She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, leaving behind a smear of pastel lip color. “I do like to see you smile,” she told him. “Now get some rest, we have a long day ahead of us.” PARIS, 1789
Lucius shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked, observing the humans around him beneath the rim of his hat. The alleys reverberated with the haggard coughing of men, women, and children as they huddled together. Though summer’s heat reached the city, it did little to alleviate the ailments ransacking the poorest among them, most unable to afford even the stale, discounted bread sold at the market. Lucius meant every word he yelled over the raucous discord at his weekly meetings, as he lamented how atrocious it was to let Parisians starve to death in the streets…though he had to admit, it made things much easier for vampires.
He went unnoticed as he headed down the streets, sated by the dying old man he’d found earlier, grateful to have his stomach full before he joined the others. It amused him how the gatherings now served two purposes—to feed his inner drive to wreak havoc and to enact vengeance upon the vampiress who had ruined his mortal life. Her quest for power was so strong that he wasn’t surprised to learn she still managed to become queen without him, taking a page out of his book to transform herself into Marie Antionette, the widely detested Queen of France. He encouraged this hate wherever he could, enjoying the rebellion that hung thick in the air, waiting for the right spark to ignite the pyre that would take the aristocracy down along with it. He regretted that he wasn’t able to see her face when she discovered that he’d murdered his personal guard, Kali, as soon as he turned or her expression when she discovered he’d disappeared along with half her fortune. It was the reason he still lingered in France, even though she hunted him; he wanted very badly to see the look on her face when he helped burn the city down around her.
Genevieve noticed him as he turned the corner and smiled broadly as she motioned him inside the tavern. Madame LaBlanche’s Den of Pleasures served only two types of patrons—the bourgeois with extraordinary tastes, and the insurgents who found a place to stay hidden where no noblemen would dare enter. Genevieve was the latter. The reincarnated god Genesha and an employee of the house, she was an integral piece of the burgeoning rebellion. Kali’s death at Lucius’s hands had brought her great joy, as she was furious that the death goddess struck down the rest of the Hindu gods to absorb their power. She hailed Lucius as a hero, ensuring not only his room and board at the den, but helping him secure money and property beyond the detection of Angelique. Tonight, she was dressed in her favorite silk, her long dark wig sweeping her waist as she motioned him past, her eyes checking behind him to make sure he hadn’t been followed. “They’re in the Orient Room,” she told him when she was satisfied that he was alone.
He nodded, freeing his black waves from his hat. The patrons of Madame LeBlanche and their employees—women in men’s clothing, men in women’s clothing, and everything in between—paid him no mind as he walked through them, distracted by various stages of debauchery. Genevieve followed him closely as she filled him in on everything he’d missed. She was the only one who knew he was a vampire, often covering for him when meetings occurred in the daylight hours.
She adjusted his collar for him as he situated his hat, straightening his coat once more before he took a deep breath and strode in.
The men gathered at the table nodded in his direction as he found his seat behind a table teeming with wine bottles, half empty pitchers of beer, and cigarette stubs.
“We must secure proper ammunition,” one of the men insisted, smashing down his fist and unsettling the glasses.
“I have told you all several times, they keep barrels of gunpowder in the Bastille,” Lucius interrupted loudly.
“Glad you’ve finally joined us, Victor,” a fair-haired man named Bertrand said dryly.
“You know what I say is true. It holds no more than five prisoners, and its stores of ammunition are vast.” Lucius looked at the rest of the men. “It is waiting for us on a silver platter, with only a handful of guards to push through.”
“He’s right,” a man named Christophe chimed in. “We have the numbers now. Our people are starving in the streets, furious at the tax increase—they will join us! We can overthrow the archaic fortress at any time. This may be our only chance to secure proper weaponry before the King tries to stop us.”
“Then let us revolt—let us show them the fire of the sans-culottes!” another man yelled, raising up his glass.
Louis slinked towards the back of the room as it rose in clamor, until he was beside Genevieve, who had been listening intently behind the door. “You know they do not have the amount of ammo we require,” she said under her breath.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, matching her tone. “They need to see their own power, to feel what a mob can do. This will be what starts our revolution.”
“Shall I tell the others?”
He nodded.
She disappeared as the meeting devolved, as it often did, into a shouting match lubricated with gluttonous imbibing at Lucius’s expense. He slipped out of the room, confident Genevieve would spread the word quickly enough that everything would be in place by tomorrow morning. He found his room at the end of the hall, closing the door gently behind him before turning to face the stranger who was waiting in his room. “Can I help you?”
