Chapter 11
Nelle
Valarie’s arctic gaze lowered to mine, and I allowed her to see a glimmer of fear.
My fingers nervously kneaded my skirt as I dropped my gaze to my shoes as if I were unable to handle looking at her directly because I was so frightened.
As much as I loathed doing it, I’d give her that.
Not for me, but for Graysen. I couldn’t risk her realizing he wasn’t doing as she expected—terrorizing me up in the tower to break me.
When the heaviness of Valarie’s gaze finally lifted, I glanced toward the Emporium.
A shiver ran down my spine. A bite of cold nipping at my nerves.
The Emporium was for the otherworldly beasts my kind served—the Horned Gods—and ruled by Zielenski, the youngest son of Dimitre who ruled their Upper House and oversaw the brothel arm of our empire.
The Horned Gods who patronized the establishment either arrived by car, dropped from beneath the cover of dark clouds, or crawled up from the earth to enter through the dungeon.
This bordello was their playground, where they could fuck to their hearts’ content or gnaw on flesh and bone to fill their bellies.
And many of them were famished, especially those who’d risen from hibernation for the Witches Ball.
Valarie strode toward the wrought-iron gate, her tall figure casting a watery shadow across the pathway and slipping through the gaps in the stately fence.
Caidan tucked his phone into his pocket and commanded with a smug wink. “Come along, Wychthorn.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes as I followed like a docile pet within a flock of shifting bodyguards.
My ears pricked when Valarie murmured, “Unfortunate timing. It’s a shame he’ll miss out on this.”
“It’ll still work whether Gray is here or not,” Caidan replied.
Before I could think or even dare open my mouth to ask what the hells was going on, we reached the gate and Caidan pushed it open.
Dark magic brushed over my senses as I crossed the smoky veil of magic that clung to the castle like mist blanketing a bleak moor.
On the other side, in awe, my gaze climbed from the flying buttresses to the stained-glass windows set within elaborate tracery and pointed arches; the flamboyant facade with its curling dahlia patterns woven like delicate lace; to the bell tower and the enormous spires that sliced through the sky like lethal blades.
It was deceptive in the way it almost seemed as if it were a crumbling castle that had been restored to its former glory. But the Emporium was much, much older, and I suspected it to have once belonged to Master Sirro himself.
Eerie shadows whorled along the bones of the building like smoke pluming into a midnight vortex.
The Horned Gods had sown a deep glamour around it, the same kind they wove around themselves.
It hummed, the vibration against my skin like the drone of bees.
The ancient stone was pitted like snakeskin, and the building seemed to breathe as if it were alive.
Indeed, I felt it turn its mind’s eye upon me, studying me, wondering if we were fashioned from the same fabric of darkness.
The loud, thrumming pulse intensified with its curiosity, emptying my mind of every single thought. All I was left with was a deep craving to stare back at the Emporium.
Like sang to like.
Both of us forged from ancient power, and it wanted a closer look at me.
My hips swayed forward, and I almost stumbled toward it as if a silken thread connecting us pulled at me, the darkness urging me to step inside its yawning mouth.
The sharp crack of high heels on brick snapped me out of my trance.
I straightened, shocked at how quickly I’d fallen prey to the wild magic.
Mentally, I braced myself against the Emporium’s probing curiosity, shoving it back, sloughing it off my skin.
It could go fuck itself. Along with the Crowthers.
Valarie pinched her skirt and lifted it as she ascended the steps after Caidan, and I trailed behind amidst the bodyguards.
My neck itched, and I dug a finger beneath the rope to soothe the inflamed patch of skin.
The rough fibers rasped against my knuckles.
The collar felt even more irritating. Perhaps simply because we were here at the Emporium.
The doorman opened the black lacquered door.
Valarie and Caidan stepped inside, and I followed, our footsteps echoing through the foyer and rising into the high ceiling.
Here, at least, the building resembled a Gentleman’s Club—the facade it presented to the world.
However, it wasn’t for mortals. This place was for the Houses, for those among the upper ranks who came hoping to catch a glimpse of the Horned Gods.
And much like our own homes, it was steeped in old-world furnishings.
