Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Hannah and Lily were waiting for me when I went inside. I should have known; those two were as eager for information as any scandal sheet. Dante barked excitedly a few times as I entered, then jumped up for pets. I sat in a kitchen chair and braced myself for the inevitable inquisition.
“Well?” Lily asked, her eyes bright.
“You tell me,” I said. “I’m sure your sniffer there can reveal things I might not want to say.”
She smiled. “I wasn’t going to mention it, at least not right away, but yes. How do you feel about him?”
Hannah brought me a cup of tea, then sat on my other side. “Yes, how do you feel about him?” she echoed, sitting in her chair.
That was a far more difficult question to answer than what I had done with him in that hackney. Though actually that wasn’t a difficult question—I knew how I felt about him, but I didn’t know what that meant about how I felt about him.
Not that that made any sense.
It was just—I certainly hadn’t expected, when I’d taken the ombudsman position, to be thinking about my own personal choices in relation to the beings I dealt with. I’d assumed I’d stay neutral, as I was supposed to. But here I was.
I took a sip of tea as I considered how to answer Hannah’s question.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I certainly like him. I wouldn’t be doing”—and I made a vague gesture—“all of this if I didn’t like him.
But it’s not as though there is a future.
I mean, he lives in Hell.” And he’ll be taking over as the Devil for his father, if I understood correctly.
“I can’t imagine ever leaving London, let alone moving to Hell. ”
“It’d be warm,” Hannah pointed out.
I laughed. “Yes, and it’s likely even more crowded than London.”
Lily put her hand on mine. “We support you in however you feel or whatever you want to do with him, Cora.”
It was rare to see Lily serious. Usually she was ribaldry and joy, so the effect was jarring.
“I’m fine, I promise.” Even though the pain of his departure already made me ache. And not in the nice achy way he’d made me feel before.
“Oh!” I said, remembering. “The marquis is throwing a party, and he’s said I can invite people also. I want you two to come. Plus,” I said, realizing as I spoke, “you can help me find the mole. That’s the whole point of the party after all.”
“Are you sure it’s not so you can waltz with your demon?” Lily asked, returning to her usual self.
I gave her a pointed look. “That will be a bonus. And you’ll be able to hunt there too.” There would be plenty of beings filled with all sorts of desires, perfect for Lily to quench her thirst.
“That sounds lovely,” Hannah said, clapping her hands. “I know you get to go out often, Lily, with work, but the last time I went to anything was—I can’t remember.”
“I think it was when your ex–fairy friend took you to a dance hall, only her obnoxious brother came, and it was clearly a romantic setup,” I said.
Hannah scowled. “Yes. And I wouldn’t mind something to take the place of that. Plus we can all get dressed up!” She clapped her hands again, and I smiled. It was wonderful to see my friends happy.
“Well,” Lily said, rising, “now you’ll have to look at what I found for you to wear, Cora. And we’ll figure something out for you,” she said, nodding toward Hannah.
She returned within a few moments, a gown draped over her arm.
I’d expected scarlet red or gold or some dramatic color, but it wasn’t; it was emerald green, simply made, but of the most lush satin I’d ever seen. She held it up, and I could see its fairly low neckline and accentuated waist, along with the tiny puffy tulle sleeves.
“That is lovely,” I said.
“I imagine most of the other guests will be wearing black, white, or red, given their hellish home,” she explained, drawing her hand over the fabric. “I want you to stand out, so I thought of this one. With the right jewelry and white gloves, you will look exquisite.”
“I will. Thanks to you.” I went to her and, careful of the gown in her arms, wrapped her into a hug. Hannah got up and joined us, and soon we were all crying and laughing for some reason, even though nothing traumatic or particularly joyful had happened.
There was a wonderful relief, I thought, when we were settled back down with tea and biscuits, to having people in your life that were as close as family but without all the difficulty family could bring.
If nothing else, I was grateful to the Great Revelation for bringing individuals like Hannah and Lilith—and, yes, Marcellus—into my life.
I just had to keep doing my job well so that life wouldn’t be turned into chaos.
