Surprise! Here's another chapter since I didn't post the previous one when I said I would.
I want to thank my Beta Reader, FateMagician, for correcting my mistakes and for making pertinent suggestions that push me to improve my work. Yeah, I plan to thank you at the beginning of each chapter, so you'd better get used to it ;)
There's one big change here. I don't know if you remember but I had Enola intervene during Ichabod's interrogation of the Horseman. Well, that's gone now. My choice due in part to her new sensitivity to sunlight, and in part to the fact that, after consideration, I don't think she'd care much about Ichabod insulting their enemy.
Right then, shall we proceed with the story?
"Die, die, we all pass away,
But don't wear a frown 'cause it's really okay…"
Enola was singing the chorus of Danny Elfman's Remains Of The Day in a soft voice while studying the Masonic cell with curiosity.
"You might try 'n' hide,
And you might try 'n' pray…"
She examined one of the candelabra and approached a finger to touch a candle.
"But we all end up the remains of the day!"
"Ouch! Bon sang de bonsoir!"
A small but painful electric shock had stung her hand the moment her skin had touched the wax. With a grimace, she inspected her finger: a small burn marred its tip, but it quickly disappeared thanks to her vampiric healing abilities. She glared at the candles and refrained from taking revenge by kicking the candelabrum. Stupid masonic hex candles. Must've sensed my vampire nature. She sniffed disdainfully. As if vampires couldn't be decent persons…
Enola's ears caught a jingling of chains; she turned around and saw that the Horseman had turned towards her as best he could, probably surprised by her shout. And there it is again: this sensation of being watched. She could feel his gaze on her, like a weight. Which was perfectly confusing, since he had no head, hence he shouldn't have had eyes. He must have a… metaphysical one though, otherwise, he couldn't see or think.
And she could feel the emotions borne in his gaze. She didn't know why—perhaps it had something to do with her being undead too? Somehow it made him just a little bit less intimidating: if he had emotions, it meant he was more than just Death, right? This was why she had readily accepted to watch over him while the humans were gone. Of course, he still made her slightly uneasy, but she wasn't disgusted and/or hateful like the Witnesses and Captain Irving. Which was probably why it was perplexity she could feel in his gaze.
"You're wondering why I'm not afraid of you, right?" Enola asked, going and standing in front of the Horseman. "Why should I fear you when you can't kill me? Or at least not as easily as you can a human? You experienced it yourself : I'm stronger and faster than even you. Besides, I heal quickly. I don't have to be afraid of you."
Well, not much, she added mentally. She felt his perplexity turn into irritation and his fingers twitched, which made her smirk.
"Annoying, is it? Well, you'd better get used to it because it won't change anytime soon. And no, I won't tell you what I am. Wouldn't want you to try and find my weaknesses, hmm? So I'll just say this: I'm an undead too. Maybe we should form a club..."
Surprise seeped into his annoyance.
"Yeah, I know, I don't look the part. You, however… I'd ask you how you can see anything, or think, but somehow I doubt you'd answer me."
Aaand back to annoyance.
"I guess you give a whole new meaning to dead from the neck up, huh?"
His annoyance turned into full-fledged anger and she snickered.
"So you've got as much humour as a tombstone. Good to know–"
She broke off when she heard the footsteps in the tunnel outside of the large round door—three sets of them. So Abbie and Ichabod have found the Horseman's own personal puppet. Good.
They stopped right behind the door and a man whose voice she didn't recognize spoke:
"Consider yourself warned."
"Considered," Ichabod's voice coldly retorted.
The door opened and Abbie and Ichabod, accompanied by an Asian man who had to be the late Officer Brooks, stepped inside. The vampire winced discreetly when she saw him: he was dead all right. His skin had turned greenish and he reeked of rotting flesh. She noticed the large folds at the base of his neck as if the skin had been stretched until it was distended. Charming.
"Who's this?" the man asked distrustfully when he spotted Enola.
"Enola Vallombreuse," the latter introduced herself with a sharp nod. "I'm the new addition to the team. Well, shall we begin?"
"Yeah, let's do this," Abbie agreed. "Come here, Andy…"
A few minutes later, the undead police officer was cuffed to a chair placed in front of the Horseman.
"Hör mich Herr Meister," he began after a hesitation. "Lass mich für dich sprechen."
Silence. Enola felt the Horseman's eyes coming back to her and with them the awareness of a small part of his emotions, like a slight tug near her heart. Stubbornness, anger. Like any prisoner being interrogated by an enemy. Why are you looking at me?
"Must not be feeling too chatty," Brooks commented. "Consider it a blessing."
A hint of satisfaction slipped into Death's wrath at Ichabod's and Abbie's visible frustration, which made the vampire snort discreetly. Jerk, she thought as intensely as she could, just in case. For all she knew, that weird link was stronger than she thought. God, I hope it's not. I don't want to have Death inside my head.
