After the first few minutes of bone-jarring agony, Johnathan’s injured side went blessedly numb, and he rather enjoyed the fresh air on his face as the flat-bed cart ambled into the center of town. He hoped to enjoy those spare moments of peace until Miss Shaw pulled to the side of the road, still a fair walk from town. Her knuckles were hard knobs inside her leather driving gloves, and she gripped the reins so tightly the hide squeaked.
“I don’t protest your presence to be difficult,” she said, and Johnathan roused himself to attention. “I do care about the town and the people. And I care about Vic. It’s just…” Her voice faltered. She stared down at her hands, unable to find the words she needed to explain herself.
Johnathan understood that all too well. In his time with Miss Shaw and Vic, the former remained aloof. She held herself away from Johnathan, and while he theorized why, that theory changed as his knowledge of Vic changed. Through that altered lens, though their circumstances were vastly different, Alyse reminded Johnathan a great deal of himself, or more accurately, what he could have been.
“You’re very brave, Miss Shaw, and I don’t say that to tease.” Johnathan eased himself around to properly face her and gently pried the reins from her hands. “It’s not fair to be asked to risk the one you love over the people you tolerate.” His lips twitched at what likely described her view of him. “Even when it is what is right. And you do what is right, Miss Shaw. You will leave me at the drinking house and return to Vic so they can’t look too closely at the connection between us.”
“You idiot, of course I’m not leaving you here,” said Alyse. “You’re still kitten-weak, and I want to see these monsters.”
His brows raised. “The Society aren’t—”
A shadow loomed in his thoughts, forcing a young boy to shove a blade through the heart of the one he loved. That will do.
Alyse leaned into him, her pose outwardly intimate as her lips brushed his ear. “Look around you, John. Don’t you feel it?”
Johnathan licked his lips, letting his attention broadened. He’d missed them entering the main street, too preoccupied with other thoughts, but he saw it now, a shade of itself. The townsfolk scurried about in fast half-steps, faces drawn in tense caricatures. Their eyes avoided the Society men stationed along the street who stood in a scattershot pattern, meant to give a full visual range of the area. Two men were already staring at Shaw’s cart, their gazes expectant. Did they think Johnathan would make the worst rookie error by acknowledging them? The others radiated an air of menace, their eyes tinged with the quiet bloodlust of predators on the hunt. It was the exact opposite of Johnathan’s assignment, a complete lack of subterfuge.
What the hell were they doing?
“Miss Shaw, who are they answering to?” He didn’t insult her by asking if she investigated the newcomers. This was Alyse.
“An older gentleman,” she said, “more white in his hair than my grandfather, but I don’t think he’s half as old. Hard to get a read on him through those damn spectacles.” Her gaze searched his face. “Johnathan, he was one of the Society Hunters that showed up before.”
A small thrill surged in his gut. Johnathan’s jaw flexed. The revelation was one he wasn’t sure how to process now, or how it connected to what was happening in Cress Haven as a whole, but he couldn’t shake the sense he’d been thoroughly deceived. As for the depth of that deception and what it entailed, he would only know by confronting the man he once called mentor.
He attempted to dismount the wagon, overestimating the strength of his legs, despite Alyse’s warning, but she was already there, a living crutch with his arm slung over her shoulders.
“Come on,” she whispered, but Johnathan hesitated, a real sliver of fear worming through him.
“Miss Shaw, I might have to be stupidly gallant and insist you stay here.”
She reared back, her mouth twisted to argue, when she caught sight of his expression. “We’re not doing this.”
He forced his watery legs to hold him, and he staggered off her. “I have to go in. He already knows I’m coming.”
Her gaze flickered between him and the entrance of the drinking house. “No, we should leave now. I have a bad feeling.”
There was an ominous air to the benign building now, the door a waiting mouth to snap him up should he be so foolish to wander inside.
