Jack and Polly
I sit on the very edge of the dilapidated roof, my heels burning the yellowish fog into green as the blue flames flow out steadily, seeping through the holes in the heels of my boots. I don’t put my weight on it, and I’m glad I didn’t leave Polly up here, now that I think of it. If she’d fallen through, Bunson surely would have seen her.
What if Bunson sees her now? I watch her slide into the back door through the rat-infested alley. What if Bunson is in the kitchen, having a late-night nibble? I should have left her at home.
But how can I? Now that I’ve been wrapped in her wet silk, squeezed in her grasping walls, even spent down her throat and lapped her blood from between her thighs... I’m welded to her. I will have to train myself to be apart from her so that I can go out and do unpleasant things—like killing pigs.
Human swine or the animal kind, it doesn’t matter to me. But it matters to her.
I do quite like the way her eyes light up when I come home.
Home.
The empty house that was a monument to dirt and death is clean and sparkling, filled with good smells and her humming as she sweeps and washes.
I could read the paper (well, hold it as if I’m reading it) and stare at her as she works, and I would be content.
Why isn’t she back yet? I thought she was simply dropping the shoes off inside the door and slipping away.
With a curse, I drop to the ground.
“WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED here?” I almost fall into the old rusted stove, my feet slipping in a pool of oil. The slab floor is slick, and I can’t get my balance as my new, smooth shoes slide in opposite directions. The heavy bag drops from my hands as I put my arms out to feel around in the dark, looking for something to catch myself on.
And I don’t.
“Oh, my dress!” I can’t help but whisper sadly. It’s so new and so fine, proof that Jack looks after me and gives me the riches I could never have dreamed of until I met him. Now it’s covered in fat, and I’ll have to use lye and a scrub brush to get it out, and that’ll ruin the lace.
I could sob.
Stop that, Polly Springton! You have a wardrobe full of beautiful frocks, thanks to Jack. Leave the shoes and get out. There are more important things than a clean dress.
If Jack has his way, he’ll get it all sorts of dirty before the night is through, anyway.
A shiver of anticipation makes me pause on my hands and knees, eyes closed. The memory of him sliding into me from behind, stretching my cunt until I began to leak hot juice as I throbbed around him, each pulse seeming to squeeze his thickness tighter inside of me, tighter and tighter until we both burst as one, crying out in chorus—
“Well. The whore came back.”
My eyes fly open, and my throat unleashes a scream that’s choked off. A single match flicks from Eric Bunson’s fingers as he drags me up by the hair. “I’d do you on the floor, Poll, but my trousers’d get all dirty,” he jeers in a whisper. His face presses close to mine, his stubbled cheek against my pale one, the smell of alcohol on his breath wafting into my nose.
I throw my elbows back and slam my heel down into his foot, but something silver flies from the side of my vision and then the world goes black.
“POLLY?” I HISS IN THE dark.
Nothing. Not a sound from her.
Sleeping breathing surrounds this place, and my supernatural ears are bombarded by the sound of soft snores, deep, even breaths, and fitful mutterings.
None of these sounds belongs to Polly.
In the dark, I see the floor is slick, and trails and scuffs are scattered through it—as well as footprints in the congealed white grease. Polly’s?
A man. A man in heavy shoes with a thick tread. A man who affords decent footwear. Eric Bunson.
I’m torn between roaring in rage and not wishing to wake every child in the place.
Then I’d have witnesses to deal with, and I cannot kill a child, for practical purposes as well as for Polly’s sake.
No, I soar forward, in the dark, taking care that my flames don’t ignite the drippings on the floor.
THE DARK FACTORY IS a rabbit warren of machines and cots, shivering little bodies under thin blankets, and a fortunate few sleeping soundly under blankets made of the fabric I gifted last time.
“Polly?” I breathe out.
Nothing.
I listen for rustling, for the sound of her skirts and petticoats moving—and instead I hear heavy breathing. Grunting. Dragging.
My blood runs cold and my flames run hot, flaring to twin blue waves as I bolt down a narrow passageway. Was this what Polly did before she crashed into me in that alley? Did she run for her life from one brother as I now run for her life to save her from another?
Why would he attack her?
Because he knows she had something to do with his brother’s death. Because he’s evil. He wants her.
And she’s mine.
No one touches what’s mine.
I splinter the door and torch the remains, wood turning to ashes at once.
Eric Bunson freezes, his head turned towards mine, his foul, thin body halfway over Polly’s as she lies on his bed.
