When the Dark Wins

Untangling from the covers, Pearl’s feet landed on a woven rug of burgundy and cobalt. Under the brightly colored wool lay rushes that crunched the instant she placed weight on her foot. With her every step, the drying grass’s scent mingled with the room’s must, the smoke from the candles, and the smell of ambergris.

Her wrists had been perfumed.

Nose to her arm, she inhaled, and noticed an ornate ring sparkling on her hand. She had not felt the glimmering collection of stones, but now it held her complete attention. The piece was much larger than the art deco jewelry in fashion; the stones were much grander. In the center was a ruby rounded smooth, as big as an eye, anchored by tarnished gold and surrounded by seed pearls.

Unlike the other objects in the room, something about it was wrong. It pinched and felt unwelcome. Yanking the ring from her finger, she cast it off as if it were cursed.

Chest rising and falling in panicked breaths, Pearl tried to make sense of it all—of the stone walls half hidden by pastoral paintings, of the feeling of foreboding—and knew this was a bad place.

Hurtling toward the low, arched exit, she found herself caught by the mirror before her shaking hand might even try the knob.

There was a reason the colossal furnishing had been left there... the door was only an enticement. The true aim of the object was to get her close enough to the reflective glass to see.

Her hair was no longer clipped into a sleek bob. Wrongly, it hung past her shoulders, tangled from sleep. The shape of her body was foreign as well. Where were her prominent ribs, the dark marks under her eyes?

Yes, she’d always been attractive in her way, but she had never glowed with health. She’d never had soft curves or full breasts.

Blue eyes lacked the makeup she’d painstakingly applied every day. She didn’t need the kohl, or the cake mascara. Had she shown up to the Palace Delight looking like this, Mr. Weller would have never fired her. He would have promoted her.

Hell, he would have married her.

“Most nights when I come to you, you have yet to look in the mirror. It’s the journal that habitually grabs your attention, Pearl.”

An unladylike shriek came from the girl, Pearl spinning to find a stranger stepping toward her.

Pinched between long fingernails, he held the ring she’d rejected. He offered it to her, smiling and splendid, but all she could see were his eyes.

They were red as fire and so utterly wrong she thought she might be sick.

Putting the desk between them, she took in the face of what every last woman in Manhattan would deem perfection. He was beautiful, cheeks shaven smooth, dark hair slicked back in the style of Gary Cooper—more handsome than Gary Cooper, if such a thing were possible. But he was not dressed as a gentleman. In nothing more than a long black robe tied with a sash at his waist, he was hardly dressed at all.

Something about him, beyond the blood red of his eyes, set the hairs on the back of her neck to attention.

His gaze lost the crimson glow, growing into an almost soft brown as he smiled. “I am Darius.”

Red eyes, cold stone, and the scream of a dying man in the pitch black… fragments of memory echoed until the room with its finery looked like something else.

A tomb full of monsters.

“Where am I?”

His gaze tripped over her breasts, admiration all over his face. “I did not mean to startle you, Pearl. Come closer so I might see that you are well.”

Dizzy, Pearl put her fingers to her cheek. It had been torn open last she recalled, held together by a red-eyed demon who’d crept through her mind and asked her his questions.

A single candle in a room colder than death.

A corpse’s body moving against and inside her.

Mumbling to herself, caught between the present and the past, Pearl said, “The light went out and you came in.”

And now golden light was abundant, the red-eyed demon was back, wrapped up in beautiful skin and walking toward her with a smile.

She dared to counter his advance with a retreat, and a face that was beautiful grew twisted with impatience. “Kneel, my Pearl.”

It was as if some unseen force shoved her down. Legs hit the floor, the girl folding downward, her body utterly out of her control at his command.

“Look at me.”