sixteen

Poppy

Poppy, left alone, wandered over to Dante's rooms, exhausted. She found him in a state.

To his credit, he did turn pink and embarrassed when he saw that she realized how inebriated he was, but Poppy did not comment on it.

"May I sleep here?" she asked, and he just nodded.

She thought she saw tears shine in his eyes, but he quickly turned his face away, making a flourish towards the second bed in his room.

The entire room smelled of something pungent, which Poppy was soon learning was opium. She did not care. She flung herself on the bed, fully clothed, and proceeded to sleep fitfully for the few remaining hours until noon.

She was woken by the clinking of teacups and the smell of hot cocoa, and then by sheer horror.

The sheets all around her were drenched in blood.

She briefly considered screaming, but her voice had died in her throat.

Only one thought remained:

My sins have found me out.

This is my punishment.

I am going to die a sinner.

On and on the thoughts went, and she lay there, frozen in fear amid all the blood, unable to move. Her brother's white, austere face appeared in front of her—she hoped the image was only inside her mind, but one couldn't tell, so real did it seem—and frowned down at her in disappointment.

Poppy curled in on herself, bringing her legs up to her chest and hugging them close, as the tangy smell of blood soaking into the mattress filled her nostrils, making her stomach roll with painful nausea.

That was how Dante found her a few hours—or possibly days, it certainly felt like eons—later.

"Are you all right, love?" he asked, sounding decidedly more awake than he had this morning. His mouth was full; Poppy ventured a look. He was attacking a plate of eggs and bacon.

Poppy tried to say, ‘Yes, thank you, move along, nothing to see here,' but all that came out was a whimper.

Dante took a good look at her, and stopped mid-bite.

"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed, and promptly ran away.

That was not the last straw; the last straw had been ages and ages ago, sometime between being starved in her brother's house and kneeling on the seeds and rice in that empty, cold chapel. But, for some unknown reason, this, Dante's turning away from her bed and positively sprinting out of the room, made the tears start coursing down her cheeks.

"What happened here?" A voice said above her head; definitely not Dante's voice.

"I-I'm sorry," Poppy murmured, although it was too late for apologies.

"Nothing to be sorry about," the voice said, lifting the covers briskly. Poppy felt so exposed and ashamed, it would be a good time now to be reduced into cinders, if one was ever meant to spontaneously combust. But nothing like that happened. "It is just a part of being a woman."

It was Rania, the beautiful brown dancer, Dante's friend.

"I do not always get my monthly flows," Poppy tried to explain, still attempting to cover herself and the blood up. "They come most irregularly, if at all."

"No wonder they do," Rania replied, gathering up the bloody sheets, entirely unimpressed. "What with you being so tiny and being starved half the time."

"Who…who said I have been starved?"

"Dante," Rania replied. "He said he recognized it from the way you eat."

Rania calmly helped her get out of the bed and wash.

The fact that she barely commented on the mess, or the amount of blood, astonished Poppy even more than how much Rania knew about how women's body worked. Poppy, having had no mother or sisters, barely knew anything about herself.

"Do not ever be ashamed of your body," Rania told Poppy. "It is a glorious thing of beauty, and anyone who has ever made you feel differently is in the wrong. Your body is something to be respected, celebrated, and cared for."

Right, Poppy thought. As if that could ever be true.

But she did listen to what Rania was saying, and tried to understand, and watched the ease with which she treated her own body and honored it. She had never considered that a possibility.

They spent the day dancing alone in Dante's room, playing with the cats, and having long, warm soaks in the club's Roman baths. Some called them Turkish baths—the difference was small.

Hades had had warm springs installed in one of the great halls, and had turned it into his very set of own pump rooms. It was London's best kept secret. Poppy had heard talk of these Roman baths within the Hellion Club, but she, like everyone else, had thought them a myth. But now, in the early afternoon, they were empty, and Rania led her inside and instructed her on how to put on the light robe and walk slowly in the pool, until the cramps in her stomach went away.

The Baths were large and spacious, their walls painted with Roman murals of Greek gods and goddesses all around, images fit to make one blush wherever they looked. But it was done somewhat tastefully, with Greek statues, pillars and gables all around, to give it something of the air of the Parthenon.

