Dan
London, 1857
Dan sat near the dead fireplace, listening to tiny bits of wind protest as they found themselves trapped in its flue. He’d kept his room entirely dark as he awaited true nightfall, the temperature frigid without a fire to raise it. The windstorm that had descended upon southern England had shown no sign of letting up, now mixed with a hint of snowy rain. It left droplets along the tall windows of the southern guest room, capturing random fallen leaves swept up and thrown at the glass.
His chest still burned where she’d marked him, the way it always did when he thought of her. Although much had transpired since he abruptly ended his recollection, he had trouble thinking of anything else. He realized he’d been gripping the arms of his chair for hours, his knuckles white. He slowly flexed life back into them, listening to the crack of old, weary, but immortal bones. He wondered if David ever sat in the same room, longing for his lost lover, staring at the same empty fireplace, his mind wrought with sorrow and regret. It seemed so, the drabness of the room the perfect setting for despondency, with its plain grey wallpaper stretched across flat walls that lacked any architectural flair. The only thing of note in the entire room was the fireplace he now stared at, the stones carved and etched by hand, the craftsman relying only on the beauty of the medium without adding embellishments.
From the corner of his eye, he caught an opaque bottle next to an upturned glass, set far on the other side of the room near the bathroom. He rose out of his chair to inspect its contents. It was a bottle of aged scotch, a thin layer of dust settled around it from lack of use. He left the glass, tipping the bottle to pour the old liquor down his throat, ignoring his stomach’s protestations that he offered it something other than its preferred liquid nourishment. He sat back down with a belly of fire, tipping the bottle once more.
Though the sun had been steadily hidden by clouds since he arrived, he could sense that night had officially descended. It had been six days since the medium pulled memories from Morrigan and David had left, six days far too many. He was going after him, despite any objection, but he figured a bit of drunkenness beforehand wouldn’t hurt.
There was a sudden knock at the door.
“Come in,” he said gruffly as he polished off the bottle.
The manservant slipped in first, shivering immediately in the draftiness of the room, followed surprisingly by Libraean. Dan marveled at him as he walked in, realizing his spine had been straightened, a pair of standard shoes where his misshapen boots had been. Their body language revealed that their animosity had melted away, replaced by a certain air that surrounded them both. Dan smelled traces of the human hanging on the creature like old cologne, provoking a playful smile. “Patched things up, have we?”
Jacob smiled shyly, but Libraean blushed, quickly dismissing the comment. “We come with a proposition for you.”
“You do, eh?” Dan studied them in the dim light. “Shall I light a fire so the human doesn’t catch cold?”
“I appreciate the gesture, but we will be brief,” Jacob replied, though he wrapped his housecoat around him a bit tighter, slipping his hands underneath his folded arms.
“Morrigan has not emerged from her room since David left and shows no signs of vitality. Jacob has brought her blood routinely over the past week and she barely acknowledges his presence. We made sure our medium was compensated for her services, but we fear the longer we wait, the less likely she will be to help us again.”
“I plan to go after David tonight.”
“You see, I am not alone in my opinion.” Libraean glared at Jacob.
Jacob sighed. “I understand that retrieving David makes the most sense to both of you, but it is not his memories we must unlock. It’s hers.”
Dan frowned. “What makes you think she’s going to speak while he’s away?”
Libraean suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “That is why we are here. There might be another way to encourage her compliance.”
Dan realized what he meant. “Absolutely not, no, you cannot—”
“Mr. Daniel, please,” Jacob pleaded as he drew in closer, his grey eyes desperate. “This might be our only option.”
Libraean chimed in. “He has no memory of his former self, nor has he been on earth long enough to grow mad. We were right to proceed with caution at first, but he has proven that he poses no threat to us,” he pointed out.
“Do you hear yourself?” Dan sputtered. “I must be drunk.”
“I am not suggesting we should trust him completely. This is the soul who once pulled out my eye,” Libraean reminded him. “But his sway on her is just as strong as David’s—you heard her memories yourself.”
Dan scowled. “Do what you must, but I want no part of this. Retrieve me only when you have her sitting in the parlor with the medium. Then I will give it one more day and if nothing is resolved, I am going after him.”
“Absolutely,” Jacob agreed quickly.
“Is there more scotch in this house?” Dan asked him.
“In the kitchen wing, there is an opening in the washroom floor that leads to the cellars. There is no more wine left, but I discovered several bottles of spirits stashed down there while I was cleaning.”
“Then that is where I will be,” Dan decided, breezing past them. He was in no mood to see Lucius, nor the young blood drinker that currently housed his soul.
“Actually,” Jacob stopped him, “we were hoping you could help us. As the only human amongst you, I was thinking it would be best if I steer clear of those who regularly drink human blood.”
Dan groaned, knowing he was right. “I am going to need a lot more scotch for this.”
Jacob brightened. He ducked into the bathroom, coming back with a bottle dustier than the first. “When David moved in, there were bottles hidden all over the house. Apparently one of the Lardone sons was a slave to the drink. I left many of them where they were.”
Dan took it from him gratefully, then turned towards Libraean. “Lead the way.”
“I will be in the guest room if you need me,” Jacob said, giving Libraean’s arm a gentle squeeze before disappearing into the folds of the house.
“Follow me,” Libraean sighed, apparently just as dismayed about the idea as Dan was.
The wind that greeted them was bitter, Libraean pulling up the collar of his coat as he strode forward. Dan did not flinch, still preferring the cold above all else, watching the copper leaves and bits of ice swirl around him as he led him forward into the graveyard.
Dan still did not understand the humans’ preference for burying the dead. To him, it seemed unnatural. The ornate stones that marked each plot were beautiful in their own right, but it seemed a pretentious, wasteful practice just to mark the place where a corpse returned to the dirt from which it was made. The Lardone crypt was a perfect example of this exorbitance, for even though it was built of simple marble, its enormous size amongst the plain slate stones surrounding it seemed crass and obtrusive.
