Covet the Night, page 35
"See, she's fine. Let's go. We've got more important things to do, remember?"
The three exchanged glances at Bailey's comment.
"Are you sure you'll be okay out here by yourself?" Though her voice lacked compassion, Gwen didn't doubt River's sincerity.
She was about to nod when one of the corners of the piece of paper bit into her palm. She was fading fast. The staircases alone drained most of her energy, and the journey back up would be even more difficult. If she knew Franklin's location in the Cellar, she wouldn't have to waste time milling about in pain and attracting the wrong type of attention.
"I'll manage," Gwen finally said, "but I'd be grateful for a favor."
Bailey snorted and reared back. "Are you fucking serious? A favor after what you did?"
"Bailey." River's voice was forged with steel as she stared Gwen down. "Let's hear her out. Favors are hard to come by in the court."
But Bailey didn't back down. The lycan gold returned to her eyes in a slow spill as she gazed at her younger friend. The woman with the white hair shuffled back, her anxiety written all over her face. She refused to meet Gwen's eye and desperately sought to catch either Bailey’s or River's to no use.
"We aren't dealing out favors to Roux lackeys, River," Bailey said stonily, earning the younger's glare. When the dark-skinned witch opened her mouth to retort, the she-wolf pinned her with a stern glare of her own. "I've gone along with your plans and ideas—however harebrained they are—for the past two weeks without complaint." River scoffed, and Bailey corrected herself with an eye roll. "Without many complaints. Somebody's got to keep you in check for your reckless behavior."
"I learned from the best," River responded tartly.
The glares melted from the women's faces as they shared matching grins.
"Trust me on this one, okay? We go by Vrana rules here. Family first. Always. Skeletor over here took a hit at one of ours. We don't owe her shit. Let's just go down to the Styx and get this precious book you can't live without," Bailey reasoned.
The mystery woman behind them sighed with relief as River stepped away, her cool composure shifting back into place. Gwen narrowed her sights on her.
She was beautiful in a downtrodden way. Her stark white hair looked silky to the touch despite its mussed and messy appearance. And her skin, which was somehow paler than Gwen's, gave her an ethereal aura, one enhanced by her pale blue eyes. She looked away the moment their eyes met, her throat bobbing traitorously as she pressed her lips to a tight line. Gwen knew she'd seen her somewhere but couldn't place her, even with the uniqueness of her appearance playing into the equation.
"Later, Skeletor." Bailey saluted her as she led the retreat. She pasted on the same mocking, smug smile as before.
River sighed and nodded in farewell, her loyalties clear as she walked silently after Bailey, who strode down the hall.
"Wait!" Gwen called after them and stepped away from the wall. Her dizziness was faint as she kept one palm anchored to it for support, but her senses were assaulted regardless—her hearing, to be exact. The mystery woman was staring bug-eyed and screaming. The abruptness of the action jolted Gwen right back into the wall with her hands clamped over her ears.
Dear God, Gwen thought, visibly cringing and shrinking into herself to escape the piercing sound. It wasn't as if she was going to attack them; she just needed them to tell her where exactly Franklin was. She didn't want to waste her energy going to the Cellar if she wasn't there.
Gwen was certain she whimpered or groaned at the prolonged cry. Possibly both. Definitely both. She was ready to crumple to the ground when the mystery woman finished. The two stared at one another aghast.
"What the hell was that for?" Gwen demanded. She was unreasonably winded as her gaze darted between River and Bailey, waiting for an explanation for their compatriot.
Their expressions made her blood run cold.
"I… I'm so sorry," the mystery woman said hoarsely, stepping back and shaking her head.
"Stella, you didn't… did you?" River asked delicately as if she were treading over glass. When the woman merely whimpered and closed her eyes, the witch rushed to her side and enveloped her into a hug.
"I hate this. I hate who I am so much. I just want it to stop."
River shushed the woman and ushered her back a few steps. Gwen watched it all with creeping horror, reluctantly turning her gaze to Bailey. The pitying expression was back, though this time, Gwen supposed, there was real sympathy behind it to soften the blow.
