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Coffeehouses, butchers, and betting shops slumbered in preparation for dawn, the capital kept alive by sin and a tearoom nestled at the crossroads of slum and wealth. Spindrift, it was called.
Ettenia’s capital of White Roaring rarely slept, and with the recent vampire disappearances, whispers kept the city ever more awake; not because the people cared for the welfare of vampires, but because if something nefarious could happen to them, how would weaker humanfolk fare?
It was unfair for the masked Ram to see so much when the people of Ettenia couldn’t even see the face of the monarch that ruled them.
If you couldn’t pay, you shouldn’t drink.
“Weapons?” the butler asked, palm outstretched. “No, thank you.” Arthie smiled. “I have my own.”
There was a greed in his gaze, as if he feared missing the world by giving in to a blink.
“You know, for the longest time, I’ve wondered if those of us who come and drink tea can taste the blood you serve in those very same cups.” And there it was.
“We all have our secrets or the world would be out of currency. Isn’t that right, darling?”
“You’d do well to remember,” Arthie said, ignoring him and turning to leave, “that some secrets are worth more than others.” Matteo hummed. “You know it more than anyone, Arthie, the girl who pulled pistol from stone.” Arthie didn’t flinch. All of White Roaring knew about Calibore, the breechloader that no one but she had been able to pull free.
“Arthie, the girl who came to Ettenia in a boat full of blood.”
Yes, Matteo Andoni was almost out of reach except for one glaring secret. Jin drew a quick breath. “You—you’re a vampire.”
She almost felt sorry for him, until he looked up at her and winked slowly, with vanity. “Every good love story starts with a bullet to the heart.”
“That’s Spindrift. Tearoom by light, bloodhouse by dark.”
Twenty years ago, the Wolf of White Roaring brutalized the streets, ripping out throats until rivulets of red ran down the district. Though the Wolf did not drink from his victims so much as he mauled them, survivors spoke of fangs and a scarlet stare. He was a vampire, though no one had known at the time, and it was strange they’d never found the one responsible.
After all, fear became hate when it festered long enough. The world always teemed with darkness, Ettenia had just given it a new name.
Traditionally, a vampire was born when a person on the brink of death ingested vampire blood. Whether they were exsanguinated by an undead or died of other means, the process was the same: Drink an adequate amount of vampire blood in those precious seconds, and the deed was done. Half vampires were different. They were fed vampire blood while they were still alive, and often against their will, giving them all the energy of the living and then some, enough to unleash their pain upon the innocent without even realizing it.
Spindrift being a bloodhouse was no secret. White Roaring knew it. The crew knew it. Every member of the Horned Guard knew it. The difference was in the proof: None existed. Except for that syringe Matteo had, of course. Jin still didn’t know how he’d managed to pilfer it. Only the crew was allowed to handle the supplies used for bloodletting, and they were instructed to do so with care and precaution.
Really, all they’d needed were the small hands of a small girl from a small island far, far away. A girl who had been wronged, cheated, stolen.
She was, simply put, a tempest in a bottle, tiny and simmering and ready to obliterate.
“No, Sergeant. Can’t defy a law that doesn’t include me.” She was right. Ettenian laws were created for the white man, usually at the expense of anyone who didn’t share their pallor. This was how someone like Matteo Andoni could live a markedly different life than someone like Arthie.
Power was indeed fickle, and in the ever-changing landscape of White Roaring, the Casimirs were untouchable.
The one who draws Calibore free is our savior. The one who wields Calibore is Ettenia’s right and true leader.
Calibore was a hoax: The pistol had been artificially fixed in place to exploit hopeful Ettenians. Still, the pistol was special: silver and strange, with a single bullet in a pristine chamber. Otherworldly, yes, but there was no legend holding it in place.
She was still a child, but when you saw the cruelty of the world firsthand, you became a little cruel yourself.
They collected trophies for civilizing countries that had never asked for a redefinition of the word.
“We’ll have ourselves a tempest of tea on the horizon.”
