Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
A beautiful sunrise spills through my window, golden and cruel, painting the room in honeyed light. It wakes me soft and warm; the kind of warmth that makes the world seem deceptively gentle.
My body hums with satisfaction after last night’s work. The way he screamed. The way his nails peeled back one by one, small crescent moons of punishment.
I smile.
He helped me through it, speaking to me when I got lost inside the monster. I should thank him for that. If only I could feel him here now, I’d put on a little show for him—something red and sweet.
I move through my routine. The air smells of smoke and straw as I greet my darlings in the stables, both of them shifting and snorting when they see me.
“Morning, girls,” I whisper, running my hand down Ada’s flank. She turns her head and presses her nose against my shoulder, her breath hot and trusting. “You’re my best one, Ada.”
The chickens greet me next. I take their still warm eggs carefully. For a moment, it almost feels like peace. Like I could forget who I am and just stay here, barefoot in the dirt, letting the world be soft.
But I can’t.
I was born a monster, was fucked by one, and grew such a hatred for almost everything.
I eat breakfast and then pack the treasure and money from last night into a length of cloth, tying it tight and hiding it deep in Ada’s saddlebag. I don my hat, mask, and cape, then swing onto the saddle.
Going into town wearing my work gear is one of the best ideas I’ve had. Many think I’m male and I’m left alone, only the girls at De-Vil’s know the real me under this mask.
Time to face the city again.
London feels strange today—hushed, breath held. The usual noise of vendors shouting and beggars pleading is gone, and the guards move with purpose. Even the air feels tighter.
I slow Ada near a group of women huddled outside the bakery, and then go inside, pretending to look at the goods on offer. Their voices rise in little bursts of fear.
“You can’t say that! You’ll be accused of being a witch, Miriam!”
“Pish posh, Charlotte. I’m no witch and you know it.”
“Miriam, stop it!”
“Say another word, and I’ll call for the guards.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I would.”
Then, the sharp cry splits the morning. “Guards! Witch!”
I flinch, a roll slipping from my hands. The baker catches my eye—payment expected. I sigh and gather the dropped sweets. Ada will like them.
The guards move fast, seizing Charlotte as she screams her innocence. One of them hits her with the hilt of his baton, the sound dull and final, and she crumples. Her body is dragged towards the carriage bound for the tower.
“Miriam! I never—” one of the women whispers.
“Don’t you start or I’ll call for the guards again.”
“The guards have already taken a dozen women this morning,” another pleads. “Please, stop.”
“I sent them all,” Miriam says, chin high. “Mad witches, every one of them.”
Oh, Miriam. You’ve been sending away innocent women to their deaths, now you are deserving of the same fate.
I pay for my sweets, climb on Ada and guide us towards a nearby guard—a familiar one, the man who helped me build the last stake. Our eyes meet and I tilt my head towards the women.
“Miriam?” he mutters.
I nod.
Within seconds she’s seized.
“What’s the meaning of this?” she cries as they twist her arms behind her.
“A reliable source says you’ve been crying witch all morning,” the guard says. “Maybe you’re the witch.”
“No! I’m innocent!”
“Yeah, we’ve heard that before.”
They haul her away, throwing her into the carriage beside a now conscious Charlotte. I watch them scream and claw at each other as the doors slam shut.
I smile. It’s a good day.
The witch hunt is back, crawling under London’s skin like a sickness. And I, as always, will find a way to use it.
London stinks of smoke and fear. The air hums with it—that breathless panic before something burns. I can feel Him in it, the link between us thrumming like a heartbeat.
Red calls to red.
I ride to De-Vil’s, tie Ada behind the building, and feed her one of the crushed pastries. “Be good, my girl,” I whisper, patting her neck.
Inside, the noise hits me first—laughter, music, moans. Perfume and sweat hangs as thick as incense, and the foyer glows amber, all silk and shadow. De’s office dominates the centre, her polished desk gleaming. Opposite it, Sparrow’s bar waits, bottles catching the light.
Sparrow stands behind it, her sling bright against her black blouse. The bruise on her face is fading, though the swelling has left her looking softer, somehow.
Still beautiful.
She sees me and grins like the sun itself. “Evie! You’re back!”
“I am,” I say, matching her grin. “You look better.”