"Lord Perlin," Rania said, as they were enjoying their second, long, warm soak of the day, "is well-known for his love of Greek and Roman architecture. He has studied it extensively, and took a very active part in the designing of the entire of the Underworld."

Poppy closed her eyes and leaned back in the water. These baths were magic. Minutes ago, she had thought that she might go crazy from the pain, but now she was almost comfortable.

"I am so ashamed," Poppy murmured as Rania waded to stand next to her, water lapping gently at their clinging gowns.

"Of what?" Rania asked.

"Of everything," Poppy said. "Of existing, I suppose. Of being me."

"Someone has done this to you; no one is born ashamed." Rania grasped her hand lightly in the water. "We must undo it. It is going to be a lot of work, but it can be done, you know. You have your faith to come to your rescue, do you not?"

"I am not sure I have it," Poppy sighed. "I keep failing…God."

"God or your brother?"

"What did you say?" Poppy felt her eyes grow big.

"I said," Rania said patiently, "are you quite clear that they are not one and the same? You can believe in God and not be ashamed of yourself. You can have your faith and happiness, both."

"It…It had not occurred to me." It hadn't, honestly.

"Well, now it has. What are you going to do about it?"

"I don't quite know."

Rania began untying her black hair. "Well, I don't know either," she said, "but I am telling you this: Do you know what my function is in this club?"

"I imagine you work here in some capacity," Poppy replied. "I do not know exactly where, but I know you to be the kindest and, honestly, the most beautiful lady of my acquaintance."

Rania burst out laughing, tears streaming down her face.

"Lady of your acquaintance," she guffawed. "Bless you, Poppy, you made me laugh. I am no lady, child, you know that, right? Why, I am what you call a whore."

"You are not," Poppy said.

Rania sobered up quite quickly. Abruptly.

"I am," she said more quietly. "I provide services to men in this club in exchange for money."

"I know that," Poppy said. "I've known from the start. I am not stupid, no matter how I may appear. But it seems to me that neither Had—Lord Perlin, nor anyone else in this place treats you like a common woman. Therefore, I do not think you should refer to yourself in this manner."

"You…" Poppy watched as tears spilled down Rania's cheeks and through her fingers. She tried to stop them, but couldn't.

"It is not my place to judge what is best for you," Poppy went on. "If you have the choice of remaining employed thusly, or doing something else that would allow you to survive and thrive, then that is your business. If you were forced into it, then it would be another matter, but I do not think you have been."

"I have not," Rania agreed, and the tears stopped somewhat. "Well, not since coming here. Hades made it clear that I can do this only if I want to. Otherwise, he shall find me another position."

"There you are."

They got out of the water, reluctantly, and got dried up and dressed.

"It seems so strange to me that you say you shall not pass judgement on me, and yet you pass judgement on yourself," Rania said once they were back in Dante's cozy rooms, sipping hot tea by the fire and drying out their hair. "You are quite, quite cruel to yourself, you know, my dear."

"It's…it's not me," Poppy said, and then gasped, because she hadn't realized it until she said it.

Rania nodded, as if she had known all along. "Who is it then?"

"It's him," Poppy said.

"God?"

"No, my brother. His voice in my head, saying hateful, horrible things to me, every minute of every day, no matter if I'm awake or asleep. Threatening me with starvation or kneeling on the rice, or…"

"Stop." Rania's hand was on her shoulder, its gentle weight anchoring her to reality. "Don't think of that any more. There is food here, and not a grain of rice. You are quite safe."

"From those two. But what about everything else?"

"Everything else," Rania said, spreading out her arm dramatically, "is life. You are never quite safe from life, little one. But that is the beauty of it too."

"You know that we are the exact same age, right?" Poppy said.

"I do," Rania replied. "But I feel so much more worldly and important than you. Besides, you are so much shorter."

"Why, thank you," Poppy smiled.

And that was when they both realized just how good of friends they had become.

And then the door burst open and Hades came running in, his hair flying, his coat open, looking like all kinds of a malevolent Greek god hell-bent on revenge.

"Where is she?" he thundered. "What's happened?"

His eyes found Poppy, and their stormy blue depths were transformed by an emotion hard and frightening. His voice dropped so low she could barely hear it.

It was trembling, broken.

"Poppy. What's wrong?" he almost stuttered, looking down at her. "Did you get hurt last night? Did…Did I hurt you?"

