HORROR THRILLERS-A Box Set of Horror Novels (10 page)

Despite the dirt on
her face and encrusted in the knuckles of her hands, the beggar
displayed a modicum of self-awareness and determination that
Angelique admired. This woman was a survivor. She would never
starve. She felt no compunction about debasing herself, but she
would always get by in this world.

In the early
twilight Angelique made her move. She walked up to the beggar woman
and took her hand. The action so startled the woman that she pulled
away and stepped back, staring down at the child. “What do
you want?” she asked. “Go away, girl.”

“
I have a
proposition for you,” Angelique said sweetly.

“
What sort of
proposition could you propose that would in any way interest me? Go
away, shoo.”

The woman tried to
turn, but again the child grabbed her hand. “I have money for
you,” she said quietly.

Now the woman
paused, scrutinizing the foreign looking child. “You do not
have money,” she said. “You are a lying little scamp.
What‘s your game?”

Angelique pulled the
cloth bag from beneath her blouse and opened the top. As the woman
bent from the waist to look in the bag, her face changed to show her
astonishment. “Where did you get the gold?”

“
No matter, it
is mine. I will pay you. If you do as I say I will keep you in
luxury, train you to be a proper lady, raise you up in society. We
will be partners.”

The woman’s
mouth hung open. Though it was obvious the child spoke Spanish as a
second language, it was clear enough what she was saying. “I
am listening.”

“
What is your
name?”

“
Patricia.”

“
I am
Angelique. I want you to pretend to be my mother. I have watched
you all day and I know how well you act.”

“
Where is your
real mother?”

“
I have none.
I have no one. But if you will be my mother and do as I say, I will
buy you fine clothes and give you money to rent us lovely apartments.
This is not the last gold that I can get.”

Patricia grinned
revealing her large white teeth. It was a spectacular sight in a poor
street beggar. Her hygiene habits must have been strict, despite the
dirt on her hands. “That sounds all right with me, Angelique.
I have always wanted my very own little girl.”

“
And I have
always wanted to have a maidservant,” Angelique replied,
turning to walk away. She must never let this woman get the upper
hand. The woman followed, just as she was expected to do.

Before dark fall
they had shopped for a wardrobe for them both and secured a room in a
lovely hotel. After a long bath and dinner in the hotel’s
restaurant, Angelique sat at the table and further explained who and
what she was to Patricia. She did not expect her to understand
everything, but she would know enough to play her part, and to be
afraid not to.

The pact was made.
Patricia held a new healthy respect for the child and the child was
on her way in a new land, with a new mother, and a new future. There
was fear now in Patricia’s face, but also recognition of a
like-minded devil. Angelique would never entirely trust her, but for
the time being Patricia was the best thing that had happened in
Spain. She was a rough jewel ready for cutting and polishing. She
would do just fine.

The apartment took
up the entire lower floor of a genteel building not far from the
center of the city. Patricia, playing her part, explained how her
“husband” had died of a sleeping sickness in far-off
Africa while in the Army, and how, as he had left her a vast fortune,
she wanted a safe place to live with her little girl, Angelique.
Many places were leery of single women with children, even if they
claimed to be widows, but Patricia was so believable and elicited
such sympathy that securing the apartment was a breeze.

Angelique gave the
largest bedroom to Patricia. “It would look funny if you
didn’t have it,” she said.

With a shake of her
head so her dark blonde hair swung around her shoulders, Patricia
said, “Okay then, if you insist.”

Angelique set about
giving the woman her lessons. “I can make people do things for
me sometimes, if they are weak. Once we get invited to parties and
outings, I’ll always come along--well, almost always--and find
a man who is wealthy enough and weak enough for us to take down.”

“
How will we
do that?” Patricia wanted to know. If she could have
interested such a man on her own, she wouldn’t have needed this
strange child.

“
Just leave it
to me.” Angelique paused a second or so to make sure Patricia
was totally willing. “Think of society as a ladder. We will
move up it, one man by one man until we reach nearly the top. You
don’t even have to marry them or…accommodate them. I’ll
take care of everything. All you have to do is appear demure,
gracious, polite, and intelligent. Witty, even. Only a little
flirtatious. Think of yourself as an innocent woman endowed with
extreme powers of sexual charisma. Can you do that?”

Patricia smiled.
She certainly did have a beautiful smile. With a mouth like that,
pretty clothes, and an obedient, gifted child, she would be
irresistible.

“
I think I can
manage,” Patricia said.

Just in case
Patricia ever got it into her head to double-cross Angelique, she
decided to put a good scare into her.

“
I know you’ll
do as I ask because…”

Angelique spread her
arms, thinking of her wings so long lost. She knew they were there,
but she had never used them, not once. It was now time to do so. She
concentrated on the nubs of flesh in her shoulders and pushed. The
nubs came from the skin without doing any harm, they pushed through
the dress the same way, splitting the material without tearing, and
as they rose, black and shiny as wet stone, the woman fell back, her
mouth agape.

Once the wings were
fully extended, Angelique willed herself to leave the floor. Her
feet dangled in little white cloth shoes inches above the polished
wood.

The woman’s
mouth clamped shut with a snap and creases came between her eyes.
“Wha…?”

Angelique began to
twirl, first slowly and then more rapidly. Oh how fun this was! She
should have used her wings sooner, now remembering how powerful they
were, how they gave her the freedom of flight. Finally she twirled so
fast she looked like a small white tornado. As she spun, she went
higher until she was almost to the vaulted ceiling.

