Deadly night, p.26
Deadly Night, page 26
part #1 of Ageless Mysteries Series
“You were there when she died,” Thea said, her voice flat. Of course he had been. “You killed her.”
“Just wanted to touch,” he said, the eagerness in his voice making her stomach turn. “All that blood. They hadn’t given her enough sedation. Too busy with the baby. She was wriggling. Wriggle wriggle wriggle. And the screams. Oh. Delicious.” He had the same warmth in his voice as he had when talking about Susan’s hair and fragrance.
Thea was going to be sick.
“She wouldn’t let me touch. No no no. Not me. Others yes. Not me. But she didn’t have a choice in the end. None of them did. In the end.” His claws clicked together for emphasis.
Susan had been a paid companion, Thea remembered. And wondered if Susan had not been allowed to let other men touch her. Or if the long-dead Ageless-born woman had seen something in Ambrose that Thea had missed. Something dangerous that had made her wary.
Whatever the reasons, it had not helped Susan in the end.
Thea needed to get away.
She glanced aside, looking for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Instead, she saw a wheelbarrow and a pile of clothing. Women’s clothing.
She looked down, relieved to find that he had left her in her uniform, even if he had stripped her of anything she might use for defence. She couldn’t see the crossbow, bolts, whistle or rope that she usually carried. There was a white nightgown on the floor by the platform. Probably intended for her. But he had decided to tie her up first.
His mistake.
Next to the women’s clothing was what looked like a collection of spears, leaning against the wall. Thea blinked, wondering if she had imagined it. But, no. Definitely spears.
Better than a poker.
She looked back at Ambrose, to find him a pace or two closer. Working his way towards her. Beyond his scales she could see the odd shapes of various other things that she recognised from his shop.
They must be in the shop building, she realised. Underneath it.
He had built this into the earth. The soil around them would swallow any screams she might make.
She was trapped. Underground. The weight of the building overhead pressed against her shoulders. Alone with a creature that even the Ageless were wary of.
There was no air. No air. She could not breathe. Could not see. Could not hear anything apart from the wheeze in her throat and the thudding in her chest.
Think. Think. Think.
The ceiling was not on her shoulders. She could stand up. The escalus could stand up to his full height, far taller than she was. There was room to move.
And there was air.
She sucked in a breath that tore down her throat, expelled the air on a whimper, and breathed in again. The walls were not moving. The ceiling was solid. She was not being crushed.
Breathe.
The walls and ceiling were still in place. Not moving.
She was in a basement. That was all.
There was at least one way out. The stairs that led up.
She had to get out.
Her eyes travelled to the platform. It was long and narrow, with metal rings at the two corners she could see, rope already looped through. Ready for his next victim.
She wondered how many women had died here. Prudence. The two women before her. Mistress Walker. But not Blythe, killed in her own home. And not Brigid. Brigid was alive.
And Thea had spent hours of practice in the secret room she and her mother had built. She had skills that none of the others had.
She lifted her chin slightly, keeping watch on the escalus. Brigid was alive. And healing.
Thea would live. She would not be a victim. She would not.
She slid along the floor, towards the spears, keeping her eyes on Ambrose as he began to move towards her with a slow, measured, pace. Letting her see his approach. He had called her prey. Saw himself as a hunter.
He was at the end of the platform now, the stench overwhelming her again. She reached out and grabbed one of the spears, holding it in front of her as she scrambled to her feet. Mouth dry. Heart thudding in her ears. Stomach twisting. She wanted to be sick.
The mild-mannered curio shop owner was gone. Replaced with a creature that towered over her, fluttering layers of scales around it, human face distorted, skin stretched and bones lengthened into something more like a bird’s face with fangs gleaming between its thin lips, pale yellow eyes glowing in the dim light.
Now that he had shed his human aspect, she could feel the weight of age around him. Ancient and cold, like the Ageless. Older than three hundred years.
“How many?” she asked again.
“It was easier before,” he said, taking another step towards her. “One a year. That was enough. Need more now.”
“More?” Thea asked, voice rasping. They had missed something in their investigations. Whatever it was that he needed from the dead.
“All those lovely screams,” he said, the scales around him shivering. “Delicious.”
“You needed their screams?” Thea asked, voice rising in pitch.
“Stupid girl. No. The screams were extra.”
“What, then? Why did you kill all those women?” Thea asked. The spear felt flimsy in her hands. Insubstantial. Ambrose was too big, too powerful. She was going to die. “Did they all look like her? Like Susan?” she asked. A question and a guess born of panic. All the dead women Thea had seen were the same type. Ageless-born, with dark hair.
“Pretty hair,” Ambrose said. “All that pretty hair.”
She almost dropped the spear, stomach twisting, her guess confirmed. All those women who had reminded Ambrose of his long-dead obsession.
And she was the same. Ageless-born, with dark hair. Facing an escalus which even the Ageless were wary of. She was going to die here in this basement.
But she wanted to live. She had spent most of her life afraid. Of the Ageless. Of Conscription. Afraid of being recognised for what she was.
She wanted to live. And make choices for herself, without fear.
