The Underground

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Have a seat,” he offered, gesturing toward the cushioned chairs.

  “Mother, may I go outside and play with the dog?”

  “Yes, darling, you may.”

  Her daughter happily darted out the back, calling for Sunflower.

  Mother of Craft turned to Ron. “She hates sitting for too long.”

  “I sense her energy. She has much of it. Sit. Please. Would you care for some tea? I already have a pot prepared. I started boiling water when I felt your presence coming ashore.”

  She nodded and took a seat, pulling off her gloves. “As I knew you would.”

  Ron reentered the room, carrying a tray with a teapot and two teacups. He placed the set on an ottoman and poured the tea.

  “You should not use your abilities to numb your arthritis,” Freya warned, noticing the knots in his finger joints. “Even enchanters need to tend to their bodies properly.”

  “I’m fine,” he assured her. “The disease is minimal and needs no medical attention.”

  Oh, how wrong you are, she mused. The arthritis is only getting worse.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” he asked.

  “We hit a snag,” she explained, folding the gloves over her lap. “Élie Fey.”

  He raised his chin to her. “Élie Fey? I thought she was dead.”

  “Yes,” she grunted bitterly. “So did I. Her son apparently cared for her better than expected, and even told her how her powers could be returned to her—which they have.”

  “How? Who has released them?” His voice quivered a little.

  “May I have my tea?”

  Remembering his manners, Ron took the teacup and handed it to her. “Of course. My apologies.”

  Ron Wakefield was not only a good warlock, he also a gentleman. That did not mean he didn’t crave the same things as Freya, which was why he had agreed to help her when she’d approached him with her plan years ago.

  “Thank you,” Mother of Craft said, accepting the brew. She blew on it. “She’s learned what I have done to Joaquin. As a result, she took the last of my demon blood.”

  “And Vela?”

  She flicked her eyes up to him. “Élie is aware.”

  “The blinding spell didn’t work?”

  “It did. But the spell cannot prevent a wise woman from sensing what it’s trying to hide at close range. Élie found out when she and Vela were briefly near each other.”

  Ron slowly lowered himself to his chair directly across from her. “And she knows the reason behind placing the controlling hex on her grandson?”

  “She believes she does.”

  “If only I could kill the boy myself,” Ron grunted, vexed.

  “You know you can’t. Élie thought of that when she placed a reflective spell for protection over Pierce. If anyone uses magic to harm him, it’ll come back on them ten-fold. Do you wish for that to befall you?”

  “Naturally, no. Otherwise, I would have done Landcross in already.”

  “Then we proceed as planned.”

  “It was a risky move to have Joaquin try killing Pierce,” he pointed out, and not for the first time. “The rules of the Priest would’ve been broken, and we would have lost everything, had he succeeded.”

  “And I’ve explained to you why I needed Joaquin to attack Pierce. The brothers needed to be separated, not to mention the Fates wouldn’t allow Pierce to die so soon.”

  “It’s a shame about these laws,” Ron grunted, lifting his own teacup. “With Pierce’s fate string damaged and the spell still cast over his brother, it would be all too easy.”

  Freya snorted. “Easy? I’m not so sure. Joaquin holds great love towards him.”

  Ron sighed.

  “Even so, I suppose that’s it, then. With Élie Fey’s powers restored, she’ll surely devise stronger protection.”

  “Indeed, but you see, the incantation I’ve placed over Pierce when he was but a newborn will keep me informed of his whereabouts. When the time comes, he’ll return to England, where death can take him.” She took her first drink. The tea tasted bitterly awful. “And that is why I have come here today—to discuss a slight change in the plan.”

  “What change?”

  She dropped a couple of sugar cubes into her pekoe and stirred them in as they dissolved.

  “I have lined up a series of events after I lure Pierce out from his refuge, yet, as you pointed out, Pierce will have protection. I must stay close in order to help break down his shield while you conduct the ritual.”

  “Alone?”

  “Indeed. We have rehearsed it plenty over the years.”

