Amantius sat curled up on a divan, a box of venom-filled chocolates within easy reach. He held an ormolu tray in his lap, which was full of calling cards, and he was delicately sifting through them with his talons.
“No, too common. Common, common... that one was allergic to roses and never wrote back. Bernard has his paws on that one... is this really all there is?” He sighed, and reached for a chocolate, popping it into his mouth.
Yesterday, his adorable researcher had told him under no uncertain terms was he to speak to her again. And now, the charming, gregarious Amantius found his schedule for the next week depressingly full of empty spots. Bernard had insinuated that Amantius was ‘losing his touch,’ but that was nonsense. No matter how charming he was, he couldn’t account for human fickleness, after all.
He pawed through the calling cards one more time, and his gaze fell on the image of a thorny vine winding around a name and address, with a Latin motto below. One word; Infragilis.
“Oh! It’s you!” Amantius laughed, holding the card up between his talons. “And to think, I nearly forgot about you.”
Ever the optimist, Amantius stood, went to his desk, and found some stationary. He sat down, and began to compose a letter.
Dear Casey,
I recall that last we spoke, I mentioned Christmas and the New Year. It is unfortunate that I could not invite you to one of the Embassy’s celebrations, but I trust that you had a merry time with your friends and loved ones. And I hope that you did all the things that make you happiest, the best to bring in a New Year full of more of the same.
The days are still cold, and London still smells of lacre. Yet February is upon us, and, traditionally, spring follows. I look forward to visiting the flower sellers at this time of year. The paper craft that the children sell on street corners is very lovely and fine in its own right, but nothing can exactly imitate the fresh scent of Surface flowers.
Amantius paused, and looked around the room. There was a vase full of red roses on a nearby end table. He considered them.
Therefore I hope you find these roses
But no. Red roses? Red might send the wrong message, at this stage. He might have to stop by the flower shop before mailing this letter.
He crumpled up the letter, and started over.
Therefore I hope you find these flowers welcome, and I hope they find you in good health. Everyone should have a little piece of spring, no matter the distance from the Surface.
You were very welcome company at the deviless’s salon. Indeed, meeting you was the highlight of an otherwise rather depressing afternoon. I’m certainly glad I left before I had to hear you-know-who publicly roast some poor, unassuming individual. Did you ever get to the bottom of that incredible rumor? (The one about Salome’s soul.) If so, I would be glad to hear what you found. If not, I would be equally glad to hear from you all the same. I found your conversation refreshing and honest, something that is sadly missing in most drawing rooms these days. Perhaps we can talk again sometime. I would love to hear your opinions about the latest play in Veilgarden.
Ever hopeful,
Amantius.
With relish, he folded the letter into an envelope, and sealed it with his special seal. Then he rang a little bell, calling in a servant. He gave her precise instructions about which flower shop to visit, which name to drop, and what flowers to buy, and then sent her on her way.
That same day, the letter arrived for Casey, accompanied by a small bouquet of yellow irises.
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Deep in the heart of the Bazaar, the shops are thriving. It feels as if everybody in London is starting to prepare for Hallowmas all at the same time: masks looming over shop stalls and on carts, spore-toffee and caramels being offered to passerby, hot cider, the works. The more expensive places pile pumpkins--actual Surface pumpkins--outside their doors, and offer all variety of squash and other gourds.
Casey takes all this in slowly, grimacing as they try to carefully step through large groups of people. There is already one paper-wrapped package under their arm, and (once free from the crowd) they slip through the entrance of a general store. It's not much quieter there, as most people are getting their shopping done for supper before heading home. They make their way through the shelves, trying to pick out spices, and then their eyes fall on a bottle of oil. Just out of reach.
They scoot past a group of shoppers and reach up toward the bottle, pausing to set their other purchase down on a shelf.
Cruz was not a festive person, really. They had never really had reason to enjoy them as an adult in the first place, and the various neathy celebrations dotting the past few years had not exactly been kind to them, either. Needless to say, the month-long surge of seasonal cheer rather rubbed them the wrong way. But as much as they would have liked to hunker down for the rest of the month, they were running low on thus-and-such, and this-and-that needed replacing, etcetera...Cruz picks carefully through the shelves, scanning through the merchandise. These sorts of stores felt claustrophobic at the best of times, but the pre-suppertime rush made it so much worse. They managed to stop before running straight into someone who'd been standing in their blind spot -- something that always bothered them, but they couldn't exactly wear a sign announcing the periphery they no longer possessed.
