“Let’s go,” he said.
She led him onward until they came to a dark doorway with a pair of guards standing to either side of it. Coira stopped, her arm outstretched in a gesturing manner.
“It’s in there, chained to the wall.”
He peered into the alcove, but no light outside had the strength to penetrate the darkness within.
“Grab ’im,” Coira ordered.
As he turned, the guards jumped him and began pushing him inside the room. He had no chance to pull his pistol before they seized it and tossed it to the ground. Digging in his heels did nothing to slow them down, nor did his struggling. Lanterns suddenly lit up near the wall by Tavish and Ruairi, revealing the room’s eerie contents. There was no demon, only chains with leather wrist straps hanging down over stains of dry blood on the ground. Whips hung on pikes from the wall.
“Strap ’im up!” Coira demanded. “I’ll teach this brother of me enemy not to fuck with me!”
Brother of my enemy?
“Once I’m done with ye, Joaquin, I will bring that bastard brother of yours in so ye can see how broken I’ve made him.”
“What have you done?” he asked fretfully.
“I killed his lover,” she said with relish.
Taisia?
The sickness in his stomach grew greater than it ever had before, and his body became a force of power. As Ruairi tried strapping his wrist, Joaquin broke free and grabbed his head in both hands. With a single twist, he snapped his neck and pushed him into one of the guards
“Get ’im!” Coira screamed.
The remaining lads advanced at once, but Joaquin’s fit of rage dominated everything. He seized a knife from an assailant, stabbing Tavish in the chest and slashing the other guard across the face, slicing his eye. He grabbed the last man by the collar and jabbed the blade straight up into his lower jaw. He held the weapon there a moment while his body twitched. Joaquin dropped the dead bloke and found Coira and the wounded man gone. The fortitude inside him lasted until he rushed out of the alcove. His exuberance drained so quickly that he nearly collapsed. He hadn’t the willpower to chase after Coira or even defend himself. He could barely stay on his feet. The sudden weakness brought him to his senses. This wasn’t like last time, when the curse took him over, giving him strength. The ore stone’s energy was nearly gone, taking his vitality with it.
Before Coira returned with reinforcements, Joaquin headed out of the Vaults and made his way to the surface. When he reached his horse, he rode steadfastly to the hotel. He had no idea if Pierce was there or if Coira had him, but he needed to find him and flee the city.
Joaquin first went to his and Taisia’s chambers with a sliver of hope that she would be there. All he found was a disheveled mess—the signs of a struggle.
He had failed her. He had failed his brother.
Before his sorrow got the better of him, Joaquin left for Pierce’s room. The door was unlocked. He entered with caution. A noted waited on the table next to a lit lantern, along with Pierce’s top hat and gun.
Joaquin,
The bastards murdered Taisia. She’s dead. I’ve decided to join her in the afterlife. Come to the mansion.
Chapter Twenty
Farewell, Dear Brother
“What do ye mean, ye lost him?” Coira bellowed to the two men, Abi and Lenox, whom she had sent to shoot the stupid whore.
Coira had had it planned so perfectly. Faolan would fetch that bastard, Pierce Landcross, and when they arrived at the marketplace, that’s when the real show would begin. Coira was there, hiding under a hooded cloak, watching Pierce try to reach the whore. Coira had followed the spectators over to the next street. She heard the gunshots and watched as Pierce carried the body away. Afterward, Coira returned to the Vaults with the confidence that her people would bring him to her.
“He had a gun,” Lenox argued. “A revolver, at that. He shot at us.”
She should have known better. Abi and Lenox were brutal killers who would slaughter anyone like a pair of cornered badgers if it came down to their own survival. But they also wouldn’t think twice about tucking tail at the slightest hint of danger.
“Cowards! The lot of ye!”
“We did execute the woman,” Abi explained. “Right in front of ’im. Made sure of it. She’s as dead as a doornail, that one.”
