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Chapter 9:
In Which Tom Is Reminded That Bad Luck Always Comes in Threes

 

While the thought of Lucien Baptiste didn’t quite fill me heart with bucketloads of joy, I had to admit I was feeling rather warmly towards the fellow by now. Everytime we met, he unwittingly supplied me with valuables. If we continued meeting randomly, the self-important prat could keep me living quite well.

His wallet was well-stocked, as expected. Wads of notes were tucked neatly in alongside bits of paper with addresses scribbled on them, plus a couple of pressed flowers. Ugh. It all smelled vaguely of perfume. I tossed out the flowers and papers, and slid the money itself under my mattress along with the rest of the money hidden there. It was a rather pleasing collection of money, almost good enough to admire for an hour, if I was willing to lay under the cot to see it all.

After the whirlwind that was the entire incident at the train station, I had gone home and after putting my newly gained money in its spot, I went and lay on me cot.

“No, actually I don’t even feel like drinking, love,” I said, alarming Blarney, who was curled up on top of my stomach.

She wondered if it was what Helene had said that was bothering me. All the jabber about warlocks and covens and familiars.

“Aye, I think so,” I admitted. “Do you think that sod Lucien is like me? That him and his big ugly bird are like us?” I laughed. “We’re a better-looking pair? Well, maybe so. Do you think you’re a familiar? I know enough from Mam’s tales of the fey to know that a familiar is a witch’s pet, sometimes even the Devil himself. Well, I know you’re not the Devil, but am I still a witch then? Should I be casting spells then and riding a broomstick?”

Blarney raised her head and mewed.

“No, I’m not serious. I just don’t know what to think. ‘Familiar’ is a good word though. I like it. It’s better than ‘pet’, and says a bit more than ‘friend’. But witchcraft…Warlocks. And someone else like me. Lucien Baptiste, of all the idiotic nancy boys in the world. Ugh, if there was to be another bloke—aye, or lass—like me, couldn’t it have been someone who wasn’t such an utter prat?” I sighed, and lay my arm over me eyes. “Or someone with a boy cat for you…”

Blarney swatted a paw at my face, and I laughed, catching her little paw in my fingers. “I’m joking with you, darling, you know that.” I pulled her closer, pressing her warm body against my face and neck. “I suppose it’s stupid to wonder about Lucien. I doubt we’ll run into each other again, except maybe at Jane’s. As for the French lass, I’ll worry about her another time. As it is, those blasted whores will take care of her. She’s all right for now.”

I rolled over, Blarney in my arms, and went to sleep.

The last light had gone out almost an hour ago, but I still watched the back of the house, from my perch high up in the big tree out back. Blarney looked at me curiously, her blue eyes glowing in the darkness.

I winked at her. “I’m being careful, lovely. Bad luck comes in threes and I don’t want to risk any more today. What with getting shot at, and having to chat with that idiot Lucien, who knows what could happen to me tonight? I certainly don’t know what to expect.”

I fumbled in my pocket and took out a single cigarette. “Ah. Luck.” I lit it with a match also from my pocket, and took a drag at it. “Do you still feel uncomfortable about this job, lovely?”

She mewed, moving closer to me along the branch.

“It’s just a box. You saw the picture. Maybe the symbol on the top…The heart with the three swords…” I traced the design in the air. “Maybe it’s a cursed object? But why would the German want it so badly? Cursed boxes are not the ideal gift for a man’s mistress. Unless of course, you’re trying to get rid of her.” I shrugged. “Maybe the bloke’s a murderer. Not my problem. What’s to worry about?”

Blarney was still worried, but she couldn’t understand why. The job itself wasn’t worrying me, but her worry worried me. I hadn’t seen her like this in a long time…

“Maybe it’s going to be like my first burglary,” I mused, seeing out of the corner of my eye as she raised her hackles.

“But that isn’t a problem,” I added confidently. “I was inexperienced. I was not only clueless as to how best to handle a sticky situation, but I was considerably less powerful. Look at me now. I’m unstoppable.” I blew smoke out between my lips. “I’m near invincible.”

Blarney thought I was overly-confident, and I laughed. “You know I always am. It’s me nature.”

