Water had frozen at the bottom of this passage. Talia picked her way across the slick, gripping the wall with tense fingers. When she reached the ladder, she realized with a burst of relief that it led up to a manhole cover. As she climbed, the chill of the metal ladder leached through her gloves. Her feet were numb, and she had to be conscious of where she set them, one rung at a time. Giving commands to her body was like operating a robot, distant and imprecise.
The heavy cover was more problematic, mostly because it had a thick layer of snow that fell into her face the moment she scooted it aside. Grunting, Talia clambered out and shoved the cover back into place. She heaved a breath, grateful for the fresh, free air. When she looked around, trying to get her bearings, the first thing she saw was a blue neon sign flashing on the snow. It announced Nanette’s Naughty Kitty Basket. Her joy dimmed a notch. Oh, great. She’d rejoined the world above right outside a strip club that featured the werebeast equivalent of horny alley cats.
She struggled to her numb feet and walked in the other direction. It was an alleyway, but sheltered from the elements by high brick walls. There was not as much snow and walking was easier.
Only when she was halfway down the alleyway did Talia realize where she was. Three tall, dark-haired males stood in front of an arched doorway set into the brick wall. The door was made of vertical oak planks strapped with black iron—the sort of thing one would expect in an old castle or cathedral—except the subtle throb of magic that seeped from it was like nothing she’d felt before. The three guards were too much like Lore—big-boned, shaggy, and tough-looking—not to be hellhounds.
Of all the places in Fairview, she’d avoided this spot deliberately. The Castle.
She’d been raised to fear and fight monsters. This was the entry to an entire prison dimension filled with them. Some called it Hell, though that wasn’t literally true. It was a war zone where factions battled through the eternities, scrabbling for brute power. Lore’s people had escaped, but only with massive losses. Ever since arriving in Fairview, Talia had paranoid fantasies of being thrown inside, losing access to even the remotest scraps of her human existence. In other words, kind of like high school.
She started to turn and retrace her steps when one of the hounds called out, “Miss, are you lost?”
Do I look that clueless? She straightened up, forcing herself to look confident. She yelled across the distance that separated them, “Where can a girl get a hot drink around here?”
The hellhound laughed. “The Empire is right around the corner, and I’m off duty in half an hour.”
He had an accent that reminded her of pirates and hearty drinking songs. It made her realize how well Lore had mastered English. She gave the hound a salute and moved past the Castle door, hugging the opposite wall of the alleyway and feeling a shiver up her spine as she crossed the field of energy it gave off. In contrast, the hellhounds leaned against the door, smoking and huddling in their thick, warm coats. There was a big thermos at their feet, and she bet there was more than coffee inside.
Though they seemed relaxed, it was all she could do not to run like a child scampering by a haunted house. The alley’s entrance had iron gates propped open. Only when she’d passed through those did she take a long, deep breath, feeling the shadow of the prison fall away.
Then, all at once, she was in the heart of Spookytown, the busiest part of the Old Town area. Lights dazzled in the snow. There were few vehicles, but handfuls of pedestrians walked by, laughing and chattering. The occasional snowball whizzed past. It was a nighttime place, and it was in full swing.
The lights of the Empire glowed like the proverbial beacon, turning the snowdrifts to a field of glitter. Talia felt a blast of welcome heat on her face as she pushed through the door. She’d been in only once before, and looked around to get her bearings. The noise was a deafening wall, half the room talking at the top of their voices, the other half singing along to a piano player banging out an old jazz standard. It was crowded, thick with the smells of food, wet clothes, and warm bodies. It was life.
The first face she saw was Joe’s. He stood behind the bar, pulling a pint. When he looked up and saw her, his first reaction was surprise, quickly followed by concern. She pushed through the crowd toward him, earning some astonished looks from the patrons crowded around the tiny wooden tables.
Joe set the pint on the bar, sliding it toward a jollylooking werebear, and gave Talia his full attention. “What happened to you?”
“Do I look that bad?”
Joe’s eyes widened a notch, as if forcing himself not to react. “You’re damn near blue. Look at your hands.”
She wasn’t sure how he could tell. She was still bundled against the cold. He reached across the bar, taking her wrist, and pulled one of her knitted red gloves off, and she saw what he meant. Her skin had lost what little color it had, turning a grayish white. The mauve polish on her nails only helped the gruesome corpse effect. “Oh, God. I’ve got to get a fresh manicure.”
Joe called over one of the other bartenders, asking him to watch his customers.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’ll be fine,” Talia said, her teeth chattering a little as she warmed up. It was as if she’d stored up cold, and now it was getting the chance to sweep through her thawing flesh.
“Yeah, right. Here.” He wet one of the bar towels in the sink and wiped her face like a mother would her sticky child. The towel came away coated in dirt and blood. Blood? She must have hit her head when she landed in the tunnel. “Sit down.”
Too weary to object to his bossy tone, Talia perched on one of the tall bar stools. She should have been sweating in her coat, but she was still shivering. Slowly, she pulled off the other glove. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy. If vampires got chilblains, she was in for a no-fun time when the feeling came back.
Joe was mixing something, foaming it up like steamed milk. Concentration furrowed his brow, reminding Talia just how handsome he was, how perfect his bone structure. A bit too much like fine art for her taste, but she’d have to be blind not to notice.
He poured his creation into a mug and added a generous shot of brandy, and then set the concoction in front of her. “Drink this very slowly.”
Talia looked at it with suspicion. “Not that I’m not grateful and all, but it’s pink.”
“Stop whining and drink it. It’s good for cold vampires. I call it the Empire Bites Back.”
She picked the thick mug up carefully, aware that her fingers weren’t quite under control. She sipped, catching a swirl of spices and alcohol and, under that, the salty richness of blood. “My God, it actually tastes good.”
“You won’t find that in Lore’s fridge.”
She laughed, feeling suddenly better. “I don’t think he has a cappuccino maker anyway.”
“No, but he could probably build one out of a fax machine and baling wire. The boy’s a genius with mechanics but sadly lacking in the domestic arts.” Joe gave a prize-winning smile. “He needs a good woman.”
Talia already felt the effects of the alcohol. She’d never been a drinker to begin with, and now the brandy glowed like a tiny sun in her belly, sending out happy rays. “Mmm.”
“Is that moan of pleasure about Lore or the drink?”