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March 18th, 2008: The first chapter of "No Such Thing" has been posted.

Prologue: Unwelcome

Sometime in the nineteenth century…

The streets of London were dull and dreary as a woman enshrouded in a black cloak seemingly floated through the smog. It was a perfect full moon, and the stars were dim as a result of the street lanterns. Few voices could be heard, even with the numerous houses that lined the street upon which she walked. The couple of people who were on the streets immediately moved away from the woman, allowing her ample space to move. The people’s conversation halted the moment she came in view.

The woman in the cloak was walking through the slums of the city, completely out of place in the sea of haggard faces and dirty children. To any regular passerby, it would have been a miracle that the woman hadn’t had her pocket picked yet. In addition to her enormous black cloak, she wore a black man’s suit. Her pants were cut long, and they drifted past her ankles to puddle on her black flat shoes. Her socks were invisible. The woman’s suit jacket was fitted and was without padding in the shoulders. It was long in the arms, and it fell down to her crimson-gloved palms. In her left hand was a four foot black cane, the upper quarter of which was adorned with two silver snakes twining about the rod until they reached the top. It was there that their heads faced each other, poised to strike, almost like a twisted version of the medical symbol. Underneath the woman’s suit jacket was a white dress shirt. In what seemed to be an effort to distinguish herself, she wore a bright crimson scarf. It fluttered in the wind, slashing at anyone nearby as if it had a life of its own. What hair the woman had was visibly black, but the length was difficult to determine: she wore a black top hat, and her hair was up in it. The hat’s wide brim obscured the top portion of her face, and with that and the dim light combined, her eyes, a mix of an unmistakable blue and a little bit of gold, were hidden from view. The woman appeared to be in her late teens, but with her hat, it was difficult to tell. Her skin was obviously an unhealthy pale color, making her look more like a ghost than a person.

The shrouded woman glided down the dirty street, her harrowing gaze giving off an aura of malevolence. However, when she reached the area where a small crowd was grouped together on either side of the road, she slowed her gait. The woman extended her hand towards the right side of the road, as if she were beckoning to someone. A relatively young teenaged boy began to approach the woman, reaching out towards her to meet her hand; his mother quickly rushed into the street to pull the boy back towards a run-down shop.

“Don’t go near that woman!” the mother said to the boy, hugging him close.

“Why, mother?” he inquired, his voice innocent. “She’s pretty.”

A man stepped out of the crowd, his eyes catching on to the fact that the woman the mother had pulled her child away from had stopped in the middle of the road. She seemed to be listening to the conversation, but it was impossible to tell. “She’s a witch, son,” the man said, looking down to the boy. “A sorceress. A pythoness. A necromancer. Do as your mother says and stay away from her.” [1]

The woman in the street grinned. “Now, now,” she chided. Her voice was unusually silky, almost like the voice of a siren. “That was uncalled for. Besides, there is no such thing as a ‘sorceress’, now, is there?” The woman slowly turned towards the man, woman, and child. As she did so, the rest of the few people around ran as if a monster was hunting them. They went in any house, whether or not they lived there or not. In a flutter of garments, the streets were suddenly empty save the family and the woman.

“Stay away from my child!” the mother cried, clutching her young teenage boy closer to her. The father stepped protectively in front of his wife and son. His eyes criticized everything about the woman in front of him, his eyes traveling from her feet to where her eyes remained hidden in shadow.

“Get away from us, witch. You aren’t welcome here anymore,” he seethed, hardly opening his mouth as he spoke. He spat at the woman in the road. Her smile faded from her face, her eyes still invisible. The man’s eyes flickered to the crimson scarf about her neck. It lashed in his general direction, even though the wind should have been blowing it elsewhere. Even with it constantly moving, there were clear sigils sewn, almost crudely, into the piece of fabric. The first was triangle, pointing up, with a line through the upper third, extending for a couple centimeters in either direction. The second sign in the scarf was a perfect circle with a both a horizontal and vertical line going through the exact center. The last emblem in the fabric was another perfect circle, this one smaller, with an upside-down cross branching off from its bottom and an unfinished half-circle coming off from the perfect circle’s top. Each of the symbols was sewn in white thread, and they seemed to move with the scarf in an unnerving fashion.

