Inexperience proves a burden once again. I expect things to move as quickly as they did with Elena, instead three weeks pass working at Sanguine Sweet with nothing eventful taking place. I am a proficient bartender now, a blessing for Cassandra who no longer has to mentor me and can work her own shifts instead of hers and mine. Otherwise, I hear nothing from Vivienne about her meeting with Charlemagne, and when I ask she tells me that it will happen in due time. I suppose for a vampire, there’s never really a rush, and it feels rude to push her towards haste for something so personal. The same holds true for Castillo, who has no updates for me during this time. Evidently, the death of the thief deterred my parents from trying to break into Mattapan Maximum Storage again. Or perhaps they know the contents they seek are no longer there. Yet, I am not accosted at all. I make my way to and from the Market with no sense of being watched or followed. Despite this, I know not to let my guard down. I do not believe my parents simply gave up and returned home. They are waiting for their opportune moment.

Friday night sees me following my new routine. I rise, I drink the blood Castillo keeps supplied for me, I leave for the Market. Cassandra showed me a different way in previously, rather than the werewolves’ entrance I now go through an abandoned and dilapidated Gothic style cathedral close to Dorchester, where the other vampires of Boston come into the Market. It’s quite amazing the building isn’t condemned yet, and I wonder if the Covens are behind its lingering presence, paid off to keep their doorway clear. I prefer the entrance in the NCAAA Museum, the church smells of dank fungus and death.

The passage leads to a back street behind Sanguine Sweet, so I can make my way directly to work if I choose to. Most nights I do, others I arrive earlier so I can wander the Market. I’ve seen a few of the shops now, selling such oddities that I assume have practical use to those who know how to use them. I make it my goal to learn about these things, broadening my understanding of this parallel society to the one I’ve known my whole life.

Tonight is not a night of exploration. I left the Back Bay area too late for that, caught up in a game of chess with Gianna and actually giving the board some use. She’s exceptionally skilled in the game and I have yet to win a match, but her continual triumph warmed her to me so I did win in that regard.

I arrive just as the bar is opening, it’s my favorite time in the place, before the music pounds from the speakers and the place is crowded with the press of bodies. I see a few of the vampires better suited to Castillo’s ‘estriptisero’ moniker, lounging in one of the booths together and chatting amiably before they’ll be called to satisfied customers. They lift their hands in greeting when I enter, and I return the gesture. I have not made deep ties with any of my coworkers, but they’re welcoming enough and respect my privacy, always willing to chat during a lull without prying. All in all, I am starting to enjoy my job even if there’s a few aspects of it I could do without. I think exposure will get me, if not comfortable, then at least undisturbed by the various activities that happen under this roof.

 

“Hey, Henry,” Cassandra says as she comes in.

“Hello,” I reply as she joins me behind the bar. She’s rummaging around in the cubbies and withdraws a few wine bottles. “I’m stealing these, we ran out upstairs and Vivienne won’t be back with the new shipment until closing.”

“Very well.”

I haven’t had to work the upstairs bar, and I’m glad Vivienne upheld what she said about not pushing boundaries. Cassandra smiles and wishes me a good shift before she takes the bottles with her and goes up the grand staircase. By now customers are starting to come in; vampires, witches and warlocks, a couple Fae, goblins and redcaps, even a Djinn. The music begins its rhythmic booming, and I shift the satchel that still holds the relic and book so it’s behind me as I prepare for another night of mixing drink after drink. The bustle makes the time pass quickly, in any case.

“Henry. Henry Stone,” the voice drips like honey, honey concealing poison.

It’s near the end of my shift and I straighten, having been retrieving more glasses from the bottom shelf. Standing next to me, leaning on the bar, is Muir. He has a smug smile on his face, and I notice he doesn’t attempt to hide the fact his eyes travel over me before settling on my face.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” I point out.

“But you don’t really mind,” he decides, not moving. He examines his nails, which are painted a deep blue tonight that match his eyeshadow and shirt, a button-down that is completely open and baring his chest. Dark, fitted pants accentuate long legs, and small, thin loops adorn his pointed ears. His smile becomes more smug as he watches me take in his appearance. “No, you definitely don’t mind.”

“I’m working,” I argue. “If nothing else, you can at least get out from behind the bar.”

