Page 39 of Bloodgrove

“Mr. Arcos.”

“He talks about me?”

“We all talk about you,” Saint said conspiratorially. “How often do you think a stranger comes to Bloodgrove—especially one like you?”

Will nodded, bewildered. Did Mr. Arcos truly move in the same circles as Saint? Or was he merely a loyal customer for his chimera resurrections?

“The easiest solution would be to ask him to hunt a vampire for you—though he never brings them back in one piece. Perhaps your duchess would be better. She could turn it into a party,” Saint joked as he began gathering the items on Will’s shopping list.

Will only gave a vague hum in response, selected several intriguing-looking vials from the shelves, and added them to the rest of his purchases. Could it be possible that Mr. Arcos visited Saint for other reasons?

“Would you like to choose the scales yourself?” Saint asked, gesturing behind the counter.

“Sure.” Any distraction was welcome, so he followed the young man curiously down a staircase carved into the rock. The smell of fish, algae, and decay weighed down the air as though they were descending underwater.

The moment they reached the bottom step, Will stopped abruptly.

“I really need to stop accepting invitations into cellars.” He groaned and rubbed his eyes as though he could wipe the sight from his vision.

Saint laughed. “That is probably good advice. But don’t worry—nothing illegal happens here.”

Will’s jaw tightened as he tried to erase the shock from his face. Silently cursing the city, he turned toward the vaulted chamber. No wonder Bloodgrove looked like a burned-out skeleton when something vile was rotting in every cellar.

Five cylindrical tanks lined the walls, each nearly tall enough to reach the vaulted ceiling and large enough to hold an adult human with ease. Three were filled to the brim with cloudy green water, illuminated by cool faerie light. Shadows moved sluggishly within them.

Will knew monsters like these only from the fairy tales of his childhood, stories from when he had been so young that his grandmother was still alive and told them to him on stormy nights. Mermaids, sirens, ocean gods, and deep-sea monsters. Tales every child from a fishing village knew.

For a moment, he forgot the horror of their imprisonment and simply marveled.

Hesitantly, he approached the first tank, his boots sliding on the slick tiles.

Before him floated a sea creature no school in the Capitol had ever taught him about. In place of legs, it had an immense, elongated tail, scaled and muscular, twisting within the narrow container. Membrane-webbed fingers hung weightlessly in the water, and white hair drifted in thick clouds around its strange face. Gills beneath its chest rose and fell slowly, while its eyes stared ahead beneath a milky film. It reminded him of Mr. Arcos’s chimeras—a fusion of human and fish, down to the broad, narrow mouth.

Or of his Albatross.

Saint strolled over and leaned against one of the tanks. His black fingernails clicked rhythmically against the glass. “No need to be afraid—as long as you do not fall asleep.”

Will raised an eyebrow.

“When sailors fall asleep, they hear the sirens singing and throw themselves into the sea. By the time they realize what is happening, it is too late, and they are dragged into the depths in one final dance of pleasure and terror. Supposedly, it is the most beautiful and horrific death. Some even climax before they drown.”

“And how did anyone survive to tell the story?”

Saint’s eyes glittered with mischief. “That is the question, I suppose. But it is a tempting thought… under controlled conditions…”

Will ignored the fantasy and reached toward the glass in fascination. “Do they come to you in dreams as well? Can you see them? Sometimes, when the Albatross⁠—”

He got no farther. The instant his fingers touched the tank, the creature abruptly woke from its trance. Its tail lashed wildly, driving upward against the steel cover. Water sprayed and churned within the few inches of air at the top of the container, while finned arms struck against the glass.

Saint seized Will’s arm and dragged him backward, sending them stumbling into something cold and solid. Will spun around only to find himself staring directly into a siren’s gaping mouth. Ropes squealed through pulleys, and the monster swayed toward him. Will tried to regain his balance, but his boots skidded across the tiles, and with a cry, he crashed to the floor.

The creature was huge. Suspended in the air, it looked almost alive, accompanied by the foaming water inside the tanks. The butcher’s hooks embedded in its flesh threatened to tear free. Will scrambled farther backward, his fingers slipping across the film coating the floor. Only gradually did his mind understand that the animal was dead and that, distracted by the tanks and the cellar’s shadows, he had failed to notice it.

Saint was beside him, gripping him beneath the shoulder and hauling him to his feet. Cursing, he guided him back up the stairs. “I am sorry. You will have to return once they have calmed down. I see to it that your purchases are delivered and I will put the cost on Duchess Ormonde’s account. I need to go back down…”

Frustration had replaced his mischief, though it was no greater than a farmer’s irritation at having to round up escaped sheep. Saint tied on a leather apron and disappeared down the stairs again.

Uneasily, Will turned to leave. He was not certain that what he had found in this cellar was much better than the dungeon beneath the full-moon ball.