Fate's Kiss

by Elysabeth Grace

  Anne attempted to sit up and failed. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Listen to me, Christopher Sebastian Willoughby. What I witnessed was not born of a fever. I shared the Tamahaq’s mind, saw what she saw, heard every word . . . I saw Satan end Lilith’s life.”

  Kit stared at his twin and Anne knew he searched for lucidity. “My reason is fine. It’s my body that is weak, Kit.”

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was no longer on the island, or in the forest.” She looked at her brother. “Lilith spoke to me, insisted I become a cheetah. She guided me to the oasis where she and Satan stood. She bound my mind and body so I couldn’t interfere, said I was there to witness, nothing else.”

  Anne pulled her bottom lip between her teeth then released it. “He was so angry, Kit. Enraged that she was consort to Lucifer, that she accepted what Fate decreed. He refused to acknowledge her human body, refused her human name. To Satan she was Lilith. She tried to reason with him but he wouldn’t listen. He was so full of rage, and in so much pain.”

  The memory gripped Anne and her face became wet with tears. “There was so much anguish, so much heartbreak. He demanded she betray Lucifer. She refused, despite the agony Satan caused her. I shared it, Kit. When the pain became unbearable, she made Satan’s fist the instrument of her death. I felt it all, the moment the bones fractured and his fingers clenched her heart.”

  Her broken sobs filled the room and Kit’s hand closed around hers. He started to speak but she waved him to silence.

  “Lilith forced my mind from hers seconds before her death,” Anne said. “I watched her body die, his fist deep in her chest. Saw the blood drip from his fingers to the sand when he pulled his hand from her body. I shall never forget the sound of his torment. He lost everything in that moment.”

  “He is to blame, Anne,” Kit stated flatly. “He rebelled. He began the civil war among angels and brought that war to humankind. Do not pity Satan.”

  “Yet I do,” she argued. “Lilith was his life mate and chose loyalty over love. He rebelled because he lost the only heart he had. She was his life as he was hers. Her death broke him and I pitied him. Despite everything he has done to Lilith’s line, I watched him and I pitied him.”

  Her fingers fisted beneath Kit’s hand. “How could I after all he’s done to our family, Kit? His creatures hunt me, hunt our kind and I pity him. Why?”

  Kit eased his arms around her and gently pulled her against his chest. “I have no answers, Tamahaq. Only Fate does.”

  1

  London, 1681

  * * *

  “The auction, Anne.”

  Bella’s impatient voice intruded on Anne Holland’s distracted thoughts and Anne tilted her head to look at her friend.

  “Everything is in readiness,” she said. “Emile will surpass himself this year with food and drink as he has done since we introduced the auction. What more must be attended to?”

  “Requests for invitations only you can refuse,” Bella declared. “Lord Pellen seeks one for himself and a guest. This is the first year he’s asked. He’s not secret about wanting to bring the brothel under his control.”

  She shuddered and reached up to rub her furrowed forehead. “It worries me how much power he wields and that he has the King’s ear. A too deep investigation may prove our undoing.”

  “Alan Mountjoy will never set foot in Holland’s League and not just because he tried to kidnap Celeste as she left the apothecary,” Anne stated. “I’m not worried about his plans. I will notify Pellen his request is refused. I’ll also send a message to my cousin. The second request?”

  “Demon Gabriel.”

  A shiver went through Anne. “Demon” Gabriel Elstone, Marquis of Alenesby had never sought the services of a woman at Holland’s League, or any brothel in London to her knowledge. Gossip about the efforts to reel the man in kept her amused. His rare visits to Holland’s League were limited to the Hazard and Vingt-un tables because of the brothel’s reputation for honesty. Once or twice, he had asked to meet with her but she always sent word she was unavailable. She had long accepted he excited and terrified her. Avoidance had kept him at bay, which meant Demon’s unexpected request probably didn’t bode well for her peace of mind.

  A slight tap on her forearm had Anne looking at the woman seated to her right. Every morning the courtesans gathered in one of two private salons of Holland’s League. This morning Eleanor was instructing the newest member of the brothel in the ways of the courtesan. “What is it, Celeste?”

