Pierce was headed for the door when Faolan snatched his arm, “Don’t be foolish! You march in there, and you’ll only get yourself killed—and her.”
Pierce considered that. He hated to admit it, but the bastard was right. Coira knew he was around, and simply going in would surely get him caught.
“We’ll plan something out,” Joaquin promised.
Pierce nodded and Faolan let him go.
“Why has Coira kept her alive?” Pierce asked Faolan.
“She wanted to have you brought to her and then have Taisia killed in front of you. Let you witness it for a second time.”
Pierce’s blood inflamed.
“I’ve experienced so much in my life,” Faolan went on with his story. “Then in the spring, I met a man named Jack Pack.”
Pierce and Joaquin snorted.
“Jack Pack?” they both said.
“One of his aliases, I later learned. He approached me in the middle of Sinai, where I was spending time hunting jackals in the Blue Desert. He had seen my fires and requested to join me.”
Faolan moved over to the window and looked out with hands clasped behind him. “We spoke about many things. Conversations I could never have with mortals. He intrigued me. After that night, we journeyed the world and universe together. We thieved princes and seduced the finest women. For a handful of years, they were the best days of my life.”
“What did this Jack Pack do?” Pierce asked, sensing the pitfall.
“We came to Greece and Jack Pack proposed we go into business together. He even showed me an empty building he had already bought. I accepted his offer to be his business partner.” Faolan closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. “Jack Pack said we needed to sign a contract. I read it myself and agreed to the terms. Jack Pack’s signature was already on it. Without hesitation, I filled in my own name, and that’s when I lost everything.”
“The deed,” Joaquin surmised.
Faolan bowed his head and sighed.
“A demon cannot simply be captured. But we can surrender. I needed to sign my name in order to relinquish my own freedom. I am bound to whoever’s name is on the contract, which states I must obey them unconditionally.”
“You read it, though,” Joaquin argued. “How did you miss the part where it states your imprisonment?”
“Jack Pack was a Trickster,” Pierce guessed. “Wasn’t he?”
“He was. Met one yourself, have you?”
“I had a run-in with a Trickster once, a few years ago. Perhaps he’s the same bloke.”
Faolan snorted. “Perhaps he was. To answer your question, he cast an illusion over the contract to have it read differently through my eyes. If I had only looked closer, I would have detected it. My foolish trust blinded me to his trick. He deceived me the same way I fooled you about your woman, Pierce. I planted the illusion directly into your mind, causing you to see Taisia and not the prostitute.”
Pierce remembered Faolan’s hold on his head while he was warning him about Taisia being in danger. It explained why the woman hadn’t responded to his voice when he’d called to her, and why she looked utterly gobsmacked while she lay dying in his arms. He only hoped that the poor Nachton lass received a proper burial as Faolan had promised.
“This Trickster knew what you were?” Joaquin asked.
“Now who’s asking a lot of questions?” Pierce quipped.
“He did know,” Faolan answered heavily. “We became friends. During our time together, he was building my trust in order to spring his trap.”
“What did he want from you?”
“He wanted to sell me to the highest bidder. A demon, even a lowly one like me, is worth plenty to some. He ended up bartering me off to a nymph named Temenitis in exchange for having sex with her.”
“Sex with a nymph?” Pierce snorted. “That’s it?”
“To lay with a nymph is a great privilege. But after a couple of decades, she became bored with me and sold me off to a mortal. After him, I was sold to another human, and then I was stolen by the last living Aswang, who then traded me to Coira. However, she has no plans to sell me off. She has instructed me to die when she does. An order I cannot refuse unless I am freed.”
“I am rather disappointed in Coira,” Pierce put in unexpectedly.
“How so?”
“She’s not the type to lack imagination, especially at the cruel expense of others. She has a demon at her disposal, and she’s got you hustling for chump change? Why not have you go after grander things? Bloody hell, the Crown Jewels or something?”
