by Kathryn Moon
Khepri was dressed similarly to Amon, in long pale pants with a flowing blue tunic almost like a dress on top, a white silk scarf with gold embroidery wrapped around her long throat. She stepped up to Magdalena, lifting the other woman's dirty hand with her perfectly impeccable one, and bent to rest her forehead against Magdalena's knuckles.
"My deepest condolences for this injury and the loss your house has suffered." Khepri's voice was low and melodic, and I watched as Magdalena's cheeks turned faintly pink, the first sign of life on her after the trials of the fire. "I regret not arriving soon enough to offer my protection before the attack, but I swear Birsha's hands will never reach so far again. He has much to answer for."
"I called Khepri here to assist you in guarding your ladies and clients, if you are amenable. Birsha has never moved against my kind. It is his one rare moment of wisdom," Amon said, eyes darkening and body tensing. "I will seek him out myself for this offense, but I thought one of my kind might assist in keeping you hidden."
"I…" Magdalena trailed off in stunned silence, glancing between the two sphinxes, one of whom was still holding her hand, and then over briefly to me. "I accept, of course. Most gratefully, Khepri."
Amon hummed in agreement and then crossed the open room to me, searching my eyes for a moment before leaning in to kiss my forehead. "We'll leave them to their discussion."
"Wait, brother. I would like to meet her," Khepri called as Amon tried to turn us for the stairs.
Amon frowned and growled a little, throwing over his shoulder, "We're very weary, Khep."
"He wrote poems of you, little one," Khepri said, leaning to catch my eye over Amon's shoulder. I stared blankly back at her before I realized the wicked glint in her eyes was her teasing like a sibling might have.
"Good poems?" I asked, stepping around Amon as he huffed.
Khepri feigned serious thought, elegant fingers resting on her chin for a moment. "Adequate." She smiled, the warmth reaching her eyes, and met me in the middle of the room. Her stare was every bit as hypnotizing as Amon’s, and I realized she must've been reading me as he had done with Mary. "Yes. I do see why he is so drawn to your shine, little star."
"Khepri," Amon snapped from behind me.
"Can you see Auguste and Ezra?" I asked, my eyes growing wide, looking back at an equally stunned Amon and then again to Khepri.
She hummed and shook her head slowly. "They are undecided. You may lose him," she said, but it wasn't her voice at all.
Magdalena gasped and I blinked, remembering the eerie phrase she'd said to me the day Amon had discovered me with Ezra. I thought she'd meant Amon but—
"Or perhaps you may not," Khepri said, wincing. "They are not lost now. Only out of the sun's reach."
A wounded note rose up from my throat, my chest aching again, and I took one quick step for the door, ready to rush out and run all the way back to the ruins of Rooksgrave to reach them, even if I had to dig them out with my bare hands. A thick arm banded around my waist, lifting me from the floor before I got another step farther.
"Daylight," Booker reminded gently.
I sagged in his hold, nodding reluctantly. Daylight. The vampires couldn't be rescued until it was safe for them to come out. And Ezra… If I was lucky, if he was lucky, he was with Auguste, who would keep him safe.
"To bed, Esther," Booker said, not waiting for my agreement as he turned and carted me up the stairs, Amon and Jonathon following at his back.
"We can go back tomorrow. Work on the tunnel entrance," Amon said. He was dirty and ruffled, so unlike himself. There was age in his posture, hunched and tired, and in Jonathon's as well. His eyes flicked up to mine, face stern and chin lifting. "We won't fail you, my star."
"You haven't failed me, Amon," I said, unable to add to the words. "Can I come tomorrow?"
I expected them to refuse immediately as they had tonight, but Amon only let out a weary sigh.
"It might be cool tomorrow?" Jonathon said with a glance at our sphinx.
"Khepri or I might protect you from burns," Amon said with a nod. "I would rather have you with us."
I sighed, sinking into Booker's arms at his words, my eyes sliding shut and forehead cooling against Booker's jaw.
"We can take turns keeping her company when we need rest," Jonathon murmured.