“He won’t kill me,” said Johnathan. He knew what he sounded like. He stumbled into a fast trot before she could catch him and didn’t dare look back. Alyse would follow him if he did, she would anyway, but the others would stop her. The effort of that short distance caused the edges of his vision to gray, but he pushed on.
The drinking house appeared abandoned. A town like this would have a handful of day drinkers, but they were likely scared off with the rest by the unfettered hostility of the Society. His brethren were waltzing about the town like a group of thugs set to take over. Johnathan had never seen their ruthlessness on such display before, even found it unnerving.
Two familiar faces greeted him at the entrance. Sykes and Dodd emanated their own air of lazy menace, dressed in the road-worn dark clothing the Society used for hunts. Sykes’ flinty gaze appraised Johnathan as he approached, burly arms crossed over his wide chest. The man was a brawler, born and bred, and he used his rough bearing to his advantage. Next to him, Dodd was a smaller man but no less intimidating, casually picking his fingernails with an oft-used and well-kept blade.
Dodd leered at Johnathan who slowed to a stop between them. “Get yourself a bit roughed up there, Johnny?”
Johnathan ignored him. He was never a fan of Dodd. Both he and Sykes enjoyed the violent side of their missions a little too much. Evans often sent them to do some of the Society’s dirtiest tasks, and their being here was not good. He nodded to Sykes, usually the more levelheaded of the two.
The big man sucked on a tooth. “He’s waiting for you, Prospective Newman.”
Neither of the men moved, forcing Johnathan to push through them to enter the building.
There was no sign of Mrs. Meech’s ruddy face behind the bar. One lone figure occupied the room, their back to the door. The table before them was strewn with papers and a single empty glass. A still-smoking cigarette burned down in a nearby ashtray. The position was intentional. A power play.
Dr. Evans didn’t turn when the door opened. He continued to read from a document. The only movement he made was to lift the cigarette for a quick, efficient drag. Dr. Evans was the epitome of quick, efficient movements.
“Come, sit,” said the doctor. He didn’t spare Johnathan a glance.
Johnathan fought the urge to tense, his injury a burning lump, emanating down through the nerves of his legs, one that gave him a lilting, cautious gait as he settled into a seat across from Dr. Evans.
He stared at the man who’d once helped guide a blade into Sir Harry’s chest.
Dr. Evans set the paper down and peered at Johnathan through a curl of smoke. Through the lens of his glasses, his eyes were a dark brown, almost black, and burned with an inner light Johnathan attributed to zealous ambition. The deceptive calm was one of his best techniques. Evans was a man who let others dig their own graves, but Johnathan was one of his own students.
Johnathan eased into the hardback chair, careful not to draw any more attention to his wounded shoulder, and waited for the doctor to speak first. The silence stretched into long minutes. Johnathan could hear Alyse’s outrage beyond the door, held up by Evans’ men. Johnathan’s brethren.
Evans nodded, a small smile on his lips. “Fiery, that one.”
Johnathan didn’t acknowledge her; Evans didn’t expect him to. That would be acknowledging a potential weakness. Instead, the man shifted back in his seat and rapped a slow methodical rhythm with his knuckles on the scarred wooden tabletop.
“Your letter stressed a note of urgency, Prospective Newman. Yet, when we arrived, you were nowhere to be found. On inquiry, you hadn’t been seen in days.”
Tread carefully now.
Johnathan’s hand flexed open and closed where it rested on his thigh. Dr. Evans asked no questions of him, only stated what he knew. It was a matter of word play, something Johnathan never quite mastered, though his experience with the fairies gave him a couple new tricks.
He couldn’t tell the truth. The second he started rambling on about fairies and alliances with fiends, Evans would scuttle him in a coach bound for Boston and, most likely, lockup. They wouldn’t need a trial to declare him unfit for duty; he’d be labeled insane and promptly cast from the Society, straight to the asylum. He wouldn’t be the first Prospective shunted there, who cracked under the conditions of their service.
