Lightbound Serenade (The Sophia Kelly Chronicles Book 2) Page 2

  “I go to school in Texas,” I murmur, feeling a sad wave of nostalgia come over me as I remember the city that was my home for such a short but pleasant time.

  “School?” Jo asks as if she’s never even heard of such a thing.

  And it occurs to me that she probably hasn’t. Berlin is a progressive city, but women in the 1920s still didn’t go to school like they do now. Or like they will in a hundred years. Jesus. I’m walking down the streets of Weimar Berlin. I squeeze my eyes shut and then open them again. But I’m still here. These people have no idea what will happen to their country in the next decade. I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the thought. I have to rid myself of that thought. I’m not here to rewrite their history. I’m here to fulfill a Faerie prophecy.

  The thought is overwhelming to me. I’m here to fulfill a Faerie Prophecy. But am I even supposed to be here? And if I am supposed to be here, where do I start? How am I supposed to fulfill a Faerie prophecy in this German hotbed of booze and sex? Without knowing a single lick of German? Without Horace? And without Google Maps to tell me how to navigate these dangerous, Horch-filled streets? I don’t know what I’d been expecting when I stepped through that portal, but it certainly wasn’t this.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Jo stops walking and tugs gently on my arm. “We’re almost there, but we can stop and rest for a minute if you need to.”

  “Fine,” I manage through chattering teeth. Berlin is freezing. “I’m fine. Let’s just…keep going.” I pull the leopard coat protectively around me, as if it could shield me from the weight of the prophecy that looms over me, taunting me. In German. We start to walk again, and I regain my composure. “You asked about school. I go to a music school,” I say, deciding to keep things simple. After all, I barely know Jo. “I play the violin.”

  “No kidding?” Jo asks, slapping my arm. I nod, biting back a smile. For such a petite little thing, Jo the Flapper packs a mean punch. “We have a lot of musicians here. But they all play in nightclubs.” She gives me an apologetic smile. “You won’t find any symphonies or anything like that here. Well, except for the Berlin Philharmonic. But they don’t want people like us.”

  Speak for yourself.

  “It doesn’t matter.” I swallow the hard lump that’s forming in my throat as I remember the violin Chris gave me for Christmas. Alone and forgotten in the 21st century. “I don’t have my violin with me anyway.”

  “Why are you here?” she asks bluntly. “In Berlin? Why did you choose this place out of all the places you could go?” She looks with some disgust over at two dapper-looking men in suits, standing outside a nightclub, fumbling with each others’ pants as they kiss passionately and with abandon. “It isn’t the fact that they’re men, you know. It’s…” Jo turns to me and sighs again. “You get used to it,” she says wearily. “All of it. You get used to it. But it will wear you down after a while.” She looks at me, her black-rimmed eyes suddenly empty and hopeless. “Sometimes you just want to get away from it. Do something wholesome. Pet some kittens. Water a plant. You know?”

  What I wouldn’t give to cuddle a basket of kittens right now.

  “I know.”

  Jo holds my gaze for a moment, and I realize I’m going to have to answer her question. Why am I here? If only I knew the answer myself. I try not to stare at the oblivious lovers on the sidewalk as I struggle to come up with a good, believable story.

  How do you explain that you’re from the next century and you’ve accidentally arrived here through a magic portal that was supposed to take you to the mythical Faerie realm because you’re supposedly the only one who can fulfill a prophecy and stop a supernatural apocalypse? How do you explain that, somehow, you have probably taken a wrong turn in said magical portal and ended up in Weimar Berlin instead?

  You don’t explain it.

  “I wasn’t planning on coming here,” I begin. “It just sort of…happened. Like you, my traveling companion seems to have abandoned me. And…I still have no idea how I ended up in Frau Schuler’s kitchen.”

  “Well, it’s a good thing you did,” Jo says. “You can’t always trust the men in this town. Or any town, for that matter. Come on.” Her grip on my arm tightens. “Louis Gaston is just down this way.” She pulls me down an alley that’s so foul with the stench of human waste, I have to hold my breath. “Aren’t men the absolute worst kind of people?”

