Anna's clouded mind finally recognised the sound which had woken her. It was the phone. And it wouldn't go away.
A few moments of fumbling brought the awful device into her hands and against the side of her head. ``Hello?''
There was a brief pause. ``Anna, this is Arthur.'' His voice sounded very strange--not that he should be sounding normal after just returning from the hospital the day before. His convalescence had proceeded very quickly while she stayed with him during the day, and she had left scarcely nine hours ago.
But still, he sounded...spooked.
Anna forced herself to a semblance of coherence. ``Arthur, what's wrong?''
Lord Dalming's voice was flat and soft, as though he were in some kind of shock. ``Can you meet me here, soon, please?''
``Why? Arthur, what's the matter?''
``Please, can you come?''
Anna blinked her eyes a few times, but the confusion refused to go away. ``Yes, I can be there in by ten-thirty. Are you alright?''
``I think so. I'm not sure. Don't worry, nothing will happen before you get here; I am fairly certain of that.''
The phone clicked, and a dial tone rang in Anna's ear. Less than a minute later, she was up and in the shower.
Anna waited patiently for the door to open. Arthur owned a very nice first story flat in one of the more prosperous--or, at least, less rundown--sections of the city. When she had seen it the day before, she had thought that it looked quite lived in, and wondered when Arthur had last been to his estate. He had been much too weak at the time for her to ask him a lot of questions, even though she very much wanted to find out more about this mysterious gentleman whose interest she had attracted, a feeling which, Anna was beginning to realise, was not entirely one-sided.
But all such idle curiosities were driven from her mind this morning. Arthur opened the door, looking pale and drawn, his right arm and most of his right side bound by bandages. He managed a weak looking smile.
``I'm glad you are here,'' he said.
Anna didn't know what to do. Still standing before the open door, she asked, again, ``Arthur, tell me what's wrong.''
Dalming dropped a key into the pocket of the shirt which was draped loosely over his battered torso, stepped into the hall, and closed the door. ``There is something I must absolutely show someone, and I can think of no one other than you with whom to do so.''
More confused than ever, Anna followed the lord out onto the street, a block further along Malmesbury Road, and two blocks up a much dingier looking road. When he began to enter a deserted looking building, she could not keep silent any longer. ``Arthur, what is going on here?''
The look in his eyes as he turned to her was all the answer necessary. She knew that something very, very important was about.
They climbed several flights of steps, and Anna offered support to Arthur's laborious efforts. ``I woke this morning,'' he said, as he left the stairs at the fourth storey landing, ``feeling very weak, and strange. I thought I had had terrible nightmares during my rest.
``But, after I saw, and feared what had happened, I felt myself drawn to this place--I know not how, but I could not keep my feet from bringing me here.''
By this time, he had reached a door, which appeared to be unlocked. He pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Anna followed, and stood there for several seconds while her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The windows appeared to be boarded, and hardly any light seeped in past the door, which Arthur had closed over again.
``And I found this,'' said Arthur.
Anna focused her eyes harder, and noticed a rectangular shape. Moving closer, realisation began to set in, and cold chills shot up her spine.
Sitting on the one table in the room was an oblong wooden box, about seven feet long--a coffin. Anna stumbled two steps backward, and when Arthur touched her elbow she jerked violently away. Her eyes didn't see Arthur, didn't even see a human being, but rather they noticed the ascot that was fastened around Dalming's neck. Around his neck.
Anna bolted for the door.
Arthur cried out, ``Please, Anna, wait! Help me!''
Halfway into the hallway, Anna stopped, as though his voice were a net set to catch a fleeing animal. She turned around, carefully, still ready to leave, but the pleading look in his eyes yanked at her heart, and she knew she couldn't just leave.
Arthur held the ascot in his left hand, and on his throat were two tiny little red dots, placed directly over his jugular vein.
With trembling hand, Anna produced the cross which she wore around her neck. It was a tiny thing, but its golden form cast small sparkles across the dim doorway, and the room within. ``Arthur, take this from me.''
Anna felt horrible, and Arthur's face told her just how hurt he was by the request. But she had to do something. With just the barest hesitation, Arthur gently reached out and touched the cross. Anna let her hand slip free, and he held it by himself.
