Fire, Chapter 9 --PG-13

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librarian_7
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Fire, Chapter 9 --PG-13

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Standard disclaimers apply.

No spoilers here.

This story is rated PG-13 for relatively mild violence and sex.

This story follows the events of “Control.”



Fire

Chapter 9

Mary Shaw stumbled backward, and cursed at the slight ripping noise she felt more than heard. Using both hands, she jerked the hem of her skirt free from the heavy shoe of the man who had trod upon it. She thought wistfully of the freedom she knew wearing her boy’s costumes on stage. If only she’d had a set of boy’s clothing at her lodging, she’d have worn it in an instant, regardless of the penalties she’d incur if she were discovered. As it was, between the crowds and the mire in the street, her dress was near ruined. Not, she supposed, that it would matter, if half of what she heard was true. The voices around her spoke in urgent tones about hundreds of houses aflame, the Dutch attacking, or the French.

Her hand stole unconsciously to the low neckline of her dress. She’d taken the precaution of stowing her few valuables deep inside the bodice for safe-keeping. If anyone got as far as her jewels, she’d have far more urgent concerns than holding onto a few baubles. Touching the parcel of gifts reminded her of the occasions when she’d received them. They had all come from Josef. Her lover. The monster. She settled in her mind on calling him, Lord Alexander.

After his precipitous departure from her rooms the night before, she’d stayed sitting up in the bed for most of the rest of the night, trying to piece together what she had seen in the semi-darkness, the gleaming silver eyes that had transfixed her, the inhuman speed of his movements. She told herself she had to have been dreaming, that she could not have seen what she had seen. And yet…she knew she had been wide awake, she knew he had been there—his coat and shirt remained to offer witness of his visit. And she knew, deep within her, that whatever he was, he had never harmed her, never been anything except restrained in his treatment of her. In fact, she had long thought he was too reserved, holding something back, but she had convinced herself that was merely a facet of his foreignness, and thought that sooner or later it would fade. She knew she had captivated him completely, as she had wanted. His position and wealth meant security and protection for her. But she had no idea he was anything more than a young aristocrat pleased with his acquisition of a pretty mistress.

She’d pondered all that until full light, when the advent of plain, honest day gave her the comfort to doze. Sleep proved, however, to be a mixed blessing; the peace of unconsciousness broken by dreams of Josef. In her dreams, her gently imperious lover mutated by turns into a ravening demon and a wounded, helpless prisoner. In her dreams, as in life, he reached out to her, his need writ large upon him, but whether to destroy her or simply to take aid from her, she did not know.

Mary was used to sleeping far into the day, and the bustle and noise of the streets floating up to her window had never been an obstacle to her rest. When she woke, late in the morning, surfacing groggily out of her troubling dreams, she had no thought that anything was out of the ordinary in the world at large. But when she leaned out of the window, as was her morning custom, the sight that greeted her was a huge cloud of black smoke covering most of the city. She stood, struck, remembering Josef’s anguished cry of “The city in flames!”

As her hands mechanically went through the motions of dressing, her mind raced. The fire was east of her, and moving her direction. She couldn’t stay where she was, that was certain. This rickety tenement where she lodged would go up like kindling if the fire came so far, but she had few choices of destination. The theatre—the theatre was not in the right direction, either. Jo—Lord Alexander’s house was to her west, but who knew how far the fire would run? He had promised to protect her, he had promised she was safe from harm, but could she trust him? After what she had seen last night, after what she had learned from the play, she was torn between instinct and superstition.

The river, if she could get to the banks of the river, perhaps she could find passage across the Thames. London Bridge might be burning, but no fire could jump across a river so broad. Not without the hand of God Himself behind it.

So she had gathered her valuables, and made her way down through the deserted house to the street, and found pandemonium in full sway. She’d considered bringing Lord Alexander’s abandoned clothing with her—if nothing else, it was fine material and would bring a pretty penny, but as it was, in the crowd she needed two hands just to manage her trailing skirts, and help her keep her feet.

Her mouth hardened. If she wanted visions and stories of supernatural creatures, she could have stayed in her mother’s cottage, among the cinders on the hearth. When this wretched blaze was extinguished, as it soon must be, she would go back to the theatre and find herself a proper lover, an Englishman.

The crowd surged through the streets, and Mary was hard pressed to make her way towards the docks. The sun had passed zenith and lowered considerably in the sky before she came in sight of the wharves, and then found that passage was not to be had. Not for what she could pay. In time, she’d exhausted every other possibility, and still the wind roared through the streets. She heard the distant crashes of church steeples falling, the eerie sound of the bells muffled and struck backward to ring the alarm. Her head ached from the din, and her eyes burned from the smoky air. She just wanted a place to hide, like the quiet cool of an empty theatre after the audience had departed, but there was nowhere she could go. Nowhere except the lair of the monster, the house of Lord Alexander.

