She cleared her throat. “I was hoping for something to eat, but vampires aren’t known for their cuisine.”
Bael rose, pulling open the door. “But you don’t know Pasqual like I do. He’s an incredible host.” He leaned down, then picked up two steaming, paper-wrapped packages.
The smell of ham wafted into the air, and Ursula’s mouth watered. “What did he bring us?”
“Sandwiches. Wild boar, if I had to guess,” said Bael. “Mount Acidale is famous for them.”
“Here in the city?” said Ursula, looking confused.
Bael laughed. “Mount Acidale got its name from the Akidnor Mountains. You can’t see them through all the smog, but north of here is an enormous mountain range. Wild boar are plentiful on its slopes.” Bael handed her a package. “I hope you’ll like it more than the lunar bat bacon.”
Ursula was already tearing through the paper. “I love bacon. I just didn’t want to eat bat because of Sotz. It would feel like eating a friend.”
Amusement danced in Bael’s eyes. “That’s what I’ve always liked about you. Your devotion to your friends. Kester, Zee, Cera—even Sotz. It’s a trait I admire.”
“Is that why you’re still friends with Pasqual?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Is this also why you are helping Cera and the oneiroi?”
Bael took a long time to respond. When he spoke, his voice was thoughtful. “At first I just wanted allies, a way to get back my wings, but over time, I saw how the oneiroi were mistreated.” His gray eyes slid to the window. “When I killed Cera’s brother in the Lacus Mortis, I felt terrible. I’d thought he was just another oneiroi—one of Abrax’s tricks. When I saw Cera’s face, it pierced me to the bone.”
“There was no way you could know. You were defending yourself,” said Ursula.
“I know.” Bael turned his face back to her, his mouth firm. “But that was the turning point. I care about what happens to Cera and the oneiroi. They weren’t just servants and soldiers to me. When I learned Xarthra had a cure, a way to cure the corrupted, I had to help.”
Ursula wanted to hug him, to wrap her arms around him, to tell him he was a good man no matter what had happened with Cera’s brother. Something stopped her, and she just nodded instead, swallowing her boar sandwich.
“Is it strange for you,” asked Ursula, “finding yourself in a room modeled after Elissa’s quarters?”
“I’m used to dwelling in the past, brooding in my old memories,” he said. “For me, love is tragic. A curse almost.”
Ursula’s stomach tightened. “You still believe that? After all these years, you still think love is a curse?”
Bael’s eyes darkened. “When I regain my wings, I will be immortal. If I fall in love, it will only be for the briefest moment of my existence. For me, love will always be tempered by the pain of knowing that I’ll lose the other person, that I’d watch them grow old and die. The pain of loss is eternal.”
Ursula opened her mouth, then closed it. Although death was a long way off for Ursula, she was ultimately mortal. Freedom from Emerazel—when she’d satisfied the demands of the fire goddess’s bargain—came with death. She hadn’t really thought about it until now, and everything seemed to be crashing around her, the light from the window suddenly blinding. Her stomach churned.
“Are you all right?” asked Bael.
“Totally fine,” she lied.
Of course, when Bael was talking about falling in love with a mortal, he meant her. Bael was an immortal demon. Technically, he was her mortal enemy, and their engagement could never be real. She would play along with the engagement until she’d helped him defeat Abrax and recover his wings. Then, she’d return to Emerazel and work like crazy collecting souls to pay her remaining debt. And when she’d finished that—she’d wither and die.
Bit of a mood killer, these revelations.
Ursula cleared her throat. “When do we leave for Leopold’s?”
“The king’s forces will be crawling the streets during the day. Sundown is our best bet.”
Ursula blinked, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and images of her own face withering in her mind. She crossed back to the ladder.
“Where are you going?” asked Bael.
Darkness weighed on her mind. “Back to sleep until it’s time to take some action.”
As the last of the ruddy afternoon sun slanted through the window, Ursula rifled through a garment bag—something Pasqual had dropped off. Apparently, she needed to dress the part in order to worm her way into Leopold’s—which meant dressing like a Victorian prostitute, of course. Ever the gentleman, Bael turned his back to her while Ursula stripped off her slip, the apartment’s cool air whispering over her naked skin.
