“It’s getting late,” noted Raven. “We’d better be going. I think we can defend ourselves better at Pemberley.”
She shook her head. “That would feel like I was deserting my parents and my sisters,” she said.
Suddenly they heard wild, inhuman screams from no more than a mile away.
“That settles that,” said Raven. “We’d better find someplace to hide right here and hope they’re not looking for townspeople.”
“They’re looking for anyone,” she replied, frowning. “You know that.”
“True,” he said quickly. “I was just hoping aloud.”
“I understand Mr. Bingley had some business in town today,” said Elizabeth. “Perhaps we can join up with him.”
The screams came closer, and Raven shook his head. “There’s no time to go hunting for anyone,” he replied. “Let’s get out of sight.”
He stood up, held out his hand, and led her to the kitchen, where the cook and the waiter stood trembling.
There were more screams, and then they heard a body crash against the front door. Raven cracked open the kitchen door and took a look. A blood-spattered young man lay in the doorway, breathing his last.
Suddenly they heard a rifle shot.
This is crazy, thought Raven. There’s been more violence in the past two minutes than Jane Austen put in her entire literary output.
“I know you’re in there, Darcy!” cried a voice.
“Wickham!” whispered Elizabeth.
“What the hell does he want with me?” wondered Raven aloud.
“You exposed his sins and weaknesses to my family when he was courting my sister,” said Elizabeth. “He’s never forgiven you for it.”
“You come out, Darcy, or my creatures will burn the place—and everyone who’s in it—down.”
“Shit!” muttered Raven. He turned to the cook and waiter. “Anyone got a gun?”
They both shook their heads, too frightened to speak.
“Okay,” he said. “How about a butcher knife?”
The chef reached for one, grabbed it, and handed it to Raven.
“You’re not really going out there, are you?” asked Elizabeth.
“No choice,” answered Raven. “If I don’t, he kills all four of us.”
“Don’t go!” she said.
“I have to.”
“Please, Eddie.”
Suddenly he froze. “You called me Eddie!”
“Please stay!”
“I’ll be back,” he promised, and walked out of the kitchen. He made his way through the restaurant, avoiding the dead body, and stepped out into the street.
Facing him was a lean, well-groomed, well-dressed man on a chestnut horse . . . and forty creatures, all on their bare misshapen feet, all ashen-white, all with cold, dead eyes and discolored pointed teeth, who may once have been men, though certainly not in years, probably decades.
“I knew I’d find you here, Darcy,” said Wickham, clearly enjoying his moment of triumph.
“Even you aren’t stupid enough not to find me in a village this size,” replied Raven. “Now what do you and your pets want?”
“Did you hear that?” yelled Wickham to his horde. “He called you my pets!”
“You give orders and they obey you,” replied Raven. “Isn’t that what pets do?”
The creatures began looking uneasy.
“Of course,” continued Raven, “you can beat them and belittle them and abuse them, and they’ll still obey you. I mean,” he added, “it’s not as if they can, or even could, think for themselves.”
The creatures began muttering uneasily.
“Listen to him!” yelled Wickham with a harsh laugh. “He thinks he can argue you into disobeying my commands!”
“Of course not,” said Raven. “Why should they disobey you? I mean, hell, when all is said and done, you hold the power of life and death over them.” He paused, and the hint of a smile played on his lips. “Don’t you?”
Now the muttering began in earnest.
“Be careful not to get him mad,” continued Raven. “He’s just the type who would be happy to poison your food if you enrage him—and of course he has access to every last piece of it. I mean, he does feed you and pay you and give you all kinds of rewards for the service you render him.” And in case there were any French creatures in the group, he concluded with a smile and a “N’est ce pas?”
“Shut your mouth, Darcy!” screamed Wickham. “Or I’ll cut your tongue out of your mouth before I kill you.”
Raven smiled and addressed the horde. “Is that why none of you talk back to him? Is he a tongue collector? Think he’ll collect your eyeballs next?”
He could tell they were considering what he said. He fell silent for a moment, not because of Wickham’s threats, but because he doubted the creatures could assimilate any more.
“You’ve been begging for this, Darcy!” growled Wickham, sword in one hand and war club in the other.
“Begging for it?” said Raven, frowning. “I’m been in this world half a day.”
“And after I cut you into ribbons and feed you to my troops, I’m going to do the same thing with your lady.”
Raven turned to see Elizabeth’s reaction, but she just stared at Wickham with an expression, not of loathing, but rather extreme distaste, as if he was too low on the evolutionary scale to elicit any stronger reaction.
“And when I’m through with her,” continued Wickham, “I’ll feed her to my noble army!”
“There’s not all that much of her to begin with,” said Raven to the creatures, “let alone enough to share in forty or fifty equal portions. If I was looking for a bigger, better meal, I’d look over there.” He jerked his thumb in Wickham’s direction.
There were some mumbled assents, and Wickham began twitching nervously.
“Are you going to listen to him, or to the noble leader who has led you time and again into glorious and victorious battle?” he screamed.
“He’s got a point,” agreed Raven. “And surely he’s shared the spoils of battle with you. I mean, you all have fine new weapons and uniforms, don’t you? And you walk barefoot on unpaved and rocky roads while he leads you on horseback.” He paused. “I mean, he does lead you into battle, doesn’t he? He doesn’t hold back while you kill the most dangerous of the enemy’s army.”
Now they began muttering in earnest again.
Raven grinned and turned to Wickham. “Seriously, wouldn’t you rather go home and think about it for a while?”
“I’ve been thinking about killing you for more than a while,” muttered Wickham.
“Why?” said Raven. “What the hell have I ever done to you?”
“You mean in this life?” shot back Wickham. “You tried to break up my pending marriage to one of the Bennet girls—the good-looking one.”
“What kind of answer is that?” demanded Raven. “In this life? How many lives have you got?”
“Enough,” muttered Wickham. “And I loathe you in all of them.”
Raven frowned and stared at the man. There was something vaguely familiar about him, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. But it wasn’t in this guise, in this milieu.
Rofocale, are you there?
No answer.
Rofocale, this is important. Look through my eyes and tell me where I’ve seen this guy before.
There was no answer.
Thanks, was Raven’s bitter thought. It would have been nice to know who the hell he is before he butchers me.
Raven tightened his grip on the knife and took a step forward.
“Okay,” he said grimly, trying not to compare the knife with Wickham’s weapons. “Let’s get this over with.”
Suddenly he heard a female voice scream.
“Oh my God, Eddie! He’s the shooter from Mako’s!”
Wickham muttered a curse, one never before heard in that century, and vanished. One instant he was there, swinging his sword; the next instant he was gone.
Raven turned to the source of the scream.
“Lisa?” he half said, half whispered.
She nodded and held out her hand. “It’s time to go, Eddie.”
“Where?” he asked, taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze.
“Anywhere but here,” she said just before they vanished.