In here, the ceiling towered high above us. The lurid colors once painted on the inside of the place had faded, sedate now. Velvet curtains draped from a towering stage. High above me, candles hung in chandeliers. Two stories of balconies swept around overhead, private rooms where only East Dovren’s fanciest denizens were allowed entry.
And all around me, people danced in their best clothes, faces beaming with happiness. The Bibliotek band was playing on the stage, a trumpeter blaring a solo.
I turned back to the entry, hoping that they’d given up.
But, no. My stomach sank. Three of them had barged in, eyes trained on me.
I needed to find my friend Zahra—fast.
3
Count Saklas
I turned the corner onto a dark, crowded lane where music and shouts rose from the pubs. My sword—Asmodai—hung at my waist. Forged from stars, it was one of the few things that brought me pleasure.
For a moment, I peered in the window of a pub called the Green Garland. Men and women crowded around tables, drinking, singing. Steam clouded the window.
After a thousand years on earth, I’d still never learned to enjoy the things mankind did.
Compared to an angel’s senses, mortals’ were dull. They perceived only a fraction of the light, heard only the loudest of noises. Their lives were so short, a few beats of a moth’s wings. And for some reason, they liked to spend their short time dulling their unremarkable senses even further. It seemed they reveled in madness, in stupidity.
I thought the knowledge angels had bestowed upon them was wasted.
Though they were drunk, my presence seemed to unnerve them anyway. They shifted away from the windows, and they drank even deeper from their pints. Maybe it made sense. Maybe that was how they coped with mortality—trying to forget it existed.
With me nearby, they drank more. Even if they didn’t know who I was, they felt the Venom of God in their presence.
I turned away from the window. Emptiness hollowed out my chest. It had been a long time since I’d felt a real thrill. Even war no longer delighted me. In the last battle, the mortals had used poisons and great arcs of fire to murder each other in droves. Injured soldiers had crawled through mud and bone and blood. That was what mortals had done with the secrets the angels taught them.
The horror of it all had broken the soldiers’ minds. Not a fun madness like they got from drinking in pubs. No, it was a sort of madness that made them scream in the night, made their hands shake and cheeks pale.
I turned the corner onto Parchment Row, where yellow lights illuminated window panes in black buildings.
A young woman lingered in the mouth of an alleyway, and she watched me carefully as I approached. She wore a dingy black dress, and blond hair framed her heart-shaped face.
“Half a crown,” she said, hopefully. “Make your dreams come true.”
Now there was an interesting idea, because I certainly intended to make my dreams come true. But if she had any idea what really played out in my dreams, I had a feeling her mind would break, too.
I ignored her, walking past.
But her hand jutted out, and she grabbed my arm. Slowly, I turned to look at her, leveling the full force of my divine gaze on her. Her smile faded, and she started to tremble.
A moment of dread before her fear faded, then her features started to soften, pupils dilating. Her heart raced faster, cheeks growing pink.
Among mortals, I was known as both a destroyer and a seducer.
It’s just that I never wanted to act on the seduction. Not only did I not possess the desire, but seducing a mortal woman would make me, for a time, mortal. The name Seducer, in my opinion, was completely misplaced.
“Half a crown,” she said again, breathlessly. “Or less. You smell nice.”
Then she dropped her grip on me, and stepped back into the alley, facing the wall.
Slowly, she lifted her skirt, all the way to her waist, exposing her bare body beneath, the naked curves of her hips, her legs. Thrusting her bottom backward, she looked at me hopefully over her shoulder, her pale eyes wide.
“Put that away.” I started walking again.
My gaze set on my intended destination: Alfred’s Rare Books. I pushed through the door into a narrow, cluttered space.
Stacks of books crowded every surface—tables, desks, bookshelves. All haphazardly arranged. Candlelight danced back and forth over the warped wood floors, the dusty shelves of books.