“Better?” she scoffs. “Please. I’ve had worse from men I actually enjoyed.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re mad, Sparrow.”
“Mad?” She presses a hand to her heart, mock offended. “Coming from our favourite executioner?”
I cackle softly. “You’ve got me there.”
“Come on,” she says, nodding towards the small door behind her. “Let’s talk.”
Her little office is half bedroom, half storage room.
A single lantern burns low, the air thick with whiskey and dust. I take the chair across from her, set my bag between my boots, and pull out what I came to deliver—a pouch heavy with coins, and a handful of jewellery that still glitters with someone else’s memory.
“Payment,” I tell her. “From His Lordship.”
Sparrow’s breath catches. “Evie… this is—”
“Yours,” I interrupt. “Do what you like with it.”
She stands suddenly and wraps her good arm around me. “Thank you,” she whispers into my shoulder. “You’ve no idea what this means. I could leave. Start over somewhere new.”
I squeeze her back. “Then do it, little bird. You’ve earnt it.”
She pulls away, blinking fast, and laughs weakly. “You and your damned surprises.”
“Me and my damned everything,” I say, smiling.
Sparrow reaches for a bottle—not one I’ve seen before, dark glass, dust along its shoulders—and pours two small glasses and hands me one. “Family brew. I’ve been saving it for a good reason.”
I take a sip. It hits like fire and smoke, the taste of oak and honey buried underneath. “That’s mighty fine,” I say, coughing once.
She laughs softly. “My family run a brewery back home. I came here looking for adventure, ended up with this.” Her gesture takes in the room—the bar, the bruises, the loneliness. “I might go back, if I can.”
“Do you miss it?”
“All the time,” she admits. “The smell of yeast, the sound of my father singing. I thought I’d find something here worth the pain, but I was wrong.”
For a moment, we’re both silent. “Then go. Take what’s yours and go before the city turns worse than it already is.”
She frowns. “Worse?”
“Witch hunts,” I tell her. “I saw one this morning. Women dragged away for nothing more than words. No proof. No trial. It’s spreading.”
The air goes still, like even the lantern’s flame is listening. Sparrow swallows. “That’s… awful. Should I warn the others?”
“Yes. Warn everyone.”
She nods, then pushes the jewellery back towards me. “Give this to De. She’ll know what to do.”
I look at her for a long time. “You’re a good woman, Sparrow.”
“Don’t ruin my reputation,” she says with a trembling smile.
I stand. “You’ll leave soon?”
“Soon as I can.”
I lean in to kiss her cheek goodbye, but she turns, meeting my lips instead—soft, brief, and warm. When she pulls back, she touches my face. “Don’t get yourself killed, Evie.”
“No promises,” I murmur, grinning.
“Go on, then,” she says, settling back with her drink. “Before I cry and ruin my makeup.”
I leave her there, sitting in the glow of the lantern, her glass catching the light like amber.
I step out from behind the bar and start towards the stairs, but voices stop me before I make it far.
“Evie!”
The sound is light and musical, and I can’t help but smirk. Scarlet and Raven—the twins—come bouncing across the floor, skirts fluttering, perfume trailing behind them.
“You’re doing it again!” they shout in unison.
I tilt my head, amused. “Doing what, you little demons?”
“Forgetting us!” Scarlet pouts, planting her hands on her hips.
Raven mirrors her perfectly, lips pursed, eyes wide. “You said we were your favourites, remember? And yet”, she gestures dramatically, “no hello, no kiss, not even a wink. We’re heartbroken.”
I can’t help but laugh, the sound rising from somewhere warm inside me. “You two are impossible.”
They grin, delighted to have won and before I can say another word, they both throw themselves at me, arms wrapping tight. I’m swallowed in soft perfume and laughter, their warmth pressing through me. I breathe it in, just for a second, before they pull away.
“Forgiven?” I ask.
“Always,” they say together. Then Scarlet’s face softens. “We were worried. Is Sparrow alright?”
“She’s fine,” I say. “Better than fine, actually.”
Raven tilts her head. “And you?”
“I’m alive. Can’t ask for much more than that.”
I glance at them both; so young, so bright. I don’t want their names whispered next in the square. “You should be careful, though. The city’s changing. There are witch hunts starting. They don’t need proof, just gossip.”