But despite the annoyances of the outing, they were in a mood to be helpful rather than ornery. They noticed the offender straining to reach something, and as it was quite easily within their own reach, Cruz reached over to hand the bottle to them. "There you are."
It happens slowly. Casey accepts the bottle first, seeing only the gloved hand that was holding it before their eyes go up the arm. They reach for the bottle next, taking it without much thought. "Thank y--" They start to say, eyes going up to the stranger's face, and all at once everything stops.
There's an awful familiarity about the stranger's face, something that catches them like a punch to the gut, but even still it takes a couple seconds to register exactly why. The Iron Republic, Maude, all the rest of them. The tall man (man? Distantly, now that they're not running for their life, Casey's sensing a difference) that had been giving chase--They suck their breath inward, stumbling back into the shelves behind them and clattering several paper sacks of God-Knows-What to the floor. Nearby patrons seem to notice, but just then a couple cuts through the space between Casey and Cruz, barely batting an eye at their look of horror. Casey's stuck there, waiting for them to pass completely, and a quick glance toward the door shows there's more coming in. Great.
It's fortunate that Casey grabbed the bottle, because as their gaze met their face, Cruz may have dropped it.
It was them. That person. Banning? The one the Revolutionary woman wanted dead. They didn't know how to respond, watching them recoil so strongly. Somewhere between shame and guilt, if they were honest with themself, but it was simpler to synthesize it all as leaving.Cruz bolted, making a break for the door in a brief lull between entrances and exits, but in their haste, they forgot to duck. The front of their head collided with the doorframe, resulting in a brief stumble and a cut-off curse. They clutched their head as they continued out the door, in too much of a hurry to smart about it.
The stranger's quick exit was enough to keep Casey frozen for another few seconds, somewhere between confusion and horror. They had seemed just as surprised as Casey was. And in such a hurry, where could they be running off to? Warning other Revolutionaries that Casey was still alive?
Forgetting all about their previous purchase, they bolt off right after Cruz and down the street, skidding around past a hansom that was rattling it's way down the street. Those precious few seconds were enough to put some distance between the two.
Cruz has a head start, even if it cost them a pounding head, but they're slipping. For some ungodly reason they thought it'd be a fine idea to wear one of their boots with heels today -- maybe the extra height boost was appealing, but they honestly can't remember the reasoning at all anymore. Whatever it was, it was stupid.Their heels kept hitting the cobblestones with a wobble that cost them precious moments. Cruz knew they couldn't maintain a lead on them, they needed to duck into an alleyway or something, anything. They found one -- the sharp turn into the narrow, grimy alcove didn't help them, but they prayed to God the darkness would be enough.
Darting around passerby and the street traffic dropped Casey's target from their line of sight, briefly, but the crowd cleared just enough for Casey to see them make a quick turn. If they hadn't witnessed it, it might've been completely overlooked.
As they approached the mouth of the alleyway, Casey slowed down just a bit to try to listen. There was a distant dripping of water from the eaves above, and then just past that, the click of heels. A surge of adrenaline shot through their core and Casey jumped at the chance, darting down through the alcove. The lights were much dimmer there, almost pitch-black, and the impenetrable darkness was almost reason enough for them to stop and turn back. With ragged breathing, Casey stopped to call out.
"I know you're back there."
Cruz’s size made it hard to hide, completely -- they relied on the darkness and the noise from the street to mask them, but even then, it wasn't enough.
They slowed to a stop, freezing against the wall; they struggled to keep their breath down, keep quiet -- part of them wanted to just knock them flat and be done with it, knew they could, knew it would be simpler, but then, what? What after? It would solve nothing -- but this solves nothing either.
Deal with it later. Hold your breath for now.
Near-silence. Casey waited for a few more agonizing moments, trying to listen. "I know you're back there!" They repeated, louder this time. Their feet shuffled on the cobblestones below, treading into the darkness cautiously. Down at their sides, their hands balled up into fists, their fear now overcome with fury.