  “Do you agree, Anne? With what Ellie just said?”

  Anne’s cheeks pinked. She hadn’t been paying attention to the conversation among the women. Ignoring Bella’s knowing chuckle, she focused her attention on the young courtesan. “What should I agree to, Celeste?”

  “What Aretino says in his book. That a whore will discover a veritable treasure in her hands and between her thighs. Jewels of all kind can be hers. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Ellie insists he writes the truth.”

  “What have you earned while at Holland’s League, Celeste?”

  Anne’s mouth curved into a grin as the courtesan’s face gently contorted while she performed the calculations. One of the things Anne had insisted on was everyone employed by Holland’s League learn to read, write, and grasp arithmetic. That way no man or woman could ever take advantage of them.

  “Nearly three hundred pounds,” Celeste answered.

  “How much of that wealth is jewelry?”

  “If the goldsmith’s appraisal is accurate, nearly one hundred fifty pounds.”

  “I believe you have your answer,” Anne said. “In which case, we should all take Aretino and Eleanor’s instructions to heart.”

  Eleanor caught Celeste’s eye and flashed her a smug smile. “Shall I continue with Betsy’s lessons?”

  Celeste rolled her eyes. “Do go on.”

  “There are two things you must always bear in mind, Betsy,” Eleanor began. “First, the smaller a man’s prick the more you will have to resort to trickery and guile. Flatter him, praise his skills with absolute sincerity, but never let him see your amusement or boredom.”

  “Second, never believe a man who pays to be fucked, especially if he is married. Oh, if you chance to wed, never marry a man whose erection grows no longer than your middle finger.”

  “Ellie, that’s unkind. What if he has a very skilled tongue? Might that not offset the size of his penis?”

  Eleanor glanced at the speaker. “Angelica, you know a tongue is an inadequate replacement for a goodly sized cock. On occasion you will want to feel his rod against your womb. Tell me, can a tiny worm bury itself so?”

  Laughter filled the chamber before Eleanor waved a negligent hand. “Holland’s League is a brothel and we’re courtesans. Shouldn’t we be honest about what to seek out or what to avoid? Or what to do if a man’s purse is greater in size than his tool?”

  As Eleanor and Angel debated the question, Anne’s gaze swept the finely appointed salon where the courtesans lounged. The room was a place of serenity and security. The walls were plastered the color of pale roses while thick woolen carpets muffled sound. The color also gave the room a warmth the outside world denied the women of Holland’s League. Chaises and cushions offered comfortable seating while small tables kept drinks and food in reach. The courtesans claimed the salon was their favorite in all of Holland’s League because it was one of the few rooms their clients were not permitted to enter.

  Anne marveled at the success of the brothel. In just three years, she and Bella had achieved a miracle. No one had an inkling that a supernatural and a witch controlled one of the most exclusive brothels in all of London. Without question, the women seated in the salon were the true source for the wealth and reputation of Holland’s League. Beautiful, witty, and smart, they were well trained in the erotic arts under Bella’s tutelage. From the mahogany-hued Bella to the alabaster-skinned Celeste, the courtesans were the reason the yearly auction commande
d the attention of England’s wealthiest men and women. The competitive spirit between the courtesans was matched by their true affection for each other, although Bella, Eleanor, and Celeste tended to command the highest prices.

  When she discovered the secret game the three had created, Anne had laughingly put a stop to it. If word got out that Holland’s League’s courtesans wagered among themselves to see who could make a man ejaculate in the shortest amount of time, she didn’t want to think about the enormous bribes she’d have to pay to forestall an inquiry. Holland’s League’s existence was too important. The establishment of the brothel was more than just a way for unwanted women to earn a living. It secretly served as a sanctuary for witches and for nearly two years, they lived in relative peace. The only magic the women performed was in the bedroom and in the secret chamber designed to contain the effluence of their spells when they practiced.