At the back of the shop, a dark-haired man sat next to a guttering taper, a pen in his hand. He surveyed me through a thick set of spectacles.
“Alfred?” I said.
His hands shook. “Count Saklas. Welcome.”
I pulled out a pouch of gold. “You have the Mysterium Liber for me?”
His eyes shifted around the room, which set me on edge. My hand twitched at Asmodai’s hilt.
I stared at Alfred. “The book. Where is it?”
Gripping the pen, his hand was trembling so much he unconsciously scribbled jagged lines all over his ledger. It wasn’t unusual for people to react to me with terror. It was the natural way of things. The strange part was that his attention was not on me.
Something was off.
I was drawing my sword just as the first bullet hit. Another, and another slammed me from behind, knocking me forward into Alfred’s desk.
But the bullets passed through me, and already my immortal body was healing. I whirled, sword drawn. The gunfire fell silent as they realized the mistake they’d made.
Five men: all sleek hair and black shirts. They stood behind me, guns drawn.
“For Albia!” one of them shouted, but I heard the terror in his voice.
A dark smile curled my lips. Now these men, without question, deserved to die.
The first arc of my sword went through two necks, and for just a moment, I felt a flicker of that pure, divine destruction that had once blazed from me. These mortals were enemies of the angels, and their deaths imbued me with strength.
The bullets started flying again, gunshots ringing out. I felt the sting when they entered my skin, but they sailed through. I healed fast, and I pivoted.
Asmodai sang as he cut through two more evildoers, and my body vibrated as I moved in a whirlwind of death. The final living man pulled the trigger. It clacked, empty. His hands were shaking so much, he dropped the gun.
“We’re trying to protect our kingdom,” he stammered, his blond hair now out of place, “from tyrants like you.”
With a smile, I took another step closer. When my sword cut through his throat, my blood started to sing. There was the thrill again.
I turned back to my new friend, Alfred. I could smell the stench of his urine from here, and he gripped his pen like it was a lifeline.
I pointed my sword at his neck. “Where is the Mysterium Liber?”
He rasped, “We are the Free Men,” and finding some hidden well of strength, he threw his pen at me with a little yelp.
I smirked. Unfortunately for him, the pen is not actually mightier than the sword.
Asmodai cleaved his traitorous head in two, and the glory of the kill spilled up my arms, a warm light on my body.
I sheathed my sword , my exhilaration replaced with disappointment.
This had been nothing but an ambush, and I was no closer to finding the Mysterium Liber.
I crossed outside into the rain, hoping it would wash some of the blood off me. When I showed up at the Bibliotek Music Hall, I didn’t want to arrive soaked in gore.
My dreams had told me I’d be looking for a woman going by the name of Zahra.
4
Lila
I shoved my way through the crowd, trying to crouch down to escape the eye-line of the Rough Boys.
I loved nearly everything about the music hall, except for the guards. They allowed any old creep into the floor level—the drunks, the thieves like me.
But when it came to the upper stories? You had to actually be som
ebody. The mezzanine above me was for high class courtesans, singers, musicians, actors, writers, landlords, merchants. My best friend Zahra worked up there.
And to sit in a box on the upper floor—you’d need to be a duke or something. I’d heard rumors that bookshelves lined all the walls and people feasted on roast chickens and fresh strawberries while servants brought them drinks. You could pay to watch all kinds of depravities, while drinking claret from crystal goblets.
They’d never let me up there.
But neither would they allow entry to lowlife Rough Boys, would they? That was the only part of the club where I’d be untouchable.
If I could get up there, I’d be golden. Totally, completely safe.
The song changed, and a swell of horns filled the hall. With elbows flying out to either side, I shoved my way to the stairwell. And all the way, I was scanning the crowd for Zahra.
A line of guards stood before the stairs, dressed in navy button-down shirts, hair slicked back. They looked sleek as anything, except for the pot bellies. All of them had pistols.
“I need to get through, please, it’s important.”
