The Underground

by Michelle E Lowe

  “Izvinite?” Taisia retorted, stepping forward.

  Joaquin promptly recognized Taisia’s short temper. Of course, the fact that this woman had stabbed Taisia’s lover didn’t help matters much, either.

  Sensing a threat, Tavish, Ruairi, and everyone else began reaching for weapons, when Joaquin quickly said, “She’s me wife, Vasilisa Marsh.”

  He glanced at Taisia, who was clearly straining to hold in her surprise.

  “Your wife, eh?” Coira said. “Don’t reckon I’d ever seen a couple like ye pair before.”

  Joaquin shrugged and wrapped his arm around Taisia, pulling her close to him. “Love is love.”

  Coira cocked a decorative eyebrow at him. “S’pose. And ye say you’re here about a thing I own? Tell me, what might that be?”

  Still unwilling to announce it to everybody, he stepped closer while ignoring all the hands falling deeper underneath their coats. If Coira hadn’t raised her hand to her people, they might have kept reaching.

  Joaquin stopped by the crate that had yet to be moved, leaned toward her, and muttered, “Your demon.”

  “Oh,” she whispered sardonically. “What for?”

  “He needs it to take something from him,” Faolan interjected.

  “I wasn’t fuckin’ talkin’ to ye, Faolan!” she bellowed, hurting Joaquin’s ears.

  The painful ringing caused him to stick a finger into his ear.

  “Ye have work to get back to,” Coira stated to the hustler.

  Joaquin actually felt sorry for the lad.

  “Aye, Madam MacCrum,” Faolan said before slinking away.

  As he left, everyone snickered at him.

  “All right, Mr. Marsh,” Coira said in a ready-to-end-this-meeting tone of voice. “What do ye need from me demon?”

  “A witch tricked me into drinking its blood.”

  “Witch?” Coira asked, suddenly becoming edgy.

  It appeared as if someone had not only walked over her grave, but was running in place on it, as well.

  “Aye. A witch named Freya.”

  “I dunno anyone by that name,” Coira retorted.

  “Mother of Craft,” Taisia interposed. “She calls herself Mother of Craft.”

  The name caused Coira to raise an eyebrow once more. “I see. So, what is it exactly that ye are after?”

  “The blood inside me is shutting my body down. I need the demon to extract it before it kills me.”

  Coira considered him for a long moment. Her eyes traveled over him, studying his sickly state.

  “Follow me,” she ordered.

  Yes! Joaquin thought happily. She’s taking me to it.

  He started to follow when the muscles in his legs became heavy, weighing him down, his knee joints becoming unhinged. Taisia dove in quickly to grab him and hold him up.

  “Thank you,” he said softly, now grateful she had come.

  She took his arm as lovers do and allowed him to lean on her as they walked. They followed Coira through the distillery and into a second distillery beyond it.

  “How long do ye have until the blood takes your life?” Coira asked without slowing her steady stride.

  He glanced down at the dim ore stone hanging from around his neck.

  “Dunno. A few days, perhaps.”

  “That ought to give ye enough time.”

  “For what?” Taisia wondered aloud.

  They left the second distillery and entered the last grotto. Inside, there was a long pine table and several chairs surrounding it. A piano stood in the corner. The room was lit by kerosene lanterns and hundreds of candles which had melted into a river of wax that stretched down the center of the table. An Oak Leaf typewriter sat next to a Balancing Siphon coffee maker. There wasn’t much else other than a bookshelf with journal logs, books, and a couple of human and animal skulls.

  “This is our meeting area,” Coira explained, taking off her tailcoat and hanging it on the backrest of the chair at the head of the table. “Have a seat.”

  Joaquin took the last few steps alone, trying his damnedest not to show his weakness. He nearly stumbled to the chair at the end. Taisia took a seat next to him. Behind them came Tavish and Ruairi. Coira took a clove cigarette out of the box atop the piano and lit it with a match. She blew out sweet smelling smoke. Joaquin scanned the room, quickly coming to terms with the fact that she hadn’t planned on taking him to the creature so easily after all.

  “Before I let ye see me demon, ye must first do a task for me,” Coira said, rolling up her sleeves.

