Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [103]
Returning the revolver to my jacket pocket, I took hold of the empty bottle Willingham had been drinking from earlier. Breaking the glass against the table allowed me to fashion a crude knife. I watched in sick fascination as the creature battled the swordsman. Despite Willingham’s obvious skill, it seemed to me the creature was toying with him. Blocking his escape. Allowing him to strike only where the creature could easily deflect the thrust. Willingham knew it too. Looking over the creature’s shoulder he cast me a desperate look.
Unfurling its wings, the creature blocked my view of Willingham. Between the outstretched wings I saw a long, black ridge. Vividly I recalled Miss Drayson describing her savage half. I also remembered her speaking of her rider. Seeing that long, black, snake-like ridge between her shoulders, I was struck with the notion this was the rider she’d spoken of. I did not hesitate. Lunging forward, I plunged the broken glass bottle into the black ridge.
Battered by the surprisingly strong wings I wasn’t certain I had found my mark. With a hideous scream, the creature lunged forward and thrust its hands into Willingham. Blood splattered on the floor as those terrible fingers spread within the man. Willingham, his face twisted in agony, threw himself forward. The unexpected action slowed the creature. Rather than pull its hands free, the hybrid lifted Willingham off the ground and drank deeply of the man’s flowing blood.
Finding myself on the floor, I reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out my revolver. Black ichor oozed from the wound on the creature’s back but the ridge, revealed now as a dangling snake, still held fast to the creature. I fired at it. The wings moved but not quickly enough. The bullets found their mark. The hybrid creature shuddered and screamed. With a savage gesture it pulled its hands free of Willingham, tearing the man in half as it did so. Turning to me, it staggered. The snake fell from its perch. The hybrid creature’s wings flapped in a vain, uncoordinated effort to keep itself aloft. It fell to the floor.
I stood. Finding my revolver’s ammunition spent, I reloaded. Standing over the twisting, struggling snake I emptied my revolver into it. At last it stopped moving. Was this the Melvaris Willingham had spoken of? I turned to the fallen winged creature Catherine Drayson had become and wondered: Was this the secret magic the Brotherhood sought? The ability to entwine the flesh of two distinct beings to form something new? Willingham had been correct. The creature was an abomination, its reptilian creator a blasphemer.
The winged creature turned on its side. It looked up at me with those brown eyes. Fallen, it was still captivating and horrible. Reluctantly, seeing no alternative course of action, I started to reload my revolver again but there was no need. Whatever magic held the creature together was coming undone.
I watched as the two halves pulled free of one another. The sundering was horrible to witness. Each wailed in sorrow as their unnatural intimacy ended. Somehow the creature they had been was greater than the sum of their individual parts. Each of them knew it. They mourned the loss as they were torn from each other. My eyes remained on Miss Drayson. Uncertain if either of them would survive, I could only give witness to the horrible process of separation.
When it was done they were both gone. There had been a green light, bright enough to make me avert my eyes. When I looked back both had disappeared. Holmes lay where he had fallen. I hurried to his side.
So it was that Scotland Yard found us — in the centre of a bloody room that stank of gore and spent ammunition. It was indeed fortunate that we were known to the officers of the Yard. Had Holmes and I not been so familiar I do not doubt we would have found ourselves locked in a cell to await charges of murder.
I told the police Willingham had been attacked by a large, foreign-looking