Chapter Eight #2
But here I was, and I couldn’t deny it. I was absolutely charmed by him, and I wanted to kiss him again, even though I didn’t trust him at all.
Well, I thought, at least I had Lily to talk all this through with. I imagined she’s had similar situations. Though I supposed her advice might be to just act on what I wanted and not restrain myself, so perhaps she would not be the best person to talk to about it.
Or she was the best. I was so muddled I didn’t know what to do.
I did know, at least, that this was all temporary. It had to be, given the circumstances.
“Hastings?”
The marquis’s voice roused me from my thoughts, and I shook myself back to my duties. “Yes, my lord?”
“My father wishes for some refreshment.” His expression was exasperated.
I had some sympathy—it couldn’t have been easy to have the Devil as a father, even if one was also a demon.
Knowing your father could incinerate you on the spot for staying out past curfew was substantially worse than having an allowance cut off or not being permitted to see certain friends.
“I am confident we can find a tea shop—” I began, thinking of treacle tarts and such, but he cut me off.
“Alcohol. To put it plainly, he would like to get as rousingly drunk as possible.”
I blinked. I wasn’t accustomed to anyone being so forthright in their murkier desires, but then again, this was the Devil, and it was his stock-in-trade, so I supposed it wasn’t unusual.
“Of course. A pub? I’m afraid I’m not familiar with the gentlemen’s clubs, what with them being—”
“Gentlemen’s clubs,” he finished, a wry smile on his face. “A pub will do fine. As long as it is somewhere not too noticeable.”
Now, if he had made this request of a lady who was not a species ombudsman, he would have been sorely disappointed because it was not as though ladies routinely knew of inconspicuous places to drink in Greater London.
But because of the nature of my business and the need to generate accord, I had become familiar with some of the more understanding establishments throughout London. Not that I was boasting.
“I know just the place,” I said.
Some thirty minutes later our party was seated in an alcove in the Badger and Whistle, a place I’d used to handle some conflict resolutions when mere words weren’t enough.
The owner, a satyr named, simply, Joseph, didn’t blink when we entered, for which I was grateful.
Thus far, the Devil’s presence in London had not been publicized in the newspapers, and I wanted to keep it that way.
I had to hope the people passing out the flyers hadn’t reached a lot of the general public or at least were seen as untrustworthy fringe elements.
I didn’t know what kind of reception he might receive, but I did know the government would not welcome the publicity, especially so close to the opening of the Exhibition.
Vendors and attendees were already starting to arrive for the event, and London’s vast populace was swelling with even more people. That was, species. Beings.
Another thing that the Great Revelation had brought about—one couldn’t just refer to people anymore. Not the highest concern, but still something I had to keep in mind in the course of my daily duties.
Joseph himself arrived at our table, bringing a pitcher of ale and some glasses, and then began placing them on the table in front of us. The Devil immediately poured himself a glass, downed it, and poured himself another before Joseph was finished.
As usual, the Devil reminded me of a much-indulged debutante who only thought of herself. Debutantes were the Devil in disguise, I thought, then began to laugh to myself.
“Hastings?” the marquis said. That acute observational talent at work again. He’d managed to sit beside me, and now I felt secure in knowing it was deliberate. I didn’t know why I was so fascinating to him, but I reciprocated the fascination, so I accepted it.
“Nothing,” I said, waving my hand.
Joseph returned with another pitcher and more glasses, and soon all of us had ale. The Devil continued drinking as though he were under a deadline, and I darted the occasional glance at him to see if—or when—the alcohol would begin to affect him.
Would he become more or less devilish?
“Don’t worry about him,” the marquis said in a low voice. “He won’t cause any trouble—he’ll just start telling everyone at the table how much he loves them.” He nudged me. “Even you.”
I laughed as I picked up my glass and took a sip.
Joseph brewed his own ale, and I’d yet to figure out what he added to make it taste just slightly different from others—coriander, maybe?
Or perhaps it was allspice? Whatever it was, I liked it a lot.
I had to be cautious when doing business here, since the ale was so tasty, and I was supposed to be professional.
“Your father reminds me of nothing so much as a debutante having her first season,” I replied. “Which is redundant, what with saying both debutante and first season,” I muttered.