I glanced back at the dark windows of the house. “Let’s go then,” I said cheerfully, scooping a rather grumpy Blarney into my arms, and jumping lightly down the thirty feet to the grass below. I landed easily on my feet, and let Blarney shift up to me shoulders.

The lock of the back door gave, and slipped open when I reached it, but it seemed a second slow, as if it had half-heartedly resisted me. Blarney mewed softly in my ear, but I shook my head. It still wasn’t worrying me—that kind of thing had happened before. Some houses were harder to get into than others.

It was a big house, this, one of them London homes the blue-bloods kept along with their spacious estates. This place was owned by one Lady Willoughby, a marchioness. The woman was undoubtedly sleeping upstairs. When I was at the whorehouse to drop off the French kid, I’d taken Jane aside and asked her what she knew about Lady Willoughby. She’d seemed surprised, but told me a bit of information. Apparently, the lady was a young Italian whose elderly husband had died of some health problems not long after the wedding. Health problems…sounded to me Lady Willoughby had done all she could to get her hands on some money, but it was none of my concern. Anyway, it worked it well for me—no husband meant no angry bloke with a pistol chasing me out if I was caught, no children meant no chance for some whiny whelp to wander downstairs and squeal in fear. I’d dealt with both of those before, and they were equally annoying.

I saw an ashtray on my way through the dark halls of the house, and crushed my cigarette into it. I was looking for the study, that’s where the box was supposed to be. I peeked into each room, appraising each one, after checking if they were a study or not. I decided that after I got the box, I’d round back and maybe take some of the more charming knickknacks that’d caught me eye.

I finally reached the study, and twisted the knob. It was unlocked, and fell open easily. It was very neat, as if no one but maids ever set foot in it. I guessed it had been old Willoughby’s study before he’d died, and his widow likely wasn’t much of the studying sort. I doubted the big chair behind the mahogany writing desk had been sat on in some time anyhow. The whole room had an unlived-in feel to it.

Blarney jumped lightly from my shoulders, her paws sinking into the plushy red carpet.

“Posh, isn’t it?” I said quietly to her.

She mewed, and then I noticed them. By ‘them’, I mean, of course, the ghosts. A young man drifted by the bookcases, tapping the top of his cane thoughtfully to his chin, as if thinking. Judging by his powdered hair, he’d been here a century, at least. A tall hook-nosed woman was by the fireplace, her hands limp at her sides and her face listless, as she gazed into the mirror above the mantel.

But the one that caught my attention was the young woman sitting in the chair behind the desk. Her hair was pale, so long it hung past the armrests of the chair, and braided with ribbons and such, and what I could see of her dress looked almost medieval. Her face was small, sad, and almost pretty. Her small hands rested on the table, and she appeared to be studying them, but as I took a step forward, her eyes flicked up at me.

I started in surprise. Ghosts never noticed me; what was she doing? But then she was looking down again, and it was as if she’d never looked up.

I took a few steps forward, and she didn’t move. Had I imagined it? Blarney hissed; she thought I hadn’t. She wanted to leave.

“Leave? I want that money from the German.”

Blarney thought I was being greedy now, since I had so much money already, and I just laughed. “Love, the greedier I get, the better.”

I had reached the desk by now, and I moved aside a stack of old stained books impatiently. There it was.

The dark round box, small enough to hide inside the palm of a woman’s hand. I could see the scratches in its lid, the crude image of a heart pierced by three swords. I reached out to touch it, and gasped. The power radiating from it was heavy and strong and I could smell it…It smelled sweet, like lavender. But like fire, like burning lavender. My fingers hovered above it, tingling from the power.

The pale-haired ghost looked up at me then, and I couldn’t pretend she didn’t see me. Her large, faintly blue eyes bored into me. It was as if she was daring me to take the box.

I smiled. “Aye, I do dare.” My fingers closed around the box, and it was enveloped in my fist. I couldn’t read its history; all I could do was smell it. And feel cold soft hair at my fingers…

The next thing I knew, I was flying backwards, and my head cracked rather painfully into the wall. I slid to the floor, one hand feeling for the bruise at me crown, and the other tucking the box into my shirt.

Blarney nudged me in the side with her head, her concern apparent.

“Aye, you did tell me so,” I admitted, getting to my feet. “I’m fine. I’ve gotten knocked harder before.”

