Hessians and Hellhounds

by Tilly Wallace

  “Exactly, Hannah. The legal system is only one form of justice. Wycliff and I can both access another sort to ensure the guilty party is punished.” Seraphina tilted her head at Wycliff and he nodded in agreement.

  The next few days dragged as they sought to make progress with the investigation. Protests in the streets continued. The imposition of a curfew upon the Afflicted was taken by many as proof they were dangerous and shouldn’t be allowed to roam free. Wycliff prowled the streets at night, ordered to enforce the curfew but left to determine for himself who was, or wasn’t, one of the Afflicted.

  That evening Hannah accompanied her husband, fascinated by how he allowed the hellhound to see through his eyes. If a soul resided within a person, he had told her, they emitted a pale yellow glow of the living, whereas the Afflicted were shadowed by their souls, attached to them by a silver strand. He scanned the mass of people, looking for souls trailing behind their bodies.

  Hannah stayed close to Wycliff as they navigated the evening traffic. London at night became an entirely different place than its daytime counterpart. Shadows smudged away the dirt and grime. Laughter and music replaced the cries of children and the poor, who sought a few coins from passers-by. Women wore more vibrant colours as they spun and danced with friends. Even the daytime odours of horse manure and coal smoke were overlaid with the sweeter hint of ripe fruit and wine.

  “You should not be out here,” he muttered as he kept her hand tucked in the crook of his elbow.

  They strolled the streets, doing what little they could to ensure the Afflicted remained safe in their homes. Since the imposition of the curfew, at least no one else had been destroyed by mage fire.

  “The women of the ton barely rise by midday and entertainments don’t start until after dark. It’s as though men in power know nothing about their wives and daughters.” Righteous indignation partly fuelled Hannah’s determination to accompany Wycliff. Why should a woman be stuck at home because a man could not control himself? “Not to mention how ridiculous it is to expect one man to monitor three hundred Afflicted—even if we knew all their identities. It is only because the Ministry allows it that we have the ensorcelled ledgers from Unwin and Alder. We cannot violate the Afflicted’s privacy by using the ledgers to make their identities known. Even then, what about those who have their needs met elsewhere?” Such was the height of her passion on the subject that she let go of Wycliff to speak with her hands. An oncoming group sidestepped to avoid her.

  “It does seem a rather poorly thought out plan,” Wycliff agreed. “Although I do understand the underlying sentiment of the Lords—they want to ensure the safety of their loved ones.”

  Hannah’s anger deflated somewhat at his tone. Safety had been her husband’s primary concern as he had tried to convince her to stay at home only this evening. “They order their wives and daughters to stay at home during the height of the season, and then hide when it comes to enforcing such a ludicrous rule. Do they expect Runners to stalk noble women and drag them back inside if they disobey?”

  “People are afraid, Hannah, and when they act from a place of fear, others will be hurt. Nash has roused the population against the Afflicted and they are a powder keg needing only a spark.” Wycliff steered her along another road.

  People clustered on a corner, and angry words drifted toward her. “They should all burn,” someone in the middle said in a strident tone. People agreed and shouted, “Burn the dead!”

  She shuddered. Part of her was disgusted that people were so ignorant or so lacking in their own minds that the untruths written by a reporter could sway them. What had become of society that people grabbed burning torches because of a few salacious paragraphs and didn’t stop to question for themselves?

  “We still do not know who is behind all of this, though we suspect a mage who is cloaking his actions,” she murmured. It was not beyond the realm of possibility that a mage might try to strike out at Seraphina. It had happened before and ended in her assassination. The bastion of white male mages did not take well to an outspoken dead woman in their midst.

  An approaching figure drew Hannah’s eye. The woman was trying to avoid attention, a grey cloak clutched around her, the hood drawn and pulled over her forehead. As she glanced up before crossing the road, the hood fell to one side and a lamp burning above illuminated her face.

  Hannah gasped. She recognised the furtive pedestrian. She tapped Wycliff’s arm and gestured with her head.

  “An Afflicted. Her soul follows closely behind,” he murmured in confirmation.

  They changed course to intercept the other woman.

