Feral Night by Kell Shaw

Author:Kell Shaw [Shaw, Kell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kell Shaw

Chapter 17

The Redbird

Lukie squeezed through the tight spiral staircase and emerged onto an upper floor, lit with occasional lanterns.

From what the servants and that owl woman had said, Anneth must be close.

Where was Dad in all this? And did she really want to find Anneth, after forcibly returning the courtesan to this horrible reenactment? If she’s aware, I’ll explain everything. She’ll understand.

“Get out of my way!” An old man limped toward her, propelling himself forward with a silver-topped cane. His beige skin hung loose on his frame. Lukie pressed herself against the wall. A thick, bodily reek assaulted Lukie’s nostrils: pus and decay barely concealed under layers of cologne. Dark, greasy hair fell to his shoulders. Stains covered his plum frock coat. He studied her with glittering sapphire eyes and raised his club, crashing it down toward her.

Lukie ducked, raising her arms to defend herself. She shrieked as the blow cracked against her forearms. The old man shuffled on, chuckling to himself. She glared at him, wanting to drain him like the Baron.

No, I won’t be him! Lukie rocked herself, moaning. The sharp pain was unlike anything she’d experienced while undead. It’s so hard to adjust to being alive again. Even if it is some illusion! Why would the ghost lord make their realm this way? She’d become too acclimatized to her dulled senses. She checked her arms, finding them tender. Nothing broken, no skin torn, although the blow would leave horrible bruises. Who would randomly club a blended person they’ve just met? I hate that guy. The nineteenth century sucked.

Ahead, Anneth peered from a doorway further along the corridor. She resembled an expensive department store saleswoman, with thick make-up, braided hair, and glittering jewelry. “Come here,” she commanded. Lukie’s palms sweated as she approached the courtesan. She tensed, ready to bear Anneth’s accusations for dragging her back to this horrible place. Instead, Anneth gripped Lukie’s arm with steely fingers. “Only a light blow. The duke grows feeble in his dotage. Hmmph.” She pulled Lukie into her quarters. A lounge dominated one side, with pressed flowers and watercolor paintings lining the shelves behind it. A large, double-poster bed took the other half of the room, partially concealed by a crane-patterned, silken folding screen from Jadetower.

“That was the duke?” Lukie winced, slumping into a velvet-cushioned chair near the door. At least Anneth hadn’t remembered the horrible things Lukie had done to her.

“Who else would hurt a pretty little songbird?” Anneth scowled.

“Are you alright?” If the duke was the sort to attack a blended elf in a corridor, what had Anneth endured working here?

“I’m well used to it,” Anneth gave a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Let us have tea. Hide those arms—the duke does not care to see blemishes on his prizes. My make-up skills were honed concealing the bruises he made.” She bustled to where a teapot and cups rested on a small side table. “The servants bring hot water regularly. Some of my guests are elderly gentlemen, who prefer conversation to pursuits.

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