Hunter's Song: A Gothic Romance (Ghastly Affair)

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Hunter's Song: A Gothic Romance (Ghastly Affair)

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Here is the first chapter of Hunter's Song, an authorized tie-in novel I wrote for the game Ghastly Affair (no knowledge of the game is required, the book stands alone as a gothic horror/dark fantasy novel). It's available from Amazon and DriveThruFiction.



CHAPTER ONE



London, 1786

LILA WAS AFRAID.

She stood on the bare wooden floorboards in her rain-wet shoes, making a show of looking around the small room; inspecting the lodgings though there was very little to inspect. A single narrow bed topped with a thin straw-stuffed mattress, a battered chest of drawers with a chipped basin of water perched on top, and a chair missing one leg. The tiny grime-smeared window looked out onto a dank alleyway and the crumbling brick wall of the neighboring building; the fetid gutter stench drifted from below. Only a few months ago the very notion of her being in such a place as this would have seemed an unthinkable horror. Yet here she was, and her fear was a cold clenching weight in the pit of her stomach—fear of the great and terrible thing she must do here this night. I must not falter now.

Lila turned to the landlady who stood framed in the doorway of the room, watching her with eyes narrowed and arms folded. Mrs. Jennings was a heavyset, gap-toothed woman with her head covered by a ragged shawl even indoors; middle-aged yet already old beyond her years, as life in the city had a way of inflicting. Lila—who had lived most of her twenty-two years thus far on a sprawling, wealthy country estate—wondered how long her own youth would last now that she, too, had become one of London's crowded thousands of ordinary denizens.

“This will be acceptable,” Lila said, attempting a smile of reassurance, whether for herself or for the landlady she couldn't be sure.

Mrs. Jennings grunted. “It's a shilling a night, meals extra, no visitors after dark. Certainly no gentleman visitors,” she added with a lascivious twinkling of her eyes and a gummy grin.

Lila ignored the sardonic comment and paid a full fortnight's rent and board in advance. Mrs. Jennings bit the gold guinea and sniffed at it suspiciously. Then, appearing grudgingly satisfied, she made the coin disappear up her sleeve. The landlady hesitated; Lila could see a list of questions forming in her openly curious gaze. What was an unaccompanied young woman doing seeking lodgings in such an establishment on a rainy October evening? Particularly one whose dress, accent and ready payment spoke of certain means.

“If you will please excuse me I must prepare for an appointment,” Lila said firmly, forestalling any inquiries.

Mrs. Jennings sniffed. Though plainly unhappy at the lack of gossip material, she nodded then backed out of the doorway with a thwarted grimace. “As you wish, young miss.” The landlady stomped off along the hallway.

Lila closed the door of her new accommodation and sat down on the edge of the bed with a heaving sigh, her legs suddenly weak. She closed her eyes, tired following the long journey across the city. It was never easy. Not anymore. Not since her family had disowned her after—but she didn't want to think about that now. No doubt the memories would haunt her enough later on in the lonely dark, as they did every night. She opened her eyes and her gaze settled upon a cheap wooden cross hanging on the wall above the bed. A sign of protection, for some. But for her?

Lila shook her head and got to her feet, forcing herself to focus upon the task at hand. I must not falter now. She splashed her face with water from the basin and did her best to clean herself of the city's grime, despite knowing she would inevitably become dirty again soon enough. Her single case of luggage contained only a few items of clothing and scarcely any cosmetic with which to make herself more than presentable—or attractive to a man, as her task demanded. She adjusted her petticoat and the flared skirt of her gown, and used pieces of wicker to pile her hair as best she could. With the fashion for powdered faces and copious decoration in full vogue she would simply have to get used to no longer being in fashion. It was a small sacrifice to make, considering.

Taking her umbrella and pulling on a pair of satin gloves, Lila left the room and headed downstairs. Passing the open kitchen doorway she caught a glimpse of a sour-faced Mrs. Jennings watching her go.

On the street outside the Soho lodging house, the rain was still coming down in a cold drizzle and the early evening sky was a dull gray slate hanging over the dark spires of London. Carriages clattered forlornly over the wet cobbles among sedan chairs, wagons and horses, while pedestrians huddled in their heavy coats, hurrying by. Lila set off walking briskly since her destination was not too far away, which was one reason why she had chosen these particular lodgings. The other reason being anonymity amid the usual types of patrons such places housed: immigrants; artists; libertines; prostitutes.

As she passed along the teeming thoroughfares of the city's west, she heard music spilling from the recessed doorway of a public house and paused to listen. A woman was singing sweetly in melancholy French, to the accompaniment of a solo violin's high mournful strains; a new song Lila had not heard before. Having been tutored in several languages, the lyrics took her but a moment to translate. Plaisir d'amour ne dure qu'un moment; chagrin d'amour dure toute la vie. The pleasure of love lasts only a moment; the grief of love lasts a lifetime.