Libraean removed a large set of ancient, rusted keys from his pocket, jiggling them in an equally aged lock until it clicked open. He struggled to push open the heavy door, which Dan moved forward to assist him with.
The inside of the crypt was choked by spiderwebs, the soft pitter-patter of mice whispering faintly above. There were four closed sarcophagi holding the thickest layers of dust, the clean fifth one opened just a crack. Libraean completed the task, letting the slab fall away to reveal the staircase that led below.
Lucius did not appear surprised to see them as they walked through the door to the main vault, only raising a dark eyebrow. He was comfortably sprawled out on one of Libraean’s couches, the bookcases that surrounded him completely emptied, Libraean’s books strewn all around him in various stages of completion. Empty bottles of blood and wine cluttered every spare surface, the scent of burnt tobacco lingering in the air.
Dan felt Libraean’s temperature rise as he surveyed the mess in his room. “You helped yourself to my pipe?” he sputtered.
“Amongst other things,” Lucius responded dismissively. “You’ve arrived just in time for the best part.” He began to quote from the book opened up in his lap, “‘What he lacks in decency, he makes up for in appearance, with the strong intelligence found only in the utterly mad.’”
Libraean reddened, the color teaching the tips of his ears. “I did not give you permission to read that,” he snapped, advancing to retrieve it.
Lucius laughed, tossing the book his way before he could. “Sounds as if you still fancy me after all,” he teased. “You should hear what he’s written of you, Danulf. It’s on the shelf over there, titled, The History of Lycanthropy.”
“That book is not yet finished! I have more pages to add.”
Dan felt his patience growing thin, the numbing reprieve the scotch had provided beginning to dwindle. “Enough,” he said. “This is not why we are here.”
Lucius sighed, crossing his long slender legs before him. “What now? You’ve decided to relocate me to another prison? Kill me?”
“No,” Libraean replied as he began to scuttle around the room, closing and reshelving the unkempt books. “We need a favor from you.”
Lucius laughed again, and though he had the voice of a different man, the sound bellowed, just as it always had. “That is truly something, coming from those who hold me captive. You look good, by the way, old man, without the hunchback.”
Dan growled at Libraean. “I told you this was a waste of time.”
“Oh, calm yourself, Wolf Man, where else do you have to be?”
Dan grabbed him by the shirt, hoisting him up above him. “You may not remember the vile creature you once were, but I do. I will snap your neck in an instant and not think twice about it.”
Lucius simply grinned as he hung in his grasp, his amber eyes dancing with amusement.
“Daniel, please,” Libraean said, grabbing at his arm. “We need him right now.”
Dan begrudgingly released him to the ground. Lucius straightened his shirt and smoothed his vest, unaffected by his display of aggression.
“Lucius,” Libraean began.
“My name is actually Louis,” he corrected him. “Though the more I read about your friend, the more I don’t mind the association.”
Libraean sighed. “Louis, we are in a predicament. We know you do not remember your life before this one, but we creatures come from realms beyond this one.”
“Yes, I have been told,” he sighed. “And anything I was unsure of, I found in your painfully long-winded records.”
Libraean’s lips flattened. “Well, our realms have been destroyed and more gods have been rebirthed in this time period than ever before, including you, who was supposed to be banished to the lowest depths of Tartarus, and the Morrigan, who swore she’d never return. A medium offered us her services to help unearth Morrigan’s memories, for we hoped it would help us figure out what is happening. The memories she unearthed were, ah, troublesome,” Libraean struggled to explain, his cheeks reddening. “They have caused a disturbance among us, especially for Morrigan.”
Lucius’s defiant demeanor suddenly melted. “The beautiful raven-haired woman? What happened to her?”
As Dan observed his sharp shift in temperament, he suddenly realized that Libraean and Jacob were right—their plan might actually work.
“David left as a result of what we uncovered, and she’s been despondent ever since,” Libraean explained. “She has not left her room in six days, and she barely eats.”
Lucius frowned. “What do you propose?”
Libraean sighed, removing his glasses with one hand to rub his eyes with the other. “I cannot believe I am saying these words, but we want you to check in on her.”
“Oh.” Lucius blinked. “Well, of course I will. Though the last time I saw her, she was determined to kill me.”
“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that now,” Libraean assured him, replacing his spectacles.
“Well, in any case, her fiery temperament is intriguing.” Lucius adjusted his cravat and ran his fingers through his shorn black hair. “How do I look?” he asked Dan, with another arrogant grin.
Dan scowled, deciding that he definitely needed more scotch. Somehow Lucius proved just as detestable to him now as he was before, and he didn’t even know him beyond association. He pulled Libraean to the side. “Are you certain we can trust him?”
“No,” Libraean sighed, “but if anyone can handle Lucius in any form he takes, it’s Morrigan.”
A gust of wind met them as they exited the vaults. “The winds seem unusually strong,” Lucius remarked.
“The weather has been like this since he left,” Libraean said mildly, prying open the great manor doors. Jacob’s absence added to the eerie silence of the cavernous foyer, the dusty sconces that surrounded them dim.
Dan turned to Libraean. “I have assisted in delivering the fiend. Now if you don’t mind, I will be in the kitchen cellar until this situation has been resolved.”
Libraean nodded before gesturing Lucius to the hall behind the west wing stairwell. “She is in the parlor where you spoke with her before.”
Dan shook his head as he maneuvered his way down the dark back halls towards the kitchen. He hoped for all their sakes that they hadn’t made a mistake.
Morrigan
Morrigan stood at the window, watching the howling storm toss the trees in the distant woods. The old house creaked and groaned in vexation as the wind rudely threw anything it could find at its windows and walls. The woods were almost entirely barren, the last remnants of brown leaves swirling around the cemetery below. A distant intuition suddenly whispered that tonight was Samhain, the Celtic celebration of the night between the autumn equinox and winter solstice, the night she’d first made love to David, centuries ago.
