The Secrets of Shadows

by Waite, Tabetha

Davien and Charlotte walked up the stairs, where the putrid scent grew even stronger. He heard Charlotte gag, before she covered her nose with her hand. “And I thought th’ workhouse was bad,” she whispered in horror.

  As they turned a corner, Davien echoed her sentiments. The sight before him was worse than anything he might have imagined. He was glad that Cosette wasn’t here to see such pitiful conditions. Most of the women present were naked and lying in their own filth, some of them two or more to a straw bed that was visibly moving with vermin. The cause of the clanking metal they’d heard earlier was because their hands and feet were chained to the walls, the floor, the beds.

  They were surrounded by all ages, young and old, and if they weren’t rocking, or murmuring to themselves, they were staring blankly into space. Living in such squalor, surrounded by such deplorable conditions, Davien couldn’t believe that this would ever help the state of their mind. He was even more convinced that something needed to be done. “Let’s find her and get this over with,” he said curtly.

  Charlotte nodded and walked over to a woman, perhaps in her early twenties. “Can ye help us, miss? We’re lookin’ fer a woman by th’ name of Mrs. Clay—”

  Suddenly, the woman shot forward with a shrill scream, her eyes wild, her hands shaped into claws. But just when she would have reached for Charlotte, the chains caught and pulled her down to the floor with the force of it. She writhed like a wild animal in the clutches of a trap.

  Davien had enough. He didn’t care what he had to do to locate a seer, but he couldn’t stay here any longer. “This is useless.”

  He turned on his heel, Charlotte behind him, when they heard a voice speak up from the corner of the room. “I’m Mrs. Clay.”

  Davien turned to the woman who had spoken, slowly making his way back to her. She was middle-aged with wiry, gray hair that hung down her back. She wore a soiled, thin cotton shift, one of the few that actually had a covering, and when they paused before her, she pulled her blanket more snugly against her. Out of all the women in this room, she appeared to have the most clarity in those brown eyes.

  “Wot are ye doin’ in a place like this?” she asked with a cockney, English accent. “And what is your purpose with me?”

  Davien looked to Charlotte, who replied, “I was told that ye might be a seer.”

  She chuckled. “And ye believed them?”

  “I had no reason not to,” she countered. “Please. We need yer help—”

  The lady shook her head with a mocking snort. “I live in this place o’ hell day after day. We’re chained like dogs from th’ afternoon all through th’ night. We’re denied clean water, bathed weekly outside with a mop dipped in cold runoff, and lucky t’ get enough t’ eat t’ live t’ see th’ next day. Most o’ us don’t make it through th’ winter.” The cackle she released sounded a bit insane. “And ye want me t’ help ye?”

  Davien clenched his jaw. “We’re sorry to have wasted your time, madam.” He started to move away, but Mrs. Clay stilled suddenly.

  She pointed to his satchel. “Wot do ye have in there?” She sounded lucid once more.

  He debated whether or not to remove the tablet. After all the effort they had done to retrieve it, he didn’t need anything to happen to it. But he went with his instinct. He opened the leather flap and removed the tablet.

  Her eyes widened. “A wax tablet,” she breathed, as if she couldn’t quite believe her eyes. “Ye were serious about needin’ my help.”

  “We were,” Davien admitted.

  She held her hand out for it. He hesitated only briefly before he surrendered it to her. “If I help ye,” she said, “ye have to promise t’ do something for me.”

  “Anything,” Davien returned, and he meant it. “If you tell us what we need to know, I will be indebted to you.”

  She gestured to a girl who was sitting huddled on the opposite side of the room. “That is Miss Elizabeth Collins. There is nothing wrong with ‘er, except that she’s illegitimate. Make sure that ye do everythin’ in your power to free her.”

  Davien committed the light-haired young woman to memory, before he turned back to Mrs. Clay. “What about you?”

  “That’s all I want. I’m old, my time for this earth isn’t much longer, but that one . . .” She shook her head. “Th’ other women treat her harshly, an’ there’s nothin’ wrong with her except her parentage.”

