“I’m not ready yet.”
He stood in the open archway that divided his room from the rest of the library, his eyes like two bright stars in the darkness. "It seems someone tipped off the Free Men." The sharp edge in his voice raised the hair on the back of my neck.
"Did they? How strange. Is tonight off then?"
The angel’s eyes remained fixed on me. I couldn’t tell if it was because I wasn’t wearing any clothes, or if he was suspicious of something. "The plan has changed. Instead of in the music hall, they will be meeting on a ship moored in the Dark River. I still plan to listen in, and you will be coming with me. I’ll be hiding in a secret room in the galley. But you will be moving around the ship. You will serve them drinks. I’d like you to listen in to their conversations, and read lips. Tell me anything you hear that sounds significant.”
I nodded and waited for him to move away. Except he just kept looking at me, his eyes searching. Was he trying to read betrayal? And why did I feel guilt?
He should be feeling guilt. I wanted to ask him if he’d been ripping out people’s lungs, but it wasn’t like he’d tell me the truth. I clutched the towel. “What do I need to wear?”
“Ernald will have some clothes for you there. There’s a certain style of dress for the women at the secret Free Men parties.”
“Ernald?” Understanding dawned. “Oh. He’s an informant for you, isn’t he?”
“He owns the ship. I understand the activities there are unsavory at times."
Unsavory. That certainly sounded like my boss.
Samael’s pale eyes swept down my neck, and I realized he was following the path of a droplet of water down my throat. I saw his fist clench, then he turned and stalked out of the room as forcefully as he’d entered.
I let out a long breath, then finished toweling off. Whatever happened tonight, I could only hope it didn't lead to the apocalypse that these angels wanted to create.
Whatever the storm was, I wanted to be on the right side of it.
Samael wore his dark cloak as usual. As we walked along the riverside, Sourial walked ahead, wearing a shirt for once, along with his blue star-flecked cape.
A warm, briny wind swept off the river. The setting sun dipped lower in the sky, like a ripe red fruit, and it stained the periwinkle clouds with streaks of orange. Vibrant colors rippled out over the dark water. Sometimes the city could be so beautiful.
As we approached the ship—to the west of the castle—I saw that it was very different from the ones I was used to pilfering. This one was an old-fashioned wooden galleon with enormous sails. It looked like a pirate ship from the old days, and it now functioned as one of Ernald’s many clubs.
Tonight, it wasn’t only the angels I had to worry about. What about the cop who I’d warned earlier today? If he was there, I wondered if he’d keep his mouth shut. His comment about looking out for compromised women disturbed me somewhat.
As we approached the ship, I quietly prayed to the Raven King that nothing terrible would happen.
At the walkway that led up to the ship, I followed behind the two angels. The quarterdeck rose above us to the right, and the old boards creaked as we crossed over to it.
We descended a narrow stairwell, which led us to an expansive captain’s cabin below deck.
And there was Ernald, sitting at one end of a long mahogany table. Normally composed and relaxed, his entire body seemed tense. His three-piece suit looked impeccable as ever, though. “Zahra,” he said, a little too pointedly. “How nice to see you again.”
Sourial dropped into a chair, then crossed his ankles on another chair. He pulled out a flask. “Can we kill these pigs or what?"
Ernald laughed nervously. "I thought you were just here to listen. That was my understanding. No death here tonight on the Merry Cauldron. Wasn’t that the plan?”
Samael cut in, "That's right. We are only here to listen. We're not going to strike right now. There's much information that we still need to gather. I want to know where they meet. What their numbers are. What they have planned. What valuable items they might have in their possession.”
I glanced at Sourial, lounging casually on the chair. It was so hard to reconcile this version of him with the dark-eyed monster I’d seen earlier today. Because when he was standing before those dead women, he’d looked like he was about to burn the world down and tear everyone apart, limb from limb.
