The Night Realm

by Annette Marie

  She corralled her thoughts into order. The sight of him in the sun was even more spectacular than usual, and she couldn’t think straight. She told herself to look away from him, but her eyes wouldn’t obey.

  Chrysalis’s regular warfare spells wouldn’t help her, and a proposal would take, at best, a few hours. They’d send her back to the inn to wait, where she’d have no chance at all of sniffing out one of those prototypes he’d mentioned. Without seeing them, she’d be going home with nothing but a useless paper proposal. Even if all else failed, she needed something to take back to Bastian.

  “I don’t think a combination of spells will be enough,” she told him. “My people would still have to fight Ra, and that’s what we must avoid at all costs.”

  “At all costs?” he muttered.

  “You said, during my tour, that if Chrysalis didn’t have what I needed, you would make it for me.”

  He jerked toward her. “You want a custom weaving?”

  She nodded, taken aback by his flat tone. “Something that can intimidate Ra into abandoning their conquest.”

  “That will be very expensive.”

  “Irida is prepared to negotiate.”

  “The price may be higher than you can pay.”

  Her brow furrowed. Was that an undertone of threat or of warning?

  “It will take time,” he continued. “A lot of time. I thought you were in a hurry.”

  Why was he trying to talk her out of it? Didn’t he want to sell her something extra expensive? Whatever he was getting at, his opinion didn’t matter, and neither did the price—because Irida wouldn’t be paying anything beyond their down payment. All she needed was to see Chrysalis’s prototype, then she could duplicate it on her own. And while she was waiting around for them to make her custom weaving, she’d have time to search for those other spells Lyre had mentioned.

  “Returning home without the spell I need won’t help anything,” she told him. “It has to be a custom spell.”

  He stared at her for so long she had to fight the urge to cower. There was no humor in his face anymore.

  “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements.”

  She sighed, relieved despite her confusion over his reaction. “Thank you.”

  Saying nothing, he moved toward the stairwell.

  “Lyre? I—um—I wanted to ask …”

  He glanced back, and his unfriendly stare almost silenced her. She didn’t know why he’d gone so cold, and she missed the charming incubus she’d maybe flirted with earlier. Searching for courage, she forced the question out anyway. “It’s been bugging me … why did you break that bottle of quicksilver in the spell shop?”

  “It was an accident.”

  “We both know it wasn’t. I just want to know why.”

  He considered her in silence before finally speaking. “Quicksilver is used to weave the deadliest, foulest kinds of blood magic.” He turned his back on her, reaching for the door. “It’s too bad I wasted it though. Maybe they could have used it for your custom weaving.”

  He disappeared down the stairs.

  Her heart drummed against her ribs, but not with exhilaration. Dread crawled through her, and as she started after him with slow, reluctant steps, she wondered if she was making a big mistake.

  If only she knew which part was the mistake.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Lyre spoke all of ten words to Clio before dropping her off at the reception desk. She watched him stride away with her lower lip between her teeth. Why had her request for a custom weaving upset him so much?

  The receptionist had a daemon escort Clio, Kassia, and Eryx back to their inn. Eryx, his good humor back in full force, couldn’t wait to see what sort of custom weaving Chrysalis would produce. Kassia was less pleased. Hanging around for an indeterminate amount of time while the master weavers designed a spell made her nervous, and she especially didn’t like the idea of Clio sneaking around looking for those mysterious prototypes while they waited.

  With deliberate snooping now part of the plan, they discussed a dozen different ways to ensure Kassia could accompany Clio beyond the reception area, but Clio wasn’t sold. The more people she brought in, the harder it would be to sneak away from Lyre. Not that sneaking away would be easy alone either.

  After two hours with no word from Chrysalis, Clio gave up on waiting and went to lie down. She didn’t get nearly enough sleep before restless dreams pulled her awake, and she crawled out of bed with images of amber eyes and golden skin burned into her memory.

  “Thanks a lot, brain,” she muttered as she got in the shower. She didn’t bother with the heating spell, hoping the chilly water would settle her. The last thing she needed was to be all riled up before even seeing him again.