``Arthur, we have to get some help here, now! I'm taking you back to your flat, and then I am going off to find some of my friends. Okay?''
Dalming looked ready to faint. ``Yes, of course.''
Bubba had carried Arthur back up the stairs this time, at Anna's insistence, so that the poor man would not have to exert himself again. Brenden, Father Hardy, Alice, Shadoe, Alain and John were all clustered into the small room.
Father Hardy spoke as soon as Arthur had regained his own feet. ``Bubba, please break the boards on these windows.''
The giant went methodically through the room, and as he shattered more and more plywood into splinters, crooked rays of afternoon sunlight streamed into the room.
The priest stepped carefully up to the box. He carried a large wooden cross in his left hand, and a Bible in the other. Not the Sacellum Book of Power, but a handwritten old Victorian Bible which he had been given by the Bishop who had ordained him back on Victoria.
Holding the cross aloft, he intoned, ``Lord of Power and Might, grant us Your Strength to overcome the evil forces which have tainted this place.''
He set the cross atop the coffin's lid, and then sprinkled Holy Water around the box, the table, and the room. With careful movements, he eased the top of the coffin back. The box was empty, to nobody's particular surprise.
Father Hardy took up his cross again as Bubba helped him move the lid to the floor. Black, sweet smelling earth half-filled the coffin.
Brenden stepped up to the coffin lid, and looked closely. Once before had he been this close to such an unholy object, and that one had had 'V.M.' in gilt lettering to announce its owner. Victor Manwaring's mark was not, however, to be seen on this piece of wood.
As Father Hardy produced his Holy Water sprinkler, Alain stepped up to the priest. ``Mightn't we,'' she inquired, ``make use of a part of this soil? I am thinking of how I saw you use the blood of Malcolm Kane to affect one of my spells.''
Hardy nodded. ``Yes, that could very well prove useful.'' Alain produced a small pouch, into which Hardy moved a small amount of the coffin's contents.
David poured Holy Water all over the soil, offering prayer to his God the entire time. The group waited, feeling somehow removed from all of time and space as they watched the methodical process go on.
Finally, looking as though he were on the verge of physical exhaustion, Hardy turned back to the group. ``It is done. Bubba, would you please make the arrangements permanent?''
An ugly grin showed across the giant's face, and he hefted a large ball and chain. In three swings, the coffin and the table were utterly demolished.
The group began to leave. Arthur moved to Anna's side. ``I feel slightly more at ease already. But I fear to be alone tonight. Will you stay with me, please?''
Anna hesitated. Father Hardy was walking past at that moment, and Anna said, ``Father!''
He paused and turned toward her, looking quite grave. ``Yes, Anna?''
``Arthur feels it would be unwise for him to be alone tonight. Will you come with me to help watch him?''
Hardy regarded Lord Dalming. ``Of course. It would pain me to see any more evil befall you, or Dame Anna.''
``Thank you, both.''
Hardy nodded. ``Anna, I have several things to accomplish today. I shall meet you later at your hotel, if you do not mind.''
``Not at all, Father,'' she answered. ``How about six-thirty?''
``Quite agreeable. And you, Lord Dalming.''
Arthur was again looking drawn. ``I suppose. You will be here by sundown, though?''
``Absolutely,'' assured both the lady and the priest.
``Brenden, what's wrong?''
The look on Alice's face told Llewelyn that he was not concealing his thoughts very well. He sighed, and told her in a soft voice what was troubling him.
``I've been thinking about something I saw this morning, when I had breakfast out at the barracks. Remember Jackson, the private who found the body in my flat? I sat near him while I ate, and I swear I saw a little red dot on his throat. I don't know if it was a matching set, though--the other one might have been under his collar, and I only saw the one.''
Alice looked a little shaken--not terribly so, after the revelation about Lord Dalming's situation. ``Did you try and ask him about it Brenden?''
Brenden shook his head. ``I tried to--circumspectly, of course. But he kept me off the subject. It didn't seem like something conscious, just that his mind wouldn't let him talk about it.''
Alice wrung her hands. ``I wonder if the vampyre attempted to put a similar block in Lord Dalming's mind.''
