The Lights of Prague

by Nicole Jarvis

  The transition into Válka’s leadership had been smoother than anyone could have hoped, considering the circumstances.

  To Domek’s surprise, Anton had been one of the first to welcome Válka when he’d been reassigned from the War Office. He had kept quiet about the truth of what happened that night in the Old Town Square, and some of his brash charm had been subdued in the aftermath. Though hesitant to attach himself to another commander, Anton had told the other lamplighters that new leadership was the way forward after Paluska’s death. In contrast to the charismatic Paluska, Válka was as quiet and serious as he was skilled and deadly. The lamplighters were still kept separate from the broader workings of the government, but Válka’s influence brought a level of discipline—and respect—the lamplighters had been craving.

  Abrahams was sitting by Válka’s side. Webber’s loss had been difficult for all the lamplighters, but Abrahams had been left the most bereft. With Anton still kept at arm’s length, Domek had spent more time with Abrahams, and had found a steadfast friend in the Jewish man. Unlike Paluska, Válka saw Abrahams’s value, and had assigned additional lamplighters to the Jewish Quarter to help control the monsters within its borders.

  On Domek’s other side was Ora, who was engaged talking to Cord. After their first meeting in the museum, Cord and Ora had gotten along alarmingly well. When they were together in a room, they tended to outshine any other comers.

  Tonight, they were both speaking so quickly that it gave Domek a headache to try to listen in. The conversation bounced as quickly as their words, sending them darting from topic to topic and sentence to sentence like deer bounding from danger.

  Noticing his attention, Ora reached over and patted Domek’s forearm without taking her eyes off Cord. Domek held her hand and squeezed it for a moment before returning his attention to Válka.

  After dinner, they retreated to the sitting room at the front of the house, nursing their glasses of wine—or blood—and chatting. It was late into the night. Domek had come after his dusk to midnight shift, and dinner had been served after one in the morning. Sometimes, they held the parties before Domek’s shifts started, but tonight, the mood was languorous, with nowhere for any of them to be until late the next day.

  At the first such gathering, he had been worried that he would be outclassed by Ora’s idea of a casual dinner party, but his fears had been quickly alleviated. The food was extravagant, but Ora never compared her coffers to those of her guests. She had money and influence, and she chose to spend it on her friends. Domek’s brief flirtation with shame had quickly given way to appreciation when he’d seen how she glowed when the house was full of guests.

  Ora was in her element in a group. She was the glue that bound them together; with her quick smile and quicker tongue, she swept them all into her orbit.

  “How was Alena?” Domek asked Ora quietly when they finally had a moment alone, tucked at the side of the room. Cord was telling some story to Abrahams with animated hand gestures. Though he enjoyed her parties, extended time with any group tended to exhaust Domek. He needed occasional breaks from the pressure, but over the last few months, as he and Ora had grown closer, her company had become as healing as being alone.

  She smiled at him, leaning close. In public, they kept a respectable distance, if only for Domek’s sensibilities, but among their friends, Ora never resisted her instincts to reach out to him. Domek leaned into her touches, returning them in his own small ways. “She was sorry to miss this. I invited her, but she said it was far past her bedtime. Otherwise, I’m sure she’d love to be charming this menagerie of men.”

  “How is she doing?” Domek had met Ora’s sister-in-law a few weeks earlier. He had never seen her so nervous, apart from when Domek had taken her to meet his mother. She had told Domek about her first husband, and had warned him that his sister might see Domek as an interloper, despite the years that had passed. Instead, Alena had been delighted to meet Ora’s new romantic interest.

  Ora shrugged. “She’s having a good week. She’s feeling stronger for the moment.”

  “I’m sure she was grateful that you visited,” Domek said.

  “It’s not as hard now, when I know I won’t be coming back to an empty house,” Ora admitted. Domek spent most evenings before work there, when she wasn’t visiting him across the city. “Is that wrong of me?”

  “You know I could never judge you for being happy,” Domek pointed out. He’d gotten over his fear of living up to the memory of her husband quickly. Lord Franz Fischer had spent many blissful decades with Ora that Domek would never know. Ora was still there, though, and now Domek was the one with the chance to bring her happiness. His only plan was to live up to the task.

  “I wish Sokol were here. He would have loved this,” Ora said, looking over the room.

  “I’m sorry I never got to meet him.”

  “You would have driven each other up the wall,” she said fondly. “It would have been a sight to see.”

  “Ora,” Cord called from across the room. “We need you to settle an argument.”

  “I do love to argue,” Ora said to Domek with a bright smile. “Will you help?”

  Domek shook his head. “I’m going to grab another bottle of wine,” he said, and slipped out of the room.

  He refilled his glass and took it up to the balcony on the second level. It was a balmy night now that summer had come to Prague, the air heavy with the scents of green leaves, sweat, fish, and stone. Over the years, the smell of the city had become as familiar to Domek as its churches.

  It was difficult for all of them to remember the ones they had lost. The absences were as loud as the presences. His mother’s cards had been right—there had been death in his life, too much, and endless change.