The hint of a feigned pout forms on pale lips, but he does as I ask and retreats to the other side of the bar, ensuring he takes the seat across from where I’m standing. I focus on the task at hand, mixing a complicated cocktail for a siren, and pay Muir no heed until the drink is set before my current customer.

With everyone served, I look around to see if there’s any patrons standing nearby waiting to put in an order. Alas, I have no more excuse to ignore Muir and I reluctantly return. “What can I get you?” I ask.

“Three…no, four, hours alone with you.”

“I meant what drink can I get for you?” I ask. One of the lessons I was taught since working here is that vampires can get flushed if they drink enough blood. I’ve seen it in some of the patrons here. I drink only what I need to sustain me, and I’m grateful for it as heat doesn’t immediately rush to my face.

Muir grins and rests an elbow on the bar, then his chin in his hand. “Still you.”

I stare at him, a confusing mix of feeling affronted, embarrassed and intrigued, warring briefly in my mind before I separate myself from them, detachment my savior once again, and preferable to resigned compliance. “I’ll return when you’re ready to order.”

“Henry,” he says in an amused whine as I begin to turn away. “Lighten up, sweetheart. Are you really so displeased to see me?”

“I’m beginning to be,” I mutter.

His laugh is like ocean waves, rolling gently to the horizon. Or like trees swaying in the wind. It is of nature, beautiful and alluring. “I shan’t tease you further,” he insists. “Come, come. Fix me with a Flaming Pixie.”

The drink is a mulled cider mixed with actual pixie dust said to elicit a high to match many drugs in the black market, with none of the horrid side effects. Allegedly. It is then sprinkled with ‘dragon scale’, though I have my doubts it is actually from a dragon, which is what’s set aflame before being served. The flames dance in colors of purple and greens, reacting to the pixie dust in the drink. I hand the concoction over to Muir, who inhales its sweet and spicy aroma languidly. “Perfection,” he hums, watching the amber drink turn to gold as the fire sinks into the liquid, becoming part of it.

He takes a sip, his hum closer to a moan that he somehow times to be audible despite the loud music.

“You know, I would be within my duties to ask you to leave,” I say.

“Yes, but then what’s the fun in that?” Muir asks. “Is this drab little club really that much better without me in it?”

I can’t say ‘yes’ because Sanguine Sweet is never going to be my scene and I think he’ll detect the lie immediately. I shrug as answer and he presses a hand over his heart, a dire sigh adding to the melodramatic performance.

“At least I am a paying customer,” he adds, voice clipped. I cannot determine if he’s truly annoyed with me now or not. “So, kick out your high rollers, Stone, and see where this place ends up.”

“If you are a high roller, why were you working behind the bar when we met?”

“For fun,” he says. “You should try it sometime, babe. Let loose, succumb to your wild side…I obviously wasn’t doing it for the money, I don’t work here.”

“Why are you…” I trail off. I want to ask him why he seems so interested in me, but I wonder if he truly is or if this is just how he behaves with everyone. I’m leaning towards the latter, but more than that, I begin to convince myself it doesn’t matter. He’s not my reason for being here, and I cannot let distractions hinder me.

But he does have a very distracting smile.

“It’s that obliviousness,” he says, leaning towards me as though sharing a secret. “You have no idea do you…?”

“No idea of…what?”

He gathers his breath and I find myself leaning towards him, failing my goal of keeping distance in every sense of the word. A slender finger suddenly taps the tip of my nose, accompanied by his musical voice singing ‘boop,’ before a peal of laughter rings like bells. “You’re so easy, just not in the way I want you to be.”

I withdraw with a frown, trying to think of what I can say. He spares me the effort, because he tips back his glass and finishes his drink with a lewd gulp before pulling out a wad of cash and slapping it to the bar top. “Keep the change, honey. Time for me to slink off and lurk in the shadows again.”

I watch him exit and shake my head slowly. I do not know quite what to make of this situation, only that it feels like something more than dealing with an eccentric customer. He worries me in a way I cannot define yet, but it is the absence of his overwhelming presence that makes his last words click in a more pertinent manner. It was most likely an expression, more of his humor to say he was slinking off to the shadows. I think of the text I could discern from the book, however; in shadow.

Cassandra is coming down the stairs, many of the customers who go up there trickle out of the bar after closing, but her shift is over. She’s carrying one of the wine bottles again, coming over to me to replace it from where she took it.

“Can you close up?” I ask.

“I just did,” she says pointedly.

“I need to catch someone,” I insist.

