KINDRED. ━ enola holmes. ( ✔️)

XIII. SHOTS FIRED!

•••

AS THEY RODE INTO THE driveway of the Tewkesbury manor, Vivienne tried to tune out Tewkesbury and Enola's bickering. She already had a headache from earlier, and their fighting only made it worse.

"Why are we doing this?" The boy muttered, getting off the automobile as the other two had done.

"Unlike most well-bred ladies, I was never taught to embroider. I never molded wax roses, hemmed handkerchiefs, or strung seashells," Enola walked forward towards the entrance, and the other two followed her actions. "I was taught to watch and listen. I was taught to fight. This is what my mother made me for. Trust me... to find the answers we need."

Tewkesbury's brows furrowed. "You don't know how to embroider?"

Vivienne pinched him from where she stood beside him. Enola sighed angrily, but she mouthed a thank you to the girl. 

"We need to do this. You need to do this. We... are doing this." Enola smiled awkwardly, before she motioned them to continue walking. "Come on."

•••

THE FLOOR CREAKED UNDER their feet as they walked into the main hall of the manor. 

"Where are all the servants?" Tewkesbury looked from side to side as he spoke.

Enola shut the door behind them. "Welcome to the future."

"Mother?" 

They walked up the stairs, looking around every once in a while. Something was definitely off. But what was it?

"They know we're here." Enola mumbled, and the moment the words slipped from her lips, a rifle cocked, and Enola grabbed the other two and pulled them down under the table. 

Bullets flew through the air, hitting the vase and breaking it. Had they been a second too late to duck, Tewkesbury's head would've had holes in it. 

They ran away from the person who held the gun, before trying to unlock the door to no avail. Gunshots followed them as they ran, one hitting a suit of armor a mere few feet away from them. 

As the person reloaded, Enola took them by their wrists and ran to hide. The person followed their movements and continued shooting, hitting the statue they hid next to. 

The bullets stopped for a second, and in that moment Enola through a part of the rubble left behind after the statue had been shot. It hit a suit of armor, and the man (if Vivienne was correct, it was a man) shot at it, only to find that no one was there.

Enola silently rolled over to the other side, leaving Tewkesbury and Vivienne stranded as the man continued shooting. Neither of them made any noises except for quiet gasps for air, and practically silent prayers for safety. 

As the bullet cases clattered to the floor, the man took a few strides forward, finally seeing where the boy was. Suddenly, Enola leaped onto him from behind, and they began wrestling. 

The man got the upper hand, and soon threw Enola onto the floor, before kicking her stomach and her head. 

Vivienne and Tewkesbury shared a look. 

They had to save her.

Vivienne was the first to run out, punching him in the back, before getting shoved to the ground. Tewkesbury intervened, grabbing the man but he too was shoved to the floor. 

Vivienne mustered up her strength and used her very  sharp nails to claw at his face, drawing blood from where his cheek was. The man was not pleased with that. He kicked her and she fell, hot and sweaty body colliding with cold marble. 

She could feel her brain fog up, and her limbs go limp. Noises of struggle were all that she could hear until it all became white noise. 

But Enola crawled over to the man, taking his ankle and pulling that move that she hadn't been able to do. He fell, and his head collided with a sharp, metal pinecone, and finally, he was dead. 

Now, call them psychotic, but they were slightly glad he was dead. Or, they were slightly glad until they found that he was not in fact dead. 

As he took shuddering breaths, Enola climbed on top of him and demanded that he tell her who he worked for. 

And as his final word, he muttered England. 

They sat in silence for a moment, dazed and confused until a distant tapping noise garnered their attention.

A woman's silhouette walked towards them, and though it took a moment, Vivienne recognized her. 

"Grandmother." Tewkesbury mumbled, his eyes widening as they all stood up from their former positions on the ground.

"Yes. I'm afraid so," she stopped walking, directly in front of where the rifle lay. "It seems as if you want a job done, you have to do it yourself."

Enola walked forward, but Tewkesbury stopped her. The Dowager picked up the gun, and panic began coursing through Vivienne's veins. "Where's my mother?"

"In London. With your uncle. Looking for you. They never understood." The older woman's face contorted into one of great displeasure. "I'm so sorry, my darling. The future of the country is at stake."

They realized what had happened just a second too late. Tewkesbury fell to the floor, bullet holes decorating his shirt, chest no longer heaving with breaths. 

"You fucking bitch!"  Vivienne snapped at her, anger boiling up through her throat. She bent over Tewkesbury trying to find if there was anyway to save him, but deep down she knew there wasn't. 

Enola ran towards The Dowager who attempted to shoot at her only to find that she was out of bullets. Enola hesitantly pulled the gun from her hands. 

"It's done. It's done." A speckle of humanity dotted the woman's eyes.

Enola walked away from her before breaking out into a run, dropping the gun and joining Vivienne's side by the boy. She held onto his hand and sobbed, begging for him to come back. 

But then, his hand squeezed hers, and his eyes fluttered open. "I'm not entirely an idiot you know," he unbuttoned his shirt and revealed a piece of knight's armor.

Enola looked at him, slightly annoyed, but she moved into a hug, grateful that he was still alive. 

Vivienne resisted the urge to thwack him over the head. for making her believe that he was dead, and instead offered him a nod. 

He rose from the floor and looked towards his grandmother. Bitterness and remorse lined his face, yet he still spoke in a calm, confident voice. 

"Your time is over."

•••