Found it.
She dusted the handle off with her hands, revealing a small square with a symbol of swirls and spirals at its center. It appeared to be little more than a few feet across. Fortunately, she was slender.
She hooked her index finger around the loop of the storm drain and tugged the cover off, revealing a shabby rope ladder. Her mouth twitched in amusement. How appropriate they hide like vermin.
Without hesitation, she swung herself over and descended into the abyss.
The hole was not as deep as she originally thought. After a few steps, her boots met with something mushy but definitely solid. She let go of the ladder and settled into the muck.
As she began walking, she found it increasingly harder to keep an even pace because her feet kept sticking to the ground. She closed her eyes and merged with the darkness, becoming nothing more than shimmering vapor, and pushed forward with ease.
Ahead, the gentle murmur of running water reverberated around the tunnel – appearing as swirling, dancing threads of teal light – as sewer rats the size of her forearm ran alongside her on the bank, lined in auras of brown. When she reached the end of the tunnel, she found it widened into another filled with a steadily flowing stream. The smell of fresh rain water and rust permeated the air.
She braced herself and slowly dipped her boot in. The current was not very strong, and the water only came halfway up her calf, though the bottom was still slippery. Even in her vaporous state, she had to keep one hand on the wall to remain balanced, one of the quirks of the ability.
As she sloshed along, she reviewed the informant’s directions. Down the ladder, to the right at the river, and past the Hall of the Dead. There you will find Gerard’s underground kingdom.
She licked her lips.
The tunnel grew brighter, and a cavern emerged, lit with crudely-made torches assembled from wood and oil-soaked cloths. Under each torch was a skeleton speared through with a tall iron javelin, haphazardly protruding from the ground like crooked nails.
She suppressed a laugh, as if this crude display was supposed to scare her.
After stepping out of the stream, she completely materialized and shook her boots free of water. A single faded red carpet, the first color she had seen since her arrival, ran through the center of the corridor, leading to a curtain. She drew up her hood and walked along, ignoring the remains that stared back at her. Spirits, invisible to mortal eyes, floated along the walls and floor. They would be trapped there until one of His servants came to dispel them. It was not her job, so she ignored them.
Gravel crunched under the carpet as she walked. Laughter and the smell of abintroth, a foul-smelling wine, drifted from behind the curtain, growing louder and stronger with each step.
She thought she would slip in unnoticed when a man stumbled from behind the curtain. He was tall and lanky, no more than a mere boy. A vest hung open on his scrawny chest, and baggy pants clung to his waist with a strip of leather, from which dangled a knife. A half-empty bottle hung in his hand.
She tried to merge, but he instantly spotted her, a splotchy black silhouette against the bright torchlight. He squinted.
Swearing under her breath, she resumed solid form. Nothing to be done for it now. She studied the boy with a quirked eyebrow. His aura was dulled to a pale blue, usually meaning there was some drug in his system.
“Ay, who ah you?” His speech slurred as he reached for the knife at his belt. It took him a few tries, but he finally unsheathed it. He stumbled toward her, and the blade skirted across his exposed chest.
She nearly laughed. At this rate, he will do the job for me.
She didn’t move when he tripped and fell at her feet. His hand felt along her thigh until he found her forearm, which he used to pull himself up. He stood only a few inches taller than she, but she kept her eyes on the ground, letting her hood mask her face.
“You lost or something, miss?” A grin stretched across his chapped lips, and his breath reeked of abintroth, which she had always thought akin to rotting fish. Her face remained amused but nonplussed. His hand slid down her waist as he felt along the curve of her hip. “Not bad,” he said, leaning closer. “You, uh, must be here for the boss, eh? A ‘lil entertainment, perhaps?”
She looked up and smiled. “Something like that.”
With one swift move, she snapped his neck. The knife slipped from his hand as his lifeless body slumped to the ground.
