Fallen (12 page)

We wandered only a few steps before a trap
of more human origin barred our way. A rat trap, easily the size of
a man’s hand, sat on the cold concrete ahead of the hole we had
emerged from. The spring was still set with a blob of moldy cheese
set upon the little metal square that would trip the mechanism.

“Give that a wide berth,” Tom the mouse
said.

“No problem,” I answered, having no need to
be warned of the danger.

We bypassed the trap and walked through the
small room. Tom and I searched for a way that would allow us out of
the house. A small window sat high up, but it was clearly closed
and locked.

“That has possibility,” Tom said, his back
to the rat hole. “I’ll just return to form and open it. Then we can
scoot out through there.”

However, I had heard something else while he
was preoccupied with how to get us out. I turned to find a
monstrous black snake emerging from the hole in the wall we had
come through. I pushed Tom out of the way with all of my miniscule
strength as the beast made its first strike.

“What the devil!” Tom squeaked, tumbling
across the concrete.

I had already bounded away. The snake had
followed literally on my tail. Fortunately the beast could not
pursue me and coil to strike at the same time.

I had lost sight of Tom in my terror. I
wasn’t fond of snakes in my human form, and becoming a tiny mouse
had only worsened my outlook on the scaly beasts. I dodged and
bounded over and under various equipment and tools lying around the
shed floor, doing my best to evade the predator hot on my heels.
The few fleeting glances I had of its eyes had only terrified me
more. They were crimson, almost glowing with bloodlust.

A mongoose leaped upon the snake from out of
nowhere. I heard Tom’s voice in the fray as the two opponents
flailed in a twisting coil flopping around on the shed floor.
Somehow the snake managed to escape Tom’s clutches, spotting
me.

The black viper recoiled and struck. I
leaped away at the last second. The black head with its crimson
eyes darted past me. I heard a sharp clap behind me. I came down
among writhing coils, sure that I was about to meet my maker. But
the movements were only reflexive.

Tom joined me as I stared at the sprung rat
trap. The black snake had missed me, but he had hit the trap. It
had snapped shut right behind the head. The crimson eyes bulged.
The mouth gaped, fangs hanging ready to strike from the roof of the
viper’s mouth. Our pursuer was quite dead.

My mouse heart was literally humming in my
chest. I started to speak of the horror we had just faced, but Tom
cut me off. “We’ve no time,” he said. “Let’s hope this is the worse
we face today.”

He grabbed my mouse paw in his larger
mongoose paw. Our transformation occurred simultaneously. A pair of
gray squirrels now sat where the mouse and mongoose had been.

“Let’s go!” Tom instructed. He bounded up
over equipment with ease, coming to the window. I followed, finding
the squirrel form even more lithe and agile. Tom concentrated upon
the latch. It opened without us even touching it; another bit of
magic for lack of a better word.

We pushed together on the window, moving it
fairly easily. As soon as we had a gap, we both leaped through,
landing on the well manicured lawn outside. The smell of fresh
night air was refreshing after being confined to the walls of Mr.
Black’s house.

“Follow me,” Tom said, heading off through
the hedge. “As soon as we get to the property line, we can
escape.”

I bounded across the lawn, catching fleeting
glimpses of the full moon shining down from above. The house fell
away behind us and was soon obscured by shrubbery as we made our
mad flight toward the boundaries of Mr. Black’s estate. I prayed
all along the way, thanking God for his protection and seeking
further direction and help for what we would certainly face in the
future.

Mr. Black stood in the driveway of his
gothic style mansion, surveying the vast grounds before him. In the
distance, many gas lights in London could be seen. The two boys he
had wanted apprehended were nowhere to be found.

Mr. Sinister came up behind him, waiting for
his master to speak to him first. This matter with Tom and the boy
was becoming dangerous to him. He had sponsored Tom’s promotion
through the ranks of Black’s operation here in London.

