Wicked Ever After (A Blud Novel Book 7) (8 page)

“I feel overdressed,” I said. “And anxious for a fight.”

“There’s only one thing that feels as good as a fight, you know.” Criminy’s eyebrow quirked up knowingly. “And you definitely won’t feel overdressed for it.” He stepped closer, his voice going lower. “Your mouth says you don’t want it, but your body says you do.”

I ran my tongue over my fangs as heat bloomed all over my skin. He was right, damn him. “Promise?”

He caught my hips and jerked me against him. “Oh, I do.”

“But we have to hurry. My grandmother—”

With a bark of a laugh, Crim spun me around so that I was facing the closest table. Step by step, he walked me forward until it bit into the fronts of my thighs. “Don’t talk about your grandmother when I’m about to make love to you, pet. She’ll wait.”

With a hand firm on my neck, he gently pressed me down until I was bent over the table, ass up, and I obligingly clutched the edge and spread my legs. Before I could catch my breath, he’d lifted my skirts and run clever fingers in all the right places. Not that he needed to—I was ready, had been from the second the timbre of his voice had changed. He’d told me a Bludman’s body was more responsive, more attuned to pheromones and scents, but I’d had no idea how warmly my senses would welcome the onslaught of the alpha predator I knew so well as my husband. Even though I’d climaxed recently, I ached for him, jutting my hips back to tell him so. He chuckled as he undid his buttons and entered me in one rough thrust.

All I could do was groan. It had never been like this. So simple, so animal, so pure. I could feel him in my pores, in my veins, in my blood, pulsing like a heartbeat, as if drinking from him had lifted what few barriers had separated us. We moved in time like a furious symphony, hot and wet and perfectly tuned to each other. My talons bit into the wood of the table as I bucked against him, as he rubbed me, as his other hand pressed flat into my back, holding me down. It was fast and savage and perfect, and I was coming already, groaning, howling, slamming against him to draw it out longer, riding the sweetness for as long as possible. With his usual perfect timing, he came at exactly the right moment to trigger another, deeper orgasm, and I screamed and went limp and boneless, my cheek against the cold, scarred wood.

“Why didn’t I do this a long time ago?” I muttered, flexing my claws.

“We did this a few hours ago, love. Although I’ll admit I enjoyed it more than usual, just now.”

I arched my back and stood, sitting on the table and filled with contentment as he rebuttoned his pants. “I meant getting bludded, not having sex, silly. Why’d you enjoy it more, though? Because we weren’t angry this time?”

My husband’s eyes glittered as he cupped my jaw. “Because this is the first time I didn’t want to kill you,” he said.

9

Even though I
was anxious to get on the road, I never wanted to leave the mirror. After years of watching my body age five times faster than it should have, it was a relief and a joy to see the crow’s-feet and eye pouches gone, my dark-blue irises swirling and sparkly like the star-strewn night sky. My laugh lines had disappeared, replaced by actual laughter. My hands were smooth, if covered in small black scales, and my neck wattle and varicose veins and knobby old-lady toes were back to the graceful lines I’d taken for granted in my twenties. I’d inspected every inch of my body and felt that the curving fangs were worth the trade, even if I still slurred a little around them when I talked. I wanted to spin on a mountaintop, dance at a ball, and kill something large and vicious, all at the same time.

“Darling, I can give you a hand mirror to bring with you, but the witch won’t wait for vanity.”

“Oh, now that you’ve been properly serviced, you’re suddenly in a hurry?”

He laughed his wild laugh, and I answered it with my own. “You’re beautiful, love. Always. Now, come on.”

With a becoming rosy flush, I turned away from the mirror, already hating the high neck on my old dress. But the same concept applied: whether I was a Pinky or a Bludman, appearing to be human would make travel to and through the city so much easier. I finally understood Criminy’s distaste for pretending to be human; hiding who and what I was made me want to rip the heads off the puny men in leather armor who would be hiding behind glass, guarding the grand gates of London.

