Page 63 of Spark of the Everflame

I rose to my feet and smiled. “I wouldn’t dare. The lingerie advice you gave me was worth more than this would be.”

I said my goodbyes and followed the madam to the front parlor. When we were alone, she tugged a suede pouch from the neckline of her corset.

“You’re a sweet girl, but I’m not some pauper asking for handouts. If a customer takes a service, they pay for it. That’s how I run my business here, and I won’t accept different from you. How much?”

I gave her a hard stare and weighed my response. I understood her convictions, but the idea of profiting from what had been done to Peony didn’t sit right in my soul.

“If anyone’s going to pay, it’s going to be the man that hurt her,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “And I have a feeling he already has.”

Her lips thinned as she gave me an appraising once-over. “The girls were right, you know. You could make a lot of money here with those eyes of yours. I’d cut my percentage in half for you.”

“I already have a job.”

“You can be a healer when you’re old. You only get a few years to be young and pretty. Seize your opportunities while you got ‘em.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not sure my betrothed would be too happy if I accepted.”

A small lie. Henri wasn’t my fiancé—yet. Merely thinking about that step turned my throat scratchy and tight. But it was an easier explanation than the truth.

It wasn’t about the work. I’d had my share of casual lovers, and I respected these women and their profession. Men sold the strength of their bodies as sellswords and assassins, bricklayers and carpenters. Why should it be any less acceptable for women to sell the softness of theirs?

The truth, therealtruth, was that I’d made one too many calls like this to Paradise Row. I’d seen firsthand what happens to the girls here—a few bruises were the least of Peony’s worries. And no matter how many bad men this madam made disappear for their evil acts, there would be more.

Until someone brought change to this realm, there would always be more.

“Tell me, girl, what’s your beloved, a farmer? A blacksmith?” She sniffed dismissively. “You could bring in five times his income working here. You could make enough to travel, maybe buy yourself a cute little house in some better realm. You could even get off this gods-abandoned continent.”

I couldn’t deny a part of me thrilled at the idea of having the means to escape my tiny, miserable pocket of the world in search of a grand adventure. As a healer, making ends meet in Mortal City was about the best I could hope to achieve.

But my father. My brother. Henri. Maura.

My mother.

I sighed. “Thank you, but... I can’t.”

She shrugged and tucked the coin purse back into her brassiere. “Suit yourself. But whatever you do or don’t do, sweetheart, do it for yourself. Don’t choose a mediocre life for a mediocre man. Go be exceptional. If he’s worth it, he won’t judge you. And if he’s really the one, he’ll come along for the ride.”

A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air, floating in from outside the open door.

The madam didn’t even flinch. “Think over my offer,” she called out with a halfhearted wave as I bolted into the street.

I’d heard enough screaming patients in my work to know the difference between a cry of fear and a howl of agonizing pain—and this had been unmistakablyboth.

My head whipped back and forth in search just as it rang out again to my left, followed by shouting and a child’s wails. I pulled a dagger from its sheath and broke into a sprint.

“Please, don’t—my baby!My baby!”

A woman’s voice, plaintive and desperate. And the child—their cries had morphed into a sound that turned my blood ice cold.

Ahead, wisps of dark smoke blanketed the ground and unfurled in a curiously slow, deliberate sweep, like gloved fingers stretching for something just out of reach.

No, not smoke—shadow.

Another scream drew me closer, and I skidded to a stop at the edge of the tendrils’ grasp. Nearby, a woman cowered on the ground, arms outstretched to shield a small child clutching her waist and bawling hysterically.

Across from them towered a wiry man whose shimmering golden hair capped an expression carved with hate. He wore a fine jacket in a rich sienna hue, its ivory buttons undone low to reveal a fair-skinned chest.

The glow of his eyes cut through the darkness of the alley.

---