Pierced, Lila shivered and hurried on by.

* * *

The coffee house stood on a corner, facing a sodden cobbled square where flocks of pigeons fussed over scraps in the rain. The low entrance bore no sign and the ground floor windows were heavily curtained, allowing no passers-by to peer within and no light to touch those inside.

Lila paused on the doorstep, her heart suddenly hammering at the thought of what she must do. In response she filled her mind with memories of Richard; her betrothed as he had been before the change, before the monsters came, when life was sweet and gentle. Gradually, her fear became a cold burning rage; something she could control, something she could use. Her breathing settled and she was calm again, though the rage still simmered deep inside her, leashed but ready to let loose when the moment arrived. And she would have her moment. Lila pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside.

Mingled aromas of coffee, perfume and sweat permeated the dim cavern-like space beneath broad low ceiling beams. The hubbub of conversation faded momentarily at her entrance as a dozen pairs of eyes flicked appraising glances in her direction, then resumed. Only half of the tables were occupied, mostly by young couples with their heads leaning close together, speaking in hushed, intimate tones. This place had a reputation as a venue for clandestine assignations, though perhaps not ones of a wholly romantic nature. Lila spotted Mr. Beaumont sitting alone at a table against the rear wall beneath an oil painting of a nude woman, half in shadow. He caught her gaze and cocked an eyebrow, giving her a toothy grin. She offered a tight-lipped smile in return. Leaving her wet umbrella by the door, Lila walked over and sat down on the vacant stool across from him, carefully arranging her skirts.

Jeremiah Beaumont lounged in his seat with a louche casualness, as of one who is confident in his power and authority. Though in his late forties he showed no signs of advancing age, his uncovered shoulder-length curling hair still a lustrous flaxen and his alabaster—if somewhat sallow—skin smooth and unlined. Handsome, she had to admit. His finely-tailored embroidered waistcoat and ruffled shirt bespoke wealth. Dark eyes regarded her laughingly, as if reading her thoughts. Despite herself, Lila felt a blush rising to her cheeks.

“I took the liberty of ordering a beverage for you, my lady,” Mr. Beaumont said, and she noticed the china cup already placed on the table before her. “I guessed black coffee would be to your taste.”

It was, but Lila didn't feel much like drinking anything at this particular moment. She observed, too, that Mr. Beaumont had not ordered a beverage for himself. “Thank you, sir,” she replied, smiling politely as she lifted the cup to her lips, pretending to take a sip. Would he try to drug her? She thought it unlikely but still chose to remain on the side of caution. She would need all her faculties alert for what was to come.

“Might I inquire as to the name I am to call you by?” Mr. Beaumont asked. She caught his gaze lingering for an instant upon her neck and fought to remain outwardly unperturbed.

“Lucy,” she said, knowing how this game was played. She set the cup down. “And yourself?”

“Call me Richard.”

Lila's breath caught at the mention of her deceased beloved's name. Was Beaumont toying with her? Did he know who she really was? But no, how could he? Unless she had been betrayed by her own informants, that is. She forced another smile onto her face to cover her hesitation. “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

“Likewise, [img]ma%20chérie[/img], likewise,” Mr. Beaumont said, giving no indication if he had noticed anything was amiss. “I must say, your services do come highly recommended indeed, Lucy. And the reports of your beauty were not exaggerated, I now find.”

Lila, as Lucy, nodded demurely. It had taken weeks of inquiries and a small fortune in bribes to create a credible persona and thence to arrange this meeting. One as powerful and influential as he could not be approached by conventional methods. She could not allow this chance, likely the only one she would ever have, to slip away from her. But at that moment, she thought she would be perfectly willing to let herself be killed if that was what it took to ensure justice was done. “As does your own reputation, sir,” Lila began then paused. The next step was dangerous but she needed to be certain. “As it so happens, one of my former, ah, clients spoke very highly of you also. Indeed, it appears you share the same first name. Perhaps you recall a Mr. Richard Fairfax?”

Was there the slightest flicker of unease in his gaze? If so, he recovered almost instantly. “Of course, of course. Good old Fairfax.”

“Alas, I hear he has since passed away of some unfortunate malady,” Lila went on, striving to maintain a casual tone. “Such a great pity.”

“Yes,” Mr. Beaumont said, looking distracted. “A very great pity I should say.” He cleared his throat and leaned forward suddenly, bringing his face close to hers. “Shall we move somewhere a little more private, Lucy?”

