On a Night Black

by Cherie Mitchell

  On A Night Black

  The Cinder Chronicles Book 2

  By Cherie Mitchell

  On a Night Black by Cherie Mitchell 2019 © All Rights Reserved

  …

  This book is written in British English to reflect the location and plot of The Cinder Chronicles series.

  On A Night Black is purely fictional and any similarities to real people or events are merely coincidental and a figment of the author’s creative storytelling.

  On a Night Black is the second book in The Cinder Chronicles Trilogy

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter One

  London, England 1889

  The Knave swept through the darkened streets with the focused air of a man with vitally important matters on his mind. His stride was long and even and his fervent stare remained firmly fixed on the street ahead, impervious to distraction. His black coat tails flared out behind him with a certain arrogance of their own and his footfalls were heavy on the uneven paving stones. His full brows beneath the brim of his black hat framed a fierce pair of eyes cloaked in dark shades of cruelty and determination, revealing to anyone who dared look his way that he wasn’t a man to be trifled with, nor was he a man to give up easily.

  A woman clad in tattered and worn clothing stepped out of an alcove, one of the slatternly harlots who patrolled this area of Whitechapel. Her eagerness faded and she hurriedly shrank back into the shadows when she caught sight of the man’s grim expression. He allowed himself a tight and callous smile as he hastened past. He never tired of receiving reminders of his power and authority, especially when those reminders came from the female quarter.

  A light drizzle was falling now, the foggy mist adding a further murky mantle to the shadows but he was at home here, comfortable in the gloomy dampness of the night in this bleak and impoverished area of London. He had no fear, well aware that the canny and astute understood he was a man best left to pass by without molestation. He walked beneath the weak light of a gas lamp, where the misty rain shone in a sparkling diamond sheet, before hurrying through a lichen-covered bricked archway. He took a quick, furtive look around before pushing open a peeling and battered wooden door, without first pausing to knock or to stomp his boots on the threadbare doormat.

  The room’s sole occupant, a slight figure in a hooded, patched cloak, looked up with a start and gasped as the door banged violently back against the wall. The flames of the candles placed in various sconces and holders around the room flickered and leapt in the sudden in-rush of air. “Jack. You frightened me. I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight.”

  “I said I would be here on Thursday or Friday. I always come on a Thursday or a Friday.” He kicked the door shut with his booted foot before shrugging off his woollen coat and hanging it on a small hook on the wall. He tossed his hat on a rickety wooden chair and tipped back his head to sniff the air with all the confidence of a man in his own castle. “What are you cooking for supper?”

  “Vegetable and barley soup. As I said I wasn’t expecting you…” She noticed the flinty look on his face and hastily added, “I’m sure there will be more than enough for two.”

  The Knave ignored her stuttered explanation and walked over to inspect the box-like contraption taking up most of the space on the large wooden table in the middle of the room. “When will this be ready?”

  “Another week, maybe two at the most. Naturally, I too want the work done as quickly as possible.”

  “And there will be no further complications?” It was an order rather than an enquiry, a command rather than a question.

  “I’ll do my best to avoid complications.”

  Without warning, the Knave thrust out a large hand and grabbed his smaller and weaker companion by the throat. “Make sure you do,” he growled. “You know I don’t like to be inconvenienced.”

  “Jack! Let me go!” The young woman struggled, pounding her fists helplessly on the Knave’s arm as his cruel, booming laughter filled the room. “Stop! You’re hurting me!”

  He squeezed his fingers tighter for a few seconds more, enjoying his power and the sure knowledge that he held her life in his hands before finally releasing her. She staggered back to press herself against the wall, her eyes glinting with raw fear in the candlelight. The marks left by his fingers showed up stark and red against her pale throat, the sight stirring up a flurry of excitement deep in his belly.

  “I’ve asked you not to do that. You gain nothing by bullying me.” It amused him that despite all she knew, she still refused to cower before him. She retained enough courage to answer him back and while her impertinence should have annoyed him, he could accept it from her – for a short time anyway.

  “You need to know your place.”

  “I do know my place. You know what keeps me here better than anyone.”

  He snorted and stooped to look at the control panel on the back of the box, a complicated mass of dials, levers, and knobs to the untrained eye. “Are the instructions detailed enough?”

  “This helps.” She spun a small black band on her wrist. “The decoder helps me make sense of it all.” She watched him warily as he began to pace around the room, pausing to lift the lid on the soup pot on the hob before resuming his pacing again. “How have you filled your time since I last saw you?” She covered her throat with the edge of her cloak as she asked, attempting to protect herself in case he grabbed for her again.

  “That’s none of your concern.”

  “You haven’t…” She trailed off, biting her lip as she slipped her hand inside the cloak to touch her bruised and wounded neck with tender fingers.

