The Sacred Heart: The Order of the Four Sons, Book IV

PROLOGUE

Lady Susan Lamprise was at the breakfast table with her daughters and her husband’s inspirer, Chretien. When Lord George Lamprise appeared in the dining room, Susan looked up in surprise. George had come in quite late the night before, so she hadn’t expected to see him up and about before noon. Yet here he was and clearly preoccupied. He hardly noticed as the children clambered all over him as they invariably did when he was home. When everyone had finished eating, he said, Susan, may I speak with you?

Of course, she said somewhat uncertainly. This was not a George she had ever seen before. He seemed concerned about something—grave, even. Her uncertainty turned to outright nervousness as he led her into his study, a room where she seldom set foot. They sat down on the sofa together. George was so large, the cushions indented so that Susan was tilted toward him.

As he took her hand in both of his, she noticed the fresh scabs on his knuckles, and her eyes went wide. You know that I support you in all of your endeavors. I would never ask you to stop your involvement with the Red Garters. But there are rumors that greeted me when I made port—beyond the usual rumors, I mean. About you and the Calderon woman.

It’s not what you think! Susan cried. She is very high-spirited. She was being theatrical, making a political statement--

Patting her hand, he shushed her. It’s all right. I’ve never doubted your faithfulness, dear one, and I’m not going to start now. But I need you to know that this is causing difficulty.

Susan leaned her head against his shoulder. Please forgive me. It won’t happen again.

Gently, he rubbed her back. Then it is well.

"Yes, all is well, Susan said, hugging him fiercely. Did you hear? They’re swearing in a woman palace guard today."

* * *

At Four Mothers, JD called the team together to meet in his and Kate’s room. He addressed them all, I just wanna get one thing straight. Emily’s about to go out there and get made into a palace guard. She’s doing this ‘cause, if she were to turn it down, it’d blow our cover. It ain’t because she’s plannin’ on stayin’ here and settin’ up shop. He looked at her. Ain’t that right?

Emily looked taken aback. Well, it’s not exactly a career move, if that’s what you mean. Why?

I think we all need to remind ourselves why we’re here, is all. Seems like every day we’re just diggin’ ourselves in deeper with these people.

Is this about the murder investigation? Kate asked.

"Ain’t just about that—"

You’re bringing this up now, after the Oracle got knighted? Bill asked.

Ain’t just about her, either. And she got put on the spot.

And she put Emily on the spot, Bill retorted. Same difference.

Look, JD turned back to Emily. I guess what I wanna know is, are you on this team or off it?

I was on the team? When was that? she asked.

You know what I goddamn mean.

No, actually, I don’t. I wasn’t sworn in. I haven’t learned the secret handshake. I haven’t been issued a bunny.

I’ve never been sworn in either, Murphy said. But I am a cop. Any oaths I’m upholding, I’m upholding as a police officer. I think you’re making this more complicated than it needs to be, Colonel... or did you stop being a Marine at some point and forget to tell us?

JD peered at Murphy for a moment. You know somethin’? You’re exactly right.

Emily nodded. I’m a Marine, too.

And we’re all human beings, Murphy continued. We all bring a certain amount of baggage to our jobs. But I like to think that everything we’re doing here, we’re doing because we’d want someone to do the same for us.

Relieved, JD grinned. I’m glad we did this. Easiest damn meeting I think I ever had. He patted Emily’s shoulder. Well, what’re you waitin’ for, girl? Go out there and get sworn in, get you one a them funny little hats.

Emily grinned back. Yes, sir.

* * *

Emily certainly had plenty to think about after that. As she went to the guard’s quarters, the tattoo on her hip, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR, seemed to burn beneath her clothes. Here she was, about to take a new set of oaths. She hadn’t broken her last ones lightly. Was this atonement—or exoneration?

She knocked on the door where Captain Champlain was waiting to interview her. She knew he was planning to grill her about her prior military experience. She told him, I was militia till I was sixteen. Then I moved up to doing wide patrols and such out in the wastes for about a year before they made me posse.

That was fairly close to the truth anyway. When he wanted specific examples, she’d paraphrased. MJROTC drills, Marine boot camp, her time with MJ-12—re-worded slightly, it made for an impressive enough resume. He was mostly interested to hear if she’d had any room-to-room combat training, which, of course, had been covered extensively by Vickers.

It seemed Justin found her answers satisfactory. The swearing-in was a small gathering, just Justin and the other guards—or, at least, it would’ve been a small gathering. Except that it took place in the goddamn gi-hugic throne room. The dais and the throne were there, a constant reminder of what was at stake, of the responsibilities the palace guards assumed. The throne and the dais had all of the usual trappings: the canopy, the banners bearing the royal and imperial crests, and the crown. King Henri’s crown, resting on the violet cushions of the throne.

