Alena’s hands were clasped over her mouth in horror, frail fingers shaking.
Ora felt her stomach twist. Her outburst had been poison in her mouth, roiling out of her. “Alena…” She scrubbed her hands over her face, wincing when her blackened hand rubbed against the inside of her glove. She felt too large for her body, as though her fangs had spread into her blood and were trying to burst through her skin.
“I should go,” Alena said weakly, finding her feet. She stumbled slightly, and pulled away when Ora reached to steady her.
“I’m sorry,” Ora said, stepping back. “I was never going to tell you.”
“That,” Alena said, voice more fragile than Ora had ever heard, “does not make it better. I need to leave.”
Ora reached out a hand as she left, but did not call to her. She waited, alone in the sitting room, until the front door closed.
Alena’s heartbeat, the ticking clock that marked the final era of her life, faded into the distance.
Ora picked up a vase and flung it at the wall. The crystal shattered like frost on a lake, dissolving into dust with a ringing crash. A shard bounced back across the room toward her and sliced the skin of her cheek. Monster that she was, it healed over before she reached up to wipe the blood away.
Destruction was all Ora knew how to do.
After the gun was fixed, Zacharias seemed to forget about Domek’s presence, absorbed again in testing the stacks of matches on his table. Hoping he would not hear the sound of an explosion, Domek moved to his station at the front of the small room.
As Imrich laughed at Domek’s ideas, he kept his small experiments tucked away in his uncle’s shop. Though the kalina stake had not worked against the pijavica on the bridge, Domek thought Imrich’s idea to test beyond the traditional weapons had weight. Why did pijavica blood reject hawthorn wood and no other? Why were spirits only vulnerable to silver? New silver alloys were being tested every day—at what point would the iron content overwhelm the silver heart and make the weapons useless?
He picked up his box of silver shavings, salvaged during years of work with Zacharias. Paluska helped keep the lamplighters stocked with silver weapons, despite the ministry’s reluctance to give the poor watchmen the precious metal, but Domek was on his own for his experiments.
The pure silver glinted in the low light of the shop. If he poured the metal directly into the clay jar, would the wisp survive? The flame would have no way to escape the poisonous metal. He could end it now.
His mother’s horrified face flashed in his mind, and he put the silver back on the shelf.
Instead, he threw himself into repairing a sewing machine, putting on a pair of magnifying spectacles and losing himself in the intricate work.
When Domek was on patrol, he was always alert. He had a method for scanning the surrounding area so that nothing was overlooked. On his own time as well, Domek was methodical and absorbed in whatever activity he put his mind to. It was one of the reasons he enjoyed tinkering. Slowing down had always been easier for Domek than it seemed to be for others.
The bell over the door rang out, and Domek blinked back to awareness. Across the room, his uncle was doing the same. If Domek looked as dazed and startled as he did, the shop’s client would likely turn right around to find a more aware repairman.
“One moment!” Zacharias called.
Wiping his hands on a rag, Domek poked his head out of the back room to check on the guest. He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, Uncle Zach. I’ll handle this one.”
“My God, it’s so musty in here,” Cord said in greeting. He would have looked out of place if he hadn’t had a casual, confident air that made him seem welcome everywhere. Dressed in buckskins and a green riding jacket, accented with a purple cravat, he stood out in the shop like a drake surrounded by hens.
“That’s the smell of men who actually work for a living,” Domek said, clapping Cord’s shoulder. He led him over to the front counter where Zacharias kept his cluttered mess of receipts and bills so that their conversation wouldn’t interrupt his uncle’s work in the back room. From the sounds back there, he had already forgotten there was a potential customer in the front. “What are you doing here?”
“I thought I might find you here. Anton said that you went missing. I couldn’t believe what happened to your flat.”
“You talked to Anton?” Though they were technically friends through Domek, Cord and Anton had never gotten along. Domek had been grateful for them tolerating each other for his sake, but had given up hope that they’d enjoy each other’s company. Domek hoped Anton hadn’t gone behind his back to ask for money.