  A frown creased Anne’s forehead when her gaze shifted to one of the women in the room. Betsy was the most recent addition to Holland’s League. The remaining women in the salon were there from the inception of the brothel. Until Betsy’s arrival two months previously, no witch had sought sanctuary. A witch with modest powers, Betsy was soft-spoken and unflinchingly did all that was asked of her yet several of the servants were made uneasy by her presence. Increasingly, Anne felt the same unease. She glanced at Bella before her gaze returned to Betsy. She caught the girl’s inquisitive look before Betsy averted her eyes. Not for the first time did Anne wonder if the young witch was more than she seemed.

  “I think honesty is important,” Betsy said quietly. “As to a man’s worm, since I’ve not seen one I don’t think it wise to pass judgment.”

  “A judicious reply,” Eleanor said with a chuckle. “Now, no more distractions, Angelica. I need to complete today’s lesson. Fetch me the reddish book from the cabinet, if you will, Bets.”

  When Betsy stood and limped over to the cabinet, a shiver went down Anne’s back. Trouble was about to visit Holland’s League. She nervously rubbed her fingers along the hidden knife on her thigh as she watched the girl retrieve a book and hold it out.

  “Is this the one, Miss Ellie?”

  “Yes, that’s it. Bring it here.” Once she had the book in her hand, Eleanor patted the space next to her on the chaise. “Sit down. It is time to share with you the wisdom every courtesan should drink from her mother’s breast as a babe.”

  Betsy’s confusion earned Anne’s sympathy. “Leave her be, Ellie. She is too new to the trade, and for Aretino’s instruction. In time she’ll be eager to learn what he has to teach.”

  “A girl is never too young, Mistress Holland,” Celeste interjected. “Besides, she’s already caught the eye of several well-pursed gentlemen.”

  Eleanor took Betsy’s chin in one hand and with the other removed her cap. “Celeste speaks the truth. Despite its shortness, Betsy’s hair rivals Angelica’s for blackness. And those eyes. See how they change colors. One minute pale blue and then a soft gray.”

  She gently sucked her bottom lip. “Don’t be fooled. Betsy is a beauty masking as homeliness. With her dark coloring she easily could pass for a white Moor. A few baubles and silk and she’d rival Bella or Maggie for those foolish men seeking a pleasure they consider exotic.”

  Betsy blushed at Eleanor’s words of praise, squirming nervously on the chaise. Celeste chuckled. “Aye, I think our sweet Bets is eager to see her first lesson.”

  Eleanor opened the book, turning pages until she came to the ones she sought. With a wicked grin, she reversed the book so the pages were visible to Celeste and Betsy. Betsy’s startled gasp sent the two older courtesans into peals of laughter. Anne rose from her seat and moved to stand behind Betsy.

  “Eleanor.”

  “She doesn’t require innocence if she is to live among us, Anne. Study these three positions well, Bets. They can bring you riches untold. Return this book once you’ve committed each position to memory. Now, the second and most important lesson for today is to put little faith in a man’s promise, especially if he swears on his mother’s life.”

  “Is there no way to know if you can trust a man?” Betsy inquired.

  Cynical snorts of amusement fed her embarrassment. Then Bella’s low sensual voice intruded. “You can trust a man by the size of his prick.”

  “So true, Bella,” Eleanor agreed with a brisk nod. “The bigger a man’s penis the less he has to prove. You don’t have to pretend satisfaction when you have a well-made cock in your panini, nor will you have to mouth the lies to keep him coming back. Definitely ask to see his staff before you agree to a price.”

  More laughter floated across the chamber. Celeste reached over and ran a plump finger along Betsy’s jaw. “There is no need for embarrassment or shyness, not in this room. Bella speaks honestly. An ass with a shriveled penis will need his vanity stroked, while a well-hung stallion knows his worth. I do believe there is more to her question though, Bella. I would say trust no man.”

  “There are some men I’d trust fully. I’d say with my honor but I’m a courtesan,” Angelica said drily. When the laughter subsided, she continued. “You know who I would trust implicitly? Those two handsome devils, Jack Cade and Demon Gabriel.”

  Celeste and Eleanor grinned their agreement. “Yes, with my life and my pleasures,” Celeste declared. “You’re not going to find better men than Jack and Demon. Although maybe I should reserve judgement since I’ve never seen either man’s prick.”

