“He’s got my bag,” a girl calls. “Someone get the police!”
The commotion in the entrance foyer of the pub becomes crushing, people pushing elbows into my ribs and my back, shoving me right into the witch-costumed hostess’ arms. One of the policemen makes it right behind me, but Jeanie gets a brilliant idea.
“These guys are officers,” she calls out, ripping my “escort’s” jacket open. He cusses under his breath as his police-blue shirt and his gun become visible to the public.
People grab and steer him towards the screaming girl, and Jeanie rips open the other guy’s jacket while the hostess pulls me to her and talks so close to my ear that her spittle lands on it.
“I staged the theft.” With that she pushes a mask in my hands, grabs my nape and hauls me inside the pub. Her cloaked back topped by a pointy hat shifts to cover the entrance and thereby shield me from being followed.
I gather myself quickly and make my way through the crowd to the heart of the pub. I manage to hustle through the line to the ladies’ room, but the girls I elbow in the process have been waiting for quite a while, and they’re irritable. They lose their manners too, shaking fists and cursing like wantons from the cheapest brothel.
“I just need to talk to someone who’s inside, I’m no competition for the toilet,” I try to defend myself.
It doesn’t help, they’re still aggressive. I’m scared, but I have to go through with it. In the end, I’ll get out of here dressed differently and wearing a mask, so I stand a good chance of getting away without a beating.
It’s full inside the ladies’ room, and I must take my clothes off right here, among giggling girls by the mirrors. They go “Oh,” and “WTF” as I proceed with my business like an exhibitionist. I’m embarrassed, but there’s no time for pudency.
The leather pants are sticky on my sweaty legs, and losing them doesn’t go as fast as I planned at home. I’m not as graceful as I imagined I’d be as I step out of them. I stumble and catch myself by holding on to one of the girls, who’s enthusiastic that under the pants I’m wearing torn fishnet stockings just like hers.
With a friendly “Hot,” she helps me back into my high heels and watches with an impressed grin as I tie the black sheen scarf around my hips. I shuffle off the silk shirt and reveal the pink corset with black lace above the breasts, and pin my hair up in a bun, which I cover with a black sheen cap. It’s not like I’m the only blonde in here, but better take too many precautions against being recognized than too few.
I can’t believe the exhilarating feeling I get as I fling the door open and hold up my mask in front of my face, walking out of there like Catwoman on Jimmy Choos. With every step I pray I don’t sprain my ankle and spill myself on the floor before all the open mouths that shook fists at me only minutes ago. If that happens, and my disguise is compromised, I’m pretty sure my own mother would have difficulty identifying me under all the bruises from the beating I’d get. But God hears my prayers.
I make it past the waiting line and work my way slowly among the masks, the back-slapping men and laughing women, but soon I attract more attention than I can use. The costume is too sexy. I chose it because it was easy to conceal from Jeremy, but now I realize it’s practically “begging” for attention.
The thought worries me, but before I can dwell on it I see him. The man in the Zorro mask strolling his way towards me. My heart drums as he gets closer.
I’d never fail to recognize the Marquis’ marble-like skin and defined features, they’re so handsome and youthful. I sigh as his arm goes around my middle and his bittersweet scent slithers through my nostrils. For a moment there I think he’s using his powers on me again, but then I admit to myself I’m just drunk-in-love with him, and I let go.
He gently leads me to sit at a corner table that seems reserved for us. He keeps his arm on the wall at the level of my head, trapping me in the small space, his other hand caressing its way up my thigh, his fingers sinking hungry into my flesh, tearing the stockings. I keep back the sounds of pleasure that threaten to leave my throat, since people stand crammed together close to the table, shielding us like a human curtain.
“It wasn’t me, Saphira,” Kieran’s voice ripples. It feels like chocolate to my senses. “I didn’t kill your – Gunnar.”
“I never doubted that.” I keep it low too, making sure my words drown in the chatter. “But Jeremy has the whole town instigated against you. You have to get out of Northville.”
“I can’t. Not without you.”
“As soon as all this calms down I’ll move to London, and I’m sure you have your ways of finding me there. We’ll just let things cool for a while.”
“It hurt like hell to be away from you even for a few days. You want me to put up with that torture for another while that might be months?”
