“I’m afraid not. I have business to attend to.”
“Perhaps you should run a brush through your hair before attending to this pressing matter. Should you encounter an eligible man along the way, that rat’s nest on your head will most certainly scare him off.”
Apparently, she hadn’t fully abandoned her meddling after all. With a smile that would have made Ivy proud, I locked the door and brushed past her, leaving my rat’s nest intact. Her displeasure with my insolence was also duly noted. “You’re not getting any younger, you do know that, do you not? You’ll need a man to take care of you—”
“No such man exists, Mrs. Whittle. Only in lies and fairy tales.”
The old woman was practically sputtering as I started down the stairs. She found her tongue by the time I reached the front door, but I was already out in the street. A blast of sharp wind hit my face, and I pulled my collar tight. I detested the cold, as was a Daughter of Fire’s way according to Ivy, but I wondered if my lack of a soul made it even worse somehow; as though the emptiness made me more vulnerable to it, which made the fall and winter months in New York challenging to be sure.
If only we could magically imbue a heavy woolen coat for me instead of leather…
It wasn’t long before I was sneaking through the halls of the nunnery, doing all I could to avoid Sister Mary Jacob. I ran into Hazel in the library where the hidden door blended in with the other shelves.
“Ivy said you got home safe last night,” she said, pulling on the secret book from the stacks. The bookcase swung inward, revealing the guild’s lair. “How was it? Did you kick some demon ass?”
“I didn’t get close enough to him to kick anything,” I said as I stepped through the entrance. “I did manage to fall about three stories and narrowly avoid breaking my back, though.”
She closed the door behind her and smiled at me with far more joy than my news should have inspired. “You’re a total badass, you know that, right?”
“Nobody knows that, because your word choice is utterly baffling.”
She let out a sigh. “It means you’re tough as shit. Someone you don’t want to fuck with. A—”
“This isn’t helping, Hazel.”
“I believe she’s admiring your fortitude,” a soft female voice said. “That you are strong and capable in a fight.”
I turned to find Willow, our resident Daughter of Water, smiling at me from under the white-blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She perched on the edge of the chaise, a book in her lap as always. She was sickly pale, her sallow skin accented by the dark circles under her eyes. She rarely slept and seldom ate; she was little more than an animated corpse, which was ironic coming from me. But I could practically feel the silent ferocity brewing deep inside her, begging to be let out.
I felt strangely more connected to her because of it.
“Yes!” Hazel agreed. “That. I meant that.”
My brows pinched in confusion. “Then perhaps you should try saying that instead of your other nonsense. I mean really, what on Earth has my ability to fight got to do with nobody wanting to fuck me?”
Hazel’s enthusiasm disappeared in an instant. “I didn’t…I wasn’t trying to say that…”
“Oleander knows you weren’t trying to insult her,” Ivy said as she slipped into the room unheard, a gift of the Daughters of Air, “don’t you?” The arch of her eyebrow told me to drop the issue because there were more important matters at hand, and we’d all need to work together to solve them. The woman’s ability to convey a message with a subtle gesture was uncanny.
“I didn’t, but I do now, so it’s fine. Now what’s all the fuss about? I already told you last night that there are two demons in the city, so I don’t know why we all have to listen to Grisholm fill us in as though we didn’t already know—”
“Ugh, yes,” Hazel agreed in her overly animated way, “I’m with Oleander on this. No mansplaining, please. It hurts my soul.” As soon as that final word left Hazel’s mouth, she turned to me and grimaced. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine, Hazel.”
“I’m just going to sit down over here and keep my mouth shut—”
“Perhaps that would be best, dear.” Ivy gestured for the redheaded witch to join Willow on the chaise. “Grisholm should be here any moment, and I need you all to take what he has to say seriously.”
Right on cue, the man in question pushed the door open and stepped into the room. It was rare for Grisholm to come over in person, which spoke volumes in and of itself—men were not exactly allowed in the building, though an exception seemed to have been granted for our mysterious benefactor. Ivy and Agnes were his usual contacts, to minimize exposure and to avoid stressing Sister Mary Jacob. The Gilded Lilies were able to protect the women of New York because of our anonymity and Grisholm’s discretion. Risking association could lead to one bringing down the other if anyone ever got suspicious, or worse, caught us in the act. We had taken precautionary magical steps to avoid that outcome, but they did not ensure it wouldn’t come to pass, which made his presence far more ominous than any of us cared to let on.
“Grisholm, so wonderful to see you!” Ivy rushed over to greet the tall, distinguished-looking man (or wizard or warlock or druid or whatever he truly was). He took off his top hat, exposing his dark hair that was peppered with silvery grey, and he bent down to brush a chaste kiss on her cheek. His deep blue eyes sparkled as he smiled at the rest of us, showing the mischievous boy still residing within the man. Then he gave the room a small bow.
“Ladies, thank you all so much for meeting with me, but I’m afraid the news that brings us together is grim indeed.”
“How bad is the demon situation?” I asked, cutting right to the matter at hand. “I saw two last night while doing your bidding.”
“So I heard.” The admonishing tone of his voice was hard to ignore. “I also understand that you were in rough shape today when Agnes went to fetch you.”