"What did you think I'd do?!" Casey shouted. "Attack you right in the middle of the store?! Look, let's just--" Their voice falters. "Talk. At a distance."
The idea flashed across Cruz's mind to play the dumb thug, swap to Spanish and pretend they could barely even understand, but they'd spoken in the store perfectly fluently, that wasn't an option. That's right -- what did they expect them to do? Running like a child who knew they'd done wrong.
"Not so loud! Please!" It was hard to keep the traitorous waver from their voice, hard to sound like they were calm. But they liked to think they were a good liar. "Please. I can't afford this."
"Can't afford what? For people to overhear?" Casey asked, and then bellowed. "Citizens of London! There is a big discussion happening right here in an alleyway! Coward!"
Okay. That was it. That was the last straw. They could put it down for posterity, they'd tried to be mature about this, restrained, high road, but Banning brought it down here first. And that was what was important._Cruz emerged from the deeper shadow in the back of the alleyway, full-on throwing themself at Banning in a tackle just to get them to --"--kindly shut your face!"
The two of them tumbled backwards hard onto the cobbles, the back of Casey's head smacking against the ground. They threw their arm up, arching a fist up into Cruz's face and hold on to the momentum to throw them off completely. Casey tried to roll away, pain throbbing in the back of their head, and their limbs heavy like lead. Their breath is ragged again, each inhale and exhale flaring the headlike like clockwork. They staggered up onto their feet and teetered backward, keeping their eyes locked on Cruz.
Cruz must have still been thrown off by the blow to the head earlier, because the hook to the face did the trick in getting them off. They rolled to the side, spitting on the ground. Ugh, they could feel the good side of their face swelling up, and that made them even madder. They hated walking around with a shiner on that side.
But at least it shut them up.
"Oh, no, no, I'm not done yet, you little--" They cut themself off, grabbing Casey by the ankle and yanking them down.
Casey yelped when they were yanked down, throwing their arms out to try to twist and not land on their head again. They came down hard at an awkward angle, their ankle still grasped in Cruz's hand, and in a panic they kicked out with their free leg. "Let go of my goddamn leg!" They shouted, kicking out their legs again to free themselves from Cruz's grasp.
Cruz let go almost immediately, but not before their boot caught them in the side of the face, nearly upsetting their eyepatch. Before doing anything else, their hands flew to put it back in place. Outraged, they sprang forward as soon as they could to strike wherever they could reach -- honestly, they just felt an overwhelming need to hurt something.
With their leg free, Casey pushed themself back as far as they could from Cruz, all the way back until they bumped into the wall behind them. Cruz's spike in rage was coming off of them in waves, and Casey scrambled to get out of their line of fire, whirling around to try to get behind them. "Alright!!" They shouted, trying to quickly think of a plan before it got too out of hand. "Alright!" Casey's hands went up in front of them. "Now let's just--let's just stop this for a second!"
"Oh, now you want to play it straight, do you?" Cruz growled, getting up to a more upright position. Vicious thoughts chased themselves in circles around their head. But this was stupid -- this was one of the nicer districts, a body in the street, even temporary, was bound to cause at least some trouble. They exhaled, visibly struggling to get their ire under control. Eventually, they gave a derisive snort, adding under their breath, "Pathetic. I should cut out your tongue now and be done with it."
"I'm not going to keep playing it straight if you keep running your mouth like that," Casey growled. They took a deep breath, and then another, and then took a couple steps back. Once they're satisfied that they could make it through the next few words without going back to fisticuffs, they speak up again.
"All I was going to ask was this," They said slowly, trying to keep their voice steady. "...Do they know that I'm still alive?"
"Hell if I know," Cruz snorted, sitting back against the opposite alleyway wall -- the damp of the cobblestones was working its way into their clothing by now. They winced, face smarting -- as the rush left them, they just felt sore and tired all over again. "That... fiasco was a favor and a bargain, and they didn't hold up their end. I cut ties. But even past associations I don't want shouted on the God-forsaken street."
"As if I'm really itching to start shouting our previous associations with the Revolutionaries," Casey spat. "I spent quite a while trying to keep it buried, until you and the rest of that lot came along to try to settle the score. Was that seriously the last resort you had to get what you needed?! I don't even recognize you from Maude's group of a few years back. The business between her and I shouldn't involve complete strangers."