One of them snorted audibly, then stared down at me. “Don’t think so. The mezzanine is not for lowlifes.”
“Beg your pardon.” As I stole a glance over my shoulder, I saw with a flicker of relief that the three Rough Boys had already got themselves into a fight with a group of men. They seemed to have interpersonal issues.
“I’ve got Rough Boys after me, and they want to cut off my nose,” I said.
“Not our problem, is it?”
Then—like an angel descending from the heavens—my best friend appeared on the stairs behind them.
Her dark curls draped over a shimmering cream gown. “Lila? What’s going on?”
“Zahra! I need your help. I’ve got Rough Boys on my back. Can you convince the guards to let me up?”
“Not happening!” One of the guards barked. “Only courtesans and clients.”
“What If I was a courtesan for an hour?” I offered.
Zahra nodded. “She can take my shift.”
“Thank you, Zahra.” I heaved a sigh of relief.
“What, you?” asked one of the guards. “You look like a drowned rat. And I doubt you know what you’re doing. Doubt Ernald wants you working on an upper floor.”
“Zahra will fix me up.”
Zahra reached through the line of guards toward me. “You have nothing to worry about. Ernald won’t mind.”
I wasn’t entirely sure that was true, and I’d make a terrible courtesan.
But when I looked behind, I saw that the Rough Boys had spotted me, and they were running right for me.
“And she’ll give you her earnings,” Zahra promised the guards.
The worst thing about being poor was that you found yourself getting into increasingly terrible deals to try to get out of the last terrible deal. Start with a bad loan, and next thing you knew you were working as a courtesan for free.
“Fine,” said the guard. “But you’ll need to come down after you get her ready, Zahra. Can’t have whores lingering in the halls.”
“Courtesans,” she snapped. “Dickhead.”
“You’ve got five minutes,” he shot back, “or I’ll come up there and drag you down myself.”
I clasped Zahra’s hand, and the guards parted just enough to let me through. Red velvet stairs rose up before me, opening at the top into a candlelit hall.
“No riff-raff,” I heard a guard growl, and I turned back to see the line of guards, their pistols aimed at the Rough Boys.
Lost them again. I wanted to gloat, but if the Rough Boys caught the smug look on my face, they’d run through bullets to get to me.
We started climbing the stairway , where paintings of naked women festooned the walls. Near the top, Zahra turned to me and crossed her arms. For a moment, she pursed her bright red lips.
“What?” I asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Please don’t tell me you were stupid enough to borrow money from Diamond Danny.”
“Of course I wasn’t. My mum borrowed it. You know how she is.”
“Ah, now that makes sense.” Zahra leaned forward into the hall, looking left and right. Then she grabbed my hand and pulled me up into a wood corridor, dimly lit with lanterns. A red carpet lined the floor like a long, red tongue. “You know, I think this could be a terrible idea.”
“I can do a good job.” I bit my lip. “That’s not entirely true. Is there a way to do this without actually having sex with anyone?”
“Yes. Most of my clients don’t want sex.”
“Really?”
“There are cheaper girls outside for that.”
She pushed through a door into a room where racks of skimpy clothes lined two of the walls, and an enormous mirror lined another. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting warm light over red upholstered furniture. And in the center of the room stood a table with a bottle of champagne and glasses.
“Okay. So what do they want?”
“To be tied up and spanked, tortured with a feather. The feather is key. You’ll see what I mean. But it’s actually quite complicated. I’m not sure you’re up for this.”
“I’ll be grand. I’m great with a feather.” I had no idea what I was talking about. “What do I wear?”
She frowned at me. “We don’t have long. Take off your clothes.”
My nerves were getting the better of me as I untied my coat. I was twenty-five, so it wasn’t like I was a virgin entirely. But I wasn’t exactly experienced. In fact, I’d only slept with one bloke before—a posh guy who never wanted his friends to know I existed.