  Kassia met her in the bedroom as she padded out, wrapped in a fluffy towel.

  “I was just about to get you when I heard the shower,” she told Clio. “A messenger from Chrysalis stopped by after you went to bed. When we told him you were sleeping, he said he’d reschedule. We should have just enough time to eat before they come to get us.”

  “You should have woken me,” Clio said anxiously, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding her towel in place with one hand. “I don’t want to delay things longer than necessary.”

  “You needed to rest. I asked the messenger about it, and he said different castes have different preferences on when to sleep, even Underworlders, so Chrysalis will accommodate whatever schedule is most comfortable for you.”

  Clio nibbled on her lower lip and glanced forlornly at her costume spread on the bed, waiting for her to put it on again.

  Kassia noted the direction of her look. “I also mentioned we weren’t prepared for a long visit. Someone dropped off a package for you about an hour ago.”

  She tipped her head toward the simple wooden dresser where a lumpy package wrapped in brown paper sat. Curious, Clio fixed her towel in place and pulled the paper apart.

  A dozen garments spilled across the dresser, all different colors. She picked up a rose top with long sleeves in the same soft, unidentifiable fabric as the navy shirt Lyre had worn. There were more shirts, a sweater, two skirts, and a few pairs of pants in malleable fabrics.

  “Wow.” She stroked the rose shirt. “This almost feels like cashmere.”

  Kassia smiled wryly. “They offered me and Eryx laundry services, but no new clothing.”

  Shooing Kassia out, Clio dried off. She found undergarments at the bottom of the pile and the rose shirt followed. It was too big, the long sleeves falling past her knuckles, but she didn’t care—it was too soft to resist. She pulled on a pair of fitted black pants in another unfamiliar fabric and laced up the ties at each hip.

  After braiding her damp hair and twisting it into a knot at the back of her head, she joined Kassia and Eryx to eat the meal they’d ordered from the inn restaurant—three salads full of unfamiliar leafy things that were quite tasty. She’d barely finished eating when a messenger arrived to fetch them.

  Her nerves returned on the walk back to Chrysalis, but she couldn’t help feeling lighthearted as the warm breeze tugged a few strands of hair loose from her bun. The sun was warm, the view was spectacular, and she felt properly energized after her nap. She was ready for Round Three with Lyre.

  As they crossed the bridge over the canal, she paused at the railing, gazing down at the sparkling water. A bonus to the sunlight was that the creepiest town inhabitants were nowhere to be seen, and she didn’t have that unsettling feeling of watching eyes from her last walk to Chrysalis.

  The water rippled, then a broad swath of silvery scales broke the surface, a spiked fin rising from the center. Just before the back of the enormous fish vanished under water again, its tail flipped up—except it wasn’t a tail. It was a mass of tentacles like a squid. So … not a fish.

  Shuddering, Clio backed away from the railing and hurried after their escort, making a mental note to stay away from the water.

  In Chrysalis, the receptionist
escorted her back to the meeting room where she waited alone as the minutes ticked by. Her good mood dimmed the longer she waited. Nice of Lyre to be so late.

  When the door finally opened, she was ready to give him a piece of her mind, but the words died in her throat.

  The incubus in the doorway was a stranger. Though his face was disconcertingly similar, he wasn’t Lyre. Nor was he one of the two incubi who’d joined Lyre in the spell shop, or the younger one who had blown up the basement. How many near-identical incubi were there here?

  The new incubus sank into the seat across the table and his amber eyes slid over her, lingering in places that definitely weren’t her face.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clio.” His voice was a soft, deep croon. This incubus was even more perfect than Lyre—a little broader in the shoulder, a little taller, his features just a shade more chiseled and masculine. His hair was an inch or two longer, tousled and oh-so-touchable.

  She realized she was staring and jerked her focus back to the present. “Who are you? Where’s Lyre?”

  “I’m Madrigal. I’ll be working on your commission.”

  “Why isn’t Lyre doing it? He’s my consultant.”

