Dark Horse

  The Resurrectionists - Book 2

  K. York

  Sleepy Fox Studio

  DARK HORSE

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  © 2023 Kelley A. York. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Kelley A. York

  alleviating@gmail.com

  www.kelley-york.com

  Cover design by Sleepy Fox Studio – www.sleepyfoxstudio.net

  Interior design by Sleepy Fox Studio – www.sleepyfoxstudio.net

  Editing by Karen Meeus Editing – www.karenmeeusediting.com

  E-book ISBN 978-1-960322-08-1

  Paperback ISBN 978-1-960322-10-4

  First Edition August 1, 2023

  Also by Kelley York

  The Dark is the Night series

  A Light Amongst Shadows

  A Hymn in the Silence

  A Calm Before the Storm

  A Shimmer in the Night

  The Wrath of Wolves

  The Resurrectionists series

  Glass Castles

  Dark Horse

  Standalones

  Unchained (as Ainsley Gray)

  Other Breakable Things

  Modern Monsters

  Howl

  Made of Stars

  Dirty London

  Hollowed

  Suicide Watch

  Hushed

  Check out more at kelley-york.com

  Join Kelley’s Facebook reader group here

  Join Kelley’s Ko-Fi group here

  Contents

  1. One

  2. Two

  3. Three

  4. Four

  5. Five

  6. Six

  7. Seven

  8. Eight

  9. Nine

  10. Ten

  11. Eleven

  12. Twelve

  13. Thirteen

  14. Fourteen

  15. Fifteen

  16. Sixteen

  17. Seventeen

  18. Eighteen

  19. Nineteen

  20. Twenty

  21. Twenty-one

  22. Twenty-two

  23. Twenty-three

  24. Twenty-four

  25. Twenty-five

  26. Twenty-six

  27. Twenty-seven

  28. Twenty-eight

  29. Twenty-nine

  30. Thirty

  31. Three months later

  One

  Once upon a time, Daniel had enjoyed the pubs and molly houses. He’d known the barmen, the patrons. He’d been at home there. He was one man amongst many looking for the company of another man now and again, and he otherwise simply enjoyed being in a crowd that didn’t require him to hide an integral part of who he was.

  That had been before the accident.

  Two years later, and he still remembered little about it beyond glimpses and fractured memories.

  The heavy roar of machinery.

  Shouting. People scrambling.

  Something sharp and metallic crunching, grinding, striking hot and sharp against the back of his skull.

  Pain.

  He remembered bleeding. Tasting it. People around him calling his name as they hoisted him up and rushed him to the nearest hospital.

  The two weeks after? A blank slate. The surgeons were shocked he’d survived at all, taking a blow to the head like that, being split wide open, the swelling that ensued in his brain. Now, a jagged scar running from the top of his cranium down to the nape of his neck was all that remained of that day.

  Well, that, and the seizures.

  They started not long after he woke in hospital, and the doctors insisted there was little they could do about it. Epileptic episodes brought about by traumatic brain injury. Perhaps it would subside on its own, they said. Perhaps it would get worse.

  Perhaps it would kill him.

  That was fucking comforting.

  The first time he had a seizure at work, he came to after a few minutes, disoriented, confused, surrounded by his peers and his employer.

  Within the hour, he’d been jobless.

  It wasn’t that word of his condition spread, exactly; it was more that Daniel got another job, and another, and another, and the situation repeated itself. A seizure would overtake him, and he’d find himself conveniently without work. Too much of a risk, some of his employers said. Besides that, medical advances be damned, plenty of people eyed him in a whole new light when they discovered his little secret. They thought of possession, of mental instability, of some sort of inherent flaw in Daniel’s character that brought about his fits. The stigma was ever-present, and there was nothing Daniel could do about it.

  He lost his fourth job and, for the following month, could not find another. His frustration had brought him to a pub to drink himself senseless, blowing every last guinea he had to get as foxed as humanly possible.

  Then there’d been Henry Glass.

  Henry, finding him in the street after another fit—and drunk to boot—and Daniel could only grasp at the front of his coat, a trembling mess, begging not to be taken to hospital. No more doctors. No more tests. No more shrugs and helpless looks.

  Instead, he woke in Henry’s home some hours later, warm and rested for the first time in months.

  It was Henry who had given him a new lease on life. A chance for employment, for some sense of normalcy. Maybe not the most honest of work, but he could manage. He would do what needed to be done to get by, just as he always had. Daniel Barker was nothing if not a man with an impeccable work ethic. It was also Henry who helped him get the medicine that tapered off his seizures. Didn’t rid him of them completely, no, but it made enough of a difference to be worth the money he doled out every week or two for a fresh dosage.

  But God be damned if his entire life hadn’t changed. The companionship he once sought amongst others was now replaced with distrust—of them, and of himself. What happened if he tried to go home with someone and had one of his episodes? Who could he trust to tend to him if he collapsed? Not many men were of the same calibre as Henry Glass, after all.

  And who in their right mind would want to deal with him and all his complications?

