Poppy frowned at the smoldering wreckage that used to be the gaming club and brothel known as Heaven and Hell on dilapidated West Street. Thick smoke billowed up into a pale grey sky, and the facade of the burnt-out building appeared like a leering, blackened skull. The street was abandoned, thieves having long since scavenged anything of value. It felt odd, though, to stand in the middle of London’s East End and not see a soul. A timber groaned as she and Win made their way down the blackened steps to the entrance of Lena’s Hell.
Water dripped from above, landing in hard plops upon Poppy’s shoulders. A trickle of it ran down her neck and under her collar. The smell of smoke was so pervasive that it coated her tongue with its acrid flavor. The heavy iron gate that served as the doors to the underground nightclub was jammed shut, and she stepped aside to let Win wrench it open. He did so with surprising ease, and a little base feminine thrill shot through her.
“You’re certain about this?” he asked, his hand on the knob of the inner door.
“Lena started this fire.” Poppy lifted her skirt away from the diamond-bright shards of window glass that had fallen from above. “Sanguis demons might be known for their feeding habits, but they also have the ability to manipulate fire much like Miranda does.”
“Sanguis demons?” Win’s mouth turned down at a corner. “Is that what you call vampires?”
“I told you, they are not vampires. That would imply that they are reanimated human corpses, when they have never been human, or dead, for that matter.”
“Of course,” he murmured dryly.
From one of the deep pockets sewn into her skirt, she pulled the foot-long stake made of Christ’s thorn wood she had procured from the weapons room. “For you.”
Win held the thing loosely in his hand. A slight frown marred his features as he studied it. “Not vampire, eh?”
She ignored the irony in his voice and focused on practical matters.
“Gold will cut through a demon’s skin quite well,” Poppy explained. “And it will adversely affect them. But each type of demon has a particular weakness that will kill them instantly. The trick is to know it beforehand and be prepared. The sanguis demon’s weakness is Christ’s thorn wood. Hit straight under the chin and into the brain, or through the heart.”
“If all demons have weaknesses, what is Isley’s? How can we kill him?”
“I don’t know. He is pure Primus and older than any other I’ve encountered. Perhaps he has evolved into a true immortal state.” Poppy looked at the stake in Win’s hand. The unpolished point was as sharp as a blade. “Now, as to method of attack. I prefer the chin. The torso is too well-fortified with ribs and cartilage, and one might miss with the first hit.”
Heat and humor lit Win’s stormy eyes. “Would now be the wrong time to tell you that I get as hard as this stake when you talk shop?”
Warmth suffused her cheeks, but she refused to look down. “Your timing is worse than mine, Mr. Lane.”
Grinning, he tucked the stake into his inner coat pocket. “Tit for tat, Mrs. Lane.” His expression slid back to seriousness. “You do not think that she has left town? Given that she torched her own home?”
“Lena would not run. She knows I am coming. She must have known the moment Mrs. Noble scattered into tiny spiders. Masters can mentally communicate with their acolytes.” She brushed an errant flake of soot off of Win’s shoulder. “Now, may we proceed? I can feel her down there, waiting for me.”
That did not appear to please him, for his shoulders tensed and he held his walking stick more securely. However, he opened the door without argument. “So you know,” he said as he took her hand and guided her through the threshold, “I will not hesitate to destroy this woman should she try to hurt you.”
Poppy thought of Jack Talent hanging from iron spikes, and her blood heated. “I am tempted to do so even without any outward threat. But let us speak to her first.”
The door opened, releasing dank air and the scent of smoke. The air grew cooler as they descended. Water damage stained the crimson silk walls with dark patches, and the rug underfoot was rumpled as if kicked up by a stampede of feet. The emptiness of the place was pervasive, a living thing that had Poppy’s senses heightening. Gaslights hissed and threw off shadows that seemed to move as she went by. Side by side, she and Win walked along the abandoned corridor, passing quiet rooms where expensive furniture lay tipped on its side or knocked askew.
Down another flight of stairs they went, the acrid tang of smoke giving way to a headier perfume of incense and blood. Win visibly tensed, his hand staying close to his coat where he’d tucked the stake.
“Her parlor is there,” Poppy said in a low voice as she gestured toward the red lacquered door at the end of the corridor. A white slipper lay abandoned and forlorn in the hallway. She stepped over it, her gaze set upon the door.
Win’s hand touched her elbow. “I enter first.” The look in his eye gave little room for argument.