She had never been there before, only heard of its location. Still, she thought if she could find the street, someone would know. He was a powerful man, he kept a carriage. His residence wouldn’t be that hard to find, surely. She began moving as she could toward him, dodging and weaving up the packed street. The going was slow, but she hoped to find refuge by nightfall. Everyone was moving, few had any clear goal, except to put distance between themselves and the fire. Men wrestled with overladen barrows, cursing every bump and puddle in the street. Women carried bundles, or babes, and all were in constant danger of falling and being trampled by the mob.

Mary, caught up in her own struggle forward, had no thought to spare for it, but over the city, on street after street, the same scene was playing out. Crowds, moving as best they could, clogged every street. As the afternoon wore on, barrows were abandoned, making the narrow lanes harder still to navigate. Tempers flared like brushfires, and men fought like dogs over the spoils they had no means of transporting away.

Josef found the spectacle sickening. It reminded him too much of the battlefields he had once haunted, and had sworn to avoid forever. He had thought to go back to Maria’s rooms, to see if she needed him, if she would accept his protection in this emergency, but the ways were near impassable. Somehow he caught a distant echo of her distress, and the thought almost made him run mad. He could begin to rend and tear his way through the crowd, and perhaps they would part for him in horror, or perhaps they would tear him to shreds. He gritted his teeth and forced his way along, perhaps moving a bit faster than some, but not nearly fast enough.

He was tired, he had had no rest for the day, and he knew with the coming of darkness all dangers in this city so rife with peril would increase. The crowds would grow more desperate, and men would dare things under cover of night that they would cringe away from in the day. And then there were the vampires. Josef knew that with the night, he would be prey, even as he hunted. And he knew well that his connection to Maria was known. He needed to find her before she was found by others. Others who would consider her only as bait for him.

When at last he came full circle to Maria’s rooms, the fire was near, and she was long gone. He held the bed linens where just the night before he had lain with her curled trusting against him, and smelled again her fear of him, born in an instant and sweeping aside all thought of love and ease. Josef crushed the fabric in his hands, holding it to his face, trying to see where she might have gone. He could see that her jewels were gone, those gauds he’d given her, and his mouth twisted bitterly. Evidently, her superstitious fear of him did not extend to his golden gifts.

But he could not linger here in contemplation of a mercenary heart. The roar of the conflagration was louder by the minute. He could follow her scent to the street, but thousands of feet had trodden in her footsteps, and she was impossible to track.

Josef stood silent and thoughtful for a few moments. His instincts, and his heart, were telling him to search for the girl. To find her, no matter what the cost. But his head, his head told him he might search for days and nights in this dangerous, ruined city without ever seeing a trace of her.

He had lost, perhaps, too much, this day. He needed to re-group, re-order his thoughts. It had been this way at times on the battlefield; too much carnage, too much destruction. Senses overloaded and refused to bear the burden any further. He was tired, hungry, his head aching from double assaults of smoke and sun. Josef squared his shoulders, knowing where his duty lay. He cast around on last time, hoping against hope to catch a lingering trace of her scent. Even without knowing her blood, he could have tracked her, he thought, through any wilderness in the world, across any desert or through any jungle. But in this morass of terrified humanity, in this wasteland filled with hearts beating too fast and buildings poised to plunge into flame, it was simply not possible. He shook his head, eyes bleak, and turned his back on Maria’s future, and walked away.

Mary swiped a hand across her sweating face, and grimaced at the sight of the soot she brought away. Even away from the fire, the air was filled with ash and cinders, carried on the wind that refused to die away. She was tired. The day must surely be drawing down to night, but although the sky had begun to darken, the streets were lit by the flames of the city. Shadows were strange, skewed, and flickering. Mary was so tired, she had gotten to that state where it felt as though she never known anything else than the endless trudge through these hellish streets. She could not conceive of anything else. Still she knew the night must fall, and she knew before that occurred she must find shelter, a haven from the night and its denizens.

At length, though, she came to the street where she had been told Lord Alexander lived. It was quieter than some, not a main thoroughfare, and astonishingly, not all the residents had fled. There were still a fair number of servants about, some obviously to guard the premises of their absent masters. At her query, one of them pointed to a gate at the end of the street.

“Likely they’ve all gone though,” the man said. “I ain’t seen no one stirring there all the day.”

She nodded and walked on, with no idea what she would do, if the house were empty. Josef—Lord Alexander, she corrected to herself—had kept a lord’s household. Surely someone would be there. But her fears were not allayed when she found the gate hanging partway open. On the other hand, even an empty house might provide the shelter she needed. And he’d told her to come to him. She pushed resolutely at the gate, opening it just wide enough to squeeze through.

In the dying light of the evening, she found the puddled blood, half dried now, from the slaughtered horses, and skirted around it. After the chaos of the city streets, the silence here was strange. Even the wind seemed to avoid this place; the protected courtyard seemed oddly calm. Her eyes tracked the drag marks that led to the carcasses of the slain horses, and bit back a gasp. The beautiful pair that had pulled Josef’s carriage, that she had admired, were destroyed. She couldn’t bring herself to inspect them closely, but someone had evidently dragged them one by one to the colonnade. And in her experience, no one man could drag the dead weight of the carcass of a full-grown horse. Something was terribly wrong here.