“I was on reconnaissance in the surrounding wood,” said Johnathan. “During that time, there was an altercation. I was injured and eventually found by my allies among the locals.” A full answer, brusque, but there was enough detail to hint at an embarrassing situation. Better Evans think him an incompetent twit than reveal the barest hint of his relationship with Vic. Though that begged the question of how to convince Evans of a demonic threat.
“You encountered the local fiend,” said Evans.
Johnathan stopped fidgeting, replaying the words in his head. That wasn’t a question.
Careful, tread careful.
”The danger here is not fiend related,” said Johnathan. “There is an entity in the woods, creatures of otherworldly origins—”
Evans slapped an open palm down on the table. “Your assignment was to rid the town of its resident fiend.”
A throbbing note rang in Johnathan’s ears. He stared at Dr. Evans, the man’s face the picture of calm despite the outburst. “There is no fiend.” He meant it. He no longer saw Vic as a fiend, and that conviction is what Evans read in his expression. “There is a demon in the wood,” he went on. “Killing the locals.”
The doctor rapped his knuckles again. Each hollow thump rang like a judge’s gavel. Johnathan held his breath. He didn’t dare blink.
Evans tilted his head; his gaze slid to the door where Alyse continued to berate his men, unseen. “Tell me about this otherworldly threat, Prospective Newman.”
“One of the local entrepreneurs made a pact with a creature, a demon, currently sheltering in the woods,” said Johnathan. “Whatever deal he made gave it a foothold here.”
“You claim this creature is responsible for the reported disappearances in this area.”
“Yes, sir.” He couldn’t very well tell Dr. Evans those reports were sourced by the “nonexistent” fiend. “It’s not just killing. It’s making more of its kind.”
“Your claim is absurd. Your failure to eliminate the fiend shall be noted, and you will return to headquarters. It is obvious you are not ready for field work. Agent Morrow will take over your assignment here—”
“I saw them, sir!” Cold panic squeezed the words out of him, though he knew what interruption would cost him. Nothing he could say would get Dr. Evans to change his mind, and by interrupting, he invited immediate punishment.
Dr. Evans rose and circled the table. Johnathan braced himself a second before the blow, a flare of fresh pain across his cheekbone. He still nearly lost his seat and would have if not for the doctor’s iron grip on his uninjured shoulder. Motion drew his gaze to the weathered wooden cross hanging from the man’s belt. How many times had he seen that cross, though he never once thought of Dr. Evans as remotely religious?
The memory rose, unbidden, of Mrs. Fairchild’s drawn pale face. He wore some sort of uniform and spectacles. I remember the cross. He was no man of God. Johnathan quickly buried his thoughts, as a matter of survival.
Instead, he gave himself over to pain, fresh and new, attempting to leverage both against Evans’ hold. The effort filled his mouth with the taste of hot copper. The skin of his healed-over palm twinged, fingers flexing at the useless anger spiraling through him.
“Tell me what you saw, Prospective.” Evans leaned over him, the filtered daylight catching on the lens of his glasses, obscuring his eyes from view.
The command confused him as it chilled his blood. Johnathan’s sentence had been given, so why would Evans ask again? The man’s grip on his shoulder dug in, a sharp reminder of Evans’ limited patience. In that moment, the jovial mentor who accompanied him to Cress Haven was long gone. This was the man who led him through his first kill, who put a blade in the hands of a boy.
“Demons, sir,” he gasped out. “I saw demons.”
“Did you, now. Pray tell, how did you conclude they were demons? How did you survive an encounter with a supposed demonic entity?”
Johnathan saw the trap as it snapped around him. Evans neatly maneuvered him into a corner to admit to Vic’s involvement. Evans’ grip on his shoulder wasn’t for a show of control. The man’s fingertips rested on a pulse point in Johnathan’s shoulder, ready to catch the lie. He tried to think through the pain and the pressure. He made a promise, dammit.
