Beasts of london, p.24
Beasts of London, page 24
I wish I were wearing a glamour spell.
The last time Cecil had been inside the Porter, he had disguised his identity with a glamour spell. Taking the form of a finely-dressed gentleman with boyish blond curls, he’d sat at the bar every evening for four nights, nursing one drink and waiting for Fletcher and Marcus Taylor to show up.
The sickly green wallpaper had faded, and the narrow staircase was even more creaky than it had been before. Mr. Cane liked the stairs to be loud, he’d told Cecil once, so that angry clients and vengeful employees could not sneak up on him.
When they reached the top of the stairs, the door to Mr. Cane’s office was ajar.
Mr. Cane was sitting behind his desk and smoking while looking over some papers. He was a stocky man with a potbelly. His hair had thinned to baldness and the faint stubble on his chin was grey, yet his moustache was still as black as ink from dye. His cane with a polished silver dog’s head was leaning against the desk.
Cecil stared at the object, his scalp prickling. He could still remember the agony of it striking bone and splitting his skin open into great welts.
“Mr. Cane, my name is Inspector Overton.” The detective and officers stepped forward, and Cecil was glad to be shadowed behind them. “I’ve come to speak with you on the matter of an animal attack that happened right outside your establishment last evening.”
The man narrowed his eyes, gesturing with his pipe to Felix and Cecil. “Have I seen either of you gents before?”
Inspector Overton turned to them, watching keenly.
“Sir Felix and I have much better ways to spend our time than in a disreputable establishment like this.” With unsteady feet, Cecil stepped toward the desk with a twitching smile. “I am Cecil Morris, and this is my colleague. We are from the London Society of Spiritualists.”
“What does that crackpot society want with me?” He chuckled, but the gesture was followed by a loud, hacking cough that bent him double.
“I understand that last night, at approximately ten, a woman was attacked outside of your building. Did you or your patrons hear or see anything? We are trying to find the creature that attacked her.”
When he righted himself, Mr. Cane grabbed his round spectacles off a stack of papers on his desk and put them on with a shaking hand. “Ah, yes. That nasty business. I seem to recall… something. But it’s a bit fuzzy in my memory.”
“Well, what do you remember?”
The man’s chair groaned in protest as he leaned back and folded his hands on his round belly. “The reputation of my establishment is very important to me. How can I be sure you won’t go blabbing to the newspapers about what I tell you?” His eyes lit up suddenly. “I do know you.”
“You’re mistaken,” Cecil said quickly.
“You were in the London Chronicle.” He pointed at Cecil. “They say one of your beasts escaped your museum and is terrorizing London.” His eyes shone greedily. “I’ll bet it was whatever attacked that working girl outside my building last night. That information must be very valuable to you. For a price, I could share it.”
“This is absurd,” Felix growled. “Inspector, you cannot let this behavior stand.”
Like snapping out of a trance, Inspector Overton cleared his throat and turned back toward the owner. “Either you tell us what you know or you do not, Mr. Cane. That is our only arrangement. Now, you called the victim a ‘working girl.’ Is she employed by you?”
Though Mr. Cane’s smirk faded, he shrugged.
“Did you see or hear anything odd?” Cecil pressed, wincing as his skull started to pound.
“I heard an animal growl and the girl screaming. When I looked out, I saw her being attacked by something. Afterward, there was an explosion like a machine malfunctioning. Part of my building was blown off.”
When Cecil imagined the woman’s cry for help, he heard Emily’s scream from long ago. “I’m sure you, ever the gentleman, went to her aid?” The bitter words came out bitingly before he could stop them.
“No one stops for a tramp. They’re always screaming.” Mr. Cane laughed like a mangy city fox yelping. Picking up his cane, he rubbed his palm over the silver dog’s head out of habit only to recoil as if it had bitten him. “I ran out to check my building wasn’t going to tumble down.”
“No one helped her…” Cecil whispered. No one had ever come to Emily’s and his aid. Weighty darkness unfurled in his chest, tinging the city and everything in it. When he looked out the grimy window, all he could see was soot-black smog and filth.