  Her sharp tone didn’t faze him. “I’m afraid Lyre doesn’t take commissions from external clients.”

  He didn’t? Was that why he’d acted so cold when she’d said she wanted a custom weaving?

  “I would prefer to work with Lyre.”

  “My apologies, Clio, but that won’t be possible. Our master weavers have many varied skills, but not all are suited to this kind of commission work.” He tilted his head, his smile conspiratorial. “To be frank, Lyre is too slow. You would be waiting half a season to get a custom weaving from him.”

  His tone sounded teasing, but she detected a note of arrogance. She wasn’t sure what to think of this new incubus. She’d been getting to know Lyre, but now she was starting over from scratch with someone new—and she had no idea how far she could push him.

  “You said half a season. How long is that?” she asked.

  “We have two seasons in the Underworld—a long summer-like one, and an equally long cooler season. One season—either cold or warm—is approximately one Earth year. It’s how we mark time.”

  She drummed her fingers nervously on the table. “If it would take Lyre months to make a spell for me, how long will it take you?”

  “Depending on what you require, I estimate two to six cycles—or one to three weeks, as you’re accustomed to calling them.”

  Weeks. She didn’t want to spend weeks here, but she didn’t have much choice.

  “Let’s begin by discussing what you require for your custom weaving,” Madrigal said, his perfect professionalism a stark contrast to Lyre’s less businesslike manner. “Once I have an idea of what you need, we can discuss your budget.”

  She nodded cautiously and he began a round of simple questions she did her best to answer confidently. Did she want an offensive spell, defensive, something else? Did she want wide-ranging, destructive, lethal, debilitating but not lethal? The more he drilled into specifics, the sicker she felt. She’d come here to bring back magic that could win a war, but she had given little thought to what those spells would encompass. Lyre had hinted at it—more than hinted—but only now was it sinking in.

  Whatever spell Madrigal created would hurt people. Kill people. And she would take that spell back home so they could recreate it.

  After a few minutes, though, her nausea faded. She shifted restlessly in her seat, struggling to focus. His eyes drew hers like golden magnets. Her skin was flushed, her body hot, her pulse racing in her ears. A soft, fluttery warmth turned over and over in her middle, dancing with the rise and fall of his crooning voice.

  He said something she missed and rose from his seat. She watched blankly, transfixed by each graceful movement as he pulled his chair around the table and sat beside her. A spicy scent, underlaid with something citrus, filled her nose and she inhaled repeatedly.

  He was pointing at something on the paper in front of them, but those eyes, pools of darkening amber, were locked on hers. He was so close. Desire sang in her veins and she needed to touch him. She needed him to touch her. Her skin burned for it, but she sat rooted to her chair, breathing fast but unable to move.

  Then his fingers slid across the back of her hand, a whispery caress that sent hot shivers rushing up her arm. A gasp pulled more of his scent into her nose and her stare fell to his mouth.

  The burning need grew exponentially stronger with each stroke of his fingers. He slid his hand along her arm, pushing her sleeve up with the motion. She was almost hyperventilating as desperate longing pounded through her. Those perfect lips curved into a smile and he leaned toward her face.

  A loud rap on the door rang through the small room.

  Clio jerked in her chair, confusion piercing the cloud of desire in her head. Madrigal’s touch disappeared from her arm as he shifted, putting more distance between them.

  “Yes?” he called.

  The door opened and a daemon clad in a black uniform leaned across the threshold. “I have a message for the envoy from Irida.”

  “Deliver it then.” He extended his hand expectantly.

  The daemon didn’t move. “The message is for the envoy.”

  Madrigal dropped his arm, his irritation obvious. “Clio, darling, go fetch your message.”

  She obediently rose and stumbled around the desk. The daemon backed into the corridor and she stepped out after him. He closed the door with a snap.

  The simple sound was like a whip crack exploding through her foggy brain. The sensuous haze burst and panic roared through her. She almost fell, grabbing the wall for support as her limbs trembled.

  Madrigal had … he had …

  “Envoy?”

