“Tell me we are going demon hunting,” she said as they glided down the dank tunnel.
Shadows slid over his features and along his trim length. “I fear we are, sweeting.”
“You need not sound so dour.” She leaned back a bit in the seat so that she could look up at him properly. “I, for one, am itching to lay into that bastard.” Her jaw ached where she clenched it. “After what he did to Talent.”
“Mmm.”
Aware that he wasn’t truly listening to her, Poppy raised her voice. “Darling, you are aware that your ‘mmm’s’ can drive a person to distraction.”
He grinned. “And here I thought it was part of my charm.” He plunged the pole into the murky waters and stared off into the distance, where the tunnel disappeared into a wall of black. “I was reading about demons, how there are different types.”
“Yes.” Impatience colored her tone. He ignored it.
“Let us go back to the beginning.” He guided the craft around a bend. “The first demon I saw aboard the ship was in the process of procuring blood from the ship’s officer.”
“Yes.” Poppy knew better than to hurry Win once he was on an exposition, but she wanted to.
The corner of his mouth quirked as if he knew her thinking as well. “And then it used Mary’s blood to assume her appearance and get close to Talent. Not to mention that Mrs. Noble was drained of her blood as well. And yet Isley does not need blood to assume a new appearance.”
“All correct. So he had help. We know this.” Unease tickled along her spine. Win had a theory, one he was reluctant to share. She could tell by his even gaze and the way he made her think the process out.
“Isley’s eyes are white or crimson when he reveals them,” Win went on. “The eyes of the demon I beheaded turned yellow. And Archer’s eyes, when he was changed, went silver. I remember thinking how remarkably different his eyes were back then.” He smiled a little. “Only I hadn’t any idea the extent of it.”
“What is your point, Win?”
“I assume that the color of a demon’s eyes gives away what type of demon it is?”
“Yes.” Her voice was cautious now, the heavy dread increasing within.
He ran a finger along the edge of the pole. “Mrs. Noble’s eyes flickered to unnatural black.”
Poppy plunked her chin into her palm. The ugly sensation within her grew but she could not quite acknowledge what was knocking about in her mind. Not yet. “There is a sort of demon whose eyes go black,” she said with reluctance. “The sort who feeds off of sexual congress and blood.”
The pole stilled in his hand. “Do not say it. Do not…”
Her smile was grim. “You might have heard of them referred to as vampires, or nosferatu.”
“You said it.” He sighed, leaning slightly on the pole.
Despite herself, she laughed. “It is simply a name, you know. They are pure demon. Only they favor blood for nourishment. It is because they yearn for human contact, usually in the form of sexual contact, that the human world has developed stories and myths about them. Too much interaction has led to leaks in information.”
Slowly he nodded, but his focus was on the oily water beneath them. “Here is what bothers me.” He softened his tone, which made Poppy’s skin tighten and her fingers grow cold. “Your lieutenant Lena has such eyes. She knew we were onboard the Ignitus, did she not? And she knew we’d interviewed the komtesse as well.”
The temperature dropped so quickly that Win’s next breath came out in a puff of white steam. Cold pervaded Poppy’s insides. No, it could not be. But it was there, dangling before her like a signpost.
“Is Lena a demon?” But he knew the answer. It was written in his sad eyes.
“Yes.” Her voice lowered. “She was the one who brought me Isley’s threat. The undead followed us to the komtesse’s house, and she knew we were going to Farleigh…” Her fist struck the side of the boat. “I should have seen it.”
“Why? You trusted her.”
A sharp laugh rang out. “Hell, Win, you know as well as I that trust is merely an illusion.”
An awkward silence fell over them, but he broke it with a softly spoken, “I know, sweet.”
Queasy in the rocking craft, Poppy drew in a breath of dank river air. Lena was more than a lieutenant. She was her mentor, a surrogate mother—albeit a rather cold one. “But why?” Poppy hated that the question came out in a pathetic warble.
Win’s scarred countenance hardened like mortar, and Poppy shivered at the sight of him standing tall and glowering, yet she felt at once protected and glad to have him on her side. “That, sweeting, is what we shall find out.”