  Davien inclined his head. “I swear it, on my honor as a gentleman.”

  She must have read the sincerity in his eyes, for she nodded. She held the stylus in one hand and reached out the other to Davien. “So I can channel th’ energy around ye.”

  Davien looked to Charlotte, who looked as uncertain as he felt. Not because of Mrs. Clay’s abilities—but because of what she might see.

  He held out his hand.

  Chapter 25

  Cosette yawned so wide that her jaw popped. She sat up and stretched her aching muscles, and then walked over to the curtains. She pulled one of the heavy drapes aside to see that the sun was just starting to break through the veil of night. Considering the time, she hadn’t slept but a couple hours, but at least that terrible weariness had vanished. With the dawning of a new day, she couldn’t help but allow a trickle of hope to take root.

  If Davien and Charlotte were successful with their visit to the seer, then today their curses might finally be lifted. It was almost strange to imagine a life free from the chains of their past, but how wonderful it would be to live a simple life. She touched the chain of her locket, before she even realized what she was doing. She dropped her hand to her side. Some habits were just too difficult to break.

  Still dressed in her undergarments, Cosette walked over to the edge of the bed and removed everything but her shift. Afterward, she picked up Davien’s banyan where it had been neatly folded on the edge of the bed. She slipped the garment over her shoulders and breathed deeply. She had come to relish the scent of his fragrance around her body. It made her feel safe, secure, as if no matter what occurred they would never be apart.

  She knew it was likely too much to hope that Charlotte was right and Davien wouldn’t want her to leave, but as much as Cosette enjoyed being his mistress, she wasn’t sure she could live the rest of her life with such dark uncertainty looming ahead should he grow tired of her.

  And honestly, she wasn’t sure her heart could withstand it if he did.

  Either way, she realized that it was time she stopped fighting her emotions and admit that she was hopelessly in love with Blackburn. She had denied it as long as she could, but some things were inevitable. But the question that remained was - did she lay her feelings bare, place her heart on display between them? The fear that he wouldn’t return her love was almost more upsetting than living the rest of her days with this curse.

  She shook her head to chase away the sudden melancholy that threatened to take hold, and went downstairs to the dining room. Her stomach was rumbling, and no matter what might lie ahead, she knew she had to keep up her strength—if not for herself then for Davien.

  If he struck another dead end she didn’t know how he might react.

  A steaming tray of food was waiting for her on the table, but before she could even remove the covering, there was a firm knock at the front door. Cosette instantly froze, fearing that Dashwood had returned. She closed her eyes briefly, forced herself to calm. He wouldn’t be back this soon. Davien had told her that it would take some time to build a case, to try and coerce more witnesses to testify—if he could manage that.

  Cosette blew out a deep breath and walked back into the foyer. She glanced around, surprised that Quinn hadn’t yet appeared, but she thought perhaps he was still sleeping. She faced the heavy oak, and then dared to pull it open—to find Mrs. Woodard on the other side. Relief flooded Cosette almost instantly.

  She put a h
and to her galloping heart. “Marianne. Thank God it’s you.”

  The widow lifted a brow. “Were you expecting someone else?” she teased.

  “No.” Cosette shook her head and then opened the door for her to enter. “Please, come in.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The moment Davien and Mrs. Clay’s hands touched, her eyes turned black, although they had the distinctive glow of the beast around the edges. She began to murmur to herself as she used the stylus to carve a symbol onto the wax of the tablet.

  When she finally spoke loud enough for Davien to hear, it was with an unearthly echo. “Two paths are intertwined. There is a great evil from the past that threatens the present. You must stop this Whore of Babylon before she causes further destruction. Send her back to the Underworld.”

  A blast of air pushed Davien back, severing his contact with Mrs. Clay. She blinked, her brown eyes turning back to normal, although a touch of madness, mixed with pure fear touched her gaze when she looked at Davien. She made the sign of the cross over her chest before she handed the tablet back to him with a shaking hand. Davien looked down to see a strange symbol, a combination of lines, crosses, and circles.