The woman frowned slightly. “With all due respect, Ezra,” she said, nodding towards the man, “you aren’t one to talk. Just because I’ve fell upon…good times doesn’t mean that I cannot return to my home, does it?” Her voice was mocking, and she took one step towards the family. Ezra took a step back.

“Myra. Take Percival and go inside,” Ezra said to his wife with forced calmness. Myra began to protest, but he flashed her a warning look. She looked terrified as she coaxed her son inside the run-down shop, leaving only Ezra and the woman on the street.

Ezra’s eyes were hard as he began to circle the woman. She began to move as well, keeping the same amount of distance between the two of them. They almost looked like two duelists in a fight to the death. Except, instead of swords, the woman was armed with a staff, and Ezra had no visible weapon.

“You know what I want, Ezra,” the woman spoke abruptly. Her voice lost some of its smooth quality. It had more of a rough edge now, as if she were thirsty or sick. She snagged her scarf and placed it over her mouth for a moment, and when she removed it, her voice was back to normal.

Ezra jumped back in front of the door to the shop. Percival’s face appeared in the window for a moment, his handsome, boyish features clear despite the dirty glass. Myra pulled him back down immediately, and they disappeared once more within the gloom of the dark shop. “Stay away from my family,” the father said.

“You won’t move, then,” the woman stated dully. She shifted her cane slightly so that the top of it, the part with the snakes, shone slightly in the bad light. As if to cement her words, Ezra bent his knees slightly, anchoring himself to his position in front of the door. The woman chuckled darkly, her right hand coming up to grasp the brim of her hat as if to pull it up. “I’ll have to change that, won’t I?”

He said, “Over my dead body.” His eyes flashed dangerously as he crouched, ready to move on a moment’s notice to strike the woman. Her mouth contorted to flash a brilliant, crooked grin.

“That can be arranged.” That’s when the screaming started.




Author’s Notes

[1] – Pythoness is an archaic word meaning, “a female soothsayer or conjuror of spirits”.

Chapter Two: Famous Last Words ~ I'll Do It

There was a pervading silence as Mary Weather fell silent, content to stare at the cup of tea in her lap as Miss Charlotte Valentine stumbled for words. Her yellowed eyes flashed dangerously as she sat, apparently frozen and shell-shocked. Those who knew her better would have said she was faking, but to Mary, Charlotte was genuinely at a loss for words.

“Mary… You cannot be serious,” Charlotte said finally. She took a long sip of tea, almost as if to calm herself. Her left hand clutched her staff, gripping it almost as if she were about to hit something with it. Slowly, she set her cup down on the table as Mary spoke.

Reassuringly, she said, “If it’s completely impossible, I’ll give up. But you help me, I’ll help you; I’ve heard the rumors.” Miss Valentine looked up sharply. Mary continued, “I can help you. I can give you all of the backing you need to do what you want to; I’m sure big brother would be more than willing to lend his support when you bring him back.” Mary said those words so cavalierly that Miss Valentine nearly threw up.

She mentally searched feverishly for some loophole in Mary’s mad plan. She snapped as she said, “It’s completely impossible, I’m sure of it.”

Mary raised a single eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that?”

Miss Valentine smirked, appearing glad to have found some sort of loophole. She explained, “There’s only one way I could possibly bring them back. First off, I’d need their original bodies, which would be…difficult…to find now.” It was true; both Cain and Riff had been buried when the large tower Deliah erected collapsed. All of the remaining rubble was yet to be cleared away. With that came the inevitable rumors that they weren’t in fact dead, just hiding out. Without earl and butler’s bodies, no one could know for sure. “Besides that, there’s something else. I can’t just pry souls out of heaven.” Mary visibly stiffened, and Miss Valentine realized her mistake. She shouldn’t have mentioned that, but she carried on, “In order for me to revive someone, his or her soul must have refused to go to judgment. They have to be in limbo, caught between the world of the living and that of the dead.” She folded her arms, leaning back.