The interior was as elaborate as its exterior, though furnished in a way that softened its intimidating air.
Hunting greens and navy dominated the foyer, touched with gold, and a maroon runner swept down the grand staircase.
From what my father had told me, the ground level served as the Gentlemen’s Club, with the usual rooms reserved for the elite: accommodation for overnight stays, a bar and dining room, a library, a billiards room, and spaces set aside for reading, socializing, and gambling.
A soft murmur of voices and laughter drifted on warm air.
Odd, I mused. With all this stone and open space, it should have been cooler.
But it wasn’t. A sheen of perspiration glistened on Valarie’s golden-bronze skin, warmer and deeper than her nephew’s, while sweat prickled beneath the heavy weight of my hair.
The chink of ivory balls striking one another and the squeak of chalk on a cue drew my attention.
Intrigued, I glanced through an open doorway into a large room with an open fireplace and a billiard table.
Cigar smoke curled upward from the group of men gathered around the green velvet table, all of them casting curious glances our way.
There were faces I remembered and faces I did not.
And then they vanished from sight as I followed after the Crowthers.
Valarie tilted her face toward her nephew as they moved deeper into the foyer, their shoes sinking into antique rugs, their footfalls softened by the loops of wool. She arched an eyebrow. “Has he transferred ownership of Zrenyth’s rope to you?”
Caidan’s hair ruffled as he shook his head, puffing out an apologetic breath. “Ah, no. Things got a little messy when I arrived. He’d just gotten the call to meet Mela and left before doing it. We can’t manipulate the collar while he’s away.”
I startled. I hadn’t even considered that Graysen could pass ownership to someone else, and I was utterly grateful he hadn’t.
The next thought sent my gaze darting toward the front door of the Emporium.
If I were free to move, maybe I could run.
My muscles bunched, my body soaring into flight mode, ready to spring into action.
I could take off right now.
A sinking feeling dragged through my bones.
What was the use?
I wouldn’t make it two steps before the Crowthers or their bodyguards caught me. And even if I somehow escaped, all Graysen had to do was will the collar to tighten. Wherever I was, it would constrict, leaving me breathless and helpless on my knees.
Valarie stopped walking. The pleated black dress clinging to her thin frame shimmered in the dim light as she turned toward me.
A flurry of icy fear prickled across my skin at her venomous smile.
“Yes, you’re right,” she said slowly, speaking to Caidan but staring at my collar.
“But we can still make it work to our advantage. And Jett…organized a contingency plan.”
Unease slithered along my limbs like a snake coiling around its prey. I knew we were on the path toward securing an invitation to the Witches’ Ball, but there were many steps to take before they’d hold one in their hands.
First, they needed a Goods Appraisal—where the Butcher would assess my qualities and advise the Witches whether I was worth presenting at the Ball. And the only way to get that Goods Appraisal was if I drew the interest of one of the Horned Gods here at the Emporium.
But something else was at play. I felt it in my gut.
The Crowthers also needed to break my father so he’d hand over something valuable. They needed it so desperately that they’d collared me with Zrenyth’s rope meant to remind him of the gallows.
It wasn’t until the Crowthers slowed and came to a halt that I realized we weren’t alone. I stepped flush between Valarie and Caidan.
A young woman stood at the foot of the staircase. Her gossamer dress floated around her tall, lithe figure like a gauzy cloud, and with her blue hair and even brighter blue eyes, unnatural in their perfection, she looked ethereal.
We all knew who she was.
Well, who she’d once been.
Lila Simonis.
“Welcome,” she said, bowing before me as was expected when greeting a Wychthorn.
Her voice had a strange quality, like wind whispering through reeds, the faintest tinkling of rain on a tin roof.
Melodious in its sweetness. She straightened and addressed Valarie.
“Your maid arrived earlier, and everything is ready for you upstairs.”
Valarie inclined her head. “Thank you.”
Caidan tugged at the stiff collar of his shirt, muttering about the heat trapped inside the building. Leaning closer to his aunt, he murmured, “I’ll speak with Zielenski.”
