The Underground

by Michelle E Lowe

  Pierce rushed to the animal and mounted.

  “Hold up,” Faolan cried, hoisting himself into the saddle. “Ye’ll need me help.”

  They rode to the entrance of Mary King’s Close, where Pierce practically jumped off the horse and took off into the Underground. He shoved at anyone in his way on the narrow street. His feet moved so fast, it seemed as though they never touched the ground.

  As he drew close to the market, the scream of a woman caught his attention.

  “Help me!”

  He hurried toward the shouting, frantically searching faces.

  “Don’t let them kill me! Help!” the woman cried in a Russian accent.

  Faolan appeared next to Pierce. It was remarkable that the lad had kept up with him.

  Faolan grabbed his arm and pointed at the chaos. “There!”

  Pierce spotted the woman hurrying between the vendors. A pair of pursuers racing after her.

  “It’s Taisia!” Pierce shouted, taking up the chase.

  Before he caught up, she vanished into an alleyway. The blokes chasing her went into another alley on the other side.

  “Shite!” Pierce yelled. “They’re going to try cutting her off!”

  Pierce cut through the crowded market and eventually reached the alleyway. By then, she was nearing the end.

  “Tai!” he shouted. “It’s Pierce! Stop!”

  She kept going and soon vanished around a corner. The muscles in his legs burned, as did his lungs. The moment he exited, he spotted Taisia running down the narrow street. He cupped his hands around his mouth as he ran.

  “Taisia!”

  She had to have heard him, and yet she kept running. What made matters worse was she was heading straight for her pursuers. He pulled his pistol from his waistband and tried catching up.

  “There she is!” a gunman yelled as he and the other cocker exited the alleyway.

  Taisia stopped, paralyzed with fear as the men raised their guns.

  “No!” Pierce bellowed.

  People scattered everywhere. Pierce never heard the shots, only saw the blood spraying out of her. She fell backwards. Pierce thumbed back the hammer of the revolver and took aim. The gunmen quickly turned on their heels and retreated down the alley. Pierce fired, but they were already gone. Pierce reached Taisia, dropped his weapon, and slid to his knees beside her.

  “Taisia,” he said, lifting her.

  Her breath was rapid and fear flashed like a lightning storm in her eyes. When she looked at Pierce, her eyebrows knitted together as though she was confused.

  “Tai,” Pierce whispered soothingly. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m here.”

  He avoided looking at the gunshot wounds to her chest and shoulder and the blood pouring from them. Instead, he touched Taisia’s face and stared deeply into her eyes. Their brightness was fading.

  “Hold me,” she requested.

  He held her to him, breathing in her hair. The scent of it flooded his mind with every memory of her. Blood, warm and thick, seeped through his vest and through his shirt. With a final sigh, she breathed against his neck one last time. Her quivering eased and she sagged in his embrace. His hold on her only tightened as she slipped away.

  “Pierce,” Faolan said, kneeling beside him. “We must go, lad.”

  He made no movement. He only wanted to stay on the sidewalk with her.

  “Please,” Faolan pleaded. “I know somewhere ye can take her. Come.”

  Grudgingly, Pierce raised his eyes. His vision was blurred with tears. He blinked and they rolled down his face. A throng had gathered.

  With Taisia’s death, his wellbeing meant little. However, being arrested on false murder charges did not sit well with him. He doubted the so-called law—which had been bribed by Coira, or so Faolan had claimed—would do anything to stop her or her gang. That would leave him to take the fall.

  “Follow me,” Faolan ordered, collecting Pierce’s gun from off the ground.

  Pierce lifted his beloved and carried her down the dim street like a groom carrying his bride over the threshold. Faolan led him to a small chapel. Murmurs arose from the few parishioners inside as Pierce carried the body to the altar table. Faolan removed the candles, a cross, and the other religious paraphernalia. Pierce gently laid Taisia down as the priest, wearing a patch-worked robe, approached.

  “What’s this now? What has happened to this lass?”

  “Father,” Faolan said, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder, “might I have a word with ye?”