She pauses, sniffs at the air and rubs at a temple. “Not again,” she mutters. “Let me guess, Muir? Promising to give you everything? Paradise in a kiss, redemption through his dick?”

“Uh…no.”

“I guess you don’t seem the type to go for that kind of thing. What do you need him for then?” she waves away her own question. “Never mind, you can tell me tomorrow. Fine. I’ll close up here too, but you owe me, Stone.”

“Thanks, Cassandra.”

I bring the satchel around to my side, my hand resting on it and assuring book and relic are where they’re meant to be. I am far more adept at weaving through the crowds in the bar by now, and it's thinning out with closing time swiftly approaching, making my departure all the easier.

I return to main street and look carefully for Muir’s blond hair. Briefly I think I’ve lost him, but then I catch it like a golden halo in the distance, heading down a side street I have yet to explore. I go after him, reminding myself to keep far back to avoid detection and thankful for my overly keen senses. The street narrows as it goes along, and looks as if it ends with a stacked set of apartments. I see Muir duck under the building’s uneven deck and wait a moment before I follow after him.

Eyeing the first level apartment for signs of spectators in the windows, I press onward when I determine the way ahead is clear. I duck under the deck, and find the land slopes downward to a pathway that I have to stoop slightly in order to walk down. Instinct tells me to turn back, the smell here is similar to that which haunts me…the smell of an unfinished basement, moisture trapped in slab, the pressing earth all around me. I close my eyes, lift a hand and confirm there is no locked door before me. Opening my eyes, I take one step, then another, gathering resolve with every one. The passage goes for about 100 feet before I see another doorway, this one with a light overhead.

The door is metal, painted a loud yellow and accompanied by a guard; a burly creature with grayish skin, bulging eyes and asymmetric limbs. Its overall shape is humanoid, and it looks at me with sentience and intelligence as I come closer, as well as suspicion.

“What’re you doing here?” it demands in a grumbling voice, like the sound of boulders rolling down a hill together. “You a rat? Huh? You with the Archives?”

“No,” I insist before he can work himself up further. “I’m here to see Muir.”

Like Cassandra, exasperation overcomes the creature as it sighs heavily, cracks the yellow door open and grunts, “oy, Muir! One of your strays is here. What the fuck were you thinking?”

Muir emerges and looks sinister for a second before his eyes land on me and he’s back to smugly grinning. “Oh, it’s only Henry. He’s harmless, you don’t have to worry about him, Balen.”

“He looks like a squealer.”

“I hope so,” Muir sighs dreamily.

“If you don’t mind,” I say loudly. “I did not come here for this.”

Muir and Balen exchange a glance. Balen sighs and steps away from the door, the poor creature is so tall that he cannot be comfortable down here but he seems to make himself smaller as he waits for us to get out of his general space. I wish to go back the way we came, but Muir beckons me inside and disappears beyond the door before I can protest.

If Sanguine Sweet can be considered seedy, it is nothing to my new surroundings. The ceiling above is rock and earth, just barely opening enough for us to walk straight. Like a rabbit’s warren, tunnels branch off the main corridor, opening to small dens with cushions and pillows thrown about. The smell here is pungent, an acrid mix of smokes, powders and unwashed bodies that assault my nose.

“Is this…a drug den?” I ask, watching a dark man light one of the purple cigarettes Muir offered me when we met.

“You can get drugs here,” Muir replies casually. “It’s actually a branch of the dreaded black market.”

Now I see, these warren dens are not lounges for rest, instead they act as merchant stalls. Akin to those on the streets above, but there’s not a great amount of hawking. I assume those who come here know what they want, and need not be persuaded by the vendors.

I can overlook this, it’s not my business. I wish I could hold to this thought, but it vanishes with the sudden, terrorized shriek of an infant. I stop in my place, looking for the child so I might seize it and bring it from this dreadful lair.

“Henry,” Muir’s voice has no trace of its usual teasing, and he looks more serious than I’ve seen him. “Come,” he adds.

“But there’s…”

“Come.”

I ignore him, hearing the cry again and so prepare to travel every twist and turn to find the baby until he grabs my wrist and yanks me towards him. “They will kill you,” he hisses. “You do not interfere. Not here.”

“But why is there a child here? What is happening?” I ask, jerking my hand out of his grip.

