Wicked Ever After (A Blud Novel Book 7) Read online

  “A gift from Her Royal Tsarina,” Demi said with a wink to Crim. “Her majesty’s favorite candied liver.” She paused dramatically. “Human liver.”

  I almost spit it out, but frankly, it was too delicious. It had only been a day since I’d died, but I already missed chewing.

  Crim snatched the dish back and shook it. “From Ahnastasia? It looks fresh.”

  Demi rolled her eyes and shooed him with a hand. “Yes, dork. Your idol is currently staying in her suite, and Casper is playing in the show that debuts later this week.”

  “Did I hear my name, Mistress of the House?”

  The Bludman who pushed past the swoopy curtains and grinned at me with the deepest dimples I’d seen in years did a double take when I grinned back to show my fangs. There had been a time when I thought I might love Casper Sterling—for at least ten minutes. He was a damn fine-looking specimen, like the best parts of Matthew McConaughey rolled up with the best parts of Brad Pitt, and he could play the piano better than anyone in the entire universe of Sang, mainly because he’d come from Earth. They didn’t have a Mozart here, so Casper was basically a god. And a rock star. Not that it mattered. Despite Criminy’s ongoing jealousy and my occasional what-if interest, he clearly belonged with Ahnastasia, now the Tsarina of Freesia, and I more than belonged with Criminy.

  “Howdy, Maestro,” I said around my fangs, and he shook his head and held out his arms. I gave him the sort of polite hug that passes between cousins in the South, because that’s more or less what we were now. Crim only gave a small growl, which was a nice change.

  “I promised you blood cookies when you finally picked the right team. Didn’t I, darlin’?”

  “Candied liver will do just fine.” I sat back down, held up another curl of sugary red, and popped it into my mouth.

  “Wait until you try the blood slushies. All the treat, none of the cavities.”

  Criminy suddenly went on point like a dog, and Ahnastasia swept into the room with all the haughty magnitude of a glacier, in an ice-blue gown spangled with tiny crystals. Her white-blond hair had grown long and was up in intricate braids, and she gave me a small nod and slipped her arms around Casper as if marking her territory. Her upturned nose quivered across his shoulder, and she narrowed sky-blue eyes at me accusingly.

  “You didn’t mention a party,” she said to Demi, one eyebrow up.

  Demi stood. “Ahna, I’d like to introduce my godfather, Criminy Stain, and his wife, Letitia. Criminy owns the caravan where I trained.”

  “Where I started out,” Casper added. “Tish and I are from . . . the same place.”

  “A Stranger,” Ahna hissed, eyeing me. “I saw you. On the Demi Monde’s opening night. But you were a human then.”

  The statement contained both an insult and a question, and I nodded. Once this she-beast queen might have riled me, but now? “I was here, yes. And things changed.” My fingers sought Criminy’s and squeezed.

  She cocked her head and looked me up and down. “Still in human clothes. But you seem unafraid, which is good. Casper was like that. Some, I hear, don’t take to the metamorphosis. ‘To die is different from what any one supposed, and luckier.’ ”

  “She do that a lot?” I asked Casper. “Quote dead Earth poets?”

  But he was already scribbling it down in a pocket-sized notebook that looked half-filled and had Blades of Grass embossed on the leather cover.

  “Darlin’, you have no idea.” He grinned. “I sometimes accidentally call her Walt. So are y’all staying in London for a while? Did you come to see the show?”

  He looked to Criminy, but Criminy was still mooning over Ahnastasia. I’d gotten used to it. The man was a sharp, canny predator for ninety-nine percent of his life, but the ruler of the Blud world turned him into jelly, much like I’d been when I’d seen the Backstreet Boys in concert as a tween. It was kind of adorable, and I was struck with a sudden pain when I realized that, in another life, he might have one day looked at our children with that peculiar mix of worship, affection, and awe. But I was barren after a bad surgery on Earth, and I doubted even the magic of a Bludman’s body could solve that problem. Reverse aging? Sure. Re-create twisted, destroyed, surgically removed tissue? Probably not. It hurt my heart every time I thought of what beautiful babies we could have had if things had gone differently long before I ever met Criminy Stain.

  “We’re here to hunt a witch,” I supplied, jostling my husband with my elbow to get his attention.

  “Will any witch do?” Demi asked with a smirk.