“You do not startle easily,” the man observed.
“I know I can kill you in a heartbeat,” Lucius explained, not unpleasantly, as he hung up his hat. “Now, please explain why you are trespassing in my room so I can rest. I have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Ah, forgive me,” the man stuck out his hand. He was well-dressed in a clerical sort of way, the ink smudging his fingers confirming his bookishness. Lucius realized he was a creature, but one unlike any he’d ever seen. “My name is Jonathan Harrow, and I work for Somnus & Mors. My employers have requested your immediate presence at our firm.”
Lucius frowned. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”
“Ah, yes, they had a feeling you would say that, so they told me to let you know you are a reincarnated god named Hades, with a vast accumulation of wealth that you entrusted to us. They need to speak with you regarding both your fortune and a vampiress who calls herself Angelique Delaroux.”
Lucius stared at the man in surprise before collecting himself. “Ah yes, of course. Let me secure a carriage.”
“That won’t be necessary, sir; we have one waiting for you not far from the alley.”
Lucius nodded, trying not to reveal how unsettled he was as he retrieved his hat. Although Mr. Harrow had figured out the hidden passageway Lucius used to move in and out of his room unnoticed, he guided him through it, popping out the back door to see that there was, in fact, a carriage awaiting his arrival. He appreciated the use of an older, shabby model; the creature had the foresight to understand the delicate nature of the times. Traveling through Paris in an open display of wealth was not the best move if one wanted to go unnoticed.
Mr. Harrow helped him board and they rode in silence, giving Lucius the opportunity to study him more closely. He appeared in every aspect a human, with fresh blood running through his veins, but his skin had a ghostly pallor. Although he looked quite young, his hair was a dusty sort of blonde that seemed silver, and he bore dark, oddly wide eyes that seemed out of place with a nose and mouth perfectly proportionate to his face.
“I am a Wraith,” Harrow told him, noticing his observant stare. “I will let my employers explain things further, but I am an immortal, though I do not need blood to survive.”
“Wraith is a Scottish term for ghost.”
Mr. Harrow laughed. “They told me you were an educated man. I suppose, if you want to be specific, we are demons, since we come from Tartarus, which the humans now call Hell. However, it was pointed out that we are far more ghostly than our other supernatural friends, meaning we can travel through realms and through walls even though we are technically alive on earth. Wraith seemed to be a good term to describe these characteristics, and so it became.”
Lucius nodded. “Are your employers Wraiths as well?”
“I have already told you more than I should have.” Mr. Harrow offered him a smile as the carriage rolled to a stop. “Fortunately, we are here and my employers will answer all of your questions.”
The coachman opened the door to what appeared to be any other Parisian street, though it was completely clear of street lamps and bodies, giving it an eerie feeling of abandonment. The office loomed above them, the street below bathed in shades of gray, black, and midnight blue.
“Only the supernatural can see this street, for it is situated in between reality and the outerrealms,” Mr. Harrow explained as he opened the door marked Somnus & Mors in painted gold lettering.
Lucius entered the interior of the building, unsurprised to see that it was drenched in the cool, dreary shades that reminded him of a place that rested just beyond his conscious recollection. The front hall was long and lined with unremarkable doors, an indoor fountain spurting dark water at the apex. From the back of the office, two men appeared, moving so gracefully they appeared to be floating. They were well-dressed and trim, with natural silver hair gathered and tied at their necks and eyes as dark as Mr. Harrow’s. He realized they were identical twins, the revelation stirring something in him that he could not quite explain. In fact, the entire experience was unsettling him, pulling forward the whispers that echoed in the blank, unknown space in his mind.
“Lord Hades, welcome,” one of the twins said, unable to hold back his joy as he grasped Lucius’s hand. “We have been searching for you for quite some time.”
“Forgive me for not sharing your sentiment, but my past life memories are completely lost,” Lucius explained politely.
“Ah, yes, we are aware,” the other twin said with a sigh. “Please, right this way.”
The two men led him down another hall that opened into a wide chamber bearing a double desk that spanned the length of the room. Behind it stood a fireplace with flames that appeared white rather than copper, another peculiar attribute that was distantly familiar. He took a seat in one of the black leather chairs nearby. “So, which one of you is which?” he asked.
The twin on the left chuckled. “I am Theodore Mors, but you once knew me as Thanatos, the god of death. This is my brother, Harold Somnus, the reincarnation of Hypnos, the god of sleep. And while we are at the introduction stage, I hope you are remembering that you are Hades, though you have been surrounded by magic that has prevented anyone from finding you. It was only recently removed.”
