The Underground

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Bloody hell! How did you get this?”

  “Calm down. I merely slipped it out of your pocket when you hugged me at the pub, you sappy little cuss. I had every intention of returning it.”

  Pierce cracked the box open. The rings were still embedded in their velvet lining.

  “Why did you take it?”

  “I was curious as to what it was. So, you’re really considering doing it, eh? Asking her to marry you?”

  “Aye. S’pose I am. Eventually.”

  “Life is too short to wait.”

  “You suggesting I bloody well march up to her now and ask?”

  Joaquin folded his hands over his crossed legs, looking very proper. “You love her, yes?”

  Pierce thought that to be a stupid question. “Yes, more than anything.”

  “Then ask her and do it soon. Chase after what you want instead of running in place, waiting for the right time.”

  The idea Pierce had had at the Black Iron Tavern when looking at the drinking glass suddenly uprooted itself and moved to the forefront of his mind.

  “You’re worse than Mum.”

  Joaquin snorted. “Perhaps.”

  Pierce crammed the box deep into his coat pocket. “What else did Coira say?”

  “She wants the canister before this Thursday.”

  “Thursday? Why?”

  Joaquin only shrugged. “Dunno, but she was very adamant about it.”

  “Right. Do you have any idea where it might be?”

  “In the house, I suspect.”

  Pierce didn’t fancy the idea of Taisia returning after what had happened. Even with Joaquin around, there was no telling what could go wrong.

  “I’ll look for it.”

  “What?”

  “In the morning. It sounds like these sods are night creatures. I’ll search the mansion while they’re sleeping.”

  “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Aye,” Pierce debated. “What’s your point? This entire bloody trip is dangerous, and it’s only becoming more so the farther we go. No worries, eh? I do have experience in this sort of thing, remember?”

  “Let me come in with you.”

  “Just show me where the place is. If they catch me, they’ll merely assume I’m just some thief breaking in.”

  “If you’re caught, they’ll murder you on the spot.”

  “That’s why I need to go in alone. If they catch you, it’ll defeat the entire purpose of this bloody mission. Besides, I need someone to make sure Tai makes it to New Forest safely. Can you do that for me?”

  Joaquin stood, his expression grim. “I promise, but you do realize that Taisia will murder me if anything happens to you.”

  Pierce smirked, for it wasn’t too far from the truth.

  * * *

  Coira and her Underground gang returned to the Vaults and entered the meeting alcove. She desired coffee and a clove cigarette.

  “The next batch of whisky is ready to be put into the casks later tonight, Madam MacCrum,” Andrew, her organizer, reported.

  “Fine. Fine.” She waved off, taking a seat at the piano. “Brew us some coffee, eh?”

  Her fingers danced lightly over the keys. At the moment, Coira needed music to keep from going mad with worry. She’d taught herself how to play years ago and had fallen in love with playing ever since.

  Andrew grabbed the coffee can from the bookshelf and scooped grounds from it, dumping them inside the glass brew chamber of the Siphon coffee maker. He placed the filter connected to the end of the metal pipette over the small coffee mound and poured water from the jug into the stainless-steel boiling chamber before striking a match to light the wick to the burner below it.

  “I need the canister before the Signing, understand?” Coira demanded, scratching at her tattooed eyebrow before returning to her piano playing. “I cannot stress what will happen to us if the deed isn’t resigned. That arsehole, Franklin, and his whore of a wife is our only chance in getting it back, but I don’t entirely trust them.”

  Ever since the canister had been stolen, Coira hadn’t slept well, especially as the day of the Signing drew near. She greatly suspected someone in her gang had betrayed her. Most likely, it was Joshua McDay. He had been conveniently captured during the raid at the mansion.

  “Do you suspect they’ll steal the canister from you if they get it from the Hellfire Club?” Anci asked.

  Coira kept her adroit fingers dancing over the keys.

  “No. He’s dying and needs help from me demon. He wouldn’t dare leave. But there’s something off about ’em both.”