“I wanted Pierce brought to me so I could parade his broken-hearted arse aroun’ and make his sibling see it!”
Lenox looked perplexed.
“But didn’t his brother just kill four of your people?”
Word traveled fast in the Underground.
“Three,” she corrected. “He only slit Jeffery’s face and eye.”
“We’ll find ’em both,” Abi promised. “We’ll bring ’em to ye.”
The thickheaded assassins left the meeting room and vanished into the distillery beyond.
“Bampots,” she grumbled.
Ever since he had interfered in her affairs with that sodomite, Jinhai Fan, Pierce Landcross hadn’t strayed too far from her thoughts. When she learned he’d survived her blade after stabbing him, it infuriated her to no end. Stealing something most dear to him wasn’t enough. Coira wanted to destroy Pierce even more.
She had no doubt Joaquin’s boost of strength, which had bested four of her men, was the result of the demon blood. However, it was also eating him alive. With any luck, he’d be worm’s meat come morning and Pierce would lose two people he cared for. Perhaps, if she could get her hands on the bastard, she’d strap Pierce up and flog him to death. That thought alone caused gooseflesh to ripple over her skin. Who knows, maybe the idiot would attempt to revenge his dead love and she could catch him then.
* * *
Faolan left the deceased woman in the care of the priest and returned to the Old Waverley Hotel. He knocked on Room 215. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for that Pierce fellow. Faolan rarely bonded with people, but Pierce was the sort who didn’t irritate him enough to make him want to peel his own face off. That spoke volumes, for Faolan usually found the human race, for the most part, trivial, frittering away their lives on little things that resulted to dust in the end. He’d seen it time and time again.
Faolan didn’t mind the woman, Taisia, and her fake husband, Joaquin, either. Pity what was happening to the entire lot. At least Coira hadn’t ordered him to bring the poor bugger, Pierce, to her after the shooting. The bitch knew how to be cruel, and how to build and maintain her little empire, but she relied too heavily on those meat sack thugs of hers. Sometimes, the arrogant slag overlooked her most beneficial resources.
Anci almost looked surprised to see him when she answered the door.
“Faolan,” she greeted in her thick Indian accent, “did you bring my payment?”
“Can I come in?” he asked.
She stepped aside and allowed him in. He walked into her small living space and stood in the middle of it. The canister sat on the fireplace mantel.
“So, it is ’ere.” He sighed miserably, swallowing against the dryness in his mouth.
“Yes,” Anci said, walking toward him. “It seems your plan failed.”
He looked at her, his expression deadly. “Everything would have worked out fine if ye hadn’t instructed the Hellfire Club on how to open it.”
“You think me arrogant? What’s to keep me from being killed?”
“I promised that no harm would befall ye. All ye needed to do was sell it to Benito. Not give him access to the deed.”
“You’re lucky I never told him to break the damn thing,” she spouted. “What would happen then, huh?”
“Fool. What do ye think Coira will do to ye if she finds out?”
“If I fall, so do you, Faolan.”
“She won’t be killing me.”
“It was your idea to sell the canister off, remember?”
“Didn’t take much convincing to make ye do it now, did it?”
Anci was many things, a genius inventor and tinker
er whose mind worked around puzzles, machines, and the inner workings of mechanical objects.
Anci arrived in Edinburgh to become an engineer. She had all the means for a good, honest life until Coira got her claws into her and dragged her down into the Underground with the promise of fast money if she built her the stills for her illegal brewery, as well as other mechanical items, including the canister. Anci was also as greedy as she was intelligent. The kind of trivial flaws Faolan often found in people. If Anci could only open her mind up to a broader scale, she might accomplish so much more with her talents.
Pity.
“I look after myself,” she retorted petulantly.
Faolan believed he had had it all figured out. With the annual signing closing in, he had persuaded Anci to tell the Hellfire Club about the canister and where to find it. Without a way to take out the deed, the name would expire. And with no signature, the imprisoned creature would be free. Yet, the plan crumbled when the bitch told Benito how to open the canister and when to sign it.