  The lace part of her gloves ended at the wrists and continued in leather up her arms in a crisscross pattern. The tip of her hidden blades peeked out from underneath her forearms.

  “What task?” Joaquin said, not liking where the conversation was going.

  Coira took another drag from her clove cigarette.

  “Something was stolen from me not long ago by a band of dark-hearted thugs. I sent me people to retrieve it.” Coira looked over to Tavish and Ruairi standing by the arched entrance. “And they’ve failed me.”

  The men’s eyes went everywhere, utterly embarrassed.

  With a sigh, Coira continued. “Get this object back and I’ll allow me demon to heal ye.”

  “What is it?” Taisia asked.

  “It’s a canister. I’ll have me tinkerer bring up her diagram of it on the morrow. Inside it is a very important item that I need returned.”

  Joaquin had opened his mouth to ask about the contents of this canister when she continued with, “What’s in the canister is my affair, not yours, aye? Your only concern is getting it to me.”

  Joaquin leaned forward, folding his bony hands over the table. “All right. Who has this canister, eh?”

  Coira blew out more pleasantly scented smoke and gave him a solemn look before saying, “The Hellfire Club has it.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Hellfire Club

  Sitting in the Black Iron Tavern, Pierce finished his second pint. His nerves were wrecked.

  “Don’t get too sloppy-headed now,” warned Faolan, coming up beside him at the bar. “Ye don’t wanna get boozy aroun’ here, laddie. You’re liable to have your pockets picked clean.”

  “Don’t call me ‘laddie,’” Pierce grunted, setting the glass down before glancing around. “Are Taisia and Joaquin with you?”

  “They’re talkin’ to Coira. I think she’s gonna rope ’em into doing a job before she allows your brother to see her demon.”

  Pierce looked over at him.

  Rope them into doing a job?

  “How did you figure out Joaquin is my brother, by the way?”

  Faolan studied Pierce’s trembling hands. “You’re shakin’.”

  Pierce noticed and slid them off the bar.

  “Aye. I shake when I’m edgy, which I tend to get easily.”

  “What month were ye born?”

  Pierce knitted his eyebrows together. “Erm, June,” he answered, confused.

  “Ah, ye see?” the hustler said, slapping him on the arm. “That explains it.”

  “Explains what?”

  “Why you easily get nervous.”

  Pierce straightened his back and looked at him curiously

  “’Cause I was born in June?”

  “Aye. You’re a Wren Bird.”

  “Pardon?”

  Faolan flicked a bird feather sticking out of Pierce’s top hat.

  “A Wren Bird,” he repeated as if that helped explain things. “That’s your sign. Ye are insightful, headstrong, passionate, and creative. Ye can keep your head in hectic situations, but ye tend to get very jittery. Now, if ye was the Horse, ye’d hold more confidence.”

  Pierce snorted at that.

  “That’s Joaquin.” He held his glass up until the warm light touched it. The drinking glass glimmered jewel-like in his hand. “Creative, eh? Why are you here, instead of at the Vaults?”

  “Coira sent me back.”

  “Really? You work for her or
something?”

  “Ye can say that.” Faolan smirked.

  “But you’re a hustler. Aren’t hustlers s’posed to be independent?”

  With a sigh, Faolan sat down on the stool next to him and ordered a pint for himself. Pierce ordered a third.

  “True. Unfortunately, I’m indebted to her. Long story.”

  Sensing he didn’t want to talk, Pierce said, “How about a game of billiards?”

  “Ye bettin’ me, laddie?”

  “Stop calling me laddie. And no. Not after the beating I took. Just a friendly game.”

  The hustler considered him a moment. “Why the hell not, eh? Be a nice change of pace to play without profit.”

  They played for a while and chatted. While they waited for Taisia and Joaquin’s return, it was a good way to occupy Pierce’s mind. When the two entered the backroom, his heart filled with joy.

  “What happened?” Pierce demanded anxiously.

  “We’ve been appointed to go on a mission,” Joaquin answered, leaning on the billiards table for support.

  Pierce looked over at Faolan, who shrugged.

  “Told ye.”

  Pierce sighed. “What sort of mission?”