Emily looked at it curiously. It was not the crown Leopold wore. It was plainer, but larger, thicker, with a turret design. It looked heavy, but then, she’d heard that Henri was a big guy.

The guards were all in their formal emerald dress uniforms. She was dressed like them, funny hat and all. She knelt before the throne and said the words. Justin asked the other guards to reaffirm their oaths as he led: I have come this day in sight of the Great Architect to pledge my faith and loyalty to the service of His Wisdom, Henri James Endymion Sarpedonne, High King and Imperial Ruler of Corbenic, Keeper of the Sacred Chalice, Thrice-Great Hierophant and Grand Patriarch of the Great Lodge, Duke of Esclados and Duke of Rhamplion, his family, and his Heir. I also dedicate myself to them with all my strength, sacrificing, if necessary, my life to defend them. I assume this same commitment with regard to the Regency in the event that the throne is unclaimed. Furthermore, I swear to the captain and my other superiors, respect, fidelity, and obedience. To my fellows, I swear allegiance and fraternity.

At the end, Emily rose and accepted from Justin the banner of the palace guard, which incorporated the Sarpedonne seal, the reclining bull, and confirmed the oath:

I, Emily Tonya Hayes, do so swear, with faith and loyalty, all that has been read. This I swear, upon my honor.

At Justin’s nod, she stood up and raised the banner. The hall was silent. Now, not only was she a member of the palace guard, she was also a citizen of the Corbenese Empire, just like Alyssa. Emily stole a peek around the room and sighed to herself. Always good to be the FNG.

* * *

As Emily was getting sworn in, the Red Garters chose to honor her in their own way.

A bitter wind blew as a platoon of women in front of the palace was performing mock-drills with wooden swords, a perfect phalanx of rustling skirts, four by four, marching in lockstep. All the women wore red. A crowd of men had gathered to watch, half of them laughing at the spectacle, the other half utterly humorless. As they drilled, the women sang. One was a song about Genevieve Manon:

By the banks of Marais des Cygne, they bound her up in chains,

But then one day she threw them off and Evie ran away.

And then she saw the whole wide world was full of whips and brands

And she vowed, they’ll know my name across these many lands.

Oh, my Evie, we do not cry for thee,

The Lady of the Marais des Cygne who came so we’d be free.

A river reed was in her mouth, she traded gold for red,

She brought us strength, she brought us light-- a movement now she led!

And when I go to join her, I’ll rise from bended knee,

I’ll meet you in Elysium to find our liberty,

Oh, my Evie, we do not cry for thee,

The Lady of the Marais des Cygne was strong and so are we.

They harried her through the night and day, but she could not be found,

And when they strung her up, she said, At last, I’m freedom-bound.

At various points, the phalanx would cease, and the women would stand at attention. Lady Susan Lamprise strolled before them like a general, haranguing them about solidarity with the newest member of His Wisdom’s palace guard. A woman palace guard, a woman knight! Corbenic, you are a fitful dreamer, and we call on you to awaken! Where is your loyalty to empire, when His Grace, by his very actions, calls upon us all to see that women are both worthy and capable of honor, respect, and responsibility!

Eventually, the gendarmes were called. It was determined that the women were impeding traffic and disturbing the peace.

As one of them handcuffed her, he said, Now, Lady Lamprise, you come along quietly now.

Oh, Maurice, she sighed as she climbed into the back of the wagon. Whenever have I not?

* * *

Prince Janus Sarpedonne watched from a tower window. He was smiling. For the first time in his life, it seemed, the universe was aligning in his favor.

Over the past months, he’d spent a great deal of time traveling. He was one of the few people in the empire who still had unlimited access to the ley lines, and he used them to visit influential houses across Corbenic. The purpose of these trips had been to sow seeds. Not of dissent but of unity—unity under him, Janus Alastor James Sarpedonne, the man who should have been Heir. When he’d let the invaders in, he’d known his reputation would suffer a blow. But it had been a calculated risk. He’d expected a few key houses to support him. Them, coupled with the support of the invaders, would mean, when the time came, he would be ready to strike against Leopold.

But now—things had gone in an entirely different direction. Janus was usually not one for surprises, but in this instance, he was willing to make an exception.

He’d managed to gain back the favor of many of the noble houses. Now, he had enough support that he may not need Starry Wisdom after all. It was better than he’d dare hope for. After all, he was still Corbenese; he had no great love of foreigners either. Assuming he ever gained the throne, his long-term credibility would suffer for accepting aid from outsiders.

