The nefarious series, p.1
The Nefarious Series, page 1
part #1 of Nefarious Series
The Nefarious Series
Volumes I - III
Lucille Moncrief
Illustrated by
Carlo Clemente
Copyright © 2017 by Lucille Moncrief
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
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1. Elyse Delafayette
2. Talcott Henderson
3. Elyse
4. Talcott
5. Elyse
6. Samuel Quartermaine
Acknowledgments
Nefarious: Volume Two
Introduction
1. Honor the Suffering
Nefarious: Volume Three
Acknowledgments
1. Samuel Quartermaine
2. Elyse Delafayette
3. Talcott Henderson
4. Elyse Delafayette
5. Talcott Henderson
6. Samuel Quartermaine
7. Elyse Delafayette
8. Samuel Quartermaine
9. Talcott Henderson
10. Elyse Delafayette
11. Samuel Quartermaine
12. Talcott Henderson
13. Samuel Quartermaine
14. Elyse Delafayette
15. Talcott Henderson
16. Samuel Quartermaine
17. Talcott Henderson
A Note From the Author
Also by Lucille Moncrief
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Join Moncrief’s mailing list and get a free short story, Hannibal Steele and The Bone Elixir:
Hannibal Steele, chief alchemist of the High King Abaddon, would leave the Scion Hive just as he’d entered it more than three millennia ago—covered in blood.
The night called to him, whispering a siren song through the driving rain. He tightened his grip on the copper head of his cane, and proceeded through the mist to the alleyways. The bricks of the buildings were eclipsed in shadow, darkening in waves from the precipitation, as if the buildings themselves wept for his princess Emmeline.
1
Elyse Delafayette
I watched the clock, held hostage to its constant march. The swing of the pendulum echoed in my head as a merciless vice gripped my temples. Fear seized me, and I was impatient to leave before the migraine settled in—a poisonous fog stuffing my skull until it wanted to split open.
"I want to give this to one of my grandchildren. I'm not sure what to wrap it in," Helene said, her rheumy eyes innocent and wide as she handed me a dusty prayer plaque. Her gnarled hand tightened around the brass knob of her cane as she leaned on it.
We were in the spare room of her house, and my shift as her nurse was almost over.
Helene was 95. I went into nursing after the accident, and specifically chose elder care because I felt sorry for old folks. Their souls are trapped in a body set to slow burn where the wiring misfires, roof caves in and the pipes break—all exits blocked.
Helene’s neurosis would start every evening. She’d managed to find some new mementos to shuffle around, always to the same places. I thought it gave her a sense of control where she had none. It must be awful to feel your body break down from the relentless passage of time.
A sharp flicker of pain bore into my temple like a nail being hammered into it. I wiped the plaque on the hem of my dress and tried to look composed, although I was certain anyone not half as blind as Helene could see my face pale. "I'll wrap it in my own tears,” I said, swallowing hard.
"Your what?" Helene straightened and her brow knitted.
"My tears," I said, louder this time and nodding my head. My brain felt as tender as a bruised apple and I winced.
Helene paused for a moment. "Your brassier?"
I scoffed. "No. My tears, woman. Tears. If you were younger, you’d hear my eyes roll.” I chuckled.
Helene shrugged and grinned. "Well, that makes a little more sense."
Little stars started to twinkle on the edge of my vision. My pulse started to race. The impending migraine was like watching a violent storm approaching on the horizon.
"Why don’t you lie down? It’s getting late," I said, taking the crook of her arm.
She smiled and gave my hand a squeeze. I set the plaque on a bookshelf and guided her to bed. Her joints creaked as she sat down—her limbs a frail, dry kindling. I lifted her feet and propped her head against the pillows.
My head pounded from that little exertion. God, how I hated these things.
Helene stared at me with pursed lips as I pulled the covers to her chin. She was adorable—a little doll, cataracts of smoke lit by a half smile.
“Are you all right, honey?” she asked.
I smiled. “Yes, I’m fine.” I fluffed the edges of her pillow and thought of something funny to say. “You know, Ms. Helene, you snore."
"I snore?" she asked, eyes big as saucers. "Oh, that's awful."
“It is. And you’re so loud.” The corner of my lip began to lift.
"How embarrassing." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I know what I'll do, I'll smother myself." She looked up at me with that same mischievous glint in her eyes that I’d become so familiar with after knowing her the last two years.
Her sarcasm would often take on an air of whimsy, and we would banter like this for hours to pass the time. I wanted to keep the mood light to stop her from worrying about me, or else she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
"That’s a bit heavy handed, don’t you think?” I asked. “And you really don't snore. I was pulling your leg." I gave her shoulder a squeeze.
"There’ll always be a doubt in my mind, though.” Helene grimaced. “Is it feminine to snore? Do women snore?" she squeaked.
I tucked the corners of the blanket under the mattress and delivered the punchline. "You're a woman, and you snore."
"You just said I don't snore! I’ll throw you out the window, you little snip.” She laughed and the blankets rustled.