  “Yes. Yes, they are,” I agree.

  Especially the immortal ones.

  Unless he’s Fae and can tell me where Auberon is, I’m not sure what this mysterious Louis Gaston person can do for me. But here we are. Walking down a dark, filthy alley. And stopping in front of a nondescript door that I probably would’ve otherwise passed if it hadn’t been for Jo’s hushed whisper.

  “We’re here.”

  I’m not sure why we are so secretive. In the few moments I’ve experienced in Berlin so far, grimy, dark-alley secrets don’t seem to be something the city is at all concerned with. Everything seems pretty out-in-the-open to me. Except Louis Gaston.

  “This place?” I ask in surprise as Jo jiggles the rusty doorknob a few times before slowly pushing the door open and stepping inside. “I don’t feel very comfortable with this,” I admit as I hesitantly step in behind her.

  I am greeted with a burst of sweet-smelling incense when I walk through the door, which is a nice contrast from the stench in the alley. Two men who look like they could be father and son sit in plain wooden chairs near the door. They are hunched forward, elbows resting on their knees and looks of desperation in their weary eyes as they look up at us. Another man stands on the opposite side of the room, black eye makeup streaked down a dramatically pale face and oily black hair that stands out in all directions. He raises puffy, bloodshot eyes as we enter, his gaze fixed intently on us. He doesn’t move except for the clenching and unclenching of his jaw. For someone who doesn’t look much older than me, he’s in pretty bad shape. It’s quite possibly the most depressing waiting room I’ve ever seen.

  “This is awkward,” I hiss to Jo as we huddle together in the corner of the room. I turn my back to the theatrical man but can still feel the intensity of his pitiful eyes burning holes through my shoulder blades. I look toward the other door in the room and can only assume it leads to Gaston’s office or his apothecary, or opium den, or whatever he has in there. “What is this guy going to do to me anyway?”

  Jo shrugs. “All depends on what he thinks is wrong with you. Obviously, something is wrong with you. You showed up, out of nowhere, wearing nothing but your underthings, and you have no idea how you got here? And on New Year’s Eve?” She gives a little wave of her hand. “He probably can’t help you find your traveling partner. But if there’s one thing Louis Gaston can do, it’s to help you put the pieces back in place after a long night.” She leans in toward me and brings a hand to the side of her mouth. “Some people say he’s magical. But I think that’s a bunch of nonsense.”

  My heart jumps into my throat. “What do you mean? Magical? Like, what kind of magic?”

  My mind immediately goes to Colin and his magic Druid tea. The memory, like everything else in my life, seems like it’s a million miles away now.

  “How would I know?” Jo says with a snort of laughter. “I’ve only ever had to see Monsieur Gaston once, and it was after some ridiculous transvestite put something in my drink. The way the powder glittered, I thought it would be the most fabulous drug, but honey, it ruined me for weeks.”

  “Glittery powder?” My mouth goes dry.

  “Doesn’t it sound fabulous?” Jo touches my arm. “It wasn’t. Don’t let anyone put anything glittery in your drink unless you are absolutely certain it’s a diamond ring.” She laughs a little at that.

  The door to Gaston’s office creaks open, and a haggard-looking woman comes out, wearing nothing but a fur coat and silver brooch around her neck. Her bare feet are almost black with dirt. She tries to speak, her mouth quivering with the effort, but the only thing that comes out of it is a trickle of drool. Laughing, she clumsily reaches for the brooch around her neck with a shaking hand, opens it, bends her head down over it, sniffling loudly. I quickly look away. Not even my own mother did drugs out in the open like this. And my mother did just about everything out in the open.

  Jesus. What is this place?

  An exhausted voice calls out from inside the room, and the men in the room stir lazily at the sound of the voice. I look around, waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to answer the voice, before I realize everyone is looking at me.

