Lady Jessica, Monster Hunter: Episode 5: The Bloody Tower

By Keith Dumble

England, 1889.

Lady Jessica McAlpin is the commander of The Black Diamonds, the Great British Empire's covert monster-hunting division.

With her crew of criminals, misfits and desperadoes, Lady Jessica soars above the land in the airship HMS Zephyr, tracking down the diabolical foes of the Empire.

When events in London take a sinister turn, the future of The Black Diamonds looks to be in doubt. Captain William Flint, the half-vampire second-in-command of the HMS Zephyr, takes matters into his own hands. Plagued by devouring darkness and memories of a terrible past, he embarks on what will be his most dangerous mission yet: breaking into the Tower of London, the impregnable fortress at the heart of the Empire.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Keith Dumble
• Release date: Jan 21, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310559365

Keith Dumble

I am a writer from Edinburgh, Scotland.I write history, mystery and speculative fiction, focusing on the sci-fi and fantasy genres. As an indie author, I regularly publish short stories, serials, novellas and longer works of fiction on the main e-book platforms.

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Lady Jessica: Monster Hunter

Episode 5: The Bloody Tower

by Keith Dumble

Copyright © 2014 by Keith Dumble. All rights reserved.

Cover copyright © 2014 by Keith Dumble.

www.keithdumble.com

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Reproduction in whole or in part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

Thank you for purchasing and supporting my work. If you have enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review wherever you bought this book.

Keep up to date with the ongoing adventures of The Black Diamonds at

www.ladyjessicamonsterhunter.com

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LADY JESSICA: MONSTER HUNTER

CHAPTER ONE

The Trap

Whitechapel, London, 1898

HE COULD STILL feel her, biting down on his neck. The flick of her tongue in the wound, lapping at his pumping blood. Warm, wet. Red.

Like she was still inside him. Even though she was dead, decapitated by Jessica's blade, he could feel her: her power, writhing within him. Devouring him. Consuming him.

Flint adjusted his monocle. Here at least, in Whitechapel, he blended in. Just another gentleman, taking the night air. Walking the streets, far from the refined thoroughfares of Whitehall and Westminster. Prowling, in search of company.

In search of prey.

The overground rumbled high above, disturbing a flock of scrawny pigeons roosting beneath the arches of the viaduct. The clatter of the train receded, the sounds from The Trap returning. That out-of-tune piano. Mad Old George at the ivories. Frogg would be at the bar, his daughter tending tables. Flint breathed in the warm night air, remembering the girl. Her hair, tumbling from her head like a crimson fountain.

A pair of foppish rakes passed closed by. He pressed himself into the shadows and watched them. Top hats and waistcoats, dressed to the nines for a night on the tiles. Pockets full of coin, which they would exchange for liquor and women.

Idiots.

The hunger was rising. An emptiness, not in his gut, but in his veins. His body felt as though it was drying out, running dry. He needed sustenance. He needed slaking.

He needed blood.

The inane chatter of the dandies was swallowed by the pea-souper. Flint peered ahead, his sight piercing the gloom as effectively as a phosphor torch. The door of The Trap opened, disgorging a shambling mountain of a man, drunk as a sailor on shore leave. The oaf's belly spilled over his trousers, flesh swelling over his straining waistband. A fatted calf.

No. He could do better. Flint shrunk back, waiting for the man to stumble past. He smelled his rancid stench: rotten meat marinated with rotgut. His blood would be bitter. Impure.

Flint shook himself, trying to dislodge the feeling. He was still human — or at least part of him was. He wasn't an animal. Not yet.

Whether Cottingley found the cure or not, Flint would soon ask Jessica if he could leave. He could get to the Indies in time, if the winds were favourable, if the clipper was swift enough. He had to know.

'Sorry for your loss.'

Baroness Fortuna's words were scarred deep in his mind. Maria. In his soul he knew she was wrong. Knew that Maria still lived, if you could call it that. He had to see her. One last time.

His hunger rose, the veins at his neck stiffening. He needed to eat. He had no choice. A wave of warmth as the door of The Trap opened once more. Crimson hair. Cathy.

She carried a slop bucket, holding it in both hands as she walked to the back yard. Pulling his collar up, Flint stepped from the shadows.

'Need assistance?'

'Mr Flint! You frightened me half to death, so you did!'

'You're made of stronger stuff than that, Cathy. But my apologies, I never meant to startle you.' The sound of his own voice made his skin crawl. 'Come, let me help you.'

'I'm nearly done.' A spattering as she emptied the bucket into the slop pit. 'What brings you this way tonight? Are you here to see father?'

'No. Just taking the air.' Her skin was so pale. Smooth, like the flesh of a newly-sliced apple. He watched the pulse fluttering at her neck.

'How are things in The Black Diamonds?' She put the bucket at her feet, wiping her hands on her skirt. Her blouse, top button undone. Cream skin. 'This place is back to its usual self now those bloody vampyres are gone.'

'A lot has happened since then, Cathy. Many things have changed.'

'What do you mean? Everyone's still alive, I hope?'

'Aye. The crew's all ship-shape. Jessica rules with a rod of iron.' He took a step, closing the space between them.

A smile curved on her lips. 'You don't like being given orders by a lady, Mr Flint?'

'I never said that now, did I?'

'I like your eyeglass.' She tilted her head. Her hair tumbled onto her pale neck. Her smooth neck. 'It suits you.'

'Why thank you.' He could see the thread of veins beneath her skin. 'Please. Call me William.'

'Perhaps I will.' Her laugh trilled, a little bird.

'Won't your father be missing you?'

'Not with the crowd that's in tonight. He's got his hands full with them.' She feigned shock, placing a hand across her chest. 'Why do you ask, William?'

She was young. Seventeen, perhaps, eighteen at most. One of the last times he'd seen her, she'd been lying in a coffin, laid out like a slab of meat. She had cried with gratitude when they had reunited her with her father. Frogg had wept too, calling her his precious ruby.

'No reason.' She was close now. He could reach out and touch her, if he wanted. The brass plugs at his temples throbbed. 'No reason at all.'

'That's a pity.' She leaned towards him. He could smell her. Her veins, at her neck.

Another train clattered overhead.