Mortal Souls by Amy Hoff

Author:Amy Hoff [Hoff, Amy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Erebus Society
Published: 2018-06-02T05:00:00+00:00

“What was he like, back then?” she asked, to get her mind off her anger.

Gregoire smiled again.

“You wouldn't recognise him.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

LONDON, ENGLAND

1890

The apartments rented by Dorian and Magnus Grey are nothing short of opulent. Dorian has been torn apart again and again in the press for his scandalous behaviour, at which he laughs, cuts out the articles, and tapes them to a board in the kitchen where the maids can read all about him.

This afternoon, he is otherwise occupied.

Magnus walked through door without knocking. Dorian was underneath the blankets, giggling.

“Dorian, it’s time to leave.”

Dorian sat up in bed, his long, beautiful black hair dishevelled. Another young man sat up beside him. Dorian gave his brother a look of annoyance.

“What is it?” Dorian demanded. “Can’t you see I’m busy?”

“We are expected at the salon in an hour. If you could see fit to clothe yourself…”

Magnus covered his eyes out of politeness.

Dorian shook his head, and pulled the covers over himself and his companion. Magnus sighed and left the room.

The salon was crowded and stuffy. Magnus sat with Dorian, who was quite listless and clearly hungover. Magnus looked at him and shook his head.

“Ugh, why did you drag me out of bed for this?” Dorian asked. “These people are dull. They make me itch.”

“You're drunk, Dorian,” said Magnus. “You must be patient. Do you not wish to be present for such a historic day?”

“History can go hang,” Dorian said. “I feel that you are altogether too scholarly, brother.”

“There is nothing left for us now in the Highlands,” said Magnus. “It is empty. Our people starve, Dorian.”

“Again with our people,” said Dorian. “Our people are the selkies, Magnus. We are not human. We don't owe allegiance to any people.”

“If it weren't for the Highlanders, we would not have existed for the last several centuries,” said Magnus. “You really ought to be more responsible, Dorian.”

“Thank you. I will take that under advisement,” said Dorian.

He banged his stick against the ground.

“Waiter! Champagne! What's taking so long?” he shouted. He turned to Magnus.

“Why do we not go somewhere more entertaining?” he asked. “Rome, or Paris – or Venice? Carnivale must have started, or will start soon.”

“You really are an obnoxious boor,” said Magnus. “We can visit those places later.”

“Very well, if you say so,” said Dorian, “but the lack of beautiful men or women in this club is vaguely alarming. Let us rectify this situation.”

“No sooner said than done.”

***

The brothers were seated in a cabaret, much darker than the salon, and a place of ill repute. Opium was available, and the young men and women there were for sale.

Dorian planned to make the best of it.

“This is more like it,” said Dorian, “It is so good to be at the centre of the Empire, rather than the outskirts of it.”

“I don't know,” said Magnus. “I prefer Scotland. Everyone here is so pretentious.”

“Meaning you can't lord over them here as you do there?” laughed Dorian, already high. “Well, everyone either lives here, visits here, or wants to be here.

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