The Damnation Affair by Lilith Saintcrow Read Free Book Online Page A

undead the trouble of laying her flat.
    What a charmingly gruesome idea. Use that organ of Sensibility you so pride yourself upon, Cat. Behave properly.
    The trouble was, even Miss Bowdler’s books, marvelous as they were, had nothing even remotely covering this situation. She decided this fell under Extraordinary Occurrences, and checked her hat. An Extraordinary Occurrence meant that one must take care of one’s person to the proper degree, and simply avoid making the situation worse .
    Her gloves were in good order, though her parasol was completely ruined. Her dress seemed to have suffered precious few ill effects from scurrying across the floor. A few traces of sawdust, that was all.
    She found the sheriff still staring. “Sir.” It was her mother’s There Is Much To Be Done tone, used whenever something had gone quite wrong and it was Duty and Obligation both to set it right, and it was wonderfully bracing. “Do let’s be on our way.”
    At least he stopped staring at her. “Yes ma’am.” Another touch to the brim of his hat—and by God, must he wear it inside? It was insufferable.
    He approached the body cautiously, grabbed it by the scruff of its rotting shirt, and hauled it outside through the back door. It went into the sunshine with a thump that unseated Cat’s stomach, and despite his shouted warning, she fled the barnlike schoolhouse. She leaned over the porch stair railing, and she retched until nothing but bile could be produced.
    *  *  *
     
    He wished the wagon wouldn’t jolt so much. She was paper-pale, trembling, and had lost damn near everything she’d probably ever thought of eating. She clutched at the broken stick of the parasol like a drowning woman holding on to driftwood. Damp with sweat, a few stray strands of her hair had come free, and now they lay plastered to her fair flawless skin. He wished, too, that he could say something comforting, but he settled for hurrying the horse as much as he dared.
    He’d lied, of course. There hadn’t been just a few undead. He’d stopped counting at a half-dozen, and there was no way a single man could put down that many.
    Not if he was normal. And Jack Gabriel had no intention of letting anyone think he was otherwise. Not only would it cause undue fuss among the townsfolk, but it might also reach certain quarters.
    The Order did not often give up its own, and he suspected they would be right glad to know his whereabouts.
    Her charing-charm glittered uneasily. His own was ice cold, and it should have warned him long before the undead came close enough to sense a living heartbeat. Which was…troubling.
    Not just troubling. It was downright terrifying, and he was man enough to admit as much.
    Had it happened, then? Had he lost his baptism? Did grace no longer answer him?
    Litsidth="1oss of faith was one thing. Loss of grace was quite another.
    She swayed again as the wagon jolted, her shoulder bumping his. Did a small sound escape her? He racked his brains, trying to think of something calming to say. Or should he just keep his fool mouth shut?
    “Mr. Gabriel?” A colorless little ghost of a voice. Did she need to heave again? It was unlikely she had anything left in her. And she was such a bitty thing.
    “Yes ma’am.” The reins were steady. He stared ahead, most of his attention taken up with flickers in his peripheral vision. If there were more of them, they would cluster instead of attacking one by one, and that was a prospect to give anyone the chills.
    Even a man who had nothing to lose.
    They won’t get you. He decided it wouldn’t be comforting at all to say that to her, and meant to keep his lip buttoned tightly.
    “Thank you. For saving my life.” She stared straight ahead as well. The tiny veil attached to her hat was slightly torn, waving in the fitful breeze. The heat of the day shimmered down the track, and the good clean pungency of sage filled his nose.
    It was a relief. At least he didn’t smell like walking