“Coira would if her fear of losing me didn’t prevent her from doing so. The Aswang who stole me warned her that someone could easily take me away from her if she risked exposure by using her demon slave to do outlandish chores. Coira may be many things, but stupid she is not. She ordered me to be her lowly Scottish hustler, keeping me hidden away from potential thieves.”
“And it’s your blood that’s inside me?”
“Yes. Coira sometimes sells my blood to those who have the capability to do things with it.”
Like a witch, Pierce thought grimly.
“Can you extract it?” Joaquin asked.
“I can, but I’m not allowed to.”
“Dammit!” he shouted, going over to sit down.
“There is, however, a clause in the contract. Jack Pack didn’t want to own me forever, therefore in the title, it states that ownership will expire after a year unless re-signed. He and the nymph traded names when the contract was up, and she did the same with the next owner. If no one signs immediately, the contract will be terminated and the property—which is me—will be released.”
“The Signing,” Joaquin said. “It’s in a few hours from now.”
“At 1:23, to be exact, according to the timepiece you have, Joaquin. That was the moment in which I signed away my freedom.”
Joaquin pulled a bronze decorative pocket watch from his vest pocket. He clicked it open.
“I thought this signing was around eleven.”
“Here in Scotland it is, but not in the place where I signed the contract. The timepiece you hold is the one I had on that day. Jack Pack stopped the original hands at the precise moment he tricked me. It’s symbolic, meant for each owner who possesses me in order to keep track of when he or she needs to sign. Jack Pack added extra working hands, including a calendar hand that can never be altered. When all four hands join, Coira’s name will vanish.
“This was the reason I told you to bring me the canister. I wanted to keep it from Coira until after the time of the Signing had ticked by. Coira forbids me from touching the canister unless she gives permission otherwise, but never did she say I couldn’t simply have it in my possession.”
“Does it say anything about you destroying the damn thing?” Pierce said.
“The contract states that if it’s destroyed with a signature on it, then I am to destroy myself—painfully. Another little add-on that Jack Pack threw in.”
Pierce hissed. “Bloody hell. And you had set up a way to free yourself?”
“I spied a window of opportunity, yes. Weeks ago, I saw an elderly woman looking at me while I played dice with the locals. She had located me through my blood, I assume.”
“Grandmother Fey,” Joaquin said softly. “But she never said you were the demon, just a hustler.”
“Yes, we had a brief conversation before I severed our link. She told me about you, Joaquin, and I explained about my own predicament. I asked that if she planned to send you to me that she not say a word.”
“Why?”
“I was playing at a high stakes game for freedom, and therefore, didn’t want a hitch in my plan—which might’ve occurred if you were aware of who I was.”
Pierce arched an eyebrow. “So you were expecting us all along.”
“I was. And Joaquin, since we share the same blood, you were instantly drawn to my location.”
Pierce nudged Joaquin with an elbow. “Oi. That’s why you nearly
pulled my arm off that day we came across the Black Iron Tavern, remember?”
“At the time,” Faolan continued, “I had no need for any of you—until my plan hit a snag.”
“What sort of snag?”
“Before your arrival, I had Coira’s tinkerer, Anci, tell the Hellfire Club about the canister so they would go steal it. She, however, let them in on how to open it to cover her own ass. After the Signing, I would just end up belonging to another owner.”
Pierce tsked. “Couldn’t be worse than being under Coira’s control, eh?”
“Indeed,” Faolan agreed. “But I’d still be a slave.”
“Couldn’t the Demon King do anything for you?” Joaquin asked.
“He could, yes, but he’s a wicked bastard, that one.”
Pierce crossed his arms. “You don’t say.”
He reckoned the tall man who had come to him at the chapel was this Demon King.
“He told me once when I first asked him for help that I deserved what I had gotten for my carelessness. When I learned what Anci had done, I again asked the Demon King to free me and not allow me to be handed over to Benito. He refused. Then I thought about you, Joaquin, and offered him a trade.”
