Even as I was now, somehow in purgatory between one end of me and the other, I knew it would be devastating if I placed Willa in harm’s way. Maybe I could tie her up in a cupboard?
At that, my cock stirred. My libido had returned.
Watson was in peril. Get back to the job.
“This cult, even if it is mistaken in its beliefs… It bases itself on exact rituals. We have the bordello basement. Another basement where the woman at the mortuary was found dead.” I mapped this in my head as I spoke. “I’m sure the Kitty Club was originally used for their sacrifices. Then we have two more, unknown points to form the star symbol.”
In my head I could see the star sketched over my London map.
I needed one more point to predict the last.
“I could guess the two other map locations of the star’s points, but—”
“I know! Where the stilt tank battled a creature.”
“Yes! Yes… that nails it down. They must have done a sacrifice, and something eldritch crawled into our world. From what the British Library has on this, they may be aiming to summon beings called the Elder Gods.” I strode to my bookstand and pulled over the London map just to be sure, unrolling it, then I tapped the spot. “I can see the location where the fifth point of the star will land. That’s a business district—warehouses and so on. Let’s get dressed, armed, and proceed.”
Of course it was possible they had simply killed Watson, but with Mycroft battening down the hatches and stopping the airship bringing in more women, they must be feeling the pressure. I hoped they would keep him alive as a bargaining chip.
But I might be wrong. They might have killed him, and I didn’t even want to try figuring out the probability of that.
I pinched my mouth shut and noted that Willa had already gathered a small arsenal of pistols, revolvers, and ammunition while I was thinking. She’d seen where I kept those hidden, and I certainly had not advertised the cache.
“That looks like enough. Let’s go.”
“Uhh.” She pointed, her gaze drifting down my body.
“Oh.” I was still naked, apart from the deerstalker. “A minor problem.” I headed for my wardrobe. “You can wear one of those with the belt holster. I’ll keep three and one for Watson to use, the shoulder holster, and I have pockets for another gun and some bullets.”
No tie tonight, just black trousers, shoes, and socks, a dark gray shirt, and my long coat to hide the guns and holsters. Luckily Willa was already dressed appropriately for a scuffle, in a burgundy-hued short dress, with heavy black tights and sensible shoes.
Hmmm. I eyed her lithe, well-muscled legs and the curves of her as she strapped on the belt and holster. Sexy and deadly. What a combination.
Admiring her could wait until Watson was safe. As could tying her up and putting her in cupboards to be screwed when I felt like it. My libido had definitely returned. Twenty… could I survive and function with twenty percent ME?
That was a future problem.
First, I had to save my dear friend, the doctor, and I would keep that filter turned down until this was finito, compleat, terminado, done. Then I would rethink weaning myself off of malignant energy.
“Have you ever killed anyone, sir?”
I thought of telling her not to call me that but decided it could wait. Besides, it sounded so good coming from her mouth.
“No, not on purpose.”
“Then why do you think I should stay back if there is any fighting, and you should not?”
“Because I am a man and superior in that regards. Don’t argue.”
She opened her mouth but said nothing then shrugged.
It was a point I’d pondered, myself. Could I shoot a man if I had to? I think I could. If I had no choice, I would. A man aiming a gun at me, he would be shot, and I was very good at the target range, at angles of ricochet, at judging the fall of shot over a distance and wind resistance. King of that, really.
At the door, I stopped with it partially open. Willa crowded me. “Take your time. Rushing something like this can generate fatal errors.”
Her petulant pout was amusing.
“Note. This does not mean we are together again, or that you are mine again.” I tried to put some meanness into my glare.
That word mine had tripped me. Logic said I was right, but for once I suspected my mind had come to the wrong conclusion.
I drew my black leather gloves from my coat pocket, allowing her to sashay past me with her hips swaying, as I pulled on the gloves. It was impossible not to register her gorgeous figure and scent.
As on the airship, when the malignant energy first affected me, my sense of smell had amplified. On that occasion I’d defined her scent as nubile.
Now I would have to redefine, for if ever a woman could be said to be in a certain condition, Miss Moriarty was in heat. For me, I assumed. This was problematic—we each desired the other in spite of the problems that entailed.
Frowning, I tugged firmly at each finger of my gloves, again and again, until they were just so, then I followed her. I left a message for Mrs. Hudson to send via swift messenger to Lestrade, and we exited onto the street.
23
Tentacles
The cab driver was not my usual, but he set off fast and drove well. We were on our way to the warehouse district and to hopefully rescue the doctor. Willa sat on the seat beside me, her red curls hanging over her face and neck—and those were a part of her I’d never forget. In the future, if a woman walked by with hair like hers, it would rip me back to this, to her.
In truth, this last day of madness had torn up who I once was and left me shredded and off balance.
What should I do?
I’d been abrupt the other day.
“Willa, I was too curt when last we saw each other but I’m willing to talk, about us.” She barely budged, her gaze seemingly fastened to the floor. “You know that love is a construct of the human imagination.”
“Of course.” She nodded firmly. “That’s my viewpoint also.”
“Yes. Um.” I thought some more. “I think, with time, this will improve, once I turn the filter up again. The madness should lessen and vanish. However I must ask this, do you not hate me? Because of the other night?”