"Stella, meet Gwen, wannabe Roux. Gwen, meet Stella… resident banshee."
Banshee.
The word rang through Gwen's head, circled back, and then pressed in around her. "Banshee?" she repeated dully.
Bailey looked away briefly, raising her hand to scratch the back of her neck before dropping it lamely to her side. "Yea, banshee. You know, harbingers of death?"
"I know what a banshee is," Gwen snapped, mouth going dry. Her words echoed sharply in the hall, and her ears picked up the softening sniffles from Stella and murmured words of comfort delivered by River.
"I'm sorry," Stella said, her voice carrying. The woman hiccupped a breath, then stepped outside the safety of River's arms to look Gwen in the eye. "I'm so sorry."
"Stella, you don't have to—"
"I do." The banshee licked her lips nervously, holding Gwen's shaken stare. "I can't help it. It just…. When it calls, I can't stop myself. My aunt Claire learned how to sing death's calls instead of screaming them, but I haven't quite picked up her talents."
Stella bit down on her bottom lip, stopping herself from saying anything further. She knotted her hands in front of her, staring stoically at Gwen as she waited for her response.
The problem was Gwen didn't have anything to say. What could she? Would it happen in the next hour? The next few days?
Her body slumped against the cool stone. She leaned all her weight against it, taking several deep breaths. After a long pause, she found her voice. "It's okay." She all but dragged the words from her mouth. "I mean—" A bitter, stunted laugh tripped over her tongue as her gaze wandered to Bailey. "I'm a vampyré wannabe, right?" Silence. It sounded louder than Stella's scream. "This is… good. This is good news."
Stella cleared her throat. Her voice was raw and husky as she spoke. “I don’t always know when death will come to take those I’ve heralded, but I would say your goodbyes in the next ten nights or so.”
Ten nights.
Gwen refused to meet their pitying gazes. There was a strange emotion welling up inside her, clawing its way up without remorse. Whatever it was, she couldn't look it in the eye.
"Ah, fuck."
The exclamation startled Gwen from her depression. Bailey's hardened posture softened. A huff sounded from River. The witch was at war with a grin fighting its way up her face. River stared at Bailey with barely concealed humor. Bailey was turning scarlet, her cheeks puffing out until she finally burst.
"What's this fucking favor you wanted?"
"Lang-uage, Bailey." The she-wolf growled at River's singsong reprimand. "You have a marshmallow center, Bailey Hart. Always going out of your way to help those in need."
"Shut it, Adolphus." Bailey jabbed an accusing finger at River, then turned her tumultuous gaze back to Gwen. "Well? What is it?"
A spark of hope flared in Gwen's chest. "I need to find Franklin."
She caught River and Stella passing each other shrugs out of the corner of her eye, but Bailey's posture stiffened minutely. A grimness settled over her features. "You were heading toward the Cellar, weren't you?" Gwen nodded. "Smart. She would have been there—it's the shifter's favorite place to blow off steam."
"Is she there now?"
Bailey shook her head, mouth working as she contemplated her response before cursing again under her breath. "No, the Cellar is still under renovation, but I know where she's at. You're headed our way. You can walk with us, I guess."
XXI
G
wen was surprised at first when River locked arms with her as they wound down staircase after staircase, aiming for the sixth and final sublevel of the Dark Court, but it didn't take long for her to swell with gratitude. The witch's touch brought an uncanny amount of relief to Gwen's discomfort, but she couldn't figure out why or how.
They weren't touching skin to skin. River never spoke a spell or incantation. It was simply her, and it was as if her very presence was a balm. Laughter, shouts of glee, and regret trickled up the final staircase. The voices layered over a string of music composed of violins and little else.
A flicker of movement caught Gwen's eye. She glanced to the left and spied her shadow. The deeper they delved into the court, the sparser modern conveniences became. Candelabra sconces lined the hall every couple yards, breathing a warmth to the air not found on the upper levels and painting long shadows on the wall. Though the bottom floors lacked the more modern opulence of their upper counterparts, they did not lack luxury.
