Blood Rites Read online

  “Good heavens!” Smith shouted, starting to rise, but a fist slammed into the elder man’s face, breaking the nasal septum and causing the lenses to fly from the thin nose bridge and sail towards the far wall. The next blow slammed the curator against the rough cedar boards of the crate, fracturing his left arm in four places and shattering the greater trochanter of his left femur. The third blow split his upper lip, cracked six teeth, and partially dislocated the left temporomandibular joint. Blood filled the curator’s mouth, and his mangled lips poignantly formed the word ‘why?’ as the possessed archaeology student picked up the heavy, iron prise bar and raised it high overhead.

  The hellish entity, released from its stony prison and now inhabiting and forever altering William Wilson’s appearance, used the once human eyes to stare at the fragile old man for several seconds. It mentally examined the meagre contents of the curator’s pockets, read his thoughts, counted every thread of his six-year-old suit, mapped the wrinkles on his hands, and determined the precise cadence of the old man’s failing heart; summing up sixty-three years of life into one final judgement.

  “You have freed me from my prison, so I offer you one chance for life. Whom do you serve, human? Will you throw away your love on The One, whom you call I AM, or will you follow me to glory and riches?” the being asked.

  Nearly unconscious, Conroy Obadiah Smith thought of his beautiful wife Eliza and of their three children, all grown, all successful, and he summoned up the courage to reply. Though his speech was garbled, his mouth filled with clotting blood and acrid bile, the valiant human spoke unflinchingly to the ancient creature.

  “I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand in the latter day upon the earth,” Smith quoted. “No matter what you may try to do to me, Watcher, you are forever damned!”

  “You have chosen poorly,” the thing replied, and the iron bar slammed into the parietal bones of Dr. Conroy Smith’s delicate skull, disintegrating both along the coronal suture, and cleaving the gentle curator’s brain in two.

  The Watcher knelt beside the broken body, touching the blood and examining it, smelling it. “Human blood still tastes sweet,” he said, licking at the warm, sticky substance. “Too long have I slept. Let us see just how this world has changed in five thousand years.”

  Chapter One

  6, November, 1888, Tuesday

  James Paul Robert Ian Stuart sighed. At six foot three, with broad shoulders and a trim waist, he cut a dashing figure no matter where he went, but this morning, the 12th Earl of Aubrey’s customary good humour and self-confidence had completely abandoned him. As he stood before the gold-framed, cheval mirror, the Scottish peer found himself drowning in a murky sea of self-doubt and dread. The thirty-three-year-old seldom paused for introspection, but today—thirteen days after relinquishing Elizabeth Stuart’s heart and future to his new cousin, Charles Sinclair—the earl’s own, tender heart had begun to despair.

  “You grow more handsome each day,” came a soft voice from the chamber’s inner doorway. “However do you manage that, Lord Aubrey?”

  The earl turned, a bright smile widening his lean face. “I thought you were still asleep. I hope I didn’t wake you by running water for an early morning bath.”

  “Not at all,” the duchess answered, as she entered the bedroom once occupied by her late father. “In truth, I’ve been awake for hours. Reading mostly. Don’t tell me you’re off to Whitehall already! It’s not yet eight o’clock, Paul.”

  “No, not this morning,” he told her, as he fiddled with an obstinate pair of cufflinks. “I thought to spend an hour in your library, catching up on world news, and then perhaps I’ll write a few letters. Dull day, really. Shouldn’t we keep our voices low, though? If I’m not mistaken, your beleaguered fiancé still dreams upon that rather unfriendly couch within your sitting room.”

  Elizabeth sat upon the edge of the unmade bed, her dark eyes fixed upon her cousin’s face. Having her so close, that deep ache in Paul’s heart begged to be soothed, so he turned back towards the mirror to conceal the raw emotions. He pretended to straighten his tie, but could still see her in the mirror, sitting behind him. Stuart longed to turn back ‘round and lift her up into his arms, make her his own, if only for a moment. You gave her up, he reminded himself. Let it go.

  “Is that a new dress?” he asked with feigned nonchalance.

