Page 150 of Crimson Promises
In the distance, I caught the distant hum of machinery and the occasional scurrying of nocturnal creatures seeking refuge.
As I approached the entrance, my fingers brushed against the rough surface of the door. The handle, cold and tarnished, yielded reluctantly to my touch.
The door was enchanted with a spell, it yielded to those who had The Sight or those who had made earth their home but were not mortal. I had always marveled about what kind of magic could detect that. It swung open.
I stepped into the abandoned industrial building that housed the market, apprehensive.
Dilapidated stalls, constructed from rusted metal and shattered glass, housed the market's patrons and sellers. The air was heavy with the acrid tang of alchemical potions, wafting from the twisted bottles and bubbling cauldrons that adorned the makeshift tables.
My eyes scanned the room, taking in the eerie tableau. Illuminated by flickering candles, the vendors—shrouded in tattered cloaks and bearing the marks of mythical beings—murmured their dark wares. A witch, her skin adorned with intricate patterns of glowing runes, offered talismans said to grant immense power. Beside her, a gaunt figure with glowing eyes beckoned passersby with vials of liquid potion, their promises of concealed secrets lingering in the air.
Metallic creaks and moans accompanied the scraping of claws against worn concrete as creatures long believed to be mere legends prowled the shadows. The subtle rustling of scaled wings as a griffin perched upon a cracked beam, its majestic gaze surveying the hapless visitors.
I kept my wings tucked in tight to not jostle any of the patrons or their products. Concealing them would have been the easier decision, but I didn’t want to be mistaken for a mortal. While they were no longer pearly white, my wings were a statement of power and status. Even amongst the other mythical creatures, a fallen angel ranked somewhat highly on the disproportionate hierarchy. It was a risk not keeping my hood pulled up to conceal my identity, especially if a Gifted angel was in the midst, but Michael insisted on locating this necklace. If I got caught, then Michael could come and save my ass.He’s the reason why I’m here anyway.
I kept my eyes transfixed on the owner of each stall. As I ventured deeper, the atmosphere grew more oppressive. The metallic tang of blood hinted at the dangerous dealings transpiring in hidden corners.
It was in the eye of the market that I found what I was looking for. Greta was a Ker. The Ker were female death spirits drawn to bloody deaths on battlefields. They couldn’t kill. Ker had to wait to feast on the dead. Azrael and the Ker had never gotten along. The Ker would devour souls before Azrael could send them across the other side to face their judgment and receive their sentence. Any enemy of Azrael’s was an ally of mine.
Kers were sometimes referred to as ‘black Dooms’ with their gnashing pearly teeth, grim-eyed, with tiny black gossamer wings. A stark balance of beauty and brutality. During The Great War, the Kers had made a deal with Lucifer to be able to devour the souls of all angels that had been destroyed on the opposing side.
One could never trust a Ker, but Greta was the most civilized I had ever met. She had popped up in differing branches of The Sublime Nocturne all over the globe. Greta’s royal blue skin was a bright spot against the drab brown curtains of her stall.
“Ah, Caelum,” she said as I stepped over the threshold into her space. “Didn’t expect to see you again for at least a few more decades.”
I leaned forward to place an air kiss on each of her cheeks. The Ker were vain beings. To not show them the respect they felt they deserved would result in disaster. “I couldn’t keep away from your radiating presence.”
“Always the charmer.”
I gave her my best blinding smile in response.
“What can I help you with this time, Caelum?”
Greta traded information for a very fucking expensive price. However, it was worth the cost. Over the years, her sources never once failed to provide accurate information that I had procured.
I looked behind me, gauging just how alone we were. I knew better than to advertise what I sought to the rest of the Nocturne.
Scrapes of fingernails against wood pulled my attention back to Greta. She had disappeared beneath the molted wooden counter. Her fingernail clinked against something before a loud whoosh slammed from behind me.
“There. Feel free to say whatever you need to now. The barrier offers complete privacy to the customers within my shop.”
My eyebrow arched in response. “Upgrading some things, are we?”
“It was time. Prices have gone up since last time we were here to pay for that damn spell.” She offered a sly smile like a dragon protecting its horde. The Ker were notoriously greedy creatures. Souls and riches were the only things that brought them pleasure.
“Of course,” I replied smoothly. “I’m here to inquire if you have information about a necklace.”
She tilted her head to the side. “A necklace. You’ll have to be more specific.” She flicked her hand around the shop. “There are thousands of necklaces in this place alone.”
I rolled my shoulders back. “It’s rather ordinary looking. The necklace comprises a circular gold pendant attached to a plain gold chain. It has the initials AM carved in small block lettering.”
Greta gave me a once-over. “You don’t seem to be the jewelry wearing type Caelum.”
“Gee. What would give that away?” I replied blandly.
“Then the question becomes whose necklace are you looking for and why.” She tapped her two index figures together as she studied me.
“Not like you to question your customers on why they seek your services.”