  “Together,” he reminded her. “What if something goes wrong?”

  “It won’t. The ritual, as you know, is nothing more than reading the Life Bringing verse. I have every confidence in you.”

  She unsnapped her pocketbook and reached inside. “I have brought you something.”

  Ron’s eyes were drawn to what she was about to bring out as if he were expecting a gun. Instead, she presented something else entirely.

  “Is that . . .?” he asked with a gasp.

  “It is.” She handed him the rolled-up parchment.

  Freya didn’t have to warn him to be careful with it, for he had handled spell paper many times. Ron gleefully accepted it from her and unrolled it. The edges on one side were frayed from where it had been torn out from the gods’ journal. He admired it lovingly.

  “The Life Bringing verse.”

  “Indeed,” Freya said. “I leave it in your care so you may practice whenever you wish. Bring something alive to test your skill.”

  His expression was one she’d hoped to see, for he recognized what an honor it was to possess such a spell.

  The Life Bringing verse was the golden achievement. No one was sure exactly who had designed the spell that could bring about life practically out of thin air, but for a time, only privileged gods and goddesses knew how to conduct it. In her pervious life, Freya had learned of the Life Bringing verse from a slave she owned, who himself had stolen it from the old gods thousands of years ago. When he confessed where it was to her, she had a Trickster retrieve it from its hidden place.

  Freya stood and so did Ron. He followed her to the back door.

  “Pierce Landcross will perish,” she assured him, opening the door. “And it will be a very public death.”

  They watched Vela play with the dog on the shore.

  She took another sip of her tea. It now tasted sweeter.

  * * *

  After a three-day ride, the travelers reached Birmingham. They rode over the wide streets lined with gas streetlamps. Small workshops, general stores, cafés, and apartments filled many tall, brick buildings. Pierce noticed how clean the roads were. Usually, city thoroughfares were buried under layers of horse dung, but not here. Then he saw why. Birmingham had its very own street sweeper services. They almost appeared to be chariots but were actually large steel tanks with spigots that sprayed water out of pipes near the bottom part of the wagon wheels on either side. Behind the street sweeper was a long squeegee rotating over the road. Pierce spotted a handful working their way around, each drawn by two horses.

  As they passed a clothing store called Lincoln Clothing Line, Joaquin halted and dismounted.

  “Oi, where are you going?” Pierce asked, pulling on his reins. “Clothes shopping?”

  Joaquin held up a hand to say wait and vanished into the store.

  “What the bloody hell is he doing?” Pierce muttered.

  Moments later, Joaquin came out and mounted.

  “Good. The stables aren’t far from it.”

  “Far from what?” Taisia inquired.

  “The Botanical Gardens. That’s where my friend is right now.” Joaquin led the way down the road. “She’s a fashion designer. That was one of her clothing shops.”

  They decided to walk to the gardens after lodging their horses at the Red Apple Stables. Once they passed through the Botanical Gardens’ ma
in entrance, they came to a large, grassy lawn where many people were gathered in front of a white-framed glasshouse. Pierce instantly felt uneasy, especially since Joaquin was headed right toward the throng. Being fugitives meant that any eye on them could mean trouble. Pardon or no pardon, it wouldn’t keep anyone aiming to turn him into the authorities in order to collect on his head. If he were arrested and taken to London, ol’ Darius would burn that precious Royal pardon just before he personally threw a noose around Pierce’s neck.

  “Uh, Joaquin, I’m not sure this is wise. We’re not even in disguise.”

  “Just keep your hat low, little brother,” he advised, walking on. “Nobody here is expecting a pair of outlaws to crash the party.”

  People were all dolled up in high-class duds and sitting in chairs to either side of a long, decorative carpet, watching fashion models walk back and forth over it. The outfits the models wore were very extravagant. A young woman walked out wearing a black gown with a bustle made to look like the cowcatcher of a locomotive. It nearly reached the ground. Behind her was a man in a red and black striped suit with a top hat made completely from clock gears with a large clock in the front center. One lass was nearly nude. She wore nothing but heavy, buckled knee-high boots, a leather collar, and leather straps with copper gears running down along them. The gears just covered her naughty bits.

