Willing (8 page)

Berty reached the landing first. “Good evening, your Lordship.”

Constance stopped dead at the top of the stairs, staring down at the handsome face of Lord Alisdair, tucking his bowler hat under his arm as he bowed in greeting. “Good evening, ladies. I was hoping to have a word with our Constance, here.”

Berty glanced back at Constance, her once wrathful gaze now softened, and almost pleading. Berty acknowledged the nobleman and invited him up the stairs.

Constance tugged at Berty’s sleeve, whispering. “What’re you doing? I’m not properly dressed!”

“You’re a whore, Connie. I’m sure the man expects no less.”

“Bitch.” Constance hissed at Berty as Alisdair made his way up the steps.  He was dressed in a brown and taupe three piece suit, his dark brown vest peeking out from under his tailored coat. He was dressed for a day of traveling it looked, his hair perfectly slicked back, despite having been beneath the hat.

Constance glanced down the hallway, catching the peeking faces of all the other girls, curious to see what was happening this early in the evening. Four in the afternoon on a Monday wasn’t the busiest time for a brothel.

Alisdair reached the top of the stairs and Berty curtsied awkwardly. Then she ducked down the stairs. Alisdair reached for Constance’s hand, and when she offered it, he bent and kissed her knuckles. The gesture made her stomach churn.

“Is there somewhere private that we might talk?”

She swallowed. “Of course. Follow me please – err, My Lord.”

He chuckled, giving a nod to the faces in each of the doorways as they passed. Constance reached her door at the end of the hall, and Alisdair gestured for her to go first. He then closed the door behind him.

“Do forgive my impertinence. I should have sent word that I would be coming.”

Constance shook her head. “No, no. You needn’t apologize. It’s not exactly an appointment only establishment.”

He laughed, and pointed to the chairs by the window. “May I sit?”

“Of course.”

“Will you join me?” He asked, gesturing to the other chair.

“No, you will forgive me if I choose to stand for the moment, please?”

He smiled. “Of course. Such an articulate creature.”

She watched him settle in the chair, nervously playing with her fingertips. “Not what you’ve come to expect in the Keg and Barrel?”

She was joking, but her tone was terse. Constance was pacing, she realized – short little paths across the length of the Oriental rug. She was also tugging at the fabric of her sleeve, twisting the corset ties at her waist over and over until the blood began to pool in her fingertip.

“I’ve heard you were unwilling to attend this evening.”

She stopped, and for the first time since he arrived, looked him in the eye. She imagined the room of robed figures without a willing altar to pray over. She swallowed. “Well, I am sorry.”

“You needn’t be. I completely understand your caution.”

“You do?”

Constance’s voice cracked with her words, and she winced to hear it. Alisdair simply leaned back in his chair, setting his hat on the side table before entwining his fingers in his lap. “I do. And I think I owe you an explanation.”

She glanced at him before her pace returned. “Of what?”

He chuckled. “Well, of why I need you as I do.”

“No, no. I don’t need to know anything about that.”

Her hands had shot up before her, splaying her fingers as though she might hold his words at bay. She instantly conjured notions of Devil Worship and going to hell for all eternity. Perhaps if she didn’t have knowledge of their dealings, she wouldn’t be dragged to hell with them – not that she wasn’t already doomed there anyway. Whoring wasn’t the most pious profession.

He raised an eyebrow at her, smiling. “Not interested?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Alisdair rose from the chair and stepped toward her. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe whatever you like.”

“For a woman as powerful as yourself, I’m surprised you’re not more curious.”

Constance turned, watching him move along the edge of the bed, reaching down to run a finger across the tiny perfume bottle she kept there for scenting her pillows. “Powerful? Sir, I think you must be mistaken.”

“I think not.”

Alisdair began to meander around the room, taking special care to touch the curtains over the bed, the lampshade, leaning in to inspect a photograph that hung on the wall. “Do you find your new accommodations acceptable, Constance?”

“I do.” She paused, remembering what Berty said. “How do you know they are new?”

He smiled up at her as he moved, sauntering around the room with his hands locked at his back. “Because I paid for them.”

Constance shook her head, bewildered. “Why would you do that?”

“Gesture of my gratitude.”

Constance felt lightheaded, and she realized her heart was pattering away in Alisdair’s presence. She leaned against the bed post and closed her eyes a moment. “Do you treat all the girls so well?”

He smirked. “I can’t say that I do.”

The words triggered deep in her stomach, and she took a step back. He noticed.

“What is wrong?”

Her talk with the detective surged to memory and she swallowed. “The other girls. How many other girls have you taken to your estate?”

“More than I can say. It took a good long while to find you, my dear.”

“What? Find
me
?”

“Yes.”

She took hold of the bed post with both hands, her head growing lighter by the moment. She was becoming frightened, an effect Alisdair had never had on her before.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, shutting her eyes tight as though she might restore herself with a moment of darkness. When she opened her eyes again, Alisdair was inches from her face, his hand coming up to her cheek. She lunged back out of his reach. He frowned.

“You needn’t be afraid of me, love.”

“Don’t call me love. And how do I know that?”

“Because I am saying it to you.”

“I’ve had many years to learn what a man’s word is worth.”