“I need your help,” he said.
That took her aback. “Again?”
“Aye. Take the contract back to the Hellfire Club. Let them have the demon.”
Faolan was desperate at this point. With his plan gone to pot, he figured the alternative was his best option, for the Hellfire Club would undoubtedly order the creature to kill Coira.
Anci crossed her arms with a sniff. “And are you going to pay me?”
Anticipating her response, he tossed her a coin purse.
“’Ere. There’s an extra two hundred in there. That, as well as the money ye had received from the Hellfire Club, ought to be satisfactory.”
She caught it in one hand and clutched it in her long fingers like a spider digging its legs into its prey’s cocoon.
Sounding voracious, she said, “Not enough.”
Faolan frowned. “Not enough? It’s plenty.”
She raised her chin high and wrinkled her nose at him.
“I want more,” she stated in a puerile tone of voice. “If I’m going to betray Coira again, then I need three times as much.”
“Ye greedy cow,” he growled.
With a smirk, she stepped over to the mantel and slid her hand delicately over the canister she had created. “Have you ever wondered why I never thought to take ownership?”
“Is it ’cause you’re a coward?” he asked bluntly.
“I am no coward. I am a survivor,” she argued. “It’s because I find Cambion demons are quite dull.”
He narrowed his eyes at her.
“They’re not very powerful,” she went on. “They don’t grant wishes.”
“I wasn’t aware they were bloody genies.”
“They’re useless,” she continued. “All they do is manipulate people’s minds and turn them into zombies with their blood.” She snorted. “There’s more use in an Imp than in a Cambion.”
“Is that so?” he grunted.
“Now, the Archdemon demons, or a fallen angel? Having them under your thumb would be worthwhile.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” she snapped, half turning to him. “I’m very comfortable working for Madam MacCrum. She pays me well.”
“Ye mean I pay ye so she doesn’t have to.”
She giggled. If he could, he would have torn her tongue out.
“Ironic, is it not?” She picked up the canister and held it out to him. “Go on. Take it.”
He cringed. It had been a while since he was so close to the contract.
Anci was just as bad as Coira. Seeing the deed rolled up in its fragile tube, surrounded by the dangerous acid, made his eye twitch.
“I thought so. Coira has ordered you to never touch the thing,” she cruelly reminded him, returning it to the mantel. “Thanks for the extra amount. Now get out.”
He wanted to rip her goddamn head off and throw it out the window. Instead, he inflated his chest greatly with frustration and left the room.
* * *
Joaquin realized the horseman that had passed him on the road—the one riding as if a horde of monsters were after him—must have been Pierce going to the Hellfire Club’s mansion.
When Joaquin reached the house, he barged right on in.
“Where is he?” he bellowed, startling the butler. “Where’s my brother?”
“S-sir,” the servant stammered, holding out a sheet of paper. “I . . . I . . . I was instructed to give ye this note.”
Joaquin snatched the note from him and read it.
Pierce is with us in the Gilmerton Cove.
Benito
He was so enraged, his whole body felt like it was boiling. Usually, when he became this angry, the curse would come out in him. It stayed dormant, yet that didn’t stop him from riding steadfastly toward Gilmerton Cove.
Heber greeted him at the top of the stairwell and led him below. What Joaquin found nearly caused him to break Benito’s neck on the spot.
“What did you do to him?” he yelled so loudly it reverberated off the stone walls.
The Hellfire Club, dressed in their cloaks and wicked bird masks, stood around his little brother, who lay upon the killing slab. He wore his dapper black coat, which hung over the side of the block. Dried, crusted blood covering his shirt and vest.
“If you’ve killed him, I will slaughter every single one of you right here!” Joaquin shouted, dropping his fake Scottish brogue altogether.
The threat made each of them take a step back.
