Chapter 14

They walked along the avenue for a few blocks, and Ursula’s skin no longer prickled with the sense of hidden eyes.

“You don’t hear accents like that often,” she said softly.

“This place never really left the nineteenth century.” Bael’s eyes seemed to be searching the fog for signs of hidden danger.

“So if I open my mouth, everyone will know I’m not from here?”

Bael shook his head. “No, they’ll think you’re rich. Your accent is courtly. Not that that’s a good thing. A courtly accent means they will rob you, and worse. Before they kill you.”

They reached an intersection, and Bael stopped to study the misty road.

“We’re in Spickwithe. We’re close,” he said to himself.

“Beg your pardon?” asked Ursula.

“The Black Friars.”

So he’s just speaking in ominous-sounding phrases now.

Bael cocked his head, his eyes flashing. Then he grabbed Ursula’s hand. “Run!”

They sprinted along the new road, and were just ducking inside an alley when a gunshot rang out and a bullet whistled over their heads. Down the road, Ursula caught a glimpse of a soldier—dressed in purple and gold. The king’s uniform. Shadows whirled around Ursula and Bael—Bael’s magic. But it was too late. They’d been spotted.

“This way,” Bael hissed, sprinting down the alleyway.

More gunshots echoed in the rainy night.

“Why are they shooting at us?”

“There’s a curfew,” said Bael. “Anyone out after sundown can be shot on sight.”

Ursula raced after him, her lungs burning as she struggled to run in the stupid crinoline dress. Next time, she’d come in disguise as a man.

A gunshot rang out again, and the whistling noise of a rifle ball. Plaster splintered a few feet above their heads. As they turned a corner, Ursula shot a quick glance behind them at a small contingent of soldiers.

Bael grabbed her arm, pulling her into another tiny alley.

“They’ll find us in here,” she whispered frantically.

Bael shook his head, and pointed to a sign above their heads. Despite the flaking paint, the shape of a man dressed in a black smock was clearly visible. The Black Friar.

She lifted her skirts, hurtling down the curving alley behind Bael until it ended abruptly at a red door. Bael knocked sharply on the wood. After what seemed like an eternity, a panel was pulled aside.

“What do you want?” said a woman’s voice.

“Qui bibit, sanctus est,” said Bael.

The window snapped shut. And the shouting of soldiers echoed off the buildings. It was only a matter of time before they were found.

“Bael, we can’t stay out here,” she whispered frantically.

“It’s an old password.” Bael met her gaze. “She needs to confirm it in the ledger.”

“Ledger?” Ursula said incredulously. It seemed an entirely inappropriate concept for the current situation.

A moment later, the door swung open. Bael grabbed Ursula by the hand, pulling her inside with him. The door slammed shut behind them.

Ursula blinked, then coughed. Thick smoke filled the room, its scent drowned by an overpowering floral smell. A kerosene lamp flickered on a table next to them.

The dim light fell on a skinny young woman standing before them. “You got brass?” She crossed her arms over her chest. With a shock of red hair, she might have been pretty once, but now her front teeth were missing, and pink blotches mottled her skin. The poor thing looked like she hadn’t slept in a week.

Bael pushed past her. “We’re here to see Pasqual.”

The woman touched Bael’s arm. “Wait here, love.”

She slipped past him, disappearing into the smoky haze.

Ursula grabbed Bael’s arm. “What is this place?”

“The Black Friars.”

Ursula sighed. “I know that. I mean what is this place?”

Before Bael could answer, the girl returned through the gloom. “This way.”

They followed her into the miasma, and Ursula resisted the urge to cover her mouth and nose with her forearm to mask the smell. Wouldn’t exactly be polite.

She nearly tripped over the first body—a man sprawled across the floor. At first she thought he was dead, until he slowly moved his leg out of her way, mumbling something incomprehensible.

She followed Bael and the toothless woman into a second room, where the smoke grew thicker. She rubbed her eyes. Here, the pungent floral odor only grew stronger. A light flickered near her knees, and she glanced down to see a small man crouched next to another sleeping body. He held a candle in one hand, which he used to light a long pipe.

