A Scandal in Battersea (Elemental Masters #12)(57)

“Hush,” he said, as her eyes filled with tears and she began to cry. “You won’t be alone for long. You’re about to have a companion. And then I’m going to introduce you to an experience unlike anything you have ever imagined in all your life.”

She shrank away from him, and he laughed at her. You pathetic bint. Now I can have my revenge on you for being forced to stare at your repulsive face and pretend that I liked you. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m not the least interested in your pitiful virginity. An ugly little stick like you—I wouldn’t want you if you were served to me on a golden platter and came with a knighthood and a manor.”

Oh that did it, now she was terrified and humiliated, and began to weep. Excellent. In four sentences, he had utterly broken her. He leaned back in his seat and laughed quietly. Now this . . . if only he could have his enemies at his feet like this. People who had humiliated him, who had snubbed him, who had stood in his way. This was real power . . . the power to break the spirit, the power to break the heart.

Well, girls like this would do, for now. But . . . it was possible, given the reach the entity had now, that he could ask for revenge by way of reward.

He and Alf shared a sort of picnic while they waited for the sun to go down, parking the coach in a deserted yard by the river and giving the horse a bag of feed to keep it quiet. The girl continued to sob brokenly. It was delicious—both the meal and the girl they were resting their feet on. In fact, this was probably one of the most entertaining meals he had ever eaten.

Then, once the sun was below the horizon, they went on the hunt again, heading for West Ham. Not the same street—that would be too risky. He left the selection of the street and the selection of the girl up to Alf. He had pulled the curtains down so nothing could be seen of the interior of the coach, and had applied chloroform to Cynthia again, so she wouldn’t be making any noises to disturb or alert their quarry.

He heard the sound of a girl’s voice in the distance but growing nearer, calling a name. “Jackie! Jackie! Oh where are you?” He felt the coach slow and stop; heard Alf tap on the left-hand door with his whip. He opened that door, made sure he had the chloroform sponge in his right hand, and slipped around the back of the coach, crouching in wait.

“’Ere, miss? Yew lookin’ fer a liddle lad?” Alf called.

“Oh aye!” he heard—the girl sounded much more irritated than worried. “Jackie run off with his friends, and Mum wants him back right now! Did you see him?”

“Well Oi moighta,” Alf replied. “I seen some lads down by riverbank. C’n yew come over ’ere an’ tell me wut ’e looks loik?”

As the girl prattled details of her brother’s clothing and appearance, Alexandre waited for the signal. And finally, it came.

“Well blimey,” Alf heaved a huge sigh. “Hain’t seed ’im.”

Alexandre leapt from out of cover. The girl was exactly where she should have been, standing right below Alf where he sat on the coach box. His sudden movement, or perhaps the sound of him coming around the back of the coach, even though it was getting quite dark, caught her attention. She turned quickly, spotted him, and opened her mouth to scream.

That was when he clapped the sponge over her nose and mouth, and the involuntary intake of a huge breath, meant to power a shriek, instead sucked the sleep-inducing fumes deep into her lungs. She struggled, but only a little, and went limp. In moments she was in the coach too, and he with her. He shut the doors of the coach carefully, so as not to arouse any interest with a noise of slamming, and rapped on the roof. As Alf pulled away, he gagged and trussed her up as well, so adept at this that he could easily do it in full darkness.

And then, he leaned back into his seat, breathless, almost giddy with relief and glee. They’d done it! They’d done it again!



It was full dark when they got back home, and it was child’s play to carry the two girls into the flat and down into the basement without anyone seeing. At this time of night, everyone in this neighborhood was busy with supper. Alexandre suspected you would have to set a cannon off in the street to get their attention. This time he and Alf did not linger; since the entity didn’t need their help, they just put the girls down beside the pool of darkness and got back up the stairs as quickly as they could. He didn’t want to see the entity take its prey a second time, and, he suspected, neither did Alf.

Alf hurried out, to take the coach back to the stable, while he waited in the kitchen for the entity to summon him.

Finally, it did.

Come and take the witness, it ordered. Then nothing more. Even that short a contact made his skin crawl. He hurried back down the stairs to find what was left of Cynthia lying facedown on the stones. Once again, he ordered the empty husk up the stairs, out the door, and out into the street. Once again, he told it to keep walking until someone stopped it.

And once again, the thing walked mechanically off. He hurried back to his own door, after a quick glance around to make sure no one was snooping—but no one was. He watched the girl—or whatever it was, now—until it was long out of sight.

As he closed the door and waited for Alf, he wondered just how long the girl would walk this time. And was the entity going to hold him to blame if something happened to her—if she got run over by a cab or a cart, or someone with fewer scruples than he snatched her off the street to have his way with her?