Magic of Sins (Magic of Sins #1)

Magic of Sins (Magic of Sins #1)

By Karolyn Ciseau

Chapter One

You shouldn’t be here.

The thought keeps repeating in my head. It drowns out even the booming bass of the song playing in the other room. I stand next to the checkroom, hugging my coat to my chest. The outfit I’m trying to conceal is nowhere near as scandalous as I’d believed it to be. My neck is uncovered, as well as a little bit of cleavage—a v-shaped strip of pale skin. But compared to what I’m seeing on the dance floor, my dress is harmless. Bare arms stretch toward the ceiling in time with the music. There are flashes of uncovered shoulders. I even see a woman whose skirt only reaches to her knees.

You shouldn’t be here.

My gaze wanders to the narrow wooden staircase my roommate Ava and I just descended. I could simply go back up, put on my coat, and make my way home under cover of darkness.

It would make sense.

It would be safe.

“Kaya, is everything okay?”

Ava tugs at the sleeve of my dress. She has undone her braid and is now combing through her reddish-blonde mane with her fingers, revealing a silver streak of hair. She dyed it in secret and usually hides it carefully. If anyone outside these four walls knew about it, she’d be in big trouble. Vanity is a mortal sin. And sins are punished harshly in Virtue.

Since birth, it’s been drummed into me to always walk the path of virtue. Yet here I am, among all these people who have left that path, even if only for an evening. Ava calls it an act of liberation. I’m not so sure about that yet.

“Hey, Earth to Kaya!”

My roommate has to scream in order to be heard over the music. She pulls out a tube of lipstick and applies it carefully.

Red. Bright red.

I press my coat even tighter against me as a young woman with a studded collar pushes past us on her way to the cloakroom, annoyed because we’re in her way.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I ask just as loudly as Ava had spoken. My throat feels scratchy because I’m not used to raising my voice.

My roommate purses her lips provocatively.

“My lipstick?” she asks.

“All of this.”

I make a gesture that encompasses the entire nightclub. Ava tries hard not to roll her eyes. Not very successfully, I might add.

“Don’t be such a killjoy, Kaya! You’ll get through this. I’ve been here countless times.”

Shaking my head, I search for a comeback, but Ava is quicker.

“Come on! You might even end up having a little fun.”

She winks at me and her brown eyes flash with amusement. Against my will, I smile at her enthusiasm.

I can’t believe I let her talk me into this. I’m usually the last person to break the rules. Any rules. After all, they’re there for a reason.

Again, I let my gaze glide over the dance floor. I wonder if one of them is here tonight.

They are called sin mages because they feed on other people’s vanity, greed, lust, anger, gluttony, envy, and laziness. They call it feeding . To them, entering our minds and sensing our darkest thoughts and feelings is like a drug. They live to taste sin on their lips and feast on it.

If a sin mage were at this party, they’d revel in the debauchery. The smell of alcohol and sweat hangs in the warm, stuffy air, mixing with the rosy scent of perfume. Add to that the abundance of naked skin, glittering jewelry, colorful clothes, and fancy hairstyles—it all screams sin.

“Let’s go!” Ava calls, and before I can change my mind, she snatches my coat from me and struts toward the checkroom.

For some reason I’m gripped by the silly idea that everyone would turn toward me and gasp, clutching their hands to their chests or covering their open mouths in shock. But of course no one here is interested in my outfit. This is an underground party. A secret rebellion against the current laws.

And I’m smack-dab in the middle of it.

Why , you might ask? To be honest, I don’t really know myself. Maybe because my boss at the library reprimanded me at lunchtime today, supposedly for looking a customer in the eye for too long. Or because my foster mother gave me her usual lecture on virtuous behavior during our phone call. Whatever it was, when Ava came into my room and asked me if I wanted to accompany her to the party, I was so annoyed that I said yes.

While I’m still standing next to the checkroom with my arms folded in front of my chest, Ava has already handed in our coats. Her dress leaves her shoulders and arms bare. That’s more skin than I’ve ever seen on her before. Like her face, her arms are covered in freckles. Ava grins when she notices my gaze.

“Not everyone can have your perfect complexion. Come on, let’s get something to drink!”