Now it was the marquis’s turn to laugh, a full-throated laugh that made everyone at the table, even the three-headed dog, look toward us.
“What is it?” the Devil demanded, his eyes already slightly glassy.
“Miss Hastings just recounted an excellent joke, that is all,” the marquis said, making me wince.
“You,” the Devil said, pointing a finger toward me, “tell us your joke.”
“Thanks,” I said, leaning my head toward the marquis as I spoke in a low, sarcastic tone. “This won’t be awkward at all.”
“Miss Hastings is too shy to speak in front of everyone,” the marquis said smoothly.
“And I don’t think I can do it justice. Shall we get some more ale?
” He rose and went to the bar, gliding elegantly through the crowd.
I couldn’t help but admire how smoothly he handled himself, even if I was annoyed he used me as prevarication.
I really should not be admiring him at all.
He returned, a pitcher in each hand, and placed them on the table, close to his father. The marquis caught my eye and winked at me, then sat back down.
That wink did some damage to certain parts of me.
The Devil wasted no time in downing the rest of his glass and making inroads on one of the pitchers while the rest of the party started in on the other.
The beings there were the ones who’d accompanied us to the bazaar—a few minor demons, with horns and tails and a vague smell of smoke; the aforementioned dog; and a few others I couldn’t readily identify but thought were just demon subgenres.
“You haven’t met everyone, have you?” the marquis asked, just when the Devil had started petting the three-headed dog on his right, cooing about what a good boy he was.
“No, I haven’t met anyone,” I said. “Except you and your father.”
He frowned. “We’ll have to fix that, then.” He jerked his chin to the demon sitting to the left of me. “That is Phenex—he is my father’s personal accountant.”
I nodded at the demon, who was a grayish-blue color and wore a black suit with a white shirt. If it weren’t for the horns and the skin color, he’d look like a respectable clerk in an office.
“Phoenix like the bird?” I asked.
“Not spelled the same, but yes,” he replied, his voice raspy. “A pleasure to meet you, miss. We did like going to the bazaar the other day. I purchased some pens and some pen wipers I haven’t been able to find in Hell.”
Apparently I had found the one individual who did like pen wipers. Would wonders never cease, I marveled. Although, appropriately, that one individual resided in Hell, which was where pen wipers should be, in my opinion.
“And next to Phenex is Keres; she is tasked with most light punishments.”
The demon seated to the left of Phenex was more in line with what I would have thought the Devil to look like; she was taller than everyone but the marquis, with a coldly beautiful face, sparkling silver eyes, and azure-blue skin.
Her horns curled up and back from her high forehead, and her hands had sharp, pointed talons.
I shuddered thinking of what “light punishments” could mean.
And shuddered even more realizing that if “light punishments” were a thing, then so, too, were “heavy punishments.”
“Nice to make your acquaintance, Keres,” I said.
She didn’t say anything in reply but gave a regal nod in response.
The marquis turned to the demon on his right, but by now the Devil was in full inebriated-debutante mode, so had hold of the demon’s face and was gazing at it lovingly while squeezing its cheeks. “How would I torture sho well wishout you?” he crooned, slurring his words.
The marquis sighed. “I guess that is it for the introductions. I’ll make certain you meet everyone else later on.”
I averted my gaze from the spectacle to my right, taking a hasty sip of ale.
“We should start our investigation,” the marquis said, taking my elbow as he stood from his seat.
“Now?” I blurted. “But we’re—”
“They’re all going to be completely pissed very soon, and they likely won’t be rising until late tomorrow. We might as well go off on our own. You’re hungry, too, aren’t you? I doubt you expected to go drinking with the Devil after the museum.”
My stomach growled as he spoke, and I shot a guilty glance toward him.
“Let me feed you,” he said with an accompanying smile. A smile that was resonant with more than just a conversation about food.
Well. That made me feel all sorts of fluttery things.
“Yes, well, that would be nice,” I said, aggravated to discover I sounded faintly breathless.
Why couldn’t I keep my general swooniness around this man to myself? I didn’t want to let him know just how his presence made me feel. And yet here I was, being breathless and likely blushing.
Drat.