Mary’s face became one of complete sadness, and Miss Valentine instantly felt sorry for the girl. Slowly, the girl regained her composure and looked Miss Valentine in the eye. “Then I’m sorry for troubling you, Miss Valentine,” she said, her voice strained. “Feel free to stay at the Hargreaves’ estate as long as you wish. That is all.”

Though she turned away from Miss Valentine, the older woman could tell that she had struck a nerve in the girl. Charlotte Valentine stood up, fully prepared to walk out the door and retrieve Percival from wherever on God’s good earth that Oscar fellow had dragged him off to.

“…Mary?”

The girl turned around. There were small, shiny streaks on her face, coming from her eyes. She had been crying. “Y-yes?” she asked, keeping her voice under control as much as possible as she dabbed her eyes.

Miss Valentine hesitated. “Does your husband know about this?” Mary looked confused.

“What husband?” she asked.

“Oscar. Your husband,” Charlotte said again, looking confused.

Mary’s face flushed. “I… No. He doesn’t know. But he isn’t my husband, either.” Charlotte waited for an explanation. “See… After my mourning period for Cain ended, countless suitors besides Oscar showed up to court me. None of them respected me for who I was; after all, why should they? I was a little girl with a lot of money behind me. So my Uncle Neil and I hatched a plan, that we would convince everyone that I was already married. In fact, Oscar rides away from the mansion in one of the servant’s carriages every night to go home. He rarely stays here, and when he does, it most certainly isn’t in my room.”

Charlotte thought about this for a second. So the little girl really was alone. She had to pretend like she had a husband to get any peace, and even then, as I had seen on the way in, she got letters from suitors, most likely asking her to leave her husband and go with whoever. “Mary.”

The girl looked up, confused. Miss Valentine took a couple of quick steps forward, not getting too close to the girl, but not remaining near the doorframe. She touched Mary’s cheek at arm’s length; her scarf seemed to contort into a mouth that desired to eat the little girl. Mary withdrew at the sheer closeness of it; Miss Valentine paid no heed.

“You say that no one else knows?”

Mary nodded. “No. No one knows I’ve offered you this job. I think Uncle Neil has some idea of what’s going on, but he can’t stop me. If Oscar knows, he hasn’t mentioned it. I doubt he’d object, if it works.”

Miss Valentine pursed her lips. Only half of her profile was visible to Mary. The half that the girl saw seemed to be deliberating. Miss Valentine spoke again, glancing once in the opposite direction.

“I’ll do it.”

There, Miss Valentine could see, out of the corner of her eye, was a sight only someone completely adept in the mystical arts could have spotted.



“Lord Cain.”

Cain turned around as Riff walked—rather, drifted—over to his general location. The two were in the middle of limbo, and the young earl found it to be the most boring thing he’d ever been through.

“Titles mean nothing in death, Riff,” Cain said tiredly. “I’m only Cain now.”

Riff didn’t seem to notice this statement, as he said, “Lord Cain, it’s happening right now.”

The young master perked up. With a wave of Riff’s hand, a small portal seemed to open. Clearly visible was Mary, sitting in the company of a woman. Mary was talking to the woman. She’d already begun, but Cain heard, “—knows, he hasn’t mentioned it. I doubt he’d object, if it works.”

Cain and Riff watched as the woman turned, only a half-profile visible to them. She seemed to be half-smirking sinisterly. She glanced once towards the portal, and Cain had no doubt in his mind that she could clearly see both of them. Riff seemed to be in a trance, and he stared at the woman as if she were the last being on earth.

The woman tilted her head back before saying, “I’ll do it.”

