Avalon Revamped (19 page)

“Still don’t believe it’s supernatural, Captain?” I rubbed my head as I looked over at him getting up, rather shaky. He reached around the back of his head and came back with blood on his hand. “Blimey! You’re hurt!” My stomach rumbled.

“Just a bump is all. I’ve had worse.” After pulling a handkerchief from his inner pocket, he held it to the back of his head. “You might be right about the supernatural, I suppose. Stranger things, and all. I’m convinced. So, now what?”

“We obviously can’t crack it open to see what’s inside. Ah ha!” I jumped to my feet and spun around to face the Captain. The sudden movement caused him to step back again, arms up in defense. “If it’s supernatural, then to find out what’s inside, what’s making it ooze so, we must consult a witch or medium, perhaps. Yes. I think I know just the one.”

§

Madame Nadine sat on a wooden stool outside her establishment, smoking a pipe. A fringed shawl covered her shoulders against the cold. From her ears hung great golden circles and multiple chains decorated her neck. Between draws on the pipe, she exhaled frozen breath, huffing with her lips in different shapes to see if the mist would change the way the exhaled smoke would. Then, taking another draw from her pipe, she puffed smoke circles in the air.

As we made our way through the crowd, that same cackling-hyena laugh pummeled my ears. Blackwolf said, “Good heavens! What on earth is that?”

“Miss Polly Pooter,” I said to the little woman as she emerged through the people, right behind Jeffries. Always in tow. “And, Mr. Jeffries. How delightful to see you both again. May I introduce Captain Arron von Blackwolf? Captain, this is Mr. Roderick Jeffries and his assistant Miss Polly Pooter.”

“How do you do?” the Captain said, offering his hand. Jeffries took it and stood up straight, looking down his nose at us, marinating in the fact that he was taller than us both.

“Exceptional,” he said without returning the nicety. “As always.”

“He sure is,” Polly said, almost drooling.

“This is the chap I was telling you about, Blackwolf. His cousin owns the brothel with the Chamber of Horrors. Tell him, Jeffries. It’s real.”

“It’s real all right, quite fun as well. I do like to have fun. What is the point of living if not to have fun, and my cousin, well, she caters to the less
propa
kind,” he said, mocking the English accent on the word proper. Yes. I decided I didn’t like him one bit.

“C’mon Rod! C’mon,” Polly whined. “You said you’d buy me a biscuit. Please? You said.”

“Isn’t she adorable?” Jeffries said, beaming down at her as if she were…again, a prized spaniel came to mind. One who had been taught to do tricks for a treat.

Polly started dancing in the middle of the street, shaking her hips and flipping her hair and singing, “Please, Rod. Please. You said! You said! A biscuit! A BIIIIIISCUIIIIIIT!” People all around looked rather repulsed by the show, and I must admit, so was I. The expression on Blackwolf’s face, although comical, told me he had never seen anything quite as peculiar as Miss Pooter. In all my centuries, neither had I. She was all together distinctive, and it inspired me to want her in quite a carnal way. But, I shook that though off, for even a trained spaniel was still but a spaniel. My tastes were taboo, but that that taboo.

“All right, my poodle. Come along. I’ll get you that biscuit. C’mon! C’mon! That’s a good girl.” The captain and I watched in utter amazement as Jeffries patted her on the head when she danced back to him, smiling up in adulation at her god. “Gentleman,” he said, tipping his bowler.

“And tomorrow,” she whined. “Tomorrow you’ll take me to the circus?”

To be in it or to watch it?

She spun around in circles beneath his hand. Around and around and around, never taking her eyes off the object of her worship. “Pleeeeease! Roddy! PLEEEEEASE!”

“You know that tomorrow I have a date with Cyndi, now don’t you? After work, you shall have to go home without me.”

Her face fell. All at once, as if her everything she lived for had just been ripped from her.

“Now, poodle. You know about our arrangement.”

“I know,” she said, kicking at a puddle in a dip of the cobblestones. “I know. Cyndi. I know. But a biscuit now. Right? Like you always say, Roddy, be here now. And now I’m with you. And now everything is wonderful because you’re here with me. A biscuit, Roddy, please!”

Laughing, he squeezed her against him in a tight embrace, her nose hit right at his navel. Then, he spun her around, patted her on the head again, and pushed her forward. “A biscuit it is,” he said. He started off, but turned to us at the last second and said, “Gotta keep them happy, but in their place, right gents? Good day!”

Madame Nadine spoke as we approached her. “He’s next.” Then, “I know why you’re here. Come in.”