“A trade?” Joaquin said.
“That if I helped hand you over, he would allow you to steal the canister. After that, I just needed you to turn it over to me.”
“When Taisia and I recited ‘To the dark forces, we give our service’ to Benito, was it you who made us say it in the demon language?”
“I manipulated your tongues to say it, yes.”
“You used us,” Joaquin said.
Faolan again bowed his head, sighed, and then looked up. He turned away from them.
“It has been 236 years since I’ve tasted wine crafted by the ghosts of poets or spent time in the cosmos, chasing shooting stars.” He chuckled with a wistful smile spreading across his face. “I even miss playing chess with Ivan the Terrible, who is too afraid to move on from the In Between. I wonder if the old loon is still there. I admit, I did use you to help me with my own plan to obtain my freedom. What would you have done?”
Although Faolan had been willing to sacrifice them all to save himself, Pierce understood his reasoning. After losing his own freedom more times than he cared to count, Pierce could relate. And Faolan was a demon, after all. Not the most trustworthy sort to get mixed up with.
“Listen. You help us and we’ll do the same.”
Faolan eyed Pierce. “How so?”
“Do you know how to open the canister?”
“No,” Faolan admitted before the corners of his mouth rose slyly. “But I have already told you who does.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Refusal
Pierce needed to use caution. Although Coira believed he was pushing up daisies—or, so Faolan had said—he still had to hide.
After Faolan bought him a new shirt and vest to replace his bloodstained clothing, Pierce was ready to go, and the sooner, the better. Faolan promised that Taisia was still alive, but that could change any minute. Not to mention Joaquin looked as if he was wasting away and might collapse and die at any moment. The ore stone he wore was dull and lifeless, like ashes in a fireplace.
As Pierce dressed, he prepared himself for the task ahead. In the next few hours, he needed to steal the canister and find Taisia, who was being kept deep within Coira’s lair. Everything weighed on his shoulders now. Faolan would help, but his assistance came with strict boundaries. If Coira ordered him to split Pierce in two, he’d have to do it, and nothing would stop him.
Pierce tied his hair into a short ponytail, checked himself once more in the mirror, and put on the bowler hat Faolan had also provided. He turned to both man and demon.
“Right. See you lads in the Vaults.”
“Aye,” Joaquin said, dressed in his own disguise as a poor beggar.
“I have to be there,” Faolan explained. “Coira makes me watch her sign the contract.”
Pierce grimaced. “Really? She does know how to torment, eh?”
“You have no idea. But you will, if you’re caught.”
“I’ll be sure that won’t happen.” He tipped his hat. “Gents.”
Pierce rode across town on Faolan’s horse and headed for the Old Waverley Hotel. He went to Room 215.
When Anci answered, Pierce snatched her by the throat and pushed her back while aiming his gun at her. She instantly tried screaming out.
“Shut your mouth, slag,” he seethed in a thick West Country accent.
He kicked the door shut and proceeded to shove her toward a chair and push her down into it. Her long hair was draped over her shoulders, and she was dressed in her nightgown, looking like a child in serious trouble.
“Make a sound without permission and I’ll put a bullet in you, got it?” he warned.
She nodded frantically. He loosened his hold on her throat and rose to his full height while lowering the firearm.
“Coira knows, Anci. She knows you sold the canister to the Hellfire Club.”
She couldn’t contain her panicked expression. She began to speak when he wagged his finger.
“Uh-uh. I haven’t permitted you, now, have I, bird?”
Anci shut her trap tight. “Yes, bird,” Pierce answered as if he had allowed her to ask. “She has sent me here to assassinate you. So, hark up. Are you going to try speaking again?”
She shook her head, tears streaming down.
“Gert lush, you didn’t use words,” he praised, pulling Joaquin’s knife out from under his belt. “That would’ve slashed this conversation short, eh?”