When she tugged the outfit out of the bag, it confirmed her worst fears. Black, lacy, and short as hell, it could maybe be considered a dress in some cultures. Still, she slipped it on over her naked body. Technically, it fit. The lace covered just enough of her anatomy so she wouldn’t flash anyone—as long as she didn’t sit down, or bend, or move. A corset tightened her chest, lifting her breasts practically up to her chin.
“Is this it?” asked Ursula.
“Did you find the necklace? Pasqual said you’d find one.”
“A necklace? I was more focused on my tits hanging out.” Ursula investigated the bag again, finding some black beads coiled on the bottom. A choker. Ursula clipped it around her neck.
Bael coughed. He was wearing a new ensemble of his own: a perfectly fitted black tailcoat, pants, a gray silk shirt, and black leather wingtips. “Let me know when I can turn around.”
She had to admit she detected a certain eagerness in his voice.
She looked down at herself, at the skimpy black lace and the swell of her breasts. Worst of all, the delicate stiletto heels she was wearing felt like they could snap at any moment. “I’m ready.”
Bael turned to face her, and his jaw dropped. His pale gray eyes roamed over her body as if he were memorizing every curve. “You look…” He cleared his throat. “We have masks,” he said abruptly.
He held up a large mask in the shape of a lion’s head, covered in pale yellow feathers shaped to look like fur, ruby-red eyes, and a formidable set of teeth.
He handed Ursula her own mask—black lace formed into the image of a cat, including long, silver whiskers and rubies around the eyes. She slipped it over her head, finding that it fit perfectly.
Bael seemed to be making a considerable effort to meet her gaze, to tear his eyes off her cleavage. “Pasquale hasn’t left us undefended. Apparently, your choker is made of wire coated with diamond shavings. And watch this.” He picked up an umbrella from the floor, and gave the handle a few twists. A moment later, he pulled out a steel blade, grinning. “Are you ready for this?”
Ursula swallowed hard. “Dressing up as a Victorian prostitute to hunt a dragon? No problem.”
Chapter 16
Bael and Ursula sped through the streets of Mount Acidale in a black carriage. Pasqual had stayed behind at the Black Friars, entrusting them to the coachmen. The damp Mount Acidale air chilled Ursula’s bare skin, raising goose bumps on her thighs and arms.
On the roof rode a grim-faced footman armed with a rifle. The carriage raced at a breakneck pace, pulled by a pair of black horses.
“Fill me in a little on the plan,” said Ursula.
“We go inside. Madam Moncrief will direct us to Lucius. Then, we will steal Excalibur.”
“How do you know Madam Moncrief will help us?”
Bael’s reply was almost ominous. “She’ll help us.”
The carriage rounded a corner sharply, and Ursula peered out the window at Midac’s crumbling castle. Massive gray towers rose toward the sky like the broken legs of a monstrous elephant. They passed a grand gate, its portcullis guarded by a small contingent of soldiers. Before, when they’d been running from the soldiers, Ursula hadn’t been able to get a good look at them. Now, as they zoomed past, she could
see they were dressed in dark purple uniforms trimmed with gold—just like her mother had worn. Rifles rested on their shoulders, and curved swords gleamed at their hips.
A moment later, the avenue turned back into the city, and rain began hammering the windows. After a few blocks, the coachman slowed the horses, and they turned down a narrow alley, nearly scraping the carriage on the buildings’ rickety facades. About half a block later, the footman banged on the roof with what Ursula imagined was the butt of his rifle.
Bael pulled his coat about him, then opened the door. A gust of chilly wind ruffled Ursula’s hair and rippled over her exposed skin as she followed Bael onto the street. The coachman had hopped down from his place on the roof, handing her a heavy fur coat. Gratefully, she pulled it around herself, stepping over the cobbles. She stood just behind Bael as he knocked on a rough wooden door. When it cracked open, an old woman peered out.
“Madam Moncrief is expecting us,” said Bael.