Cord shrugged. “He was asking for you. Thought that I might have given you a room for the day. I guess he didn’t think that you might have gone home; he’s not the family type. I figured if you hadn’t told him, you didn’t want him to know.”
“It’s not that,” Domek said. “I’m just trying to…lay low.”
With a low whistle, Cord said, “Just what have you gotten yourself into?”
“Nothing.”
Cord just raised an eyebrow. “As an expert in getting into disasters, I can spot someone else in one from a town away. You, Domek, are in trouble. You were acting strange at the museum as well. I’ve been worried about you. Are you in debt?”
Surprised by the blunt question—though he shouldn’t have been—Domek spluttered, “No, no, nothing like that.”
“Because if you were, you know I have a weekly allowance that’s bigger than your monthly pay,” Cord continued.
“Yes, I’m aware,” Domek said tensely.
Cord pressed on. “You’ve had my back for years. You know I’d give you a loan if you needed it.”
“I’m not in debt,” Domek said. “You know me. I’m careful with my money.”
“True,” Cord said. “I’d believe it more if it were Anton. He was acting guilty too, but it was probably because he was knocking on my door before noon. He knows I don’t wake up that early. So, there was another reason someone decided to bust into your place.”
Domek flattened his hands on the counter. “Drop it, Cord.”
“I’m not trying to be overbearing,” Cord pointed out. “I’m trying to be a friend.”
“Not all your friends want you for your money,” Domek said quietly. “I’m not your pet.”
Cord frowned. “I never said you were. If anything, I’m yours. Like a silly dog you give attention to when you’re bored.”
“Cord,” Domek said, irritated and hurt.
Cord shrugged. “Look, I’ll stop nagging. But if something is wrong that I can help fix, tell me. I don’t have many of those not-money-grubbing friends, and I’d like to keep the ones I do have alive. Now, let’s go out tonight. Thursdays are your night off, right?”
“I can’t. I’m going to a…thing.” When Cord raised an eyebrow, Domek clarified, “An opera.”
Cord grinned. “You’re still sniffing around Lady Fischerová’s skirts. You would never go to a show like that on your own, and I know I’m not the one dragging you. When did you have time to make your move? Did you find her again after the museum? I hope you did a better job at seducing her.”
“It’s not like that,” Domek hedged.
He wished he had been the one to take the first step, but he had been dazzled by Ora from the first time they’d met.
When Ora Fischerová had walked into Zacharias’s shop a year ago, it had been as though a bell had been struck inside of Domek’s chest. Ora’s presence radiated in every room she entered. Eyes were drawn to her like a fireworks display on a cloudless night. It was not only her appearance, though Domek could still remember the hue of the low-cut gown she’d worn that day, her moon-pale skin, and her soft red hair. She carried an indefinable energy like a shawl.
She had brought in a gorgeous old pocket watch with an ornate bronze shell. Though, as they discovered when they cracked it open, its gears were meticulously polished, one of the springs had b
een knocked out of place. Zacharias was already salivating over the craftsmanship while Domek had reassured Lady Ora Fischerová that they’d repair it for her.
She’d given him a small, intimate smile. “I did my research. I trust you,” she’d said, and Domek hadn’t been able to look away since.
Cord grinned at him, laughter sparking in his eyes. “Then can I come?”
“No.”
“It’s not as though I’m a threat between you and your lady,” Cord reminded him. “I want to get to know the woman who has you panting after her. You barely give women the time of day. Besides, from what I saw yesterday, you need the help. I’ll make sure you don’t stutter too much.”
“Between the two of you, I think I’d be ribbed mercilessly. But there can’t be anything between us.”
“I can’t imagine anything you could say next that would make me believe that,” Cord drawled.
“She’s a lady, Cord. I’m a lamplighter. She doesn’t know what I do, but she knows I work. There’s no reason to start something between us,” Domek said. “I couldn’t survive in her circles.” And if he kept spending time with her, she might not survive his.