29
Lila
Ernald rubbed his hands together. “Well, let’s get down to brass tacks.” He pointed behind me. “There’s a room where you can hide. Built long ago, back when an order of warrior monks were at war with the Albian king. The monks used to hide in secret rooms on these ships to escape the purges, burnings, all that. And now, my guests can pay extra to watch men and women …enjoy themselves …” He cleared his throat. “Well, you get my meaning. And you have certainly paid me handsomely indeed, so you can watch as much as you like.”
Then he looked at me. “Zahra.” Again over-emphasizing the name, as if he was trying to remind himself. “We’re going to need to change. You look lovely, but it's not that sort of place." He waved at my plain black trousers. "The women are wearing a lot less fabric than you are. Like you normally do, in your role as courtesan.”
I sighed. “I understand."
“And you may need to act in uh … accordance to your role. As courtesan.”
Here we go again. I closed my eyes, wishing I could get out of here.
Ernald pointed behind me again, and I turned to see a full-length mirror, framed with ornately carved wood. He sauntered over and pressed a small button on the right side of the frame—a small cherry carved into the wood. The mirror swung open, revealing a small room.
"This room has two entrances and exits," said Ernald. "There's another hidden door to the right just here."
I peered inside. It was only about two-foot square, with a plain bench where Ernald had left my outfit—if you could call the little bits of pale blue silk an outfit. The room had two-way mirrors on either side, giving a view of both the lower cabin and the captain’s cabin.
I supposed I’d better get changed. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me, then pulled off my dark clothes, my trousers. I slid out of my pink underwear, courtesy of Finn.
Because given what I was supposed to wear tonight, the hem would be sticking out. I tried to navigate the ribbons and straps and stockings, though it seemed things were criss-crossing in the wrong way. My thighs were completely bare, and on top I was wearing nothing but a thin camisole made of blue silk. I was in ridiculously tall high heels again.
I clenched my fists, feeling like I was about to walk out there completely exposed. And with the two-way mirror, I already felt disturbingly aware of every inch of bare skin.
The pale blue fishnet stockings came up to my thighs, with little garter ribbons connecting them to my underwear, and a lace belt around my waist that seemed to serve no purpose.
But I was supposed to be a courtesan, wasn’t I?
I suppose we all have different ways to serve our country.
And yet I wasn’t about to shag a bunch of random men, so I’d have to be quick on my feet.
When I walked back out into the Captain’s cabin, the room fell silent. Sourial leaned forward in his chair, darkness sliding through his eyes. His sensual lips curled in a lopsided smile. “Now that has my attention. But you’ve done it wrong.”
He rose from the table, then knelt at my feet. He started unhooking the ribbons at my thighs, pulling them from the hem of the knickers and attaching them to the belt around my waist. Each brush of his fingertips against my skin sent heat racing. I felt like fire was skimming over me, and my cheeks burned.
He stood, his crooked smile taking a wicked curve. “Interesting, really, that a courtesan wouldn’t know what she was doing in that regard.”
I felt Samael’s eyes on me. When I turned to look at him, his fingers were twitching at the hilt of his sword. His cloak
was still pulled up, but by the way he was standing, I had the sense that he was on the verge of murdering someone.
“Are you quite finished, Sourial?” Samael’s voice cut through the air, low and threatening.
Sourial gave him a lazy shrug. “Well someone has to get her sorted. And I know it won’t be you.”
“You’d best be leaving,” said Samael, and the edge in voice made even Sourial pale.
Ernald looked up and simply nodded at the door. "Go on out then, Zahra. Get yourself acquainted with the place. There's champagne, and the guests will be arriving soon.”
“I’ll be waiting on the river walk, hidden,” said Sourial. “But I will be listening in, and if there is an opportunity to slaughter any of these Free Men, I will definitely be taking it."
Ernald laughed nervously again. “Well, I will leave you all to it. I’m going to, uh … make myself scarce.”