“Ohhhh, human,” I growl, slashing the air in front of me, clawing my way toward him. “You’d best hope she’s only sleeping, or you will never find your eternal rest. I’ll keep you alive. Living off an inch of flesh a day. An eyeball tonight. A toe tomorrow. I’ll slice your cock off and shove it down your throat. You can eat it, but I never will,” I threaten, leaping onto his back and hauling him off.
“You!” Eric Bunson’s voice is far too calm for someone who has just been threatened with a gruesome, lingering death. “You’re the one that scared the old girl in the dress shop!”
The alcohol on his breath explains his delayed fear.
“How would you know that—unless you went looking for us and killed the other sister?” I challenge, spinning him to face me. I want him dead. I want him gone. I don’t want to taste him, I just want to rip him into tiny pieces—but I should probably take him outside so no one will hear his screams.
But first—my wife. “Polly! Polly, darling,” I whisper, throwing Bunson down as hard as I can, hoping I crack his bones into bits.
His alcoholic stupor cushions the blow, and he sags one second, then lunges up the next, a glint of silver catching my eye before it catches my side.
“You killed my brother! And the dressmaker. Her sister could have identified you. I did you a favor, keeping her quiet.”
“I didn’t fear her voice, or I would have killed her myself.” I pull the knife away and toss it behind me.
Can I die here? In the Middling, I would have said no, but here... Blood streams from my wound as I cock my head. Polly’s breathing is normal. Steady. I can see a bruise already forming on the side of her face.
“You hit her. You hit my wife,” I snarl.
“Wife! You married that little twit?”
“No. I married the incredibly sweet and kind person who outsmarted your fat, idiotic brother and led him right to me. And then—” I ignore the wetness leaking from me and manage to get my hands around Bunson’s throat, “I ate him.”
The look of horror is so very rewarding. “But you... your fate is in Polly’s hands. Tell me, what were you about to do to her? Bringing her to your bed? Tuck her in? Keep her warm?” Each word tightens my grip. Eric Bunson couldn’t have answered if he’d wanted to.
“Jack?”
A faint, cracked moan sends me spinning, my attention back on Polly. “I’m here, love.”
“I can’t see anything,” she whimpers.
“It’s dark, pet, but I’m right here.” I relinquish my grip on the murdering rapist long enough to help Polly sit up and yank the dirty curtains from the window. With the fog and the building’s proximity to the alley, it doesn't help. Light doesn't reach us.
“Eric Bunson is here,” she whispers, reaching for me.
But footsteps racing away tell me that he isn’t. Not at this moment.
“Come. He can’t get away.” I haul her in one arm and push ahead with the other, alarmed to feel myself weakening.
“We should run! Jack, we should leave,” Polly urges.
“He had you in his bed, Polly. He should pay.”
She’s silent at that, but I feel her body shaking in fear as we fly.
It’s easy to follow Bunson’s footsteps. He’s following the steps of his ill-fated brother, I imagine, running after his prey, only tonight, he’s running from his hunter.
“Down here,” Polly urges, and I turn, bursting through a side door I would have missed. We’re back in the alley, and Eric Bunson is only a few yards away. With a hungry cry, I drop Polly and pounce on him, my fist in his hair, my knees in his back as I bring him to the ground.
There’s a scuffle. For the first time, I’m not sure that I’ll win—unless I act fast.
But how can I, with Polly slowly walking towards us? She stops in front of us, looking down as I perch atop Bunson as he lies on the ground. I jerk his head up by the hair so his bleary eyes meet Polly’s.
“Tell her you’re sorry,” I snarl.
He wriggles and spits, one hand shooting out and clawing for her ankle. His apology never comes.
“Polly...” I snarl, claws digging into his scalp, my teeth bared. Like this—I’m the inhuman beast I told her I was. If I kill in front of her, will she ever look at me the same?
She continues to stare, bright blue eyes slowly focusing after her blow to the head. “Go ahead, darling. Have your supper,” she says in her soft voice, her face unsmiling.
“What?” Bunson screeches.
Polly turns and glides away as I fasten my hand around his throat and tear.
With the first bite, I feel the bleeding stop.
For all of his evil, this Mr. Bunson tastes surprisingly good.
“Would you make sure you clean up when you’re done, Jack?”
I tear a long piece of flesh from his shoulder, the muscles still twitching as life leaves him. “Of course, my dearest.”
“YOU GET STRAIGHT INTO that tub. I’m burning these clothes. I’m polishing your boots, too, and you’ll not argue.”
Jack obeys with a languid smile and drowsy movements. His shirt falls free and his white muscles gleam in the dim lamplight, but the wound on his side is an angry red. “It’s already healing. I have a theory. Would you care to hear it?”