He stood there, towering above her, shaking, completely shaking.

And for the first time since she had met him, Poppy thought that she might finally have a small glimpse into the enigma that was the Slavic prince of the Underworld.

Hades knelt in front of her, long, black strands of hair swishing down his jaw.

"Have I hurt you, Miss Wyatt? Answer me, please."

And that was when Poppy realized it: the prince of the Underworld positively, absolutely hated himself.

Alexei

He could have sat there with Nikolaos all day, if he had his own way.

"Tell me what happened," Nikolaos asked him at length, after they had spent at least ten hours eating, talking about theology and philosophy, drinking red claret and petting the bloody cats. "What brought on this existential crisis, my lord? It isn't like you."

"I have only just discovered," Alexei replied, "that everyone calls me Hades behind my back."

"Surely not only just. I knew that before I knew you," Nikolaos smirked.

Alexei swallowed his distaste.

"I just discovered why, I mean," he explained. "Apparently, I make people want to die."

The declaration was so profound that Nikolaos let go of both his wineglass and the cat that had sat itself on his lap.

"It's not you," Nikolaos said kindly. "It's the club."

"Oh, well, that's only slightly better."

"Is it?"

"What would you have me do?" Alexei asked, and for once, he was not being sarcastic. He honestly did not know what to do. "Should I just shut down the club, and leave the entire staff to starve on the streets? The servants, the guards, the musicians, the dancers…? Not to mention, all those who use it, like yourself, to hide in and organize their revolutions?"

"There are others?" Nikolaos asked, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, but Alexei just winced. "I don't know," Nikolaos said, turning serious. "I don't know what I would do if I were in your shoes, honestly, my lord."

"What would that God of yours have me do?"

"Ask Him yourself," Nikolaos said.

"I do not talk to deities," Alexei smirked. "Besides, what that God did to Popp—Miss Wyatt…How she is, it frightens and enrages me."

"Was it God who made her like this, or one of the people that use his name for power?" Nikolaos asked.

"It was her brother," Alexei replied, "yes. But it is the same thing."

"Is it?" Nikolaos said for the second time. Just that.

But it was enough to make Alexei think. God, how he hated thinking.

"What if…" his voice trailed into silence, but Nikolaos waited him out, not interrupting, and he continued in a few minutes. Thinking out loud. God help him. "Would that there was a God for people like us. The rotten, the broken. The unwanted. Well, not you, of course," he turned to Nikolaos. "You are perfect."

Nikolaos grabbed his wrist, and such was Alexei's surprise, that he didn't even blink at his touch. At first. Then he quickly withdrew his hand, but Nikolaos was gazing at Alexei with such fierceness in his eyes, he barely noticed Alexei's flinching.

"I am not perfect," Nikolaos said quietly. "I am sad and bitter and about to give up. I am as far from perfect as I can be."

Alexei looked into the fire and said nothing.

Yes, he could stay here for days, away from the world, safe from the abyss that threatened to swallow him.

There were only two problems: one, the cats. They were bloody everywhere. Alexei loved them, even though he would never admit it, even on his last breath, but there was a limit to how many times he could be curled on. And two, one of the few servants that Alexei trusted to come down here to Nikolaos' hiding rooms to bring him food and help him get dressed, suddenly came running in the door, to tell him that Miss Wyatt sir has fallen ill, sir, if you please.

"What?" Alexei practically screamed, getting up so fast he upset the chair.

"Lord Lyon sent me to tell you, my lord," the poor man said, ducking his head, as if expecting a blow.

Alexei did not waste time to hit him, even though he wanted to, or to ask questions, even though he burned to know what had happened.

He burst out the door and did not stop running until he had reached Dante's rooms, a good two hundred yards later. Honestly, he did not know how he did not completely lose his mind on the way.

Or maybe he did.

Because as soon as he entered Dante's rooms, he found himself on his knees in front of Miss Wyatt, his hand itching to grab hers and never let go. He just lay there, on the floor, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, in the grip of utter panic.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Did I hurt you? Answer me!"

He would absolutely murder himself if he had.

"It is nothing to concern yourself with," Rania suddenly, blessedly appeared out of nowhere.

Her voice was low and calm, attempting to ground him in reality.

But not sanity. Not yet.

