Kindling the Moon (Arcadia Bell #1)(68)

Rock walls, eroded with holes and crevices, divided the room into smaller sections; each of these areas was covered in throw rugs and dotted with intimate groupings of antique armchairs and sofas. And between these lounging zones, the jagged stone skeleton of the cave wove around small pools of water.

It smelled of damp stone, stale cigarettes, and alcohol. Another low-note scent mingled below those, spicy and herbal, and it rose like incense in a soft haze from metal braziers that swung from the ceiling.

A long, uplit bar carved from stone stood against one wall, a couple dozen stone and leather seats lining the front of it. Heavy red velvet curtains hung toward the back of the cavern, blocking two dim passageways. Three long, wooden banquet tables surrounded by red tufted Louis XIV dining chairs sat in front of a medieval tapestry woven with Bosch-worthy scenes of debauchery and near-comical torture.

An opera reverberated softly around the space, competing with the hundred or more Earthbounds who were laughing and talking throughout the cavern. Dressed to the nines, they were drinking and smoking, clustering among life-size stone statues of Æthyric demons with curling horns and tails, massive wings, and muscular torsos; some were quite beautiful and seductive, others were menacing.

My eyes trailed around the room. Trays of beautiful bites of food and flutes of sparkling wine circulated through the crowds, carried by voluptuous women and men wearing togas or pleated Egyptian shendyt kilts. The fabrics were white and sheer; they might as well have been wearing nothing at all. I did my best not to stare.

I was used to seeing halos in the bar, but not nearly as many as I saw now. Earthbounds, all of them. And in the mass of green and blue, it was easy to spot the transmutated ones. Golden flames sprang from the horned heads of a middle-aged man at the bar, an elderly man on a couch, and a tall, young woman who was fondling a much younger, possibly teenage, boy sitting on her lap.

“This is the ballroom,” Lon said in my ear, as I caught a glimpse of several transparent imps milling under the stools around the bar. “Things get worse in the back rooms and the grotto.” I lifted an eyebrow and he added, “Don’t use your full name. I don’t want these people bothering you later.” I glanced at a long-haired man pissing in a dark corner against one of the cave walls; I was pretty sure I didn’t want them bothering me later either.

Another fiery-haloed man approached us with outstretched arms. In his seventies, perhaps, he had short, gray hair and drooping wrinkles below his eyes. He was dressed in a black three-piece suit with a red tie. His horns were short, knobby, and ashy-looking, not half as lovely as Lon’s imposing spirals.

“Lon,” the elderly man purred as he enthusiastically shook his hand. “Two years is too long. Your father, rest his soul, would be glad to know you’ve returned to the fold.”

Lon acknowledged these comments with a brief nod. “David.”

David’s gaze lit on me. He was stoned out of his mind. Through slitted eyes, he looked me over from bottom to top, then jerked his head in surprise when he spied my halo. “Well, now. Who is this, son?”

“This is … Cady. Cady, David. He’s one of the original members of the Hellfire Club.”

“Cady? Charmed. Delighted … and quite surprised.” Bringing my hand to his lips, he flipped it over, smelled my wrist, and planted a lingering kiss that radiated a strange heat up my arm. “Lon always had excellent taste in women.”

Lon wrangled my hand away from David and slid a shoulder in front of mine, blocking David’s access to me. “No,” he commanded. By the tone of his voice, I could tell that he really meant to say “Mine.” Frankly, I wasn’t offended. Especially under the circumstances.

David pursed his lips and frowned, then moved his head to look around Lon. “My apologies,” he told me. “We’re not used to seeing Lon with anyone significant since Yvonne. How is she, by the way? Still in Miami?”

Lon grunted an affirmation.

“She was a little much to handle, even for my tastes. Passion without joy is so draining. Shame we didn’t recognize that before, well, you know.” He shrugged and looked up at my halo again. “May I ask about you? I’ve never seen anything like it. Have you undergone some sort of initiation elsewhere? Where are you from?” He squinted his eyes at me in curiosity.

“No, it’s natural,” I said with a light smile. “I’m from the city. Morella, I mean.”

“Natural, eh? What kind of demon are you, chickadee?”

As he spoke, I began to feel lightheaded. Why? I glanced around us. Everyone was either drunk or high. Manic laughter, roaming hands, comatose stares, stumbling gaits. If they were in Tambuku, I’d be worried about a fight breaking out any minute. Well, what did I expect? Hellfire Club, duh.

“Something regal and quite special, I’d guess,” David continued babbling. “Higher echelon. Can you trace your blood-line back to the Roanoke colonists? Or maybe descended from one of the strays that popped up during the Middle Ages?”

“Not Roanoke, no. My family is originally from Europe,” I said. That was true enough, but I certainly wasn’t going to offer up anything more.

“Fascinating,” he said before waving his hand toward the bar. “Would you like anything? Wine? Food? Drugs? Please, come meet the others and tell me more about your ancestry.” He tried to move around Lon, but he wasn’t budging.