  The cleric offered no resistance as Faolan led him away and toward the confession booths. What he spoke to him about, Pierce could not hear, nor did he care. His entire focus was on the bloody dead body of his beloved. Even in death, she radiated so much beauty and warmth. He took her hand tightly in both of his and pressed it against his tear-soaked cheek. His chest hurt from the shattered heart within. His breathing was very slow, for breathing—something that had once come so naturally—made his lungs feel as if they were full of heavy stones.

  Everything he ever wanted had been taken. He and Taisia were supposed to wed, to have many beautiful children together, and to raise them under the sun with all of the love they had to offer. But now, Taisia was gone and his own future was lost to him.

  Pierce shuddered as frigid air moved over him.

  “What a shame,” came a voice beside him. “She was a beauty, indeed.”

  Pierce slowly turned his attention to a very tall, dark-haired stranger standing at the end of the altar table, looking down at the body. He was a handsome gent with strange eyes that didn’t seem to want to settle on one color. He was dressed in a silk shirt, black vest, and a long, dark red coat with leather trimming. Not the sort who would occupy the Underground.

  “She is beautiful,” Pierce stated softly. He narrowed his eyes. “Have we met before?”

  He tipped his stovepipe top hat at Pierce and then nodded. His perfectly straight posture made him appear as tall as a giant. “Yes. But I highly doubt you care at the moment, do you?”

  Pierce studied him a tad longer, trying to decide where and when they had crossed paths. He soon came to terms with the fact that he really didn’t give a toss.

  “No,” he agreed, looking to his breathless Taisia. “S’pose I don’t.”

  “I’m sensing you’re envisioning where you now stand in the greater scheme of things.”

  “Am I?” Pierce said, again resting his cheek on Taisia’s hand. It was beginning to grow cold.

  “You view your life as nothing but an empty vortex. Without her, there really isn’t anything left for you. Am I wrong?”

  Pierce shut his eyes tight, letting loose a fresh stream of tears. The cruel truth cut him to the core.

  “That is the problem with you mortals,” the stranger went on. “You let too much take hold of your emotions, and when something is lost or goes missing, it tears you to pieces. What do you plan on doing to end your life?”

  Pierce already had an idea. “I thought I’d return to the Vaults, shoot my way to Coira, and go out in a hail of bullets.” His voice held little strength.

  “Tsk. Typical. They’re expecting that. You’ll be cut down before you take anyone out, especially Coira.”

  Pierce suspected the man was leading him somewhere.

  “What are you suggesting?”

  “You came here for Joaquin, did you not?”

  Pierce knitted his eyebrows and turned to him. “How do you know that? Who are you?”

  “At the moment . . . I’m the one telling you how to save your brother.”

  Pierce had a feeling they’ve danced this jig before.

  “If you wish to save him, then you must allow him to kill you.”

  Pierce inhaled and held it in. “He won’t kill me.”

  “He will if you let him. And once he does, he shall be free from the curse and become stronger and healthier than he has ever been.”

  Pierce was about to tell him to kindly fuck off when the man ad
ded, “You can join your lover in the life that comes after.”

  Pierce blinked. “What?”

  “If you want to be reunited with her, as well as save your brother, then go to the Hellfire mansion.”

  Pierce couldn’t look away from the swirling colors of the man’s irises. As strange as they were, he sensed no lie in what he was telling him. Could he actually save Joaquin by allowing his brother to kill him? Indeed, could Pierce be reunited with Taisia this very night? It all seemed promising.

  “I have given you your choices,” the man said, again tipping his stovepipe top hat. “Goodnight.” He eyed Faolan nearby. “You’ve done very well.”

  Faolan swallowed thickly and asked with forced bravado, “Are we still in agreement?”

  “Do not interfere,” the cocker demanded.

  Faolan bowed his head and stood in a petrified state as the tall stranger left down the aisle.

  “Know him?” Pierce asked.

  Faolan kept quiet until the chapel doors had closed.

  “Aye,” he finally said with a deep, crestfallen sigh. “Don’t worry about it, though, eh? Listen, I’ve paid the priest to give her a proper burial in the Old Calton Burial Ground Cemetery. I even threw in some loot for a fine pine box. The funeral will be held tomorra.”