  “Ye think they’re not who they say they are?” Ruairi said.

  “Aye. And I want ye and Tavish to follow them.”

  “Aye, Madman MacCrum,” Tavish and Ruairi said simultaneously.

  When her coffee finished brewing, Coira left the piano and sat at her place at the head of the table. She lit a clove. “Now, let’s get down to business.”

  * * *

  After squeezing in a few hours of rest, Pierce and Joaquin rode to the mansion in Gilmerton. They halted just beyond the mansion’s property, where they spotted gas lamps burning on either side of the front door.

  Pierce examined the house through the spyglass they’d purchased in Edinburgh.

  “I’ll try entering in through a side window. There doesn’t seem to be any lights on.”

  “They have drapes over the windows,” Joaquin informed him.

  “Oh.”

  “Still, they must be asleep by now.”

  “Are you certain the entire Hellfire Club lives there?”

  “That’s what their chairman told us.”

  “Brilliant,” Pierce grunted, dismounting and handing the reins over to Joaquin. “Right. Remember your promise.”

  “I’d give my life for her, little brother.”

  The darkness prevented him from seeing Joaquin’s face, but he heard the truth spoken clearly in his sincere tone.

  “The sun will be up soon,” Joaquin noted. “Best hurry.”

  Pierce took off his top hat and rested it on the saddle of his horse before darting over the yard toward the side of the mansion. When he reached the house, he found neatly trimmed hedges.

  “I bloody hate bushes,” he griped, squeezing through a narrow space between them.

  He stepped behind the hedges and scooted over to a window that slid up with little effort.

  “Minunat,” he whispered happily in Romani.

  Getting into the house proved simple enough, although it made Pierce suspicious. In his experience as a thief, most homes with poor means of security were at least locked up tight. Whereas, footmen and dogs usually guarded ones with unlocked windows and doors.

  The moment Pierce entered, he drew his Oak Leaf pistol and waited a while to give his eyes time to adjust to the dark. There was no light source anywhere, though, and the moonlight outside was blocked by the heavy drapes Joaquin had warned him about. So, instead of waiting to develop his cat eyes, Pierce pushed on.

  He entered a wide entrance hall that offered some light through the tall, slender windows beside the front door. There was a staircase directly in front of the entrance door. Stepping lightly, he crept across the entrance hall and slipped into the black void of the next room across the way. An upright rectangle, rimmed in bright orange and yellow, stood just yonder. A door, he reckoned. He crept over, groping for anything in his path. After nearly bumping into a table and stubbing his toe on a bleedin’ couch, Pierce reached the door. He twisted the knob and slowly pushed the door open. He peered through the opening and spotted a glowing fireplace across the room. A man was having his way with a woman bent over the arm of a fainting couch. Their animal-like grunts were raw and full of pleasure. Pierce moved on.

  Upstairs, there was a long hallway with doors lining the walls. At both ends of the hall were open doorways. Pierce paused in the middle of the corridor and considered his direction. His first instinct was to head right. He walked on, maki
ng no sound. The moment he entered the room at the end of the hallway, gas-lamps sparked to life, as did the candles on the chandelier above. Thinking it was a trap, Pierce panned the room with his gun, searching for any signs of trouble. Nobody was there. A cold breeze gusted over him like a kiss of winter.

  “Bloody hell,” he whispered with a shudder.

  A door opened on the other end. Beyond it, he saw stairs through the candlelight.

  Pierce was unsure why he went along with it. Clearly, someone not only knew he was there, but was also directing him. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from proceeding as though he had no say in the matter. He followed the steps up and the temperature dropped the higher he climbed. He didn’t care for these spiral stairs. They reminded him of the ones in Norwich Castle, when Tarquin held him prisoner and fired three bullets into him.