Now, if the only reason the invaders left was because they were finished, he would be the one credited for driving them out. But to achieve that, he had to handle his future subjects more carefully than ever. To those most loyal to the crown, Janus had vehemently denied his involvement with the invaders. It was a vile accusation being hurled at him by his detractors, which included parvenus like the Bassarides. They could scarcely be called nobility-- their family hadn’t even been on the books five hundred years yet. No respect for blood or tradition. No respect for the true arts. All they understood was money. None of their family had been taken hostage.

Then there were provinces that had refused to accept unification, despite seventy years of imperial rule. These provinces, from which his own mother, a Heimdall, had hailed, still considered themselves individual kingdoms. They still awaited the day when they could shake off the tyrant’s banner. To them, Janus went in wearing the crest of his mother’s family, the hammer. He was one of them. Like them, he came from a conquered people.

When the men sneered and asked, was he not James Sarpedonne’s grandson? Janus replied, "James was never my grandfather. My grandfather was Deor Heimdall. James murdered my grandfather and wed my mother to his son, against the wishes of her uncles and brothers. James was Leopold’s grandfather. He was always very clear about that, I assure you."

The ambitious were the easiest to court, and they were everywhere, even within the Lodge. Grand Master Perseus had his own agenda. He’d always been a great admirer of James and despised Leo in the bargain. When Janus was a boy, Perseus had been as indifferent to him as everybody else—at first. But when Janus became one of the most distinguished pupils at the Lodge, he hastened to correct that oversight. Which made him the one person who’d ever recognized young Janus’ accomplishments. But Perseus had always been very careful, now more than ever. He was sympathetic to Janus’ position but hesitated to aid him outright. Still, he strongly hinted that once Janus had the throne, or was close to it, he could count on Perseus’ support, which meant the support of the Lodge.

All of them thought Janus was angling to become regent. With Leopold out of the way, they assumed the next candidates would be found among the Parthenais line. The old duke’s sons, Rainier and Serge, had sired many, many boys. When one of them was chosen, there would need to be a regent until the lad came of age, and who better than the last surviving Sarpedonne? (Aside from Uncle Nestor, but he hardly counted.)

What most people didn’t know was that Janus was planning to be more than regent. He planned to undergo the ordeal required to become the Heir, as he should have been allowed to do all those years ago.

Now, as the Red Garters paraded around in front of Four Mothers, families whose loyalties were still undecided would surely come around to his point of view. In fact, he was already composing what he planned to say to them:

"I am shocked-- as shocked as you are that it has come to this, but if you’d seen what I’ve seen in the Capital over the last few days, then you would have no doubts and no questions, aside from when.

"Yes, I agreed to serve as intermediary between Starry Wisdom and the empire. I did it so I could gain information about our invaders, so that when the time came, I would be in a good position to strike. It’s true, we’ve never really seen eye-to-eye, Leopold and I, but he is still my Prince and my cousin, and I had every faith that when faced with such a crisis, he would rise to the occasion. He is a man, after all-- a man, a Prince, a Sarpedonne. I know you are bitterly disappointed in how he has handled all of this, as am I. We were invaded and beset—Corbenic is at risk, our society in shambles, and how does Leopold make his answer? With soup kitchens! What is that, a ladies’ charity society? And that’s another thing-- encouraging willfulness in our women, in these of all times! No, not merely encouraging them. He flaunts his contempt for our institutions by knighting one of them. And yet, there are those who accuse me of disloyalty.

"Then, to add insult to injury, he goes and appoints another woman to the palace guard. A post which, as you all know, is earned by the most loyal and skilled soldiers of our military ranks, those who have proven themselves with blood and steel. And yet, I am disloyal?

"Such madness grows. Its roots run deep. Even now, in the Capital, more and more women – women, who, until recently, were steadfast, obedient, virtuous, and content with their proper place -- now stand in defiance of their fathers and husbands, gather in disregard for all propriety, and demand the very things which would unhinge any woman’s mind—more education, more responsibility.

"You may say my cousin is a good man. I will not argue. The problem is not whether or not Leopold is a good man. The problem is whether or not Leopold can be a strong man. But perhaps it’s not his fault. Even the greatest of wills have been known to be misled by the venom of witchcraft."

Janus envisioned how they would gasp. Even the most reserved of them would at least frown at the mention of witches in their midst. Yes, he would assure them. "I say witchcraft. You all know me to be a rational man, and it is not an accusation I make lightly. Had I not seen the evidence for myself, I would say nothing. But there is a trio of these women – three to a covey, so they say -- who have gained my cousin’s confidence, his ear, and his bed. One of them is the woman he knighted. One is the woman he’s made a guard. The third he has yet to award a man’s authority. Perhaps she has not yet decided what title suits her best.