“She came up to us yesterday. She asked you to the opera. It’s not as though she’s afraid to be seen with you,” Cord pointed out. “Besides, my family name is older than the one she married into, and you and I are friends.”
“That’s different.”
“She’s an eccentric, wealthy widow. She doesn’t have to answer to anyone. If she wants to spend her time with you, that’s her decision. Not society’s, and not yours. Don’t tell her what’s best for her. From what you’ve told me, she’s well able to decide for herself.”
“We’ll see,” Domek hedged.
Cord sighed and shook his head. “Someday you’ll realize how excellent my advice is. Now, if you’re not free later tonight, what about dinner before? It’s almost time for Zacharias to close up the shop, if he’s noticed the passage of time at all. My cook is making something delicious tonight. It’d be a shame to eat it all on my own. Besides, you should be staying with me until your flat gets fixed, and not bothering your poor mother. She barely has enough room as it is, and I have too much.”
Domek shook his head. “I couldn’t do that.”
“Let’s argue about it over dinner,” Cord suggested.
Hesitating, Domek rested a hand on the bag at his hip. If he wanted to keep the wisp safe, Cord’s was as good a place as any. His mother was distressed after the reading, and, with a full-time butler, Cord’s security was better than Domek’s flat would ever have.
“Go on,” Zacharias said, coming into the front of the shop. “You’ve done enough for the day. I’ll see you for your real shift on Monday.”
Domek nodded to his uncle. “Thanks for letting me pass some time here.” He turned to Cord. “Let’s see what that delicious dinner looks like.”
* * *
It looked, it turned out, like more food than any one man should have ever planned to eat on his own.
There was duck that had been roasted so perfectly the crisp skin practically crackled off the tender meat. The vegetables on the table could have come directly from a farm to the cook’s pans—they were as bright and fresh as any Domek had seen. Apricot dumplings sat artfully in the center of oversized platters, drenched in melted butter and shredded cheese.
As Domek ate, not even trying for delicacy as he shoved food into his mouth, he asked, “When did you hire a chef like this for the flat?”
“The new cook is a fellow from Paris. A friend of a friend put us in touch when he moved here. Not my type, but he’s a master in the kitchen. France is missing out.”
Cord’s dog, a whip-smart brindled mongrel, sat on the floor beside him, staring up at every motion of Domek’s hands. He whined and tapped his claws on the floor. “Sorry, pup. Not for you.” He looked back at Cord and waved a hand at the table. “Does your father not still have you on a strict budget?” Cord’s father, who was part of the Bohemian parliament, was one of the most powerful men in Prague. The last emperor, who had retired and still lived in the palace, saw him as a mentee, and had been giving him preferential treatment for years. Cord, a wild son, had been placed under some restrictions, but was left mostly to his own devices. “This all seems a bit beyond even your standards.”
“I had a bit of a gambling windfall a few weeks ago. I’ve been using it to supplement my allowance,” Cord said. “Besides, I keep a small staff. I’d prefer one great chef and my butler to an entire household.”
Discussing finance with Cord was often an exercise in translation. As he had grown up with wealth and did not work, Cord seemed to view money as a fickle but mostly reliable friend, rather than something to scrounge and fight for.
With his monthly allowance from his father, Cord had purchased a vast flat on the south end of the city, close to the Francis I Chain Bridge, which stretched precariously over Střelecký Island toward the west bank. The island, wild and wooded, famously served as a training area for men practicing with longbows or crossbows. Cord had joked that with the current state of the local militia, he would need to trek north for Charles Bridge at the risk of being shot while on his morning constitutional. The flat was on the top floor of a narrow building the color of rich butter with elaborate cornices over each window. Bursting from between a garden and a plain white building, its grand design reflected its occupant.
Domek took another bite of duck. “I’ll agree on the cook,” he said. Cord’s butler had disliked Domek from the moment he’d set his low-class boot in the door years before. Proving the butler right, Domek gave into the beseeching eyes beside him and slipped Cord’s dog a bite of duck.
