Chapter 17
Seventeen
Later that evening, a knock at our door comes as I’m pulling my coat on. I open it to find Xavier standing in the corridor, the light from the lanterns catching in his eyes, his expression carved from stone.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Almost,” I reply brightly, reaching for my gloves. “Just let me–”
“I’m coming too,” Stryx’s voice cuts across the room behind me, full of newfound determination. She appears from the corner where she’s been curled in my armchair with her arms crossed and jaw set, her tattoos glowing faintly with renewed magic.
Xavier’s face sours instantly. “Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely yes,” Stryx shoots back. “If this brothel is tied to those tattoos, then it could tie to the murders. You might need me, especially if you need a distraction.”
Whilst I’m actually in agreement with Xavier on this occasion, I can’t help the urge to gang up on him.
I smother a grin. “She has a point, Xavier.”
He drags a hand down his face. “Do either of you understand what we’re walking into? Aethermere at night is one thing. A brothel tied to possible ritual killings is another.”
“All the more reason to have another pair of eyes,” Stryx says, stepping closer, chin lifted. “And mine happen to be sharper than most. Anyway, it’s not the first time we’ve been to Aethermere at night, we can handle ourselves.”
Xavier narrows his eyes, looking from her to me and back again, as though hoping one of us will back down.
Like that will happen.
If Stryx feels comfortable leaving the apartment then I’m not going to cage her in anymore, no matter how anxious it makes me. So I simply raise my brows at him, daring him to argue further.
Finally, he groans and throws up his hands in defeat. “Fine. Both of you win. But if her illusion falters, it’s on your heads.”
I smirk, pulling my gloves tight and raising my hood. “Good. Glad we’ve settled that.”
Stryx’s grin mirrors mine and for a fleeting moment, I feel lighter, like we are three reckless conspirators rather than people walking into something potentially dark and dangerous.
Luckily Stryx managed to restore some of her magic while I was visiting the morgue with Xavier this morning, so I have no doubt she will be fine.
We start to head out the door but Xavier holds a hand out, stopping us.
I turn to glare at him, but his sheepish expression as he locks eyes with Stryx catches me off guard.
Xavier is many things, but shy is not one of them.
At least, not until now. I watch with intrigue as he retrieves a small package from his pocket and hands it to her.
“I—I thought you might like it,” he mumbles, his gaze dropping to the floor.
Stryx and I share a curious look before she opens the package and gasps in delight at a dark blue mushroom within. She runs back into the apartment to place it in her little shrine before skipping back and planting a kiss on Xavier’s cheek.
“It’s very pretty, thank you,” she whispers, her eyes wide as she bites her lip.
He nods, his cheeks reddening. I give him a pointed look and he rolls his eyes, his embarrassment quickly fading.
“For the record, I still think this is a terrible idea,” he mutters grumpily, but he steps aside to let us through, his lips twitching as he tries to smother his grin.
“Most of the best ones are,” I tease, brushing past him.
He mutters something under his breath about the Gods saving him from stubborn women before following close on our heels. My steps feel less weighted, relief flooding through me that not only are Xavier and Stryx getting along, but that we finally have a strong lead to follow.
Carriages rattle past as we come to a halt outside a building that barely seems to belong in the same world as the quiet, shadowed streets around it.
Lanterns of red glass burn above the door, casting the entrance in a sultry glow.
Perfumed smoke drifts from the latticed windows above, clinging to the night air with an almost cloying sweetness.
I tilt my head back to take it in; the velvet drapes spilling from the balconies, the painted faces peering from behind beaded curtains, and the faint sound of a lute winding its way through the night. It is decadent, yes, but beneath the gilt and glamour, I catch the faintest hint of rot.
Stryx wrinkles her nose. “Smells like someone drowned in perfume.”
“Not the worst thing that’s happened inside,” Xavier murmurs, his tone clipped. He glances at the painted sigils carved discreetly into the doorframe—wards for secrecy, silence and for pleasure. His jaw tightens.
I lean in close, my lips twitching. “Funny how you noticed those right away.”
He shoots me a look sharp enough to cut glass. “We’re detectives. I’m detecting.”
I stifle a laugh, and Stryx gives him a sly grin like she’s in on the joke. Xavier rolls his eyes skyward, muttering something more about the Gods abandoning him. But before we can enter, a hunched-over man almost staggers into us, and Xavier pulls me and Stryx back protectively.