"These witches are of course idolized by impressionable ladies, ladies who now gather in greater and greater numbers outside Four Mothers. Small wonder then, that these poor, misled members of the fairer sex call themselves the Red Garters. And, in recent times, such depths have they fallen to, that when they gather and decry their lot, they are seen in scarlet garters and little else. Stripped of their decency, their dignity-- all those qualities that make a lady, a lady. Whether he wills it or not, whether his will is even his own anymore, all of these travesties can be traced back to my cousin’s hands.

"Our good King, my uncle, held somewhere in foreign hands-- who knows what fate might befall him? And in his absence, we are under the reign of Leopold. I told myself he was biding his time, and when he was ready to strike, I would strike with him, and we would repel our invaders once and for all. But now, months have gone by. Our people are freezing and starving. Our invaders hold our families hostage and grow fat upon our world’s prosperity.

"Leopold is my kinsman. He is my cousin. But I cannot-- I will not make excuses for him any longer. He is many things, but he is no Prince."

Below, the women waved their protest signs and chanted. There was a knock at the door. Janus called, Come.

Your Highness, a servant bowed. There are gentlemen here to see you.

Who?

Nine of them, Your Highness, the servant proceeded to name them. Two were from very influential families.

Janus was scarcely able to contain his triumph. Do show them in.

Straightening his cravat, he seated himself in a deliberately nonchalant fashion. You know, Leo, he thought, as the men filed in, I’ve changed my mind. Your death will be quick. Janus rose from the table. Gentlemen, how may I serve you?

PART ONE

PURSUIT

Chapter One

It was not quite nightfall when there was a knock at Alyssa’s door. Emily opened it to find Christophe and Madeline, dressed to the nines and clearly ready for a night on the town. He sauntered in, cigar in hand. Now, which one of you is it that’s going to be dressed up in the finest streetwalker’s attire? He nodded toward Madeline. This little vixen refused to tell me. She said I must use my imagination. You’re a cruel, cruel woman to tease a man so.

This perv is seriously not coming with us, Emily said. Is he?

On the contrary, Christophe drew on his cigar. I will be providing for you the perfect smokescreen. After all, all of you leaving Four Mothers at a regular time, at night? Tongues will wag, people will wonder, and you have many enemies here, do you not? But I assure you, Christophe can take anyone to the bordello, and no one will think twice.

Yeah. See what I said above, about being a gigantic perv.

He laughed. As you wish, mademoiselle. But we both know I’m right. I just wonder if Madam Zosime has a pair of stockings long enough for those magnificent legs?

"It’s not me," Emily snapped.

Pity, he cast a look at Kate. She looked steadily back at him, her expression saying clearly, Wouldn’t you like to know?

Christophe extended both elbows. Ladies, shall we? In response, only Alyssa took her cloak from its peg. A slow, wolfish grin spread across his features. Ah, Sir Calderon. The mystery is solved. He took the cloak from her and held it out. So, he said in an intimate tone as he slipped it over her shoulders, Madeline and I get you all to ourselves? For the journey there, at any rate.

She ducked her head and seeing that even the back of her neck was red, he had to resist the urge to kiss it.

* * *

The carriage stopped in front of the columned mansion which stood behind a wrought iron gate. Its spikes were topped with gold fleur-de-lis. There were balconies and a widow’s walk. The wide French doors had stained glass embellishments. Red lanterns hung from the painted rafters along the veranda. Even from the street, they could hear the music playing inside.

Christophe assisted the ladies from the carriage and led them, one on each arm, up the walk. A very handsome young man guarded the front door. As they approached, he bowed, Lord Ecarteur.

Aristide, Christophe returned. Have the ladies missed me?

They speak of no one else, my lord.

The door opened to a wall of smoke, lights, color, and music. A ragtime band was going full throttle on stage, with lots of brass, and a man in dark glasses furiously working the ivories. On a polished floor before the stage, men and women were dancing—quite unlike the dancing Alyssa had experienced at the ball. In a loose semi-circle around the dance floor were tables where others were drinking and enjoying the music, their feet tapping in time to the beat.

Just inside the door, a valet took their cloaks. There was also a very pretty little girl with a moneybox. Seeing the latest customers, her small face lit up. Christophe! Dropping the box, she leapt up and fastened herself to his leg like a barnacle.

At that, a variety of women turned, crying, "Oh, Christophe!"

In an instant, they were surrounded by a crowd of the most beautiful women – well, girls -- Alyssa had ever seen. Most of them were about sixteen, she realized with a start—sixteen. And the little girl, the one who was still clutching Christophe’s leg, was maybe eight. Alyssa glimpsed another little girl of about twelve, strolling around with a tray of leaf cigarettes and books of matches. Alyssa glanced over at Madeline. Madeline herself was only nineteen or twenty. Which meant that, not so long ago, she’d been one of these girls. And Christophe. She looked from him to Madeline and back again. He sure as hell wasn’t sixteen, or nineteen, or even twenty-nine. Jesus.

