This month in What, Fresh Horror? we continue the tale of Victorian gambler and industrialist William McKenzie as he faces the terrible cost of his vile pleasures.
If you’re in the UK, I’ve got a couple more live events coming up this summer.
On Sunday, July 12th, I’ll be taking part in the Coventry Festival of Books at the National Trust, Charterhouse (CV1 2JR), a wonderful medieval monastic house on the outskirts of Coventry.
Two weeks later, I’ll be down the road in Leamington Spa with the Book Extravaganza team at the Royal Pump Rooms (CV32 4AA) on Saturday, August 1st.
Finally, I’ll be parting ways with Mailerlite and moving to a new platform for my newsletter in August. Fingers crossed for a smooth transition and apologies in advance if anything there are any hiccoughs.
The Devil’s Knave
A historical horror short story, continued.
William McKenzie has met a gambler like no other and learned that some wagers cannot be escaped. This month, his brother adds to the reckoning.
Catch up on the first two chapters of The Devil’s Knave at www.alexanderlane.co.uk/thedevilsknave and use the password badbadbilly to enter.
Chapter 3. 1838: The Resolution
“Brother, you shall not pass. I swear it upon my life.” Edward McKenzie stood before the exit of the Grove Street residence, arms crossed and countenance grim. Though ten years his junior, Edward was a full hand taller than William and carried muscle where his elder carried the proof of his rich living.
“Will you deny me the freedom to mourn my dear Mary, though she is barely a fortnight cold in the ground?” McKenzie slurred his words, revealing that Edward had yet to discover every supply of alcohol in the many rooms.
“It is not mourning that you seek, dear brother, but the oblivion of the bottle and the distraction of the card table amongst your lessers.” Edward surveyed the subtle nods of the loyal house staff hovering in the background, assuring himself that they had secured all other exits against his brother’s escape.
“So you call them, but these lesser men will not judge me as though they pretend to holy orders.” McKenzie crossed his own arms, waiting for his riposte to provoke a reaction.
“The generosity of your purse might silence their judgement when the barmaid is taking orders, but they judge you enough that I might learn of the other distractions in which you dishonour your dear wife’s memory each night.” Edward warmed to his lecture. “You shame her not only in your time of mourning but when we ought be celebrating our Lord’s birth, that holy day itself not six days past.”
“Damn your holy pomposity!” McKenzie turned and marched towards his drawing room, but halted after three steps and faced his brother. “If you will drink with me to witness the passing of this damned year, I promise that I shall forswear the bottle, at least till the Epiphany.”
“Very well, good brother. Let us bid farewell to 1838 and welcome its successor with a more hopeful aspect.” Edward took his brother’s arm and nodded towards the butler, who scowled as he sought the key that would unlock his master’s cellar.
McKenzie sighed at the sight. “I pay these men and women a goodly wage, yet they defer to you as if you were the master of this house. What power is it that you hold over them?”
Edward laughed. “Why, only that we share the common goal of giving Mary the respect she earned from the household, of ensuring that you are fit to prosper and support them for many years to come.”
“Ha! That is the Edward that I remember before the Puritan cause found your favour. I had feared you an abstainer, so far from the friendship of our youth.”
“Fear not, I have discovered only moderation and a deeper faith, and that only because without the latter I might have lost myself to those pleasures you introduced, when I was a most impressionable young man.”
“I fear only that moderation is a struggle to achieve in these cursed times. In truth, I wish that my dear Mary’s terrible illness was but the worst travail to reach me in the latter part of this year. Misfortune has dogged ventures that I thought to be assured.”
Finding seats before the fire that burned in McKenzie’s drawing room, they paused in discrete silence as his butler poured port into crystal goblets.
Once alone, Edward continued. “I had thought your business robust?”
“In Great Britain and Ireland, yes, but these continental ventures ensnare me in negotiations with partners who obey their own rules. Damned perfidious Spaniards threaten to undermine my profits, and I make no jest when I say that these French ventures will be my own Waterloo and I shall play Napoleon.”