On my own, I walked out into something like a below-deck ballroom, with a bar, a chandelier, upholstered chairs—and a few whips. Good. Okay. Should be an interesting evening.
I stepped over to a table with champagne flutes, and bottles of champagne in brassy buckets of ice. I would keep myself so busy with filling champagne that I’d be fresh out of time for whipping anyone or vice versa. My nerves were getting the better of me, and I wondered if anyone would mind if I started the champagne myself. But no one else was here to watch me, so I uncorked a bottle and poured myself a little glass. It was delicious, a little sweet, and the bubbles went straight to my head.
I started to relax a little. So I was playing a dangerous game of double agent, but I would find a way to keep my head above water. I always did.
It wasn't long before some more women arrived, and when they took off their coats, I saw they were dressed like I was.
One of them flashed me a smile. She had beautiful long golden hair that cascaded over her little, lacy, white underwear, lips painted crimson. Another, with black curls and a beautiful curvy body, waved at me as she crossed the room. She started filling champagne glasses.
The third woman who came in made my heart skip a beat, because I actually knew her from the music hall. She called herself Ginger, and I would have recognized her vibrant red hair anywhere.
As soon as she saw me, she grinned, "Lila! New job? I didn’t know you were working as a courtesan these days.”
I smiled tightly, and felt myself going pale. Samael would be watching this very conversation. “I’m sorry, you've mistaken me for my friend. I’m Zahra,” I said pointedly.
She simply frowned and said, "Oh?"
"My name is Zahra," I said again.
She nodded slowly. "Yes, Zahra.” She smiled. “Of course.”
It might not have been the most convincing performance, but she at least tried to catch on and play along. Then one by one, I heard the guests arriving, their footfalls clacking on the deck above us.
My mouth went dry as men in sleek black shirts came into the room, their silver cufflinks gleaming. They all had slick hair, and they wore their shirts buttoned all the way up.
I started moving around, offering champagne flutes, filling glasses. Hoping no one paid me too much attention. I was relieved to see Finn wasn’t here. For one thing, this outfit would give him a heart attack. And for another, I didn’t want him on Samael’s radar. I supposed he hadn’t proven himself yet with the Free Men, and maybe that was for the best. Being one of the Free Men seemed a dangerous situation at this point.
As I moved around, I perked up my ears, trying to tune into their conversations. I managed to catch a few bits and pieces. In the corner, I heard two men talking about the baron. They were tall and lean, both with blond hair and tidy little mustaches. Both had receding chins. If they weren’t twins, they were certainly brothers.
But after one tantalizing sentence about the baron, they shifted topic to what kind of arse they liked on a woman—lean, muscular, round? What a fascinating discussion.
My gaze flicked across the room. There, two men were huddled close, looking like they were having a much more serious conversation. I trained my gaze on their lips.
I picked up the words “book in our possession,” though I had no idea what that was. And the word Lilith.
Lilith. Why did that name raise goosebumps over my skin?
Unfortunately, the chinless wonders were staring at me, licking their lips.
I raised the champagne bottle. “Bubbly?”
“You just filled our glasses,” said one of them in a nasal voice that set my teeth on edge. “Honestly, a bit overeager, aren’t you?”
The other looked me up and down, snorting a laugh. “Well overeager isn’t always a bad thing. Bet she’s gagging for it. Aren’t you? Gagging for it? Girl like you?”
As my teeth clenched, I forced myself to giggle. Though honestly part of my mind was contemplating jumping into the river and seeing how far I could swim.
But before I had to take that drastic action, a newcomer crossed into the room—a man dressed to the nines in a gray suit. He had a thin black mustache and dark hair. As soon as the hush fell over the room, I knew he was important. Was this the baron himself?
He held out his arms to either side. “Well, shall we let the real party begin?”
“Lord Apedale is here,” said one of the blond twins. He lifted his champagne flute. “Let’s drink a toast to the baron’s right-hand man! Glad you joined us.”