  “What I’ve been doing is not your business,” he snapped, no longer finding her impertinence amusing. “Your business is here and that is all you need to know.”

  “I understand.” She pushed herself away from the wall and walked cautiously over to the stove, making sure not to put her back to him. “I have some bread to eke out the meal. It will be hearty enough.”

  “Do you need more money for food?”

  She gave a barely perceptible nod as she stirred the soup, the motion filling the room with a cloud of fragrantly delicious steam. “That would help. Thank you.”

  He carelessly tossed a handful of gold coins down on the table. One of the coins rolled off and hit the floor, where it spun twice before lying still. He didn’t bother to retrieve it. “You know you only need to ask.”

  She pushed back her hood with a thin and fragile hand to reveal a head of blonde hair, once golden and glossy but now darkened and drab from a lack of sunshine and care. She lifted the soup pot and carried it across to place it next to the small pile of coins before stooping to pick up the single coin lying in
the balls of dust beneath the table. “Thank you,” she said again. She stuffed the money into a pocket in hidden in the seam of her gown, her voice so low in timbre that he had to strain his ears to hear it. “I appreciate your kindness, sir.”

  She went back to the bench to collect two mismatched earthenware soup bowls and two dented tin spoons, completing her domestic tasks without enthusiasm or interest. She added a wooden cutting board, scarcely more than the roughhewn end of a log, and a tiny loaf of bread to the tableau. The Knave stood by and idly watched without offering to help or assist in any way. Finally, she pulled a chair around and gestured for him to sit before hurrying over to a narrow cot in the corner to retrieve the crate that sat beside it, throwing the journal and quill from the top of the crate onto the sparse and raggedy blanket that covered the bed. Carrying the crate across to use as her own chair, she joined him at the table. “Please begin. I’m sorry it’s not more.”

  He sat silently, staring at his empty bowl without making a move until she noticed his displeasure. “Oh! I do apologise. Here, let me.” She quickly ladled several spoons of soup into his bowl, giving him by far the greater share. She then sawed the loaf into two uneven portions with her blunt knife and pushed the larger piece towards him without uttering a word.

  The meal was eaten in silence, save for the bout of heavy rain that lashed the door and the low sound of thunder that rumbled across the sky. The girl shivered and pulled her thin cloak around her before darting a glance at her table companion and timidly resuming her meal.

  The Knave sat back once he’d eaten, belching his satisfaction before once again lapsing into silence. The girl put down her spoon, her own meagre meal largely untouched. Her full lips trembled as she voiced the concern that had been on her mind since the Knave’s last visit. “Is he doing ok? Is he safe? I need to know.”

  The Knave took his time to answer, taking his time to savour the raw agony he could see so clearly in her eyes. He was far stronger than she was and the knowledge thrilled him to his core. He spoke at last, at the same moment rising from his chair with all the entitled arrogance of a lord leaving his podium. “He is still alive.”

  “Does he know…” She stopped talking, biting back her words as his scowl darkened and his eyes glinted dangerously.

  “He knows all he needs to know,” the Knave growled, his voice curt and lacking in both warm and encouragement. She had no right to question him. He should have stopped her from the outset. He grabbed his coat from the hook, his mind already elsewhere. “I must go.”

  She eagerly jumped to her feet, her relief at his departure palpable. “When will you be back?”

  “Thursday or Friday, if not before.” He swung his coat over his shoulders and clapped his hat on his head as another clap of thunder shook the draughty room. “You have work to do. I suggest you get on with it.”

  She followed him to the door and courteously held it open as he departed. The rain splashed across the doorstep, wetting the toes of her button-up leather shoes and soaking the bottom of her cloak but she remained where she was, exposed to the elements as the Knave stepped out onto the cobbles of the street. “Goodbye Jack.”

  He’d already turned away, intent on his next destination, but he deigned to look back with a careless farewell of his own before striding off into the sinister darkness of the shadows. “Goodbye Annie.”

  Chapter Two

  London, England 2020

  Elliot Cinder smiled wryly as he patted the slight, soft roundness of his belly. There was no way the button on his shirt would do up over his increasing girth, regardless of how much he pulled and strained at the fabric. No one could call him an overweight man, not by a long shot, but he was certainly not as lean and lithe as he’d been when he first stepped out of the time machine and into the abundance of modern day London. He took the shirt off and hung it back on the hanger, instead choosing a larger and roomier size from the vast selection in his wardrobe.

  He was meeting Ramona at a local pub in thirty minutes and he wanted to look smart for the occasion. It wasn’t a date, as she’d gone out of her way to tell him, laying down the rules according to Ramona in no uncertain terms. So much for his idea to woo his employer and sweep her off her feet with some good old-fashioned Victorian charm. So far, she wasn’t having a bar of it but she must have forgotten that he wasn’t a man to give up easily. At some point, she would have to reveal a chink in that armour she wore so well and when that moment came, he would be there to make the most of it.

