The Flower and the Serpent

by Madeleine D'Este

  ‘Metal was the missing element,’ Violet whispered. ‘We were one. I could hear your thoughts like you could hear mine. You told me exactly how to get rid of you.’

  A wailing spewed from her mouth, preternatural and ear-splitting.

  ‘Be gone,’ the real Violet muttered, her eyes slits.

  Her knees buckled and she slid to the ground and lay in a pool of her own blood. She convulsed and a slimy black shadow slipped out of her open mouth.

  ‘Violet!’ Lila and Holly rushed over.

  As she writhed, Violet thought back to their fateful bus ride home on Monday. The bus driver had been right but Violet wasn't the shining star, she was the one who would depart forever.

  Voices and faces swirled above her, and then the workshop and the whole world went black.

  Chapter 18

  VIOLET

  A week later

  Ravenswood stepped on stage in front of the red curtain. He wore a red chrysanthemum in his buttonhole and a smile on his tired face. The scratches had almost healed.

  The audience hushed.

  ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to our production of William Shakespeare's Macbeth.’

  The full house applauded.

  ‘This holiday program was a little experiment. A production of Shakespeare in less than a week? In hindsight, what was I thinking? But I believed in my cast and as you will see, they have all risen to the challenge.’ Ravenswood adjusted his tie. ‘I must thank you all for your patience, given the little postponement of our performance. On a sombre note, tonight's performance is in memory of our beloved science teacher, Miss Quinlin. Not only was she a great educator, but also a great supporter of our theatre program at Beacon Hill High School. I think you'll agree we would have her blessing tonight. So, in memory of Miss Quinlin, 'let's go on with the show' as they say.’

  Ravenswood ducked away and the red curtain rose. Dry ice rolled across the stage as the witches stepped into the light.

  ‘When shall we three meet again,’ said the First Witch.

  Toby gave Violet a little nod through the window from his place at the lighting desk as she positioned the spotlight onto Jacinta’s green face from her place at the back of the theatrette.

  ‘When shall we three meet again?’ Jacinta’s first words were a little shaky but passable.

  Violet knew she would have performed the role better, obviously, but after everything, she'd chosen to step aside and help Toby with the lighting instead.

  She stared at the sea of heads and wondered which one was Alan Wolf. She recognised one curly head in the audience. Mathilde, the strange bus driver had popped into the theatrette before the performance started, and pulled Violet aside.

  ‘I am so glad to see you up and about again. It was quite an ordeal you had.’ She placed her hand on Violet's shoulder and grinned. ‘You are a brave warrior, young lady.’

  ‘I have so many questions,’ Violet had said. ‘What are you? Soldiers in some kind of army?’

  ‘We’re merely a group of concerned citizens.’ Mathilde chuckled. ‘We have a sacred duty to watch over Beacon Hill and keep the troubles at bay. All the signs told us something was coming but we didn't know exactly where it would manifest. Or with who.’ Mathilde sighed, a painful smile on her lips. ‘I should have examined my visions more closely. Poor Bridget.’

  Violet shook her head. ‘You were right. In one way.’

  ‘Regardless, it won't bring her back.’

  ‘But we won.’

  Mathilde pursed her lips. ‘For now.’

  The theatrette, the corridors, the whole school seemed different with no cold pockets and bright reliable lights, even the pipes had stopped their thumping.

  When Lila spoke her lines, an honest truth echoed underneath her words:

  When the hurly-burly's done,

  When the battle's lost and won.

  She'd moved out of home to live with her older sister and she seemed to be her old self again. But even under her green witches’ make-up, black bags hung under her eyes. To all outside appearances, the dark entity had left her without a trace, there was only Lila behind those eyes, but Violet wasn't so sure whether she was as lucky. Was she left untouched?

  Holly spoke next:

  That will be ere the set of sun.

  She had come came to the hospital and sat by Violet's side.

  ‘I'm so sorry,’ Violet had said. ‘The way I behaved. I was such a...but thank you. I know how hard it was for you.’

