“And your luck’s about to be worse if you don’t stay out of this, friend,” he retorted, hand still hovering over his revolver.
Calm everybody down, Celeste thought. That’s what Hypatia would say. And also, don’t kill the customers, especially when they’re lining your coffers.
She lifted her hands. “All right, then, Mister. One more round. Give you a chance to win your money back, and then we’re even.”
Mustache grinned and let his hand drift back up toward his card. “Now, that’s more civilized.” He motioned for Zeke to send over a fresh drink. “And maybe we can get that sister of yours to come on out and show us her lungs.”
The dagger was in her hand before he’d sucked in a breath to laugh—and through his hand before he’d made a sound.
“I said don’t talk about my sister!”
He froze, staring, before he started screaming. Hollering like she’d stuck him in the heart instead of just the hand. He reared back, trying to get free, and his loose arm swept wide, sending drinks and chips flying.
The room dissolved into chaos. Someone was shouting murder, maybe one of Mustache’s companions, and then someone else was throwing a punch, and the blue-veiled woman’s hat tumbled off, revealing alligator scales and a forked tongue.
Celeste scooped the house winnings into a sack, dragged the dealing box in with them, and dropped low to the ground, just in time to miss a bullet flying past to lodge into the wall behind her. She glanced up and spied Hypatia grabbing the shooter by the neck, disarming him with a vicious chop, and dragging him bodily toward the front door. Celeste shifted directions, crawling out the other side. A crowd had gathered to watch the fight, some of the drunker patrons joining in. She kept her head low and worked her way through the rough-and-tumble, dodging the worst of it.
“Zeke!” she shouted over the din once she’d reached the bar. Zeke had a shotgun in hand and was busy guarding the spirits lining the back wall, making people think twice about taking advantage of the ruckus to try to steal what wasn’t theirs. “Have you seen Mariel?”
He grinned, eyes bright, his boyishly handsome face flushed. He was clearly enjoying himself. “Said she wasn’t feeling well,” he yelled back. “She’s lying down in the back for a while. Want me to rouse her?”
She looked across the room to where the back offices were. There were at least ten men between her and that door, all looking like they’d love to join in the row. “No. If she can sleep through this, then let her. I’ll have a smoke and wait it out.”
“Want me to send Hypatia out?”
She glanced over her shoulder. A few other punters had joined in the fight, and Hypatia was in the middle of it all, banging heads together, looking happy as a pig in shit.
“Wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
Zeke grinned and sent her off with a salute.
Celeste slipped out into the back alley, avoiding the mess she’d made.
CHAPTER 2
It was blessedly empty out back behind the Eden, if not particularly quiet. Somewhere someone was singing loud and drunk enough to wake the dead, and piano music echoed down the dirt road through open saloon doors. Laughter spilled from intoxicated lips, and the faintest scent of opium tinged the night air. Normally, three a.m. found Goetia aslumber, but Aventum Angelorum only happened once a year, and people made the most of it. Even at this hour, Perdition Street bustled.
The holiday was the commemoration of the end of Lucifer’s rebellion and the war that followed, although whether one marked it as a celebration or a day of mourning depended entirely on which side of the war one’s ancestors had been on. The citizens of Goetia were mostly Elect, so the morning had seen a parade down Main Street and speeches by the local politicians. In the afternoon, those same upstanding denizens poured into the exhibition hall to ooh and aah over the latest mining innovations and wondrous clockwork creations powered by the divinity that came out of those mines. There had even been a charity dinner at the mayor’s mansion, with society ladies in taffeta and silk.
But by nightfall, even the most God-fearing of Goetia set aside their righteousness and joined the Fallen down on Perdition. Everywhere there were men and women, Elect and Fallen, rich and poor, dressed as devils, angels, and any manner of hellish creature roaming the streets. Horns and wings were the order of the day, but there were the occasional satyr’s cloven foot and a blackened halo made of painted straw.
That’s not to say the Elect and the Fallen were at odds in Goetia the other days of the year. They needed each other, in a wretched sort of way. The Fallen were the only ones who could spot the divinity lode for mining, a gift of their ancestry. The Elect paid fair wages for that service and for the other talents of the Fallen that kept Goetia booming. But amid the iniquity of Perdition was the only place they mixed as equals. Everywhere else, Elect were on top and Fallen somewhere below.
Celeste was halfway done with her cigarillo when out came Hypatia, her curls in disarray and a wide smile on her generous mouth. She swiped blood from the corner of her lips, leaving a crimson trail across one cheek.
“How goes it?” Celeste asked, eyes askance on the blood.
Hypatia laughed. “Invigorating!”
Hypatia claimed she was the descendant of the eponymous Alexandrian philosopher and mathematician, but everyone knew her name was Mary and that she hailed from the middle of the continent. Times like these, when her guard was down, Celeste could hear the prairie in her voice.
“And the man?”
She turned a baleful eye to Celeste. “You mean the one you stabbed?”
“That’s the one,” she said, flat as pan water.
“What did I tell you about that, Celeste?”
“Not to do it, but you didn’t hear him, Hyp. He was disrespecting Mariel.”
“Mariel’s a grown woman and can defend herself. She doesn’t need you stepping in to maim a man for every little slight.”
“She wasn’t there to defend herself, so I did it.” Celeste paused. “Maim? So he’ll live?”
Hypatia sighed gustily. “He’ll live, but you better hope he doesn’t bring the law down on us.” She leaned over, palm open to Celeste. In her hand was Celeste’s dagger. “You’ve got to think before you do these things.”
Celeste took the blade and fitted it back into her trick holster. “And if I said I was sorry?”
“It’d be a start, assuming you meant it.”
Celeste was quiet. Hypatia grunted. “That’s what I thought.”
Something crashed loudly inside, and Hypatia muttered about expensive furniture and glass that was hard to replace, but she said, “Ah, hell, Zeke can handle it. I’m getting too old for this shit.” She withdrew a flask, unscrewed it, and drank deeply.
Celeste watched her, amused. “I’ll never understand why you own a bar but insist on carrying your own.”
“That shit in there is watered to piss,” Hypatia admitted, coughing lightly. “This is the good stuff, straight from the barrel. You want?”
“Better not. I’ve got to get Mariel home later.”
Hypatia rolled her shoulders. “Don’t be such a biddy, Celeste. I swear, that half-Elect blood of yours keeps you wound tighter than a rich man’s asshole.”