Without answering, the woman pulled the door wider, her wiry gray hair radiating around her head.
Warm air greeted them as they slipped into a small receiving room. Gaslight flickered over dark maroon wallpaper and thick Persian rugs on the floor. The old woman stood expectantly, staring at them with large, dark eyes.
Bael shrugged off his coat, handing it to her, and Ursula followed suit. As she did, Bael’s eyebrows flicked up at her ensemble.
It took Ursula a moment to realize that despite the brevity of their passage from coach to cloakroom, Mount Acidale’s frigid wind had done more than leave goose bumps on her skin. Bael looked away as she crossed her arms over her chest.
The old woman bowed low, still without speaking, then disappeared down a dark hallway.
Ursula moved closer to Bael. “Who was she?”
“One of Madam Moncrief’s ladies-in-waiting. I imagine she is informing the madam that we’ve arrived.”
As if on cue, the old woman returned and beckoned them to follow her. They walked down a dim hallway, then through a mahogany door into a larger room. It was dimly lit, its dark walls hung with gilt-framed paintings.
A woman in a silk kimono-like dress sat on a chaise longue, her heart-shaped face framed by soft, blonde curls. She might have been in her early forties—beautiful, but with a certain coldness to her features that sent a shiver up Ursula’s spine. Her unnatural stillness gave her a sort of reptilian air, as if she were conserving all her energy.
“Bael, is that really you?” she asked, her voice low and melodious, her neck oddly stiff.
“It’s been a long time, Madam Moncrief.”
“Oh, Bael.” A joyless smile. “You know you can call me Anne.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, until Lady Moncrief rose. Ignoring Ursula, she glided languidly to Bael and wrapped her arms around his neck. She drew a finger along the line of his jaw.
Ursula’s fingers tightened into fists. What the hell?
“You know I’ve missed you terribly,” Anne purred. “Mount Acidale just isn’t the same since you left.” Her finger trailed down his neck and onto his chest. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you.”
“I’m here on business.” Bael gently pulled her hands from him.
“Oh, business can wait. We need to get reacquainted. It’s been such a long time since your last visit.”
Bael shot a sharp, panicked look at Ursula. “May I introduce you to my fiancée?”
Madam Moncrief’s body didn’t move. While her arms remained draped over Bael’s shoulders, her gaze flicked to Ursula. Not even trying to hide what she was doing, she traced her eyes over Ursula’s body, from the hem of her black lace skirt, along the curves of her breasts, until she met Ursula’s eyes for the barest of moments. Her attention flicked back to Bael.
“What do you want?” She slowly withdrew her arms from his shoulders.
“I need a favor.”
Madam Moncrief’s lips curled up, in the barest hint of a smile. “You know I don’t do favors, even for someone as beautiful as you.”
“I need to speak to Lucius. I was told he would be here tonight.”
Madam Moncrief stepped back. “I cannot help you. I am not a philanthropist.”
Ursula spoke. “The Drake has stolen something from us. If we don’t—”
Madam Moncrief’s head snapped to look at Ursula. “I wasn’t speaking to you. Do not interrupt me.”
Irritation simmered in Ursula’s chest, but she shut her mouth anyway.
“Have you noticed how polite Ruth is?” Madam Moncrief slowly beckoned the older, gray-haired woman, curling her long finger.
Ruth shuffled over to her side.
“Open your mouth, dear.” The Madam patted the older woman on the head.
Ursula cringed as the woman opened her mouth, revealing yellowed teeth and an empty cavity where her tongue should have been.
“Ruth spoke back to me once, twenty years ago,” said Madam Moncrief with a sigh in her voice. “So I cut out her tongue. She has never spoken back since. Isn’t that right, Ruth?”
Ruth nodded solemnly.
“As I was saying.” Madam Moncrief turned back to Bael. “If you want my help, you’re going to have to pay me.”
“How much?” said Bael.
Madam Moncrief’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, I don’t want your money. I have plenty of money.”
Shadows slid through Bael’s eyes. “Then what do you want?”
“I want you,” said Madam Moncrief, tracing a finger along his chest.
