Curse of the Nandi (Society for Paranormals Book 5) (26 page)

I twisted precariously in Mr. Timmons’ arms, and the only force that protected me from gravity’s pull was those very arms I sought to escape.

“We need to find Drew,” I said, although I suspected I was yelling hysterically at this point, and while I was loath to descend to womanly hysterics, they could prove useful at times. Sadly, this wasn’t one of those occurrences.

Mr. Timmons yanked me upward and tightened his hold on me. “The only thing we need to do is retreat to safer territory,” he said. “Drew can handle himself well enough without your assistance. He’s been doing so for most of his life.”

That reminder of my family history and my failure to protect my little brother drove me further into desperation. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” I sobbed.

I was far too submerged in the moment to experience much more than a remote dismay at my behavior. The more rational section of my brain, the one untouched by tender emotions, recognized that there was nothing we could do. By now, Drew and the Kerit were amongst the crowd, doing whatever they would do, and the best we could hope for was to survive until the dawn.

Logic was such a bugger.

Still, I strained against those confining arms to catch a glimpse of Drew and his new friends. There was none. Instead, I saw a zombie exit an alley on the other side of the road. Before it could touch one of the oblivious humans, Yawa appeared behind it and lunged for its neck. Our gazes met, and she smirked before yanking the zombie back into the shadows. In her place, Yao appeared, brandishing a burning stick that he thrust at any remotely combustible material. He sprinted along the edge of the Bazaar, a trail of fire in his wake, before dodging between two kiosks. Although I lost sight of him, I could easily detect more fires springing up in the darkness of the camp.

“What have we unleashed?” I muttered and sagged against Mr. Timmons’ chest.

While I could close my eyes to the surrounding disaster, I couldn’t close my ears or nose to the smells and sounds of terror, blood, smoke, fire and distant gunshots. I only knew we’d left the burning Bazaar behind when the sweetness of dry grass and warm earth, and the random music of crickets and leaves rustling, replaced the chaos.

As if weary of the town, Nelly picked up her pace, and the world blurred by us, only to solidify into the form of our cabin. The darkness was fading around us and a red smear formed along the horizon, as if to mirror the one that was consuming Nairobi.

I didn't dare acknowledge how exhausted I was until I collapsed into bed. I felt Mr. Timmons do the same, and then blissful unconsciousness overtook me. Thus I might have remained for a day or two if a fly hadn’t buzzed about my exposed ear.

“It’s done, Miss Knight,” it trilled in a silky voice that reminded me of someone but I couldn’t quite recall whom. “It was deliciously done. Thank you, Miss Knight.”

I rolled over, sleepily hoping I’d crush the buzzing, but instead the fly giggled before zipping away.

“Miss Knight,” another voice called out.

“Blast all these flies,” I muttered, rolling again and landing with a bone-jarring thud onto the floor, a blanket tangled around my limbs. I stumbled to my feet with all the grace of an inebriated sailor. “What? Who? A pox on fireflies.”

I spun about to face Jonas. He was standing just outside the room, peering at me with a bemused quirk to his mouth.

“Well, what is it, Jonas?” I snapped, tugging a leg free from the stranglehold of my blanket and grateful I was still dressed in the clothes I’d worn for the botched abduction plan. “And where is Mr. Timmons?”

Jonas cocked his head to the side and scratched at the small black-and-white curls that graced his wrinkled head. “Mr. Timmons, he’s gone to the main house. He’s the one who suggested I wake you for lunch.”

At the mention of food, my treacherous stomach grumbled in eager anticipation. I frowned at the sound and at Jonas. He merely shrugged and retreated to a safer location in the cottage. With a sniff, I determined that the lunch was not to be had in the cottage which smelled of nothing more than smoldering embers, kerosene, thatch, and Jonas’ unique perfume that now included pig fat.

“Jonas, why are you smearing pig fat on your skin?” I called out as I smoothed out my clothes and pinned back my hair. “Is there another Popobawa in the area?”