“I’ve felt worse.”
“While I’m certain that’s true, the goal last night was not to top your greatest injuries to date. It was to follow the demon and learn why it’s here. Did you manage that, I wonder, or did you act rashly, as you so often do, and get hurt in the process?”
“I don’t imagine my assessment will sway your opinion, judging by your tone.”
“Grisholm,” Ivy said, drawing his attention, “please share with the girls what you told me.”
His wizened eyes held mine for a fraction of a second longer, then scanned the room. “Over the course of the evening, there were several demon sightings—and not the same one repeatedly. Separate beings altogether.”
“More than two?” Hazel asked. He nodded.
“How can you be sure?” Willow’s skepticism when it came to the enigmatic man rivaled my own. I stifled a tiny smile at the thought.
Grisholm’s answer was as evasive as ever. “Because I can.”
Petal rose from her armchair to circle the room, her blue silk skirt brushing against the floor as she paced to keep her mind focused. “Where were they spotted?” she asked softly.
“All over the city, but the concentration was in and around the Twenty-First Ward.”
“The land of the rich,” I said with a laugh. “I’m sure most of them sold their souls long ago—figuratively speaking—to get what they have. Perhaps the demons have finally come to collect.”
“Be that as it may, it’s clear that something is drawing them there, and we need to find out quickly what it is and put an end to this.” Grisholm turned to Ivy. “How is the translation of the grimoire coming? It seems it may be needed far sooner than we expected…and for different reasons.” He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye.
“About half has been deciphered, but the demonic language is difficult to put into any modern dialect. I’ve been trying various spells to speed the process along but have seen little success as of yet.”
Grisholm nodded as he scrubbed hi
s hand over his beard. “There is much mystery about demon-kind, especially how to destroy them. Whether that’s because of the difficulty of getting close enough to one to try, their ability to blend in with us until it’s too late, or any number of other factors, I can’t say. But I fear this confusion and uncertainty has been created deliberately to mislead and dissuade those potentially powerful enough to pose a threat. While many of the legends and stories may be true, deciphering which is which will take time, and that’s something I’m not sure we have any longer.”
“I can try to pry into their minds,” Petal offered, but Grisholm quickly shook his head.
“No, Petal. They’re too strong for that. I’ve seen what happens to witches that attempt to probe into the heads of demons. It does not end favorably.”
“All right, so Petal’s gift is not to be used directly with the demons,” Ivy mused, “but what about a tracking spell?”
“Maybe I could track them because they’re on our turf—Earth—and that’s my jam…you know, Daughter of Earth?” Hazel suggested.
“It’s worth a try,” he said, hiding his confusion far better than the rest of us.
“Can you not sense them?” I asked, thinking that was the most obvious way to hunt them—or follow them, as Grisholm preferred.
Everyone in the room looked at me with pensive stares.
“What do you mean ‘sense them’?” he asked.
“The evil—don’t you feel it when they’re near?”
Every head in the room apart from my own shook slowly.
Grisholm was soon standing in front of me, concern etched into the crease of his brow. “Oleander, I have always respected your wishes regarding your past and not pressed you for details, but I fear that the time for the delicate approach has passed. If you know something about these creatures that could aid and protect the Lilies, no matter how insignificant the detail may seem, I need you to share it with us now.”
“I’m not sure I can teach anyone to feel a demon’s presence, Grisholm.”
“Describe the sensation.”
Though I wanted to make a smart remark—to tell him he was being ridiculous—I looked at the other Lilies and held my tongue. Maybe I couldn’t teach them to sense a demon, but I could scare them off of doing something stupid enough to get caught and killed by one.
Or worse.
“It feels…wrong. Oily and thick and suffocating. The sensation slides down your back like a snake, then fills your chest, making it hard to breathe. When I first awoke in the demon realm, the feeling plagued me. I feared it would drive me mad—mad enough to offer up my soul gladly—but it faded over time. I wonder if I didn’t grow numb to its presence at some point. At any rate, it feels exactly like one would expect: terror-inspiring and paralyzing. And I’m concerned that if any of you encounter it, you will be disabled enough that it will make you vulnerable.”
“Maybe I can make a potion that will lessen the effect of the evil but still allow us to feel it?” Hazel suggested. “Do you think that might help?”
“Start on that right away,” Grisholm said. “Petal, I want you to do all you can to locate the demons, but you are under no circumstances to leave this building and pursue them, is that understood?” The youngest among us nodded, though she couldn’t hide her disappointment. “Good. Now, Willow, do you think you’re well enough to use your…ability…to get close to one, provided that Hazel is able to do what she suggested?”
Willow looked hesitant, her shoulders rounding under the weight of his request. Her water magic was a strange beast altogether, and it came with a hefty price. Sweet, shy Willow’s power was not wholly under her control. Asking her to let it out was dangerous at best.
At worst, it was madness.
“I’ll do my best to get close unnoticed.”
“Excellent. Ivy, that leaves you and Oleander to find out what the demons are here for—and how to kill them.”
“And what will you be doing?” I asked, anger lacing my tone with bite. We would be risking our lives to do his bidding. We deserved to know what he would be doing in return.