  Pierce gently placed Taisia’s hand over her lifeless chest and crossed the other over it. He kissed her cheek tenderly for the last time and rose to his full height.

  “Cheers, lad. See to it that the priest keeps his word, eh?”

  Pierce spied his Oak Leaf revolver tucked under Faolan’s belt. He snatched it out and headed down the aisle.

  “Wait, where are ye goin’?”

  “I’m going home,” Pierce said, pushing open the chapel door.

  * * *

  Pierce rode to the Old Waverley Hotel and banged on Joaquin’s door. No one answered. He went to his own chambers, ignoring the looks he received from guests who noticed the blood on him. Inside his room, Pierce wrote out a letter addressed to his brother in case he missed him at the mansion. He left it on the table beside a lit lantern. He slipped his gun from under his waistband, set it down next to his top hat, and left.

  He rode out of the city as fast as his horse would go, passing only a carriage and a horseman, heading for the city, along the way.

  When he arrived at the mansion, he asked the butler to show him to the chairman.

  “Che cosa?” a short man groaned after a butler shook him awake.

  “Milord,” the servant said. “This young lad is looking for Mr. Marsh.”

  The man rubbed his eyes and sat up straighter in the chair he had been sleeping in inside the library. The strong smell of liquor was about him. The only light source came from the lantern the butler held and the pile of glowing embers in the fireplace.

  “Mr. Marsh? He was just here with me.” He looked at his guest with confusion. “Who are you? Why are you looking for him?”

  Pierce stepped in front of the servant and said, “I’m his brother.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  I Lied

  Joaquin knew precisely what he was doing when he kept refilling Benito’s brandy glass. He and Benito had been having a palaver in the library while the diamonds heated. Benito had cut a piece of graphite into a coin-sized gem and given it to him. Joaquin listened to him drone on and on about his childhood, the Demon King, and whatever else came to mind. Joaquin finally got him so drunk, he passed out in his armchair. Most of the Hellfire Club had retreated to their own rooms by then. The entire house had become a hive of sleeping sinners.

  With Benito sound asleep downstairs, Joaquin had time to take the canister. He slowly twisted the lock counterclockwise on the glass casing until it clicked. The triangular door popped from its frame.

  As he brought it out, the air grew frigid. It was the same as when the temperature had plummeted inside Gilmerton Cove during the sacrifice. Joaquin had believed it was only in his head, yet he couldn’t deny the drastic drop in temperature now. His skin rose in gooseflesh and the eerie feeling that he wasn’t alone added to his sudden anxiousness.

  “Take it, my son,” a deep voice breezed into his ear.

  He whipped around. The bedchamber was dark, save for the outside light coming in vaguely through the bay window nearby. No one was there. Instead of waiting to hear something else, he quickly left the house.

  Joaquin rode away from Gilmerton and raced to Edinburgh over a lonely road with only a carriage steadily traveling in the same direction.

  During the journey, only one other horseman thundered by them as if he were fleeing from an army of the undead.

  The hell with Faolan’s debt, Joaquin thought.

  He decided to go ahead and bring the deed to Coira, despite Faolan’s plan. Once healed from the curse, he would retrieve his brother, Taisia, and Faolan, and together, they’d all leave.

  As Joaquin neared the Vaults, he heard the clickety-clack of typewriter keys and found Coira in the meeting area, typing. With her were the Indian woman, Anci, her soldiers, Tavish, and the black gent, Ruairi.

  She raised her chin from her Oak Leaf typewriter. “Franklin? What brings ye by?”

  “I come bearing gifts,” he said, approaching the end of the table.

  He brought the tube out from behind him and placed it on the table with a gentle clunk. Her expression was worth more than gold.

  She slowly rose, with fingertips touching the table on either side of the typewriter. “Ye got it?”

  “I did.”

  Coira started walking toward him when he quickly pulled his pistol and aimed it at the canister while raising his free hand. “Wait. We need to have a wee chat first.”