Chaos was a good way to describe the days leading up to the party.
Not only did I have to keep up with the Devil’s schedule of activities, which included sampling all the varieties of ices in London (lemon was a favorite, though Keres preferred chestnut), strolling around the financial district to “get a glimpse of his future inhabitants,” and playing croquet (the Devil, to no one’s surprise, cheated), but I also had to keep up with Marcellus.
Marcellus was, interestingly, quite a stickler when it came to planning out the details.
Like his father, he wanted the absolute best in everything, but unlike his parent, he was, startlingly, willing to put in the work to achieve that goal.
He’d decided the theme for the night would be Hell on Earth, which meant lots of black and red decorations (Lily had been absolutely right in her guess on color), as well as certain thematic choices, such as having the lesser demons head out into London society to personally deliver the invitations rather than hand them to any of the Queen’s staff.
That was certain to cause some consternation, I thought, but I didn’t share my concern aloud. And now there would be no keeping the Devil’s presence in London a secret, but that cat was rather out of the bag anyway, so it didn’t matter.
The Clarence House ballroom could accommodate two hundred people, so Marcellus added more to the guest list so the event would be perceived as a success.
“Won’t that make it more difficult for us to find our mole?
” I asked. We were in the ballroom, seated at a long table that would eventually serve as a buffet.
The room was mostly bare of furniture, save a few random chairs, and the doors were shut, giving us privacy.
Above were three enormous chandeliers, their candles unlit, however, as it was daytime.
The drapes were open to let in the sunlight, such as it was, and it felt very cozy, despite the relative spareness.
We were working our way through visual depictions of the seven deadly sins—we’d made fake pound notes for greed, and Marcellus said he’d ordered live snakes for envy, though he promised they would all be in cages.
I did not ask about the live snakes already in attendance at the end of his father’s cane.
We were in a fix about what to do for sloth; the obvious answer was “nothing,” but that was far too clever.
I suggested getting comfortable seating and perhaps even a bed or two, but Marcellus seemed to think some of his hellish companions might take that as an actual invitation to sin.
And besides, that might seem like it was echoing lust, which would be quite inappropriate, given that this was the equivalent of an office party.
The gluttony angle was obvious—Marcellus and I had been tasting treats prepared by the Clarence House chef multiple times a day since we had decided on the day of the party, so much so that I wasn’t hungry for dinner when I went home.
I had been bringing food home, in fact, which made both Hannah and Dante quite pleased (Lily was usually at work in the evening).
“It’s not as though we haven’t narrowed down the possible list of culprits already,” Marcellus replied.
He was focused on arranging a vase full of peacock feathers, for pride.
I didn’t ask how he’d gotten them, except there was a notice in the papers about a countess whose prize peacocks were suddenly shedding.
Marcellus denied having anything to do with it.
I didn’t believe him, especially because he winked as he denied it.
“But you’ll have to host and watch over your father and such,” I pointed out. “You won’t have time to go mole hunting.”
“I can do many things, Hastings,” he said in a knowing tone. One that made my insides wobble.
There hadn’t been much of that in recent memory since we had been far too busy during the past week. I was both grateful and disappointed, since I needed to sort out my feelings, but also, it felt so wonderful I wanted more.
Yes, I was a contradiction. And I was a red-blooded female in thrall to a ridiculously handsome demon. Some things can’t be helped.
“The thing I can’t entirely understand,” I said, returning to our earlier line of conversation as I tried to push those thoughts away—I was fashioning a mini pitchfork out of some wire as I spoke (that would be for wrath; Marcellus had brushed aside my concern the attendees would use them to poke one another during the party, because “I don’t care if they damage one another”)—“is what is the purpose of the assassination attempt? Your father cannot be killed, can he?”
He paused in his own work, which was comparing the list of invited guests with those who had RSVP’d.
The Queen and Prince Albert had already said yes, so it really didn’t matter who else agreed, but he wanted to invite more people if there was enough room for them.
“The real sin,” he’d said, “is an empty ballroom.”