He stared at the cane, his blood bubbling hot in his veins, and he wanted to snatch it from the desk and give him a taste of his own cruelty. He’s still the same monster he always was. He deserves to be beaten and humiliated for a change. If Overton has already condemned me, I could probably get a few swings in before he stopped me…
Then something occurred to him, and the pounding in his head lessened as clarity’s cool waters rushed over him. When he touched the silver, he acted as if it burned him.
“You went outside to check on the state of your fine establishment, did you?” Cecil lunged toward the man and snatched the cane from the side of the desk. His trembling hands steadied as they gripped the object with intention. “Do you remember what happened next? You’ll think quickly if you know what’s good for you.”
Mr. Cane’s mouth fell open, and he recoiled in his chair.
“What the devil are you doing?” Felix demanded, aghast.
The officers reached toward him in alarm but stopped when Inspector Overton held up his hand for them to wait.
“I—I don’t know—” Mr. Cane stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. He didn’t take his eyes off the cane.
“Of course you don’t.” Cecil swung the cane around in a wide arc, stopping it short and holding the dog’s head inches away from the man’s face. When the man flinched, he chuckled. “You wouldn’t remember the Ifrit possessing you. The creature was still out there, waiting in the shadows and licking his wounds when you stumbled outside. His original target got away, but he saw a place to hide and took the opportunity.”
The man shook his head, swallowing hard. “You’re insane! I’m not some bleeding monster!”
“Oh, but you are, Mr. Cane.” He paced about in front of the desk, swinging the cane lazily through the air. With each whoosh it made slicing through the air, the little man flinched. “You are the worst kind of man, aren’t you?”
“I am a man trying to make a living with my business, that’s all. Same as you.”
“You are in the business of controlling, buying, and selling men’s souls,” he hissed. “We are not the same.”
Mr. Cane sputtered a nasty laugh. “Only two types of men in the world, Mr. Morris. The ones who are controlled and the ones who take control.”
“You’re going to show everyone here exactly which type you are.” Cecil reared the cane back over his head and swung at the man’s head.
Mr. Cane shouted and covered his face, waiting for the blow that never landed. The silver dog’s head embedded into the wood of the desk in front of him, narrowly missing him by a hair. A blue light burst from the man’s chest, and he convulsed. Moments later, that blue light transformed midair into the twisting form of a cobra that flopped onto the ground.
Wrenching the cane free, Cecil wheeled around and threw it at the slithering creature’s head. It struck true, stunning the creature long enough for him to produce the enchanted shackle from his briefcase. With a shout, Felix raced toward it and stepped on its neck. The Ifrit writhed under his foot.
“Cecil, now!” Felix bellowed.
Cecil threw the contraption to his friend, who caught it and snapped it around the creature’s neck, just as a sphere of defensive magical energy exploded from the creature and sent them all flying backward. The effect of the device was instantaneous. The creature tried to transform into a mouse, but the ring only shrank with it. It squirmed, yelping and crying out as the silver stung it. No matter what form he took, there was a red, bloody burn on its body.
Lucy did that. Pushing himself upright, Cecil marveled at the creature as the officers recovered and surrounded it with hesitant steps. No one helped Emily and me, but Lucy saved that girl from this beast. She’s like her father. Felix would have helped us.
The officers grabbed the Ifrit in cobra form and shoved it into a sack. It wriggled until it eventually ran out of energy, the silver draining its power, and fell still.
Mr. Cane was shaking all over, staring at the indentation in the desk. Looking between it and Cecil, he buried his face in his hands and burst into tears. “I thought—I thought you were going to hurt me!”
“Be thankful there are men in the world who are better than you, or I might’ve,” he muttered, low enough to avoid Overton hearing. “Good evening, Mr. Cane. Oh, and may we use one of your downstairs rooms?”