Poppy frowned at the smoldering wreckage that used to be the gaming club and brothel known as Heaven and Hell on dilapidated West Street. Thick smoke billowed up into a pale grey sky, and the facade of the burnt-out building appeared like a leering, blackened skull. The street was abandoned, thieves having long since scavenged anything of value. It felt odd, though, to stand in the middle of London’s East End and not see a soul. A timber groaned as she and Win made their way down the blackened steps to the entrance of Lena’s Hell.
Water dripped from above, landing in hard plops upon Poppy’s shoulders. A trickle of it ran down her neck and under her collar. The smell of smoke was so pervasive that it coated her tongue with its acrid flavor. The heavy iron gate that served as the doors to the underground nightclub was jammed shut, and she stepped aside to let Win wrench it open. He did so with surprising ease, and a little base feminine thrill shot through her.
“You’re certain about this?” he asked, his hand on the knob of the inner door.
“Lena started this fire.” Poppy lifted her skirt away from the diamond-bright shards of window glass that had fallen from above. “Sanguis demons might be known for their feeding habits, but they also have the ability to manipulate fire much like Miranda does.”
“Sanguis demons?” Win’s mouth turned down at a corner. “Is that what you call vampires?”
“I told you, they are not vampires. That would imply that they are reanimated human corpses, when they have never been human, or dead, for that matter.”
“Of course,” he murmured dryly.
From one of the deep pockets sewn into her skirt, she pulled the foot-long stake made of Christ’s thorn wood she had procured from the weapons room. “For you.”
Win held the thing loosely in his hand. A slight frown marred his features as he studied it. “Not vampire, eh?”
She ignored the irony in his voice and focused on practical matters.
“Gold will cut through a demon’s skin quite well,” Poppy explained. “And it will adversely affect them. But each type of demon has a particular weakness that will kill them instantly. The trick is to know it beforehand and be prepared. The sanguis demon’s weakness is Christ’s thorn wood. Hit straight under the chin and into the brain, or through the heart.”
“If all demons have weaknesses, what is Isley’s? How can we kill him?”
“I don’t know. He is pure Primus and older than any other I’ve encountered. Perhaps he has evolved into a true immortal state.” Poppy looked at the stake in Win’s hand. The unpolished point was as sharp as a blade. “Now, as to method of attack. I prefer the chin. The torso is too well-fortified with ribs and cartilage, and one might miss with the first hit.”
Heat and humor lit Win’s stormy eyes. “Would now be the wrong time to tell you that I get as hard as this stake when you talk shop?”
Warmth suffused her cheeks, but she refused to look down. “Your timing is worse than mine, Mr. Lane.”
Grinning, he tucked the stake into his inner coat pocket. “Tit for tat, Mrs. Lane.” His expression slid back to seriousness. “You do not think that she has left town? Given that she torched her own home?”
“Lena would not run. She knows I am coming. She must have known the moment Mrs. Noble scattered into tiny spiders. Masters can mentally communicate with their acolytes.” She brushed an erra
nt flake of soot off of Win’s shoulder. “Now, may we proceed? I can feel her down there, waiting for me.”
That did not appear to please him, for his shoulders tensed and he held his walking stick more securely. However, he opened the door without argument. “So you know,” he said as he took her hand and guided her through the threshold, “I will not hesitate to destroy this woman should she try to hurt you.”
Poppy thought of Jack Talent hanging from iron spikes, and her blood heated. “I am tempted to do so even without any outward threat. But let us speak to her first.”
The door opened, releasing dank air and the scent of smoke. The air grew cooler as they descended. Water damage stained the crimson silk walls with dark patches, and the rug underfoot was rumpled as if kicked up by a stampede of feet. The emptiness of the place was pervasive, a living thing that had Poppy’s senses heightening. Gaslights hissed and threw off shadows that seemed to move as she went by. Side by side, she and Win walked along the abandoned corridor, passing quiet rooms where expensive furniture lay tipped on its side or knocked askew.