  He had not seen Kája again since he had set him free those months ago. Had the wisp and his wife finally broken from the ties that bound them to earth, or were their spirits still in the city? What of those who had been lost during the fight? No ending seemed truly final in Prague.

  Glancing over the street, swirling the wine in his hand, he saw an unexpected figure leaning against a lamppost on the opposite side. It was Bazil, his face half-shadowed by a top hat.

  He caught Domek watching him from the balcony and gave him a jaunty wave before sauntering over. “Domek Myska,” he called up, voice just loud enough to carry. “It’s good to see you. I’m glad you survived our last business.”

  “What are you doing here? Did Lord Czernin send you?” Domek asked, not smiling back. After telling Ora about the gambler, it had been obvious to them both that Bazil’s mysterious pijavica lord in the countryside had been Ora’s old master.

  “You’re not quite as ignorant as you were when we first met, are you?”

  “I’ve been wondering for weeks why you saved me,” Domek said. “I know Czernin would not have wanted me alive.”

  “He never knew about you—not from me, at least. I never truly worked for him, you know. I gave him some information only when it benefited both of us, but he didn’t hold my strings. I led him on a merry dance for a few years. He never confirmed my reports, so I could make sure he only knew what I wanted him to know. But he’s gone off the rails since his last pet left. He’s more engaged than he’s been in a long time. He’s curious again. It’s dangerous.”

  “I warned you about playing two sides.”

  “You won’t be so self-righteous when I’m the only person who can warn you if he decides to make a move. It’s good to have an eye on your enemy. But I’m not here about Czernin tonight.”

  “Then why are you here? What business could you have with this house?”

  Bazil crossed his arms, seeming casual despite the strangeness of their positions. “Surely you’ve guessed by now. Why do you think I was following you in the first place? I told you—Czernin didn’t know who you were. You were a nobody lamplighter. He wouldn’t have known to have you trailed.”

  Bazil had seen Domek’s first test with Ká
ja, before even the second set of pijavice had found him. Why had he been there? Domek had been so wrapped up in the chaos that he hadn’t questioned it. “If it wasn’t on Czernin’s orders, why did you do it?”

  “It was for your own good,” Bazil said. “A friend of mine was worried about you patrolling on your own. You’re reckless for such a slow man. I had some time, so I did him the favor of trailing you myself. It only got more interesting when I realized what you possessed.”

  Domek frowned. “What friend was worried about me?”

  Bazil cleared his throat. “Cord speaks highly of you. I didn’t want him to lose someone he cares about when I could do something about it.”

  “Cord?” Domek repeated in shock. Then, seeing Bazil’s expression—which was somewhere between smug and soft—he said, “Tell me you’re not the unsavory human he told me he was seeing.”

  Bazil raised his eyebrows. “Is that how he described me? Either way, rest assured I’m not here to spy on you tonight. I’m meeting with Cord after dinner, but arrived early. I thought I’d keep an eye out while he has his fun. I’ll take a walk around the block while you finish your brooding, shall I?”

  “I’m not brooding,” Domek contradicted, but Bazil was already heading off, hands in his pockets.

  Cord and Bazil. He’d hoped his friend had better taste than getting romantically involved with a thief and a gambler. Then again, if the man was willing to divide his resources to look after the people who made Cord happy, perhaps Domek could look past his career for Cord’s sake.

  Domek brushed his hair from his eyes. Hot air hung heavily over the city, despite the late hour. In the morning, those who went out would bake in the sun’s heat, though the occasional breeze from the Vltava would give them a moment’s respite.

  As though his thoughts had summoned it, a wind drifted over the balcony. It tugged at his sleeves and rustled the pages of the book Ora had left by the railing, dancing lightly. The wind brushed his skin with a fresh kiss of coolness from the river.

  Though the skies were clear, the scent of a storm lingered in the air.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are so many people who helped make this book in your hands a reality. I’m grateful for everyone, but special thanks need to be given:

  To my agent, Michael Carr. What a gift we got to meet in the city that started it all!

  To the brilliant staff at Titan Books. To my editorial team, Craig Leyenaar and Natasha Qureshi. To Polly Grice, Katharine Carroll, Laura Price, Julia Lloyd, Lydia Gittins, Julia Bradley, Filippos Rempoutzakos, and all the others who work behind the scenes.

  To my friends. To Anna, Katherine, Lu, and Shae. To my Charmanders and my FYA ladies. Around you, I’ve never felt afraid to be my fullest self, and I’m so grateful for that.

  Finally, to my family. To Clint, who demonstrates kindness in every action. To Jenna, who brings joy into every room. To Paul, who loves adventure as much as I do. To Emily, my roommate, travel partner, and biggest cheerleader. To my dad, who encouraged me to chase my dreams. To my mom, whose loyalty, love, and compassion I’m lucky to have in my life. I love you all so much.

  A NOTE ON THE AUTHOR

  Nicole Jarvis has been writing stories as long as she can remember. After graduating with degrees in English and Italian from Emory University, Nicole moved to New York City to work in publishing. She lives in Manhattan with two cats named after children’s book characters.

  www.nicolejarvisbooks.com

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