Tea, Lycanthropy and Other Virtues

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Owen jumped on the back of the monster, grappling with Hannah, locking his arms around his beefy neck.

"Constance!" Simon screamed. He was in the hall.

"Go!" Owen yelled from the back of the behemoth. Hannah grabbed up the poker and rammed it into his stomach, as if in agreement.

Constance took off after her brother, dodging overturned furniture, her slippers crunching on glass. She reached for the color trailing into the hall.

Put him down, she thought over and over, trying to feel calm as her heart battered her chest.

Beatrice's monster was lying on the floor. The woman stumbled from a punch to the side of the head from the fourth thug. Constance's stomach clenched, but Beatrice had already shaken it off, dodging under his second swing and then driving her own fist into his stomach. Her attacker stumbled back. Beatrice pressed her advantage, sweeping his legs out from under him.

Constance dashed into the hall and grabbed hold of the man holding her brother.

Put him down, she thought wildly.

He smiled at her with black sharp teeth and continued toward the front door, now hanging off its hinges.

She took a deep breath, then let the puce color swirl around her hands. Constance pictured her father swinging her off the ground, felt his arms encircle her after a nightmare. She remembered what it had felt like to feel safe. She pushed the feeling outward. The beast stumbled. "Put Simon down," she said. "You are not a monster. You are a protector. You want to protect him, like a father."

The man blinked heavily and looked at Simon, who was still writhing in his grip.

He smelled like rotten meat and urine, but she didn't let it break her concentration. "You're content and sleepy," she said, trying to remember what the fatigue from the other day had felt like. "You can go home now."

She ignored the noise from the room, breaking glass, and grunts of pain.

The man stood there, blinking hard as the muddy red color faded. Simon wriggled out of his grip. She didn't let it break her concentration.

"Simon," she said calmly, while the sound of breaking wood assaulted her ears. "Can you go next door and get help?"

He looked between her and the hulking giant and then he dashed onto the front steps, straight into Lord Baines's arms.

Her calm shattered, fear rushing back in. Simon struggled to free his arm from the Lord's grip, but Baines held him tight.

"Miss Allen," he said. "Come with me so no one else gets hurt."

He nodded toward the parlor, where she saw Hannah whack a thug with the poker. The man growled, then backhanded her, sending her flying across the room, Owen landing beside her a moment later.

Constance couldn't breathe.

"They're monsters, Miss Allen. They will hurt your friends."

Blood was pounding through her head. The man standing beside her still seemed half asleep, but she couldn't influence Baines. He wasn't supernatural. She couldn't influence the others with her fear screaming at her.

"Let Simon go," Constance said.

"You are not in any position to bargain," he said calmly. "I need him for further assurances." He flicked his wrist ever so slightly and she caught the gleam of moonlight on a knife-blade in his hand.

"Constance," Simon said, his voice wavering.

She could see one of them leering over Hannah.

"Call them off," Constance said. "Please."

He smiled. "Let's go!" He barked.

The two men in the parlor turned. One of them blew a kiss at Hannah as he walked by, Owen pulled himself in front of her protectively.

The man who had been fighting Beatrice looked like Hell, but he latched on to Constance and pulled her roughly to the door as if to prove to himself that he hadn't just had his ass kicked by a woman. The fourth man lay on the floor, unconscious. Beatrice locked eyes with Constance.

"I'll keep him safe, Mother," she said desperately.

Beatrice clenched her fists, but she didn't budge. She had seen Simon in Baines's arms. Something cold burned between them.

They hustled her down the stairs, the one she'd influenced moving lethargically. The brown red color continued to stain everything it touched, and then they bundled her and Simon into a coach. Baines climbed in after and Constance pulled Simon to her, pushing them back as far from the Lord as they could get.

The carriage groaned as the thugs climbed into the driver's box and onto the back of the wagon. Then it jolted, pushing her against the seat back as the horses leapt forward, the coach roaring to life. Simon shook against her.

If Constance had to guess, their mother had taken out a werewolf, almost two. She was Beatrice's daughter and she could still try to get them to fall asleep, or let them go. She could do it for Simon.

"The driver isn't a supernatural," Baines said from where he sat opposite them.

"What?" she said, as her racing mind tried to make sense of what he had said to her.

"I'm still not sure what you can do, but I know you can do something. I'm not stupid, Miss Allen. The driver is not a monster." He stared at her like she was a puzzle he would untangle.

She shivered and pulled Simon closer.