Celeste bristled. She wanted to protest that watching out for her baby sister had nothing to do with her being mixed-blood, but she was worried there was some truth in Hypatia’s observation, although not the way she meant it. Celeste could pass as Elect, but Mariel could not, and that left Celeste with a certain obligation to look out for her sister, especially on a night when free license moved the hearts of men in wicked ways. But she didn’t feel like explaining it all to Hypatia, especially when she wasn’t sure she had the words for it, anyhow.
“Maybe so,” she conceded, tossing her spent cigarillo to the ground before crushing it with her heel. “Think I’ll go wake her up anyhow and get home.”
“You sure? There’s still plenty of merrymaking to be had.” She gestured at the night. “Costumed revelry. It’s not too late join in.” The older woman looked her up and down. “How old are you? Twenty-two?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Almost a spinster. It’s about time you stopped slumming it down here with us, anyhow. Find yourself some Elect gentleman who’ll marry you and make you respectable.” Her tone was light, but Celeste could tell she meant it. “I’ll never understand why you spend your time down here when you could be up there, living the life.”
“You know why.” Celeste’s voice was hard. “Besides, you’re well past thirty, and I don’t see you on the arm of a man.”
“And you never will.” Hypatia pulled from her flask again. “It’s different for us full-bloods, and you know it.”
And that stung more than Celeste liked. “Good night, Hypatia.”
“Wait, I was going to ask you, what do you think of that new saloon girl?”
“Which one?” she asked, a touch exasperated. “You go through a half dozen girls a month.”
“The short one with the fringe and the dimples.”
“She seems nice,” she said diffidently. She couldn’t, in fact, place a face with Hypatia’s description.
“Nice in the sack, too.” Hypatia waggled her thick eyebrows, enough to make Celeste laugh.
“I’m not shacking up with a saloon girl, either.”
“Her name’s Lilitha, and why not? Haven’t you ever wanted someone, Celeste?”
“You know I have,” she said, working hard to keep the bitterness out of her voice, “but it didn’t work out.”
“Aw, hell.” Hypatia had the grace to look embarrassed. “Abraxas. Look, I didn’t mean to bring him up, I just—”
“Forget it. That’s long over, and nothing’s changing that. Now all I want is to go home and get some sleep.”
“I wish you’d tell me what happened.”
“There’s nothing to tell,” she lied. “It’s just… complicated. Besides, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve got everything I need.”
“You mean Mariel?”
“And faro. Assuming I’m not out of a job after tonight.”
Hypatia allowed her to change the subject. “Naw, that was just the kind of excitement that keeps the Eden top pick on Perdition Street. Don’t want us getting a reputation for respectability, do we?”
Celeste smiled, grateful for the grace. “Heaven forfend.”
“I’m just saying that if you don’t let anybody in… well, it’s a lonely life you set yourself up for. Mariel won’t stick around for long. She’ll marry soon enough, and nobody’s life ambition is to deal faro.”
“Let it go, Hypatia,” Celeste growled, and then her brain stuttered over Hypatia’s last words. “Wait, what do you mean Mariel’s marrying?”
The door between them banged open, and Celeste jumped, nervous as a jackrabbit.
“Celeste!” It was Zeke, and he was panting like he’d run a mile instead of thirty feet. “You’ve got to come quick!”
“More trouble?” Hypatia asked.
“It’s Mariel, isn’t it?” Celeste asked. This was the trouble that had been breathing down her neck, now come home to roost. She looked at Zeke, hoping to hell she was wrong, but his face said she’d told true.
“Sheriff’s here, and he’s got Virtues with him. They’re dragging her out right now.”
Virtues were the highest of the Elect. They might only be human, but they were sworn in service to the Orders of the Archangels.
“What the hell for?” asked Hypatia.
“I would’ve come as soon as they got here, but I was settling things after the tussle like you told me to, and I didn’t register them until it was too late.”
“Which Order is it?” Celeste asked.
None of the Orders were fond of the Fallen, but at least some of them were benevolent. The Order of Raphael were healers, and the Order of Chamuel were justice keepers and peacemakers. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it felt.
“The Order of Michael.” Zeke looked sorry when he said it.
Celeste flinched. The Order of Michael were soldiers, and their loathing for the Fallen was well documented. If they’d come for Mariel, then nothing good would follow.
“How many?” she asked.
“Word is a dozen, at least, and there’s an Azrael among ’em.”
“Aw, hell,” Hypatia muttered.
The Order of Azrael were murderers, no two ways to say it. They might claim their executions were God’s impartial justice, but their flaming swords fell on Fallen necks ten times out of ten.
Celeste reached for the door, but Zeke was already moving down the alley. “This way’s faster. Come on!”
They followed, Celeste’s heart racing as her mind tried to catch up. Mariel, in the hands of the Virtues. How? Why? She didn’t understand, but understanding didn’t matter. Doing did.
And what she needed to do was save her sister.
CHAPTER 3
Perdition Street was still shoulder to shoulder with all manner of masked merrymakers, but they pushed their way through. Around them people spilled from the saloons and brothels and opium dens into the street, drawn by the sight of the Virtues.
They were fearsome, dressed like the worst kind of avenging angels in a sensation story. They wore long white coats and small-brimmed felt hats, and they covered their faces with white porcelain masks that rendered them shrewd and inhuman even among the Aventum masqueraders. They sat astride silvered quarter horses and stared motionless at the crowd, all expression lost behind their pale facades.
“Look there,” Zeke murmured.
In the center of the circle could only be the Order of Azrael. A single rider in white like all the others, but on his mask, tears red as fresh blood streaked porcelain cheeks. He held a flaming sword in one hand, the fire jumping and sparking like a living thing. Gleaming from its hilt was a chunk of golden divinity stone.
“That’s no normal fire,” Celeste said.
“Heavenly fire,” Hypatia confirmed. “Powered by divinity. It can render a man to ash in seconds.”
“A woman, too.” She was thinking of Mariel.
A shrieking wail broke the silence, keen enough to shatter glass. Celeste recognized that voice, even in pain.
“Mariel!” She took a step forward, but Hypatia held her arm.