She closed her eyes against pain so strong it seemed to rot her from the inside, a suffocating, overwhelming sorrow that demanded her submission. She had obeyed at its onslaught, refusing to leave the parlor when she realized that her clearest memories were there, of David and her sitting near its fireplace as she lay dying, telling her the tale of their forbidden love affair. Even if her memories hadn’t returned, she had fallen for him then, entranced by the careful way he pronounced each word, as if he fought a hundred different accents to mimic the proper English tongue. She admired the way his forest-colored eyes would dim as he recalled moments of tragedy, then burst into a vivid green as he spoke of the mysterious goddess he called the Morrigan.
She tried to picture where he was now, hoping that wherever he’d retreated over the past few days offered him solace. She wondered if she’d made a mistake falling for Lucius’s charms in the Underworld, if she was unable to see things for what they really were. It was maddening to know she’d existed eons before this lifetime, done things she couldn’t even remember. She had to trust the decisions she’d made in her recent past were sound, even though every part of her present being ached to be reunited with David.
Tonight, she decided to retrieve her old diadem of corvid bones from the top of his bookcase, remarkably well preserved for its age, and put it on, trying to recall every moment lost. It worked, visions of him and her swept up in battle dancing dreamily in her distant mind as she stared out into the dying autumnal forest.
The door opened behind her, but she did not turn, assuming it was Jacob bringing her a fresh bottle of blood. He was such a kind soul amid the deadly creatures who had overtaken the house, she wondered why he’d chosen to remain amongst them.
“Why so solemn?”
She whipped around, for the voice that spoke was not Jacob’s.
Lucius stood in the doorway, his long frame leaning against the wood as he examined her with his arms crossed. She blanched at the sight of him. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said, lifting the diadem away from her head.
“Why are you taking that off? It looked lovely on you. As if you were some exotic priestess from a distant land.” He smiled as he sauntered into the room.
“You need to leave,” she repeated, her voice forceful even as she delicately replaced the diadem in its box. She looked back up at him with a scowl, placing her hands on her hips. “I understand that you do not remember me but believe me when I tell you I can tear a man’s spine from his body, even without a weapon.”
His smile didn’t falter, blatantly unconcerned by her words. “Oh, I believe you,” he said. “I witnessed that side of you quite vividly. And normally, I would respect your wishes to be left alone, however, I’m not here for my own pleasure, rather, sent on business.”
Morrigan’s recently unearthed memories made his true appearance clear in her mind, and she briefly marveled at how similar his new body was to the god she’d once known. He was still pale, tall, and thin, with cheeks that hollowed and mischievous golden eyes. This creature was more youthful, with wavy, cropped black hair and long sideburns that grazed the cut of his jaw. She could smell him from where she stood, the aroma of extinguished bonfires spiced by cloves overwhelming her senses. “I don’t think you understand how important it is that you leave. We have history, you and I.”
“Is that right?” His lips danced with amusement as he walked right up to where she stood, seating himself right on top of David’s desk. His movement knocked over the quill box as loose sheets of parchment crunched beneath him. “I cannot begin to imagine what kind of history would exist between you and I that would make you want me to leave so badly.” His words were softened by his accent, the syllables ending in a gentle purr.
Morrigan growled in frustration, the windstorm outside bringing with it a smattering of rain. Crows screeched in the distance.
Without flinching, Lucius snapped his fingers and the dwindling flames in the fireplace roared to life with such intensity, they nearly escaped their confines of stone. “Two can play at that game,” he teased.
Morrigan crossed her arms. “For someone who doesn’t remember who I am, you certainly spar with me just the same.”
He waved his hand, so the flames quieted. “And that brings me to why I am here. The wolf and the halfling are concerned with your wellbeing and have tasked me to pull you out of your melancholy. Apparently, they’d like to tap back into that lovely mind of yours.”
Morrigan frowned. “Nothing good can come from my memories. They did not serve their intended purpose and now my lover has abandoned me. I cannot stand to be in this house another minute, let alone go through that again.”
“Excellent,” Lucius stood, clapping his hands together. “I feel similarly in sentiment. Let us take our leave of this drafty old place.”
“I cannot go with you,” Morrigan sputtered, horrified at the thought. “You are the cause of my problems.”
Lucius shrugged. “Then allow me to be your solution.”
She barely had time to register his movement before he darted forward, tumbling out the parlor window. She raced to the edge, looking down to see him smiling back up at her. “Why do you look so surprised?” he laughed. “You mean to tell me that you’ve never used our abilities before?”
Not to be outdone, nor admit to him that she hadn’t, she jumped down to join him, landing on the moist earth with a soft thud. She stood, surprised at how easily her body had just moved. She looked back up at the window, realizing she’d jumped down two stories as if it was nothing.
“Ah, my dear, you have much to learn. Come, I have something to show you,” he extended his hand out to her.
She realized, much later, when they’d reached the heart of the city, that she hadn’t even hesitated to take it.
Though the wind was still strong as they headed out of the countryside, it did not deter their travel, and soon they reached a manor larger than David’s, a proper, sprawling estate that boasted over twenty rooms. Each one was fully illuminated by gaslight, humans bustling about from one corner to the other, apparently in the midst of frantic preparation. Lucius snuck her past the servants and coachmen that lingered at the front gates, pulling her towards the back of the house and up to the master suite windows where he gestured for her to look in.
“What are we doing here?” Morrigan whispered, noticing a woman seated at her vanity, the lamplight sparkling along the mirrored glass and gilded paint.
He leaned in next to her, so close she could feel his alluring warmth. “I observed them for some time before I found David’s manor. She looks just like you, doesn’t she? Not as beautiful, of course, but the resemblance is uncanny.”
Morrigan watched the woman apply powder to her nose as her handmaid lifted and pinned up her black curls. She saw a flash of blue eyes in the mirror. “Yes, but why am I looking at her?”
“Her husband looks much like I do.”
Morrigan pieced together what he implied. “I cannot kill a human, Lucius,” she said in open consternation.
He stared at her, surprised. “You’ve never drank a human’s blood before?”
Morrigan was silent.
“My word, how could they have turned you, but not shown you our way of life?” He shook his head in disbelief. “I suppose I will be the one to teach you then. You will take the lovely madame and I will take her husband. We won’t kill them, only draw enough blood that they fall unconscious. It whets the appetite without having to worry about unnecessary clean up.”