“Zahra, do you think customers will be disappointed when they see it’s not you?”
Already, Zahra was picking through the clothes, looking for something for me to wear. “Maybe don’t tell them. We’re the same size. We’ve both got brown curls. You’re not as dark as me, but if they ask, just say it’s cosmetics or something. Men haven’t got a clue about that, have they? I often wear a mask, so they won’t be able to see your face anyway. You just go into the vestibule, say hello to the guard. There’s a new guy tonight, just starting his shift. Then you just wait in the boudoir for the first client. And maybe no one will come.”
“Okay, good. Let’s hope for that.” I peeled off my damp black shirt. “And what if the guy is a creep?”
“You stay in control. In fact, once you get him tied up, you can tell him you’re making him wait. As soon as the coast is clear, we can do a swap.”
“You’re truly a lifesaver, Zahra.”
“And if he gets really aggressive or does anything you don’t like, that’s what the guard is for.”
I slid off my trousers and underwear, and I folded everything up on the table. Zahra dropped a pile of clothes next to my own. Delicate underthings, with crisscrossing straps that would go over my hips and breasts. The sheer material was embroidered with writhing snakes. Beautiful, really.
I started sliding on the underwear, trying to get everything in the right place. “How do I tie someone up? Like a sailor’s knot?”
“There’s too much for you to learn right now, Lila.”
“I’m sorry, Zahra. I couldn’t think of anything else to get away from them. I was between the guards’ guns and the Rough Boys’ daggers.” I slipped the complicated, crisscrossing camisole over my head.
Zahra brought out a pair of five-inch heels, which I had no business wearing. Stepping into them was easy enough, but when I stood I nearly toppled over. I gripped the table, muttering to myself. “You can do this, Lila. Just get through the next fifteen minutes, and the Rough Boys will probably give up.”
Zahra handed me a sheer black robe.
As I pulled it around me, she cast a look up and down my body. “If all else fails, take off your robe. You’ve got the perfect body. Gorgeous tits, fit waist, nice arse, strong legs. His jaw will drop when he sees what you look like, and
his mind will turn to jelly. So just take your kit off, tie him up. Whack him with a whip a few times, tell him he’s naughty, and you’ll be good as gold. I’ll come save you when the coast is clear.”
I nodded. “Seems simple enough.”
“Wait.” Zahra pulled out a tube of red lipstick, and started painting in my lips. “You do look gorgeous. Almost a shame you’ll be covering up your face with a mask.” She stepped back again, narrowing her eyes at me. “Turn around.”
I turned as instructed, only wobbling a little in the heels. Zahra started twisting my hair behind my head.
“You know what I’d like to do some day?” I said, “I want to work on the top floor. I could be a librarian among all the book stacks. And when people asked me for recommendations, I’d pull out the perfect novel for them. And when I was done with work at the end of the day, I’d come down here to dance. Much better than pilfering from the ships.”
She was tying my hair into some sort of knot behind my head. “Hmm … You’ll have to learn to read, probably.”
“I know.”
“Turn around.”
As I spun to face her, her face brightened. “Gorgeous. Fine, I’ll teach you to read. I can even teach you a bit of Clovian.”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Not sure I want to learn the language of our oppressors.”
She held a mirror up to my face. I blinked at the glamorous new person staring back at me, and tilted the mirror down to look at my whole body. I usually tried to hide in the shadows as much as possible. Now, all I had to cover me were the straps of the complicated underwear. The curves of my breasts, my exposed stomach and bare thighs were on display. My blood-red lips looked like pure sin.
Maybe I kind of liked the seductive look for a change. And the best thing about it was that my tattoo was in view—the raven tattoo on my right bicep that all Albian women got at age eighteen. “I am Lady Zahra tonight. Seductress, enchantress, femme fatale.”
“Simmer down, enchantress.” Zahra turned, rifling through a drawer, until she pulled out one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen.
The Fallen (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 1) Page 2