  “What’s going on?” I ask Jo.

  I realize I don’t know any German, despite having known the most German of Germans.

  “He’s asking who’s next.” Jo looks anxiously around at the men in the room. “And I think they are inviting you go next.” She nudges me toward the intimidating little room. “Ladies first, of course.”

  “How chivalrous,” I mutter as I make my way across the room, my shoulders hunched and the coat wrapped tightly around me.

  I do my best to keep my eyes forward and ignore the dramatic man in the corner watching me as I step in Gaston’s office and close the door behind me.

  Louis Gaston sits behind a heavy wooden desk, his back to me as he stares up at a dreary oil painting of a field of flowers. He wears a black cloak with the hood drawn up over his head, concealing his identity, and I am immediately reminded of a horror movie Greg suckered me into watching once. The only thing I can see of the man is a neatly manicured hand that absently, but very deftly, twirls a pen through slender fingers. And I’m pretty sure this means that I’m about to die.

  Jo the Flapper brought me here to be murdered. Or bumped off. That’s how they did it in the ’20s, isn’t it?

  A
table to the murderer’s left contains an assortment of small round apothecary jars filled with herbs, a pitcher of water, a mortar and pestle, a thick rubber band, a couple of dirty syringes, spoons with broken, mismatched handles, and a few chipped mugs. It looks unsanitary, to say the least. But what does a psychopath like Gaston care about sanitizing his murder weapons?

  Louis says something to me in monotone German, and I clear my throat, desperately scrambling for an answer. But all I know is English, and right now, I feel like even that is failing me.

  “I-I…I am not sure why I am here,” I say slowly and in English, hoping that I will strike some chord of understanding with this strange mad scientist. The pen in his hand stops twirling and seems to almost levitate for a moment before he catches it between his middle and ring fingers. “I’m not even sure where ‘here’ is.” Gaston inhales sharply, and I wonder if I’ve said something I shouldn’t have. But it’s too late now. If he’s going to kill me, he’s going to at least hear me ramble on and on for a few minutes. “This sounds a bit crazy, but I just…I sort of just arrived here…in Berlin…but I have no idea how I got here.” I pause, giving him a chance to say something. Or do something. Anything. But he does nothing. Frustration starts to build in the pit of my stomach, and I feel like I’m wasting my time. “My friend…brought me here, thinking maybe you can help me. She thinks I was drugged and that you can help me remember, but I don’t think I was drugged. I’m looking for someone…a friend. And I don’t know if he is here or not. I came a long way and—”

  I stop and draw in a deep breath as the chair slowly starts to swivel. I’m about to see his face. The man who is about to kill me. What if he’s terrifying and hideously ugly? I don’t want to see something hideously ugly right before I die. I want to see nature and sunshine. Maybe that basket of kittens. I look down at my hands, which are clasped so tightly in my lap that I can hardly feel them. Where is my light-ray when I need it?

  “Sophia.”

  The voice is familiar. Too familiar. My head jerks up at the sound of my name. The man called Louis Gaston sets his pen on the table, raises his hands, and carefully lowers the hood of the cloak so that his face is no longer hidden behind horror-movie-like shadows. My heart gives a leap, and for a second I think I might cry with happiness at how lucky I am right now and how much I love Jo the Flapper.

  “Colin?”

  For a moment, all we can do is stare at each other, mouths hanging open. He is just as surprised as I am.

  We both speak at the same time, and as if our brains are following the same time-traveling wavelength, we say the exact same thing.

  “What? No, you go ahead.”

  We laugh and then pause. I keep my eyes fixed on Colin’s face, afraid to so much as blink for fear he will disappear.

  “You made it through,” he says quietly.

  “Through what?” I say, trying to control the sudden flare of anger that’s rising through my voice. I don’t want to be angry. I found Colin. This is a joyous occasion and should be celebrated, even if that means drinking something out of one of his dirty mugs. “You knew about this? You knew I would end up here?”