Chapter Twenty-Six
When they brought the Ifrit to a private room in the Porter, Cecil instructed them to release it from the sack so they could interrogate it. Felix protested, but Cecil took him aside briefly. “I only want to ask a few questions in front of Overton,” he whispered. “Once the Ifrit’s testimony proves I wasn’t involved in these attacks, I will confine it once more.”
“You’re playing with fire, Cecil. You do not know what these beasts are like,” Felix hissed.
“Then I shall learn as I go.” He handed the cane to the older gentleman. “Hold onto this for me, will you? The silver makes the creature uncomfortable.”
Nodding, Felix took the cane from him. He strangled it in his grasp as the men opened the bag.
Once the cobra was released, it coiled defensively on the floor. Cecil approached it with the key in his hand. “I can loosen this restraint to make you comfortable while you answer our questions, but you must give me your word you will not flee or attack. In turn, I promise no more harm will come to you.”
The cobra met his gaze with its piercing black stare and then nodded its diamond-shaped head. After Cecil loosened the shackle, the creature grew and transformed before their eyes into a male humanoid figure with pale-blue skin, long black hair, and black eyes. Small, sharp goat horns protruded from his forehead.
The figure was handsome with a strong jaw and delicate facial features. His top half was naked, revealing a sculpted chest. He was wearing an ancient Egyptian shendyt on his lower half, and there were gold cuffs on his wrists.
From behind him, Cecil heard Felix inhale sharply.
“My name is Aeson,” the Ifrit said in a deep, velvety voice, bowing his head respectfully. “What questions do you wish for me to answer? I will not lie as long as you do not.”
“Did you come from my museum?” Cecil asked, glancing at Inspector Overton over his shoulder. “Are you in any way connected to me? Did I order you to attack anyone?”
“No. I do not serve men without making a bargain first.” The Ifrit hissed, revealing sharp canine teeth, and his hand flew to his calf where it had been burned by Lucy’s flames. “I only serve my queen and those of her blood.”
“Your queen?” Cecil’s brow furrowed.
“She sent me here with a purpose.”
“What purpose was that?”
“Cecil,” Felix warned sharply. “Enough of this. These creatures always play games!”
“She asked three tasks of me,” the Ifrit continued calmly. “The first was to take revenge on everyone who had broken their pact. The second was to destroy the vessel to free her. The third was to find her—”
Three gunshots rang out in quick succession. Cecil ducked down, covering his ears. His heart thundered, and when he looked up again, Aeson was lying against the wall with his limbs splayed and his head lolling back. There were three bullet wounds in his head, and his black eyes were lifeless.
Cecil lowered his hands. His ears rang from the close proximity of the gunshots. He staggered upright in a daze to see Felix standing with his revolver still pointed at the creature, gunsmoke swirling around him like a shroud. The officers grabbed the gentleman’s arms; he jerked out of their grasp but lowered the weapon.
“Felix?” Cecil looked between the corpse and his friend, his eyes wide, the images trembling in his vision. “How could you? He was completely helpless!”
“He was about to blindside all of you. If I hadn’t killed the animal, it would have tricked us all or gotten free,” he snapped. “But it’s all over now. Inspector Overton, you can tell the papers that London is safe once more from this beast.”
Cecil jabbed his finger at Felix. “He wasn’t simply an animal. He was an intelligent being with a name and a purpose.”
Inspector Overton frowned at the body. “There are no laws for this sort of situation. Nothing to categorize a creature like this as an animal or a man. They aren’t protected under the laws of man, or Great Britain, for that matter. There is nothing to be done about it now.”
The Ifrit’s body slowly dissolved into ash, burning up in a smokeless fire until there was nothing left.
When they left the gambling house, it was afternoon. In the alleyway, Inspector Overton grabbed Cecil’s shoulder, making him start. “You’re coming with me to the Fortuna to discuss the case from ten years ago.”
Cecil pulled away, but the inspector held fast. “I would like to go home to my ward, Inspector Overton. Unless you have something else to accuse me of?”
The inspector raised his eyebrows, but a smile twisted his features that he did not bother to hide. “You’re implying that I believe you are Harold Blake.”