  As she would be sitting for a photographer later that morning, the petite Duchess of Branham had chosen an emerald green, silk dress trimmed in Battenberg lace, that she’d only worn once, when attending a small dinner party with Aubrey in the spring of that year.

  She sighed, her lips pursed in a slight pout. “Not new, no. I wore it in Paris, though you apparently have no memory of it.”

  “Did you? I’d not noticed. Sorry,” he lied, maintaining the calm exterior. “It’s quite nice. You look lovely, as always.”

  In truth, the earl remembered the dress very well. It was late May, and he’d just arrived in Paris to spend the summer months with Elizabeth at their aunt’s home. In belated celebration of her twentieth birthday, Aubrey had invited Beth to attend a musical soirée at Dolly Patterson-Smythe’s home. The singer that Dolly had engaged for the evening’s entertainment had proven mediocre and sang a trifle flat, but as always the duchess dazzled everyone there, most of all her lovestruck cousin.

  Was that the night I fell in love with her? he wondered, as he secretly admired her serene beauty, reflected upon the mirror’s silvery surface. Elizabeth’s thick hair caressed the curve of her back in elegant waves, and the electric chandelier’s prismatic light glinted off the raven strands in sparks of radiant ebony, mixed with a rainbow of jewel tone hues. Her small mouth formed a perfect Cupid’s bow of rose, and her smooth cheeks held a faint, pink blush. Paul had never wanted more to hold her, but he restrained the impulse—though it was nearly impossible to do so.

  “I suppose it’s one of those dresses that men find difficult to recall,” she told him, tugging at a bit of the lace. “Paul, are you unhappy?”

  “Now, that is an odd question for such a lovely day,” he answered as he fastened a watch chain to the small pocket of his waistcoat.

  “But a sincere one,” she replied. Seeing the apparent lack of interest on his face, she pretended to smooth the skirt of her dress. “Never mind.” The duchess sensed the unease in her cousin and wanted to help, so she decided to try another tack. “You are incredibly handsome, Cousin,” she continued, offering a bright smile. “I wonder how it is you are not drowning in letters of female admiration from all across the kingdom.”

  This new approach only made his mood worse, but the earl recognised the reason behind her attempts to help, so he abandoned the mirror to sit beside her on the bed’s edge. The silk coverlet and sheets pooled betwixt them like a riverbed of blue and white: he upon one shore, and she upon the opposite; a stark reminder that their future together had been forever sundered. He touched her small hand, enjoying the softness of her skin, and then kissed the palm; the delicate scent of raspberries and vanilla reminding him of bygone days.

  “I do remember the dress,” Aubrey confessed. “You wore pearl and emerald earrings with it, and your hair was styled in a sleek twist at the back of your neck,” he said, his right hand tracing the curve of her back. “You looked like a radiant queen, Elizabeth, and every man there fell in love with you. Every man.” Suddenly conscious of the danger of continuing, he released her hand. “You really shouldn’t be in here.”

  “Why not? All the doors stand open,” she argued, completely unaware of her effect upon his heart. “You and I are lifelong friends, and besides, nothing inappropriate is taking place. However, if you think I should leave, then...” she said, rising to her feet.

  “No, don’t go,” he pleaded, taking her hand once more, his blue eyes filled with deep affection.

  She looked down at her small shoes, wondering why she�
�d come in here at all. “Shall I help with your cufflinks?” she asked, reaching over to secure a link that had come unlatched. “You really should use a valet, you know. The sling on your left arm must make dressing difficult. I cannot imagine how you managed to bathe on your own.” She stopped speaking, crimson rising to her cheeks as she realised the intimate implication of her remark. “Never mind. You know, I remember seeing your father wear these cufflinks. Wasn’t there a matching stickpin?”

  He took her chin in his unfettered, right hand. “Why are you here, Elizabeth?”

  “Only to say good morning,” she whispered sweetly.

  “I know you better than that, Princess. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Once more, she gazed down at her shoes, as if the answer might be written there. “I dreamt of you last night,” she said at last.

