Page 50 of Lux

They are—the way rats and pigs are civilized. Rutting and fucking and stewing in their own shit.

Yet, my Niamh is here among them. In search of her, I scan the face of every mortal we pass. I pay close attention to their meaningless words and mindless chatter. I sniff the air, testing it for her. Tasting for her.

Not yet.

Not here.

She isn’t here.

“Ginni said something about a circus, darling,” Altaris remarks while gazing in disgust at a woman who hawks goods from a wooden box. “The same term could be applied to whatever the hell this is, of course, but I think she meant something a bit more literal.”

The Pol-spawn nods. Keeps moving, barreling his way through an aimless crowd. He is quick and assured in his steps. His gaze is narrowed and focused. He is a hunter on a mission, determined to track down his prey.

So am I.

I try to grasp her thoughts again. As I pass a woman with long dark hair and a lanky frame, I try to say her name. It isn’t her. I knew it from the start. Some part of me needed to say it though. Throw her name into the air and see what answers back.

“This way.” Altaris inclines his head as the Pol-spawn changes direction, cutting through another alley. “It seems we might have made headway, at least.”

Headway.

Right to a dead end.

There is a brick wall at the end of the alley. There is no escape. No path to continue but to go back.

Yet Altaris marches forward. “Oh dear. I was hoping Ginni meant some mortal playground. Not one of these wretched… I thought I shut this down ages ago.” He snarls. Raps on the brick with his bare knuckles.

The brick he struck moves, folding inward, as do several others until a doorway is created. Beyond it, the alley stretches on as if never interrupted and the city gives way abruptly to a wide, massive field where a crowd of tents blaze in lantern light.

TheCircus of Souls,reads a sign.

Plastered on a poster is a crude creature with haphazardly drawn wings.

“Oh dear,” Altaris hisses, but there is none of his mocking sweetness. No polite air. He is furious, his tone flat as ice. “This establishment, I most definitely shut down. Come. We must be vigilant. The creatures here may seem like harmless attractions, but I assure you that some are very, very real.”

“Attractions,” I snarl. Is she here, my fae? As an attraction? Shoved into a cage, meant to be gawked at.

“Now, now, Caspian,” Altaris warns. “I hate to take this tone with you, truly I do,but I command that you listen!”

I stop short, paces away, fists at my sides, foot in the air. Undeniable power laced that command far more than Cassius could ever compel. Altaris, despite his pretentious appearance, is not like other spawn.

I can’t move. Can’t resist. Even if I wanted to. But I don’t. There is wisdom lurking in his tone. A plea.Be patient. Let me handle this. I will get your fae back if you are patient.

As though I were a dog to him, gnawing at my leash. But for her? I will be. I will be patient. I will bite my tongue and nod in response.

To get one step closer to Niamh, I will heed Altaris's wishes.

Because she is here. I can smell her, faint and crisp in the air. My tongue dampens. I can taste her. I ache for her.

In a way I have never once craved blood, I ache for her.

“Now, we must handle this tactfully,” Altaris says, moving to stand before me, his fingers laced together, brows knitted. “If this shitshow is run by who I think it is… We must tread very, very carefully. Oh bloody hell, what is it now!”

His eyes are beyond me, toward the alley we came from.

A trio of black-clad figures stands there now. Boneys, I suspect. One of them was the female he taunted at the prison. Marin.

“Well, well, well.” She taps her silver stick against her palm with a wicked smile. “Who the fuck but you would show up at a murder scene? What I wouldn’t give you to arrest you.”

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