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Rapture is supposed to stay confined to The Barrows; we all know that. Except it’s starting to turn up topside, with a couple people having overdosed. It’s been kept covered up and Deidre only happened to catch wind of it because she was at the hospital interviewing families who were in a complex fire and lost everything.
I stand in the middle of our small apartment, old worn bunk beds with desks under them on two sides of the apartment, the third wall taken up by the small kitchenette and bathroom, and the fourth holds the dresser we share and Deidre’s books and my art supplies. We’ve got a small table and chairs, but decided against a couch since neither of us wanted to lug the thing up four flights of stairs.
Deidre asked me to go with her to meet a possible informant at Gato’s Paw, a bar in The Barrows last night. I asked if she could wait until I wrapped up the project I was working on for a high-paying client. She seemed fine to wait, saying she’d go out and get us coffee since it was already dark. I should have known that she was going to be her rash self and head out on her own. Guilt weighs my stomach down as I remember how long it took me to realize she hadn’t come back. When I get absorbed into a project, especially so close to the finish line, the rest of the world disappears.
I tried calling her phone, but she wouldn’t answer. So I got my own ride down there, spam texting and calling her in the car. By the time the car stopped at the bar, my calls were going straight to voicemail. The driver wouldn’t stick around, peeling out as soon as the door closed behind me.
It isn’t just supernaturals who live in The Barrows, at least. So the only reason why I stuck out was how casually I was dressed: pants, oversized college sweatshirt, and slide-on sneakers with my black hair piled up in a really, really messy bun. Like an “I haven’t showered in three days” messy bun. Still, I pushed through the crowd, pulling up Deidre’s photo on my phone and asking people if they’d seen her.
I asked one of the bartenders, but the man with golden eyes refused to say anything until I bought a drink. Then he said he’d seen her heading out back with a vampire. I didn’t wait for him to pour the vodka soda. By the time I made it out the back exit door, helpfully propped open by a large rock, there wasn’t anyone there.
Only because of all of the crime movies I watch did I think to check the reeking dumpsters. Her purse and phone were in the second one I checked and my heart broke. I looked around, trying to see if anyone else was there in the dim light of the alley but my human eyes are nothing against the ink black of The Barrows. I pull her things out and dig through them, denying what I was seeing.
Her wallet and cards, even her cash, were still there. Meaning they wanted her, not just to rob her.
I wasn’t stupid. I called the police right away, but I was connected with The Barrows station and now I know why they were dismissive.
I haven’t slept since then as I made it back home and waited, praying I was wrong and that she’d walk through the door laughing about the crazy adventure she had and it would all blow over.
When I knew she wasn’t coming back, I went to the police. I gave them her bag, but something about Deidre’s work made me consider keeping her phone. In the end, I still gave it to them, hoping against hope it might help. Whoever took her is connected to Rapture and how it’s leaking into the city. The police will be no help, either in Newgate or The Barrows.
A plan starts forming, and I head to Deidre’s desk under her bunk. Her laptop is still there and I type in the passcode and pull up her emails.
“Yell at me when you come home,” I mutter to wherever she is as I start skimming her inbox. When I don’t find anything, I start searching through her documents and I find practically an entire research paper with links to references and all on what she’s found while looking into Rapture. It’s an insane amount of information, organized in a way that only she can understand. Bullet points, half-articulated thoughts, single words next to a link to an article to a charity foundation. The very last page has my blood turning to ice.
Bargain with Ambrose d’Vil?
Ambrose d’Vil. The devil of the Nightshade vampires and de facto ruler of the Barrows. Very little is actually known about him, or if people know things, they know to keep their mouths shut. He’s called the devil, not just because of his dark reputation but his penchant for offering bargains. If you didn’t hold up your end, you’re already dead, his vampires just haven’t struck yet.
Was Deidre really considering making a bargain with him for information about Rapture? Or did he have something to do with her disappearance?
I close the laptop and pull up my phone and open up the rideshare app. Holy cow, I spent a couple hours poring over her research?! I should have paid better attention to the time. Every minute counts if she’s still alive. She has to be.
It’s Thursday. The day anyone can request an audience with Ambrose d’Vil, according to Deidre’s research.
So it’s time to go meet a vampire.
Chapter Two
Eloise
This is a bad idea, but bad ideas are all I have left.
The earlier promised rain is pouring down on Oldgate, but the city still pulses with life. Topsiders looking for a thrill make their way down Blood Street, laughing and drinking as they run through the rain and jump over puddles. The streets are full of taxis and rideshares, because the wealthy always seem to want to taste the thrill of darkness before returning home and sleeping, safe in the knowledge that they’re protected in Newgate.
The rain can’t drown out the fried food and heavy spices, but at least it’s washed away the sour smell of piss and vomit between buildings.
A group of ladies, probably close enough to my age in their late twenties and definitely old enough to know better, laugh and flirt with a pair of pale men claiming to be vampires. There are always the blind skeptics who refuse to believe that Oldgate is populated by real supernatural creatures, but more often people like to come here to pretend for a night. Then there are others like me, who know the supernatural world isn’t a gimmick to sell tourists expensive trinkets or too-strong booze.
One of the men looks up as I walk closer, the collar of my black jacket pulled up against the rain. A passing car’s headlines reflect off his pupils, making them reflect the strange golden color of vampire eyes. Deidre calls them cat eyes as a joke. She isn’t far off.
I look away, not wanting to keep his attention and turn into the narrow alley between two buildings lit up and promising to tell futures or craft love potions. A couple people are scattered in the narrow alley, sharing smokes or talking in hushed voices, and we all ignore each other. My goal is the end, where a narrow green awning is lit by a single gas lamp that barely fits between the awning and the brick building beside it. A door straight out of a medieval castle is sheltered under it with no bouncer waiting to check IDs.
People come to this place for many different reasons, but rarely what most would consider good ones. As my stomach twists, I remind myself that she’d do the same for me and grip the iron wrought door handle. Rumor says the door is spelled to read a person’s intentions and if they are a danger to the owner or people inside, vampire guards would be on them before they can let go. I feel nothing other than a normal door handle as it swings inwards to reveal a similarly narrow hall bathed in red light.
“How appropriate,” I mutter as I let the door swing closed behind me. I’ve never been to Noir before, but so far it’s living up to my expectations.
Heavy bass vibrates through the floor as I move down the hallway. The walls are black with gold outlines of fleur-de-lis, adding to the old-world vampire atmosphere. Let it never be sad that Ambrose d’Vil doesn’t provide what Topsiders expect.