Tom had always been such a bright pupil;
loyal and clever. He often accomplished with ease what others found
difficult. Despite being an elf and not of the Breed, Sinister had
found him a valuable right hand, often bragging of Tom’s devious
ability before his master. Now that choice was making him look like
a fool before a being who might very well kill him with barely a
second thought on the matter.

“What became of your hound?” Black said
sarcastically.

Sinister hesitated to answer. After all, it
was obvious that Lane, one of his Breed, had not come back from the
hunt for the children. However, there was no way to keep the
unpleasant and embarrassing news from his master. He might have
even known already.

“Lane’s body was found in the tool shed, my
lord,” Sinister admitted reluctantly. “His neck was broken.”

“How?” Black asked without emotion.

“Caught in a rat trap while in his animal
form,” Sinister hissed.

Black turned to him, his eyes boring into
his servant. Sinister felt the press of Black’s power. He feared
his master while, at the same time, reverencing his great
power.

“Muster your resources immediately,” Black
said. “I want that boy found and eliminated. We cannot risk him
falling into enemy hands. Have your Breed sniff him out.”

“It will be done, my lord,” Sinister said,
bowing his head.

He turned to find his brothers among the
Breed gathering behind him; at least fifty vampires. Crimson eyes
dilated, ready for the hunt. Preternatural muscles became taut with
anticipation. Sinister nodded to them. They knew what had to be
done.

Many, whose animal forms were predatory
birds, transformed and took flight. The rest launched away across
Black’s estate grounds, running too fast for human eyes to track
them.

“I will bring you word when we have
destroyed him, my lord,” Sinister promised.

His master leered at him. “Bring me his
corpse instead.”

Mary Wilde staggered from the blow dealt by
her longtime benefactor. Fresh blood pooled hot in her mouth as she
braced herself against the cold wall behind the tenement where she
both lived and worked for Jack. Her vision blurred from the
bruising she had already received tonight. She only hoped that this
beating ended quickly like other nights.

“Let’s face it, Mary,” Jack said, continuing
a diatribe that had gone on now for five minutes straight, “you’ve
forced me to do something I didn’t want to have to do. You’ve been
running off customers for too long. Are you trying to break me,
girl?”

Mary started to speak, but Jack’s fist cut
her off again, sending her sliding dazed down the wall to the
garbage strewn alley. “No more of your excuses!” he warned.

A knife came out of his pocket. It wasn’t
large, but it would do the job. Mary sobbed before the big man,
begging him not to do it. “I’ve had enough,” Jack said. “You’re
just not earning your keep.”

He stood over her, relishing the moment
despite his words. It wasn’t often that he got the chance to cull
his herd. When they didn’t perform to expectations, Jack warned
them for their own good. And when they still didn’t make him happy,
they soon disappeared. It was a simple truth; one that all of his
girls knew. Now it was Mary’s turn.

He raised the knife ready to cut her throat
on his first pass. There would be no screaming; not that anyone
would come running anyway. Not around here they wouldn’t. People
knew better. Besides, no one was going to risk their life for a
woman of the night like Mary Wilde anyway.

A shadow passed like a blur through the
alley. Jack grunted as something hit him from the side. He
stumbled, trying to cry out, but his voice wouldn’t obey. He
clutched his throat with his free hand. It came away covered in
blood. More drained down his chest, soaking his yellowed white
shirt in crimson.

Had the girl shot him? No, she was still
dazed upon the ground. Mary didn’t seem to have registered what had
happened.

Jack dropped the knife, trying to catch
himself as he fell sideways. He was too dizzy from blood loss
already to even stand. He landed on the cold pavement heavily.
Blood continued to pour from the gash in his throat. He clutched in
vain at the wound, only managing to spread the mess of it around
further.

Mary spotted Jack writhing on the pavement,
blood pooling around his head. She gasped as he reached out to her
for help. She did not respond to him other than to stare into his
terrified eyes.

Something, or someone, sprang at Jack’s body
from the darkness. The small creature hefted Jack’s head up by
reaching into his mouth, pulling him forward by his upper jaw. Jack
struggled weakly as the shadow dragged him quickly away into the
darkness.

