Page 93 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

“Mr. Guillot, he’s too heavy, we can’t carry him much further,” one of the skinny men says hefting the much larger figure between himself and the other servant, his voice sounding strained. The man they’re dragging along the floor moans lightly, his booted feet nothing but dead weight between them.

I’m going to enjoy rubbing this rescue in his face. He once told me he’d never help me if I needed it and now the one person he hates more than any other in the Underworld is here, ready to save his ass from a mission gone sideways. He won’t hear the end of it for years to come.

“Keep fucking moving!” the fat man, Mr. Guillot, barks. “I swear to the Gods if you disobey my orders, I’ll whip both of your hides until you’re bloody.”

My smug smile falls away completely and becomes a scowl. My fingers clench the dagger still in my hand. Rescuing Regis isn’t the only reason Ophelia had sent me. I can’t kill the fucker holding him just yet—I need the information we were contracted for first. So, against my own wishes, I remain a shadow as Gideon Guillot—merchant of stolen goods and secret peddler—orders his servants to carry Regis’ unconscious body deeper into the mountain tunnels. Following them for several minutes on silent feet, I stop when they finally come to a halt at the end of one offshoot of the main cavern.

Guillot glances back and licks his wide lips before finding a rock on the side of the flat, dead-end wall. Lifting the rock and putting it against a small indention, I release a low breath at the ingenuity of the secret passageway. The rock, innocuous and loose against the wall, becomes the key needed for the dead-end wall to move inward, the clanking of mechanics soundlessly opening the door that leads beyond.

“Hurry it up!” Guillot snaps as he steps to the side and gestures for the servants to carry Regis’ body ahead.

Just before Guillot steps into the opening, he turns back and tosses the rock key back out and the door slides shut. I wait a beat and then a few more, until I’m sure they’re far enough ahead for me to use the door myself.

Finding the rock key, I use it and watch the masterpiece of a hidden door open before dropping the key and hurrying after my quarry. Guillot doesn’t get far into the new section of the mountain before it opens up into a massive cavern. I bite down on my lower lip in shock and amazement as lights become clear—glittering in long strings held at the end of the tunnel to reveal the city beyond.

And what a city it is.

The scent of cooking meat and the smoke and ash of fires filter through the open series of caves that have been dug out to make room for the stone houses. Guillot takes a rock staircase with an iron railing to the left that leads down into the streets below, trailing after his servants.

There aren’t just people here, I realize, but families—children. Peering out from behind the tunnel entrance, I watch as a ball skitters across one of the pathways between stone huts, a boy of no more than five chasing after it.

“Ophelia is going to be pleased about this,” I mutter to myself. I’d assumed that I’d get some hint as to where the Hollow City was. I never thought I’d find it myself.

The hidden city beneath the mountains surrounding the God city Nysa has been on Ophelia’s list for as long as I can remember. I step up to the railing, confident now as Guillot and his servants make it to the end of the staircase and move toward a shadowy alcove. Now that he’s in the Hollow City, Guillot stops glancing back, his shoulders straightening, and his steps more assured.

I shake my head in disgust. How the fuck had Regis gotten caught by such a stupid bastard?

I mentally catalog the location that I’ve entered through, sure there are other entrances hidden throughout the other caves. Those will have to wait though. I’ve got the information that Ophelia wants. Now, it’s Regis’ turn.

Turning towards the stairs, I take them down two at a time, keeping my eyes scanning, ever assessing. The air beneath the mountain is hot, stifling, but I can’t help but understand the reasoning of the people living here. As far as anyone knows, no God or Divine being has ever been here. If people like Gideon Guillot, with their secrets and betraying ways, continue to inhabit it much longer, this place will soon become like all the rest. My chest aches at that thought.

This place, this city, is a safe haven—the one, sole mortal-run city on the entire continent. For hundreds of years this place has been kept hidden, and as I follow my prey, I know that there will be more blood on my hands before the night is through.

No one can ever find this place. I refuse to let someone like Gideon fucking Guillot—who’d sell the information this place holds for a handful of denza—ruin what has held strong for so long. Even if it means it’ll displease Ophelia. I have to hope that finding the city, itself, will be enough to save me from punishment because before the end of this night, Guillot’s blood will run over my dagger and his life will become another in a long line of those I’ve taken.

Shaking away the thoughts of my impending target’s death, I hurry along the streets, keeping my cloak up and my hood covering my face. I pass a few others, though not nearly as many as one would expect in a normal city. Like me, they, too, often wear face coverings. Identities are as secret here as the city itself, it seems.

I catch up with Guillot as he stops in front of a stone hut and bangs on the door. A moment later, the door slides open and he waddles inside, followed by the panting, sweating duo carting Regis’ body.

There are two windows, bare slits into the stone, on either side of the door, and I wait until the coverings over those are closed before I creep closer. I cross the path and sidle up against the outside of the hut, tilting my head as I listen for what they’re doing inside. Reaching mental fingers out, more than a few little minds react to my phantom touch. I close my eyes and let their minds meld with my own. Suddenly, I’m in the hut. Though the point of view I’m watching from is obviously from the floor, half hidden behind some large wooden crate, it’s enough to show me everything.

One. Two. The servants following Guillot drop Regis’ body to the floor and hunch over. One gags and is promptly slapped by Guillot as he strides across the dirt floor and brings his meaty fist down on the other man’s head.

“Don’t you dare,” the fat man sneers before he turns to the unknown.

The woman who steps out of the shadows is trailed by another man. Unlike the servants that brought Regis, this man is more than just a lackey. He’s obviously also the woman’s bodyguard with his big shoulders and square cut jaw dotted with scars. He’ll be my main focus, I decide. The first one I’ll need to take out to get to Regis.

My attention turns back to the woman, taking in more details. Her dress is long with ruffled skirts the color of deep indigo. The color, although expensive and beautiful, does nothing for her pasty skin tone. She appears so pale that at first, I think she’s ill. Then she flicks her finger at Guillot and I realize her hand is a shade or two darker than her face. Makeup, I conclude.

Guillot takes the woman’s fingers and bends, pressing his fat lips to her knuckles. “Madam Rose, you’re as beautiful as ever.”

She shakes him off with a huff. “What have you brought me?”

Guillot doesn’t take her actions as offense and straightens away from her. “This man was sniffing around my businesses looking for information on the Hollow City. He’s of good stock—tall, muscled—I thought perhaps if he wanted to know about the Hollow City so much then you might make use of him.”

The woman, Madam Rose, takes a step towards Regis and with the toe of her boot, she nudges him. A moment passes and Regis doesn’t move. She snaps her fingers and her servant jolts forward. “Turn him.” Her words are crisp but denote a strange accent I’ve never heard before.

Her bodyguard follows her command and hefts Regis’ body up, flipping him so that he lands on his back. “Oh my.” Madam Rose bends over him and the image of Regis’ bruised face disappears from my view. Gritting my teeth, I soften my irritation lest it make the spider, whose eyes I’m borrowing, uneasy.

---