Down another flight of stairs they went, the acrid tang of smoke giving way to a headier perfume of incense and blood. Win visibly tensed, his hand staying close to his coat where he’d tucked the stake.
“Her parlor is there,” Poppy said in a low voice as she gestured toward the red lacquered door at the end of the corridor. A white slipper lay abandoned and forlorn in the hallway. She stepped over it, her gaze set upon the door.
Win’s hand touched her elbow. “I enter first.” The look in his eye gave little room for argument.
She didn’t. She knew Lena would not hurt them. Not yet. Poppy’s hands clenched her skirts as she strode forward.
Just as she remembered it, the little parlor where Lena held court was cozy, the furniture comfortable and worn, and a fire crackled in the grate. Lena sat in her favored place by the hearth. Her pale hands rested upon the arms of a black leather chair, and her legs were tucked up upon the seat. The position was almost feline. And like a cat, she affected a lazy but alert repose. So very alert.
“Mother.” Lena inclined her head. “Inspector.”
Poppy took a seat in the armchair facing Lena. “Was it necessary to burn your place down?”
“I do not expect to be here much longer,” Lena answered as Winston moved to stand next to Poppy.
As she stared at Lena, Poppy’s anger swelled within her breast. “Bloody hell, you sent the undead after us!”
“Having trained you,” said Lena smoothly, “I knew you could dispatch them. The intent was to slow you down and hopefully take Lane out of the game.” Her dark gaze flicked to Winston. “Apologies, Lane, but you have been a bit of a bastard to Poppy these past months, which rather dampened any feelings of sentimentality toward you.”
Win’s expression was bland as he stared her down. “I’d say your current actions outshine any of mine.”
Lena glared at him, then gave a dismissive shrug.
Poppy, however, was not about to be shrugged off. “Why?”
Lena’s dark hair swung forward as she reached for the silver cup resting on the table at her side. She took a deep drink. “You were not to know about Moira Darling.”
Poppy’s back teeth met. “Who is she?”
Lena’s pale finger ran along the rim of her cup. “I have sworn not to tell you.”
“Even though it threatens Poppy’s child?” Win snapped. Shadows danced over his features, and his eyes flashed with bright anger.
The corners of Lena’s eyes tightened. A flinch for her. “It is an uncomfortable situation.”
Poppy leaned in, the chair creaking beneath her. “And was it worth it?” she hissed. “To torture Jack Talent?” Bitterness coated her tongue, and she swallowed against it.
Lena looked away, into the fire. “I was most displeased with my acolytes.” The delicate curve of her jaw bunched as she lifted her eyes to Poppy. “They were to use his blood, not get… carried away.”
Win’s hand curled into a fist. “ ‘Carried away?’ That is what you would call it?” He sneered. “Your control over your staff is severely lacking, madam.”
“They have been destroyed,” she said. “Painfully.”
“Not good enough,” Poppy said. “He would not have been under their control had you not ordered it.”
Obsidian eyes bore into her. “I know. Which is why I have waited for you to mete out a punishment.”
Poppy shot to her feet. “I don’t want to mete out a bloody punishment! I want you to tell me who the hell Moira Darling is and why you feel the need to protect her.”
Lena’s head tilted back. “I made a vow. You know all about those, Poppy Ann.”
Poppy’s body jerked as if struck. “You would have Isley take my child?” She leaned over Lena then. “My child, Lena.”
Neither of them spoke as they held each other’s gaze. Lena’s red mouth quivered once, but then went still. “I will tell you if you promise not to give Isley what he wants from her.”
A red haze washed over Poppy’s sight. Behind her, she could almost feel Win quivering with rage as well. Poppy looked down at her lieutenant. “I could make you talk. You know we have ways that would leave you begging.”
Lena merely blinked. “You would not get your answers, and you know it.” She sighed then, and her voice grew uncharacteristically soft. “You will want to agree, Poppy. Trust me on this one last thing.”
Poppy’s throat worked as she looked at her old friend. Lena had to be at least one hundred years old, and though she could have done anything she wanted with her life, she’d chosen to stay with the SOS, training others and keeping their secrets safe.