Criminy leaned against our wagon door, tidied up in a fine new suit after the mess of our trading blood and blud. The shirt he’d been wearing had gone right into the fire, and it was strange now, seeing him in a human man’s starched high collar and tightly tied cravat. More than ever, he resembled an extra-naughty Mr. Darcy, and I hurried across the room to kiss him hard, pressing him into the wood with a newfound freedom and confidence.

When he pulled away, he ran a knuckle down my cheek and smiled. “Blud becomes you, love.”

“It does. I don’t know why it took me so long to convince you.”

He laughed and snaked an arm under my legs, swinging me up into his arms and carrying me through the open door of our wagon and out into the pink-tinged morning like a husband with a new blushing bride. As much as we’d both wanted to hurry, we’d been exhausted by the blood exchange, and no one set out on a journey at night in Sang, thanks to brigands and large, lurking predators. I’d slept like the dead, deep and long and hard. And today I felt like a million bucks, ready for the same fight I’d wanted yesterday.

Parked outside was a high, two-seated wagon with a fat, dappled gray bludmare jigging in place under harness. In back, an old trunk was strapped on. But it wasn’t traveling clothes; it was the remains of our main sideshow attraction, the heads of Catarrh and Quincy tossed on top of their bloodless body. The best way to dispose of murder victims in the wilds of Sangland was merely to drop them on the moors among the bludbunnies. Not that Catarrh and Quincy had anyone to notice their disappearance. Crim had already ordered the signs on the Freak Tent repainted, and the other carnivalleros were not likely to miss their most dangerous and creepy coworkers.

“Three strikes, you’re out,” I said, thumping a fist on the trunk and making the horse snort against the metal cap over her dangerous muzzle. Crim raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for an explanation. “When I glanced on Charlie, I saw Lydia. I know she didn’t make it. If the twins hadn’t gone after her that night, she wouldn’t have died. He’d still have her.”

“That’s only two strikes, darling.”

I bared my teeth. “They both bit me. That makes three.”

Crim swung me up into my seat and kissed my hand with a wink. “Ah, Letitia. I didn’t think I could love you more, but this bloodthirstiness is ever so beguiling.”

It felt quite nice, sitting high up on the carriage with Criminy, enjoying the benefits of clear eyesight and the most stunning thrum of health and wellness I’d ever known. I could almost hear the blood—no, blud—pumping in my veins, feel the fantastic efficiency of my upgraded body. The only real negative was that, instead of a picnic basket filled with cheese, bread, and bludbunny jerky, now a small traveling blood warmer sat at my feet, filled with a week’s worth of corked glass vials for Crim and me, should London prove challenging. I still felt full from last night, although Crim had pushed a vial on me the moment I woke up. He was apparently concerned that, since he’d drained the bloodthirsty twins before feeding me, I might have inherited some of their mad and uncontrollable hunger, but thus far I hadn’t been tempted to attack any of the humans around the caravan. I did feel a slight twinge of hunger upon hugging Jacinda in her sleeping robe, but it was more a polite urge than an insane craving. London would be the first true test of my calm and control as a Bludman.

I could see the high hump of it, still miles away, rising from the moors in a haze of fog. It was the biggest city in Sangland by far, vast enough to see from half an island away. It looked like nothing so much as the work of a busy hermit crab, layer after layer of topsy-turvy buildings built into and on top of one another, spiraling ever higher. The top echelons were hidden by smog from the factories nestled around the base of the wall. In most cities, the apex of the layer-cake-like, maze-riddled structure would be the cleanest part, where only the highest-ranking and wealthiest humans could afford to live, while the squalor was down near the walls and surrounding the Darkside ghettos reserved for Bludmen. But London had grown so large that the top was as filthy as the bottom, and the finest, most highfalutin folks lived in the sparkling white middle, almost like a piece of thick chocolate cake with a small strip of delicious vanilla filling.

The thought of cake turned my stomach, and I shook off the fancy.

Man, I missed cake. Or at least the idea of cake.