Lila answered as if he’d spoken to her. “He’s waiting for you down here.” She gestured toward the far end of the foyer, where a servant dressed in sheer layers stood beside a door. Caidan flashed Lila a boyish grin before striding to the servant, his bodyguards departing with him.
“If you’d like to come this way,” Lila said to Valarie.
She didn’t wait for a reply, simply turned and glided ahead.
We trailed in her wake as she moved up the staircase.
At the first floor, my breath caught at the magnificence of the arcade we entered.
Sweeping arches and enormous pillars supporting the ribbed vault overhead.
Statues lined the passageway. Some were carvings of ancient mortals from different eras, and others displayed weapons and armor from the Houses, their insignia stamped into metal.
Later, when we blended magic with weaponry, we began weaving on looms with threads woven with adamere to create flexible armor.
As I walked behind Lila, I found myself mesmerized by the waves of her hair swaying with her graceful gait.
The thick mane wasn’t dyed. No hairdresser could achieve a look that natural, with various subtleties of blue, light and dark, shimmering like shafts of sunlight filtering through deep water.
And her eyes, when she cast a quick, inquisitive glance over her shoulder, were just as strange.
Pure Prussian blue, without a single fleck of imperfection.
Prussian blue was a shade that was synthetically created, and in a way, it complemented her.
When I checked my truesight, there was no glamour woven over her.
She’d been a small child with brown eyes and brown hair when she entered the dark forest that served as a prison.
For fifteen long years, she was trapped behind a fortress of trees with those who’d been condemned there, creatures so terrible and violent that the Horned Gods had cursed an entire family line to ensure none inside could ever escape.
And Lila had done the impossible.
She’d not only survived but she’d also been released from her indenture.
And when she returned to our world over a decade later, she looked different. Her appearance had been altered by those trapped behind the fortress of trees for reasons only she knew. Blue hair. Blue eyes. Her wavy hair reached the dip of her spine, and thick, too thick, and it hid her entire back.
Halfway down the arcade, Lila stopped at a door. She pushed it open and stepped aside for us to enter. Judging by the ornate mirrors, duchesses, and open wardrobes cluttered with feminine attire and shoes, it was a dressing room.
My attention snapped to the girl waiting inside.
A zing of surprise ricocheted through my ribs.
Penn stood in her old-fashioned uniform, as neat and orderly as the tall black steam trunk beside her. And perhaps not the servant Valarie expected to see here. Valarie’s mouth thinned. She stopped and murmured something to one of her guards, too quietly for me to hear.
I ignored her and focused on Lila Simonis. She and I were about the same age. The last time we’d spoken was months ago at a birthday celebration. Much had happened since then, and as I’d done before, I found myself wanting to ask her a dozen questions.
But as I glanced at her dress, I realized Lila had dressed far better for the oppressive heat trapped inside the room.
Up here on the first floor, with the warmth rising, it was even hotter.
The muggy air was so exhausting that all I wanted was to sink into one of the armchairs and curl up like a cat and sleep.
I approached the taller girl, who stared at me boldly, without shame. “Why is it so hot?” I asked, unable to keep the petulance from my voice.
“The heat causes the Horned Gods to be more lethargic and relaxed,” she replied. “Less prone to take offense or fight amongst themselves. It makes life here…a little easier.”
I grinned. “Cunning.”
A small smile touched her mouth. “Yes, I suppose it is.”
Valarie’s low, raspy voice pulled my attention back. “May I trouble you for your assistance in one more matter?” she asked Lila, then angled her chin in the direction of the doorway.
“Certainly,” Lila said in her strange, melodious voice. She swept toward the door, her gossamer dress billowing behind her like faerie wings as she exited ahead of the older woman.
Valarie lingered a moment longer at the threshold, her fingertips twisting the pearl pendant.
She cocked her head and let her gaze travel slowly down my figure, assessing and considering.
Though she spoke to Penn, she kept that sharp-edged stare pinned on me.
“When I return, Penn, I expect her to be ready.”
Apprehension expanded in my chest at the eagerness gleaming in her eyes.
Penn asked in her soft voice, “Is there a particular dress you’d like her to wear?”
Valarie’s pink lips curved into a slow, deadly smile. “Turn her into moonlight.”