  So…cautious, yes. Cautious of the company he kept. Cautious of whom he spoke to, what he said. Daniel became a downtrodden, frustrated sort, struggling to navigate a world that thought him less for something he could not help. He was nothing more than a complication. An inconvenience.

  Those were the things running through his mind when his gaze landed on the redhead across The Rusty Duck.

  “Go talk to him?” Jasper Rees suggested.

  “I don’t want to go talk to him,” he muttered instead, sinking down into his seat. “I want another dram.”

  The man had come in some thirty minutes ago, shoulders squared, immaculately dressed. It wasn’t that unheard of for a well-off gent to come into a place like this. Henry did now and again, after all. But it was rare enough that this bloke had most certainly caught the attention of plenty of the other patrons in the pub; he’d have his pick of whomever the hell he wanted.

  Lucas Walker gave his leg a nudge beneath the table, smiling when Daniel shot a glare his way. Rees and Walker couldn’t possibly understand his hesitation, and he wasn’t about to be prodded into making a fool of himself.

  The topic shifted, thankfully, to work—something Daniel had no problems speaking of, although Walker seemed scandalised to bring it up here in a public setting. Still, his attention kept drifting back across the pub, beyond the patrons and whores and aproners, toward that redheaded man with the sweet smile and the nice clothes.

  Beside him, Walker sucked in a breath and went still. Daniel glanced at him, then twisted in his seat to follow where Walker’s attention had turned.

  “Is that Glass?” he asked, surprised.

  Walker didn’t respond. He shoved his chair back, rose to his feet, and fled the table, leaving Daniel and Rees exchanging bewildered looks.

  “What was that?” Rees asked.

  “Fucking hell,” Daniel muttered. “The pair of them, I swear… They’ve been acting all sorts of funny lately. I suppose they had a row.” Which might have explained why Henry was there to begin with. Normally, if he wanted to see Walker, he sent for him—usually through Daniel.

  A troubled frown played across Rees’s soft face. “I’ll go talk to him.”

  “Good luck with that.” Daniel snagged the drink Walker had left behind and finished it off in one fell swoop. Then he shoved his chair back and got to his feet, weaving his way through the crowded pub toward Henry, narrowly ducking past a pretty whore in a pretty dress who tried to catch his attention.

  He lost sight of Henry, just briefly, and relocated him standing near the counter, looking lost and very out of place.

  “Fancy seeing you here, Mr Glass.”

  Henry’s shoulders squared as he turned, offering a smile. “Even I like to get out now and again.”

  Daniel almost laughed. “No, you don’t. Drink?”

  “I didn’t come here to drink, but since I’m in good company, I suppose I can be agreeable to one.”

  Daniel patted his
shoulder and flagged down the barman. Not that The Duck had much of a selection; they got whatever was available. He slid one of the mugs to Henry, scooping up the other for himself and taking a long pull.

  “So, what brings you here, really?”

  Henry took the mug with a murmur of thanks but seemed in no hurry to partake. He stared down into it, a tinge of uncertainty in his gaze.

  “Two orders of business, actually. I have a job for you and…I am here to deliver something to Mr Walker. Have you seen him?”

  Ah. Yes. He’d known he would have to answer that question. Inwardly, he winced, unsure if it would be cruel or necessary to tell Henry that Walker had bolted at the sight of him. Clearly, whatever had happened between the pair of them had not yet been resolved.

  “He was here a bit ago but stepped out. You said you’ve got a job?”

  Despite himself, Henry’s demeanour betrayed him. His shoulders sagged; his lashes lowered. He reached into his coat pocket, retrieving a piece of paper, which he slipped into Daniel’s outstretched hand. Daniel took a brief look at it, noting the details, and nodded before pocketing it. Simple enough.

  “How have you been, Daniel?” Henry asked.

  Daniel snagged a nearby table as another group of men vacated it, beckoning for Henry to have a seat. “Well as can be in this weather,” he said, unable to help stealing a brief glance over his shoulder. He wasn’t standing far from where he’d caught sight of that redhead earlier, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he was still nearby. To his dismay, Daniel didn’t immediately spot him.

  Not that it mattered. He had no intention of going to talk to him. Maybe he just wanted to admire him from afar for a bit longer. With an inward sigh, he turned his attention back to Henry. Upon doing so, he recalled the package Henry had tucked beneath his arm. He lifted his drink, pointing at him.

  “That for Walker?”

  “It is.” Henry removed the parcel from under his arm with a troubled frown, placing it upon the tabletop between them. “Since I apparently have poor timing, could I trouble you to pass it along when you see him?”

  Daniel could curse Walker for running off like he had. Did Rees track him down and give him a talking-to? He shouldn’t hold his breath; Rees wasn’t a very forceful sort, from what Daniel had seen of him.

  “Of course.” He downed another long drink. If Walker had taken off, Daniel could deliver the package to his flat later tonight. This time, it was Henry’s gaze that seemed to wander. His brows drew together, and Daniel wondered if he’d managed to spot Walker somewhere.

  “Oh,” Henry said.