I had heard rumors about Madame Nadine’s skill. Rumors were often more true than not. Indeed. She cost rather more than other fortune tellers, but she was genuine, not a charlatan who would tell you what you wanted to hear. Madame Nadine told it like straight, and I liked my women like that. She revealed her delicious curves when she tossed the shawl over an old chair, its upholstery ripped and wood splintered. Her entire shop was similar. Things from the Old World hung in every free space, covering the walls in dusty memories. I followed those swaying hips to the back room, wishing Blackwolf had stayed behind. I’d be able to get more for my money that way.

“Have a seat, gentleman, and, no, Lord York, you wouldn’t.”

It was as if she read my mind, but her face was not that of a flattered woman. Why wouldn’t a woman, any woman, be flattered someone as fine and titled as I wanting to fuck them? She regarded me with suspicion, and said, “You aren’t far behind either.”

“What are you talking about, woman?”

“Show me the statue.”

“How did ya know?” Blackwolf said, stunned. “How could ya possibly know?”

“It’s my job to know, Captain. Give me,” she said, flicking her hand out. The numerous bangles on her wrist jangled.

I handed her the wrapped statue and warned, “It’s rather messy. Careful of your dress.”

As soon as she touched it, a grimace of agony tainted her handsome features, and she dropped it onto the small table between us. “I knew it. I felt it,” she said. “For weeks now, but I couldn’t let myself believe it until now.” Her face brightened, and then she glowed, joy emanating from her.

“I don’t understand, Madame Nadine,” I said. “A moment ago, you appeared to be in great pain. What did you feel when you touched the statue?”

“Agony, unlike I’ve known in many years. It’s the torment of a woman who has been ill-used, many times over. Horrible and harrowing, such anguish. Men do not understand. Until now,” she said, a smile again spreading across her face. “I had heard stories, whisperings of a powerful woman who punished those who hurt women—but just stories. Now, I see they are true.”

“This was found at my friend’s home, Madame Nadine, and he’s disappeared. Can you tell us what happened to him?”

“Exactly what he deserved,” she sneered.

“How dare you! How do you know what he deserved? He was a good man, a fine gentleman,” I scolded her. “What are you saying happened to him? Is he in there?”

“Parts of him. Parts, as you can see, are missing.” Her smug expression mocked me and infuriated me. My fangs descended. A flash across her eyes told me she knew what I was capable of, but it wasn’t fear that shone in that flash. No. Not that. It was defiance.

I controlled myself, not wanting to make a scene in front of Blackwolf, for I’d have to kill him, too. Yes, I really should’ve come alone. I’d have to return at some point to teach this bitch a lesson.

“You taunt me, Madame? You take pleasure in the pain of my friend?”

“I take pleasure in the punishment of rapists, Mr. York.”

Mister? Insult!

She spoke as if she were my equal. This would not do, but even that wasn’t what angered me the most.

“Rapist? Don’t be absurd, woman. Nick was no rapist. He might have taken some liberties with his promises and all, but rape is a very serious accusation. I call slander, woman. Slander!”

“It’s true. I feel it in him. I see it. I see it in you, too. I know. A woman, knows. A woman who has endured, knows.”

“I’m so sorry,” Blackwolf said. Her sweet smile assuaged him, judging from his blush.

“Nonsense! There was no trial. Are you suggesting, Madame Nadine, that a man be punished without a trial of his peers? By taking the word of a scorned woman? She lies. Everyone knows that. Women lie. If she was ravished, as you suggest, then why doesn’t she go to the police? With evidence, they shall punish the scoundrel if he’s guilty, which I assure you, Nicholas is not! Release him from his prison. This instant.”

“No. Even if I had that power, I would not do it. He is enduring that which he has made so many endure, and it is justice. Finally.” She put both hands on flat on the table and, leaning across, looked me square in the eyes. “Really, York. The police? You certainly jest to put your faith in their ‘justice’.”

“That’s true,” Blackwolf said. “You said so yourself. They’re worthless.”

My glare shot arrows at Blackwolf before turning back to the tramp before me, wanting so much to sink a few things into that sweet body, setting her mind right.

“Not in this lifetime, Mr. York,” she said, reading my mind again. “Never again. You have no power over me. Now get out.”

“You hate men, you harlot. Making such accusations and claims.”

“Arthur!” Blackwolf chided, brow furrowed.

“I don’t hate men, Mr. York. I don’t trust them. My life has taught me thus, as every woman learns when she becomes wise, when she learns she must protect herself. Because men, those meant to protect us, are the ones who hurt us, almost exclusively.”

“The lady is right, and good men know that. You best learn for yourself if you ever want to be a good man. One deserving of a woman like Miss Bainbridge. One deserving of any woman.”