At least I’d done my job for the day, but now I had to go home and fight an invisible, dauntless foe who lived inside my head. "Well, on that note, I’m leaving. I'll be back in a few days. And if I feel especially generous, I’ll bring you those Shepherd’s pies you asked about.” My left cheek started to go numb.
“Well, how magnanimous of you. Honest to God, you’re the most generous, most caring person I’ve ever known.” Helene grinned, but it had a slap to it.
“Now you’re just laying it on thick.” I sniffed.
“What’s that? You’re thick?” She cupped her hand behind her ear.
I raised an eyebrow. “I know you can hear me. I changed the batteries in your hearing aids this morning.”
She laughed as I hugged her and turned off the lamp in her bedroom. My stomach started to bubble with nausea, and I took deep, measured breaths on my way to the kitchen. I grabbed my purse from off the back of a chair and opened the back door, wincing at the sunlight.
I was grateful to only live a couple blocks away. Every twitter of birds and distant clang of trolley bells felt like a needle piercing my ear drums.
The poison in my head had dropped a painful curtain behind my eyes. Soon I reached my front door, but in the throbbing haze I couldn’t even remember how I’d gotten there. The pounding between my ears had worsened during the walk home. I turned the knob and the door creaked open and the sound of it set my brain on fire. Thank God, the shutters in the foyer were drawn. I was grateful for the cool darkness inside the house.
I slowly climbed the stairs to my room, my face pinched with a singular determination—to sleep, to disappear, to die. The back of my neck itched from a cold sweat. Every step felt like a mallet dropping on my skull. I cursed myself for not choosing a room on the first floor. The house had been silent except for my steps on the stairs, and I jumped when I reached the final landing to the third floor. Mr. Pembroke was looking out the porthole window. Every beat of my heart felt like someone was squeezing my brain. He turned around and the corners of his mouth fell when he saw me.
"Headache again?" he asked. He tilted his chin down and his eyes softened with sympathy.
I groaned and managed a weak nod.
"That's the second one this week.” He sighed and ran his fingers through thinning hair. “There's a new practice in town. I'll have Mrs. Ewee make you an appointment."
“Do you think it’ll work this time?” I whispered.
He nodded and smiled.
I’ve had these ever since the accident four years ago. They’d only gotten more frequent, along with my trips to every doctor in town.
I hurried into my room and locked the door. The window and curtains were open, drawing in the glare of the sun and noise from the streets below. Children screaming, birds shrieking, trolley bells bellowing like the demons in hell. My eyes began to sting. I crossed the room, pulled down the window latch and drew the curtains tight. Silence. Darkness. Anguish.
I fell into bed and pulled a pillow over my face. All I could do was drown out the world with pleas to a God I feared was deaf—the pain a furious freight train, my head bound to the tracks.
2
Talcott Henderson
I heard the soft click of the waiting room door as I finished the intake paperwork. My latest patient had arrived, and I
The panes in my door rattled when I closed it, and she jumped, her back rim-rod straight. She was pale and ethereal, unblinking and tense. Looking at her was like looking at an old photo, or peering down a deep well at my own hazy reflection. Her long, dark hair and shining, peridot eyes had something within my solar plexus humming to life from a deep slumber. No, it wasn’t their color. It was the way her eyes moved, the way they took in a room with practiced appraisal, like she was always looking for an exit. I stumbled over the vague familiarity that stirred within my viscera and extended my hand for a second to regain my composure.
"Miss Delafayette? I'm Dr. Henderson. I will assist Dr. Marquis today. Follow me."
She had a firm handshake but fingers like ice, and I could feel her anxiety through them. The roof of my mouth began to tingle and itch. I led her to an exam room, closed the door, and gestured for her to have a seat on the edge of the examining table.
Her pale green eyes beamed with apprehension, and her nervous gaze illuminated every sterile corner in the room. Her dark hair was glossy and soft; I wanted to reach out and touch it. The tip of her chin, the soft angle of her jaw and the peppering of freckles on the bridge of her nose resembled my lost Ilse.
My jaw clenched, and I cleared my throat. "I’ll check and record your vitals, then Dr. Marquis will go over your chart, and we’ll get started. If I could have your left arm, please."
I riffled through the top drawer and removed the cuff. Her skin prickled in horripilation as I wrapped it around her arm and tightened it. Her blood pressure was high. My mouth watered as I put the device back in the desk and was slow to jot down my findings to savor the moment.
She tapped her foot once, tugged the corner of her sleeve, and peered through a small opening in the eyelet curtains. I unwrapped the stethoscope from around my neck and asked her to take a deep breath, and I did the same. The heady scent of lilacs filled my addled brain, and her breasts swelled beneath the collar of her blouse as I listened to her heart flutter like a caged bird. My groin tightened as I updated her chart, and left the clipboard on the counter next to the sink. The air sat heavy with her tension and my hunger.
I took a gown from the closet and turned to her. "Dr. Marquis and I will return soon. Change into this gown."