“There it is. All that life,” he said, and lunged forward, one hand reaching, claws open, trying to get hold of her again.
“Life?” she asked, moving away. That made sense. The night kind fed on energy.
“And screams,” he answered, voice grating.
She swallowed a scream of her own and ducked away from him, slapping the spear against his reaching arm, then turning it, stabbing forward, catching him somewhere underneath all those fluttering scales. The tip of the spear stuck, and she let it go as he stumbled back, not wanting to be pulled with him.
He shrieked, a sound that tore through her ears and mind and made her step back, instinct overriding everything else.
She reached behind her, fingers trembling, searching for another spear. Something. Anything she could use as a weapon. Nothing. Her fingers met the edge of the platform. She climbed on to it, standing on its surface, her head brushing the ceiling, stirring her panic. But there was no time for that. There was an iron ring near her head, with a length of rope threaded through. Iron. Hammered into the earthen ceiling. There might be a spike. She grabbed the ring with both hands and pulled, a shower of dirt cascading over her shoulders.
The ring gave into her hands so quickly that she stumbled backwards, almost falling off the edge of the platform. But she had a weapon now. She wound the rope around her hand, swinging the iron ring and its long spike. Waiting. Ambrose was still between her and the door. But if she could draw him forwards, there would be an opening.
He tore the spear out of his middle and tossed it aside. It clattered against the other spears, spilling them across the floor. He surged forward, rising to his full height.
Night kind, she remembered, her panicked mind putting the pieces together even as she tried to keep the distance between them. Night kind gathered energy from other living creatures. Most of the night kind just took a little at a time. Most of them. The escalus killed to get his energy. Life, he had said. But Thea was sure he had really meant death. The energy of someone dying. That was what he was after.
And not just anyone. He liked Ageless-born. And liked to kill his victims slowly.
And she was trapped with him.
She swung the rope, the iron ring gathering speed, and let it go, aiming for his head.
It struck his head with a satisfying crunch. Bones broken. He staggered back, howling with rage.
Not dead. Not down. Injured. And annoyed. And still in her way.
She was still trapped with him.
The bell rang. An incongruous, merry sound that cut through his hiss of rage and pain.
The bell.
The shop bell.
Thea’s eyes went past Ambrose to the stairs leading up. The shop. There was someone in the shop.
She slid off the other side of the platform, searching for something else she could use as a weapon.
“Hello! Anyone there?”
The voice from above sounded familiar, although she could not place it immediately.
“Get out! Call the Watch” she shouted. There. Amid all the clutter. There was an old platter or some kind with what looked like a fruit knife, the edge of it gleaming in the faint light.
“Officer March?” Niath’s voice called down. “Is that you?”
Niath. The mage seemed to turn up at the strangest times. No time to ask why he was here just now.
“Get out and call the Watch. It’s here!” Thea shouted back. The hilt of the knife was solid in her hand. The blade was far too small. It was better than nothing.
A shadow darkened the opening to the stairs.
“Officer March?” Niath called down. He was crouching in the opening, trying to see into the dark.
Ambrose moved, snatching up one of the spears between his claws, thrusting it forward and up, towards Niath.
Thea barely had time for a cry of warning.
It was not needed. Niath leapt forward, through the opening, robes spilling around him as he landed on the earthen floor, dropping to a crouch, facing Ambrose. No human could have made that jump and landed so lightly.
The creature straightened to its full height and took a pace back. Perhaps in sheer surprise.
Thea found that her mouth was open, staring at the mage. She had told him to go for help. Instead, he was here. At the foot of the stairs.
“Is this the escalus?” Niath asked. He did not sound frightened.
“It’s Ambrose Twist.”
“The shop owner?” Niath asked, sounding surprised.
“Yes.”
Ambrose roared and lumbered towards Niath, the spear still in his claws.
Niath straightened and took a step back, hand lifting, and flung a spell at Ambrose, too quickly for Thea to track it.
Whatever the mage had done, it sent Ambrose flying backwards. Towards Thea.
She ducked sideways, rolling on the ground between crates until she was near Niath, coming to her feet a short distance from the mage, the fruit knife still in her hand.
Ambrose crashed into the platform, the weight of him and the force of his fall splintering the heavy wood.
The platform broke in a shower of splinters, the filthy blankets spilling around the escalus as it tumbled to the ground.
“Up the stairs,” Niath prompted, giving Thea a shove against her shoulder.
The escalus was off his feet. It made sense.
Thea sprinted up the stairs as fast as she could, feeling Niath right behind her.
They reached the shop floor. It was dark outside, and no one had lit any of the lanterns around the shop.
Thea bumped into something solid and let out a squeal before she realised it was the desk. Ambrose’s desk.
Before she or Niath could move further, there was a strange whirring noise from the basement. She moved quickly around the desk, Niath with her, so that the solid piece of furniture was between them and the stairs.
The escalus rose up from the basement, the scales around its body lifted, reminding Thea of wings, and fluttering, sending more of the foul stench into the air. Its feet were not on the stairs or the ground.
