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Properly Damned
October, 1858
Buy a farm, and be good. Not just pretendy good. But properly good.
It had been years since Elspeth heard those accursed words, far longer than she had ever expected to live. They were the sword of Damocles hanging ever over her head. Sometimes she wondered if others could see it. It would explain how the most wretched devils always seemed to find her.
You’re going to Hell, hen.
She might. But some nights she wondered if she would even notice.
An arm wrapped around her shoulder. “So glad I finally found you, Miss McDonald.” It was the smug, nasty voice of Henry Tibbins, local tough for hire. “You had us worried.”
Elspeth sighed and put a few coins on the bar for her drink. Stealing was a sin after all.
Within ten minutes, she and Tibbins were in the stinking cobbled yard behind the pub and Elspeth was bleeding. Her cheek had caught the worst of Tibbins’ brass ring, leaving behind a dripping scratch. The bastard.
Still, she had to try. “Y’ain’t got to live like this, Henry. You’re working for Lord Marris, right? And he’s got you beating innocent women for, what, a few shillings a week? You can do better than that! I’ve got this farm and I’d pay—”
She ducked suddenly to avoid his next swing. Fine then. Just as well. She would have hated living with an arse like this one. It was time to give him a proper argument.
“You know not what forces you meddle with, Henry Tibbins. You know well that you walk a path of wickedness, yet you pretend your sinful debt will never come due. I gave you a chance for something better. The chance to keep your soul pure and your belly full. But now….Oh, poor lammie, I’m afraid now it’s out of my hands.”
The wind was picking up. On it, Elspeth could hear chilling cries and moans of despair. Soon the air was wretched with the sounds of the damned and the stench of sulfurous smoke. Thick as he was, Tibbins couldn’t ignore the ominous signs around him. He went tense and pulled a knife from his pocket, though his eyes roamed without settling back on Elspeth.
“Wha-What is this? I’m not afraid!” Tibbins growled, clearly too on edge to be telling the truth. “I don’t care about your nattering! You’ve been causing too much trouble for my boss and...and...I’m here to end it! To end you!”
There was a mighty crash that echoed through the yard. Even Elspeth jumped a bit, but she turned the movement into a stride forward, powering right into Tibbins’ face. “Don’t be a fool, you wanker! You think you’re the scariest thing in creation? You think you’re the biggest devil I’ve faced? Nah, don’t make me laugh! I’ve seen the face of Hell itself and I know what real fear is!”
A quick grab. A twist with a jab. Tibbins’ knife fell to the ground. “Hell isn’t a stab to the gut nor a fall down an endless pit. Real Hell, real eternal torment, is losing everything you love. Being left alone with nothing and no one but your own thoughts, whispering through an endless night about every mistake you ever made. It’s a pain you can’t fathom, weighing on you ten-fold because you know you deserve it!”
She gave him a fierce shove and sent him sprawling to the ground. He was definitely afraid now, but also shocked. They never expected her to be strong. They never expected her to have eyes that shone with fury and sadistic glee.
Tibbins stared at her, blinking and uncertain. “What are you...You can’t…”
“It’s true, I can’t. But then, I never said I was working alone, now did I?” She smirked. “Poor Henry Tibbins. Hell may not be all fire and brimstone...but that’s not to say there isn’t any.”
The flames started behind him, but in seconds it formed a high ring around them both. Tibbins screamed and Elspeth used the moment the to pick up his fallen knife.
“Get away from me!” he cried, desperately crawling backward. “Witch! Demon!”
“Ooo, Hell’s going to be right pleased to get their hands on you,” Elsepth said with a wicked grin. “I might as well help things along. There’s no saving your soul at this point.” Slowly, she stepped closer again and raised up the knife…
“WAIT!” Tibbins shrieked. “It’s not too late! I’ll change, I swear! It’s Marris that’s the real monster! He’s been forcing all his factory girls to take half-wages! Locks them in there overnight sometimes even though he knows it’ll leave them all more dead than alive! He’s got a whole ledger in his desk of all his sins and bribes and blood money! Take him and let my poor soul repent!”
He rolled to his knees and clasped his hands above him, muttering a broken, desperate prayer. Elspeth whistled, impressed.
“Offering repentance and a bigger fish, Tibs? I don’t know if that’ll be enough for…” But she trailed off. In the square there was a great clanging as the church bell rang, fast and merry like it heralded a wedding.
Tibbins looked up in shock and Elsepth hissed and stepped back, as though his touch could scald her. He looked round and saw a break in the fire around them.
“Oh, bless you, heavenly Father!” he called as he ran through the gap and off into the night.
Elpeth would have laughed in his wake, but it was getting a little hard to breathe with all the smoke. At least she managed some swagger as she stepped across the heavy canvas her devils had rolled through the ring of flames.
