“She’s wearing Aamon’s cut for fuck’s sake!” Sterling yells, throwing his hands in the air and charging forward to challenge the bouncer.
“She’s good, Julian.” I hear Aamon’s voice break out over the incessant music. And suddenly he’s beside me with that menacing grin that somehow looks less comforting than when he’s angry. He flashes his fangs at me, letting his smile grow as the bouncer drops my arm.
“After you." He gestures for me to enter the little alcove.
“How chivalrous,” I muse, making sure the sarcasm seeps into my words. “Am I supposed to thank you for calling off your guard dog after dragging me out of the safety of my room and forcing me into a place I have no interest in being?”
“Yes, actually,” Aamon grunts, strolling through the opening and not waiting for me to follow. “You neededto get out of that room for your own good. And Julian is harmless, just rather thorough in his duties.”
“He didn’t feel harmless,” I grumble as I rub the sore spot on my arm. Sterling guides me to a seat on one of the leather couches, making sure to put as much distance between me and Aamon as possible and offering me an apologetic smile. I sigh, letting my eyes wander back to the dancing patrons surrounding us.
“Hey.” Sterling nudges me, leaning in close. “Are you okay?”
“Of course,” I say. Too enthusiastically. I tense, refusing to make eye contact with him.
“Tonight has been a lot. And you seemed a little . . . upset earlier. At the bar? If you’d rather go home, we can leave. It’s just tradition after laying the fallen to rest for us to come here. Commune together and all that shit.”
I cringe, not having even thought about how jarring tonight must have been, must be every month, for them. These were my people. Members of the High Quarter, citizens of Requiesse. Everything I’ve ever been taught is that it’s our job to look after them. To save them. But Aamon was right. They were, in a way, his people too. Just as much as their citizenship tied them to me, the Arcane tied them to Aamon, to the people of the ungoverned district.
Aside from Dina. She wasn’t touched by the Arcane. No,Iwas her downfall, her death sentence. And I don’t think I will ever be able to forgive myself for it.
“Is it too much for you, Angel?” Aamon calls out sarcastically from across the alcove. He must notice my mood as well. He gestures to the other patrons with a hand that now clutches the neck of a beer bottle. “Too many sinners all in one place for such an innocent thing like you?”
I raise a middle finger at him, sneering when he chuckles to himself.
“It’s not this that’s bothering me,” I say, waving my hand vacantly through the air as I turn back to Sterling. “It’s everything else. Realizing the depth of my father’s corruption, the utter disregard for the lives of our citizens. Dina.” I sigh, rubbing my fingers over my brow. “She was my attendant . . .my friend. The only one I’d ever had. Even if she was hired by my father, I was still close to her. Until my father dismissed her—I didn’t know until tonight what that meant.”
I look up at Sterling for a moment, debating if I want to share more. I scoot in closer to afford us an air of privacy as I try to find the words to explain myself. “I’m at war with myself,” I share, reluctantly. “My heart breaks for what you all have shown me tonight but . . . maybe it’s shock, maybe it’s a sign of how truly fucked up I am. I don’t know. But all I can think about is how I met Lafayette before . . .thatnight.”
Sterling inhales, finally understanding. And I’m almost sure out of the corner of my eye, I see Aamon stiffen as well.
“Being here now, seeing him again. It’s like being right back there, experiencing it all again.” I shake my head. “I’m just still trying to get my bearings with all of this.”
“Hey.” Sterling wraps an arm around me, pulling me close beside him as he leans us both back against the couch. “One step at a time, Angel. Tonight, we drink.” He hands me my beer bottle and clinks the glass together. “We enjoy some music. We take advantage of a little R and R. Then we go home.”
Aamon is no longer across from us when I look away from Sterling, but rather beside the bouncer at the entrance of the alcove again, talking with a third individual that looks entirely different than any of the vampires I’ve met so far. This male is lighter, softer, with silken silver hair that flows down his back. He's captivating, almost floating through the air. He leans in, whispering something to Aamon as he hands off a large black canvas bag. Aamon pats him on the arm and says something that makes the male laugh. The twinkling sound that weaves toward me is near hypnotizing.
When the males break apart and the silver-haired one turns to leave, I snap out of whatever trance I’ve just found myself in, shaking my head.
“Sirens.” Sterling smirks, nodding towards the male now drifting through the throng of dancing bodies. “They have that effect on people. Especially when you’re not used to being around them. Luckily for us, we have trade businesswith the creatures. So vampires, at this point, are nearly immune to their powers.”
“Trade business?” I ask, looking up at Sterling.
He nods. “Blood is currency here, ever since Andras came into power, which was long before I arrived. He’s worked out quite the bartering system between the Arcane-touched. We, for example, take payment in blood. Sirens? Usually desire or arousal. Which makes them prime barters for our kind.” Sterling tips his head back towards the red rooms. “We seem to be able to live side by side rather easily.” He smiles down at me, a hint of amusement in his eyes when he tracks the heat returning to my cheeks.
“Then you have shifters and spirit workers. They manage just fine, taking various forms of payment and kind of just existing. The shifters give us some trouble, having a hard time suppressing those more primal instincts. But not quite as much trouble as wraiths.” I flinch at the word, and he offers me an apologetic smile. “But the spirit workers for the most part just enjoy being left alone. Take Laurel, for example.” He takes a swig of his beer as I nod, trying to follow his words.
“And the ghouls aren’t really part of the system. No one will do business with them because no one is willing to really give up what they need.” He taps against his middle, towards his flesh and organs. “Not to mention it’s kind of hard to do civilized business with mindless creatures likethem. “Now reapers? They're paid in souls. Which makes themveryexpensive to hire.”
My eyes go wide, which Sterling must notice because he chuckles and shakes his head. “There aren’t many reapers these days. They may be expensive, but they're also hard as fuck to feed, which makes their kind somewhat rare. But you may be surprised to know someone can live a long time without their soul. They aren’t ever quite the same, but . . . it’s an option. If you really needed to hire one.”
“And what do people hire them for?” I ask hesitantly.
Sterling shrugs, lifting his beer to his mouth and tipping the bottle back. “Mercenary work mostly. Only the top rollers in the city really hire them. The Blood Order has a few on our payroll.” And he must know the next question that’s about to roll off my tongue because he quickly adds, “Don’t ask how we pay them. You wouldn’t like the answer.”
“And you? What does your kind do for payment?” My body tenses, not sure if I want the answer for this either.
“Mantain order,” Sterling responds, but he doesn’t meet my gaze when he says it. Instead he’s staring across the alcove to where Aamon has settled in with another beer.