She kneeled and examined the knife. There was something scrawled across the blunt edge of the blade, and a symbol made of some sort of crystal was embedded in the hilt. It was the same symbol on the storm drain. She could have sworn she had seen it before, but she traveled so much she couldn’t place exactly where.
“What’s going on out here?”
A heavily tattooed man peered behind the curtain, and Vishka quickly tucked the knife away in her waistband. The man glared at her, gripping a large sword in one hand while the other held back the curtain. His gaze was much too alert for him to be intoxicated, and his aura blazed deep orange with flecks of blue.
This must be the guard.
She still kneeled by the dead boy’s body. The man eyed her suspiciously while she stroked his back and cooed to him.
“Poor dear passed out on me,” she said, taking on the dialect of the Irirahlanian’s, the desert people. She gave him a dazzling smile. “A little too much to drink, I’m afraid. Not that I don’t have that affect on people,” she added with a wink.
Before he could ask any questions, she stood and unfastened the silver brooch at her throat. In one fluid motion, her cloak fell to the floor, and she stepped out of her muddy boots. His eyes grew wide, and his jaw hung open.
A filmy black dress clung to the curves of her body, flaring out slightly around her calves, with two thigh high slits and a plunging neckline that nearly reached her navel and lower back. Bands of silver hung around her wrists and ankles. She pulled out the clip that secured her dark hair, letting it fall in long, silky waves past her shoulders. She had been attractive as a mortal, and she let shadows shimmer across her skin, heightening her exotic beauty with a dark luminescence.
For a few seconds, the guard just stared, speechless.
She strolled over to him; her hips rocked sensually with every step. Her face was only a few inches from his when she trailed a long fingernail down his chest. “Do you think he’ll like the dress?”
“Um, I, he… well, yeah. He’ll like it.” He gave her one last appraising look before his face turned serious once more, though his eyes betrayed some of his awe. “You must be the new girl Gerard’s hired. I gotta say, if he ain’t pleased with you – not that I think you’ll have that problem – don’t hesitate to visit my quarters.”
She smiled. “Oh, I’m sure he’ll be very satisfied.”
The guard smiled back and shook his head. “Right. Well, I’ll go announce you then.” He disappeared behind the curtain. Something rancid whooshed behind the curtain flap, and she wrinkled her nose. Sometimes her heightened sense of smell was as much a curse as a gift.
A minute later, the guard poked his head from behind the curtain and motioned her forward. He held the curtain up for her as she entered the room.
A hush immediately fell over the crowd. She looked around her, careful to ignore the lusting stares she received as the man led her through the cluttered room. As with most crowds, their auras ran the full spectrum; only all of theirs were flecked with blue. Vishka’s eyes narrowed slightly. They’ve all been marked for Death. I wonder if I’ll be the harbinger.
The place was small and poorly lit. Dirt and debris caked the floor, giving it a dingy look. There were at least fifty men and women cramped in there. Some were sitting at makeshift tables made from crates and pieces of furniture playing cards, while the rest stood around with pitchers and mugs in their hands. Someone had added red dye to the drinks to make them look like blood. The fresh carcass of a decimated dog lay on an altar made from a washing basin, its yel
lowed porcelain stained with splattered rust.
No, not rust. Blood.
Vishka eyed the drinks again. She had seen far stranger things in her time than drinking blood; she was certainly used to its presence. Her skin chilled, surprising her. I must have walked in on a ceremony. Not that it concerned her. The deed was done. She made a face at the dog. Pickings must have been slim that evening. Trying to hide her amusement, Vishka turned her attention to the rest of the room.
Fine paintings and statues, no doubt pilfered, to the God of Death littered the walls, making the tiny space seem even more minuscule.
These people weren’t just common thieves; they were a Death Cult. She frowned. Her informant had neglected that part. She had, of course, heard of them; He, in particular, tended to think they were rather humorous. The cults were sparse, conducting sacrificial rituals only at night in the pits of the earth. To become a member, one had to drink from the Goblet of Mortality, filled with the still-warm blood of the most recent acquisition, sometimes animal, sometimes human.