We draw attention, or rather, I draw attention and Muir notices this immediately. He smiles his bright smile at the vendors now eyeing us suspiciously. “First time on the Never,” he croons. “Such a lightweight.”

I do not care what trouble I cause for him, right now…I don’t even care about my reason for pursuing him this far. I care about the infant, and the dread that fills me when I hear the next wail cut suddenly off. If I can just break away from Muir, I can go look. I can bring it from its suffering. I step back from the Fae, but Muir reaches out to seize my chin, looking at me with his strange eyes. “Just come with me,” he says. “Calm down, you have nothing to worry about.”

I wrench myself from him, on alert and defensive so that when he reaches again to stop me I strike his hand away before he can grip my shoulder. I turn from him, ready to burst into that preternatural speed, when a sudden scent overpowers me. It’s a mistake to turn back towards Muir, who has slit his palm open and fills my senses with the smell of his blood. A mistake with further consequences when he reaches not for my shoulder this time, but to clamp that bleeding hand over my mouth. I may have resisted had he kept that distance, but this? My tongue darts out on instinct to catch the nourishing life force that will do more than sustain me.

It is incredible.

All my worries wash away. All the pain of my childhood, of my adulthood...even the pain that has yet to happen disappears. I am in a nebulous world of peace, and nothing can touch me here. The blood is as rich as chocolate, as sweet as a candied apple, robust as the finest wine. It smells of wild flowers and the rain, it smells of some place far beyond this world, and I am at the center of it – of that unknown space, in my peaceful universe. I am everything and nothing, content in this duality and swept willingly to oblivion.

Oblivion is an arm around my shoulders and Muir’s face, radiant as the stars. His skin looks a pale green now, features more accentuated…the whites of his eyes an inky black which make the electric blue of his irises stand out more acutely. He smiles and his teeth look sharp, as sharp as my fangs but I do not feel threatened. I cannot make out his words, but he laughs and the sound is so joyous that I join in, uncaring of where we go as he leads me through warren-like tunnels that burrow into the earth. To the center…beyond, out to the very cosmos perhaps.

We pass faces of knowing, eyes that follow and seem too bright in the harsh glow of bulbs strung up along the walls. Smiling, everyone’s smiling. Laughter echoes in my mind and I feel like my feet no longer touch the ground. I float, I drift along like a leaf in the river, and it is absolute bliss. Muir is warm beside me, and nothing troubles me as I follow that coursing river. I see bodies entwined in passion deeper in the tunnels, I see a rather unattractive vampire lick his lips in relish – a bundle in his arms that twitches then goes still. So small, small as an infant. The witch behind the vampire counts an impressive handful of cash…

“Take my hand,” the lyrical voice sings, drawing my gaze from vampire to Fae.

I’m leaning against the wall and it feels like it’s embracing me, holding me fast. I laugh when I find myself incapable of moving and Muir joins in. He saunters closer and hooks two fingers behind the buckle of my belt, tugging me free of the gripping wall to be captive in his arms instead.

“You should smile more,” he whispers.

“I’m not happy enough these days,” I say between chuckles.

“Poor thing.”

I think he’s going to kiss me, and I don’t think I will turn away. Odd, since I’m sure I’m not interested in men. Although, if that’s really the case, it begs the question of why I’m just as attracted to Riley now that the exterior matches how he’s always felt inside. I feel the heat of his lips, they're so close and I drown in those eyes, they are my world, I am floating in the darkness of his essence.

“No,” he purrs, amused. “I’d rather you beg. Preferably while sober.”

His absence leaves me cold but I still take the hand he offers me. What disappointment blossoms in my chest flees as we continue, the dirt and rock around us washed in psychedelic colors and voices that lift like a choir through my mind. Things blur, and we turn a corner and face a door that doesn’t look like it belongs, then there’s a gap, a swirl of nothing, before we’re out in the streets. I don’t recognize where we are, but I hear people speaking and their voices are different. Familiar though.

