The Underground

by Michelle E Lowe

  Ealair Duffy, who had replaced Ruairi after his untimely death, entered the room. “Faolan. Madam MacCrum wants ye.”

  Faolan checked his pocket watch. “Aye,” he sighed, snapping it closed and stuffing it back into his vest pocket. “Let’s get on with it, eh?”

  He exited the cramped billiard room and walked through the tavern where Joaquin sat at a table in the corner. Faolan could sense the deterioration his blood was causing the man. It made him wonder if he would last through the next hour.

  Joaquin followed them out.

  * * *

  Pierce kept his eyes peeled for Taisia but did not see her anywhere as he walked through the Vaults. To make himself look like one of Coira’s workers, Pierce had grabbed a sack of grain and thrown it over his shoulder. Faolan said the Signing always took place at the meeting area, which was located just past the distilleries.

  In the second boiling brewery where workers were busy with their illegal brewing, Pierce placed the sack down beside the last whisky still. When no one was looking, he ducked into the next room.

  Pierce’s plan—a half-ass plan, granted, but a plan nonetheless—was to get the canister before Faolan and Joaquin arrived. Apparently, Coira enjoyed making a big show out of the Signing by having her cronies there to witness her reclaiming her enslaved demon. If he managed to free Faolan, the demon would keep the entire gang occupied while Pierce searched for Taisia.

  That was the plan, anyway.

  Pierce unholstered his pistol. If anyone was inside, he was prepared. He entered and found no one, not even a guard. The lights were aglow, which helped him spot the canister on the far end of a large table with hundreds of melted candles running down the middle.

  He grinned and hurried over to it. “Brilliant.”

  He set his gun beside a typewriter and picked up the canister. He pressed down on the ends and held his breath as he twisted the dome top fully around. With a click, it opened without a hitch. He carefully took out the deed and read it quickly, then eyed the typewriter with a sheet of paper inside it. He grinned mischievously.

  Moments later, someone walked in. The guard, Pierce reckoned who had stupidly abandoned his post for some reason.

  “Hey!” the bloke shouted, pulling his pistol.

  Pierce was faster. He snatched his revolver up and fired three shots, striking the cocker in the chest. The guard slammed against the wall and fell over dead.

  “Shite,” Pierce huffed, knowing that the gig was up.

  He grabbed the canister and bolted out. If he could get past the workers and make it into the Vaults, he might have a sporting chance of escaping. None of them tried anything against the armed intruder as he ran through the brewery. He was halfway through the second distillery when Coira and around thirty of her minions entered. He stopped abruptly, as did Coira.

  “Who the fuck are ye?” she demanded.

  Her red and black day dress had really brought out the wickedness in her face. The she-devil even had a matching hat. Set in the center of her overbust corset was a decorative, oval-shaped cast iron grate.

  “I think he shot Andrew, Madman MacCrum,” called a brewer who had followed him.

  Pierce’s entire body turned numb as she studied him. It was only a matter of time. Finally, she put on a pair of spectacles. A look of recognition came to her, and she grinned happily.

  “Pierce Landcross. Not dead, I see. How splendid.”

  He held up the canister and pressed the end of his barrel to it.

  “Keep your distance,” he ordered, thumbing the hammer back.

  His actions earned him a whole lot of guns aimed at him. Hammers clicked like dozens of breaking twigs.

  “Put those away,” Coira shouted to everyone. “Do it!”

  Everyone obeyed and lowered their guns.

  “Where’s Taisia?” Pierce demanded.

  Coira crossed her arms and held her tongue.

  Pierce huffed. “Don’t think I won’t blow this thing to bits and kill your demon.”

  “Do it . . .” she fumed, snapping her arm out. A blade sprang from underneath her dress sleeve. “. . . and I’ll gut your precious Taisia right in front of ye.”

  Pierce realized he needed to approach the situation in some other, better, way.

  “Let’s make a deal. Release her and not only can you have the canister, but you can also have me. I know you’re wanting to sink your bloody claws into me. I’ll hand myself over. How does that sound, eh?”

