Savage Wings: Book Three of The Whitechapel Chronicles

Chapter 6

The record reached the end and the needle skipped on the vinyl, making me flinch as the sound scratched through the horn speaker.

Josiah walked over to the gramophone, gently lifting the arm and placing the needle back to the beginning of the disc. I recognised the voice and the song. Etta James. The name popped randomly into my head, feeling like the only one true thing on which my chaotic thoughts could focus.

At last, my love has come along, my lonely days are over....

Etta James. The famous American blues singer. Her voice made the hair on the back of my neck prickle and the goose bumps ripple across my skin. The lyrics were beautiful, emotive, haunting....

Caelan. Oh my God, Caelan.

The female seer kept those large white eyes fixed upon me and I noticed how the one on the left was slightly closed at the edge, where the skin on her eyelid was puckered and red, blending into the mass of scar tissue that made up her face on that side. There was a bald patch on the side of her scalp where the hair couldn't grow, but other than that it was glossy and immaculately groomed and I had visions of Josiah sitting there, brushing her hair over and over with the ornate vintage-looking hairbrush. There was no doubt that the right side of her face was beautiful - no, stunning- with high cheekbones and flawless dark skin, but the stark contrast with her damaged side, only made her appearance more chilling to behold.

The chains were long, allowing her to remain as comfortable as one possibly could be when chained to a bed and there were bandages wrapped around her wrists, I assumed to protect her delicate skin from the bite of the cuffs. She wore a long, ankle length Victorian-feel cream dress, with a lace bodice, high neck and long arms. Her feet were bare and poked out from under the hem. One was covered in the knots and twists of scarred skin, the other was not, but the toenails on both were painted a dark red that almost matched the colour of the hanging voile. Caelan caught the direction of my gaze and wiggled her toes in response, forcing me to look away, and yet feeling drawn to her regardless.

I didn't want to look at her, I didn't want her to see me looking, to see my eyes lingering on her sun-ravaged body, but I couldn't not look at her. This was Caelan. This was the woman for whom Harper had betrayed his wife. This was the woman who had been so madly in love with him that his rejection of her had sent her spiralling over the edge. This was the woman who had thrown herself to the sun because he had not loved her back.

I'd felt the sun's searing touch once. I'd felt the burn of its gaze on my face. I'd felt my skin scream in agony for the briefest of seconds and that had been more than enough. I couldn't imagine being in such despair that I'd willingly throw myself back under its spotlight. Not out of love for anyone.

As I assessed Caelan, she too examined me, her eyes lasciviously running over every inch, drinking in every detail. When she was done, she seemed relatively satisfied with whatever she had found and she leaned back onto the cushions propped up behind her, like a Queen seated on her throne.

"Josiah, darling," she crooned and I was surprised by how well-spoken she sounded. She didn't appear to possess the same Hackney dialect as her brother, instead her accent was more genteel and refined, as if she had grown up in a world of afternoon teas and debutante balls, as opposed to the tough streets of East London. "I see you bought me a present. How terribly kind of you." Her voice was like a soft purr, but laced with undertones of acid. She might have been chained to the bed, but she was dangerous, that much I could tell. The whole room reeked of it.

"Megan wanted to meet you," Josiah replied stiffly, shooting me a pointed look. "In fact, she insisted on it."

Caelan grinned at me. "Good for you, sweetie. I'm so glad you insisted. My brother can be very possessive of my company. He likes to keep me all to himself, don't you darling?" She raised her arms like a marionette puppet hanging from strings, jangling the chains and scolding Josiah with a click of her tongue.