Poppy's face was tilted up to his, all green eyes and pink lips, and he was drowning in her gaze. Her skin was pale, her freckles sticking out, and such fear rose within him that his heart started missing every second beat and he could taste bile.

What have I done to her?

"It is her monthly flows, Hades dear," Rania said.

Oh.

Her monthly flows.

Women, amazing creatures, bled once every month. And were perfectly fine.

Alexei felt almost faint with relief. He swallowed hard, once, and determined to keep his voice hard. Try to salvage what was left of his dignity.

"If you mean to frighten me, my dear," he told Rania, without taking his eyes off Poppy, "by telling me this, you have quite failed." He swallowed again. A slight frown passed across Poppy's face, as if she was in pain. Alexei's breath hitched. "I am relieved you are not hurt, but why do you look so pale, Wyatt?"

Poppy's eyes were on his, green pools that were swallowing him whole. She opened her lips and nothing came out.

How was it that this slip of a girl controlled his every breath, his every heartbeat, with the mere look on her face? How had he been reduced to this?

"I am in pain," Poppy said finally, after three tries. "I am sorry."

Alexei sat down in front of her, folding his long legs underneath him, like he used to do when he was a child. He thought his heart would stop.

"Why on earth are you sorry?" His voice broke. It was not the only thing breaking. "Why the hell would you—"

"Alexei!" There was a warning in Rania's voice.

Finally, he snapped out of his trance and turned to look at her. Rania lifted her eyebrows at him. He climbed to his feet.

"I trust that Rania and Dante took good care of you, Miss Wyatt," he said in what he hoped was his most respectable tone. "I hope you feel better soon."

"We did," Rania said, getting up herself, and giving her hand to Poppy. Poppy moved gingerly, as if everything hurt. Hades tried not to look. He could not take his eyes off her. "We are. She was rather unwell this morning," Rania went on, "and I do not hesitate to tell you that I was quite frightened. Dante said let you know, my lord, because I was worried we should send for the doctor."

"This," Poppy said, "has to be the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to me."

"I do not see why," Alexei replied, getting up to feed the fire in Dante's fireplace. Dante himself was nowhere to be seen. Alexei would worry about him later. "It is perfectly normal, if not a straight-up wonder." Poppy snorted. Rania laughed in delight. "I promise you, Miss Wyatt, a man could not do a damn thing to create new life, even if his life depended on it."

"Which it does," Rania added with that insufferable, knowledgeable look on her lovely face.

"Which it does," Alexei agreed.

"What is wrong with you people?" Poppy asked, all the timidity gone from her voice. "No one ever talks of these things, not in front of a gentleman, not ever. It is a matter of conversation most shameful and vulgar."

"It is not," Rania said, waving a brown hand dismissively at her words, and saving him from exploding into a million flaming pieces of fury all around the room. "It is very important for a woman's wellbeing, however, and many a young girl has gotten seriously ill by not talking about it, and hiding her discomfort. Girls should be taught how to take care of themselves. You yourself could possibly have died a few hours ago, so much was the blood that—"

"Rania!" Poppy cried, horrified, her face a deep, painful crimson.

"What the hell?" Alexei cried at the same time.

"Sit down before you fall over, my lord. And, pray, do not shout in that ungentlemanly manner," Rania said, her tone quite queenly.

"I do not shout," Alexei murmured, pushing a hand to his chest, because it suddenly hurt. "I swear, you'll give me an apoplexy, Rania. Was she really…was it that bad?"

"There was just so much blood," Rania repeated, "and you know me, I do not worry needlessly."

"Indeed," Alexei replied dryly.

"You must be careful with Miss Wyatt, Hades," Rania said. "She…she has been through some hard times, and has never had a mother. I think that what happened here today was a result of being starved for so long, and now finally receiving enough nourishment, which caused her body to start working properly again with a vengeance. I am not exaggerating when I say it could have killed her."

"You do realize that I am right here," Poppy murmured, but Rania did not stop.

"Now, I imagine that there are more things not working properly inside that brain and that heart of hers," Rania went on, "as a result of criminal abuse and neglect from those who should have taken care of her. I fear that the reaction, should these be tended to, might be equally violent."

Poppy had fallen silent, her protests dead on her lips.

Rania continued; Poppy and Alexei listened to her attentively. And when she finally stopped talking, there was nothing but silence.

Which was just as violent a reaction as anything.