“Penny for your thoughts, love?” Criminy asked.

“Oh, I was just contemplating how stupid these cities are. I mean, they seemed silly when I was a human, but knowing what it’s like to be the most terrifying creature on two legs, now I see that the Pinkies are just fooling themselves. No walls could keep us out, if we really wanted in.”

Crim picked up my hand and kissed the black scales. “Now you know our secret. Welcome to the cabal.” He set my hand down and jingled the reins to hurry the horse along. “But the most terrifying creature on two legs is actually a cassowary. Bloody buggers have leg daggers and poison spit and will eat anything.” And then, much to my surprise, my husband shivered. “Ugh. Oz. Terrifying place. Nothing but giant spiders, monsters, and death.”

It was freeing to be on the moors as a predator instead of prey. I hadn’t suffered a bludbunny bite since the day I’d arrived in Sang, naked and still convinced the whole thing was a dream. But the number of rabbit carcasses left on the hooks of the dining wagon and the handfuls of copper coins Crim handed out for killing the edible monsters added up, as did the number of human guests and carnivalleros who reported to the artificer’s wagon to be patched up after they let one of the adorable little buggers get too close.

Sang would always be dangerous, but for me, now, a little less so. As the bludmare trotted on, snorting bloody froth into her muzzle cap, I actually found the ride toward an evil witch and a city that maligned me somehow restful. Pleasant. What would happen would happen, and I was ready for it.

No wonder Crim was in a good mood all the time, if he was constantly consumed by this sense of supreme confidence and peace. I could get used to the idea of two hundred more years feeling this way.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

Crim sighed. “We have to find the witch in order to find your grandmother. Last I heard, Hepzibah had established a lair in London, but I don’t know where it is, and it’s most likely well hidden and better guarded. I suggest we hit Deep Darkside and visit the shadiest magician we can find. Either we’ll pay for the information or we’ll steal it with your palms. Your glancing should be unaffected by your recent transformation. Or it might even be heightened. We’ll check it unobtrusively before it becomes necessary.”

“So we waltz through the gates, talk to people, and then attack the bitch? Doesn’t sound too hard.”

“Ah, a Bludman’s perpetual optimism. Let’s hope it’s not. We deserve another honeymoon to enjoy your newfound—”

“Body?” I supplied with a smirk.

He nudged me with his shoulder. “Attitude, I meant. Although, yes, you might find your appetites rejuvenated in all sorts of lovely new areas, as you’re already noticing.”

“I’ve never seen Deep Darkside in London before,” I mused. “Probably all sorts of interesting marital aids for sale.”

Crim gave me a scandalized side-eye. “Darling, London’s Deep Darkside isn’t a place for amusing gadgets, unless you want them made of human bone and cursed to crawl up inside the user. This is business. Although . . .”

“ ‘Although’?”

“I’ll confess, I was rather hoping to find time to stop by Demi’s cabaret. With our two-headed boy gone, there’s room in the caravan for a new act, and she did mention in her last letter that she had a rather promising daimon in her ballet who’d been born with wings.”

“Oh, my God, you gossipy old woman!”

“Darling, I’m not a gossipy old woman. I’m an apex predator with a show to run who needs to check in and make sure that the French brigand she picked up in Paris is taking proper care of the closest thing I have to a daughter.”

I erupted in laughter, and after a moment he joined in. Once we fell off into giggles, I put my head on his shoulder. I was still a bit sleepy after nearly dying.

“Just out of curiosity,” Crim asked as I was on the verge of a sunny nap, “what are these ‘marital aids’ you wish to shop for, and don’t you think Mr. Murdoch could make better ones?”

I perked up immediately and tried to describe a Magic Bullet to a man who’d never heard of gunpowder.