“You, sir,” Madame Nadine said, reaching across the table to pat his hand, “are a wise man. A good man.”

“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said, blushing again.

“Should I leave you two alone?” I scoffed, crossing my arms, quite pleased with myself. “Please, don’t let me interrupt.” This comment angered Madame Nadine even further, and Blackwolf, alike. Preposterous. Women were far too sensitive.

“Mr. York.” She annunciated each word. Her contempt seethed from every syllable. “Women are not made for your pleasure, and there is worth far beyond their sexuality. Although you, at your age, should have learned this many times over. Indeed. You shall soon follow, and rightly so.”

My age? She knew. She could tell by looking at me. She knew my nature. She knew my thoughts. She knew me. She saw me, the real me, and that was terrifying. I had never met a woman with such power and insight.

Me? Fearing a woman?

Never.

It mustn’t be fear, then. No. Not fear.

Of course not.

Disgust. It was disgust. How dared she speak to me thus? “That will be all.” I pulled the coins from my pocket and threw them at her.

She didn’t flinch as the coins rained around her, but instead she sat tall, back straight and head held high.

“I apologize for my companion, Madame Nadine,” Blackwolf said, tipping his hat. “We shall take our leave. Thank you for your kindness. Good day, and Happy New Year.” He grabbed my arm and pushed me out the door in front of him. He didn’t say another word until we were back onto the bustling street. “This is where we must part ways,
Mister
York. Although my mind draws me toward solving these crimes, my heart and my conscience tell me the only crime done here are what these men did. Madame Nadine’s right. They have gotten what they deserve. And you, York, disgust me. I have no interest in knowing you or associating with you or any man like you. You are spoiled and entitled and altogether vile. That’s the great thing about age, sir, one no longer cares about the niceties of society or how one should act for propriety’s sake. One only cares about kindness. Through harsh lessons, I’ve learned the world sorely lacks kindness at every turn. Grow up, Arthur. Ya could be a great man, but I suspect you’ll only ever be a petulant child. Good day.”

With that, he disappeared into the crowd, and I stood there baffled, unable to speak or think or react in any way.

The rain came, and still I stood.

People milled around me, and still I stood.

For hours, I stood, drenched to the skin.

Then, surrounded by nothing but faint gaslight in the wee hours of the morning, I knew what I had to do.

CONSTANCE

Roderick looked as handsome as ever, on the outside, at least, although I saw into the black void where his soul should be. To the careful observer, one would notice how his countenance would change from blank and emotionless to warm and loving in an instant. Every so often, that loving mask would slip, and one saw the truth. But, as everyone tended to do with that they did not understand, or with that they feared, they explained it away. Justified it.

That evening, I saw it. We were meeting at the pub after work, and I saw him pass by the window, face like stone. Not stoic, nothing like that. As if there was nothing inside. Empty. No anger or love, no thought or feeling. No affect whatsoever.

As soon as he saw me watching, the mask went on. His entire personality changed in an instant. To the untrained eye, this appeared to be a normal transition between a contemplative state to one of warmth upon seeing the object of his affection, but a sinister truth hid behind Mr. Jeffries’ mask.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” he said, leaning over to kiss me on the cheek.

Mr. Jeffries knew me as Cynthia Weismann, shop mistress.

“Roderick. How lovely to see you. The minutes pass like hours as I wait to catch a glimpse of you again, my love.”

“Likewise.” He sat opposite me and gathered my hands into his. Smiling, he imprisoned me with his intense gaze. “All day, I kept checking my pocket watch, wondering if it was seven o’clock yet. Then, on my way to see you tonight, my whole body filled with excitement. It was as if it sang into the night, buzzing and bursting with your song.”

“Oh! Me, too!”

“Well, we’re here together now. Wine?”

“Yes, please.”

He signaled the barmaid and ordered some red wine before turning back to me. “Have you eaten?”

“I had a bite at the shop.”

“Perfect.” His eyes never left mine. His hands never let go of mine. The entire world around us disappeared. I was utterly captivated and charmed. True to the nature of his work, he could convince a woman of anything, subtly changing her reality to match his every thought or desire. All without her conscious knowledge or consent. Of all the predators I had the great pleasure of annihilating, this type was the most dangerous. Similar to that of Lord Stanton, Jeffries took his time priming his prey, shaping her into a food, of sorts. But unlike Lord Stanton, his end game wasn’t just to have his way with her. No, his charms and social situation, not to mention his honed skills, were quite enough to have as many women in his bed as he chose. I have been there myself countless times. Unlike anything I’d known in five hundred years. Ecstasy on a level so rare, one might have thought it impossible or mere tales of grand exaggeration.