  “We have to find a canister stolen from that bitch, Coira,” Taisia grunted in a corrosive tone of voice.

  Unsurprisingly, the two didn’t exactly get on very well.

  “I knew it,” Faolan jumped in, sounding excited. “I just knew she’d send ye both after it.”

  “Is that why you were willing to take us to her?” Pierce guessed.

  “Aye,” Joaquin said. “After what we saw, she doesn’t think too highly of you. Why bring us in to help her, eh?”

  “Ye need to see the demon, right? And I took ye to its owner to ask. Also, I’m hoping that if you’re successful, she’ll relinquish me debt and I can clear out of this blasted place for good.”

  “That’s if she keeps her word,” Pierce pointed out. “Coira is as trustworthy as a crooked copper.”

  “Whom she pays off,” Faolan threw in.

  “Why not just leave anyway, Faolan?” Taisia asked him.

  He chewed his bottom lip.

  “Me debt is mighty steep, and if I run, I’d be lookin’ over me shoulder for the rest of me days. I don’t want the likes of her hunting for me.”

  A chilly shudder ran down Pierce’s spine at the thought.

  “What’s in the canister, eh?”

  “It’s a deed to the Vaults. The contract states her rights to ownership.”

  “That was oddly legal of her,” Pierce acknowledged. “Who stole the canister?”

  “The Hellfire Club,” Joaquin answered. “They’re in Gilmerton.”

  “You’re joking. That lot?”

  Faolan nodded. “’Fraid so.”

  “We need a plan,” Joaquin urged, pulling away from the wall and stumbling.

  “You need rest,” Pierce advised. “Let’s leave this bloody place and find a hotel.”

  “We have a room,” Taisia stated. “Coira told us to go to the hotel on Princes Street.”

  “A room?” Pierce noted. “Meaning only one?”

  “Aye,” Joaquin said with a smirk. “Taisia and I are married now.”

  Pierce nearly fell over. “Come again?”

  “Stop it,” Taisia chortled. “You’ll give him a heart attack.” To Pierce, she explained, “Joaquin told Coira that we were husband and wife. That’s all.”

  “’Tis all?” Pierce squeaked in a high-pitched voice. “Why the bloody hell did you tell her that, Joaquin?”

  “Calm down, little brother,” he said, raising his hand.

  Pierce breathed in deeply, not amused by this.

  “I think you’re right, though, I need rest.” Joaquin looked to Taisia and said jocularly, “Shall we retire, my lovely wife?”

  “Oi!” Pierce shouted. Everyone laughed, save for him who eyed his brother with a disgruntled look. “Bastard.”

  “I must go earn me keep,” Faolan informed them. “Where are ye stayin’?”

  “Old Waverley Hotel. It’s close to the clock tower,” Taisia answered. “Coira told us to ask for Room 456.”

  “Och, Auld Waverley, eh? That’s where Coira and some of her lot stay. I’m in 397. She trades her whisky with the hotel owner for free rooms.”

  Fuckin’ hell, Pierce thought grimly.

  Pierce’s concern wasn’t that Joaquin would try anything with Taisia. What bothered him more was that he couldn’t be around to make sure they were all safe. Unless . . .

  “Right, go book the room, eat, and rest up, both of you,” Pierce instructed as he put the cue stick down on the table. “I’ve got shopping to do.”

  Pierce made his way around and kissed Taisia goodbye. He then left the tavern and headed up to Royal Mile.

  * * *

  Another long day had finally ended for Faolan Shea. He’d been all over the Underground, hustling for whatever he could win in pool, dice, and card games. He’d managed to earn a fair amount, yet he needed to earn a lot more aboveground when night came so as to pay Coira’s little bitch tinkerer, Anci Kata.

  When he entered his hotel chambers, he thought of nothing more than having a few moments of peace. As he turned the key in the lock, a light grew behind him, melting away the dark in a soft amber glow. He sighed despairingly.

  “Faolan,” whispered Coira.

  He fixed a smile on his face and turned. To no surprise, Coira lay naked in his bed.

  “Madam MacCrum,” he greeted humbly.

  “We’re alone now. Ye can call me by me first name.”