“That’s exactly what you believe, isn’t it?” he asked sharply.
“Let us discuss this at the inn, Mr. Morris. There’s no need to be defensive.”
Felix strode over, frowning. “What are you doing? Surely, Inspector Overton, you have enough evidence to clear Mr. Morris’s good name and his museum from any crimes.”
“He’s trying to accuse me of Harold Blake’s crimes,” Cecil burst out. “But I am not the man you think I am, inspector.”
I’m not Harold Blake or the blasted Moorland Beast anymore. I could have hurt Mr. Cane for what he did, but I didn’t. What happened ten years ago was monstrous, but that was not my true nature. My nature is kind.
Glaring at the inspector, Felix said, “Mr. Morris is simply not capable of the crimes you described. Last that I heard, you suspected that miscreant on the streets of being Harold Blake, or at least of knowing who he was.”
“The man the witness described fits Mr. Morris’s description exactly,” Overton said, though he seemed less certain now as he dropped Cecil’s arm.
“How reliable is the word of a drunken beggar?” Felix sniffed. “Honestly, inspector, you owe Mr. Morris an apology. In fact, I believe I should talk to your superiors about this behavior—”
Inspector Overton actually blushed, and Cecil avoided his gaze as a flush of guilt heated his own face. “My instincts are usually spot on when it comes to who is and is not guilty,” the inspector said. “Obviously, I may be mistaken. You must forgive me for that mistake, Sir Felix.”
“It is not me you should ask forgiveness from.”
“He was only doing his job, Felix,” Cecil said sheepishly. “You cannot fault him entirely for that. Honestly, we should be thanking him for his commitment to keeping London safe instead of chastising him.”
Felix smiled. “That is quite gentlemanly of you, Cecil.”
Inspector Overton turned and bowed his head apologetically. Though Cecil felt a twinge of satisfaction and relief from the ingratiating gesture from the inspector, this did not feel like a victory at all. If anything, it rang hollow in his chest.
He has no idea he’s correct about the damned Harold Blake, and now he’ll never know. The beast is gone, and I’m finally free. But… why doesn’t it feel like it’s over yet?
“Let’s get you home, old chap, “Felix said.
“Yes.” Cecil exhaled. “Please take me home.”
During the carriage ride to the museum, Cecil was silent. Felix passed the stolen cane between his hands so the silver head caught the light from out the carriage window. When he looked up at Cecil, the gentleman’s expression reminded him of a stern, concerned father.
“Are you still shaken from our encounter with the Ifrit?” Felix asked. “I would think you’d be celebrating otherwise. Your museum can reopen now.”
Cecil threw his head back against the seat. “I will celebrate later. Right now I’m… distracted.” He tangled his fingers through his hair. “I keep thinking about what happened.”
“If you’re going to harp on about that Ifrit, do not bother. If I had not stopped that demon, he would have revealed to everyone there my involvement in this madness,” Felix said firmly. “What would you have done in my place?”
“I don’t know.” He clasped his hands together, finding them numb and clammy. “But I imagine the fear that your secrets will be revealed—it must have felt like being hunted in the dark without rest. I know what that’s like.”
“Do you?”
Sweat bloomed on Cecil’s skin, and he took a shaky breath. “What if I was Harold Blake?”
“Is this one of your hypothetical scenarios? If so, I am not in the mood to indulge you. Shall I turn the carriage around, turn you in, and apologize to poor Inspector Overton?”
When Cecil said nothing, freezing in place like a statue, hunched over with his hands folded between his knees, Felix’s teasing smile slowly faded.
“Come now. Out with it.” Felix harrumphed and shifted closer in his seat across from him. “What is this really about?”
“Felix.” Cecil met his gaze. “I am Harold Blake.”
“You’re lying. You’re—” He broke off, his face turning purple.
Cecil leaned forward in his seat toward him, and his voice was a hoarse whisper as he admitted, “When I was drunk the other night after the museum opening and that man on the street stopped us, he knew who I was from my days as Harold Blake.”