Understanding began to dawn in Ursula’s mind. Oh. Is this an opium den?

“This way.” Already, the woman was leading them onward, through a narrow door and into a red-walled room. A flickering oil lamp stood on a small desk, and stained, shiny pillows littered the floor. A black door stood inset into one of the walls.

“Wait here,” the woman said before disappearing back into the hallway.

It was only another moment before a man appeared out of the curling smoke. He wore a dark purple robe, and a small velvet hat sat atop his dark hair. He had long, thin fingers, and lips that appeared a little too red against his olive skin. Ursula stepped back instinctively. Definitely a vampire.

Bael put his hand reassuringly on her shoulder as he greeted the man. “Hello, Pasqual.”

Fangs glinted when he smiled. “Bael, what brings you to my home?”

“My friend and I need a place to stay.”

“You can’t stay in the Silver Lair?”

“We’re here in secret,” said Bael.

Pasqual nodded. “So it’s true what I hear from the Shadow Realm? You’ve lost your wings?”

“Unfortunately.”

Pasqual’s dark eyes fell on Ursula, studying her. “Who is she?”

“A friend of mine,” said Bael.

Pasqual frowned. It was obvious to Ursula that he wasn’t satisfied with this response.

“A friend,” Pasqual repeated.

Of course, anyone who knew Bael at all would know that he didn’t have any friends.

“Well,” the vampire drawled, “I guess you can stay in my quarters.”

“Can I have your assurance that you’ll keep our presence discreet?” asked Bael.

“You have my assurance.”

“Thank you, Pasqual.”

“This way.” Pasqual pulled open the black door.

Ursula tried not to grimace as she imagined how the vamp’s quarters might look. The state of the opium den didn’t give her high hopes for the blood den, but she followed the two men into the soporific haze.

The door led to a narrow stairwell, and the stairs groaned under their weight as they climbed upward through the murky air. At the top of the stairs, Pasqual pushed open a creaking door into a single loft-style room.

Oak cabinets nestled in one corner, and a few high-backed chairs stood around a circular table. Moonlight streamed over a loft bed that overhung bookshelves, crammed with old tomes. But it was the row of windows spanning the far wall that drew Ursula’s eye.

“This is beautiful,” said Bael. “And familiar.”

“Thank you. I hope you aren’t offended, but I was most impressed with one of the rooms in your manor. The space you kept for Elissa after she left this world. I always loved that room, and her portrait.”

That’s…weird.

“You’ve been in Bael’s manor?” asked Ursula. Even though Elissa had died millennia ago—in ancient Canaan—Bael had kept a little space for her in his manor on the moon. Since Emerazel had forced Bael to murder his own wife, the guilt must have eaten at him terribly over the years, every time he walked into her quarters. Did it hurt him now to be here?

Bael and Pasqual exchanged a look. “Yes. I was Bael’s servant for many years,” said Pasqual.

So they did go back a long way. Ursula crossed to the window, running a finger along the cool glass. Here, she had a full view of King Midac’s ruined castle—closer now than Laverna’s church. Ursula could clearly see the burnt husks of what once had been splendid towers.

“You should have seen it before the great fire,” said Pasqual from behind her. “It was magnificent.”

Ursula nodded. “I can imagine.”

Pasqual sighed softly—a strangely human sound. “In any case, my home is your home. You must sleep here.”

Ursula raised her eyebrows. “And where will you sleep tonight?”

Pasqual grinned. “You mean when the sun comes up? I’ll be in the basement. I have a cozy little coffin down there.” He grinned, flashing a razor-sharp pair of canines. “But trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to see it.”

Bael smiled from where he stood near the doorway. “Thanks, Pasqual. We’ll be fine up here.”

Pasqual sauntered over to one of the oak cabinets, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Would either of you care for a drink?”

Bael nodded. “We’d love a drink.”