“We might be on opposite sides of the law, Casimir, but we can both agree the Ram has too much power.”
“Laith Sayaad of Arawiya. I wish I could say it was a pleasure, but I’m not one to lie.” And then he disappeared into the night.
On the cusp of a discovery, his father would say, even as he worked on other things—specifically, vampiric things. He was fascinated by the world of the living, enamored by the concept of the undead, and wanted to make life better for all.
In time, Flick found herself searching for something to fill that void. For when one loved as much as Felicity Linden did, it was difficult to not be loved in return.
Arthie Casimir was a maestro commanding the room. A queen at her throne. The hangman at the gallows.
Chaos kept the world in order.
Everyone knew who lived at 337 Alms Place, but Flick didn’t know how Matteo Andoni fit into Arthie and Jin’s plans.
“I know a helpless soul when I see one.”
“Does she have a name?” Laith looked as if he hadn’t even considered that she might need a name. Flick thought names were important. They told you a lot about someone, which was why she felt she was more of a Flick than a Felicity. She’d outgrown her name when her mother had outgrown her love.
Was Flick wading into something she should not be involved in? You were arrested, she reminded herself. Even if she wasn’t in a prison cell, she couldn’t wade much further than that.
Young women of her age and status were swooning over suitors and naming future children, not marching with the likes of the Casimirs.
“Two visits in less than a day? Oh, darling, I knew you would miss me.”
How did it feel to never die? To lose count of the setting suns and the fattening moons? How did it feel to watch the living, born from nothing, turn into nothing once more? Given enough time, a vampire could learn all there was to learn. Discoveries could be made, coffers filled to the brim and then some. Flick assumed it would feel powerful, to be immortal, to never age, to revel in the knowledge that only a wooden stake or prolonged exposure to silver and sunlight could kill you.
“I’m going to miss our chats when all of you turn up dead.” Laith sat down on the rug in front of the coffee table and crossed his legs, an eye on his kitten as it curled up in a corner of the parlor. “You are going to ascertain it never comes to that.” “Ascertain?” Matteo repeated. “Where did you say he’s from again, the dictionary?” But Matteo looked as if he knew exactly where Laith, with his kohl-rimmed amber eyes and curved dagger, was from.
“You really are quite adorable, regaling me with such heinous threats. Do you think I find them frightening?” Matteo rose from his seat, leaning closer to Arthie. She inhaled sharply. His next words were low, for her alone. “You know, darling, not everyone needs to be threatened to work for you. It’s possible for someone to simply want to.”
The Athereum was old money paired with old families. It was born in the Wolf of White Roaring’s massacre, when the government approved the creation of the society that was part authority, part revelry, where members spent their nights enjoying the Athereum’s dark delights and Ettenian gossips flocked to its stone walls, hoping for a glimpse.
“So vicious, so ambitious. I like it.”
“Speaking of a full house,” Matteo said, rearranging his decanters and casting Arthie a look, “you won’t be able to enter the Athereum armed. Not even with a renowned pistol such as yours.” Renowned and, what Matteo wasn’t aware of, special. She drew her pistol and shifted it in the light. Gold pooled into the dark abysses of its filigree. Flick was staring; Laith pretended he wasn’t. But they didn’t have to worry about Calibore being seen or getting them kicked out.
And yet, there was something to be said about a girl who knew everything about everyone and a boy more mysterious than the moon.
“Hello, criminal,” he said, stepping behind her. “Teach me, saint,” she replied.
In her hands, the pistol shifted, twisted, and changed.
Every so often, Arthie felt the same pinprick panic as the people whose secrets she exposed. Like now, when quick as a trick of the light, Calibore the pistol became Calibore the knife, black filigree scrawling down its hilt, silver blade sharp.
She belonged to no one, she wanted to say, but a little thrill ran through her, and she couldn’t decide if it was from Matteo’s attention or Laith speaking out on her behalf.
“Why are you here?” Not how, only why.