Both encounters with the beasts played through his mind, the oddities rising to the fore. So caught up in other events, there were details he’d stored to examine later, when he had a moment to mull them over proper, but that moment never came. He couldn’t explicitly tell Dr. Evans about his first encounter with the beast. Vic was too close to the situation to work around. But his second encounter…that he was alone for.
“It—it didn’t attack me,” Johnathan said.
There was the subtlest shift in Dr. Evans’ grip. “Why not?”
“I—I don’t know.” The confusion in Johnathan’s voice was genuine, though he wished he could examine the encounter again anywhere but in Evans’ presence.
The doctor’s hand slid off his shoulder, the release of pressure making Johnathan lightheaded. Evans resumed his seat at the table, his attention back on the papers before him, but Johnathan knew he wasn’t in the clear. Alyse’s voice went quiet outside.
Evans let the silence deepen until Johnathan’s posture grew rigid from anxiety, before he finally spoke. “What course of action will you pursue against this threat?”
Johnathan swallowed. “I have allied myself with some of the locals to deal with this entity at a targeted domicile.”
“You will have backup,” Evans said without looking up.
“With all due respect sir, I believe more men will dissuade the creature. It may seek out another innocent.”
Evans’ gaze flickered upward, cut through by the silver rim of his spectacles. “Interesting theory, Prospective Newman. I didn’t realize your experience with demonic entities was so in-depth that you could predict their behavior.”
Johnathan didn’t look away. “Perhaps if an agent is posted at other potential marks, we could reduce the chances of the creature seeking alternate victims.”
“A sound proposal, Prospective Newman. I will take it into consideration.” Evans finally broke eye contact with a shuffle of paper. “Why don’t you return to that charming young lady outside. I will expect your report tomorrow morning.”
“Sir?”
“You are dismissed.”
Johnathan stared for a solid minute, but the dismissal was clear. Evans didn’t so much as look at him as he struggled to his feet and shuffled to the door. It wasn’t until Johnathan had a hand against the rough wood that the doctor’s voice stopped him.
“I will keep my men back, Prospective Newman, due to your sound advisement, but you will be under observation.” There was a pause, punctuated by the soft crimp of paper in hand. “The Shaw household holds a particular note of interest.”
Johnathan kept his eyes on the raw-hewn door, his jaw clenched tight. Bitter words burnt the back of his throat, but he kept them at bay as he pushed his way out through the gauntlet of Sykes and Dodd, certain they heard every word of his exchange with Dr. Evans. There was a cruel smirk on Dodd’s face, but Sykes remained stoic.
“See you in the morning, Prospective Newman,” called Sykes. “Try to keep your head.”
Alyse waited by her cart, her expression mulish until she saw him. He knew he was a sight when her lips parted in a quiet gasp. She helped Johnathan onto the flat bed, where a pile of burlap sacks cushioned his weight, her voice quiet as her gaze shifted to the lodge house. “Are we safe?”
We never were.
“He agreed to keep his men back,” was Johnathan’s terse reply. Alyse was clearly dissatisfied with his answer but kept it to herself through the bumps and pitches of their return journey.
Johnathan replayed his encounter with Dr. Evans over and over in his mind. A dozen dark theories played through his thoughts, each more unsettling than the last, but each time he wondered at the depth of his mentor’s involvement in the unfolding events, the more frustrated and puzzled he grew.
Dr. Evans had been here before. He knew Vic was here, but didn’t expunge the vampire himself. Why? Was it even remotely possible Evans was the stranger Mrs. Fairchild spoke of? Dropping hints of ensnaring forest spirits to a rich country mill owner? But why? To what purpose?
Johnathan’s long-time mentor knew exactly what was happening in Cress Haven, but Johnathan didn’t have the faintest idea why he knew. Or what he intended to do with the knowledge. Dr. Evans always, always, had a plan.