The Parliament of Blood by Justin Richards Page A

Metropolitan Police – have been linked to the Damnation Club.
    As Sir Harrison Judd had told him, it did indeed seem to be an honour – if an unexpected one – to be nominated for membership. George closed the book. It thumped shut more loudly than George had intended, and he glanced round nervously hoping he hadn’t disturbed anyone.
    His eyes immediately met those of the woman sitting next to him – just a few yards away. A woman he recognised at once. A woman who was sitting alone, with no books or papers in front of her. A woman who was turned slightly towards George and staring at him intently as he sensed now she had been for quite some time.
    It was the woman from the Unwrapping. She was wearing a heavy, dark coat, her black hair spilling over the fur collar. Her full red lips curled into a smile and she pressed her index finger against them warning George to be quiet.
    â€˜Sorry,’ he mouthed.
    The woman stood up, still looking at George. The fingerto her lips moved to point at George, then curled to beckon him. She walked slowly from the reading room, pausing once to look back over her shoulder, to make sure that George was following.
    â€˜Who are you, what do you want?’ he gasped as soon as they were outside. A cold mist hung in the air between them, so that her features seemed slightly smudged and if anything even more perfect. ‘You were here the other night.’
    â€˜For the Unwrapping of Orabis,’ she agreed. ‘It was quite a night, was it not, Mr Archer.’
    â€˜Yes. I’m sorry, you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know who you are.’
    â€˜Clarissa.’
    â€˜Clarissa?’ he repeated.
    â€˜Just Clarissa.’
    â€˜And did you wish to speak to me?’
    Her mouth twitched as if she was suppressing a smile. ‘I was wondering if you had made your decision.’
    George felt suddenly cold. ‘Decision?’
    â€˜About whether to join us.’ She laughed at his expression. ‘To join the society, as Sir Harrison Judd suggested.’
    George was struggling to understand. ‘You are a member of the Damnation Club?’
    â€˜We are all damned, one way or another. Have you decided yet?’
    â€˜I, um, no,’ George admitted.
    â€˜A shame. But I can help you perhaps.’ She took a step towards him.
    George backed away, suddenly nervous, and she laughed again. Clarissa reached out her finger, the one with which she had beckoned to him. She drew it slowly down George’s cheek and he felt how cold it was, even through her glove.
    â€˜There is a ball this evening. Only members are invited. Members and their guests. I would be delighted if you would be my guest.’
    â€˜Me?’
    â€˜Meet me there at eight,’ she said. She didn’t wait for his reply, but turned away and continued across the courtyard.
    â€˜At eight,’ George called after her.
    She did not turn back, but her voice drifted to him out of the gathering mist. ‘At the Damnation Club.’

CHAPTER 7

    Liz had sat by her father’s bed all night. By midnight he seemed to have settled into a fitful sleep. She held his hand, aware of how cold it felt. The skin was slack and wrinkled, and his fingers were bony and brittle. As the old man’s breathing became gradually more regular, Liz felt herself drifting into sleep.
    At one point, Horace Oldfield cried out. A sudden, startled sound that jolted Liz immediately awake. In the light of the moon filtering round the curtains, she could see her father’s eyes were open. He was staring at her, though he seemed to be focusing somewhere behind her.
    â€˜Box,’ he gasped weakly. He tried to sit up, raising himself from the pillows. ‘Get me … Box!’ Then he slumped back, eyes closed and breathing ragged.
    â€˜It’s all right.’ Liz held his shoulders for a moment, feeling the bones trembling through his nightshirt. But he seemed to be