She turned her face into a mask of wonder as she gazed about the room, as if it was the grandest spectacle she had ever seen.
Scantily clad women roamed from man to man, glaring at her as she passed. All of the patrons wore black, as if they were in mourning. So predictable, these mortals. Was I the same way? There were other colors in the Underworld besides black. Many of these colors mortal eyes had never seen before, and she thought of scolding them for their unoriginality.
At the far end of the room sat a muscular bald man who looked to be in his late thirties. His aura was icy blue, so bright it nearly hurt her eyes. Vishka tasted his spirit, picking up a bitter mix of cruelty, pride, and ruthlessness. He was attractive in an enticing, dangerous sort of way, with a trimmed goatee and sharp blue eyes. Hoops and studs lined his ears, and his clothes were by far the finest in the room. He surveyed his surroundings like a king watching his court.
She instantly knew who he was. Gerard.
As if hearing her thoughts, Gerard’s eyes flickered over her and paused, a wide grin slowly spreading over his full lips. “I see you’ve brought me a gift, Malachai.”
The guard, Malachai, kneeled on the rug before Gerard, and Vishka promptly followed suit. “The dancer you sent for, my liege…?” He looked expectantly at her.
“Solera,” she said, using the first name that came to mind. All the more fitting if it was the name of the Goddess of Darkness.
Gerard made a deep rumbling sound in his throat that might have been laughter. “Solera, huh? Let’s have a look at you then, Goddess of the Night.” He leaned over and carefully lifted her chin with his index finger. He smelled of spices.
She looked him straight in the eyes. They were an even brighter blue than she thought, crystalline and fierce. Her pulse quickened. About time I had a challenge.
Gerard mistook the mirth in her eyes for desire. Pulling her closer, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply. “Mmmm… like wild flowers… you are an exquisite find, indeed,” he murmured, trailing his free hand along the small of her back.
She gritted her teeth but was careful not to tense or pull back at his touch.
Gerard chuckled and straightened back into his chair, letting his hands drop at the last instant. Malachai sat up, keeping his eyes on the floor.
“Well, I suppose we should let you do what you came here to do,” Gerard said, not bothering to hide his impatience. He sighed and relaxed into his chair. “Business before pleasure, I suppose.” He licked his lips.
Vishka suppressed a shudder and pasted a smile on her face. “The pleasure’s all mine, my Lord,” she said, bowing once more before standing.
Gerard watched her rise. She imagined him peeling away the layers of gauze with his eyes. “It’s been ages since we’ve had a dancer…” he murmured. “Erebus will be most pleased.” He looked shrewdly at Malachai. “Clear the floor for our guest.”
“Yes, my liege,” Malachai said, bowing. He stood and sauntered into the crowd. Cries of protest rang up from the patrons as he pushed them out of the way. Some were so drunk they fell completely over, sloshing their drink all over the floor.
Vishka watched all of this unfold from the corners of her eyes. Perhaps they spiked the blood to dull the taste, or at least for the few who showed any initial aversion to drinking it.
Within minutes the tables were moved to make a small circle barely large enough for her to move around in comfortably. She had danced in far grander halls than the pit she was about to perform in, but she could adjust.
Gerard clasped his hands, held them up, and then parted them. His underlings must have been accustomed to this command, for they parted, leaving him a tunnel through which to see from his chair.
She took that as her cue. She walked to the center of the “dance floor” and gave Gerard another low curtsy.
Malachai hovered at the edge of the crowd, in case things got out of hand, she supposed. “We present tonight’s tribute, an exotic beauty from the darkest corner of the Black Desert.”
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and mentally prepped herself for the first downbeat.
“With this tribute, may Erebus give us His blessing and protection from death. Without further ado, I give you… Solera!”
The room erupted into applause and cheers as the musicians, who seemed to have materialized out of nowhere, struck up a fast paced gigue.
