Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Scarlet Blood
H ightown was crafted with Grecian architecture fit for royalty that matched the interior of the Dark Palace. It was a place where nobles ran rampant, layered in fashionable drapes of silk and chiffon, eating to their heart's content, and spoiling themselves with material items while the rest of Nameless City suffered.
Scarlett already felt rotten, blinded by Jordan’s dance and her eventual fall at the hands of an Heir.
She wanted to be like the women with shopping bags lining their long, slender arms. She wanted to be as beautiful as them, shining in the sunlight. She wanted the diamond jewels that touched their fingers, that made them a goddess among heathens. She wanted all that and more.
Liam couldn’t go further. She’d gleaned that from the way the lens of his glasses darkened along with the car windows. If anyone found out he’d turned on the First Heir even slightly the consequences would be dire.
Instead, he kissed her cheek and offered her a pristine smile, one she hadn’t seen before, and said, “You’ll be okay.”
Scarlett didn’t shed a tear until she left the expanse of his car and watched him pull away. Then, she turned towards a building known as Phantasm and carefully stepped over the threshold.
Scarlett knew Doll Houses.
She’d known them intimately, dressed in the finery of a grown woman when she was anything but, bore the consequence of her beauty at the hands of Pigs and more.
For moments Scarlett wandered the halls of Phantasm with a hand to the chest, heart in her throat, worried Josephine Singh was just like her brother–maybe worse.
Her anxieties were quelled when she met with a breathtaking woman in a dainty dress, goosebumps on her flesh from the chill that swept around the lobby where several women (a bit like Scarlett–out of place) sat about, twiddling their thumbs.
“I’m sorry, I was dropped here by my chauffeur. I’m looking for Josephine.” Her eyes strayed upon the love marks that purpled the woman’s collarbones.
“Oh, of course! You must be Ms. Emerson. You’re the one Joey put up at the Willow Estate. She talked up a storm about you. She’s been entertaining a few guests this morning, but I’m sure she can make some time. Come.”
Scarlett could do nothing but shoot a glance in the direction of the lobby, of the girls who refused to meet her gaze. She had questions, too many questions, yet followed after the nameless woman in a nameless city.
She wondered what kind of company Josephine could possibly be keeping. Something to help bloodlet the poison that seeped into the Dark Palace, to overthrow the First Heir and whoever else stood in her way.
But then, when the woman stopped by a single golden door and threw it open, Scarlett wasn’t thinking of anything at all. She was merely startled at the sight of an inner chamber from 15th century relics and forsaken architecture. The slanted goth ceiling that led to a hidden nook accessible by a ladder tucked away, reachable only by a particular device, sported a strange glow to it.
The two posters that held up the nook were draped with satin black curtains and while the remainder of the chamber was layered in rosewood, Scarlett couldn’t help the blush seeping into her cheeks when realizing she’d walked into a sex party.
It shouldn’t have embarrassed her, what with every piece of furniture occupied with writhing, naked bodies. Cast in red and orange lowlights that flickered from the nearby sconces, it reminded her much of last night; a mere figment of her imagination, a dream she wished was reality.
Women in all shapes and sizes were enamored by each other’s presence, caring little for where they were so long as who they were around. They were intertwined limbs kissing and touching to their hearts desire. They dug their nails into the wide hips of their lovers, knotted them in thick strands of hair, rousing moans that rolled through the chamber like prayers at dawn.
There were no plastic baggies full of X or lines of coke prepared for consumption. Only euphoria fueled Phantasm’s inner circle, pulling carnal pleasure from the depths of their soul.
And through it all, Scarlett’s gaze stopped on Josephine Singh who sat on a throne, for lack of better word, checking her nail beds as if she were bored.
Scarlett was bold when their eyes met and a look of knowing surpassed the Second Heir’s face. It was as if they’d shared a secret. When she bid the girl goodnight and came to her in her dreams, when the shadows danced at her back, when the sconces flickered… It couldn’t have been a coincidence.
Scarlett pushed forward.
Her heels clicked off the tile, lost from the sounds of ecstasy and soft music pulsing through the lounge. Lost to everyone but Josephine whose hooded eyes locked onto her, whose boredom turned into excitement, made her sit up, made her alert and intrigued.
When Scarlett finally stood before her at the bottom of a three-step dais, a man and a woman–suited for business–looked her over with raised brows full of shock.
“You won over the obedience of a Darling and you haven't even been home a week,” said the woman, her flashing red eyes painted with mischief. “Impressive.”
“Don’t mind my partner,” said the man, his broad shoulders squared and handsome face lit up with a smile. “It’s a compliment.”
Josephine gestured between the two. “Ms. Emerson, I’d like to formally introduce you to Zahira Mostafa and Frank Castelo.” War Maiden and Frankenstein. Nameless City’s most feared Anarchists. “ But it looks like we’ll have to cut our meeting short. It’s not proper to neglect a lady.”
Zahira and Frank shared a knowing glance before drawing their fists to their chests. They dipped their heads in unison and left without sound. Only the courtesans flanking Josephine’s throne remained, their envy of Scarlett making them tight-lipped and sour.
“I’m glad you found your way to me,” the Heir admitted.
“I take direction well, Joey .”
The woman smiled, her eyes uncannily large and her teeth sharper than Scarlett remembered. “Oh, Cassidy let that one slip, did she? Only those of my closest circle are allowed to address me as such.”
“Then it seems I’m long overdue. Lest you’ve forgotten where you let me rest my head. I’ll cut to the chase. I want to accept your offer. The one you gave me the night of our dance.”