My body bobbed gently with every step up, every foot down the hall.
"She might find things of value in the house," Amon agreed, their voices growing distant.
"Sleep, friend," Booker whispered in my ear, a little tug from his end of the tether as if he were dragging me into his own steady mind.
It must've worked because I was lost before they set me down in the bed.
Chapter Thirty
An Echo in the Dark
“Why are there villagers here?" I asked, staring out the window at the ruins of Rooksgrave and the collection of men and women circling the grounds. I gaped as one young man climbed out over a windowsill, something shining in his grip, others hurrying over to inspect it.
"They started to arrive as we were readying to leave yesterday morning," Jonathon said.
"Vultures. They'll think of reasons to leave as they see me," Amon growled out under his breath.
I was dressed in some of Amon's clothing, a little ill-fitting, but the ease of trousers and boots was refreshing. There were two other carriages behind us, with more of Rooksgrave's male guests, coming to help with the aftermath of the fire, all sporting some kind of garment that disguised them as normal-looking men. Even Booker was wearing a scarf that made his white marble appear as human, albeit scarred, flesh.
The carriage pulled to stop in front of a young woman in a simple skirt and large jacket, staring up at the broken bones of the manor from beneath an enormous hat, heavily trimmed with lace and silk flowers.
Mary.
Our eyes met through the glass of the carriage door as she turned at our arrival, and for a moment, I thought she didn't recognize me, her expression so blank. Then her nose rose into the air and she turned, taking the arm of the stocky man from the hat shop, saying something in his ear that prompted him to guide her back to the road and away from the manor.
Vultures indeed. And with the sun setting on the blackened stone of the manor, it did look like a carcass picked clean. By Birsha and his fiery ifrit, by the villagers scavenging for curiosities from the house they never understood.
Amon stepped out of the carriage, walking slowly forward, eyeing each of the people still milling about, until one by one they all found themselves wandering back to the road, chattering in excitement.
"S'pose if they wanted the jewelry they should've taken it with them, shouldn't they've, Gabe?" one woman cried out cheerily, wiggling something sparkly in the air in front of her.
Amon waited for the locals to drift away, waving us out as the last one reached the road, not one of them looking back as we hurried out of the carriages in a rush. There were one or two other girls, like Sally who was missing Enrique, dressed practically and sporting steely expressions. We Rooksgrave girls had changed after the attack, no longer flowers waiting on chaises for our gentlemen's attention, but with something monstrous in our hearts now as well. Fear or anger or the craving for revenge.
Amon's brownie staff had worked gleefully to feed us and wash us all through the day. Even if it was only due to pure exhaustion I was able to find a few hours of rest, tucked between Mr. Tanner and Booker's massive frames.
"It's going to be a long night," Jonathon said, his hand in mine, my free arm hooked into Booker's. "If you get tired, you can—"
I squeezed Jonathon's fingers, rising to my toes and kissing his mouth silent. "I'm going to be fine."
"You'll stay within sight of one of the men at all times?" Jonathon asked, Mr. Tanner's worry peeking through his gaze with a flash of green.
"I will."
"If we feel the tunnels are safe you can—"
"Sir," I murmured, Jonathon's breath stuttering into silence. "Everything wil
l be all right. Go do what you need to. I will do what I can and stay safe."
"I stay with her first," Booker said as we reached Amon at the hollow doorway of the manor.
Amon nodded, and Jonathon released me with a final kiss on my forehead.
"Let's see what we can find for Magdalena, hm?" I asked Booker as men and women drifted into the manor around us.
Booker nodded solemnly, his right hand covering mine on his elbow.
The library was a sea of ashes, the floor still warm under my boots. There was a horned man stationed at the door, and a large green beast of a man like Hunter inside of the room, keeping an eye on the few of us collecting anything of worth in large pillowcases.
"Eight years," Lilah whispered, staring out the broken window that overlooked the glossy black loch.
There was moonlight flowing into the dark room, and the horned man had a small lamp in his hand, the collection of us just little shadows and flickers of light as we wandered lost through the house.