  ‘I thought the worst of you.’ Holly patted her hand as Violet swallowed a sob. ‘I feel terrible. I should have trusted you.’

  ‘It was completely mental. It's still such a blur.’

  ‘Like a weird dream.’

  Violet checked the ward for nurses and lowered her voice. ‘But what I don't understand is what happened to Rowan? She was there, wasn't she?’

  Holly shuddered and leaned closer. ‘When the demon left you, it came out of your mouth like black smoke coming out of a chimney. You passed out but then the smoke floated across the room. Over to Rowan and wrapped itself around her neck. Like a leash.’

  Violet gasped.

  ‘And then somehow Rowan got up to her feet. She walked out of the workshop with the smoke around her.’

  ‘Where’d she go?’ Violet's eyebrows soared.

  ‘No idea.’

  They had sat in silence for a moment as Violet pictured the undead Rowan wandering the bushland around the school. Another legend of Beacon Hill was born.

  Violet had pushed the thought aside and grabbed for Holly's hand. ‘Let's forget about it. All of it. Go back to the way it was. You and me and Lila. Best friends forever?’

  Holly cleared her throat and averted her eyes.

  ‘I've got something to tell you. My mum got a new job. In Queensland. We're leaving next week so I can start the new term. Mum says there's heaps more opportunities for me up there.’

  ‘Queensland?’ Violet laughed weakly and wiped away a tear. ‘How will you cope with all that sun?’

  Holly shrugged.

  ‘I can't thank you enough. Thank you,’ Angelika said. She was the next person to visit Violet on the ward.

  ‘Don't worry about it.’

  ‘Who knows what would have ...’ The lump on Angelika's forehead was turning yellow, and her split lip had a healing scab down the centre. ‘After what happened to Rowan…’

  ‘Did you see her, too?’

  Angelika gulped. ‘I thought it was my concussion.’

  ‘None of it makes any sense. But it's over now.’

  Angelika leaned over Violet's bed. ‘I've been thinking. I want to thank you. Properly.’

  Violet shook her head.

  ‘But I want to. I'm not sure I'm up to it. After everything.’

  ‘You'll be fine. You'll be great.’

  ‘Are you sure? You realise what you're saying? You wanted it so badly.’

  ‘And where did it get me?’ Violet laughed but winced in pain as she clutched at the stitches in her side.

  Lady Macbeth had completely lost her lustre.

  The day before the performance, all four girls and their mothers were summonsed to Mrs Petrakis's office. Ravenswood was the only man in the room. He stood at the front of the room beside the headmistress facing eight women with their arms folded.

  ‘While the death of Miss Quinlin is deeply saddening, it was not wholly unexpected,’ Mrs Petrakis said. ‘Bridget Quinlin was not in the best of health. This was traumatic for the girls to witness but unfortunately, as we all know, our lives are fleeting. We wish we could shield our children but sadly we cannot protect them from the randomness of death.’

  Violet frowned.

  ‘But regarding the other claims, we've investigated and uncovered that the source of the other complaints was the new paint. Our advisors suspect that certain chemicals inside the paint combined with the stress of the play, lack of sleep and the effect of influencing each other with silly stories about evil spirits..
.’ Mrs Petrakis arched a dark eyebrow at Holly. ‘...led to their headaches and hallucinations.’

  Ravenswood said nothing. He glanced at his shoes as he bit down on his lower lip.

  Violet's mum narrowed her eyes. ‘So, this is all the school's fault?’

  ‘Please be assured the paint was perfectly safe, Mrs Black. It met all required Australian standards. We would never knowingly put our students in danger.’

  ‘Right,’ scoffed Holly's mum.

  ‘There have been multiple recorded cases of schoolgirl hysteria all over the world. I've been reading one particular...’

  ‘With all due respect, Mrs Petrakis, hysteria diagnoses went out with bustles. There is obviously another explanation,’ Angelika's mother spat. ‘I want the Education Department to undertake a full investigation.’