More dialogue between the two ensued, and it became clear that the woman’s name was Charlotte Valentine, although Mary seemed to call her “Miss Valentine” more than any other name.

“So it is true,” Cain murmured thoughtfully. He reached out, seeming to trace an unknown emblem in the air. “It’s her. It’s real.” Riff looked at him, confused.

“Sir?”

“Didn’t you wonder why I asked you not to go to judgment?”

Riff shook his head no. “I didn’t want to. I’m not going to leave you alone. Not again.”

Cain smiled thinly. “You said that you wanted to see the world without Deliah, just once, didn’t you?” he asked. Riff nodded once, not quite seeing where this was going. Cain turned to him, his characteristic black attire moving with him. “I think you’re about to get your wish.”



Two Years Ago, just before Cain began the end of his life



“Cain?”

The young earl, breathing and alive, looked up to see the famed medium, Crehador. “Ah, Crehador. Hello.”

The medium looked around, puzzled. “You sent your sister away to safety?” he asked experimentally. Cain nodded once. “That’s a wise decision.”

“…Yes,” the reply came. After a moment, Cain said, “By the way… Regarding the possibility of the so-called judgment day being on June 21st, the day of the 60th anniversary celebration of Queen Victoria’s ascension… Is that true?” He looked up to Crehador.

The man sighed. “If their ritual is based on the obelisks that are arranged throughout Greater London, which correspond to the configuration of Stonehenge…” Crehador paused tapping his chin thoughtfully. Cain waited patiently. “From an astrological point of view… The day that Venus is closest to Earth…” Crehador nodded to himself, “coincidentally, is also the day of the celebration, so people will gather to London from all over the country, making it easy for Deliah to cause a state of mass panic.”

Cain frowned, interjecting. “Or rather,” he said, “if that’s truly their aim…then… That’s the next location.” Crehador raised an eyebrow, but he watched Cain intently as he extracted two different maps from his coat jacket. The first he showed was of a large mansion.

Crehador’s face paled slightly. “This place is…!”

“You’ve seen it before, haven’t you?” Cain asked experimentally. Crehador nodded. Cain continued, “…that’s the mansion of Madame Octavia, the fortuneteller that’s causing quite a stir throughout London right now.”

“…Yes,” Crehador said, nodding. As Cain unrolled the second map, he asked, “But how is it connected to Deliah?”

Cain finished unrolling a pen-marked map, handing it to Crehador as he did so. “The mark on this map indicates this location,” he said.

The look in Crehador’s eyes changed. “…I see,” he said. They were nearing the actual location of the mansion, for at this point they had begun walking. “It’s true that the level of devotion exhibited by the followers of this fortuneteller is somewhat disturbing.”

Slipping on a pair of square glasses, Cain said, “Apparently, she’s selling a talisman that brings happiness to anyone who possesses it. It’s fashionable amongst both the upper and lower classes, although I’ve never seen one myself…” He paused, shifted the glasses slightly. He had never worn a pair before, and they were uncomfortable on his nose. “It’s said to cure maladies and grant wealth, but the validity of those rumors is doubtful.” Exasperated, Cain simply took off the pair of glasses, holding them gingerly.

Crehador nodded once. “Before we go… Remember what I told you earlier?”

“About that woman…?”

“Yes,” the medium said. “She’s going to meet us here for a…proposition.”

Cain smirked lightly, although the gesture was gone in a second. “Tell me, Crehador. Who is this woman you speak so highly of? Not one of your personal harem, I’m sure. Do tell.”

“She’s most certainly not one of my…ladies,” Crehador said, pushing some hair out of his face. “Although she does look like she could be.” Cain raised an eyebrow, but the medium continued, “I met her a little while after I met you. You wouldn’t believe what I caught her doing.”

“Oh? Was she mooning over a picture of me?” Cain joked darkly. Crehador glared at him, but his words were cut off by the arrival of someone else.