But now, the group pressed closer. Girls of every conceivable height, shape, and coloring—every single one of whom could give Emily or even Kate a run for their money in the beauty department, draped in fine gowns and jewels. Each and every one of them were now hanging onto Christophe, tugging at his hands, pulling him further inside, pouting and petting and flirting as Madeline looked on, laughing.

"Christophe, where have you been?"

We’ve missed you so!

Things have been so frightfully dull without you—

Clearly enjoying himself, he allowed himself to be dragged along. Well, I’m here now--

"And Madeline—"

But who else have you brought with you?

A new girl?

Christophe, one of them wagged a playfully admonishing finger. You are up to something!

They all turned to Alyssa, who had shrunk back against the door, hoping to avoid notice.

Ladies, allow me to present Sir Alyssa Calderon. At that, the girls gasped and murmured excitedly amongst themselves. Christophe went on, You must forgive her. She can be quite shy. But I assure you, with the proper coaxing, she comes right out of her shell.

Alyssa fought the urge to cover her face as the girls eyed her. Is that so? asked one.

Oh, Madeline smiled, you have no idea.

Alyssa turned beet-red, and the girls laughed. In the great room behind them, the many men they’d been entertaining were left abandoned. They had all turned to watch the proceedings with guarded interest.

A woman appeared at the top of the grand staircase. She looked to be about fifty but was clearly one of those women who only got sexier as they got older. Her blond hair was lightly streaked with gray, pulled back into an impeccable chignon. A sea foam-colored gown sewn with gold threads skimmed her slim figure. Christophe, she called as she came down the stairs. How lovely to see you again! And Madeline! And I see you’ve brought Sir Calderon at last. I cannot claim to be surprised, for I know that handsome inspirer of yours would deny you nothing. Why is it you cannot bring him around more? To do more than play cards, I mean.

When she reached the bottom, she offered her hand. Bending low over it, Christophe kissed it. Ah, Madam Zosime. There are many mysteries in the universe, and why he chooses to lock himself away in his study when he could be in the company of so many magnificent women is certainly one of them. As always, I will do my utmost to make up for his absence.

And you never disappoint, the madam purred. Now. Are you going to introduce us properly?

But of course! Christophe straightened immediately. Sir Calderon, may I present Madam Zosime, proprietress of the Blue Lotus. And this, of course, is Sir Alyssa Calderon, savior of our Prince, and the most beautiful knight in all of Corbenic.

Alyssa stepped forward and gave the madam a perfect courtly bow. Madam Zosime’s eyebrows rose, but she did not miss a beat, offering an equally perfect curtsey in return. All around them, the ladies were ecstatic—the gentlemen, less so.

Madam Zosime peered more closely at the young woman before her, scanning her from head to toe with professional interest. At last, she smiled. Coming forward, she clasped Alyssa’s hand and imparted almost confidentially, I see His Grace continues to demonstrate a most discerning eye. At Alyssa’s expression, she laughed heartily. It is a great honor to have you in my house, Sir Calderon. Please know that you are welcome anytime-- with or without Christophe. Madam Zosime winked at him. Your boudoir is prepared whenever you are ready, though I suppose you’ll want to make your rounds first. After all, it’s been days. Some of the girls were starting to feel neglected.

I could never have that on my conscience, Christophe bowed again. Come, my dear. There are others, I’m sure, who are just dying to meet you. With that, he took Alyssa’s hand and swept her off to see the house. Madeline followed.

Madam Zosime looked around at the assembled girls. Ladies, are there not guests you should be seeing to?

The girls dispersed in a flurry of skirts and clicking heels. The band resumed playing, and the little girl who’d been by the door remembered her cash box. Retrieving it, she scurried after Christophe to collect the cover charge. Looking after all of them fondly, Madam Zosime shook her head and went about her own duties.

As Christophe and Madeline took Alyssa around, making introductions, they also gave her an impromptu tour of the house. Aside from the great room, which featured the dance floor and the stage, there was a series of suites where men played at billiards, poker, and other games. Servants carried trays of drinks and refreshments. There was a library where courtesans read poetry to their companions.

Christophe started to introduce Alyssa to them, but she’d vanished. He and Madeline located her in an alcove by the door to the kitchen, probably intended for an occasional table. If there’d ever been such a piece there, however, it had long since been removed, probably to keep the path clear for the kitchen staff. With the constant noise and bustle of plates being run in and out at breakneck speed, it was the one defensible place on the lower floor where romance was impossible.