"Eight years?" I repeated.
"That's how long I've lived at Rooksgrave," Lilah said, nodding slowly.
Lilah hadn't lost her gentleman in the fire, but she'd lost her home, I realized with a sudden frozen feeling running through me.
"My father died and we discovered his debts. My mother…she gave up, I suppose. And suddenly, all the friends who were supposedly so sympathetic in their condolences didn't want to take me on and risk my troubles becoming theirs. But apparently, one of our housemaids had a little fae blood. She told me about Rooksgrave, wrote to Magdalena for me. And Magda just let me…stay. No questions asked. No clients. For three years, I was just welcome to live here." Lilah nodded once, then picked up a small dusty figurine from a shelf, polishing it with her skirt.
"Will you stay?" I asked her.
"Yes," Lilah said immediately, her expression hardening.
"Really?" Teresa asked from the other corner of the room. "Neem wants me to leave with him."
"Is it the debt?" I asked, thinking of my own gentlemen's offer.
"No, I paid that off ages ago," Lilah said with a shrug. "No, it's just… I'm not like Mary, honestly. I like my guests. But I don't want to marry, or to be…owned like my mother was. I want my own life. I have that here—with Magdalena, for as long as I want to."
I chewed on my lip, wincing at the bitter taste of the smoke and ash, and glanced at the large green fellow. He seemed impassive, as did the other gentleman, and I wondered about their own girls, their connections with them.
"Will you leave with Neem?" I asked Teresa.
"I…I don't know," Teresa whispered. "I'm not sure I want to stay, but…"
"Neem isn't her favorite," Lilah whispered to me.
Neither of the men in the room seemed to blink, so I assumed neither one had their hat in the ring for either of the girls.
"What about you? You're a new favorite around…" Lilah trailed off, eyes blinking at our surroundings as if she'd almost forgotten that this ruin we stood in had been the 'here' we were speaking of.
"I'm not going anywhere until I know what happened to Auguste and Ezra," I said, stiffening at the reminder. I opened my mouth to mention the plans we'd made as a group before the fire and then shut them again, afraid I might break the fragile possibility of it still happening. "Could I go to see what's happening with the tunnels?"
Booker and Amon had traded places at some point in the night before Amon had been called back to help provide light, and I was feeling antsy being separated from them. Even standing at the mouth of the stairs might be better than nothing.
Our chaperones exchanged a brief look before the horned one shrugged and nodded. "I'll take you."
"Esther," Lilah said, catching my eye and offering a tremulous smile. "I hope they find them."
I stuffed my hands into the pockets of the trousers I was wearing and nodded. I hoped they were safe. I wasn't sure I wanted to find them if they weren't.
"I like your horns," I offered to the man escorting me as we wandered back through the scorched halls, soot under our boots and an ashy haze still floating over our heads. I thought the bright bony horns on his head looked a bit like handles, which brought to mind amusing ideas of how to use them.
He grunted, but he bowed a little to me. He had a bright gold ring hanging from the middle of his nose and a massive square jaw, and when we reached a hole in the floor, he lifted me over it without a word.
"Which of the girls is yours?" I asked.
"Sally," he said, eyeing me out of the corner of his large dark eyes. He reminded me a bit of a bull, and I wondered if it would be rude to ask what kind of monster he was. "I'm not her favorite either," he said, lips quirking. "But she's a good girl."
"Her loss," I said.
He blinked in the dark as we reached the entry and headed for the stone steps down to the underground caverns.
"Don't flirt," he said eventually, before grinning. "You have your hands full."
"That's true," I said, shrugging and smiling as he put out an arm in front of me, moving down the steps himself first, his hand held out to help guide me down.
"Who's your favorite?" he asked.
"They all are," I said immediately.
"Then they are very lucky," he said, voice echoing in the dark pleasantly.
"Don't flirt." He chuckled, and I let out a sigh. He might not have been my gentleman, but he was calming and a comforting distraction from the dark. "What's your name?"