  Pierce grasped Taisia’s hand and laced his fingers between hers.

  “Would you wear that for me?” he asked, only half-joking.

  She smiled. “Only if you begged.”

  “Oh, I’m begging,” he quickly said.

  Each costume was highly decorative and earned a picture from the cluster of photographers standing on the grassy lawn with their cameras. Light bulbs flashed brightly and bursts of smoke plumed into the sky. Although the outfits were nice in appearance, Pierce didn’t see how most would be practical on a daily basis. Perhaps his sense of style was just too simple.

  Joaquin searched the faces—all of whom were thankfully preoccupied with the event—until he spotted the person he was looking for. He headed for a full figured lady dressed in a cerulean gown with black, flowery patterns decorating it. She wore a hat adorned with gears, bright blue flowers, peacock and raven feathers, and ticking pocket watches. She stood near the glasshouse, watching the fashion show. The trio went around the crowd, and when Joaquin got close enough, he uttered something to her that Pierce couldn’t hear. The woman turned her attention away from the show, and her heavily painted face lit up with excitement. She had the most gorgeous smile Pierce had ever seen.

  “Joaquin,” she said, embracing him. “It has been ages, darling.”

  Pierce and Taisia stopped nearby and allowed the two their moment.

  “Indeed,” Joaquin agreed. “Still at it, eh?”

  She turned to the show in progress and then returned her gaze to him.

  “Absolutely. I could never give this up, thanks to you.”

  Pierce arched an eyebrow.

  “I want to introduce you to my brother, Pierce, and his dear companion, Taisia, er . . .” Joaquin stopped, realizing he had never learned her last name

  “Kuzentsov,” Taisia said.

  “Aye, Kuzentsov. Pierce, Taisia, meet the lovely Tilly Lincoln.”

  “Pleasure,” Pierce said, removing his hat and bowing to her.

  He took her hand to kiss it as he always did when meeting a woman. Her long nails were painted white, black, and silver, with golden flowers. Many rings decorated her fingers. Some were of small shiny gears, but one, on her middle finger, was set with an eyeball and was connected to a chain that ran over her hand and was wrapped around her thick wrist. She wore a great deal of industrialized-style jewelry, such as a brass seahorse necklace with a stainless silver dorsal fin, and spider earrings made of tiny, steel pipe legs and green crystal bodies. Tilly Lincoln was truly the queen of the industrial world.

  “A pleasure to meet you,” Tilly said as he kissed her hand.

  Tilly turned her focus on Taisia.

  “You are absolutely beautiful, young lady. Just look at you!” Tilly took her by the hands. “You should model for me someday. You’d make a perfect addition to my winter lineup.”

  Taisia blushed.

  “Uh, Spasibo.”

  “What brings you here?” Tilly asked Joaquin.

  “We’re passing through on our way to Scotland.”

  “Is that so? In that case, you must come have dinner with me. Where are you staying?”

  “We’ve only just arrived,” Joaquin answered.

  “Then you shall be my guests at my home. Please. Stay for the rest of the show. It’s nearly at an end.”

  “Erm, Taisia and I will meet up with you later,” Pierce said, not liking the idea of lingering. “We want to explore the garden.”

  He took Taisia by the hand and quickly led her away. The soreness in his leg was kicking up, causing him to limp again.

  “Are you all right?” she asked when they were out of earshot.

  “Aye, fine. Sorry, love, but given my reputation, it’s unwise for me to mingle with the public.”

  * * *

  Joaquin shook his head and tutted at his brother while he watched Pierce scurry off like a scared rabbit.

  “You have to forgive my brother,” he said to Tilly. “He worries.”

  “I cannot blame him,” Tilly said, coming up closer to speak more privately. “So, that’s the infamous Pierce Landcross? You two don’t share much of a resemblance.”

  “He takes more after our mother.”

  “I must say he is a handsome charmer, much like his brother.”