Not the baron himself, then.
While I’d been eavesdropping, it seemed more women had arrived, too, and some had started dancing with the men, pressed up close to them, moving their hips.
Ginger—my red-headed friend—was now bent over a chair with her pale white arse wiggling. One of the Free Men was spanking her bottom with a whip, and her skin streaked with pink. I stared for a moment.
Oh, God. Was that what they’d want from me?
I turned around to find the chinless twins leering at me again.
One of them stepped closer. "Your turn,” he said. “Time for you to take the rest of that off, isn’t it? Show us what we want to see.”
I stared at him dumbly. “Take it off?”
"It’s what you're here for, isn't it? Show us your tits, your arse. Your minge. What else are you for?”
I was starting to wonder if perhaps I could help Sourial just murder all of them.
“I’m new,” I stammered.
He raised his glass. “Even better. Unused.”
Were these really the people who were going to save our country? This could not be right.
And when I glanced over his shoulder, I had a fresh new wave of horror. There was the cop I'd spoken to earlier, who’d seen me with Sourial. Was he going to out me here, mention that he’d seen me with the angels?
But how was I going to get out of here without anyone realizing?
“I’ll just go find a place to take my clothes off.” Before they could say another word, I hurried back in the direction of the captain's quarters.
I was going to have to hide in that tiny room with Samael.
30
Samael
A fallen angel is always a knife's edge away from becoming a beast—when primal drives overtake reason, and our eyes shift to shadows or flames. At these times, instinct drowns out language, and all meaning is incinerated in the hellfire of violence or lust. The angelic side, our memories of words and our past—that all burns away completely. That is what it means to be Fallen.
When our true faces emerge, we fuck, we kill, we take what is ours.
As I watched Zahra pouring champagne, I became entranced by her movements, the golden tone of her skin, the curve of her waist. I couldn’t stop thinking of her in my bath, the droplets of water beading on her tan skin.
And when those two reedy men leered at her, I found myself wanting to rip their heads off their bodies.
I was trying to stay focused, trying to listen for news of the Mysterium Liber. It was the key to everything. I’d burn down the world j
ust to get it in my hands. I would destroy the Free Men completely, grinding their bones to dust. I’d fertilize the fields of Albia with their blood.
And I had to strike soon.
When I told Zahra about how I fell, I’d left a few things out. She didn’t need to know about Lilith.
Around Zahra, I felt my thoughts going dark in the same way they once had around Lilith. At any moment, my true face was in danger of emerging—just like it had in battle. That blankness clouded my mind, bereft of reason.
And if Zahra saw my true face in all its horror, she would never look at me the same. As the Angel of Death, I reminded mankind of what they most yearned to forget. Mortals spent all their time trying to forget one important truth: that they were, in fact, mortal. They found ways to keep the fear of death at bay, to convince themselves they’d made peace with it, that they would live on in one way or another.
Mankind’s mortality was a horrifying pit they couldn’t bear to look at, a grave that gaped out before them. So they constructed their shaky edifices to hide it, built of pretty lies. They ignored the grave awaiting them, future obsolescence. They told themselves that through Albia or God, they could become eternal.
My true face was a storm wind that rushed in, ripped the pretty lies to pieces and forced them to confront that yawning void. And always, it broke their minds. I’d driven many brave soldiers mad.
And when that bestial side of me emerged, I moved like the wind, severing the bodies of my enemies, bathing the fields in their blood.
As I watched Zahra walk closer to the secret room, half naked, my thoughts started to dim, my blood pounding hard. And that was a problem, because I could feel reason slipping. Except I wasn’t thinking about death. No, I was thinking about the thousands of sordid things I’d like to do with her perfect body—where I’d like to touch her, to stroke her, make her moan as I ran my finger over her most sensitive parts. I wanted to know what she tasted like, how her nipples would feel in my mouth.
The Fallen (Hades Castle Trilogy Book 1) Page 15