10

The Demimonde was
London’s first cabaret, and I’d never seen Criminy as proud as he was the night it opened under the careful tutelage of his adopted daughter and protégée. Demi had been an unhappy college student on Earth when she passed out, overly depressed and suicidally drunk, and woke up in Sang. Luckily, Criminy had been near enough to hear her screams. Unluckily, she’d already been mauled by the bludbunnies by the time he reached her, and his only choice was to blud her on the spot. She became his star contortionist, a Bludwoman with all the power of a vampire and all the sass and independence of a college freshman with a minor in women’s studies. And honestly, I’d missed her
ever since she’d left for Franchia and, now, London
.

At the moment, she sat across from me in a silk kimono that dragged on the floor, a hideous one-eyed cat purring on her lap. It was a new experience for me, reclining on a velvet cushion and sipping blood from a painted teacup among others of my kind. When Criminy held out a candy dish of sugared red curls, I selected a sliver and chewed it thoughtfully.

“A gift from Her Royal Tsarina,” Demi said with a wink to Crim. “Her majesty’s favorite candied liver.” She paused dramatically. “
Human
liver.”

I almost spit it out, but frankly, it was too delicious. It had only been a day since I’d died, but I already missed chewing.

Crim snatched the dish back and shook it. “From Ahnastasia? It looks fresh.”

Demi rolled her eyes and shooed him with a hand. “Yes, dork. Your idol is currently staying in her suite, and Casper is playing in the show that debuts later this week.”

“Did I hear my name, Mistress of the House?”

The Bludman who pushed past the swoopy curtains and grinned at me with the deepest dimples I’d seen in years did a double take when I grinned back to show my fangs. There had been a time when I thought I might love Casper Sterling—for at least ten minutes. He was a damn fine-looking specimen, like the best parts of Matthew McConaughey rolled up with the best parts of Brad Pitt, and he could play the piano better than anyone in the entire universe of Sang, mainly because he’d come from Earth. They didn’t have a Mozart here, so Casper was basically a god. And a rock star. Not that it mattered. Despite Criminy’s ongoing jealousy and my occasional what-if interest, he clearly belonged with Ahnastasia, now the Tsarina of Freesia, and I more than belonged with Criminy.

“Howdy, Maestro,” I said around my fangs, and he shook his head and held out his arms. I gave him the sort of polite hug that passes between cousins in the South, because that’s more or less what we were now. Crim only gave a small growl, which was a nice change.

“I promised you blood cookies when you finally picked the right team. Didn’t I, darlin’?”

“Candied liver will do just fine.” I sat back down, held up another curl of sugary red, and popped it into my mouth.

“Wait until you try the blood slushies. All the treat, none of the cavities.”

Criminy suddenly went on point like a dog, and Ahnastasia swept into the room with all the haughty magnitude of a glacier, in an ice-blue gown spangled with tiny crystals. Her white-blond hair had grown long and was up in intricate braids, and she gave me a small nod and slipped her arms around Casper as if marking her territory. Her upturned nose quivered across his shoulder, and she narrowed sky-blue eyes at me accusingly.

“You didn’t mention a party,” she said to Demi, one eyebrow up.

Demi stood. “Ahna, I’d like to introduce my godfather, Criminy Stain, and his wife, Letitia. Criminy owns the caravan where I trained.”

“Where I started out,” Casper added. “Tish and I are from . . . the same place.”

“A Stranger,” Ahna hissed, eyeing me. “I saw you. On the Demi Monde’s opening night. But you were a human then.”

The statement contained both an insult and a question, and I nodded. Once this she-beast queen might have riled me, but now? “I was here, yes. And things changed.” My fingers sought Criminy’s and squeezed.

She cocked her head and looked me up and down. “Still in human clothes. But you seem unafraid, which is good. Casper was like that. Some, I hear, don’t take to the metamorphosis. ‘To die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.’ ”

“She do that a lot?” I asked Casper. “Quote dead Earth poets?”

But he was already scribbling it down in a pocket-sized notebook that looked half-filled and had
Blades of Grass
embossed on the leather cover.

“Darlin’, you have no idea.” He grinned. “I sometimes accidentally call her Walt. So are y’all staying in London for a while? Did you come to see the show?”