  “I often dream of you,” he admitted, instantly regretting the honesty. “I suppose this dream was about my many missteps at Helena Brightman’s ghastly ball last Friday,” Stuart added, laughing to lighten her mood, but to his dismay, Elizabeth began to cry. “Forgive me, darling. You’re distressed about something. Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? Was this dream a nightmare?”

  She nodded, and he put an arm around her shoulders. “It was a dreadful dream,” she confessed, “but I’ve this awful feeling that there was even more to it than I can recall. I remember that you were in it, and that... Well, there was this large room, like a ballroom, I think. And it was filled with couples, dancing. Charles was there, also, but I didn’t dance with him.”

  “A dream about a ball? You were only reliving last week, Beth. We attended a ball almost every night!”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t about any of those parties, Paul. I didn’t recognise this room at all, and aside from you and Charles, I knew no one else. I’d been dancing with you, when a tall man with dark hair asked if he might have the next waltz, and I said yes. You grew angry, and I remember that you kept watch on me all the while that we danced.”

  “This tall man was probably Charles, dear.”

  “No, it wasn’t! I could see Charles standing near a group of policemen, but he didn’t seem to know me. There was a little girl standing with him, and I remember thinking that she looked a bit like me. The orchestra played waltz after waltz, and it made me dizzy, for I never left the floor. This very tall man refused to allow anyone else to dance with me, and he insisted we continue, even though I’d grown quite tired, and my feet hurt. The musicians’ faces had seemed ordinary at first, but they began to play faster and faster, and with each increase in tempo, their faces altered.”

  “Altered? What do you mean?” he asked, trying to unravel the mysterious dream’s meaning.

  “It’s hard to explain. They sort of melted into something new. Their features grew into hideous shapes; noses longer, ears pointed, like that of an animal.”

  He took her hand, worried now that this dream may represent a new danger from Redwing, or the return of old memories, long forgotten. “Do you remember anything more?”

  She shuddered. “Yes. I tried to call out to you for help, but you’d begun dancing with a woman with red hair. She drew you farther and farther away from me until you disappeared completely.”

  He kissed her cheek. “This is not a very realistic dream, darling. I would never leave you. Especially not if there were even a hint of danger to you. You do know that; don’t you, Beth?”

  “Yes, I know it, but it is how the dream went.”

  She paused, her breathing quickening, and he pulled her close. “Is there more?” he asked.

  Elizabeth nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks. “Yes. As soon as you were gone, a great shadow crept into the room, filling all the corners, and it seemed to be watching me. Then I heard howling, like an entire zoo of wild animals had been loosed into the room. The raucous howls grew deafeningly loud, and the orchestra’s melody altered into a minor key, an evil sort of music. My cruel dance partner thought it all quite amusing, and he began to laugh, jerking my arm as he tried to pull me closer. That’s when I fell. I’d slipped in something wet. I looked down and realised I was wearing a wedding gown. The white skirt was covered in blood, as were my hands. In fact, the entire ballroom was painted with blood. The musicians had completely transformed into animals now, and they leapt upon the terrified dancers. Oh, Paul, it was awful! I began to scream, crying out your name, and only then did Charles seem to notice me at all. He rushed towards me, but before he could reach me, the location shifted, as it sometimes happens in dreams. Now, I stood upon a street in Whitechapel, and I was a little girl again. Mother lay beside me, and she... Oh, Paul, I’d almost forgotten how he tore her apart! I looked up, and a monstrous beast stood over me. Its teeth were sharp and stained in blood; its breath fetid and hot. I recognised it, Paul. I knew the beast’s eyes. I’d seen them so many times. It was... It was...”

  “Who, dear?” he asked her, fearing what the next words would be.

  “Trent. It was William Trent! He was the great wolf!”

  He drew her into his arms, kissing her forehead. “I know how terrifying this must have been, but it was only a dream, Princess. Nothing more. You used to dream about that beast nearly every night. Do you remember? Perhaps, spending time reminiscing at Branham this past fortnight has uncovered some of these old memories. You must have shown Charles and me every photograph album your father kept when you were a girl. And there were many pictures of your mother as well. I’m sure that’s all it is, dear.”