She backed herself into the wall, fighting to stay upright. Something was wrong. Her head was swimming, the edges of her eyesight growing blurry. She began to slip down. Strong hands gripped her at her shoulders, holding her up. She opened her eyes to see Alisdair’s face before her again, a frown of concern on his face.

“Constance. Fight through it.”

“Don’t touch me!”

She shrugged him off and instantly began to fall again. Despite her protests, he took her by the arm and led her to the arm chair, settling her there before squatting down to her.

“You
are
ferocious, aren’t you?”

His tone made it sound as though he referred to some tiny kitten with its hackles raised. She opened her eyes long enough to glare at him.

“Settle into it, girl. It will pass if you take hold of it.”

“Of what?” She snapped, but the words fell dully in the wake of her swimming head.

“Your power.”

She glared at him. “What rubbish!”

Alisdair settled his hands on her knees. “Close your eyes and breathe deeply.”

She took a moment to let him bask in the full glory of her stern gaze, then she did as was asked. The act of closing her eyes was well received.

“Picture a light around you.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

She swallowed and did as she was told. There was light all around, blinding her, letting a strange reflection of her own pupil play across the inside of her eyelids. She watched it change color, blast and recede, then as though hiding in the corners of her sight, she saw a bloody alleyway – Castle Alley – and she jerked against Alisdair’s touch.

“My goodness, I had no idea…”

Her eyes opened and they burned into him a moment. “What?”

He smiled, exhaling through his nose in a half laugh. “I had wondered whether you might be affected by my work. I see that indeed you are.”

“What in bloody hell do you mean?”

He sighed, softly. “You are a conduit, after all.”

Constance glared at him, waiting for an explanation. He rose from his crouch, reached into his jacket pocket, and retrieved a small pipe and match. Before he could light it, Constance raised her brows, silently warning him against such an endeavor. He shrugged, nodding in apology, and tucked the pipe back in his pocket. “Alright, there are some that call it Kundalini -”

“Kunda-what?”

“Kundalini.”

“And what in Sam Hell is that?”

Alisdair smiled at her, and she warmed to it, despite herself. She did not let him see.

“It’s what some people call the energy we seek during ritual. They believe it to be a life force that we all carry in us - that we exchange it with others; in conversation, in argument, and most powerfully during sex. If there is such a thing, I would venture that you give it more freely than any other creature I have ever met. As soon as I walked into the room, I was basking in it. I’m sure you have a very devoted group of clientele”

Constance furrowed her brow. “If there is such a thing? You don’t believe in your own rituals?”

He shook his head. “Oh, I believe more than anything, I just don’t perform ritual to attain it.”

“Then why do you perform these rituals?”

He took a deep breath. “You’re willing to bear such knowledge?”

“I – yes. I think so.”

He scratched the crown of his head, then nodded. “There are old works that describe a means to summon the power of Gods.”

“Gods? More than one?”

“Oh yes. There are many. And many of them enjoy being summoned with ancient rites.”

“Involving naked women?”

He chuckled. “Involving willing altars, yes. It can be a man or a woman, but in this time, women are more readily able to give of themselves in that way.”

“You mean sex?”

He paused. “I mean in all ways.”

Constance watched him as he seemed to search for words.

“Women are more willing to be open, to be vulnerable. One has to be open and vulnerable if they are requesting the presence of a God.”

“I never requested that.”

He chuckled. “No, but I did – through you.”

“If you’d told me that was your plan, I might’ve refused.”

“Yes, well. I’m telling you now. Will you refuse?”

Alisdair stared at her a moment. She stared at him, mute.

“What are you thinking?” He asked finally, breaking the silence.

“I’m thinking you’re mad.”

Alisdair laughed heartily at this. “Ah, but I believe you’ve seen exactly what I am talking about. In fact, I think you’re harboring it right now.”

“What?”

“Are you feeling lightheaded, still?”

She shook her head. “No, not as much.”

“But you were? When I came in?”

“After you came in.”

He smiled. “Perhaps I’m failing to fully empty the vessel, if you will.”

“You are talking nonsense, you realize this.”

He rushed over to her in excited conspiracy, as though he wanted to discuss an already shared secret. “Oh hush, Constance. You’re too open to speak so harshly of this. Tell me, you felt something last time, didn’t you?”

She remembered the humming from within the stone, the way it grew warm beneath. She didn’t mean to answer, but found herself nodding.

“This ritual was written hundreds of years ago. It’s meant to draw in the Gods themselves, summon them to you through a willing vessel, and request their power be granted to you.”

“I don’t want anything of the sort!”

“No, the best of us rarely do.”

Constance stared at him. “But you do…”

Alisdair smiled. “I do, but more as a precaution than a prize.”

“Precaution of what?”

“To keep it from those who would abuse it, love.”

They both sat there in silence a moment, the words falling between them and filling the room. When Alisdair finally spoke, he had an almost pensive tone to his voice. “If you’re affected in my company, perhaps a part of the Gods I summoned into me remain sheltered in you.”

“This is blasphemy, what you say. You know that, yes?”

“These Gods are far older than blasphemy.”

Constance sat up in her chair, waiting to decipher whether her head settled enough to stand. “So, you say you’re using me to summon a God?”

“I am. A Goddess, actually.”

“And you think it worked.”

“I know it did. I just haven’t deciphered how to make the effects permanent.”

She took a deep breath. “If that is all you need then, there are plenty of other girls you could hire.”