The pale-haired ghost stood a foot’s distance from me, watching me, her face cold and small. I went past her, feeling the chill that radiated from her form. Blarney tailed behind me, mewing nervously. I smiled reassuringly at her, and twisted the doorknob. It didn’t budge.

“What in the hell?—” I pulled at it, but even the doorknob wouldn’t move. I tried to will it open, but the door resisted. I tried harder, summoning all my power, but it was like being smacked in the brain with a wet towel.

I turned away from the door. The three ghosts stood together; the pale-haired young one in front, and flanked by the hook-nosed woman and the cove with the powdered hair.

“I always wondered why I never ran into any troublesome ghosts before,” I said, forcing a grin. “I guess I had to sooner or later.”

They were still and silent. Then, so fast I never saw it move, her arm was held out. Her hand lay flat and open, the long nails curving over the fingers like claws.

I knew it was the box she wanted. I didn’t care about whether the German received his item. I didn’t even really care about the money—at least, not so very much. What I liked was the pleasure of knowing I’d made a good steal, and the fact that ghosts gave me trouble over it made the steal better. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—give it up now.

“No, I can’t give this to you.” I laughed, ignoring Blarney’s insistence that I hand it over and get us out of here. “See here, it’s mine now. Just open the door and let me go.”

The door swung open, slamming loudly into the room. I glanced at it over my shoulder, and backed up towards it. I wasn’t going to turn me back on the ghosts. Blarney leaped into the hall outside, and the door slammed shut behind her.

I felt her distress rip through me, and I reached for the doorknob. I knew it wouldn’t turn, but she mewed on the opposite side, scared for me. As I turned to face the ghosts again, I had to admit I was a wee bit scared for me too.

The pale-haired one still had her arm stretched out, and now she closed her fist. With one swift movement, she drew her arm closer to herself, and I went down, as if she’d caught me by the ankles and dragged me down. My back hit the floor with a smack, and I slid across the floor, until I was at her feet.

“What…” I tried to get up, or pull away, but I couldn’t. The box burned beneath my shirt, and I clutched at it, gasping. My eyes were drawn to the pale-haired ghosts, and even when I tried to look away I couldn’t.

I choked suddenly; it took me a moment to realize that my mouth was filling with blood. I spit it out, but I could still feel more of it, in my throat, running from my nose over my lips, and from my ears, down my neck. I glared up at the ghost, but I only saw her wide pale eyes for a second, before I felt as if every blood vessel in me eyes burst at the same time. I screamed in pain, clutching at my eyes, which were tearing.

“Oh God, just stop!” I pressed my hands against my eyes, but nothing could stop the overwhelming pain of it all.

I couldn’t even hear Blarney mewing anymore. I couldn’t hear her thoughts. Had she gone? Had she left me? I wasn’t a bit scared anymore. I was more terrified than I’d ever been in my life, more scared than I’d been that night of my first burglary, lying on the street and bleeding out…

I forced my eyes open, and saw the ghosts, watching me impassively. I gasped, choking on the blood and tears. “I’m…still…not giving it to you, y’know…” I laughed shortly, which sent me into a messy coughing fit.

The pale-haired ghost raised her arm, and suddenly the ceiling was too close, and I was far from the floor, and my face smashed into the ceiling. My nose broke immediately, sending more blood running into my mouth.

I plummeted back to the ground, and my right hand was twisted under me, breaking upon impact. I clutched it, shouting in pain.

The box…It was all they wanted. I was stealing it, it was theirs to protect… The ground was shaking under me, I could feel them, all the ghosts, lurking all around the house.

I hit the ceiling again, but it wasn’t so bad this time. My nose was already broken, and what did more pain matter?

I was calling on God anyway, on me mam, on anyone who’d ever seemed more powerful than me.

“Malphas!” I shouted, hitting the floor a fourth, maybe a fifth time.

The ghost screamed, her hands clutching her hair, but no sound came out of her wide-open mouth. But I felt it, felt the power of it, in my head, echoing into the worst pain I’d ever experienced.

I clutched my head, curled there on the floor. Was I dying? I was alone, I realized. No one could help me now. Even Blarney had left me…

I was dying…But that was all right…I could deal with that.