In a series of graceful moves, Pasqual drew the cork from the bottle. As he poured the wine, Ursula read the label: Chateau Margaux 1983. With wine like that, she had a feeling Kester would be disappointed he’d been left behind to recuperate in the Grotto.

Pasqual sat at the table, motioning for each of them to join him.

“So. What is your business in Mount Acidale? After the great battle, I never thought you’d return.”

“We’re here to retrieve Excalibur from Lucius, and to find Ursula’s family.”

Pasqual’s eyebrows flicked up at Ursula. “You’re from Mount Acidale?”

Ursula looked to Bael, not sure how much she should say. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

“I think I may have been born here.” Ursula took a sip of her wine. It tasted delicious: a bit woodsy, with hints of rosehips and berries.

“Do you know where Lucius may be found?” Bael seemed eager to get the conversation back to Excalibur.

“Lucius doesn’t often leave his warren under the castle.”

“Doesn’t he hoard women, like most of the dragons? He must leave to satisfy his cravings somehow,” said Ursula.

Pasqual laughed. “You certainly seem to know a lot about Lucius.”

“I had the misfortune of meeting him recently.”

Pasqual swirled the wine in his glass. “King Midac has decreed that the dragons are not to abduct the women of Mount Acidale.”

Bael frowned. “And Lucius has agreed to that?”

A slow shrug from Pasqual. “Lucius has taken to visiting Leopold’s in secret.”

Bael’s eyes sparked with excitement. “Ah. Are you sure of this?”

Pasqual’s expression darkened. “Bael. If you cause trouble at Leopold’s, it will be bad for my business. Madam Moncrief is ruthless.”

Bael nodded. “I’ll speak to her first. I can be very diplomatic, you know.”

Ursula looked between Bael and Pasqual. “What is Leopold’s?”

Pasqual steepled his fingers as he turned to her. “Madam Moncrief runs Leopold’s, the preeminent brothel in Mount Acidale. Lucius likes to hold—how shall we say—private events there. I can arrange a meeting with Madam Moncrief, if you want to find Lucius and this sword of yours. You’ve both had a long journey. Why don’t you rest for a few hours?”

Taking his wine with him, Pasqual rose and crossed to the door. Ursula shivered. Despite his generosity, she found something entirely unnerving about the preternatural grace of a vampire.

Bael looked at Ursula with concern, his shoulders stiff.

“Leopold’s is the best way to get to Lucius. I don’t want you to think…”

“Think what?” Ursula quirked an amused eyebrow, enjoying Bael’s discomfort.

“Think that I frequent brothels. Madam Moncrief is a good source of information. She’s also on Nyxobas’s payroll.”

A smile curled Ursula’s lips. “I didn’t say a thing, Bael. If you want to frequent brothels in your free time?—”

His eyes darkened. “For work.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.”

It seemed to take him a moment to catch on that she was teasing him, before a faint smile appeared on his lips. His shoulders relaxed, and he took another sip of his wine.

Ursula snatched her wineglass and walked back to the window to study the view. “You seem to know Pasqual pretty well.”

“He’s an old friend,” said Bael. “In fact, he helped in the battle of Mount Acidale.”

“And he used to work in your manor?”

“Yes. He’s very protective of me.”

“How did he end up in Mount Acidale running an opium den?”

“Vampires don’t tend to do well in Nyxobas’s ascetic environment. They are pleasure-loving creatures. Opium doesn’t have any effect on vampires, so it was a good business choice for him.” Bael drained the last of his wine. “It’s late. We should sleep.” When he met her gaze, a sort of confusion clouded his features.

Ursula mirrored his perplexity, her skin warming as she stared at his perfect features. She could imagine herself lying next to him in bed, running her fingers over his chiseled muscles, losing herself in his powerful embrace. Should she invite him to join her in the loft? Would he even accept? What would happen if she pulled off her crinoline dress and crawled into his lap? She could almost imagine his powerful hands around her waist, his tongue exploring her breasts…

Just as she opened her mouth, working up the courage, Bael cut her off.

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Her mood fell, and she crossed sullenly to the loft’s ladder.