``Hmm. He certainly should have tried. I suspect that Lord Dalming probably has a stronger mind than Private Jackson, however. He might have been able to overcome it.''
The car's gentle rocking motion punctuated a silent ride downtown.
The group that showed up at the Tower of London that evening for dinner was smaller than anticipated. Anna and Father Hardy were on their way to Arthur's--a very good idea, as far as Brenden and Alice were concerned. And, of course, Valentine was nowhere to be seen. Several of her friends had tried to find the girl that afternoon, but to no avail. There were simply too many scummy, rundown, punk sections of the city for a handful of people to even hope to find a missing person.
Major Jonathan Irving Keeler, SAS, greeted Brenden and his entourage at the gate. Two alert looking boys held their assault rifles to port arms as the portcullis was raised and the group came through.
``Brenden, how very nice to see you.''
Llewelyn shook the proffered arm and, with a weary smile, replied, ``John, thank you for the invitation.''
Heavy overcast clouds hung low over London, obscuring the dim red sun. Squalls of rain had bedewed the city on and off since late afternoon, and a fine mist in the air seemed to be the harbinger of another rainfall.
The burly special forces officer gestured towards one of the buildings. ``Well, why don't we move along inside. I think the stewards will probably have cocktails set up by now.''
They were more than happy to oblige.
The Tower of London was now home to the armed forces charged with protecting London. A select group of officers and enlisted men from various of Her Majesty's services were assembled into a special unit, the membership of which was rotated every few months. The officers stayed longer than the enlisted men, however, assuring a good solid framework for the endeavour.
Keeler had been transferred to the Tower shortly after Brenden had taken up residence in London, and the two had met at the reception after a talk by several Israelis concerning the war on the Nile Empire's eastern front. They were of a kind, and they got along very well, despite the fact that they did not often see one another.
The dining room was laid out in fine white linen, and an overabundance of gilt place settings. Two stewards stood by a sideboard, providing libation for the group of officers already present.
Keeler saw to it that his guests were likewise supplied, and then took them around for introductions. Representing Her Majesty's forces, along with Major Keeler, were five other officers--Commander Whitsworth, from the Navy, Knight Commander Gindel from the Aysle Home Guard, Colonel Eddings of the RAF, and two junior leftenants from the army, named Killington and Donahue.
Keeler had, of course, heard about his friends lunchtime disaster from Sunday, but thought better than to mention it. The major knew not what to make of the weird things he had been told about the battle in the café, and didn't really want to make Brenden think about it right now.
In fact, Brenden and his companions were relaxing for what looked like the first time in quite a while. Then there came a raucous noise from outside.
Eddings turned towards one of the doors, where the commotion sounded the loudest. ``What in blazes is all that!''
One of the sentries showed up, saluted the gathered officers, and made for Major Keeler. ``Uh, sir, there's this lady outside the gate, says she's with your guest, Viscount Llewelyn, sir.''
Brenden found a chair and slouched in it, holding one hand across his troubled brow. ``Private, does she by any chance have big pink liberty spikes in her hair?''
The private looked surprised. ``Yes, sir, she does at that.''
Brenden gulped the rest of his drink, and stood. ``John, I'm going to have to take care of this.''
The Major put a hand on Llewelyn's shoulder. ``Nonsense. Either she is with you, or she isn't. Shall I let this woman in?''
Brenden exchanged glances with the rest of his friends. They all looked uneasy. ``John, she stormed off yesterday morning. She is probably royally pissed right now, in both senses of the word.''
``I see.''
Brenden nodded. ``I, uh, would not suggest letting her in.''
Keeler stroked his chin. ``Alright, then. Private, send the young lady away, please.''
The private didn't look pleased with this order. ``Yes, sir.''
Several minutes later, the shouting started again. Brenden didn't have to know French to understand just how unladylike Valentine was being.
He finished another drink, and made for the door. Alice and Shadoe went along. As they approached the gate, they noticed the wafting cigarette smoke and caught sight of the pink hair, and the leather and chains.
Alice said, ``Hello, Valentine. How are you?''
Val said, ``Brenden, you pig! This gun-toting crabgrass said you said not to let me in! What the hell is going on?''