Mary hesitated. With no signs of life, it might be better to find a hiding place in the stables, rather than dare the house. She’d no desire to be labeled a thief, should someone come upon her unexpectedly. She looked at the door to the stables, then turned away and tossed her head as she would if portraying a haughty duchess on the boards. Hiding in the stable? She thought not. She had an invitation from the—from the master of this house, whatever he might be.

There was more blood spilled on the doorstep, but not so much she was unable to step over it. She found no one on the ground floor, but when she turned to the steps, yet another pool of blood blocked her way. She was picking up her skirts to keep from trailing them in it, when she noticed a bare footprint on the step above, a bare footprint etched in blood. She blinked, seeing suddenly in her mind’s eye the shoes of her lover, sitting by the bed where he had kicked them off the night before, in his hurry to possess her.

Josef had been here, had seen all this blood, she thought, and unbidden the question arose—or had he spilled it?

She heard no noise behind her, but suddenly she was grasped and turned firmly against a broad male chest. She didn’t struggle until a stranger’s voice said wryly, “Somehow, I thought I might find you here.”

Mary looked up into the dark face of a man in a fine black wig, the curling wings of it covering his shoulders. She tried to push away from him, but to no avail, crying out involuntarily as his eyes suddenly flashed to silver.

“We have an appointment elsewhere, my dear,” the apparition said. “You must come with me. I’m quite sure your lover will meet us there.”
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coco
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Re: Fire, Chapter 9 --PG-13

Post by coco »

Love this -
Josef found the spectacle sickening. It reminded him too much of the battlefields he had once haunted, and had sworn to avoid forever. He had thought to go back to Maria’s rooms, to see if she needed him, if she would accept his protection in this emergency, but the ways were near impassable. Somehow he caught a distant echo of her distress, and the thought almost made him run mad. He could begin to rend and tear his way through the crowd, and perhaps they would part for him in horror, or perhaps they would tear him to shreds. He gritted his teeth and forced his way along, perhaps moving a bit faster than some, but not nearly fast enough.

He was tired, he had had no rest for the day, and he knew with the coming of darkness all dangers in this city so rife with peril would increase. The crowds would grow more desperate, and men would dare things under cover of night that they would cringe away from in the day. And then there were the vampires. Josef knew that with the night, he would be prey, even as he hunted. And he knew well that his connection to Maria was known. He needed to find her before she was found by others. Others who would consider her only as bait for him.

When at last he came full circle to Maria’s rooms, the fire was near, and she was long gone. He held the bed linens where just the night before he had lain with her curled trusting against him, and smelled again her fear of him, born in an instant and sweeping aside all thought of love and ease. Josef crushed the fabric in his hands, holding it to his face, trying to see where she might have gone. He could see that her jewels were gone, those gauds he’d given her, and his mouth twisted bitterly. Evidently, her superstitious fear of him did not extend to his golden gifts.

But he could not linger here in contemplation of a mercenary heart. The roar of the conflagration was louder by the minute. He could follow her scent to the street, but thousands of feet had trodden in her footsteps, and she was impossible to track.

Josef stood silent and thoughtful for a few moments. His instincts, and his heart, were telling him to search for the girl. To find her, no matter what the cost. But his head, his head told him he might search for days and nights in this dangerous, ruined city without ever seeing a trace of her.

He had lost, perhaps, too much, this day. He needed to re-group, re-order his thoughts. It had been this way at times on the battlefield; too much carnage, too much destruction. Senses overloaded and refused to bear the burden any further. He was tired, hungry, his head aching from double assaults of smoke and sun. Josef squared his shoulders, knowing where his duty lay. He cast around on last time, hoping against hope to catch a lingering trace of her scent. Even without knowing her blood, he could have tracked her, he thought, through any wilderness in the world, across any desert or through any jungle. But in this morass of terrified humanity, in this wasteland filled with hearts beating too fast and buildings poised to plunge into flame, it was simply not possible. He shook his head, eyes bleak, and turned his back on Maria’s future, and walked away.
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Re: Fire, Chapter 9 --PG-13

Post by mitzie »

Oh no, not Maria!! :gasp: :fingerscrossed: Poor Maria, poor Josef!!! :hankie: Love this story, off to read more... :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :sigh: :eek2: :devil: :fingerscrossed: :yahoo: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :clapping: :thud: :thud: :thud: :thud: :notworthy: :heart:


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allegrita
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Re: Fire, Chapter 9 --PG-13

Post by allegrita »

I love the way the story follows both Maria and Josef as they make their ways through the streets of London. And their emotions as they visit one another's houses are so heartbreaking. :hankie: And that awful moment when Maria is captured right at the end of the chapter! :nosee:
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