“I do, absolutely.” Mouth set, she was nodding, slowly, at the floor. “In fact, I said that to myself last night.”
“A sobering answer.”
It had made me look again at her face. The signs around her eyes were faint, but I could see she’d been crying. I had done this. Was I being self-centered and arrogant again, to push her away?
Probably. She was no longer simply the niece of my enemy.
She stared at me. “You think so?”
I looked out the window, praying we’d reach the warehouse soon.
“Well. I am not the sort of man who cares much for people.” Except for now, I cared for her and had to admit it had gone beyond merely the need for sex. My hand itched to turn the filter up or maybe down. The lack of control needled me, this physical craving for her in my bed. “Or for their company.”
I shot her a stilted smile, knowing that for once, I was lying to her. Or had I always done so?
“Pish tosh, sir. That was who you were, not who you can be.”
“Ah.” I shifted on the seat, feeling the unusual weight of the guns in and under my coat.
That had been quite a prophetic statement from Miss Moriarty. It rang true and had set things into a different perspective—as if she’d given the world globe a whack and it had settled in a different spot. Choose. Keep her or lose her. But by doing the former would I lose myself?
“I said it before, I don’t want to be a monster.”
“There must be a filter setting where you can be a good man, yet also be the man you should be.” This was said with such a serious face. There might not be love between us, but she was concerned for me.
I’d known that anyway but had ignored it. Had I become a monster no matter which way I turned?
<
br /> “Should be is the difficult part.” I beckoned to her, giving in to my need, raising my arm so she could slide into my embrace.
If she refused me, so be it.
She came to me with no hesitation, burrowing into my side and under my arm like a puppy to its master. I sighed with a strange sort of content and heard her do similar.
I began to stroke her hair. Why was this so difficult?
“Keep out of the way as I directed you. Be good today. I do not want you shot, or worse.”
“Worse?” Willa raised her head a smidgen. “Of course, though. If you say so.” Then she snuggled in some more.
The warehouse had loomed into view as we passed through a barbed-wire, gated fence. The gate was open, and when the driver pulled up outside the warehouse, no one emerged to ask questions.
We should have sneaked in from beyond the fence, but I was impatient. Time was short, and anything might be happening within. If a stranger had questioned us, I would have sent Willa away with the cab and tried to bluff past any guards.
Instead, I had her still following me when we reached a side door. I quietly opened it. Inside was a vast space with cargo stacked two stories high and separated by aisles, a central concrete set of stairs leading up to an overhead office, and a matching set of stairs leading down into some sort of basement.
The basement was our goal.
“Seven-thirty PM,” I murmured to Willa, who stood at my shoulder peering down at the beginning of the basement stairs. “Nowhere near midnight, when one would assume people do this sort of otherworldly rite.”
My sense of smell informed me another woman was below, and I heard distant rhythmic voices. The air felt electrified, as if a storm was coming. It seemed malignant energy had endowed me with mildly enhanced senses.
“They have begun. I hear them chanting,” I said softly, unearthing one revolver then another and checking they were ready to be used. “You will stay up here.”
“Surely not? Anyone could be hiding among the cargo.”
It was a possibility. “Come halfway down then, to the landing. No further.” I shot her an angry glare to reinforce the command.
“Yes, sir.” Her answer was docile, but she drew her pistol and checked it, spinning the chambers in a way that made me want to tsk at her. “Why are they trying to bring these creepy old gods into our world? To worship them?”
“Lord knows. People are weird with their religions.”
We set off down the concrete stairs. They were enclosed by the stairwell walls and L-shaped, and at the corner there was a square landing. Lights flickered, and twisting shadows were cast on the wall. The illumination below was created by torches rather than gas or electric. This should make us less easy to detect.
Before the landing, I again signaled Willa to wait. Her raised eyebrow and annoyed expression made me wonder if she was going to obey but I had no way to argue. We were too close to those below.
The chanting grew louder and was followed by a woman’s shriek that trailed away to a keening wail then a whisper, then faded to nothing. I scented the tang of fresh blood on the air and drew my second revolver. At the very corner, I pushed forward until I could see below with one eye.
The basement was more than large enough for the sacrifice table. Flanking the table, two rows of square columns supported the ceiling. I couldn’t see the full size of the room and it might extend for many yards to the sides.
Eight men stood around the table with their faces covered by gray cowls. As I watched, a woman’s naked and lifeless body was dragged off it, leaving behind a swathe of blood. She was pulled away by two men to where I could not see her or them. After a few seconds of scuffling sounds, the remaining men and the columns flared with blue. A piercing wail rent my ears and made me stagger slightly.
The shadows became wild, as if some mad thing below was flailing long arms.
Knowing what I did, I deduced that a tentacle-armed creature had somehow entered the room. I put down one revolver and extended my arm backward to make a firm stay gesture, several times. Heaven forbid she come forward into this unknown danger.
Would bullets work if I needed them to on this thing? Was Watson here?
With the back of my wrist, I wiped my forehead as I mentally counted the bullets in my guns. I had enough to kill eight men. More than enough. I could likely do it, if I was fast and accurate.