  He kept going and soon came to a door left ajar with only darkness behind it. With the revolver held close to eye level, Pierce pushed the door inward and stepped through. The moonlight, which he never remembered being so luminous before, shined in through a large bay window, revealing everything, even the fog of his breath. The light revealed a banister bed with a person sleeping in it, and a clear glass pyramid on the bedside table. Pierce began approaching when a strange blue flame burst to life within the hearth. The blaze whisked everything away like sand blown off a slat, leaving nothing but a rug on the floor.

  “Hello there,” came a voice from behind him.

  Alarmed, Pierce whipped around until his pistol caught someone in its crosshairs. A tall, handsome man stood in the doorway. He had thick, dark hair, luminous eyes that seemed to change color, and pale skin tinted blue by the light of the strange fire. His smile could charm the knickers off any noblewoman.

  “Who are you?” Pierce demanded automatically.

  “Right now,” the stranger said, stepping past him, “I’m the one at the end of the barrel of your gun.”

  Pierce followed him with his weapon as he moved toward the fireplace.

  Once the stranger reached the mantel, he turned on his heel and faced him again. “My, my, you are a rare find.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I can smell the different types of bloodlines in you. What a collage of wonders.”

  Pierce grimaced. Shite, this bloke isn’t human.

  Pierce decided it was time to vacate. As he got closer to the door, it slammed shut.

  “Fuckin’ hell!” he shouted.

  He faced the door and his heart stopped when the lock clicked.

  “It’s rude to leave when someone is speaking to you,” the stranger scorned.

  Pierce slowly turned, realizing he was in trouble.

  “Come over here,” the entity commanded.

  “I’m fine where I am,” Pierce retorted, clutching his gun tighter.

  That apparently wasn’t a satisfying response. A powerful pull that began as a firm pressure in his chest, and then migrated to his back, pushed him forward.

  “Stop it!” Pierce ordered.

  He would shoot if not for the threat of the entire house hearing the blast.

  The rug bunched up beneath his heels as he dug them in. Finally, he stopped, though it was not of his doing. The pressure, as if by some large hand wrapped around him, held him in place.

  “I dunno what you are, chum, but you best let me go,” Pierce commanded with forced bravado.

  The fog of his breath was just as dense near the hearth as it was by the door. The fire produced no heat whatsoever.

  “Or what?” the stranger challenged. “You’ll shoot me with your little weapon? You cannot hurt me, but I can tear you apart without lifting a finger, so I suggest you display some respect, boy.”

  Pierce’s outstretched pistol shook in his trembling hands. “What the fuck are you?”

  Once again, his poor choice of words caused a physical reaction. A crack of pain exploded in his right wrist as though the bones were snapping. Unable to hold the pistol, it tumbled from his grasp. He grabbed his wrist, feeling the crippled bones beneath the surface of his skin. Another bone-breaking agony burst from his ankle.

  “Ah, shite,” he groaned, falling over.

  He sat up and gripped his throbbing ankle in his left hand, keeping the wounded wrist close to his chest. His only relief was that he no longer felt the confining force binding him.

  The miserable agony took a journey throughout every connecting nerve in his body, paralyzing him in place. He looked up at the being who stood much taller now.

  “Aren’t you a handful,” the stranger mused, looking down at him.

  Pierce’s jaws remained clenched. The pain had dominated his ability to commutate. Instead, he sat, trembling viciously, trying to keep the anguish from making him weep.

  The entity crouched down, seemingly to study him.

  “Huh, even with your type of breeding, there is nothing phenomenal about you. You have a good amount of physical might when provoked, and a marvelous memory.” He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply as if unimpressed. “Which are the basic gifts for mortal humans with special inheritances such as yourself. All in all, however, you’re only a man.” He reached over and moved aside Pierce’s shirt collar where the brand lay beneath. “Ah, the infinity insignia. This symbol carries many meanings, one of which serves as a reminder that everyone lives on the cusp between the finite and the infinite. That once a life ends, it continues on elsewhere.”

  “Is that so?” Pierce returned.

  “Yes. Your mark is incomplete, however.”