Josephine’s laughter was low and husky. Amusing, breathtaking–and with the way she looked down the bridge of her archaic nose–victorious. "Who's to say that offer is still valid? I mean..." she made a pout of her lips, eyes scanning the inner sanctum, "it's not every day I ask a woman to be my wife."
A blonde haired woman set a hand on Josephine’s shoulder, nails like talons. "You proposed to marry a whore?”
“What the Highborns would say if they knew,” tsk’ed another, her black hair in long, luscious curls down barren shoulders.
“Will you take all of your brother’s playthings?” That last one felt like a slap to the face, the red-head who’d spoken it flashing only the wickedest of smiles.
Josephine sighed. "Apologies, Ms. Emerson. They tend to envy what they don't have."
Scarlett swallowed a lump in her throat yet remained as strong as she could. "You dismiss your business partners, but you lend your ear to courtesans who don’t know how to respect your guests. Seems you’re just like your brother.”
Her words were static tension that made the shadows dance along Josephine’s throne. What humor the Second Heir had vanished, and now her jaw clenched, her eyes dulled. Gone was Josephine’s wit and charm. Replacing it was a look of unadulterated rage that sent a shiver down Scarlett's spine.
She lifted her hand, gesturing for the lot to leave. "Clear out. All of you."
It brought Scarlett far too much pleasure seeing the gorgeous trio slinking after the others. It took no time at all for the place to hold only two beating hearts, that is if Josephine still had one left.
"Marrying me thinking it would save your dignity would do the opposite," Josephine began. "You're not my brother's first victim and you won't be his last. The Singhs don't care about the trouble they cause, not when they're the forerunners of weapons manufacturing and trade."
"Trade as in sex trafficking," Scarlett snapped.
"Little Dove–"
"Stop it. Stop trying to use pretty words thinking it'll change how I feel or what's been done. You don't know about this family the way I do. You don't know what I've been through. You were sent to Europe, got into Ivy Leagues at the bat of a lash, learned how to work the Underground. You know what I got?" She got close enough to see Josephine’s emotionless face, the way her eyes danced along hers. "I got pulled from my mother’s arms at eight. I was raped by Pigs and what did my father get in return? Ten thousand dollars per mark, per bruise, per desecration of my soul. It continued for twenty fucking years and now, you want your turn, don’t you? Come back after two decades and think you know what’s best. Just know this. I can marry you, but I'll never be owned by you. You and your filthy bloodline can go to hell.”
Her chest heaved, her hands shook, and she could barely look at Josephine with tears obscuring her sight. But there was no ire in the Heir’s voice when she asked, "You don't remember me, do you?"
Scarlet recoiled at the sudden change in conversation. "What?"
"We were in the same class. Grade 2. You don’t remember."
Scarlett agreed, "I don't remember a lot about my youth."
"I liked you," Josephine said with a smile. "When I saw you for the first time, I told Nan how a girl with snow in her hair made my heart hurt. You had so many friends. Enough to fill your yearbook with tiny little signatures, even me.”
“You?” Scarlett asked, brows furrowed.
Josephine let out a groan as she stood, as if her body ached and bore the brunt of a thousand invisible cuts. "I was quiet. Did my work and went home. You were nice to me. You were so nice that when Zeke stained your dress, I held his puppy over the ravine near Crestwood and made him promise to never bother you again.” Scarlett stepped back as Josephine stepped closer. “And when Jackson said he wanted you for himself, I pushed him down the stairs hard enough to break his neck. Cockroaches, my brothers. All of them.” Another step and she was towering over Scarlett. “I suppose I should clear the air. I didn't ask for your hand because I want to control you, Little Dove. I asked for your hand because every time I dream of a wife, I see you.”
Scarlett was taken aback by the pleading tone in Josephine’s voice. Her brows furrowed together in despair, and she stood there, hands tucked behind her back, waiting for a response.
"What're you saying? Are you saying you love me? Some schoolyard crush turned you into a fucking psycho?"
“There are worse things in Nameless City than a psychopath."
“Like what?”
“Like men.”
She had a point.
Josephine was a weapons specialist and socialist, the face of the Birzan Dynasty if she succeeded at eradicating those who stood in her way. She was a businesswoman who wasn’t opposed to shaking hands with the enemy, because the enemy of her enemy was her friend. And more than that, she had magic in her veins. Scarlett didn’t know to what extent, but it was there, dancing at the lapse of her consciousness.
That made her dangerous, but not dangerous enough to keep Scarlett at bay.
“I’m keeping her,” Scarlett said. And when Josephine’s brow twisted in confusion, she set a hand against her stomach and said, “My baby. I’m keeping my baby. I want out of the Dark Palace unless it’s reborn under your hand, I want the Doll Houses eradicated, and I want my father’s head on a platter. But more than that, I want to see your brother burn.”
Josephine nodded. “As you wish.”
“That’s it?” Scarlett asked, flabbergasted. “I’m using you,” she emphasized with a sneer.
“To the world you’d be my wife. You’d be the face everyone sees, one they respect. You feed me information; you tell me about your sufferings. You command me to change the wrongdoings of this city, and you’re carrying my child to term. Am I not using you as well?”
Scarlett said nothing else. She merely swallowed the growing lump in her throat, set a hand against her chest at the fluttering of wings trapped inside. "You're not as bad as they say, Jinn.”
Josephine pulled a signet off her hand. Made from brambles and thorns wrapped around gold, the jewel was a blaze of scarlet red. Then, she took the Darling’s hand and slipped it onto her ring finger, a perfect fit.
“Not to you, wife. Never to you.”