  Her smile only grew larger.

  “I have a better idea.” She snapped her fingers. “Come!”

  The crowd shuffled around to let a person through. That someone was none other than Taisia. When Pierce saw her, he gasped with relief.

  “Tai,” he whispered, taking a step forward.

  “Stop,” Coira demanded, touching the edge of the blade to the bottom of Taisia’s chin.

  Pierce halted immediately, fearing Coira would fulfill her plan to do Taisia in right in front of him.

  “One more move and I’ll slit her.”

  The terror of the threat nearly caused him to miss Taisia’s glossy red eyes. From his time spent with Joaquin, he was all too familiar with the sight.

  “No,” he gasped.

  Taisia’s posture was stiff like a soldier at attention, and she showed no fear of Coira’s blade. Unlike Pierce, who thought he would faint. The bitch! That evil, evil bitch from hell! Coira had not only kidnapped Taisia, but had also made her drink demon blood, transforming her into a mindless servant.

  “Give up the canister,” Coira commanded.

  He had stood so confidently only moments ago. But all of that had changed.

  “Pierce,” Coira pressed.

  “All right!” he exclaimed, raising both canister and gun in surrender.

  Coira turned to a woman beside her. “Get the canister.”

  She approached him and took it and then reached for his gun.

  “Let ’im keep that,” Coira threw in.

  The woman looked bewildered but obeyed and left Peirce with his weapon. Once Coira had the canister, she removed the blade from Taisia’s throat and snapped it closed with a flick of her arm.

  Pierce lowered his arms. “Let her go.”

  With her free hand, Coira unhooked a small latch on the grate of her overbust corset and opened it. Behind it was a secret compartment where a brass-handled knife was fastened in an upward position against the corset itself. She plucked the weapon from the picks holding it, raised it high, and made a circular motion with it. Her gang of smugglers, thieves, and murderers surrounded Pierce, creating an arena.

  “Let’s see how much ye truly love her,” she said, turning the handle around and handing the knife to Taisia. “Take it.”

  Taisia obeyed without hesitation.

  Pierce swallowed thickly.

  “Kill him,” Coira commanded.

  Like a vicious, barbaric warrior, Taisia charged Pierce. He leaped back to keep the blade from slicing his belly open, then jumped backward when she thrust the dagger toward his side.

  “Taisia! Stop!”

  She continued with her attack.

  “If ye want to stop her, Pierce,” Coira called out over the cheers of her crew, “you’ll have to shoot her.”

  Taisia was so quick and ruthless in her attack, he couldn’t get close enough to tackle her and hold her down. The tight circle of people around them kept Pierce from trying such a move. She came at him relentlessly, slashing the dagger, catching his coat here and there.

  “Taisia!”

  He knew his cries were pointless. This was like when Indigo was under the same spell. Unless the hex wore off, as it had with the Toymaker, she would eventually do him in. Unfortunately, Coira was right. His revolver was his only defense against her, yet he refused to use it. Instead, he holstered it to free up both hands so he could try to take hold of her. The smoldering heat made him sweat profusely.

  Taisia brought the blade down, and he caught her wrist. I
t was a lucky break. If he could disarm her, he could then shoot Coira and end this madness once and for all.

  That plan didn’t go so well. Taisia kicked him so hard between the legs, his balls took a sudden trip up into his stomach. It definitely got him to let her loose. The moment she was free, she slashed at him again, carving the razor edge across his forearm. The hot pain lit up his nerves, and the queasiness in his gut, accompanied by the agony in his crotch, almost caused him to collapse to his knees. The will to live kept him on his feet. The strike got people cheering. Pierce stumbled back, hunching over as she advanced once more.

  “Shoot her,” Coira taunted while re-hooking the latch of the grate in place. “It’s the only way you’ll survive!”

  Pierce knew the nature of the game Coira was playing. She wanted him to shoot his beloved, and then she would murder him, or take him off to torture at her leisure.