He looked to Criminy, but Criminy was still mooning over Ahnastasia. I’d gotten used to it. The man was a sharp, canny predator for ninety-nine percent of his life, but the ruler of the Blud world turned him into jelly, much like I’d been when I’d seen the Backstreet Boys in concert as a tween. It was kind of adorable, and I was struck with a sudden pain when I realized that, in another life, he might have one day looked at our children with that peculiar mix of worship, affection, and awe. But I was barren after a bad surgery on Earth, and I doubted even the magic of a Bludman’s body could solve that problem. Reverse aging? Sure. Re-create twisted, destroyed, surgically removed tissue? Probably not. It hurt my heart every time I thought of what beautiful babies we could have had if things had gone differently long before I ever met Criminy Stain.

“We’re here to hunt a witch,” I supplied, jostling my husband with my elbow to get his attention.

“Will any witch do?” Demi asked with a smirk.

Criminy grinned at the closest thing he had to a daughter. “No, love. We need one in particular. Her name is Hepzibah, but she also goes by Madam Burial and plenty of other names. She’s a dangerous Stranger whom I had the misfortune to blud many years ago in exchange for a tricky bit of a spell. She works almost exclusively in dark magic and is rumored to have a lair somewhere in London.”

“Deep Darkside?” Casper asked, and Crim rolled his eyes.

“Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s that simple. I’ll just waltz through the gates with a bucket of salt water, ask the first miscreant I come across for directions, and storm her well-advertised storefront. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner.”

Ahna tapped a long talon on her chin. “Why are you hunting this creature?”

“She has my grandmother,” I said.

Casper stared at me as if I had two heads. “Your grandmother is here? Like,
here
here?”

“Long story.” Criminy waved a dismissing hand. “Point is, we’re in a bit of a time crunch and need to know who’s the most dangerous magician in London these days.”

“Mr. Sweeting,” Ahna said, her voice as cold as snow.

“He’s the cousin of Monsieur Charmant,” Demi added. “You know, the dude who almost killed me in the Paris catacombs? Not a nice guy.”

“We don’t need him to be nice. We need him to be foolish enough to touch Tish,” Criminy said.

“Mm. Yes. She’s terrifying.” Ahna snorted and booped my nose with one finger, and the glance came on stronger than it ever had, crystal clear and ultra-bright.

Casper and Criminy focused on me, waiting. They’d both seen me glance often enough to know what had just happened, why I’d gone suddenly still. The twin fear reflected on their oh-so-different faces told me that giving Ahna any clue whatsoever that I’d seen inside her mind would basically be suicide. People weren’t allowed to simply access the Blud queen’s destiny as if it were a radio station. But I knew well enough to feign ignorance.

As for Ahna, she had no idea what had happened and merely laughed a wild laugh and said, “Silly Strangers. Pick that poor man’s jaw up off the floor and come upstairs, Casper. I wish you well, but I do not give lectures or a little charity.”

He was already scribbling but soon tipped his tall hat to me. “See anything good?” he whispered.

I’d seen more than I’d ever tell him, but for now I just smirked. “How do you feel about twins?”

“Soon?” He gulped, eyes to the door.

I shrugged. “It was winter, but considering we barely age, who knows what year?”

Looking distracted, charmed, and dazed, he patted me on the shoulder and hurried in the direction Ahna had flounced toward, tossing a “Thanks, darlin’!” over his shoulder.

“Well?” Criminy asked as soon as they were gone, back to his usual quick self once he was out of Ahna’s orbit.

Demi leaned closer, eyes twinkling for scandal.

I thought back through the piercing jumble I’d seen in the glance. “Another royal wedding, between Ahna’s brother, Prince Alexi, and a younger Bludwoman dressed all in brown. Ahna’s going to have twin girls and, later, a boy who’ll get into a ton of trouble and have Casper’s dimples. Casper’s finally going to write an original song.” I smiled. “No tragedy that I could see. Good, long lives.”