“No.”
“Oh, not like that!” said Madam Moncrief with feigned indignation. “I would never jeopardize something as beautiful as a marriage. I merely wish to engage your company for a period of time.”
“And in exchange, you will help us reclaim the Excalibur that the Drake stole?” asked Ursula.
“Of course,” said Madam Moncrief. Her eyes narrowed, and she looked at Bael. “So do we have a deal, demon?”
Bael nodded.
“Splendid,” said Madam Moncrief, snapping her fingers. “Ruth, you will show Bael to my boudoir.”
Ursula’s stomach churned as Bael left with Ruth. What exactly was he going to do?
Madam Moncrief returned to her chaise lounge, and she picked up a small book to read. “Bael has agreed to the deal. So that means you’re free to go,” she said without taking her eyes off the book.
“Was I supposed to follow him?”
Madam Moncrief sighed. “No, little sparrow. You may make your way to my salon. When Ruth returns, she will show you where to go.”
As if on cue, Ruth appeared at the doorway.
“Is Bael settled?” asked Madam Moncrief.
Ruth nodded, her dark eyes wide.
“Then please take the girl to the salon.” The madam handed her servant a small knife with a mother-of-pearl handle. “You have my permission to use this on her face if she tries to misbehave.”
Ursula’s fire kindled. I really don’t like her.
Ruth nodded, her expression blank, then turned to lead Ursula out of the room.
Ursula followed Ruth down a dark, wooden hall. Without Bael, she felt suddenly vulnerable, and the skimpy outfit didn’t help. Or the fact that Madam Moncrief’s mute servant had just been directed to potentially stab her in the face. Still, in the dimly lit hallway, the shadows provided their own sense of security. Hellhound or not, Ursula always felt best in the shadows.
At the end of the corridor, Ruth opened a door into a warmly lit room. It took Ursula a moment to figure out they’d wandered into a small, sparsely attended theater. On a stage, a raven-haired dancer wore a large feather boa and not much else. She swayed to the sensual music of a jazz combo. As the dancer slowly adjusted the position of the boa in time to the music, Ruth led Ursula to a seat upholstered in red velvet.
Ursula sat carefully, so as to keep as much of herself covered by the lace of her skirt as possible. Plus, who the hell knew what bodily fluids stained these seats. Whe
n she looked up, Ruth had disappeared into the shadows.
The music intensified, and the dancer threw her boa into the audience. With a dazzling smile that warmed Ursula’s chest, the dancer began spinning her tasseled breasts, the movements strangely hypnotic.
Ursula smiled. I want to learn how to do that.
The small crowd clapped appreciatively, and Ursula strained her eyes to try to get a better view of the audience. Unfortunately, it was hard to see with the single spotlight focused on the stage.
Ursula swallowed as she realized that it was also impossible to know if Ruth had returned to Madam Moncrief’s chambers or if she was sitting directly behind her, ready to plunge the silver dagger into Ursula’s face if she moved from her seat.
Chapter 17
With a brilliant smile, the burlesque dancer gave her tassels a final twirl, then stepped out of the spotlight. On cue, the band stopped playing, and the lights blinked out, leaving Ursula in pitch darkness. All around her, whispers filled the air, until at last, the lights blinked back on again.
A tiny man stood on a stool in the center of the stage. He couldn’t be more than three feet tall, dressed in a specially tailored three-piece suit and a top hat. Throwing out his chest, he shouted to the crowd in a surprisingly deep voice.
“I hope you all enjoyed Fanny and her boa.” He winked broadly. “And who could forget her tassels!”
The crowd clapped again as Fanny stepped back into the spotlight, a new boa wrapped around her talented bosom. She bowed deeply.
“But,” the little man continued, “have I got a treat for you! Mistress Berezina will be putting on a special performance this evening.”
The volume of the clapping doubled as a tall woman stepped into the light, her appearance totally intimidating. Mistress Berezina wore knee-high boots, a black leather corset, and matching knickers. Her ice-blonde hair had been pulled back tightly into a bun, her expression severe.
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