Brenden walked up to the portcullis. ``Val, you're drunk.''
``No shit, mister spook-man. What clued you in? Now will you tell these dolts to open the gate already?''
Brenden tried to choose his words carefully. ``Val, I don't think you are in the proper...state of mind for our little get together here. I don't think you would have a very good time tonight. Why don't you just go home and get a good night's sleep.''
Val laughed, and added a sixth to the pile of stubbed out cigarettes at her feet. As she lit the next, she said, ``I was fucking well invited to this party just like all the rest of you, and I want in NOW!!!''
The private leaned over to the major. ``Sir, we've got some tear gas around.''
``What the hell is all this racket?'' demanded Colonel Eddings as he, too, came out to the gate. ``What has got this girl so flustered?''
Valentine was quickest with the answer. ``Brenden's afraid to let me in because he thinks I'm going to be nasty him since he couldn't get my stuff back from your stupid stuffed-shirt government idiots!''
Brenden looked meek. ``That's about the truth, colonel.''
``Who's got what of hers, Count Llewelyn?''
Val was quietly fuming, in more than one way, as Brenden tried to explain the attack on Val, some of the strange goings on that had plagued him and his comrades, and his inability to get Val's confiscated equipment returned to her.
He concluded, ``So I went over to M.I.5 and had an appointment with the Vice-Director for Blithering and Idiocy, and he got all uptight and refused to even talk about the situation.''
Whitsworth was outside, too, by now. ``Here now,'' said the commander. ``Just who told you this?''
Brenden tried to recall the name. ``Chatham, I think.''
Whitsworth practically snarled. ``Chatham! That self-absorbed overbearing git? He hasn't the authority to turn you down like that. Why, we keep all confiscated materials at the Tower, anyway.''
Brenden wanted to go hide someplace. It took a few seconds for that statement to get through the alcoholic haze around Val, but, when it did, she threw herself at the gate, reaching her hands wildly through the bars.
``You've got my stuff? I want it back! Give it to me!''
Brenden aimed himself towards the nearest sideboard and started to leave. He said, in passing, to Keeler, ``John, if you try and keep her out now, the Tower'll probably get levelled.''
As the bourbon reached his lips, Brenden heard the clanking of the portcullis chains. The group from outside came back into the dining room shortly. Whitsworth was trying his best to keep Val from ripping the building apart while one of the ratings brought her equipment.
When he finally returned, Keeler said, ``We can keep your stuff in another room, Miss Wiggin. I don't think you'll be needing it at dinner.''
Val's head snapped towards the voice. ``Where is it? i want to see my stuff!''
``Private, show the lady.''
``Yes, sir.''
Val hurried over to the soldier, planting a spiked combat boot on Brenden's instep as she crossed the room. Squeals of delight sounded from further down the hall.
Brenden said discretely to his friend, ``John, can we get somebody to slip her a mickey, to calm her down?''
Keeler gave a wry grin, and approached one of the liveried attendants. The spoke quickly, and then the major returned to his guest. ``No problem.''
Presently, the pink hair returned. Lighting a cigarette, Val said, ``So, this is a party, huh? I need something to drink!''
A steward, the one to whom Keeler had spoken, said, ``I'll get you something, ma'am. Would you like to try our specialty?''
``Ooh, that sounds good. What's it called?''
The steward looked momentarily confounded, then said, ``We call it the 'London Blitz', ma'am.''
``Alright! Let's get blitzed!''
Her drink in hand, Val went to the table and raised her glass. ``I propose a toast, to the wonderful General Whitsworth! Cheers!''
Whitsworth frowned at that. He wouldn't have minded if she'd at least said 'Admiral'.
Val drained half the glass, then realised that something was wrong. As her eyes unfocused, she managed, ``Brenden, I'm gonna rip your scrawny little head off when-'' and she collapsed backwards, to be neatly caught by the steward who had served her.
Keeler said, ``London Blitz, indeed soldier. Good call. There's a cot in the room with Miss Wiggin's equipment, isn't there?''
The steward nodded. ``Yes, sir.''
``Good; let her rest for a while.'' As Val was carried out, Brenden felt positively relieved.