  Criminy grinned at the closest thing he had to a daughter. “No, love. We need one in particular. Her name is Hepzibah, but she also goes by Madam Burial and plenty of other names. She’s a dangerous Stranger whom I had the misfortune to blud many years ago in exchange for a tricky bit of a spell. She works almost exclusively in dark magic and is rumored to have a lair somewhere in London.”

  “Deep Darkside?” Casper asked, and Crim rolled his eyes.

  “Oh, yes. I’m sure it’s that simple. I’ll just waltz through the gates with a bucket of salt water, ask the first miscreant I come across for directions, and storm her well-advertised storefront. Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that sooner.”

  Ahna tapped a long talon on her chin. “Why are you hunting this creature?”

  “She has my grandmother,” I said.

  Casper stared at me as if I had two heads. “Your grandmother is here? Like, here here?”

  “Long story.” Criminy waved a dismissing hand. “Point is, we’re in a bit of a time crunch and need to know who’s the most dangerous magician in London these days.”

  “Mr. Sweeting,” Ahna said, her voice as cold as snow.

  “He’s the cousin of Monsieur Charmant,” Demi added. “You know, the dude who almost killed me in the Paris catacombs? Not a nice guy.”

  “We don’t need him to be nice. We need him to be foolish enough to touch Tish,” Criminy said.

  “Mm. Yes. She’s terrifying.” Ahna snorted and booped my nose with one finger, and the glance came on stronger than it ever had, crystal clear and ultra-bright.

  Casper and Criminy focused on me, waiting. They’d both seen me glance often enough to know what had just happened, why I’d gone suddenly still. The twin fear reflected on their oh-so-different faces told me that giving Ahna any clue whatsoever that I’d seen inside her mind would basically be suicide. People weren’t allowed to simply access the Blud queen’s destiny as if it were a radio station. But I knew well enough to feign ignorance.

  As for Ahna, she had no idea what had happened and merely laughed a wild laugh and said, “Silly Strangers. Pick that poor man’s jaw up off the floor and come upstairs, Casper. I wish you well, but I do not give lectures or a little charity.”

  He was already scribbling but soon tipped his tall hat to me. “See anything good?” he whispered.

  I’d seen more than I’d ever tell him, but for now I just smirked. “How do you feel about twins?”

  “Soon?” He gulped, eyes to the door.

  I shrugged. “It was winter, but considering we barely age, who knows what year?”

  Looking distracted, charmed, and dazed, he patted me on the shoulder and hurried in the direction Ahna had flounced toward, tossing a “Thanks, darlin’!” over his shoulder.

  “Well?” Criminy asked as soon as they were gone, back to his usual quick self once he was out of Ahna’s orbit.

  Demi leaned closer, eyes twinkling for scandal.

  I thought back through the piercing jumble I’d seen in the glance. “Another royal wedding, between Ahna’s brother, Prince Alexi, and a younger Bludwoman dressed all in brown. Ahna’s going to have twin girls and, later, a boy who’ll get into a ton of trouble and have Casper’s dimples. Casper’s finally going to write an original song.” I smiled. “No tragedy that I could see. Good, long lives.”

  “Tragedy? Looks like we arrived right on time to divert it, yes?”

  Hearing Vale’
s voice, Demi bolted up from the couch like a kid at Christmas and threw herself into the Franchian brigand’s arms. I’d seen him dressed up in tux and tails and in the traditional all-black of his Dread Pirate Roberts look, but today he wore a workingman’s clothes, striped pants, and an open-necked shirt with an old, stained waistcoat. When he went to hug me as usual, I automatically recoiled. He was half Abyssinian, and my body knew it. His blood would have the same effect on me as rabies on a dog, which meant that he smelled sharp and repellent, like bug spray hitting the back of my throat.

  The man at Vale’s side was unfamiliar, but he piqued my immediate interest. Not only because he looked like Thor in a kilt but also because a grackle sat on his hat, blinking at me with curious golden eyes. Demi introduced him as Thom, a London firefighter who had rebuilt most of her theater from the bones up.

  “And who is this fine fellow?” I asked, with a nod to his bird. Tame pets were rare in Sang, and as much as I liked Crim’s copper monkey, I missed real animals.