She didn’t. She knew Lena would not hurt them. Not yet. Poppy’s hands clenched her skirts as she strode forward.
Just as she remembered it, the little parlor where Lena held court was cozy, the furniture comfortable and worn, and a fire crackled in the grate. Lena sat in her favored place by the hearth. Her pale hands rested upon the arms of a black leather chair, and her legs were tucked up upon the seat. The position was almost feline. And like a cat, she affected a lazy but alert repose. So very alert.
“Mother.” Lena inclined her head. “Inspector.”
Poppy took a seat in the armchair facing Lena. “Was it necessary to burn your place down?”
“I do not expect to be here much longer,” Lena answered as Winston moved to stand next to Poppy.
As she stared at Lena, Poppy’s anger swelled within her breast. “Bloody hell, you sent the undead after us!”
“Having trained you,” said Lena smoothly, “I knew you could dispatch them. The intent was to slow you down and hopefully take Lane out of the game.” Her dark gaze flicked to Winston. “Apologies, Lane, but you have been a bit of a bastard to Poppy these past months, which rather dampened any feelings of sentimentality toward you.”
Win’s expression was bland as he stared her down. “I’d say your current actions outshine any of mine.”
Lena glared at him, then gave a dismissive shrug.
Poppy, however, was not about to be shrugged off. “Why?”
Lena’s dark hair swung forward as she reached for the silver cup resting on the table at her side. She took a deep drink. “You were not to know about Moira Darling.”
Poppy’s back teeth met. “Who is she?”
Lena’s pale finger ran along the rim of her cup. “I have sworn not to tell you.”
“Even though it threatens Poppy’s child?” Win snapped. Shadows danced over his features, and his eyes flashed with bright anger.
The corners of Lena’s eyes tightened. A flinch for her. “It is an uncomfortable situation.”
Poppy leaned in, the chair creaking beneath her. “And was it worth it?” she hissed. “To torture Jack Talent?” Bitterness coated her tongue, and she swallowed against it.
Lena looked away, into the fire. “I was most displeased with my acolytes.” The delicate curve of her jaw bunched as she lifted her eyes to Poppy. “They were to use his blood, not get… carried away.”
Win’s hand curled into a fist. “ ‘Carried away?’ That is what you would call it?” He sneered. “Your control over your staff is severely lacking, madam.”
“They have been destroyed,” she said. “Painfully.”
“Not good enough,” Poppy said. “He would not have been under their control had you not ordered it.”
Obsidian eyes bore into her. “I know. Which is why I have waited for you to mete out a punishment.”
Poppy shot to her feet. “I don’t want to mete out a bloody punishment! I want you to tell me who the hell Moira Darling is and why you feel the need to protect her.”
Lena’s head tilted back. “I made a vow. You know all about those, Poppy Ann.”
Poppy’s body jerked as if struck. “You would have Isley take my child?” She leaned over Lena then. “My child, Lena.”
Neither of them spoke as they held each other’s gaze. Lena’s red mouth quivered once, but then went still. “I will tell you if you promise not to give Isley what he wants from her.”
A red haze washed over Poppy’s sight. Behind her, she could almost feel Win quivering with rage as well. Poppy looked down at her lieutenant. “I could make you talk. You know we have ways that would leave you begging.”
Lena merely blinked. “You would not get your answers, and you know it.” She sighed then, and her voice grew uncharacteristically soft. “You will want to agree, Poppy. Trust me on this one last thing.”
Poppy’s throat worked as she looked at her old friend. Lena had to be at least one hundred years old, and though she could have done anything she wanted with her life, she’d chosen to stay with the SOS, training others and keeping their secrets safe.
A sense of dull foreboding crept up Poppy’s back. Lena was loyal. To a fault. Why had she betrayed Poppy? Poppy’s heart pounded against her ribs. The unease grew until it was all she could do not to turn and run from the room. But the heaviness within her womb and the feel of Win at her back made her stay. “Fine,” she said. “I will not give it to him.”
“Poppy!”
She turned at Win’s protest. “She’s right. We won’t know any other way.”
Win appeared mutinous. His lean body vibrated with fury, but he did not protest. Poppy stepped back a pace, not wanting to be close to Lena. “Tell me,” she said. “Who is Moira Darling?”
As if gathering herself, Lena sat straighter. “She was Isley’s lover. It was doomed from the beginning.”