The hallway was dressed in a thick rug that cushioned each step. The candelabras were polished to gleam and winked back at her invitingly. As they closed the distance to the last stairwell, the paintings changed from heavenly scenes and landscapes to that which must have inspired Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy: swarming orgies and portraits of sinful fetishes.
Gwen glanced at River. She didn't seem bothered by the gradual shift in ambiance. Or surprised.
"Have you been down here before?" They were the first words she'd spoken since taking River's arm three floors back.
"Just once." Their eyes met. Unease crinkled River's forehead. "Have you?"
Gwen shook her head, and River let out a huge rush of air.
"Right, well, it's—" River cut herself off. After a moment, her frown sank further. "It's raw. Unpolished, if you will, and unapologetic. Very unapologetic."
"Noted," Gwen breathed. "I'll be in and out. I'm just the messenger."
River nodded her approval, but her gaze lingered on Gwen. "You look better. Less Skeletor and a little more Maleficent with the color back in your face."
"Thanks, I think," Gwen said, giving River a once-over. "I don't suppose you would have anything to do with that, would you?"
The dark-skinned witch shrugged as they began their descent of the final staircase. "Healing is kind of my thing, though it has its limits when it comes to self-application."
Bailey shot an unimpressed frown over her shoulder at River, having heard every word. "You're not broken. There's nothing to fix, River Adolphus."
River let out a pretty little “Humph” that was so uncannily like her aunt Irina; Gwen let out a laugh. River tamed the flush on her skin before it had a chance to bloom in full. Gwen marveled at the young woman's self-control. It was impressive how effortlessly she masked her emotions and projected an aura of confidence around her every movement, down to the smallest look.
"Oh," Gwen said as they stepped off the staircase, eyes glued to the bedlam not far ahead. "I wasn't expecting this."
"The court has two theaters—one for operas, the other for plays—a veritable Colosseum, and a Turkish bathhouse, to name a few, and a gambling hall surprises you?" River scoffed good-naturedly.
"I just… didn't know it existed."
Gwen kept her face turned away from River's inspection. Laurel had never spoken a word about a gambling hall in the court. None of the sisters had, but why?
"It's not a place for your kind."
Gwen whipped back to face River, but the witch was scanning the crowd for Franklin.
"What's that supposed to mean exactly?"
The question took a moment to sink in, and then River blinked and spun her gaze back to Gwen. "Just look around. There are only a handful of vampyrés down here. Mostly houseless courtiers who only take up residence periodically in the court. The rest are shifters and sorcerers and—"
"Demons," Gwen finished. Her breath caught in the back of her throat as a shirtless man with devilish horns strolled by with a woman dressed in diamonds on his arm. The man tossed his head back with a bawdy laugh as the woman stared like he was the only thing that could satisfy her.
Gwen's eyes traced the curved horns popping out through his thick blond hair. They were black and veined with glittering gold. The couple wove through the gamblers and onlookers, pulling Gwen's gaze along after them. Against the heavy backdrop of black-and-gold furnishings, almost every occupant had found a way to stand out in the crowd.
Torture implements doubled as hair ornaments, flesh was covered in strategically placed glossy wax, jewels upon jewels upon jewels—Gwen’s eyes couldn't stay in one place.
She'd thought she'd grown accustomed to the lavish and outlandish styles of the court, their wicked ways, and eccentric tastes, but this was a different side of the Dark Court. It was wild and untamed. Every inhabitant seemed to relish their own fanfare and that around them, heightening the sensation that anything was possible should you dare reach out and take it.
A gamble indeed.
Gwen was becoming too warm in her full-sleeved jumpsuit. Between the copious amounts of candles and living bodies, it was the most heat she'd experienced outside the Turkish baths.
A squeal of delight derailed her thoughts. Off to the left, where the thickest congestion of bystanders stood around craps and roulette tables, people rushed to rearrange themselves.
The crowd cast curious stares toward its center, still shuffling back to accommodate the—
"Is that a leopard?"