The sound of bells rings out and I look to the source, the giant clocktower bears a striking resemblance to the one in London. Then I am consumed by a tide of colors, sounds and smells that make coherent thought impossible.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

I groan and roll onto my back, feeling as though a sledgehammer is banging through my head. Since becoming a vampire, I’ve suffered no ailments that a mundane may face – and I did not miss headaches, or rather…hangovers. I open my eyes and sit up slowly, rubbing my temples and looking around. I am in a bed, but it’s not the one I occupy at Castillo’s. Further observation reveals that I’m in a studio apartment, one that looks cold and sharp. The sheets beneath me are a deep purple, the duvet a rich black and the mattress is firm, unforgivingly so. The nightstand nearby is sleek, also black which makes it stand in contrast to the white marble floor. Veins of charcoal gray splinter out to interrupt the white, the same gray as the walls, the only color being vibrant art pieces in shades of yellow. The bed I’m in is close to a room divider, black pillars with gaps to let me see a leather couch on the other side that faces floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city that is definitely not Boston.

I see Muir sitting on the end of the couch, his head tilted down, though as I stir he looks up and over his shoulder at me. “There he is.”

“What…happened?”

“I underestimated how much of a sensitive boy you are,” Muir replies. “You were sky high on me,” he finishes with a flourish. “Don’t worry, the undoubtedly shitty feeling you’re experiencing won’t last too long.”

“On…you?” I recall his hand coming towards me, palm split and bleeding. I frown at him through the partition. “I’ve never drank blood before. Not like…that,” I admit. “It’s always been from a bag.”

“I’m your first? How sweet,” Muir snickers.

“I never wanted to drink from anyone.”

Why did I then? I remember we argued about something down in the black market…but my memory is frustratingly hazy. Attempts to discern the memory from that haze end when I see Muir hold his hand up, where the relic sits upon his palm. “I’m curious what such a nice guy is doing with something like this,” he says.

I get out of bed and circle around the partition, holding my hand out for the item. Muir smirks, but he does give it back to me.

“Do you know what it is?” I ask.

He considers me then shakes his head. “Sorry, honey. All I’ll tell you is that it’s ancient and you would be wise to get rid of it. That’s a dark artifact, surely you can feel it.”

“Yes, I can,” I sigh, taking a seat at the other end of the couch. I think of going to Riley, the Order may be able to use its resources to identify the relic. Or maybe I just need to see him. “I was hoping you’d know,” I add, more memories from last night breaking through the malaise of my hangover from his blood. “You said something when you left Sanguine Sweet, about being in the shadow.”

I see my satchel set near the glass coffee table in front of the couch. I reach for it and pull the book out, opening to the page and showing it to Muir, my finger tapping at the words ‘in shadow’ standing out from the rest of the unintelligible text.

“You must be desperate if you took it to be a lead,” Muir says, rather unkindly in my opinion. “Surely you understand a metaphor, I’m never in reputable places.”

“Fair enough,” I reply. I look out the window again with a frown. “Speaking of places…where are we?”

“My flat,” Muir says. “In Canary Wharf.”

“London?”

“Yes.”

“How did we get all the way to London?”

“We Fae have passages no one else does,” Muir says. “Don’t worry, I can get you home before midnight, my sweet prince.”

“You’re relentless, do you know that?”

“The question is…is it working?”

“...I should get back.”

“That’s not a no,” Muir points out, but spares me further interrogation as he gets up and holds out his hand again. I put the relic and book back into the satchel and sling the strap over my shoulder before I take his hand.

I watch in open wonder as he moves under the light shining from the ceiling, so that his shadow is in front of him. He lifts a hand and it is as if his shadow peels from the floor, akin to Peter Pan, only it does not retain Muir’s shape, it becomes a rectangle instead. A door. He walks through that darkness and pulls me with him, into a world of shadow and smoke. I see the city lights as if we walk the streets during a foggy night, but it’s like every step is a giant leap forward, despite our steady pace. I cannot help but shudder when the city falls away to the pitch black ocean, and feel relief when land rushes beneath our feet again.

Muir releases my hand and the world stands still again, revealing the Market once more. “You’ll have to kill an hour before sunset,” he says. “You might go to the Archives, it could be they have an undamaged copy of Magicks & Alchemy…just a thought.”

It seems such a logical step that I feel a fool for not thinking of it right away. “Thank you,” I say genuinely. A blur of images pass through my mind, most of them featuring Muir. “Er…did anything happen last night I should be aware of?”

He breaks into laughter and shakes his head. “I’m no gentleman, Henry, but I’m not that despicable either. Go solve your mystery, and know I shall look forward to seeing you again soon.”

He blows me a kiss, then makes his way to the nearby main street. I stare after him, mind buzzing and feeling…confused. It’s easier to focus on getting to the Archives, and so I get my bearings and go, forcing my thoughts on the book alone.