I left her, mouth agape, and made my way to the wash room, the sound of her heart beating in my ears. I like to be calm before a procedure.
I met Lucius Marquis outside the door of her room. He grinned, though his mirth did not meet his eyes, dead as the dark side of the moon in winter.
"Ladies first," he said.
He always had something to say. I balled my hand into a fist, raised my middle finger and almost clocked my dearest friend in the nose as I swung open the door. That sniveling, grotesque, patrician nose—may he forever braise in hell.
She sat on the edge of the table, trembling—a lamb encircled by wolves—her paper gown an inadequate shield to our depredations. Now it was Lucius’s turn for introductions. She gazed at him through long lashes, ferns around a deep, emerald pool. My insides ached at her innocence and youth. I took her chart from the countertop, flipped through the pages to keep from looking at her for another moment.
"I'm Dr. Marquis. Your friend, Mrs. Ewee, said you’ve been suffering from migraines and recommended you for treatment.”
He took the chart from me, riffled through the pages, and bit the end of his pen. He smelled like dust and ancient parchment, the inner linings of a sepulcher. She cleared her throat and I eyed the curve of her neck, delicate as the stem of an apple. The humming inside me grew louder, vibrating deep in my bones, and my mouth started to burn like the smoldering end of a cigar. She cleared her throat and looked at Lucius like a hare mesmerized by the mad ermine, and the air grew cold from his dark aura which pulsated with hunger and bitterness toward the softer specimens of humanity.
Her voice was almost a whisper. "Yes. I've been getting a lot of headaches recently. I’ve had them for a couple of years now, but they were infrequent. Maybe . . . one every few months.” She tugged on her hem. “But for the last month I've been getting them twice a week."
Lucius leaned in; his piercing gaze could have torn the garment off her. The ermine had begun his deathly dance.
I busied myself at the head of the examining table, assembling the equipment. The tingling in the roof of my mouth scintillated to an almost unbearable crescendo. I bit my tongue.
Lucius cleared his throat and scanned her chart. "Do you know what our clinic treats?"
"Not really, no." She gave a slight shake of her head, and her bottom lip quivered for a moment.
The spark of fear in her eyes was a fire that could run wild if she allowed it. And I would love to feed it, to inhale the smoldering embers of her secret shame. I watched her breath catch—a flash so quick and almost unnoticed. Is this how the fox feels when he confronts the tender rabbit? Or the osprey when he swoops in for a kill so calculated and unfair? My fingertips tingled in delight.
The corner of Lucius’s lip lifted in a half smirk, and his eyes glinted like hot pumice stones. "Miss Elyse, you suffer from a case of hysteria. I’ve developed a successful treatment that’ll give you an acceptable form of release from the tension. With your permission, we can start today.” The ermine danced on his head and pirouetted with a grace unmatched.
Her eyes dulled as his gleamed ever brighter. She nodded.
"Good.” Lucius grinned. “Because the longer you go without release, the worse it gets. That's why you’re getting more headaches. Ready, Talcott?" His grin collapsed when he looked at me.
My stomach recoiled from his gaze. I clenched my jaw and turned on the machines.
“Dr. Henderson will perform the procedure. I’ll monitor the equipment. Lie down and let your legs hang over the edge of the table."
She hesitated for a moment, but the oxygen in the room grew thicker with Lucius’s hypnotic persuasion. She began to slide down the table. I held my breath as the gown rode over her knees, revealing graceful thighs. In a feeble attempt at modesty, she tried to pull down the hem. Its scalloped edge reminded me of a pie crust enveloping a soft, white meringue. My mouth watered at the sight, and I licked my lips. Lucius did the same before continuing.
"Since the procedure won’t help your blood pressure, I’ll give you a bit of medicine to relax you as I monitor your vitals.”
I heard her gulp, and Lucius placed the chart next to the sink. Her eyes widened.
“This medication will also deaden your sensitivity, and it may take a bit more coaxing to get a release from you. Inhale when I place the mask over you."
Lucius and I switched places. She glanced at me with a look of, dare I say it? Trust. It was almost touching. As I took my seat opposite her feet, Lucius placed the fabric sensor over her heart. The monitor flashed red as it came to life, her pulse racing. I grasped each of her bird-like ankles in my hands and fastened them into the stirrups. Her knees were clenched tight, denying me access. No matter; after the inhalant, she would be putty in my hands.
Lucius placed the mask over her, and I saw the gentle rise of her breasts as she inhaled. We both watched the monitor, devilish and intense—a panting pack of wild dogs. As her vitals slowed and her eyelids fluttered, her legs spread.
He removed the mask, and his voice softened. "We need to open you up for inspection. Relax, Dr. Henderson has a sure touch."
Betwixt her soft thighs hid a tight, pink rose. I saw her nipples harden beneath her gown as I spread her apart and inserted the speculum, opening her up. My mouth burned with fever. My insides vibrated from near starvation.
