Gossamer in the Darkness (Fantasyland)

He’d been The Dealmaker because he could read people.

Mostly (he would admit only to himself), it was because of his rats.

What he read was that Buttersnatch had, at long last, succeeded.

Edgar felt his heart jump.

There was hope!

Likely, knowing this particular pest, it was a witch.

He didn’t care what it was.

Just as long as it meant success.

Therefore, Edgar did not hesitate to step into the dark, moonlit, unoccupied alley and firmly close the door behind him.

He led Buttersnatch, whose rags rustled about him as he moved, well away from the door.

Only then, holding the light of his candle up so he could clearly see the man’s face, did he command, “Speak to me.”

“There is a witch…”

Of course there was.

“…she is powerful.”

Of course she was.

“She’s been ‘idin’ her accumulation of magic for years.”

As she would need to do.

King Noctorno made things very clear after the last debacle nearly brought low all of the Northlands. No witch gathered magicks of any magnitude without the government’s permission.

“You’ll be needin’ to bring your diamonds, you will,” Buttersnatch went on.

Edgar’s eyes narrowed at that.

His diamonds?

He did, of course, have a healthy cache of Sjofn ice diamonds. Rare. Flawless. Coveted.

Most of the foundation of his wealth was in such things.

This was because they never lost value. No matter what foul play was at hand in this land or any other, an ice diamond, an Ulfr fur, a Korwahkian jewel remained rare, remained flawless, and remained coveted.

“And why would I do that?” Edgar asked dubiously.

“Because”—Buttersnatch smiled, exposing yellowed teeth that were dark and rotted in places—“there’s another world, milord. A world she can access. And on that world, master, each and every one of us…”

His pause was long, his smile got broader, and then he finished.

“’As a twin.”

Edgar recoiled.

Dear gods.

There it was.

A miracle.

Chapter One

Top Shelf

Loren Copeland

The Marquess of Remington

Hawkvale

The City of Lincstone

Heddelly Arch District

Avon Bordello

The Parallel

One Week Later

“I feel like I should pay you,” the whore purred behind him.

“That can be arranged,” he muttered, reaching for his breeches.

He felt her hand touch the bare skin of his back.

“Another go,” she whispered. And then, far quieter, “For free.”

Her hand went away as Loren stood, pulling up his trousers.

He didn’t look at her as he buttoned them at the same time he moved to where he’d thrown his shirt.

“Another time,” he replied.

He said this, but there would be no other time.

There were those, and she was one, where he made a call.

He’d made that call.

This time, he came.

Then he went.

And it went without saying, especially this time.

He finished with his trousers and reached for his shirt.

“I’m not…” She didn’t continue.

He didn’t much care what she wasn’t, but she was lovely and naked and a much better view than the maroon flocked wallpaper.

Therefore, after he pulled on his shirt and in a slapdash manner tucked it in, he reached for his waistcoat, turned to her and lifted his brow.

“I didn’t fake it,” she said softly.

“I sense you know that wasn’t my first time,” he replied, buttoning the three brocade-covered buttons at his lower abdominals.

She smiled.

Very lovely.

Pity she was a Come-and-Go.

“Therefore, dear heart, I know that,” he told her.

He then bent to snatch up his socks and boots.

He turned his back on her to sit by the side of the bed to tug them on.

“I won’t tell Winnow.”

Winnow was the madam of this very establishment.

Winnow held great beauty.

Winnow had the soul of a snake.

He didn’t like her. He didn’t trust her.

But it could not be denied, she had an eye for talent.

He looked down at his companion for the evening, reached out and cupped her graceful jaw.

“She, or one of her lackeys, watched every second of our coupling, lovely Mayda. You’re as aware of this as I. I will get away with no favors, no bonuses, and assuredly, no giveaways. I will pay for tasting your lovely cunt. I will pay for penetrating your round ass. I will pay for having you on your back, your knees, and I will pay for watching you ride my cock. I will pay for the two climaxes I gave you. And I will pay top tier, for you are top shelf, aren’t you, dear heart?”

“My lord—”

He put a finger to her lips. “I have a rule. When a woman takes me up her arse, and in her mouth, not in that order, in the same night, she’s allowed to call me by my name.”

Her eyes flared at this unusual benefaction.

He took his finger from her lips. “Now, you were saying?”

Her attention darted over his shoulder to one of the several paintings in which, Loren knew, the walls had eyes.

A warning.

One she likely never gave another client.

Loren sighed.

It never failed to surprise him.

Give a whore an orgasm, and they became aggravatingly clingy.

He turned from her and reached for his frock coat.

“Loren,” she said his name so low he had to turn back to her to prove he’d heard it. “You should—”