  She froze and narrowed those perfect oval eyes at him. “Ye blast that to bits and we’ll return in kind.”

  “Aye. I have no doubt about that. However, killing me won’t stop ye from losing your demon.”

  She bit her bottom lip so hard it surprised him her teeth didn’t puncture it.

  “How the fuck did ye find out?” she demanded.

  “Benito told me. It appears ye have a spy in your midst.”

  “I’m aware,” she responded sharply.

  “It’s not Joshua McDay.”

  “Eh?” she said, arching a decorative eyebrow. “And how do ye know?”

  “’Cause I witnessed the Hellfire Club sticking a knife into his chest.” He pulled out the diamond from his coat pocket and held it up. “This is just about all of what’s left of ’im.”

  He tossed the gem of human ashes on the table, where it bounced a couple of times. He was glad to be rid of it.

  Coira’s bright eyes grew wide. “The Hellfire Club made him into a diamond?”

  Joaquin nodded. “Several, actually.”

  Instead of inquiring more about it, she scanned the faces in the room, perhaps searching for the guilty party. She then made a loud popping sound with her ruby-painted lips.

  “All right, Franklin, let’s chat.”

  “I want to see your demon—tonight. I need it to take its blood from me.”

  “So you’ve stated when ye first arrived.”

  “I’m retelling ye this ’cause I want no backstabbing under the assumption that I desire anything more. Once the curse is lifted, I will gladly leave this place and ye can carry on with your business. Understand?”

  She considered him a moment before straightening her posture and folding her arms. “Understood. Now, mind removing that bleedin’ pistol?”

  Joaquin tried to read her. Pierce and Faolan had warned him about trusting her, but his time was short, and, therefore, he hadn’t the energy for a long debate. He just needed to make his point and hope for the best.

  He put the weapon away, picked up the canister, and handed it out to her. She approached with caution, yet did her damnedest not to show it. Joaquin did not move as she curled her hand around the canister and took it from him. It wasn’t until she spied the deed in its tiny tube that she expressed re
lief.

  “It’s still in there.”

  “Of course,” he said to her. “The canister cannae be opened, right?”

  Her eyes, so close to him now, read like a large, printed sign: I LIED.

  It mattered not. Despite his plans to take Faolan with him, he had meant what he said. Whatever happened to her, her gang or her demon was of no concern to him so long as she owned up to her end of the bargain.

  “Aye,” she answered softly. In a stronger tone, she said, “Tavish, Ruairi, go make sure the creature is secure for our guest.”

  “Aye, Madam MacCrum,” they both said.

  She handed the canister over to Anci. “Take this to your place.”

  “Yes, Madam MacCrum.”

  As they hurried off, Coira looked to Joaquin. “Let me take ye to the demon.”

  He holstered his weapon but kept his hand ready to snatch it again, if need be. He followed her through the breweries and into the Vaults. Along the way, they passed the same storage area Pierce had hidden from Coira in. He caught a flash of a woman who resembled Taisia standing in place, staring at the wall in front of her.

  “Hold up,” he said, stopping.

  Coira turned on her heel to face him.

  “What?”

  “Why is Ta—?” he began before correcting himself. “Me wife doin’ ’ere?”

  “Your wife?” Coira asked. “What are ye talkin’ about?”

  He went back to the doorway and looked in. Nothing other than whisky supplies occupied the small room.

  “Vasilisa.” He called her fake name while stepping inside, his hand on the handle of the gun. He then whispered, “Taisia?”

  “See her?” Coira asked from the doorway.

  Joaquin just knew he had seen her. She was standing right where he was now. He could even smell the rose scent from her clothing. He nearly looked behind the open door when a sharp pain in his gut knocked the wind out of him.

  “Well?” Coira demanded.

  Clutching his midsection, he took in a deep breath and gritted his teeth.

  With some difficulty, he muttered, “I . . . I thought I saw her. I was mistaken.”

  He held up the amber ore necklace. The red glow set in the stone was merely a speck of light. With a painful sigh, he turned, fixing his expression to hide his distress.