Not with Mr. Jeffries.

It all sounded so wonderful, but that was the cunning of it. One was so distracted by the heightened pleasure and overt attention and loving affection, feeling as if nothing and no one could ever come upset such a connection, that one was quite unaware of the underhanded damage done. So subtle, unless one was experienced in such matters, one was like a lamb who walked willingly into slaughter. Not all women, of course. Some he used for sex. Others he openly violated for power. But the really unfortunate ones—the ones he thought a challenge—he took his time with those, using love and ecstasy as his weapons.

Then he destroyed them.

“How was your day? Sell much product?”

“Of course. I’m very good at what I do.” The level of arrogance never ceased to astound me. “I don’t mean to sound vain, but I really am.” Yes. Quite vain. “It doesn’t hurt that it’s the season for maladies of all sorts either. Even though Christmas has just passed, people are still in the holiday spirit. Jolly and generous, you see. I do very well this time of year.”

“Splendid, my love. I’m so happy for you. So proud of you.”

“I love that about you. Polly always complains she doesn’t make as much as I do. She thinks she deserves a bigger cut for her performance, and I tell her she is welcome to find other employment if she’s unhappy with our arrangement. That quiets her down pretty fast. Then she gets all pouty and sad, and I just have to laugh at the little spaniel. She’s so cute when she gets huffed.”

She was completely under his control, and he knew it. He thrived on it. Here was a woman that has been destroyed from the inside out, a woman who no longer had a shred of herself left, as he has taken it all from her over the years. His complete control made him feel powerful, invincible. As long as he had Polly at his heels, the others could be cast aside at will.

“Her part of the show is quite essential, I think. Don’t you?”

“Of course, but it is my business. My product. My business plan and efforts. She just performs the words I wrote for her. A monkey could do it. What I do, on the other hand, takes skill. I’m worth ever farthing I make.”

Polly knew what waited for her if she left at this point. Absolute annihilation. That was Mr. Jeffries’ game, and he took complete delight in it. From initial pursuit, which was alone enough to convince a woman of his sincerity, to enjoying the high of a new lover. A drug so very addictive, neither opium nor cocaine could compare. All the while, he would feed from her. Shape her. Control her. Devour her until she mirrored him: an empty shell. Then, the moment she appeared anything less than adoring and willing to fulfill his every need and desire without question or comment, the mask came off. Then the woman would, in horror, see the monster that lay beneath.

Cold. Unfeeling. Incapable of love or tenderness or empathy. He would cast her aside without remorse or compassion. Reeling, she would try to understand what had happened. How something so perfect could have fallen apart so quickly. How anyone who had loved so much could in an instant become so cruel.

Then the withdrawals began, much like that of opium. Sickness follows. Confusion. Despair beyond description. Tears and panic and vomit-filled days of unending torment. As the endless weeks crept by in an agonizing haze of suffering, she would begin to see the abuse, the violation, the utter sadistic savagery with which he had taken the core of her very self.

That was why Polly stayed, fear of the withdrawal. No doubt she had had a taste of it a few times. She would take scraps forever rather than face that. Most women did not recover from that level of betrayal. For, like in the cases of men like Lord Stanton, Doctor Nesbitt, and even Mr. McFerret, one had no doubt a violation had occurred, a violent and heinous ravaging. Many women did not recover from those either. Rape was a life sentence for the victim, but in those cases there was at least no question the assault occurred.

Mr. Jeffries, on the other hand, violated so surreptitiously, one questioned if it even happened. When he was his most successful, as any rapist, the victim blamed herself for all of it, and society did as well.

For Roderick Jeffries, sexual defilement was not enough. He strove to violate every level of a woman, to destroy her from the inside out, and he had quite often succeeded.

But this time, he had me, and I had eyes to see the truth.

The most fortunate of those unfortunate enough to meet and fall prey to this man were the ones who did get away, perhaps even the ones who took their own life and ended their torment. The least fortunate didn’t. Like Miss Polly Pooter. Forever tied to him, treated like a dog. Worse, in fact.

No more. I would be the last, then poor Miss Pooter would finally be free. He had kept the poor woman as a virtual slave, not overtly, of course. No, he was too smart for that. Like in everything he did, it was far more insidious in nature.

“Could we talk about something other than Polly anyway? You talk about her so much, Roderick. I’d rather just focus on us when we’re together, if that’s all right.”

“Are you jealous?” The gleam of pleasure returned to his eyes. Invoking jealousy was one of the most entertaining ways to control someone. To play on that innate fear of abandonment gave him the ultimate feeling of sovereignty.