  “That sigil is th’ sign o’ th’ Duke Dantalion,” Mrs. Clay said. “Th’ one who has cursed ye is a descendant o’ this demon. She is very dangerous. She has th’ power t’ change her image at will an’ use visions t’ control her victims.”

  Davien could clearly see the dark haired woman in the red dress. Her image was as defined now as it had been all those years ago. It was as if time had melted away.

  He clenched his jaw, vengeance for twenty years of hell on earth rolling through his blood. “Is there a way to defeat her, and break the curse?”

  The older woman nodded. “Yes, but she will try t’ manipulate ye, bend ye t’ her will. It will not be an easy task. Th’ only way ye can stop her is t’ repeat th’ incantation that she used t’ entrap th’ beast in ye by saying it backwards.”

  “Do you know it?” he asked. If not, then it didn’t matter if he knew how to defeat her, if he still didn’t have the complete means to do so.

  She slowly nodded. “It’s an ancient Sumerian spell.” She held her hand back out for the tablet. She carved several words into the wax, and then gave it back to him. “Repeat it just as I have laid it out for ye.” She paused, as if trying to consider how to put her next sentence into words. “It may not be so easy t’ free Cosette.”

  Davien stilled. “Why not?”

  “She is cursed by th’ blood of th’ demon,” she whispered. Davien heard Charlotte gasp beside him, but he kept his focus on Mrs. Clay. “It flows through her veins,” the seer added. “If ye say a prayer of deliverance, th’ locket will weaken, giving ye enough time t’ remove it an’ break the power, but it still may not be enough.”

  “So you’re telling me that, after all this, I may be free, but she could still be cursed?”

  The gray head slowly nodded. “You will have t’ make a choice: live in darkness, or th’ light. Ye can not choose both.”

  Davien already knew the answer to that. “I choose Cosette, no matter the cost.”

  “Ye may change your mind when faced with th’ obstacle at hand.” She returned. Suddenly, her gaze turned distant, her face contorted. “Ye must hurry! Th’ evil has returned t’ Shadowlawn. She does not understand th’ peril. If ye do not make it in time, all may be lost.”

  Davien felt his blood turn to ice in his veins. “What is it?” he demanded more harshly than he intended.

  “It has taken on a trusted form—an older woman, a widow—she is a confidante.”

  “Dear God,” Charlotte interceded on a whisper. Davien turned to her, noting that her face had turned a sickly pale. “She’s speakin’ o’ Mrs. Woodard, from th’ workhouse.”

  “Go now! There is no time t’ waste!” Mrs. Clay cried.

  Davien shoved the tablet into his satchel. But before he left, he said, “I will not forget my promise to you.”

  With that, he ran out of the asylum, Charlotte right on his heels.

  ~ ~ ~

  “Are you feeling well, Mrs. Woodard?” Cosette asked. “Has something else happened at the workhouse?”

  The older woman’s mouth curved upward. “I merely came by to pay a call on a dear friend. I miss you.”

  Cosette smiled warmly. “I miss you too, Mrs. Woodard. Would you care for some tea? Or something to eat, perhaps?”

  “Tea would be lovely.”

  Cosette was about to turn away when something caused her to hesitate. She had known Mrs. Woodard for seven years, ever since she’d came to England and made her home at the House of Perpetual Hope. In all that time, she’d thought the widow’s eyes were blue-gray. Today, for some reason, she noted that they were brown. Like hers.

  A prickle of warning began to course through her veins, but she pushed it aside and led the way to the library. It’s all in your head, she told herself. Everything is fine. Nothing is different. But even as she attempted to convince herself, as she began to pour the tea for her guest, she remembered that Mrs. Woodard liked cream and sugar. “I’m sorry. I forgot how you took your tea, Marianne.”

  “I prefer it plain.”

  The teapot’s lid rattled slightly, the only indication that Cosette’s composure had slipped. When she turned, she was careful to keep a friendly smile on her face. “Here you go,” she said brightly.

