding me?” He opened his mouth, and she knew he was going to deny it. “Do not try to tell me you are not.” She gestured to the chair he continued to hold in front of him.

  He sighed. “I was fine, damn it. The elixir seemed to be working. Until I stepped in here and scented you. Heard your heart beating, loud and strong. It is almost like I didn’t drink the damn potion ten minutes ago,” he admitted.

  “You could have simply mentioned this, rather than avoid me,” she gently admonished him. “How can I help?”

  “Keep your distance?”
>
  “Is that the opposite of what you require?” She moved from behind the couch over to the settee, where she sat and patted the area next to her. “Come sit beside me.”

  “Not a good idea at this moment, Annabelle,” he bit out.

  Her gaze dropped to his fists, where he was clenching and unclenching.

  “I am fully recovered from our previous activities. If you need to drink, you should drink. Fighting the craving will do you no good. I suspect it will just increase it.” She made it a point to keep her voice calm. Not because she feared Jonah. She didn’t. But she could sense, even see the beast lurking in his eyes.

  “I am only allowed to feed from humans once a month. Omer’s rules,” he stated.

  Made sense, but those humans weren’t his Beloved. Omer had explained it to her when he informed her of her care. Jonah might need to feed from her more often in the beginning. Omer thought Jonah’s need would ease off, and he would require less and less as time went by to sustain his need. His body would adjust, just as hers would.

  “I refuse to allow you to suffer.” She patted the area next to her again. “I trust you. You will stop when you’ve had your fill.”

  “Feedings usually go hand in hand with fucking.”

  “Omer also informed me of this,” she stated.

  “Is there anything Omer did not bother to inform you of?”

  “Yes. Your need makes you combative. I am well trained. Would you prefer to work off your aggression in a fight?” she asked.

  “Do you plan on staking me through the heart with those silver tipped stakes?” he inquired.

  She stood up, watching him as he moved to her. “Are you always this bloody mad? Or is it when you’re at your hungriest? You know they’re silver tipped, but you’ll put them to your chest. Daft, old man.”

  “Are you quite done?” He stopped in front of her, studying her face intently. She knew what he sought. A sign of fear. Well, she had none. “You never answered me. Do you intend to stake me?”

  “Only if you don’t get out of your foul mood.” She smiled sweetly up at him. “You need to feed from me. We both know it and it will help you focus.”