“Tragedy? Looks like we arrived right on time to divert it, yes?”

Hearing Vale’s voice, Demi bolted up from the couch like a kid at Christmas and threw herself into the Franchian brigand’s arms. I’d seen him dressed up in tux and tails and in the traditional all-black of his Dread Pirate Roberts look, but today he wore a workingman’s clothes, striped pants, and an open-necked shirt with an old, stained waistcoat. When he went to hug me as usual, I automatically recoiled. He was half Abyssinian, and my body knew it. His blood would have the same effect on me as rabies on a dog, which meant that he smelled sharp and repellent, like bug spray hitting the back of my throat.

The man at Vale’s side was unfamiliar, but he piqued my immediate interest. Not only because he looked like Thor in a kilt but also because a grackle sat on his hat, blinking at me with curious golden eyes. Demi introduced him as Thom, a London firefighter who had rebuilt most of her theater from the bones up.

“And who is this fine fellow?” I asked, with a nod to his bird. Tame pets were rare in Sang, and as much as I liked Crim’s copper monkey, I missed real animals.

“Oh, that’s Archie.” I liked Thom even more when I heard his thick Scottish accent—and his affection for the bird. “Wee fellow hatched out in m’wife’s shop, the runt of the litter, as it was. I took te feedin’ him worms and bits of food, and he never would fly away. So now he stays with me always. Right fine for finding lost nails, aren’t ye, lad?” He held out a finger, and the bird stepped up and rubbed his beak along Thom’s thumb. When Thom held him out to me, I let the handsome creature step up onto my hand.

“Oh, who’s handsome? Who’s a handsome bird?” Archie preened and made some satisfied noises, and I realized that while rats and bunnies now hissed at me and ran away and horses looked as if they wanted to fight me, the bird didn’t seem to care that I was a predator. And it was refreshing.

“Your wife raises birds?” Crim asked, more politely than I was used to in his dealings with unknown humans.

Thom nodded, removed his hat, and tidied his queue. “
Aye. Frannie runs a pet shop
on the edge of the daimon district.”

“Next door to Reve’s shop. Casper introduced us to Frannie and Thom,” Demi added helpfully, and I did the complex connections in my head, remembering that Reve was a lovely daimon who helped Demi with the complicated wardrobe of her cabaret.

Crim smiled at me and stroked the bird’s sleek chest. “Perhaps we should stop by. You’d like a pet, wouldn’t you, love?”

Having accidentally destroyed the last three clockworks Mr. Murdoch had designed for me, I grudgingly nodded. “I can keep an animal alive. They squawk when you nearly sit on them.” With his blond hair pulled back and his hat firmly in place, Thom whistled, and the bird flew from my finger back to his master. “But aren’t we in a hurry?”

Crim grinned. “Our next step is Deep Darkside and the most dangerous folk therein. I suspect most of these scoundrels do dealings with someone who sells exotic animals, yes?” Thom nodded. “A magician needs a familiar, you see, and the right food to feed it. So your Frannie might know the witch or at least have heard something of her.” He stepped behind me, rubbing my shoulders, which had risen around my ears as I contemplated more time until the hunt for my grandmother began in earnest. “Relax, love. The more we know, the more we take into battle.”

“But my grandmother—”

“Is just as powerful as you and might not know how to find the witch, either.”

“The wife has a new batch of kittens,” Thom added helpfully.

“I haven’t seen a kitten in six years,” I said, suddenly wistful.

And that pretty much sealed it for me. Kittens and info it was.

Frannie’s pet shop was one
of the most wonderful things I’d seen in Sang. Truth be told, I’d missed interacting with cute animals that didn’t want to suck out my bone marrow. From the moment we stepped into the brightly painted store, greeted by the songs of birds and wild barking from a gaily striped bin of rowdy corgi pups, I wanted to plant myself on the ground and just be mobbed by warm, excitable, wriggling things. Criminy was immediately taken with the ink-black crows and set about inspecting them like the judge at a county fair.