  “Miss Knightley, it is not safe for you to be out.” Turmoil erupted in Hannah’s stomach. She hoped the woman had not agreed to meet a party of bucks again, earning a few coins by letting them slice her flesh to watch her skin heal before their eyes. An agreement with Unwin and Alder now met her needs. Hannah monitored the other woman’s remarkable condition as they tried to ascertain what kept her free of any signs of rot.

  Miss Knightley pushed back the hood and relief washed over her features. “Lady Wycliff. How fortuitous to meet you here. I know it is not safe, but your note said it was a matter of some urgency.”

  Hannah swallowed her next words, stuttered, then managed to say, “My note?” She glanced at Wycliff, in case he knew anything about such a communication.

  Miss Knightley searched in her pocket. “Yes. You sent it this afternoon and asked me to meet you in the booksellers’ lane at midnight.” She held out the slip of paper and Wycliff took it. Hannah was still frozen to the spot.

  “This isn’t your handwriting, Hannah.” He glanced around them and then angled the sheet for her to see.

  Hannah peered at the short missive in the moonlight. It urged Miss Knightley to meet her at the booksellers’ after dark, claiming to have made a discovery that would cure her symptoms. Hannah would never endanger the other woman by arranging such a meeting, nor would she engage in subterfuge if they had a cure. But she could imagine who would.

  Miss Knightley’s eyes widened. “But if you did not send it, who did?”

  A cold lump settled inside Hannah. “Those who seek to eradicate the Afflicted.”

  Miss Knightley gasped and one hand flew to her mouth. “You mean I am being lured to my…end?” She whispered the last word.

  “Let us move away from here. Put your hood back up, Miss Knightley. We need time to think.” Wycliff ushered them along the road and up into a hansom cab. He gave the driver instructions to where they had left Frank and the family carriage in a quiet area near Bond Street.

  “You mean there is no cure?” Miss Knightley whispered as they shared the cramped seat.

  “I am sorry. No.” Hannah could imagine the depth of the woman’s disappointment. But imagine if they had not met her by chance. The magnitude of Hannah’s horror at having another person’s horrid demise on her conscience knew no bounds. “We need to go ahead with the meeting. It is our chance to unmask them, Wycliff.”

  He stared out the window, his hand balled into a fist on his thigh. For a moment, she thought he might not have heard her and was about to launch into an argument as to exactly why they had to carry on, when he raised a hand.

  “I heard you, and I agree. Give me a moment to work out how to dangle my wife as bait without endangering her very existence.” He spoke with a heavy and somewhat resigned tone. Then he picked up her hand and kissed her gloved knuckles.

  “I can borrow Miss Knightley’s cloak, and we are of a similar height and build. We also have both Frank and Barnes waiting at our carriage, although I am not sure what assistance Barnes might provide.” They would need a safe location in which to secrete Miss Knightley until they could escort her home and out of the reach of the unknown assailant.

  “But Lady Wycliff, you cannot do this. It is too dangerous.” Worry lines pulled at Miss Knightley’s eyes.

  Hannah dug deep for a brave smile for a woman she considered a friend. “We must fi
nd the culprit before another innocent life is snuffed out. Besides, I think Wycliff and Frank will hover close to me. My concern is ensuring your safety.”

  “Stop here!” Wycliff called out.

  Hannah stared at the buildings, trying to recognise the area. A light burned above a shop front. As she squinted, she made out the items arrayed in the window at street level. A gentleman’s tailor. One who didn’t sleep and who would fuss over Miss Knightley—Daniel Brae, vampyre.

  “If you would accompany me, Miss Knightley, Daniel Brae will keep you safe until we return.” Wycliff offered his hand.

  Miss Knightley removed her cloak and bundled it up before passing it to Hannah. “Thank you, Lady Wycliff.”

  Then she stepped down to the road. Wycliff escorted the other woman up the stairs. More lights came on in the upstairs rooms and after a few minutes, Wycliff returned alone. “Brae will ensure her safety. I left the two of them exclaiming over the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée.”

  At least one Afflicted was saved from the mage fire this night. “I’m glad she will be safe. Now, what have you planned?”