  As she returned to the cart under the pretense of grabbing her own cup, Cosette bit her lip anxiously. She scanned the items, searching for something that she might use as a weapon. Unfortunately, a spoon would likely do little damage. She grabbed her cup and returned to sit across from Mrs. Woodard. Or, at least, the person she had believed was Mrs. Woodard. She didn’t know who this person was, but it was definitely not Marianne.

  “I’ve been thinking, dear Cosette.” The imposter slowly stirred her spoon in her tea. Her gaze was focused on the action. “It pains me to see you reduced to such circumstances, forced to submit your virtue to the duke. Perhaps you should come away with me.” She sat her spoon aside and lifted the cup to her lips, those dark eyes seeming to pierce her from across the expanse.

  Cosette swallowed. “I’m quite happy here,” she returned evenly. “I have no wish to leave.”

  “Come now,” the widow’s voice cajoled, although there was a decided edge to it, one that sounded terrifyingly familiar. “What is going to happen to you when Blackburn moves on? For that’s what will happen. He will use you quite ill, and then discard you. Men with his sort of strong, sexual appetites always do.”

  “What do you know of his desires?” Cosette dared to ask. She held her breath as she waited for the answer, knowing that she would dread it.

  “Plenty, my dear.” Those brown eyes shimmered with that same unholy light that Cosette had come to expect from the beast. “It was I, after all, who cursed him that day more than twenty years ago.”

  ~ ~ ~

  Davien felt the blood pumping through his veins as he pushed his mount to the limit of its endurance. He wanted to change into the form of the crow, but the beast had taken over, rising up inside of him like a violent storm. Massive dark shadows followed in his wake, ready to lay destruction to whatever evil he might face at journey’s end.

  He could hear Charlotte’s quiet sobs beside him, knowing that she feared the worst, but he didn’t have the time to ease her mind. He had to stay focused on the task at hand. Knowing that the one who had cursed him was with Cosette at this very moment had caused a deadly panic to surge up his throat until it nearly choked him. It was only through sheer will that he was able to channel it into something else, something even more deadly. Retribution. Punishment for a life that was stolen from him—from Cosette.

  Today would be the end of it all.

  He woul
d make sure of it.

  Even if he had to sacrifice himself to achieve it, this Whore of Babylon would not remain free for another day.

  He just prayed that he wasn’t too late to save the woman he loved.

  He knew it as surely as there was air in his lungs. He’d denied his heart for so long, lost in his own misery that he’d tried to claim the lust and intrigue he felt for her was fleeting, that she was only another passing fancy. Now that he knew the difference, he refused to believe that he might not ever have the chance to tell Cosette how he felt.

  “I just dinna understand it,” Charlotte said brokenly. “Why would this entity target Cosette?”

  “More than likely to get to me,” Davien returned gruffly. “To cause me even more pain.”

  “Wot aboot when she was a child? She dinna even know ye then.”

  Davien frowned, for she made a valid point, one he hadn’t even considered until then. “All I know is that it’s evil. No one is safe around it.”

  “But other than ye an’ Cosette, how many others do ye know that’s been cursed?”

  He had no reply.

  “Have ye not encountered any more aswangs?” she persisted. “Surely in twenty years ye might have scented one aboot.”

  “No,” he said quietly. “Not one.”

  “Don’t ye think that’s strange? That ye an’ Cosette are th’ only ones this thing has ever cursed? Don’t ye ever wonder why?”

  His throat bobbed, a long held emotion that he’d forced himself to suppress returning with full force. “I already know why it cursed me. It was because of Sir Francis Dashwood.” He clenched the reins tighter, causing his mount to whinny in protest. “The night I was damned in Rome, my father and Dashwood spoke of reopening Wharton’s Club to make a new ‘Order’ since they were of similar . . . appetites.” He snorted dryly. “My father was killed that night, because Dashwood didn’t like sharing the glory with anyone else. I was cursed simply because I was his son.” He shook his head. “The ironic thing is that I spent most of my life trying to rid myself of this bane, instead of enacting justice on Dashwood for my father’s death, for I know he was responsible for it as surely as if he’d pulled the trigger on the pistol. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d done just that.”