Mary waited, staring after her former
benefactor. She wasn’t sure if she had been rescued or merely left
behind as unworthy of this creature’s attention. Either way, she
felt relieved and grateful to have been spared Jack’s fate and the
one he had planned for her a moment ago.

Mary stood up cautiously. These last few
moments had sobered her from any stupor Jack’s beating had left her
in. Her gaze remained on the place in the alley where she had lost
sight of the man, his feet kicking wildly behind him. Mary Wilde
backed away, leaving the alley, making her way quickly from this
place where she had spent too many miserable days over the past ten
years. She left without regret. She left with her life.

Charlotte drained what she could from her
victim. The large man would sate her thirst for many nights; at
least until she found some other mortal who had committed such acts
as this man. Charlotte had watched this man, Jack, for quite some
time. She had suspected he would cross the line eventually, but was
never sure until tonight. The young woman he had been about to kill
was of no interest to her.

Despite her heritage as one of the Breed,
Charlotte did pride herself on only taking mortals who had abused
others around them, or who had set to killing their own kind as
this man had. She sometimes wondered about the influence her friend
Oliver had on her life. After all, it was very unlike the Breed to
be so discriminating about their mortal prey. Only the ability to
remain undetected mattered to her kind, as it did most of the
Descendants of the Fallen.

But her fondness for Oliver these many years
had changed her outlook. Before meeting him, she had desired
nothing more than to stay out of the messy business of revenge and
war. Since that time, she had found herself inextricably drawn into
the matter on the opposite side, albeit covertly.

A familiar scent passed through the alley.
Charlotte turned her senses skyward where she expected to find her
own kind nearby. She saw through the dark, in moments finding
numerous Breed warriors bounding over the rooftops of a sleeping
London.

It was not uncommon to spot one or two at
most in a single night out to feed, or on the business of their
master. But this was something else entirely. Either an attack was
in progress, or someone had eluded their grasp.

Charlotte left her victim’s body where it
lay. She had been careful not to make his death too clean.
Otherwise, the authorities would find it something far stranger
than the simple murder of a criminal. The exposure of her kind
would bring down upon her the collective wrath of all Breed.

The pale young girl glided through the
alley, her bare feet hardly touching the ground. She leaped
effortlessly to a wrought iron balustrade, up to another across the
alley, and then to the roof. From this vantage point, Charlotte
looked out over a veritable jungle of chimneys, smoke, weather
veins, and steeples.

Despite the night, Charlotte saw her
brethren traveling throughout the city. Counting those she could
find up this high, she numbered at least thirty. She felt the flush
of energy received from her recent feeding. If ever she was ready
for a fight, it was now.

She felt no revulsion to her act. She had
been born to this, a creature descended from an outcast strain.
This was who she was. And yet Oliver had somehow found a conscience
within her that she had not even been aware she had. A deeply
rooted yet suppressed desire to do good in some way.

As she watched them on the hunt, a desire to
join in the chase with her kind tugged at her thoughts. But she
would not, could not go back to living as she had. To the others
she had become somewhat of an oddity. In reality she was a
traitor.

Charlotte waited, watching until she noticed
a large raven soaring high, silhouetted against a massive
white-washed moon. Her eyes narrowed. She recognized this one, even
felt a kinship with him.

She leaped from her crouched position out
away from the ledge into the space between buildings. Her form
changed almost without thought of the act, becoming a raven much
like the one she had spotted. Black wings beat several dozen times,
carrying her aloft in pursuit.

The raven regarded her with a turn of its
head as she fell in line behind him. He dropped his altitude
abruptly, coming to land upon the steeple of a large cathedral.
Charlotte came to rest upon the same small ledge upon the ornament.
The raven returned to his human form, as did she.

The man dressed in black clothing, wearing a
black bowler atop his head, regarded her for a moment before
addressing her. “You’ve been hunting, I see,” Sinister remarked
before turning back to observe the Breed scouring the city.
“Probably another criminal.”