The Lady in Yellow: A Victorian Gothic Paranormal Romance

Sixty

The screams emanating from Jacque's bedroom were awful. Wolfgang barked, whining dismally when he failed to stop the cries. Knocks battered about the room like a contained whirlwind, a poltergeist unleashed. The door was locked. Veronica banged on it.

"Jacqueline! Jacqueline! Let me in!"

Another scream erupted.

Janet sorted quickly through her keys. Finally, heaving a sigh, she found the right one and opened the door for Veronica.

Jacqueline was lying on the floor below Jacques' bed, pounding her heels and fists into the floor. She was so blind with tears and rage that she didn't seem to notice Veronica and Janet coming into the room.

Jacques was laid out on his bed. Stiff and gleaming, he looked (Veronica loathed the obvious comparison that crept into her mind) like an oversized china doll.

She knelt down beside Jacqueline, and opened her arms. "Jacqueline? Come."

"Miss Everly." The child rushed to her arms and buried her face in Veronica's neck.

"I'm so sorry, Jacqueline. It's all so... unreal... but then it's not. How I wish this was just a long, terrible nightmare."

"Why did this have to happen?" Jacqueline sobbed like her heart was breaking. "We weren't bad. We only wanted to play at being wolves. You know that, don't you, Miss Everly?"

Veronica thought of the transformations she had seen. She stroked the child's hair, so pale, so white. "Where did you learn that? Where did you learn to play wolves?" she asked.

"Mamma taught us. We all played Hunt the Hare together. On the full moon. It was fun. At first."

What about the horrific death of Mrs. Twig? Had Jacqueline been playing then? Veronica bit her tongue and stroked the little girl's back to sooth the spasms of her sobbing.

"There, there. We must give it all up to God. Put it in His hands."

Veronica felt the child tense. Her voice was barely audible.

"Jacque's not dead, you know. Not really. He's with Sylvie now. And the others. And Mrs. Twig. And Mamma. But I am alone."

Veronica shuddered. No, Jacques was not dead, nor alive. He was indeed with Sylvie and Sovay, werewolves and soul stealers. Soul devourers. Vampyres.

She remembered something from the night, a mark on Jacqueline's brow.

"Let me see you," Veronica said, lifting Jacqueline's face to hers. The shape of the symbol was erased, but a reddish tinge remained on the skin, evidence of a badge of honor given for what she'd done to Mrs. Twig.

With a sinking heart, Veronica rocked Jacqueline asleep. Candles winked out around them, the fire burned low. Once she was sure the child was at peace, Veronica carried her across the hall and put her to bed. Then she returned alone to look at Jacques.

Lying there so white and still, Jacques looked like a house with the lights out. If he wasn't really dead, what were they supposed to do with his body? Would a Christian burial save him? But even so, how could they bury him beneath the ground if he wasn't really dead... but undead, damned... Damned to walk the earth forever doing the Devil's biddings. No! It couldn't be. Surely God would save a child, would enfold that child and restore his divine connection.

She went to her room and sank into her chair beside the fireplace. What next? She couldn't manage alone. Everything had gone far beyond her realm of experience, her knowledge----beyond madness, in fact. She wished Mrs. Twig wasn't dead, or whatever she was. Veronica needed her badly.