  She turned to peer at Anne. “Mistress Holland, what can you do to get Jack and Demon to spend their coin at Holland’s League?”

  Eleanor tapped her finger against chin. “From what I hear they don’t visit any of the other houses and they only visit Holland’s League for the gaming.”

  Anne was saved a reply when Betsy spoke her name. She directed her gaze at the shy girl, puzzled by the physical unease Betsy seemed to trigger more and more. It was time to take a closer look into the girl’s history. Determined to talk to Bella once the women went about their day, Anne said, “Yes, Betsy?”

  “Is it true, Mistress Holland? What you once said about a man’s foot and his . . . his sex?”

  Bella chuckled and wagged her finger at Anne. “Oh, the lessons we do remember. What is your answer, Mistress Holland?”

  Anne shot her a dark look before she replied. “From all that I’ve learned, Betsy, I do believe there is a logic in the adage. Why do you ask?”

  The reddish stains on Betsy’s cheeks deepened and she inhaled softly. “Once, when Demon Gabriel was at the card table, I noticed his . . . his boots.”

  “I’m sure that’s not all you noticed,” Angelica quipped.

  “Hush, Angel.”

  Betsy gave Celeste a grateful look. “His feet appeared a good size, although since he’s quite large I suppose that is to be expected. Anyway, if what you said about the size of man’s foot and his . . . his . . . is true, Demon Gabriel’s must be rather large.”

  “What you’re trying to say, innocent Betsy,” Eleanor offered, “is the word cock. If cock troubles you, then yard, rod, staff, member, prick or penis will do. You’re in a brothel, there is no shame in candor. ‘Tis best to learn these euphemisms since you may find yourself with a customer who prefers a specific name for his tool and of course you mustn’t laugh.”

  Their talk was cut short when the tinkling of a bell sounded in the room. It was time for the women to make their preparations for their customers. In two hours, the brothel would be lively with men and a few discreet women seeking to lose their coin and their inhibitions to pleasure.

  One by one the women left. Eleanor was the last to leave as she waited until Betsy was beside her. “Take Aretino with you, Betsy. Study each page well, although if you’ve already noticed Demon Gabriel’s boots I suspect you may not require it for very long.”

  Betsy flushed and accepted the book. “Thank you, Miss Ellie.”

  “I believe we’re all in for a surprise when Betsy decides to tes
t her wings,” Bella said once she and Anne were the only women in the salon. “There is more to her than meets the eye.”

  “Odd you should say that,” Anne replied, rising from her chair. She stared at the smooth stone that had mimicked a door and made certain the salon was protected against inquisitive demonic minds. While demons couldn’t enter the brothel, the safeguards didn’t prevent their attempts, which seemed to have increased over the past several months.

  She walked over to a table and poured wine into a glass. Taking a sip, she stared at Bella. “O’Brien found another body early this morning.”

  “Where?”

  Anne reseated herself. “In the alley just past Old Meg’s cottage. She was young, maybe fifteen years. It was difficult for him to gauge since the blood had been completely drained. Her heart and liver were missing and she was marked.”

  “This is the sixth body in a month, Tamahaq. Was the murdered woman a witch?”

  “No and that’s the puzzle,” Anne said. “Six women killed in the same manner and none were witches or supernatural. They were just ordinary human females murdered for no apparent reason, except for sport. The murders just don’t make sense. It’s as if the killer is toying with their victims, and us.”

  Bella stared at her friend. “What makes you say that?”

  “The killings are done too close to Holland’s League to be coincidence. Whoever is behind these deaths knows who we are and is taunting us.”

  “You’re worried this follows on the heels of Betsy’s arrival. That she is somehow involved.”

  Anne set the empty glass on a table next to her. As much as she didn’t want to be believe the girl was capable of such horrific crimes, it was odd that the deaths coincided with Betsy’s arrival. The interval between the murders had shorted and O’Brien or Malcolm were finding mutilated bodies near the brothel nearly every week. Far too close to give her comfort.