When Mr. Elkhart had first made his appearance, rumors of the return of a Popobawa had begun circulating amongst the Africans. Jonas had confided in me that the most effective repellent was to smear pig’s fat over one’s skin. I was certain it would repel far more than a bat man and had declined the invitation to partake of the remedy.

“No, Miss Knight,” he replied from the kitchen where I hoped he was preparing me tea. “But it is good for dissuading Adze as well.”

“I’m not surprised,” I muttered as I left the bedroom.

Jonas had indeed prepared tea, and not a bad pot at that. Then again, I was in such a desperate state that any tea-flavored, caffeinated swill would have sufficed. I mulled over the night’s events as I imbibed the resuscitating liquid.

Assuming I hadn’t been hallucinating, Yao had just visited me with a report that the zombie situation had been settled. I suppressed a shudder when visualizing how they were handled, but they were already close to death, so I couldn’t summon enough outrage to be terribly upset.

By now the Bazaar, and quite possibly some of the town and the camp, was nothing more than smoking embers or so I assumed. I made a mental note to chat with Dr. Ribeiro about a plausible story to explain everything, assuming he’d arrived safely at our barn.

Reluctantly, my mental meanderings arrived at a more thorny issue: Drew. I sighed. Jonas, who was puttering about the kitchen while pretending to clean surfaces with a filthy rag, paused in his failed efforts and stared at me.

After a moment of being stared at, I felt obliged to fill in the silence with an explanation. “Drew’s run off with the Kerit again. I saw them together last night, or this morning, at the Bazaar.”

I wondered if he’d bitten anyone in the rampage that had occurred. He’d once told me that werewolves who lost control in such a way were merely people who wanted an excuse to behave like monsters. Still…

“Your brother, he’ll be fine,” Jonas said, his voice warm with reassurance and such sincerity that I had to stare back at him, searching for a sign of gloating or smugness. There was none, and I couldn’t bring myself to reply.

The tea consumed, I set out for the Hardinge’s house, anticipating a satisfying lunch and idle chatter to distract my weary mind. Of the first, I wasn’t disappointed, but the chatter, what little there was, centered around the passing of dishes and nothing more. It seemed the news had already been imparted to Lord and Lady Hardinge, and to Tiberius and Lilly, for all were infected by a somber mood, speaking very little, smiling even less and with downcast eyes. The bright spot, apart from the food, was seeing Dr. Ribeiro at the table. I was much relieved that he had arrived alive, and with his hat and all his limbs intact. Of Cilla there was no sign.

Only when tea and dessert were served did the stunted discourse shift to the events of the night. Lord Hardinge cleared his throat, the weariness around his eyes a clear indication of the weight on his mind. “We’ve agreed with Dr. Ribeiro to utilize his original assumption regarding the outbreak, that it was Bubonic Plague. Lady Hardinge has already communicated gossip to that effect to some of the women in town. By sunset, it will be established as the gospel truth. There will be no mention of a mutated disease.”

“What of the sightings of zombies?” I asked.

Smirking, Mr. Timmons said, “The sightings all took place at night, and mostly in the chaos of looting, burning and evacuation. I don’t think it will take much persuasion to convince everyone that the zombies were no more than the tragic victims of the Plague.”

“Yes, most humans are so easily persuaded to see what they expect to see,” I said, and I frowned at my choice of words. Was I no longer a human, then?

“My father has agreed to have a conversation with the Medical Officer this evening,” Tiberius said, his voice soft. “At the end of it, the man will be utterly convinced that he single-handedly averted a continent-wide outbreak of the Bubonic Plague by setting fire to the town.”

Mr. Timmons scoffed at the notion that a man as faint-hearted and weak-minded as Dr. Spurrier could ever have achieved such success. Lilly shook her head, her hands on her stomach, her eyes fixed on a happier future.

“It’s a great pity the imbecile didn’t care to heed Dr. Ribeiro’s advice in the beginning,” I said, frowning at the notion that prejudice had prevented common sense from prevailing.