  In the midst of the cheering faces calling for his death, he saw Faolan, who was holding Joaquin’s arm either to keep him on his feet or to prevent him from interfering. In his present state, Joaquin would be of little help, anyway. Even so, it gave Pierce an idea. In a burst of energy, he ran into the crowd toward Joaquin while reaching into his coat pocket.

  He took hold of Joaquin by his collar and whispered in his ear. Joaquin had no chance to respond before someone grabbed Pierce and threw him back into the arena. Pierce lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. He rolled a couple of times before coming to a stop. Coira laughed until the woman beside her tapped her on the shoulder. “Madam MacCrum.”

  She glanced at the woman’s watch, which she was holding out, and her eyes grew much wider.

  When Taisia came at Pierce, he kicked her feet out from under her. When she fell over, he climbed on top, holding her down by the arms. He kept her pinned and watched as Coira opened the canister.

  “Quick! Give me a pen,” Coira said as she pulled the paper from its tubing.

  Apparently, during all the excitement, the time had escaped her. Pierce clenched his teeth with anticipation as she unrolled the sheet.

  CUNT.

  A simple message Pierce had typed before switching the contract out for it.

  Utterly shocked, Coira snapped her head up to him. He gave her a wicked grin of his own.

  “Sign it, Madam,” the woman next to Coira urged, trying to give her a pen. “Ye have only a few seconds.”

  Coira stood stunned, staring at Pierce with a look of pure terror. The woman read the paper and took off running. Pierce kept his delighted sights on her, enjoying his victory until he was thrust sideways off Taisia.

  “Get ’im!” the pushy cocker yelled out.

  Taisia sprang to her feet and charged as Pierce staggered up and backpedaled. He never had a chance. His back hit the whisky still behind him and she ran at him with the knife.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Taisia’s Rage

  “Hang on to this,” Pierce had whispered into his brother’s ear as he crammed something into Joaquin’s pocket during the fight.

  Then someone had snatched Pierce away and tossed him back into the circle.

  Joaquin pulled the sheet of paper Pierce had put there, along with the pocket watch.

  “Glory be,” Faolan gasped while looking at the deed in Joaquin’s hand. “He did it.”

  The working hands of the pocket watch ticked closer to the still ones. Coira’s signature began vanishing letter by letter. Moments after the last letter faded completely, the paper turned to ash and fell apart in Joaquin’s grasp. The watch stopped.

  “Faolan!” Joaquin cried. “Now!”

  The demon leapt high into the air and into the arena. He landed behind Taisia and grasped her by the sides of her neck and face. The blood inside—his blood—coalesced into a single place under his fingertips and began seeping out like dew through her skin and into him.

  The room quieted down. Faolan stood in place until every last drop of his blood had left Taisia’s body. He slid his hands off her and stepped back.

  “Damn,” he muttered when he saw what happened next.

  * * *

  Ever since Coira forced her to drink pure demon blood, Taisia had been lost in a dark place, unable to find her way out. Now, the world started to come back into focus again. First, the sounds of people’s voices, and then images began to form. Her lungs burned, and she was breathing heavily as if she’d been running. When her vision cleared, she smiled.

  “Pierce,” she whispered happily.

  He grinned and gently touched her face. She closed her eyes when his thumb stroked her cheek. Pierce had come for her and now they were safe. Her tranquility, however, died the moment she looked down.

  Blood soaked her hand. It poured from the knife she held in place inside Pierce’s side.

  “Chtoeto?”

  She pulled the dagger out, which made the bleeding worse. Pierce let out a sharp, painful howl and slid down the still’s pipe leg.

  “Pierce!” she shouted, kneeling beside him. “Oh, God, what have I done?”

  Joaquin suddenly appeared at Pierce’s other side.

  “Watch out,” he said to her, taking off his coat. “It needs pressure on it.”

  He pressed the balled-up coat over the wound, making Pierce hiss.

  “Fuckin’ hell,” he complained.

  “How did this happen?” Taisia asked whichever brother in the hopes he would answer.

  “Coira ordered you to kill him,” Joaquin explained.

  Her attention left Pierce and traveled around the many stunned faces. Finally, she settled on Coira. Taisia’s shock and terror immediately switched to hatred and bloodlust.