  “Perhaps, but there was more to the dream,” she continued. “As I wept on that Whitechapel street, I could hear your voice. You assured me that I was safe. It brought me such calm, Paul. Such peace. I cannot express how much,” she said as she wiped at the tears. “But then, another man appeared in the dream. He wore formal dress, and he looked familiar. I think it was the same, awful little man who called on me at Branham last year and asked about Mother’s rings and necklace. The one who wanted money.”

  “Sir Clive Urquhart?” he asked.

  “Yes, I believe that was his name. In the dream, he also asked me about the rings. When I told him I didn’t know where they were, he held out a box, but when I opened it, I found no rings, only a stickpin with Redwing’s symbol on it. That awful man then laughed, saying that I was next! I began to scream, and that’s when you returned.”

  “And?” he prompted her as he wrapped her in his arms.

  “You challenged Urquhart, drawing your pistol. You raised your arm to fire, but suddenly Urquhart was gone! He’d vanished into thin air! And all I could hear was the minor key of orchestra music and above it laughter and animal cries.”

  The earl grew silent for a moment, digesting the dream’s implications. Is Redwing plotting something new that involves Urquhart? “Is that the entire dream?”

  “Yes. At least, it is all I can remember. Paul, I think there’s more, but I simply cannot seem to reach it. I’ve been trying since I awoke, but it resists all efforts. I am sorry. Is it important?”

  “It might be,” he admitted. “Look, let’s forget all about these dark dreams for now. All right? Did telling me help?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “It did. I’m still puzzled as to why Charles seemed not to know me.”

  “Who can say? Perhaps, you should talk to him about it.”

  “I’d rather not,” she told him.

  “Darling, I think he’d want to know. And if you’re worried about Charles’s love for you, don’t be. Whenever you are in the room, Beth, you are all he sees.” He helped her to stand, and she put her arm through his. As they walked towards the door, the earl had a thought. “Elizabeth, tell me why it is that you link Urquhart with William in this dream. Have you ever seen them together?”

  “No, not that I can recall,” she replied. “But Urquhart may have visited the hall when Trent was there. I’m not sure, but it seems that he did. When
he called on me last summer, I remember thinking how familiar he looked.”

  “Urquhart and Trent form a diabolical pairing. I’m sure they are both high ranking members of Redwing.”

  “And William is their leader,” she said plainly. “He often hosted well-known men and women at Branham. As I say, Sir Clive may have been one, but I’m not certain.”

  “I am,” the earl said flatly. “Those two worms continually feed at the roots of our family, sating themselves whilst weakening you, and I won’t have it. I’m very sorry he and Trent invaded your dreams last night, Princess.”

  “So am I,” she whispered. “I should go and allow you to finish dressing.”

  “You worry that this dream will come true, don’t you?” She looked away rather than reply, and he could almost read her thoughts. “Beth, I’m sure all of this is just your mind trying to make sense of everything that’s happened to you lately. That’s how dreams often work, as if disparate events and experiences must be stirred together into a strange admixture. The dream does not presage the future.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she murmured, unconvinced. “Oh, just ignore me. Please, don’t tell Charles. It would only upset him, and he’s already struggling with trying to sort through all these murders in the east. I don’t wish to add to his burdens. Really, I didn’t want to tell you, but I had to get it out. I’ve been awake since five, worrying about it.”

  “I won’t say a word,” he promised. “But you really should consider talking to him yourself. Not that I mind serving as your confident, darling, but Charles will be your husband soon, so you must learn to trust him.”

  “I do trust Charles,” she insisted, tears glistening in her eyes, “but—oh, I cannot explain it!”

  He nearly replied, but the despair upon her face made him reconsider. “Look, let’s forget all about this dream for now. The rain is finally ended, and the sun is out. It’s a beautiful day. What do you say to a short walk before breakfast? By the time we’re all done, your sleepyhead fiancé will be up and about, and if you want to tell him about this dream, you can.”