  He buttoned up his shirt, checked the clasp on his era decoder, and took a quick glance in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe. His face was fuller than it had once been, his cheeks less narrow and his eyes less sunken. The good living of the 21st century clearly agreed with him, but how could it be anything otherwise? Everything about this period in time was carefully shaped around comfort and ease for those who chose to make the most of it. Whistling under his breath, he grabbed his car keys and headed out to meet the woman who had edged her way into his heart but remained unaware of what she had done to him.

  Ramona wasn’t there yet when he reached the pub, an Olde English replica that didn’t look much like the genuine Olde English versions that he remembered so well. Still, the venue was intimate and cosy and a good spot in which to while away a few hours on a crisp and cool evening. He bought himself a beer and found a table where he could wait. He hoped that Ramona would bring news of further work for him, an assignment he could really get his teeth into. Over the past few weeks, ever since the Knave journeyed back to 1889, he’d performed a few odd jobs for the anonymous corporation but nothing that gave him the sense of purpose that his role protecting women from potential harm had done.

  He looked up as Ramona entered the pub. She was dressed this evening in a loose purple top with a shimmery thread running through it and a pair of tight black pants that did pleasurable things to the senses of a red-blooded man. He stood up to greet her, wishing she were as tactile as Amy was but he was well aware that she preferred not to embrace and kiss upon meeting. Ramona was a woman who treasured her personal space. “Good evening.”

  “Hey Elliot. Do you want to get anything to eat? A snack or something? I missed dinner.”

  “Go ahead and eat. Order whatever you like,” he said gallantly. “But I’ll bow out. The good life is starting to show.” He patted his belly to demonstrate his small podge and Ramona giggled. “I think the extra weight suits you. You looked a little haggard and gaunt before, if you don’t mind me saying so. I might grab some steak and chips.”

  “Sit down and I’ll go and order.” He was already pulling a chair out for her, warmed by her lightly delivered compliment and her giggle. “Wine? Beer?” He subtly inhaled as she seated herself, enjoying the faint, fruity fragrance of the shampoo she’d used on her hair. Pleasant smelling personal products were yet another marvel of this era and they would have be a boon when dealing with the stench of the slums.

  The couple chatted as Ramona ate her dinner and Elliot waited until she’d put her knife and fork down before broaching the subject he really wanted to talk about this evening. “Have you heard from the corporation?” he asked casually, not wanting to get his hopes up too high. “I’d love the chance to do some more work for them.”

  “I spoke to the senior committee today. There is something coming…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “We’ve received notification about the Knave’s movements.”

  An immediate chill settled over him and he felt the goosebumps rise on his arms in response. “Is he back?”

  She quickly shook her head. “No, no yet. He’s trapped in the Victorian era for now but it seems he has plans to return at some stage.”

  “What’s he doing back there? He hasn’t started killing again, has he?” Annie. It was impossible not to think of his lost love and her terrible death when he imagined that lunatic back walking those streets.

  She fixed her blue eyes on him, her expression grave and serious
. “Elliot, he’s a man driven by evil. He failed in his multiple attempts to murder anyone here, which has only increased his desire and his lust for blood. He already knows that he can get away with far more back in 1889 than he can here. There have been a number of deaths but as yet, no one has linked the killings to the continued rampage of Jack the Ripper. He’s changed his modus operandi and he’s no longer using the same slash and rip method that gave him the name in the first place. No one has made a connection and I don’t know if they ever will.” She saw the look on his face and laid her hand across his own where it rested on the table. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

  “It’s ok.” He didn’t remove his hand from beneath hers, enjoying the solid warmth of her palm against his skin. She seldom touched him like this and he wasn’t above dragging the moment out. “Annie is gone and I like to think she’s resting in peace.”

  “There is one more thing…” Disappointingly, she pulled her hand away and rested it in her lap. “There’s been some kind of blip but the corporation is still working on the finer details. I can’t tell you anything more for now, but I have arranged for us to have a video call with Darcy Darcel.”

  Elliot grinned, glad for the chance to shift his thoughts away from darker musings. “Darcy! I haven’t spoken to him for far too long. How is the old scoundrel?”

  “You can ask him yourself tomorrow evening when you talk to him.” She nodded at his empty beer glass. “Are you having another? My treat.”

  “Thank you, I will. Are you going to continue your story when you come back?” He knew her well enough now to notice when she intended to clam up after having given him just enough details to pique his curiosity. She would create a diversion, such as the one she’d just made now, and then she’d drop an entirely different topic into the conversation. He didn’t intend to let her get away with it again this evening.

  She widened her eyes in feigned innocence. “Which story?”