Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (9)
In the end, there was nothing left to do but follow the gent and hope that I could make this meeting short by being honest with Morin about my lack of... uh, romantic experience. Then I would ask for more time to repay the debt, and find employment doing something I could actually do tomorrow.
With the exception of blaming me for her husband’s departure and therefore her fate, Rolina had never spoken of her work at the Lair of Lust. At a young age, I’d eventually pieced together what working for Madam Morin required due to the scents she’d bring home.
The idea of exchanging pleasure for coin had never concerned me, but I wasn’t what they were looking for. Though I’d too often wished differently, I hadn’t any experience with bedding someone. Rolina had wanted me untouched out of fear that my Fae family might not accept me if I’d been sullied by anyone in the middle lands of Crustle.
I found it hard to believe that would be true, given the hungry sexual appetites of faeries. Then again, I’d heard and read multiple contradictory tales regarding my own kin.
The Lair of Lust was a narrow three-story structure jammed between another apartment building and the long-abandoned florist on the corner. The ornate front doors opened to a high-end bar and lounges. Glass chandeliers were visible through the heart-shaped window.
Light glowed within, illuminating finely dressed patrons seated at the bar and around candle-topped tables. The walls were supposedly spelled to keep the noise from leaking out onto the street and into the neighboring buildings along it.
My escort walked past the front entrance.
Fear was soon replaced with curiosity as I was led down the tight alleyway beside the dark florist and around the corner to a metal flight of stairs. If anything, after another night spent tossing and turning with inescapable images of flesh-eating mist falling from a rippling sky, I could do with the distraction.
We climbed all the way to the third floor, the door opening with a quiet creak. “After you,” the gent murmured, his bushy mustache hiding his lips.
I nodded my gratitude out of habit and waded into a dimly lit hall. Brass lamps lined the bowing walls between a long row of closed plum-colored doors.
“Down the end and to your left. She’s waiting for you.”
I turned back, but found no sign of the monocle wearing fellow, whom I assumed might have been Morin’s husband. The wood floor groaned beneath my slipper-encased feet. The sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifted up the stairwell from the bar below. But other sounds could not be heard. At the end of the hall, I stopped, each breath growing slimmer.
The rooms must have been spelled for privacy, too.
Perhaps a distraction wasn’t what I needed after all. A night of unbroken sleep and a week to make more plans and better sense of all this sounded much better.
“Have you any idea of the time?” came a shrill voice and a cloud of that apricot perfume. “I was beginning to think you might have escaped Darold’s escort.”
“I, uh...” Before I could form proper words, Madam Morin’s hand curled around my wrist and tugged me into a large room. “Wait, I think we should talk about something,” I said, and swallowed as I studied the piles and rows of garments and lace and wigs choking nearly half of the room. “First, I mean.”
Waving my request away, Morin released me. “In case you haven’t noticed, the third floor is predominantly staff quarters. This is where you will arrive and leave. Quickly now”—a wary look was given to the door I’d been dragged through—“there’s no more time for dawdling.” She then hurried me behind a privacy curtain in the corner of the room and thrust the heavy velvet closed. “Your client arrives any moment, and he does not like to be kept waiting.”
A dress flew over the curtain and landed upon my head.
After enduring Rolina for so many years, I was more than skilled at handling those with no patience. Yet alarm speared through me at the mention of he.
Struggling into the filmy mixture of elastane, lace, and organza, I snapped the peach concoction into place over my arms and hips with a wince. “Skies squash me,” I whispered, turning to the side to inspect the skintight bodice in the scratched mirror. “I look like a peacock.”
A volcano of organza and ribbon rose at my waist to then spill beneath my hips. It fell to the floor to barely cover my toes.
The curtain was ripped open.
Morin’s crimson lips pursed as she eyed me. “Hair up,” she said, a finger in the air as she circled me. “Leave a few curls out. He is sure to love the kiss of winter-touched hair over a slim neck such as yours.” Lowering to the floor, she clucked with disapproval as she attempted to pull the skirts down. “No shoes. Too tall as it is.”
Straightening, her shrewd gaze dragged slowly over my physique. Unaccustomed to being so overtly scrutinized, I lifted my chin and curled my fingers into my palms to keep from covering my breasts. Which were at risk of bursting from their lace and satin enclosure, no matter how tightly wrapped. “Just how faerie did you say you are again?”
“I...” I frowned because I hadn’t, while wondering why it would matter. “I don’t know.” I tried not to laugh as I said, “A lot?”
A brow raised, Morin licked her teeth. “Show me those ears.” Lifting my hair, I did as requested, and a smile that appeared more hungry than pleased lit her green eyes. “Whatever you are, dear darling, you’ll certainly pass as full.”