A sense of dull foreboding crept up Poppy’s back. Lena was loyal. To a fault. Why had she betrayed Poppy? Poppy’s heart pounded against her ribs. The unease grew until it was all she could do not to turn and run from the room. But the heaviness within her womb and the feel of Win at her back made her stay. “Fine,” she said. “I will not give it to him.”
“Poppy!”
She turned at Win’s protest. “She’s right. We won’t know any other way.”
Win appeared mutinous. His lean body vibrated with fury, but he did not protest. Poppy stepped back a pace, not wanting to be close to Lena. “Tell me,” she said. “Who is Moira Darling?”
As if gathering herself, Lena sat straighter. “She was Isley’s lover. It was doomed from the beginning.”
Poppy sank back into her seat. “She was SOS.”
“Yes,” said Lena. “Isley was… You only know to hate him. You have no idea how charismatic he could be. How passionate.” Her gaze turned inward, and she stared off into the fire. “She loved him, you see. Without meaning to, she did.”
“How long did it go on?” Poppy asked softly, not wanting to break the spell.
“Years.”
Poppy’s breath caught, and Lena looked back with a wry smile. “Many years. I think… I think he loved her too.” She leaned her head back against the chair. “But he detested that immortals hid from weak humans as if they ought to be ashamed. It was he who started the Nex, you know.”
Poppy gave a short nod. She knew that much.
Lena continued. “She pled with Isley to understand that for humans to know the truth would bring about pain and chaos. It was a long-standing argument.” Lena’s chest lifted and fell on a soft sigh. “He kept playing his tricks, and she kept ignoring them, because she could not let him go. He was like a disease within her. And then the inevitable happened.”
Lena sat up and rested an elbow on her crossed leg. “She ended it. For you see, she finally realized that passion without trust, without compromise, was a useless thing that only served to burn her out.”
“Isley did not take it well?” Win asked, his voice as soft and rough as Poppy’s had been.
“No. There were… complications.” Lena’s black gaze flicked to Poppy. “She was with child.”
The air in the r
oom vanished. On stiff limbs, Poppy rose and paced away. “A child.” Her tone was brittle, disbelieving. But she did believe, and it made her ill. His child for hers. She braced a hand upon the back of the chair she’d vacated.
Lena did not move. “He promised not to interfere with her children,” she whispered. “But he wanted this one. Because this one turned out to be male. He believed the boy would inherit his legacy, be made into what he was.”
“Children?” An ocean roared in Poppy’s ears. Somehow she made her numb lips move. “I thought…”
Lena rose with subtle grace. “No, not me.”
Poppy swallowed hard. Dimly she felt Win’s hand slipping into her ice cold one. “Moira Darling?”
“A nickname for Mary,” Lena said. “His Mary Margaret darling.”
Poppy broke free from Win’s grasp. “Oh Jesus.”
Win looked wildly between the two of them. “Mary as in Mary Margaret Ellis?” He paled.
“Yes,” said Lena. “As in Poppy’s mother.”
Poppy sucked in a breath and then another. “Is he… Is he my father?”
The distaste and regret in Lena’s expression spoke before she did. “Yes.”
“My sisters.” Fear for their safety had her surging toward the door.
“He cannot get to them. Nor the boy.” Lena’s fists pressed against her thighs as she looked up at Poppy. “It was a bargain Isley and Mary Margaret made from the beginning. A safeguard laid down by your mother. Isley cannot know his children unless someone presents them to him.”
“What do you mean ‘cannot know’?”
“Just that. He literally cannot see his own children, even if they are right in front of him. The agreement won’t allow it. Unless another person presents his children to him, they are invisible to his eyes. She did so with you.” Lena’s gaze slid away. “He lost interest after that. Until he knew he was to have a son. They fought over it. And he killed her. I think it was an accident, for his rage knew no bounds afterward.”
Poppy paced again, ending up at the wall and slumping against it. “A brother.”
Lena did not blink. “When the baby was born, Margaret told everyone that he had died. I took a blood oath to hide the babe away where Isley could not get him and to do everything in my power to keep the babe’s existence secret.”
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