I’d just shaken my head.
“He cannot be killed, per se, but he can be harmed, as I can.” Marcellus still had a bandage on from where the knife had nicked him.
“If he was gravely injured, that would cause chaos. If he reacted poorly—as you saw he did, but if he actually acted on his feelings—that would also cause chaos. If he jumped to conclusions about who was behind it, that could also cause chaos.”
“So you believe the point of the attempt was not to actually harm your father but just to cause chaos?” I asked.
“Isn’t that the obvious conclusion?” he asked, returning to his list. “You said something similar when we met with the Queen—that fomenting discord between us and the monarchy would destabilize things enough to allow somebody to gain more power.”
I tapped my cheek in thought. “So not only should we look for the mole, but perhaps the mole is an unknowing mole, and the real culprit is the person who wants to benefit from the discord. I also wasn’t certain how vulnerable your father was.
But someone is aware he could be hurt, even if not outright killed.
That seems as though it is important information. ”
He looked up sharply. “You can’t tell anyone he is at all vulnerable, Hastings.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s not as though we all aren’t aware the Queen could take him out herself, Marcellus.
” I slipped and used his given name, even though we weren’t being intimate at the time.
“In fact, I imagine there are a few of the species in London who would pose a credible threat, even to the Devil himself.”
I’d given it some thought, and I reasoned Marcellus would be intelligent enough to reach the same conclusion, once he considered it.
The Queen was a vampire, the most powerful vampire in the world, and what was more, she had an entire nation at her disposal.
It wasn’t enough anymore to be dominant in and of oneself; now that everything was out in the open, what mattered was the combination of sheer power, influence, and diplomacy.
The Queen far outweighed the Devil in several aspects.
I warmed to my topic as I laid it out for Marcellus.
“The whole point of the Great Revelation is that it both levels and upends all that we knew before about hierarchy. Yes, before, the Devil would have been the most fearsome creature to encounter—once we all knew he was real—but now that we know all sorts of creatures are real, we have to adjust our perception of what is fearsome.”
He leaned back in his chair, gazing at me thoughtfully. “Hmm. I hadn’t thought about that. You’re exceptionally perceptive, Hastings.”
I warmed at the compliment. Especially because it wasn’t about my appearance—I knew he was a flirtatious rake (redundant but true), so he was going to say what was necessary to achieve his flirtatious-rake ends, but he didn’t need to say I was intuitive to get me to kiss him or whatnot.
Especially whatnot.
Drat. And here I was thinking about whatnot again, instead of matters relating to national security and interworld diplomacy.
“Though I will not be sharing your insight with my father,” he added, his tone wry.
“He would not be pleased to hear he is not the most powerful being. That would send him into a tantrum that would undoubtedly cause chaos.” A rueful smile curled his lips.
“Sometimes I wish he were less debutante-ish.”
“But then he would be more like the gentleman in the painting. Dour and grim. That seems far less pleasant than what you have now.”
“More predictable, though,” he said, sounding chagrined. “But the thing is, now that we know the chaos is the point, who wants to cause the chaos?”
I spread my hands out. “Who doesn’t? Besides the Queen and my bosses. Everyone is still jockeying for position post-Revelation, and maybe someone thinks they can move up if they cause some friction between Victoria and your father.”
“You don’t want to cause chaos,” he pointed out.
“No, but I’m included with my bosses. Besides, I’m human. Humans don’t have enough leverage to even think of causing chaos. Except, perhaps, for the very wealthiest ones. Money is its own supernatural power, after all.”
He smiled at that. “You’re a revolutionary, Hastings.”
I snorted. “Hardly. Just a realist. Trying to see the world as it is, not as people wish it to be. Or rather, as beings wish it to be.”
He gave me a narrow look. “I repeat. A revolutionary. I think that is why I like you so much.”
I lowered my head back down to my work, not willing to engage with him on that topic, at least not now. Because if he was talking about how much he liked me, I might have to think about how much I liked him, and I wasn’t certain I wanted to address that, even within the confines of my own mind.