When she slowed
again and lowered to the floor, Patricia was no longer in the
satin-covered chair. She was on the floor on her knees, her hands in
a prayerful position, eyes wide with terror.

“
My God, what
manner of thing are you?” she asked, breathless.

Angelique stepped
closer and touched her shoulder. It was trembling. “I am an
angel, mon cherie. I am your little angel. Do not ever disobey or
betray me, yes?”

Tears stood in
Patricia’s dark eyes. “I never will disobey,” she
whispered. “Never. Never.”

“
That’s
good. We will have a splendid partnership. Splendid!”

Angelique walked off
toward the dining room where a table much too large for the two of
them stood in the center surrounded by six Spanish carved oak chairs.
“I am hungry, Mother. I require food, please.”

Behind her she heard
the woman rise from the floor and hurry to the dining room. “Right
away, dear child. Immediately! You must be fed.”

Passing through the
room, Patricia headed toward a door leading down a hall to a small
kitchen. Angelique sat alone in one of the heavy, massive chairs,
her legs dangling. How she loathed humans. Beings full of fear and
greed and ignorance. Patricia was no more than a utensil, like a
knife or a spoon. If she always did as she was told, without fail,
she was a good spoon. Otherwise, she could be easily discarded,
because there were so many spoons in the civilized world. Thousands
of them. Maybe millions.

CHAPTER 13

Days of Decadence

Within five years
Angelique diligently moved Patricia up the strata of society until
she was known and admired throughout the city. She had been provided
with a suitable genealogy, making her the niece of a lord with
holdings in Italy. At night Angelique read books to her mother and
quizzed her the next day on what she’d learned. She taught her
to dress, to walk, to speak. She taught her to drop old, bad habits.
She turned her into a lady and even secured a wealthy husband for
her.

It took time, but
Angelique found a way to have Patricia’s husband, her
stepfather, write a will and include his stepdaughter in it as a
beneficiary. Within a year he was found at the bottom of the stairs
in his great mansion, his neck broken. Now Patricia was truly
blessed with wealth, but only so much of it as Angelique let her use.
The rest of it was turned into coin and stored in a wooden casket
beneath Angelique’s bed.

In her forty-third
year, Patricia came down with a fever that would not abate, and after
three days of illness, she passed away. Luckily her death was not
witnessed by either physician or house staff. Angelique spirited the
body away in the night and then took her monies and quietly
disappeared from the mansion.

She was rather sorry
for Patricia and had wanted her to live a great deal longer. She had
been such a good student, good mother. She always did as told and
never caused Angelique a moment’s annoyance. Now Angelique was
on her own again, a mere child cast loose in a society that did not
always kindly treat its orphans.

For a few weeks she
was able to hide her gold and move about the city without drawing
notice. She needed another woman, another mother. Her nights were
cold and it was growing harder to find hiding places to rest her
little body. She could not even secure a room for the night, though
she had the money. No one would allow a child on their premises
without a parent along.

Finally she spied a
man on the street who was so beautiful she stopped in her tracks to
gaze. He had dark hair and very dark eyes. His face was perfectly
shaped and chiseled. He wore fine clothes and carried a walking
stick with a silver knob. When he passed her by, he winked, and her
heart melted. She fell in love, instantly. She turned and ran after
him, wondering as she did what story she could tell that might cause
him to spend a little time with her.

Having caught up,
she tugged on his sleeve. He turned, saw her, smiled broadly. “What
is it, little urchin?”

“
Sir, I’ve
lost my mother in the market, and I wonder if you could help me find
her?”

He agreed so readily
she hardly believed her good luck. She maneuvered him into a tea
shop and took tea with him, pretending thirst and tiredness. She
peeled back his history as if it were a banana, and he answered her
questions softly, but she saw something in his eyes that gave her
hope.

“
So you are
not married and you dislike your position as clerk in the
government?”

“
That’s
right, my munchkin, but then who is happy in what he does?”

“
What would
make you happy?” she asked.

He laughed and
slapped his knee. “I guess a rich, slovenly life would suit me
best, my child, I am sure of it, but I don’t expect fortune to
be so kind.”

She asked him to
accompany her to the edge of town, where she said she had something
important to show him. Since it was his day off work, he obliged,
walking jollily along, intrigued.

“
Just a little
ways more and you’ll be very happy,” she said.

In the edge of a
wood, she began to kick at the dirt near a tree and the wooden
casket’s lid was soon uncovered. “Check inside,”
she commanded.

The man, whose name
was George, did as he was told. When he got the lid uncovered and
opened, he sank back on his heels in surprise. Gold coins filled the
casket’s interior, shining with its own light in the lowering
evening.

“
My God, it’s
a fortune!”

Angelique smiled.
She did not really need a mother. A father would do fine.

She loved George
until the day he died at ninety-seven years old. By that time they
had lived all over Spain and had made trips abroad. When their gold
grew scarce, Angelique advised him how to refill the coffers and
following her advice, he did. They owned land and farms and
buildings. Money came to them without George ever having to work a
day of his long life. As he aged and she did not, he grew more
afraid of her, until finally she set him down and truly explained
their situation. She was really angel, she said. She would never
age. And she would live as long as her body was never struck down in
accident or murder.