Keeler said, ``Well then, is everyone hungry?'' They were, and moments later two carts full of appetisers went round the table.
As hunger began to be appeased, conversation followed, and soon the group was engrossed in several little clusters of small talk. Just as the Storm Knights began to feel that they could, indeed, relax; that here, in one of most defensible positions in all of London, they could forget everything that had happened for, at least, a short while; that they might be safe--their haven was brought crashing down about their heads.
John Kickingbird's fork froze on the way to his mouth. Within seconds, the other Knights' consciousnesses were likewise drawn away from polite table talk.
The temperature in the room started to drop--only a little, at first, but then by several degrees in as many seconds. The officers looked a little confused, and Eddings began to curse the maintenance staff, while Brenden and Alice fumbled to produce crosses, and John held before him some of the decorations from his clothing with which to ask the aid of benevolent spirits. Bubba shifted uneasily in his specially reinforced chair, unsure of what to do, since no enemy could yet be seen.
Brenden said, ``Major! We need light in here! Torches, flashlights, or whatever. Immediately!''
Keeler was confused, and just a little frightened by the strange occurrence and his friend's attitude. He gestured at a steward. ``Private! You heard the Count. Find some men and round up those supplies, now!'' The youth jumped to obey.
But, even as the soldier departed, the second that the sharp, deadly ice first prodded its malevolent tip into their hearts, the unnatural chill subsided, without warning, and the room began to return to its normal temperature.
Silence filled the air for some long seconds. One of the stewards was shaking, and unaware that he was doing so.
Alice stood suddenly. ``Valentine!'' she cried.
Shadoe and Bubba were moving towards the room where she lay even then. They returned momentarily, carrying her inert, drugged form. Shadoe laid the mattress she had been using in a corner of the dining room, and the giant put the sleeping girl atop it. Shadoe also placed the Kyogo and the cyberdeck next to her.
Brenden, Alice, and Alain looked warily in the direction of the departed steward, noting for themselves that the departure of the chill malaise had coincided with that of the soldier. They feared the worst when he returned--but all that came with him were two guards carrying various artificial lights.
No relief was felt.
Gindel, like the Knights, was ill-at-ease and very suspicious, though he knew nothing specific about what might happen. Keeler, too, was somewhat worried, and the two leftenants looked quite pale. Whitsworth seemed confused by all of the excitement, and Eddings was thoroughly annoyed by these people, thinking to himself wha a bunch of bleeding pansies they would be in battle if they got this strung out by a little problem with the heater.
He said, ``Well, is everyone quite ready to get on with the meal?'' Frowning through his mustache, he called for the stewards to bring on the main course.
Conversation was forced, and the Storm Knights waited impatiently as the evening passed--slowly, indeed. Resounding bells sounded throughout the walls of the castle, allowing that it was eight-o'-clock.
At fourteen minutes after eight, the waiting was over.
Cold shot through the room, transfixing each of the Storm Knights with a pronouncement of doom. Brenden and Alice had their crosses aloft, John his holy symbols, and even Bubba produced his one piece of jewelry--a sword of Dunad hung from his neck with heavy chain.
Valentine began to whimper in her sleep; Leftenant Killington screamed as he clutched at the evil which was suffocating his soul. Violent spasms rocked his body, and he pitched forward onto the table, writhing in agony. Glass shattered as Killington's head crushed one of the wine goblets, and a melange of blood and wine sprayed the white linen as his dead form collapsed off of the table.
Eddings death was much quieter, but he was just as dead. Rivers of sweat poured across his brow, and then his eyes rolled up, his tongue fell from his mouth, and he fell from his chair to lie very still.
Donahue, Whitsworth and Keeler were all in shock, eyes as wide as a full moon, filled with a terror they had never before dreamed possible. They did not move.
Gindel was in agony, but on his feet, with his huge longsword bared and ready. Fear lodged in the pit of his throat, and seeped downward into his guts and limbs, tell he stood trembling, barely able to keep his sword point at the ready.
Brenden looked around, and saw the two stewards collapsed slackjawed against a wall. There was no rise and fall to their chests.