She takes my hand like it’s the most natural thing in the world and pulls me along with her. I stumble after her to the bar. The floor under my boots is sticky from spilled alcohol. A guy pushes so close to me that my shoulder brushes his chest. He smells of cigarette smoke and breath mints. Instinctively I take a step back. Touching like this is normally forbidden.

But not here. Not in this place.

“You’ll get used to it,” Ava yells in my ear.

She is amused by my obvious reservation, and that annoys me a little. If she were in my shoes, she would probably behave the same way. She’d be more aware of the danger that can come from a party like this.

My mother was killed by sin mages. I was very young at the time, so I don’t really remember her. But a part of me sometimes gets lost in wondering what happened. Had she been seduced into practicing vanity? Anger? Or lust? Was she perhaps even in a place like this when it happened? Did she party too exuberantly? Did she lose control?

We humans don’t immediately notice when a sin mage feeds on us, and they only succeed if the underlying feeling is already present. If someone is angry and a sin mage feeds on them, that feeling is amplified. I’ve heard of people murdering their entire family in a fit of anger, or of some eating themselves to death. Sometimes it’s the opposite they die because they’ve stopped taking in nourishment due to laziness.

Not that Ava seems to be thinking about any of that at the moment. She waves to the man behind the bar and orders for us.

“First the tequila and then the lemon,” she says, and hands me one of the shot glasses and a slice of lemon.

I eye the clear liquid but follow Ava’s lead and empty the glass, though the voice in my head harshly condemns me for it.

Showing skin, grazing someone else’s body, drinking alcohol… What’s next, Kaya? Do you want to follow in your mother’s footsteps?

The tequila burns unpleasantly in my throat, and the tartness of the lemon tightens my tongue. I grimace. Ava laughs, and I wonder why we’re forbidden to do such things. It’s not a very pleasant experience, and I’m certainly not in danger of gorging myself on lemons.

Ava orders two more shots, and we down them. I relax a little, feeling the bass vibrate through the ground beneath my feet. It all feels so alive. Garish and loud and wild.

“Come on, let’s dance!” Ava calls out.

I find myself walking behind her onto the dance floor. I blame the alcohol. Suddenly it doesn’t bother me anymore to stand between all these people and be exposed to their looks. On the contrary, it fills me with fascination. I raise my hands above my head and watch the light from the many small spotlights dance across my skin.

We move to the beat of the music; rhythms I’ve never heard before. They originate from the colonies. Those places where sinners live. People who don’t obey our laws. Who eat what they like, don’t care about a proper dress code, and who take physical contact for granted. The music is just like them—unreserved and uninhibited.

And so is the crowd. Every now and then I discover something new that makes my cheeks glow with shame. Long, false eyelashes and black mascara highlighting a girl’s green eyes. A snake tattoo on a muscular upper arm. A gold tiara in another woman’s blonde hair.

Splendor. Seduction. Ostentation.

A machine blows fog onto the dance floor and suddenly I can barely see Ava. The light refracts on the billowing white. I feel limbs fleetingly brush against me, and panic rises inside me. We can’t lose each other. Ava is my lifeline, the only familiar thing in this strange place.

Then—a hand on my arm.

Ava, I think, relieved.

But the fingers are longer and stronger. They close around my wrist. Not tightly, but with vigor. I’m pulled so close to another body that I can feel its warmth without touching it. It feels exciting. Through the fog, I make out a white shirt with its top buttons undone. I catch a glimpse of taut skin, bulging muscles…

And recoil.

What are you doing? What are you doing? What are you doing?

I snatch my arm away from him without looking up. His fingers glide over my palm, warm and soft, before releasing my hand. The mist and the dancers swallow me and I’m carried away from him and spit back out at the edge of the dance floor. My chest rises and falls under my frantic breaths. I look around for Ava but can’t spot her anywhere.

What was I thinking, coming here? The guy could have been a sin mage. What if he had fed on me, made me do things?

Images flash in my mind. Me, nestling against his chest. Our bodies entwined, swaying to the beat of the music. The images terrify me even more than reality could. This place is doing something to me. It creeps under my skin and into my thoughts.