Domek wondered if there were any leftovers in the kitchen that he could wrap up and take over to his mother tomorrow as an apology. She was likely eating the challah from that morning.
“Are you going to tell me about what happened to your flat?” Cord asked while they sipped plum brandy after their plates were scraped clean. Though his flat had several rooms for the purpose, they lingered in the dining room. Once Domek stood up, he would need to prepare for his night at the opera, and he wanted to draw out his evening with his friend slightly longer. After the chaos around the wisp, it was comforting to be with someone familiar.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Domek admitted.
Cord hummed. He was lazily petting his dog’s head. After wolfing down the duck, the disloyal beast had moved back to sit by his owner. “You said it wasn’t about money. Should I assume that it’s related to your…job?”
“Why do you say that like you mean something else?” Domek asked.
Cord raised an eyebrow. “You can’t really think I don’t know what you really do after all these years. Remember how we met?”
“I’m a lamplighter,” Domek said. “Part of that job is keeping the streets safe. We’re watchmen as much as we are mechanics.”
“But you’re not just protecting us from humans,” Cord said.
Domek put down his glass. “You know?”
“About the demons? Yes.”
“How long? Why have you never said anything?”
“I knew that you were probably tasked with keeping the secret,” Cord said. “I know something about that, and I didn’t want to put you in a sticky situation if one of your bosses found out I knew. Besides, you never seemed to want to talk about it. But if the problem is starting to follow you home…”
“I’m handling it,” Domek said. “How did you find out about them? Did I let something slip?”
“I’ve known since before we met,” Cord said. “Those who operate in Prague’s underground tend to run into one another, whether we’re looking for the same thing or not. I learned early that you need to be careful who you take up on an offer to be sucked in a back room.”
“Cord!”
“Don’t be a prude,” Cord said, waving a hand.
“It’s not that,” Domek said. Cord had always be
en blasé about the laws against sodomy—the harsh punishments of the past had been reduced to jail time in recent decades, which he could buy his way free from—and Domek trusted him to know his wants. “You’re putting yourself at risk. What sort of men are you associating with that you can’t tell a pijavica from a man?”
“It’s not as easy as you might think,” Cord said. “I’m sure you’ve walked past a dozen in tailcoats and never looked twice.”
“I know there are pijavice who have wormed their way into power, but I’m sure I would recognize them if I saw them. There’s no hiding evil. You need to be more careful about who you trust. They’re monsters.”
“Don’t worry. I’ve taken up with an entirely human sort of degenerate,” Cord assured him. “I’m not picking up anyone new right now.”
“It’s that serious?” Domek asked, distracted. In their years of friendship, Cord had never settled down with anyone.
Cord knocked back the rest of his brandy. “I’ll give you all of the gossip later, Myska. Right now, you have your own love life to worry about. If you don’t get going soon, you’ll be late. Come on. Let’s see if there’s anything in my closet you can borrow for it that won’t be ripped to shreds by that chest of yours.”
After her day with Lord Czernin then Alena, Ora was tempted to cancel her plans and spend the night wandering the streets, working out her roiling anger on anything in her path. She wanted to crush something in her hands until she was no longer the most broken thing in the city.
Why did her past continue to drag at her heels like a hound running a fox to ground? Would she spend eternity picking up more sorrows to haunt her? Perhaps it was what she deserved. Today, she had hurt two of the only living humans who gave a damn about her.
Late in the afternoon, Lina had turned up at her door with a flat expression. Without speaking, she had carefully sponged the blood and dirt from Ora’s skin, squeezed her into a new gown, and curled her hair in an elaborate modern style. Every time Ora opened her mouth to apologize or to announce she was canceling her date, the oppressive silence had kept her quiet. They had avoided eye contact as Lina worked, and Ora did not complain when Lina tugged on her knotted hair too hard.
The Lights of Prague Page 15