Darcy had taken no more than ten steps along the walkway when he heard her voice. Elizabeth stood in the darkened alleyway, talking loudly to someone even farther back in the shadows. Georgiana must be there also; otherwise, Elizabeth would back away. Of course, someone could be holding a gun on both of them. A silent click of the switch and a twist of the handle, and he slid the sword, a narrow blade edged on both sides, from the cane; and he reached for the small gun he carried in his boot. Easing his body along the wall and line of boxes, Darcy tried to maneuver to where he could see his wife and better assess the situation. From his current angle, all he could view was her skirt tail and the back of her bonnet. He fought to control his breathing and to curb his urge to burst upon the scene. If her assailant had a gun, she would be dead before
“Mahkicw Egroeg!” Elizabeth called out bravely. Darcy wondered at her words.
Then he heard the voice he most dreaded in such a situation. “Gibberish, Mrs. Darcy? You are grasping at straws, my dear.” Then Wickham continued speaking, but Darcy could not make out his words.
Elizabeth paused, seemingly at a loss. “Georgiana!” she called out again, as Darcy edged close enough to see Elizabeth’s profile. She stood with his crucifix dangling from a chain in front of her. “You can see Wickham has no power to defeat the crucifix. You must believe, Georgiana,” Elizabeth urged her. “You must believe in your brother and in me.”
Darcy wondered where she got her courage; Elizabeth Bennet Darcy was facing Wickham’s demonic possession armed with nothing more than a jeweled cross.
Elizabeth took another step forward, and Darcy nearly groaned, knowing the danger she was in. He wished he could see his sister—see the situation in which Georgiana found herself. Georgiana had not spoken, so she might be gagged. “Release my sister at once, Sir!” Elizabeth demanded. Darcy winced, knowing how Wickham detested orders and those who dared to issue them.
Intuitively, Elizabeth became aware of Darcy’s presence. He made no sound nor could she see him, but just the same, she knew he was there. Emboldened by his nearness, she sidestepped farther, hoping to pluck Georgiana from Wickham’s grasp. “I will tell you one last time, Wickham; your plan is madness.You will be found and punished.”
Desperately trying to formulate a plan as she moved, she thought once more of the book, and immediately Elizabeth recognized her error. The foul monster’s name was not really George Wickham; he was Seorais Winchcombe. George Wickham was his Anglicized name. She needed to use the correct one before the spell could work. Again, she visualized his name. She thrust the crucifix forward, extending her arm as far as the chain would go—
“Ebmochcniw Siaroes!”The words shot through the darkness, and with a gust of wind, Wickham flew backwards, slamming against the brick wall behind him.
Instantly, Elizabeth grabbed Georgiana and tumbled with the girl to the ground, anticipating that Darcy would step forward from the shadows. Darcy fired the gun, aiming for Wickham’s heart, as the demon slid down the wall.
In triumph, Darcy strode forward, adjusting the sword in his grip as he moved, planning to decapitate the beast lying at his feet. Poised above the limp body of his enemy, he could not have anticipated the attack.
In the shadows of the alley, a figure waited for an opening. Phantomlike, it clung to the side of the building, blending in with the faded wooden slats. Following Wickham’s orders, Amelia Younge had tracked Darcy’s carriage back to the bookstore. She had seen him enter the alley and hide in the darkness created by the haphazard stacking of discarded boxes.
So when Darcy stepped out of his hiding place and fired on Wickham, Mrs. Younge reacted in the only way she knew. She attacked the assassin attempting to kill the man she had followed into hell. Like a wild animal, she charged forward, taking Darcy by surprise, clawing at his back and ripping his coat to shreds with just a few swipes.
Dropping the sword, Darcy hit the ground and rolled, trying to escape the claws and the fangs snapping at him with great force and speed. His face sustained a raking from the tips of her nails, but he fought on. Calling forth his own powers, he pushed against her chest, shoving the woman back far enough that he could extend his arms. Blue light streamed from him, wrapping the vampire with a force she had not expected.
Yet energized by her need to help Wickham, the lamia valiantly led another attack.Again, she pressed Darcy back, her fangs dangerously close to his neck and ear. He struggled to right himself, but
As they wrestled for control, neither Darcy nor Amelia Younge saw Elizabeth move; their struggle was too intense. Elizabeth grabbed the sword discarded during the battle and, with a sweep and a lunge—a perfect envelopment—she came down upon the woman with all her might.“No…o…o!” Elizabeth screamed as she thrust the sword through Mrs.Younge’s back, sending it all the way through the woman’s body.
A blood-curdling scream reverberated throughout the small space.With the evil released, the body of Amelia Younge shriveled, becoming an empty shell. The blood drained from her instantly, and her skin began to decay before their eyes.
Darcy scrambled to his feet, scooping the cowering Georgiana into his arms as he moved.“Hurry!” he called to Elizabeth over his shoulder.Without thinking, she hiked up her skirts to follow him, glancing back only long enough to see Wickham lean over Mrs. Younge’s festering body and then disappear in a puff of smoke.
Entering the nearly deserted street, Darcy bolted towards the waiting carriage, unceremoniously dumping Georgiana onto the floor of the coach before shoving Elizabeth in after her. Heaving his own scratched and bruised body onto the seat, he pounded on the roof, and the coach lurched forward, throwing Darcy and Elizabeth into each other’s arms. Righting himself, but not releasing Elizabeth, he called out, “Pick up Belton!” Then he turned his attentions to his wife, without whom, he would, undoubtedly, be dead. His hands slid up and down her arms—her back—searching—trying to assure himself of her safety.“Tell me that you are all right,” he demanded.
“I am,” Elizabeth said, her voice raspy.
The air rushed from him in relief.“Thank God.”
Then Darcy quickly untied Georgiana’s hands, and both he and Elizabeth helped her to a seat between them. “Are you hurt?” he asked as he massaged her wrists.
“I am well, dear brother,” she responded. “Thanks to you.”
Darcy cupped Elizabeth’s chin with his palm and, leaning across his sister, kissed his wife’s lips tenderly. “Thank you for saving both of us.”
Tears misted Elizabeth’s eyes as he pulled back to gaze at her. Georgiana sobbed, but Elizabeth raised her chin in defiance. “I could not become a widow so soon after my marriage,” she declared.“Nor could I lose a sister I had so recently gained.”
Georgiana released her hold on Elizabeth and sat back quietly in her seat. By and by, Elizabeth picked up Georgiana’s right hand and Fitzwilliam her left. All three held hands in silence—united as one, with one purpose—for the rest of the trip.
Arriving at Overton House, Darcy sent servants scrambling for the ladies’ pelisses and his overcoat before they departed the carriage. It was a façade of normalcy, played out for the benefit of the neighbors. What each of them wore under their outer garments might be tattered and torn—might be smudged with dirt and blood—but no one else would know.
He helped first his wife and then his sister depart the coach, and, leisurely, Darcy followed them into the interior of the house. They would deal with this together and in their own time. “Mr. Frasser, please have tea and some brandy sent up to Mrs. Darcy’s sitting room. And each of us would like a warm bath.” Elizabeth and Georgiana did not stop in the foyer. Instead, they ascended the main staircase, heading towards the personal quarters.We will need privacy after that. I will ring when we wish supper.” Both women turned towards Elizabeth’s suite of rooms.