Morrigan began to involuntarily salivate as her mind considered the proposal. “Then what?”
“Then you will find your favorite outfit of hers and put it on.” He didn’t leave an opportunity for further questions, slipping in through the window and silencing the maid before she had a chance to shriek. Morrigan followed him, her instincts overwhelming as they begged her to give in to her building hunger.
The woman at the mirror saw her and started to scream, but Morrigan clasped her hand over her mouth to prevent it, pulling her head to the side and plunging her teeth into the soft flesh of her neck. She was accosted by a sensation that surpassed anything she’d ever felt in her mortal life, an insurmountable level of pleasure, the sweet blood running down her chin as she sucked harder, suddenly frantic for more. It was so fresh and warm, she could not understand why she’d been kept from it, animal’s blood paling in comparison. She found herself getting lost in its thrall, the weakening heart of her victim a rhythmic melody lulling her into dreamy sedation.
She felt Lucius’s gentle hand. “It pains me to stop you, but I must,” he whispered.
Morrigan took a deep breath to collect herself, licking the last of it from her lips. Lucius’s eyes fixed on her mouth as she did so, struggling to pull them away. But he managed, taking the unconscious body out of her arms and carrying her to the loveseat, where he draped her next to the maid. “Find your dress,” he instructed. “And do not forget your mask. I will return in just a moment.”
Unable to temper the exhilaration that now seized her, Morrigan flew to the wardrobe. On the bed lay clean stays which she wrapped around her with haste, and when she looked up, she noticed a rich crimson gown hanging nearby, pieced together with fine silk. She was delighted to discover it fit her perfectly, matching the delicate ruby earrings left on the vanity. She was grateful her hair had grown long with neglect, enabling her to pin it up into the current fashion. It occurred to her that it had been eons since she cared for frivolity or finery, satisfied with mud and war paint, yet somehow, she’d become completely entranced by the present moment, the fresh human blood singing in her veins.
Lucius walked in, fully dressed in a sharp three-piece suit with a corresponding black masquerade mask. He wiped the leftover blood on his lips with the back of his hand as he openly admired her. “My word, you are absolutely stunning.”
Morrigan turned so he wouldn’t see her flattered expression. “You must do up these buttons for me,” she said.
He wordlessly obeyed, the scent of him, freshly revived with human blood, causing her to sway as his fingers crawled up her back from the base of her spine. She focused instead on her surroundings, the colors vivid even in the low lighting, every one of her senses heightened to the fullest. Why did David keep this from me? She wondered.
“Do not forget your mask,” Lucius reminded her as he finished, grabbing her hand once she did so. “Tonight, we are Lord and Lady Montgomery.”
She laughed as he whisked her through the strange hallways and down the steps into the carriage that awaited them. Both fully dressed and masked, the coachmen and manservant did not even realize that the two creatures they helped into the ornate carriage were not their actual employers. The butler helped her settle next to Lucius into the plush velvet seats, handing him a cane. “Take care, sir and madame,” he said, bowing deeply, as the coachman seated above them stirred the horses to trot.
After they pulled out of the driveway, Morrigan realized her heart hammered in her chest. “They were completely fooled.”
Lucius laughed, his amber eyes dancing behind his mask. “Greychild,” he called up to the coachman, raising his voice to imitate the perfect English accent. “We need to make one stop before the masquerade ball - please take us to the corner of White’s Row.”
“How do you know his name?” Morrigan whispered.
“I told you, I studied them before I arrived here. Imitation is sort of a hobby of mine, if you will.”
“The East End place, sir?” the coachman clarified.
“Yes, and do hurry,” Lucius replied.
He expedited the horses to a proper gallop, Morrigan’s eyes drifting out the window as the foggy city came into view. A sudden, unwelcome memory of riding in David’s carriage came to her.
As if he sensed it, Lucius grasped her hand in both of his. “Although I cannot recall our mysterious history together,” he said softly, “I must say that I am quite pleased to be in your company.”
Morrigan admired the way his lips glided over his teeth, the way he ended his words with the slightest hint of a devilish smirk. “I am quite pleased to be out of that dreadful house,” she redirected the conversation. “Though, the air isn’t as fresh in this town as I prefer.”
Lucius laughed good-naturedly. “Well in a moment, the stink won’t bother you as much.”
“It seems so strange to me that this was once my home,” she murmured as the familiar buildings and chimney stacks came into view. “It’s like a strange dream to be back with new eyes.”
They ventured deeper into the bowels of the foggy city, the lingering charcoal cloud of factory smoke blurring out the streetlamps as the carriage wheels splashed through the puddled rainwater. Morrigan realized the wind had died, the air dank with fumes from the polluted river. She hoped the lack of churning squalls meant David had found some semblance of peace.
The carriage stopped at a street crossing, free from the sounds of city bustle. The coachman held open the door as they exited, his eyes flitting back and forth nervously as he watched for thieves. Lucius pulled her down a sordid alleyway without hesitation, stepping around the pools of rainwater and waste before stopping at an iron door. He knocked three times in even pressure, provoking a brawny man with a ragged cap and sailors’ tattoos to open it and hurry them inside.
“Bakkheia,” Lucius said to him. The man nodded and stepped aside, revealing the narrow staircase behind him. Lucius guided her down the steps until they reached a door with a worn handle that he subsequently turned.
The opened door revealed an underground club brimming with gentlemen and ladies, all in masks, but wearing warped versions of formal attire, made with black leather, lace, and silk. The men wore suit coats over bare chests, the women in plunging necklines with slit skirts that revealed stockingless legs. Exotic cigar smoke hung thick in the air, high collar prostitutes grinding their pelvises against grinning patrons and patronesses, who either drank stout glasses of scotch or sipped champagne from crystal flues. The entire room was accented in gold, sparkling chandeliers battling the smoke to sparkle in the gaslight.
“What is this place?”
