Page 79 of A City of Smoke and Demons
The floor of the den was covered in mattresses, narrow paths between them like dirty back alleys. Smoke choked the air from dozens of pipes and the scent of opium threaded through each piece of dingy furniture and curtain. Through the haze in his head, Ezra could hear the ships on the river. The docks werenearby, and if the single window in the den was open, he’d be able to smell the polluted filth of the water.
The den was accessible through a nondescript door at the back of a shop that sold herbs and other medicines. A man with long black hair had led Ezra through and now, Ezra wasn’t sure how long he’d been here. Didn’t know and didn’t really care. It was warmer than the alley where he’d been hiding. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he’d moved from the floor to a bed with a thin mattress, canopied by hazy netting that shifted above him in an invisible breeze.
A dark-skinned sailor flopped onto the floor near the bed. Ezra managed to look at the man before returning to watch the canopy sway. It was hot and oppressive in the squalid dark of the den. The glow from a dozen lamps interspersed the gloom like tiny, failing suns.
Chasing the dragon. That’s what the dark-haired man called it. Ezra hadn’t found any dragons—what the fuck did a dragon look like anyway?—but for the first time in weeks, he found a sense of calm.
And with that calm came joyous relief. The lamp on the small table beside the bed flamed in agreement.
‘It will cure what ails you,’ the dark-haired man told him yesterday. Or maybe the day before. Ezra couldn’t remember. He’d been dreaming in bright colours, dreams full of magic and wonder, things he couldn’t explain. Until it shifted, and he saw their faces again, and saw his feet dangling, felt the rope around his neck as the lines between reality and dream blurred.
He smoked more.
The mattress dipped. Ezra blinked. No. A dream. A finely dressed gentleman had no place in a shadowed den near the docks in the Devil’s Credges.
The man chuckled. He was sitting beside Ezra now. Where did he get a chair? Where did the sailor go? The man wasdressed in a pristine white suit. He glowed in the darkness, his skin gleaming. Ezra swore his eyes were black. The man was beautiful, but there was something unreal about his face.
Possibly the opium, Ezra thought.
The man spoke, his voice clear and smooth. ‘Do we lose ourselves, or do we find ourselves in places like these, I wonder?’
He held a pipe over the flaming lamp, his gaze on Ezra’s face. He lit up, sucked the smoke into his lungs and sat back, exhaling a stream of pale grey through his nose, like a dragon. His eyes were closed, a blissful smile on his lips. ‘What do you think, Ezra?’
Ezra blinked. Had he told this man his name? He couldn’t remember.
‘I think,’ he said slowly, ‘it could be a bit of both.’
‘Let’s go with the latter,’ the man said. ‘What are you hoping to find?’
Ezra thought for a moment. His head was woolly, mind sluggish, like he’d sat too long in the sun and the heat scrambled his brain. ‘Purpose.’
‘Purpose?’
‘I’ve lost mine and I want to find it again. I think.’
‘Then let’s look at future you,’ the man said. He shifted in his seat, crossing one long leg over the other. ‘I can help you get what you want, Ezra. Purpose and whatever else you desire. Tell me—what do you crave more than anything else?’
‘Security,’ Ezra whispered. ‘I’m tired of hiding. Tired of running.’ He rubbed his face, stealing a glance at the man. In the flickering lamp light, those lips were carved into a perfect smile. Twin flames danced in those black eyes.
Must be the opium.
‘And if I could give you those things, security and purpose, what would you give me in return?’ The man’s voice was lower now, soft and gentle, like the caress of a lover.
Ezra managed a laugh. ‘No one can give me those things.’
‘I most assuredly can.’
‘If you can fix the mess of my life, I’ll give you whatever you want,’ Ezra murmured.
‘I need you to find someone for me,’ the man told him, leaning closer, like this was a conspiracy between them. ‘A woman.’
Ezra laughed again. ‘I think you can find a woman on your own,’ he said, looking into that handsome face.
‘That I can, but a woman like the one I want …’ the man’s voice trailed off. He ran the tips of his fingers down Ezra’s cheek and Ezra shuddered, his skin tingling as those fingers traced the line of his jaw. ‘Find me a death witch.’
‘I don’t do that anymore.’ He shook his head. Some part of his brain was screaming that he should get up, run, get away from this well-dressed man who knew who and what he was, but Ezra couldn’t be bothered.
Oblivion was better than running anyway. His liquid muscles agreed.
