AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Pen caught her breath as she teetered on the edge of the street, then scampered into the deep shadow of a brick building, this one four stories high and leaning precariously to the side.
It couldn’t collapse right now, could it? Not in the middle of the night with her under it? People had to be living in it—she could hear them above. It couldn’t fall with people in it, could it?
She wasn’t about to stand still and find out.
Next street. Make it to the next street.
She had been repeating those words for the last hour as she made it across London, creeping through the darkest shadows of the night.
Just one more street. One more.
Her hand clutching the rough black fabric of her dress at her neck, she moved her feet forward, sliding under the shadows of buildings, stepping over drunks and the legs of people sleeping.
She’d seen despair. Poverty. She’d lived it. But this was beyond her. The stench, the filth, the deafening noise of horses and carriages and men and prostitutes and drunks filled her head and crammed every naïve thought of what she’d find here out of her mind.
One more street.
Pen squinted her eyes, searching amongst the bright splotches of lantern lights down the street. This had to be it. She had been counting. Counting like the fishmonger had told her.
Her fingers clutched onto the rough corner of the building she’d stopped next to and she squinted harder. There. On the opposite side of the street. A sign.
Den of Diablo.Horns atop a grotesque goat face curved up around the words.
No mistaking it.
Her heart skipped a beat, speeding it into mayhem for a moment before the thud of it fell back in line.
That building at least looked upright. Solid enough. Simple exterior. Painted black. None of the messes of balconies and laundry hanging from the windows as there were on seemingly every building in this part of town.
Just the black facade with nothing marring the expanse of it. Even the sashes of the windows were painted black, with black curtains blocking the light from the inside.
A black vortex, sucking in all who neared it.
What the blazes was she walking into?
But there was nothing to do now but keep forward. She needed this. Needed to find him.
That she’d even overheard that flower girl at the market mention his name had been a miracle. A miracle verified over and over—almost every seller she’d asked knew of him.
And this was where the fishmonger had said he was. So she had to chance this. She’d risked everything just to make it this far and turning back now wasn’t an option.
Her heart pounding, her steps hurried as she spotted a sliver of roadway between horses and carriages where she could cross the street and not get crushed. Jutting to her right, then her left, her feet slipped across the muck of fresh manure and she almost lost her balance and slammed into the side of a wagon. She managed to spin, twirling enough to land behind the wagon and she bolted forward, leaping onto the opposite walkway just as an enclosed black carriage skimmed her backside.
With a gasp of thanks that she hadn’t just been squashed, she rushed forward, bumping into a drunk that staggered toward her. “Sixpence, for ye, little puritan.”
Pen didn’t look at him, only sent her feet faster. That was the eighth proposal she’d had that night—no matter how careful she was, she drew attention. She should have drawn a black scarf fully over her head—as much as she’d secured her hair back and tucked most of it under her cap, her blond strands still reflected far too much light, even in the darkness.
There, the front door. Black like everything else.
A golden handle. How peculiar. It sat starkly against the blackness like a beacon.
She jumped to it, yanking open the door and stepping inside.
Her breath held, the door closed behind her and she blinked once. Twice. So much light inside for how black this building was outside.
And the noise.
Filling her head. Overwhelming. Yells and shrieking laughter. Sharp stabs across her already throbbing head.