“One of the best kept secrets in London, hidden in a place where no respectable man nor woman would dare venture,” Lucius replied as he led her through the press of bodies, too immersed in their various forms of hedonism to pay them any mind. “They call it Bacchus’s Den.”
The man behind the bar wore a masquerade mask with the addition of an exaggerated nose, his chest completely bare except for a bow tie tight around his neck. Wiry chestnut hair covered his chest in patches. “Good evening, Lord Montgomery,” he greeted them as he dried the inside of a glass with a towel. “Would you and the lady like the usual room and company tonight?”
“We would like to mingle a bit first,” Lucius replied, reprising his high-pitched accent even as he pronounced a series of French words. “We would like deux fées vertes served at our table.”
The bartender nodded, and before Morrigan could question him, Lucius led her to an upholstered couch behind a table set far against the wall with a sheer veil drawn for privacy. He removed the placard that had reserved it for them and opened up the gold-plated cigarette box next to it. He lit a cigarette off a nearby candle, offering her one with a raised eyebrow.
She took it, fingering the rolled tobacco between her fingers. “I lost my taste for them after I changed,” she commented.
Lucius took a smooth drag, crossing his long legs on the table as he settled back into the cushions. “What was your life before? When you were a human. You said this was your home.”
“I was a whore,” she said simply, laying the cigarette down. “Dying of consumption.”
His eyes met hers. “I was low born, a destitute orphan taken in by a woman who served at the home of a Marquis.”
“You speak so well,” she remarked.
“As do you,” he pointed out.
“My mother taught me many things about the world, including how to speak so that men might listen,” she explained softly, her deceased mortal mother such a distant memory to her now that she could barely picture her face. “It served me well after I was orphaned and forced into unseemly work, and for a long time, I attracted high class men with large pockets to pick.”
Lucius looked delighted. “I was self-taught, but under the same notion. I realized quite young that in order to rise out of the filth, one must be a master at playing the game.”
“Precisely.” She smiled.
“Do you remember anything from your past life, the one before you were human?” he asked. “The do-gooding fellows told me they tried to unlock your memories.”
Morrigan cleared her throat as she looked down. The room buzzed with conversation, laughter, and the sound of tinkling glasses, but her thumping heart seemed louder. “Before that, I was told the story of who I was by David—”
“You trust his version of things?” he interrupted, looking at her askance.
“And faint memories surface at their own will,” she continued as if she hadn’t heard him. “I remember bits and pieces of the ancient past. My human memories were the strongest at first, until the medium hypnotized me, bringing to light what happened right before I was reborn here. Now those seem to be the clearest of them all.”
“Interesting,” Lucius remarked as he took a last inhale from his cigarette, smashing the crackling paper into the nearby ashtray. In the distance, laughter rumbled and sang. “What are they memories of?”
Thankfully, the waiter appeared before she had to respond. He brought with him two glasses of bright emerald liquid, each with two small decorative spoons laid across, both holding a cube of sugar. He poured water from a bottle over the sugar, one at a time, until it began to melt, turning the liquid into a milky shade of green. Then he nodded curtly and disappeared into the background.
“What on earth is this?” Morrigan asked, curious as the aroma of anise and wormwood bit her nose.
“In France, it is called La Fee Verte, or the Green Fairy,” Lucius explained. He removed the empty spoon to give the drink a stir before taking the glass in his hand. He spun the neck between his fingers as he spoke. “They claim it is no ordinary spirit, but an elixir meant to illuminate the mind.”
Morrigan stared at the swirling green liquid in her glass. “Perhaps my mind has reached enough illumination.”
Lucius laughed. “Nonsense. Drink with me and let the night carry us where it may.” He lifted the glass in a toast.
Morrigan sighed, removing the spoon, and lifting her glass to clink against his. The drink burned her stomach on its descent, a painful reminder that her body preferred blood above all else. Yet the discomfort subsided quickly, the taste of licorice lingering on her tongue as she gazed at a stranger whose soul once belonged to a man she loved. She could almost see him again, his eyes laughing behind their double facade. She mused over how strange their lives were, how she’d begun her life as one person, but at any moment, she could be someone else. She closed her eyes. Lilith, Nephthys, Morrigan, Liliana, who was she today? … which man did she love today?
Lucius realized she was drifting away. He interrupted her thoughts with the snap of his fingers, beckoning to the bartender to bring two more of the viridescent drinks. “I have no memories of my lives before this one,” he said, resuming their earlier conversation, “though I have always felt a restlessness that I cannot seem to put into words. Sometimes I feel as though life is marred by frivolity and devoid of substance, the humans living it dreadfully vapid.”
Morrigan sipped her drink, her mouth flooded once more with tangy licorice. “You have always been restless. It is your nature.”
He gazed at her. “What more do you remember of me? Were we very close?”
Morrigan realized she’d once again painted herself into a difficult corner. She bit the inside of her lip, looking down as she traced the edge of her glass.
He grinned and swallowed down the last of his drink. “I have to admit, I am thoroughly enjoying how uncomfortable I make you, especially since I have no idea why.”
Morrigan sighed. “Oh yes, that quality has never changed about you either.”
“Splendid.” He rose from the table. “Let us go, a ball awaits. Perhaps I will be able to wrest the reason out of you at some point tonight.”
“Never,” she replied with a smile as she took his hand once more.
The masquerade the Montgomerys planned to attend was held at another outrageously large estate, this one mimicking the architecture of a French chateau. The entire courtyard was illuminated with lanterns, a glowing oasis in the autumnal darkness. She almost laughed at the absurdity of it, that she, a warrior goddess thrust into the body of a prostitute turned immortal, was now waltzing unabashedly into an exclusive ball intended for London’s elite, with the soul whom she’d spent eons trying to escape from on her arm.
The servants who greeted them at the door recognized both the carriage and driver, none the wiser to their true identities as they helped them inside. Morrigan was immediately grateful they fed beforehand, the smell of so many humans in such close proximity nearly making her swoon with hunger.
“Not quite yet,” Lucius whispered in her ear as he pulled her closer.