Just then, the covert operative felt shooting pain across the base of his skull, as though someone had laid into his head with a can opener. As his vision cleared, he felt drained and empty, and the small silver cross he held before him gave him little comfort.
Hopelessness bared its ugly face, and the group felt sure that someone would die.
Raucous laughter and gunshots rang through the room. The Knights, pushed to the sharp edge of a dangerous, paralysing fear, turned paranoid eyes on the form of Major Keeler. The first four shots from his sidearm went into the ceiling, serving as punctuation for the insane noises emanating from his mouth. A trail of drool had soiled his close-trimmed beard, and his eyes looked lifeless.
The next two shots were aimed at the diners, but went wide, exploding several pieces of finery on the table. It did not take long to figure out what was happening, especially since Father Hardy had warned Alain about the dangers of possession by a Wraith.
Still, they could not gun down a friend and benefactor. Bubba produced a long, heavy chain from his garments, and swung at the crazed man. Brenden pulled his .44 Magnum from its shoulder holster (since Major Keeler had seen no reason to ask M.I.6 agents to surrender their sidearms at the gate) and put the targeting laser on Keeler's left thigh.
The chain caught Keeler's ankle, sprawling him back into his chair. Brenden's shot missed to one side. As the Major landed, his body went limp, and the pistol hung loosely in his hand.
Alain moved to the inert form of Lt. Donahue, and tried to revive him. He was badly hurt, by no physical means discernible to the elf. But, she had expected as much.
Without warning, Killington was on his feet, blood still streaming from his shattered skull. The same inhuman laughter bubbled from his dead lips, as he charged at Shadoe, standing nearby.
The corpse moved awkwardly, and slower than the ninja's sword. Chunks of meat were sliced from the dead officer's body, but still he lunged forward, pulling a jagged piece of glass from his left cheek and waving it menacingly about. Alain had moved out of the way, dragging Donahue after her spell had taken affect, and his breathing had become more regular and less stressed.
Now the elf prepared to work her magick on the major. Brenden tried to put a bullet through the possessed corpse's head, but Shadoe's dodging form prevented him from having a clear shot. Shadoe was backed up against the table, and forced to run out of fighting room. In desperation, she lunged forward, aiming her ninja-to for foul thing's midsection. Just before the blade connected, the body went limp. and she ran it through up to the hilt.
Almost simultaneously, gunfire was heard, and Alain screamed. Keeler's pistol was pointed at the bleeding elf, his possessed finger dry firing the empty weapon. Bubba grabbed the major by his tunic, growling ferociously. The major's body didn't notice, and instead went limp.
Alice was trying to help Commander Whitsworth, though she wasn't sure what aid she could offer to the spiritual battering he had suffered.
Alain regained her feet and moved towards the commander, practically knocking the Victorian woman aside. Indignantly, she addressed the elf. ``Just what do you think you are doing?''
The reply was from Alain's lips, but forceful and somewhat menacing. ``Leave me alone! You can't do anything for him. I'm trying to save this man!''
This exchange attracted quite a bit of attention. Bubba snarled at the elf, hefting his chain. Alain looked taken aback. ``What is going on here?''
Bubba grunted, ``You are the beast!''
Alain said, ``What is the matter with you? Who is the one holding the bloody sword, ready to butcher these wounded men?'' With that, the elf's finger indicated Shadoe. The ninja's blade was indeed covered with gore, and she stood over Donahue's listless body.
Bubba's face twisted with rage, and he yelled, ``Don't hurt him!'' as the massive chain lashed out at the ninja. As Shadoe was knocked off her feet, Alain's body emitted spiteful laughter, and, as all turned to face her, she whimpered and collapsed.
A rank, midnight black mist issued into the room from a connecting corridor. Seven pairs of eyes fixed on it, watching helplessly as it changed shape.
Gobs of decaying flesh formed from the vapour, falling to the floor in wet chunks, until enough of a body had formed to hold them in place. That hunchbacked body, easily seven feet tall if it had stood erect, was covered in open sores and torn, grey, maggot-laden flesh. Tremendous sharp yellow teeth jutted from its gaping mouth, and the scraping of its blood encrusted claws on the stone floors rattled every spine in the room.
The Wraith laughed, a putrid evil sound.