  Reflexively, Daniel twisted in his seat to try to follow the surgeon’s gaze. “What is it?”

  “That man over there, with the red hair. I know him.”

  Daniel stilled as he caught sight of the man he’d been eyeing earlier. The same one Henry seemed to be looking at. “Do you?”

  “I do. I performed an operation on his brother some time ago.”

  It’s a bloody small world, Daniel thought. “Gonna go say hello?”

  “I don’t think there’s a need.” Henry smiled as he lifted a hand in a wave. “He seems to have noticed me.”

  Lord, Daniel would have been sick unto death spotting a familiar face from outside The Duck inside The Duck. But, then again, anyone who showed up there would be of the same persuasion as him, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. Certainly not as big of a deal as the realisation that the redhead was approaching them. He snatched his cup again to down the remainder of the foul-tasting spirits inside it.

  “Mr Glass, what a pleasant surprise,” came a voice. It was soft enough to be hard to hear beneath the loud din of conversations throughout the pub. From the corner of his eye, he saw Henry smile and offer out a hand.

  “Mr Blackthorne, it’s been a while.”

  Daniel shoved his now empty mug back and took a deep breath, forcing himself to turn around. Wouldn’t it just figure that the man—Mr Blackthorne, was it?—was even more beautiful up close?

  There was quite literally nothing about his appearance that seemed out of place. From his immaculately done hair and pressed suit to the glimmer of a pocket watch chain and his shoes shined to perfection…he was the epitome of the upper-class echelon. More charming than that, though, were the fine angles of his face, sharp cheekbones, a thin mouth, deep green eyes, and an endless dusting of freckles across his fair skin.

  “I apologise if I’m interrupting your evening with your friend; I only wanted to say hello.”

  Entirely without meaning to, Daniel found himself saying, “Not at all. Any friend of Mr Glass’s…”

  A slow, warm smile spread across the man’s mouth. “Might I join the two of you, then?”

  Henry gestured to an empty chair. “Mr Blackthorne, this is my good friend, Daniel Barker. Daniel, this is Theseus Blackthorne.”

  Mr Blackthorne took the offered seat, settling into it with an air of elegance Daniel hadn’t thought a human being capable of. He moved with such assuredness, entirely confident that the world would bend around him to keep him comfortable. And now he had that sweet and yet somehow devilish smile levelled at Daniel as he offered out a hand.

  “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Barker.”

  If there was anything Daniel was good at, it was keeping up appearances, remaining outwardly calm and collected when he felt anything but. It meant that while he gave a cool nod and grasped Blackthorne’s hand firmly in his own, internally, he was thinking how he’d very much like to find out what the man looked like without his clothes on. He could have sworn Blackthorne maintained that grip for just a few seconds longer than necessary.

  “Mr Blackthorne. Pleasure.”

  “I hope you gentlemen are enjoying your evening thus far.”

  “Well enough. The alcohol here leaves something to be desired, but the company isn’t altogether horrible.” Henry flashed Daniel a playful smile.

  Daniel rolled his eyes. “Most of the blokes here aren’t terribly interested in the quality of their spirits. They want whatever can get them drunk the fastest.”

  “Both of those things are possible at once,” Henry said.

  “Not terribly cost-efficient for an establishment that doesn’t attract a string of wealthy patrons, though,” Blackthorne pointed out.

  Daniel gave Henry an arched eyebrow, pointing at the redhead. “Precisely. No one wants to spend their entire week’s wages on two glasses of your fancy shite when they could have twenty mugs of this swill and get twice as foxed.”

  Henry’s nose wrinkled, but Blackthorne gave a delighted laugh. “Your friend has a good head on his shoulders, Mr Glass.”

  He lifted his mug, a small smirk pulling at his mouth and chest swelling at the compliment. “He’s got to have some reason to keep me around.”

  Blackthorne wet his lips absently, lashes lowering. “I’m certain there are plenty of reasons to keep you around, Mr Barker.”

  Daniel attempted to smile, but he was certain it came across as more of a grimace. “You’re too kind.” Whether that kindness was in any way, shape, or form sincere was another story. The well-heeled were also very well-versed in biting out pretty words and then turning venomous when a man’s back was turned, not to mention their propensity to being entirely too patronising.

  The conversation shifted, becoming an exchange of pleasantries between Glass and Blackthorne, catching up on their lives. Not their personal lives, really, but matters of work and politics and theatre. More than once, Blackthorne looked to Daniel with a twinkle in his eye, attempting to ask him a question about their chosen topic.

  Was he patronising Daniel? Or was he sincerely wanting to coax him into the conversation? He couldn’t quite tell. Not that he’d have much to offer on such topics anyway. Either way, it was growing late, and sitting around mingling was not exactly his foray.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I think it’s about time for me to call it a night and allow you two to catch up.”

  “Ah—I’ll be seeing you Saturday, then?” Glass quickly said, referring to the note he’d slipped him earlier, and they shared a look. Daniel patted his coat pocket where he had tucked the piece of paper earlier. He rose to his feet as Blackthorne and Henry watched him, the former never letting his eyes stray.