Pleased gasps and joyous cries filtered out of the crowd as the jungle cat prowled down the central promenade of the extra-wide hall. Its amber gaze promised danger, as if its dripping wet muzzle wasn't enough to signify the threat of its jaw. Gwen's blood pumped ferociously as she watched the feline split the crowd.
"It's Kamara," River replied, voice taut. "Leopard shifter. One of two in the court."
"Oh?" Gwen asked breathlessly.
The leopard's ears ticked in their direction, and then Kamara's amber eyes swung their way.
"She has a brother. They're usually not far from each other's side."
Kamara's gaze glided over them before swinging in the opposite direction, aiming for the monstrous wooden double doors that looked like they belonged on the front of a castle.
There was a palpable difference in the air at the shifter's grand entrance. It was no longer just warm—it was hot. It was charged with enough sizzling energy to spark a feverish discussion across the entire crowd. Then, out of nowhere, someone began to clap and holler. Gwen sought the source to no avail. Soon enough, the rest of the gambling hall's patrons began to pick up the ovation.
Gwen's attention switched back to the central promenade, and she choked on a gasp. "Oh my God."
The world narrowed into intense focus on the woman being dragged down the aisle by two large men.
"Is she…?" Dead?
River issued a single shake of her head. "No, though I'm sure she wishes she was."
Anger flooded Gwen, hot and precise as the trio followed in the wake of the leopard, Kamara. The woman's shirt lay in tatters on her limp body, exposing the deep cuts and bite marks left on her skin. A rush of light-headedness swept over Gwen, and she clung tightly to River's stiff arm, seeing only red. Although some semblance of modesty was created by the thick curtain of her hair, it bothered Gwen to see the woman laid bare in such a way. No one deserved such humiliation and pain.
The world came surging back around her as a shrill cackle split the tenor of the room, drawing every eye away from the tortured woman to the bare-chested man on a leash who licked after the bloody trail she left in her wake. Sickness warred with fury inside her, twisting her stomach into knots and drawing sweat to the back of her neck.
"Gambling hall?" River glared openly at the unrepentant throng. "More like gambling hell."
Gwen was taken aback by River's venom. The air radiated with ire and loathing, though none other than River and Gwen seemed to be taken by it. The crowd was gleefully discussing the turn of events and went back to risking their fortunes at the tables. That was when Gwen realized the palpable energy wasn't coming from the crowd—it was coming from River.
Just as her aura soothed Gwen's aches and pains, it inflamed her resentment and fury for the courtiers who'd not blinked an eye at the unfortunate woman's fate. Inflamed, ignited, burned—
"Ouch!" Gwen hissed, tugging her arm away from River as the witch's anger boiled to the surface. The loss of contact hit her gradually. River's magic left her slowly, peacefully, trickling away as the seconds passed by as if it was never there, to begin with. River's mouth opened in horror, then snapped shut as she eyed the way Gwen cradled her arm to her chest.
"I'm sorry," she said. Her eyes shut briefly as she inhaled and exhaled several slow, deep breaths. When she finished, she apologized again. All remnants of her heady anger leached from the air as she adopted a cool facade. "My emotions have a tendency to spill over onto others if I don't keep them in check. It's a bit of a family trait, I'm afraid. My mother's to blame."
"More like a curse, eh, Adolphus?" Bailey sauntered back to them, eyeing the way Gwen held her arm with a knowing smirk. "Once, when we were kids, she gave me third-degree burns."
River crossed her arms and let out a huff. "You cut off half my hair, Bailey. You were supposed to be babysitting me."
Bailey shrugged, nonplussed, and aimed a smirk at Stella, who stood slightly askew from their triangle. "Her parents never did let me babysit her again."
"I've known you less than a week and can confidently say I'd side with her parents."
Bailey beamed, and a small, pleased smile transformed Stella's doleful countenance into one of beguiling intrigue. But Stella's brightened spirit was fleeting as she spotted something that made her shining eyes turn bleak. Gwen followed Stella's line of sight to a couple, happily guzzling the green contents of their drinks before cheering with satisfaction.
"Hey." Someone snapped their fingers in front of Gwen's face. "Did you hear what I said? Franklin's over there."