  They met Frank at the family carriage, where Wycliff outlined his plan. “He will try to grab you, to use whatever immobilisation spell or potion he has. That will give Frank and I a chance to capture him.”

  While she knew both her husband and the monstrous Frank hid in the dark, a shiver of fear still crept along her limbs as she turned into the narrow lane. The buildings on either side leaned inward and narrowed the dim light of the moon and stars to a strip down the middle. Hannah slowed her step, not wanting to trip on the uneven cobbles.

  “Lady Wycliff? Are you here?” she called out in a tone that she hoped disguised her own. “The booksellers all appear to be closed?”

  Something scraped over the cobbles up ahead, and Hannah clutched the cloak tighter at her throat. Her heart hammered and would surely burst through the spell keeping it frozen in time. A shape detached itself from the shadows and padded toward her. Even in the low light, she made out the form of a large dog. No, a hound with glowing red eyes.

  For a second, relief surged through her, then it drained away. Wycliff was behind her, not in front. But as it neared, this hellhound didn’t look right. It wasn’t as large as her husband, nor did it have the same wispy, red-tipped fur made of smoke.

  Another hellhound? And if not, what? She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Nice doggy,” she rasped.

  A second shape emerged from the dark, taller and broader than Wycliff, but not of the same monstrous dimensions as Frank. Hannah stepped back and turned her face into the covering of the hood. “Oh. Excuse me,” she muttered and turned to walk away.

  “Stay right there, missy, or I’ll unleash the hound on you. One word from me and he’ll drag you to Hell,” the figure said, gesturing to his canine companion.

  The hound padded closer and issued a low growl.

  The clouds parted above, and a sliver of light wormed between the buildings. Silver flickered over the hellhound and it shimmered like a summer heat haze. In the middle of the hound, Hannah glimpsed a much smaller and more corporeal dog. Hannah’s mage silver ring tingled a warning. Not a hellhound, but the illusion of one.

  “I must go.” Hannah stretched out her hand to ward the man off.

  The fake hellhound growled, but a much deeper response came from the inky night. The man lunged at her and Hannah cried out as the assailant grabbed her outstretched hand and pulled, expecting her to tumble toward him. Instead, Barnes popped out of the end of her sleeve and clutched tight to the man.

  “What?” In the second it took him to realise her hand had not come off in his, she ducked to one side.

  The attacker tried to shake off the hand, except Barnes refused to let go, squeezing the man’s fingers for dear life.

  19

  “Stop her!” the man commanded the hellhound illusion, and it circled around behind Hannah.

  She searched the night and found the other set of glowing red eyes close by. A much larger hellhound stepped forward, its head low as sizzling drool fell from its long canines.

  “Bloody hell! He’s outdone himself this time. Hold the filthy dead thing there while I freeze it,” the assailant commanded as he battled Barnes. With his free hand, he waved a small vial.

  Emboldened by the presence of Wycliff, Hannah pushed back the hood of the cloak. “You’ll not burn an Afflicted tonight.”

  “My master says otherwise.” Working the stopper off the vial with his fingers, he threw the contents at her.

  Hannah flung up her right arm and the deep blue liquid splattered over her hand and sleeve. She gasped at the icy touch and suddenly her fingers wouldn’t obey her command to shake the drops free. Heat flared from her mage silver ring and raced across her skin. With a soft poof, the liquid burst into nothing and she could move again.

  Meanwhile, the attacker managed to peel off the mitten that Barnes clung to and tossed it to the ground. Refusing to give up the fight, Barnes launched himself at the man’s ankles and started climbing his leg.

  Wycliff trod closer to Hannah, his head swinging back and forth, and she feigned a fearful expression as he approached. It wouldn’t do to ruin their ruse by stroking his smoky fur.

  Frank appeared and swiped one enormous hand at the smaller hellhound. His fist passed through its insubstantial fur and connected with the creature wearing the disguise. The fake hellhound emitted a high-pitched whine and shook itself. The illusion fell away to reveal a wiry white and brown terrier that glanced up at its master and then ran, bolting away into the night.