With promises of no more introductions, (downstairs, at any rate) Christophe and Madeline managed to pry Alyssa from her tiny refuge. As they led her to the stairs, they passed a room where a courtesan was playing the violin for her patron. There was a harpsichord in the room as well, though it was not in use. Alyssa paused.

Madeline stopped when she did. Sir Calderon, is all well?

Hm? Yeah. Didn’t know you played. Distractedly, Alyssa walked on, leaving Madeline to stare after her.

Christophe shrugged. Did I not tell you?

Upstairs, they led her down a hall of private rooms. Madeline tapped on one of the doors. It opened to reveal yet another gaggle of excitable teenage courtesans. Many breathless voices chorused, Sir Calderon!

Come, one of the older girls said sweetly. We must get you out of those clothes! Hands reached out and grabbed Alyssa, pulling her inside. Madeline followed.

Yes, indeed we must, Christophe started to follow as well, but one of the girls blocked him, her hand on his chest.

Oh, no! Not you.

What? I practically live here! Great Architect knows, I’ve provided enough financial backing for this place, I might as well be a silent partner.

The fifteen-year-old smiled. Oh, Christophe, she cupped his cheek, trailed a finger across his lips. "You could never be silent."

With that, she slammed the door in his face. There was a great deal of giggling on the other side. Christophe stood for a moment, mouth open. He shut it, then settled back in a chair to wait, lighting a fresh cigar. He took a long, contemplative pull. That’s fair.

* * *

Inside the boudoir, Alyssa found herself bombarded: hugged, touched, kissed, petted, and overwhelmed by a cloud of various perfumes.

Madeline’s dimples flashed. "Come, ladies, are we ready to play dress-up? Which, of course, requires us to dress down first."

The girls helped Madeline, unbuttoning the back of Alyssa’s dress, unlacing her shoes. But as the clothes came off, they went quiet. Eventually, the whole room fell silent, and they all seemed to draw back as one, forming a loose circle around Alyssa, gazing at her solemnly.

Her scars. Alyssa looked down. Crossed her arms over her breasts.

From behind her, someone clapped their hands smartly. Ladies, came Madam Z’s voice. We have gentlemen downstairs unaccompanied.

The girls looked crestfallen, but they curtsied each in turn and bade Sir Calderon good night as they trooped out. Madam Z closed the door behind them, leaving only her and Madeline in the room with Alyssa, who had not moved, half undressed, arms still crossed.

The madam made a curt gesture. Come now, Sir Calderon. The rest of it.

Reluctantly, Alyssa lowered her arms and stripped off her slip and stockings.

As before, the madam gave her a comprehensive look. The older woman nodded. "Had I spotted you on the streets when you were a little girl, I would have snatched you up in a heartbeat. I would have you raised you, trained you, and when you were of age, I would have auctioned your cherry off to the highest bidder. You would have yielded me a roomful of silver."

Alyssa snorted. Yeah, right.

Why would I lie? There are no men here.

You’re just trying to make me feel better.

Dear heart, I am not in the business of helping little girls feel better about themselves. If you were a fright, I’d tell you. Does that satisfy? Now shush and let’s get you turned out.

* * *

When Madam Z and Madeline were finished, they took Alyssa over to the wardrobe. With a small flourish, Madeline opened the door to reveal a full-length mirror.

That’s... Alyssa groped for something to say. A lot of makeup.

Women of different stations wear their makeup like the palace guard wear their stripes. I assure you, you look perfect, Madam Z said.

But... I don’t look like me.

That was the point, was it not?

I guess?

Good. Now, Madeline, be a dear and go fetch Christophe, will you?

While Madeline stepped outside, the madam put her arm around Alyssa’s waist and hugged her so close their heads were touching, still looking into the mirror together. Madam Z sighed. You should let His Grace see you in that.

Alyssa examined her reflection with new interest. You think?

Behind them, the door opened again, and Madeline returned on Christophe’s arm. Alyssa tried to look anywhere but at him as he entered the room. He said nothing, but merely stood for a moment, taking her in. Then slowly, he walked around her.

Dramatic circles of kohl made her already almond-shaped eyes look positively exotic. (Madam Z had had to hold Alyssa’s head still so Madeline could apply the eyeliner.) Eye shadow went right up to her eyebrows, beneath which blinked lashes so black and heavy, they gave her a languid, come-hither expression. Wide patches of rouge contoured her cheekbones, gave her a rosy, flushed appearance. Her mouth had been painted to look very full, a rich claret color. All topped off by that beautiful hair, freed of its usual plaits to tumble around her shoulders like a mermaid’s. They’d laced her into the tightest clothing possible, a black satin skirt that was short in front to show off her stockings and garters, along with a teasing flash of thigh. For a top, she wore a red bustier and nothing else, leaving a lot of bare skin: arms, shoulders, collarbones, back. Her breasts were pushed into a high, savage cleavage, her waist pinched down to perhaps twenty-two inches. Makeup had minimized but did not conceal completely a long scar up one arm. In the green shadows on the streets, it would hardly be noticeable at all, but all the same, Christophe wished they hadn’t. He caught himself nearly reaching out to touch it.