Then a naked, bound, and gagged man was tossed onto the table. He rolled back and forth on his back before stopping, and I saw his face.
Watson.
The rows of columns somewhat obstructed my view, but I could calculate the timing of my moves and estimate the movements of the others. My hands shook. To kill one man was terrible, and this was eight. I needed to be ruthless and violent, and I knew for the first time the truth of this—I was not that. I was careful, precise, and logical.
Eight men and one of me. A foot-long knife, already bloody, was being raised above my friend.
Ruthless and violent, so be it. My jaw firmed.
Time for me to be a bastard.
I threw off the deerstalker and let it fall to the floor, even as I rose to my full height and ran down the stairs. I began firing with both guns.
Four times, I fired.
The blam, blam, blam, blam of the guns was loud and nasty, and my unfiltered and evil monstery heart adored it. It sang, I swear it sang with the noise of the weapons. Men dropped and spun, screaming, and slid from the table, hands clawing and bloodied. Gore spurted, splattered.
Four more shots rang out and four men fell. Though wounded, the last man had had time to run, and he’d dragged Watson off the table to use him as a shield. His gun replied, firing up at me, and concrete sprayed off a column, scattering fragments. I’d leaped aside and rolled, and I aimed to fire again, but Watson was in the way.
I heard a shot to my right. Willa had disobeyed me. She jumped the last few steps and rolled, came up on one knee. She was hidden mostly by a column from our final nemesis, Robert.
Yes, that bastard was here, his cowl fallen from his head, and he had my friend.
The source of the blue reflections was a circular, rotating hole of light that melted into the far wall, from ceiling to floor. This was obviously a portal to that other world these Lovecraftians sought. This was what they had summoned. Or it was today.
Dark purple tentacles flowed from within the portal, crawling over the ceiling, wrapping over the walls. They seemed here and yet not here. Flat one moment but fat and squirming the next.
Robert was inching his way toward the portal, hauling a captive Watson. My friend had seen me, and our eyes connected across the space. Robert raised his gun again.
“Back!” I yelled at Willa.
He fired three times, aiming both at me and her. She gasped and ducked lower, behind her column. Then stupidly she threw herself outward, rolling, with her gun extended.
Her finger jerked the trigger. A jerk was the wrong action entirely! Squeeze not jerk!
Her shot hit Robert’s gun hand and his gun spun off, into the darkness.
So damn lucky, but also stupid. I snarled in disgust, and now Robert was burrowing under Watson’s body. He was preparing to jackknife and kick the man over his head, into the maw of that strange hole in the wall.
“Stay!” I yelled at Willa again, as I rose and sprinted forward, gun held to the fore.
Robert’s goal was clear. The woman was gone and her blood trail led to the portal. They’d thrown her to this creature that even now intensified its keening wail and snapped tentacles at the air. Black and purple shadows leaped over the columns, over Watson, writhing about his body. One tentacle climbed the wall and wormed across the ceiling.
I would be too late to stop this. Robert heaved his legs.
Then, a miracle. It wasn’t my doing, or Willa’s. I watched in awe as Watson twisted and rolled so he was beneath Robert, then Watson performed the jackknife maneuver. Robert flew, screaming, toward the portal. My last sight
of him was of his wide-open mouth and a tentacle wrapping itself round his chest then his ugly face.
He was yanked backward, deeper into that alien mouth then swallowed.
The portal sucked itself inward, shrinking rapidly into a small spinning circle. The tentacles retreated inside it and vanished. A howling wind blew my facial skin backward, fluttering my eyelashes, tearing at my coat.
A flare of color exploded upon the basement.
For a stretched second, all motion in the room slowed to a molasses crawl, and I was outside my body, observing.
My coat was frozen in a backward cascade of cloth, my arm was frozen, thrust forward, gun in hand. Willa also had her gun out, her limbs straining. A bullet from her gun spun toward the portal trailing a twirl of steam, while her hair and clothes flared in the opposite direction.
Perfectly defined streamers of yellow, blue, and red light had fanned out, cutting the air into bright sections.
Another flash, the room boomed, jiggled, and the portal and the monster disappeared.
The room faded to darkness save for a few flickering torches.
Willa went “Phew,” and grinned across the room at me, waving her pistol vaguely and unsafely. I glowered at her then ran to Watson.
From outside, came the distant sound of several vehicles burning across the tarmac and the squeal of tires as they stopped. The police had arrived. Voices soon carried—those of coppers organizing who should do what.
“You were almost too late,” Watson croaked in protest after I’d removed the gag and was untying the ropes on his hands. A stab wound on the left side of his chest was bleeding. His breathing was ragged.
There was also blood on his back and below.
“Are you hurt back here at all?”
Watson spluttered then said, “That um tentacle, it was probing me back there. You know… inside me.”
“Oh my god. We won’t tell Willa, but the doctors will need to know.”
“Never! I tell you it did nothing. Shush, Holmes, or I will find a gun and shoot you.”
I stared at him, then at his rear, and decided it was something he could take up with his physician. “That chest wound though—”
Clockwork Stalker: The Dirty Heroes Collection Page 17