  “Oh, that’s Archie.” I liked Thom even more when I heard his thick Scottish accent—and his affection for the bird. “Wee fellow hatched out in m’wife’s shop, the runt of the litter, as it was. I took te feedin’ him worms and bits of food, and he never would fly away. So now he stays with me always. Right fine for finding lost nails, aren’t ye, lad?” He held out a finger, and the bird stepped up and rubbed his beak along Thom’s thumb. When Thom held him out to me, I let the handsome creature step up onto my hand.

  “Oh, who’s handsome? Who’s a handsome bird?” Archie preened and made some satisfied noises, and I realized that while rats and bunnies now hissed at me and ran away and horses looked as if they wanted to fight me, the bird didn’t seem to care that I was a predator. And it was refreshing.

  “Your wife raises birds?” Crim asked, more politely than I was used to in his dealings with unknown humans.

  Thom nodded, removed his hat, and tidied his queue. “Aye. Frannie runs a pet shop on the edge of the daimon district.”

  “Next door to Reve’s shop. Casper introduced us to Frannie and Thom,” Demi added helpfully, and I did the complex connections in my head, remembering that Reve was a lovely daimon who helped Demi with the complicated wardrobe of her cabaret.

  Crim smiled at me and stroked the bird’s sleek chest. “Perhaps we should stop by. You’d like a pet, wouldn’t you, love?”

  Having accidentally destroyed the last three clockworks Mr. Murdoch had designed for me, I grudgingly nodded. “I can keep an animal alive. They squawk when you nearly sit on them.” With his blond hair pulled back and his hat firmly in place, Thom whistled, and the bird flew from my finger back to his master. “But aren’t we in a hurry?”

  Crim grinned. “Our next step is Deep Darkside and the most dangerous folk therein. I suspect most of these scoundrels do dealings with someone who sells exotic animals, yes?” Thom nodded. “A magician needs a familiar, you see, and the right food to feed it. So your Frannie might know the witch or at least have heard something of her.” He stepped behind me, rubbing my shoulders, which had risen around my ears as I contemplated more time until the hunt for my grandmother began in earnest. “Relax, love. The more we know, the more we take into battle.”

  “But my grandmother—”

  “Is just as powerful as you and might not know how to find the witch, either.”

  “The wife has a new batch of kittens,” Thom added helpfully.

  “I haven’t seen a kitten in six years,” I said, suddenly wistful.

  And that pretty much sealed it for me. Kittens and info it was.

  Frannie’s pet shop was one of the most wonderful things I’d seen in Sang. Truth be told, I’d missed interacting with cute animals that didn’t want to suck out my bone marrow. From the moment we stepped into the brightly painted store, greeted by the songs of birds and wild barking from a gaily striped bin of rowdy corgi pups, I wanted to plant myself on the ground and just be mobbed by warm, excitable, wriggling things. Criminy was immediately taken with the ink-black crows and set about inspecting them like the judge at a county fair.

  “Frannie, lass! We’ve visitors,” Thom called, but she was already hurrying through a curtained door and into his arms.

  Thom was covered in the sort of grime a man collects during a day of hard work, and as soon as I saw Frannie nestling against him despite the muck—and covered in her own coating of tweed and feathers—I knew I would like her.

  “This is Criminy and Letitia Stain. Friends of Demi and Vale. Fine folks.”

  Frannie stepped back to smile at us, small and brown and quick as a London sparrow. “Nice to meet you, then. Are you looking for something in particular? You’ve the look of a conjurer about you, sir, if you don’t mind my saying.”

  “I don’t mind, love, and you’re correct. I’ve never had a familiar before. But my lady could use some proper companionship. Keeps breaking her clockworks.”

  “I did ask you for a rhinoceros,” I said primly. “Instead of all those dainty things.”

  Frannie chuckled and rustled around in a box, then pulled out a wiggling burrito of a puppy and dropped it into my arms. Unlike the corgis in the bin, this creature was mostly black fur and excitement, of no discernible breed. And it was approximately half tongue. And I never wanted to put it down.

  “He’s the last of a litter of mutts. No idea what’s in ’im. But you seem like the softhearted type who cares more about fun than family trees.”

  “Are you a glancer?” I asked, noting her chapped, bare hands.

  She shook her head. “Spend enough time around animals, and you can read what any creature needs on its face. And your man there wants something more than a crow to match his fine hair, don’t he?”