“Is he drunk?” Stryx hisses, leaning into Xavier where he’s holding her arm.
“No,” he says with a frown. “He’s a Husk. This is what happens to mortals when they use so much magic it erases all of their memories and their emotions, leaving them an empty void of themselves.”
I do a double take, bending down so I can see the man’s face more clearly as he leans against the wall of the brothel.
His eyes are wide and unseeing, his skin sallow, with a strange vacant expression on his face.
As if that isn’t obvious enough to mark his condition, he also has a brand stamped into the side of his neck—a simple outline of an eye, with the pupil missing.
The man straightens and continues on his way, tripping over his feet as he disappears down the alley. We all watch him go in silence. When I turn back to Xavier, his mouth is set in a grim line, his eyes glinting with anger.
“It’s not fair,” he says with gritted teeth. “Why should we have to suffer, to sacrifice parts of ourselves to access magic, when the Echofae can use it so freely?”
Stryx looks down at her feet awkwardly, and I take her hand and give it a squeeze.
“Everyone is responsible for their own choices,” I remind him quietly.
His gaze softens as his eyes track the movement of my hand on Stryx’s.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—” He huffs a sigh, running his hand down his face.
“You know how much I wish you could use magic freely, and not just so you can help your pain. Think of all the amazing things you could do, Octavia, if we could use magic without consequence.”
I place my free hand on his shoulder. “And think of all the awful things someone could do if they had unlimited magic with ill intent.”
He looks a little chagrined at that. “I’m just sick of seeing you in pain all the time.”
“So am I,” Stryx adds earnestly, “But Octavia is unfortunately right. For every good person, there will always be someone willing to use their power for bad.”
“And if I have to continue suffering to stop that happening, then it’s an easy sacrifice to make,” I finish, and Xavier nods, though even I have to admit there’s a small, selfish part of me that agrees with him.
We return our attention to the brothel and an armed doorman in decadent silks bows us through the golden gates of the entryway.
Inside, the air is thick with incense and heat, voices lilting in laughter and whispers.
The walls are hung with velvet tapestries and gilded masks, and the floor is crowded with courtesans in every shade of silk and shadow.
The sound of music swells around us, seductive and mournful all at once.
I feel the pull of it instantly, that strange Aethermere decadence, laced with an undertone of danger that always makes my chest tighten and my pulse race. The three of us stand still within the swirl of the silken walls, wondering if this place is more dangerous than it seems.
A woman in little more than scraps of lace and glittering chains notices us standing awkwardly on the threshold and she saunters over, her red-lipped smile hiding sharp, knowing eyes. She leans against my arm with deliberate languor, her perfume so thick it nearly makes me cough.
“Well, well,” the woman purrs. “A knight, a white-haired beauty, and…” her gaze lingers on Stryx, a flicker of curiosity breaking through the mask. “…a nervous little dove. Looking for a good time?”
I’m a little taken aback by her complimenting my hair instead of the aggressive questioning I usually receive about it, but I recover quickly, ignoring the brush of her fingers on my sleeve as I meet her gaze coolly. “Who’s in charge here?”
The woman arches an eyebrow, lips curving in sly amusement. “Straight to business, hmm? That’ll cost you more.”
My eyes narrow. “It’ll cost you more not to answer.”
For a heartbeat, the courtesan weighs me with a heated gaze, before letting out a soft, throaty laugh. “Fiery. I like you.”
“We are here on official business from the Division,” Xavier cuts in. “We are investigating a double murder.”
Her gaze travels over to him, the slight widening of her eyes the only sign of her surprise.
Her attention lingers on his muscled arms before she gestures with a flick of her wrist, bangles jingling as she turns on her heel.
“Follow me then, pretty things. Let’s see if the master is in the mood for guests. ”
We trail after her through a labyrinth of corridors draped in velvet and hung with golden lanterns. The further we go, the more the laughter and music fades, replaced by muffled cries behind closed doors, whispers of deals struck in breathless gasps.
Stryx presses closer to me, her unease almost palpable. Xavier walks stiffly at our backs, hand hovering near his blade though his expression stays carefully neutral.
Finally, the courtesan stops before a heavy wooden door carved with swirling patterns that look suspiciously like more wards. She knocks twice, then swings it open without waiting for a reply.