Poe must die

TWENTY-SEVEN

“Hugh Larney,do not turn around. Stay as you are.”

The soft voice was Jonathan’s and it came from behind Larney. The food merchant’s blood turned cold; he held his breath. Jonathan had managed to enter Larney’s home unseen and was now upstairs in the special room, the room with the silver-handled coffin and the books on black magic and witchcraft. A servant had reported the door to the room slightly ajar and a fire burning in the fireplace. An enraged Larney had rushed upstairs, a poker in his hand.

Jonathan.

Larney’s hands shook; he dropped the poker.

“Listen and listen well. I said do not turn around. The sight of your stupid face might force me to kill you here. Last night, you and Miles attempted to murder Poe against my orders. Why?”

“M-Miles said you wanted him dead.”

“Miles lied. And you believed him.”

“He said, said, you wanted Poe dead and yes, yes I believed him.”

“Miles does not think, he reacts. And I shall kill him for it.”

Larney thought he heard a cat meow. Or, in his fear, had he imagined it? A cat?

“Jonathan, I would not-”

“But you have. You, Miles and Volney Gunning. What shall I do with the three of you, Hugh? Tell me. I have already told you what I intend to do with Miles.”

A cat meowed again. Larney wanted to turn around; he wanted to run. But he wanted to live and so he did nothing. “Jonathan, I have, have to tell you something.”

“You, Miles and Volney have mounted one more attack on the life of Poe.”

“Ye-yes.”

“Your intelligence is transparent. Do you wish to die?”

“N-no. Oh please, oh-”

“You can buy your life.”

“I will give you anything, anything.”

“You cannot buy it with money. You can buy it with blood, both you and Volney must purchase your lives in blood.”

“We shall, we will.”

“You both are to kill Miles Standish. First let me say that if your second attack on Poe’s life succeeds, all three of you will die by my hand and most painfully. Should Poe survive this attack, leave him alone until I tell you differently.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“I knew you would. Again, you and Volney Gunning are to kill Miles Standish.”

“W-when?”

“As soon as it can be arranged, and Larney-”

“Yes, Jonathan?”

“Succeed in this task.”

“I shall, Jonathan. I shall. You have my word-”

Larney heard the cat meow again, heard the movement of Jonathan’s arm as he brought the small piece of metal down against the back of Larney’s head.

The blow was painful, but not hard. It wasn’t meant to be. Larney dropped to the floor on his knees and hands. Blackness squeezed his brain, then released it and he shook his head to clear it, forcing his eyes open, forcing them to focus.

The shrieking came from the fireplace and it was horrible, shredding Larney’s nerves, shocking him into full awakeness. Jonathan had tossed a sack of live cats into the fireplace and now the sack jerked, twisted and took on a terrified life of its own as the burning cats struggled to get out.

Jonathan’s warning. A hellish ritual from a time long forgotten.

The cats howled and their cries pierced Larney’s brain like shards of cold steel. Still on his knees, he closed his eyes, hands over his ears to drown out the sound of the burning cats. Now the smell of the tortured animals reached his nose and Larney screamed.

Servants pounded on the locked door and still Larney screamed.

Later, when he had left the room, he asked the servants if they had seen anyone in the house who didn’t belong there. A frightened Larney was not surprised when they told him no, no one had entered or left the house for the past few hours.

With Jonathan’s threat very much on his mind and the sound and smell of the burning cats still with him, Hugh Larney quickly left his home to seek out Volney Gunning. Miles Standish would die before the setting of the sun.