  She jerked her head up. The daemon stood a long pace away, watching her hang off the wall as she hyperventilated. Pulling herself together, she straightened and attempted to regain a shred of dignity.

  The messenger pulled a white envelope, sealed with black wax, from the inner pocket of his coat and extended it.

  “What is it?” she asked, her fingers hovering above the crisp paper.

  He waved the envelope in answer. Plucking it from his hand, she opened it. A single sheet of paper inside contained a few lines of elegant script, but her eyes locked on the lowermost line—the name of the letter’s sender.

  Samael of Hades.

  Ice splintered in her blood and she frantically skimmed the rest of the letter. It was an invitation to an event. An invitation from Samael, the warlord of Hades—the most powerful, most feared daemon in the three worlds.

  “I—I don’t …”

  The messenger cleared his throat. “The warlord has generously extended this invitation to a prestigious event in celebration of what we hope will be the beginning of a prosperous relationship between Hades and Irida.” He paused, waiting for her to meet his eyes. “It is an honor to receive a personal invite.”

  In other words, Samael would take her refusal as an equally personal insult. Her hand shook, causing the thick paper to flutter.

  “I am … most honored … to accept.”

  “Excellent.” The messenger took a step back. “As per the invitation, the event will be held at the Hades residence and will begin upon the falling of the next eclipse. A chauffeur will pick you up. The warlord looks forward to meeting you.”

  With a small bow, the daemon retreated, leaving her standing alone in the corridor.

  She clutched the letter. It wasn’t an invitation. It was a summons. The warlord of Hades wanted to meet her, and she had no idea why. But the very thought terrified her.

  She turned back to the meeting room door and started shaking all over again.

  Madrigal had caught her in his aphrodesia magic, and he’d done it so subtly she hadn’t realized what was happening. But now, free of his influence, she had to fight not to vomit on the spot. If that messenger hadn�
��t come …

  She realized her sleeve was still pushed up to her elbow where Madrigal had been stroking her arm. She yanked it down again. How had she let that happen? How had she not noticed what he was doing? She hadn’t used her asper to watch him. He’d seemed so polite and professional at the start of their meeting that she hadn’t considered him a threat.

  She stared at the door. He was inside, waiting for her. Waiting to resume his deliberate seduction. Did he do that to all his female clients? Or was he making an exception for her?

  Well, she wasn’t going back in that room. No way in hell. She spun on her heel and stalked down the corridor. Halfway to the lobby, her steps slowed. She looked around.

  She was alone. Unescorted. In Chrysalis.

  Exactly the opportunity she’d been hoping for.

  With a quick grin, she whirled in the opposite direction and sped into the long, hushed halls of the facility.

  While waiting for her next meeting in Chrysalis, she’d done a lot of thinking about where the master weavers would keep their most dangerous prototypes, the ones Lyre had hinted at. She’d remembered him taking her into the lowest level of the building, where they’d crossed to the tower. There had been a second door—a heavily warded one that he hadn’t wanted her to see.

  And that, she had decided, was where she would look first.

  After ditching Madrigal, the first thing she did was get lost. The halls were a maze, and she kept having to duck down random corridors to avoid wandering employees. It took ten minutes for her to get her bearings, but in the process, she’d stolen an unattended lab coat that someone had left hanging on a door handle. Now she had a disguise too.

  She found the lobby again and paused. Pressing a hand to her chest, she cast a light cloaking spell over herself. True invisibility was impossible—unless Chrysalis had invented a spell for it without telling anyone—but cloaking spells were the next best thing. They made a daemon difficult to notice. It didn’t work if the caster started shouting or knocking things over, but otherwise, it was perfect for sleuthing.

  With the borrowed lab coat to help her blend in, she swallowed her nerves and casually strolled into the open lobby. The receptionists didn’t even glance her way, and the other Chrysalis employees were busy doing whatever it was they did. Kassia and Eryx sat in leather chairs, the former sitting alertly, the latter sprawled in obvious boredom. Clio wished she could bring them with her, but it would draw too much attention.