I gotta get out of here.

I quickly push my way to the cloakroom. Normally, you need a ticket to get your coat back and Ava has mine, but the girl behind the counter helps me without making a fuss. I must look really upset because she keeps asking if everything is okay. I nod. All I want is to get my coat and get out of here. But that’s not so easy. They’re all gray so it takes some time to go through them. When we leave this party, there will be no more flashes of skin, no more makeup, no more sparkly jewelry. When we walk home through the dark streets of Virtue, we are all the same.

“Is it this one?”

I recognize my initials on the sleeve of the coat— K. A. for Kaya Ashton. I nod, throw on the coat, and wrap myself in its protection. The girl gives me one last worried look. Surely, she must see this every day. Visitors who come to this dodgy place and quickly leave. Wanting to look into the abyss, but afraid of being pulled into it. There’s a reason the nightclub is called Hellmouth, I remind myself.

Outside, I’m greeted by cool night air. It drives away the last effects of the alcohol that tingles through my veins.

Out here, you can’t hear the booming music. The walls and doors are soundproof. They have to be, so that the Hellmouth doesn’t attract unwanted attention.

The club is in an outlying district an outlying district that separates the West End from the East End. Down the street begins the domain of the sin mages. It’s the closest I’ve ever been. It has everything a sinful heart could desire: brothels, gambling dens, clubs, boutiques selling expensive fabrics and jewelry, and restaurants where the food practically melts in your mouth. I’ve read about these places and seen pictures, but I’ve never been. None of us dare to go there—not even Ava.

So I turn west, clutching my hand to the collar of my coat to pull it a little tighter. All the while I’m conscious of my bare neck underneath. On the way here I felt bold, but now I’m just afraid of getting caught.

I hope Ava gets home okay. She’ll be able to guess that I’ve left, and it’s not her first underground party. But I feel guilty for leaving her there.

“Hello, miss!”

I freeze as I hear the voice. I want to duck my head and run faster, but a glance out of the corner of my eye tells me that the man who addressed me is a guard. Black uniform, nightstick, scowl.

By all the seven virtues, I’m doomed if he sees what I’m wearing underneath my coat.

My hand clings desperately to my collar as the guard crosses the street and walks toward me. He’s barely older than me, maybe in his early to mid-twenties. Still, there is something about him that seems unyielding. It’s the kind of impression you usually only get from men twice his age.

“What are you doing out here all alone– and so close to the East End at that?”

“I…” My voice fails and I clear my throat to regain it. “My grandmother lives not far from here. I brought over some food. We got to talking, and apparently I lost track of time. I’m sorry, sir.”

That’s a believable excuse. Many poor people live close to the East End because they can’t afford anything better. Still, the guard doesn’t seem convinced. He circles me with slow, measured steps. Clack, clack, clack; the sound of his boots on the asphalt. I stare at the ground in front of me, at my shoes that were walking across the sticky Hellmouth floor just a few minutes ago. For a second I fear that he can smell the alcohol even now.

Maybe he can.

“Are you cold, miss?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why are you clutching your coat?”

Damn!

Slowly, I lower my hand. It trembles so violently that I quickly clasp it with my other hand to hide it.

He knows. He knows my skin is naked underneath.

How many lashes will I get for this? Will they publicize my offense? Will they ostracize me socially like they did that former classmate of mine? Why the hell did I go along with Ava’s suggestion to go to the party? Why, why, why?

I’m about to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness when the guard gives me a curt bow and turns away from me.

“Have a good evening, miss. And be on your guard, these roads are dangerous.”

“Thank you, sir.”

I suppress a relieved sob as he vanishes down the street. Tears burn in my eyes. One of them has already run down my cheek. When did that happen? Did he see? Did he take pity on me? But… a man like him? Never. He’s a guard. It’s his duty to report people like me.

Dazed, I continue on my way, away from the run-down buildings and deeper into the West End, with its unadorned but well-kept row houses with small front yards.

Everything used to look different here. I’ve seen pictures in old books that have since been destroyed. The houses had colorful doors and ornate facades. Shops had their names in gold letters above the entrances. Now, no one would dare flaunt their wealth like that. Modesty is a virtue.