"Asterion."
"Sounds a bit like my name," I said, wrinkling my nose, my toes scuffing over a ragged edge of a stair before steadying again.
"We are both starry ones," he said, which reminded me of Amon's nickname and the way Khepri had said I shone.
"I hope you find a girl who picks you as your favorite," I whispered.
Asterion was quiet until we reached the bottom steps. "Thank you, I hope you find your men."
"Thank—"
"Ess…"
I stiffened in the dark, and Asterion's hand released mine, resting on my shoulder. "Did you hear that?" I gasped.
"I heard a hiss," Asterion answered. "The men are this way, I'll lead you."
I stepped as softly as I could in the heavy borrowed boots, sure I'd heard a whisper of my name, but Asterion led us directly forward, the sound of men's voices and the scrape of rock bouncing distantly toward us.
And then—
"Esther?"
I stilled and Asterion stilled with me.
"I heard that," he said softly.
"Esther."
"Auguste," I breathed, twisting in the dark, my hands groping against nothing until I found the rocky surface of the wall. "That's Auguste."
"It's coming from the other direction," Asterion said, helping me grope my way down the hall until suddenly it ended on my right. "They are digging on the other side."
"Esther!"
"Auguste!" I cried out, the lilt of his voice so perfectly familiar and so weak at the same time.
"Wait, little one!"
But I had already slipped free of Asterion's gentle grip, running blindly into the empty dark after the echo.
"Tanner! Amon!" Asterion shouted behind me. "We found something!"
"Esther! I can't—"
"Auguste just keep calling!" I cried out as I collided into stone, fumbling to the left until I found another opening, stumbling down uneven steps and rushing forward after the soft repetitive cry of my name.
Auguste was alive. Auguste was alive.
"Esther!" His voice blended with new calls behind me, Amon shouting for me, and I focused forward.
Another wall, another twist right. Left, left again.
"Esther!"
I swallowed my whimper at the broken sound in Auguste's voice, twisting through the strange, black tunnels, my body bruising with every strike against another wall, my heart squeezing with another croak of my name.
And then, finally, a little gleam, so faint I almost thought I was hallucina
ting it, but from the same direction of Auguste's calling.
The others were lost somewhere in the tunnels, too far to hear, but if I just found Auguste, we would make our way back to them. Together. And then to find Ezra too.
I ran after the light, twisting around sudden corners twice, the glow growing until finally, I reached the last short corridor. I skidded into a cavern, the roots of a tree growing down the wall to my left, and there on the floor, my gentleman.
Auguste.
Auguste with a stained rag wrapped tight around his mouth, his hands bleeding and staked to the roots of the tree, his eyes black with rage and horror.
"At last."
Of course, I thought at the same moment, with soft, weak disappointment. Oh, of course.
The man sitting at a small table, with a plate of food set out in front of him and two glasses of wine waiting, was unfamiliar. I could not recall his face, his eyes, that mouth winking a patient smile at me, but I knew I had seen it before. The night of the theater, standing and watching me from the audience.
"Birsha," I said, shoulders slumping.
"Esther Reed," he greeted with a nod, standing from the table and delivering a gentlemanly bow. "My loose thread."
Auguste looked thin, the white sleeves of his shirt gone brackish dark brown with blood, and even though he was staring at me, he appeared lost in the room. How long had Birsha kept him pinned and bleeding that way? How much longer would he last?
"Come. Sit."
I looked at the doorway I entered through, lips parting.
"They won't hear you. They won't find you either. Even the bull is lost now."
My brow furrowed, lips pursing. I'd gone and done it up, hadn't I? Stupid human Esther chasing after a man's call. Right into a trap.
But you found Auguste. You just have to find a way out again.
"Esther. Sit."
"I'm not a dog."
"You act like a bitch in heat."
I scowled at Birsha, surprised by how quickly I'd forgotten the specifics of his face again. He was plain, but it was more than that. Something of his monstrous nature kept erasing him from my memory as quickly as he'd been collected.