A Shadow in the Ember (Flesh and Fire 1)

Or it could’ve been the fair-haired woman who stood beside him. It wasn’t the low-cut gown or the black corset cinched impossibly tight beneath her breasts, nor was it the slits in the skirt of the gown that exposed the garter that encircled her upper thigh like a ring of blood. It was the swollen bottom lip and the blackened eye poorly concealed with paint.

The woman’s gaze flicked to me. Her eyes were empty, but she stiffened as I neared.

“Excuse me?” I called out.

Nor’s head slowly swung in my direction as he lifted the tankard to his mouth, his dark hair slicked back from a face that could’ve been handsome at one time. His complexion now looked ruddy, his features too sharp. His bloodshot gaze crawled over me, even though he couldn’t see much under the cape and hood. “Yeah?”

“I’m here to see a man named Nor.” I kept my voice low and soft, unsure as I slipped into the role of someone else.

He took another swig from his cup. Liquid glistened on his lips and the several days’ worth of stubble under his chin. “Why ya lookin’ to see the man?” He chuckled smugly as if he’d said something clever.

I spared the woman a glance. She twitched nervously beside him as she stared at the street. “I…I was told that he could help me find employment.”

“Were ya, now?” Nor lowered his cup, eyes narrowing. “Who told ya that, girlie?”

“The man at the pub, just down the street.” I glanced over my shoulder and then stepped onto the stoop. I reached up, lifting the hood. “When I asked if he was hiring or knew of anyone, he said you might be.”

Nor let out a low whistle as he eyed my features. “I’m always hirin’, girlie, but I ain’t lookin’ for pretty things like you to sweep floors and serve drinks. Am I, Molly-girl?”

The woman beside him shook her head. “No.”

His head shot in her direction. “No, what?”

Molly’s already pale skin lightened even further. “No, sir.”

“Yeah, that’s a good girlie.” Nor reached over, pinching her. He laughed when she squeaked, and the anger in my blood grew to a song.

“I know,” I said, reaching up to toy with the button on my cape. The movement parted the folds, exposing the upper part of my gown. “I know what kind of work.” I moved my fingers to the laces. “I was hoping we could speak in private and reach an agreement.”

“An agreement?” Nor’s interest returned to me, his dark eyes lit. “Gods be good to ya, girlie.” His gaze followed my fingers over the swells above the lace as if they were leading him to his next full tankard. “Like I said, I’m always hirin’, but I don’t hire just any girlie.”

I seriously doubted that.

He pushed off the wall hips-first, dragging a hand through his oily hair. “I got to make sure ya be worth hirin’.”

“Of course.” I smiled at him.

“Gods be good to me, then,” he murmured, licking his lower lip. Coins jangled from the pouch secured to his hip as he turned. “Then step into my private office so we can reach an agreement.”

Molly turned, her misshapen lips opening as if she wished to speak. Those flat eyes met mine, and she gave a slight shake of her head. All I could do was smile at her as I stepped into the alcove. She clamped her mouth shut, wincing, and then refocused on the street as Nor pushed the door open with one meaty hand.

A hand I had no doubt had left those bruises on Molly’s face.

Nor held the door open for me, bowing and extending an arm. Liquid sloshed over the rim of his tankard, splashing onto the already sticky wood floors. I stepped inside. The smell of sweat and the heavy, sweet smell of White Horse smoke lingered in the air of the candlelit chamber. I looked around quickly, gaze slipping over settees draped with dark cloth. Several pipes lay atop a coffee table cluttered with empty cups. White powder dusted nearly the entire surface. Surprisingly, there was a desk. Flames flickered weakly from the gas lamp sitting on the corner, a spark or two from slips of parchment…and more cups.

The door closed behind me. The turn of the lock was a soft click. My eyes lifted from the desk.

“Boy,” Nor barked. “I know ya in here.”

The child rose from behind the desk like one of the spirits in the Dark Elms, silent and pale. He was young. Couldn’t be more than five or six. His dark hair fell against sunken cheeks. The only color there was the purplish-blue bruise along the curve of his soft jaw. His wide, round eyes were nearly as empty as Molly’s had been.

My fingers dug into the lace, tearing it.

“There ya are.” Nor staggered past me, placing his cup on the parchment. “Get ya self busy somewhere else,” he ordered. “I got business to deal in.”