Dr. Ribeiro shrugged, rubbed his goatee and shrugged again. “It is not mattering who and how,” he said. “The deed is done, and we can be moving on to better and better things.”

At that, Mr. Timmons flung back his head and laughed uproariously. “You are an optimist, my dear doctor,” he said. “Unless by ‘
better
’ you mean ‘
better chances of death or dismemberment
’?”

“That too, Mr. Timmons,” he responded with a waggle of his head and a smile.

“What of the Kerit?” I inquired.

“It would appear they have departed for other territories,” Tiberius replied.

The conversation dwindled into a brooding silence and one by one, people murmured their excuses and departed for cheerier territories, if such could be found. It was as if we’d lost a battle when in fact Nairobi was more or less still intact, minus the Bazaar and a few tents.

My thoughts returned to Drew, which inevitably led me to Cilla. When I inquired, Mr. Timmons scratched at a sideburn, his gaze settled on some spot away from me, and said, “Perhaps it’s best you have a chat with her.”

My breath caught and my heart accelerated somewhat at his somber tone. Wordlessly, I too withdrew from the dining room and sought out my dear convalescing friend. The moment I reached the open doorway, the tension in my shoulders dissolved, and a smile tugged at my reluctant lips when I found her not prone in bed but walking about the room.

I cleared my throat and called to her, “What a delight to find you up and about.”

She turned to me, her face pale and gaunt, her eyes rimmed with shadow. Still, she returned my smile with one of her own, granted not quite as vivacious as usual.

Only then did I appreciate what she was doing. A leather valise squatted on her bed, its gaping mouth prepared to receive the bundle of clothes in her arms. All about the room were signs of preparations.

“Have you found a new abode then?” I asked, my voice hitching slightly at the end. Surely Mr. Timmons would have indicated to me if this was the case?

Cilla averted her eyes and clutched her clothes to her chest.

I entered the room, unwilling to wait for permission that might not be granted. “Cilla, what are you doing?”

“My uncle recounted to me what happened this morning,” she said, her eyes still downcast, her lips trembling. “Well done. You have prevented a disaster, I’m sure of it.”

My throat constricted, for I was certain that Mr. Timmons had also informed her of Drew’s new acquaintances. The last we had seen of him, he was running through the fleeing crowd with a pack of Kerit. My eyes fluttered shut, and I stifled a groan. I was losing my brother again. Why hadn’t I insisted that he spend more time with us rather than hiding in barns and running amok with the wildlife?

“It’s from my Mother and Father,” Cilla interrupted my self-recriminations in a whisper as she produced a familiar piece of yellow paper that had been tucked into her skirt pocket. It was the telegraph I’d found her perusing on another occasion, before she fell ill. “They’ve asked me to come home.” Tears quivered on her eyelashes, and she twisted away to peer into the waiting valise. “They miss me.”

In an instant, I knew that wasn’t the complete story. After all this time, they now wished to summon her home because of parental sentimentality? More to the point, she was rapidly approaching twenty years of age; if she waited much longer, she wouldn’t be of any interest to eligible men. The one she had pinned all her hopes on – Drew – had utterly failed her; nay, he had betrayed us all.

“Who is he?” I inquired, not unkindly, for my voice hadn’t any strength in it for more than a whisper.

She shrugged and sat upon the bed, her clothes still clutched to her bosom. Her gaze remained firmly fixed upon some point on the ground ahead of her, as if she couldn’t bear to face my possible indignation. But how could I find fault in her, of all people?

“All my acquaintances are married off, and a few already have their first child,” she said but without any wistful longing. It was merely a factual statement.

What she didn’t mention in all that she said tweaked my interest: in neither her posture nor her words did she communicate what she desired. Or was she so devastated that she had finally abandoned any romantic inclinations toward a certain werewolf who was now lost to us both?

“When?” I whispered, a strange clenching in my chest blossoming with an intensity approaching pain.

“Tonight,” she replied and tilted her chin until her teary gaze met mine. “I’ll be departing on the train tonight.”