  It wasn’t the first time Pierce was told this, and he didn’t understand why it mattered.

  The stranger placed the tips of his fingers over the brand. “Oh, I see. Perhaps this symbol represents you personally.”

  “Someone branded me,” he explained irritably. “I never fucking wanted it.”

  “Your life thread has been severed. This is truly a treat.”

  Pierce knew exactly what he was talking about. When Tarquin shot him, Pierce would’ve died had the Fates not shown mercy by retying his life string and bringing him back from the dead.

  “Why is it a treat?”

  “Because it leaves you outside the care of the Fates, silly boy. You’re no longer under the protection of the lifespan given to you, and from what I can sense, that was a long life.”

  “Was?” Pierce pounced on the word. “Who are you?”

  He withdrew his hand and clasped Pierce by the chin, holding his head still. His ever-changing irises stared deeply into Pierce’s face. Every color slid effortlessly into every other, becoming a different shade that circled round and round the dead black pupils like an oil painting in motion.

  “Right now, I am the one who can shatter every bone in your body and disable you for the rest of your life.”

  Cold sweat dappled his hot skin. Pierce couldn’t remember being so afraid. Whatever this thing was, it had a knack for torment.

  “I won’t, though,” the stranger said at length, releasing him. “Although, you do deserve it for coming here uninvited.”

  Pierce realized why the house had a lack of security. Apparently, the Hellfire Club had their own Hound from Hell keeping watch.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “When you arrived, I thought I would keep you. It isn’t every day someone as unique as you comes along. I could use you in my circle. Yet, there is somebody else I want more, and your part, which you must play in order for me to have him, is very important.”

  Pierce had no idea what he meant by that and doubted he would give any more details.

  “You have come for something,” the stranger added. “I have provided insight on the location of the item. However, you may not obtain it. Not yet, anyway.” He headed for the door and it unlocked and creaked opened all on its own. “Forget and leave this place.”

  After he passed through the threshold, the door slammed shut behind him. Everything went dark afterward.

  * * *

  Pierce
opened his eyes and found himself lying on the floor upon a smoothed out rug.

  “What the bloody hell?” he moaned, sitting up.

  Through the dim lights coming in from the stairwell, Pierce spotted his gun beside him.

  “Was I attacked?” he wondered aloud as he stood.

  He scanned the room, finding nothing but a hollow, dark fireplace. Oddly, his wrist and ankle ached as though they’d been twisted in some way. He remembered climbing up the stairs and entering the room. After that . . . nothing. If he had been attacked, he would either be dead or surrounded by a horde of angry Hellfire Club wankers. Something else had happened.

  Unable to reclaim his memory, Pierce retreated into the hallway downstairs. He entered the chambers on the other side and came to a door. With the same care as before, he twisted the knob and pushed it open. Beyond was a bedroom. It looked familiar. There was a banister bed with a sleeping person in it, and a clear glass pyramid on a bedside table. Dull, early morning light was coming in through the lean space between the drapes.

  Holstering his gun, Pierce slowly crept over to the snoring man with his back facing him. It made Pierce feel more comfortable, being so close. He looked at the item inside the pyramid. He saw the canister, described exactly as in the diagram Joaquin had shown him. The pyramid was edged in black metal. The glass itself was an inch thick. It was pretty big, too. Pierce wondered if he could even carry it out. He spied a lock and gently tugged on the tiny latch just to be sure. No surprise, it didn’t budge. To search for the key in the dark without making some kind of ruckus was damn near impossible. He considered taking the entire bloody thing but worried about what would happen if the canister rolled around too much. It could break the delicate tube inside and destroy the deed. Not to mention the pyramid, as a whole, appeared to weigh fifty pounds or more, and the strange ache in his wrist and ankle continued to throb. Carrying such a bulky, heavy case was only asking for trouble. He hated to, but he needed to leave it behind.

  He crept downstairs and crawled out through the same window he had entered.

  * * *