  The other mothers mumbled in agreement.

  ‘If you think this is the best approach, you're perfectly within your rights. Bear in mind, it might make for an interesting inquiry. But if you're willing?’

  Violet listened with her head bowed. She exchanged a shrug with Holly and Lila but they didn’t say a word. Violet was sick of talking. She knew the truth no matter what the adults said.

  Violet never imagined she'd enjoy being in the background, but there were other ways to shine like a star. She twisted her body, cautiously avoiding the bulky bandage at her side, and swung the round bright light onto Wayne.

  So well thy words become thee, as thy wounds...

  ***

  THE DARK HAND

  Don't be fooled.

  You did not defeat me.

  The five elements merely pushed me from your body.

  Believe me, I left of my own accord.

  I went back into the shadows to lie and wait until next time.

  I can wait. I know how to wait.

  But I'll be back.

  Maybe not in Beacon Hill. Perhaps not among the cast.

  But have no doubt, I will re-emerge somewhere.

  There are billions of you out there, riddled with guilt, pride and despair.

  All you need to do is invite me in.

  I can help you.

  I can help you all.

  What fun we could have.

  You never know, if you're lucky, our paths may cross again someday.

  THE END

  Thank you for reading The Flower and The Serpent.

  If you enjoyed this book, please leave a review or tell a friend and share the word.

  About the Author

  Madeleine D'Este grew up in Tasmania and is now based in Melbourne. After studying law (but never practising) and travelling the world, Madeleine now lives a double life, working in corporate Australia by day and writing female-led speculative fiction by night. Madeleine also hosts a writing interview podcast Write Through The Roof and a weekly book review show on www.artdistrict-radio.com.

  Keep in touch with Madeleine for news, reviews and pictures of cake at www.madeleinedeste.com or on Twitter at @madeleine_deste.

  Published Titles

  Evangeline and the Alchemist

  Evangeline and the Bunyip

  Evangeline and the Spiritualist

  Evangeline and the Mysterious Lights

  The Antics of Evangeline: Collection No.1 (novella series)

  Women of Wasps and War

  Acknowledgments

  This book is dedicated to Karen and Annie.

  As always, I have many people to thank for helping me bring The Flower and The Serpent to the page.

  My early readers; Martin McConnell, Taj McCoy and Martin Rothaemel, and to Mark Morris for his encouragement and advice to amplify the gore. Thank you as always to my sounding board, Scott McAteer and for his additional theatre knowledge. Thanks to other members of the D’Este Advisory Board including my mum on Tasmanian owls, David Valsorda on fire trucks and Aaron Smith on machinery and all things engineering.

  Huge thank you to my editors Jo Burnell and Rebecca Pay, and to Jake Knight for his blurb critiques.

  And thanks once again to Deranged Doctor Design for their wonderful cover art and formatting assistance.

  Excerpt from

  Chapter One

  It all started with a rat-a-tat-tat on the Professor's laboratory-workshop door. Evangeline and the Professor looked up from their inventing to see Miss Plockton in the doorway.

  "Chief Inspector Pensnett ta see you, sir?" she said.

  Evangeline perked up on her stool. A policeman here at 56 Collins Street? Something exciting was surely about to happen.

  "Ah, yes. I plum forgot."

  Evangeline's father stopped adjusting his new, improved auto-chariot and walked over to the wooden bench, placing his trusty brass screwdriver with the ivory handle down beside neat stacks of brass cogs, wheels and pins. Her father, Professor Montague Caldicott, the pre-eminent horological-engineer in all the Colonies, smoothed down his humongous moustache with his real hand.

  "Your lesson is over for today, m'dear. Follow Miss Plockton upstairs and continue with your embroidery."

  "But Father..." Evangeline groaned. "I could be of some assistance."

  "Police matters are not for the ears of impressionable young ladies. All those dead bodies and smugglers and swarthy criminals. Far too sordid."