The ballroom was colossal, a vulgar display of wealth, dozens of sparkling chandeliers lining the vaulted ceilings of sculpted plaster. The floor gleamed bright white marble, interrupted by the swirling satin trains of ballroom dresses whose mistresses dripped with extravagant diamonds and pearls. Champagne was served in fine crystal atop gold platters, a full orchestra conducting the opulent scene.
“What do you think?” Lucius asked as he guided her through the swell of bodies towards a neglected corner in the back.
“It’s far too bright in here,” she sniffed, to which he roared with laughter.
He removed a glass of bubbling champagne from a nearby waiter’s tray, swallowing it down and turning back to her, all in one graceful swoop. “You must dance with me,” he declared. “I am far too drunk on fine spirits and your intoxicating scent not to dance.”
Before she could protest, he pulled her onto the dance floor, at ease amongst the crowd. She, however, was completely out of her element. Although she had perfected her accent and poise to service high class gentlemen, she never could master the art of dance. No matter how hard she tried, her body would instinctively recoil at their touch. Lucius must have sensed it, or noticed the uneasiness in her eyes, for he pulled her tighter against him, guiding her along the way. She felt her body relax against his, the unusual warmth that seemed to radiate from his skin comforting to her, melting away her tension.
A jolt of memory hit her suddenly, in a palace that was darker, saturated with the smell of death. Romania. Lucius bursting through the door, covered in chain mail armor which he threw off with gusto. “We’ve won,” he said breathlessly, his body smeared with blood and grime, jumping into their bed to ravage her with his affections.
The modern Lucius began to twirl her faster as she buried her head into the top of his chest. The dancing couples around them seemed to fade away, temporal apparitions that did not matter, the two of them the only beings in the room. His heart kept time with hers as another memory came, a vision of him standing in a field of fallen men, black tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Billows of gray fog snaked around them in the crisp air. “I will never understand why you keep doing this to me,” he cried, his fists clenched in fury. Scotland.
The memories roared past her now with blinding speed, the wars, the adventures, the quarrels, visions of David sitting sullenly in his chambers, smiling when he looked up to see her, Lucius as a prince, exploring her body as they lay next to the fireplace, his eyes filled with adoration and lust.
Finally, a location she could not place, another realm perhaps, filled with hellfire and ash, as he shielded her from an onslaught of flames intent to destroy her with his own body, wrapping his bruised arms around her. “Shh, it will be over soon...”
The dance stopped, and her knees buckled. He caught her, guiding her towards a table and helping her sit. “What is it?” he asked, alarm in his voice.
“I don’t want to be here anymore,” she whispered.
“I’ll summon the carriage. Rest here.” He squeezed her hand before marching back towards the main entrance.
Morrigan took a deep breath, forcing her mind to be still. The last memory unnerved her, a foreign vision that she could only surmise came from her most recent time in the Underworld. She realized there was more that needed to be unearthed, that she must continue to dig through her unconscious mind. As her senses returned, her mind flitted to David, wondering if and when he planned to return. She now understood why she’d chosen to leave them both; the love she felt seemed eternally split between two. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she tried not to, she continuously caused them both pain.
She rose up from her chair, sweeping her hands down the crimson waves of her dress with fresh determination. This was not the time to indulge in matters of the heart that never resolve. It was time to dig back into her memories, restore the realms, and find Anubis. It was time to retrieve David.
“Excuse me, miss, do I know you from somewhere?”
A man dressed in a gaudy three-piece suit stood in front of her, eyeing her suspiciously from behind his pointed white mask. A stiff auburn mustache crawled across his lip.
Annoyed to be reminded that there were others in the room, she tried to temper her reply. But he didn’t let her speak, growing too close to her, a willowy socialite frowning on his arm. “I never forget a face.”
Suddenly she stiffened, for the old memories of her mortal life poked through, her days as Liliana the prostitute, watching one of her fellow whores laughing gaily in the man’s presence only to return the next day with fresh bruises and a broken rib.
“Yes, I do know you.” The man squinted in wonderment as he edged even closer, his breath like spoiled meat. Morrigan’s anger rose, a dormant part of her rumbling to life, pulled upwards from her bowels by her rapidly ascending heartbeat. She envisioned taking one of the nearby knives and jamming it upwards into his chin.
“Yes, you are the whore from Eastern Tavern!” he laughed as the lady on his arm clucked her tongue with derision. She accompanied the sound with an eye roll, fanning herself faster with her delicate lace fan. A crowd gathered around them, curious about the commotion.
“However did you manage to screw your way up the social ladder?” He continued his loud defamation. “The last time I saw you, you were dying of the pox. Although, I did hear you were trying to convince men it was consumption— but everyone knows whores do not die of such noble diseases.”
Murmurs of disgust trickled across the room.
Morrigan felt as if at any moment she would explode, tearing the flesh off the bones of England’s upper class. She swallowed, trying to maintain control as she edged away from the drunken man. “You’ve made a terrible mistake,” she said.
“You’ve even changed your accent!” the man roared with laughter. “How curious! Where is your companion this evening—I simply must ask him how he managed to get duped by you. He must be a parvenu, I am certain.” He began scanning the room.
Just as Morrigan felt as though she could not hold in her rage any longer, Lucius reappeared, coming up from behind her. She could feel the heat coming off him like a freshly lit stove, wondering what he’d heard of their interaction.
“Well hello, old boy, pleased to make your acquaintance,” the man called out as the crowd shifted their attention onto Lucius. “Do tell us why your date this evening is a diseased whore from the slums of East End?”
Morrigan barely had time to react before Lucius had him by the throat, lifting him effortlessly into the air with one hand. The crowd froze in shock until the glass the man had been holding crashed to the floor. Then the room burst into an uproar, the shrieks of ladies bringing the orchestral music to an abrupt halt. Morrigan watched as Lucius set the men around him ablaze with a flick of his fingers, the entire ballroom exploding into a frenzy of agonized wails and terrified screams. The silk curtains caught all around them as the burning bodies tore about the room, flames rapidly curling up to the ceiling like impenetrable walls of fire. They licked the ceiling in rapacious fever, sending smoldering plaster and pieces of chandelier to the ground.