I walk a little faster as my apartment comes into view. Tinkerbell is sitting on the steps in front of the entrance, licking her paws. With her black fur, the cat is hard to spot in the shadows. She brushes my legs as I dig out my keys.

“Nice and quiet, Tinker, we don’t want to wake Mrs. Hughes.”

Mrs. Hughes owns the building and is Ava’s and my landlady. She doesn’t like it when we come home late at night, but luckily she doesn’t have the best hearing anymore.

I creep along the hall to the door leading to our apartment. Only when I’ve pulled it closed behind me do I dare to breathe a sigh of relief.

That was close. I almost got caught by that guard. And for what? For a glass of alcohol, a dance in that dodgy place, the touch of a stranger?

The touch of a stranger. I can still feel his fingers on the back of my hand. I put my own fingers on that spot and stroke it. But it's not the same.

Enough of this silliness.

I slap myself on the wrist, as one does to a child who heaps one too many spoonfuls of oatmeal into her bowl. Then I march into the bathroom to wash the grime of the day off my face, but the outrageousness of Hellmouth still seems to cling to me like a transparent veil.

I look at my face in the mirror. The dark brown hair, the green eyes, the narrow nose. The small scar above my left eyebrow, which I don’t know how I got.

One might call me beautiful. My foster mother always warned me about it. Beauty leads to vanity, she would say. And it makes those around you lustful. Don’t let that face fool you. You’d be better off ugly. I don’t know if I agree with her, but I can’t do anything about my face anyway. It is what it is.

After I wash up, I go back into the hallway to see if Tinkerbell has enough food… and my step falters.

Was the envelope there on the floor the whole time, and I just didn’t notice it? Someone must have slipped it under the door. Perhaps Mrs.Hughes, when she was sorting the post earlier.

It’s made of a heavy handmade paper. I stroke the envelope, I’ve never held anything like it before. My name is on it, written in black, ornately curved letters. Kaya Ashton . Underneath that is the word Confidential.

With a furrowed brow, I turn the letter around to open it and catch sight of the red seal of the royal house. Instantly my heart beats faster. What does the king want from me? Did the guard report me after all and now I’m being summoned? But how could he have done it so quickly?

Calm down, Kaya. There’s no way this letter has anything to do with what happened tonight.

Still, I feel a little queasy as I break the seal. It comes apart under my fingers and a few wax crumbs fall to the floor, where Tinkerbell sniffs at them curiously. I unfold the letter and read.

Dear Miss Ashton,

It is an unusual request I intend to make of you, and when the time comes, I hope you will forgive my impertinence. It is a matter of the utmost secrecy. Therefore, I would ask you to call on me at the palace tomorrow, Thursday, at 4 o’clock in the afternoon for tea, so that I can present my request to you in private.

Yours sincerely

Princess Ophelia Chastity Temperance Elizabeth

of Richmond

A person with so many names that they take two lines to write probably has to write so cryptically. Again and again I read the letter, but even after the third time I am still dumbstruck. What could the princess want to discuss with me? A matter of the utmost secrecy? It doesn’t sound like it has anything to do with my visit to Hellmouth.

Tinkerbell rubs against my leg and mews piteously. She seems less interested in the letter than in her empty food bowl. I crouch down and stroke her black fur.

“Just think, Tinker, I’m going to have tea with the Princess of Richmond.”

“You’re what? ” Ava’s voice rings out shrilly from the other side of the door.

She must have tiptoed into the house so as not to wake Mrs. Hughes. She shouldn’t have bothered, if she was just going to scream like that. I hear the stairs creak on the floor above us.

“Is that you, Ava?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hughes, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t mean to wake you. Please, you can go back to bed.”

I hear annoyed muttering, then Mrs. Hughes’ footsteps move away and Ava yanks open the door.

Her hair is sloppily braided. If you look closely, you can still see the silver strands. Her cheeks are flushed, as if she ran all the way here, but her breathing is steady.

“You’re going to what?” she repeats in a whisper, and I hardly dare to repeat the words.

A matter of the utmost secrecy, the letter said. So much for that.

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