Alyssa clasped her hands together tightly so she wouldn’t fidget. She picked a spot on the carpet to stare at. It was very nice carpet. This whole thing would’ve been weird enough, but he had to go and be all quiet and contemplative, like she was an objet d’art or something to be studied instead of a person. In some ways, it would’ve been better if he’d just used his horndog persona. Also, she found herself remembering what it had been like to be kissed by him and she felt her body flush from head to foot.

Well, Lord Ecarteur? Madam Z prompted. We breathlessly await your critique.

Folding his arms behind his back, he rocked thoughtfully back on his heels. She looks entirely too healthy for a streetwalker. And her clothes are too new.

She can say that she’s just been kicked out of a brothel, Madeline suggested.

For what? Alyssa asked.

Stealing—that’s the most common offense. I doubt anyone would ask, but should they inquire as to which brothel you came from, just look away and say, ‘Please, monsieur, I cannot say.’ Also, ask for three birds. It’s what a courtesan would charge. You’re a new streetwalker and don’t know any better. Yet.

Alyssa nodded. Then jumped a bit, startled. From behind, Christophe had put his hands on her bare shoulders. Walk for me, please. He gave her a little pat to get her started.

She did, her limbs trembling only slightly under his gaze as she walked to the windows and back.

Turn your shoulders in, he ordered. Make yourself small. Walk with little steps that are close together. Bow your head. When a man speaks to you, look up at him, but do not look him in the eye, and do not raise your head when you do.

Again, she complied.

Good. Remember, if you wish to convince anyone that you are a streetwalker, much less this fiend who stalks women, you must act the part. You are desperate. If a man does not choose you, if he does not take you somewhere and do to you this thing that over the years you have learned to fear and despise, you will not eat. It’s possible he may beat you, even kill you. You have no defense, no recourse. You cannot fight him. You are in his power. But you have no choice. And should you live through the night, and get food in your belly, tomorrow, you will wake up and have to do it all again. Your life is one of despair.

I get it, Alyssa said quietly. I know what that’s like. More than you know.

He softened. I’m sorry you do, and I’m sorry that I must remind you of it. But for this, your experience will be useful.

She practiced, adjusting her posture as he instructed. Not quite so small, you look like you are mincing... Good. Yes, good. Hug yourself like you are cold, and your stomach is cramping from hunger. And do be sure to smoke some of your little peasant cigarettes.

Alyssa shot him an exasperated look.

He grinned. Careful. Look at a man like that in the streets, and he will know. Believe me, they will say far worse. You may be angry as you like, but should your eyes flash like that, should you challenge a man so, you will give yourself away. And the fiend will simply choose another. So be meek, little girl, if not completely mild.

She glared at him for another moment before carefully rearranging her expression into one that was blank and defeated.

Christophe turned to Madam Z and nodded. Yes, I think she’s ready.

* * *

Madeline took Alyssa down the servant stairs, through the kitchen, to the back door. She pulled Alyssa into a fierce hug and kissed her cheek. Do be careful.

Alyssa hugged her back. I will.

Madeline stood in the doorway, watching her go.

As soon as Alyssa hit the bottom step, she opened her mind. Bill was waiting for her on the street. He let her walk ahead of him, then followed. The west end of the Crescent was only a few blocks away. They headed there, through the dank, shadowy streets.

This part of the city, the industrial area and the tenements beyond, was teeming with nightlife. Aside from the bordellos, there were plenty of pubs, vaudevilles, and drug dens. Near the docks, late ships came in and dropped anchor, the sailors disembarking to enjoy their leave. Gendarmes and Starry Wisdom sentries patrolled. The homeless huddled in doorways and around small fires built right on the sidewalk. How was it possible that murders had happened here, unseen?

Alyssa walked the Crescent eastward, following it as it dipped south, further into the industrial district, then swung slowly back north, Bill following at a discreet distance, keeping her in sight at all times. She didn’t raise her head to look at them, but she knew when she passed beneath her friends’ perches, first Emily, then Murphy, the Colonel, and finally Kate, all placed strategically on rooftops. Kate had her wand ready, and the others had rifles, all prepared to sight and pick off their ghoul. As Alyssa walked, she let her little psychic antennae roam freely along the people that she passed. Pimps, pickpockets, thieves, even the occasional murderer.

