Wings of Shadow (The Underground Trilogy) (2 page)

He grinned and shook his head. “Impatient, are we?”

She sighed. “I am walking around dark tunnels underneath London. This was not covered in my ‘travel-abroad rules,’ but I know my mother would flip if she found out.”

“What is that ‘human’ saying? Ah, yes, ‘rules are made to be broken.’” He walked further down the tunnel, heading toward the light.

“But I like to follow rules.” Meghan puzzled over the odd phrasing that he had used. “Kiernan, did you mean ‘American’ saying?”

He froze. His jaw clenched, and he stumbled over his response. “Um… yes. Sorry. I meant American.”

She stared at him. Kiernan was one of those people who always knew the right thing to say. That was the first time she had heard him at a loss for words.

Soon, they arrived at an antique gas lamp. Underneath the flickering light, a yellowing poster depicted an old-fashioned portrait. In the bottom corner was a quote written in the pristine handwriting of a different era:

It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change.

“Is that a picture of Charles Darwin?” she asked, looking closer at the poster.

He nodded. “My father is a huge Darwin fan.”

“Your father? Why would he hang a poster all the way down here?”

“My, you are filled with questions tonight.”

He hadn’t really answered, though. She wondered why he was being evasive.

~ 2 ~

A heavy wooden door with a large metal knocker stood at the end of the corridor, illuminated by the yellow glow of the gas lamp. Kiernan banged the knocker three times, then tapped it two additional times.

“Is that the secret knock to get into this mysterious club?” Meghan joked.

Kiernan winked, and then the door opened. A strange man stood in front of them. Looking as though he stepped out of a story from one hundred years ago, he was dressed in gray trousers, a lavender button-down shirt, and a purple silk vest. On his head sat a gray top hat. Even odder, protruding from his back were thick silver wires that swirled into spiraling wings. The man raised a monocle to his eye and peered through it. Meghan stared. She was crossing that obscure boundary into rudeness, but she wasn’t able to stop herself. The man was one of the oddest people she’d ever seen.

Still looking through his little glass, the man cleared his throat. “Yes, yes. Master Kiernan, welcome back. You are bringing one guest tonight, my young lord?”

Kiernan grimaced. “Yes, Barnaby. The lovely Meghan will be my guest tonight.”

“Very good, sir. Enjoy the evening.” The man turned from them and resumed his post at the door.

“Kiernan, who was that man? He was rather odd. And why was he calling you ‘lord’ and ‘master’?”

“Barnaby is our door man. He’s eccentric, but he’s also loyal and dedicated, which is more than you can say about many employees, right?” Kiernan led her through a narrow stone hallway.

It wasn’t lost on Meghan that he had evaded another question. As she attempted to rephrase it, Kiernan brought her to a narrow stone staircase that wound up a stone turret reminiscent of a castle. The top stair opened onto a small, private balcony overlooking a massive stone chamber.

She gasped. Below, hundreds of people filled the chamber, dancing to live band music.

“Welcome to the Underground,” Kiernan whispered.

“This is amazing! Who would have imagined that there would be a club all the way down here? How do people even know about it?”

“Most people have forgotten these old Tube tunnels and chambers even exist. Entry is by invitation only. We try to keep it rather private.” He took her hand. “Do you want to go down to the floor? We could dance.”

They made their way down the narrow stone steps, and Kiernan led her through a hallway that opened up to the dance chamber. As they entered, Meghan was struck by the immensity of the room. Aside from the unique location, the manner of dress of the dancers was also quite different. In fact, she and Kiernan, in their jeans and t-shirts, stood out among the crowd.

Some people dressed in old-fashioned clothing in a style similar to Barnaby’s. Who would have imagined he was being trendy? Another group dressed entirely in black, with prominent piercings and tattoos. Everyone wore wings, but not the typical angel or butterfly wings that little kids wore on Halloween. No, the wings were creative, made of wire, metal, fabric, leather, and other materials.

Meghan looked around, eyes wide. She felt as though she had just fallen down Alice’s rabbit hole. The anxiety she had experienced in the tunnel was gone, replaced with intrigue and wonder.

“Kiernan, we’re out of place here. We forgot to wear our wings,” she joked.

He stiffened and didn’t respond. She glanced at him. His normal carefree manner had disappeared.

Leading her through the crowd, Kiernan said, “Let’s dance.”

The music was fast and unfamiliar. Meghan had never been very graceful or even very coordinated, but the music was haunting and intoxicating, and she danced without remembering to feel self-conscious. She tried to pay attention to the lyrics, but soon realized they were in a different language.

Glancing at Kiernan, she found he was watching her. Meghan matched his gaze for a moment, than shyly looked away. Kiernan danced around her, his blond hair flying in all directions, as he moved his head to the beat of the music. His tattoos—spiral abstracts swirling their way around his upper arms—glistened, despite the dimness of the light. If only she were brave enough to reach out and touch him.

People surrounded her, everyone dancing and swaying to the unusual music. Wings of every shape and size bobbed, and Meghan couldn’t stop staring at them. A tall, dark-haired girl wearing a vintage velvet ball gown danced nearby. She had tiny velvet wings made from the same plum-colored material as her gown.

The girl smiled, a silver lip ring rising with the curve of her mouth. “Found yourself a new friend, Kiernan?”

“This is Meghan,” he called, still moving to the beat.

“They call me Raine. Have a bloody fun night!” the plum-dressed girl yelled back before being swallowed up by the other dancers.

A short man dressed in shredded black clothing stomped to the beat. Meghan suspected the shredding was a deliberate effect, as it formed too neat a pattern to have been accidental. On the man’s back was the most amazing pair of wings she had seen all night, made of gears and the faces of watches. As the gears and cogs turned, the clock faces ticked, each set to a different time. How could he possibly keep track of what time it really was?