She immediately picked up the pulse. Music had been revered in Stradvär, and she had been one of the best singers and dancers in the Empire. She twirled and spun, letting her body swing to the exotic melody in long, sensual moves. Her legs jerked and stretched beneath the slits of her dress; the silver bracelets on her wrists and ankles jangled with each bound. She tossed her hair about, drawing attention to the revealing neckline.
As she swirled and ducked to the dizzying pulse, the men grew rowdier, cheering and whistling as she spun past them. The music came to a climax, and she twirled onto Gerard’s lap, wrapping one arm around his neck for support and bending into a dramatic pose on the last chord.
When the music ceased, the silence was swallowed by thunderous applause and whistles as she hopped up from his lap to bow. The women barely clapped. They scowled at her as the men howled their approval.
Slow, deliberate clapping from behind her pulled her attention from the crowd. When she turned, Gerard was standing there, looking very smug. “Bravo,” he said, extending his hand. She took it, and he brought her hand to his lips. “I wonder what other moves you have,” he whispered, laying her hand across the fold of his elbow. “Come.”
She knew what was coming next, what he expected of her. She would never let him get that far, but she smiled anyway, flirting casually with him as he led her through the crowd. She noticed whenever he bumped into someone his hand would disappear for a second and emerge holding jewelry or sacks of coins.
She raised an eyebrow. “Quite a lucrative business you run down here.”
Gerard beamed at her as if she had given him a compliment. “You’re very observant for a simple dancer. Perhaps you have talents in the sleight of hand yourself?” He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and she almost cringed.
She nodded and tried to appear humble. “I have talents, though none as impressive as yours. I was so excited when I received your invitation.” An invitation she had paid her informant handsomely to secure. “You’re as wise as you are powerful, with spies around every corner, even in the palace itself I’m told.” This was it, the lead she had been waiting for her entire life. She had cast her line; now she had to see if he would take the bait.
Gerard came to an abrupt halt. His face hardened as he studied hers meticulously in silence. “The palace, you say. No one should know of this save for myself and those within my network. How did a whore come about such information?” His muscles tensed, and his grip threatened to crush her fingers.
Her mind reeled. I spoke too soon!
She s
hrugged, trying to play it off as if it were nothing. “My Lord, rumors can be exaggerated sometimes. All I know are simple stories.” She held his gaze, not daring to look away.
Gerard searched her eyes, and for a moment she saw longing and regret. He sighed and shook his head. “You don’t understand. When you’ve worked so hard to build something up, something that’s completely yours, you have to fight every day to keep it. And I’m afraid, my pet, my secrets must remain precisely that. Secrets.” He let go of her hand and stepped away from her. The revelry died down as everyone turned to stare.
“It’s such a shame, really. I was thinking we would have a beautiful thing tonight,” Gerard said. “However, you’ve left me with no choice. There’s simply too much at risk, and the less you know, the better for me.” His eyes roved her body one last time. “Such a shame. At least you won’t go completely to waste. Blood always tastes best when taken straight from the source,” he added with an icicle smile.
He motioned someone forward, and the crowd parted as Malachai, sword drawn, stalked past Gerard to kill her.
CHAPTER 5Sacrifice
IT SETTLED ON VISHKA too late, a revelation she should have had when she discovered the true identity of Gerard’s underground cult, and she silently scolded herself.
She vaguely recalled Malachai’s words, too consumed by her bloodlust for Gerard to have paid much attention at the time. “With this tribute, may Erebus give us His blessing and protection from death.”
Tribute. She was to be a sacrifice.
Vishka studied Malachai as he approached. The look on his face was stony, devoid of remorse or any second thoughts to the task demanded of him.
The pupils of her eyes narrowed to vertical slits, like a cat’s, as their color shifted from brown to deep red. Her pulse raced through her arms, every nerve on edge, and the beat of Malachai’s heart grew louder with each step he took toward her, sending bands of swollen red light through the air only she could see.
Veiled Innocence (Book One, The Soul Cycle) Page 5