“He’s very much alive, Mr. Marsh,” Benito promised. He was the only one not wearing a mask. “He’s drugged—upon his own request.”
Joaquin approached Pierce and looked down at him. He pressed his ear against Pierce’s chest. The thumping of his heart filled him with great relief. Joaquin rose and placed a hand on his brother’s forehead. The smell of chloroform touched his nose.
“Pierce. Wake up now. Let’s go home, eh?”
“He came to us, Mr. Marsh,” Benito quickly explained. “He wants to offer himself as a sacrifice to save you.”
Benito had told Joaquin about becoming some powerful being if he sacrificed someone dear to him. That was only a few hours ago. How had Pierce learned this?
“You lie,” he growled at him.
Benito handed him a folded piece of paper. “He asked me to give you this.”
Joaquin almost ignored the note. If he had the strength, he would have lifted Pierce up and carried him out. And yet, despite the rage in him, his body was disintegrating.
He snatched away the paper and read it.
We came here to save you, Joaquin, and now I have the means to do so. Take my life in order to keep yours. Let me be with Taisia, for, without her, I have nothing else to live for. If you truly care about me, you will do this.
Farewell, dear Brother.
The words blurred away by the swell of Joaquin’s tears. He recognized Pierce’s handwriting. The letter was indeed written by him. How did everything go to pot so fast? Only this evening, they were all together and actually happy. When he left Pierce, he was about to ask Taisia to marry him and judging by the way Pierce was reacting to her death, he presumed she had accepted his proposal. Shit, Joaquin had no idea how and when Taisia had died.
“He wants you to do it.” Benito held out his dagger, the very same one he had used to slay Joshua McDay. “He wants you to set him free.”
“Get that away from me,” Joaquin ordered. “I’m getting him out of here.”
“We shall give him a proper burial,” Benito added. “He’ll not be disposed of like we’ve done with the others. You have my word.”
“No,” he said, preparing himself to lift his sibling.
He wasn’t sure if he could do it, and he knew he wouldn’t have the strength to fight off anyone who tried to stop him. Nonetheless, he would try.
“Son,” came a deep, assertive voice.
Joaquin raised his chin to find everyone motionless. Benito stared without blinking, holding the
knife out to him like a statue. The fog of Joaquin’s breath became very dense as the temperature dropped lower. No foggy air flowed from anyone as they stood like cloaked display dummies at a funeral parlor.
A figure emerged from between the black-robed bodies and stood beside Benito. Joaquin rose to his full height to meet the man’s gaze. He was a tall bloke with dark hair and a pleasantly chiseled face as pale as the White Cliffs of Dover. The man’s eyes swirled in a variety of colors that glowed intently through the dimness of the cove.
Joaquin swallowed thickly.
“The Demon King, I presume.”
“I am what this world has allowed me to be. I suppose it is the same with everyone.”
“I see. And this is your doing, eh? You did all this to get us here.”
“As the saying goes, I rigged the game, yes.”
“Benito mentioned you were in the market for a son?” Joaquin said. “Why? What does the devil need a child for?”
“Oh, I do hope you don’t believe me to be that version of the devil with his realm of damned souls. If ruling over such a domain is what you are expecting, I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed. I have no such place. No one does.”
“I don’t wish to rule over anything. I want this cursed blood out of me, and then I want to return to my family.”
As he spoke, the Demon King yawned deeply.
“What a boring idea. What I offer is far more interesting.”
“It has been pitched to me already,” Joaquin mused. “What exactly does it entail?”
The Demon King smiled. “Eternal life, reaping all the benefits this world has to offer. Everything is at your disposal. Nothing will be outside your reach. You’ll forever be housed inside a young form that shall never fail you again.”
It did sound interesting.
“You can become a prodigy. Bountiful knowledge would be yours.”
“Why me and not my brother?”
The Demon King gazed down. Pierce’s breath flowed from him, indicating he wasn’t frozen.
The Underground Page 23