The actual working girls did not welcome her with open arms. Madam Z was right, she was dressed the part. But if she so much as paused too near a group of women, they screeched at her to piss off, flicking lit cigarettes at her, chucking rocks and whiskey bottles, jeering as she moved hastily on. She knew that if she got too close to them, they would shove her down, kick, scratch, tear at her hair. Some of them had bottles of poison. Many of them carried knives, jagged pieces of glass, and would be only too happy to cut her, especially her face. They didn’t intend to murder her, but all the same, in a group like that, things could easily get out of hand. Alyssa didn’t blame them. She understood she wasn’t just competition to them but represented the life they wished they’d had. Hurting her would be a chance to get some of their own back.

The pimps, on the other hand, were always kind. "Chèrie, they called. Pretty girl, you don’t belong out here. Come with me, I’ll take good care of you, keep you safe, treat you right."

She always shook her head as if too timid to respond, pulling her cloak more tightly around her shoulders, edging away from their outstretched hands.

And then, there were her would-be customers. Most of them were drunk, and apparently the Corbenese love of hygiene had found no foothold in the Crescent. Men with yellow teeth, brown teeth, or no teeth, whistled and catcalled, jingled their coin purses at her. Young men, old men, hard men with callused hands. Some of them stumbled into her, throwing their arms around her shoulders, stinking of onions and alcohol and sweat. Some of them spit at her. Others grabbed to inspect the goods. Some would curse at her even as they offered her money. They told her to take off the cloak, turn around for them, lift up her skirt, made lewd comments and suggestions.

But she always did what she was told, keeping her eyes carefully downcast. When she whispered her price, three birds as Madeline had suggested, they laughed and sneered, Think you better than me, do you? You’ll be beggin’ to take my money soon, you bet, and maybe then I won’t be feeling so generous, me.

We’ll come back in a week, when you hungrier.

You know, uppity girls don’t last long here in the Crescent. That’s for true.

Predators of every kind, on every corner. But not the one she was looking for. Back and forth she walked, six passes up and down the length of the Crescent, then returned to the Blue Lotus.

Alyssa peeled off her hooker gear and got in a tub. She couldn’t scrub off fast enough, washing her face free of makeup, and changed back into the clothes she’d been wearing that evening. She’d give anything for a pair of jeans, a sweatshirt, and a pair of broken-in sneakers. When she was finished, Christophe and Madeline took her back to Four Mothers.

* * *

It was only a few hours before sunrise when Alyssa climbed through the Prince’s window. Nonetheless, he was awake, waiting for her. He rose and took a hesitant step forward. She collapsed into his arms with sheer relief.

I was afraid I wouldn’t see you tonight, Leo said.

With her face buried against his chest, her voice came out muffled. Why?

It’s so late. Usually, you’re here much earlier than this.

Sorry. Puttin’ in overtime.

I understand you visited the Blue Lotus this evening.

Turning her head, she spoke clearly. Christophe.

Yes, and please don’t be angry with him. He was under the impression that I already knew where you were going and why. Once it was made clear that I did not, he would say nothing further, for fear of betraying your confidence, which he would never knowingly do. Not even for me. Leo paused. "Had you gone for the usual reasons Christophe escorts a lady to the Blue Lotus, no doubt he’d still be regaling me of the night’s activities even now, in loving detail, whether I wished him to or not. So may I ask, chèrie, what was it that necessitated your trip to the brothel this evening?"

She looked up at him. Really? You wanna talk shop?

If you care to share, yes, but I make no demands upon you.

I didn’t think you were—making demands. And yes, we can talk about this. They climbed into bed together and got settled in before she began. We’ve been asked to investigate a series of murders.

By whom?

Susan.

His eyebrows rose. Lady Lamprise?

She nodded. We figured the Blue Lotus was a good base of operations.

Who were the victims?

Streetwalkers. Two are dead. There’ll be three more by the end of the month.

The two that were found in the Crescent?

Yeah. How’d you know?

I meet with the commissaire every morning. He keeps me apprised of criminal activity.

Does the commissaire know it’s happened before?

I am certain he does not. When?

Twice before that we know of—once ten years ago, and once ten years before that. Five women both times, in a month’s span of time.

He turned this over in his mind. Do you know anything of the killer?

Only that he’s a lord. The streetwalkers told Bill and Murphy that he’s well-dressed and carries a walking stick with a silver handle. We think he’s doing some sort of ritual, which would also point to a lord.

Yes. Yes, it would. A ritual ten years in duration—that pointed to an older lord, a master of the arts. He’s probably using it to maintain his vitality, blood magic in conjunction with his own internal alchemy. Who do I know at the Lodge that would be willing to slaughter streetwalkers to extend his own life? The Prince sighed. That