"If you hadn't noticed, I'm rather large. And under normal circumstances, I have a certain reputation of getting the job done. She pulled in favors, I got contacted, and since I was so sure I'd be getting paid regardless, it seemed like a small thing." Cruz snorted. "I apparently also have a certain reputation for being a gullible brute..." The last part seemed barely directed at Casey at all. "But that's got nothing to do with anything. She was looking for muscle. I had no idea how personal it was."
"A small thing." Casey said flatly. "Chasing someone down in the Iron Republic and beating on them until she has a good chance to try to slice them up. Yes--" There's venom in their voice now. "that's certainly a small thing. Good job. Obviously not good enough, because I'm still here."
They're shaking from head to toe and start toward Cruz, their arms still locked straight down at their sides. "I know you just told me that you've cut all ties with them," Casey said, their voice low. "But if they try to come back into /my/ life like that again, or come near my family, and there's even the most remote hint that you had anything to do with it? You're going to be the first person I kill."
Cruz straightened back to their full height, their one remaining eye narrowing, reflecting green off the dim light of the alley. Though their temper had passed, they felt a stirring of something between defiance and pique at that comment -- their lip lifted in a sneer. "Assuming it comes to that, I'd like to see you try. I've been told I'm very difficult to finish off." They crossed their arms in front of them.
Casey was stuck at a crossroads between intimidated and furious. The meeting of these two twisted into a laugh of disbelief. "I promise you," They said. They stared up at Cruz, their hand twitching as if wanting to grab them by the lapels, but instead they stepped back. They were not about to turn their back on this person."It won't be necessary if we keep a distance," They said. "Come too close, I WILL kill you. Promise."
"And how can I trust you to keep your own silence?" Cruz said, stepping forward just a bit. "I've got nothing to gain by exposing you to them, but it would be, ah, advantageous for you to be rid of me by way of the constables."
They didn't have their name, but asking after a particular tall, scarred Spaniard would surely get them somewhere eventually, if they were determined enough, Cruz was sure. Casey was stony-faced while they thought it over. Finally, they shrugged.
"I suppose you can't," They said. "Really, all I wanted was to put that fiasco, as you so elegantly described it, behind me and hope that what happened would be enough to sate Maude's desire for revenge. Reporting your activities puts too much risk on kicking the hornet's nest again, even if you're not with them anymore." They chuckled again. "The irony in discussing trust in each other's lives after what you did.."
Cruz scoffed and rolled their eyes. "As if you're so pure. As if you've never put yourself or your goals before others. You did something to earn what you got, and I knew it." Cruz shouldered past them in the alleyway, heading back to the street. "I don't have to justify myself to the likes of you."
Several thoughts ran through Casey's head at Cruz's last statement, ranging from defiant to scathing, but none were said out loud. Instead, they just watched as Cruz exited the alleyway first, giving them enough time and distance before cautiously walking forward. By the time they were out to the street, Cruz was nowhere to be seen.
A few moments more, and Casey started to trudge back toward the Bazaar. They would be late getting home if they dawdled for too much longer.
Amantius sits in an armchair by the fire, sipping sherry and surveying the other guests. There is a tall, heavyset devil he only knows from having seen him at the Embassy’s refectory a few times, and a thin fellow whom he has passed in the hall on several occasions. And then there is Bernard, in a striped vest, with the faintest hint of a smirk about the corners of his lips. Amantius watches him, daring him to make eye contact, and when he does, he bares his teeth in a winning grin. Bernard cocks an eyebrow and looks away.
Amantius occupies himself with schemes of how best to embarrass Bernard at the next opportunity. He checks for a bottle: No, Bernard didn’t bring any souls. Amantius didn’t, either. Why volunteer for a round of insults at the deviless’s hands? Everyone knows nothing is ever good enough for her. Still, the temptation to finally impress and upstage her keeps people coming back, time and time again. But Amantius has other things on his mind.
There’s the soul of Salome, for one. And... hello, what’s this? There are humans at this salon. And they still have their souls.
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"Chaucer. Don't leave me alone with these ties. Chaucer."
"They're not from Polythreme, you have nothing to worry about; besides, I'm fixing you a cup of tea. Whiskey or bourbon?"
"I'm getting married!"
"You're getting an ulcer. Drink."