Kiernan smiled. “Having fun?”

“I wasn’t sure if this was my scene at first. It seemed a little too weird. But I’m having so much fun!” She imagined telling her girlfriends back home in Portland about her adventure of sneaking through the subway to enter an exclusive club with a very good-looking boy. Maybe Kiernan was correct; it was all right to break the rules, at least once in a while.

Kiernan stiffened as he looked toward the balcony. A man sat alone, watching the dancers. Kiernan gave Meghan a little smile. “Keep dancing. I need to do something for a minute, but I’ll be right back.”

She followed his gaze. “Who is that man?”

He sighed. “That’s my father. I need to greet him.”

“Your father still goes to clubs? Wait. Does your father own this club? Is that why Barnaby treated you like you were somebody special?”

“Something like that,” Kiernan replied, as he turned to leave.

Why was getting a clear answer from him so difficult? She watched him weave his way through the crowd. Meghan was unsure what to do while she waited. Standing amidst the undulating sea of dancers, she considered her options. Suddenly, a tall, very bare-chested boy began dancing in front of her. He wore tight-fitting leather breeches and an old-style, leather pilot’s hat fitted with an antiquated pair of goggles. His feet were bare. Not content to sway to the music, he held out his long arms and spun.

Meghan stared in wonder at the boy. For such a tall guy, he was amazingly graceful. The feather-like turquoise wings that sprouted from his back waved and moved in rhythm to his dancing. The roots plunged into the flesh of his back, muscles flexing under his skin as he moved. Meghan tried to get a better look, to see how they were attached, but every time she leaned closer, he twirled away.

“I don’t believe I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.” The winged boy bowed.

“This is my first time coming to the club. I’m Meghan.” She offered him her hand.

The boy raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. “Charmed to meet you, Meghan. I am Wish.”

Meghan looked up at him, unsure if he was joking. “Wish? What kind of name is that?”

He grinned. “A name that conveys the longing, desire, and hope found within all of our souls. A name that brings a smile to all, whether one is using a four-leaf clover, falling star, or birthday candle. The name of one who truly believes in magic and the power of wishes.”

Before Meghan could decide what she thought about the oversized, poetic believer, he grabbed her hands, twirling and spinning her. Her feet struggled to keep up with the rest of her body, but she found herself smiling in delight. As the song ended, Wish bowed and stepped aside. Laughing, she looked up to find Kiernan grinning at her.

“Are you having fun?”

“More fun than I would have guessed.”

“My father would like to meet you. He has invited us to dine with him on the balcony.”

Meghan studied the dance floor. She was just starting to know Kiernan. Surely they were not at the “meeting each other’s parents” stage already.

He met her eyes. “Please. My father is a very insistent man. He is used to getting what he wants.”

“Well, I am a little hungry. Next time, you need to mention any possible relative meeting before we leave the hostel. Agreed?”

Kiernan nodded, and they wove their way toward the balcony. Many of the dancers stopped to greet him, and she wondered if his popularity was due to being the club-owner’s son.

As they walked up the final few stone steps, Kiernan reached for her hand. He stroked it, his thumb leaving warm trails up and down her palm. Was her nervousness that apparent?

Striding onto the balcony, Kiernan approached a small table where a man sat in a high-backed, wrought-iron chair. She wouldn’t have picked them out as father and son. For each of Kiernan’s fair traits, the man sported a darker version: long black hair, braided intricately, against Kiernan’s shoulder-length blond locks, and eyes the same shade of black, contrasting with Kiernan’s light blue.

Kiernan bowed deferentially to the man. “Father, I would like to have the pleasure of introducing you to my companion for tonight, Meghan Kelley.”

The man rose and held out both hands. “Enchanté, my dear. You may call me Lord Killian.” He took the hand Meghan offered, brushing it with his lips.

She quelled her inner “eww.” While his father shared Kiernan’s good looks, something about Lord Killian unsettled her. She tried to focus. “Lord? Is that a real title or just how the club-goers refer to you?”

Kiernan cringed, and she realized she must have said something offensive. Meghan knew she hadn’t been prepared for the meeting-the-parents ritual.

Lord Killian gestured toward the silver-domed trays on the table. “There will be time later for all of your questions. But for now, dinner awaits.”

As they sat, a man stepped out of the shadows. Meghan stifled a gasp. His black waistcoat, starched collar, and cravat looked like a turn-of-the-century butler uniform. The man bowed, revealing small paper wings covered with tiny words. Peering closer, Meghan recognized a few words from her French class: “
le poisson
,” “
le champignon
,” and “
les asperges
.” Were his wings made of restaurant menus? He lifted the domes of the silver platters, served the food without speaking, then retreated into the shadows. The meal was certainly more formal than dinner at her home.

Silence filled the balcony. Kiernan studied his plate. His father stared at her, his hands folded. She wasn’t sure if he was trying to make her uncomfortable or waiting for her to start the conversation.

She took a deep breath. “So, Mr. Killian, Kiernan mentioned that you enjoy the writings of Charles Darwin.”

Kiernan cringed again at her “Mister.”

Lord Killian wiped his mouth with a napkin and nodded. “Ah, yes, I do appreciate the masterful words of Mr. Darwin. Charles was wise beyond his years and far ahead of his era when he published his findings. Tell me, Meghan, have you studied Mr. Darwin’s work?”

“I’ve always liked science. During my senior year, I took an Advance Placement biology class, and we read portions of
On the Origin of Species
.”

“And what did you think of your readings?”

“Well, it was quite interesting. I had never really thought about how we got to this stage of the evolutionary process.”

“And Mr. Darwin’s thoughts about ‘survival of the fittest’? Are you familiar with those?”