“Yes.” I run the hot water and collect the clothes as they drop. There’s comfort in routine. Washing. Laying fires. Making supper—although we’ve already eaten, it’s after midnight, and I daresay Jack is full. Very full.
“In the Middling, I believe we Flameheels are immortal. Not so here. We can be hurt, but the flesh of humans restores us. Now, one day, I shall age here. I shall age with you, and when you greet death, I will greet it with you, and take your soul to the gardens of Heaven. And you... Perhaps you will look out and wave to me throughout eternity, for I will stay in the Middling, waiting by those gates just to be near you.”
“Or perhaps we’ll both live on that road between the Middling and the gardens you speak of. Because in life or death, I will stay with you, Jack Springton. If I didn’t stop loving you tonight, I never will, not even in death,” I say, trying to steady my voice.
I fail.
It feels like so much has failed tonight. Bunson’s home has no living owner now, and I don’t know what will become of the children! Bunson is dead, and my sinful soul rejoices. My husband was stabbed. My face throbs, and I shall have to hide inside for a week until the bruise fades lest people think Jack beats me.
“You are worried about the children?” he asks, sliding into the tub and moaning when hot water covers his torso.
“Yes, very.”
“Would you like to run the place yourself? Properly? Or... Or how about if we shut it down? The older ones can be helped along into jobs, and the little ones can live here on the ground floor until they’re older.”
“There must be... ten children too young to find work, Jack. Maybe more.”
“Springton’s Home for Children. I like it.” He closes his eyes, ignoring me.
I sigh and walk to the fire, wincing as his good clothes go in it.
I remember Eric’s hands on me before I blacked out. If Jack hadn’t been there...
I tear the dress off, sleeves first, then the shredded bodice, and the skirt falls free as I dismember it and let it follow Jack’s clothing into the flames.
“It’ll only be temporary. We’ll find good homes and proper orphanages. Families that want children.”
Standing in nothing but my chemise and knickers, I head back into the privy and stand beside the tub. The hungry look in Jack’s eyes comes back at once, and I’m rather relieved. It must mean he’s not in grave danger from being stabbed. “Don’t you think it’s risky? Children might say something,” I whisper, kneeling next to him.
He holds my hand, my fingertips dangling in the water. “Think, Polly. Think about all you’ve done for them and all he hasn’t. I would wager the only thing they’ll say when we bring them here is thank you. It’s a nicer part of London. You couldn’t ask for a more loving figure to feed and clothe them,” he gestures at me, “ and—and—”
“And you’ve become a bit of an expert on London, love, and being a hero,” I sigh. “Let’s give the police a day to do their work—and then we’ll return and see what’s to be done.” I shall have to wear a hat with a heavy veil. Do I have such a thing? Well... I’m sure I can make one tomorrow.
“Mm.” Jack reaches for my hand—and doesn’t let go. “Get in with me.”
“Jack!”
“It’s lovely and warm.”
“There’s no room.”
“You’ll sit on my lap.”
It’s a test. There’s a silent challenge in his eyes, asking me if I still feel the same desire I did, if I can still stand to share the same intimacy. I pull my fingers away and watch the sadness fill his eyes—until I hook my fingers into the waist of my knickers and start to slide them down. “Give me a minute.”
SHE LIES ON ME, HER back to my chest, her thighs on mine. Her slit brushes my cock, wetness that defies water coating me as my erection surges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have let you risk it. Going in,” I mutter, kissing her neck. “You could have been killed.” By someone else. That’s somehow so much worse than if I did it.
No. No, if I did it... How would I ever live with myself? How would I live without her?
At least almost losing her has completely cooled any remaining bloodlust I might have had toward Polly. I wrap my arms around her waist with sudden ferocity, sloshing water over the tub and making her squeak as her ribs complain.
“I should have listened to you. I suppose I wanted to help, not keep asking you to be my ‘errand boy.’ Having someone so willing to care for me and help me when I’ve always had to scrape along and manage without any help is a big change for me. But you did it, Jack. You saved me. You save me again. You’ve always been there in a pinch, when I needed help and it seemed as if none would come. No one has ever saved me before, Jack. Never.” She cranes her neck, her bruised face looking up at me.
“I didn’t quite save you this time,” I say, and something horrible happens. My eyes fill without my control, and when I blink, tears come trailing out. “I could have lost you,” I whisper, pressing a kiss that’s more air and intention than lips to her bruised forehead.
“But you didn’t, Jack.” She beams up at me.
My Polly. Bloody but unbowed.
“You saved me. Twice .” Polly sighs and stretches out against me, her arms coming up to twine around my neck. “My hero.”