Edward pressed his brother for further details, many of which concerned travels to instruct surveys and negotiate terms with suppliers, landowners and municipal authorities. He held his tongue when McKenzie could not help but hint that his distractions in wine and flesh had accompanied him, confirming stories which had reached Edward’s own ears.
He made a cautious venture: “Is it possible that the distractions placed before you in these foreign lands have exposed you to those who might take advantage when you were so diverted?”
Having drunk at a greater speed and volume than his sibling, McKenzie embraced the suggestion. “Exactly my point! A visitor ought be free to explore without fear the fine flavours of the cellars and brewhouses in an unfamiliar country, and to avail oneself of the unusual pleasures available from such establishments as will accept his coin.”
“I am not sure—”
“Why, it is thanks to my travels that I have instructed several Scouse bawds in the ways of the French harlots and Spanish putas. Some of the British tarts were most unwilling students until I applied suitable discipline, but I assure you that my fellow clients in those houses are now most grateful.” He grunted in remembered satisfaction as his gaze went to the fire.
Freed by William’s inattention, Edward gave his revulsion a moment of free rein before he began again. “William, I fear that we have lost our way.” He set his own glass down and took the goblet from his brother’s hand.
McKenzie blinked at the space between his fingers, then focussed with some difficulty on Edward’s face. “We have?”
“Might I suggest that teaching new tricks to the fine whores of Liverpool’s docklands is part of the present distraction?”
“Ah.”
“The amusement has become the occupation, so to speak.”
“If I am not mistaken, Edward, you have once again followed the path of moderation, even as I went to excess,” he slurred, but caught himself in the act and spoke with greater care. “Have you truly forsworn both the whores and the drink?”
“In moderation, as I say.” Edward smiled and tipped his head a fraction, which set off his brother in a fit of laughter that left him tearful and a touch more sober.
“And you suggest that I might follow your example, for my dear Mary’s sake?”
“If not for your own.” His smile continued, this time with a fresh confidence.
McKenzie looked at the clock hanging opposite the fireplace. “In that case, we should take tea and toast the New Year with increasing moderation.”
Edward nodded with enthusiasm. “Indeed, good brother. Let us drink — in moderation — to 1839!”
***
You’ll find Chapter 4. 1839: A Thrice-Cursed Name at www.alexanderlane.co.uk/thedevilsknave. Use the password badbadbilly to enter.
Indie books for July 2026
Buy a book and support independent self-published authors.
FREE EBOOK! Grandfather’s Pigments by Leo Di Lux
Leonardo da Vinci is twelve years old when he sees a painting open its eyes.
His grandfather has discovered impossible pigments capable of creating prisons inside works of art. When something trapped behind a masterpiece begins to wake, Leonardo learns a terrifying truth:
Some paintings were never meant to be admired. They were meant to keep monsters locked away.
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Harbinger of the Apocalypse by A R Winfree
His faith was unshakeable. Then the visions came.
Father Declan Murphy has spent his life guiding seminary students toward God… until apocalyptic nightmares crack his certainty: inverted crucifixes, faceless congregations, and a voice in the dark that whispers his name like a warning.
A mysterious stone artifact surfaces, pulsing with ancient power. A cult long thought buried is rising inside the Church itself. And somewhere, a child known as the Luminary is the only hope of stopping what comes next.
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To find the Luminary first, Declan must abandon everything he was—his collar, his reputation, his old understanding of good and evil—and follow the stone’s terrible guidance from Savannah’s haunted streets to a hidden temple beneath the Egyptian desert. But the cult’s agents are already hunting him… and each vision is getting closer to prophecy.
If Declan fails, he won’t just witness the apocalypse. He’ll help open the door.
Harbinger of the Apocalypse is the explosive first instalment in The Luminaria Chronicles—a supernatural thriller for fans of Ted Dekker, James Rollins, and Frank Peretti.
The Not-So-Sparkling July Reads Giveaway
Dark, intense, emotionally heavy, sharp-edged and unsettling reads across all genres. Thrillers, horror, fantasy, sci-fi, dystopian, tragic romance, crime, psychological thrillers, weird or anything in between.
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