  He lowered his eyes to the floor. “Aye, Coira.”

  She got up and approached. He pressed his spine against the door as she stood face to face with him. Coira placed her hands over his shoulders and against the door behind him. She must have just bathed, for she smelled like soap.

  “Ye did good bringing those two to me. Do ye think they’ll succeed?”

  “There’s a chance. He carries the demon blood in ’im. He has a better shot than the eejits ye sent out last night.”

  She slapped him hard across the face. It always amazed him how her blows could sting. If it wasn’t for the situation he was in, he might actually enjoy it.

  “Are ye talking back to me?” she growled through gritted teeth.

  Given the chance, he’d break each tooth.

  “No, just stating a fact, is all.”

  Her hand slid down his chest and between his legs, where she clutched his balls and rubbed them roughly. The back of his head hit the door. In the beginning, he’d enjoyed her. Now, sex with her had become just another chore, no different from hustling for money to pay Anci and Coira’s bampot crew so she wouldn’t have to.

  “You’re the best hustler in me crew and the best fuck I ever had, but never forget ye belong to me,” Coira said lustfully. Her grip on his manhood tightened, causing him to hiss with pain. “Got yon?”

  He nodded.

  “Say it!” she demanded.

  With great strain, he looked her in her perfect, oval-shaped eyes.

  “I belong to ye.”

  The pressure between his legs let up, but she kept on with her ruthless stroking.

  “That’s me boy.”

  She pressed herself against him, her shapely breasts pushing against his chest. She raked her hand through his hair while kissing his neck.

  God, he hated her.

  She knelt and unbuckled his belt. He closed his eyes and thought of whatever he needed to in order to get himself through it.

  * * *

  Pierce walked down the hallway toward Room 397. He had found a novelty store on the other side of Edinburgh and bought a long, braided grey wig, a goatee, round, fake spectacles, and a walking cane. His clothing was acceptable, assuming nobody looked too closely at their wear and tear. He went on his way, pretending to use the cane as balance while keeping his other arm bent behind him.

  The door down the way opened and his he
art leaped up into his throat when Coira stepped out. He kept his composure and continued his act. She didn’t even glance at him. Perhaps she was lost in her own world. Her wide, grinning expression spoke of pure bliss and satisfaction. He watched her as she passed.

  “What the hell are ye lookin’ at, old man?” she snarled from over her shoulder.

  Pierce didn’t respond and kept going.

  He walked by Room 397 and pushed on until she vanished around the corner. Once gone, Pierce hurried over and knocked. Moments later, a shirtless Faolan answered.

  “Who are ye?”

  “It’s me, Pierce,” he whispered.

  “Pierce? Och, aye, come in, mate.” He moved aside and allowed him in. “Nice disguise. Otherwise, ye’d have had a nasty altercation with Coira in the corridor.”

  “Aye,” Pierce agreed while turning around. “Wouldn’t want . . .”

  He trailed off when he saw the deep scratch marks raked across Faolan’s back as he twisted the key in the lock.

  “Fuckin’ hell, what happened to you?”

  “What?” The hustler looked over his shoulder. “Oh, forgot about those. Coira gets a wee bit excited.”

  Pierce shuddered.

  “You’re lovers?”

  “No,” he answered with distaste as he crossed the flat. “Lovers imply that we’re in love, which we’re not. She just uses me—for many things, in fact.”

  Pierce hissed sharply as Faolan walked over to a dresser, then said, “How deep is your debt?”

  “Bottomless, it feels,” he said in a lamenting tone, pulling open a drawer.

  He brought out a white linen shirt and as he put it on, the red lines across his back seemed to seal up and vanished. It made Pierce blink in disbelief.

  Must be imagining things.

  “What brings ye by, eh?” Faolan asked.

  “Thought we could go over a plan. I figure that instead of Taisia going in, I’d go with Joaquin and—”

  “She needs to go,” he cut in, tucking in his shirttail.

  “Why?” Pierce sharply challenged.

  “’Cause Coira is expecting her to go, and if she finds out otherwise, it’ll raise dangerous suspicions. She’s notorious about tagging spies onto people. Besides, I’m sure your woman will be safe.”

  “How do you figure?”