“He saw me healing a little girl,” a woman said. As she said, “girl”, her voice seemed to crack slightly, and she coughed.

Cain eyed her up and down. She was most certainly easy on the eyes, and though her dress didn’t appear as if it had been created to maximize her sexuality at all, as most women’s fashions did of late, it was clear that she was quite lovely. She wore her long black hair down, and it drifted down her back without a care in the world. Her eyes were blue, but Cain noted with an unknown emotion that they were tinted with a moderate amount of yellow. This woman’s painted lips weren’t huge and plump like he knew most wenches to be, but they weren’t small, either. As she continued to cough lightly, she brought her hand up to her mouth to cover it once more, giving him a good look at her skin. It was paler than even his own, and, though it pained him to see it, it was even paler than Riff’s was. Riff… Cain shook the thought from his mind as he concentrated on the woman.

His eyes soon became fixed, not on her bust, but upon the object tied around her neck. It was a bright crimson scarf with three emblems sewn into the fabric in white. Though the woman’s face didn’t exactly look happy, the scarf seemed to have a will of its own. It almost reminded him of some great beast, snapping and ripping at the air with unseen claws.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.”

The woman’s voice brought Cain out of his thoughts. Her voice was velvety once more, almost intoxicating. “You must be Crehador’s friend. I’ve heard much about you, but… Might I inquire as to your name, my lovely lady?” he asked, smirking lightly. Behind him, Crehador had shut his eyes gently, shaking his head.

“This one bites,” the medium murmured softly.

Icily, the woman said to Cain, “I’m am no one’s lady, and it is only polite to give one’s own name before asking for another’s.”

Cain blinked once, unused to having women reject his most gentle advance so quickly. “Ah, forgive me. I spoke ahead of myself. I am Cain Hargreaves, Earl of the Hargreaves estate. And you are…?”

The woman pursed her lips, relaxing slightly. “I am Charlotte Valentine, daughter of Duke Raymond Valentine. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said. After a moment, she did something Crehador had not expected: she curtsied. “Please forgive me for snapping at you, Lord Hargreaves,” she murmured. “I’m afraid events of late have left me in a terrible state of affairs.”

“Lady Valentine,” Cain said, bowing. “If I may…”

“Of course, Lord Hargreaves,” Charlotte replied, extending her hand to him. Cain took her palm in his and gently kissed her knuckles, his lips remaining upon her cold skin for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Cain’s lonely mind was quickly conjuring up numerous scenes involving this woman that would distract him for quite a while, and he fought to keep them at bay as he finally retracted his lips.

“Lady Valentine.”

Crehador’s words brought Cain out of hi not-so-innocent daydreams once more. Both Charlotte and Cain looked to the medium. “Crehador,” Charlotte said. “It truly as been a long time. I know we have much catching up to do, but I must be quick; there is much to do. Please, explain: why have you summoned me here?”

“Charlotte,” Crehador said softly. “Three years ago, I give you some information. Do you remember it?”

She nodded. “Every word,” she murmured, her eyes flickering between the two men in front of her. Cain looked slightly confused, but said nothing. “I did exactly as you asked.”

Crehador sighed. “So the parents are taken care of?” he asked.

“Yes,” Charlotte said, “and the boy is with me.”

“Does he know? The boy?”

“No. Percival doesn’t know anything yet.”

Sighing, Crehador pushed some more hair out of his face. “Well, then, as you may have already guessed, Cain is the reason all of this needed to happen. What you are about to hear my shock and disturb you. Are you ready?”

Charlotte smiled thoughtfully. “I thought I already agreed to the terms and conditions,” she said mockingly.

“This is partially for Cain’s benefit. Now, are you in or out?” Crehador asked. He extended a hand to Charlotte to shake.

She paused before smirking. She grasped the mediums hand firmly. “I’ll do it.”

“Good. Cain, you can relax now, I’m going to explain everything. This might not even be necessary, but, just in case…”