Nine Shillings

Meeting at the Mortuary

London - 1842

'He eats people?' I stopped in the middle of the street.

'Dead people,' Bran replied. 'He doesn't make them dead.'

'Well, isn't that reassuring,' I muttered.

'Ghouls come from the same supernatural vein as vampires, except they eat people instead of...' He paused. 'It's not funny.'

I coughed. 'Vein is such an apt word.'

He squeezed my hand. 'You're teasing me, aren't you?'

'Maybe a tiny bit.' I bumped against his side and we carried on walking. 'I survive by drinking blood and I've definitely made people dead.'

He kissed my temple. 'Just don't point it out, ghouls are sensitive about it. And don't confuse them with ghūl. Separate species. Ghoul comes from the word ghūl but they're not really the same and they're understandably pedantic about it.' He glanced at me. 'I'm rambling.'

'It's important information.' I smiled. 'The dead man in the dead-house eating the dead folk. Poetic.'

Bran smiled back and shook his head.

I hadn't got to ghouls in Bran's supernatural encyclopaedia; he'd had seven hundred years to compile it and there were a lot of volumes, it seemed every culture had their own supernaturals, each with different names. Some supernaturals had similar, or the same, abilities but different names depending on where they were from. It made perfect logical sense, it also made trying to learn about them slow. It didn't help the filing system was completely illogical.

When Bran opened the door the stink of corpses hit me like a fist to the gut and I coughed. Growing up in the workhouse I'd been so inured to the stench of people alive and dead I wasn't sure I had a sense of smell, until I caught a whiff of something nice, like Bran. Vampirism had brought with it nasal notes I could never have imagined, and would've preferred not to.

Bran rubbed my back; it didn't help but I appreciated it.

'Another one of your bloody lot,' a man said. 'Still acclimatising? Must be the new one they're all talking about.'

I regained control of my lungs to find a man half-a-foot taller than me, with black hair and an unimpressed expression standing in the doorway opposite, it had been closed when we entered.

Bran shut the entrance, blocking most of the... I couldn't really call London's air fresh. 'I thought you didn't mind vampires.'

'I don't mind you, long shanks,' said the ghoul. 'The rest of them are cunts.'

I coughed once more. 'I have one but I'm not one.'

He laughed and thrust out his hand, there was dry blood under his nails. 'Atticus Wedgewood, no relation.'

I smiled and shook his hand. 'Charlotte O'Connor.'

Bran looked at me in his significant-silence way.

'Huh, didn't believe it when I heard you were his wife.' He gestured for us to follow him down a set of stairs into the cool damp of the cellar and the centre of the stench. 'What brings you here?'

'We want to ask you about a maid who was found dead at the bottom of some stairs,' I said, lifting my skirt so I wouldn't trip on the narrow stairs.

'Ah, the death by fright case. Squeeze a few veins and see what comes out then tell me fright's all that stops a heart,' he muttered.

'We don't care about Goodington,' I said.

'Who mentioned that old fool? If shock hadn't got him, drink would. They don't send his sort down here.' He sighed. 'It's off to the pit if no-one claims 'em.'

He led us into a large, dim room full of tables covered in cloths lumpy with people shapes.

'The girl though was fit as a fiddle, aside from a bit of housemaid's knee, but that's to be expected.' He left us waiting by one of the covered tables while he went to fetch something from a table covered in equipment. 'Got to grant the poor, they're strong as oxes, till they aren't anymore.' He came back carrying a sandwich with thick cut white bread and a tongue filling. 'But you'd know about that, wouldn't you, Mrs O'Connor?' He nodded at my scarred hands.

I shrugged, trying not to think about whose tongue might be on his sandwich.

He took a large bite, chewed and swallowed it before continuing. 'It's not my job but I had to take a look at her. Young people's hearts just stop but when there's no obvious cause it sets you wondering. Not that the police care about science.'

I was beginning to wonder how much time he spent in his cellar of death alone.

'Didn't need much science to detect this one though. It's enough for an old ghoul like me to get to thinking.'

I glanced at Bran who shook his head. I wanted to tell Wedgewood to get on with it.

He put the sandwich down on the corpse's stomach then drew back the cover to reveal the head and shoulders of a young woman. There was a charred burn around her neck surrounded by a dark bruise.

'Now, explain to me the clodhopping copper logic that says that's a "work injury"?' he said.

Bran leaned in closer. I didn't need to. I'd worked in kitchens and nothing could give you a burn shaped like a human hand.

'Did this kill her?' Bran asked.

'Yes and no,' Wedgewood replied. 'I'd hazard a guess her heart stopped because there was no life left in her body to keep it going and that's the route it took out.' He pulled a face. 'Nasty way to go.'

I touched my fingertips to her arm. She was... hollow.

Energy ran through the world like threads on a loom; the threads throbbed and writhed, untwisting and retwisting in an ever-changing weave. Where she touched the table threads were creeping into her skin. Inside there was nothing. Not even a remnant around her heart.

Bran and Wedgewood's hearts glowed like small suns, I had to look away. I closed my eyes and when I opened then the threads had disappeared leaving a headache in their wake.

I took my hand away and wiped it on my skirt. 'What was her name?'

'Sarah Toby,' Wedgewood said.

Bran caught my fingers and squeezed them then straightened. 'Not something you can tell the human police.'

'Just so,' said Wedgewood. 'No-one to tell.'

Bran glanced my way. 'Each group of supernatural beings has an equivalent of a police force but they can only investigate crimes by their own. If you don't know what did it you could report it but nothing would be done.'

'There's an efficient bureaucratic system,' I said. 'What happens to them?'

'Nothing,' Wedgewood said. 'No-one to police it, no way for the crime to be solved. Unless they hire someone like your Josef to look into it, few bother though. It's only of interest to them if it's a direct threat to their territory.'

I nudged Bran with my hip and he gave me a look.

'You're a vampire with no affiliations,' I said.

'That's why I'll never get bloody married,' Wedgewood muttered. He covered the woman's face carefully then picked up his sandwich and took another bite.

Bran sighed. 'You mean you'll look and I can come along.'

'Asking you is quicker than looking through books.'

His lips twitched as he suppressed a smile.

'She was hardly likely to marry you for your looks, now bugger off.' Wedgewood moved away to rummage through the things on his equipment table.

I rose up on my toes and kissed Bran's chin. 'Don't listen to him. You're delicious.'

'Which part of "bugger off" don't you understand?' Wedgewood shouted.

I bit back a snide remark. I might need his help again one day and I couldn't annoy everyone all the time. Mores the pity.