“Of Polly? Of course not. I’m just truly tired of hearing about her all the time. I mean, I know she’s your business partner and a former lover, and I know she means a lot to you”—as food—“but I’d rather just focus on you and me, if that’s all right. No matter what we do, it’s always Polly and I did this, and then this time Polly and me we did that, and it gets rather old, is all. I mean, she’s a bizarre little thing, but my relationship is with you, and I’d rather not feel like she’s sitting here with us. You understand, don’t you, love?”

He tensed, clenching his jaw. I knew this slightly veiled criticism would hit him hard, and if there was one thing such deeply-ingrained narcissism couldn’t abide, it was criticism of any kind, especially from one considered beneath them, which in their eyes was everyone.

The barmaid brought the wine.

“To us,” I said, my voice pitched higher in cheery excitement. “To our love, which in your own words, is unlike either has ever known. So deep, so quickly. A whirlwind of delight and ecstasy. Of intimacy and gratitude. So passionate.” Then whispering, “I can’t wait to get you alone tonight.”

He put a smile back on his lips, and clinked glasses with me, regarding me over his glass as he drank. That predatory stare said:
you belong to me
.

Thus, we toasted to our love. A love, I had no doubt, that would be cast aside in a matter of days. He had already begun to slip more and more, allowing me to see behind the mask. My true form wasn’t even as harrowing as looking into his inner abyss.

Leaning in close to me, his lips brushed against my ear as he whispered, “Let’s move to someplace more private.” My body quivered at his touch, at the suggestion of what I knew would follow. Of what I knew would end all too soon, and I was ready to strike when it did. Each time I met with him, I brought his poppet and my tools. With a man like Jeffries, one never knew when, but the merciless devalue and ultimate discard was as inevitable as death.

“Let’s,” I breathed. With my work, I didn’t get to enjoy the pleasures of the flesh often, as it was mostly violation and violence, but sometimes I got to remember what it was like to be in love, even if it was just a façade. I delighted in the pretense now and again, for sentimentality of a more innocent time.

Never breaking contact. He had to feel in continuous control. To feel as if he owned me. In his mind, he did. Hand in hand, he led me out into the cold London night. Not able to wait until we got back to his flat, he teased me into an alleyway. Stealing a kiss, I melted into him. If I hadn’t been me, I would’ve already lost myself in this man and his charms. I would’ve become another Polly Pooter.

Pity the thought.

He was the most effective predator known to humankind, therefore, the most dangerous.

Just as his hand slid up my corset to cup my breast, a taste of the hours of ecstasy to come, I was thrown to the ground, and when I looked up, another woman was at Jeffries’ throat. Feeding.

“Stop,” I shouted. “Please! Don’t hurt him.” That was for me to do. She would not take away my prey. The death she delivered would be too quick for this snake. He must suffer for centuries to make up for the harm he’d caused others.

Whipping her head around, she glared at me, blood dripping from her chin. It was none other than Avalon Bainbridge. We had met at the gala, briefly, and then again on the cruise. I was under a different guise, of course, so she wouldn’t recognize me as Cyndi.

“Stay out of this,” she said. “I won’t hurt you, but this one deserves it.”

He most certainly did.

“Please, don’t kill him,” I pled. “I love him.”

Had to keep up the pretense for Jeffries’ sake at the moment.

Roderick’s mind hadn’t yet processed what had happened, as she moved far faster than humans. He was kissing me one moment, and the next he just felt pain, and he didn’t yet understand why. It was times like this one could see behind the mask, when he didn’t know how to perform. There was no script for him to follow here. A situation he had not been able to study, to learn how to arrange his face or what to say. His face was again without affect. Blank.

He looked at me and saw the mock horror on my face, then he knew how to react.

“Get off me, bitch! What are you doing? Help! Stop!”

Avalon held him against the wall with one arm, and Roderick struggled beneath her, trying to shove her off. I wondered how many women had tried to shove him off. He was starting to get a taste, and I found I didn’t want to stop Avalon from hurting him. I wanted to sit back and enjoy the show for a change.

But, I couldn’t.

“Please. Please, Miss. Please don’t hurt him. Please just let him be. Please.” I knew better than to try to compel my will on a vampire. That, indeed, did not work, one supernatural to another.

“I’m not going to kill him, but I need to feed. Neither of you will remember a thing.” She locked eyes with mine and tried to compel me. She didn’t know I couldn’t be manipulated thus, as she didn’t know I was more like her, in many ways, it seemed, punishing the wicked.

Perhaps I’d found an ally after all this time, company.

Still, I had to lead her to believe I was thus malleable, so I relented. “All right,” I said with a dreamy look in my eye, and I allowed her to continue.