Emotion swells inside me. Our surroundings seem to fade away. His dark shirt is open at the neck and down to the upper part of his chest, revealing the smooth skin beneath it that I long to explore. My fingers tremble at the silky feel of it, the feel of a creature half human, half serpent.
“I missed you so much, Kieran,” I whisper.
My words set him on fire. He kisses me with those beautiful lips that make me vibrate down to my core, a rich, full kiss. His tongue fills my mouth, and I give in under his tight embrace.
“I don’t want to be separated from you another minute,” I let out among heated pecks, my hands sinking in his glossy hair.
Kieran rests his forehead against mine, looking down at his hand that still kneads my thigh.
“Run away with me, Saphira,” he lures. “We’ll leave everything behind us, the past, the revenge, and till the end of time I’ll work on making it up to you for all the pain I’ve caused you.”
“You’d do that? You’d give up the very purpose that kept you going all these years for me?”
He looks straight into my eyes. “I’d do anything for you, Saphira. As for revenge – even if not by my hand, Gunnar Lothar is dead, and his circle of monsters broken. They’re running in all directions, scared. The arms of the law should take it from here. My job is done.”
I caress his face, wanting to take in the feel of him through the fine ridges in my palms. “There’s nothing I want more than to run away with you, Kieran, leave everything behind and start anew, start clean, just you and me. But that would fuel Jeremy’s hatred against you, he’d hunt you down with even more bile and determination.”
“I’m not afraid of Jeremy Simmons.” He cups my face with both his hands. “Come with me. I promise you the dark times are over. I promise you’ll be able to love me and feel good about it too – your words, your wish.”
His eyes search mine full of hope, and I understand that this is his tormented soul’s only chance at redemption. I either accept, or Kieran Slate will succumb to the serpent Marquis forever. I make a firm decision and take the hand he offers me as he stands.
I’ve never felt more certain of anything. It’s for the first time when I’m completely sure that I’m doing the right thing. I’m madly in love with this man, and I’m well aware that eloping with him through the back door means surrendering myself to him entirely. I make the choice full-heartedly. He grabs a short leather jacket from the pegs by the exit, flings it over my shoulders, and we plunge out into the night.
The streets are narrow, dark and chilly, only here and there an orange light flickering at a window, but Kieran’s arm around me and the warm proximity of his body is all the “safe” I need. I mentally say farewell to the buildings that stand dark and timeless on each side of the cobbled street like a tunnel – this is the old part of Northville, which miraculously escaped bombardment during the war. These houses are almost as old as the line of Kings and Queens, and their walls witnessed many of the Middle Ages’ terrors and horrors, including the black plague. There are still basements where community graves were found.
Just a few months ago I thought I could never leave this place, even though its mystery chilled me to the bones, but somehow I couldn’t stop probing it. Today I know the town was always a cruel place, and that all through my life it’s been an anonymous retreat for rich twisted devils and their dark practices. I’m glad it’s going down.
Rain begins to fall from the laden skies, the drops big and hard like gravel on my face. I put the jacket over my head, but my legs are wet and freezing. The rain shortly soaks Kieran’s shirt too, making it cling to his sinewy body, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the least.
“Don’t you –”
“I’ve been through far worse than a little angry water, Saphira,” he interrupts, increasing pace as we slosh through the puddles. “It’s you we need to get to warmth fast.” My feet practically swim in the cold water in my shoes.
“Where are we going?” My teeth clatter, and Kieran’s hold tightens.
“An inn. Joyous awaits us there with a car.”
But at the next street Kieran suddenly halts. He pulls me back behind the last corner we passed, and he does it so fast I get dizzy. I come to myself and follow his gaze around the gutter to realize that we’re looking at Virgin Vivien’s house – what’s left of it after the fire. Two figures in monk-like cloaks – one tall and broad, the other small and thin – go separate ways from it. They’ve obviously been in there together, but it turns out one of them – the one that heads our way – is a woman. I can’t see that far, especially through the heavy rain, but Kieran’s eyes turn to serpent slits, and he identifies her.
“You won’t believe this. It’s Pretty Lauren.”
Surprise kicks out my manners and language. “You gotta be shitting me.”
To be continued on Tuesday.