Standing near the table, Alice felt anxiety and helplessness wash over her like waves battering the rocks near the shore. There was but one thing to do--she let free the beast. The wolf's snarling announced her presence to everyone in the room. Gindel watched the transformation, feeling the fear within him tighten around his viscera. Was this, too, the enemy? For certainly, he knew not what to do.
John Kickingbird and Brenden volleyed gunfire into the shambling form--it was impossible to tell if they'd hit, because there was no noticeable effect. The beast swung one long, misshapen arm. Gindel screamed as the powerful backhand threw him into a wall, and he dropped into unconsciousness.
The wolf leapt; the ninja and the elf regained their feet, the former moving in towards the Wraith, the latter moving to help Whitsworth. Kickingbird rushed to the corner of the room where Valentine lay, and tried to rouse her consciousness.
The wolf was all over the Wraith, yet neither seemed to be inflicting damage on the other. The werewolf's strange abilities served her, while the Wraith was simply a gruesomely tough opponent.
Brenden took opportunity shots when he could, but just could not land a good, solid blow. Valentine became slowly aware as Shadoe landed ineffective strike after ineffective strike against the Wraith's unguarded back. When it deigned to notice the ninja, the girl was staggered by a strong hit, and blood trailed from several deep scratches.
With a howl and a tremendous leap, the werewolf ploughed into the undead creature, pinning it against a wall, while her claws gouged deep chunks from the beast's rotting flesh. The yellow teeth sank into wolf flesh, as the Wraith tried to push its attacker away. As the wolf was knocked loose, simultaneous gunfire from Brenden, Kickingbird and Valentine struck the hulking form.
An unearthly howl filled the room as bullets ripped large chunks from the monster. In a psychotic rage, the Wraith sprang from the wall--only to be met by Bubba's weapon. The heavy chain crashed across its chest, slamming it back to the wall.
Bubba doubled over as grimy claws ripped flesh from his side. Springing to the centre of the room, the Horror crashed through the table, sending a shower of splinters through the room, its keening wail reverberating painfully off the walls.
As the Knights took involuntary steps backwards, the Wraith gave each in turn a menacing, baleful stare from its rotten eyes. Suddenly, the grave hue of the beast's skin seemed to melt off its body, and bone and gristle oozed into the now translucent mass.
As the cloud of dark vapour, reeking of death, floated from the room, the Wraith's cackling, howling laugh met their ears again.
By the time they could move their legs to follow, the Wraith was long gone.
Father Hardy sat in a large leather easy chair, and a stack of musty looking books rested on the table nearby. One book was in his hands, and he was reading it intently as Anna came into the living room of Arthur's apartment.
Anna stopped shortly in the kitchen to fill a small pitcher of water for Arthur, then paused near the priest on her return.
He looked up, and smiled slightly.
``Is it going well, Father?'
He nodded, and set his reading aside. ``I have been doing quite a bit of reading these last few days. Alain did an outstanding job collecting these works for me. However, I feel that I have yet to find anything of great significance to our current situation.''
Anna frowned, and shuddered slightly at the implications of that. ``Nothing?''
David's voice lowered. ``Not precisely nothing, but very little of specific application, I am afraid. This book I am now reading is the last one I expect to be useful, too. There are a few more, books from your Core Earth, but I doubt that they will be able to tell me important information about these Horrors we face. Indeed, two of these remaining books are even fictitious! But, who am I to judge where God has left His clues for us?''
Anna looked weary, and she practically collapsed into the sofa across from David's chair. ``Well, did your work this evening go any better.''
The priest nodded at that. ``I think so. It was an intricate ritual, which, I am afraid, was more than a little hurried, but, between Alain and myself, I think we were able to combine her steel shards with the unholy dirt we found earlier. When Alain uses that spell against the proper party, the earth will help the metal seek out its owner with a terrible vengeance.''
They both fell silent for a moment.
``Anna, what troubles you? Other than the obvious, of course.''
She sighed, and looked confused. ``I can't get what Arthur said Sunday out of my mind--after he threw himself at that terrible creature to save me.''
David said, ``If I may ask, what did he say? I would imagine that, in such circumstances, he would have confessed his feelings for you, which are obviously quite strong.''
