Page 3 of Soulbound
A half-dozen residents peered at her from the dim confines of the tavern, then blinked in shock. The bartender almost dropped the glass he'd been polishing, and Cleo swept toward him with a smile, knowing her appearance had set the cat among the pigeons. It wasn't every day a young woman dressed like one of the haut monde entered this place.
The bartender was a short man, standing on a stool behind the counter. Part imp, perhaps, judging by the set of his nose and forehead. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing a heavy manacle around his left wrist, and runes burned a bright copper against the brass. A shackle by the look of it, which meant he'd run afoul of the Order at least once.
And considering her status as an Order sorcerer, she doubted he'd be much inclined to help her.
"Good day," Cleo greeted. "I'm interested in passage beyond those doors"—she tipped her head toward the enormous steel bank vault doors at the end of the room—"and I'm willing to pay for it."
"You," said the imp, "don't belong here."
"I've been trying to tell her that the entire carriage ride," Jeremy blurted, "but she won't listen to me."
"Mr—"
"Cochrane," said the imp, and then spat on the floor beside his stool. He leaned on the counter. "You should listen to your friend here. It ain't my place to warn away pretty little morsels like yourself"—this with a sneer—"but there aren't many rules in the Labyrinth. And if you walk in there, chances are, you won't walk out."
"I'm aware of the risks," she said, forcing herself to smile through her teeth. "My father was Lord Tremayne—you might have heard of him."
Cochrane's face paled, but he recovered quickly. "Heard his lordship's dead."
"Yes." It didn't hurt as much as it once had. Her visions had seen the cause of her father's death, but he'd chosen his own road in the end. He hadn't had to stray down the dark path she'd seen. "My point being... if you think this is the worst I've encountered, then you are very much underestimating me. If you think your Labyrinth dangerous, then I assure you it's a walk in the park. My father dabbled with demons. He tried to undermine the Order, and paid for it with his life. Dion Letchworth dandled me on her lap when I was a child, before she sold her soul to a demon. Madame Firth was my first tutor in the Dark Arts, and let me assure you, she was not a very kind mentor." Cleo frowned. "Sir Alaric Erskine was my godfather, though he died when I was two. Or got sucked into one of the Shadow Dimensions he was dabbling with—Father never really did say. But... you do see my point?"
"Don't say I didn't warn you."
Capitulation. Excellent. "How much will passage cost?"
"Twenty quid." Cochrane snapped.
More than she'd expected. "Well, I'm not carrying a great deal of coin on me. I only have ten pounds. Would you accept a favor?"
"No coin, no passage."
"Perhaps a reading?" Cleo persisted. She reached for Mr. Cochrane's hand. "Brace yourself."
"What the devil are you—"
Then she was touching his manacle, and images exploded into being around his head. Cleo's gaze went distant. She couldn't access her Foresight anymore, but predictions were still within her capability, and several other gifts of the divination arts, such as psychometry—the ability to read an object's history. A woman sprang to being, luring Cochrane into shadows. "There was a woman," Cleo said hollowly. "She trapped you here. Or urged you to do something that put you on the wrong side of the Order. A theft.... I can't see what it is, but you stole something for her. That's why you're bound. There's... a curse hanging over you. She's coming back for you, to break the curse. There's a tattoo on your skin, some sort of rune, and it will flare gold the day she sets foot on these shores again—"
"That's enough!" Cochrane jerked his hand from beneath hers, and nearly fell off the stool. He looked horrified. "No! She can't come back. She was bound. Locked away. No."
Cleo drew her vision back to the here and now, seeing the sweat on Cochrane's temples. "Payment enough?"
He was practically gray now. Staggering off his stool, he turned for the bank doors, waddling across the room. "Go! I want no more of your ilk in here!" Turning the little round wheel, he unlocked the door to the Labyrinth, and swung it open.
Behind the enormous door, another world opened up, raucous sound assaulting them. People bustled past, sparing the doors a curious glimpse, but no more. It looked like some darkened version of the Portobello Road markets outside the Black Horse Pub.
"Go, you cursed bitch!" Mr. Cochrane snarled, gesturing her through.
An enormous stone golem guarded the passageway beyond, and Cleo glanced at it as she stepped into a world she'd barely imagined even existed. "How do we get out?"
"Find your own way out!" Cochrane snarled, and slammed the heavy bank vault door in her face.
"I think you riled him," Jeremy said. "I don't think you should have mentioned that bit about his curse."
"Probably not." People never did like to catch a glimpse of their future. "That wasn't so hard though, was it? We're inside."
Now to find the mirror she needed.
Jeremy peered with sickly fascination at the warren of alleyways hidden from the world by a glass-paned roof above them. Fat tallow candles sat in every crevice, casting plenty of light to see by, and there were dirty puddles in the narrow cobbled streets, though the liquid within looked like ink and not water. "I think that might have been the easy part."