Everyone got to work quickly. Putting out the fire, fanning off the smoke, and packing up the their props and wares. Sorcha made it back from the belfry in less than ten minutes, just in time to meet Elspeth as she tossed the barkeep a few more coins for her trouble.
“I rang as soon as I saw the signal, ma’am!” Sorcha said with a grin. “Did I do it right?”
“You were perfect, hen,” Elspeth said, smiling back. “A proper angel. Tibbins’ near pissed himself and now we can get some justice for your sister and them others in the factory.”
Sorcha looked excited for a moment, then frowned. “Are you sure what we’re doing is good? For real?”
“I am.” Not that the question didn’t still frighten Elspeth. But she knew demons and she knew angels. They’d tell her if she was ‘just wrong’. “Don’t you worry, dear. Being properly good doesn’t have to mean being properly boring.”
That was enough for Sorcha. Soon she and the rest of the children, Elspeth’s little devils, had the pub’s yard looking dull and unused again. Someone called for the wagon and Elspeth almost teared up with joy at the sight of it. Now they could all go home.
She didn’t need help climbing onto the driver’s bench, but she took Morag’s hand all the same. A quick kiss followed once they settled in their seats. Morag gently wiped away the blood drying on Elspeth’s cheek.
“Still not going to Hell, hen?” Morag asked, as always only partly joking.
“I expect not,” Elspeth replied, trying to sound as glib as possible. It was a worry they still passed between them, but it was better than the old terrors that weighed on her alone at night.
The journey back to the farm was a long one. Soon the little devils were all asleep and Morag was pinching at herself to stay alert. Finally she gave up and let Elspeth tuck a blanket around her.
The wooded way was black but for their lantern, and silent beyond the steady trot of the horses.
It was wrong. Just wrong. Elspeth could feel it.
“You learned a bit more from me than I expected,” the demon said dryly.
Elspeth didn’t put up a fuss at his sudden appearance. She just held her spine straight and tried to block his view of Morag.
“Wondered when I’d see you again,” she said, with bravado she didn’t feel. She felt like a helpless child again.
The demon still wore black. Still hid his eyes behind dark lenses. But he looked different, ragged. His movements were stiff and pained. He jerked his head toward the woods more than once.
Elspeth frowned. “You’re...wearing the same clothes. What happened to you?”
The demon watched her for a long moment. “Got locked in the factory.”
“...Ah.”
She urged the horses on. It felt safer to be moving. The demon glanced around her side and she had no doubt that he recognized Morag despite her layers and years.
“Could have sworn I saw that one die,” he said.
Elspeth swallowed. “She never liked the grave-robbing, but we had little routines sometimes. Played at being sick or dying to get a few coins from a bleeding heart. It was my idea. Always.”
“So the grave gun…”
“Clipped her. She ran with it. I followed along once I…” Once I realized I hadn’t lost her. “I know you and McFell probably don’t have normal eyes but...Well, a lot of folks find ways to see what they expect. Maybe that goes even more for your lots. I’ve wondered if Dalrymple would’ve felt a pulse if the two of you hadn’t been involved with the, ah, selling.”
The demon made a harsh noise and Elspeth nearly went for her knife before she realized that he was laughing. It was tired and rasping, but laughter all the same. She let him enjoy it for a long stretch.
Eventually he grew quiet. They were still surrounded by woods, even though Elspeth was sure they should have reached open fields by now. She watched him hard as he looked her over, then Morag, then all her sleeping devils.
“Did you listen to me?” the demon asked. His voice was a tense whisper. “Are you...Have you been…”
He couldn’t finish, Elspeth realized with pained grief. She knew that look, that tone, too well. There were times when it was far more dangerous to be kind.
“I am,” she said firmly. And, miraculously, she finally believed it. “We all are. Properly.”
The demon stayed quiet, then gave a nod. “Thought so. I know what that smells like.”
Elspeth raised an eyebrow and took a chance. “Like a well-meaning bastard with a fortune in his pocket?”
That got another chuckle. “Maybe. It’s been a while.”
“You going to check, then?”
“...Might do.”
He was quiet again. In a moment the horses stopped, though it didn’t seem to be from any outside signal. The demon calmly climbed down from the wagon, though Elspeth saw him flinch when he touched the ground. He stepped toward the trees.
Suddenly Elspeth realized she was never going to see this man again. More than that, she was sad about it.
“Sir!” she called. The demon looked back at her, expectant. “Ah. Just. We’re a’ Jock Tamson’s bairns.”
For a moment, she wasn’t sure if he was offended. His mouth hung open. But then he rolled his eyes (or rather his whole head) and waved a hand. The horses started moving again.
“Mind your kin, Elsepth,” he called as she passed him. “Lang may yer lum reek.”
And she blinked. The demon was gone. And the forest. All around her was open fields and the breaking dawn. She took Morag’s hand, and smiled at its warmth.