“What I always do—everything else.”
“Oleander, is there anything else about the demons you encountered that we should know?” Ivy pressed gently.
My hand rubbed my chest, as though the tugging at my heart was still present. Her sharp green eyes followed that hand, then met mine again. “No, I don’t think so.”
Her full red lips pressed to a thin line. “All right, then. Grisholm, I’ll get word to you as soon as we know if Hazel has something promising to show for her efforts.”
“Good. And I will be sure to update you should any new information cross my path in the meantime.” He put his hat atop his head and made his way to the secret door, but not without stopping to look back at me. “Oleander, please know that I will do everything in my power to make sure that these beings are stopped, but I cannot do that if I am constantly watching over you, too. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Yes. I did.
“I will not do anything to endanger myself or my fellow Lilies.”
He gave a tight nod. “Please see that you don’t.”
The click of the door cut through the silence in the room like a dagger through flesh. Everyone was lost in thought, wondering how to translate the spells in the grimoire more quickly, without which, they believed, the enemy could not be killed. But that wasn’t my fear. Mine was that I wouldn’t be able to kill the one that had stolen my soul before I finally fell as a result.
Death didn’t frighten me.
Failure to exact revenge did.
CHAPTER FIVE
Hazel was four failed potions and one shattered glass into the evening when I finally grew antsy. “I already know I can manage the demons’ effects,” I said, jumping out of my seat. “Let me go. With Petal’s direction, I can get close enough to follow them—possibly see where they’re going or overhear something helpful. If Grisholm is right about their concentration around the Twenty-First Ward, then it shouldn’t take long to find one that’s up to no good, or at least see if they’re making contact with humans like the one last night—”
Dammit.
“Like what?” Ivy asked, staring at me over Hazel’s head as she stirred her newest concoction.
I took a breath to steady myself. “One of the demons was with Judge Cartwright and Chief Laskey. They strolled down Fifth Avenue like they’d just had a jolly fun evening, high-class prostitutes on their arms for good measure.”
“And you didn’t think to tell Grisholm this?”
“I forgot!”
“I must send word to him right away.” She stared me down, disapproval plain in her icy expression. “This is exactly the kind of information he sent you out for in the first place, Oleander. Forgetting isn’t acceptable, not when lives are depending on it—including your own.”
She was angry, and Ivy was rarely angry, if ever. Her disappointment was palpable, and it bothered me far more than I would have expected. Shame crept up my spine and latched onto my shoulders with the knowledge that I had disappointed her, and no matter how I directed my mind, I couldn’t shake it off. However, I knew something that could.
Whiskey’s ability to numb my emotions never disappointed—unlike me.
“I’ll check in later,” I said, heading for the back stairs quickly before my emotions boiled over in an ugly way.
“Oleander—”
“I won’t do anything reckless.”
Before Ivy could finish her warning, I rushed to the back of the room and placed my hand on a landscape painting on the wall. With a whispered spell, a door appeared—a door that only allowed one to exit, not enter. I hurried down the stairs that would take me outside and into the alley, where outhouses, vermin, and the lost souls of New York dwelled. As I walked, I braided my long black hair, spun it into a bun at the nape of my neck, and secured it with a pin. The drinking establishments in the city weren’t keen on females in the first p
lace, but to go in unaccompanied by a man meant one was a prostitute—a commodity for sale. I, however, presented most places with a conundrum of sorts. Dressed more like a man than a woman, with my hair pulled back and tucked into my collar and a top hat (whenever I remembered to bring it), I could usually pass well enough to be left alone unless someone got a good look at my face. Thankfully, Branigan’s Saloon, and its namesake barkeep, didn’t seem to care either way. He’d seen me drop a man who’d propositioned me with one punch. That was enough for him.
My money didn’t hurt, either.
Though there was a specific side entrance for women to use, I never bothered. I strode in through the front doors like I was walking into my home and took a seat at the bar far away from the other patrons. Branigan saw me right away and made his way over. He was young and Irish, his flaming red hair a dead giveaway for anyone with a grudge against the micks, but he had enough money to open a bar and he poured a stiff drink, so the locals seemed able to look past their prejudices long enough to throw back a whiskey or five.
“What’ll it be, Oleander?”
“You already know. No sense in wasting your breath asking.” He laughed at my boldness—he always found my surly nature amusing for some reason—then returned with exactly what I needed: a drink to steady my nerves before I went demon hunting.
The second my empty glass hit the bar, Branigan appeared and poured another. I swirled it around between my hands, the sound it made against the wood soothing me into a trance. It was oddly peaceful, despite the raucous setting, so I sat and stared at it and wondered if I’d be alive the next day to enjoy another, or if, in my quest for vengeance, Branigan’s Saloon would lose one of its regular customers.
Three whiskeys in, I started to question my decision to drink at all. I’d allowed my emotions to impair my judgment, and now my body was equally impaired. I made a mental note to have Hazel work on a sobering elixir, should I forget this moment later on and find myself in need of one.
A Curse of Nightshade (Witches of the Gilded Lilies Book 1) Page 4