  He half-grinned at her. “You’re too kind. I do thank you for putting us up for the night. A safer option than a hotel for us lot.”

  “I’m sure you could use a hot bath and clean clothing. Look at these drab duds you’re wearing. What is this—a uniform?”

  It was. The uniform given to him by the Dutch woman at Norwich Castle when he passed as one of Tarquin’s guards. As drab as it was, it didn’t change the fact that the clothing was well tailored.

  “It’s a long story,” he told her.

  Her eyes caught on something else.

  “This is interesting.” She lifted the ore stone hanging from his neck and examined it. “How is this glowing?”

  What the hell. Let’s see what she has to say.

  Just before he explained, though, a daintily dressed young man rushed up to them.

  “Miss Lincoln, we have a problem,” he said urgently. “Caroline fell suddenly ill and has vomited on her gown.”

  “No, not the Starlight Dress.”

  The lad nodded gravely.

  “Oh, no,” Tilly gasped with panic. “Quick, find Isla the washerwoman. She’ll know what to do.”

  He didn’t seem to hear her because he was too busy staring at Joaquin.

  “Hello, handsome.”

  “Bronwen!” she snapped. “Fetch Isla. Now!”

  “Aye, ma’am,” he said, darting off, but not before giving Joaquin a wink.

  Joaquin snorted with amusement.

  “I have to tend to this,” Tilly said, reaching into her decorative pocketbook. “Here. Take the keys to my flat. You do remember where?”

  “I do,” he said as she placed the set of keys into his hand.

  “Make yourself at home, but not too much, you rogue.”

  “I’d never dream of it.”

  Tilly Lincoln hurried away as fast as her robust body could carry her.

  * * *

  The Botanical Gardens was a beautiful place filled with a variety of plants, even tall prickly cacti. Butterflies fluttered everywhere, sometimes landing on Pierce’s shoulder or arm. Pierce and Taisia walked upon a bridge that arched over the water. They stopped at the center and watched a pair of swans glide by below. He held her close.

  “I love you, Taisia.”

  Saying it felt good, and when she returned with, “I love you, too,” it raised gooseflesh
over his skin.

  He pressed his lips lovingly against her temple while breathing in her soft, golden-brown hair. He nestled his forehead against her head and closed his eyes in complete contentment.

  Pierce had fallen in love once or twice in the past, but the love he felt toward Taisia filled his heart far more than he had ever experienced before. Sees Beyond was right when she had told him he’d soon meet his soulmate.

  “Oi,” came Joaquin’s voice.

  Pierce grunted with frustration and lifted his head. “Yes?” he grumbled irritably.

  “Whoa,” Joaquin said, raising his hands. “Didn’t mean to interrupt. Tilly gave us the keys to her place. Want to go relax in a luxurious apartment? Take a bath?”

  “Da!” Taisia exclaimed, leaving Pierce’s side.

  Pierce huffed. Although the offer to stay in some swanky flat and have a much-needed washing was tempting, indeed, he still wanted a few more moments with his love in this serene atmosphere. Blast it all.

  “So, why does Tilly have you to thank for her success, eh?” Pierce asked Joaquin on their way out of the Botanical Gardens.

  “She and I worked together in the Clacher Cuckoo Clock workshop before Dark Forest bought it out.”

  “Wait a tick,” Pierce said, stopping. “You had a job?”

  Joaquin looked at him irritably.

  “Aye, but not because I was turning over a new leaf. The workshop was a lucrative business, and I got myself hired on to learn the location of the company’s safe. During that time, I became friends with the young Tilly Lincoln. I’d get bored at times, and one day, I pasted a few clock gears on the collar of my vest. Those few little gears sparked a creative creature inside of Tilly, and the rest is . . . well, history. She credits her success to me.”

  “What about the safe?” Pierce asked.

  “I found it, took the money, and went underground for a while.”

  They left the garden and walked through the city to Selly Oaks where Tilly lived. Joaquin showed them the way up to the apartment and gave them a tour around the place.