The twins trade uneasy looks. “That’s horrible,” Scarlet says softly.
“What should we do?” Raven asks.
“If you can, leave here. Go somewhere safe.”
Raven shakes her head, looking down. “I’ve nowhere to go. My family would hang me quicker than the guards.”
Scarlet takes Raven’s hand. “I have people outside the city. We can go together.”
I nod, relieved. “Do it soon. Don’t wait.”
They smile at me—small and sad, and then Scarlet squeezes my hand. “You’ll come see us again, won’t you?”
I don’t answer. Just brush a strand of hair from her face and nod once. When they walk away, I feel the silence they leave behind like a bruise.
De is waiting at the top of the stairs, leaning against the balcony rail. Her curls spill over her shoulder, and her smile is lazy, but there’s tension in the set of her mouth.
“What’s this I hear about witch hunts and my girls being unsafe?” she asks.
“Bloody hell, De.” I climb the stairs to meet her. “How long have you been listening?”
“Long enough.”
She doesn’t look at me when she speaks. Her eyes stay fixed on the women below; some cleaning, some mending torn dresses, some just sitting, staring at the floor. The room feels different today, as if everyone can sense something moving outside the walls.
“I don’t know much yet,” I say. “But it’s bad. I saw it myself this morning. A woman accused another just for arguing. The guards didn’t even hesitate.”
De exhales through her nose, eyes narrowing. “Of course they didn’t. Men love any excuse to punish women.”
Before I can answer—
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The front doors rattle under heavy fists. The sound freezes the room.
“City guard! Open up!”
The doors fly open before anyone can move and a constable shoulders his way inside, followed by half a dozen guards. The girls below scream and scatter.
A short man in a dark blue coat steps forward, hat still on his head. His voice is small but sharp as he looks up at us from the room below. “Good afternoon, Madame De-Vil.”
De’s posture stiffens. “Constable Richard,” she says evenly. “You know I pay my dues.”
“Yes, yes,” he says, dismissive. “You’re up to date, but that’s not why we’re here.” He looks around the room like he owns it. “There’s danger in the city, you know. Corruption. Witchcraft.”
The word drips from his mouth like rot.
De crosses her arms. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“I’m here to arrest one of your women—Sirena—for witchcraft and the use of black magic to seduce and defraud the men of this city.”
For a moment, no one speaks. Then a voice from the floor—one of the girls—pipes up. “It’s not magic, Dick. It’s just tits.”
Laughter ripples through the silence, and even I smile.
The constable’s face flushes crimson. “Silence!” He lifts his hand as if to strike her, and my smile quickly dies on my lips as I decide then and there, he’s a dead man.
He drops his hand, composes himself. “Bring her to me, Madame. Now.”
De sighs, but says nothing. She knows she has to follow orders or this place will get shut down so quickly and all the girls will be on the streets.
She turns on her heel and walks down the corridor behind us. I slide the coin purse and jewellery into the pocket of her dress as she passes and whisper, “For the girls. Get them out if you can.”
She nods once, barely.
The constable stares at me and I stare right back, unmoving, as his pulse jumps in his throat. He looks away first, seemingly afraid of me. Good.
De returns with Sirena—trembling, crying softly, her dark hair loose over her bare shoulders. Her beauty is the kind that makes men stupid. That’s her crime.
As beautiful as she is, she doesn’t hold a candle to you.
His voice coils through me, deep and low, and my skin burns from the inside out. I want to see Him, I need to.
The guards seize Sirena roughly, dragging her down the stairs. She’s speaking in a language none of them understand, and that’s enough to damn her.
The doors slam and Sirena’s sobs fade into the street.
For a long moment, no one moves. The room feels empty without her crying in it. Then the anger comes—sharp, electric, unstoppable.
Different. That’s all it takes. Be different, and they’ll call you damned.
My hands shake and I curl them into fists.
Have a care for this, my beautiful destroyer. You tread a fine line, but you have the cunning and strength to do so. You have a brilliant opportunity before you. Do not misuse it.
His whisper slides down my spine, soft and cold. My heart answers, yes. Always yes.
I close my eyes, breathe through the tremor, and when I open them again the world looks sharper. The fear, the blood, the rage, all in perfect focus.
Red again. Always red. Until I find Him.
But first—I must save an innocent.