"Feeling less than robust?" Ichabod intervened. "Good," he added in a tone dripping with mockery.
The Horseman tried to lunge at the man taunting him, but the strong chains held him back. Enola had just enough time to feel his sudden fury, like a mental whiplash, for a split second before he turned his full attention towards Ichabod. It took all her strength to contain a start and a gasp, though it hadn't been painful—just unexpected and violent.
"So, do you have a name?" Ichabod went on, unaware of his new partner's discomfort. "Or should I just call you Death?"
His face was hardened by a mixture of contempt and gloating at the Horseman's still uselessly pulling at the chains with all his strength.
"You may serve Moloch, and outside these walls you may be one of the Four Horsemen from the Book of Revelation," he continued, and his low voice was as scornful as his expression. "But now… you are nothing but a prisoner. And I will see you and your kind defeated. Just as I took your head."
He seems to forget he was running away from his prisoner not three hours ago, Enola thought distractedly. She pulled the sleeves of her jumper over her hands with a scowl and blinked several times, only half paying attention to Ichabod's attempt to bait the Horseman into talking. The UV light, much stronger than natural sunlight, was starting to affect her seriously and the stench of rotting flesh coming from Brooks wasn't helping. A burning itch had spread across the skin of her face and hands, and bright spots were dancing before her eyes—she screwed them shut for a few seconds but it didn't change anything. She lowered her head so her hair fell across her cheeks, a flimsy curtain between them and the lamps' implacable glare, but, at this moment, her stretched sleeves slipped from her grasp and she yanked them down again with an angry growl.
"Enola, you okay?"
"I'm fine," the vampire automatically retorted in a harsher tone than she would have liked.
She cast an apologetic glance at Abbie, who was standing next to her with folded arms and raised eyebrows. The lieutenant's question had apparently interrupted Ichabod, who had invaded the Horseman's personal space to grab his collar and was now looking at Enola with a quizzical frown.
"Please, don't stop on my account," the young woman bade dryly, waving a jumper-covered hand at him. "You're doing great, keep provoking him."
She should have retreated in the shadows behind one of the pillars, she knew, but she didn't want the Horseman to understand that she was vulnerable to sunlight. She could already feel him staring at her watchfully and it made her hackles rise.
"And you, stop looking at me like that," she snapped, lifting her head to glare at him.
"Uh…How'd you know he's looking at you?" Abbie asked skeptically.
Enola pursed her lips, wondering if she hadn't just missed an opportunity to shut it. What should I tell them? Her patience, withered to a husk by her burning face and her half-blinded eyes and her assaulted nose, told her to just fuck it, it didn't matter anyway. Her determination not to move from her place was already starting to waver.
"I can feel his eyes on me, like… a weight, you know?" she sighed, eyeing the tempting shadows behind the pillars. "And I can feel the emotions… or at least a part of them… carried in his gaze. I don't know why though. I think maybe it's because I'm an undead too…"
"It would make sense…" Ichabod mused aloud. "If he is able to communicate through an undead person, like Mr. Brooks here, it is safe to assume that your own nature is the cause of what you are sensing."
"Hey, I don't feel that!" said Brooks intervened in a mildly annoyed tone.
"Maybe it's because I'm a more powerful undead," the vampire suggested with a shrug. "I mean, for a start, I'm not decomposing…"
"Thanks," Brooks grated.
"Anyway, I don't have any other explanation. But if these archives of yours are so well-stocked, maybe we could find some more information– ah, screw it. I'll just go and stand over there," she waved in the direction of the darkest patch of shadow she'd been able to find. "Don't mind me, would you?"
Abbie's eyes suddenly lit up in realization and she nodded.
"Yeah, sure, no problem."
Enola, her pride momentarily cowed by the UV light's assault, strode ahead with a reluctant scowl, patting Ichabod's shoulder as she passed him.
"I think he needs to be insulted some more, maybe we should–"
The rest of her sentence was choked off by her gasp of pain and surprise. She lifted a shaking hand to her heart and the other to her head, swaying on her feet, her mouth opened in a silent scream.
"Enola!"
The Witnesses rushed to her, Ichabod with his arms extended to support her, but the second he reached her, her knees buckled under her. They hit the stone floor and it was as if the shock had jolted her scream free, releasing it in the cell.
Oooh, a cliffhanger! Yeah, yeah, I know you already know what happens next… I was talking to my potential new readers. I still am when I say that if you think Enola isn't hostile enough toward the Horseman, don't worry. That'll change drastically in the next chapter...
Remains of the day is a song from the soundtrack of Corpse Bride, a film by Tim Burton. A great one, by the way. You should watch it.
Translation:
- bon sang de bonsoir: an equivalent would be "bloody hell", but it's not a literal translation.
I'll update next week, I promise! But this time, you'll get one chapter only ;)