“He can fly?” Niath asked. He sounded outraged at the idea. Thea did not blame him. Bad enough confronting something that large and powerful, without it also being able to fly out of reach.
Niath’s voice had changed. It was deeper, resonating with the power that had drawn her before.
She spared a brief glance across at him and found he had shed his human aspect, showing what was underneath. Night kind, as she had suspected. Not the almost-benign kind of Matthew Shand and his clan, but a more dangerous version. Hiandar. They could feed on emotion and energy and blood. The softer human aspect had been stripped away to the more angled planes of a predator, gleaming white fangs showing at his mouth, eyes black lid-to-lid, and a seductive scent curling around him, drawing Thea toward him.
The hum of Ambrose’s wings cut through Niath’s scent, clearing Thea’s head.
She still had the fruit knife. There were spears up here, though. She glanced aside, measuring the distance.
“He’s bleeding,” Niath said, voice slurred slightly with his fangs.
“I stabbed him with a spear,” Thea said.
“Excellent. Can you do that again?” he asked.
“If I had a weapon, yes,” she said.
“Is that the only blade you have?” Niath asked, voice low and urgent.
“Yes. All I could find.”
“Can you use a sword?” he asked.
“We don’t have a sword,” she hissed back. Ambrose was completely out of the basement now, and the foul smell from his wings was making her eyes sting.
“Can you use one?” Niath asked again, an edge to his voice.
“Yes,” she snapped back, the fruit knife held in front of her. She was not sure how much good it would do.
“Good,” Niath said, and clamped his hand over hers where it held the knife. His skin was shockingly warm against hers, the heat of him seeping into her bones. He murmured a word that released his power into the room. Warm and compelling, it lifted the awful stink of the escalus.
Magic shivered across her skin, through her fingers and palm, and the humble fruit knife in her hand grew, becoming a slender, gleaming sword with an edge that shone bright as diamonds.
“I’ve enhanced the edge of it,” Niath said, taking a step sideways. Giving her room to swing her new weapon.
“You have a plan?” she asked in return.
“Yes.”
“I hope it works,” she said, taking a step sideways, out of the shelter of the desk.
Ambrose’s attention turned to her at once.
“Pretty hair,” he said.
She took another step away from the desk. Closer to the mountain lion and the spears. Sword ready.
“You like my hair?” she asked Ambrose, baring her flat, human teeth at him. “Come closer, and I’ll show you what I think about that.”
The escalus shivered in the air, the scales catching the last of the light, and she almost choked on the stench as it dove towards her, claws outstretched.
She held her ground, her mother’s voice ringing in her hair. Hold, hold, hold. Until the very last moment. Then she stepped forward, sword lifted. She stabbed upwards, with all of her Ageless-born strength, into the dark middle of the escalus, catching whatever softness the creature possessed, the magical edge of the sword breaking through the escalus’ skin, grating against bone. She twisted the blade, widening the wound.
Ambrose shrieked, pulling away.
The sword slid out of him as he moved. Thea dropped to the ground, rolling to one side in the narrow spaces between the clutter around her as he lashed out with one of those great claws, the tip of it slicing through her uniform.
“Stay down,” Niath said, rising to his feet. There was a ball of what looked like fire in one of his hands, and he threw it forward.
His aim was off, Thea thought, scrabbling back to her feet, sword held ready. He had aimed too low to catch Ambrose’s head or heart.
Then she realised that the mage had not been aiming at the creature’s head or heart, but at the open wound on its torso. The wound she had made with the sword.
The fire bit into the wound, flames rising, surging forward, burrowing into the creature.
“Get down,” Niath said, and flung himself over Thea, pulling her to the ground.
She shoved him away on instinct. Or tried to. With his human aspect stripped away, he was as strong as she was, pinning her to the ground, dark fabric billowing around them. His robes, she realised, the cloth spreading out.
Before she had time to panic, to realise she was trapped under cloth, there was a muffled explosion. Around the edges of the cloth she could see fire soaring across the ceiling above their heads, brilliant yellow and orange and white, carrying with it the foul stench of the escalus, and bits and pieces of the creature. The remnant of a scale. A dismembered arm, the claws still clicking. Then the bony shape of the creature’s skull flew over Thea’s head, thumping into the wall nearby.
“Stay down,” Niath said, and muttered a word that she didn’t know.
He had put power into that word, the warmth of his magic drifting across her skin, far more potent than the heat of the flames over her head.
Whatever spell he had used, it cancelled out the flames almost at once.
He straightened, coming to his knees, the folds of his robes settling around him once more, sliding away from Thea, leaving her cold for a moment before the warmth from the fire hit her.
She sat up, coughing at the mingled smells, and looked around, blinking.
The interior of the curio shop had been utterly destroyed. Fire had claimed most of the items, turning them to dark piles of ash. In the midst of the ash there were bits and pieces of the escalus. A leg. Another arm. Ribs. Fragments of scales.
“Is it definitely dead?” Thea asked, scrambling to her feet. The sword was still in her hand and she held it ready, moving across to the rib cage.
There was nothing in the bones. No organs that she could see.
Even so, she poked the end of the sword between the ribs, reassured when they crumbled to dust.