  "I never get to do anything interesting," Evangeline grumbled as she stowed away her rosewood-handled screwdriver in the pocket of her dress, along with a handful of brass pins. The smaller and more delicate screwdriver was a recent gift from her father, an encouragement to pursue her own inventions.

  Evangeline's plain bottle-green day dress, buttoned to the neck, was not the latest fashion but it was better than she had ever imagined in her previous life on the grey foggy streets of London, when her toes poked through holes in her boots. Cold was something she had yet to worry about since she arrived three months ago on the dirigible from Singapore. She wondered whether Melbourne could be anything less than sweltering.

  "Out. Out."

  The Professor shooed Evangeline and Miss Plockton from the laboratory-workshop, before carefully locking the door behind him.

  There was a time when a visit from the police would have frightened Evangeline. She would have hurried to hide her loot, but not today. Today she was a reformed character, setting aside her urchin ways and learning to be a proper young lady. But being good all the time was a bit dull.

  Evangeline sulked all the way up the stairs, clumping her feet and dawdling. Her father passed her, continuing up the oriental carpeted hallway into his study, closing the door behind him. The conversation of men was muffled by the closed oak door.

  Evangeline loitered in the hallway, waiting for Miss Plockton to drag her into the sitting room to complete her crudely stitched handkerchief. Whilst Evangeline was proficient in many skills, needlecraft was not one of them.

  Rather than bustling Evangeline away, Miss Plockton did something curious. Her father's personal secretary produced a large brass key from her pocket and opened the small closet adjoining the Professor's study. The room where all the house linen was stored.

  The house on Collins Street, where Evangeline now lived with her new extended family, had many secrets. Built by a gold prospector with some alleged unsavoury tastes, there were many hidden passages and nooks within the walls and floors. Evangeline was yet to be trusted with a set of keys, her attempts to explore the house thoroughly hindered.

  Inside the small room smelling of lavender and camphor, Miss Plockton pushed aside a stack of damask curtains, revealing a pencil-sized hole in the wall. An audito-projector, one of the Professor's best-selling patented inventions, appeared from under another stack of bedsheets. Miss Plockton wound the key, placed the brass tube over the hole and the audito-projector sprung into action. The sounds of male voices emerged through the horn, as clear as the Melbourne summer sky outside.

  "Eavesdropping, Miss Plockton?" Evangeline gasped.

  "On occasion, a secretary needs ta take initiative," Miss Plockton
said.

  Impressed by Miss Plockton's rebellious act, Evangeline squeezed into the tiny room beside her. There was little room in the linen cupboard with the two women's fulsome skirts.

  "Thank you for seeing me, Professor," Pensnett said. His voice was gruff with a tinge of the Black Country.

  "My pleasure, Chief Inspector. Anything to help the Constabulary."

  "I understand you are responsible for inventing the auto-chariot, sir?"

  "Oh, yes. One of my many tinkerings."

  "Actually, we've had a few problems with auto chariots. Reckless young gentlemen racing along Flinders Street."

  "Oh, I know nothing about that..."

  "Not to worry, sir. I am here for your assistance with another matter entirely. I have rather a curious case on my hands."

  Evangeline's skin tingled. She knew there was something exciting in the wind today.

  "We have reports of new unusual shipments of gold hitting the market of Melbourne."

  "I am a humble horological-engineer, sir. Although I occasionally branch out into other experimentations, I know nothing of rocks and minerals from the ground. Why is this gold 'unusual'?"

  "There have been reports of strange activity. It does not behave as gold should. Apparently gold purchased from a reputable merchant in Goldsmiths Lane has blackened. Overnight."

  Evangeline heard a familiar clicking sound. It was the brass fingers of her father's clockwork hand. He was probably stroking his proud whiskers as he often did when he pondered.

  "Allegedly, on Monday, the gold was bright and yellow, and yesterday, the nuggets looked more like iron. Dull and grey."