The man Lucius held turned purple, his eyes bulging grotesquely from his sockets as he gasped for air, futilely scratching at Lucius’s clenched fist.
“Lucius, we must leave!” Morrigan cried over the pandemonium. She tried to grab his arm, but his skin had become scalding to the touch. She looked up to see that his expression had gone blank, his pupils eclipsing his irises into an absolute black. The world around her began to crumble, the elegant ballroom reduced to a merciless inferno. “Let him down or we will burn in here with him!”
Yet he didn’t listen, the man unwilling to give in to his inevitable death, still struggling against him. Suddenly she realized that Lucius was immobilized by his fury, trapped in the intensity of his power. She let out a roar of frustration, ripping the leg from an overturned chair and throwing the pointed end so that it lodged itself neatly in the man’s skull. Shocked, Lucius finally dropped him, turning to reveal an expression of panic. His hands shook as he held them up, each of his fingers ablaze, two pyres that gave no hint of dying.
Morrigan grabbed him, gritting her teeth against the pain, and flew them both out through the caved-in ceiling, delivering them from the bowels of the fiery disaster. She hadn’t realized she’d sprouted the wings of a crow until they reached the nadir of evening sky and she pulled torrents of cold rain down along with them. She heard hysterical mortals escaping in their carriages as she landed on the soil. The water drenched them, Lucius’s hands finally releasing tendrils of extinguished smoke. She pulled him onto her lap, cradling him in her arms as he heaved for breath, the rhythmic tapping of cool rain calming them both.
“This,” she whispered, as sorrow replaced her dwindling adrenaline. “This is our history together.”
He did not respond, but she felt an arm reach up and curl itself around her.
From the distance, two riders appeared on horseback, but Morrigan did not have to see to know who they were. David did not speak, his face obscured by the pouring rain as he lifted the weakened Lucius out of her lap and onto his horse.
“Come on, love, let’s get out of this rain,” said a broad figure who could only be Dan, taking her gently by the hand and lifting her up onto his own steed.
Thunder cracked in the sky as they retreated, four broken creatures riding in the storm.
Dan opened the door for her when they arrived at David’s manor, gesturing inside. The sound of dripping water echoed through the halls of the dark, empty house. “Perhaps we should change out of our wet clothes and reconvene in the parlor,” he suggested.
“I’ve had my fill of that bloody parlor,” she said with a slight shiver.
Dan shrugged. “Three floors and two wings in this blasted house, I’m sure we can manage to find somewhere else.”
“When will they be returning?” she asked.
Dan sighed, running his fingers through his damp silver waves. “I was instructed to keep you out of it—” His towering frame blocked her as she immediately tried to exit. “Hear me first. David asked that I keep you here so they could talk. They are in the vaults, where no wind nor fire can be easily summoned.”
Morrigan scoffed. “They will kill each other!”
“Libraean is nearby, just in case. Perhaps they need to fight things out.”
Morrigan chewed at the inside of her lip. “I don’t like this. You seem like a perfectly fine man, but you trapping me here makes me want to gouge out both of your eyes.”
Dan couldn’t help but chuckle. “David warned me as much. But I told him that I would explain to you that you are helping keep me here, just as much as I am you. I just found out that Cahira is in a cabin outside of London and it’s taking every part of my being not to go find her.”
“She’s here?” Morrigan said in surprise.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Dan muttered, heading up to his room. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen. There’s alcohol in the kitchen.”
Morrigan sighed, dragging the waterlogged skirts of another woman’s dress up the stairwell past the guest room she’d been reborn in.
On her first night, Jacob had brought her to the room of the eldest Lardone daughter, where she headed now, a room that spared little pomposity even with the dust strewn across the gaudy fireplace and ivory furniture, its floral wallpaper yellowed with time. He had directed her towards the full wardrobe that had been left behind so she could change from her tattered, bloodied clothes and, although the dresses fit, she had found no appeal in the frills and stiff, gaudy material. Unfortunately, now she had no choice, for the outfit she’d absconded from the stores downtown had been left behind during her escapade with Lucius.
She tore off Mrs. Montgomery’s scarlet gown and jewels as soon as she entered, standing in her damp chemise as she rifled once more through the clothing, the frigid manor raising the fine hairs on her skin.
“I do have a mourning dress in there somewhere, since you snub your nose at all the beautiful gowns I had imported from France. I hope you know they were high fashion while I was alive.”
Morrigan beheld the eldest daughter standing near the window, her face wrinkled with annoyance. It was very narrow and pointed, and though she might have been lovely in her youth, her skin was splotched purple, her eyes rimmed in red.
“I was poisoned,” she explained, noticing Morrigan’s expression. “Not long after I murdered my brother for being an abomination. Hence why there are only two black dresses. I did not survive much longer after his death.”
Morrigan sighed, her fingers finding the dress Francesca Lardone suggested, pulling it from the wardrobe. It was scandalously low cut for a mourning gown, accented with black lace. “Thank you,” she offered.
“I should not be helping you,” the ghost huffed. “Since you have abandoned the dead.”
Morrigan turned towards her as she began removing the pins from her hair. “I abandoned no one, I was ousted from the Underworld and none of us know why.”
“Is that right?” Francesca said dryly. “Well, those of us who haven’t been allowed into Heaven are just waiting around while you’re off galivanting around town with some handsome Frenchman.”
Morrigan scowled. “I have no sympathy for someone who murdered her own brother out of spite.”
Francesca sighed, rolling her eyes. “You make a terrible goddess. I hope the clothes give you hives.” With that, she faded into the wallpaper.
Morrigan pulled the macabre dress up around her body, satisfied by the way the dark, starchless fabric fell around her bare legs. She decided to stay barefoot, heading back down the stairs to the kitchen, her hair flowing behind her, wild and free.
