In the center of the graveyard was a gnarled oak tree, one that immediately caught her interest. The branches leaned downward, as if they were anxious to seize any unwary soul that ventured too close. The base of the tree was home to a massive hole that seemed to lead into the labyrinthine root system. Gravedigger paused near it and stared into the stygian blackness beneath the tree… Something was wrong here but she didn’t know for certain what it was.
The sky illuminated for a moment as a jagged arc of lightning cut across it. Gravedigger realized then what was bothering her about the hole and the roots that formed a canopy around it — the entire area seemed to be pulsing… no, breathing, she thought.
A jumble of thoughts passed through her mind, then. About Maxwell’s links to the occult, to what Li had told her about the Headless Horseman and about things she’d read in Josef’s library. Since his death, she’d made a point of reading through everything he’d left behind… and there were several references to the Horseman legend in Sovereign.
Some said that the headless killer was no mere specter. They said that he did the bidding of some higher power — frequently thought to be the devil, of course, but not necessarily. Whoever summoned him needed to first perform a blood sacrifice, which would then give him control over the Horseman.
Gravedigger looked back at Hendry Hall, which stood, angry and frightening, in the distance. Mortimer Quinn, who had spent some time in Sovereign in the late 18th century, had written the book that dealt with the Horseman legend most significantly. He did mention a cult that had lurked in Sovereign around that time but he hadn’t named them… Could they have been the Sons or Daughters of Malfeasance?
It was less than an hour before the reading of the will… and Gravedigger felt certain that something terrible was going to happen. She took one step towards the house when she became aware of movement to her left.
Spinning around, Gravedigger took an impact directly to the forehead. She fell back, the world suddenly going black. She had been so wrapped up in thought that she’d missed the signs of danger… and now, she realized, there would be no second chance.
A figure stood over her, a heavy log held in their strong hands. Myrtle looked back at the tree and then turned back to the masked woman at her feet.
“Not much longer,” she hissed. “It’s almost time for the Horseman to ride once more.”
Charity woke up with her arms and legs tightly bound to a chair. She was inside a small room, sparsely furnished. There were several bookcases filled with ancient tomes and a painting of Maxwell Hendry that dominated the nearest wall. There was one door that led out of the room and she could hear voices on the other side — including Li’s. The words were muffled enough that she couldn’t understand what they were saying.
Fumbling about with her fingers, she hoped to reach one of her many weapons — but they were all missing.
Movement from behind her made her pause.
Myrtle moved into view, looking very mannish in slacks and a gossamer blouse. She looked into Gravedigger’s face, which was still hidden by her mask. “Please tell me who you are.”
“Where are my weapons?”
Myrtle gestured to the farthest bookshelf. Sitting on top of it was Charity’s arsenal. “You were very well armed. Expecting trouble, were we?”
“I like to be prepared.”
“Always a good idea.” Myrtle pulled up a chair and sat down in it backwards, so that her arms crossed over the back of the seat. “Again: who are you?”
“I’m called Gravedigger.”
“The vigilante? I’ve heard of you.” Myrtle clucked her tongue. “I pictured you… differently. Taller. More dangerous. Masculine.”
“Sorry I disappointed you.” Gravedigger tilted her head and her voice took on a curious note. “So why did you fake your death?”
Myrtle looked surprised. “What do you mean?”
“You’re one of them, right? The Sons or Daughters? You can shift your gender from one to the other — but not very well, from the looks of it.”
Myrtle stood up, looking angry. Her face shifted, becoming even less feminine. The skin of her face became wrinkled, hanging loosely around the jowls. Her breasts, barely there to begin with, took on a different shape, becoming like those of an old flabby man. “You’re a little bitch,” Maxwell Hendry hissed.
“Takes one to know one.”
Maxwell glanced towards the door. “I’m getting old… death is just around the corner, unless I can barter for more years. And yes, I’m one of the Sons or Daughters of Malfeasance. My ancestors founded this city and bathed its ground in the blood of virgins. We had hoped to gain immortality but it didn’t come unconditionally. Our life spans were extended but there were so many things we had to do in order to protect our youth… many of my brothers or sisters failed. They died. Now I’m the only one of my generation remaining! And the younglings think me addled… weak! But I’ll show them. I’m going to reawaken our warrior and he’ll do the hard work for me. He’ll make me young again.”
Gravedigger sighed, having had the matter settled for her. She’d held out hope that there would be some rational explanation for all this deceit. But it was simply another case of an insane megalomaniac twisting others for their benefit.
“What’s going on in the next room?” Charity asked, grateful that Maxwell couldn’t see what was going on behind her back. With deft movements, Charity was busily freeing herself of the bonds that held her in place. It was a skill that had been improved by the trace memories of past Gravediggers but she had already been quite adept at small bits of escape artistry. It came in handy during her days as a thief.
“It’s almost time for the reading of the will,” Maxwell replied. His face and body were shifting again, reverting back into Myrtle’s form. “I’ve performed the ritual to summon the Headless Horseman but in order to bind him fully to my will, I have to sacrifice blood of my blood… my relatives have to die!”
“And then?”
“Then there are things that the Horseman can do to revive my youth, of course!” Myrtle bowed low. “I’m afraid I have to go, dear. I need to be present when the Horseman arrives — otherwise, he’ll be free to roam about on his own accord… and trust me, no one wants that.”
Gravedigger paused in her escape attempt, lest Myrtle see her furtive movements. The gender-swapping villain merely smiled and said, “And now it’s time to end your life, I’m afraid.” She stepped over to a small vent and removed the small grating. Inside was a nozzle that she directed into the room and activated by a twist of a dial. “Poisonous gas,” she explained, chuckling. “You’ll be dead within minutes. Enjoy what’s left of your life.”
Gravedigger watched Myrtle step from the room, carefully locking the door behind her. Taking as quick a breath as she dared, she went back to work, doing her best to slip one of her wrists free. By spreading her arms as far and as hard as she could, she was able to get a bit of laxness in the rope. Her hand slipped loose and within moments, she was free from the chair. Her lungs were in agony now, desperate for more air, but she knew that inhaling at this moment would be deadly.
With spots appearing before her eyes, she staggered towards the dial. She slipped to her knees, fingers outstretched. In seconds, she’d have to take a breath… but even with the dial being closed, would there be enough of the deadly gas left in the air to finish her?
Li adjusted the hem of her skirt, well aware that she was the object of several people’s glances. Cedric was seated at her side, still playing the role of gallant defender. The way his eyes kept drifting over her legs belied his noble intentions, however.