  “I don’t need you, you mangy cur!” He gestured to Wycliff. “What are you waiting for? Attack!”

  The fierce hellhound obeyed. Wycliff lunged and bit into the man’s side. He screamed in pain as hot canines pierced his flesh, his body flung one way and then another as Wycliff shook his head. Barnes still clung to the man’s leg but couldn’t advance past a bent knee.

  “Stay. Safe,” Frank intoned to Hannah as he stood between her and the fight. Although it was rather one-sided as the assailant struggled to escape the hellhound’s grip. A sickly sweet smell drifted through the air and hoarse cries punctuated the night.

  “I promise to stay out of the way if you assist Wycliff.” Hannah peered around the stitched-together man. She drew an acorn from her pocket, pressed the stalk until it clicked, and then tossed it into the air. The acorn popped and turned into a pale blue globe that hung in the air and provided blue-tinged light over a twelve foot radius—enough to illuminate the fight.

  Frank drew back his arm and struck the other man on the chin. The attacker’s head snapped back, and he staggered sideways, but Wycliff held him in place in his monstrous jaws.

  “Who are you?” Hannah demanded from the safety of a bookseller’s doorway.

  Frank uttered a low growl and lunged, smacking the man above his nose with his forehead. This time, the arsonist’s knees buckled, and he dropped to the cobbles.

  Wycliff wrenched his head to one side and pulled his teeth free of clothing and muscle as the man fell. “Taylor,” he said over his shoulder.

  “You know him?” Hannah moved closer, but kept out of arm’s reach.

  “He’s the Bow Street Runner who has been assisting my investigation.” Wycliff prowled closer and set his massive front paws on the man’s chest. Saliva dripped from his fangs onto the prone man’s torn coat. Each droplet sizzled as it hit fabric and skin. Frank stood on Taylor’s feet and Barnes scrambled up his torso to stand on his chest at full alert.

  Taylor struggled to worm his body free of the creatures holding him down. “You?! Did that dead mage turn you into her lapdog?”

  “Who are you working with?” Hannah crept closer, but kept Wycliff in front of her. She surveyed the fallen man. He tried to bat at Wycliff, but the smoky fur scorched his hands. On his mittenless left hand, she noted an odd blue mark by his thumb.

  Wycliff hunched his shoulders and shifted more wei
ght into his front paws, pressing on Taylor’s lungs. “He was working with Nash. But who pulls your strings?”

  Taylor barked a short laugh. “I’m not telling you. Call yourself an investigator, you’ve learned nothing!”

  “I found you,” Wycliff growled.

  Taylor turned his face, and his fingers scrabbled at the cobbles. “Filthy Afflicted. They are all going to be rounded up and burned.”

  “They live peaceful lives. Snuffing them out is a terrible crime,” Hannah said.

  “Peaceful?” Taylor laughed. “They’re murderous monsters who steal the brains of honest folk. That was my cousin they slaughtered at the Harriers six months ago. We wondered why the authorities wouldn’t let us see her, and burned her body right quick, they did. But I’ve talked to Nash and I reckon you knew, didn’t you? Those toffs cracked her head open and scooped out her brain like she were a boiled egg.” Taylor pushed off the cobbles and flung out an arm. He hit Barnes, sending him flying across the lane. Wycliff body slammed Taylor back to the ground.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, but you cannot blame every Afflicted for the actions of two. You will be punished for your crimes, just as they were.” Hannah scanned the dark lane for Barnes, and to her relief, the hand righted himself and scuttled back into the circle of light.

  Taylor scoffed, then wheezed as Wycliff pressed harder on his lungs. “I’ll never be punished. I’m not doing anything wrong. Haven’t you heard? You can’t murder a dead thing.”

  “There are many different types of justice, and you will be judged,” Hannah murmured.

  Wycliff opened his jaws and snapped, latching on to the man’s shoulder and upper chest. Taylor screamed as flesh sizzled and burned. The hellhound worked its head back and forth as cries turned to groans and pleas. Then the hound stepped back, dragging a shadow from the physical form as though he pulled a tablecloth free of a table. Taylor’s body went limp on the cobbles and the cries were silenced.