Lila made a show of fiddling with her gloves, not meeting his gaze. “I have a room not far from here, if you wish. It is not much but it is private.”

“I am certain it shall suffice for our purposes,” Jeremiah Beaumont said, once more with a cocksure confidence. He tossed some coins onto the table then got to his feet, putting on a white-powdered wig and long coat. Retrieving her umbrella, Lila preceded him outside as he held the door open for her, with every appearance of gentlemanly manners. She even thanked him for the courtesy.

* * *

They took a hired carriage back to the lodging house, sitting beside each other in silence for most of the way as the gray evening streets of London rolled by. Beaumont no longer made any pretense at public manners, his dark-eyed gaze roving unabashedly over the curves of her body, lingering often upon her neck and throat.

“Will you be staying in the city for long, sir?” Lila asked conversationally, still playing the part she had given herself, trying to ignore the stabs of apprehension and uncertainty which assailed her thoughts.

“Not long, no,” came the reply. “I travel abroad often on business.”

Yes, Lila thought. Indeed you do. She didn't protest when his hand came to rest upon her thigh.

It was dusk when they arrived at Mrs. Jennings' lodging house. Beaumont paid off the carriage driver and Lila led him inside and up the creaking stairs. She saw no sign of the landlady. Lila knew that the warning given earlier about not receiving gentleman visitors after dark had not been in any seriousness. Such things were expected here.

They stepped inside the small room she had rented and Lila closed the door. It didn't escape her notice that Beaumont grimaced at the sight of the cross on the wall and
quickly turned his head away.

She stood facing him with her back to the door, her heart beginning to pound once again. He was not a small man and they were unavoidably close together in the cramped confines of the room. Lila peeled off her gloves slowly and spoke in a low, husky voice which was only partially feigned. “Sit down on the bed,” she commanded. “Take off your clothes.” She needed him undressed, the cloth would only get in the way.

Beaumont smirked. “It would be my pleasure, miss.”

He was so sure of himself, Lila thought, so sure of getting what he wanted. For a panicked moment she wondered again whether in fact he was controlling her and not the other way around; whether he had somehow seen through her entire scheme and was simply waiting to pounce and end her life one way or another. But it was too late to back out of what she had started, now. She must see it through, come what may.

While Beaumont sat on the edge of the bed and pulled his clothes off, Lila moved over to the chest of drawers with the water basin perched on top. She stood with her back to him, affecting to undo the buttons of her gown. The short silver dagger slid surreptitiously from her sleeve into the palm of her hand. She dipped the blade into the basin, which she had filled with holy water from the vial in her luggage before leaving earlier.

Carefully palming the weapon she turned back to face Beaumont, who was by now shirtless and wearing only his linen undergarments. The top buttons of her gown were undone, exposing her breast and throat. His gaze went to her jugular, nakedly hungry. Fighting down her revulsion Lila walked slowly toward him then sat astride his lap, feeling the growing hardness there.

“Lucy,” he whispered, nuzzling his lips against her neck as she felt her pulse racing. “Oh, Lucy.”

Do it now, the voice in her mind urged. Finish it. But all of a sudden Lila needed more than that. Simple death was too good for this creature. He had to know why he deserved to die, to know who had enacted his sentence.

“I was engaged to be wed, once,” she heard herself saying.

“Oh, yes?” He was kissing her roughly now, nipping at her skin with his teeth.

“He was a good man,” she went on, closing her eyes. “I loved him dearly.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But someone killed him. No, worse than that, they turned him into something else. Something not human.”

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

“He became a monster,” Lila said through the lump in her throat. “Even so, I still tried to love him. But in the end…” Tears were forming in her eyes, running down her cheeks. “In the end I had to let go. So I did. But the creature which turned him into a monster … I could never ever let go of that.”

Beaumont froze. “What are you—”

“His name was Richard Fairfax,” she whispered, opening her eyes. “And I will always remember.”

She saw his face change, first in realization then in a rapid physical transformation; casting off its veil of humanity, twisting and shifting into the nightmarish visage of a daemonic, predatory beast, fangs erupting, lunging for her throat. But Lila was already plunging the coated silver dagger deep into its heart with all of her might and rage, the slender blade slipping easily between its uncovered ribs.

Beaumont let out a ragged, feral screech, shuddering violently, his eyes rolling back in his head to show the whites as Lila held on grimly.

After what seemed an eternity yet which was in reality but a few seconds, both its cry and its movements diminished; she felt the flesh shriveling and decaying beneath her as its body gave in to the pent-up ravages of true death.

As the fiend which had stolen her happiness crumbled away to dust in her arms, Lila Davenport wept both in victory and in sorrow, and, weeping, remembered.

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