Pierce had played this character before. It wasn’t his favorite, especially since he had to threaten a woman, but there was little choice in the matter.
He holstered the gun and held the blade up.
“Gordon Jones is the name. I kill people for a living.” He pushed his bowler hat up with the knife tip. “I do a proper job of it. I can jab this right into your eye and you’ll be dead in seconds.”
When she covered her mouth to keep from making a sound, he knew he had her.
“Do you wish to say something? Go ahead.”
“Oh, please!” she blurted out, falling to her knees and clutching his plaid trousers. “Please don’t hurt me. I’ll do anything you want.”
She reached up for his belt buckle and tried to unfasten it when he slapped her hand away.
“Oi, knock that off!” he barked before stepping back, leaving her to fall forward. “There’s something else you can give me.”
Anci sat up and wiped tears from her cheeks. “What?”
“Rumor has it that Coira has herself a demon. I could use me one of those. Where’s ’e at?”
“I don’t know where the demon is, but you can’t own it without signing the contract.”
“I’ll be buggered. A contract?” Pierce said, playing dumb. “Do you have this contract?”
“I did. Coira came for it earlier and took it to the Vaults.”
Damn! I got here too late.
“Fine, bird. I’ll just get on with my job and collect the £500 offered to do you in.” Pierce approached with the dagger.
“It’s in a canister,” Anci exclaimed, raising her arms again.
“How does it open?” he demanded.
After a few short frantic breaths, she began to confess. He only hoped he’d placed enough fear into her for her to tell the truth.
“The round top and flat-end bottom have to be pressed down simultaneously, and the top turned completely around until it clicks.”
“Are you lying to me?” he snarled, aiming the knifepoint toward her eye. “Don’t mistake me for a gockey, now.”
“I’m not,” she cried, covering her eyes. “I swear!”
Pierce stood there a moment, holding the knife. “Fantastic.”
She lowered her hands as he slipped the dagger under his belt. She made a tiny noise.
“Yes?” he allowed.
&nbs
p; “Wha-what happens now?”
“Now? You should run. Very far from here and keep going.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, folding her palms together as if praying to him, and then pressing her forehead to the floor. “Thank—”
Her words were cut short when he closed the door behind him.
* * *
“Lost again, lad,” said Faolan to another poor chump who had foolishly decided to challenge him at billiards for a third time. “Ye owe me twelve quid.”
Judging by his opponent’s enflamed face, Faolan sensed trouble ahead.
“Ye cheated me, ye swine!”
“I did not,” Faolan lied.
“The bloody table is rigged.”
“No,” he answered truthfully. “You’re just a piss poor player and a bad sport, to boot.”
The chump threw his cue stick onto the table and crossed his arms. “I’m not payin’, ye cheatin’ bastard.”
Faolan came close to him. “You’re not?”
“No,” he stated with confidence.
The demon got right up to him, nearly nose to nose. “You’re really not?”
It wasn’t his tone, which was calm and tranquil, that broke the man’s spirit—it was the visions the man could see within Faolan’s irises.
“I . . . I,” the chump stammered, wanting, but unable, to divert his eyes.
In Faolan, he found his every fear, every phobia, every close call with death. Natural fears such as losing his wife and children, his wife learning about his mistress, the fear of falling fatally ill . . . Faolan brought it all to the surface. He made those dreads collide into one burning lump inside the chump’s heart, which nearly made it stop.
“Ye are going to pay up,” Faolan said quietly with a slight grin.
The chump quickly reached into his pocket. “A-aye.”
Faolan refused to release his hold until the money was on the table.
“Thanks very much,” the hustler said, taking the loot. “Ye may piss off now.”
The man blinked and left, shaking and weeping.
“He’ll have nightmares for months,” Faolan chuckled to himself. He jingled the coins in his hand and looked at them with distaste. “I hate this shit.”
The Underground Page 25