  “Shoot them!” Coira bellowed to her crew.

  Those with guns brought them out, ready to fire when Faolan attacked. He moved so fast, no one had a chance to defend themselves. Bodies were suddenly being torn to bits. Bones capped in liquid crimson and chunks of meat flew everywhere. Decapitated heads rolled across the ground, and human innards splattered like chunky paint against the walls. None of this affected Taisia.

  “I’ll kill you!” she shouted at Coira, charging her with the blood-soaked knife.

  Coira took off running from the brewery. She called for someone to help her, but everyone was too busy fighting for his or her life against the mad-dog demon.

  Coira pushed through the fleeing crowd and made her way into the smuggling room and then into the Vaults. Taisia wasn’t far behind. Her legs carried her faster than they ever had before, rapidly closing the gap between her and Coira. The day dress offered Coira no assistance in her getaway.

  Taisia screamed viciously as she tackled Coira to the ground right beside a wall. The impact rattled Taisia’s bones, yet it did not stop her. She tried to stab Coira in the chest but Coira snatched Taisia by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. The impact loosened her hold on the dagger. It dropped from her hand and fell to the floor. The move gave Coira the lift she needed to get out from under Taisia.

  Taisia shook off the pain and got to her feet at the same time as Coira. Coira snapped her arms out and sprang her quickdraw blades. She raised both weapons and charged. Taisia moved aside, grabbed her forearm as she passed, and swung the woman around. Coira struck the wall but quickly recovered, pushing Taisia backward. Taisia’s back hit a corner, causing her to cry out. With both hands, Taisia kept her hold on her opponent’s forearm and struggled to keep the sharp edge of the bayonet from inching closer to her face.

  Taisia acted quickly before she was stabbed by the other quickdraw blade, and slammed her forehead into Coira’s face. The impact cracked her nose. Taisia shoved her and Coira’s heel caught on a pile of loose stones, sending her tumbling over. Taisia snatched up her knife and jumped on top of her. Screaming viciously, Taisia plunged the dagger right into Coira’s head. The body twitched even after Taisia clambered to her feet. Breathing heavily, she stared at the dead woman with the knife handle sticking out of the middle of her forehead like some kind of hor
ned creature.

  “Taisia,” came a voice.

  She turned to Faolan nearby. He was drenched in blood and flesh, but he was not winded. The benefits of being a demon, she thought.

  Coira had bled Faolan right before her eyes, and before she forced Taisia to drink, she told the truth about her hustler. Seeing him covered in such a gruesome fashion made it truly believable.

  He stared down at Coira’s body with no emotion.

  “You’re needed,” he urged.

  “Pierce,” she said in a panic.

  She rushed into the distillery, ignoring the mutilated bodies strewn along the floor. Pierce remained seated against the still with Joaquin putting pressure on the wound. Taisia resumed her place by her fiancé’s side.

  “Here, let me.”

  She gently put pressure on the bunched-up coat. Pierce again hissed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, raising her hand off the wound.

  Pierce quickly rested his hand upon hers and pressed them down.

  “It’s better than bleeding to death.”

  He trembled either from the agony of his wound or from blood loss—perhaps both. She spied his gun in the holster. At any time, he could have used it to stop her, but hadn’t. He’d have let himself die rather than harm her. She began to cry.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whimpered, sliding multi-colored strands of his hair away from his eyes. “I never wanted to—”

  “I know,” he said softly. “It’s not your fault.”

  “You’ll need a physician,” Faolan pointed out, sounding different.

  “Can’t you do anything?” Joaquin asked.

  “I did do something,” the demon stated. “I steered her knife away from his vital organs.”

  Taisia gaped at him. “You mean you controlled my mind?”

  “Briefly. However, you were too close to him for me to get you to avoid stabbing him altogether.”

  Taisia glanced at the wound, then tilted her chin up to him.

  “Spasibo bol’shoye,” she said, tearfully.

  He bowed his head slightly. “Pozhaluysta.”

  “Faolan,” Pierce interposed. “My brother?”