  He holds up his hands in a defensive gesture.

  “I swear on my life I did not. I am just as surprised to be here as you are. But now that you’re here, I can—”

  “Is this the mission you were talking about?” I ask, narrowing my eyes. “Is this why you weren’t coming back for Spring semester? Were you going to just meet me here? Like friends meeting up at the mall for a damned hot dog? You know, those ones those kids in those twirly propeller hats serve up? The really greasy ones that—”

  “Yes,” he whispers. “Minus the hot dog part.” His lips twist into a grin for a second before he grows serious again. “Honestly, Sophe, I didn’t know it would be this…” He looks around the room with mild disgust. “Here. In the damned Weimar Republic.”

  I’ve never been so happy to hear my old nickname before in my life.

  “Why here? And why are you calling yourself Louis Gaston and working in this sketchy office? Do you know where Auberon is or what the hell I’m actually supposed to be doing here? Because I’ll be honest, Colin. I miss Chris. A lot. I’ve got the shakes. I feel weak. And I think I’m having—” I stop, biting my lip.

  Do I really want to admit to Colin that Chris and I were bound? And that I’m pretty sure I’m having withdrawals?

  “I’m bound to him, Colin.”

  Apparently I do.

  Colin nearly falls out of his chair.

  “Jesus, Sophe, did you drink from him?” He squeezes his eyes shut. “No, you know what? I don’t even want to know.”

  “You need to know,” I hiss, leaning forward across the desk in order to emphasize my point. “Someone needs to know. What if I start convulsing or writhing around on the floor or something due to lack of…”

  I don’t say it, though. Colin knows where this is going.

  He sighs, his eyes darting to the door and then back at me. “Look.” He presses his lips together. “I have other people waiting out there to see me. There is a party tomorrow night… Actually, there is a party every night in this place,” he says with a snort. “Here.” He reaches for a card on the table, flips it over to scrawl something across the back, and then pushes it across the table at me. “This is the address. Come. We can talk more about this…about everything…there. It’s not good, Sophe. Not good at all. Why on earth did you bind yourself to him? What made you think…” He trails off, his face clouded with disbelief and disappointment as he shakes his head.

  “Love makes you do dumb things, Colin.”

  “Tell me about it,” he snaps.

  I’m not sure exactly what he means by that or why that statement feels so perfectly aimed at me. I pretend not to notice as I take the card from the desk.

  “You couldn’t just text me the address?” I say with a mirthless laugh, examining the card for a moment before placing it carefully in the pocket of the leopard coat. His eyes widen, shocked that I can even joke about anything right now. But I’m good at joking around when I shouldn’t. “And for what it’s worth, being bound…it was just as much me as it was him. I had to save him. From Unseelie. He had to drink, and then I had to drink, and it was just…” I blow out a breath of air. I’m not convincing anyone here. “Yeah. It’s probably not good.”

  He rises to his feet, moving toward the table of herbs and dirty drug paraphernalia. “Well, since this is all out in the open now, I suppose I need to give you something to take the edge off. But it’s not going to be easy. Vampire blood is one of the most addictive substances out there. I can break your bind eventually. But it’s too soon for that and would probably do more harm than good.”

  “Well, then, take the edge off. Seems like that’s what you’re known for around here, isn’t it, Mr. Gaston?” I narrow my eyes at him. “Taking the edge off of awful, drug-induced reactions and overdoses?” I nod toward the door. “I saw what you did to that woman who was here before me.”

  “Sophe, that poor woman is beyond my help at this point. If history is correct, she’ll be gone before the end of the decade.”

  He gives me a sad smile and then goes to work with his muddling. I pray silently that he’s making up a batch of my favorite tea in that dirty bowl along with whatever vampire blood methadone he’s giving me.

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Well, it wouldn’t be right for me to send you away without your tea.” Yes! Jackpot! “But I’m also going to give you something that should…help with your cravings. I can’t break the bind between you and that vampire yet, but I can help take the edge off.”