  Thom smothered a laugh, and Criminy nodded in confirmation and gave the girl a small bow. “Right again, lass. We’re looking for a dark conjurer, a witch named Hepzibah, very old but with a Bludman’s smooth skin. She a customer of yours?”

  “Not mine, no. But I won’t sell a creature to anyone who seems to wish it ill. The birds can tell, you know. Even the lizards scramble away from hungry hands. Those as want animals for the crueler uses, they go to Mr. Sweeting.”

  “That’s the second time his name has come up,” I said.

  “And it won’t be the last if you’re up to your elbows in evil. But I might have a wee something to help you wring what you need out of the bastard.”

  “Fran!” Thom said, shocked in a most polite and Scottish manner.

  She just nudged him in his huge rib cage and went to poke around among a beautiful arrangement of cylindrical glass terrariums and bell jars that reminded me of a candy shop, if a candy shop held lizards and frogs and bits of moss instead of actual candy. Which I already missed, considering I couldn’t eat it anymore unless it was sugared liver or candied kidneys. After plucking a smaller jar from the back, she carried it to us at arm’s length, and I placed the wriggling puppy back in his box so that I could concentrate on the bone-white creature staring at us intelligently through the glass, claws upraised.

  “A scorpion?” Crim asked, taking the jar from her.

  Frannie nodded and stepped back. “Yes, but a particular kind. Their venom is rather similar to a daimon’s, and a sting from this little fellow will make anyone, even a fully grown daimon, terribly ill.” She dimpled evilly. “Daimons can’t vomit, since they don’t eat, but they can turn some very amusing colors.” When Crim raised an eyebrow at her, she just shrugged. “I like to be paid, which means there must be consequences to not paying. More than one dark daimon has found that wee fellow or one of his friends waiting on the ledger.”

  “And what will he do to a Bludman?” I asked carefully, as I was making a mental catalog of all the new things that could or could not harm my lovely new body.

  Frannie opened a drawer and brought out a sturdy wooden box about the size of a hamburger, a lovely thing carved and polished in dark mahogany. Taking the jar back from Criminy, she ti
dily dumped the angry scorpion into the box and slammed down the lid.

  Easy as pie, she said, “He’ll kill you dead. Me, too.”

  Crim picked up the box, turning it this way and that and flicking the clasp with one finger while holding the top tightly shut. “So you’ve a death wish, lass?” he asked.

  “Maybe a little,” Thom said fondly, leaning in the doorway.

  Frannie replaced the glass jar among the other terrariums and laughed. “Not a death wish. Merely the drive to keep what’s my own. This is London, my lad, and there are plenty of creatures as would take what I have. I fight for what’s mine. I might not look like much, but you’d be surprised what I have up my sleeve.”

  Criminy smiled and shook his head. “How is it that every woman I know is a deadly, cunning, beautiful virago?”

  “You’re just lucky, I guess,” I said.

  11

  You can’t take a puppy to a scorpion fight, so I had to leave the sweet little thing behind with a promise to return once I’d found my grandmother and kicked the witch’s ass for good. Criminy did take the scorpion, though, and also spent quite a while stroking a certain crow’s chest and whispering with the clever thing and, yes, laughing along with it. When Frannie whistled, the crow immediately leaped off Crim’s sleeve and flew to her hat, where it sang a few bars of a bawdy street song.

  “You wouldn’t want to join a traveling caravan as an animal act, would you?” Crim asked Frannie, and she just laughed and shook her feather duster at him.

  “I’ve fought for my place here. It’s where I belong. But perhaps you could send tickets next time you’re outside the gates?”

  “You’ll never pay at my turnstile, lass,” he said with a kind smile. “And I’d like to put down a deposit on that bird.”

  The man never failed to surprise me. Perhaps it was the bookshelf he had found in the kitchen, stuffed with penny dreadfuls, that had melted his heart. My dark and dangerous husband would always have a fondness for women who loved books.

  Our next stop was just next door to visit Reve, a talented daimon costumer much loved by all our London friends and, surprisingly, also by Tsarina Ahnastasia. Her skin shimmering over in glad pinks and purples to meet us, Reve led us through her glittering showroom and up to the workroom, where she dressed me in the sort of outfit the upper crust of London’s Bludwomen favored.