The lady blushed slightly. ``He said that he loves me.'' Then she sobered, and continued, ``But he also compared me to his deceased wife, and it sounded like he was comparing her death to what might have happened to me; that she had suffered a terrible death.''
Anna looked carefully at the priest. ``David, do you think this is just coincidence?'' But the tone in her voice clearly indicated that, the more she thought of it, the less she believed that was the case.
``In Victoria one learns that coincidence is rarely coincidental, and even less often fortunate.
``Is the lord awake now?''
Anna stood up abruptly, and grabbed the pitcher. ``Yes, and he is waiting for some water. I better bring this to him.''
Hardy got up and followed her into the brightly lit bedroom where Arthur lay, still looking quite pale and weak. As Anna perched on the edge of the bed next to him, pouring him a glass of water, he took the glass in one hand, and held Anna's hand with the other.
It was David Hardy who brought up the subject ten minutes later.
``Lord Dalming.''
Arthur rotated his head on the stack of pillows which held him upright. ``Yes, Father?''
``Forgive me for broaching a subject which, I am sure, is painful for you, but in pondering the events of Sunday past I am fairly certain that some information you have may prove very useful to Anna and her friends--and yourself.'' Hardy's voice was a rich baritone, and his soft, careful tones probed carefully for the proper approach.
Dalming looked worried, threatened even. ``What is it you would know?''
It was Anna who answered, taking his hand in both of hers. ``Arthur, you mentioned your wife to me.'' He grimaced, and started to withdraw his hand.
Anna held it tight, and pleaded, ``Arthur, it may be very important to us, and to me. You know very well what you said to me--I think I should know something about her.''
Lord Dalming was very hesitant, but reluctantly offered, ``What do you want to hear?''
Father Hardy said gently, ``Would you please tell us what happened to her?''
Arthur's eyes closed, and he was silent for several long seconds. When he opened his eyes again, Anna saw tears in them, and the lord said to the priest, ``You don't ask anything easy, do you?''
But before David could apologise and retract his question, Arthur began to speak.
``We were in the new manour but six days. Well do I remember that dark, cloudy night we retired to our room, which we had manage to restore to a remarkable level of livableness in yet so short a time.
``We chatted, about ourselves, about our new home--we were excited about all that we might accomplish there for ourselves. And, after a moderate while, the two of us drifted off to sleep.
``The great wall clock showed hands at three and twenty when we both awoke with a start. It had been the howling of wolves, and tremendously loud, too. We had seen to it that the estate's walls had been repaired before ever we set foot on the grounds, and yet these beasts sounded far too close.
``I grabbed my shotgun from its place, and, with a comforting word to my wife of my expedient return, I lit a lantern and paced out into the hall.
``It was horrible--the soul-wrenching baying, so loud it brought pain to my ears, alternating with silence just as overwhelming. With each step I took, my head rang with either the sound of the wolves, or of my own pounding heart.
``I must have been padding around for more than ten minutes when I found myself in the entranceway. One of the oaken doors knocked back and forth as the winds blew it about. It had been closed.
``Even as I turned around, the red eyes of that malevolent beast bore down upon me. I was terrified, yet my reflexes held and, with both barrels of shot, the wild dog spent its life at my feet. Its fur seemed terribly matted and gnarled with twigs and vegetation. I cracked the rifle open to reload; then I heard my wife's scream, and I swear I have never drowned in such a cold sweat in my entire life.
``Half out of my mind I must have been, screaming and crying out, filled to my eyes with anxiety and helplessness as I raced for the room.
``The screaming stopped suddenly, just bare moments before I threw the door wide.'' Arthur's cheeks were covered in tears, and his body shook violently. He bowed his head over, huddling in on himself as his straining voice finished his tale in a rasping whisper. ``I will never forget the scene which met my eyes. I slew that wolf; just as surely as that grim tableau haunts me in my sleep, I scattered his life's blood that night.
``But, there was nothing I could do to save my beloved Lucille.''
Father Hardy was silent and unmoving, and Anna's own eyes were red with tears.
David managed simply, ``I'm sorry,'' as he turned and left the room.