It was already illuminated by lamps, Dan sitting at the servant’s table with a half empty bottle of scotch in his hand, a short glass on the table across from him. “Glad you decided not to flee. I wasn’t looking forward to David’s wrath when he found out.”
Morrigan slipped into the opposite chair.
“Well, you sure clean up nicely,” Dan commented, approving of her attire.
“Careful,” she said lightly, as she filled the glass halfway with scotch. “I have enough trouble with men as it is.”
Dan chuckled. “It was only a friendly compliment,” he assured her. “I love exactly one woman, one who just so happens to want nothing to do with me.”
“So, if Cahira is back,” Morrigan thought aloud, “does that mean David was the one who found her?”
“Yep.” Dan took a swig of the bottle.
Morrigan frowned. “Do you think she is what kept him away for so long?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think they…”
“I don’t know.”
Morrigan quietly emptied her glass.
They sat in silence for a moment before Dan finally spoke up. “I honestly don’t believe he was with her the entire time. Though we did have to fight to smooth things out.” He turned his head to reveal a bruised cheek in the process of healing.
“I see,” Morrigan said softly.
Dan attempted to change the subject. “So how does a Celtic war goddess like yourself stay sane, forced to remain stagnant behind four walls? I also grew up in the woods and find myself longing to be in them when I’ve been playing civilian for too long.”
Morrigan smiled sadly. “I do not feel much like myself in this life. When they brought me back in the ancient days, I was Morrigan—in constant opposition with Delicia—but unequivocally Morrigan. In this form, I am all of them. The human Liliana, the death goddess Nephthys, sprinkled with glimpses of the Morrigan. It hasn’t been easy to reconcile all these different identities. I guess that is what keeps me patient. That and I’m worried for Anubis. I believe we can retrieve him better together than alone.”
“Your son,” Dan remembered.
Morrigan nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to raise either of my children, but Anubis was the closest to me. My second son, Horus, now lives his life as Libraean, and David and he have their own special bond.”
Dan took another swig of scotch, offering her more, which she politely declined. “I never had any children myself,” he said. “At first I was too afraid to, but then I was turned into a blood drinker, forever taking the choice away from me.”
“I’m sorry,” Morrigan offered with genuine empathy. “And I appreciate you trying to distract me from my worry, although I cannot pretend that I’m not anxious. They should be done conversing by now.”
“If there was a problem, I’m sure Libraean would be rushing down here to tell us,” Dan assured her. “Or there would be a tornado tearing through the English countryside.”
“True,” Morrigan agreed, but was still unable to shake her apprehension.
Finally, she heard a rustling in the hall.
She flew into the foyer, startling Jacob so badly that he dropped his tray, shattering the glasses it held. She stared at the pieces for a moment, realizing it was the third time she’d observed glass breaking. “Forgive me,” she murmured, kneeling to help pick them up.
“Do not worry, Madame,” Jacob said. “Things move slow for me, even slower around all of you fast paced creatures. I have not grown accustomed to it yet.” He winced as he sliced his finger on one of the shards. A bead of red blood came to the surface, freezing Morrigan in place. All of a sudden, her nose could smell nothing else but its delectable scent, the craving to taste it overwhelming her, blurring out all other senses.
“Jacob, call Dan...” she managed, rising slowly up from where she stood.
Jacob caught the look in her eyes and began to back away. The smell of his rising fear enticed her further, her body now arguing with her conscious mind, trying to convince her that she could take just one little taste, that he wouldn’t mind…
Dan grabbed her arms behind her just as she snapped. “Run into the back rooms and lock the door!” he shouted at Jacob, who abandoned his tray and hurried to comply.
The sensation of being manhandled incensed an already agitated Morrigan, who bent to free her arms and whip around to kick Dan square in his chest, sending the giant creature sailing into an already smashed up wall.
He scowled, jumping back up from where he landed, his eyes narrowed and jaw tight. The sight of him standing before her with hackles raised filled Morrigan with exhilaration, faced with someone who loved combat as much as she did, bringing her dormant warrior to life.
“As much as I love a good fight, doll,” he growled, his hands in balled fists. “I have no fight with you. However, I cannot have you killing one of ours.”
Morrigan frantically nodded, aware that her instincts had taken over, scooping deep breaths into her lungs as she’d seen David do, trying to quiet her aggression.
“You fed from humans when you were with Lucius, didn’t you?”
“Yes,” Morrigan gasped, her face still flushed, her lips quivering. She could hear thunder rolling above, rain picking up around them.
Dan relaxed slightly. “Okay, then that is why. Morrigan, listen to me—you need to hunt. Outside this manor are woods filled with perfectly satisfying creatures. Eat one.”
Morrigan bobbed her head.
“But please, don’t bother the brothers. Come right back here when you’re done.”
She didn’t reply, flying out the front door at full speed and into the pouring rain. Her limbs sang joyfully at the exertion, instantly invigorated by the chilled air that filled her lungs and the freezing rain that drenched her hair. The night creatures greeted her as she entered their domain, her bare feet working to keep her balanced as she jumped and dove across the muddy forest floor at building speed. Bats flew from the trees, waking up the slumbering crows who cawed out their hellos.
The slumbering stag had no time to register her presence before she pounced, sinking her teeth into its neck with such fervor that his blood sprayed up in her face and ran down her chin. It wasn’t like the orgasmic throes drinking from humans gave her, but its warmth soothed her inner beast. She drank until there was nothing left, gently setting down the corpse as she whispered her gratitude. The crows that gathered around her cooed their thanks as well, circling in happy anticipation of a fresh, hearty meal.
She walked back to the manor at a leisurely pace, letting her heightened senses absorb the beauty of the night around her. The rain had stopped by the time she exited the forest, the cloudless sky boasting the brilliance of the full quarter moon, lighting her path. Her eyes flickered towards the graveyard, trying to honor her promise to Dan. She focused instead on the fluttering bats above her, the snakes crawling nearby in the dirt, and the random hooting of owls as she made her way back through the manor gates.
The doors opened for her when she arrived, revealing both Libraean and Dan waiting for her in the foyer. David stood at the forefront, his hand on the door.